#the emotional whiplash i experienced today is torture

[leatherbound-breakdown]

I remind myself tonight that there are safety nets in place. I am not wounded. No, not wounded.

[29daffodils]

allow me to vent for a little bit but how does the concept of "pete's only last ditch attempt at happiness would be if vegas had stayed dead" or "pete would never realistically choose vegas" or "pete was tortured and he is probably experiencing stockholm syndrome" or anything along those lines keeps circling back into the fandom every 3 months??

is it because of the new fans? something else? or is it because there are people who genuinely believe pete would never choose vegas if given a chance?

this is slowly going into long meta territory but i'd like to remind people that for everyone else — vegas included — they had different choices for partners/significant others. kinn had tawan for a second time, porsche had vegas and vegas had porsche and/or tawan, but pete? he only had vegas. this man would have chosen the fucked up piece of shit vegas was (and i admit he is, he is a mafia man, what are we expecting?) despite everything, and he actually did.

look, pete would have chosen vegas in every universe, and if he hadn't, he probably wouldn't have chosen anyone, and we all know how pre-vegas pete was.

in his own words, "if you're hurting over it, it means it is important". and vegas became important from the moment pete saw him being slapped by gun. he became more important after the whole torture-bandage-bonding moment, and even more after pete left and still wanted his hands around his own throat. that even at the very end, he chose to save him, that given his loyalty to the main family, he shot and killed the person who attempted to kill vegas.

if you firmly believe this man wouldn't have chosen vegas, i would just say if you've got the very core of pete's character wrong.

(and look, will i deny that the tragic death sequence that tore our hearts out was then followed by a tiny little post credit extra that gave us all emotional whiplash? no. we suffered, babe.

but if you think poetic justice works every time, no it doesn't. the same way killing off a complex character like vegas would be considered lazy writing, in the same manner the post credits extra "hey we've gotta keep him alive for the audience or the rating will fall" was lazy writing. kpts as a whole could have done a lot of things that good story telling demands, the pace had always been a bit here and there, but it was still good. so i don't really get the whole concept of just hate-watching something or worse, tagging that with the ship.)

(also, why are we still debating whether what is acceptable in fiction can be applied to real life or not, it's about to be 2024 please i beg 😭)

anyway, that's all for today. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[luciusmalfoysimp]

Using Your SafeWord For the First Time With Lucius Malfoy (one shot)

this one shot is going to be nsfw, and it will involve mentions of poor mental health/depression and anxiety. if you are in fact struggling with either of those two, please know you are loved by so many people. message me anytime :)

this is gonna have a dom!Lucius (of course) and a relationship involving bdsm.

warnings: impact (ie spanking and more), restraint, mentions of poor mental health

Your cries of pain rang through the air and echoed against the walls as you received another harsh strike to your rear. You currently found yourself bent over your partner’s bed, your hands harshly tied together behind you with a thick, dark green rope, a piece of black silk covering your eyes, and your ass red, sore, and exposed to Lucius, who stood behind you, staring at your state.

The past few days had been incredibly rough for you mentally. Your mind was filled with all sorts of intrusive and unhealthy thoughts, plagued by depression and anxiety. As much as you wanted to open up, your anxiety only told you that Lucius didn’t want to hear them, as he already had enough stress with work; he didn’t need to be concerned about you.

Your mind was getting so rotted and poisoned that you needed a release. You decided to turn to your partner in a different way, and asked him to just let you have it, hoping the physical pain he’d inflict on you would drown out the mental.

Ragged breaths shook from your body as you anticipated your dominant’s next move. You could hear his quiet footsteps as he paced back and forth, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. In a condescending voice, he asked you if you were enjoying yourself, and you replied with a hoarse “yes, sir.” The fluttering of the tassels on the flogger in his hand was a noise you were all too familiar with, and you wondered when his next strike would be. You shivered as he chuckled quietly and you heard him walk away. What is he grabbing now...

Your question was quickly answered as you felt the cold metal of your dominant’s cane lightly rub against your flesh. Beneath the blindfold, you felt your eyes widen as you realized what tool he would be using next on you. Can I really handle his cane today...? No, I know I can... Despite what you told yourself, you could feel a pang of doubt in your stomach. A hand suddenly gripped your hair and you felt Lucius’s hot breath on the shell of your ear.

“I’d prepare yourself if I were you...” His voice was a seductive snarl, and your only response was a quiet whine. As he backed away, you could feel your already sweat-slicked palms get damper from anxiety. Your heart began to race as Lucius intentionally stood still, leaving you to wonder when he’d at last begin the torture.

It almost seemed like slow motion. You could hear the air being cut by the sharp swing of the cane, and then the white-hot pain spread all across your rear. Instantly, you let out a voice-clawing yell of surprise and pain, and you felt tears fill your eyes. You couldn’t see it, but Lucius smirked down at you with pride. He loved seeing you so vulnerable and completely his.

Another shriek left your throat as you were hit again, and you gritted your teeth, letting a groan out through your tightly clamped jaw. You didn’t want to cry, you were too strong for that. You needed to focus on the pain...

Even though you told yourself this, you felt your mind wander to the thoughts that clouded all things positive. As you were struck a third time, these thoughts seemed to amplify in volume, with words of not being good enough and feelings of unworthiness getting louder in your head. The silk against your eyes started to dampen, and the shockwave of pain coursed through you, this one being much worse as Lucius decided to put his whole arm into the swing.

Your reaction was instant, as you screeched from the incredible ache on your already burning backside. You instinctively pulled against the ropes restraining your wrists as you felt tears slip from beneath the soft fabric of your blindfold. Internally, you hoped that the next impact would be lighter, but to your horror, it quickly became apparent that he put the same amount of strength in this hit as the last one. You went to scream but no noise came out, only an inhale. Lucius hadn’t put much time between his strikes, and the sting from the last was now more intense.

That’s when your mind began to explode. Hurtful phrases towards yourself began to just completely rip through your brain at what seemed a million miles an hour. Everything became 100% more intense as you began to go into sensory overload. Lucius’s breaths and footsteps from behind you sounded like it was being played through a concert amp at full blast, the light you could vaguely see through the blindfold suddenly was in competition with the sun, the blanket beneath you became course and uncomfortable, the light saltiness from your tears was suddenly the same taste of sea water...

And Lucius struck again.

I can’t fucking do this, I can’t fucking do this...

This phrase drowned out the rest of your thoughts, and with a deep breath...

“WHIPLASH.” You sobbed, your body completely trembling.

This had never happened during a scene before, and Lucius’s then sadistic mindset completely shattered at the raw desperation in your voice. It completely shook him, actually confused him at first, and it took only a split second to ground him and melt from his current headspace. In an instant, he threw the cane to the side, the clattering of it hitting the ground unknowingly frightening you and making you shrink into the mattress, bringing your bound hands closer to your head to protect yourself in some way. Instinctively, you began to repeatedly say your safeword in a hoarse voice, tears flowing faster.

It nearly broke Lucius to see you this distraught. He grabbed his wand and with a flick of his wrist pointed towards your tied hands, the rope loosened. You shuddered as you felt him quickly pull the rope away from you, and despite him removing your blindfold, you kept your eyes screwed shut. Lucius pulled your torso up as he sat in front of you, his hands going to the sides of your face while you sat on your haunches.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone was so soothing and you could feel yourself calm ever so slightly. The warmth from his hands left your face momentarily and you heard some rustling of a soft blanket nearby. Kitten-soft fabric wrapped around your bare shoulders and went down your back, warming up the fabric from your thin black camisole. You gripped the blanket and pulled it tight against you.

“My love, please look at me.” Lucius’s voice was as soft as the blanket, you allowed your eyes to open. His face was clouded by tears, but you could make out his rare worried expression and his beautiful hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The tears flooded and your sight was cleared better.

His expression, which was usually cold as ice, was one that you’d only seen on a few occasions, usually when you’d accidentally get hurt or when you got separated from him on Diagon Alley for a good fifteen minutes. His brows were furrowed, his piercing eyes glinting with concern, lips slightly parted as he awaited your response.

Opening your mouth, you went to explain yourself, only to be overwhelmed with emotion. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t get a word out as your crying took over you, your body shaking with each sob. When you looked at Lucius through your tears, all you could see was an expression of heartbreak on your lover’s face, and you buried your face into your palms, trying to hide your hurt.

He truly was heartbroken as he watched you completely break down in front of him. All he wanted to give you in life was joy, pleasure, and safety. The thought of you experiencing any kind of negative emotion honestly slightly scared him. He’d always hoped to see you content and full of smiles. Of course he knew that you were human and you experienced other emotions than happiness, but seeing this intensity of utter distress and sadness gave him a cold pain in his chest.

You felt his hands move to yours, lightly gripping them and prying them away. You hesitated, but let him remove your shielding hands as you sniffled, your throat burning as you tried to keep yourself from crying any further. All you could do was stare at your hands in your dom’s, trying to avoid eye contact as much as you could. This attempt failed as one of his hands left yours to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up and eventually meeting his incredible blue-green eyes.

“My love...” His tone gave away his concern as well. There was a slight tremble to it that you picked up on. “Please, tell me what is going on.”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to express your recent painful thoughts to him, instantly tearing up again. You told him your hopes of coping with his sadism, hoping that the pain would overshadow your thoughts, and how when he used his cane, it only amplified everything: your thoughts, your senses, and your pain. A flicker of regret could be seen in Lucius’s eyes as you said this. Lastly, you told him how you didn’t want to burden him with your struggles.

The entire time you spoke, Lucius never broke eye contact, and would stop you to make you look at him when you’d look away. He wanted you to know you had his complete undivided attention and that you yourself wouldn’t get distracted in anyway. As you spoke, his hand ran up and down your shoulder, a reassuring gesture that he was there for you. His other hand lightly wiped your tears away and cupped your face, another soft action to help you feel secure.

Once you’d finally finished your explanation, your dominant pulled you into his lap, his arms around your waist. You put your arms around his neck and buried your face into his shoulder, enjoying his warmth and closeness. His left hand came up from your waist and cupped the back of your head. The two of you sat for a minute in silence as silent tears went down your face.

“Darling...” Lucius’s rich voice broke the silence. “You never, ever need to fear that your feelings can’t be shared with me. I need to know when you are unwell. I absolutely adore you, and I want to make things better for you when you’re hurting.” You felt his embrace tighten. “Let me take care of you...”

And with that, the two of you stayed together for a bit longer before he insisted on you taking a warm, comforting bath, which you agreed to. He gently brought you to his master bathroom, which had a luxurious jacuzzi tub, and sat you on the edge as he waved his wand and the taps turned on instantly, warm water filling the tub quickly.

As the tub filled, you vacantly stared into the water, feeling out-of-body in a way. Your mind felt heavy yet empty, like TV static. While you stared, Lucius was quick to grab a few of your favorite essential oils and drop some into the tub, the water becoming silky. He noticed your vacant gaze and walked over to you, cupping your chin to make you face him. His other hand tugged at the hem of your camisole, asking to take it off. You hazily lifted your arms and allowed your partner to take off your last piece of clothing, throwing it aside. Once the bath was filled (which didn’t take very long), you sank into the warm water and allowed yourself to relax.

Lucius’s hands ran down the back of your neck and landed on your shoulders, which he lightly began to massage. You closed your eyes in bliss at the magic of his hands, which were able to find every knot and tense spot and diffuse it quickly. As he did this, he brought his lips to your ear, whispering nothing but sweet praises to you.

“You’re alright.” “I’m here.” “You’re safe.” “You took everything so well.” “I’m so proud of you.” “I’m so lucky to have you.” “I’m so glad you’re mine.” “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Each time he spoke did more to ease your mind, and you eventually found yourself crying quietly once again, but tears of relief. He was right: you were safe. Lucius would always be there to protect you and be right by your side.

At last, the water of the tub started to get cold. Lucius helped get you to your feet and wrap you in an incredibly soft towel. As you stood before him, towel covering you from your chest to your knees, your tearstained face finally dry, Lucius couldn’t help but to pull you into a quick embrace, his lips solftly touching your forehead.

“Would you like to get changed into anything, my pet?” He asked in a soft voice. You nodded and Lucius sat you on his bed and left for a minute. When he returned, he produced a long nightgown (or a matching pajama shirt and pants if you’d prefer) and slowly eased you into them.

Usually, when your naked form was in view of your dominant, he couldn’t help but just absolutely salavate at the sight, wanting to indulge you in nothing but utter pleasure until you were seeing stars. But in this moment, your nudity wasn’t anything sexual to him. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable after all that you’d endured.

Finally dressed, you were brought to his bed and you climbed in, allowing yourself some peace. After lighting a fire in the fireplace from his wand with a mutter of a spell, Lucius changed out of your view into a simple black pair of elegant silk pajamas and then got into bed behind you, his face going into the back of your neck as his arms went around your torso. You turned over as he held you and buried your face into his chest, your arms returning the embrace. You ended up falling asleep to the blissful sound of your lover’s voice quietly praising you, the fireplace cracking in the background, the warmth of his body against yours, and his hand lightly petting your hair.

Once he noticed you were asleep, Lucius sighed quietly to himself, content to see you at ease. He closed his eyes, thinking to himself how lucky he is to have you in his arms at that moment, and with that, he fell into a peaceful slumber beside you.

[thepensmight]

Reflections- A Good Omens Fic

This is madness… In a certain bookshop in Soho, a certain angel sat across from a demon sipping wine.1 None of this was unusual. In fact, it had been going on for as many decades as the bookshop had been established. Decades had come and gone, automobiles clogged the once quieter streets, and bebop continued its attempt to permeate the windows of A.Z. Fell & Co. to no avail.2 And A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley or as they were more occultly and ethereally known, Aziraphale and Crowley, had spared a few hours for each others’ company. More often, in recent years, given their mutual investment in the boy, Warlock Dowling. Warlock, for his part, had had a rather unusual childhood of influences, including an imposing nanny, a gardener, and two tutors. 

Aziraphale reflected on those days as he stared at his wine, swirling it to slow his consumption. Back then, they had had to spend more time together. Even the Arrangement had been more cooperative from a distance. Though of course, they had always offered each other help when needed. Or rather, Crowley had. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t help with any sort of temptation that would require the aid of two metaphysical beings. He simply couldn’t. The Arrangement was simply a matter of convenience.

 They had grown familiar, so that by the time they had elected themselves for the upbringing of the Warlock, their time together felt almost natural. Certainly more natural than his time Above. He shivered slightly. It contrasted every written record, but Aziraphale found heaven cold, almost sterile in the never ceasing white walls and windows. And then there were his comrades-in-arms. Aziraphale’s gaze lowered further. He knew he wasn’t a proper angel. Not given his preferred company, the joy he took in human indulgences like food and books and wine. To him, the bookshop seemed a more enjoyable world than heaven had ever seemed. And now the clock was ticking. He had declared a side. Or rather refused what should have been his side. Aziraphale had been glancing above for some sign of Divine Wrath for the past twelve hours. If I’m already on Earth, where would I Fall? He had wondered where Crowley had Fallen. Had he simply landed on Earth? Or had Hell swallowed him once the sulphur had done its work. He glanced back woefully where he knew his wings lay hidden. I really do prefer white to black.  “It would work...” Crowley’s voice jolted him back to the present. It had a way of doing that. In fact, sometime between the Blitz and discovering the actual antichrist child, Crowley’s presence had started something he was pointedly ignoring. Or trying to. I’m an angel. He argued to himself, there is no difference in my feeling for him than any of Her other creatures. Aziraphale sighed, he’d never been good at lying to himself for very long. Centuries at most. “What Dear?” Crowley hissed softly by way of reproach, leaning closer, “Look, Above and Below will be looking for blood, a whole vat of it in my case, and that’s just a start.” Aziraphale had been more focused on the Fall 3, he hadn’t given much thought to an execution.”It’ll be Holy Water for me...” HIs oldest friend shrugged, “Oozing about in the Underworld for Eternity.” Crowley took an unceremonious gulp of wine, “Hellfire.” Aziraphale replied glumly, “That’sss my point!” Crowley always did hiss a little more when he was stressed or drunk… or drunk because he was stressed. Aziraphale found the tone slightly comforting. He then dismissed the thought. “They can throw me in a vat of the stuff, won’t do anything. I’m already burning.” “Yes but they wouldn’t do that to you.” Aziraphale said tartly, “You’ll get Holy Water,” Crowley leaned even closer, and it was all the angel could do to not look at his lips. Dear Lor- On second thought, probably best not to call the attention of the Divine. He failed miserably as Crowley pulled that sinful smirk of the Serpent thinking of something terribly clever, “My body will.” Crowley’s eyes roved his body and he felt his decided to beat pulse quicken. Aziraphale frowned, What was he- His eyes widened as he realized what Crowley intended, the precise way the snake was looking at him. Not as a meal, as an assessment. Like deciding on a suit. “You mean...” The color rose on angelic cheeks, he stood abruptly, “No.” Crowley stood to follow him, “You’ve possessed people before-” “That was an emergency and she willingly shared-” “So’s this. And it won’t even be body sharing. More like body swapping.” “No.” Oh the thought of what Crowley would could do, what he would see of himself, well his given body. “There must be another-” “Can you think of a better idea?” He couldn’t, “You don’t even know if it will work.” “But it might. Besides,” Again, that smirk crossed his lips and Aziraphale failed miserably at ignoring his lips, his gaze drifting lower to a long lean neck. “You must’ve wanted to take this for a drive,” Crowley was simply teasing,  but his thoughts were too flustered of late. “I-I-” “We’ll get to stay on earth...” There it was, that softer tone he’d always worked so hard to ignore. “We’ll get more time. More bookshops. More music. More everything.” Everything. It reminded him of when the demon had said they could go off together, and how much it had taken to say no. He’d never felt worse. He swallowed harshly. “I-I- suppose it’s worth a try...”

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Aziraphale was so used to the continuous drone of God’s Love and Divine Will, it was simply the background noise of his existence. The constant hum telling him what to do, what his purpose was at all times. It was still there, but Aziraphale realized for the second time in as many days, how much his body had become an echo chamber for the pressures of the Divine.4 With Madame Tracy, it was quieter. This was near silence. He had to focus to even register the drone. He sighed in relief, or rather he would have, had his clothes not constricted his breathing. Just how tight are these jans?5 Black nail polish coated the tips of slender, almost feminine hands. He touched them carefully, He has such lovely hands. A throat cleared, “Right, see you tomorrow,” Crowley was nodding him out of his own bookshop. The nerve! Though the wink tempered the gall of it quickly, “Tickety Boo,”

Shaky breath, he’d tried to go to his private rooms quickly. Longer legs provided a faster stride as he reached the cold stark reality of his counterpart’s quarters. He froze as he passed a full length mirror. Something he avoided as a general rule. He liked his clothes, he made sure they were straight and rather ignored what was underneath. He claimed out of avoidance of vanity. That wasn’t entirely true. The echoes of a thousand ethereally voices sniping at the state of his form, rang in his ears. He’d rather thought there was no harm in making his appearance more comforting. Humans made such lovely food, and his rounder shape had made people more comfortable than the harsh angels that existed in most angels… and demons… and most of the occult and ethereal universe. Over time, the voices had been added to the echo chamber of his form, noise he chose to try to ignore. But today… hands that weren’t his own, ran over thighs that weren’t his own nervously.... Today his reflection would show his spirit. But above it was something more, something beautiful. Urgently stripping off demonically summoned garments. He drank in every inch of his not his own body. Long lithe muscle, a flat abdomen, and fiery hair. Aziraphale shakily ran a hand along not his lips. Touching the mirror pensively, “I love you,” His soul shivered at the voice that formed the words. Wiping tears as he realized he had caused Crowley’s form to cry. Mortified, “No no, this won’t do.” It was overwhelming, the amount of love he felt surging through his veins. Selfish love. Love without borders, love without end. Not a service to the Purpose or the Plan. A love that was his, alone.

Across town, in a bookshop more familiar than the Gardens of Eden, an occult filled body was currently in a state of shock. Love. Divine love. And Purpose. The ultimate torture of Falling was experiencing the hole left from God ripping Her Love from your soul. The fire and brimstone bit was nothing compared to the void. Most demons forgot it to cope. Unfortunately for Crowley, he’d orbited the only ethereal being on earth for millennia. Aziraphale simply oozed with Love, he reeked of it. The angel truly adored all God’s creatures, excepting, of course, for the Evils he had to thwart and occasionally keep as company, given their arrangement.  Angel had given the poor serpent such emotional whiplash over the centuries. A thousand nos, twice as many yeses. Each played in his mind like a broken record, each given with no regard or reason for the methods of the last answer. And yet, simply being near Aziraphale had forced his Falling to remain fresh. A wound constantly reopened by virtue of accompanying the virtuous. And now, a gambit that neither side would approve of. A plot that was both so Heavenly and Hellish it could only be described as Human. Crowley had anticipated some slight discomfort, missing his familiar body and so on, but what he hadn’t counted on was the residual traces of Love as he walked across a rug in the bookshop. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he dropped to the floor as though Falling again. It ate at his being 6, but for a moment, he felt it again. The Divine Purpose. The desire to create and give… the feeling of the stars at his fingertips. A portrait for all to see, but all in Service. All according to Divine Will and Power. Will... Free Will.  Crowley sat up, remembering precisely why his wings no longer glowed a pearlescent sheen as he stared in the mirror. “Bastards.” The word sounded less guttural in Aziraphale’s soft posh voice, but the tone reminded him of his purpose. None so Divine, but perhaps focused a bit on the ethereal. Or specifically, one part of it. He pushed himself off the floor. “I only ever asked why.” Dusting off Aziraphale’s coat, because he knew he’d want it so, he busied himself around the shop. Not moving so much as a page to a different position, because he knew he’d have Hell to pay from a certain angel.  1. Not so much sipping, as “drinking as fast as was angelically and demonically possible to do”. 2. Not for any practical reason. Aziraphale simply believed his bookshop should be quiet, unless he chose to play music. Therefore, it was. 3.And the things he’d prefer to do beforehand. 4.The first time had been with Madame Tracy, which had felt rather like the volume getting turned down to a tolerable level after constant shouting. 5. Or jeans as the rest of the universe would have told him. 6.What Crowley didn’t know was the feeling he was currently suffering through would have killed nearly any other demon.

[cherrytart-ffxiv]

cherry wine

Purple and blue. Red and black. Gold and emerald. Hot pink. Red. Red. Red.

These are the hues that color my day. 

Zimmy’s hand is cruelly rough on my arm as he drags me through the bustling Ul’dah streets. I fucked up. I know it. I fucked up, and he was bringing me to meet my maker. My mind flashes back to the Mi’qote woman at the table, the way her eyelashes fluttered and her cheeks flushed and the way her gaze would trail to me with something like... concern? I wasn’t used to it, whatever it was. Maybe it was pity. Whatever it had been, she had been... a distraction, to Zimmy. Had she helped me? She thought she had. That was worth something, anyway.

Now, though, I was not in a quiet cafe, watching airships land and laughing at the scowl on Dallia’s face. Instead, I was in Alfie’s sprawling home. It was huge, living in the beating heart of the Goblet, adorned with every gaudy and expensive piece of furniture he could get his hands on. Zimmy’s grasp on my wrist was surely going to leave a bruise, vice-like and angry in the way he held me but all smiles to the passerby. To anyone else, it might look like a couple moving urgently through the crowds. To me, I knew, every touch from Zimmy was a threat. He was Alfie’s muscle. He was my reckoning when I’d gone too far.

Alfie was waiting when we arrived, and Zimmy wasted little time in shoving me to my knees as soon as the door closed behind us. My knees hit the marble hard, and I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes before feeling my jaw tighten. A hand grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked my head back, and I was met with those stormy, angry eyes I had become so familiar with.

My monster. My General. My safe place.

"What did you tell that woman?” Alfie asked me, his voice too calm, too even. It did not match the tempest in his gaze. Still, I forced myself to look at him.

“I didn’t tell her anything important. I said a client preferred my hair dark red and that’s why I dyed it back-- it wasn’t important, Alfie. I didn’t tell her a damn thing that’d put you under any kind of pressure--”

I inhaled sharply. It was involuntarily, the way that water sprung to my eyes when he yanked hard on my hair. In that moment, I considered what it would be like if I pulled the butterfly knife from my boot and ran it through his chest. How satisfying would it be, to feel the rush of crimson sticking to my fingers? For how long after would it haunt me? Instead I snarled and reached up for his wrist, but before I could do anything else, Zimmy was on me. His arms came to clasp around my body and hold me there, like a straight jacket on a crazy person. 

“You let her know what you do to begin with, you dumb bitch!” Alfie’s voice was not its usual sugary purr, but a roar. A glass went soaring past my head and crashing into the wall, dangerously close to where I was being pinned. I flinched upon feeling a splash of scotch against my cheek and at the glass that showered around me, a small shard bouncing off of my jacket and onto the marble floor. 

“She guessed,” I said through my teeth. “She guessed! It’s not like it’s a fuckin’ mystery if they see me standing around on Pearl Lane!” 

THWACK!

At first, I was only aware of the stars in my eyes. After that came the acute and horrible sensation that went hand-in-hand with each slap to the face from Alfie’s cane. I heard the damn thing crack on my face, felt splinters dig into my cheek, and watched droplets of my own blood fall as I gasped and screamed in agony. My arms were still clasped to my sides by Zimmy; I couldn’t press my hand against my skin to stem the bleeding, or to ease the stinging and throbbing. 

“Don’t you ever fucking talk back to me, do you understand?” 

Alfie was eye level to me, now, crouching. As if given a silent cue, Zimmy released me, and I heard the door open and close. My head was still swimming from the blow, but I felt Alfie grab my chin, force me to look at him again. I blinked the pain out of my eyes and met his gaze, chin jutted out, defiant. I was livid. I was livid, and I was terrified. It was rare for him to get so angry, and I knew what came when he was that angry. In that moment, I wanted to see him burn. I wanted to torch his fancy house to the ground and watch his body dance in the flames as he tried to run from them. 

“After everything I do for you,” he started, his voice low and harsh, “you go around and spread my business around. Our business. Come on, Audrey, use that thick fucking head of yours! You’re supposed to smart, huh? You’re supposed to be a smart girl. Start fuckin’ act like it.” 

A sharp slap followed, delivered to the exact same spot where he’d hit me with his cane that now was leaning against a chaise lounge. I remembered picking it out with him, back when we first met. That had been a happy day. We’d laughed all through it. He hadn’t ever been cruel to me by that point. He treated me like a princess, like a fine and precious thing. And, desperate girl, I bought into it. I pretended I didn’t know what he would end up being-- pretended I didn’t know what he was. But there, in the foyer of his home, it was altogether and overwhelmingly clear what he really was, with my blood on his hands. 

“You stay away from that woman. Do you understand me, girl? You aren’t allowed near that woman. You aren’t allowed near her friends. You aren’t allowed near that fuckin’ Mi’qote doctor you met out on the Lane. You go near who I tell you to. You go where I tell you go to. And you answer me when I ask you a question! Now you’re making me repeat myself, and I fucking hate that, but since it’s you-- Do. You. Understand. Me?”

"Yes,” I said through my teeth, forcing myself not to cry at how much pain my face was in. Instead, I forced myself to savor it. It was good. Pain was good. I still felt something if I was in pain. I was angry. I was aching. I was alive.

For how much longer?

“Yes, I understand.”

“Now that’s a good girl. Is it so hard to listen to me, baby?” 

From venom he blossomed into sweetness, his grip on my chin loosening into something he considered tender. And I despised myself for it, but I was relieved. I let myself sink into the softening of his gaze. Before I knew it, though, he was pulling me back up to my feet, his hand wrapping around my wrist like Zimmy’s had before. My body tensed immediately. 

No. No. No. Not this. Not again.

“No, wait, Alfie-- please-- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I won’t-- I won’t cause anymore trouble, I swear--” 

“Aw, baby. You’re breaking my heart with that. But you know what happens when you break the rules. I can’t make an exception just because you’re my favorite. I need to make sure it’s really drilled into that pretty head of yours. I’m sorry. I know you hate it. But it’s for your own good, huh?” 

He was dragging me down the hallway, and my fight or flight instincts were kicking in. I was thrashing against him with all the strength I could use without breaking his arm because, stupid girl, I cared about him too much to hurt him. He tightened his grip on my wrist until it made me cry out. The hallway felt so long, and the door looming at the end of it made me want to vomit. 

“PLEASE-- I don’t want to go in there, please please please, please don’t make me go in there, Alfie! Please-- I’m sorry! Please--”

“You’re pretty when you beg,” he said, glancing over at me coolly. “But you have to take your lumps like everyone else. Plus, I need you somewhere where you won’t run off while I go and talk to Zimmy, find out everything that went on today. You weren’t even supposed to be off duty. If a client cancels, Audrey, you come tell me so I can bump another on the list up to see you. You know that.” 

The door to the room swung open, and he shoved me inside unceremoniously. I landed flat on my ass and, before I could get another word out, the door swung shut in my face. I heard it lock from the outside, and it took all of my self control to not start screaming... and, admittedly, calling where I had been put a room was way too generous. 

This was Alfie’s punishment for me, especially. It was a closet that he had converted into what he called the ‘Quiet Place.’ Inside of it was a single chair bolted to the floor, a thin mattress, and a bucket to use the bathroom. On the door was a slat he opened to push through food and water. The reason that was necessary was because, once you were in the Quiet Place, you stayed in the Quiet Place for at least a day. My longest stay was two weeks. He never told me how long it would be. He just let me out when he deemed it time. 

Once inside, I sunk to the floor and put my head between my knees to stop myself from hyperventilating. The series of emotions I was experiencing practically gave me whiplash. Panic, anger, sorrow, panic again, anger that built into fury, and finally... silence. Numbness. Later, he would unlock the door and strip me down to just my smallclothes. That way, he knew I would have no creature comforts -- and, more importantly, no drugs or weapons. It was his special brand of torture. Isolation, withdrawal, and no means to escape. 

I felt like an animal that had been killed and slashed open. Every part of me felt exposed. I was helpless. To everyone else, I could stand up. I could shout back, push back, fight back. I could be a warrior. But to Alfie... to Alfie, he owned me. He could do whatever he wanted to me, and he knew I had to endure it. I had known this man since I was fourteen years old. He had not broken me yet. 

He will not. He will not. He. Will. Not. He is not going to break you, Audrey. Pull it together. Pull your fucking shit together. Think. Don’t you dare get tired. Don’t you dare think of giving up. Pull it together!

I closed my eyes, pushed them into the heels of my palms. I was tired. I was exhausted. I didn’t want to keep fighting. But what choice did I have? After everything... after every single thing that Nymeia - what a bitch - had thrown at me, I couldn’t give up. I had - I have - to see this through. 

Blood for blood. So be it.

[buckywintersoldierbarnes2017]

Complicated Hearts.

Request from @bucky-hackneyed: Can you do a Bucky x reader where Bucky is kind of an asshole to reader when she tries to flirt with him and then he tells her he doesn't like her and she's all heart broken?? But then Bucky catches feeling and then it fluffy stuff?

Bucky x Reader

Words: 2,563

Warnings: Hurtful remarks, mild language, angst, heartbreak and fluff.

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their creators <3

“Earth to [y/n]!”

You were supposed to be training with Natasha in the gym of Stark Tower but you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from the hot mess that was currently at the weights station. The redhead waved her hand in front of your face to try and snap you back to reality and after a few moments of doing so she succeeded as you shook our head and turned your gaze back to your friend.

“Gees, you’ve got it bad!”

“What?” You furrowed your brows in confusion having not even realised what it was you had been doing. “I have no idea what you are talking about Nat.”

“Yeah that’s right, feign innocence, but considering I have just been stood here for the past few minutes watching you I know exactly what, or rather who, you were looking at. You are like it every time he is in the gym.”

Could she really blame you though? Bucky Barnes had the stature of a Greek God and that jawline of his….damn it was sharp enough to cut something……

“[y/n] you’re doing it again.”

Now you really couldn’t deny it because you were perfectly aware that both your eyes and your thoughts had once again drifted over to the newest member of the team. How on earth were you supposed to concentrate on your training session with Natasha when such a beautiful sight was proving to be far too much of a distraction?

“I’m sorry but come on! The guy is ridiculously hot…that amount of hotness should be illegal.”

“Well you know Tony is holding one of his parties tonight right?”

The session by now was completely over; Natasha knew you well enough to be more than aware that she would get nothing from you today.

“I’m not going Nat. It’s the third one this week, think I am actually all partied out.”

She leaned closer to you, a rather mischievous looking smirk beginning to tug at her lips as she did, before she whispered down your ear in a sing-song type tone.

“But Bucky will be there tonight….”

Instantly at the mention of his name you found yourself biting down onto your bottom lip as you imagined dressing yourself up to the nines and, for once, catching his attention rather than him catching yours all the time. It was a rather tempting thought and one you knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. Playfully shoving your friend away you began to walk yourself out of the gym.

“Fine! I will be there if it makes you so happy!”

                                            * * * * * * * * * *

You were only a few minutes late to the party but already the room seemed fit to burst. Most people would turn up fashionably late for a get together such as this but for some reason when it came to Tony’s parties everyone was always queuing up at the doors before it had even started. That must have really inflated the already big ego that man seemed to have.

You had chosen to wear a short red dress tonight; or rather Natasha had chosen it for you, something to do with the fact that it exaggerated the curves you had and basically fit in ‘all the right places’ so any red-blooded male wouldn’t be able to keep their eyes off you….Bucky in particular.

The lack of fabric made you feel a little self-conscience as you walked into the busy room; being an agent of Shield you were more used to wearing long sleeves and trousers….not something that showed off a magnitude of flesh as well as your cleavage. Good god this night better prove to be worth it.

Your eyes searched the room and after gaining a few wolf whistles from Sam, Tony and even Steve (something which very much took you by surprise given his usual nature towards the female species) he soon came into your line of vision. Your very breath caught inside of your throat as you saw the slicked back hair and the formal suit he was in; he didn’t look at all comfortable in it but he looked so damn good in it. Taking in a few deep and calming breaths you closed the gap that was between you before standing yourself in front of him.

He was sat on his own, his sharp blue eyes staring intently at the drink inside the glass his flesh hand was wrapped around in, and when you were close enough you cleared your throat to alert him of your presence. It was well known that he was a little jumpy still and the last thing you needed was to find his metal arm swinging out for you.

“Hey Bucky.”

His eyes hadn’t even looked up from his drink yet and already you could feel your heart racing inside of your chest at the thought of those intense blue hues of his connecting with your [e/c] ones. It felt like it took an eternity for him to do so, your palms beginning to sweat as you started to think that perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea at all, and when you debated walking away completely he finally acknowledged that you were there.

“Hey [y/n]…” As soon as he lay his eyes on you and saw the figure hugging dress you were wearing his eyes turned a darker shade of blue as lust seemed to ignite inside of them. It was a look you had always wanted to see from him but as quickly as it had appeared it transformed into something else entirely….a look that could easily be considered almost malicious. “….what the hell are you wearing that for?”

His tone was cold and void of any kind of emotion as he threw the rest of his drink down his throat and stood himself up. No longer was his gaze on your dress or even you for that matter and that warm feeling you had experienced when you’d seen him dissipated from you quickly as you felt the knife drive itself right into your heart.

“What do you mean? Everyone is dressed up Bucky. It’s a party.”

“Yes but do you see anyone else flaunting themselves like some kind of floozy?!” You could see his metal hand clenching itself up into a fist, a clear sign that he was agitated, but you still couldn’t figure out why. “Don’t think I haven’t heard you and Natasha talking in the gym; in case you hadn’t forgotten my senses were heightened thanks to Hydra.”

“I was just….we were just…”

“Just what?!” His head snapped around so quickly to face you that you were surprised he hadn’t just given himself whiplash. “You were just expecting me to lap up the attention?! Let yourself throw yourself at me. I may be messed in the head [y/n] but I still have standards.”

All you could do was blink, over and over again, you didn’t know whether you were expecting the scene in front of you to change all of a sudden or if you were simply trying to fight back the tears that were beginning to build up in your eyes. You hadn’t done a thing wrong to the man stood before you, all you had ever done was show him the utmost kindness despite his past and yet now he had turned into some kind of vicious animal towards you.

Nat had witnessed what was going on from the other side of the room and when she saw you trying to prevent the hurt from showing on your face she put her drink down and made her way over to the two of you.

“That…that wasn’t what I was doing. I’ve liked y-��

“[y/n] you need to back off, now, I’m not interested.”

His eyes remained on yours for a few more moments and you could have sworn there had been a flicker of something but before you could figure out what it was he had turned away once again and Nat was dragging you to a different part of the room. She would want to know exactly what he’d said but you couldn’t face hearing the words again…even if they were coming out of your mouth. No. You could still feel the stink in your heart and all you wanted was for the ground to open and just swallow you up.

Pulling your arm out of her grip you made a swift exit from the party.

You needed to be alone.

No one needed to see your heart breaking over someone who clearly didn’t care for you.

                                         * * * * * * * * * * 

Once your bedroom door had closed that night it didn’t open for another week. It didn’t matter how many people knocked on your door trying to get you to talk to them because you continued to make sure that FRIDAY never allowed them inside. Bucky’s words had hit you harder than anything you had ever faced during your time with Shield and the last thing you needed was for the team to see you in such a state.

The bags under your eyes were big and dark, eyes red from the waterfall of tears you had cried, and your hair hadn’t been washed in a few days…..you didn’t care how you looked because the one person you had wanted to give your heart to had stomped on it right in front of you.

For what seemed like the millionth time that week you heard some soft knocking on your room door. With a roll of your eyes you wrapped your duvet around you tightly and placed both of your hands over your ears to try and drown out the sound of whoever was on the other side.

“[y/n].”

It had been the last voice you had expected to hear and although it made those hurtful words replay in your mind on a torturous loop it also managed to penetrate the blockade you had put over your ears. It wasn’t going to matter what you did to try and block him out because his voice was always going to make its way through.

“Please open up.”

Compared to that night at the party his words had a defeated tone to them and if you listened hard enough you could also hear a hint of sadness too. It hadn’t been that long ago when you had wanted him to hurt just as much as you did but now that you could hear he wasn’t himself it actually made your stomach knot uncomfortably…..but it wouldn’t get you opening the door to him….yet.

“Fine. If you won’t open up then you are just going to have to listen to me through the door.”

“Agent [l/n] would you like me to request Mr Barnes to leave?”

“No FRIDAY, it’s fine, he won’t listen to you any way.”

“As you wish.”

Dragging yourself out of the comfort of your bed you wandered over to the door and sat yourself against it, imagining that he was doing the same, and waited for him to continue speaking. At first you heard nothing more than a sad sigh but then his words came.

“I should never have said what I did at the party. My words were cruel and unfair.” You raised your eyebrows as though to silently say ‘seriously?’. “I didn’t say them because I meant them, not at all, I said them to push you away. I know how you feel about me because……..I feel the same way for you.”

You couldn’t have heard that right. This must have been one of those dreams you’d been having recently – the ones that felt too good to be true only to transform into a horrible nightmare. There was no way he just said what you thought you heard.

“I know you probably don’t believe me right now, and that’s my fault, but you have to understand…..I am dangerous and until someone finds a way to wipe those words from my mind I am a liability to everyone here. If I ever ended up turning back into that monster I was before and I hurt you I would never be able to live with myself.”

His voice broke slightly and at that very same moment you heart sank a little. You knew how much he had struggled being here, being around others, but you never knew just how much it affected him.

“I hate the thought of you being with someone else but at the same time I can’t risk you being with me. That’s why I said those things. I wanted you to hate me…..turns out I can’t function properly knowing that you do so my plan kind of backfired on me.”

He wasn’t wrong there. This whole ‘plan’ of his couldn’t have backfired any worse than it had.

“I just needed you to know that I love you [y/n]…and I am desperate to see that beautiful face of yours again.”

It turned out he really had been sat up against the door just as you had been because the moment you opened it up he started to fall backwards into your room before his metal arm shot out towards the doorframe to stop himself from doing so and then in one swift movement he was up on his feet and facing you. For a split second you were terrified at seeing that hateful look in his face again, the one that had torn your heart to shreds, but you saw the complete opposite….he was broken, just as much as you were, and when his eyes fell upon your tired and hurt state he pulled you into him before you could even stop him.

“Jesus Christ doll I am so sorry. I never….I never wanted to hurt you like this.”

No words escaped your mouth as you allowed yourself to sink into his warm body. The feeling of his arms wrapping around your frame tightly finally broke the wall you had been slowly building over the past few days and your body heaved as the uncontrollable sobs left you.

A few minutes passed before you were able to gather yourself enough to talk to him.

“You have no idea how much I have wanted to hear those words from you Bucky. You’re the only person I have ever loved……I don’t care about anything else. I just….I just want you.” His metal hand rested on your lower back as his other hand combed its way through your hair before he placed the gentlest of kisses onto your forehead. “You don’t need to be scared, about what you were, I trust you.”

They were three words that changed his demeanour completely and his whole body seemed to relax that little bit more. If you were able to trust him even after the heartache he had out you through then maybe it was about time he gave himself some credit….allowed himself to let someone into his life instead of pushing those he cared about away from him.

As a small smile started to make its way onto his lips he pulled away from you but only so that he could brush his lips against your chapped ones before pushing them down harder in a kiss that was long overdue. A kiss that was going to change both your lives.

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[rheasunshine]

Greetings fellow travelers,

I hope that wherever you’re reading this from, you are safe.

I haven’t been safe in awhile.

Yes, I have a roof over my head. (A new, expensive one at that; first year home-ownership can be stressful).

Yes, I have food and water.  (Well, sometimes there’s food – usually the fridge is empty-ish and even when it’s not, I’m not really into eating it.)  This fact alone makes me safer than millions and millions of people.

I am – generally speaking – not in danger.

Except last week.  Last week,  I was in a lot of danger.  And it wasn’t the first time.

It comes as no surprise to anyone following my story that as a “Professional Patient” I spend most of my days balancing doctors appointments and symptom-tracking and medications. To be honest (and you should always be honest, right Justin?), I’ve been doing a truly shitty job managing my illnesses.  It starts simply enough – one bad day.  That bad day leads to two, and by then I’ve decided nothing I could do matters and I let go of the controls.  Sounds healthy, right?

So a couple of weeks ago, as I was juggling my annual OBGYN visit, IUD discussions, a urology referral, a visit to UNC to discuss my constant nausea and further testing, a mammogram, vision testing for new glasses and contacts (and WAY more money than we have), my therapy visits and then 3 or 4 “normal” appointments, I kind of lost my mind.

The thing is, it wasn’t even beyond the scope of normal; that’s a pretty average week in my life.  Where things started to go sideways was in the creeping, slinking, insidious feeling that an MS relapse – or something worse – was coming on.  I’ve described this enough times that I feel we are all comfortable with what this looks like, so I’ll just summarize by saying that at this point in the story I was no longer in control of my motions, thoughts, words or feelings.

When Thommy and I went on our annual wedding anniversary trip in early October, we spent most of our time playing the previously referred to “ER or nah??” game.  I didn’t want to go to an ER out of state (we were in Tennessee) so we just assumed the worst was yet to come and tried to enjoy what we could of the Smokey Mountains.  BUT, because my brain wasn’t working properly, I forgot to pack both my cane AND my handicap placard, so we weren’t able to do much sightseeing or exploring.  In fact, we barely left the condo.  Since we’ve been married for 9 years, and together for 13, we don’t need a lot of special attractions to enjoy a trip; just being in each others’ presence is special enough.

At the Tennessee Welcome Center

So let’s catch up: we got home, the symptoms got way worse, and on Friday, October 27th, I went again to see my primary care doctor.  He took an X-Ray of my neck first to see if that could explain some of the symptoms.  Luckily, it did a little – I now have 3 herniated discs and something wrong with the curvature of my spine – and had we not had more pressing issues he said we would be discussing physical therapy, cortisone shots and possibly surgery – but since I couldn’t feel my leg or finish a complete sentence, we had bigger problems.

  He sent me over to the hospital as a direct admit. He assured me they would give me sedatives before the MRI of my brain, thoracic and cervical spine (a 2 hour procedure), but the hospital was experiencing a severe shortage of IV Valium so they gave me Ativan instead, and it did nothing, except possibly make me MORE agitated.  Over the course of my stay they tried 7 IVs.  2 blew.  One nurse cried and I did everything I could to convince her it was me, not her.

It is now Sunday, November 5th and it hurts just to type this.  But what I want to say is important; I was diagnosed as having another MS flare.

After 3 MS medications THIS YEAR ALONE.

After the hell of Ocrevus JUST TWO MONTHS AGO.

The reason MS patients put up with all the bullshit is to STAY OUT of relapses.  I tortured myself all year just to end up here anyway.  And that’s JUST the MS – never mind everything else in my body hatching plans against me.

So.  They prescribe 3 days of IV steroids (WHY, GOD, WHY?), fluids and pain management. Fine. I’m pissed but I can do this.  What’s 3 more days in the hospital?  I am safe.

Except.

Except…

I can’t do it.  I am not safe.

A psychiatrist comes to talk to me on the day of discharge.  “Are you safe at home?”

(Mental checklist: roof, food, check.)

“Yes.”

“OK,” she says, “do you have thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”

Let’s do the easy one first.  Do I want to hurt others? Like this guy – this guy here who SLEPT IN A CHAIR FOR 3 DAYS AND BARELY LEFT MY SIDE AND DECKED OUT OUR ROOM IN PENN STATE STUFF FOR THE GAME DESPITE THE FACT THAT I KEEP YELLING AT HIM AND CRY INCOHERENTLY??  No.  No, I do not want to hurt him.

(Well, I didn’t.  But now that I’m at home, in pain, miserable and riding steroid rage, ummmm…..)

But do I want to hurt myself?

Yes.  I want to find a way to trump the pain I’m in every day, I want to be the one doing the hurting, actively, so I’m no longer passively being injured, I want it to be quiet, I want it to stop, I want it to end.  Please.  Make it all stop.

“Would you allow yourself to be voluntarily committed to our behavior health unit?”

What’s left to hide from? What’s left to be scared of? I’ve seen the worst, I’ve felt the worst, I’ve been in the dark for a long time.

What it feels like she’s asking is, “Do you want to save what’s left of you?”

“Yes.”

And that’s where another story starts and ends.  The only other time I’ve been hospitalized for mental health issues since Renfrew, and this time it was only 3 days because on the chaotic and teary night of admission I signed my 72 hour release form. (They really should make you wait until morning to do that, but what do I know…)

So basically I asked to leave before I had even fully been processed.

But that’s OK because 3 days in a psych unit is a powerful time.  Every single person you meet changes you forever.  And I want to do justice to that story so we’ll save it for another day.

But what I want you to know now is that on Monday, November 6th, I will start a 6 week intensive partial hospitalization; that means from 9am to 1pm I’ll be in intensive therapy, both group and individual and I’ll meet each week with a psychiatric nurse to continue to adjust my medications and with a psychiatrist to keep this journey moving.  In addition, I can still see my normal therapist once a week, who I’ve been seeing for two years, and who has been remarkable.

There are three other things I want you to know, and they are so important to me, that I’m asking you to really hear the words in your head – and I’m asking you to remember.

1.) I would be dead right now if it wasn’t for Thommy, my mom, a handful of the best friends I actually don’t deserve, and a tribe of “Rhea Team” warriors who pray for me and send me their positive energy and their love and their notes and their gifts and who keep showing up despite the tedious repetition of my illnesses and shortcomings.  I know that I am blessed.  I do not take it for granted.  Please keep reminding me of the good things – please keep your words of love and light coming; it’s my way out of the darkness.

2.) You need to vote better.  Sorry if that’s whiplash but it’s true.  You and me both.  I am getting the most amazing, thorough and continued treatment because of insurance.  There was a time I didn’t have that.  And there were people I met in the hospital who were released before they were stable because of insurance. Cuts to mental health services, Medicare, Medicaid, etc, literally, literally, literally KILL PEOPLE.  I might be one of them. Vote in every election you can for leaders who will protect those services.  I can’t believe this country works that way but here we are.

3.) Mental health stigma needs to end.  And it can start with you.  Stop using the word “crazy” a dozen times a day when it’s not necessary.  That’s the easy one – challenge yourself today and see what happens.  Don’t use diagnoses as adjectives.  OCD, bipolar, schizophrenia, manic/mania, depressed, anorexic/bulimic, PTSD, cutting/cutters/self-harmers … all those things are real life.  They can be nightmares that people may never wake up from.  Some of us will get help and regulate it but we ALL need to stop carrying around the shame of it.  It is not a punchline to your shitty joke.  If someone trusts you enough to share their story with you: listen without judgement.  You don’t have to fix them.  You don’t have to feel their pain to help them through it.  You can hold space with love and respect and allow them to process their emotions freely.  Not everyone is ready to accept help  – it is not your job to lecture them. Memorize the number to the suicide hotline (1-800-273-8255) so that you can provide a resource to someone is crisis. (Obviously, if it’s an emergency, call 911).  But from experience, I can say that I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had a meltdown on the phone with someone while I told them I couldn’t make it one more day – and the act of simply being heard has kept me here one more day.

One more day.

That’s what’s left.

Or, like we talked about in the hospital, one more minute.  It’s 7:31am right now.  Can I make it until 7:32am? What can bridge those 60 seconds? Breathing? Medication? A phone call?

I know I said I needed you to know 3 things, but I lied, there’s one more:

I am not ashamed.  As someone with complex mental illnesses AND complex physical illnesses, stuffing that all inside and hiding it from the world is what usually gets me into the darkest recesses of my mind and keeps me buried.  As someone with mental illness, I *DO* feel guilty, all the time, for hundreds of things, real and imaginary; but, what I don’t feel guilty about, is sharing this with you.  There is a level of self-loathing I experience that I didn’t even have words for until I was on the psych unit, but my head will not hang one inch lower after posting this and sharing it.  I hope if you read this and you want to talk, you reach out.  I hope if you read this, and you are so inclined, you share it with your circle because there might be someone who needs to read it and know help is out there and they don’t have to feel alone or ashamed.

I’m redefining myself with the pieces of what’s left; and with each new illness and test and hospitalization and med change, etc., I do feel like I lose some of the person I wanted to be.  Or at least the person I thought I was.  But there is so much power in realizing you can create someone new.  And know this: if you’ve had to do this (I mean, REALLY, do this): you are a fucking superhero.  Suit up.  Here’s your cape…

xoxo

Rhea

What’s Left. Greetings fellow travelers, I hope that wherever you're reading this from, you are safe. I haven't been safe in awhile.