#that’s the third time one of medic’s coworkers used him as a therapist this week

[quotidianish]

I love extrapolating ideas about the merc’s parents based off of what little is mentioned of them (me w/ heavy’s dad lol). Don’t let your boy drink, even though he’s already 13 (big boy number).

[mllemouse]

2022 holiday card

hi friends.

I've been feeling like i can approach tumblr from a healthier perspective lately, so

i thought I'd write you my version of like those family newsletters you get in holiday cards to keep everyone in the loop.

Uh, TW for like terrible mental health issues and sexual assault.

I last posted in October 2021, so to cover that bit as well...

that month i set my hair on fire over my stove and had to cut it up to my chest to get rid of all the singed bits. I was sad that my long long hair was gone, so I had my coworker shave me a raddddd undercut

In November 2021 i started seeing a few therapists after spending almost the entire year trying to get started with one and increasingly relying on friends and crisis lines to keep myself here. I settled on one therapist i really liked and still see him weekly.

In December, my coworker began sexually harassing me. It's still an issue and I no longer work with him one on one. Its brought up a lot of past trauma. My mum came to pick me up and bring me home for Christmas, but instead got COVID and had to quarantine in my studio apartment with me for three weeks. I didn't get COVID, but between that and the coworker stuff, i felt pretty traumatized by January. Thank God i got the therapist thing covered in november.

In January one of my coworkers quit, leading to a mass exodus over the course of the year. I'm so proud of my coworkers for pursuing new positions and getting out of this poorly run organization. My visa renewal application also began in January and was approved a few weeks ago, meaning i can stay in the country until 2025! And my employer has agreed to sponsor my green card app, after which I too am outta this place. I've learned a lot about distancing myself from work when the situation is so far from ideal. I also opened up to my closest coworkers about being queer, my history with sexual assault, and what had happened with our coworker in December (which continued into January), and we came up with a safety plan, plus i felt a lot closer to them.

in March i was still really struggling and my therapist recommended medication. I got a wonderful psychiatrist who gently introduced me to the appropriate drugs, not so gently introduced me to the pathological understanding of my mental illnesses. The first week I was on meds my best friend from undergrad came to visit for a week and we saw Tame Impala, which was incredible. Plus did a whole bunch of other fun stuff. I hadn't seen her since like... 2018? Despite the side effects of meds, being upset over my clinical evaluation, and overwhelmed at getting back into like going out in public and doing things, being able to wake up without immediately feeling suicidal was a huge relief.

April I went to Philadelphia TWICE in two weeks. Once to cheer J on in a half marathon and then with my coworker to a conference and sightseeing. I had really wonderful visits and can't believe I had never visited before then!!!

In May, my best friend from grad school and I rode the five boro bike tour. I made a goal at the beginning of the year to ride across the Tappan Zee Bridge and back, which is over 100km (aka a century ride) from my house. This was supposed to be one of my big rides to gear up for the century. This ride was not as fun as 2021, there were so many people and dangerous casual riders on the route, then we spent four and a half hours trying to get home cause the ferries we're overwhelmed. I had fun with my friend but I'm not so sure about next year.

In June i visited J's beach house after a gruelling exhibition schedule through May and June. i had a lovely time until i had a meltdown on the third day. I went to the beach in a binder for the first time and decided to just wear my board shorts instead of taking them off to swim, which was nice. J and our other friend began using they/them pronouns and my nicknames L and LG when they were talking with me in person, and it was super heartwarming and exciting to experience. It made me feel very special.

In July, i had my first appointment for HRT. They prescribed me testosterone right away, but it took around a month to get a response from my insurance, which denied the claim. I was crazy busy at work from August to the end of September and things really fell apart for me. I hired C as my freelancer to help on the exhibition be sure now there was so more staff left, which went really well. However, i stopped taking my meds and all of my good habits fell to the wayside.

In August i went back to Canada to photograph my uncle's wedding WITH COVID. My mum insisted that i travel even though I was sick and then didn't let me stay home for the wedding, because they had asked me to photograph it. It was really uncomfortable, but they were happy i got their wedding photos. Although, i still have not found time to edit and send them. Ugh.

In September i completed a 75 mile (100+ km) ride, meeting my goal of doing a century, but it wasn't to the bridge! i did it alone and it made me super depressed during and after the ride. I'm still evaluating what i want my relationship with cycling to be now, cause long rides by myself aren't really conducive to good feelings for me rn.

when the show at work opened in October, i went to J's parents' house for a Canadian thanksgiving/harvest feast weekend, met their dog, sister, and parents, and had ANOTHER meltdown. They told me they were dating someone--and it was incredibly upsetting, but i didn't know how to bring up my feelings about this. After my month off meds, i was a mess again. After this weekend though, i opened up to many more people because I felt like I needed to extend my support network.

I came out as trans to all my friends and close coworkers (mostly now former coworkers) in the city, let them know I use gender neutral pronouns, that I enjoy my nicknames, and that I was beginning HRT. I went to the pharmacy and got my prescription filled even though I had to pay out of pocket. I started testosterone on October 14th!! I cannot overstate how incredibly important this was to me. It felt like the most meaningful thing I've done for myself in my life. Coming out to people who i knew were safe helped me feel closer to them, and almost everyone was amazingly supportive about hrt.

In October i ALSO officiated my best friends' wedding. It was incredible, and really one of the best days of my life. Everyone in attendance was lovely. My speech and their vows went swimmingly. Everyone had so much fun and enjoyed ourselves into the early hours of the morning. My friends have the most wonderful community of people around them and I'm so glad I'm a part of their lives.

In November I got a new psychiatrist after my old one left the practice. She's ok, and urged me to get a primary care doc to begin keeping track of my blood work, so I'm building momentum for care in the new year. I scheduled an appt with a PCP at a queer-focused clinic in January. after a real scheduling snafu i got a follow up appointment for HRT in mid-December. I ended up missing two weeks of T because of this, which triggered a massive horrible period the day after my birthday. I missed two days of birthday celebrations, but the night out i did have with friends was pretty fun. Idk, i have mixed feelings about it.

things came to a head with J a couple weeks ago where they asked if I had romantic feelings for them, and when i affirmed that, they rejected me before i could say i didn't want to discuss it cause I couldn't handle the rejection in a healthy way. We haven't spoken since and I've been in a pretty bad place despite sticking to meds. However, I've been working through this stuff with my therapist since the incident in October and idk... learning about how fucked up i am is tough. I'm really sad about it all and still figuring out how to move forward.

I also tried to go to Canada for Christmas and couldn't because of the blizzard in buffalo, so I spent the holidays in my house again. at least my mum wasn't here this time.

I've been a little suicidal over the last couple of weeks even though I'm on meds, and only skipped a day recently. I skipped a few days right after the stuff with J happened and ended up going into withdrawal pretty bad, so I learned that lesson. So idk. I'm still trying to muddle through.

To end on a positive note, this morning i noticed that the hair around my belly button, the kind that like makes you the line down the centre of your torso, is getting darker. I feel a little bit scared but also excited. I love a lil bit of tummy fuzz and find it endearing that i can have some for myself. I've also gotten a bit more muscular just from the furniture lifting I do at work, and a few weeks ago I did planks for the first time without any shoulder pain since I injured it in 2012. I've picked a gym in my neighborhood to sign up for when i can get motivated to leave the house and return to strength training. One of the best things about being on T so far has been that it has virtually erased my chronic low body temp and reynauds symptoms, and is supposed to help alleviate my anemia, easy bruising, and PMS/PMDD (which have all been weakened but not yet eliminated). Like all this shit I've been told just sucks and I have to deal with is just disappearing. So eventually i can just be like, a person without symptoms of these conditions?!

Also, Fred and George are sliving. I found shelves on the street for them to climb way up high, and I started feeding the birds and squirrels from the windowsill. They love bouncing around the room and watching the backyard happenings.

I'm not sure I'm hopeful about the future yet cause things are still really hard, but I'm at least learning how to begin living on my own terms.

Fred

George

[anotheronechicagobog]

Enemies to Lovers Noah Sexton x dawson!reader

requested by: @bitweird1​

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: swearing, mature themes, child neglect, slightly Dawson bashing but they really just didn’t know, canon compliant threats

You had spent your entire life struggling and working your ass off. No social life, extracurriculars for the sole purpose of applying to universities, and spending the majority of your life studying because according to your dad at least one Dawson had to become a doctor and your older siblings had decided that it wouldn’t be them, leaving you to do nothing but prepare for the future that had been hand-picked by the man you felt abandoned you. And then Noah fucking Sexton just waltzes in having put in half the effort and riding the coattails of his much more intelligent sister who gave up a career as a doctor because of sexism. He spent far too much of his time flirting with everything that had boobs and a pulse. You didn’t like him because he took nothing seriously and didn’t have a responsible bone in his body, and he hated you because you were incredibly uptight and didn’t have a sense of humour.

“Maybe you’d have more friends here if you didn’t have a stick shoved up your ass.”

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to become a doctor.”

Everyone was getting really sick of your fighting, so they banded together and made things worse. They had badgered you until Doris had enough and dragged you to Molly’s. You refused to drink or eat anything, resulting in more snide remarks between you and Noah. Just when everyone was developing a migraine before they were anywhere even close to drunk your parents burst through the door and marched over to you. And suddenly, everyone in the bar, including your siblings, were subjected to and twenty-minute rant from your parents about how you should be grateful they pushed you towards medical school and all the activities that got you scholarships, that they didn’t abandon you, and that they clothed and fed you because a third child cost so much money, how you never took anything seriously and were always joking around, and how you were a disgrace to the family. Once they finished, your dad dragged you out by your arm, your mom followed muttering about why couldn’t you be more like Gabby and Antonio.

You walked into the ED the next day as robotic as ever. The pitiful and awkward stares were ignored with ease, it was something you were quite used to if you were honest. Your parents were always scrutinized by your teachers and DCFS. At the end of the day, though, they weren’t abusive enough for any charges or housing changes to be set. They weren’t like that with Gabby and Antonio, who had mostly moved out by the time you were in kindergarden, you were their last chance to help them prove to their family that they didn’t fail as parents. And they made sure you knew it.

“Dr. Dawson, you’ve got a patient in treatment one. Also, uh, are you okay? I feel pretty bad about last night.”

“Oh, don’t worry about anything. I’m fine, and my parents were right I should’ve been studying. It was a poor decision on my part not to. I’m gonna get to this patient, but you really don’t need to feel bad, okay?”

She nodded absently as you turned your back to her. ”Hi, I'm Dr. Dawson, can you tell me what brought you in today?”

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

Your patient had just gone up to the OR to have a blood clot removed and you made your way to the doctor’s lounge, followed by Noah Sexton. ”Hey, Y/N, are you-”

”Yes, Noah, I am okay. Yes, I'm sure. I am fine, I am always fine.”

”From my experience when people say they're fine they're usually not.”

”Noah, I am okay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

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The next few weeks were a maze of pitiful stares, hushed concerned words, and a silent Noah. All of it was completely unnerving. It all came to a head when Dr. Charles approached in the ED you about starting therapy with him, talking continuously about all the points ‘brought to his attention’, not even giving you the time to tell him the majority were false. “Excuse me?” 

Your stomach coiled in anger at his words. Not only were you more than capable of doing your job, but you already had a therapist. With basket case parents like yours, it was blatantly obvious that therapy was required. But the audacity of your co-workers to gossip so much that it came to the point over half the points Charles brought up were complete BS was astounding. Not only that, but he’d apparently spent the last few days internet stalking you to try and find some of your demons. “Dr. Charles, do you consider me a danger or liability to any of the patients or doctors at this hospital because of my relationship with my parents?”

“No, you actually seem to be well balanced mentally.”

“Then what, on earth, made you think it was appropriate to go around behind my back asking everyone at the hospital their opinion about me and what happened at Molly’s, or stalk me online to try and get a read on me, and then ask me blatantly at work, in the middle of the shift, in front of all my co-workers and superiors? What made you think it was okay to loudly bombard me with rumours and hearsay while I’m working?”

“Well, I thought that since it’s my job to check on all the ED docs, I’d check on you.”

“... You’re joking, right? I am the only person in this department who goes to therapy. Don’t kid yourself, you don’t check on anyone here. You judge them and make sure they know it. And quite honestly, you don’t have the best reputation for looking out for the mental and emotional state of your colleagues. This confrontation was not only completely inappropriate, but rude, obnoxious, presumptuous, riddled with unchecked errors, and unprofessional.”

“That’s not how I would word it.”

“It’s how I see it, and how I’ll word it with HR.”

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No one was pitying you anymore, not since the tongue lashing you gave Dr. Charles, who was on very thin ice with the hospital. While bringing up Robin and Sarah may have been a bit of a low blow, it exposed some issues with Dr. Charles that needed to be addressed. The only person who acted as if you were made of glass was Noah Sexton. While he had been a bit of a pain in the ass, this was worse. He was being sickeningly nice to you and it was getting on your last nerve. Yes, your parents were abusive. Yes, you had a messed up and traumatic childhood. But did that limit your abilities? No. Did that make you mentally unstable requiring therapy and fragility from your coworkers? Absolutely not.

He came in with coffee exactly the way you liked it, again. With a muffin, again. “You have to stop.”

“Stop what, Y/N?”

“Stop acting weird. You don’t like me, you hate me, actually. The only reason you’re being nice to me is because my parents resent my existence. I do not need or want your pity. So stop treating me like a china doll, and start treating me like your coworker.”

“Okay, okay, I uh... I’m sorry. I just, I feel guilty, okay? I gave you such a hard time for being so frigid and then when your parents showed up at Molly’s and started screaming at you for existing and having a life of your own, it just all made sense. And I gave you shit and trouble for coping with your crazy-ass parents. And then Dr. Charles came by to talk to you and I just felt even worse because even though I didn’t tell him anything, it was our fighting that put the spotlight on you in the first place. You shouldn’t have had your dirty laundry aired to the entire hospital, that’s happened to me a few times and it’s horrible, and I feel bad because I know that I was a contributing factor to all the shit you’ve had to deal with at work.”

“I get where you’re coming from, but let’s be real, everything would’ve turned out exactly the same way if you weren’t involved. The gossip mill runs strong at Gaffney.”

“Yeah, it does. I still feel bad.”

“Well, you’re forgiven then. So you can stop treading delicately, buying me coffee, and being creepily nice to me.”

“I am not being ‘creepily nice’! And how can being nice be creepy anyway?”

“Yesterday you followed me around offering to help me take my gloves on and off constantly, to the point where a patient who came in for falling out of the ceiling above the women’s changeroom said ‘that’s just weird’.”

“... Okay. I’ll stop. But I gotta be honest, I don’t think I can go back to arguing with you all the time.”

“That’s fine, just stop acting so weird that a couple I caught having kinky sex after an STD swab said ‘that made us really uncomfortable’.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Seriously, you didn’t have to tell me twice.”

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SIX MONTHS LATER

You and Noah had actually managed to become good friends and roommates. Shortly after he started acting like a normal person around you, not an instigator or a psycho, you found yourself enjoying his company. And yesterday, when you’d come home to find your room completely torn apart by your mother because your father had tried to frame you for using weed, you were done. Most of what you owned had been destroyed in your mother’s search, which sucked, but it made packing up all your stuff into your car much easier.

So far you’d ignored 43 texts, 12 calls, two visits from Gabby when she brought in a patient, and one visit from Antonio who didn’t even bother trying to lie to you. He also threatened to impound your car, you threatened to tell Voight about the time he and Lindsay got drunk and hooked up. It didn’t even matter that she was in New York now, Voight wouldn’t even blink before bludgeoning him down. He swore at you, “how could you break mami’s heart like this?”, and “can’t you just behave and do what you’re told for once?”

You looked him dead in the eyes, heart beating erratically at you older brother supporting your parents belittling and abusing you, “You sound like dad Antonio.”, watched his face fall, and left. Noah stopped him when he went to follow you. “You good?”

“Uh, not really. I don’t have a place to go tonight.”

“Did your mom kick you out?”

“No, I left. I can’t do it anymore. I break out in hives whenever I even think about my mother now. I just can’t go back.”

“Well, you don’t have to. I have been looking for a roommate, we can move you into my place after shift.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Now come on, it’s prank week. Stohl pissed off Manning last week and she’s been planning revenge ever since, you do not want to miss this.”

And you didn’t. You entered the ED to find one of the most hated doctors in med spitting out Gatorade. “WHaT thE heLL?! That was sooo-ughghghg-” he couldn’t even finish his sentence before running to the doctor’s lounge to throw up in the bathroom. To Natalie’s credit, she didn’t crack a smile or react at all as she gracefully stepped over the spilled orange Gatorade. She briefly reminded you of a fae, graceful, beautiful, and cunning as all hell. You made a mental note never to cross her. Later at lunch, Natalie opened her sushi container, slightly deconstructed each piece, loaded all the pieces up with wasabi, reconstructed them, and popped one in her mouth. Everyone sitting near her had their eyes flash in recognition. Stohl had a habit of stealing other people’s food, and no matter how many times anyone told him to stop, they were just bullied into compliance. As a result, everyone had to dictate their food choices around his palette. Which meant no spicy food. Something that sucked for nearly everyone because hot food was a favourite for most people in the ED. But Manning wasn’t taking his shit. Not today. Something that worried everyone sitting around her because she would get in trouble for eating her own food how she liked it. It wasn’t until one of the HR workers, Holly, sat down beside Natalie and engaged in conversation that everyone realized the full scope of her plans. Stohl plopped down beside you and stole half of your sandwich right out of your hand. Ranting and raving, insulting everyone, stealing food, he made his way all around the circular cafeteria table until he got to Nat. He scooped up to pieces and threw them in his mouth just after he finished the words ‘insolent underlings’. Everyone held their breath as they watched his pale face redden exponentially. His eyes widened. And then he screamed. 

He yelled, he swore. “I’m going to report you to HR! You tried to poison me!”

“You stole food from everyone, something inappropriate, unethical, and unprofessional. You stole her food. That she made spicy to her tastes. She didn’t try to poison you.”

“And just who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“Holly Scott, from HR.”

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You and Noah were doing great, as roommates and as friends. “Hey, do you have any plans for dinner tonight? My parents invited me over for dinner and they asked me to extend an invite to you. It’s nothing major, they wanted to meet my previous roommates, too. Make sure you’re not a hooligan.”

“Okay, sounds fun. What should I bring?”

“Yourself...?”

“It’s rude to show up at someone else’s home without a gift.”

“You don’t need to bring my parents a gift.”

“Oh, I’m bringing a gift. I’m just asking you for some input.”

“Okay, well they really like wheelie shoes-”

“Ha, oh my god, I meant for what your parents would like, not you. And want wheelie shoes? Those have been out for a while, Noah.”

“Hey, do not laugh at me! They are just a very effective and fun way to get around.”

“Would you like them to light up too?”

“... Is that an option?”

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You knocked on the door while Noah rolled his eyes at you. “I grew up here!”

“Well you don’t live here anymore and it’s rude to just barge into someone’s home and act like you own the place.”

“Oh, you must be Y/N! I wasn’t expecting anyone to knock, usually, Noah just barges in and acts like he owns the place. Come in, come in. It’s freezing outside.” You gave Noah a side-eyed smirk as you took off your coat, while he looked bashfully embarrassed. “Uh, here Ms. Sexton, I brought some homemade empanadas, they can be put in the fridge or kept in the freezer, and it’s best to reheat them in the oven. 350 F, ten minutes from the fridge and about 20 if they were put in the freezer.”

“Oh, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“I was raised that when you go over to someone’s house for dinner or an event, you bring a gift. And it was either this or a house plant.”

“Ha, good idea going with the food, it’s a Sexton family trait that will kill all the plants we touch. Thank you very much.”

“Hello, you must be Y/N. It;s wonderful to meet you- and what smells so good?”

“Y/N brought empanadas, and they are going away so that you and I can enjoy them later. Now everyone, to the dining room, dinner is just about done.”

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Things started to change a bit a few months later when Choi had to physically restrain Noah from attacking a drunk bar fight patient who called you a slut in the middle of the ED. You’d been confused but Maggie just kept saying that it was a matter of time.

When you’d been hanging around at Molly’s with Noah, Sarah, and Darren, Noah had his arm casually wrapped around your shoulders, something your sister gave you the eyebrow for from her place at the bar.

After you’d been mugged and beaten, you’d run to the 21st, where your brother promptly unleashed the most fearsome demon hell has ever cowered from, AKA Hank Voight, he also called Noah. And when your brother finally made an arrest and got Voight to calm down a little, he’d entered the breakroom to find you fast asleep, curled up against Noah. Who sat in an incredibly uncomfortable position, holding you and stroking your back. You missed the dark look that crossed his face, or the one of fear that had crossed Noah’s but something of an understanding had fallen to Noah. The two of you needed to talk.

So you did, and it went well, so well that you planned a date. Then another one. And another one, until you two had been dating for six months and figured it was time to tell your families. You were shaking in your boots, the Sexton’s were all incredibly close and incredibly doting on Noah, so even though they liked you, you had absolutely no clue as to what the reaction would be. To your relief, it was happiness, they loved you as much as Noah apparently, and they relished in the changed you’d caused in Noah.

Your family, on the other hand, did not react well. Which was why you’d made sure that you told them in a very public place, and had only ordered waters before you told them. There was yelling, screaming, your father waving his arms around so much Antonio had to use his cop voice on him. In the end, you and Noah had been there for around five minutes before throwing some cash at the waitress as a tip for leaving her with your family, and hauling ass out of there. The two of you had ended up just eating pizza on the boardwalk in your fancy clothes and heading back to the apartment late.You both had work the next day, but while you were an intern, Noah was not. And while you were off giving a patient a sponge bath, your siblings cornered Noah at the nurses desk. “Sexton, is there a place the three of us can talk?”

“Uh, sure, this conference room is free...”

“Perfect.”

“So, I take it this is about-”

“Nuh-uh. You do not talk. We do.”

“You are dating our baby sister.”

“We may not be as close to her as you are with your sister, but she still means a lot to us.”

“We love her. We are two people with some pretty dangerous skills. It is for these two reasons that you will not hurt her. Ever.”

“And if you do, don’t forget who I work with.”

“No one will ever find your body.”

“Are we clear?”

“Uh, hmmh... Clear. Crystal clear.”

“Good. Now do you know where Y/N is? We’d like to take the both of you out to lunch or something, just the four of us, to make up for the dinner of many disasters.”

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Got a Light? || Dakota and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Behind the WCPD Station PARTIES: @dakotasgrant and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY:  Dakota and Kaden run into each other during a much needed nicotine fix.

Paperwork was something straight from hell. Give him a fucking hellhound to go up against any day of the week. That was easy. This? Putain. Kaden was headed out for his third smoke break in the past two hours. No, he checked his watch. One hour. Only one hour? He cursed to himself some more in French before grabbing his coat and telling Gary, “be right back.” Gary seemed both frustrated and relieved to see his co-worker go once again. Kaden started fidgeting with his lighter in his pocket before he even got outside round back of the station. It was cold, but he came out here enough he’d set up a hidden space heater and he knocked it on before leaning against the nearby wall and pulling out his lights and the zippo. Just one cigarette, maybe two and he could clear his head before going back inside. For once he figured it was a good thing he was seeing a little less of Regan, she wouldn’t have to deal with the nicotine on his breath that she definitely hated. As much as he’d cut back, there were moments that dug under his skin and had him outside once more, lighter in hand ready for some brief relief. Paperwork was one of those moments. He flipped open the lighter and flicked the toggle and… nothing. “Putain de merde,” he grumbled to himself, lips moving around the cigarette resting there. He tried again and again, only nothing was working. Just his fucking luck. Truly a sign from the universe to quit. Go inside. Do his damn work. He scuffed his boot on the ground, kicking up a chunk of dirt and rock before letting his head fall back, leaning on the wall behind him as he let out a loud sigh. It was then he heard the heartbeat, realized he wasn’t alone anymore. Shit. He perked up, stood straight and saw the woman across the way, also reaching for a smoke. “Sorry about that,” he said, apologizing for the slight display. Wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t think he was alone. Especially since she sort of looked like she wanted to be left alone. But she might be his only hope. “Uh, hate to ask this,” he said, approaching her, “but you got a light?” 

Fucking hell, why did winter always have to have such a bite to it? She didn’t smoke often—in fact, Dakota usually only picked back up whenever she was stressed… Or bored… Or needed an excuse to step away from her desk, which seemed to be more often than usual since moving to White Crest. Somewhere deep down, which was always far deeper than she cared to go, she knew she’d picked back up because Chris hated this shit, but that was neither here nor there. There was only about an hour or so before she could take lunch and maybe explore a few more places than the last four items on the menu at Al’s Diner, but hell, she’d entombed herself in that lab since 7AM and still couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for why the blood samples collected at the latest crime scene were both normal, biological blood samples and.. Well, something else. Clearly it was tampered evidence, but racking her brain for the last six hours hadn’t done shit and she was starting to get herself pissed off...Clearly time for a cigarette. Dakota had been freezing her ass off for probably the last five minutes, leaning against the cold stone of the building when she’d heard a few footsteps and some muttered French curses. As the kind of person who generally analyzed most scenes—crime or social—she’d already found him familiar before she caught a glimpse of his face. He carried himself differently when he wasn’t trying to start a lighter that was clearly dead, but she found his frustrated mannerisms amusing, even if she’d wandered out back to be alone. “Throwing a bit of a temper tantrum, are we?” she asked with a smirk, retrieving her own lighter from her coat pocket and tossing it in his direction. 

“It wasn’t a temper tantrum, alright,” Kaden grumbled back as he caught the lighter. Sure he’d gotten a little frustrated but it wasn’t a temper tantrum. Putain. He simply sighed, let it lie, and lit his cigarette. He took in a long breath, drawing the nicotine in deep, letting it sit in his lungs a moment before slowly releasing it and breathing it out. “Thanks,” he said before throwing the lighter back to her.  He stood there in silence for a beat, appreciating the nicotine break. He gave her a quick glance and he was sure he’d seen her before but that didn’t mean much. There were a lot of people in and out of this place. Still, he wondered if he was supposed to know who she was. Well, she didn’t have a uniform on so she probably wasn’t a beat cop at least. Then again, he was a cop and wasn’t wearing a uniform. He wanted to assume that if she was a detective, he’d have seen her around more, Styrder would have taught her to poke fun at him. Then again, with the death rate and job turnover in this town, maybe not. Guess there was only one real way to find out. “So, who am I sending my thank you card to? Fair warning it might have some dog and cat hair on it.” 

Ooh, he was touchy. Dakota normally tried to keep her mouth shut whenever someone seemed upset, because nine times out of ten, she liked to push their buttons to see how far she could push them. See, she didn’t like being the center of attention, but she loved riling people up just enough to see if they’d snap—and when they did, it usually left her satisfied as all hell. She let a bout of silence swell between them after he’d thanked her, and let it fester even longer when he mentioned a thank you card. Her expression didn’t change much, rather just her hand lifting to her lips, taking a long drag from her cigarette before blowing the air out. “Are you asking for my address?” she deadpanned. To be fair, Dakota thought it was funny, even though from the second she saw him she’d noticed he was tense as all hell. But… Being a sarcastic little shit was sort of her bread and butter. 

Kaden was about to inhale another round of his cigarette but he stopped to shoot her a look. “Yes. Of course. I want the whole thing, proper zip code and everything,” he shot back in an equal tone. He shook his head and finally took that drag. “I mean you could start with what department you’re in. I know you’re not Animal Control. But that’s about it.” He watched as the smoke left his lips and twisted and floated through the air, mixed with the condensation from his warm breath hitting the cold air. “And possibly a name. I heard it’s a good place to start.” He considered putting his hand out to shake but thought better of it. “Kaden,” he said with a small nod. “Uh, I guess Officer Langley. Depending on-- I mean, you know. Animal Control. In case, uh, you missed that.” It had been almost a year in his job and he still felt like such a fucking fraud saying his title or whatever, at least to other people in the department. Out in the field, he had no problem acting with authority. Those people didn’t know any better. Here? At the station? Some part of him was always going to feel like an imposter.

Kaden was right. She most definitely could start with her department, maybe a name, maybe her affiliation with WCPD. She could be polite and cordial and maybe even start to make a couple friends in this one-horse town. Hell, maybe this kid wasn’t so bad, and maybe if she let her guard down for half a second, she’d think he was decent enough to grab a burger at Al’s at lunch...But where was the fun in that? Being closed off was a part of Dakota’s personality regardless—too many people back home knew all of her business. White Crest was refreshing since nobody knew who the hell she was, so nobody knew her secrets, her business, her likes and dislikes, her habits… Jesus, Kota, go see a damned therapist. Finally taking the last drag of her cigarette and stamping out the ashes against the cool brick of the building, she looked over at him. “Wait, you’re in Animal Control?” She was just having too much fun being a dick. There was a beat of silence, mainly because she wasn’t giving him much to work with—of course, that was always her plan, because then people would leave her the hell alone, but.. He seemed a decent guy, and if they were technically coworkers, he was bound to find out anyway. “Dakota Grant. CSI. I’ve been here for.. What, five months now?” She tucked her hands into her pockets. “This town keeps me far busier than I expected, I’ll give it that.” Another beat. “Animal Control keep you busy? I hear there’s bears.” 

Kaden rolled his eyes and went back to his cigarette. At least she wasn’t calling him Paw Patrol, but he had a feeling it wasn’t far behind. “Yeah. Shocking. I know.” He wasn’t sure right that made her a detective or not if she was already picking on him. It seemed like it was part of the orientation package at this point. Then again,again, maybe he was just an easy target. Hard to say. He inhaled another hit of nicotine and let it slowly release. He half expected the conversation to end, for the quiet to hang in the air between them awkwardly as they stood in the same place, doing the same thing, while very likely working for the same institution. His head jerked to face her as she answered him, nearly coughed out of surprise. “Nice to meet you, Dakota.” Shit, did she go by Grant? Half the department used last names. No, she wasn’t an officer. Was she? Putain. He took a drag of his light and tried not to overthink this more than he really needed to. She wasn’t an authority, she was CSI. Kaden blew out a puff of smoke before adding, “CSI, nice. Guess that explains why we haven’t seen much of one another. You probably worked with my girlfriend, though. Medical examiner?” His heart sunk and his mouth pulled into a thin line as he realized his mistake. Stupid how easy it was to forget, even now. “Well, former medical examiner. For now. She’s on leave. For a few months n-- You know what, never mind.” His cigarette was dangerously low. He was tempted to pull out another but he’d need to bank on her favors again to light it. Better stretch this one out as long as possible, then. “Anyway, yeah. Not surprised you’re busy. Whole WCPD is. And the morgue. But yeah, bears are the easiest things on my list some days.”

Wow, this dude really seemed to be an open book—not just for his own shit, but apparently his girlfriend’s as well. Medical examiner, huh? Maybe this guy would end up being a nice contact to have after all. Dakota’s perked up a bit at the comment about the bears—she wasn’t terrified of ‘em, and she sure as shit wasn’t afraid to shoot one, but.. The prospect of being put in the situation to do so did stress her out. “You know what they say, your chances of being mauled to death are pretty low, but never zero.” Dakota deadpanned, tucking her hands back into her pockets. The longer she stayed out here, the more she realized maybe she hadn’t crawled out of that cave just for a cigarette and maybe some fresh air—she needed the sunlight. And, so it seemed, a little conversation wasn’t terrible after all. More silence filled the gaps in their conversation before she let out a little sigh, looking Kaden over a bit. His body language bore stress and.. Anxiety, maybe? All she knew was that he seemed downright annoyed about something. And upset about something, maybe. But she’d been wrong before. “You can talk about it. Your girlfriend issue, if you want. I’m just a stranger having a cigarette.” she offered.

Kaden had to bite back a laugh. “Well mine are definitely never zero.” Little did she know. He came close to being mauled, what? At least once a month. Maybe more. The perks of being a hunter and Animal Control. Which, speaking of, he should probably head back inside, get back to the fucking paperwork. Putain, he didn’t want to think about that. Not yet. There was still some of his cigarette worth smoking. He wasn’t sure about conversations worth having but guess he was having them anyway. “Right. I don’t have a girlfriend issue,” he said simply after a long, slow, exhale of smoke. That was underselling it. But what the fuck was he going to say? Oh yeah, my girlfriend? She quit her job to go train in the woods to learn how to suppress her emotions and is just ritualistically torturing herself and occasionally exploding animals with her voice. And now she’s afraid to touch me or be around me because she thinks she might explode me with her voice. Yeah, that’d be fine. Really great topic of conversation. “She’s just in a rough spot right now. That’s all. So you know, just don’t go looking for her in the morgue right now. That was my point.” It was one thing to dump his issues on a stranger but he wasn’t about to unload Regan’s. 

The wind wasn’t fierce, but it was just cold enough to start to make her nose and cheeks feel numb. Fucking winter. Dakota had to admit that Kaden seemed to have a strong opinion on getting mauled, but she figured that was just because he was with Animal Control. “You get a lot of calls, then? Lots of lost puppies, saving kittens from trees?” she tried to joke, despite her sense of humor being quite literally.. Well, awful. Bringing up his girlfriend—Oof. Touchy subject. Note to self, don’t talk to this dude about his relationship issues. “Kavanagh, right? Replaced by Rickers. I’ve gone through some of the old records downstairs and… I mean, her autopsies are seamless. They’re textbook perfect. She’s a damn good examiner, I’ll give her that, but… Sometimes her determinations don’t make any sense given the collected evidence. I mean, some of them don’t even match up with the correlating investigation. You think she’s got some good dirt on a massive scandal in this town?” That’s right, Dakota. The man could have built a physical brick wall around the subject, and you still push. “Just curious, I suppose. Wouldn’t be an investigator if I didn’t ask.”

“Yeah, yeah. Lost puppies and cats in trees. Among other things. It does actually happen, believe it or not. Cats in trees. Ban--” Kaden covered up the last word with a cough. Best not to say banshee to a stranger. “Girlfriends, too, apparently. That wasn’t exactly on duty, though,” he said with a small shrug. “But yeah, there’s lots of calls. Never a dull moment. And a lot of aggressive animals in this place.” Kaden gave a small nod, as he swapped which hand held his cigarette so that he could warm his other hand again. “That’s the one. And Rickers didn’t replace her. For the record. Her position is still open, they used to work together.” He probably came off a little too snappy at that. But he kept close tabs on that position. He needed it to be waiting for her when she was ready to be a person again, whenever that was. Fuck, she needed it more than he did. So far, so good. Lucky for her, most people didn’t like to be drowning in quite as much work as she did. “She’s really fucking smart, yeah. Too fucking smart for me, that’s for sure. And good at her job. Great, even.” 

Kaden took the last drag he could manage of his cigarette before tossing the butt on the ground and snuffing it out with the heel of his boot. “This town is dangerous. And a lot of weird shit happens here. But I pro--” The word caught in his throat. He had a feeling Dakota wasn’t fae, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Still, he cleared his throat and tried again. “I can assure you whatever Regan put in her reports is exactly as she saw it. And if she had any dirt, it’d be reported faster than your heartbeat.” That said, Regan didn’t see everything in this town for what it was. He wasn’t sure if he should clue Dakota in or leave her to her blissful ignorance. He wished he could have some of his own. But being unaware in this town? It was dangerous. He shifted in his spot, deciding how many cards to lay on the table. “You should be ready for anything here. But I bet you figured that out if you read some of the cases coming out of White Crest.” 

“Look, man, I’m not trying to say anything bad about Kavanagh. I’m just saying some of her rulings are just.. Weird, you know? Some of them don’t make sense. Not when you corroborate it with toxicology reports and the forensic evidence and what the detectives pieced together…” Dakota trailed off, scuffing her boot against the concrete and pieces of gravel, just for something to do. “I don’t doubt she’s smart as hell. I’m just saying they don’t make sense, and if she has any information I’m missing, then I’d really like to talk to her.” 

Kaden definitely seemed jaded about this town. Dakota still didn’t have a good idea as to why, but if her entire career was running around chasing animals and getting in close calls with the aggressive wildlife every other day, maybe she’d be just as jaded as well. But it was a certain tone in his voice that made her think there was something more -- like he was trying to tell her something without explicitly saying it, but she’d been known to overthink things like this, so perhaps she could be wrong. But.. When was she ever really wrong about things like this? 

“You seem to have some type of disdain towards White Crest. I’m not saying it’s Paris, but I don’t necessarily think anything’s wrong with the place. Wanna elaborate on why you’re so…” she gestured vaguely to his all-over stance and slight hint of attitude. “--About it?”

Kaden couldn’t hold back the laugh that blurted its way out. Queen of the Nile Kavanagh was the last person to clue Dakota in on what she was missing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh at you. But this place is just fucking weird. If you can’t handle that you might want to pack in your bags now. Probably best to just accept that and let it lie.” He placed his hand back in his pocket, desperate for another smoke to occupy his hands. “But you can go ahead and talk to her if you want.” He settled for flipping the dud lighter open and closed in his pocket instead. Not as good. “First off, I’m from Lyon not Paris, thanks,” he said with almost a huff. “Disdain,” he repeated, like he was mulling the word over like a fine wine. Was that the right word? “Not sure that’s it. It’s complicated.” His eyes darted away as he tried to place his feelings. “Like I fucking said, this place is weird. It’s a hard town to live in. Not for everyone. And if the death rate’s any indication, not a whole lot of people make it out of here alive. It’ll turn your whole world upside down. For better or worse.” He shrugged before pushing off the wall he was leaning against. Probably time to head back inside soon enough. “That answer your question?”

Kaden’s ominous warnings about White Crest didn’t leave her uneasy, but she did find them quite confusing. It reminded her of something she’d heard in one of her father’s meetings near the end -- 

Here lies a Hampshire Grenadier / Who caught his death / Drinking cold small beer. / A good soldier is ne'er forgot / Whether he dieth by musket / Or by pot. 

A doggerel that served as an unpromising deterrent. She was too young to really understand then, but as Kaden was speaking, Dakota couldn’t help but remember it now. But if he hated the place so much, which he seemed to by the way he was speaking, then why didn’t he just leave? “I guess that answers my question. But I have just one more, unless you have to get back to your all-important paperwork.” she said, clearing her throat before continuing. “Are you saying that if I don’t pack up my bags and skip town, I’m more likely to die here -- or at least die trying to get out?” 

It was tempting to cross his arms, lean back, and look down his nose at her, like he was doing her some kind of favor by taking her final question. Instead, Kaden simply rolled his shoulders back and gave her a small nod. “Not necessarily.” He let out a sigh, wishing it was another puff of smoke after a good hit. It was just his breath visible in the air. “I said what I said. This place will change you before you change it. That much I fucking know.” He couldn’t name one person he knew, not one who he was close to, hell not even anyone he didn’t even care for, who wasn’t left untouched by White Crest. The town wrapped its roots around people and pulled them down deep into this earth. Even if you broke away, pulled yourself out of the dirt, something was left behind, changed. He felt it in his bones. “It’s not all bad.” There were people he relied on more than he wanted to admit to himself let alone a near stranger. He’d almost call them family in a way. Maybe. He wasn’t sure yet. “But it’s tough. No shame in admitting you can’t handle it. But you should probably figure that out sooner than later. That’s all.” 

Dakota simply just listened -- which usually wasn’t something she did, because she always had her opinions and always made them abundantly clear to anyone that listened, because… Well, she liked to think she was always right. Even when she was wrong. But the conversation had went from getting to know some kid in her department to being forewarned about the town she’d just moved to, and that wasn’t necessarily something she’d take lightly. If she didn’t know better, it almost sounded like he was telling her to be careful around this place -- This place will change you before you change it. Something sort of hard to accept for someone who more or less wanted to make the world a better place, one little town like White Crest at a time. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Dakota’s arms still crossed over her chest before she cleared her throat, just one more time, then nodded towards the back entrance. He’d given her some things to think about, that was for sure, though she wasn’t certain she’d heed his warning. Besides, how terrible could a town be when murders were being solved left and right, regardless of the weird rulings? One thing she did know was that she needed to talk to Kavanagh about her rulings, and go from there. “Right. Probably should get back to work, yeah?” 

[nastybuckybarnes]

Four More Steps

Pairing: Bucky X Reader AU

Summary: Everyone has a specific number of steps before they meet their soulmate. But when you can’t take anymore steps, how are you supposed to find the one for you?

Warnings: Angst, Injuries (Car accident), Fluff

Word Count: 1.4K

A/n: Finally getting to this gem. I like this idea and I hope I did it justice. Thank you @my-suga-kookies for sharing your idea with me.

@my-suga-kookies said 

“I just thought if this soulmate prompt: step counter to where you meet your soulmate, but then you get paralyzed and the physical therapist is your soulmate or something”

MASTERLIST

~*~

So close.

So fucking close!

Ten steps. Eight steps. Six. Four and then CRASH!!

Four steps left and now you can’t walk. Four fucking steps!

You tear at your hair in absolute frustration, cheeks damp.

“Ah good, you’re up.” You glare at your friend.

“I wish that driver would’ve fucking killed me! I wish he would've! This is so much worse!” Clint sits down beside you and takes your hand in his, sighing when he sees the number on your wrist.

“I know it hurts. And I know you feel... absolutely hopeless, but doctors can be wrong sometimes. They said I’d never be able to hear and look at us!” You shake your head, trying to blink back the stinging in your eyes.

“Four steps ‘till I met them, Clint. Four steps. And now I’ll never walk again.” He sighs and squeezes your hand gently. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” You close your eyes and allow the tears to cascade down your face, absolutely destroyed now that your chances of meeting your soulmate are gone.

~

“Hey stupid!” You groan and roll out of bed, reaching for your wheelchair as Clint comes barrelling into your bedroom. “What do you want?” You demand, tired and aching.

“My coworker has this friend that had a really bad spine injury a few months ago. He made him some fucking crazy leg braces that help him walk and they’re seeing an amazing Physiotherapist. I think you should talk to him.”

A second head pops up and you groan again. “You couldn’t have invited him over when I looked half decent?!” The man behind Clint smiles and invites himself into your room.

“The hawk tells me that you’re paralyzed in your lower left leg and all of your right leg. He wanted to see what I could do to help you.” You open your arms in invitation and he accepts, walking over to you and pulling the blankets off.

“I’m gonna take some measurements and take a peek at your medical file... see what can be done. I should have some kinda news for you within a week.” You furrow your brows, not at all convinced that this man can do anything for you.

“I highly highly recommend popping over to Roger’s Physiotherapy. Everyone who’s had a problem like yours has been... essentially cured by them. Like Doctor Stephen Strange, for example. Search him up if you don’t believe me. These guys... they know what they’re doing.” You hum in agreement and wait for Clint to see Tony out before rolling back into bed, pulling the blankets up to cover your face.

Are you depressed? Absolutely. Should you be doing something to try and help yourself both mentally and physically? Yes. Are you going to? Only if Clint forces you. And a small part of you hopes he forces you to get up soon.

“C’mon (Y/n). I think we should go down there for a consultation.” You look over at him and sigh, “even if I wanted to, I’m sure we can’t just go down there for a consultation. We’ve gotta schedule one.” He scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly and you sigh.

“You already scheduled it, didn’t you?” He nods, chuckling as you throw a pillow at him.

“Get up. If you... need help getting dressed just let me know. I’ll be in the living room.” You watch as he walks out of the room, a small smile on your face. He really cares about you.

~

“I’m Steve Rogers and this is my Partner Bucky Barnes. Well, James Barnes. But everyone calls him Bucky. Clint said that you’re paralyzed entirely in one leg and only partially in your other?” You nod, confirming what the god-like-man said.

“The doctors said that with the proper care and PT she might be able to walk again. And my buddy Tony Stark is making her some leg braces to help with the process.” Steve nods and glances down at a file.

“I think we should meet at least twice a week. As soon as Tony has the leg braces we’ll get to some... intense things. I want you walking just as bad as you do.” You hold back a scoff. No one wants you walking more than you do. No one wants it nearly as much as you do.

“Sure.” You look at the other man, trying not to stare at the metal prosthetic where his left arm would be.

“(Y/n), you won’t get better unless you want to. You’ve gotta put in the effort that you think might kill you. It’s not gonna be easy but it’ll be worth it.” You give the blond a tight smile, your eyes darting back to his partner for a moment before you look down at your knees.

“Alright.” Steve smiles at you, taking your hand gently in his.

“You’ll walk again. I promise. Now, as soon as you have the braces, call us and we’ll start you up.”

~

“Thank you so much, Tony.” The billionaire shrugs, watching as Bucky and Steve help you put the leg braces on. “I know what it’s like to have a friend so close yet so far,” he whispers to Clint.

“Alright (Y/n). Let’s see what these babies can do.” Steve takes your hands and helps you to a standing position, frowning as he holds up most of your weight.

“The braces will stimulate muscle movement and memory, it’ll take a little while, but she should be able to work those bad boys again soon,” Tony says when Steve sits you back down.

“Sounds good. Let’s just try some basic movement things. I want you to wiggle your toes.” He pulls your shoes off and watches your feet as you concentrate.

Your toes twitch and Clint smiles.

“Anything more than that, (Y/n)?” Steve asks, looking up at you.

“If I try any harder I swear I’ll shit my pants.” A choking laugh makes you look over at Bucky and you cannot help but grin. He’s got his left hand covering his mouth, doing nothing to hide his laughter.

“Alrighty,” Steve says almost awkwardly, grabbing a clipboard off of the desk. You find yourself feeling more at ease when Bucky smiles gently at you, the look in his eyes encouraging and gentle.

Maybe this whole Physiotherapy thing isn’t going to be so bad after all.

~

“Good morning, (Y/n). How are you today?” Bucky asks when you roll into the room.

“I’m alright I guess. I’m feeling strong. I think today’s gonna be the day.” He smiles at that and rubs your back while helping you up onto the little cot.

“Let’s go over the basics first, okay? Then we can try walking.”

You go through your regular exercises with him, smiling proudly as you do them with ease.

“You’re doing amazing, (Y/n). I’m gonna go grab a file from the front desk and then we’ll try walking, okay?” You nod, watching as he walks out of the room.

When you’re sure he’s gone, you slowly get off of the cot, your legs shaking as you carefully take a step forward.

Then another step.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you take a third step away from the cot and towards your future.

One final step and then-

“(Y/n)!” Bucky grabs you as you stumble, one arm securing around your waist.

“I thought I told you to wait,” he whispers, not liking the tears on your cheeks. “I didn’t want to,” You reply, giggling as he shakes his head.

His eyes find their way to his wrist, widening for a moment before looking at your own wrist.

“Have you met your soulmate yet?” He asks suddenly. You cock your head and frown.

“No. The day of the accident I was four steps away from them...” you trail off, counting the steps you just took in your head.

Risking a glance down at your wrist, you gasp.

0.

“It’s you,” you whisper, looking up into his ice-blue eyes.

“It’s you,” he replies, wiping your tears off of your cheeks.

“Fuck, I thought I was done for. I-I thought after the accident... I thought I’d lost my chance. But I didn’t. Fate is just... fucked up.” He chuckles, his eyes glossy.

“Would you um, like to get a coffee sometime?” You nod furiously, holding tightly to his arms as he helps you over to the cot again.

“I’d love nothing more, Bucky.”

~

TAGS:

FOREVER:

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MARVEL:

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BUCKY:

@chuuulip @nerd-without-a-cause @natashasnight @dragonrosegardens @saharzek @fandom-princess-forevermore

[beckzorz]

Pizza Night (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Words: 1967 Summary: What makes this pizza night different from all other pizza nights? A/N: Happy holidays ;-) Something of a companion piece to Snowed In (thematically, anyway). Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.

The third Sunday of every month is pizza night at the compound. Tony gets pizza delivered straight from the city, usually from a different place every month, for absolutely everyone—janitors, Avengers, programmers, medics, doctors, physical therapists…

And you.

Pizza night is one of your favorite traditions here. It’s less classy than the cocktail party-type get-togethers that Tony likes to throw; no mixed drinks, just water, soda, and beer for those inclined. And yes, you do like getting dressed up once in a while, but there’s effort involved, and your job is enough work, thank you very much.

Unwinding without expectations is nice.

Also, pizza.

—

“Hi Paul!” You slide into the passenger seat of your neighbor’s car and tuck your shopping bag between your feet. “Thanks so much for the ride.”

“No problem,” Paul says. He pulls away from the curb and drives towards the compound. “It’s literally five houses out of my way.”

“Yes, but still.” It’s cloudy but warm, so you open the window and let your hand dangle, catching the wind between your fingers. “How’s it feel to have tax season over?”

Paul groans in relief. “Oh my god, like freedom herself came and blessed me with those lottery days off last week.”

You laugh. Most accountants are dull as the grave, but Paul’s pretty funny, all things considered.

“What’s in the bag?” he asks.

“Oh…” You shift a little in your seat. “Just some stuff for tonight.”

“Fun,” he says.

“Mm.”

Your noncommittal answer doesn’t lead to a reply, and Paul turns on NPR. All Things Considered is good as far as radio shows go, but tonight your mind is wandering.

Pizza night’s going to be a little different this time around, and the thought of standing out makes your heart squeeze painfully. You’ve only been at this job long enough to take part in five, maybe six pizza nights, and you’re just starting to feel comfortable enough to make some waves. A suggestion for implementing a new project, a few more personal effects by your desk… It’s all gone well, but tonight?

You’re not sure.

It’s another fifteen minutes before you and Paul flash your security badges to the gate guard. There’s already a bunch of cars in the front lot—no surprise; the compound runs 24/7. Paul squeezes into a spot between two SUVs, and you suck in your breath to slip out of the car with your bag.

The second you walk into the right building, your mouth starts to water. You can smell it all—the bakery smell of the crust, the gooey cheese, the garlic. Even the tang of pepperoni, which you don’t eat.

It smells like a greasy pizzeria, replete with checkered tables and silvery napkin holders and rotating countertop displays with slices waiting to be shucked onto paper plates. It smells like a hole-in-the-wall with a gruff chef whose mouth would give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money. It smells like the kind of place you don’t wear white to.

It smells like heaven.

“Fuck,” you mutter, and Paul chuckles beside you.

“Eager, huh?”

“Not exactly.” You shift your bag to your other hand and try to keep your breathing steady.

Paul gives you a funny look, but he doesn’t push as you both climb up the lobby stairs to the lounge. He nods at you and makes a beeline straight for the buffet table. You don’t follow quite yet.

You pause by the top of the stairs as you take it all in. Maybe it’s a little cliché, but you still can’t quite believe your luck. How many people can say they work with superheros? Eat pizza with superheros? Sure, some of them are away right now—it’s Easter today, after all—but there are still plenty here tonight. Steve Rogers, of course, and his cute friend Bucky Barnes. Natasha Romanoff, Vision, Wanda Maximoff. Plenty of people.

Someone bumps into you, and you tighten your grip on your bag and make your way to the kitchen. It’s commercial-sized, with an oven the size of a closet full of oozing pizzas waiting to replace the ones on the buffet. You pause in front of it, gazing longingly at the rotating rack of pies, before one of the outside waitstaff ushers you aside.

You snag a plate from a cabinet and a spoon from a drawer. With a heavy heart, you open your shopping bag. Out comes a box, a bag of shredded mozzarella, a glass jar of marinara sauce. You carefully spread the sauce and sprinkle the cheese. Sixty-six seconds in the microwave, and you sigh as you pull the warm plate out.

“What’s that?”

You jump out of your skin. Natasha Romanoff is at your elbow, eyeing your plate curiously.

“Oh, uh, hi, Natasha.” You shift your weight, cheeks hot. “It’s matzah pizza.”

“Oh right,” Natasha says. “It’s Passover, isn’t it?”

“Yep.” You force a smile and squeeze by her to get back to the lounge, but she sticks to you.

“Isn’t all this—” she gestures to the pizza buffet as you pass by— “awfully tempting?”

You snort. “Of course! And it’s only day two.”

“Eight days?”

“Outside of Israel, yup.”

“And no bread?”

“No bread, no cake, no pasta—well, no normal pasta, anyway—no cereal, no oatmeal, no beer, no cookies,” you rattle off. “And I’m sure I’m missing something.”

Natasha puts a hand on your arm and leads to the couch she usually shares with some of the other Avengers. You sit down, head swimming with surprise. You usually hang out with coworkers from your department, not… the department.

Still, you do your best to smile at Steve, who’s next to you.

“How are—oh,” he says. He blinks at your pizza, then looks back at you with a sympathetic wince. “You’re brave.”

“I would go with masochistic before brave,” you reply. You take a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment before you pull yourself together. A bite of matzah pizza does nothing to resolve the craving for real pizza. “This is hell.”

Steve chuckles. “So why’d you come?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Natasha chimes in. She’s perched on the arm of the couch beside you, a half-eaten slice of pizza folded in her hand.

“Eh, pizza night’s my favorite thing we have here,” you say. “It’s nice to hang out without having to think about work, you know?”

“Fair enough.”

“Bucky,” Natasha says suddenly, amusement dripping from her tone, “you look like a fish.”

You turn to look up at Bucky. His eyes are glued to your plate. To your pizza. He snaps his mouth shut and swallows, glancing down at his own plate. He’s got two big pieces of pepperoni pizza, one piled on top of the other.

“Something wrong, Buck?” Steve asks.

“No,” Bucky says, but you don’t buy it for a second.

Based on their raised eyebrows, neither do Natasha and Steve. Bucky nudges Steve’s leg with his boot, and Steve shifts over as much as he can.

Bucky sits down next to you, his thigh pressed against yours. He discards his pizza on the coffee table and sits back, still looking at your plate. Your mouth suddenly goes dry, pizza smell be damned. So close to Bucky, you’ve caught whiff of something a million times more intoxicating. He smells intoxicating, all heady and exhilarating and distinctively unique.

Greasy pizzeria as heaven?

No, heaven is sitting next to Bucky Barnes, his solid thigh against yours and his hand brushing your arm from where it’s slung on the back of the couch.

“You know,” he says, voice small and almost faraway, “the missions used to come to the front for Passover.”

You blink. Bucky is still looking at the matzah pizza on your plate.

“The front? You mean, during World War II?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His eyes flit to yours, his lips quirking up just enough to set your heart beating a little faster. “Those seders were the best part of the year.”

You gape. It can’t be attractive, but—Bucky Barnes is Jewish? Like you? It’s impossible.

“I don’t remember any,” Steve says. “What about ‘44?”

“Eh, by the time you came along, we had other things to do,” Bucky tells Steve, but he’s still facing you. He lowers his voice, ducks his head a little as his gaze tightens on yours. “Can I—did you bring that?”

You nod, thoroughly speechless.

“Can I have one?”

“Just one?” Natasha teases. You huff a little, half amused, half offended on Bucky’s behalf, but he’s rolling his eyes fondly.

“Of course,” you tell him. You force yourself up from the couch, left thigh cold from the loss of his leg pressed against yours. Is your face as warm as it feels? Can they all see? “Be right back.”

But Bucky jumps to his feet before you can make your escape. “You gotta show me how,” he says. He puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you through the crowd to the kitchen, greeting some of the waitstaff by name.

You’re not just speechless now; you’re breathless. His hand on your back, with just a thin shirt between his metal hand and your skin. His rich baritone, the gentle smile you can see out of the corner of your eye if you turn your head just a little.

Out comes the matzah, the sauce, the cheese. Bucky grabs a fresh plate and watches with careful focus as you assemble a matzah pizza for him.

“Can I do more cheese?” he asks.

“Eh, you could, but if you do too much it gets soggy.”

“Fair.”

You stand side-by-side in front of the microwave as you punch in sixty-six seconds. The microwave comes on with a whoosh.

“So,” Bucky says. “I didn’t know you were Jewish.”

Your lips twitch. “Bucky, I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than half a dozen words before tonight.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he purses his lips in reluctant agreement. “But I didn’t know you were. And we learned about you all in school!”

“Well, my mom was. We didn’t practice or anything.” He tucks his hair behind his ear. “Not like you.”

“Everyone does it differently,” you say. “It’s all about what works for you.”

The microwave beeps, and Bucky pulls the plate out. “I haven’t really thought about it in ages,” he says. “But…” He smiles at you, eyes crinkling. “Maybe it’s time to see what works for me now that things have changed.”

“Hear hear!” You grin back. Never mind the heat in your cheeks—Bucky is smiling. At you. Who cares if you’re blushing? “No time like the present.”

“Amen,” he says. He lifts the plate close to his face and tries a bite of matzah pizza. His expression is thoughtful by the time he swallows. “I mean, it’s not as good as the stuff out there usually is, but it’s not bad.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m going to eat a whole pizza next month,” you tell him.

“Next month?” Bucky asks through another bite.

“Next pizza night,” you clarify.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing on his pale neck. “How long is Passover? Eight days, right?”

“Yeah…?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Forget next month. We can go for some proper pizza next Sunday. I mean—if you want?”

Bucky’s blue eyes are wide, hopeful as he looks at you. You can’t help smiling. Pizza to end Passover is an old family tradition, one you thought you’d miss out on now that you’re living so far from home. But it’s like Bucky said.

Time to see what works, now that things have changed.

“I want,” you say, and he grins back, smile as bright as the moon.

“To pizza night,” he says, lifting his matzah pizza in a toast.

You bump elbows with him, heart soaring. “To pizza night.”

[charlie-minion]

Day 2/365

January 2: Review of 2017. Include your best memory of the year.

Last year was definitely in the top 3 of “Worst years of my life”. I’ve had very awful years before, but I can say that 2017 probably beat them all. For those who have been following me for a while now, this won’t come as a surprise; I’ve posted about my struggles with depression more than a couple of times and how things were getting worse and worse. Therefore, to write a review of 2017, I have to describe my journey to the pit bottom I touched last year. This will get very long and maybe triggering for some, so I’ll put it under the cut.  

I started to have a hard time to deal with stress at some point in April. I’ve always been an anxious person, but I could find ways to deal on my own. However, this time I don’t know why, but everything began to feel overwhelming. I had a full-time job as a teacher that consumed no less than 9 hours of my day, and I also had classes to take after work (I’m a post-graduate student). At work, most of my students were wonderful and I loved them. The seniors, though, were really hostile (not all of them but more than half the class). It wasn’t the first time I was dealing with that sort of behavior, but for some reason I was on edge more often than not. As a result, I started drinking a little, only on weekends at first, but then during the week too. The thing is that I was still highly functional at work and at school. Nobody noticed anything different about me because I was still extremely good at putting up a front. But the energy necessary to do that was draining me pretty quickly.

In May I started to have panic attacks for stupid things. I had to interview some of the seniors as part of their scholarship process. The day I was told by the principal the minimum number of students I had to interview, I lost my shit. I had to lock myself in the bathroom in my office. I started crying, had trouble breathing, and my chest hurt. I couldn’t hold the tears or the feeling of dread inside me; I had no idea what was wrong with me. I don’t remember how long I spent there, trying to get a grip. That should have been the sign I needed to be certain that something was definitely not okay, but as usual, I tried to deal with it on my own.

In the middle of June, I had an argument with a dear friend of mine who happened to be my coworker. I’d talked to him a couple of times regarding his behavior toward the seniors (one student in particular). When typing this up, I realized that the first time I talked to him about it was around April. I was so afraid when I did it; I thought he’d get angry with me, but he didn’t (or so he led me to believe). I wonder if that talk had anything to do with my difficulties to deal with stress later on. The thing is that in June I talked to him a third time because I knew some people were talking behind my friend’s back and suspected him of having a “special interest” in a 17-year-old boy who was our student. I cared for my friend, but I cared for my students too. My friend had told me he had a kind of crush on the boy, but I knew he would never act on it. However, I also knew that he was making his crush too obvious and if other people noticed, my friend would get fired and his reputation would be damaged. I tried to explain all that to him, but I guess he thought I had my own agenda. He blocked me on all social media and our friendship was over all at once.  

By the end of June not only had I lost the friend I thought I had but I also learned that he had been talking about me behind my back since April. He had tried to damage my reputation so that if I said something about him nobody would believe me. I felt sad and betrayed. I know what ill-intentioned rumors can do to a person professionally and emotionally (I was at the receiving end of such things back in 2011 thanks to someone who called herself my “friend”). All I wanted in this situation was to 1) make sure my students were 100% safe and 2) make sure my friend remembered how serious this line of work is. I never intended to hurt him in any way. I talked directly to him, not to the principal or to anyone else. I was his friend and because of that I wanted to be honest with him without being unethical. What I got in return was a stab in the back. He stopped talking to me, ignored me, left the room when I arrived (and we shared an office for God’s sake!). I already felt overwhelmed, but after all this happened, I definitely started to lose balance. I always worked so hard to have a good relationship with everyone at work and suddenly it was over because even my other coworkers looked at me as if I was the ill-intentioned person looking for conflict.

By the time July started, I had begun to understand I was not okay. I confided in another friend at work who had always been there to support me (the only person I could still trust). She told me to look for professional help. I didn’t. I still thought I could handle it. I’ve been a high-functional depressive for years, so I thought this, too, would pass. I kept on working and continued drinking a little more every time. Reading had always been my way to escape, but I stopped doing it ‘cause I couldn’t concentrate anymore. I couldn’t write any original content for my blog; I could barely keep it together at work, but I was grateful at least I had some time off from school. Then July 20 happened. Chester Bennington died by suicide. The one who helped me through my teenage years. My hero. That blow was enough to push me over the edge. I had spent months trying not to lose it, trying to be okay, and after Chester passed, I couldn’t anymore; I just let myself sink deeper into my depression. I had been having sleeping problems, but after July 20, I was lucky if I got 2 hours of sleep. Grief took over completely.

August was a nightmare! I’m still amazed that no one around me realized I was faking it big time. Each smile was painful, but I still managed to be “happy”, “funny” and “full of life”. My classes were still great and I could still make my students laugh, learn, and have a good time, but the pain in my chest did not disappear. The moment I was home, I would start crying for no reason and I kept drinking even though I knew I shouldn’t. There’s always been a dark part of my mind. A voice that always reminds me of all my failures, of all the times I’ve been wronged, of all my broken dreams. The voice is always there, but I can normally shut it down. I couldn’t do that in August. The voice, my darkest self, took over bit by bit until I completely disassociated. I saw myself doing stuff and had no control whatsoever. I saw myself as if I were not present anymore, as if I were trapped in a part of my head that wouldn’t let me out. That’s how I felt when I tried to overdose on anxiety medication and had the worst hours of my life, followed by disappointment rather than regret.

The last weeks of August and all of September were about getting professional help. My suicide attempts (I tried twice) failed, and somehow I knew I had reached the lowest point of my existence. I just knew I couldn’t deal anymore; I was utterly defeated. I started to see a psychologist twice a week and he sent me to a doctor. I did everything the doctor said and we found out my physical health was excellent. The doctor sent me to a psychiatrist with a note that I had to be seen urgently (they still feared for my life). I was prescribed some other medication and through all the process I just felt numb. After two appointments, the psychiatrist stopped receiving me without letting me know why. One of my closest friends wants me to sue him ‘cause I had to stop taking the medication suddenly as I could obviously not get it anymore. That kind of medication can increase suicidal thoughts; nobody should ever stop taking it just like that. I didn’t want to sue him, though. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to even think about it. I don’t even know how in the world I managed to still work and study at that point.

At the beginning of October, my mood swings were driving me insane, but I was still trying to work through it all with the help of my therapist. Mental health is so important, but people’s ignorance about it is unbelievable. That’s why I decided to take advantage of World Mental Health Day to use the topic “Myths and Facts about Depression” in a class with the seniors (something they had previously requested along with around 30 other topics). I used reliable sources and very interesting activities to encourage group discussion and some sort of reflection about the issue. I’m an English as a foreign language teacher, so making the students speak in English is important in class.

Everything went to hell when my almost 16-year-old dog died in October 9. She got sick and even though I took her to the vet immediately, she needed a surgery. She survived the surgery but died from a heart attack after it. The pain of losing my long-term companion was unexplainable. In addition, my mom chose those days to prove again and again that I can never count on her when I need her. So I lost my shit again. I had never in my life felt so helpless, hopeless and alone. I couldn’t feel anything except pain. Everything felt too heavy, too painful. I couldn’t breathe properly, I couldn’t sleep and faking it for the rest of the world felt like the worst punishment ever. The only thing I could do was talk about it with a couple of friends, but people don’t know what to do or what to say in these cases. I still felt alone and miserable, so I posted something here in my blog in the middle of one my crises.

People reached out and offered kind words that however well-intended did nothing to fill the emptiness inside me. Except there was one person, one extraordinary human being that went well out of her way to reach out to me. She’s become the main reason I’m still trying to keep myself alive. She’s part of my life now, and she’s made ME part of her life as well. Not just that… she’s made me an important part of her life. Somehow, she makes me feel less alone. She makes me think that someone out there cares for me and listens, really listens without judging me, without blaming me, or dismissing my feelings and my pain. She’s a ray of light in the middle of the dark. She’s like water in a desert. She’s the one who gripped me tight and raised me from perdition. She’s my angel. She’s the only good memory I have of 2017.  

Of course, my year still had to suck a little more. In November I lost my job. One of my hateful coworkers started a rumor that I had used “13 Reasons Why” in class with the students (which was total bullshit). People talked behind my back and made it a huge deal. My boss, the principal of the school, gathered all the proof he could to demonstrate that I was innocent. He did prove that it was a lie, but his boss (who had tried to fire me many times in previous years simply because she didn’t like me), said that I should be given a Disciplinary Action for using a depression-related topic in class. I didn’t even know what was happening until my boss talked to me and explained everything, but he thought he could still fix things. All this happened without my knowing. I was informed on a Friday, and then the following Thursday I was told I was going to be fired. November 30 was my last day, but surprisingly that was also the last day of my ex-friend. He got fired because of the rumors I had warned him about. Karma’s a bitch, I guess.  

I spent all December at home, unemployed, defeated and not knowing what to do with my life. Where I live, the school year begins in January and ends in November. There was no way I could find a job in December, so 2018 is a fresh start. My boss gave me a beautiful recommendation letter and cried the day we said goodbye. He did all he could to save my job because he knew I was a very good teacher, but his boss threatened his position and he has 2 daughters to provide for. The woman who decided to fire me had wanted to do so since 2014 and treated me poorly every time she could. I hadn’t quit because she almost never visited us, but I was hoping to quit after I finished my master’s degree. I guess I should’ve done it when she made it clear she wanted me out.  

I had to stop seeing my therapist because I can’t afford it anymore. At least I stopped drinking because I can’t afford it either. I lost control just once in December and bought some cheap booze in the middle of another of my crises. I took 2000mg of Escitalopram, hoping that maybe third time’s the charm, but I’m still here, and the only thing I got out of that attempt was to make my angel worry and feel useless. I don’t want to hurt her again, so I promised I’m going to try to get better. I don’t know if I can manage without professional help, but without a job, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to keep fighting and remember that I’m not alone. Even if she’s very far from me and I can’t possibly board a plane to hug her when I need to, I know that she’s with me and that she cares.

This was my 2017. I can’t really say I’m grateful to be alive ‘cause that would be a lie, but I guess the only thing that’s left for me to do is hope that 2018 will be better and do my best to care for myself and allow myself to heal. This year will certainly be challenging and scary because I don’t even know where to start. But by writing these journal entries, I’ll try to keep myself busy enough to prevent another crisis. To finish, I just want to say #Fuck2017.  

[followingkale]

Tell Me About Your Parents. 09/22/17.

For the most part I’m in the mindset that I have a healthy relationship with my parents.

I think back to where I once was in my youth and I so admire the strides we’ve taken over the last five years.

I am currently beyond furious and approaching tears at work right now because I’m trying to be honest with them.

I knew as soon as I told them of my plans to leave early I was going to be grilled relentlessly. I told my mother I was planning on being home for thanksgiving weekend, to which her response was “Go West”. I told her again later the blank statement of “I need to come home mom”, to which I got a series of six text messages asking me what’s the hurry, her friends in Vancouver want to take me to this place and this place, she sent me links to the Hospitality program at Algonquin College, pushing me to go back and enroll in January, telling me that there’s a deal with OSAP and tuition fees are dirt cheap. All as a response to the statement I need to come home.

I’m livid.

I reached out to my dad to keep him in the loop, telling him I’d be home in two weeks. He bluntly told me that he already knew, that he and my mother had talked about it already, and closed off his monologue with “well so be it”.

Even my sister was on my case yesterday, telling me I would regret if I just came home right away.

I know I don’t have a personal relationship with my family, but I’m struggling not to be a little hurt at the fact that no one has asked me really why my plans have changed. I’ve had no serious talks with anyone in my family since being here, had no chance to reflect on things learned or where my head has been.

I’ve been fighting with this for what feels like weeks now, and I’m sorry but this is garbage. Yeah sure, I’d love to go to Calgary and Revelstoke and Vancouver and Victoria and wherever the fuck else she wants me to go for some fucking reason. But I’m the one who put myself in this situation, have been working my ass off pulling money together this summer. I’m not about to blow it all on some stupid trip to go see family I haven’t seen in years and friends of my mothers. I’ve got my own world to get back to, I’m not even home yet and the concept of post secondary Is ALREADY being pushed at me. I know what I have to look forward to at home doesn’t seem like a lot, pulling together a job and a new home and new routines and settling back into my relationship, but fucking dammit my emotions are valid.

I’ve been on such a journey this summer, experienced so much personal growth and seen so much bloom within myself, and it breaks my heart that because of the relationship I share with my parents they’re probably not going to see any of it. I’m going to come home and they’ll be immune to the new light I put off, and will instantly be on my ass about what I’m doing next, what my next plan was, why I’m not instantly working.

I’m usually very fluid when it comes to my parents suggestions, I stay neutral and go with it for the most part. Texting my mom this morning, hearing her say “I respect your choices but as a parent I need to provide guidance, suggestions, and insights”. I understand that and I respect that, but I’m 22 years old and made the choice to come here on my own. I was the one that worked for the money to get myself out here. I was the one that put on my game face and made a good impression with my coworkers and bosses. I was the one that left everything behind to throw myself into a new work and living situation after two years of the same routine. I’m the one saving for my ticket home, and I’m the one who is going to make the final call as to when I leave and where I go.

I know I let my parents opinions sway me more than I should. I’ve let things they’ve said to me jade me, and because we don’t have that relationship where I feel like I can confide them in such personal things, I skirt the edges to avoid disappointing them.

I know that things are going to be different after this experience, this is something by no means I thought I was going to gain as experience points. I’d already had to snap at my dad once since being here, when I first brought up leaving potentially early. He got all dad-ee about me upsetting my boss, not getting a reference or a bonus if I were to leave a little early, concerned about the financial aspect as well as my professionalism.

My mental state wasn’t the best when I first brought that up, and the fact that my dad has also had problems with facing his own anxieties, yet wasn’t willing to really ask me how my head was, what was going on, had hurt me more than I thought it would.

I’m sick of this half assed mask that there is sitting between parent and child.

I asked my mom once when I was probably 17 if we were friends, and she said no, that she’s my parent not my friend. I shook it off, figuring it was because of my age, she still had parenting to do. Yet as I’ve continued to grow I’ve hardly seen the attitude change.

My parents have done so much right, and I’m truly blessed to have gotten to grow up around them, watching and learning from their dynamic and the things they valued enough to instill in myself and my siblings.

But with that being said, there is much I will choose to do differently when I have a family of my own.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned with distance from my parents, is that they’re just people, and I need not fear communication. I know the few times I’ve snapped back at them, probing them back with questions, giving mature and personal inseight, I’ve surprised them. Like I said I’m usually quite fluid with them, seeing as how I used to be so hostile, I try to keep most converstions light as to not go back to the rage that used to flow from me in their company.

I’m tired of being fluid though. I feel like my family knows me but knows absolutely nothing about me since I so often don’t give inseight or details or whatnot. Whenever a conversation reaches the point of personal details I usually just close off, wave it away. I’d never been comfortable talking like that with my parents, and especially in my teens when I was forced into counselling with them both it only got worse. It takes a considerable amount for me to sought the advice from my mom about personal issues.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d repressed, all the memories of hostility and rage and discomfort. I remember the day my mom called me out on the chicken scratches along my inner arms when I was 17, the both of us yelling and screaming around the house. Her bellowing at me to take off my bracelets, while I cowered behind my door in tears.

I can so specifically remember the few times I’d pulled enough shit to finally lift the parental mask from my mother and father. I’d catch a glimpse for just a second of their true selves, caught up in anger, I could see it in the lights of their eyes, spitting words at the most toxic form of myself.

I think back to the time I spent in counselling in my youth, and wish I could remember more details. It’s a haze though, my mind doesn’t want to remember it.

I’d never realized how my mind blocked out all the time I spent with therapists and life coaches, which is unfortunate since I’m sure it would be nice to have any sort of memory at all of what conclusions had been drawn upon.

The more I think about it the weirder it makes me feel.

I saw a cognitive therapist for a little while in high school, and only remembered a few months ago when I was talking about different forms of therapy with Abby. She asked me what the approach was like, and I should have remembered, since I was probably sixteen. I think back to the hours I spent there and its literally a block, my mind cut it out completely.

I have memories of sitting in the waiting room, and then curled up on a chair in her office crying. I remember a fight I had with my dad in the parking lot, crying and screaming about how embarrassed I was to be pulled out of school to be seeing a therapist again. But I don’t remember the conversations, the emotions, any kind of technique used, its all lost in the void of memories my mind deemed not worthy of recalling.

I have memories of being taken to doctor at a younger age, probably 11 or so. Whither medical or holistic I don’t remember, but the office was sparse and modernly decorated. I remember laying on a bench in an office that was decorated with warm tones and aspects of the doctor’s personal life, I don’t remember if there were medical tools or not. But I laid down on this bench, and he sat on a stool near my head with his fingertips on my scalp, repeating certain motions on my head with his hands. He told me that it would feel like my brain was rocking back and fourth. I don’t remember if he did anything else, but I left that day with powdered capsules and a jar of liquid with an eye dropped attached to the lid, filled with a substance I was supposed to take orally. I don’t remember what they were for or if I ever went back again.

The more I think back the more I remember, but only in snapshots.

I remember when I was 10, my parents weren’t sure if they wanted to keep me in Waldorf education or put me back into the Alternative system. They brought me to a building somewhere, where I was brought up several flights of stairs to sit in another office with a middle-aged man. I took a few paper tests, just about math and spelling I think, and then we talked for awhile. We did some inkblot tests as far as I can remember. I don’t remember his name, but I think I saw him a few times.

It was when I was 17 that my parents and I started going to a family and relationship councillor. That was the most upset I’d been about seeing a shrink in my entire life, the fact that I was literally being forced to talk to my parents with a third-party mediator present was absolutely nerve wracking. I saw her a few months before she asked if I would be okay with either one of my parents joining us for a day. My mom tagged along the next week, and on the way there I had already clammed up. I had only just gotten used to Marlene, and throwing my mom now into the mix had me right back to where we started.

I remember that office so clearly, and I remember parts of that day all too well, while other parts not at all. I sat in a heap in the corner of the couch across from Marlene, arms crossed and looking out the window. I pushed aside any stab at conversation for the first while, and then was quickly turned into a shaking, blubbering, mess.

It had reached a point of me acting out, that any time I got caught with my parents I would just turn off, go numb. I realized what’s the absolute worst that can happen? Take my phone, ground me, kick me off the internet at home, that’s literally it. Whenever I got caught in a lie, or my mom found drugs or booze in my room, I was caught skipping class, or spending time with people she didn’t approve of, I would turn off my brain while I sat there and idly took the punishment. I’d live out my grounding or whatnot, then go back to my routines.

I lied about everything, twisting the truth, manipulating stories, making up friends names to spit out in stories, and dishing out ridiculous cover stories for where I was really going and what I was doing.

I was horrible to my siblings, lashing out with attitude and toxicity that came from nowhere with no real reason. The things they had called me out for, the amount of times that children younger than me had to call me out for being a horrible person was mortifying to look back on. I don’t know why I was so angry, what I had to be so upset about.

I hated being touched by my family, any form of physical contact or positive admiration had me spitting venom and yelling profanity. I don’t know where it came from or why it stopped. There was no one event in my childhood that should have sparked such negative things from me. I don’t remember what changed, or when mind you, since so much is a block in my head still.

I just remember coming home from school in a better mood one day. Every single day for what felt like years, I would come home to the question “how was your day?”, to which every single day I would respond with a monotone “fine” before scampering up to my room for the rest of the night. But for whatever reason, I’d said it was good, and then continued to greet my mother or father, I don’t remember who, with a hug before going upstairs. It was the first time I’d sought out physical contact from either of them in months, and I just remember watching the storm cloud above me begin to fade away slowly with time.

It wasn’t until I moved out though that things really settled, and even then, I don’t know if things really settled or if the distance of not living with my parents just smoothed things over.

It was weird coming back home. I didn’t really have a sit down conversation with my parents upon moving back in, which I’m not at all surprised about. Looking back we should have talked about how it would work. The fact that I was now moving back home as an adult, how would I contribute to the household? How long would I be staying? Would I start paying rent at a certain point? Do you expect to hear from me if I’m not coming home at night? How this was actually going to work.

I’d always been one to keep things from them until the last minute, just to avoid a hassle. I didn’t tell them I was moving out of their house until after I’d signed a lease and was going to be moving in three weeks. I didn’t tell my mom I was going to be moving back home until the day after my breakup. I didn’t tell them I’d be breaking off my contract in Alberta until after my two weeks had been given. My mother had once judged me so harshly for going out with someone a few weeks after a breakup in high school, that I’m now hesitant and wait until the last possible second to tell her when I’ve started seeing someone new. Any new body mod, hair colour, tattoo, I would wait to show them until after I’d already gone and done it, so it’d already be too late if they wanted to advise me not to do it.

I Put off telling them about my leaving early because I knew she was going to push me to stay, to take the trip, to spend the money, to just go because I’d already come all this way. I know she’s just trying to help, I know that it would be an incredible time and I’d be so lucky to have a free place to stay in Vancouver. But I am drained. I am exhausted.

I want familiarity and routine and a city I know. I want to come home and see friends and family and places I’ve been before. I spent the last two months very much out of my element, trying to get my feet on the ground. I was an absolute wreck of a child, and my mother should fully know that. You’d look at that nervous deer of an awkward teenager and never in your life would you think that she should make the decision to sought this out and actually do it.

I know this summer doesn’t seem like that big a deal. God it hardly is. I literally just moved a few provinces over to work at a hotel for a few months. I know its not a big deal, but for someone like me this is an enormous deal. This is a huge thing and I did it, I made the choice to come out here by myself, I worked for the money to afford coming out here by myself. I did the research and nailed the interview by myself.

I got myself to fucking Hinton Alberta, and made a home for myself in this strange little place with a group of people I didn’t know. I got a job in a field I’ve NEVER worked in my life, and managed to learn how to do it and how to do it well. I made a good impression with my coworkers and managers, and learned to adapt and troubleshoot in and out of work. I fought through ups and downs, while learning about myself and my relationship and my friends at home. I thought about it, and made the decision to come home by myself. I’ve come to learn what truly makes me happy, what instills passion and drive within me, the things I love to do and the kinds of people that inspire me. I got to get inspired by simple living, and learned more about how I truly enjoy spending my time. I got to learn about a different lifestyle, driven by little things that spark passion. I got to spend time outside, connecting with the earth in ways I had never imagined. I realized so much about myself, and I realize that for some people something like this really doesn’t seem like a big deal, but to me this was astronomical. This was a huge step for me, and I’m so proud of myself for following through and sticking it out. Fuck I was so close to bunking off and bailing in the middle of the night a few weeks into my time here. The fact that I am STILL HERE after that in of its own is something I am proud of.

I’m not going about my choice to leave lightly. I know my time has come, and I know I’ve wrung out all I can from this experience. I didn’t come out here for the job. I came out here for the life, and the people and the solitude and the connections and the lessons.

I was talking to Olivia last night, and she put it so well. That I’ve already come to do the majority of the learning that I could have from being out here. Taking some silly trip to appease my mom isn’t going to give me anywhere near the realisations on the world like what I’ve had here. I don’t know this for sure of course, but I came here for the time in Alberta, not the time trapped in limbo between this home and my old home. I’m tired, I want to lay in my own bed and shower in my own shower, despite neither of those things at home really being mine.

It’d just feel like I was prolonging my arrival home and back to the real world. I’m not in the mindset to travel now, my energy has been dwindling since the snow hit.

I had my big step out the door, I know how easy it is to just book a ticket and go. I have no problem doing that, and the fact that I’ve banked the money I have in my savings account has me inspired for next summer to see where I end up for real.

This summer I needed a new element, I needed to live out of my comfort zone for awhile. While next summer I hope to live out of a backpack in nothing but Birkinstocks and jean cutoffs with my dudes clammy hand to hold.

I’ve got the next year of my life to plan for. If I’m going to do it right, I want to have my life sorted out before I leave. I want to be working in Art House, set up in a new home, spend the winter doing things I love, working lots, staying involved and working hard on getting my life together.

I’ve fully realized that I can live a fulfilling life even if I don’t know what I want to be doing down the road with post secondary. I can live my days happy and satisfied and looking forward to tomorrow. I don’t need to have an end goal in mind. 

Wake up in a good mood, try new things, stay active in the community, get outside, have good conversations, rid my life of toxic people and hold on to the things that make me feel alive. Create lots, paint lots, write lots, drink coffee, walk around, ride my bike, cook good food, meet new people, save my money, plan adventures, get stoked on all the incredible things I could spend my days doing.

I need to rid myself of any worry of judgement my family will hold over my head. I need to go with what I trust is right, I’ve earned the ability to trust my gut at this point. The world will unfold as it should.

I know I’m making a good call to come home. Anything I’m already stressing so much about is not worth my time or energy. Kales coming home, and she will do what she does best.

I’m at the point where I’m willing to go back home and rip down any professional walls between parent and child. I’m tired of stuffy conversation, get passionate and talk to me like a real human. I want to feel comfortable enough to talk to my parents and ask for advice when I need it, I really want to be able to feel vulnerable around them, I love them unconditionally. I have such an incredible family, and I value each one of them for such different things, they’ve all helped shape me into the person I’ve become.

I know we need to work on communication though, and I know that first step needs to come from me. I need to be willing to bring myself back to a vulnerable place, to be the first one to come to them looking for help, advice when I’m at a low point. I need to ask the thought provoking questions, show them the part of myself I’ve come to know so well, yet they’ve never seen before. There is so much in me that I know is unfamiliar to them, and there are things within themselves I know nothing about in turn.

One of my biggest fears is my parents passing and feeling like I know nothing about them. Yes we will have had years of wonderful memories and lives that intertwined, but I want to be able to stand and tell stories on stories and spit out facts about them as people, not just as parents. I want to be friends with my parents, just like as I want to be friends with the children I hope to have one day.

[emilyisahuman]

I have been turning @hthrloo‘s words over in my head ever since reading them earlier this morning, and there are quite a few things that stand out and that I would like to explore with a bit more context. 

A little over three years ago, I had a moment in a bar where I sat one seat away from a man and even without speaking, recognized something in him that was also deeply rooted in me. It certainly wasn’t love at first sight, but it was something. I was with my ex-boyfriend at the time, a relationship that was well past its due but that neither of us had been willing to admit to each other out loud. He was the one who ended up bringing that man, who is now my partner, into our conversation. 

Eventually my relationship with my ex reached its natural conclusion, and Nate and I found each other again. The first six weeks or so flew by in that hazy, rose-colored rush of meeting someone who just fits, of having sex every time we were in a room alone together, of sending those long text messages any time we were apart. I knew that he had recently separated from his wife of fourteen years, but he initially framed it as a divorce that had finalized the fall before we met. That would turn out to not be true. 

At the end of April, two months into our relationship, he went to the wedding of one of his best friend’s sisters in Louisville. When he came back, everything was different. He withdrew from me and started second-guessing his decision to separate. His ex, whom I don’t feel comfortable making any judgments about because I have not met her and do not know her beyond this strange third-party relationship we have, had not taken the separation as permanent, and wanted to reconcile. 

I wish I could tell you why I did not just break off the relationship completely, but I imagine it has a lot to do with my very INFJ-ness. I wanted to be there, to be supportive, to be empathetic, to be a good and valuable partner. What unfolded over the next several months nearly broke me. He began to email back and forth with her and not tell me about it. He came on a family trip to Lake Michigan with me and barely spoke the entire time. He tried to break up with me in an email he wrote while sharing the same bed on that trip, but in a way that just further reinforced his conflicting feelings that he could not seem to get out of his head enough to share. He wanted me, but he could not get out of his past. Eventually, he began seeing a therapist more regularly and was diagnosed with and treated for depression. 

Meanwhile, I was devastated. I was so in love, so certain I had found my person, and being whipped back and forth between wanting to give him the space he needed to work through his issues and not wanting to lose him altogether. During that first summer he decided he needed to spend time with Shana to make sure he wasn’t making a mistake (a decision largely influenced by guilt, as she is disabled and had gotten used to the lifestyle his income afforded them). I bought a ticket to Ecuador for three months to live in the Andes and work with horses and try to get over him. The night before I left, I stopped by his house for dinner and we cried into each other’s arms for hours. I thought I would die of the heartbreak. 

Ecuador went a long way towards rebuilding me as a whole person. I met four of the most important women in my life and lived in a tiny former monastery with them, cooking all of our meals from scratch in a way that living in a small mountain town will make you do and immediately changing into sweatpants the moment we walked in the door from our long days of working in the near-constant sunshine. Every day ended with us strewn about the living room in front of a fire, reading from a vast collection of books and laughing about the antics the horses had pulled. We drank lots of local beer and boxed wine and listened to Ecuadorian music and fell in love with the people around us, some of the best and kindest I have been fortunate enough to know. 

The space was good for us, even though we continued to communicate through long emails interspersed throughout the week. His therapy and medication began to kick in. He spent time with Shana, which I insisted on knowing about in my true-to-form emotional masochism, and which eventually allowed him to walk away free and clear and to tell her that it was definitively over. During my last week in Ecuador, he bought a ticket to fly down and surprise me. We entered into the next honeymoon-ish phase of our relationship, eager to be around one another once more. 

During my time away, however, I had applied for graduate school at the University of Michigan. Philadelphia felt over for me - I felt stuck. I did not want to be stuck any longer. Detroit had been home for my family and it felt like it could be home for me again as well. I came back from Ecuador in November and would have to move by June. Nate offered to come with me, but for various reasons turned down the job he was offered and never really brought it up again. He had to sell his and Shana’s house and begin the actual divorce proceedings, and over time I felt like I was losing him again. He struggled a lot with maintaining emotional openness while dealing with major life changes, and when he stopped taking his depression medication abruptly and stopped seeing his therapist, it got worse.

I made the move to Detroit alone, genuinely unsure of whether or not I still had a serious relationship, and with no visits scheduled from his end until July (while he had already begun to plan a trip to Ireland with friends in October that he failed to mention to me). I became busy enough with school to try not to care - to try to pretend that this strange, deeply rooted, genuine connection that formed the foundation of our relationship was enough despite the challenges. Nate had emergency brain surgery in August during my only break between semesters. I spent the entire week in the hospital, fielding calls from friends and family, sitting in the waiting room during his six-hour surgery completely alone, filling medications. At one point I saw a text message on his phone from Shana. I looked, I will admit, and she offered to come sit with him because he had texted that he “couldn’t imagine” her not knowing about the ordeal. I cried on the bathroom floor of his hospital room for half an hour after reading that.

For the year that followed, I don’t think I ever really got over that particular feeling of being the one who was there but not feeling like the one who was appreciated or noticed. He started to visit more, he worked through his scare with death, he started going back to therapy. But I was still living in Detroit with no intention of moving back to Philly, and he had not brought up the possibility of moving here at all. Again, I felt stuck, and did not want to be. 

Last summer I spent more time outside of Detroit than I did in it, but not very much of that time with him. In my independence I discovered strength, and impatience, and felt really deeply the desire to be celebrated and loved and touched far more often than was happening. In September, I finally broke up with him. I did it almost at the spur of the moment in yet another conversation about where we were going, so it ended up being a text message. I feel awful about that to this day. And then I more or less cut off communication - at least meaningful communication. His grandfather died and I didn’t even call because I didn’t know how to handle that without putting my emotional well-being at stake. I tried dating someone else. I have never been so selfish before. 

It was not my intention in breaking up with him to spur him into action, but that was the side effect that happened. He said he had an interview in Detroit; I told him to cancel it. Long story short, he didn’t. He took the job. I agreed to talk to him again as friends. We tried spending some time together without the romance. For a month, we did not mention a relationship beyond friendship at all. That did not change the fact that I have never not been completely in love with him. Nothing felt right with anyone else - no matter how hard I tried. 

He moved here, and I moved in with him. He commuted back and forth to Philly for work for the first two months to finish his job there before starting his new one here. Caught up in the move and in paperwork and finally the final divorce filings, he retreated back into his head a little bit. And that brings us to now, the context for my ask to Heather and her knowing response. 

Nate would not admit to me that he was unhappy in his new job to the point where he could not imagine staying. He grew quiet, reserved, more aloof. I am constantly learning lessons in patience waiting for him to be ready to share. Once we finally talked, he admitted that his hesitance stemmed mostly from not wanting to pressure me and from guilt about wanting to go back. 

I do not want him to be unhappy and unfulfilled professionally. I was planning on leaving my current school next year anyway. I have plenty of dear friends and a deep love for the city of Philadelphia. Would I have left Detroit otherwise? I sincerely doubt it. I have found a meaning of home here that I did not fully expect. Detroit is not easy, but I have worked for two years to become a part of it, and I am only now beginning to see the fruits of those labors. 

I suspect my coworker crush, mutual as it may be, is mostly an outcropping of all of these things smashed together. It is, as Heather so astutely noted, more of a response to wanting to be seen, to be noticed, to be admired, than it is any actual feelings beyond friendship. In the throes of yet another huge life change - and all of the accompanying paperwork and logistics - I am yearning for a period of calm in this relationship, which at this point feels long overdue and well-earned. I want the ease of a long-term relationship, the coming home with just the normal amount of work to be done, the finally settling in. I know it is coming - and sooner than I may think, of course - but right now I am tired. 

What is difficult as well is trying to manage my own emotions in a healthy way. I am genuinely supportive of Nate and of this move, and I find that I still want to be acknowledged for the fact that I am uprooting my life after expecting to have a different one here. It feels selfish, and a little childish, but that is where I am. I know I have been more reserved the past couple of weeks than I usually am, and Nate is picking up on that. His anxiety does not blend well with that, so his move is usually to retreat as well and wait for me to come to him. I am a bit stubborn, so that takes time. But that’s love, right? And life, and relationships. Negotiating one another’s boundaries and tics and neuroses in a positive way. 

However turbulent this relationship has been over the past three years and change, it has also been transformative. It has pushed me and helped me to grow in ways I never could have imagined. I am a much better person for it, and for him, and I will continue to embrace that as we move forward. 

That being said...I still need to find a way to get that itch for attention and desire and admiration scratched. He was too tired last night and gone to Ohio for the rest of this weekend (I was originally supposed to be away at a bachelorette party). I am feeling the effects of a Michigan winter and the annual five pound gain, so the deflection stung a bit more than it usually would. C’est la vie, you know? I’ll get over it. Onward.