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josphitia · 4 months ago

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TW: Therapy, unsupportive therapist

Josie's Cow HRT Journey, part 3 - The Therapist

“Yeah, yeah. 1992. Mhmm. No, it's for my wife. Do you do telehealth? No, I didn't think so. Friday at 2pm works perfectly. Yes that's her email, she'll fill out the paperwork and send it in. Thanks, hope you have a good day as well.” *Click*

Jojer looked over to me with a smile and said “Okay! I helped you make the appointment. It'll be tomorrow at 2.” I jumped up to give Jojer a hug that caused them to audibly exhale. I buried my face into their neck, expressing my gratitude at their help and support with a newfound habit of mine: A high pitched “Moooo!” Now was the hardest part of any highly anticipated event: Waiting.

_______________________

The therapist’s office was on the end corner of a small, but busy, strip mall. My husband and I entered the lobby, simple folding chairs on either side of a bookshelf displaying a plastic plant and outdated magazines were the only furnishings. I spoke to the receptionist and confirmed my appointment. It was happening.

Before I had time to properly sit the receptionist opened the door: “Josie?” I darted up, my husband following suit until the receptionist stopped him: “Sorry, patients only. You'll have to wait in here.” I turned to him as he reassured me that I had this. I was scared to be alone, but a singular notion filled my mind: It was happening!

The therapist’s office was sparse of detail. A few degrees in cheap frames dotted the wall behind a surprisingly expensive-looking desk. A leather chair was positioned opposite the desk. “Please, have a seat” spoke a bespectacled man with thinning hair, as he gestured in front of him. I sat on the edge of the seat as best I could, the less of my body I had on this bovine-skin chair the better.

The man adjusted his glasses to get a better look at a clipboard before him. “Good afternoon, Miss Josie. And how are you doing?” he asked, eyes never leaving the clipboard.

“I'm doing good!” I said eagerly. It was happening~!

The man continued to scan the clipboard. “That’s good. So, looking over the paperwork you submitted I see you've been on HRT for a number of years. Are you unsatisfied with your results?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “N-no, I'm happy with the changes I've had. I'm happy being a woman. I wouldn't change it for anything.”

The man peered at me over his glasses. “And yet you're here? For I can only assume is Animal HRT?”

My shoulders started to slump. My back was feeling heavy. I was prepared. I practiced what I would say. I was confident, but now I felt the energy draining out through my arms. “Y-yeah, yes…”

He flicked his wrist with a flair of dismissiveness. “Well this is a big step. It doesn't seem like you've put a lot of thought into this. What is it, you think being a dragon will just solve your problems?”

“Cow!”

“Excuse me?”

I clenched my hands into my thighs as I met his eyes. “I'm a cow. I've always been a cow. I feel like a cow on the inside… I want my outside to reflect that. I want to see a cow in the mirror.”

The man leaned back in his chair. “Fine, cow. How much thought have you put into this?”

I felt like I had finally made a breakthrough, maybe he was understanding me now. How much I needed this. “It's been all I can think about for weeks now. It's like a light’s been turned on in my brain, like I can finally see what I need to do to be happy, to be happy with myself. I've been confiding in my husband about this and they're completely supportive.”

The man leaned forward. “And what about your family? Your parents?”

“Huh?”

“The rest of your family. Your parents. Have you told them about your…” He derisively flicked his wrist again for emphasis. “Want to be a cow?”

“I-I don't know what that has to do with anything.”

The man seemed larger now. “Young lady, it's my job to assess your mental preparedness for something so drastic and life changing as this.”

My world was shrinking. I couldn't see anything but the man’s face and his scrutinizing, piercing eyes. “No, I haven't told my family…”

The man relaxed. “Well, it's not the end of the world. You can still talk to them about this life choice you're undergoing.”

I straightened up. “Yeah?”

“You'll have plenty of time to prepare a way to talk to them over the next two years.”

My body froze. I knew what he was going to say next, but it didn't make the wound his words caused any easier to endure. “T-two years?”

The man placed both elbows onto his desk, his hands speaking just as loudly as his words. “Of course. You didn't think you'd just walk into this office and walk out with a letter, did you? I got into this profession to help people. You need to live as your chosen species for a minimum of two years before I give you my endorsement for hormones.”

I slumped fully into the chair, my hands on either side.

“And of course I'll need you to prepare for your future. You'll need to freeze your sperm, for if you ever want to have a family.”

At this, the energy returned to my stomach. “Freeze my, what?? No! I'm not going to do that!! I can’t even do that anymore!”

The man folded his hands under his chin. “Well if need be you can pause your current HRT regimen, that would allow you to produce again. I think that would be a good idea, actually.”

An arrow shot through my body. “I'm, I'm not going to get off HRT! This is who I am… I can't.”

“I need to assess whether or not you're taking this seriously. Whether you've fully comprehended how this is going to affect the people around you. From what I've seen, you're not willing to do that.”

Another arrow. “But-”

He raised his finger. “I think that's our appointment for the day. I'd like you to think about what we discussed here today and the steps you need to take for your future. My receptionist will walk you out. You're welcome to make another appointment when you feel you're ready.”

My face was on fire, I didn't want to shed tears in front of this man. I followed his receptionist to the lobby. Jojer shot up, excited to hear about my appointment and assumed success. I turned my body so as to not face him and walked out into the parking lot to the car. I walked past a beautiful giraffe woman with tired eyes and strikingly red hair. My failure stung even more seeing what I could only think of as success.

We sat in the car, my face still turned away. “Josie? What happened? Are you okay?”

I let loose the tears I tried so hard to hold. The only thing I could say, and what I said over and over, was “It's not happening.”

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Josie's Cow HRT Journey

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#transgender #transgirl #transisbeautiful #otherkin #therian #animal hrt #cowstoryhrt #cow hrt #otherkin hrt #therian hrt #furry oc #oc #oc story #creature hrt #furry #sfw furry #josphitia

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 4 months ago

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Wanted to go anon but I asked in DMs if I could vent so hopefully this’ll make me feel better:

A lot of times I feel Christianity is causing me more harm than good. I grew up in the Baptist south and I see Christians so happy with God and their blessings. And while I acknowledge my blessings and thank God for them I don’t think I feel the same kind of joy everyone else does. I went to a revival at my aunt’s church last October and came out of it with horrible anxiety that lasted for months. Even as people talked about God’s love and mercy and second chances I left without feeling that love, I was scared and it felt like I wasn’t a good Christian and that when I was saved years ago no longer counted. Any time I see someone talk about spreading the Gospel I feel low and awful cause no one has come to me and told me they’re Christian now and why should God let me into Heaven if I can’t do that?

I recently discover scrupulosity and I’m 90% that’s what I have. It was a relief to know (even if I can’t always believe it) it’s ocd making me feel this way and not God. But how I can I find comfort in the faith when that is where my anxiety stems from?

Hey there. My heart aches for you and the harm Christianity has brought you. When faith is done right, it should be a place of support, a place you feel encouraged towards growth and vulnerability. Instead, it sounds like you've been taught fear — that you're not "good enough" for God or heaven; that not feeling what everyone else seems to be feeling is a failing on your part.

You deserve so much better, and it's not your fault that this is the Christianity you've been put through.

I want to start by saying that what you're feeling, or what you don't feel, does not make you a "bad Christian"; it's not a sign of God's disfavor; and it absolutely does not bar you from heaven!

It's such an alienating feeling to be surrounded by people who seem to be experiencing something you just can't seem to access. It reminds me of Psalm 42, where the psalmist wrestles with their depression and anxiety:

But I remember these things as I bare my soul: how I made my way to the mighty one’s abode, to God’s own house, with joyous shouts and thanksgiving songs— a huge crowd celebrating the festival! Why, I ask myself, are you so depressed? Why are you so upset inside? Hope in God! Because I will again give him thanks, my saving presence and my God. (Psalm 42:4-5)

In the above verses, the psalmist visits God's Temple, is surrounded by people shouting joyfully...and all they seem to feel is that soul-deep depression. They also wonder, "What's wrong with me??" The hope they find even in this fretting about their inability to feel the joy everyone else is, is the hope that there will be a future time when they will once again feel the gratitude and joy they can't access right now.

What will it take, what does this psalmist need, in order to work through their depression and into joy? ...What do you need?

One thing I highly recommend, if at all possible, is finding a therapist who can help you through your religious hurt and help you navigate scrupulosity.

Look for therapists who specialize in religious trauma, or scrupulosity, or "deconstructing" faith, or working with "ex-vangelicals."

In your consult with them, make sure they are, like, not part of a conservative Christian church themselves and actually aim to keep patients in such spaces; make sure they are there to help you find spiritual wellbeing, wherever that journey takes you. Asking about their view on LGBTQ+ persons might be one way to determine their overall aims.

I'm by no means a mental health professional; I'm not an expert in scrupulosity and I don't know best practice for working through religious trauma when scrupulosity is part of your experience. So please take everything that comes next in this post with a huge grain of salt, that I'm offering what I've seen work for some people, but that doesn't mean it's the right thing for you. Getting that professional support is much more ideal.

Along with professional support, I do feel that a break from Christianity, or at least the Christian spaces you are currently part of, may give you the space to work through everything.

However, if not going to church will impact your scrupulosity or activate fears about hell, prepare some options in advance for dealing with that — whether it's having someone you trust you can talk to, or setting up your own Sunday worship, a space and time where you pray, read scripture, etc. at home.

If you feel that even those preparations won't be enough to keep safe from those fears, you might wait till you get a therapist who can help you navigate whatever comes up when you leave church.

You could also start looking around for different kinds of churches than you've currently experienced, churches that make space for depression and fear, and that emphasize that God's love is freely given, not earned. This is my post with tips for finding an affirming church near you. But I want to emphasize that it's okay if you aren't ready to start looking for a new church, or if you're unsure you ever want to do that.

Finding people who are going through similar things could be very helpful — people who get it, who can share their stories with you as you share yours with them.

A progressive church might be a place you can find that support.

It's also possible that LGBTQ orgs in your area might offer resources for those with religious trauma.

There are also online options, such as Journey Free, which offers both free and paid support — including online support groups.

Recovering from Religion is another site with support group options, online and in person (note: I'm not that familiar with this org, so if anyone has experience with them please share).

If you're a reader, two books I think might bring you some healing and reframe your relationship with faith are:

Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor, which explores a Christian faith that has room for depression, grief, fear, pain, rather than pressuring everyone to Be Happy All The Time to "prove" they're blessed. (I have a tag with a few excerpts from this book)

Bad Theology Kills by Kevin Garcia, which unpacks a lot of the harmful stuff Christians in evangelical / fundamentalist type churches internalize.

You might also find some useful stuff on my FAQ, particularly the "emotions and sins: guilt and fear, anger and hate" section and the "on God" and "prayer and faith" sections.

I'm not sure how helpful all this was, but I want you to know that you are worthy of spiritual thriving, of finding places that bring you peace and joy rather than fear and isolation. I'll be praying for you as you unpack what you've been through and where you need to go to find that thriving. The journey will probably be long and bumpy, but you do not have to go it alone. <3

#church hurt #religious trauma #if anyone else has encouragement for anon #or suggestions for where to go to find support #please do share <3

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try-set-me-on-fire · 1 year ago

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Tagged by @devirnis for WIP Wednesday! Here’s a whole scene from proposal fic because why not… (vomit content warning)

Bobby shows up on the doorstep before Buck's first PT appointment after being discharged and Buck is hit by sudden intense gratitude for the stupidest possible reason. Ah, he thinks, thank god Eddie isn't going to see what I'm like during one of these. And then What the fuck, Buckley? Eddie did see him after that first session, and it's not like his patheticisms start and end within a 45 minute time frame and the clean walls and persistent disinfectant smell of Dr. Shelley's office. He's spent the last two days in a shivering little lump on the man's bed, sleeping 16 hours out of 24. He's not really sparing him anything he hasn't already seen. What, then? Spread the different facets of exactly how fucked up he is around? Like if no one has to deal with too much they won't get tired of it? Here, Eddie, you can have helping me go to the bathroom because I can't stand up on my own. Maddie, you get me crying whenever I see you or even hear you on the phone because you're my big sister so I get to dump all my feelings on you, that's fair right? Bobby, you can hear me screaming in pain, is that ok with you? You were there last time, I'm sure you'll do fine. It's too much for any of them. It's too much for Buck.

"You ready, kid?" Bobby says, with the softest little smile. God. Buck is going to fall apart into tiny, gross little pieces. Eddie can mop the floor and be done with him.

“Ready,” is what he says, knowing it sounds like a lie.

They have him walking between the parallel bars today. He remembers them, from his leg. They don’t start there, most of the hour is more stretching (ow) and fine motor skills practice (frustrating). But they told him at the beginning they want to get him walking again as soon as they can to avoid any further muscle loss or atrophy, and they want to work with him to see if they can figure out how much of his dizziness is from brain injury and how much is from vestibular damage.

Well, he’s up on the bars now and he couldn’t fucking tell you. The whole world is just spinning around him at a sickening speed as the physical therapist and Bobby both mutter encouragement, tell him to keep taking one more step, he can do it. Buck tries, he really tries, he wants to take these five steps on his own and for the doctor to tell him he’s progressing fantastically and to be tired but happy on the drive home with Bobby, both of them smiling and cracking jokes. Instead he collapses three steps in and vomits on the soft plastic-y blue floor covering. His ear is ringing and he only has a split second to feel humiliated before there are arms around him.

“Sweetheart,” Bobby is saying over the background hum, “Sweetheart, I’ve got you.” There are hands in Buck’s hair and he chokes out a sob. He doesn’t really stop crying until they’re almost back at the Diaz house, how he got from the office to the car a mysterious blur. Bobby is holding his hand on the center console. When Buck squeezes a little tighter he hears him sigh in relief and it almost starts the tears up again. Bobby is out of the car as soon as he's parked, hurrying around to the passenger side to help Buck to the house. He’d protested, days ago, about the need to rent a wheelchair until he could carry a little more of his own weight, but now he guesses getting rolled to the door is more dignified than Bobby having to put him in a fireman's carry.

He’d do it. Buck knows he would, Bobby would pick him up and hold him in his arms and carry him as far as he needed to go. Bobby settles him on the couch, handling him as gently as he would a child at a disaster site, running to bring him mouthwash to get rid of the bitter taste of stomach acid, finding saltines in the kitchen, pouring ginger ale on ice and procuring as if by magic a bendy straw in old fashioned, environmentally unfriendly, single use plastic. He sits on the coffee table in front of him, at attention, ready to appease any want.

"Thanks, dad. Bobby! Thanks- thanks, Cap," Buck slams his eyes shut and drops his head onto the couch behind him. The indignities never fucking end, apparently. He's stopped from withering away entirely by the warm weight of a hand over his own where it lays on the armrest. Buck opens his eyes. Bobby is staring down at their hands, jaw working, breathing through his nose.

"It wasn't even-" Bobby frowns as his voice fails, and clears his throat to try again. "I kept wishing I could be mad at you. Being reckless again, running into danger, getting yourself hurt." He exhales heavily, breath stuttering into a sad little laugh. "But I watched you climb that ladder. I kept playing it over and over in my head. You had three points of contact the whole time. Could have filmed it for a goddamn safety manual. It could have been-" his voice catches again, and Buck turns his hand to grab onto Bobby's. "It could have been any of us. It could have been any of us up there. All the stupid stunts you pull that you walk away from, and it's-" Bobby's free hand waves wildly into the room. "It's a random fucking act of god that nearly-"

"Bobby-"

"That nearly takes you from me," he finishes, squeezing Buck's hand. He's crying, and Buck thinks he might be again, too.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Oh, kid," Bobby says, leaning forward, gathering Buck up in his arms. “Nothing to apologize for. You’re right here. You’re still breathing. That’s all I need.”

Buck weeps again, into Bobby’s shoulder, his captain or father or good friend’s hand rubbing up and down his spine. He is still breathing. He’s still breathing. Bobby’s soft flannel shirt smells like grill smoke and Eddie’s couch is familiar beneath him, and Buck hurts and feels sick and dizzy, and he exists. “Bobby-“

“It’s alright. It’s alright.”

Bobby’s face is wet when Buck pulls away after however long it takes for each breath to stop aching so bad as it rattles in and out of him. Buck wants to say all sorts of things, most of which amount to I love you, but what comes out is a nod towards the TV and “You wanna stay for the game?”

Buck doesn’t even know what sports, if any, are on today, but Bobby seems to hear some of the other words he meant to say because he smiles so kindly at him and says “Yeah, Buck. Anything.”

Tagging @iinryer @bigfootsmom @shortsighted-owl if you’ve got anything to share!

#wip #wip wednesday #proposal fic #thats his dad boogie woogie woogie #was listening to the interstellar soundtrack while finishing this scene up #i remember fuck all about that movie but the soundtrack hits #listen to Stay and cry about how that song feels like a building plea and a desperate desire to answer that plea #stay!! stay with me!!#arms wide open for you

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susandsnell · 5 months ago

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You're worth a kind word from me, if that helps. You're smart, kind and strong to keep on going through so much pain. I'm so sorry you can't see the good in yourself.

Fwiw, I'm a trainee therapist and some of the people I trained with really had their own blindspots and hang ups. Therapists are just people and (like all people) some of them just kind of suck and most of them make mistakes sometimes. Please don't take anything a therapist told you as objective truth: they're trained professionals but sometimes they fall short, the same way doctors sometimes misdiagnose people. It's not your fault.

I also think you might be primed to give yourself a hard time and interpret people's words in the harshest possible way. From what you said it sounds to me like your therapist might have been trying to validate your pain and misspoken. But whether that's true or not, you don't have to agree just because they have letters after their name.

I promise you: you're worth much more than you think 💐

I was busy taking care of some things tonight (and dealing with some other unpleasantness), so I apologize for the time it's taken to get to this.

Thank you for taking the time to talk to me about this. I've got...quite a checkered history of therapy (over ten years in and out of it, since much of my adolescence was lost to debilitating panic attacks, extreme grief, and other fun emotional dysregulation), so I do understand it is ultimately just a job and people bring their own foibles and make mistakes in their jobs. I've even come to a point where I'm able to laugh at a few really bad, and in some cases, hilariously offensive experiences I've had (such as one therapist I spoke to this past fall invoking the Holocaust as an example of "people can learn to be positive in any situation" to me, a Jewish person, when I told them my previous toxic work situation was not something I should "practice radical acceptance" towards). The words I previously heard were just difficult as the other experiences I've come to laugh at were difficult, because when I'm already in a vulnerable state, and spending time and in some cases way too much money on someone who's supposed to be of some help, and when I have a life quite literally devoid of any other support system, it can be, as you can imagine, really devastating to hear these things.

Thank you for your kind words and for taking the time to be so kind and reassuring. I'm going to try to take them to heart, it's just hard when I've never been treated as someone of worth, just as it's hard to feel accomplished for trekking through pain when there isn't much to life besides it. I hope you have a wonderful (time of day) where you are, and a great weekend. You're really too kind, and I appreciate you deeply. <3 Sending deep gratitude and love to you.

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callmeblake · 1 year ago

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Transcription of Frank’s article in kerrang #1773 from May, 2019

from mixtapes and regrets.com

Frank Iero

There is no resolution. There is no meaning. There are no neat bows tying up errant strands or loose ends. Because real life rarely pans out how it does in movies.

Sometimes, all that’s left is a festering pit of anxiety in the stomach – gurgling, acidic and debilitating. Because if you’re brave enough to question the apparent entropy of the universe, be prepared to end up with anything but satisfactory answers. That’s where Frank Iero finds himself in 2019, still recovering from the fallout of the day that changed his life forever.

“Thanks for not making me cry and not treating this like a fucking Oprah [Winfrey] interview,” he says, gently chuckling as we get into the heart of a lengthy, often heavy and sprawling conversation. It’s the kind of laugh that belies a very real gratitude, or perhaps relief, at not being forced to yet again retell and relive the garish details and still-raw horrors of the road accident that he and his touring party were lucky to survive in Sydney, Australia on October 13, 2016. Two and a half years on from that brush with mortality, his physical convalescence may be complete, but the psychological and emotional scars endure.

“I think about it every day,” Frank confesses. “I still have nightmares about it. That moment, I will never forget – it’s still there. It’s not like an experience that shall-not-be-named, nor do I have to shy away from it, but there are certain elements of that day that I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay with. I just have to accept it and move on, but it’s like nothing’s been settled. That’s a horrific feeling.”

It’s a chilling insight into Frank’s state of mind as the release of his new album edges closer at the end of this month. Barriers will be his debut release on UNFD, and it’s also his first with new band The Future Violents, which sees him once again joined by long-time collaborator, fellow survivor and brother-in-law Evan Nestor on guitar, alongside former Murder By Death bassist Matt Armstrong, multi-instrumentalist Kayleigh Goldsworthy from Dave Hause And The Mermaid, and Thursday’s Tucker Rule on drums. On an album full of firsts, though, chief among them is that this is the first one written since that life-changing event. Understandably, there’s a lot of pain sewn into the seams of the songs – the kind a psychologist could have a field day pulling apart and analysing. Ask the man himself what he thinks a professional might make of the lyrics on Barriers, however, and he’s got little but exasperation left in the tank. At least, right now.

“I’m fucked if I know,” Frank shrugs, with a typically stoic, good-natured smile. “Every psychologist I go to, I don’t have a good relationship with them. We don’t get along, it’s weird. I remember as a teenager going to see a psychologist for the first time ever and he told me that I should think about doing acid. So I was like, ‘Well, I guess I have to, it’s doctor’s orders,’ but that’s probably not the best advice. It opens doors, but I don’t know if that’s the advice that I would give to my kids.

“Maybe I just haven’t found the right therapist yet,” he concedes, “but I seem to end up finding people who rub me up the wrong way and give me advice that I disagree with. As if I know better…”

Maybe in this instance, Frank Iero does know best. It’s clear from talking to him alone that he is still very much in the grip of the trauma that naturally comes as a result of a near-death experience, and he readily admits that is indeed the case. But it’s one thing knowing the theory and received wisdom of how to deal with such trauma, and yet another entirely being the person who is left to pick up the pieces in the aftermath; to put that theory into practice every day. It has, understandably, changed his whole outlook on the world.

“I know this probably stems from what I experienced, but I started thinking about how violent, and sudden, and abrupt life can be,” he explains. “Elements of this world, they aren’t always the prettiest things, and they’re not always the things that we expect. Living violently, for me, means to be active in living; it’s the action of causing a ripple in a stream. To live passively, to just be a passenger, to be someone who’s just kind of observing is a very… When I think about the world being the same place it was before and after me, that feels like a sad existence. I feel like there needs to be a change caused by every life, and change is inherently violent. So when I named the band, I thought of not just the people involved in making the music, but the people who are involved in listening to it and being affected by it as these elements or conduits for change – the ripple…”

Frank talks about the ripple effect a lot now. In that respect, Barriers is something of a first creative wave on his part – the thinking being that its very existence might encourage and inspire change elsewhere, in ways which are as yet unforeseen, even to him. That comes with a lot of pressure, self-imposed or otherwise. Not that he felt that he had any choice in the matter, regardless.

“I knew what I wanted to talk about on Barriers, I just didn’t know how to say it at first,” Frank admits of the imposing challenge he faced going into the album in earnest last March. “I felt like the things that I needed to get out on this record were so enormous that every time I wrote something down, I was like, ‘That’s just not good enough, it doesn’t cut through to the heart of it.’ Sometimes you try to be too clever and it ends up blurring the magnitude of what’s being said. So it took a while. And I’m glad that it did. There are songs on this record that I’ve wanted to write for years and years and years.”

Frank Iero has been ruminating on a theory of late. It’s one that’s as disconcerting as it is complicated, but in the aftermath of the confusion and existential reflection caused by surviving a near-death experience, he’s often wondered if he’s really here at all. Imagine for a second – as he finds himself doing a lot these days – that he didn’t actually make it that day. Or perhaps that he was supposed to meet his end in the accident, and yet he somehow avoided that fate – that he’s cheated death, Final Destination-style. It sounds like classic survivor’s guilt – when a person who has experienced something tragic or catastrophic subsequently feels so unworthy that they believe they should no longer be alive – although he insists it’s something much more than that. These are the kinds of complex questions currently swirling around inside Frank’s head – an illustrative example of just how profound an effect the events of October 13, 2016 have had on him.

“There are a lot of elements of it that are really fucking weird,” he gasps, holding his hands up as if acutely aware of how ‘out there’ he sounds as he tries to explain his frame of mind. “You start to feel almost like, ‘What if that was your path and you were cheated out of it?’ And yeah, you’re happy to be alive, but at the same time this trajectory that you could have possibly been on, maybe that was your time? So, why are you here? Is there something you’re supposed to do? What if you’re not supposed to be here, and you’re just fucking everything up?”

He takes the edge off the weight of that grim thought by adding in a touch of gallows humour – something he does a lot nowadays – by suggesting that maybe it’s his fault the current president is such an abject failure, as if somehow his own survival that day has had the knock-on, chaos theory-like butterfly effect of creating that disastrous ripple in the wider scheme of things.

“I don’t know if it gets any easier with time,” he frowns, considering the possibility that this eternal questioning of everything may be his reality now. “This [event] has absolutely, 100 per cent changed my life. When you watch movies and people have these kinds of experiences, they’re usually like, ‘Oh, but now I feel great about it, because I could have died and everything’s awesome.’ I mean, I’d like to think that. So you’re left wondering, ‘Why don’t I feel like that?’”

It doesn’t help that he’s since had to return to Australia for a doctor’s appointment, bringing the ordeal back to the forefront of his mind – a “really fucked-up experience” which resulted in a week-long panic attack from the moment he stepped off the plane. But while he says that everyone involved in the crash is doing much better now and they chat about it occasionally, they all have days where it’s still as frightening as it is difficult. It’s a struggle captured ultra-poignantly on the song Six Feet Down Under. ‘There’s a part of me that’s not sure if I’m here / Yeah, there’s a definite part of me that don’t believe in the now / And that’s just the start of it, ‘cause I ain’t convinced you’re all real’ Frank sings, laying out the full extent to which he is wrestling with the weight of what’s happened to him and trying to make some sense of why.

“Not to get all weird and metaphysical,” he begins by way of a jocular disclaimer, before indulging those very tendencies, “but like, is it possible that there’s these crossroads or branch-off moments where things could have gone one of two ways? And maybe there are different planes of existence where we didn’t make it. And this one where we did. And am I currently living in that one? I don’t know. Even in my therapy sessions, no-one can really answer all the questions that I have. Did I actually come out the other end? Am I still alive? Or is this all just a weird figment of my imagination? No-one can truthfully answer that question, or tell you that this is real.”

It puts into stark focus the scale of the task Frank Iero faced in writing Barriers. It makes you wonder how he managed to get through it at all, when his mind was plagued with demons and dilemmas much bigger than the average human being ever faces, let alone an artist trying to express such thoughts and feelings creatively.

“I came to a resignation,” he explains of the process of rebuilding himself from those depths. “Whether I believe it or I don’t, or I question it or not, I’m here, and I have to live in the world that I perceive to be the real world. You can’t just be like, ‘Oh well, this isn’t real. So, I’m gonna just start fucking going off, snorting rails and betting the house, because it doesn’t matter.’

“You have to accept this life and I’m thankful for this life, because I have my wife and my kids and my family,” he continues, gripping on to the only tangible sources of comfort and reassurance he can muster. “I’m making music that I really enjoy and I’m very lucky. If this is a figment of my imagination and I wake up at some point, I’m going to be so bummed. I listen to this record and I go, ‘Wow!’ but I think, ‘Well, this is the kind of record I could only make if I was actually dead and I did it all in my imagination!’ That’s where I’m at right now.”

Admittedly, where Frank Iero is at right now seems like a place of tremendous pain and darkness, but in the process of rebirth and finding himself again via Barriers, he’s happened upon a path that may yet be marked ‘enlightenment’, ‘peace’ or at the very least offer some form of contentment.

Incredible as it is to think, given all that has come before, this is the most personal set of songs that Frank Iero has ever been involved in. It will also, he claims, be his last album. But then again, he says that every time he makes a new one. This time, however, he has good reason to believe in his own fatalism, given the close-call nature of the cards life has dealt him in recent years. It’s why a record he believed would be his last one needed to be filled with firsts. After all, if there’s a possibility that you’re not going to ever get to do this again, why not give it everything you’ve got left, right? That’s why he’s stepped outside of his comfort zones in ways he could scarcely have imagined before now. That’s why his face appears on the cover artwork for the first time ever. That’s why a lot of the stuff that’s made the final cut are actually first takes (“Shit’s unforgiving, so you better be on”). That’s why Frank has written in a much more direct and personal way than he has ever done. And it scares the crap out of him.

“There are a lot of things on this album that, oh man, they just freak the fuck out of me,” he admits with a nervous grin, bearing in mind the imminent prospect of sending it out into the wider world. “On the first record [2014’s frnkiero andthe cellabration’s Stomachaches] I feel like you can hear a lot of me trying to hide behind stuff. I don’t fault myself for that, because it was right for that time, plus I don’t think I really knew that the record was ever going to come out. I made it to put in my drawer and maybe play it for my kids one day. I swear I never expected to be doing this. You can probably listen to that record and tell, ‘This person doesn’t think anyone’s going to hear this music!’

“This time, there’s stuff about my relationship with my parents, and my mom especially,” he says of this new, open and more transparent version of himself. “That stuff’s been touched on before, but this was a pretty raw time to do it. Each song is about a moment in time, where there was either a wall being built up or broken down.”

Hence the record’s titular thread and theme. It’s a sentiment echoed in the words of the artwork’s inscription, too. For that, Frank enlisted his father’s handwriting. It reads: ‘Everything from nothing, with nothing to prove, destroy the walls they built around your heart, keep the faith’ underneath the ever-significant and recurring digits 1-3-1.

“They’re an important grouping of numbers for me – one and one being my wife and I, and the three in the middle being my kids. But also, when I first started playing guitar, my friend John had this Telecaster that he had 13 inscribed on, which he gave to me and I used it a lot. So when I made my own guitar, the Phant-o-matic, I put a 13 on it and then when My Chem ended I started this new chapter, so I reversed the numbers to 31. It’s also my birthday [October 31]. So these numbers keep coming into my life.”

The breakthrough moment apparently came with the fittingly-titled, Stax-like soul of A New Day’s Coming, which opens the record and acts as a vessel for “wiping the slate clean and starting anew”. Ironically, it’s a song that he’s been trying to nail for years – existing in nascent form first as a lullaby that he used to sing to his children, and later as a demo that he’d challenge anyone to recognise now.

“Sometimes I feel like songs are like relationships,” he begins, explaining the extended gestation period for that one. “You meet people along the way and you’re like, ‘Oh wow, this could be really great. But we’re not at the right time in our lives for each other.’ They’re all like little love affairs. New Day… is like saying, ‘Forget everything you know, let’s start from here,’ which works in your own personal life, but also in your sitting down to digest the record.

“That really captures what I’m trying to get across with the name of the record, too,” he adds. “We’re so concerned with protecting ourselves that we build up these obstacles and these barriers that we think are going to keep us safe, but they end up holding us in, stopping us from experiencing new things, and we miss out on so much. So there’s that duality to it.”

Duality is key to a lot of what Frank has committed to record on Barriers. In pouring his soul out on these songs, he’s had to expose parts of himself that even he feels uncomfortable with. It’s a cleansing of sorts; expelling all that he’s had bottled up inside and exploding into full view for the first time – a kind of recorded caterpillar metamorphosing into a butterfly.

“You have to remain hopeful, to wipe the slate clean and start anew,” he reflects on the process. “Because not every day is going to be great. Some days are gonna fucking suck, but you have to get back up, brush it off and fucking try again. You have to. Quitting is not an option. There are so many things in this world that are designed to bring us down, that’ll make us bleed and hurt. We don’t need to be an extra thing on top of it all.”

Despite all of the evidence to the contrary in the world around us, Frank can, however, see a distant silver lining in the clouds above.

“I do feel like, as far as times are concerned, it’s cyclical,” he offers by way of a hopeful parting message. “There is going to be a rain to wash this all away. Not to say that we need to take a passive backseat to it – we need to be violent and active in doing things to create that change – but we can’t just say, ‘Oh, everything’s fucked, it’s over. Burn it down.’ We have to turn the hose on and wash the scum off the streets.”

And that lack of resolution gnawing at the back of his mind all this time? All part of life’s great mystery. That’s as much as he’s got for now, and maybe that’s just fine.

“Sometimes you just end up with more questions in life,” Frank admits, wryly. “I like that dialogue of ‘what if?’ That search is not about finding answers. That searching and asking those questions? That’s the growth. It’s like life – we don’t know why we’re here, but all we can do is keep asking questions…”

(See my posts about his article, including the posters, here)

#frank iero #L!1173 #may 2019 #2019 #kerrang #andrew lipovski #butterflies

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phantom-ellie · 2 years ago

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The Art of (Smashing) Crockery Chapter 22: Blackbird

Summary: Not all gay awakenings are positive, and not all reactions to rejection are healthy.

Click here for CWs/Full Chapter List

---

I opened the door. I followed the lead. They said you just have to move towards the light. Say, ‘Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.’

My mind wrote a letter my heart couldn’t read. A heart confused, misused, shamed, and contrite. So I opened the door. I followed the lead.

Is this how it feels to be freed? To accept who I am, what my forebears would indict? Saying, ‘Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.’

Waking up gay, a gay awakening, is this what I need? Then why does my heart hurt, my chest still feel tight Since I opened the door and followed the lead?

A mirror, I practice, repeating my screed. But my expression remains the same, try as I might. ‘Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.’

‘It’s too late,’ it threatens, it chokes like a weed. Self-acceptance is a resignation, a reaction born from spite. But I opened the door. I followed the lead. Hello. I am a gay man. My name is Stede.

---

Stede doesn’t respond to Ed’s text. Not through the night or the next day. The blog post is angry, sad. Ed assumes that something happened with Stede’s father, but Stede isn’t asking Ed for comfort. He doesn’t want Ed’s love, or his friendship.

Ed was an idiot. Again.

And being an idiot, he does what he’s always done and calls Izzy. His voice is already breaking as Izzy answers the phone.

“What is it, Edward?”

“I’m so stupid, Izzy. I did it.”

“Did what?”

“I kissed him.”

“Fucking hell, Ed! I told you. Why would you do that?”

“I… I love him.”

“For fuck’s sake, this happens every time. And he rejected you, didn’t he?”

Ed feels so small. He can barely get it out. “Mmhmm.”

“And I’m supposed to drop everything and comfort you ,again, is that it?”

“Come on Izzy, you’re my friend. That’s what friends are for.”

“You have no fuckin’ clue about friendship, Ed. You drop me as soon as someone shiny and new comes along, and then I have to fix it when they leave. Every time! Do you know how draining it is?”

“I… I can guess.”

“You can guess, but you don’t know. I’ve been divorced twice, Ed. What were you doing both times?”

Ed sighs. “I don’t know, what do you want me to say, Iz?”

“You were too busy doing drugs with Jack to be there for me, weren’t you?”

Ed is silent for a few seconds. “Yeah.”

“Go to a gay bar, find someone who actually likes you back, get a therapist, I don’t care what you do. But it’s time to grow up. It’s time to figure it out for yourself. I have shit going on.” Izzy hangs up.

Tough love. Ed’s mind immediately thinks of Stede’s father. Then Stede. Then hurt.

Logically he knows not to blame Izzy. Ed has always taken from Izzy. He’s never given back, not where it counts. Anonymous donations to Los Robles didn’t count for much if they were anonymous.

It’s at this moment that Ed realizes that despite all the encouragement he gave to Stede, Ed doesn’t really know what a friend does, either.

---

Mary: Did you meet with the estate lawyer?

Stede: Yes.

Mary: And?

Stede: It should be airtight. Preparing for lawsuit anyway.

Mary: You know I’m not going to ask for any of it in the divorce, Stede. The timing is just bad.

Stede: You are entitled to it and you will have it.

Stede: You deserve it. For everything.

Mary: See you tomorrow @ 11?

Stede: yeah

---

Thanksgiving. So much to be thankful for. Right?

Maybe.

He manages to make it through the dinner all right. He’s quiet, but that’s okay. It gives him a chance to listen to Alma and Louis bicker a little bit, to see the drawings they’ve done and tell him about school. He can hear about Mary’s art show, which of course was a success, and he can feel a tiny bit of gratitude as she takes care to talk around any mentions of Doug.

At one point Alma pointedly asks Stede what he’s been up to, and he’s a bit at a loss to answer her.

“Well… I’ve been thinking a lot, I suppose.”

“That sounds boring.”

Stede huffs. “I haven’t had a lot of time to think recently, Alma. Sometimes it’s nice to take a break.”

“You could take a break here with us.” Alma looks down at her food, pushing her green beans around with her fork.

Stede puts his hand on hers. “I’ll keep that in mind, sweetheart. I just need a little time to myself.”

“I thought that’s what you had work for.”

Stede shakes his head. “No, not even a little bit.”

When they finish, Stede isn’t too far in his own head yet, so he manages to clean up, do the dishes, to look around at the kitchen that he no longer considers to be his. He never considered any of this to be his, really. It’s as if he’s just been borrowing it.

He finishes up and slides on his coat, prepared to sneak out of one life that isn’t his into another life he hasn’t made yet. But Mary spots him.

“Stede… you don’t have to run away, you know? You can stay here. You can live here with us for now. Let me help you.”

Stede stops to think about this, if just for a moment. He imagines living as a ghost in his own home, too afraid to face his wife, his children. He imagines sitting on his bed, confessing everything to Mary, everything he feels. And in this imagination, they have a wonderful talk, one that solves and clarifies everything. Like it’s so easy. And Stede leaves the house, in his imagination, with new-found purpose as he reaches Ed’s apartment, knocks on the door, says those three words, and they embrace and live happily ever after.

In his imagination.

But Stede is a useless, pathetic coward. And his dreams will never come true.

So he gives a wan smile instead, tells Mary, “Okay, I’ll think about it,” and gets in his car.

Stede has always felt safest personifying inanimate objects. His hotel room has a minibar. He tells himself that’s the only friend he needs.

---

Ed: hey

Jack: hey you unblocked me

Jack: ya getting lonely big guy

Ed: what if i am

Jack: door’s always open

Ed: you really gotta lock that shit

Ed: on my way

---

Post from the blog Hear Something Weird:

Now you remind me of something I’ll never have So, blackbird don’t sing

Comments: MauritianSupremacy: Hey, we’re planning to take you out for drinks, you left the group chat. Check your texts PracticallyGayJesus: lucy told me to tell you we miss you LucyFlawless: That was not the way to deliver that message, babe

Chapter 23

#ofmd modern au #modern alternate universe #ellie modern au #cross posted on ao3 #ofmd fanfic #our flag means death fanfic #stede x ed #gentlebeard #blackbonnet #ellie aosc

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deeeper-than-the-surface · 6 months ago

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Short story:

Today was my last session with my therapist of 2+ years. I used to always say “I’d go into a spiral if my therapist ever left me” when I heard that happen to other people. I guess in the back of my mind I always knew it could be a possibility. I knew this was her job in the end and she may venture into other opportunities at some point or I’ll move away, resulting in the inevitable. I knew she was human in the end. She told me she’d be leaving the practice for her dream job about a month before our last session. Once the shock subsided, I was really happy for her. I thought it was really cool that she’d be able to have her dream job. To me she was deserving of absolutely anything in life for helping me heal from my trauma. I didn’t even know how to put into words, in that moment, how thankful I am for her and what she’s done for me. It started to dawn on me that I didn’t have more time with her. I wanted to film a docu series of my sessions with her. A docu series of the realities and complexities of inner healing, trauma, and what therapy is actually like. Some people don’t believe in therapy because they feel like it would be a confirmation that they are actually “crazy” and only crazy or severely mentally ill people go to therapy. I wanted to show people what it’s actually like. It’s a spectrum, everyday is different. You don’t have to be severely ill to go to therapy. You can be someone who just needs someone to talk to through life’s day to day hardships. I used to think I had to go into therapy prepared with an idea of what I wanted to talk about or address that day. I did this out of fear of having moments of silence when there’s nothing to talk about. I later realized that, it doesn’t have to be that way. If you have something you specifically want to talk about you are more than welcomed to bring it up and address it. But, some days I’d go to places in conversations I never expected. Usually I’d spend the rest of the day down and wanting minimal social interaction after feeling like I dug deep into my emotions and trauma. I allowed myself to just be there, whenever I needed to be. I’m just grieving right now and I can feel whatever I feel about it and try to understand it better. That’s how I’d talk myself through those moments. That’s what my therapist taught me to do. She always said “just be gentle with yourself” and who knew such a simple phrase could be so comforting. Everytime I needed to hear it, I heard her voice in my head. All that to say, you always just assume you have more time with people and you’ll get to things eventually. I told her this. She explained that my ability to actually be happy for her leaving while also accepting that it made me sad meant I had a healthy attachment to her. She said I trusted her enough to never feel rushed to get things. I just assumed she’ll be there when I’m ready. And as someone who’s struggled with an anxious attachment style I never realized that. It made me feel so grateful for all the work I’ve done with her. I still struggle sometimes, it doesn’t all go away. But the level of understanding she’s given me about my emotions and trauma allows me to get through it smoothly. She’s truly changed my life and I will forever be grateful. She made me so soft again. I want to lead with love and gratitude. I want to be involved in more conversations that feel uncomfortable to talk about surrounding mental health. It’s real and healing trauma is a painful process. As the first born grandchild of an immigrant family, there’s a lot to unpack there and I refuse to continue the cycle of generational trauma. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for SEEING me. Writing is my outlet.❤️

#mental health #therapy #short story

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artificii-in-ceata · 11 months ago

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Fireworks in the Fog dashboard simulator LET'S GO jump in the bandwagon!!!

🥀 ladylazarus1991 Follow

Mar 8, 2014

Sorry I was gone for a while my old account got nuked for posting "graphic content" (can't handle seeing a little gore??!! Like sorry but that's literally my coping mechanism???)

Anyway I initially planned to quit Tumblr forever and work on my mental health but I just realised that today is Mother's Day so that plan obviously goes out the window. My stepmom is literally the nicest person ever though so I should get her something. I just wish I could forget my bio mom forever. I wish she knew how much one word can ruin a child's life permanently, I wish I had the power to make her feel the same hurt, but I never will! Any insult I might throw her way will never as much as touch her, but her telling me I'm... UNWANTED... when I was just 4... honestly can anybody blame me for the way I am. I should tell this to my therapist I guess. I mean that kind of applies to everything I post on here. If she saw this she'd say I'm not trying to do any progress. I don't care!!! I just wish to bite someone right now I swear. Maybe revenge will fix me after all...

#vent #depression #trauma #abusive parents

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🥀 ladylazarus1991 Follow

Mar 9, 2014

@ everybody saying they thought I was dead: nope, I was just back and forth between the hospital and the psych ward and the therapist, you know the drill. If there's one thing I'm happy about it's that I at least got my first job recently so now I feel less like the biggest loser on the planet haha.

And thank you everybody for the concern. Don't worry about me, though, I really am well on my way to recovery but yesterday I got really triggered, but I'm fine now. By the way, I did cut my toxic bio mom out of my life, or more accurately she left us and never looked back many years ago. But you guys are right, I shouldn't let her live rent free in my head!! And yes, my real family are wonderful and they love me very much. I sometimes focus on hating myself too much and forget how much they actually care about me, but they really do.

Shoutout to my sister. It's convenient that she studied psychology cause she can talk to me in a way that I understand. When I was at my lowest, she told me that I'm a fighter and should use this in my favour, to fight against death. It didn't click at the time but I think I get it now. If I have to live out of spite, I WILL. I'm going to make all the people who hurt me seethe because they couldn't bring me down.

Shoutout to my brother for helping me accommodate to my new job. And shoutout to dad for being so patient and understanding all the time. It makes me so mad that he could ever blame himself for my being mentally ill, when it was our "mom", his ex, that made us feel worthless. Good on dad for getting away from her as soon as he did, and for eventually finding love again - he absolutely deserves it. And stepmom (but I just call her mom cause it's been many years since she and dad got married) is such a sweetheart. I got her some nice earrings yesterday and she loved them.

I suppose I do feel better right now. Call that practicing gratitude haha

#personal #depression recovery #mindfulness

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#fireworks in the fog #madalina #girlblogging the main plot

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tasmiq · 2 years ago

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Inspirations from Ramadan culminating to Eid al-Fitr in 2023

Swimming in a sea of daily devotional milestones, I could only offer shorter Jumu'ah Khuthbah in Ramadan! These were...

Day 1 of Ramadan 2023

#1. I like to ask the question “what’s bothering you?” from myself and others, when I see a gloomy cloud hovering above.

And for almost every answer to that question, you can see the solution vividly- “Be grateful”.

And it’s true - gratitude can help us see all of our problems in a completely different light. It can help us focus on finding solutions rather than complaining. It helps us stay positive and happy, even in tough situations. It helps us work even harder in life so we never take anything for granted.

Gratitude is the only mindset that lies at the heart of patience, happiness and hard work.

Due to gratitude, you are compelled into service, Subhana'Allah, as expounded by our Tariqa:

#2. On that note of gratitude, this Ramadan also represents my willing fast of Ada, my Physiotherapist, who I recognise as a Godsend. When she first told me, I was able to set aside my nafs and affirm that she had to leave.

What's more, I keep being shown the immense resonance we share:

- we never tire of heartful chat, to the point we are both confused by sexual fluidity!

- her hubby is born on the same day as you twins!

- even our monthlies timed in the end!

#3. Being made to recognise the critical role of Rabita, I was able to transform my patriarchal judgement of our former leaders, who are our knots on the rope to Allah!

They wouldn't have been able to be where they are, without key womenfolk that buttressed them there as our collective leaders!

Reflecton on the 8th and 2nd day of Jumu'ah in Ramadan

#1. Shaykh Nishaat echoed haqq when he said that spiritual energy is tangibly felt in the body during the action of Rabita (heart connection). In Ramadan, it becomes apparent that our spiritual selves need a body to rest upon.

Our emotional and spiritual sides need to be nurtured in the body. Therfore, we are blessed to materialise physical, emotional and spiritual synchronicity through the practice of fasting in Ramadan!

#2. Then we were blessed with a Ramadan Saturday Sohbet where Shaykh Taner and Anne related that Allah created us in a way that we can make mistakes to learn from. However, it is "cheaper" to learn from others' mistakes!

Fasting is an exercise of exhibiting our behaviour when we're hungry. Allah gives us the opportunity to tame our nafs because our focus should be Allah through connection, devotion, and being grateful!

However, what's tricky is when our nafs can divert us with an obsession with enumerating our devotions, especially in Ramadan! However, we have to do our devotions intently and with love as a yearly opportunity to refresh our imaan.

#3. Another constant illuminary of ours, Shaykh Abdal Hakim Murad, related that Allah is As-Samad (The Eternal and Independent) and Al-Ghani (Self-sufficiient One), and Ramadan is our opportunity to experience that! Through our free will that chooses to refrain from our usual comforts, as opposed to performing an outright action, Insha'Allah! 💓🤲

youtube

Jumu'ah Khuthbah: 14 April 2023

We have entered into the final 10 days of Ramadan, Alhamdulillah, for the renewed purpose this Ramadan has brought.

Undoubtedly a richer Ramadan to previous years. Ya Shakur for Shaykh Taner and team's English translated version of the holy Qur'an, which has made it so!

#1. Shaykh Nishaat spoke of gratefulness in one's state of being, beyond one's mind. The practice of gratefulness opens a myriad of experiences with Allah, where one is made to experience all things good; such as greater kindness, humility, softness, generosity, etc

Just as my surrender of my former Physiotherapist has been rewarded with another mighty interesting and soulful Therapist, leaving me swimming in an ocean of deep gratefulness!

#2. In a learning circle, your Rehbir Abbu reflected how a congregational Zikr channels concentrated spiritual energy, akin to a magnifying glass transferring the sun's heat / energy to another surface! Through the practice of Zikr, we also enact Allah's name in our actions.

#3. I came upon an undeniable verse in the Qur’an, as an accident survivor, Subhana'Allah and Ya Shakur! Shaykh Nishaat, at one point, mentioned that I am having a raw and real relationship with Allah in the very moment.

And also in your own selves (are signs). Can you not see them? - (Al Dhariyat 21)

Jumu'ah Khuthbah: 21 April 2023

#1. Today, we enter Ramadan Jamat ul-Vida, which is the last Jumu'ah before Eid ul-Fitr. This day holds a lot of significance during the month of Ramadan! Shaykh Nishaat reminded us of this on another Jumu'ah that was highlighted as Laylatul Qadr (the night of decree or power when the Qur'an was revealed).

I was armed with purpose in seeking Allah's forgiveness with gratitude for connecting the deepest with His words in the Qur'an, through Shaykh Taner and team's translated and chronological version.

#2. Shaykh Nishaat mirrored an undeniable truth where in Ramadan, we are given the opportunity to sharpen our focus on Allah! That's because we are in this life for a short time, as realised through the sudden parting with your Uncle Fazeel and Uncle Moeayne...Allah bless their beautiful souls 🤲

Given our short term in our worldly lives, we shouldn't worry about the things that we can't control! The question comes down to whether we have spent our time feeding our nafs or with Allah?

#3. This is the deepest I have gone into the Qur'an where I meet an unending sense of awe and further future inquisition. In my 19th Juz, did I even go into poetic Ramadan hal (ecstasy) 🥹🙈

Signs

A blessed life partner was he designed to be

An undeniable faith affirming love story

All praise and gratitude to Al-Musawwir, Who shaped ours with Divine Love

When he intimated that our connection was deeper than the norm

A large tree mystically sprinkled fine flowers

Beautifully nestled upon the emancipation gained in one another

When looking onto the horizon...

A dolphin leapt into the air

Akin to it, one mustered courage to take the leap of faith

How can one possibly deny the Divine favours?

That rose above potentially destructive truths

Instead, opening the floodgates to devotion

The happenings thereafter were further signs

A rocky road to Sufism

Shared parenthood and even a near-death experience

Looking to Divine Scripture for affirmation of faith

When our love story is just that

Divine gratitude to the Source of Love

#Youtube

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this-is-me19 · 1 year ago

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I just talked about this with my therapist an hour ago thought to reblog this. I realized looking at it again the few things I ALREADY do on the list; thought I’d share:

Watch less news— I actually read the news and rarely watch it anywhere. Ever since 9/11, I haven’t been able to watch the news much. The few places I do watch the news: underthedesknews(TikTok)

Express appreciation— my spouse feels taken for granted or alone a lot recently. He works remote so he is home a lot. I’m home too right now so I try to thank him and tell him how much I appreciate him, so he can feel seen, heard, and validated every chance I get. It is also a way to improve an established relationship.

Improve an establish relationship— we have been working to go on a date every two week which has been successful when we remember. Lol.

Follow uplifting social media accounts— I’ve been following Upworthy for a few years now and recommend them. They provide only positive news. I also follow ThoughtCatalogue and have been for several years as well; while not always positive, it does make you think and tends to remind me to check in with myself.

Create a system— I have made a way for me to remember to take my medications. I don’t know if it counts as a system but I have a shelf under my mirror so I have a visual reminder of my meds since I see them every time I go to the bathroom.

Set small daily goals— this is supposed to be “for steps” but this idea can be for anything. I have tasks to do. They tend to take a long time because, like right now, I am to be folding laundry and instead writing this post.

My former therapist told me someone with adhd should not be doing more than three (3) things, a to-list with ONLY 3 things; otherwise, this person with adhd can easily become overwhelmed. More than that, the brain just can’t handle. That’s how she explain it but I’m paraphrasing.

Just wanted to share.

I view this as my daily gratitude practice for today. ❤️

youtube

My Therapist recommended this to me today at the end of our session so I watched it right after. I recommend watch it. It’s very good. Haven’t read the book she recommends (Atomic Habits by James Clear).

TL;DR below the cut 👇

Depression and anxiety symptoms are on a scale.

|None|——————|Mild|——————|Moderate|——————|Severe|

How to improve symptoms:

Tiny, incremental strategies that are easy to implement and do can become habitual. The idea is to make a 1% change every day for a month at a time (can choose a different time frame but this is what she uses) which can lead to a 37% change of energy increase and even improving depression and anxiety symptoms after a year.

Three (3) Principles of Change

Pick the low hanging fruit first — Make a change that takes the least amount of effort or energy, that you enjoy the most, that is the simplest

Create a system — don’t have to remember or make effort, such as taking you medicine by placing it on the kitchen table so you remember to take it with food or even just using one of those weekly pill minder boxes so you k owe you took your medicine.

Use a habit tracker — checkmark for each day succeeded which creates a boost of dopamine (reward system in the brain) to slowly build up the habit as well as a visual reminder that you completed the task. Otherwise “Habit” which is a simple and free app for your phone.

Recommendations on where to start:

Light therapy- buy a light box and use for 10mins a day OR go outside and sit in the sun for 10 mins a day

Add a multivitamin or multi-mineral to your diet

Add fermented food to your diet

Add a vegetable to your diet

Daily gratitude practice

Express appreciation by texting or telling someone every day that you’re thankful for them or appreciate them

Watch less news

Follow uplifting social media accounts, ugh as goodnews, upworthy, or even add nature photography to your list of follows

Improve your sleep by decreasing your caffeine, use bed only for sleep

Practice Mindfulness, such as focus in slowing your breathing or feeling your breath when you drive or take a walk, drive without music and let your thoughts wander

Set limit on screen time

Don’t keep your phone by your bed, instead put a book there to read

Go for a walk or stretch

1 minute meditation, just google or look on Pinterest since there are a lot of ideas out there

Set small daily goals for steps

Do a self-regulation technique, such as deep breathing, deep yawning, or tapping

Spend more time in nature. If you live in the city, being exposed to plants or even the nature channel on tv or YouTube of nature photos or videos can be just as useful.

Deepen relationships already have, such as text someone, plan a date or meet up with friends or loved ones, call someone, make a reminder to call people

Set tiny rules for yourself to follow, such as you’re not allowed to call yourself names; when you catch yourself overthinking or catastrophic in to change the words to courageous language instead; don’t use the words “always” or “never”—changes black and white thinking to grey; don’t say “failure”, say “not yet”.

#personal #therapy #atomic habits #1% increment #daily goals #express appreciation

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dreamybun100 · 3 years ago

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How do you overcome your anxiety? 🥺😭

Hello I hope you're well! The short answer is; pills, therapy, and positivity. But here's an answer that I hope will actually help, plus some amazing free resources 😇 [warning: long read]

For me personally, I have overcome my anxiety, from a place where I thought I was incapable of "getting better", hated myself, and believed nothing good would ever happen again. I did so with a combination of cognitive behavioural therapy, antidepressants, beta blockers, and positive affirmations & self-love. It was a lot of hard work and effort, but believe me you can do it, you are strong enough, and you DESERVE to get better.

You may feel like anxiety controls your life & you can't do anything about it. Maybe you believe this is just who you are. But you can overcome your anxiety, you just haven't learnt how to do it yet!

This website has a huge amount of FREE professional-level workbooks and information sheets, created and used by real therapists. You can download/print this yourself, for free.

These tools can teach you why you are anxious, why your anxiety feels out-out-control, and how to handle it. Remember feeling anxious is part of being human, and we cant always control it, but you don't have to let it control you.

If you suffer from anxiety attacks, panic attacks, or any uncomfortable physical symptoms, you may benefit from beta-blockers. Think of it like a "chill pill" that can stop your body freaking out (ie rapid heart rate) when you feel anxious. Talk to your doctor if you think this will be good for you!

(Side note: physical symptoms of anxiety and anxiety/panic attacks can be anywhere from uncomfortable to downright terrifying. You may feel like you can't breathe or you're going to have a heart attack. But the truth is, anxiety itself is not dangerous & can't hurt you. Just breathe, and your body will be okay.)

Antidepressants can also be used to treat anxiety, so this may be an option for you. Antidepressants are not "happy pills" and don't work instantly. It can take a while before you see any noticeable improvement, and things may get worse before they get better, so make sure you discuss in detail with a professional if you're considering this. However in the long run they can make a big difference on your life!

IMPORTANT: Not all pills work for everyone, and it is possible to have a bad reaction. Always read the leaflets included in your medication so you know what possible side effects to expect. If you've started a new medication and something feels wrong, contact a doctor. Only take your meds as your doctor instructs, and do not stop taking them without discussing with them. If you feel better, it probably means they're working – don't quit now!

The final thing is positivity & self-love. If you have anxiety, you probably also suffer with low self-esteem, poor self-confidence, and/or issues with self-worth & self-acceptance. There are also workbooks on these included in the link above.

I used to absolutely hate myself; I couldn't look at myself in the mirror, I said cruel things about myself all the time, and constantly told myself I wasn't good enough. If you feel like this too, please know this; you don't have to change yourself, you only have to change the way you see yourself.

You are, and always will be, enough. You're an amazing human being, you're so strong for coming this far, and you should be so proud of yourself for everything you've overcome.

I recommend downloading this app. Scroll through the affirmations, and write down the ones that feel the most compelling to you; ones you believe about yourself now, and ones you want to believe about your future self. Write down "I love myself" until you can't help but to believe it. It will feel silly at first and you might feel like you're lying to yourself, but over time, you will learn to accept this love that you give to yourself. You can even decorate it in pretty themes!

I also recommend practicing gratitude daily. Not every day is a good day, but there is something god in every day! Try to write down at least one good thing (or ideally three) every single day, in a notebook, journal, or in your phone. There are also apps for gratitude journals, but I prefer the feel of writing on paper.

I hope that this will help you and anyone else reading! Thanks for sticking around til the end. If nothing else, I hope you know that there is hope, and I believe in you 🌸

#anxiety #ask #bun answers #therapy #mental health #mental health support #positivity #recovery #healing #self-love #self love #self-help #self help #mental wellbeing #mental health awareness #gratitude

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years ago

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daddy issues - chapter x

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I looked over at the man driving beside me, a feeling of comfort and gratitude suddenly washing over me. Over the last five weeks, Ransom had truly been the partner I had always hoped to have a baby with, even if we weren’t together in the way I originally would have wanted to be with my child’s father.

It almost didn’t matter though, because he was always around. Whenever I needed something, even if it was the middle of the night, he didn’t seem to mind that we lived on opposite ends of the city. He would drop by with my favorite junk food and leave without complaining.

I’d even started to let him sleep on the couch when I figured it was too late for him to drive back by himself. He never tried to make a move again, which was so relieving to me, especially since my pregnancy hormones were begging me to climb him like a tree. But also now that we got to spend actual time together, I’d come to learn he was a very interesting man. Sure, very immature in a lot of ways, but it almost added to his charm, somehow.

It didn’t help my goal of containing my attraction.

We’d gone to two doctor’s appointments and he truly was doing his very best to show me he was here for me - or maybe he just really was excited about having a child. If there was something I’d come to realize in our talks, it was that Ransom didn’t have a particularly loving childhood, so it warmed my heart to see how invested he was in making sure our kid wouldn’t go through the same things that he did.

“Hey,” I called out for his attention, reaching over his lap to squeeze his thigh. “Thanks for doing this with me.” His eyes were a bit wide when they met mine, but his smile mirrored my own.

“Thank you for inviting me. Can’t believe you trust me enough to want to introduce me to your parents.” That made me chuckle. His honesty was overwhelming most times, but it was also one of the traits I liked the most about him, now that I’d become used to it. If there was one thing I could be completely sure of, it was that Ransom Drysdale would not hide how he was really feeling to please anyone. And somehow, that calmed me down.

“Honestly,” I responded, excited with this opportunity to tease him. “Me too.” The insulted gasp that he released had me giggling right away, risking a glance to the side to check that he had actually understood that I was only teasing him. The way the corners of his mouth turned up let me know that he did.

“Okay,” he conceded, nodding but keeping his eyes on the road ahead. We were almost in my childhood neighborhood, I could recognize it even with my eyes closed. There was no logical reason for it, just an instinctive, deep calling, that made me feel at ease around the streets I hadn’t walked for so long. “I guess I deserved that.”

It was silent then, as he slowly drove us to the cul-de-sac my parents had lived in for the last thirty years. Nothing had really changed, and that showed a lot of the people who inhabited it. If Ransom was nervous at the prospect of meeting the grandparents of his future child, he didn’t show. Or well, I didn’t realize it.

“Hey!” I tried to match my parent’s excitement as they almost ran out of the house to meet us by the car, the second we’d stopped in front of the place I had grown up in. I barely had the time to prepare - I’d hoped I would have gotten a few more words in with Ransom, decide what we would say - but it warmed my heart to imagine them by the window, excitedly waiting for us to arrive.

“Oh my, you’re so big already!” My mom exaggerated, prompting me to roll my eyes as I noticed Ransom and my father shaking hands, our luggage already in my companion’s hands. “You really should have told us sooner,” she chastised, but I was prepared for that.

“Mom, c’mon. You know I had a lot to figure out, I didn’t want to let you guys know about a baby that I still had a high risk of losing, and on top of that, I had tons of classes to prepare.” My mom nodded, her eyes never straying from where her hand rested on my belly. I knew she understood it, she was just having a hard time grasping the concept of her baby having a baby.

“Shall we go inside?” Ransom followed closely, dropping the bags at the entrance when my father approached to give me his own inspection. I chuckled lightly at his furrowed brows until finally, he seemed satisfied with what he found and embraced me against his comfortable chest.

“Good to see you, kiddo. And I’m glad you’ve brought Ransom here for us to meet! We’ve prepared the room for you guys, would you like to go upstairs and rest? We can always catch up tomorrow.” Surprise had me blinking a couple of times, taking a second too long to understand what my father meant.

“The room?” I asked, right when Ransom confirmed it, “For us?” He didn’t sound as confused as me, but maybe a bit hopeful even, and it only made the situation even harder to comprehend.

“Yeah,” my mother confirmed, a patient smile on her lips. “We figured, you’re bringing a guy home for the first time and pregnant… It’s obviously pretty serious.” I was at a loss of words, mouth hanging open as I realized my parents were completely okay with the idea of me sleeping with a man I wasn’t married to under their roof, but what happened next really threw me on a loop entirely.

I felt Ransom’s arms around my shoulder, it was what prompted me to turn to the side and look up at him, but instead of finding him at his usual height, I was shocked with a kiss being deposited on my unexpecting lips, instinctively prompting me to close my eyes.

“Thank you so much.” That was all he had to offer after releasing my lips, and it wasn’t even directed at me. “For the reception, for understanding. I’m excited to talk to you more tomorrow, but for now, I think it’s better for the baby if I take this one to bed.”

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Why on Earth would you do that?” I barely believed she managed to wait until we were both inside the bedroom, with the door locked, until she spit it out. I was almost certain she would confess the truth right there, laughing in my face at the prospect of actually being in a relationship with me.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” I feigned nonchalance, shrugging and making a point not to look directly at her as I began to get settled, opening my suitcase and pretending to look for something.

“There was so much we could do about it! Practically anything other than pretend to be together when we aren’t!” Her exasperation irritated me. What was so bad about dating me? Why didn’t she want to be associated to me, the father of her child?

But I chose to take a deep breath, just like the therapist I’d been secretly seeing had taught me. I didn’t want to screw this up, I reminded myself, and I tried to see things from her perspective, instead of immediately focusing on my own feelings of insecurity.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately recognized it, and by the way she looked immediately disarmed, it was probably the right way to start. “I just figured it would be the easier way to go about this, considering what you’ve told me about your parents. I know they weren’t going to be excited about you being a single mother, even though I’m clearly more than excited to be a co-parent regardless of our relationship, and of course, I didn’t intend to lie, but when the opportunity appeared… I just figured we’d take the easier route.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say, and I could see by her expression that it made sense to her too, now that I’d explained. She didn’t want her parents’ interference, and she wanted this trip to go as smoothly as possible. It truly was the simpler way to deal with it.

“I can go downstairs and explain the real situation, if you want me to!” I offered, knowing now she’d be completely reassured of my intentions. “Really, it’s no bother. I’m sure they can fix the guest room for me.”

I turned around to leave, but her hand seized my wrist quickly. “Let’s not bother them, right?” It was impossible to stop the smile from appearing on my face when I turned around to look at her again, finding us much closer than we’d been before. Instinctively, without even thinking, I laced our fingers together, chuckling lowly at her cuteness.

“Right.” The moment felt heavy with something unspoken. I could still feel her lips on mine from when I kissed her earlier to sell the ruse to her parents. I hadn’t planned it, but it felt right for the moment.

It felt right at that moment, but I didn’t want to screw this up. So I put on my most charming smile, the same one that always prompted her to roll her eyes but giggle at me, and question, ��Can I keep kissing you, then?” I put a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, my fingers running over her jaw when I found myself unable to pull away. “It’ll make it more believable.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking cute as ever with all of her suspicion, but ended up giggling and nodding. It allowed me to finally relax, and so I took the opportunity to look around the room we were in, taking notice of the posters on the wall, the little mementos, and picture frames on the shelves.

“So this is your childhood bedroom? This is hot.” I knew she had rolled her eyes at me, and I was glad we were now at a stage in our relationship where I could say stuff like that without her immediately kicking me out.

“Are you always hard?” For the first time that night, I hesitated. The truth was, and what I wanted to say was that it only happened when she was around, but I didn’t. I knew my silence could make her think I was some sort of creep, but it was better than admitting the truth.

I always wanted her, in one way or another.

“Are you sleepy?” I asked, an effort to change the subject, yet again resorting to messing with my luggage in search of something I didn’t need. “Did the trip tire you out?” Silence followed my question, and I understood she was thinking about it, even if I didn’t know what exactly she needed to think.

I grew tired of pretending to be busy, so I just turned around and faced her as I wanted for an answer, taking advantage of this time to admire just how beautiful she looked, particularly now that her belly had started showing. I don’t think anyone should look that good, not after a five-hour drive, and a burning sensation settled deep in my stomach - I couldn’t tell if it was desire or resentment, fear of ever having to stand back and watch her fall in love with someone who wasn’t me.

“Not really…” Her answer snapped me out of my thoughts, reminding me of what I’d asked. “It’s still so early…” Her eyes were on the night sky behind me, visible through the window of her childhood bedroom, and I shifted from one foot to the other as I waited for her to say something more, but nothing came.

“Well, what do you want to do?” I thought she’d take her time figuring something out - she’d taken so long to decide if she was tired or not - but instead, she surprised me with an immediate response, and an immediate response that almost gave me a heart attack.

“I want to suck your cock.”

It was my turn to not know what to say.

“W-what?” But she seemed decided. Instead of explaining, or offering any sort of insistence, she just shortened the distance between us, hand immediately curling on the edge of my pants as soon as it was within reach.

“Take this off.” I only lost five seconds in hesitation, perusing her eyes, trying to see if this was some sort of joke or test. When it became clear the only way I’d ever find out would be by jumping in head first, I decided to say fuck it.

My hands made quick work of my belt before unzipping my pants, letting it fall down my ankle, and she didn’t even give me the time to step out of it and kick it to the side before she sank down to her knees, taking my boxers with her.

She wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of my member, already hard from my ever-present infatuation with her, not giving me the opportunity to protest the uncomfortable position she had put herself in. All thoughts of complaints or negotiations flew out of the window and into the night sky the second she started sucking, slowly but surely making her way to take more and more of my cock until her lips were grazing my navel.

My knees buckled and I had to hold the back of her head just to keep myself up, have something to hold onto to stay grounded. My eyes rolled back at the choking, slurping sounds coming out of her, and I silently asked God to allow me to cum this time. I didn’t think I’d survive if she decided to change her mind.

Her mouth felt good - so good. I couldn’t help but praise her. “Oh, fuck,” the curse fell out of my mouth easily when I looked down to find her staring up at me, mischief clear in her eyes. “Y-you’re very good at this.”

She kept on bobbing her head up and down my dick, giving me the sloppiest, most perfect blowjob I’d ever gotten, before pulling away with a pop and teasing, “Oh, yeah? You like it that much?”

Then the situation became overwhelming. My cock twitched inside her mouth, but I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to cum and have to face her regret, I didn’t want to feel guilty for relenting and allowing myself to have this. So I tried to hold back, knuckles brushing her cheeks as I focused on controlling my breathing.

But of course, she’d never let me win.

“You know…” her sultry tone warned me that she wanted me to break, even before her hand curled around my member and began to pump it. “... I thought it was really hot when you were acting all jealous and possessive that night at the bar.”

I inhaled sharply, not only because of the implications of her admission but also because she’d enveloped my balls with her warm mouth as she waited for my reactions. “R-really?” As much as I hated hearing myself trip over words because of another person, I couldn’t hate her for the effect that she had on me.

“Yeah…” she moaned against my skin, sending the reverberations across my body. “I couldn’t let you know though, otherwise you wouldn’t learn… But you learned now, didn’t you?”

Her response was a moan, perhaps louder than I should have released, as I pulled on her hair in an effort to keep her away from my dick. “C’mon, Ransom!” She teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let go for me!”

When I shook my head, a pout appeared on her beautiful lips, and I just had to lean down to kiss it away. “Didn’t you like it?” She questioned when we parted, and I almost laughed, squeezing the back of her neck in a playful gesture.

“Oh, baby… Of course I did.” Biting my lip, I felt like I had to add, had to make her acknowledge it, “You’ve made me very, very happy.” When she leaned her head to the side, I already knew what she was going to ask.

“Then why don’t you want to cum?” That was a question I was dreading to answer, mainly because of course I wanted to cum, I just didn’t want to do it in her mouth. But if I had any chance whatsoever of getting what I truly desired, I’d have to voice it to her.

“Hell yeah!” I reassured her, making her laugh at my enthusiasm. “But not like this. Can… Will you let me touch you?” Time seemed to stand still as I waited for her answer, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t tell until she pushed me away and rose to her feet, walking towards her own luggage.

“No.” The word almost physically hurt me, and I deflated, falling down on the bed as I ran a hand over my hair, thinking about what the hell this would mean to us now. But then she was back, standing in front of me, a condom wrapper being waved right before my eyes. “I wanna ride you.”

I never wanted to fuck anyone this badly before. She got rid of her clothes just as eagerly as I took off my shirt, sending it flying somewhere across the room, and when she climbed on my lap, I had already put on the contraceptive. By the way she immediately sank down on my dick, it was clear that she was grateful for my speed.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned against her shoulder, still able to hug her to me despite the small belly separating our chests. The build-up from the last time I almost had her, not to mention from minutes ago when her mouth was still around me had the fire in my stomach burning brightly in no time, as I sat back and watched her fuck herself on me.

“Y-you take me so well.” It came out louder than I intended, and she let go of her breasts to pull me to a kiss in an effort to silence me.

“Shhh…” She whispered, fingers running over my strands as she reminded me, “you have to be quiet, honey.” The nickname took me by surprise, my hands flying up to grip her hips as I took back the control she had so easily usurped from me. “Ransom!”

The way she moaned my name… I could get off just to her voice alone, and that’s what brought me to my release. Somehow, despite barely being aware of anything other than the way my cock throbbed inside of her cunt, I was able to make her cum, and watching her throw her head back and silently scream almost paralyzed me.

“Wait,” she commanded when I tried to lay her down. “Don’t pull out.” I melted against her, falling back on the bed and adjusting us so I could cuddle her to me while abiding to her wishes.

I think she was barely awake when I spoke again, not thinking at all as the words fell from my lips. “Does this mean we’re dating now?” And suddenly, her body wasn’t comfortably relaxed against mine. No, she jolted awake, sitting up and letting my limp cock slip from her while she clutched the sheets over her.

“What? Why?” I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be defensive, and disappointed, and overall hurt from her skepticism, but I knew I couldn’t. Not right now, not when I had a goal in mind and I was so close to it.

“Why not? We’re practically a couple anyway, you even brought me to your parent’s place! Now that we’ve brought sex to the table, what’s the difference between this and an actual relationship?” A long silence followed my words, a silence that felt heavy, suffocating even. Her eyes never left mine as she pondered over what I’d said, and in the quiet of the night, I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Ransom, I don’t want to be your girlfriend.” I felt my heart breaking in a million pieces at her words, too stupefied to argue anything else. I suddenly was extremely aware of just how naked I was, and how uncomfortably the used condom was now sticking to me.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t really know you,” she continued, and despite how kind her eyes looked, I still felt like she didn’t understand just how badly she was hurting me. “We’ve never even been on an actual date.”

Surprisingly, that was the sentence that brought hope back to me. Even as she continued, “This was just… a one-time thing,” I didn’t feel deflated anymore, only excited. I knew she wanted me. It was just a matter of showing her that, getting her to admit it. And she had just told me how to do that.

“A one-time thing, huh?” I smirked, pulling her back into my arms, appreciating the surprise that took over her features at the response she certainly didn’t expect to get. “Like the night we made her?”

She chuckled against my chest as my hand fell over her belly. I was certain it was a girl, just as she was certain it was a boy. We had decided not to know, at least not now, and although most of the time the curiosity was eating me alive, I knew I was right.

“Yeah,” the mother of my child whispered against my skin. “Just like that night.” And with her hand covering mine, I slept soundly in a way I couldn’t remember ever doing before. I knew I would do whatever it took to keep her right here, in bed with me. Forever.

#my series #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale series #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale writing #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts

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asset35-maya · 3 years ago

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REED900 LOVE LANGUAGES:

1) ACTS OF SERVICE

Gavin Reed was a simple man. He always said and did what he thought was right. He never bothered with niceties and took a very practical approach to the relationships in his life. No frills, no fancy gestures.

He showed the people around him that he cared by just being there unconditionally. He was ride or die. If you ever needed him, personally or professionally, Gavin would show up. No questions asked.

Feelings were not matters he delved into very often. He kept them well hidden if he could help it. But the lack of expressiveness didn’t bother the people who dared to get close enough. They knew exactly who he was and they appreciated him deeply.

For years, this was the way things were.

And then Gavin met Nines.

For the first time, he felt a powerful, pressing need to externalise his emotions. Like he’d burst if he didn’t find some way of expressing the passion that threatened to consume him from within.

Gavin had never given into sentimentality before. He had never let himself dwell on romanticism. So at first, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He definitely couldn’t talk about it (just thinking about it made him want to empty a bucket of ice water on his head). He considered writing (because his therapist told him that documenting mental journeys could be a helpful exercise), but he completely lacked the vocabulary (and just ended up sketching pair after pair of piercing blue eyes in his diary).

After a while, he decided to fall back on what he knew best… what he did best.

Gavin Reed was a man of action.

If someone was important to him, he made sure they damn well knew it.

So it came to be that Nines and Gavin’s paperwork was always done on time… that the office fridge was always replete with thirium packs… that Nines’ dry cleaning was always picked up for him and laid neatly on his chair (“The laundry’s two blocks from my place and two from here, Tincan. It’s not a big deal.”)

2)GIVING GIFTS

And then the boxes began to appear.

Cuff links. Cologne. Cravats.

(“I just saw it in the store window and had an impulse. It ain’t my style, but I know you can pull it off so here ya go.”)

And then flowers. Actual fucking flowers.

(“What? It brightens the place up.”)

Nines eventually took mercy on him and asked him out. The massive bouquet that greeted him the next day had all the receptionist androids gossiping for weeks. Things actually got a lot worse before Nines hacked into the bank and cancelled Gavin’s credit card.

(“Now how am I gonna show you how phcking special you are to me?”

“Just spend time with me, Gavin. That would mean the world.”)

3)QUALITY TIME

Gavin took it upon himself to share every facet of his life with the android. He couldn’t always figure out how to tell the different parts of his story, but he found ways to show it.

Gavin took Nines to his elementary school and showed him the yard he spent many happy hours playing cops and robbers. He took him to his childhood home… the Police Academy… the scenes of his first few homicide cases.

He also made sure Nines understood exactly what people meant when they said Gavin was the life of the party. Reliving the human’s youth, they crashed local frat parties and kissed in the middle of thronging music festival crowds.

4)PHYSICAL TOUCH

And then there was the sex.

What Gavin still did not know how to put into words, he demonstrated physically.

Regardless of which position they ended up in, Nines found himself mainly on the receiving end of pleasure. The kisses peppered onto his collarbone were nothing short of reverent. The tongue sliding against his nether regions… the hands gripping his hipbones… the soft caresses of his face… were all deliberate acts of devotion.

Gavin himself didn’t know he had it in him. For most of his teen and adult years, he had the reputation of being a selfish lover. Of always coming first, and then finding some half-assed way to get his partner off.

But with Nines,he was careful to a fault.

He treated each chance to touch the android as a special privilege. He was exceedingly generous… gentle… slow, even… until Nines made it loud and clear that his body was Gavin’s for the taking.

It wasn’t just in the bedroom that Gavin poured his heart into the sensation of touch. From a casual flick of fingers against Nines’ cheek… to a lingering hand on his thigh… and a rather lengthy good morning kiss in the break-room, Gavin became prone to PDA that he had spent most of his life judging others for.

He legitimately could not keep his hands off his partner. Even his colleagues’ eye rolls and teasing didn’t stop him. Not when Nines would immediately lean into his side and reciprocate.

The feeling of skin on skin, the warmth and weight of a strong hand… and in Nines’ case, the high quality tactile sensor data… were what kept them grounded and anchored.

5)WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

For an emotionally repressed man and an android without a built-in social program, they communicated pretty well.

The odd disagreement was unavoidable, but for the most part, they managed well. Neither was ever in doubt of how the other felt.

It had started small. With gratitude.

“Thanks for picking up my white shirt from the cleaners. You’re a lifesaver.”

“That smells amazing. How do you always know exactly what I want to eat.”

Then it moved onto deep compliments.

“That’s incredible. It wouldn’t have occurred to me at all. I’d be lost without you, Gavin.”

“You’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t just nod and pretend like they understand what I’m saying. You never agree to something to just humour me or get me to shut up. Even if it doesn’t make sense in the beginning, you always get to the bottom of what I wanna say… and well damn… how’d I get so lucky, babe?”

The daily check ins… the thank yous… the random “you’re so phcking hot”… the “I’m listening”… all added up.

And when the time finally came…

one rainy Sunday afternoon in bed, with Nines sprawled across his chest while he ran his hands through his hair…

Gavin couldn’t remember why he’d ever struggled with the words.

“I love you.”

#reed900 #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin reed #rk900 #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh writing #my writing #love languages

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