#therapy is just so fucking taxing and exhausting

[sadistic-softie]

Sometimes I need to stop, take a step back, and ask myself, "Am I ok?" and the answer is always, "uuhh?????????"

therapy gets so repetative and exhausting. When am i gonna move on from complaining about the same problems actually get to the helping part? And how many therapists is it gonna take before I get there? I'm on number...7??? 8? 9???? and i hate that every single one of them has been like, ~most therapists go through the notes and records of the patients health conditions and past sessions with other therapists, but I don't like to do that here. I like to start clean and fresh with each patient so I can hear it from them. I have your chart and all your info here, but i just wanna hear if from you~. Because im so cool and all the other therapists suck mega penis~ Like stfu and please read my chart for the love of god i dont need to go through hours of sessions of straight miserable traumadumping every single time i get disconnected from a therapist and have to spend 5 months on the waiting list for a new one. And it's so easy to just get dropped by therapists too. I missed 2 appointments ever? gone. Therapist suddenly vanished from the establishment? We can't replace them! find a whole new place! Your new therapist sucks and just tells you to get over it? Give us a month and we'll see if we can find someone else for you. oopsies! your therapist got fired! Nothing we can do about that! Your therapist forced you into a situation that she knew would put you in danger of abuse? It was her job! FUCK. I literally get better therapy from calling 988, crisis lines, or abuse hotlines for 10 minutes and they're free. Might as well just call THEM on a weekly basis since they ACTUALLY FUCKING HELP YOU WHEN YOU ASK FOR FUCKING HELP. They give you advice, comfort, support, coping mechanisms, distractions, suggestions, resources, ideas, communities, etc etc. Seriously. Therapy, in all my years, barely ever does that shit unless you're on the brink of breakdown because "why is nothing working!?" nothing's working because it's literally nothing being put to work. They're putting nothing machines in your brain factory, and when 'NOTHING' is working, no progress gets made.

Honestly. Sometimes, I feel like maybe I'm just really unlucky with my therapists. I be spilling my soul to them and begging for help and they're just like. "Hmmm...that does seem very difficult...What do you think I can do to help you?" and i just...like..."I don't know??? im not really a mental health specialist??? Like you??????" and they fucking laugh and go, "Well, that is true...hmmmmm, let me think...you seem to be doing everything you cannnn...hmmmm" God, i never show it but tht shit pisses me off so bad. The more times i hear "What do you think i can do to help?" and "Hmmmmmmm" and overly fucking drawn out words, the more 'asshole' and ingenuine it sounds. It sounds like mockery. It sounds like they think I'm a toddler trying to figure out how to manuver their first 4 piece puzzle. They sound like when teachers say "I dunno. Can you?" when you ask if you can use the restroom. Like...Do you think I'm fucking around when I say I don't know what to do? Do you think I just ask for help for shits and giggles? Do you think, "I'm feeling suicidal" is just a quirky little catchphrase? Like, fuck. Just listen to one fucking thing I say. I pay you for this. Just fucking listen to me and hear the words coming out of my mouth and process what they actually fucking mean. I fucking have nobody else and I'm paying you to help me not fucking kill myself and you're gonna fucking sit there, eating cereal, talking about how your 'poor husband' was so shy "just like me" that he didn't make the first move on you when you first met, like this session is about comparing my socially crippling mental condition to a common case of the nerves, acting like you're my casual best friend or acting like this is me learning 2 plus fucking 2 in kindergarden math class with god damn counting blocks and you don't wanna give me too many hints that give the answer away. FUCK. OFF. No fucking wonder your other patients cuss you out. I bet they're soooo lucky to have you like you're sooo lucky that im so god damn polite and articulate. You like that im so articulate, huh? You really get what im saying? How about this next one?: QUIT YOUR JOB.

[skele-bunny]

Your bpd Dew is so real to me, please more

I just posted the thing like 6 minutes ago wHO ARE YOU /silly

At first, Dewdrop overwhelmed the FUCK out of Aether and Mountain. They were so deeply exhausted from his constant yelling and mood swings. They loved him so very much, but it was mentally taxing to go from one moment just whispering their absolute love for one another to Dew screaming about how they don't care about him, then another whiplash of him begging at their feet to never leave him.

Aether finally sat him down and was like "You need therapy. Bad." They all honestly thought it was his body and mind finally reacting to his abuse, and in a way, it is.

Got that "pretty" (sarc) little diagnosis. It finally clicks with all of them after a learning more about it like, "Yeah. Yeah that makes sense."

Aether gets better at recognizing Dew's splits, it's usually super lovey or super aggressive over "nothing" in Aether's eyes. He never once invalidates Dew for what he's feeling, getting better and better to calm him, making compromises to his needs.

But he also knows when to step away when it's getting too much. They were having a genuine argument after the talk of their previous pack came up, Dew just simply brushing off what happened to him and Aether quipping back about what actually happened.

"It wasn't that fucking bad! You keep saying this shit and it's never true, you're just trying to make our pack look bad!"

"Dew, what they did WASN'T okay! You can't be brushing off that behavior as normal!"

"Oh, what, are you fucking ashamed that you're part of that pack too or what?"

Aether just puts his hands up, taking a breath and starts going to the door. "I'm walking away. We can come back to this later."

"Go the fuck ahead! Leave since that's what you're so fucking good at!"

The door shuts and Aether can hear something be thrown at it, but he just ignores and calms down. He takes a very heated walk around the abbey and the gardens, needing a good hour before he's finally ready to come back to Dew. When his knock isn't answered he just lets himself in, seeing their absolutely demolished room and Dew in the furthest corner on the bed. He sniffling, eyes bloodshot from the amount of tears, starting again when Aether walks all the way in. He's wracked with sobs, crawling to the end and holding onto his shirt, making sure he's as close as possibly.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, you came back... You came back, I'm so sorry, please don't leave me again, please."

"Of course I'd come back... Hey, hey, lets take a deep breath okay?"

Dew's still babbling but doing his best until he's able to breathe normally. "You ready to talk?"

He just nods and Aether joins him on the bed, and Dewdrop just really bad needs physical reassurance. They're holding each other while they talk about their individual feelings, how what the other said effected them.

"When you said that I must've been ashamed, it hit me in two ways. I would never be ashamed, as that's where I met you and it felt like you were demonizing us. Then, you were comparing me to Omega and Ifrit. You know what they did to you love, and maybe it was me misinterpreting what you said, but it made me think you seen me in the same light as them."

"I'm sorry. I meant about you being ashamed to even be associated with us, which made me start thinking you were ashamed of me. Sometimes I just... Blank out about them, and I only really remember positives when I'm in such like... A white thinking headspace. I'm really sorry."

"I'm really sorry, too. I love you more than anything in this world, and I'm sorry for leaving you alone, it's just I knew I needed to walk away."

"I'm glad you did... Are you mad at me for breaking the room?"

"A little, but it's okay. It's replaceable and fixable. As long as you help me pick it up, does that sound fair?"

"Yeah..."

Aether just snuggling against Dewdrop's shoulder, kissing his cheek after. "In the future, how about when we start talking about our old pack, we make a codeword for when we think the other is being excessive or something comes off wrong and upsets the other?"

"I think I'd like that..."

So they have "chocolate Terzo candies." Which can be said casually but completely odd they'd understand it. It's long, but it's enough for them to process! Honestly, it works amazing.

They learned together that if Dew is given a task to specifically calm down from his fp splits, he's more inclined to do it and finally regulate himself. His mind will stick as "I'm so fucking upset/angry at him, but if I do xyz like he asked, he'll see how good I am." It just mellows his process down SO much and it's usually something Aether knows Dewdrop will enjoy. His mindset then switches to "I'm glad Aether showed me this. Once he comes back, I'll show him I did as he asked, and maybe we can talk more." Which leads into talking about the split

Idk I just love them dude

[pom-seedss]

Okay. So.

I am 99.999~% sure it is my neck. Whether it is a weird nerve pinch or a blood vessel or what idk, but after more testing of various things at home it is almost certainly the culprit for the temperature disregulation. TL;DR at the end.

I finally got my doctor's office to take it seriously by writing a letter mentioning that I have at many points wanted to die and did not want to get *actively* suicidal again after over five years without having been actively suicidal. Since it it in writing that their patient was potentially going to become suicidal about them not doing anything.... they decided it was appropriate to actually do something. What I found out is despite my doctor's office being a multi-doctor clinic who supposedly works together, my primary doctor didn't even confer with her colleagues about the situation before going with the "I can't think of anything" and leaving it with me.

Because the on-call doctor decided to actually *listen* to what I was saying and is sending me for a neck xray with possibility of going for further testing (ex: MRI) if things turn out normal there. He is also sending me for some endocrine testing, cortisol testing and some kind of 24 our urine analysis test as a just in case it's these weird things measure. He literally just took the few things that were on the top of his head from maybe 20 minutes looking in to my situation, so I am still pretty mad at my primary doctor for the negligent attitude she'd taken towards this.

And yes, they are probably only acting to cover their asses because I mentioned not wanting to be actively suicidal about all of this again. But that wasn't an idle threat, I was starting to teeter towards that feeling and even Bean was worried and if there was literally no end to this we actually discussed MAiD at one point - not as an immediate thing, but as a vague possibility because of how fucking awful it was and the prospect of living with that forever was *that* fucking daunting.

My doctor was trying to pass it off as 'a weird stress response' despite the only major stressor in my life at that point being...the hot cold bullshit itself. And yes, stress made it worse, but that's true of *any* condition under the sun.

I finally got to go back in to my old chiropractor of 12+ years who knows how to take care of my body and almost instantly she made me go from feral gremlin with a boiling head to human being again. It just sucks because it is taxing on my body to travel 1.5hrs to get that treatment.

Granted, one appointment isn't going to solve this problem and what I really need is long-term stability, which is what I am going to go back to physiotherapy for as soon as I am cleared by my gallbladder surgeon to be able to do more active things.

Along with going back to massage therapy, whenever I can actually book that *rolls eyes at everyone under the sun having no availability*, I hope that I can get this at least under control. TL;DR 1. Doctor's office finally decided to check some basic things out, like a neck xray, after I mentioned I was on the edge of becoming suicidal about being left to my own devices about this. 2. It is almost certainly my neck causing the issue. 3. I am trying to get back in to regular treatment in various places to help heal and stabilize the neck. 4. I am not well yet, the worst of it can come back at any time, but I am more hopeful for the future. Holy fuck this has been scary and exhausting and it will take awhile for me to be okay with things but damn.... it's...something. Maybe this will just be a very bad blip in my life after all.

[mlmxreader]

A Thousand Miles | Eames x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ anonymous asked: May I please request something using the following prompts for Eames X non-binary, male, or gn!Reader:

“Y'know, I hate being a thousand miles away from you” ❞

: ̗̀➛ it's difficult to be without Eames, but it's always worth it when he comes home.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, mentions of therapy/therapists

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Sighing heavily, Eames dropped his bags at the door and kicked his shoes off; he had been a thousand miles away from home for almost two whole months, and he was glad to get back to normal.

The cash he had gotten would keep you both afloat for another year, and then he would be off again a few months before it all ran out; he was all too eager to get back to normal. Morning coffee given to him in bed as he watched you get dressed and ready for work; he kept telling you that you didn't need to go, but he couldn't deny that the extra cash helped.

He would clean and tidy up while you were gone, always just and just finishing the last little bit of washing when you walked through the door. He would make dinner if you came home early, tea if you didn't finish until the evening.

Eames loved the soft normalcy of routine; always finding one of his shirts missing in the wardrobe and then smiling to himself when he thought about the shirt that you had worn before leaving for work. Taking out the recycling and the kitchen bin. Folding the washing as he hummed along to a selection of songs by Linkin Park and Sodom, nodding his head here and there a little bit as he smiled.

Normalcy, the beautiful mundane, the everyday routine that was so easy to fall into every time. Eames had missed it for more than he could ever say.

He allowed himself a moment before he walked into the kitchen; it wasn't particularly late, but it wasn't particularly early, either, so he stuck the kettle on and lit himself a cigarette as he leaned against the counter. Your presence haunted the kitchen so wonderfully.

Your tobacco pouch along with your filters and papers strewn about on the breakfast bar. Your coffee cup left by the jars with the spoon still in it. The smell of your deodorant was infectious, festering in the air. Pineapple and pepper.

He felt his shoulders drop as the tension left him and, just for a moment, he closed his eyes, listening to the footsteps that trailed from the bedroom and grew closer. He opened his eyes just in time to see you approaching him.

"Y'know, I hate being a thousand miles away from you, my dearest darling."

You grinned at the words, rolling yourself a cigarette and stealing his lighter. "I hate it, too… how was it?"

"Exhausting," he grumbled. "You okay? Have you been going to your appointments?"

You nodded, standing next to him and letting your head rest on his shoulder. "I have, I always do… the doctor reckons I'm getting better but… maybe we should talk about it later?"

Eames nodded in agreement; in all honesty, as much as he loved being home at last, he was fucking tired beyond belief. His biggest want in the world was to be under the duvet with you, your body against his and your soft breaths fanning across his skin; your subtle squirms to get closer and to steal some of the duvet from him.

He missed it more than he could ever say, and it was all he lusted for. Eames was always tired when he came back from a job, and you knew that well enough that you didn't even need to ask him why he looked so run down. Work took a big toll on him, and it was only natural that he would be tired. It might not have been physically taxing, but emotionally and mentally, he was always left drained and… almost empty.

You hummed, letting out a quiet yawn; your appointments with the therapist were much the same, but Eames always insisted that you had to go. He looked out for you more than he would ever admit, trying to be a good boyfriend to you but never changing his mind and thinking that he had so much to make up for. He always thought he had more to make up to you than he could count.

Lazily, you slung your arm around his waist and pulled him in a little closer; a soft hum was drawn from the back of his throat as he put his arm around your shoulders and let out a soft yawn.

"I washed the bedding earlier," you murmured. "If we're quick enough, it'll still be warm."

The kettle clicked off, but Eames couldn't find it in himself to bother as he stubbed out his cigarette, waiting for you to do the same before he practically chased you all the way to the bed; he allowed you to get in first before he snuggled up beside you, nearly giggling as he did so.

You were quicker than he was, pulling him close and squirming around so that you could press your face to his neck. Your arms around him tightly and your leg lazily draped over him. Oh, Eames had missed that most of all.

But the bed was ever so slightly cold, so he grinned at you as he raised his brows.

"Cold bed dance?"

You laughed, nodding; Eames did it first, wriggling and gently kicking his legs as you soon followed suit. You loved having him home, you always would. The cold bed dance was always the highlight of when he returned, as above all else, it made you laugh.

Instead of coming home to a cold and empty house, the halls would finally be filled with his humming and the warmth of having him potter about doing the cleaning; the kitchen would soon smell of curries and chilies, spices lingering in the air and making your stomach growl loudly. The bed would no longer be empty and too large to handle.

The sofa would never be missing someone nearby. The wardrobe would never seem like it hadn't been touched in years after a couple of days. You wouldn't be so miserable when you walked home.

You loved having Eames home.

[sequinsmile-x]

Home - Chapter Three

Revenge - (re·​venge: Noun.)

The action of hurting or harming someone in return for an injury or wrong suffered at their hands.

She'd been comfortable and safe for so long that she'd allowed herself how to forget how it felt to be afraid.

A sequel to The Way Home

-x-

Hi friends!

I am so sorry that this has taken so long to get chapter 3 up. This fic is very emotionally taxing and I was absolutely not in the place to write it. But I woke up this morning able to write it!!

I hope you all like this and would love to know what you think, this version of them is very special to me.

-x-

Words: 3k

A full list of warnings can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She stares at him momentarily, his words washing over and she chokes on a laugh, “He wants to see me?” 

Aaron nods and reaches for her hand, squeezing it tightly as he smiles reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I made it clear that wouldn’t be happening.” 

Emily couldn’t explain the flash of anger that travels through her if she tried and she frowns as she pulls her hand away from him. 

“Why would you do that?” 

He takes a step back from her, confusion making his blood run cold as he looks her up and down, familiar defiance that she had passed on to their daughter written all over her face, “Em-”

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” she says through her teeth, furious at him because that was the easiest thing to feel. Not the fear that had been simmering in her belly for days, making nausea almost constant. Not the anger she still felt towards Ian after all this time, never entirely fading no matter how much therapy she had. But this. Fury at her husband, the man who loves her, who she knows means well, was easy. 

Because she knew, no matter what, he’d understand.

“He tried to kill you, Emily.” 

“Keep your voice down,” she seethes, even though he was barely talking any louder than her, and her eyes flick to the hallway past the kitchen, the dining room just a few paces away, “Eleanor is in the dining room,” she looks back up at him, “And I do know that, Aaron. I’m the one he did it to.”

“And I’m the one who had to…” he drifts off, any fire draining out of him, his shoulders visibly deflating, “I saw what he did to you Em, the aftermath. You couldn’t speak. Your eyes were bloodshot. You still dream about it,” he shakes his head, “Every time you get a fucking cold and your throat hurts and your voice…it makes me think of how I couldn’t protect you from him.”

She sighs, her anger draining out of her as quickly as it had appeared. She knew that he’d always felt guilty over what happened, that he wished he wouldn’t have let her leave the apartment building they’d met in the day Ian had been waiting for her outside. It was luck, Haley’s good timing as she left Jack with Aaron leading her to disturb Ian’s attack on Emily, which meant she was still alive. It was something they had all grappled with for years. The thing that had bonded them together. Haley’s relationship with her ex and his wife forged by the trauma they had all endured at the hands of Ian Doyle, making her a key part of their and their daughter’s lives. 

Emily couldn’t imagine her life without Haley, the best friend she had found in the most unlikely of places. The woman who had helped her when she was a new mother and exhausted, holding Eleanor whilst Emily took a quick shower and had five minutes to herself when Aaron was at work.

The woman who had loved Aaron first but understood that Emily loved him better.

“Honey,” she takes a step towards him and cups his cheek, forcing him to look at her, “None of what happened was your fault,” she smiles sadly at him, “And it wasn’t mine. It was all him.”

It was something that had taken her years to accept, all of her blame and anger internalised as she thought about how stupid she had been to be taken in by a man who had done little more than give her attention. It was only as she got older, as she made it to the age Ian had been when they met and beyond, that she truly understood how he’d taken advantage of her. How the power dynamic in their relationship had been skewed. How he had been unable to accept his own failings, the way he’d blown his relationship with his fiancee and his son apart because he wanted to take it all out on someone he should have left alone.

There were moments when she wished she could talk to her 20-year-old self. Part of her would want to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she saw sense, until she saw that Ian was no good for her. But mostly she would just want to hug her, to tell her it wasn’t her fault, and that there were better things around the corner for her.

A better man. 

It was hard to acknowledge that without Ian, without the choices she’d had to make in an attempt to escape him and his misplaced fury, she never would have met Aaron when she did. She never would have moved into the apartment opposite him and fallen in love with him when she needed it most. The romantic side of her that would come out occasionally, usually on their anniversary or on Eleanor’s birthday, she liked to think they would have met eventually. That the universe would have pulled them together at some point, somehow. Although, she wouldn’t have everything she had now and that thought was unbearable. 

They both chuckle as they hear a crash from the dining room, followed by Eleanor’s loud apology and explanation she’d dropped her school bag. 

“I want to speak to him,” she says, and his eyebrows shoot up, his eyes flashing with something she cuts off before he can even say anything, “Maybe I can get him to say something about Foyet.” 

He sighs and leans forward, pressing his forehead into hers as he closes his eyes, giving himself a moment to breathe her in. 

“Em, you aren’t a cop. You aren’t trained for-”

“I am an excellent social worker though,” she says softly, stroking her thumb back and forth over his cheek, “Some have said one of the best on the east coast,” she smiles at him, something close to relief spreading in her stomach when he smiles back, “It’s why they let me write the policies these days.” She can tell he still isn’t sure, his jaw tight as he shakes his head slightly, “I think need to do this Aaron. I need the closure.” 

The last time she had seen Ian was when he was found guilty. She’d been offered to sit in a different room for the trial, but she’d refused - wanting to stand her ground. But she had spent the whole time glued to Aaron’s side, her hand in his as she avoided eye contact with the man who had tried to kill her, his eyes burning into her side the entire time. She wanted him to see that he hadn’t won. That his attempts to destroy her had been unsuccessful. 

Aaron sighs, his chest getting tighter as he realises he can’t argue with her, that, if he was honest, he had never been able to. If she really wanted to do this, to sit down and talk to the man who had almost torn them apart all those years ago, he would support her. 

“I’ll drive you to the jail they are holding him in if you want,” he says, and he knows he’s made the right decision the moment she smiles at him, “And I’ll wait outside for you.” 

She hugs him, her head against his chest as he holds her tightly against him, an edge of desperation in his embrace. She already knows she’ll talk him out of that, well aware that he would drive himself insane waiting for her in the jailhouse parking lot and that he’d be better at home with their daughter, the young girl a constant reminder of all the good things in the world. But she knew that wasn’t a conversation to have right now.  

“Thank you.” 

“Momma, where’s my snack?”

They both chuckle as their daughter’s voice calls from the dining room, her impatience, which Emily always denied she had inherited from her, clear. Emily pulls back from the hug and kisses Aaron quickly before she disentangles herself from him entirely.

“Duty calls,” she says, stepping towards the pantry to get Eleanor’s snack for her before she leaves the kitchen, “I’m coming sweet girl.” 

Aaron watches her walk away, his heart heavy in his chest, and he just hopes they’ve made the right decision. 

___

Emily blows out a breath as she parks outside the jailhouse just two days later. She smiles as her phone rings as soon as she’s turned off the engine, Haley’s name flashing across the screen. She shakes her head as she answers.

“He told you to call didn’t he?” She says immediately, and Haley chuckles down the phone.

“Hello to you too, Em,” she replies, “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m simply calling my best friend to see if she’s still planning to come over tonight to help me mourn my break-up.” 

Emily hums in disbelief as she gets out of the car, her phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder, “I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t.” 

They did this sometimes, arranged between the two of them to check in on her, her husband and her best friend in cahoots in a way that she knows other people she knew found strange. She falls into silence as she locks the car and stares at the jailhouse, her breath stuttering in her chest. 

“You don’t have to do this, Em,” Haley says, her kindness warming Emily from the inside out even over the phone, “You can just get straight back in your car and go home.” 

Emily laughs humourlessly, shaking her head even though her friend can’t see her, “No I have to do this. I…I know Aaron doesn’t get it but I feel like I need to do this.” 

“Then do it,” she replies, “And you can come over to mine later and we’ll drink wine and talk about dirtbag exes,” she jokes, “Although, since you’re trying to get pregnant maybe no wine for you,” she says, and Emily groans, “What? You and Aaron make adorable babies, I want another niece or nephew to spoil.” 

Emily smiles as she slowly walks towards the jailhouse, “Did you ever think when we first met that you’d be encouraging me to have kids with Aaron?” 

“Oh god no,” she replies, laughing as she speaks, “But at this point, I don’t even think of him as my ex, just your husband and a guy I happen to have a kid with,” the doorbell rings in the background and Haley sighs, “Someone is here I should go.” 

“Ok, well I need to go inside anyway,” Emily says, “I’ll see you later.”

“Love you,” Haley says, clearly half distracted as she walks towards her front door.  

“You too,” Emily replies, hanging up her phone and slipping it into her purse. She takes a deep breath and walks into the jailhouse, wanting nothing more than to be on the other side of this afternoon.

___

He looks the same.

That’s the first thing she thinks as she steps into the room she’s guided into by a cop, frozen on the spot as her eyes meet his icy blue ones that had haunted her dreams for years. He smirks at her, something that she knows once would have made her stomach flip but now it makes it churn, nausea climbing up her throat that she swallows back down.

“Hello, love,” Ian says, shifting in his seat, the metal clanking of the handcuffs holding him to the table a reassurance she didn’t know she needed, “It’s been a long time since we had the chance to talk.” 

She finds her gaze drifting to his hands, her eyes lingering on fingers that had once tried to squeeze the life out of her before she looks back at him. 

“15 years,” she says, turning to look at the cop who nods at her, closing the door behind them before he takes his place behind Ian, just a step away from him if needed. She stays standing, her hands linking in front of her as she twists her rings around her finger, and she briefly wishes she’d brought Aaron with her. 

“You married him,” Ian says, a statement, not a question, and she nods, clearing her throat. 

“Yeah,” she replies, finally walking towards the chair opposite him. She pulls it back a few feet, wanting as much space between them as possible, and sits down, “I did. Next spring will make it 10 years.” 

He smiles at her, looking her up and down in a way that makes her skin crawl, but she remains stoic.

“You look good,” he says, leaning forward as the cop places his hand on his shoulder, holding him in place, “You smell different.” 

She doesn’t flinch, instead, she clasps her hands in her lap, pinching the skin of the back of one of them to stop herself from reacting physically. 

“It’s been a long time, Ian,” she says, proud of herself for keeping her voice level, “A lot of things have changed.”

She no longer smelt like cigarette smoke and the almost sickly sweet perfume she wore as a younger woman. She smelt like her home did. A mix of the shampoo she shared with her daughter, the little girl insisting she used the same one as mommy, and the perfume Aaron had been buying her for years, a floral scent he always said he loved. She smelt like him too, their lives so intertwined that she wore him on her skin. 

“Hasn’t it just,” he replies, his fists clenching on the table he was chained to, “You have a little girl.” 

The mention of Eleanor does get a reaction from her, her eyes going wide at the mere thought of Ian knowing of her existence. The sweet, innocent little girl was so removed from everything that had happened back then that the cross-contamination makes her feel sick again. 

“How did you know that?” 

He chuckles, “My old cellmate knew a lot about you and that husband of yours,” he explains, looking satisfied with himself, “We became good friends when we realised what we had in common.”

The mention of Foyet makes her bite the inside of her cheek, her concern that the serial killer that Aaron had put away hadn’t been caught yet increasing by the day.

“Do you know where he is?” She asks, hoping to change the direction of the conversation, but Ian merely shrugs.

“He filled me in on everything I’ve missed since you got me locked up.”

“You got yourself locked up. You tried to kill me-”

“He told me all about you and your prosecutor husband. Jack and Haley, that bitch who stopped me that day,” he continues, smirking when she has to stop herself from reacting to what he’d called her friend, “And he told me all about little Ellie.” 

Her heart drops to her stomach and she clenches her jaw so tight she is surprised she doesn’t crack a tooth, “Don’t talk about her.” 

“George did his research,” he says, as if she hasn’t spoken, “He knows more about you all than you would care to know.” 

It unsettles her even further, her hands tight in her lap, and she clears her throat, “Where is he?” 

He shrugs again, “We parted ways once we made it out of that hell hole, starting the riot was easy,” he says, almost sounding bored, “Getting out was the hard part. But then I wanted to see my son and Georgie boy had other plans,” he stands up, smirking as the move and the scrape of his chair makes her jump, the clank of his handcuffs loud as he’s pulled back towards the table, his hands slamming against it, “Do you know my boy calls someone else Daddy?” He seethes, his anger as palpable as it had been that night all those years ago, and she can almost feel his hand around her throat, “How would you feel if Ellie started calling someone else Mommy?” 

“Don’t talk about her,” she repeats, her protective instincts kicking into high gear. She blows out a shaky breath, and watches as Ian is forced back into his chair by the cop standing behind him, “Why did you want to speak to me?”

Ian chuckles, “I just wanted to see what I’d missed out on,” he says, leering at her, “You always were so beautiful,” he leans back in his chair, “I knew I’d get caught again, we both know I’m not some kind of master criminal like he is. If I was, you wouldn’t be here to have this conversation.” 

She stares at him, her instincts telling her something was wrong, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach.

“If you knew you’d get caught again why did you escape?” She asks, furrowing her brow, “You had 5 years left of your sentence. Now you’ll have more added on.” 

“Another 5 years for the escape, plus whatever I get for my part in the riot.”

“So what?” She asks, shaking her head, “You thought that was worth it just to scare me?” 

He laughs, the sound deep and booming in a way that steals the air from her lungs, her bad feeling only getting worse. 

“Oh love, you’ve always been so self-involved,” he says, fake sympathy dripping from every syllable, “Whoever said this was about you and me?” His eyes flick down to her wedding rings, a smirk spreading over his face that makes her blood run cold, forcing her to cover them with her other hand as if she was protecting her family from him. He looks back up at her, his stare  unrelenting. “As I said, George has some plans.”

-x-

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[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3315

today was surprisingly tough on me.

it's not necessarily the exhaustion, although that certainly didn't help.

it's not the job, not in the least. i'm actually pretty proud of myself in that department. we had a meeting with jack today about the next GRR and i came up with a timeline for it. and he'll be talking to the product security guy on tuesday to kinda get the ball rolling for that. (when i told jack i wanted his job when he left, i didn't intend for it to be this soon.)

tw: disordered eating, money problems. suffice it to say i should really talk to my therapist soon. and learn boundaries because i need to care for myself too, not just everyone else.

most of my issues today stemmed from thinking about money. i have a fairly comprehensive budget i created in excel. it takes into account holidays, overtime pay, the hourly rate, taxes, benefits, all of my bills, and my bank balance at any given time. the problem is that i'm going to likely break even at the end of the year, which makes it frustrating because i'd like to have a little extra, yknow? when you budget you need to overestimate your expenses and underestimate your income. that way, you should be okay if something turns out weird.

but the problem i am encountering is that even what i'm making isn't enough. first off, i can't say "no" when people ask for help. i don't think about myself in that moment; i focus on helping whoever it is survive and get the things they need. when it comes to myself, though, the wants and needs are fucked up.

for example: when i talked to myself after work today, trying to figure out what to do for dinner, i asked my mom. she recommended wendy's and mcdonald's, and then she said "save your money." i know i should save my money. but i also need to eat. but my stupid little fucked up brain went, "i need to save money, but i want to eat." which, obviously, is a fucked up way to think. any normal person would say "they need to eat but they want to save money." but nope, not me and my fucked up brain, this shit could never.

so i spent about an hour being upset and trying to figure out how to eat something, save money, and comfort myself without retail therapy or actual therapy. this is a good thing to touch on with christine when i next talk to her. god, i really hope the state determines i can get a tax credit for my insurance. it's all killing me. when i help people and send them money, i think about them needing to eat, needing a comfortable place to live, needing medications to keep themselves well. i don't think about the fact that i'm hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt that i will likely never pay off. i did some calculations, and if i hadn't sent money to a friend, i would've been able to have dinner and not worry about it. but because i didn't do that, i spent the hour drive home agonizing about it before finally deciding to get a few things from the convenience store at the gas station and eating a pint of ice cream for dinner.

healthy? no. cheap? more so than a full meal. and it was from my gas account, so it doesn't go against my full budget.

god i'm such a disaster.

i need to learn to say no and i need to learn to have healthy boundaries and i need to learn how to fix my disordered thinking and the bizarre relationship i have with food. it's so fucking hard to handle it. i'm struggling a lot with it.

i definitely could've used a joel hug today, but he was out when i got home and has not yet returned. so i am joel-less and hug-less. affection is hard. i need so much of it but i get so little.

sigh.

[yungfrieda]

05.Somethin’.23

just need a place to vent today. been awhile since ive wrote anything for this platform and while all of it is basically stream of consciousness thought, it’s incredibly helpful in terms of keeping record of my life and all of its happenings.

I’ve been struggling recently. like, for a long time. I’ve been absent from therapy and psych treatment, bills piling up like crazy, trying to stabilize in environment and in life and it seems like nothing is really letting up. i want to avoid talking about the planets - but Saturn’s return has been beating my fucking ass.

nevertheless i try to enjoy the company of the people in my life. it’s summer so there’s lots of opportunities to get out and do new things. i recently moved downtown to Detroit which was either a wise move or a dumb one. i’m in a really nice place - and i feel some level of guilt about it knowing how precarious my finances have been since the rocky departure from my old job.

since February, I’ve been digging into freelance opportunities and ive had a few. the current role i’m in is taking me to New York this weekend for a conference. the new role is a bucket list type of position, with promising premise of other opportunities to follow. my work often speaks for itself, so i’m not so worried about my performance. the tax implications and other such time constraints may pose an issue. I’ve been trying to keep a really tight calendar. in terms of the taxes, more research needed.

being out of treatment for a few months has had quite the impact- both in good and bad ways. i can’t risk returning to the hospital, especially without insurance, but I’ve been ideating about suicide for a few weeks now. trying to take into consideration that hormonal shifts and the wobbly road to understanding the chemical imbalances in my brain are big issues to tackle. it’s been…. A journey.

i’m not sure about returning to therapy. it’s a space to feel heard, but i feel as though my relationship with my long-standing therapist has become less treatment oriented over time and just a place for me to share the hot goss in my life with some quips about how to handle it. I’ve got a DBT handbook which is not the same as weekly treatment, but i maybe just need a break for now and a chance to utilize my own skills that ive learned over the past 6 years. the drugs (psych meds) were difficult to manage and often led to nasty withdrawals when i couldn’t access them, so I’d like to avoid that.

but the self-initiative route is hard. i know that resources in this area are already hard to come by so it just feels like I’ve been raw dogging reality a little bit.

i’m just exhausted and it feels like there’s no room to come up for air, just more tides to swim through.

[chaosandwolves]

Also let me add on something

Telling someone that everything they do is just for attention and manipulation will make them lie to you cause what else can they do?

They demand your honesty but when you are honest you get punished and ridiculed

I lied, too.

I didn't even want to tell them in the first place but my friend made me (in good faith) and I was punished for my honesty and straight up told I did what I did to get my friends' attention (that they found out by accident, of course, didn't matter)

A lot of the therapy surrounding bpd is based on punishment which is insane (I will add that it's initially not designed like this, initially it's made to be able to understand your own emotions and why you do what you do but the way it's done in practice is often some sort of punishment and you're met with anger and annoyance and before you can even work on anything you're called manipulative and attention seeking)

Like I'm always annoyed when ppl treat me like a dumb child but this helplessness in these situations...

Cause how do you respond to this? Every other person would get angry and defensive...guess what... We did, too and the cycle started all over again

Again, I was lucky

I could get some things out of bpd, my psychiatrist didn't want me to be a permanent patient so sometimes they'd listen cause overall they could see that we had "healthy parts" in us (yes, that were the words and back then it was the best thing to hear)

I also very quickly figured out when and how to lie to make it seem that I was doing good progress

Oh and also... Dbt is fucking EXHAUSTING,

Like you have no idea. It's so taxing, so frustrating and all and EVERYONE would get angry from time to time (I firmly believe every single person should do some basic dbt cause understanding your own feelings and actions is a skill most ppl don't have)

But again

When you're diagnosed with bpd ppl will blame you for everything and every reaction is solely seen in context of bpd

Ppl with BPD have great qualities

The hyper sensibility and being able to read people easily is not seen as a bad thing within society but if you have bpd it's just manipulation while other ppl give whole classes on how to get people to do what you want them to do...

Also... Therapists are often doing the same?

Again, quit playing games with your patients and clients, they're not dumb petulant children

Figure out your honesty and a basis to work on and actual support can be provided and progress can be made

As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.

Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.

The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.

I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.

I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.

As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.

95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'

I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.

That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.

There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.

My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.

Borderline patients can't win.

And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.

BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.

Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.

And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.

I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.

Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.

Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.

To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.

I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.

I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.

You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.

Borderline people I'm sorry.

[heylinfanclub]

post therapy notes: 'how is it going' is just too much of a question. cause i take it very literally. and things going. never ideally. So why ASK ME? Things don't Go Good. GOOD THINGS HAPPEN. But things aren't ever Actively, Reliably or Consistently GOOD. Ask me if anything GOOD happened, please, KEY ME IN, or you're just going to hear the mile of neglected and mismanaged and anxiety inducing tasks and concerns and woes. If I am not MENTALLY KEYED IN I can only focus on what is most PERTINENT AND TAXING ON MY MENTAL BANDWIDTH: aka bad/stressful stuff and nothing but the bad/stressful stuff.

Gonna deeeep breaths and. MANDALAS.

Therapist says I was alSO likely having withdrawls from my ritalin and on my period at the same time a while ago and that wasn't fun. And with my limited mental bandwith for TIME, I basically only remember struggling not that long ago and that makes my whole nervous system just. Feel like the trauma was both recent (it was weeks ago), and unable to sense how LONG it lasted (even if I logcially know Exactly how long I was in this state), brain just assumes it was a LONG TRAUMATIC STINT THAT EXHAUSTED ME TO MY BONES (even if it wasnt,,, anything,,, it wasnt fucking shit,,, I was without meds and mentally exploding from stress so intensely i felt physically hurting my body but,,,, bruh).

yugh fucking key words: Delayed Processing (of emotions, of feelings, of thoughts); Emotional Dysregulation (emotions fuck me up); Lack of Meds (increasing symptoms); Time Blind (cannot sense no matter how much physical information I am given, the SENSATION OF TIME PASSING EITHER FORWARD OR BEHIND ME. So the past feels like yesterday (no matter what I remember) or RIGHT NOW ONLY (the future? barely? exists? except as a dread of 'everything is impermanent and eventually i will lose everything i have'). If any time matters, it's scheduled time, and a scheduled task feels like a Promise and if it's broken it feels like the end of the world); Executive Dysfunction (brain literally wired Against planning before acting & acting on plans); prior Lack of Meds; December (the fuckin end of the month of the YEAR, transitional period SUPREME, desgusteng).

My efforts mean somethin. I survive. Because I have no choice. Because I want to. Because I got things to say, or cause I'm worth it. Or cause my survival is resistance, or some sweet sentiment. I don't always have meltdowns. I'm not always in shutdown. I have. Hours. Days. At a time. Of feeling Fine or even kinda happy. And that's fucking Enough for now. Even if it Hurts, to imagine Only Being Fine or Worse forever because I cannot fathom betteerrrr beyond a LOTTERY LEVEL OF LUCK hrrgghhhh. yet even sensing, mulling over, thinking about how shitty that feels to me, I'm fuckin Coping. I have. A teddy bear. I have internet connection. Gratitude boi. Fucking. Grateful for what you have (but not in a way ur guilting urself for what others dont have. JUST. THE STUFF UR FUCKING GLAD U HAVE).

[lovely-ell]

Alastor & Reader - Take A Breath

A/N: Hello lovelies! This was requested by @willowaudreykeyes and I hope they enjoy this piece. This is basically Alastor & Overworked Reader, or at least that is how I envision it. I can relate to this on a personal level, and I hope this can bring comfort to those who find it! Considering this is only my second piece, I am of course nervous about writing but I hope you find it entertaining! If you have any feedback, do let me know! I appreciate it more than you know!

Synopsis: As one of Alastor’s close friend’s, they have been helping out at the hotel for some time. As they do not have as intimidating a reputation as the Radio Demon, Charlie has tasked them with some more gentle and personal tasks. In addition to their regular hotel work, it becomes extremely taxing on them until they just break one day. Alastor helps them get through it and offers a listening ear.

Warnings: Mentions of overworking/burnout, definitely some angst and a bit of swearing. Slight mentions of therapy/rehab and sleep deprivation. A bit of self loathing. Anxiety/panic attacks are referenced, some cruel jokes made by Angel. Mostly platonic but some intimacy if you squint.

Fanart: I couldn’t find the person, if you find them please let me know!

I wished the days would just get easier or stop altogether. It was exhausting. I hated it. The hotel itself wasn’t that bad, but working for Mr. Radio Demon made it grueling. If there was one thing that me and him could agree on, though, was that the whole “rehabilitation and going to heaven” thing wasn’t gonna work out. Simply put, we had our chance, we fucked it up, and we end up down here. No point in trying to redeem ourselves when we’re already in hell and had countless opportunities on Earth. Regardless, as much as me and him see it as futile, I still worked at the damned hotel.

Charlie, for some unknown reason, took more of a liking to me than my boss. Could be the fact that I don’t have posters plastered everywhere about myself and my achievements as a powerful demon, but who knows. For this reason, she has given me (another demon, who is in hell for a reason) the task of creating the rehab programs and hosting 75% of the therapy sessions. The only responsibility I didn’t have constantly was cooking. Me, Angel Dust, and Alastor rotated the meals per the week. This was Alastor’s week, and he was making his famous Jambalya.

As he carried the platter of food to the table, the scent wafted through the air with a comforting notion. I had offered to help him, but he insisted that since it was his week, he would do it. Did seem as though he greatly appreciated the offer, I will say.

“Thank you so much for cooking, Alastor! This is delicious”, Hell’s princess shouted from one head of the table to the other. “Oh it was really no problem, do enjoy!”, laughed the infamous overlord, taking great credit for his cooking. I have no shame in admitting that he is the best cook of all of us. At least, generally. Angel makes the best Italian food though.

Alastor turned towards me, two chairs to his right, “I suppose we should get straight to business, shall we?”. We usually start with how the front desk went, and today was my day. I guess I had just gotten the worst day to be on the 5am - 5pm job, as we had gotten many walk-ins, but none of them checked in.

“How did your shift go, Y/N?”, he questioned, attracting the gaze of all the other demons at the table. Satan, how did he always gather so much attention?

“Well, not great…” I solemnly spoke, my eyes averting away from their stares. Even still, I could sense Charlie’s frown and Vaggie’s look disappointment in my sleep. “Oh…well how many checked in?”, she said, trying to establish some form of hope in this hopeless hotel.

“None. We had 6 walk-ins but none of them stayed after I explained the rules.”, my fingers scratched my scalp in frustration as I looked down. The dining hall fell silent for what seemed like an eternity, until the spider stripper finally spoke.

He playfully kicked my shin, “Well damn toots! Whad’ya do this time?”. I heard a few half-hearted giggles from across the table, my eyes beginning to burn. I started to scratch my head harder, not that I had any nails that could do any damage, since I had bit them too short

I tried to contain my anger, not uttering a word. I looked to my right and shot him a glare, the atmosphere getting tenser by the second. Just by that stupid grin on his face I could tell he was getting a kick out of this. “Cat got ya tongue? Eh, oh well. I’d say I’d kill ya but Ms. Princess can do that herself!”, he cackled at the table, nearly falling out of his chair. I rubbed my temples, trying hard to contain myself. Satan, he was funny sometimes but he could be annoying as all hell at others.

I abruptly stood from my chair, knuckles turning white from the strength in which I held my fist. I turned around and left through the back door, undoubtedly getting glares and confused stares.

I took a few laps around the hotel, then settled on the front stairs. I wanted to pull my hair out. Anything to distract me from my thoughts. I had so much paper work to complete, so early it was due. My chest felt heavy as I struggled to take a full breath. I couldn’t see as well and my hearing was muffled. My head spinned with deadlines and the threat of reprimand. Reprimand for something I clearly deserved it for. I was the most emotionally healthy besides Charlie in the entire hotel. It’s supposed to be my job to-

“Take a breath, Y/N”, a voice spoke from behind me. I covered my ears with my hands, hoping to make it all stop. My hands were gingerly pried off of my ears one at a time with gentle claws. “Shh…breathe in my dear”, it spoke again, now creating soothing circles on my back as my head was between my knees. I tried to follow it’s instructions, but I couldn’t manage. “God, why can’t I do anything right!”

It stopped rubbing my back, and it shifted up to my chin. With one claw, it carefully lifted my head so I could see it. It was Alastor. Why was he here? “Sweetheart, it’s alright to not be perfect. We are in hell, after all”, the demon spoke, moving the loose strands of hair away from my teary eyes. My face crashed back into my knees, muffled sobs escaping my lips. I heard his shoes click to my side, and stop with a slight thud. He stroked my hair in an attempt to soothe me.

“Shh…breathe sweetheart, breathe in deeply…”, the overlord spoke, still running his fingers through my h/c locks. After a few minutes, I finally was able to take a deep breath, “Good darling, now try to hold it for me. It’s alright if you can’t”. I held it until he gave the command to let it go, and I did. After that my breathing slowly but surely slowed on its own once more. “Great job my dear, but we really must have a chat if that’s alright”, Alastor questioned, waiting for my approval. I internally groaned, “What, do you need me to work an extra shift tonight?”, I answered with my own question.

“Work? My dear you can’t be serious!”, he said to me, taking my hand in his. “Let’s head to my room, shall we? It would most likely be better to talk of such topics there”. For once in my life I think I may have seen his smile falter

I followed him up the outside emergency stairs, entering his room not moments after getting inside. The Radio Demon motioned towards his bed where I soon sat, him locking the door behind us.

He sat on the bed, averting his gaze for a moment before asking me, “Since there is quite no other way to ask this, I’ll get to it. What is going on Y/N?”. I froze, my thoughts racing. Did I do something wrong? Forget to fill something out? “Al, what did I miss? I thought I did everything that was due?”

“No, no no! Not work! Get work out of that silly little head of yours!”, he said exasperatedly, tapping his nail on the top of my skull. “What is wrong with you, as in why did you abruptly leave dinner to be found sitting on the hotel steps, in the dark, hyperventilating?”, he shifted his body towards me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I…I’m not sure…”, I answered truthfully, I still don’t know quitewhat happened.

“I can tell you exactly what happened”, he spoke to me. I turned my head up in interest, and he continued. “Charlie has given you some emotionally and mentally taxing jobs in addition to regular hotel tasks, due to your unnaturally friendly behavior in Hell”, the demon said, crossing his arms. “And since you don’t know how to say no, you willfully took all of these tasks and are now overworked and burnt out”, Alastor said, almost in a way a parent would scold their child, but with more care and concern in his tone. Burnt out…that sounded exactly how I felt.

“But who else is going to do it…?”, I lowered my head, not daring to look into his eyes. He once again lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to look into them. “I’m not sure, but you shouldn’t have to do it all on your own”, he said sternly, but he seemed to have more to say. “You can’t do this to yourself, Y/N. I may be your employer, but I do care for you. And that is why I’m having you take a mandatory 2-week break!”, cheerily he exclaimed, as if it was a cause for celebration.

“Alastor! Who is going to do all of my work while I’m on break! I can’t do that!”, I yelled desperately, in hopes of finding someway to could convince him. “No buts! It starts this evening, right now! I will have the work divided between the hotel, but please, do get some rest my dear”, he said, before lifting himself off of the bed, and beginning to leave. I felt something deflate within me, and wanted to make one final, yet absurd request.

“Wait, Alastor?”

“Yes darling?”

“You don’t have to but..”

“But what?”

“May I have a hug, please?”

“…I suppose one wouldn’t kill me again”, Al said as he walked over, enveloping me in his arms. I sunk into his shoulder, a restful slumber finally falling upon me.

[southislandwren]

.

[isekaisyouwithmyforearmlaser]

emergency donation post. if you have the time please read for context.

please send donations to my cashapp $pikman2

hi i know i dont have tons of followers but im hoping i can get some circulation because my family is in some really dire circumstances rn.

ive always been against making donations posts because i always figured others had it worse than me, but now that theres children involved im desperate and im selling my own things/ working overtime just for cash. my moms wife, D, cheated on my mom with my moms boss after being married for 6 years with 2 kids, and up and left without trying to talk about it at all. After originally kicking us out, she realized she couldnt afford the house thats under her name alone, and let my mom and the kids and my nana live there temporarily. our name isnt on anything, and if my family gets kicked out again theyd be homeless. right now my older brother, my nana, and my two younger siblings- both elementary school children- are dependent on my mom. my mom recently lost her job because she couldnt work under her boss anymore and the entire work place was extremely bad for her mental health. D and her new GF then sent their work friend to go "spy" on my mom while she was out with her friends (D started doing coke again around last year so her behavior is erratic) and the guy who they sent physically assaulted my mom. my mom already has prexisting injuries on her back and a past broken wrist from a few different abusive exes she had years ago, AND on top of that just last year my mom got in a nearly fatal car accident that fucked up her back more, and the assault made these injuries incredibly worse.

my mom (pictured above) has been prescribed new medication, but no longer has insurance because she lost her job. she works retail now which is extremely taxing on her body. my mom lives in texas and has applied many times to state assistance programs but she keeps getting denied. The house isnt in my moms name, so she has no proof of address to allow her to get food from any nearby foodshelves. after the accident my mom has really bad fears of driving and cant drive long distance without her anxiety becoming debilitating.

my brother recently got sick and is getting tested again. my nana has social security but its only 900 a month, really only 700 after buying her meds. my mom and i are the only ones working.

below are the some of the bills my mom has to try to earn in one month on 11 dollars an hour

plus rent which is 1250 and her car insurance. currently they spend all money on bills and barely have food or hygienic products most of the time.

D  hasnt been very helpful during all this, as she expects my mom to pay  all the bills despite knowing my mom is solely responsible for the well  being of 5 other ppl rn, and despite the fact EVERYTHING is in Ds name.  unfortunately we cant really negotiate with her because she can just ��kick us out and then we'd lose shelter.

TL;DR

to clarify, i live in minnesota rn, so im not asking money to help ME, but rather my immediate and closest family- 5 people, 2 children, one elderly. my moms mentally ill, has chronic pain and longlasting injuries mostly from past abusive relationships, recently got in a traumatic accident, then was assaulted by her wifes friend after her wife of 6 years suddenly left after her affair was exposed. she just got prescribed a bunch of new meds that she cant afford but needs in order to keep working, all the while needing to pay off all the bills which comes to a total of about 2,000. there are 5 people in the house- my mom, my nana, my brother and two children. they are all constantly at risk of homelessness, they barely have any food at the house, and because nothing is in there name they cant show proof of address which is required at all food shelves locally. my mom cant drive far because of her anxiety due to her past accident and shes the only licensed driver in the house.

right now ive stopped school completely to work full time at my current job in retail. im trying to find a new job that pays more so that we can start saving money so they can move somewhere affordable and no longer have to deal with D. ive been doing this since the beginning of 2020 and if youve been following me you know i also stopped my own HRT and meds just so my family can eat, which has basically fucked my mental health incredibly, as im already suicidal and have been on and off meds/therapy/inhospital since early highschool. i skip days without eating and only do it when i need to so that my family can have more money. basically, ive exhausted everything i can to help and its still not enough.

Please if you can consider sending any donations directly to my cashapp $pikman2. every little bit helps, even 1 or 2 dollars can help with small groceries. thank you.

[mejomonster]

Fucking shocking how much physical therapy makes my gi system like 40% better (big difference that's a whole medicine dose better) for 2 days. I am trying to learn the stretches cause if they help just as much I'd be golden. Because rn physical therapy mostly does facia muscle tissue massage (I'm not sure what it's called) but it untenses my muscles somewhat so my gi system I am guessing can move a bit more easily. And I can TELL it helps because my stomach will go from hard and nausea, to squishy and I feel hunger again. And whenever I feel hunger my gi symptoms are generally less severe (more severe and more pain/nausea until eventually I can't hold food down).

I'm doing acupuncture rn too. And upon looking up if severe constipation (to point of vomiting, being unable to eat, causing exhaustion and malnourishment aka how I was for most of the past year and am only somewhat better due to a ton of very strong prescription laxatives and motility drugs) can be caused by long covid? Ding ding we have a winner, it is a possible symptom. I read a very sad case study where the kid is okay now, but their doctors didn't recognize the constipation as early as mine and so the kid got much more injured before a better treatment plan was implemented. Ultimately, the kid was put on a laxative regimen for three months (like ive been on for the past year) and eventually the kid had chinese acupuncture which gradually restored bowel function. As I'm doing acupuncture now, I hope that means I can hope for a similarly good outcome eventually.

So basically I'm really hoping I'm on some track to make progress.

In happier solid news, my POTS symptoms are significantly better. I'm like 95% where I was pre-all-this. I'm still dizzier than before if I sit or stand too long or too fast, and my heart rate jumps up from walking now instead of jogging. But I think with gradual HIIT working up to jogging and running I could get back to being able to do harder aerobics, I CAN dance again and only sometimes get dizzy and saltsticks electrolyte tablets fix it (or sodium tablets), same with fatigue days and hot days dizziness - some electrolytes/salt and I feel fairly fine. So now I'm back to maybe 90% of my normal activity level. Which is great. Fatigue was worse to me than the pain or inability to eat/use bathroom to be honest. Because pain or gi inability could put me in ER, but if I was too exhausted to help myself and advocate for myself no one helped me much if at all. So I kept ending up in ER again. Since I've had more energy I CAN GROCERY SHOP AND SHOWER in the same day! Stand and make cereal AND grocery shop in the same day! Sit up at work all day without being bedridden afterward! It makes such a difference, now I can fucking go to doctors more often with the energy to handle more visits without it wiping me out! So now I can fucking push for us working on improving my health more! When I had severe fatigue they just let me stay bedridden and exhausted and fainting and I was too exhausted to ask for more, to push them to please try something. I think some of the fatigue maybe? Was mold in the old house? Because I do feel that getting out of the old house brought my energy from a 5/10 or 6/10 on good days, to now a 8/10 or 9/10 energy most days (and now 5-6/10 are my bad days). 10 being old healthy energy level I had, 6 being I can do 1 energy taxing thing and maybe one smaller taxing thing (sit up 8 hours, lay down and play video games - or sit up 4 hours on and off, and also put gas in my car). 5 being i can do 1 taxing thing per day then need to rest (sitting up 8 hours for work, or grocery shop on a weekend) 4 being I can barely sit up for much more than 30 min-1 hour, more and I may faint, but could lay in bed and get up to check work emails and manage to not call in sick if it's a light-work day, or could lay in bed but still watch tv maybe a little bit. 2 being sleeping 12-16 hours but can sit up a small amount or walk a small amount in small durations when awake, no ability to focus. 1 being I'm sleeping and collapsing if I wake and try to get up into sitting or standing position. Most of my worse fatigue days used to be 2-3, pain tended to be 8-10/10 on worse days. Now my fatigue at worst tends to be 5-6 (so I can either work or call in sick and use that energy to prep extra meds to try and fix the fatigue/pain), and pain is much more noticeable. A bad day now means no shower or no work or no grocery shopping and no lighter hobbies like walking TV etc but i can get by okay for a day or a few like that. But the pain level is often still 8-9 about 1-3 times a week, 10/10 pain at least once a month. So yeah... fatigues getting better, which was the hardest cause doctors tendency was to assume fatigue wasn't extreme "go walk a mile in morning to wake u up" they'd say (when I was collapsing and fainting if I sat up for 1 hour and asking how the fuck to fix this so I could drive and work again) and they'd therefore do nothing and test nothing and I was too exhausted to push them to try Something new then. I had to look into POTS myself, get the energy up a bit, then ask them to look into that. Tldr basically now that it's a bit better managed, I do think at least I've got more energy to put into trying to improve the other symptoms I'm dealing with, so wooh!

[creaturebehavior]

preparing food just now was a roller coaster

i walked in the kitchen i was getting stuff out of the fridge and in my mind i was like “breakfast~~” but then i remembered i already ate breakfast today cuz i stayed up all night i ate as soon as the sun came up so then i was like “second breakfast~” and then i started laughing cuz i realized that’s just lunch

then i spaced out while i was getting my food ready and i tuned back in and noticed i was engaging in the most ocd fuckin behavior ever. i was getting some leftover spinach dip and cubes of bread, and i realized i was touching every single cube of bread to find the softest ones .-. i was like dude stop. A lot of my OCD behaviors are food related mostly because of my eating disorder and partially because of sensory processing issues and partially because of contamination OCD. this food checking behavior was fueled by the first two mostly and only a little bit that last one. i do this with berries too, i will only eat the perfect ones which means i have to examine each berry i pick up before i eat it and if it’s a little squished or something i put it back. it’s so embarrassing. i don’t even notice im doing it either cuz i have done this my entire life. but sometimes i’ll catch myself in the act or i’ll noticed after the fact that i just went into OCD checking mode. this is especially embarrassing in communal living situations like halfway homes and treatment centers where there’s a lot of people around. it’s been pointed out to me more than once. ugh worst. i try to make myself eat squished fruit sometimes as like mini means of exposure therapy (i tend to incorporate at least a little bit of exposure therapy into my life every day, partially in the spirit of building up my distress tolerance, but i also do it oftentimes because engaging in an OCD loop would be way more exhausting and mentally and physically taxing than not engaging in one. some moments and some days, i don’t have a choice whether or not i engage in OCD behaviors, and these times are the most stressful. i don’t know as much about OCD terminology as i do about my other diagnoses but i call those times episodes whenever i’m having a really bad moment or few moments or few days. so during the times whenever i am not in an episode and i’m just living my regular ocd-having life, i try to force myself to get a little uncomfortable every now and again, both because i get so worn out by my OCD episodes that sometimes i just don’t fucking feel like washing my hands repeatedly while counting in my head as another example, and because i do hope it widens my window of tolerance so that maybe someday the OCD won’t feel so bad? who knows >_<

[abacus-and-paper-money]

"Ranking the great comet characters based on how much tax fraud they commit (on accident or on purpose)"

Andrey- 0/10. Is a Good Citizen and would never fake his taxes. Goes over them all 3-5 times to make sure he's filed them perfectly. Always right on time.

Natasha- 5/10. Has no idea what a 'taxes' is, but pretends to understand to try and look smart and adult. Mostly just asks Sonya to help her, but it rarely goes well. Probably accidentally committed some small crimes.

Sonya- 3/10. Sonya tries her best but sometimes gets so exhausted she just can't bother to do everything right. Has to deal with Natasha's as well, and that's even trickier because of Natalie's chronic retail therapy habit.

Marya- 6/10. Does her taxes quickly and efficiently. Remember that efficiency does not equal quality. Nobody dares tell her when she commits tax fraud though, they're too afraid. Whether she does it on purpose or accident is unknown.

Anatole- 8/10. Regularly commits tax fraud and is regularly caught. He pretends like it was on purpose to try and seem like a rebel, but he honestly just doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do with taxes. Somehow he always gets off the hook, though.

Hélène- 2/10. Surprisingly, she doesn't commit that much tax fraud. Pierre handles their taxes, and she doesn't have any real reason to go out of her way to do so. Occasionally she'll do a little though, just to see if she can get away with it. Pierre always catches it, but just fixes it without saying anything.

Dolokhov- 9/10 but also like 2/10. Doesn't technically commit many tax crimes, but does some shady things with them. He's discovered and carefully exploited about a million loopholes, so if he's actually taken to court there's about a 95% chance he'll get away with it.

Old Prince Bolkonsky- 10/10. Just straight up doesn't pay taxes.

Mary- ??/10. Was never taught how to do them and regularly cries attempting to do them anyway. Is too scared to ask for help, though. Frequently berated by her father and brother for not understanding, even though they're the ones who never taught her. Somehow nothing ever ends up happening and she's fine. Whether she miraculously did them right or the tax collecters just feel bad for her is unknown.

Pierre- 1/10. Does everything as well as he can, including fixing Hélène's sly attempts. Has it figured out well enough that he doesn't commit any crime, but his taxes aren't perfect.

Balaga- 1/10. Legally, he doesn't even exist. Like he's not a registered human, so he has no taxes with which to commit tax fraud. Still gets a point tho because if he did, he WOULD.

[volkswagonblues]

I wish you would write a fic about piandao and jeong jeong, like just anything about them but i'd read the SHIT out of the modern au you told me about where they bicker about politics

SO. This is the WORST time to be writing 1.5k of fiction about a modern (well, 90′s) AU starring two dudes who have never even spoken to each other in canon, but uh, the world is awful and I consider creating rarepair content a form of self-care, so here we go.

The context for this is of course, JJ is second-generation Korean-American from LA, Piandao is a foreign student from Taiwan pursuing a doctorate in the US. The year is 1993 and ideas about race, activism, the term “Asian-American” are all up in the air. We are one year post the ‘92 L.A. race riots and four years away from antiretroviral therapy becoming the new treatment standard for HIV. The AIDS crisis is in full swing, as it has been since the 80′s. Welcome to America.

--

“Jujube”

The week after his appendectomy, Piandao is up and moving around by the end of the third day, a full four days ahead of schedule. His shoulder aches, the scar on his stomach hurts, but still, he is up and moving, even though Jeong Jeong rolls his eyes when he catches him walking up and down the length of his bedroom, working the muscles that are suffering more from being bed-bound than from surgery. 

Jeong Jeong, underneath the surly exterior, is a surprisingly maternal caretaker. Piandao has no appetite for anything flavourful in the first few days, which the nurses said was normal. So for every meal since he’s back from the hospital, Jeong Jeong cooks him a bowl of porridge and does it with a degree of care that Piandao honestly did not know he possessed. Piandao wouldn’t have minded just plain white rice and water, but Jeong Jeong, in his typical Jeong Jeong-fashion, disagreed. He spends a long time in Piandao’s kitchen every morning, making what he claims is the superior (ie, Korean) juk that his mother makes, but is really exactly similar to the zhou Piandao is used to back home, only it’s made by an angry Korean man swearing at the morning cable news, taking only occasional breaks to bemoan the sad state of Asian grocery stores in Midwest college towns.

“I’m feeling well enough to cook,” Piandao says on the morning of his fourth day home. “JJ, relax. You don’t have to do everything around here.”

Jeong Jeong looks up from his work: crushing sesame seeds in a plastic bag with the back of a soup spoon. “Shut the fuck up,” he says easily.

“I can at least wash the dishes—“

“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bill Ritter.”

Piandao looks at the television in the corner. A news show was on, some Sunday morning thing he doesn’t remember seeing before. Currently, it was showing them three glossy-looking American hosts sitting on glossy-looking American couches. A man in a beige suit was saying something very earnest about the President and Haiti and also taxes. Piandao guesses that he’s Bill Ritter.

“Fucking Clinton already retracting on his fucking word,” Jeong Jeong mutters, then smashes the spoon down with ferocious force; in their plastic bag, the sesame seeds die and ascend to paste in an instant.

Piandao bites back a smile. He switches the channel: ads now, more glossy Americans driving glossy American cars, big and square. The ad changes: a family of four arriving at a motel, everything even bigger and squarer than the previous one. The mother in a big square jacket; the father smile with big square teeth. The kids chatter in excited tones: We’re so happy to be at Holiday Inn Express! Then Piandao hits the off button, and the American family disappears; the screen puckers up into dark silence again.

He slowly feels his way into the kitchen instead. He rather watch Jeong Jeong cook.

On the stove, the porridge bubbles. Jeong Jeong adds the pounded sesame and gives it a stir, then adds more sugar, then milk. He ladles it into two bowls and brings it over to the kitchen table, which is also the living room table, which is also Piandao’s desk where he grades students’ lab reports and corrects exams. There were a few back issues of various astrophysics journals still stacked there; Jeong Jeong puts them to use as coasters. Volume 10, issue 4 of Space Science Review goes to Piandao’s bowl; the special Winter 1992 edition of Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics to Jeong Jeong. Piandao, trailing behind him, brings the spoons. They sit down, knees almost touching.

“How is it?” asks Jeong Jeong.

Piandao blows on his spoon and takes in a mouthful. “Not bad,” he says. “Although it’ll be better with some – I don’t know the word – but those little red fruits.”

“Jujubes,” says Jeong Jeong, and then: “Fuck off, be grateful for what you’ve got. You know how long it took me to even locate some sesame seeds in a Salt Lake City grocery store?”

Sunday morning slants in from between the slats of the crooked window blinds. In the sharp angle of the light, his features look different: the sun picks out the bronze-ish tint in his dark hair, makes the shell of his ear glow pink and red. In front of him, the steam from the porridge unfurls in delicate, thin grey spirals.

Piandao put his spoon down. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You really didn’t have to. The plane ticket from Los Angeles must have been expensive.”

A shrug. “Couldn’t let you die alone in Utah, of all places.”

“It was just an appendectomy. How much did you pay for the flight? I can…I can pay you back, the university gives me a stipend, I can afford it.”

Jeong Jeong sets his spoon down too, picks up the bowls and takes them over to rinse in the sink.

“When I got the call from the secretary,” he says, not looking up from the dish sponge. “She didn’t say what happened. She just said, please can you be informed that Mr. Liu has been taken to the hospital for a medical emergency, she had just gone down the list of his emergency contact numbers and you happened to be the first one who picked up, and then she hung up. I barely got the name of the hospital out of her before she did. Nothing more. I called back and got a busy line. And then I thought – I started thinking – I didn’t know what I was thinking. I got scared. I just came back from SF that day – I went to see Johnny and Gene at the General, and when I got back in and the phone rang and the woman said you were sick too…I don’t know.”

The bowls, scrubbed to death, are getting beyond clean. Jeong Jeong throws the sponge down, where it lands with a wet smack.

“I know you’re not like me,“ he adds wretchedly. “I mean, I know you’re not a homosexual. And besides: fucking Utah? Of all places? I knew it was probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Piandao says.

Jeong Jeong stabs a finger in his direction. “But don’t you dare pay me back though. Don’t you even try that shit on me. I will actually punch you if you try.”

Piandao says nothing. He pictures the cramped kitchenette of Jeong Jeong’s apartment off Hoover Street, with its ugly green plastic phone duct-taped to the wall, opposite to the grimy stove and the eternal stacks of takeout containers and the Proud Berkley Grad of ’87 fridge magnet that Piandao had bought him as a joke, when Jeong Jeong finally carried through on his threats and really dropped out, for good this time. He pictures Jeong Jeong stumbling back in fron the hospital, exhausted, and then accepting a long-distance call from Utah anyways.

Jeong Jeong had taken the call and flew out the very next morning. He had came in such a hurry that he brought nothing with him other than the clothes he was wearing and a backpack full of California oranges, because he had some idea that vitamin C was vital to every patient’s recovery, no matter the ailment. He had come to Piandao.

Times like this, Piandao wishes his English is better. Even now, after five years in this country, he has no way to express how he feels, right now, standing in the doorway of his kitchen while Jeong Jeong slams dishes and utensils back into their drawers, shoulders hunched over. Something hot and formless is coursing through his chest, but Piandao can’t shape it. He can’t forge the thing into words.

Perhaps there’s no words at all for this in English. Not in Chinese, either, and not in Korean. There are no words for this in any language in the world.

So Piandao reaches out instead. He touches a hand to the curve of Jeong Jeong’s back, and when Jeong Jeong looks over, questioning, he clears his throat and says:

“I liked it. The zhou.”

“You mean juk,” Jeong Jeong corrects him, as contrary as ever.

“Alright, the juk. It was very good.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not shitting me?”

“No. I should call your mother, tell her what a good chef her son is becoming.”

“Fuck off,” Jeong Jeong says, but he smiles anyways.

Piandao smiles back. His hand is still where he put it, resting on Jeong Jeong’s back, and he does not move it away. This, also – this is an unspoken message, but not for forever. Already Piandao can see the shape of it in his future. Something was unfurling between them, as delicate as steam, as marvellous as light.