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my-darling-boy · 4 years

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Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

#like this isn’t even half of what I want to say #but I’m gonna stop cos this is So Long #no clowns in my inbox pls #long post #ableism #autism #actually autistic #ok to rb

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tsukkisbean · 4 years

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haikyuu nsfw alphabet series | ennoshita chikara

please block #claras steamys if you don’t want to see this type of content!!

warnings: sexual themes (implied sadism?) , mentions of (unprotected) sex, fem!reader

a/n: based on post time skip!! okay so i had to dig as much information as i could on ennoshita for obvious reasons before i went head first into any headcanons. would love to discuss about him bc i don’t see a lot of talk about him since he plays a pretty minor role!!

return to nsfw alphabet series masterlist

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

two words: sweet. heart. when you guys are done, he’ll give you a chaste kiss on the lips and tell you how well you did. will run you a warm bath, unscented, scented, rose petals whatever the hell you want. if you ask, he’ll give it to you. while you enjoy your time in the bath he’ll go get you a snack and once you’re done in the bath, he’ll help you dry off, get dressed and then you’ll snuggle under the covers together!!!!!!!!

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i think he’d love your hands the most. just doing things like holding them, kissing your knuckles, or when you play with his hair. the feeling of your fingers touching him is just so comforting to him

on him maybe his shoulders or upper body in general? being a physical therapist i can see him taking pretty good care of himself and working out consistently to make sure his muscles and joints are in good shape.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he’s into creampies and you c a n n o t change my mind whatsoever. probably stemmed from the one time where you guys were really desperate and short on time (a rare quickie moment) and you’re okay without a condom. so he gets right into it and at the time all he’s thinking about is getting the both of you to cum that he doesn’t even consider the idea of pulling out. and when he does cum in you the feeling of you being full of his seeds just turns him on to the max

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he likes filmmaking so he probably lowkey really wants to ask you if he can film you guys having sex but is kind embarrassed that you’ll be weirded out

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

hmmmm i wouldn’t say super experienced? probably had 1 or 2 serious partners before you but he learned most of what he knows now with you. definitely type of dude that knows where the clit is though, ennoshita big brain

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary where your fingers are interlocked bc he loves looking into your eyes while he fucks you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

seems like the type of guy to take sex pretty seriously in the sense that he wants the both of you to feel good. and that he believes its a pretty intimate, so all your focus should be on each other, no distractions

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

definitely well groomed. i would say something like still having full coverage, but the hairs are significantly trimmed, maintained regularly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

INTIMATE!!! WILL TELL YOU HOW MUCH HE LOVES YOU AND BEAUTIFUL HE THINKS YOU ARE INSIDE AND OUT AND HOW LUCKY HE IS TO HAVE YOU IN HIS LIFE BC YOU AER HIS LIGHT!!!!

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

after one particularly stressful day at work he just can’t seem to calm down despite his usual level-headedness. he can only think of one way to calm himself down but you’re not going to be home for another hour or two. desperate he jumps into the shower, making sure to lock the door in case there’s the slightest chance you’re back before he’s done. turning on the water, he starts to pump his shaft up and down, thinking about you while he does so. he thinks about the way your hand wraps around his cock, your tongue picking up all of his pre-cum

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

ngl probably has some sorta daddy/captain kink going on that developed from him being captain of the volleyball club in his 3rd year and having to take care of the wild kids (aka tanaka and noya). likes the feeling of having to take care of you and when you act submissive. low key (but really high key) likes the power.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

a bedroom man because he wants you to feel comfortable at all times!! maybe even okay with the couch if you guys have a nice big one that the two of you can fit on comfortably hehe

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you being straightforward!!! like tell him you wanna suck him off or that you want him to eat you out and he’d get super flustered and blushy. even though he tries, he can’t control the blood rushing to his dick so you get what you want :-)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

anything that has to do with pain (e.g. choking, spanking), doesn’t want to any sort of situation that could possibly escalate to you getting hurt, soft baby

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving!!! the boy is a giver and you can’t change my mind. he’s the type that you don’t even have to ask, once you guys start getting it on, he’s on his knees eating you out faster than you can process. will be lapping away at your juices whenever he gets the chance so that being said probably pretty experienced since he does it for you so often

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

slow and sensual, likes to take his time so that he tell you how much he loves you, how good you feel, and just appreciating you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

pretty much never. as mentioned above, sex is an act of love to him so he likes to take his time to cherish you and your body and literally just everything about you

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

okay i know i’ve written him as a pretty vanilla guy but i think he’s definitely willing to experiment he just isn’t sure how to ask you. so you most likely have to be the one to ask him to try something new

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

i think because he puts his all into the first round he wouldn’t be able to do that many rounds. maybe 1 or 2 depending how much you guys get around to BUT the first round he can go on forever. pays to be an athlete!!

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

i’m not really sure for this one??? maybe a vibrator to use on your once in awhile

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

teases you a lot when he’s going down on you. like instead of giving you what you want, he’ll kiss your thighs, or just small licks here and there instead of fuckign you with his tongue like you want

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not very loud, lots of grunting, panting, and breathy moans in your ear

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

your fingers are threaded in ennoshita’s hair while he’s going down on you, and when he hits a particularly sensitive spot you can’t help but yank on his hair in response. at first you’re worried you’ve hurt him but the two of you are shocked at the way he lets out a strained moan. he looks up from between your legs, a small smirk on his face and tells you, “do that again and i’ll keep going”

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

tbh i think he’s average in both length and girth, nothing super outta the ordinary

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

i wouldn’t say it’s super high. he’s a pretty level headed guy so i think he’d be able to control all his sexual urges. only occasionally if he’s stressed out from work will he get super needy

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

after he takes care of you, it’ll probably take him like 15-20 minutes to knock out his arms wrapped protectively around you

#haikyuu smut #ennoshita x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #ennoshita chikara #claras steamys #clara click clacks

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

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Ethan Choi x reader I Love and Lies

written by @anotheronechicagobog

A/N: Swearing, cheating, jealousy, mention of sex, pregnancy, depression

A/N 2: Requested by @raveenasblog Sorry this took so long, I haven’t been super motivated to write long works for a while.

You sighed as you collapsed back into your chair, the force causing you to wheel backwards into your desk. “Ow, fuck.” You collected yourself before someone from the team saw, they’d never let you live it down. Just in time too, as Hailey burst through your door. “Y/L/N, we need you to run some financials and internet history on a suspect, David Johnson, male, 42, DOB 20th of September 1978.”

“Got it.”

“You okay? You seem down.”

“No, but it’s kind of personal. And not my personal, someone else’s personal. Long story.”

“Oh, well I hope it works out. And if you want to get your mind off it we can go out with Kim for deep dish.”

“Thanks.”

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After Crockett Marcel joined the staff at Gaffney medical centre you not only befriended him quickly, but you had also been trusted with a secret you couldn’t keep. April Sexton cheated on Ethan Choi with Crockett Marcel. Ethan was a tad older than you and a serious navy vet, so you didn’t have a lot to bond on at first. It was when you’d run into each other at your favourite Italian restaurant after you’d both been on god-awful blind dates that your friendship started to bloom. The restaurant had been packed and there wasn’t room for both of you to have a table to yourself. Even though you didn’t know each other well, it seemed like the best question. It became a tradition for you two to meet up after blind dates or setups and decompress. It helped deal with the fact that neither of you had friends good at match-making.

When you’d caught April at that party your heart broke for one of your best friends. You didn’t know what to do. Ethan was in love with April, above all else, and he wanted to marry her. He’d asked for your and Maggie’s help with ring shopping. You knew that things were a little tense between them, but you’d always thought so highly of April, you never thought that she would do something like this. And to make things more difficult, you were under a bit of a time crunch. You had to tell him soon or he’d be upset that you’d kept it from him. And he had been deployed for two months with no contact. He was coming back in a couple of days and you weren’t sure how to break it to him. You knew that it would be best if April was the one who told him, but she’d told you outright days after it happened that Ethan didn’t need to know. But she was wrong and you knew it.

Ethan deserved to know that the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and have children with ‘accidentally’ kissed someone else. It broke your heart but you had to tell him when he got back.

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He’d been back for three days and still hadn’t seen you. Citing ‘April this’ and ‘April that’. And while you could understand one day, three was suspicious, and you knew that April was trying to keep him away from you. You were furious, how dare she cheat on him and then try to cover it up.

You’d dropped by med later that day when you texted Ethan and he actually said yes. Apparently April had to work a double so he was free from her clutches. When you arrived at the entrance in your car to pick him up it was quite clear that she was trying to stop him, visibly panicking and grabbing onto him.

“Ethan are you ready to go?”

“NO! He- He’s not going. He... Is going to work another shift. Or go home. Just... He is NOT going anywhere with you!”

“Why not, April?”

“Because... Because she... She’s in love with you!”

“What?”

“You think I’m what?”

“Yes! She told me at Crockett and Maggie’s party after you left! She said that she was going to try to come between us!”

“I did not say that. I saw April kissing the new doctor, Crockett Marcel, at the party he and Maggie threw. I tried talking to her about it, but she said that she and Marcel didn’t think you needed to know.”

“I can’t believe you Y/N.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard him Y/N.”

“I didn’t say any of that. I don’t love you, Ethan, not romantically at least, she is lying. I know that this is a she said, she said situation. We’ve been so close for so long, I wouldn’t do anything to cause you unnecessary hurt or drama. You have to know that.”

“She accepted my proposal, Y/N, and she’s been trying to warn me for days. I didn’t listen to her because we’ve been friends for so long, but you coming at her with an outright lie just proves she’s right. I can’t believe you would do this.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you. I... I am going to go home, and I think you should stay away from us Y/N.” He stepped beside April, slinging his arm around her waist and staring you down in that cold, navy, disapproving way. It physically hurt your heart and you could feel yourself gasping for breath.

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You don’t really remember driving to your apartment, but you do remember Ethan not leaving April’s side until you were in your car and driving away. Your body shuddered and convulsed as you tried to muffle your own cries. Ethan had spent weeks searching for the perfect ring, smiled dreamily at the thought of having children with her. It ripped you to pieces that April threw it all away and that Ethan didn’t believe you. After all the years you’d been friends, all the time spent together, and he didn’t trust you. He didn’t hear the wavering and panic in April’s voice, the floundering in her normally collected sentences, and the visible queues that showed she was grasping at straws.

Three heavy knocks later and Hailey was picking your door lock. You really need to give her a key. “Y/N how are you? I heard what happened.”

“Seriously? Everyone knows already? I knew that everyone would hear about some variation of what happened, but it hasn’t even been an hour!... Does everyone know?”

“Yes. I heard about it from Mouch when he dropped some lunch off for Platt.”

“Oh my god... Do you believe me?” You must have looked so pathetic, like Bambi asking for his mother. “Yes. I know how much his friendship means to you. And I know that you aren’t in love with him.”

“I’ll take the deep dish pizza now if you don’t mind.”

“Kim’s bringing it. And red velvet cake.”

“You guys are the best.”

“We know, now where did you put the tequila you got from Mexico?”

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Molly’s had become your favourite pub since you first got the job of ‘thank the heavens that Ruzek doesn’t have to do tech stuff anymore’ in intelligence. The drinks were good, the food was good, and the staff was always friendly. Since your confrontation with Ethan and April, you’d avoided going. Any time you’d seen Sylvie and Emily at spin class they shot you awkward glances and actually asked you what you thought about the weather. While they’d stumbled through an explanation that they weren’t taking sides you just wished a hole would open up underneath you. You stuck close to Kim after that. Med as a whole was a mess of hatred and anger towards you. Apparently Doris had even gathered some nurses together to refuse to treat you if you ever came in. And they were always making snappy comments to the rest of the intelligence unit whenever they had to be there, and Jay got into a fight with Ethan. You’d apologized profusely to your team but they would hear none of it, they believed you.

It had been three months and you were feeling so lonely and depressed. You’d lost over half of your friends in one day, you were isolated and exhausted. You worked long hours and had no one to decompress with, Trudy was still setting you up on terrible blind dates, and while you’d been eating there by yourself since Ethan and April started dating, being alone and feeling alone were two different things. Now you were in a rut. Just floating through existence. And you didn’t hate it. You didn’t feel anything actually, and while it didn’t scare you, it did scare your remaining friends.

You would see a therapist, but because American medical coverage is so screwed up your insurance only approves doctors from MED unless it’s an emergency and MED isn’t the closest hospital. So despite the fact that all your co-workers were on edge worrying about your mental health and how it affects the rest of your well-being, they couldn’t pressure or push you into getting help because there were some doctors and nurses who had outright said they wouldn’t help you. No matter how scared they got or how tempting jumping off a building sounded to you.

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Someone was banging at your door. At three in the morning. If this had happened four months ago you’d be grabbing your bat. Now, you were too tired to give a fuck. The knocking was staggered, in rhythm and noise level. So whoever was on the other side of that door was probably drunk out of their mind. You went a little out of your mind when you saw the man standing in front of you. The man you’d gone out of your way two avoid since his and Maggie’s party. Crockett Marcel. Red eyes, puffy cheeks, slurring nonsense and all.

“I-- M, *hic* sww. I srry. Sorry. Kigg.”

“Why don’t you come in?” You helped an incredibly inebriated Crockett Marcel to your couch. “I sy- swww-”

“Go to sleep doc, you need it.” You moved a garbage can next to the couch and put a blanket over him. One of your best ones, soft and fluffy. One tall glass of water and a couple of Tylenol were placed on the side table near his head before you went back to bed. This’ll be fun to talk about in the morning.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning arrived with the smell of drunken sweat in your living room. Your late-night visitor was on the precipice of waking up, rolling around and fidgeting, trying to get comfy. Though you suspected the hangover was hindering that. You sighed, deciding that you’d wake him up after you finished the pancakes. Sizzling butter and batter wafted into your nose as you carefully placed chocolate chips in the image of a smiley face, hoping that would at least stave off the awkwardness. Crockett kept swearing in French and moved to cover his eyes with a pillow. You laughed as you flipped the last pancakes onto one main plate. Walking over to your guest you pondered how to wake him up. Screaming in his ear? No, too cruel. Pulling away the pillow? Still too mean. Telling him you’ll eat all the pancakes if he doesn’t get up? Perfect. “Marcel, if you’re not up soon, I’m gonna eat all the pancakes I made. And you can’t get mad at me for it.” You sauntered away with a smile on your face, silently hoping that he wouldn’t wake up so you could have all those pancakes to yourself. Soft and buttery, slathered with Canadian maple syrup.

Unfortunately, that was all it took for him to get up. Groaning and moving sluggishly, he made his way to your kitchen island and sat on the other side of the corner. “Thank you. I’m sorry about last night, I just... I feel really bad.”

“About what in particular?”

“Kissing a woman who was already in a relationship, not saying anything about it to the rest of the hospital, causing you a lot of trouble, and... Falling in love with the woman who’s life I ruined.” You froze mid-chew. His troubled eyes were boring into you. “Me?” While your question was muffled by the combination of pancake, syrup, and butter it got across. “Yeah,” he chuckled and smiled softly at you before tensing, “don’t worry, I know you don’t love me. How could you after what I did? Plus you’re in love with Choi-”

“No I’m not. That’s just something April said to cover up what happened.”

“Do you really not see it or are you just denying it?”

“I’m not denying anything, Ethan is- was. Was one of my best friends. And I miss him.”

“Miss him how?”

“He has such a calming energy, like the eye in the storm. Yes, you know it’s gonna get crazy again, but you appreciate the peace it brings you. Even if it’s only for a few moments. He was always so serious, which I like cause I’m serious too. The only jokes he knows how to make are puns, everyone else hates them but I love them. Ethan... He makes me smile, my life hasn’t been the same since he left it. It’s... duller without him. My heart physically aches most times.”

The realization was sudden and terrifying.

“Oh my gods...”

“There it is.”

“I am in love with Ethan.”

“Finally.”

“I am a horrible person.”

“Wait, what? How do you figure that out?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The week following your revelation was hard. You felt terrible, despite Crockett’s assurances, you worried that you insisted on telling Ethan the truth because of your feelings. While your head knew that wasn’t true, that you were happy to see Ethan happy, your heart worried. You didn’t know what to think of yourself if you had subconsciously ruined your best friend’s relationship.

Intelligence had also caught a hard case. Cases involving kids rarely ended well and since this one involved a child trafficking ring and identifying all of the perpetrators and victims, your days had been filled with the screams and cries of abused, exploited and tortured children. You felt like your soul needed to be deep cleansed. You’d found all the children and identified two hundred and thirty-three children so far, another eighty-seven to go. Everyone, including Voight, had been much gentler around you. Normally he hated going down to your office because you’d decorated it with colour, things that make you happy, and just generally didn’t look like the office of the tech expert of Chicago’s most elite law enforcement team, but he’d been coming down to check on you and drag you upstairs for food and water. It had been a nice reminder that you weren’t completely alone, and that not all of the world was built with evil and fear.

“Y/L/N, we got ‘em. And SVU ID’d the rest of the kids. Families have been called. You should go home, get some sleep. And the meticulous notes you keep qualify as a report, so you’re done. Don’t argue. And eat a vegetable.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Yes, dad.”

“Don’t use that tone with me young lady.” A smirk briefly played on his lips. You laughed, grateful for the position he had in your life, and walked up to the bullpen with him. When you reached the top of the stairs you were greeted by chaos. And not the usual chaos. Jay looked like he wanted to punch a hole in a wall, Hailey was being held back by Adam and Kevin as she cursed and tried to claw at whatever was in front of her, Rojas and Kim were debating the pros and cons of using a police baton, Trudy was pinching her nose and looking like she was restraining herself from shooting everyone, and the SVU agents looked confused and a little afraid honestly. “What’s going on here?” Everyone parted like the red sea for their boss to reveal Ethan Choi. “You have got a lot of nerve to show up here.”

“I’m just here to talk to Y/N. To... Apologize.” You could tell by his sunken features, red eyes, and bloody knuckles that he knew. He knew that you told the truth. Pain danced around like a musical behind his eyes. No matter how empty he had left your life you never wanted him to feel the way he clearly did. However, you weren’t in any mood to deal with this. “Guys, let go of him, you’re scaring our guests. Ethan, can we talk tomorrow? It’s been a long day and I’m really tired.” You didn’t even wait for a response, just walked out from behind Voight and right past everyone, only stopping to say goodnight to Trudy on your way out.

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The next morning you woke up... Warm. It was the first time you’d felt something other than emptiness since the whole debacle began. Your apartment smelled good, like fried butter. You quirked your eyebrow, hearing sizzling coming from the direction of your kitchen. You doubted a criminal would break in just to cook breakfast and only three people had a key to your place. Hailey, Ethan, and Voight, given to them in that order. Hailey only really knew how to cook greek food, Voight never used it unless it was an emergency, and despite all that had gone between you two, Ethan never gave his copy back. Leaving your aluminum hello kitty baseball bat by your bed you make your way to the kitchen. Ethan stood in a Navy t-shirt and jeans in front of your stove. Three pans in front of him, one with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and pancakes. “Morning Ethan.” His head slowly turned to meet yours. “Good morning Y/N... Uh, it is tomorrow...”

“It is. What’s for breakfast?”

A slight smile picked up, some weight lifting off his shoulders. “My specialty. You up for it?”

“Always. Uh, Crockett told me. I’m sorry, I want you to know that I did believe you, I just-”

“‘Didn’t want to.”

“Yeah. I’m also sorry about the treatment you received from everyone, really. I told April not to involve anyone else, but she started screaming it from the rooftops the second she could. I know that there were people who didn’t want to take sides but they ended up doing so anyway. I’m sorry about that too. I’ve heard a lot, I know how isolated you became, so I know that it will be hard to forgive me. If there’s anything you want, anything I can do, please tell me. I’m sorry.”

“Did you make enough breakfast for both of us?”

“Of course.” Smiles were met with smiles as Ethan placed all of the hot food on serving plates.

“So now that you know, what’s happening with you and...”

“I broke up with April. I’ve known for a couple of weeks actually, I just... I tried to work it out with her, tried to move past it, but I couldn’t. It was too much, I was too betrayed. Not only did she cheat on me with a man who had just moved to this region of the country, she lied about it, and did everything she could to frame and torture you for what she did. I just woke up one day and I knew I was done. We’d been trying to have a baby but when I stopped focusing solely on having a baby I realized that I didn’t want that with her. She clearly doesn’t love me if she was able to do what she did, and not only would a baby not be able to fix our relationship, but it would be cruel to drag a child into that.”

“I never wanted to hurt you, Ethan, I just thought that you deserved to know, and I’m so sorry about the pain that this situation has dolled on you.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months had passed and you were re-adjusting to having all of your friends back. From most you’d received an apology and a drink at Molly’s (that had not been a fun hangover), from Sylvie and Nat you had been given homemade cookies in lieu of alcohol, but for the most part laughter and a hug was more than enough. There were few though who didn’t apologize to you and glared at you with hate-filled eyes. You had expected April to be doing that, but most of the nurses were sticking to their guns with her. It didn’t matter that Crockett had come forward, or that she’d admitted it had happened and that she’d lied about you, or that you weren’t the only person who saw that kiss as it turned out, they held you responsible for April’s reputation taking a hit and Chexton’s break up. You had a hard time caring, though. April made a mistake and no matter how much she lied or tried to hide it, it still came out. It wasn’t your fault that she cheated on Ethan, or that she had actively made everything worse.

Ethan and you had been making up for lost time, going to the zoo and aquarium, binging Grand Tour on Amazon Prime, and eating at your favourite Italian restaurant. It felt good to get back into your rhythm, having an unofficial schedule to organize your time together. Today Ethan was waiting for you to pick him up from work so that you both could go see the new baby otter at the aquarium. You had pulled up in front of Gaffney and texted him saying that you were outside and waiting. Just after you’d clicked send there was a knock on the window beside you. You jumped, whipping your head around to see April staring at you with her arms crossed and her chest heaving. Steeling yourself, you exited your car. “Hi April.”

“Really? That’s all you can say? You ruined my life and all you can say is hi?”

“April, I’m sorry for how hard everything must be for you right now, but I didn’t ruin anything. That was all you.”

“If you had just left it alone everything would be fine!”

“April-”

“NO! If you hadn’t insisted on telling him I wouldn’t have worked so hard to make everyone hate you, everything would have been fine. But you just had to go and destroy everything!” April started to cry, tears flowing down her cheeks as she hiccuped and wrapped her arms around herself. You couldn’t bring yourself to be angry, your lives were always filled with drama and pain, and sometimes you felt like you lived in a procedural soap drama, so you couldn’t blame her for holding onto her happiness for dear life. You sighed and reached for her, “come here.”

The two of you stood like that for several minutes until Ethan approached you both with his eyebrows raised. “April.”

“Ethan! You have to know that I never wanted to hurt you, never wanted you to find out!”

“... That’s terrible, April. Look, I’m done. We’re done. Please, just let go.”

“No, I can’t! I love you!”

“No, you don’t. If you loved me you wouldn’t have kissed someone else, or lied about it, or tried to silence and then blame Y/N. What we had, it wasn’t love. We loved each other once, but not in a long time.”

“Ethan-”

“Y/N and I have plans, April.” April shoved you off of her and rocketed away from you violently, sprinting to the ED as fast as she can.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were on a date. Sort of. It had been a year and a few months, close to two years, since Ethan and April split and everyone knew the truth. Hailey, Kim, and Vanessa were constantly on you about dating, setting you up onblind dates, signing you up for dating apps, and introducing you to random guys they happen to meet who are single and cute. Ethan quietly asked why you didn’t just date someone to get them to stop. Crockett (who, much to Ethan’s dismay, you’d become good friends with) laughed and offered his services as your boyfriend with a wink. He meant it as a joke. It was a joke. But now, as you were standing by his side in a gown with his arm around your waist, you wondered if he actually was joking, or if he was flirting and you just didn’t pick up on it. When the fancy schmancy business guys left Crockett turned to you with a weary smile. “Thanks, again for coming with me. Goodwin would’ve had my head if I came alone.”

“Well, hey, like you said, this’ll get the girls off my back.”

“I have to admit, I did have an ulterior motive for asking you- don’t panic, I’m not going to profess my love for you or anything. I’ve moved on from you actually. The ulterior motive was to make Choi jealous.”

“What?”

“Look, you love him, and he loves you. I can see it, and so can everyone else. However, it has become apparent that neither of you plan to do anything about it. It has also become apparent that Ethan does not like it when I... do anything that involves you being near me honestly. Least of all that we’re actually friends. He gets jealous, very easily. I was hoping that you being my date for the evening would make him do something about it. Plus, you’re gorgeous and intelligent, the perfect companion for another dull gala.”

“Crockett, he doesn’t-”

“He does. Even April sees it.”

“Crockett-”

“Ah! Dr. Marcel, there you are. I have been looking for you, I want to discuss the hybrid OR project you’re working on with Dr. Rhodes.”

“Of course. This is my date for the evening, Y/N Y/L/N, she is a senior investigative digital analyst with the Chicago Police department.”

“A pleasure.”

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All in all, you’d had fun at the gala. The booze was free, so was the delicious food, and while you didn’t like dressing to the nines all the time, it was fun to do for one night. The gala had been held at one of the fancier, older, expensive hotels on the waterfront so you and Crockett snapped some amazing pictures. Ethan didn’t do a lot on social media, it just wasn’t his thing, but he texted you seconds from when the first photo was posted to tell you that you looked stunning. You were a bit disappointed, hoping that Crockett had been telling the truth when he said that Ethan loves you. You sighed and shook your head before exiting your office to grab a snack from the breakroom. You didn’t have a case so it had just been a paperwork day, Hailey held up her mug for you to grab as you walked past her desk to the breakroom. You grabbed a bag of chips for yourself and had just finished Hailey’s coffee when your phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hey girl, look I’d love to chat but this is a business call.”

“Oh?”

“Ethan and Crockett got into a screaming match outside of the ED, Ethan got so angry and went to storm off but he turned around and ran into a concrete pillar.”

“Oh my god.”

“He’s fine, got a few scrapes, but he seems really out of it, we don’t think he should be driving. You’re his emergency contact, can you come get him?”

“Yeah, I’ll just let Voight know, I’ll be there soon.”

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Maggie met your eyes and pointed to a room that had the curtains closed. You darted in, finding an annoyed looking Ethan lying on the bed with his arms crossed. There were a couple of light scrapes but no other visible injuries. You’d gotten him back to your apartment easily enough but he was completely silent. “Hey-”

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Do you love Crockett?”

“No! He’s a great friend but he’s not my type.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Where is all this coming from? And why did you get into an argument with Crockett?”

“I, I have been going out of my mind since I found out that you were going with Crockett to that fundraising gala. I can’t lose you! And especially not to him.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Ethan. Goodwin told him he had to bring a date and he knew that the girls were breathing down my neck. It wasn’t a big deal, okay? Ethan why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I love you. So much.” You didn’t respond with words, just latched your lips onto his. The rest of the night was filled with nudity, moans, groans, ecstacy, and whispers of love and promise.

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Two months later you were being dragged into the ED by a worried Ethan. Before started dating him you’d been friends with him long enough to know that just going along with whatever he needs to feel better is the best option.

“Nat, something’s wrong with Y/N.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s been throwing up at all times of day for the past week, can’t hold down food, and she fainted this morning.”

“Alright, let’s get you in a room. Maggie?”

“Treatment four.”

Once you were in bed and had blood drawn you took Ethan’s hand. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“Worrying about you is my job as your boyfriend.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I have news. Good news.”

You and Ethan looked at each other as you clasped your hands together and sat up straighter. “You’re pregnant. Eight weeks along by the looks of it. Congrats guys, you’re going to be parents.”

Ethan sprung up and started kissing you all over your face. You had never been this happy in your life. Suddenly he stopped. “Are you okay with this? Being pregnant? I don’t want you to feel pressured-” You grabbed his collar and pulled his face to yours. Kissing him deeply, and lovingly. “Ethan, I am so happy. I have always wanted to be a mother, and now I have the chance. With the man I love. This is the best day of my life.”

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

“Yes, but I’d be overjoyed to hear it again. And again, for the rest of our lives.

#One Chicago #chicago med #Chicago PD #ethan choi #ethan choi x reader #ethan choi x april sexton #hailey upton #kim burgess #vanessa rojas #connor rhodes #Natalie Manning #maggie lockwood #sharon goodwin #crockett marcel

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cutebutstillsingle · 4 years

Photo

Boof. A hard one to admit for SO many people. This was/is totally me. This is likely so many people I know who remain single or divorced into their 30s and beyond.

Even though you operate in an adult’s body, you can be hella old, and still operating with the heart of the childhood you or the heart of twenty- something you, who still was relationally immature. If you are watching your fertile window come and go while remaining single, ladies, you may be relationally immature. If you’re still in your 30s, gents, and are not yet in that mainframe of desiring to settle down, you are probably relationally immature.

If you are struggling to sustain romantic relationships, I would even go so far as to say that your perpetual singledom is like a firetruck siren of a signal from your heart that you have some therapeutic work that may need to do.

Relational immaturity specifically addresses the “relationships” slice of your overall maturity birthday cake. You might be doing just fine living in your own dwelling. You might be killing’ it at your job. You might know how to boil some water and do your taxes. Maybe you have traveled the world. But that doesn’t mean you have mastered relational maturity. If there are other aspects of your life that you can reflect upon as “not yet in an ideal state”, those other incomplete areas of your life may be linked to your relational maturity.

It is worth mentioning that relationships must be mature across multiple relationship arenas: with your own body, mind and heart. With God if you are spiritual, with your family, with your friends, and with your professional colleagues at school or work. These relationships all fall under “relational maturity”.

And then of course, your romantic relationships will be impacted by your relational maturity even more so, because these tend to be the most emotionally intimate and vulnerable. Unlike your family or your job, your romantic interest or partner is under zero obligations and is not incentivized by any business perks to stay with you. All of your relationships will be somewhat interconnected, believe it or not. You can’t show up as an outstanding business partner at work if you are trashing yourself by not eating well, not sleeping enough, and if your brain is pumping with negative self-talk. If you’re having drama with a friend you may not be as clearheaded at work or in your romantic partnership. If you have struggles or drama in your family, you may not show up in your romantic relationship as your best self. Etc. So it’s all kind of comprehensive.

For me (takes a deep breath because this is about to be very vulnerable), I noticed myself struggling in professional settings, essentially struggling over and over to get along peacefully with anyone who failed to meet my mind’s expectations of that role, and they disappointed me in any way. Even if my expectations were 100% reasonable, because perhaps anyone hired in that role should probably be able to do X, Y, or Z in order to even be considered for hire, if that person disappointed me in any way and failed to do X, Y, or Z, it put us on the fast track to our relationship either dissolving or hitting a major bump in the road.

I observed myself in over a five year long pattern of job hopping and struggles with professional relationships. I would say yes to a job, then discover that certain key players at the job majorly sucked to work with, all my favorite colleagues would quit, or that some seriously shady secrets would come to light about how that company operated.

Then I would begin the hunt for a new job for the following year in the same industry, hoping that maybe, somewhere out there, not all companies in this industry sucked. Five plus years later, I think it’s safe to say that yes, maybe they all actually DO suck in that particular industry. Because they were all shady after at least three tries to find a good job. Once, and it could be a one off. Twice, and you start to wonder, and it may not be a coincidence. Three times, and it is no longer a coincidence-- it is a pattern. And yet, I was the one failing to pivot and adjust my approach to finding job satisfaction.

There are some definite parallels to romantic satisfaction here, so read on if you have time...

I would wonder things like, “Why do I keep choosing these professional positions where the people constantly display shadiness or appalling levels of incompetence? Why don’t any of the best professionals at the job stay hired, but all the crappier employees stay hired for like, decades? Should I also keep it moving? [the answer was “yes”! But I was too naive to realize it].

Why wasn’t I able to learn after the first, or maybe the first two disappointments, and adjust course out of this entire field if they all seem to display these relational patterns I don’t thrive under?”. There were some colleagues and bosses that I had amazing professional rapport with amidst all of this, but the (pardon my french) f*ckery of the people in key decision-making roles usually drove all the best employees out the door.

I also wondered, “ Why were certain people able to tolerate or even thrive in what I considered and knew in my heart to be toxic work cultures, while I was deeply troubled by them? Why did my job dick me around so ruthlessly, but if I looked at other colleagues, the job would never dare to do the same shady things to them?”.

Sometimes I observed that the very same boss was like a gracious, generous angel to specific colleagues, and then full on illegally shafting me or others, in the very next breath. Why was this the case? Further more, the most puzzling question of all: Why was I able to have phenomenal professional relationships with some of my colleagues, that lasted long after we both left the job and which I am able to maintain to this very day? But with other colleagues who couldn't meet my standards professionally, or who were outright shady, unethical and unscrupulous to me, the connection for even a basic “we don’t even have to be friends whatsoever outside of this building, but let’s get this work done on a respectable and amicable level” was impossible.

It took a lot of therapy to figure this all out. Yes, the issues were likely rooted in my dysfunctional childhood. Yes, the issues were probably exacerbated by a couple of highly unusual and definitely relationship-related traumas that I faced in my early adulthood. And yes, the issues were not helped by these blind spots I had about how to have relational discernment and tactical knowledge for how to approach these types of relational situations. In a nutshell, relational immaturity manifested in my professional life. Because other people would fully have no problems navigating these situations. But I did. And I see the exact same patterns and struggles romantically.

I hope that I have since developed an awareness around my issues; and that I now know enough to avoid or overcome these situations next time I’m in a promising romantic relationship, and in my professional relationships moving forward.

If you sense that you might benefit from therapy, I strongly encourage you to seek it out. Just the ability to admit to yourself “I might need help from a trained professional to figure out the root of these emotional struggles” is you, becoming more mature as an adult. Because it takes courage and insight to realize when we need more help than we are able to find on our own.

If you think you can’t afford therapy, it would surprise you to discover that there are ways to make it affordable. For example, many college campuses give the students free personal counseling by default. So take advantage of that in your twenties or during grad school. Christian churches and other organizations offer personal counseling with bona fide therapists-in-training, who just need to get their hours completed under the supervision of a licensed therapist before they can officially get licensed themselves, and fly solo. There is therapy online. Your basic medical health coverage may cover therapy, unbeknownst to you. Even free governement-issued health coverage may still include personal counseling.

If the thought of talking to a therapist absolutely horrifies you, because it is too “mental” and you can’t even handle the thought that you have “mind problems”, I would encourage you to reframe what “therapy” can be. The words “therapy”, and “mental health” completely turn me off. I don’t even want to begin to suggest that I possess, or to have anyone else label me as having “mental issues” when I know myself; and I know my mind is perfectly intact. I’m just struggling in certain areas of my own personal success.

Rather than defining this type of help as “mental health”, or even “therapy” that isn’t physical therapy, I would encourage you to choose to reframe it as “emotional intelligence training” and “self development”, under the umbrella of “personal counseling”. I am WAY more comfortable with the title of “personal counseling” than I am with the labels of “therapy” and “mental health”. Just because you are seeking personal counseling for issues that are not related to your physical body, and you may need a little more help for problems that may be rooted in your past or in your emotional wellbeing, it does not mean you have a mental health problem.

I severely wish all personal counseling services everywhere would step into 2020 and re-label themselves under a much-needed umbrella of “social-emotional wellness services”. This would totally strip the taboo for people to seek out these highly beneficial services; and encourage all wellbeing practitioners to practice under this umbrella. Things like yoga, meditation, mental illness, personal counseling, couples counseling, family counseling, postpartum depression and anxiety, PTSD, and substance abuse-- all of this kind of stuff should be considered "social-emotional wellness services”, because they are all social-emotional issues. They are matters of the heart, mind, emotions, and relationship.

If you’re like “yeah f*ck reframing-- I am not down with therapy at all, sorry”, there are a lot of beneficial podcasts on relationships that can begin to help you tap into your emotional core in private, and maybe help you get some insight on any past relationship traumas or relationship patterns. There are amazing life coaches with free youtube videos that can help people.

Some of my absolute favorites are:

- “Stephan Speaks”

- heart of dating podcast (christian)

- Mark Manson

- Zen Habits

- Amy Chan / Renew Breakup Bootcamp

- Matthew Hussey (I would recommend more of his recent stuff, and less of his gamey, ‘how to get the guy’ manipulative kinda stuff).

I have another resource that is absolutely phenomenal; but not everyone is ready for that level of truth. And it does come from a christian man. If you’re intrigued by that, willing to be vulnerable, willing to hear harder truths, and especially if you consider yourself a Christian man or woman, send me a direct message on tumblr and I’ll send you the name of one of the most transformative relationship coaches I have ever found.

#relationships #relationship advice #breakups #healing #personal counseling #Do I need therapy?#Date Better #learn #grow #heal #know thyself #emotional intelligence #social intelligence #relationship tips #maturity #immaturity

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rotationalsymmetry · 4 years

Text

I learned something new today.

On a previous “oh shit I need therapy” cycle, I took it as given that insurance wouldn’t cover it. I’m pretty sure that was right? And now it seems...almost normal for insurance to cover therapy. As in, when I was with Kaiser they wouldn’t do primarily individual therapy, just group therapy with a once a month one on one therapy session, and at the time I was not willing to do that. But I was still kind of surprised that they covered therapy at all.

But my husband is insisting I don’t need a referral or anything, as long as the therapist takes our insurance, the insurance will cover it. So I’m like...that’s strange.

So I did what any reasonable person would do in this age. I turned to the internet.

I thought it might be an Affordable Care Act thing.

Not exactly. Apparently in the US in 2008 there was a federal law passed called the “mental health parity law” that requires mental health and substance abuse treatment to get comparable funding to physical health issues. And...when I was looking around that previous time would have been soon after the 2008 law, so it may well not have been in effect yet.

The federal parity law requires insurance companies to treat mental and behavioral health and substance use disorder coverage equal to (or better than) medical/surgical coverage. That means that insurers must treat financial requirements equally. For example, an insurance company can’t charge a $40 copay for office visits to a mental health professional such as a psychologist if it only charges a $20 copay for most medical/surgical office visits.

The parity law also covers non-financial treatment limits. For instance, limits on the number of mental health visits allowed in a year were once common. The law has essentially eliminated such annual limits. However, it does not prohibit the insurance company from implementing limits related to “medical necessity.”

Yeah, that would do it. (Although...I swear I ran into yearly limits on therapy sessions after 2008. Confused. Maybe it’s the minimum employee thing, so my grad school insurance plan wasn’t covered by the act?)

Insurance through exchanges created by the ACA fall under the law, so it’s somewhat connected. Medicaid (but not Medicare) falls under the law, which explains why I was able to get my therapy covered when I was on California Medicaid. (Another reason why “Medicare for all”, as opposed to “Medicaid for all” or some other universal health care model, may not actually be what we want.)

Basically: if you don’t have to pay over $100 per therapy session or go to a low income clinic to get affordable-ish therapy, in the US, that’s probably why.

#personal #therapy #political #mental health #us politics #mental illness #mental health parity act #swearing

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hispeculiartreasure · 5 years

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Don’t Wanna Fall - S.R.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Genre: Angst angst angst angst angst

Setting: Immediately after Infinity War, preceding Endgame.

AN: I am . . . so deeply sorry for this. I’ve been in a melancholy funk for a few days and listening to my Johnnyswim playlist on a loop hasn’t helped. This was inspired by their song “Wicked Game”. Borrowed lyrics appear in italics/ If you haven’t heard it before, go listen to it first. It really sets the mood. This just wouldn’t stay in my heart so I’m making you all suffer with me.

In a split second, the world had imploded. Every single person’s life changed at the snap of a finger. No one would ever be the same.

After the day where everyone lost everything, you threw yourself into your work. You saw a need and had a desperation to be occupied at every second of the day.

People needed to grieve and grief had never been seen on this high of a global scale. Your nonprofit - what was left of it - began coordinating therapy worldwide. You hunted down therapists and counselors that were still living, trained willing volunteers. Support groups, individual sessions, you made it all happen. You fought tooth and nail to make it happen.

Everyone who walked in and out of your doors looked hollow, yet determined. Determined to find something meaningful in the aftermath. Then again, each person had lost someone. Including your staff, including yourself. Your whole operation depended on broken people helping broken people.

The world was on fire, no one could save me but you.

People around you tried to beckon you back out, mentioned you hadn’t been yourself. You laughed in their faces. Who could be themselves after this? You couldn’t help but think that person had died along with the other half of the world. What was the point? It was easier to love no one, to remain independent, to keep everyone at arm's length. That way you could at least pretend the remaining pieces of you could live on.

But then there was Steve.

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you.

He was good - straight down to his bones, he was good. He was kind. He was clever. He was haunted. For all his strength, he was gentle. For all he had in his mind, he was thoughtful. Still waters ran miles deep and it was too tempting not to explore the open seas.

The last session of the week is the one where you allow yourself to move from employee to participant. You knew you needed it, you begrudgingly sat through it. Your heart was no less shattered than anyone else’s here.

That’s where you met him. He was barely recognizable with his shaggy hair and beard that disguised his features. Without fail, he was always early. The previous session hadn’t quite ended, so he loitered by the door, watching, observing. He watches as you finish your duties, as you take your staff lanyard off and subtly transition into group member.

He finds himself sitting by you every Saturday evening. Both of you were among the quieter ones in the group. Mainly listening. Finding solace in not being the only one overcome by the grief.

Weeks pass. During a break you stand near each other in companionable silence, sipping on the instant coffee you’d prepared hours ago.

“Who did you lose?” he asks, soft enough to make you question if you’d heard it in the first place.

You take another drag of the bitter drink. “Everyone,” you whisper, void of emotion. “You?” From the corner of your eye you can see him still staring straight ahead.

“Enough.” You share a nod of sympathy as the leader beckons the group to take their seats again.

He lingers as the group disperses, thinking he was watching you covertly. He wasn’t.

You take down signs, Steve offers to help you stack chairs. You gather your folders into your briefcase before shutting off the lights. You never question Steve’s hovering. In a strange way you understood why he was still here. You’re glad he was still here.

“Wanna grab a drink?” He nods in relief, following you down the street to an old haunt.

Sitting at the bar together, there is very little discussion. Both of you were tired of talking about the feelings and thoughts that consumed you. For some reason, your souls recognized a kinship in each other. You felt seen by him, a feeling later he confirmed was reciprocated.

His hand covers yours on the surface of the bar, gently squeezing.

I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you.

Somehow you end up on the front porch of your home, Steve by your side.

Eyes flicker to his, finding that searching look reflected. You lean close, resting your forehead to his shoulder. This isn’t healthy, you think. Steady arms encircle you, a nose nuzzles the top of your head. This is wrong. His lips are inches from yours, waiting for you to close the gap. This will only lead to hurt.

This one would only break you.

You didn’t care. You needed to feel something. Anything. He did too. That much you knew.

It’s strange what desire makes foolish people do.

The pair of you stumble through your living room, mouths insistent, needy on each other. Leaping into Steve’s embrace, he takes you into the hall. Past framed photos, past a more vibrant you in a white dress, a man in a tuxedo gazing down at you adoringly. Past faces you know you’ll never see again. Past a you that had happiness. He angles toward what he assumes is the master suite, resting your back against the closed door for a moment to kiss down your jaw, peppering your throat with affection.

He twists the doorknob, drawing you back to the moment. “No,” you breathe. He freezes, leaning back to assess your meaning. Had he been wrong? Was this not what you wanted? “Down the hall.” Fervor is back in your veins, reviving in his. Shuffling toward the guest room where you’d taken up residence, Steve carries you.

He carries you away from the door, from the memories. Away from the room you hadn’t touched since that horrible day. Away from the place you’d woken up, confused by the dirt in your bed, calling for your husband. Away from the spot where you’d turned the TV on, watched the news coverage. Away from the room where you’d screamed in agony at the empty spot next to you. Away from where your husband’s ashes still mixed in with the sheets. Away from the tomb of the life that was. Away from a life that was gone.

All that matters is the man that was making you feel anything other than numb.

Morning has almost arrived when you find yourself watching Steve as he slept. Your head is propped on his shoulder, hand firmly resting over his chest. You needed the assurance of his beating heart to keep panic at bay.

Soon self-conscious - but not embarrassed - eyes rove your face. “Breakfast?” he suggests.

You weren’t here to fall in love. Neither of you were under that allusion.

But someone to shoulder this unbearable burden? Sure.

What you found together in the next weeks, months, years wasn’t quite happiness. But it was as close as you could get in the world you now lived in.

You meld into each other’s lives. You are present for each other. You are salves on the others’ heart. You find a new kind of normal. You finally face the master bedroom, you clean out old memories. You find a confidence bolstered by a man you hadn’t expected. You work hard to get better. Steve holds you as you cry. You hold him as he cries. He opens up, he bears his soul. Together you talk fondly of the ones you lost. You get to know the only people the other has left. He gets angry. He seeks you out to bring him back down to earth. You hate yourself for the hope he brings, the peace that floods your body when he’s near.

A dark, rainy night he appears on your doorstep unannounced; clean-shaven, more put-together than you’d ever seen him. Something was wrong.

“We need to talk,” his voice is deep, toneless.

The hope is throttled by dread.

You nod, allowing him to pass by you. You stand toe-to-toe behind the closed door.

He’s different. For the first time since you’ve known him, he stands tall, straight. There’s a purpose to his step, a reason glittering behind his determined gaze. Even though his jaw is set, you can sense his agitation.

“What is it, Steve?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.

“I’m sorry I’ve let this go on so long. We’ve reached a place where you have feelings that I just. . . don’t have. I can’t keep letting us do this when you’re going to end up hurt.”

Later you look back and wonder why you weren’t stunned. Why you didn’t rail against him, call him every name in the book, truly tear him down like you wanted. But you were calm, collected, even-keeled.

You can tell he’s lying.

You’ve come to know him too well not to tell. The twitch of an eyebrow, the shuffling of the feet. The barely-there eye-contact.

“Care to share where this is coming from?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’ve known for a long time. It was nice to have someone around, but I never let myself fall. I can get by on my own. And it’s not fair to you.” He reaches to scratch at scruff that isn’t there, instead moving his hand to rub his neck. “I’m sorry,” it quietly floats to you. Much like the first thing he’d ever said to you, you were only half sure he had said it.

Who did you lose?

Everyone. You?

Enough.

For some reason, he feels a need to say these things; to say that he never shared feelings you had fought for so long. You knew better. You’d felt the love in his eyes, felt it in his hands, felt it in his words.

What a wicked thing to say you never felt this way.

Your confusion dissipates when you finally pinpoint the energy he’s carrying with him.

Fear. Anxiety. Dread. Terror.

Something is about to happen, something is about to change.

As much as he’s saying he doesn’t need you. . . you know that right now the opposite is true.

“Alright,” you say much more steadily than you feel. “Do what you need to do.” You step closer, one hand reaching to rest on the back of his neck, the other tapping aimlessly over his heart. “Whatever it takes,” you murmur.

Steve knows that you know he’s lying.

He hates himself for gathering you up. He hates himself for breathing in your sweet scent. He hates himself for the blow he’s just landed. And he hates himself for staying when he told himself he would leave.

But he can’t leave, he can’t do what he’s about to do without saying goodbye to someone that has come to mean the world to him. Someone who was there for the end of his world.

He mutters your name like a prayer all night, etching you into his memory. Determined to carry you with him no matter where the next step takes him. Every possible moment you feel for his heartbeat. You memorize the pattern so it can play in your mind when you roll over to find the bed empty once again.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you.

You walk him to the door the next morning, feel his lips on yours one last time.

“Good luck,” you whisper against his mouth.

Those blue eyes flicker, forgetting the charade he’d started when he’d walked into your home yesterday. He wants you to hate him. Wants you to be furious, he wants to be the someone you can channel your anger toward. You only watch him, nothing but understanding on your face. “Thank you. I’m. . . I’m so sorry.” That was the only true thing he’d said since you last stood in this spot.

Nobody loves no one.

“I’m sorry too, Steve.” You squeeze his hand tightly before you swing the front door open.

Finally, tears trickle down your cheeks as you watch him walk away. Somehow you know you’ll never see him again.

You know him in his bones.

Whatever he’s set on doing, it’ll get done - no matter the cost.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #Don't Wanna Fall #beka writes

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csolarstormhealthjournal · 5 years

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This is a pretty thorough vent, and could be too scary for people already dealing with the coronavirus. There is no major news about me in this post, so you can avoid it if you’re not interested in venting. Take care.

This is screwing me up. Pour a little bit of global crisis into this basket-case, why don’t you. Riiight after I incur 800 bucks by screwing up financial aid again and having a meltdown about there being no way to get around the fact that going to graduate school was a bad idea altogether, because getting a job will endanger my family’s financial wellbeing and could kill me by separating me from my doctor.

This was after the prior crisis where I was sorting through my fears of getting another kidney infection and subjecting my mom to more cries of hip pain that are exacerbated by sickness. And the arguments I’d been having with both of my parents about me being selfish and not considering their needs. Sometimes it feels like people want me to let them help me, but then bristle when I actually let them.

I had a talk with my mom yesterday where I asked her for help researching MediCal and whether you can keep it if you have a job, and she kind of rambled. She said she’d already researched it, and just gave me a bunch of disconnected information/guesses mixed with a thousand ways to say “I can’t help you and I feel inadequate, please forgive me”. And that comes back to the fact that inevitably it becomes about other people’s needs. I ended up giving her a hug. I told the therapist about this about a week ago before this happened. It’s just difficult to think of everybody’s emotional wellbeing and feel like nobody can really support my own. When I reach out and sincerely say how I need help, people treat me like a pariah. Sometimes my parents end up acting dismissive or even end up scolding me. My therapist is paid to do it, less than once a month.

It’s so weird that my mom refuses to just say she’s worried about the idea of me losing my kidney stone doctor. It’s so hard to even get her to say she understands why I’d be worried about it. She’ll say “everyone has problems like that”. She’ll say “well the world is screwed up, what can you do”. It feels like she’d rather say “well everyone dies someday” than express support or solidarity with my fear of losing my doctor. She seems so beyond it. She will go to my surgery for the same doctor, take care of me, mail in the papers so I can keep my insurance for another year, but when it comes to expressing any concern for the future or motivation associated with these actions, it’s not happening.

It’s hard to tell how much that all matters now. I hope it still does; I think people have concluded that society will sustain some long-term changes from the Coronavirus crisis, but I’m not sure. I don’t know how benefits programs will be affected when a huge portion of the nation needs government assistance of some kind. It also can’t help that apparently Trump is using the crisis to give more power to medical companies.

I’ve been spending two long days listening to coronavirus coverage, starting with CalPoly rapidly responding to watching everything else get canceled while people hoard supplies. It hasn’t done good things for me. I’m going to try to get myself back on the routine I was on before Wednesday. I was doing pretty good for a while, dealing with my meltdown over the financial aid mistake by keeping a good sleeping schedule, tending to homework in the morning and then watching a fun drama or anime before bed each night. Hopefully I can get back to that; today it does feel like people are adjusting a little bit.

What I was originally going to say though was that it’s especially hard to read what is happening in Italy. My heart goes out to Italy and any of my followers who are experiencing what is happening there. Their hospitals are jammed up with a huge population that is all sick at once. They’re having to graduate nurses and doctors early to provide enough professionals to treat everyone. Apparently they responded to the Coronavirus too late, and I’ve heard that the US is in the same boat. It’s believable; the president has blood on his hands after trying to cover this up, and even now he’s using the response to it to enrich the private sector. He can never just help the citizens he serves. Maybe tests will be more widely available, but that won’t help if everyone already has it. In a week or two we might be in the same boat as Italy.

So, just about the time of my surgery. Now it comes back to my fear of getting another kidney infection. Only this time, I’m afraid the hospital just won’t be there for me at this point. I suspect we might have more hospitals per person than Italy, but I don’t know. I read that they’re having to invoke wartime triage; they’re turning away people who have a lesser chance of surviving. I don’t have to say what I'm worried about. In a medical sensitive time for me, I’m seeing the literal manifestation of my suspicion about how society really feels about handicapped people. I can only feel terrible for handicapped people in Italy. The news breezes right past you in conversation to make others feel better: “It’s okay, if you don’t have any underlying medical condition, it’ll probably be like a regular flu.” People rant and make jokes about baby boomers succumbing to the virus. Yet us chronically ill and handicapped are right there, in the open, plainly there in the conversation, and yet we’re just not. Nobody stops on this group; it’s older people that are visible, really.

So let’s be visible to each other.

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love-can-be-as-cold-as-grave · 5 years

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Chapter 29 - Into the Night, You and I Torn and Broken

[Los Angeles]

Liv watched as her therapists eyes lingered upon her black suitcase, black coat draped overtop, next to her feet. She shuffled uncomfortably from where she sat across the ebony skinned woman.

The therapist, wearing a grey pantsuit, placed her hands over the small notepad she had been writing in during the start of the session, switching her eyes back to Liv as she sensed her restlessness. "Do you have another work trip?"

Liv crossed her legs. She was dressed in travel attire, black leggings, an oversized black nirvana t-shirt, a light wash jean jacket, black Dr. Martens, and her hair in two braids that spilled over her shoulders and down her chest. She had told herself a few years back when she had returned to therapy that she would never miss a session, and although she had her flight to Helsinki in three hours, here she was, diligently attending the session. It was her first since the news of the gig however, and although she’d come to be very open with her therapist, the subject still made her uncomfortable. She uncrossed her legs. “I do yes, in Finland.”

The therapist adjusted her cat-eye glasses, making a note, the soft sound of pencil on paper filling the otherwise quiet office. “Finland?” The womans calm eyes looked up at Liv questioningly. “Is this the first time you are returning to Finland since your last encounter with the singer?”

Liv looked down at her hands, trying not to bite down on her lower lip. “It is. I uh, I’m actually going there to work with him, and the rest of his band.”

The sounds of writing echoed again as the therapist continued her note-taking. “How are you feeling about returning there, and re-connecting with him?”

Liv let out a small sigh, looking up into the dark browns of her therapists eyes. “It’s strange, I don’t feel this worrying dread I felt the last time I was there, nor am I scared to talk to him. I even called him first. It’s almost like, like I’m relieved.”

The therapist tucked a curl out of her eyes, raising an inquisitive brow. “Relieved?”

Liv shuffled in her seat, the leather couch squeaking beneath her. “Yeah. It’s like, I’m happy that there can be this normalcy, and that,” She paused, trying to find the right words to describe exactly how she’d been feeling since the phone call with Ville, “it’s like I’m happy that we’ve moved on enough that we can talk like, like, well maybe not old friends, but at least like colleagues, that we can hold a normal conversation.”

The therapist nodded her head slightly before leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “Liv, it is very mature and thoughtful of you to feel that way. Not many people achieve that level of personal growth enough to ever accept talking or seeing their ex, especially a first love. I’d like to ask though, what exactly is it about being able to reconnect as friends that makes you feel relieved? Have you been feeling anxious?”

Liv shook her head, interlacing her fingers on her lap. “No, I don’t think so. It’s more, it’s like that time in my life had its ups and downs, but it was really important for me, and through the years I’ve had to alienate those thoughts and memories because of what happened between Vi, the singer and myself, and now that I feel like we’re in good places, I guess I was relieved because now I can mentally return to that time, I can feel this wholeness again. Does that make sense?”

The therapist leaned back, “It does Liv, and the fact that you can recognize that, like I’ve noted, shows serious personal growth. I must say, I am really impressed with the level of personal reflection you have been discussing in our past few sessions.” Liv gave a small smile, she knew they both were aware how long it had taken her to get to that point. The therapist glanced at the thin silver watch on her wrist. “I know we only have a few more minutes, and as I can see, you need to be heading to the airport, but I’d like to ask, in the past you’ve described Finland and the singer as triggers for you, how do you plan on handling these triggers during the course of your time there?”

Shit, Liv thought, biting down on the soft skin of her lower lip, I hadn’t really thought of that. “Uhh, well, as we’ve talked about in the past I am quick to get emotional, so I guess if I am triggered I will take a few minutes to collect myself and my thoughts to make sure what I’m thinking and feeling is in fact rational?” She gave a small nervous chuckle and shrugged.

*****

[March 4th, 2017, Rovaniemi, Finland]

“You look absolutely ridiculous in that thing” Sirii chuckled as she tried to keep up with Liv as she pushed their airport trolley rapidly along towards the exit of the Rovaniemi airport where they had just touched down. The trolley was loaded up with their personal suitcases along with all of Liv’s photography equipment.

Liv rolled her eyes, “It’s the dead of winter here, I refuse to become a Liv popsicle!” Her small frame looked comically twice its size in the large black parka she had purchased in preparation for the weather in Lapland. She’d been warned by Seppo that she should come prepared, and that any shots of the band outside had to be done thoughtfully, lest they freeze in the outfits that had been picked out for them.

Sirii laughed, “You Americans, I guess your winters aren’t as bad?” Sirii herself wore her usually puffy black jacket, a large grey knitted scarf around her neck, pixie haircut poking out in all directions. Slung over her shoulder was a small black backpack.

“Yeah..no.” She said curtly, her mind too focused on racing to the exit of the building where their ride to the cabin awaited. Their flight had been delayed by half an hour due to turbulence, and with terrible cell phone service in the area they had been unable to warn their whoever was picking them up that they would be late. Sirii was struggling to keep up with the speedy pace.

Finally they spotted the exit and raced out. Outside the sky was light grey with cloud coverage, the kind of clouds heavy with snow. Around the front of the airport were the slushy and dirty remains of heavy snowfall but in the distance Liv could see the deep layers of pristine white covering nearby trees. Clutching the trolley she stood on her tippy toes, black Dr. Martens protecting her feet from the slush, and searched around for the beat up red van she had been told would be picking them up.

Her eyes caught the movement of a waving hand. Attached to that hand was a familiar frame. “Mige!” She yelled, unable to help herself. Leaving the trolley and Sirii Liv raced across the salted walkway towards him. He waited for her, arms outstretched. He wore a green parka and black pants, beard as wild as ever, head covered beneath an orange beanie. She practically knocked him over as she ran into his arms, enveloping him in a bear hug.

His chest rumbled, and belly shook as he let out a deep chortle. “Aww zombie fucker, I missed you!”

Liv pulled back, playful punching him in the gut, “I am never going to live that down am I!” She put her hands on her hips with mock annoyance, cheeks flushed from the cold.

Mige shrugged, cheeks swelling with a smile, “Nope!”

Liv rolled her eyes, “Great!” She noticed puffs of condensation escaping her mouth as she spoke, man it really is freezing out here. She felt the sting on her bare hands and quickly tucked them into her pockets. With her elbow she gave Mige a nudge, “How the heck have you been?”

He stepped to the back of the van as Sirii approached with the overloaded trolley and opened up the doors. “Oh you know, same old. A little excited to start working on some side projects I’ve got lined up once our tour is done. Excited to work with you again!” He began grabbing items off the trolley and carefully tucking them in to the back of the van.

Liv smiled, throwing an arm around Sirii, “I am too. Speaking of work, this is Sirii my wonderful assistant and partner.”

Mige put the last of the items in to the back and shut the van doors with a loud thud and stretched out his hand for Mige to shake. “Wonderful to meet you, you can call me Mige.”

Sirii tried containing her smile as she gave Mige a quick and firm shake, a little too speechless to respond.

Mige rolled back the side door of the van ceremoniously. "Your carriage awaits ladies."

Liv bowed, smirking, "Why thank you kind sir." She beckoned Sirii to go in first then quickly shuffled in behind her, praying the van had heating.

Inside was the musky smell of a well used vehicle, the heat making a low and welcoming hum. In the driver's seat sat a man that looked to be in his thirties, his long curly hair spilling over his shoulders, mingling with the full beard masking half his face. He smiled at Liv and Sirii through the rearview mirror.

Mige slammed the door shut and buckled his seatbelt before turning to look back at the girls as the van pulled off the curb. "Ladies, this is Kosmo our wonderful drummer and driver and baker. Kosmo, this is the lovely Liv and her assistant Sirii."

"Hei" He stuck out one hand in a quick wave before focusing on the road ahead, merging on to a small highway.

Mige leaned back, getting comfortable for the long drive, Liv followed his lead, unzipping her parka and stretching out her legs. She stole a glance at Sirii who began digging in her purse for something. "I didn't know you two would be the ones picking us up."

Mige scratched his beard, "oh yeah, Kosmo has family up here. Actually the cabin Seppo found belongs to his family, so he's familiar with the uh terrain."

"From the pictures Seppo sent it looks really beautiful. This is going to a fun shoot, fun but cold." She cracked a smile as she rubbed her hands together, trying to get rid of the tingle in her fingertips from the sudden change from cold to hot.

"I brought up some whiskey and kaakao, what you Americans call hot chocolate." Kosmo smiled as he carefully steered the wheel through the thick slush on the road.

They'd now turned on to a quieter winding road, no buildings in sight, just the road ahead and lush forest closing in from both sides. Liv gazed out of the fogged up car window in the little spot she had wiped condensation away. The scenery along the road was like a scene right out of a christmas card, the beautiful evergreens standing tall against the pale skies, snow enveloping each tree in white sprinkles, as if it had been painted on. She again beamed to herself with excitement at the prospect of such beautiful scenery as her backdrop for the shoot.

The rest of the car ride was spent in comfortable silence and it wasn't long before the van came to a stop.

Liv rubbed the window with her sleeve and beamed as she looked out. They'd parked in a small driveway in front of the most idealistic cabin Liv had ever seen. It was one of those cabins you could imagine seeing on TV, built of logs, two stories, small stairs leading up to a little covered patio. A little door but large windows peering back from behind the blanket of snow covering the entire scene. On either side, like guard towers were two large evergreens, practically ready to be strung up with lights and ornaments in their wintery glory.

The two men were quick to hop out of the van, their boots crunching on the fresh, untrodden snow. Liv pulled back the door and slid out, pulling the hood of her parka over her head, completely awestruck by the scenery. Don’t see this in California, she smiled to herself before hurrying to the back of the van to help unload luggage and gear, her mind barely able to focus on the task at hand.

After a few phone calls with Seppo and a creative director with Metal Hammer her idea of a shoot in Lapland was greenlit, but the shoot and short interview had been turned into a feature length article focusing in depth on how the band felt about the break-up and subsequent final tour. She was also to focus on their down times and relationships with one another, their moments of peace and comradery, all done over the course of two days and one night. It would be the longest and most in depth interview and article they would ever participate in and although Liv was nervous at the idea of properly putting into words the life of her extraordinary friends, she was glad to be the one to tell their story.

"The rest of the guys are out grabbing supplies from town." Mige said as he unlocked the front door, carrying a few bundles of Livs photography equipment.

Everyone followed in behind them, each welcoming the comfortable warmth of the cabin. Inside was an assault of color, greens, blues, and reds on the curtains, throws, and furniture, eased by the warm mahogany of wooden accenting everywhere else. I could live out the rest of my days here, Liv thought as she rolled her suitcase past the large fireplace and towards the stairs where Mige said she would be sharing a room with Sirii.

Luggage was unloaded and photography equipment stowed away. Kosmo began preparing for some large feast in the kitchen, Siiri helping him delightfully as she chatted away, filling the silence of his shyness.

Liv and Mige had sat down at the dining room table, a large window looking out towards the forested backyard of the cabin, the glow of snow illuminating their tame game of chess. A small voice recorder sat on the table next to them, a small green light glowing from the side.

“I’ll miss the cramped tour buses hearing every little thing in the dead of night,” Mige let out a low rumble of laughter as he moved his pawn. “There’s something about being in a well known band though, fans expect the same sound and the same songs at every show.” He shrugged, a small sadness in his eyes. “And we’re old. Gas couldn’t handle things like he used to.”

Liv looked from Mige to the chessboard, “Do things feel different without him?” She made a threatening move on the board.

Mige scratched his beard, “Of course. We’re all like brothers at this point. Kosmo is great, we’ve known him for a while, but it’s not the same.” He rested his chin in his hand, pondering his next move, “Anyways, we’re old fucks, we want a change.” He smiled suddenly, and just like that Liv’s queen had fallen. “Check mate!” He smiled triumphantly.

She gave a sarcastic bow before her gaze trailed off out the window.

She focused back on Mige, “What’s your fondest memory over these twenty odd years of recording and touring?” She began re-setting the board, eyes occasionally darting back out the window.

Mige smiled to himself, eyes looking off, aglaze with memories. “Touring for Love Metal was an experience I’ll never forget. It was like, like the college days of being a band. We got up to so much shit, we drank so much shit, met so many people. And that was when we were really close with Bam. He actually asked about you when I bumped into him in Hells a few months ago. I told him about the breakup and he actually asked if you were gonna do any press for it. Then that got me thinking, and the rest is history!”

Liv’s mouth popped open with surprise. Bam set this up? Bam suggested I do this? She shook her head, closing her mouth, braids tossling side to side. “What?” That man is like, he’s like a twisted fairy god jackass.

Mige scratched the back of his head smirking, "Yeah Bam seems to just do that. I'm glad though," he reached out across the chessboard and lay his hand overtop of Livs, "I'm really happy you agreed to come, it means a lot to all of us. Anyways," he retreated his hand, "enough of that. Go, get out of here, go outside. You’ve been staring out that damn thing this whole time like a sex addict in a porn shop. You have plenty of time to interview me later, go out, enjoy the freezing woods!” Mige got up and tossed Liv her black parka which she’d draped over the back of the couch.

She caught it smirking, I do need to scout some spots for tomorrow. “You sure?”

Mige rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah yeah, someone needs to make sure Kosmo and Sirii are actually getting stuff done in there and not just flirting.” He shot Liv a wink before disappearing in to the kitchen.

As soon as he was out of sight Liv quickly stood up and slipped on her coat, running over to her martens and digging in her carry on bag for her gloves. There was a back door near the dining room that led out to the serene scenery behind the cabin. As soon as Liv stepped out she could feel the cold as if it had penetrated right in to her bones, right okay so make sure the guys are well dressed. She shut the door behind her, gripping the railing of the back stairs and walking out into the thick snow. The snow was entirely undisturbed, glistening in the grey glow of day. A few towering trees peppered the backyard before condensing in to thicker woods. Her feet began leading her forward. The should be standing in a more secluded area, like a meadow, with the trees surrounding them, or a clearing. Around her was a peaceful quiet, only birds periodically chirping in excited melodies, and the crunch crunch crunch of her footsteps carving a path in the thick snow. She approached a drooping branch, heavy with snow and gave it a flick, watching as the snow slumped off on the ground in a heavy heap. She meandered onward, looking around as the trees began getting closer and closer until she saw it, a break in the woods and beyond it a small clearing.

“People have gotten lost and frozen out in these would you know.”

His deep, raspy voice sparked tingles of recognition that radiated throughout her body like a lightning strike in the sky. All at once it felt like he was saying everything he'd ever said to her, from You better not, to, bye, and every time he'd said her name in between. She let out a foggy breath. The last time I heard that voice I’d broken his heart, she closed her eyes briefly remember the agonizing voicemail he had left her. She’d listened to it many times that same year before finally deleting it on new years eve, determined to start her year afresh.

She didn’t shake. Her heart didn’t race. She didn’t brace herself for an onslaught of emotion. His voice didn’t rattle her to the core. She simply turned around, a hesitant smile on her lips.

Like his voice ignited the flame of recognition, so did setting eyes in him, after so long. An uncomfortable smile in the hospital, a sweat grin on stage, the confused and amazed eyes in that polaroid of him sitting on the tour bus steps. But also anger, words spitting out at her with poison.

He stood about three yards away, looking entirely comfortable in the snow. He looked exactly as he always did, a black hoodie under a black sports coat, hands tucked into the pockets, black jeans, black Dr. Martens, a black scarf wrapped around his neck, and a black beanie covering his long curls. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, a small layer of hair on his chin and upper lip. He had a timid smile on his lips.

She pointed lightheartedly at the trail of her footprints in the snow, “I’ve got my own theseus type marker.”

Ville took a couple of steps forward. “Am I supposed to be the minotaur or the princess in this scenario?”

She tried gauging his reaction, trying to find something in his countenance that gave away what she really saw there, the expression of someone happy to see a friend. She gave a small shrug, “Depends, do you have cloven hooves I can’t see?”

A low chuckle range out of his lips, his smile catching in his eyes. He beckoned for her to follow him as he started to turn around, “Come, the rest of the guys are excited to see you.”

She strode forward, catching up with him and matching his slow pace. This is weird, she thought, remembering Marcus words. Weird but nice. Still a little uncomfortable being in his presence she made sure to keep some sort of distance as she walked next to him. “Did they send you out to fetch me?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, it was too intimate, so she looked down at the snow.

He interlaced his fingers behind his back, eyes mimicking hers as they fixated on the powdery snow beneath. "Knowing you'd make us be out here tomorrow, none of them wished to brave the cold now."

They reached the door and he held it open for her, standing far enough away so that when she stepped forward in to the warm confounds of the cabin, there was no chance she'd brush past him.

"Liv!" Linde had his elbow resting on Burtons shoulder as they stood behind the couch, glasses of whiskey in hand, chatting with Mige and Sirii.

Liv flashed a bright smile and dropped the hood off her head. "You guys don't look a day over 100!"

They both rolled their eyes and gave her warm half hugs.

Burton fiddled with his goatee, smirking. "You've come for our funeral then eh?"

Putting away her parka in a small closet Liv turned back to her old friends, heart swelling with happiness that she was trying to contain. "I suppose I am." She glanced over as a streak of motion caught her eye, Ville jokingly made the sign of the cross.

Kosmo peeked his head out of the kitchen, hair tied up in a bun, a large kitchen knife clutched in one hand, a plane green apron full of stains wrapped around him. "You can talk later, first we feast!"

***

His eyes briefly left the chessboard to rest on Liv. She sat, cross legged, back to the crackling fire, voice recorder resting in her outstretched hand as she chatted softly with Linde who sat in the loveseat nearest to her. On the couch sat Kosmo and Sirii, looking through the photographs Liv had taken during dinner. Burton read a book from the other loveseat, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. Across from Ville sat Mige, still pondering his next move.

It was strange, seeing her there, amongst his friends and colleagues in such a homey and domestic setting. It was strange because it was as if she’d always been there. It was as if time hadn’t passed, as if this scene could have happened four years ago. But in a way, it still felt very different.

Leading up to the day, helping the guys peruse the aisles of the grocery store, he'd wondered exactly how he'd react when he saw her. A phone call is one thing. Imagining how you'd react is one thing. But being there, in their physical presence, having your body inches from the body you'd held, caressed, comforted, pleasured, is a whole other story. The reaction is physical, instinctual, and no pre-thinking can change what will really happen once you see them again.

He’d spotted her in the trees, looking around with wonder, otherworldly, just as she’d always been. She was the same in that respect, ethereal and lively; a forest nymph, But as she’d turned around he spotted the difference. It was in her eyes, the slightest difference there. Something he hadn’t immediately been able to put his finger on, until he finally realized, the tragedy, it was gone. The pain he’d once seen in those beautiful eyes no longer shone through like a knife among diamonds. He’d thought he was crazy, to see something like this, something others would never spot, but it was there nonetheless. To him she would always be that tragically beautiful young woman carried away on a gurney that fate compelled him to speak with, however that person no longer existed, and that realization had shaken him. He’d kept a calm and collected contenance, but within he couldn’t help but be surprised. She was the same Liv, but then again, she wasn’t.

This is what he now pondered, stealing glances at her from across the room with curiosity, what changed?

Suddenly Mige’s booming voice broke through Ville’s reverie. “So Liv, is Sirii your work partner or your partner partner? Did you finally turn the tide?”

Liv gaped from her position on the floor, snickers coming from Burton, Linde raising a questioning brow, Kosmo and Sirii sharing a similar expression of embarrassment. Ville watched everyone's reactions with amusement.

“Well?” Linde laughed, sitting up straighter in his seat.

Liv threw up her hands with exasperation, “My work partner obviously! You guys!” She rolled her eyes.

Ville snickered to himself, remembering a night long ago of drinking games.

“She’s dating a model, why would she date me!” Sirii joked, getting up off the couch to hand Liv back her camera.

Oh.

Well of course she is.

He moved a piece on the board then shifted in his chair to face the room. “How did you two meet?” Is that inappropriate? A past love asking about a new one? It’s not wrong to show interest in her life though, we’re friends, right?

Liv switched the recorder off, shuffling uncomfortably where she sat, a small blush creeping across her cheeks. "We met at a photoshoot for a clothing line. It's not really the type of work I'm used to but it was a favor for a friend."

Models are on one or the other side of the spectrum. Either crazy or mellow. I wonder which her fellow is.

"Well you tell him to treat you right or else your big brothers will need to have a word with him." Mige growled jokingly before he quickly took Villes queen and stood up. "I think I'm going to get some beauty sleep. Kosmo, thank you for the wonderful reindeer stew."

Kosmo nodded as he too got up, waving goodnight to everyone. With the couch free Burton began preparing his bed. Linde quietly slipped out of the room for bed as Sirii took Livs hand and helped her up off the ground. The two women mumbled their goodnights.

He watched her go up the stairs, wondering when exactly she would be interviewing him, whether he was last on purpose.

"Luulen, että minun pitäisi päästä ulos makuuhuoneestasi? (I suppose I should get out of your bedroom?)" He said to Burton as he stood, the wooden chair creaking as he did so.

Burton smirked as he finished sliding a pillowcase over two couch pillows. "Ellet halua liittyä minuun (Unless you'd like to join me)"

Ville rolled his eyes and began to ascend the stairs, yelling out behind him, "En ole niin epätoivoinen lämmin sänkyyn! (I'm not that desperate for a warm bed!)"

From upstairs rang the muffled yell of Mige from his bedroom, "Älä ole huolissani, että olen täällä! (Don't worry, I'm here for that!)

***

He opened one eye, staring out the crack in his bedroom door and down the hall where the incessant snoring was coming from. He pulled the covers over his head, grumbling to himself before suddenly throwing them off. I should be used to this by now, he mused as he began putting on layers of clothing over his nightwear.

He pulled the door open with a creek and crept over to Mige and Kosmos room, unsure who's snoring was louder, and gently shut the door, hoping to spare the rest of the cabin his suffering. He tiptoed downstairs, trying not to wake Burton, and grabbed his coat, shuffling in the pockets for his Marlboros and a lighter as he made for the back patio. The only sound his soft breathing and the dying crackles of the fire in the hearth.

The freezing night assaulted him instantly as he slipped outside, quickly closing the door behind him.

"Can't sleep either?"

He jumped, scared half to death by her voice. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to slow his heart from the scare, before trying to see her in the dark.

She sat curled up, knees tucked up to her chest, on an outdoor couch, large blanket drowning her frame but for her face, a dim orange glow indicating a cigarette sticking from between her lips. "Sorry," she whispered with an amused voice.

He looked at the empty space beside her, unsure whether it was a good idea to be so close to her, what's there to be scared of, he thought, fingers fiddling with the lighter in his hands. He took a seat next to her, quickly lighting a cigarette to warm himself. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

He realized he'd been uncomfortably leaning forward, so he sat back, trying to ease himself as he felt his fingers begin to numb.

[Music Recommendation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vxrf4ZzzrA8 ]

Liv inhaled deeply, the sizzle of her cigarette making a low glow. "In LA there are too many lights. There's no darkness anymore in the world, except here."

He shook his head to himself, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips, she never ceases to surprise me. He stole a glance her way and their eyes locked for a brief moment in the glow of the shining moon as the clouds began to break. They looked away.

The silence rang heavy in the midnight air before Liv finally spoke. "Look I, I feel like I should apologize for the way I acted the last time we saw each other. It wasn’t fair to you. I should have expressed how I was feeling." She paused, looking out at the snow, taking a drag of her cigarette. "I uh, I realize now I did that a lot when we were together, keep my thoughts my own. I projected my insecurities a lot on to you during a time in my life when there was too much turmoil."

He sat, surprised, marlboro almost falling from his lips. He wanted to protest, to tell her there was no need for any of this now, but hearing it, really hearing it coming from her lips he realized he'd wanted this, this discussion, it was necessary, and it would be untruthful to say he hadn't thought of the exact words he'd express if he saw her again. It was the final stake in to the coffin of their love, and now it could be buried. "Thank you for saying that." He searched the words, wanting to say what he needed to. "Liv, I, I use to think about this, after you left, after the nebulous of anger dissipated. I thought hard, and more objectively than I had ever done before reflecting on past relationships, and yes you were insecure, and yes we were terrible at communicating with one another, but the truth dar.. Liv is that I was controlling. I wasn't myself, I was selfish, I tried telling you what to do, how to live your life, I tried telling you what you wanted. I thought perhaps I knew better I suppose, but I was wrong, terribly terribly wrong. We were toxic, and I do not blame you for leaving." He paused, focusing hard on the trees in the distance. "I shouldn't have asked you to stay." His words trailed off in a whisper, an incredible relief blooming within him at being able to say it, finally say it.

She fiddled with the end of her braid, thoughts behind her eyes. "You know, it took me a long time and therapy to realize that, everything you've said, and to even come to terms with it all." She let out a heavy sigh. Her words stung him. They hit the glued together shards of his heart because not only did she know exactly how he felt, tormented musings by candlelight in his personal studio, fingers growing rougher as they strummed his acoustic, the rhythm of his tears helping him grow. But he also hurt because he could only imagine what it had taken her. It was selfish, it was inappropriate, but he wanted to reach out and hold her, hold her as a twin heart that knows her sorrow. But he stopped himself, putting his cigarette out and lighting another, listening eagerly as Liv continued. "I'm grateful though."

"Every love lost teaches us something…" He whispered, watching the moonlight twinkling upon the snow, the words terribly inadequate but all he could manage in the moment, his mind drowning in memory.

Liv shook her head, shuffling her body so that her back leaned against the armrest, body facing Ville. "I don't think that's just it though. It teaches us about ourselves, at least, that's what I learned. You've loved and lost more than me, you'd know more." The smoke billowed around her as she exhaled. Her eyes panned over him quickly before unwrapping herself and throwing half the blanket over him, keeping her distance still.

He welcomed it, the warmth, the chill of night had begun to creep in to his bones. "It does, you're right. That's the takeaway, that's the last remnants of that dying star of love. Eventually their name doesn't pass through your mind. Eventually the happy memories stop plaguing you. Eventually you stop wondering how they are. And then suddenly you stop dreaming about them, and it's as if the only thing that remains of that relationship is what you've learned, taken away, and as you've said, what you've also learned about yourself."

Liv nodded silently beside him, fingers tucked mostly in to her sleeves, holding the cigarette to her lips.

Suddenly a flicker of light illuminated the sky in undulating streaks of greens, pinks, and yellows.

"Revontulet" Ville whispered with awe.

Liv stood, letting the blanket slip off of her shoulders so she could get a better view. She clutched at the railing of the small porch, her back to Ville as she stared upwards with wonder. A silence filled the air as they both sat, mesmerized by the natural phenomena, both minds digesting their conversation, the first open and honest one they'd ever had.

Liv turned around, she was shivering. "I should try and sleep." Ville watched as she grabbed hold of the doorknob but paused, twisting her body to face him. "Would you do it all over again?"

Would I? Would I torture myself and her like that again? Would I be accomplice to her and mine own breakdowns again? "That is a difficult question to answer." She has no idea, no idea at all how difficult. "I, I'm not sure. What I do know Liv is that moving on from what we had took everything from me. It was the most difficult thing I've ever had to go through, and although I did not spiral into drugs as I had in the past, I spiraled nonetheless. But I wouldn't be the man I am without it, without what we had, and without you." He flashed her a weak smile, hoping she would appreciate his vulnerable honesty, all of it. He shrugged, his heart feeling lighter and lighter as the northern lights danced across his features. "I like who I am now, and I like who you are now too. We're better for it."

She nodded, smiling to herself and gently pulled the door open, her frame disappearing behind the door before suddenly reappearing, glints of green bouncing off of her eyes. "Ville?"

"Hmm?"

"I like you too."

#chapter 29 #ville valo #ville valo fan fic #HIM

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a-room-of-my-own · 5 years

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This is an edited transcript of a talk given by Dagny on May 9, 2019, at the Croatian Cultural Centre in Vancouver, B.C. The audio from the full event, #GIDYVR: Gender Identity and Kids, can be found on YouTube.

My name is Dagny, I’m a detransitioner. I’m here to demonstrate what can happen when we allow a teenager to make major medical decisions that will affect her body for the rest of her life. I’m also here as one-fourth of the Pique Resilience Project, a coalition of four detransitioned young women — Jesse, Helena, Chiara, and myself. We all identified as transmen in our mid to late teens, and by 19 or 20 we had all desisted, detransitioned, and returned to being women. Three of us took testosterone for at least nine months, and I actually started testosterone six months before I turned 18, after my therapist diagnosed me with gender dysphoria at 16. The Pique Resilience Project was founded in January after we all came together to share our stories, our similarities, and our differences. We discussed what we could do to share our stories with everyone — with the people that need to hear them.

As we’re all aware, this is an extremely heated debate, and I’m going to say some things that a lot of people are going to disagree with. But ultimately, everything I’m going to say comes from my own personal experience and from what I believe as a result of that experience — an experience that too many people are unwilling to take seriously. We, the Pique Resilience Project, have been called liars, attention-seekers, right-wingers, and bigots.

We’ve unfortunately been profiled numerous times on far-right Christian journals, and not once, to date, on mainstream, leftist news media, which I find interesting, given the amount of coverage trans issues have received these last five years. I think that this indicates a fear of straying from the path — a fear of saying something, even if true, that goes against the grain.

We’ve been absolutely inundated with one narrative, one option, one story, since this issue hit the mainstream. We’ve been given only one option, at the risk of unspeakable, devastating consequences: if a teen says she has gender dysphoria and wants to be a boy, then she should — must — be allowed to transition. That’s the story we’ve been sold, and it’s the only story we’ve been sold. And detransitioners are an inconvenient contradiction to this story.

We’ve been given only one option, at the risk of unspeakable, devastating consequences: if a teen says she has gender dysphoria and wants to be a boy, then she should — must — be allowed to transition.

I’d like to discuss my experience being a trans teen. I did have early instances of what would now be called gender dysphoria in my childhood. At 11 or 12 I felt incredibly humiliated by the fact that my breasts were growing, and that I would have to start wearing bras. My period was a source of angst and hatred from the moment I first started menstruating. I’d heard that these things were supposed to be exciting for young girls, but they just made me angry and afraid. I thought there was something wrong with me for feeling that way. And maybe most predictive, I had a Yahoo answers account, and when I was in grade seven, I made a post with a title that was something like, “I’m a 12-year-old girl but I want to be a boy.” I remember that the answers were mostly dismissive, but there were a few that instructed me, a 12-year-old, to look into transsexual surgeries. But I didn’t like any of the answers; I wanted there to be a boy-button — something I could click that would just make me male. My family wasn’t religious at all, but I remember being that age and lying in my bed at night, and telling God in my head that I would start going to church if I woke up a boy.

My dysphoria exploded when I turned 15. This was when I started to actually identify as trans. Like so many other trans teenagers, I first started courting my own trans identity because of of two factors in my life: One, I had trans friends — two of them, both older than me, both female-to-male (FTM), like me, and two, I had a sharp increase in my social media use. I was never very active on social media before I turned 15, but within months of creating an account on tumblr and following several LGBTQ resource blogs, I had decided that I was non-binary.

Within months of creating an account on tumblr and following several LGBTQ resource blogs, I had decided that I was non-binary.

This identity felt like a game to me. It was a fun distraction — a quirk that made me special and interesting, if not to others, then at least to myself. But then that wasn’t enough, and I wondered, “Should I take this further? How far can I take it?” Then I graduated to fully identifying as a transman and I threw myself headlong into the traditional process of being trans: new name, new pronouns, new clothes, new binder. I started to get very, very serious about starting hormones. And it stopped being a game.

The first place I tried on this new identity — a transman — was online. And I just want to say that I think that it’s incredibly important for everyone — parents, yes, but also teenagers and therapists and lawmakers — to understand what kind of impact social media can have on a developing mind. I, in essence, became a different person after I started using tumblr. It’s an unhealthy, upsetting, and toxic environment to even observe, let alone participate in, as a teenager. Unfortunately it’s also way too broad of a topic for me to fully cover right now, so I’d recommend reading Helena’s exposé on tumblr’s culture. Part one is available to read on our website, and there are two more parts to come. It is vital reading if we’re going to begin to understand how so many teenagers feel and how they regard the world after using social media.

My online experience, having been affected by that level of group think, that level of moral policing, and the constant implicit threats of social exposure and ostracization made me an intensely internal and anxious person. It made me paranoid about the motives of people around me — I saw my parents as bigots because tumblr told me to; because they held out for so long to prevent me from starting hormones. Anyone that slipped up and misgendered me was, according to tumblr, an enemy.

One incident — one “she” — had the ability to make me absolutely hate someone. Tumblr’s version of morality and justice made me — an impressionable, insecure teenager — feel like my only safe place was in my head, where I would never be misgendered. I didn’t feel safe online either, but I couldn’t allow myself to critique my online peers. Even though I had learned all these unhealthy beliefs and behaviors from them, they had also taught me that they held the moral high ground. So I adopted and parroted tumblr’s ideals, and my identity was unconditionally validated.

One of these unhealthy beliefs I held was the belief that if you have gender dysphoria, you must transition. And anyone that appeared to stand in my way was a transphobe — an alt-right bigot. If I, myself, questioned my actions, I was suffering from internalized transphobia. No matter how much genuine concern others may have had for me — by now, a miserable 16-year-old — they were committing an unforgivable act if they just asked me, “Why”? Why do I want to be a boy? Why do I want to change my body?”

My answer was invariably, “Because I have gender dysphoria and I have to.”

Anyone that appeared to stand in my way was a transphobe — an alt-right bigot. If I, myself, questioned my actions, I was suffering from internalized transphobia.

And that’s the context we’re living in now, the only one that we know. Until now, with so many detransitioners coming out, the only narrative we’ve really heard has been the same, over and over and over: I had gender dysphoria, and so I transitioned. I had gender dysphoria, and so I transitioned. That’s the context we’ve been living in for about five years now. But we have to move past that. It’s been three years since I detransitioned, and I still have gender dysphoria. It’s rare for me to make it through a single day without thinking, at least once, “I wish I was a man.”

But it’s so minimal compared to what I felt at 16. And now, I have no intention of transitioning. It was ultimately a mistake for me to transition in the first place. I thought, at the time, that I had no other choice. Living and being content without medically transitioning didn’t feel like an option for me, or for so many other detransitioners.

It’s time to change that. It’s time that we become aware of how much pain and negativity this narrative is causing. The fact that I thought I had only one option was an incredible source of misery, desperation, terror, and obsession for me. I was already an unhappy teenager; I didn’t need the added pressure of a life choice I felt had to be made and carried out immediately. And this — my experience — was back in 2013. A long time before now, when we’re transitioning eight-year-olds in California, and giving eight-year-olds mastectomies. I can only imagine the pressure that kids feel now… That parents feel… It’s time we stop telling kids that every single one of them that experiences gender dysphoria as a 15-year-old will still be experiencing that same level of gender dysphoria at 21. At 20, or 19. That’s what I was told — by activists, and peers, and medical professionals. When I went to my endocrinologist for the first time, my dad asked him, “If my child goes off testosterone, what changes will be permanent?” And the endo essentially cut him off and said, “Oh. No one ever goes off testosterone.”

It’s time we stop telling kids that every single one of them that experiences gender dysphoria as a 15-year-old will still be experiencing that same level of gender dysphoria at 21

There’s this belief that telling teenagers that their dysphoria may pass is wrong — ethically and factually — and I just want to know why? What’s so wrong with telling a teenager, “One day you will feel better.” There’s nothing wrong with that. I think that if the activism that pushed for teenagers’ ability to medically transition truly cared about kids affected by gender dysphoria, they would allow for a discussion that doesn’t manipulate teenagers — that didn’t make impressionable, insecure, unhappy kids feel like they have to transition now, or else.

So we need to change the narrative. That’s my intent. And that’s a larger intent of the Pique Resilience Project: to diversify the narrative. We only have one mainstream story, and we need more. And slowly, we’re getting more. The detransition narrative is growing. It’s getting bigger — more people are hearing detransitioners’ stories every day. And, by extension, we’re starting to see the first glimpses of a third narrative. The PRP has received at least two messages from parents telling us that after watching videos about detransitioning, their teenagers decided that they have Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria and that they would not transition. They realized that pursuing different options was a better solution for them and their experience.

One fix is not going to solve everyone’s individual problems. Medically transitioning is not going to help every teenager feel better. In my view, the proclivity to provide teenagers with hormone replacement therapy and instant affirmation ignores the larger problems. Why did I want to change my body? Why did I hate being a girl? Why was being a man so much more favourable?

Ultimately, the opportunity to transition made my teenage dysphoria worse. This narrative told me that my hatred for my female body was justified — positive, even. It told me that the only way to feel better was to destroy my body — my female parts.

My role models were all older transmen who had, like me, been lonely, angry, weird girls. Hearing and identifying with their stories taught me only that holistic self-acceptance was a sham and that real authenticity could only come from synthetic hormones and surgeries. There was no room for me to love myself if my identity depended on self-hatred.

We need to start treating teenagers with patience and compassion and maturity. We need to stop telling them that their suffering will last until they buy a new body. More than anything, we need to stop telling them that they have only one choice, and only one chance.

#gender critical #feminism #detransition #transition #transgender #gender dysphoria #teenagers #Ftm

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austinpanda · 6 years

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Yesterday, The Long Version

The day started out well, because it was Junk Food Day, and we had a plan I was looking forward to (mid-week pepperoni wangs). I get to work, and the boss lady (whom I love) came by to chat with me about an upcoming observation scheduled for next Wednesday. Observations are when someone sits with me and watches/listens to me taking phone calls, to see how it’s done. It’s not unusual for the company to sit someone with me when an observation becomes necessary. The reason it’s interesting this time, is that the person coming to observe me is the third highest-ranking officer in the company. So this is one of those occasions where it’s wise to have my manager come over and (a) make sure I’ll be there, (b) make sure I know who he is, and (c) make sure I’m together with their plan. I will, I do, and I am.

So I’m at work, and my boss is sitting right in front of me, and I need to log in. I start to log in, and fuck it up, because it’s complicated, and my boss is watching me. I try again, and about halfway through, my pocket starts vibrating. I log in successfully, pull out my phone, tell my manager, “This can’t be good; it’s the husband.” And I answer the phone. It’s my husband!

He’s obviously terrified. He tells me he had an accident, and he panicked and left the scene. My boss can tell it’s an emergency just from my end of the conversation and tiptoes a short distance away. My advice to the husband is, roughly, “Enhance your calm. The scary part is over. Call the police. Tell them what happened. It’ll be fine. And don’t sweat it honey, this is what your husband does for a living! We’ll deal with the shit.” His car is fucked up. He may be at fault.

What happened in the accident was this: He pulled to the exit of our apartment complex parking lot on William Cannon. He looked left, didn’t see anyone coming, pulled out, got straightened out in his lane, when a vehicle behind him and to his left hit his little Hyundai Accent on the left front. This means one of two things: the police will think Zach failed to yield the right of way exiting the parking lot, and got hit by the other vehicle, OR that Zach pulled onto William Cannon and then got nailed by someone coming into Zach’s lane. I have no idea which is more accurate, so I don’t know how the police or the insurance folks are going to make that determination, but that’s what happened. I just assume he’ll be cited for failing to yield.

After the impact, Zach was sitting there and the other driver walked up and tapped on the window. This moment here was almost certainly the beginning of the worst part for Zach. He tried to get his insurance out to give to the other driver, but he couldn’t because he kept slapping himself. He left with parts dragging, and with his front bumper and license plate still there at the scene, and came home to yell at and hit himself more.

I don’t mean to get too dark here, but...can you imagine being trapped in a room, and you can’t get free, and someone’s hitting your spouse in the next room over? It makes you willing to do anything to stop it, but you can’t, so it robs you of your sanity instead. The only good thing about it is that it ends.

By the time Zach and I are done speaking on the phone, he is calmer. His voice is back down into its normal register. He says he’s okay and will call the police. We end our call. I let my head fall to my desk with a small but audible boom, three or four times, and I hear from my manager in the background, “So...is everything okay?” And I tell her what she’s already deduced, husband in accident, panicked, left scene, thinks they might arrest him, isn’t it lucky his spouse works for the claims department of an auto insurance company. I don’t remember what she said in reply, but it amounted to, “Yeah, go.”

I went home and looked at the front of Zach’s car on my way into the apartment. I’ll include a photo here.

I think the car did what it was supposed to do to protect my husband. All the pretty curved plastic shit on the front end just took one for the team and gave up its life, so all the energy from the impact simply left the car, born away by the bumper instead of being transmitted to the driver, causing injuries. I could be wrong about some of the physics, but generally, the more the car gets fucked up, the better you feel after the accident. I’m starting to have a fondness for Hyundais.

So I’m now home with Zach. He’s been kicked in the emotional fork pretty hard, and is trying to make peace with a brain that’s telling him to panic, that he fucked up, that he’s stupid, that he handled it wrong, that he’s going to have to have SO MANY conversations with people in authority who will give him shit about it. So I begin to formulate the new plan for unfucking our situation.

By now, Zach had called 9-1-1, only to be told that he needed to call 3-1-1, which he did, and he reported the accident. He’d been given a case number and a phone number, but little information about the next step, and specifically NO information whether one police officer, or several, might be popping by to handcuff him and take him away to jail. Fortunately, plans like this pretty much write themselves:

Call the phone number provided by the 3-1-1 person and ask, in the humblest and most Texan way possible, complete with ma’ams and sirs, if someone could let us know whether there’s anything we should be doing, or maybe tell us what will happen next.

Get on the computer and file the claim with State Farm. Insurance company won’t care how little info we have; they’ll just want to set up the claim and assign it to an adjuster to get started working on it.

Address the husband’s need for a repair shop, and a tow to that shop, as his car is now strictly decorative cause it’s dragging shit on the ground.

Make sure I know whether a rental car is coming our way while Zach’s car is being fixed.

Calm down. Get under the covers. Order some wangs. If there are drugs about, abuse them.

I call the phone number provided by 3-1-1 and tell the nice lady my husband was in an accident, and might you please be able to tell me if there’s anything we should be doing now, ma’am? It takes a few different searches to find our accident, which she eventually tracked down with husband’s license plate number. She begins to ask me questions to fill in some missing info. What’s the car’s year, make and model? What’s the color, and license plate? Why did he flee?

Why DID he flee? Here’s why he fled, as best as we can figure out. We think he’s somewhere on the autism spectrum. We haven’t the resources to find out for certain, but it explains a lot of shit. Possibly Asperger’s. Reading the symptoms are like reading a description of Zach: He’s quite intelligent, but his social abilities are fucked up. He tends to avoid eye contact and speak in monotone. He hates, hates, hates change. He has a high IQ and superior rote memory. He has depression and anxiety. And the last time he had a regular therapist, that therapist said he thought Zach might have Asperger’s.

Therefore, he fled because he couldn’t handle the overload. Just like I did, when I had a similar accident in my mid-20s, he thought life as he knew it had just ended, only since his car was drivable (mine had not been) he went to ground. He ran home and called me. He fled because he panicked. He fled because he couldn’t stop hitting himself. Poor dude’s circuitry just exploded. I told the lady, “He’s...not very experienced with this type of situation, he’s autistic, he panicked and just went home and called the police.”

The lady I spoke with finished filling in the information she needed, and I even got a soft chuckle or two out of her while I obtained it. “Husband’s phone number? I regret I haven’t committed it to memory...um, honey?” (Husband reads phone number, woman chuckles.) She even made a little sympathetic sound when I explain why he left the scene. She was super nice. She summed up the next steps, which were not what I expected. Since Zach left the scene, the other driver is designated the victim.

Send a letter to the victim, have him get an estimate for the repairs, and mail it back.

That info will be given to a detective who investigates.

They don’t issue a warrant unless you flee the scene, AND they can’t reach you. If you’re in contact with the police, they will not, as a matter of course, send someone out to put you in the pokey.

Zach felt a lot better about things after I made that call. Any time you’re in a scary situation with a lot of unknowns, it helps you feel better by getting answers on those unknowns. Now he could relax a bit, cease panicking, and spend the afternoon quietly condemning himself for being worthless and stupid and whatever else.

The rest of the day is kind of a blur. I reported the claim on State Farm’s website, and that also addressed our short-term needs, namely, the choice of repair shop, the beginnings of the towing arrangements, and the beginning of the rental car arrangements. We ended up driving into downtown Austin yesterday--which is the opposite of what husband felt like doing--because we had to pick up the rental car. I checked, and I have coverage for $50 per day of rental car. That’s kind of a lot! Most people have coverage for $30 per day. We went to Hertz. Naturally, its parking lot is punishingly small and cramped. We spoke with a nice lady with long, pointed, avocado-colored fingernails who got us through the process. When it came time for her to give me the keys to the rental, she said, “We have a Chevy Traverse. That sound okay?” I have about as much respect for Chevrolets as I do for chlamydia, so I wasn’t thrilled, but what the hell. It’s a loaner.

Then this guy behind her, who was Asian, and had eyebrows exactly like Zachary Quinto’s, said, “Oh, you have a choice. We also have a Toyota 4-Runner. You can have the Traverse or the 4-Runner.” To which I replied, “Um...4-Runner! 4-Runner! 4-Runner!!!” And since the lady said that we would face a deoderizing fee of $300 if they found any evidence of smoking in the 4-Runner, I gave my cigarettes to Zach and said, “Remove these from mine sight.”

I never drive anything larger than my car, and a brand new 4-Runner, which is the size of an aircraft carrier, felt really, really strange to drive. Yesterday was so very weird. It was a day when I went to work, but only stayed for 17 minutes. Zach wasn’t keen on driving, so I suggested he drive my car home and let me pilot the star destroyer. I found myself listening to NPR while driving in heavy traffic in a very large, expensive vehicle, and all I could think to myself was, “I’m huge! Ohmygod I’m huge! I’m SO HUGE!” Stepping on the gas was like sending away for an authorization to accelerate. And when it was going 70, it felt like it was going half that speed. It has a backup camera, which I find unreasonably exciting.

We got through the rest of the day as best we could. Handling shit like this is primarily just a long series--days, weeks worth-- of phone calls to exchange information. Now it’s the next morning, and we’re getting his car towed from our apartment to the repair shop. It’s taken about eight phone calls so far.

And that’s how we handle it when Zach wants to hurt himself. We get through the moment, then we get through the day, then the next day is usually better. Once the tow truck is gone with his car, he’s going to hop into the star destroyer and drive it around the parking lot a little bit. I don’t know what this will cost us, but between the government shutdown and this, our plan to leave Austin by end of May is pretty much obliterated. So we’re considering changing our move date to December 1 of this year.

December 1 solves a few problems. It gives us more time to save up. It means I’ll be with the company long enough to earn next year’s gainsharing bonus. We can move in the fall, rather than at the start of summer. We can spend Next Christmas there, but we can spend the coming Thanksgiving here. It’s what would happen anyway, if we sign for another six months after our current lease runs out. It seems to be suggesting itself, because it feels right.

The tow is now done. Gonna keep an eye on husband a bit longer. The claim seems to be humming along as it should. Updates to follow. Now would be a good time for the government to reopen.

#motorcrash #aspergers #hyundai #flatbedtowtruck

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terresdebrume · 6 years

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Spin Control reread: 2. Arena Talk With Flickerman

Aaand we’re back for chapter two! I’ve slept four hours ish last night (and it’s now half past 9pm) so please forgive any typo or weirdness the spellchecker doesn’t take care of ^^’ @trovia, @princess-nell, this is your call before we start :3

Also, the way I did this chapter is a little different from the others. For the prologue and chapter 1, I wrote my comments down as I read through the story but in this case I read the full chapter first and I’m going back on it now, for the simple reason that I was as confused as Finnick about the turn of events.

See, this chapter starts on the evening of Haymitch’s very public overdose, as Finnick gets ‘invited’ to participate in a talk show where Haymitch and his alcoholism are very obviously going to be the center of attention. Finnick is kind of confused as to why he’d be invited except for looking pretty ‘while other people [use] the big words’. It took me until the end of the chapter to realize it but actually, yeah, I’m pretty sure being pretty is exactly what Finnick was called for.

Because the other guests on that talk show?

Mags, an eighty-ish years old woman whose refusal to upgrade her prosthetics is already making it harder for people to understand her.

Chaff, a nearing-fifty alcoholic with a stump and a rather caustic attitude

Terence from District 6 who looks closer to Mag’s age than his actual sixty years and has a morphling addiction problem.

In other words, Caesar Flickerman now has to host a program with three walking reminders that life doesn’t stay pretty forever or for everyone (after all, you can make an argument that Mags is just old, but there’s no way you can pretend like Chaff and Terence’s lack of compliance with Capitol beauty standards aren’t linked to their games, even if most of your population is eager to pretend it is). That’s already three reminders too many for a government trying to normalize and glamourize the Hunger Games until its victims have to say thanks for being sent to the slaughterhouse and punished for it afterward. So what do you do? You throw your local sex-on-legs eye-candy in there so people have something nice to look at while other people discuss the utter mess that is Haymitch’s life. It’s brutal packaging is what it is, down to Finnick’s clothes actually:

After a remake session with Cherry, his stylist, and her team, [Finnick] was trying to get comfortable in his chair despite the excuse for a pair of pants he wore, while the studio lights burned down on him and Flickerman discussed Haymitch Abernathy’s alcoholism, which was still a disease.

Also I have to say I like that this sentence starts with Finnick’s discomfort with an outfit clearly meant for the audience more than for him, and ends with a reminder to himself that Haymitch isn’t completely lost yet. It’s like he glances at his own predicament and trauma then subconsciously steers himself back to the more pressing issue. It’s both a touching sow of solidarity and care toward Haymitch and a heartbreaking dismissal of himself...which, in turn, is an excellent and subtle reminder that it isn’t like Finnick lives in a world that will ever allow him to heal anyway.

Oh, and:

Finnick tried to avoid looking at Terence’s long sleeves, such an uncommon styling choice in a boiling hot television studio, covering up puncture wounds of Morphling needles. Before the show, Finnick had walked in on him shooting himself up in the men’s room. As far as he knew, Terence had never once sobered up since he’d won the 26th Games with a knife and a garrote.

Just in case there was any doubt left that the Capitol (specifically president Snow, but also many people who do not use their brains so they don’t have to come to accurate conclusions) cares more about the Victors’ use as narrative devices than as persons. Not that the people reading SC would have any doubt about that (or at least, they wouldn’t survive very long) but it’s still a good reminder to get. And boy do we get some more.

Chaff took control of the conversation without prompting and did what needed doing on the victors’ end to keep Haymitch alive, swiftly building on the news coverage by weaving a story of loneliness and fame and social responsibility, a term Finnick hadn’t been aware the Capitol actually ever used for anything.

You know, I said in my prologue post that Haymitch’s friends didn’t fully realize what situation he was in and I stand by that, but just because they didn’t realize doesn’t mean they didn’t care. Chaff is putting himself on the line here, subtle as it may be. Also the fic may be in Finnick’s pov, which means one of the more perceptive Victors is our guide here, but that doesn’t take away from the others’ ability to observe and/or toe the line when needed I mean:

“Well yeah, all the signs were there for me to see though and I didn’t, right?” Chaff replied. “All the signs were there, but I didn’t want to see. I didn’t realize how hard it must be for Haymitch, only victor of Twelve and all and always the only mentor for the two tributes, too. He never gets to sleep properly during the Games until they’re both out, did you know that? Probably used the alcohol to stay awake.”

After delivering that last statement with a sorrowful face as if it actually had made any sense, he paused.

Of course Chaff’s statement doesn’t make any sense: it starts with the truth and ends with a Capitol-PR-ready, ‘but of course he was only trying to serve you’ when Haymitch’s entire life at this point is basically the most long-term suicide attempt ever seen. It’s lucky Chaff isn’t the only one who cares and the others pick up the thread before it can start to unravel:

“The public often underestimates how stressful the life of a victor can become,” [Mags] said […]. “It is especially hard for victors if they are supposed to be performing as mentor but failing. It is a great honor to be a mentor, victors are always anxious to succeed. It can be too much, honestly. I have seen this playing out many times. We put ourselves under pressure. One can get overwhelmed.”

“That’s what it was like for me, too,” Terence agreed with his grainy old voice, having aged prematurely. He could as well have been Mags’ age instead of only sixty. “The responsibility was weighing down on me. Not just to the Capitol, who I owed so much, but also to my tributes.”

“We all want to be at our best during the Games,” Chaff concluded.

“What do you think, Finnick?” Flickerman addressed him with a face of rapt interest. He usually adopted that same expression when he told Finnick to get on his knees and suck him off in his dressing room, as if it was a great adventure they were undertaking together.

Okay, sorry to ruin the beautiful moment of solidarity (because even with their limited means, everyone on this side of the talk show is doing what they can to help Haymitch out) with Flickerman being a creepy douche, but considering it’s been established that the topic of Finnick using drugs was supposed to be off-limits (implicitly, but still) I can’t help but wonder if this is Flickerman deciding to toe the line just so he can have Finnick under his thumb again, and that only make him even more gross.

“I am worried about Mr. Abernathy, I am. This is going to be a difficult case,” the doctor told the camera. “As therapists, we see this every day. Yes, we can help this patient to detoxify and send him on his way. Will he have lost his attitude problem? No. He will drink again, and we cannot blame him for that. It will be almost impossible for him to not drink without undergoing extensive therapy first. It would even be so if he was a Capitol citizen, held to our higher standards of restraint. In my professional opinion, Mr. Abernathy is not fit to fulfill his duties by himself and he will not be for a long time to come. You cannot expect this man to act as the sole mentor for his district any longer.”

Okay, first of all, this doctor may have understandable reasons somewhere but he’s still participating in the vile hostage-holding of Haymitch by helping to lay out the bricks for a Capitol-issued miracle narrative, but also the sheer hypocrisy in the bolded part is astounding, even though I knew it was coming. The levels of willful blindness you have to maintain for this sentence to be even remotely acceptable are staggering, even higher than Effie’s disdain of the District Twelve tributes who didn’t know how to eat with forks and knives. It’s even worse to read after having seen the actual canon party where people puke just so they can eat again. And then they have the gall to talk about the Capitol’s higher standards of restraint. Ugh.

“So there is the pressing matter of District Twelve’s participation in this 72nd Hunger Games,” Flickerman continued when the feed was cut off […]. “There are two young tributes at the Training Center now, anxiously waiting for a mentor to prepare them for the Games as we speak. It doesn’t seem like it will be Haymitch. Furthermore, there is the matter of Haymitch handling mentorship in the future. Mags.”

“Well, there is precedence, of course,” Mags said. While she answered promptly, Finnick could see that a guarded expression had crossed her face. She wasn’t clear on what angle on this topic would most likely help the victors and Haymitch. Haymitch, who would have to step in front of a camera once the hospital released him, working with what they delivered right now and telling the public whatever Snow expected. Haymitch, who wouldn’t retire because none of them were allowed to retire. “District Twelve is special even now, it’s the only district with only one mentor. I remember a time when there would always be a district or two that would not be able to provide their own mentors at all. District Twelve was the most recent district without a district victor as mentor, actually, before Haymitch himself won the second Quarter Quell. Four years before, Twelve’s first victor, Swagger – he had died in a terrible accident, I remember…”

Oh my, I remember reading that part and taking so long to process the actual meaning of it with regards to Haymitch’s situation because I was too busy thinking ‘OKAY THIS IS IT FINNICK IS MOVING’. Which is entirely not supposed to be the only point of the scene (and it definitely isn’t as soon as you spare even a second to remove the shipping goggles) but well. It’s be untruthful to pretend like that didn’t happen ^^’

“Oh, of course.” Flickerman shook his head sadly. “He fell and broke his neck, I believe…”

“Yes,” Mags agreed with a nod of gratitude, although the way Finnick had been told the story, Shane “Swagger” March had fallen and broken his neck only insofar that he had kicked away the chair he had been standing on, a noose wrapped around said neck. “Swagger had died, so Lyra Ingram from District Two moved to Twelve as substitute…”

Okay I’d quote the entire exchange about past Victors who mentored for Twelve in a more or less temporary fashion but that would make for waaaay too big a quote-block. That being said, having Finnick’s fact-checking commentary to rely on is both painful and invaluable. It’s a much more knowledgeable pov than Katniss’ because contrary to her, Finnick has insider knowledge. He’s been doing this long enough to have learned the truth, a bullet which Katniss dodged in canon. It also works to make the reader dislike (ha) the Capitol on a much wider level than Katniss’ pov initially does. A lot of the deaths she acknowledges (or speculates about, though with very little risk of error) are abstracts at first. In her first game, Rue is the only kid Katniss really cares about aside from Peeta. Later, we start with Seneca Crane, then the old man from Eleven, and then the deaths get progressively closer to home.

But here with Finnick, they already are hitting home. Not just because every Victor who died knew Mags and/or him directly, but because every instance of this is a reminder that Finnick is only one displeased president away from being the next on the list of suicides and/or suspicious accidents.

“So was there a call for mentors and they volunteered?” It took Finnick a second to recognize his own voice, because he hadn’t known he would open his mouth before he heard himself say the words. This wasn’t really supposed to be his show. Uneasily, he sat up in his chair, the cameras all on him now, while he spoke on, the words still just tumbling out of his mouth. “How did it work? Were they just chosen?” In the corner of his eye, he could see the other victors’ eyes turning towards him briefly when they wondered about his angle.

“Now Finnick, that would be quite cruel,” Flickerman laughed. “Forcing a victor to move to another district and leave their loved ones behind just like that.”

Finnick forced an unconcerned smile on his face, shrugging it off. “Seems to me like it would be a great honor,” he replied, half automatically, following the victors’ cardinal rule – when in doubt, call it an honor. “I’m sure a lot of victors would be greedy for the opportunity.”

Look at the gears already turning in Finnick’s head! Of course he’s good at split second decisions and rapid thinking under pressure. Even Annie, who Katniss describes as having only won her games through luck (which is only true insofar as any Victor only gets there thanks to a number of favorable conditions) wouldn’t have survived the flooding of her arena if she hadn’t been able to make good decisions while swimming, and Finnick made a lot of these good decisions at fourteen, there’s no reason to think he’d have lost the ability now at twenty-one.

It hurt Finnick to see, knowing [Mags] was trying to help him out before he could do something stupid. But he didn’t want to be stopped. He suddenly really didn’t want to be stopped.

Honestly it kind of hurts to picture what could be going through Mags’ head at this moment, too. She’s got a wife and children with her in Four. She managed to build herself a family that, presumably, helped her to keep going. Most likely, several other Victors have found similar solace in their families. It makes sense for them to think Finnick’s family would have the same sort of positive impact on him, but that’s not where Finnick is coming from. And since he never told people about his problems with being in Four (and can’t very well explain it now) it makes sense that they’d be scared shitless for him when the previous victors’ moving could only have been punishments.

(Because of course it is. No one moves out of their district unless specifically instructed to, and Snow simply doesn’t do gifts, let alone gifts that would potentially allow people to form unmonitored inter-districts connections when his whole system relies heavily on keeping each district in the dark as to what its neighbors do.)

Oh course, Finnick plays the audience like a fiddle. Even in canon, if you think about it, his particularly infamous reputation as a heartthrob is already evidence that he knows how to maintain his image, and the later revelation that he ‘gets paid’ in secrets is also indicative of his knowing exactly how important presentation is...so really, it’s not that surprising, even if it takes him a couple minutes to get the audience around to his point of view.

What I am a little more surprised by is this:

Because any victor, given the chance, would have taken the opportunity to run away.

I don’t know if this is me misreading things but it sounds to me like that isn’t quite as absolutely true as Finnick makes it sound. Certainly he would take any opportunity to run away that didn’t get his family killed, but I’m not sure everyone else would, not when there’s already of history of what happens if you fail as a guest mentor—as well as what happens if you succeed too much, as well.

It was only in moments like this anymore that he felt like his body was his own, starkly aware of how it still was such a powerful weapon, how he could still use it to kill if need be even seven years after he’d won.

Very consciously, he drew a breath and released it again like he would before he attacked.

Chaff was throwing him a sharp look, his face guarded now – the expression of a tribute suspecting that his alliance was falling apart.

Oh yeah. You know how Katniss and Finnick took one look at the Capitol streets in Mockingjay and declared the 76th Hunger Games open? Yeah. This is an extension of that, in that the games never really end for anyone (in some ways, they never really start, either, you just go from a nameless pawn in Snow’s machinery to a named, visible and important piece).

It’s also the first hint we get of Finnick, in some respect, regretting his days in the arena, which doesn’t make sense until you realize Finnick (or Victors in general) never had as much control on his own fate as he did during the Games. Back then, it was up to him to figure out how to survive, to be quick enough to kill before he got killed. It’s tragic and horrible to think, but Finnick was empowered in the arena in a way that he isn’t here, because he can’t do anything without having to worry about a heap of very literally life-or-death problems.

Like I said, this is the first hint of that, and I didn’t pick up on it until later but honestly when I did it made so much sense to me, and it’s a pleasure to see the seeds of that particular thread sowed this early in the story.

“Finnick,” Mags said softly, reaching up to take his face into both of her hands. “Finnick, lad, what did you just do?”

Instead of replying, Finnick closed his eyes and turned his head away.

Never again, he thought. Mags, his parents, Keanu and Perri – his older brothers who both looked at him as if he’d gone Capitol – Coral, his kid sister who was of Reaping age now and slowly figuring out what exactly it meant when he was shown with all those movie stars and politicians on the television. All these people who meant so much to him that it hurt to think about. Soon, he would never have to look at any of them ever again. So he had become … he’d become that man, so what… at least his family wouldn’t have to see it.

They’d never learn his secrets, how fucked up he’d become. The things he thought about when he was alone at night, waking up from those dreams he’d never told anybody about.

Oh, Finnick. He’s so ashamed of his own trauma and the way it presents itself, and I mean it’s not like it’s all that surprising because trauma is an ugly beast at the best of time, filled to the brim with things that don’t make sense and illogical reactions all around...having to live with it under scrutiny, surrounded by people who don’t get it (at best) or judge you for it (at worst, though I don’t remember Finnick’s family being confirmed to go one way or the other) and don’t really have the means to help even if they want to, honestly just makes tings worse. I suppose it’s time I brought my ‘blanket burrito’ moments count up to two.

“No,” Mags replied sadly behind him. “I wish you had been allowed to be, though.”

Thanks for breaking my heart, Mags. And then, of course:

President Snow wanted a word.

#My Posts #Hunger Games #Spin Control #princess nell #trovia #Matt reads #LR: Spin Control

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anothergirlrecovering · 6 years

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Lynn 89

I got there and Lynn was late again. I sat there on my phone until she got there and then she invited me in. When I came in she asked how I was doing and I said good and I asked how her non-vacation was. She said it was all right, it was New York and it was kind of raining and you know how it is. And I was like yeah but did you get to see any shows? And she was like well yeah we saw one and I was like which one and she said pretty woman and I was like well did you like it and she was like well honestly Not really. She said it wasn’t her favorite and she wasn’t sure what about it she didn’t like but her and her daughter kind of felt the same and they were like not sure if it was the music or just that it wasn’t a good movie to make into a musical. She was like I mean the actors were incredible and really well-known but if it’s not Julia Roberts somehow it’s not the same. I said I could see that but honestly I’ve only seen the movie once and that was two weeks ago so for me I don’t think that will really be an issue. She was like wait are you going to see yet and I was like yeah I’m going this weekend actually so I will let you know how I like it. She was like well also my other big complaint was that they didn’t include the song pretty woman and I was like wait really and she was like now and I was like him and I guess they didn’t get the licensing rights for it and she was like yeah they must not have but you would think that they would have gone out of their way to get that because I think everybody’s kind of anticipating that song and I was like yeah definitely that’s a let down and that will definitely be one of my critiques too. She was like either way it’ll still be a good show and I was like so basically it’s a good show it’s just not a good show of the movie and she was like yeah pretty much because you know it’s a classic movie and kind of an odd storyline but it will be good and it’s just always nice being the theater and seeing a show live. She was like you might have better seats than we did because we were in the back mezzanine and I was like well we are also the mezzanine so maybe not but she said it’s a small theater so we will be able to see the show just fine wherever we sit. I said that was good and she asked how I’ve been and I said super anxious but I know what I need to work on today and she was like well perfect let’s jump in when we need to work on and I was like well honestly like it’s stupid but I’ve just been so anxious lately because I feel like I have the air in topic has been coming up a lot and I said how Wes and I went to coffee and it got brought up about her And her being emotional and a session and then I saw someone who are used to be in treatment with so it brought up a lot of thoughts about the past when that all fell apart and now with the recent situation with having one of her old clients and knowing that Aaron knows about me it has just made me so unbelievably anxious and I explained how I really struggled to calm down last night and I even called my husband and was going to ask him to come home right after he got done with practice but he didn’t pick up and I just ate dinner and play piano for a while to try to calm down. I think she asked what about it all makes me so anxious and I was like honestly I don’t even know it’s like part of me is worried that I feel like she would be the type of person to badmouth me and Lynn got real into it about how if she does badmouth me that would be violating Hyppa and I could contact the board and if she says anything then I could call Aaron and say I’ve been informed that you’ve been talking about me and that’s a Hyppa violations I’ve contacted the board and you should be worried. I couldn’t help but laugh at that but I was like I mean yeah but that wouldn’t stop her from necessarily being all vague and being like I can’t really say how I know her but she’s a bad therapist or I think she still really struggling in her recovery. Which lane was like that would be super unethical and you could report her if she was and I was like there’s a chance that I don’t know the people she would be talking to about me and I’ll like because really like I talk about her to my friends who are therapists because I have multiple clients with dad stories of court ethics and it’s like well but she was like you were the client so you have the right to do that she was the therapist so she does not. I’m going to guess that makes sense but it doesn’t stop me from worrying and she was like what are you afraid That she thinks and I was like I mean I guess just that she thinks that I’m dumb not doing well which is kind of what I would imagine she would believe because that’s kind of like the sense that I get from the old nutritionist that they just assume that we are doing poorly and based on relapse rates I mean I can see why but it’s like really frustrating. She was like OK well then we can do some EMD are on that. Lynn pointing out that I’m doing very well for myself and I’m a successful Therapist and she thinks maybe there’s a chance that somebody like Aaron shouldn’t be practicing given all of the clients who have had bad experiences with her. She pointed out that Therapist burn out and sometimes they handle things really poorly and unfortunately I seem to of been on the receiving end of some of that and I was like or something. Lynn said that she thinks it’s all connected because that was the abandonment peace and we’ve been talking about stepping down and termination and all of that and I was like I guess so I’m she was like so why don’t we just go with that. Also Lynn pointed out that she thinks anybody with my history with Aaron would feel anxious about having connections with her where the thought of possibly talking to her. I told her that I always get so anxious every time I’m in Whole Foods because I worry that I’m going to run into work and I don’t even know what I would say and I’ve gone through million scenarios in my head of ways to respond but I think ultimately I would end up panicking and being overly nice. I know that I must have seemed visibly anxious because she definitely did the sets much longer than usual and I just really couldn’t stop my foot from shaking up and down and I know at times I wasn’t really taking deep breath‘s and I was shallow breathing quickly. This whole topic just makes me so anxious. She asked me to notice what my relationship with Aaron remind me up from the past and I was like honestly I don’t know because the abandonment is familiar with like my mom but when I think about her as a person her and my mom are very very different and Arian could be intimidating and snappy and angry at times and I thought about how she had gotten very angry when I was in treatment about equine therapy ending because people in the group didn’t wanna and even though I was the only one who stuck up for him, she still Vented and took it out on me. I noticed how intimidated I felt by her at times and how easily I get intimidated by Anger and how it felt like there were a lot of things that Aaron did pretty unnecessarily. I explained how when I had relapsed I was really quiet and group at the beginning and didn’t talk to anyone because I was so ashamed of relapsing and there was one time when I haven’t done my homework for DVT and she called me out in front of the group and really embarrassed me and then kept me after group and told me that insurance was labeling me chronic and that I needed to actually start trying because they didn’t want to pay and the director was fighting with them to gap coverage and they were arguing and saying that I had Untreated newly diagnosed depression so insurance needed to cover more but that it felt like I really didn’t need to know that insurance was labeling me chronic because all that really did was further make me feel like fuck even my insurance knows I’m never going to get better. Lynn was like noticed that and I noticed how my dad had said that I was never going to get better and my mom never even acknowledged it was a problem and I feel like I’m always fighting this uphill battle to prove that I’m not who I was and I hate that feeling of being out of control because I don’t have any control over what people think about me or my recovery. I was like you know how Alexander Hamilton posted the Reynolds pamphlet and out of himself just to prove that he wasn’t a money launderer and she was like yeah and I was like I guess Innoway it just feels like I feel caught in the position of wanting to do something to prove that I’m not who they think I was but at the same time I can’t or rather that I shouldn’t do anything to try to prove to them that I’m not what they think. She asked me who I was trying to prove it to and I was like I mean I guess the people who knew me back then and she was like which is who and I was like him and I guess really it’s just Aaron Jan and Pam and I said I don’t really know what the yoga person thinks because I haven’t seen her in years now and I know the art therapist doesn’t feel that way at all because she believes that I recovered and I was like and I mean honestly those three people kind of have a reputation in the eating disorder community or at least two of them definitely do and she was like noticed that and I noticed that it just always felt like I wasn’t going to get better in their opinion and I thought about how in our last session Aaron had Asked if it would be helpful for her to share with me what she had learned from me and I said sure and she said that I taught her just how chronic and long and hard it is to recover from an eating disorder and I just sat there feeling like what the fuck so basically all I did was teach her that people don’t get better no matter how many years you put into it and I just feel like she should’ve at least faked it even if she didn’t think I was going to get better and Lynn was like is that what you do and I know she thought that I would say no but I said yes. She looked pretty caught off guard and I was like I mean sometimes the reality is that not everyone can get better she was like OK will notice that and I was like I mean because on the one hand like I would love to tell everybody that they’re going to get better but I guess it just depends on how you define recovery because realistically on paper if we look at the DSM I’m fully recovered but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have a meltdown when I tried on form fitting clothing this past weekend it’s just that the difference now is that it’s managed and I got my shit together in the dressing room and then I left and I still ate dinner that day and didn’t obsessively think about how fat I am and don’t deserve to eat because of it but it still sucks it’s not ideal and I’m not happy living my life like that so I’m not going to necessarily pretend that that’s a fully recovered life and she was like well also noticed that and I was like I mean like with yesterday and I mean it was nice that I was able to calm myself down by playing piano and eating food and taking care of myself and you told me you noticed dad that I was able to manage overwhelming emotions and I did. I noticed that Lynn looked annoyed and I explained that I just feel like there’s a shelflife on how long people actually care and I feel like she’s annoyed and wants me to be over it and doesn’t understand why I’m still anxious about stupid things like this and I feel frustrated that I am anxious about stupid things like this and explained how we went to that wedding and how I had felt so anxious the entire time even though I had no reason to because everyone was super nice and I ended up drinking and then feeling sick and then throwing up and it’s like I don’t want to live a life where my anxiety is so overwhelming that I feel like I can’t handle it because sometimes it feels like my anxiety is so overwhelming and not managed well and I guess it feels like if it’s not the eating disorder anymore than it’s be anxiety and sometimes I feel like my anxiety will never get better. Lynn asked me what Helen would say about that and I was like well she says that EMD our can basically cure everything. I noticed that there’s a part of me that feels like my anxiety makes me just too much to handle and it made me think of in 12th grade how my best friend said that I was too much to handle when she stopped being my best friend and it’s always felt like I was too much to handle for my parents and now I just sort of always feel like I’m simultaneously too much and not enough at the same time. She asked me what Helen would say about all of this and I was like I mean I think she would say that all of the stuff certainly doesn’t develop in a bubble and it’s most certainly there because I grew up with non-nurturing mother. And she was like what else would she say and I was like well what are you referencing to because I kind of had no idea what she’s talking about and she was like let me think of how I want to ask this and I don’t even remember what it was that she asked now But It was something about what Helen would say about getting better and I was like I mean she would say keep doing EMD ER and eventually it will get better and she was like OK go with them be curious what do you need to do to get better and I was like I mean I guess just keep doing EMD are but there’s a part of me that gets anxious and things but what if Lynn gets tired of me and terminates me before I get better and she looked confused and I was like like the other night my husband made a comment about terminating my clients and I was like you can’t really just do that and he was like why you had like three Therapist do it to you and I got really upset thinking about it and I was like OK It was just the one but also it’s so weird because I saw Noelle after that and we had like a perfectly fine ending where I chose to leave therapy and I felt like I was in a good place. Lynn was like we’ve already talked about the reasons why I would terminate you and I was like yeah I know and choose like but otherwise we aren’t ending we need to finish this and she basically gave me analogy of it being kind of like a splinter and there something obvious of that we need to get out in order to deal with it and there’s obviously something stuck there and I was like yeah I guess. She said she’s not a terminating me and she knows that I know that but the goal of therapy is that I don’t keep coming back and I was like yeah I know and she was like I mean you are Therapist too so you know the goal is that her clients get better and they’re healthy and they don’t need to keep coming and she said there are natural circumstances like when you have a family you may not want to be driving here every week the goal is that you may hopefully want to do other things like spend time with your kids I was like well hopefully I’m better enough to want to do those things and not feel like I need to be in therapy and she was like yeah well I’m just saying eventually the goal is for you to feel like you can handle things. She said she has hope that I’ll get better but I need to have that hope for myself too. She said once I get better i will be a much better, and she paused and said more convincing therapist that there is hope with EMDR. I was like I know what you were about to say and she was like no you don’t and I was like ok I don’t read minds I guess but I have that resting bitch face so it’s not that hard to fake it lol. She was like well I think it will be more convincing still. I said how I get so anxious so easily over everything and lately the joke is that my husband checks my pulse and it’s like why is it always so dang high. She took out her planner and said that we are rescheduled for next week so do we want to schedule for the following. I said yes and we planned for that. I apologized and said that the tappers were really sweaty and she was like it’s fine and she was like the next person might or might not use them but they’re probably used to that type a thing and I was like OK and she was like you know because you never know when people want to avoid doing EMD ER and I was like yeah I definitely know what that’s like and she was like because that happens a lot when people come in there like can we just not do that today and I’m like no we need to keep working because we have goals right? I knew she didn’t mean that she forces them to do trauma work but rather that she reminds them that the way to get better is to keep going with trauma work. She went to take her iPad for payment then she was like oh never mind and I was like wait did you figure out what I owe you and she was like no I’m gonna do it this week and I was like when you said that like three weeks ago and she was like yeah well you know I just like putting off paperwork and I was like I totally understand I’m pretty behind myself on some things. I asked her if she wanted to hear something interesting and she said yes and I told her about how I had found a piece of paper that had fallen out of my binder when I was unpacking a box from school and I asked her if she kept all of her stuff from school and she was like honestly I have a backpack in the garage that I need to just get rid of. I was like yeah I totally always think that I’m going to go back through it but I never do but anyway that piece of paper was a test that helps determine which part of her brain is not functioning right and for me of course the basal ganglia was one and that’s responsible for sort of compulsive anxious thinking and when I looked up Ways to heal the basal ganglia and what came up was an article about a researcher who does a lot of work with Parkinson’s disease and mindfulness and how with the basal ganglia controlling automatic movement he has people thoroughly learn mindfulness to shift their brain away from using the basal ganglia and having their frontal lobe override the basal ganglia and taking control is that they no longer have the Parkinson’s symptoms. She was like that’s interesting but I think with trauma you have to deal with the trauma first to be able to do some of that and she was like I think it works great together to be working on both and She said like how they always say to do medicine and therapy works best together and she laughed and was like I don’t really think that’s true but in this case mindfulness and therapy I think I do work well together. I was like I would need to look into it a little bit more but I think trauma is stored in a different part of the limbic system so it may actually be two separate processes. She said oh maybe and she open the door and I headed out and we said goodbye. As I walked to my car I realized that I felt so sweaty and gross and I really don’t think I’ve ever felt that like physically anxious for an entire session with her.

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"Fennville Michigan Cheap car insurance quotes zip 49408

Fennville Michigan Cheap car insurance quotes zip 49408

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