#time in my brain!! like the worlds most fucked up obsessive compulsive party and i want to be honest about it but i cannot

[cavaliersecondary]

i think not having to hide as much just how ND and mentally ill i am i public would not necessarily solve all my problems but it sure as fuck make things a lot better

[imbruedinfear-a]

@undeadrphub​ asked: ALL OF THEM FOR JAY

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them? 

this man would kill to be taller in .0002 seconds if he could. he was bullied for his height, bullied for being severely underweight, bullied for feminine hips, for.. literally anything. he hates it all. as an adult, he’s managed to pull himself out of the underweight category, but it’s solely from muscle. he’s still incredibly thin and small, just as he’s always been. you can’t get him to be comfortable without an oversized hoodie to hide in. he vaguely cares about being attractive, but it’s more ‘i don’t want them to be embarrassed to be hanging out with someone as fucking ugly as i am’ than anything else. if he’s not working or going out with people, he won’t even think of trying to improve appearance.

🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it? 

dislike. who the fuck cares about their appearance that much? granted, he’s had a nose job, but it was so he could still fucking breathe rather than cosmetics. he won’t dislike you as a person for it, but he’s going to instantly find you unappealing. it just bothers him for some reason.

🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick?

stability whomst? he has two modes of health: sick once a year or sick every other week. it depends on how much food he’s been eating and whether or not he’s blown food money on beer. fuck doctors. his overall health is fucked. doctors cannot explain why he doesn’t have x problems and how he’s even still alive after all of the beatings he’s had, especially when it comes to the brain damage. he has seizures, sometimes an arm will stop working for a bit, sometimes he can’t hold anything, sometimes he’ll have a burst of amnesia. he’s a medical mystery to the point there are literal scientific articles on his case, and 98% of the time if he lands in the hospital for something they’ll just shrug it off. it’s gotten to the point he’ll break bones and still not go, because he learned how to fix that fucking problem himself when he was like 12.

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy? 

:^) he’s gotten away with murder ( though it was self-defense ) through the insanity claim, which is actually really fucking hard to use. that should give you an idea of his scores on mental exams. but again, he has brain damage, and every single psych he’s ever interacted with has mentioned that they can no longer determine what’s an actual mental illness or what’s just his brain being physically unable to function correctly. he’s never been to therapy, but he’s been tested several times. his scores changed every time, for every section. the only thing anyone’s certain on is PTSD. Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Antisocial Personality Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder, and Schizophrenia have been heavily considered, but even professionals argue with each other. he’s a medical mystery even in mental health. he needs therapy, but his disorders make him extremely avoidant of it. that is not to say everything i listed is true, nor is it to say there isn’t anything unlisted here.

🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?  

oof. how anxious is he? if he’s anxious, he’ll fix himself 1000x times. if he’s not doing anything special, he’ll walk out the door without a second thought. he doesn’t spend a lot of time on anything, but he does make sure he’s well groomed and put together. it should be noted, though, he doesn’t look in the mirror. his own apartment doesn’t have one, and he avoids public restrooms like the plague. his own reflection is a fucking trigger. this is probably why his eyeliner is always smudged.

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  

confusing as fuck. he’s lonely as hell and constantly wants to hangout with people, but he also will have periods of avoiding them like the fucking plague. he loves hanging out! he fucking hates being out! who knows! for the most part, he has a lot of friends in a lot of places and will gladly drink with any group of strangers, but he’ll yeet the fuck out if you try actually getting close to him. he’s alone, always, at home and only around people when working or getting fucked up. having other people around too often, like a roommate perhaps, will make his mental health act the fuck up.

🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood? 

in his words, it was a great big pile of horseshit on fire. he literally has brain damage from it. he can’t leave his own room without convincing himself it’s going to be his living room, not his childhood home, and sometimes he’ll open the bedroom door and see his father standing there, and then he’ll fucking yeet back into bed. obviously it’s impacted him just a smidge. definitely not full of self-hatred and constantly fighting himself to do shit he likes, absolutely most definitely not traumatized in a million forms and continues to trigger himself because how the fuck do you go about your day not panicking half of the time. IN OTHER WORDS, he was a fucking parent to his brother when he was only 4, he would rather die in the most slow, most painful death than return to childhood. is he even still alive bc he doesn’t know

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart? 

if you knew him before his skull was caved in, you would call him a freak for how fast he could think and solve problems. he was the type of genius you’d only heard about in stories, and he pissed off his teachers because he never even needed to be taught. show him the super simple problem once and he knew how to do everything for the next three weeks. he grew up on the streets and read shakespeare for fun. he lost it all. it now only shows rarely, on really good days, when the stars want to align.

🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why? 

summer. he literally lived outside most of the time since he was a kid, and summer nights were easiest. outdoor concerts, parties late at night, cookouts and campfires. he also loves storms.

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them?

which personality is showing most at the time? he’s gotten accused of rape for helping a woman once. let that sink in. but also, he’s helped so many people he’s protected by half the city’s underworld. who knows.

🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes? 

o k a y listen. these r getting too hard i literally don’t know ok can i asked which disorder or which personality is showing most at the time for this bc IT CHANGES like everything always does. mostly, he’s,, weird. he actively seeks it out in the sense he’ll go on dates regularly, but he’s not actually trying to find a girlfriend. he’s carefree. also traumatized. really wanted romance until his heart was ripped to shreds and now he’s convinced himself he’s not lovable, too complicated, extremely undesirable, and especially undeserving of it. he won’t let it happen. no one should have to suffer by having to deal with him. if you’re including things that were just for fun and both parties knew it wasn’t serious, he’s had a few girlfriends. if we’re only including serious things, then he’s only had (1) serious boyfriend. They were together for nearly two years, and they split solely because Jeremiah a) didn’t want sex as much and b) didn’t want to try any kinks. def no trauma from that, absolutely doesn’t panic abt not being good enough or wanting it enough or being pleasing or being fun or attractive or too scarred. nope. also totally doesn’t do shit he doesn’t even like / triggers him just bc they want it gotta give it to them. perfectly fuckin’ fine after one relationship.

🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them? 

our options: 1) aggressive 2) smooth n flirty 3) soft n adorable. he is all of the above. if you’re from the city and connected to the drug world at all, there’s a big ass chance you’re aware he was a major dealer at one point, the son of a psycho serial killer, and connected to damn near every gang in some way. there are few people who would be stupid enough to hurt him, just because there’s probably some member somewhere who’s going to get revenge for it. his rep is pretty positive if ur aware he basically turned the outskirts of the city from a shithole to a really good community. otherwise, u probably just think ‘criminally insane deliquent’. he doesnt rly care about it unless u start asking about his fucking dad.

🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits, interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it? 

b r u h i dont fuckin know im skipping this one, he’s just obsessive compulsive about the oddest things

🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?  

no diet. no food. eat if money, starve if none. remember to eat who?? o u mean eat everything. who fucking knows. he can cook really well, sometimes, maybe. pizza and taco bell 4 life. fuck vegetables. fruits are delicious and to be treasured. he mostly eats like shit, if he eats at all.

🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero? did they move away,  or do they wish to?

none. no fucks given. still here bc no money to move. would happily fuck off to Paris or something.

[tonystarkbingo]

TSB Week 10 Roundup!

And for our badge earners for last week, we have some BINGOS!

ceealaina

newnewyorker93

hogwardstoalexandria

polizwrites

lbibliophile-mcu

And for participation, Peach got a badge!  CONGRATULATIONS for all our badge earners!!!

We got a good bunch of fills this week, partly in thanks to our Discord Party!  We love our parties, and all the people that are able to participate!

Title: Got Your Nose! Collaborator: rebelmeg Link: AO3 Square Filled: T1 - Writing format: flashfic Ship: Dum-E & Tony & JARVIS Rating: Gen Major Tags: fluff and crack, Dum-E is adorable Summary: Dum-E is intrigued by the game Ton-E is playing with the miscellaneous smol child that is hanging out with him in the workshop. Word Count: 2739

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Title: Yours, An Admirer Collaborator: eachpeachpearplum Link: AO3 Square Filled: A5 - Confession in a desperate situation Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Fluff, love letters, secret admirer Summary: Tony gets an anonymous note, freaks out, and turns to the Avengers for help. Much to Steve's mortification. Word Count: 2901

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Title: Guardian Angel Collaborator: abitnotgoodiebag Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A3 - Free Ship: IronStrange Rating: Gen Major Tags: Major Character Death Summary: N/A [Art] Word Count: N/A [Art]

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Title: Avengers: The Band Collaborator: dr-stxrk Link: Tumblr Square Filled: R4 - AU: Band Ship: None Rating: Gen Major Tags: None Summary: None Word Count: None

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Title: Unwanted Memories Collaborator: dracusfyre Link: AO3 Square Filled: R5 - Fireplace Ship: FrostIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Major (Canon) Character Death, Comics Canon Summary: When Tony’s world erupts into Civil War and the worst happens, Loki gives him a way out.  Word Count: 1036

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Title: In My Dreams I Turn You On - Chapter 3 Collaborator: ceealaina Link: AO3 Square Filled: A3 - Free Ship: WinterIron, background Sam/Rhodey Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers Summary: Tony’s crushing hard on his new massage therapist, but doesn’t want to be a sleazy businessman. Bucky’s crushing hard on his latest client, but doesn’t want to take advantage of him in a vulnerable position. So they handle it like any sane adults - pretend it’s not happening and refuse to discuss it. At least they both have terrible friends to help them through it. Word Count: 17,235

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Title: Show Me How You Do It Collaborator: ceealaina Link: AO3 Square Filled: T3 - Sidekick Ship: WinterFalcon, IronHusbands Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Fluff and Smut, Accidental Voyeurism Summary: Bucky’s birthday surprise for Sam turns into a bit of a surprise for them both. Word Count: 3432

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Title: Tony Stark: Captain America Collaborator: dr-stxrk Link: Tumblr Square Filled: R5 - Image: Captain America Tony Ship: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags: Edit/Graphic Summary: N/A Word Count: N/A

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Title: The Smaller Kinds of Avenging Collaborator: RoseRose Link: AO3 Square Filled: T3 - doing groceries Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Self-Insert Summary: An associate at a grocery store is having a *very* bad day until Tony Stark shows up. Bucky Barnes is also there to save the day.Unabashed self-insert wish fulfillment. Sometimes I just want Tony Stark to save me from the worst customers out there. Word Count: 1490

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Title: Hide and Seek Protocol Collaborator: politzania Link: AO3 Square Filled: Ship: T3 - Ultron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Drabble Summary: Much like his creator, JARVIS doesn't give up easily. Word Count: 100

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Title: So Just Let Us Be Three - 2 Collaborator: SierraNovembr Link: AO3 Square Filled: K4 - Secret Hobby Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark/Sam Wilson Rating: Gen Major Tags: M/M/M Summary: A fluffy epilogue for newly together Steve/Tony/Sam, wherein Tony discovers Sam's secret hobby and Steve and Sam get kisses. Word Count: 682

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Title: with or without his unhallowed touch - chapter 3 Collaborator: deathsweetqueen Link: AO3 Square Filled: R2 - KINK: Concubine Ship: Tony/Thanos Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Tony is Kidnapped by Thanos, Female Tony Stark, Obsessive Behavior, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Emotional Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Domestic Violence, Forced Relationship, Gaslighting, Rape, Past Domestic Violence, Slavery, Non-Consensual Sex between Toni and Thanos, Forced Orgasm. Summary: Toni sees the Chitauri mothership high above her, sees the hundreds and thousands of warships that circle the Earth, and she knows, she knows. She thinks, oh, I understand. A beat. Her hand burns. Wow, we are so fucked. She lets the bomb slide out of her hands, watches as it floats towards the mothership, and fire rains down on her, even in the dark, pale, cold hollow of space. She laughs, breathlessly, thinks of all the ones who’d loved her the most, and dies. Word Count:

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Title: Let's Go to the Mall - Chapter 1 Collaborator: betheflame Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - AU: 80’s Popstar Ship: Pepper/Tony/Bucky Rating: Explicit Major Tags: AU - No Power, AU - Rock, explicit sexual content Summary: Once upon a time, Bucky, Pepper, and Tony were 80s popstars who sung in malls and had articles in Tiger Beat. What happens when Tony looses a bet and convinces the other two to relive their glory days? Word Count: 1837

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Title: Adorable is Not Welcome Here Collaborator: EachPeachPearPlum Link: AO3 Square Filled: K3 - fluff Ship: pre-Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: accidental baby acquisition, Avengers family, fluff Summary: In which Thor speaks baby, Steve commits acts of diaper witchcraft, and butlers are sorely lacking. Word Count: 6696

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Title: with or without his unhallowed touch - Chapter 4: iv. Collaborator: deathsweetqueen Link: AO3 Square Filled: A5 - Kink: Sex Compulsion Ship: Tony/Thanos Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Tony is Kidnapped by Thanos, Female Tony Stark, Obsessive Behavior, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Emotional Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Physical Abuse, Domestic Violence, Forced Relationship, Gaslighting, Rape, implied/referenced past domestic violence, non-consensual sex between Toni and Thanos, forced orgasm, mind control, implied/referenced sexual assault of a child, violence, Toni approaching Thanos for sex but they are still in a non-consensual sexual relationship and she's imagining Steve instead just to get an orgasm. Summary: Toni sees the Chitauri mothership high above her, sees the hundreds and thousands of warships that circle the Earth, and she knows, she knows. She thinks, oh, I understand. A beat. Her hand burns. Wow, we are so fucked. She lets the bomb slide out of her hands, watches as it floats towards the mothership, and fire rains down on her, even in the dark, pale, cold hollow of space. She laughs, breathlessly, thinks of all the ones who’d loved her the most, and dies. Word Count: 21,567

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Title: Spring Blossoms - Chapter 2 Collaborator: eirlyssa Link: AO3 Square Filled: S2 - Strawberries Ship: WinterIron Rating: Gen Major Tags: Getting Together Summary: There wasn't much Tony had that was truly his, but this was one of them. Until he noticed Bucky struggling and decided to help. Word Count: 2993

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Title: Untitled Collaborator: chel Link: Tumblr Square Filled: A2 - Hope Pym Ship: N/A Rating: Gen Major Tags: Wasps Summary: Moodboard Word Count: N/A [Moodboard]

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Title: You’re the One That I Want Collaborator: chel Link: AO3 Square Filled: K3 - Waking Up Married Ship: Ironhusbands Rating: Gen Major Tags: Domestic Fluff Summary: Tony wakes up married to his best friend, softness ensues Word Count: 333

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Title: A Day to Ourselves Collaborator: DarthBloodOrange Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Date in the Park Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts Summary: It is not often that Steve and Tony get a break. JARVIS finds a free day in both their schedules and Tony jumps on the opportunity to take Steve on a spontaneous date. He takes Steve to the park for a picnic. Word Count: N/A [Moodboard]

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Title: The Pleasuredome Collaborator: MagicaDraconia16 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S2 - Writing Format: Email/Chat Log Ship: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark/Stephen Strange/Hope Van Dyne/James "Bucky" Barnes Rating: Mature Major Tags: Five-Way Poly Summary: Welcome to the Pleasuredome We’ve got fun and games for all [legal] ages and lifestyles Would you like to go straight to the Avengers server? Word Count: 1313

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Title: Tony Stark, Doo Doo Doo-Doo Doo Collaborators: sleepoverwork, rebelmeg Link: AO3 Squares Filled: sleepoverwork - R2: All's Well That Ends Well rebelmeg - adopted, Iron Dad Ship: Tony & Morgan, Pepperony, Tony & Science Sons, MIT Bros Rating: Gen Major Tags: fluff and humor Summary: Tony has Dad Brain, Morgan is disinterested in her nap, FRIDAY is amused, and a whole pack of teenagers are watching it unfold from behind the couch. Word Count: 3935

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Title: Face of Salvation Collaborator: HogwartsToAlexandria Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - Alcoholism Ship: Stony Rating: Gen Major Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Superfamily Summary: No matter how long it's been since that last drop of alcohol, Tony knows it will always be hard to resist the urge. It's even harder in the dead of night when everyone is asleep. His child's face is the beginning of the answer. Word Count: 791

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Title: If they're really out to get you Collaborator: KahunaBurger Link: AO3 Square Filled: R4 - Drunk Dialing / Wrong Number Ship: Tony & Brock Rumlow Rating: Teen Major Tags: post-Avengers1, possible canon divergence, punchlock villain Brock Summary: Brock Rumlow is the farthest thing from a therapist there is, but when Tony Stark mis-dials you on the edge of a panic attack, you do the best you can, right? (Just because of Stark's value to Brock's employers, of course.)  (He doesn't feel sorry for the guy.)  (Or like making him laugh.)  (Shut up, it's three AM and he's doing his best!) Word Count: 2169

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Title: You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore Collaborator: 27dragons Link: AO3 Square Filled: A1 - cliche Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: Hanahaki disease, mutual pining Summary: Sure, Tony felt short of breath whenever he saw Bucky, and his throat tightened whenever he saw Bucky and Steve together, but he was sure he had his little crush on Bucky under control. When he started coughing up flower petals, however, he realized that he did not have it under control even a little bit. Word Count: 1224

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Title: Tony Stark and the Multidimensional Matchmaking Collaborator: ashes0909 Link: AO3 Square Filled: S2 - Science and Magic Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: Multiverse MCU!Tony Stark Harry Potter!Tony Stark Harry Potter!Steve Rogers Established Relationship Getting Together Matchmaking Magic Crossover Summary: With no other plan in mind, Tony broke from the trees and headed for the castle. No one stopped him, though the kids on the other side of the lake looked up at him, waved, then returned to their game. He waved back, his hand feeling as surreal and confused as the rest of him. The castle only grew as he approached, and he lifted his head as its foreboding stone cut off the sky. The doors were nearly three stories high, but Tony pushed them open easily, far easier than he expected. Word Count: 1227

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Title: Computer Love Collaborator: ceealaina Link: AO3 Square Filled: A3 - Artificial Intelligence Ship: Stony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: Steve Versus Technology, Get Together, Smut Summary: A spam email and a misunderstanding from Steve lead to him accidentally revealing something very surprising. Word Count: 6228

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Title: Coffee and a Date Collaborator: ABrighterDarkness Link: AO3 Square Filled: A1 - Coffee Shop Ship: Stony Rating: Teen Major Tags: none Summary: Nat said he’d be here, so where was--ah, that’s gotta be him. Tony checked his phone again, rereading Natasha’s message for the fifth or sixth time. “His name is Steve. Big guy. Trust me, you’ll know him when you see him.” Word Count: 2976

[eldritchsurveys]

649.

What was the last TV show you watched? >> Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure.

Do you like Family Guy? >> Nope.

Have you ever been in the hospital for more than a week? >> Yeah, in the psychiatric ward.

What is your favorite thing from McDonalds? >> I usually order a McDouble, sometimes with a small fry.

Spell your first name backwards. >> Derdrom. I’ve done this on enough surveys that now I don’t even have to think about it, it’s just embedded in my brain like any other word.

Do you have any pets? >> We have a cat.

Have you ever seen a therapist? >> Yes. Have I ever seen a useful one? No.

What is your favorite classic movie? >> I’m fond of The Day the Earth Stood Still. Is that considered a classic? It’s certainly old enough.

Are you a fan of summer or winter more? >> Summer.

Are you good at ice skating? >> I have never even worn an ice skate.

As a child, what did you want to be growing up? >> Oh, a variety of things, I’m sure.

Are you good at spelling? >> Yes.

Do you have any children of your own yet? >> No. LMAO “yet”. Please.

What is your favorite commercial on TV right now? >> ---

How bored are you right now? >> I’m not bored exactly, I’m annoyed and restless because I want to play ESO but the updating is taking ages. (It’s been almost an hour and barely a dent has been made.) Just let me play my game already.

Does your phone hold a charge for a long time? >> Eh, long enough, I guess.

Do you believe in ghosts? >> I’m always open to that interpretation of an event.

Have you found your soul mate yet? >> ---

Tell me a random fact about yourself. >> I was born with twelve fingers.

What is your dream car? >> Bold of you to assume I dream about having a car.

Do you have to sleep with blankets on at night? >> I prefer the sensation of sleeping under my weighted blankets, but usually the reality is simply that I overheat too easily.

When's the last time you went swimming? >> ---

Have you been to the beach yet this summer? >> ---

Do you use Facebook chat? >> Occasionally.

Do you think you would make a good model? >> No.

Are you a good singer? >> I sing well enough for my purposes.

Can you play any instruments? >> No.

Do the Emergency Alert System noises on TV freak you out? >> I haven’t heard those in many years, but from what I remember, they are mostly just obnoxious.

Do you live close to a nuclear power plant? >> No.

What is your favorite flower? >> Sunflower.

Have you ever called the cops on someone? >> No, nor would I be inclined to (unless it was the most dire of circumstances, I guess). I’d have to have faith in the system to do that.

What time do you usually stay up to? >> Anywhere between 10p and 1a.

Have you ever been at a summer camp as a child? >> Yeah.

Are you a fan of opera music? >> Not particularly, but it can be interesting.

Who do you think the prettiest celebrity is? >> ---

Do you judge people by their skin color? >> Not unless they’re so orange that I can’t help but be repulsed by their compulsive tanning obsession.

Is your bed comfortable? >> Yes, and I love it. I wish it were a little bigger, certainly, but I can’t help the size of my room.

Have you ever made a survey on here? >> No.

How many text messages do you think you send a day? >> Usually zero.

Do you consider yourself popular? >> No.

Do you have more friends than you do enemies? >> ---

Describe your perfect date. >> ---

Have you ever lost money by gambling? >> Nope.

Do you know how to ride a horse? >> Nope.

What is the closest yellow item to you? >> A mug. It’s white on the outside but yellow on the inside.

When's the last time you've been to the mall? >> Oof. December? Yeah, because that’s when I bought Sparrow’s Christmas present.

Are you a good liar? >> I’m sure I can be.

Do your parents trust you? >> ---

What's the last thing you've bought for someone else? >> I assume that was the aforementioned Christmas present.

Are you hiding a deep dark secret from the world? >> No.

Have you ever dropped your cell phone in water? >> Yeah. I remember when the Razr just came out and everyone was hype about having a phone you could fit in your back pocket. So of course I put mine in my back pocket and of course I ended up forgetting it was there and it fell into the toilet when I dropped trou. (After years of having phones in my back pocket, I now remember to take it out before using the loo, lmao. But it was still new back then!)

Are you a fan of reality TV? >> Not really.

Do you think you look older or younger than you are? >> I don’t have an opinion.

Does your family have a lot of money? >> ---

What job do you want to have in the next five years? >> ---

Are you planning on going to college? >> No.

Do you have a good sense of humor? >> I think it works for me.

What time is it where you are right now? >> 11.57a EST.

Do you have a short attention span? >> I wouldn’t say that, but I can be really mentally restless at times.

If you got a new pet today, what would you name it? >> ---

What is your favorite dessert? >> I don’t have one.

Do you like white chocolate or dark chocolate better? >> I hate white chocolate. Dark chocolate is good.

Do you like pot roast? >> No.

Are you a good cook? >> I can cook, but I wouldn’t say I have any great skill in it.

What are you afraid of most? >> ---

Do you like bright or dull colors? >> It depends.

Where do most of your clothes come from? >> Most of my clothes came from a variety of different places, so there’s no, like, trend.

Do you still live with your parents? >> No.

Are you comfortable with your weight right now? >> Not going there.

How often do you exercise? >> I don’t make a habit of it.

Have you ever been in a car accident? >> No.

Are you a forgetful person? >> No.

What age do you want to get married at? >> I was married at 32.

What is your favorite fruit? >> ---

Do you drink energy drinks? >> No.

Do you listen to rap music? >> Sure.

Do you believe in God? >> God doesn’t seem to factor very heavily into my narrative. Sometimes I try to fit him in there, just to see, but he always ends up sliding back out.

Have you ever thought about being a stripper? >> Yeah, I’ve thought about it. For the money, you see. Luckily I did not actually try to be a stripper. It would not have suited me in the least.

What was your favorite show as a child? >> ---

Have you ever used Photoshop? >> Yeah, I used to use it a lot back in the day.

When's the last time you've had a headache? >> I don’t remember.

Are you tired right now? >> Not especially. Finally.

Do you cry easily? >> No.

Have you ever watched Pokemon? >> They used to play it on the television every afternoon in the psych ward I stayed in as a teenager. So I watched it then, because what the fuck else was there to do for entertainment in a place like that.

Have you ever been spied on? >> Not to my knowledge.

Do you hate a lot of people? >> No.

Are you easy to get along with? >> I don’t know. I guess it depends on what kind of person the other party is.

Can you speak Spanish or French? >> No. I have a passing understanding of Spanish, though.

How big is your room? >> Not very.

Are you afraid of spiders? >> Nope.

Do you like strawberries? >> I do.

When's the last time you've been outside? >> It’s been a few days.

Do you curse a lot? >> Eh, not as much as I could, I guess.

Do you pay attention to grammar when typing? >> I pay attention to whether what I’m saying makes communicable sense.

Do you watch soap operas? >> No. Unless you count Grey’s Anatomy. (I kind of do, ngl.)

Do you think aliens exist? >> I think it’s possible and I don’t see why I should think otherwise.

Who are you close with the most in your family? >> ---

Do you like morning talk shows? >> No.

Do you go to the gym regularly. >> I never go to the gym. That there is what I call a hostile environment. lmao

[kido-swagomi]

this is one of those posts that I really shouldn’t make but am just absolutely out of shits to give and the bridges are burned anyway. So fuck it. 

I wanted to talk to my therapist about this today but we ended up talking about a different issue instead, so I’m just going to vent on Tumblr because I’m sure that’s healthy. If you’re actually reading this expect no actual structure or purpose to this post. This is like the definition of a vent post.

So Aiareck. That blue dude in my icon. He’s my fursona. But he didn’t start off that way, he was originally a DnD character, made for a phenomenal campaign run by one of my closest friends. Past tense. That game took a lot of my energy, and it was by my choice. I was enraptured with the world the DM had created. Obsessed, really. My personality tends to lead to that. I had a massive backstory for Aiareck - dude was 42 at the time of the game so he had plenty of life behind him to write about. Fantastic adventures. Tragedy. Romance. The whole nine yards. I spent hours dreaming up characters and stories for Aiareck to interact with. My intent was to actually write this backstory out as a short story/novella/thing (spoiler, I never did because I’m so bad at actually writing things, I just have a bunch of character bios that tell the story through those). 

Cut to about 5 months after the campaign started. One soft-restart after the OG party was a nightmare and we paused the campaign to focus on a different one before removing someone from our current group and bringing a new person in. I made the mistake of dating another player in the game. They flew out to visit me and meet in person for the first time since we started dating. Visit didn’t go well. They went home early. We broke up the day after.

Day after that, the DM ends the campaign.

Three weeks later, them, and most of that group, cut off all contact with me. Me specifically. I know they’re still in touch with one-another. Just me.

These people were some of my best friends. I had known the DM for six years. The rest I met with the campaign, but we became fast friends. And they just. Cut me out. No explanation. No arguments. No reason. Just shut me out.

My ex and I didn’t have an angry breakup. We agreed it wasn’t gonna work. We wanted to still be friends - or at least that’s what they told me. I know I did. We hadn’t even been dating two months, I could get over it. Wanted to just take a few weeks off from the game or something to deal with the grief, then get back into it and just be friends again. Easy.

But no. Instead I get shut completely out. No connection left. It was complete and total. Every single social network under the sun that we were mutual friends/followers on. Gone. A huge aspect of my life was just swept out from under me. A dear friend, whom I had already given a second chance after they did some pretty fucked up shit and shut me out before, did it all over again (fool me twice, eh?), the first relationship I had been in in 7 years, the campaign I had sunk so many hours into as a player, gone. Just like that. 

Queue major depression spell. Went hard on painting Warhammer models to pass the time. Ended up getting burnt out on that and have barely painted since April. Started my own campaign with a different party in May in some desperate attempt to get back what I had before, and I’m rapidly losing motivation to continue that endeavor. Work continues to blow ass. And my self-esteem is basically shot and at this point I’m just convinced I’m going to be single for the rest of my life because of my own social awkwardness and anxieties.

But hey, at least I’m getting a bird in a few weeks, eh?

But what does this have to do with Aiareck? The blue boy from the start of the post. Well, even before all of this shit happened I had decided that after years of not having one, he was gonna be my fursona outside of the campaign. I love this boy. I got a really great badge commissioned of him to wear to cons. If by some miracle I ever acquire the money to pay for it I’d love to get at least a partial suit based off of him.

And now he’s got all these bad memories associated with him. I told myself after this all went down that I was still going to finish writing his story. I was too invested in it not to. Spoiler: I didn’t. Because every time I’d try to I’d find myself infuriated. He reminded me of what I had lost. This stupid blue bird had suddenly become a symbol for the shit that drove what had started as a pretty okay year for me into the fucking ground. 

That’s where my obsessive compulsive tendencies rolled their ugly fucking head. My brain wasn’t done obsessing over him and his story - it’s still not done. I pace the floor on slow days at work thinking about his story. About his adoptive mother. About how he ended an attempted coup on his homeland by eliminating the perpetrator, who was his own mentor. About how lost his parents at a young age and made his way after that carrying on his father’s love of music and dance, and spent his teenage years as a busker in his home city. 

I think about how in the campaign, his home was under siege by the big bad, and now he’ll never get to save it. He’ll never figure out what the big secret that pirate captain was keeping from him was, or get back the Super Legendary Awesome Pistol™ from her that was stolen from his home years ago. And I can’t even ask anyone what the possible outcomes were. The only person who knows decided I’m some kind of bastard that should be shut out at any cost for reasons that I’ll probably never know.

I wanted to be able to detach Aiareck from those memories. To compartmentalize them and eliminate the negative associations so I could still enjoy developing this character that I’ve spent so much time on and want to literally represent me in online space. And eventually (still working on this one) have him redesigned with a more ‘modern’ appearance to detach him from his roots as a DnD character (at least outwardly). I intended the commission I got of him recently to be a kind of “last hurrah” for Aiareck the DnD character, and then I’d get a new character sheet done up with the “new” Aiareck.

Of course I’d still have his DnD story and if I ever get the opportunity I would absolutely play as him in a new campaign. I loved him too much not to. 

But despite my efforts, I’ve utterly failed to detach him. Those memories still come back. That anger is still there. The absolutely un-fucking-shakable feeling that I’ve done something horrible to wrong these people I considered friends to warrant the treatment I’ve gotten and I don’t even fucking know what it is I could have done. And I don’t even mean that from a stupid, arrogant “I can do no wrong” stance. I mean I’ve seriously tried to look back at my behavior and my actions and I can find absolutely nothing that explains this response. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m a perfect person. Let’s be real, I’m an asshole. I know I can be a royal pain in the ass sometimes. I make plenty of damn mistakes. I made mistakes in the group setting of this DnD campaign. I made mistakes while my now-ex visited. I made mistakes in that relationship before they visited.

Yet, evidently, I did do something horrible. And I’m either too stupid or too full of myself to begin to have even the faintest idea of what it is. 

There’s another hit to the ol’ self-esteem. ‘Cause I really needed another one of those. 

I don’t even really know where I’m going with this anymore. Just... I just want to love my bird boi. I just want to be able to move on. But I’m so fucking incapable of doing that. It’s infuriating. It’s something about myself I fucking hate. I just can’t get over shit. 

Seems like a lot of emotion over a stupid anthropomorphic bird. If only I could shed that emotion. 

[jackisfromthemoon-blog]

Driftwood Tuesdays

There is a trailer park in my mind where a perpetual thunderstorm rages; the moms and dads howl and punch at each other as lightning flashes, each blow they land booms with the thunder, and the little children are tossed about like debris in the wind. When I close my eyes I can go there; I can feel my heart electric in the cool darkness as little feet pull me toward whatever trauma is taking place just beyond my bedroom door. I can still run my hand along the edges of the holes pockmarking the walls of the hallway between my bedroom and theirs, each about the size of my dad's fist or foot. I can hear her weeping as I approach one slight step at a time and feel the crisp thwack of leather piercing air and slapping hard on my mother's skin and reverberating forever in the tombs of my heart. I can see him above her, belt in hand. I can hear his tone, sarcastic, through slurred speech but can't make out the words. Mom lays fetal on the bed, her face caked in tears, her ribcage gyrating between gasping breaths, moaning in honest agony.

Are we all just scared children? Am I? I know he must have been scared. I know what it is to ride helpless in a body that is doing things I hate. I have tried to reconcile these kinds of scenes with everything that came later, the obsessions and compulsions, my self hatred and recklessness, all the selfish choices. Probably there is a line that can be drawn. What a terrible thought, that before we have any self determination at all, some shit that happens to us that punches a hole in the metaphorical boats of our lives so that we spend the years we should be learning to navigate the ocean of adulthood just trying to bail out water.

All my life I have wanted change. I wanted to become the kind of little boy who did his homework and who didn't make scenes in class. I've wanted to stop picking my nose, to stop getting in fights, to stop crying in public. I've wanted to stop my mom having to pick me up from school because I overturned a desk in Art class, or because I threw a stool at the music teacher. Always I've been trying to stop doing the wrong things and start doing the right ones. Unfortunately I've wanted this change to happen sort of generally, and life is not lived generally; life is lived on particular tuesday nights, and on a given particular tuesday night it was likely that my young self was recovering from some particular horror, and it was more important that I allow myself the most pleasure possible than to do the thing that needed doing. Then on Wednesday morning, when the shame comes, it's very difficult to have another epiphany of change. At some point another voice becomes louder. Embrace the truth it says. This is who you are. You are not someone who can do the things he says he's going to do. You are flawed. Just live there. And so you do. And so I did.

I hate to think that I, a man of 30, am still bailing out that same water and therefor am still playing out the same drama as that scared child. How can that be? Surely sometime in the last ten years or so I've had the chance to right the ship? I don't think that my personal trauma was all that much worse than what a lot of others, people who have done much better at navigating the sea off life than I have, went through.

Addiction is a real bitch. It mostly comes to those of us who are already living lives of stress and disappointment, who already feel out of control – the water bailers. We are needy people. We are tired. When relief offers itself to us, we'll take that relief. No, we'll take double. Scratch that. Just give us the whole case, please and thank you. If being drunk or high that makes us feel good then we will be drunk or high. If its comes along who possesses that magic touch that pierces our darkness we'll declare them our emotional Jesus Christ (and we'll crucify them too.) It can be religion. It can be video games. For most of us its a long list of things we indulge in to excess to get out of our terror filled heads for 10 minutes or so. And this is bad. This is a life out of control. But the things, the alcohol or the sex, aren't really the problem at first. They're just things. But then one day, these things come alive.

Pretty soon, if we drink every day, our brains will decide that they need to drink every day, need it like it's fucking water. The thing that was designed to make us clamber out of our caves each morning and join the other hominids in hunting food and safety and sex is redirected and convinced that was it really needs is Jim Beam. How are we supposed to argue with the deep rooted guidance of our mammalian brains? Oh. With abstract reasoning, right? Surely the frontal cortex will be our salvation? Because we can see that its the liquor or the erotic chat rooms that are killing us we can stop, right? Did I happen to mention that this stoping has to be done on a particular Tuesday when we're going to have to first go to work with a hangover, get shit on by the boss because we half assed yesterday's paperwork, and then go home to a wife who rightly doesn't trust us and has some acute remarks to make about our behavior of late (or worse to an empty apartment with nothing to focus on but our own addicted mind), all of this couched in an existence primarily marked by feelings of isolation and fear – fuck if we can remember why. No. I think I'll go ahead and have that drink that my mind and body are crying out for. Logic and abstract reasoning can go fuck themselves. Truly.

And now, my friends, this traumatized person, this scared child desperately trying to bail water from his emotional boat while the water rises higher and higher with adulthood, is trapped in a new cycle, and has a new problem; he is an addict. Worse, the old feelings of inadequacy and helplessness are reinforced by the trauma of realizing (and he does realize, the frontal cortex is good for that much) he is an addict, and he can't quit the addiction for the same reason he couldn't stop punching those kids in the face and couldn't do his homework. He has other problems. The water still must be bailed. Each problem reinforces the other. If he'd felt helpless before, well, now he just feels fucked.

We try to stop. And maybe we can stop – for a week or two, but on some particular tuesday we fail, just like we did when we were little kids trying to do our homework. We fail like we knew we would, like we always have and always will.

My addiction is sexual in nature. Can I tell you about it? I mean really tell you? Would you really care to know? So much of my life has been lived underground, in that dark place I don't talk about and no one else can see. More than half of myself, hidden. I'm afraid to do this. Is it reckless to reveal the darkest secrets to the world? Someone has to, I suppose. To paraphrase Yoni Wolf, sometimes you have to scream something out or you'll never tell nobody.

My addiction started when I was 15, so that's 15 years ago now, half my life. Somehow I'll figure out how to communicate the dark side of those fifteen years, but life, is lived on particular Tuesdays, so I think for now I'll just tell you about a recent one.

A few weeks ago was Taylor Acoustics's birthday. Taylor and I had been growing distant for years now, but the love was still there whenever we did happen to find ourselves together. We hadn't lived in the same area for many years and I viewed the night of birthday celebration in the city as a chance to reignite the playful fire of our friendship and to start a new chapter, this one older, more grizzled, set in Downtown Detroit and with higher stakes. I had masturbated every day that week; it wasn't out of control to the point where I wasn't leaving my bedroom unless I was alone in the house or so that I couldn't look people in their eyes, but it did mean that with a little alcohol in me I could become tired easily, or go hazy, or become depressed and in the worst case start spilling that depression in ways subtle or obvious. So I had called up Binge and procured 4 Adderall pills to ensure I would have the energy for a night of fun.

The day of the party I dropped Prophesy off at work, came home, and realized that I had six good hours before I needed to head over to Taylor's. I think I held out for 10 minutes before my brain did the necessary math for the inevitable to occur. You see, one of the problems of the lifelong compulsive masturbator is that while the force of the compulsion only becomes a heavier freight train over time, the act its self holds less and less pleasure. Certain drugs and certain combinations of drugs can recruit novel parts of the brain to join in on the fun and generally make one feel like a teenager with his first high speed internet connection again. So when it occurred to me that I had the loving combination of amphetamine and marijuana readily at my disposal and six hours with nothing to do on my hands? Well – I didn't really feel like I had any choice in the matter.

The pill was a slow release 20, a lot for a guy with no tolerance built up, and I felt the sweet buzz of energy almost as soon as I gulped the water down after the pill. Soon after that I picked out a good sized nug of cannabis, broke it up with my fingers, and loaded the entire thing into my bong. I took hit after hit, rapidly taking as much smoke into my lungs in as little time as possible.

The internet connection at the house is such that I have to hold my computer up to the window, pay a few dollars for a 24 hour subscription to a local wifi service, and in this manner download all of the content I need before sitting or laying down to enjoy. In my current state of drug enabled efficiently and creatively, I collected pictures and stories with a sense of urgency and adherence to method akin to that of a speed chess player. For the first few hours my masturbation was ecstasy. Every model on my screen was a living goddess and testament to the divine nature of feminine sexuality. My fantasies as always undulated between the twin extremes of ultimate power and total humiliation. I'd always wanted to either own or submit, a perpetual teenager both worshiping what he couldn't have and wanting to control it. I was almost a god to my little psychic harem summoning submissive angels at will to fulfill my tiniest desires, and then at the next moment a slave, kissing the feet of a beautiful teenage queen with worthless lips while she casually scrolls her cell phone barely noticing me. Then I was the goddess herself and I imagined what life might have been with a different body, how powerful and beautiful and perfect I could have been, how I could have had slaves ��� slaves like me – and a life of erotic whimsy. Every so often when I felt the weed wearing off I would roll over and frantically grab my bong off the floor and take a hit before returning to my inclusive world of pleasure and shame. But as the hours rolled on, almost unnoticed, shame began to overrule pleasure, and logic threatened to intrude on my bliss.

You're going to be a piece of shit for Taylor's party.

I jerked off a little harder, even though my boner was becoming smaller in my hand and the pleasure less tangible.  

They're going to be able to smell the shame on you.

I scrolled through stories looking for a darker fantasy to pull my consciousness back down into the pleasure cave and away from the voice. I didn't want to think of the other friends who would be there that night and how I would inevitably act like a ragged street dog around them – too aggressive and too needy all at once. I went back to the task at hand.

This is fucking sad.

Then my phone, a $20 flip phone I had bought specifically because of it's lack of internet access, started buzzing. I grabbed it and looked at the screen. A text message from Innocence, wanting to talk. Sorry, Innocence, not today. A minute later it buzzed again. My mom calling. I hit silence. I went back to stoking myself. Each time it buzzed a little shock of fear struck my heart. Once the mind gives itself to the fantasy world, reality becomes the ghost. A minute or an hour later it buzzed again. Mom again.

I stood up and propped my Macbook against my window sill for more downloading. In order to do this I had to move one leg off the bed and sort of shimmy my foot on the floor until it had penetrated the layer of crap – books, dirty clothes, papers, odd objects of which I do not know the origin, that cover the space of my bedroom floor while kneeling with the other leg on the bed so as not to have to attempt to make room for that foot as well. I felt like a child and like a rat. During this operation I did not lose focus on the task at hand for a moment. I stood this way, gathering pictures and stories, these ones more extreme in their fetish content, for I don't know how long; I only know that when the phone buzzed again my right leg was spasming in little bursts, my ankle on the floor had begun to ache from supporting my weight, as did my dick from being manhandled while at half mast. The phone kept buzzing, each pulse a screaming banshee of shame.

Your grandpa is dead or some such thing. She's desperate to reach you. She knows her fuck up son isn't picking up the phone because he's busy being a fuck up. She's disgusted. She's scared. She hates you.

I turned the phone off and threw it on the floor.

Time stood still for my hand and my dick, but my fantasies got darker with the sky. I contemplated finding a bad mistress, a real sadist who would make my life hell. I don't mean that I just fantasized about this; I mean that I considered actually doing it. I would find a woman like this somehow and give myself to her. I'd give her all of my money, my birth certificate, my social security card, my debit card. I'd help her to make a video of me in humiliating positions, and then I'd make a list of embarrassing people she could send it to me as blackmail if I ever misbehaved. I'd order a chastity device for myself and give her the key. I'd be her slave. That was what I deserved, to be a slave. With the adderall and weed still powering my brain I plunged into previously unexplored depths of specifics. I imagined myself seeking out bitchy women and then presenting this idea to them. I created a power point presentation in my mind which I would show them in order to convince them that having me as a slave would be beneficial to their lives. I even posted a craigslist ad with this premise. I wanted to feel insane. I was no longer masturbating about sex or women; I was jerking off to my own shame and I'd never felt more erotic.

Around seven the adderall started to wear off. I hadn't come and my body ached from being held stiff. My dick hurt and was probably bleeding. None of this felt good anymore. I found my phone, and with great effort decided that I'd better call my mom back incase someone really was dead. No one was. She wanted to have dinner with me that night. I told her I couldn't make it and my voice shook as I apologized a little too emphatically. But that was all it was.

I also had texts from Taylor Acoustic but I was in no condition to go out. Any plans had to be canceled. This night would be another trophy on the mantle of the addiction which had already stollen so much from my life. Anyway, this was no time for philosophical contemplation of my condition. I had work to do. I took another pill.

I jerked all through the night to more and more humiliating fantasies, trying to push the sense of erotic shame to its brink, but the magic was gone and now the models weren't quite pretty enough or else didn't fit with my fantasies. The stories I found were either poorly written or didn't echo properly with my fetishes. My brain demanded some deeper depth of perversion to re-ignite the intensity but, drugs or no, my body simply wasn't built to maintain sexual stimulation for this long. My dick was soft in my hand half the time though I never stopped pumping. I kept getting up to take another hit off the bong and download more pictures, but my leg was throbbed with pain when I stood on it and reality's encroachments became sadder and harder to ignore. On and on this went. The shame felt like real shame and I wanted to push it away. My right hand kept stroking. My left hand kept clicking. Story, picture, story, this model, that one. The birds chirping outside my window mocked my pain. My body ached. Each stoke hurt my dick. Finally, around 11 in the morning 22 hours after I'd casually swallowed that first pill, I found my release.

So that's what a specific tuesday can be like in the life of an addict. I've told you the details, but I don't know how to communicate the horror of being trapped in a body that does these kinds of things, that seemingly can't not do these kinds of things. In my best moments I love life, I love intimacy and connection and love. But then sometimes I go into a trance where I worship the idea of these ideas exact opposites. Such insane helplessness. And yet it always feels like its my fault. This is not something that happens to me, its something I do. Am I a freak? A pervert? There is a line of logic which says I should embrace these things, I mean, I'm not hurting anyone. I hear this line, but I can only say that whether I'm hurting anyone or not, I do not want to keep doing these things, from my innermost core I reject them. They are terror to me. They are hell. I do not want them. I will not embrace them.

I spent the next two days in bed. My nervous system was shocked to fuck so I couldn't sleep. Most parts of my body hurt and I could hardly touch my dick even to pee. I laid there in the darkness contemplating my condition and laughing at my brain's little fantasies of change. This would not be some rock bottom experience launching me into changed life. I masturbated again as soon as I could.

[brooklyn-queer]

Alright, below the cut is a long thing that I want to put somewhere in the web abyss but since I don’t really use my tumblr anymore/don’t really know anyone on tumblr I figure this is as fine a place as any to put it

Some people knew I used to get too fucked up at parties but did they know about the constant weed smoking, the straight everclear shots alone in my room, the Valium, the keyboard cleaner, the paint sniffing, the LSD, the binging and purging, the sex and love addiction, the Adderall, the snorting caffeine pills?

How every other Friday, I would spend my entire bi-weekly paycheck on booze and drugs?

How I pawned my camera, my most prized possession, for drug money?

How I borrowed cash for food and spent it on booze?

or the nights i drank rotten hooch stored under my bed when I didn’t have money?

the nights i drank vinegar because I didn’t have any more hooch?

the nights i drank vanilla extract because I ran out of vinegar?

the nights I drank hand sanitizer because I ran out of vanilla extract?

Did anyone know that I hadn’t had a sober conversation with them in years?

Who am I kidding? plenty of people suspected I was an addict. the only people bold and caring enough to address it with me had to face my drunken angry tantrums.

I was sick. I was so fucking sick. In highschool, my friends nicknamed me “Sunshine” because I radiated joy and optimism. I laughed until I cried, I was always there for my friends, I was a good listener, I was kind. I had many skills and I worked tirelessly to perfect my crafts. Once I started using everything began to unravel. I desperately entered competitions to prove that I could still perform. A blue ribbon meant I wasn’t worthless, right? I obsessively sought romance and sex in places I shouldn’t have because I needed to prove I was still lovable. I compulsively badgered my friends to prove that I wasn’t isolating myself in my using. All the things I did before for enjoyment or for others became about Me and gaining validation that I wasn’t losing my fucking mind.

I thought about my rapist and my rape every minute of the day. Everything triggered the thoughts: cars, mens bathrooms, belt buckles, Owl City songs, glasses, haircuts--it was fucking insanity. When I wasn’t reliving my rape, I was mentally playing out future rapes, 

dreaming about my loved ones assaulting me, 

obsessively imagining my loved ones dying over and over and over and over 

picturing my cats mangled squished dead body

imagining my fathers death over and over and over and over 

walking along the road I was terrified I was going to jump infront of a car without thinking about it and I replayed my death over and over and over again

every morning i checked my body for bruises or signs of a rape, every night i made myself listen to that Owl City song 8 times in a row even though I always had panic attacks during it, before sleeping I would lock and unlock my door over and over and over at least 10 times until i could get my brain to shut up for 30 goddamn seconds

I see now why I wanted to hide from my brain. I see now that I only made it worse by doing so.

The closest I got to a quiet moment was when I was high, but apparently the thoughts didn’t stop after using. All I did was shove the burden of my broken brain onto whomever was my caretaker for the night. If I was blackout drunk someone else had to take care of my brain for a while which is a pretty fucked up thing to do to someone else. Since I spent so many days blacked out, I’m sure that the worst pain I have caused others I have absolutely no recollection of. 

I was simply in a lot of pain. I had a lot of trauma and resulting mental illness that I refused to deal with. I wonder how I got addicted but when I think about it, someone who treats their body and problems like I did was bound to seek comfort anywhere. Weed was my drug of choice but alcohol was right behind along with pills and self harm and sex and unhealthy relationships and extreme risk taking. 

Who knew that within 5 years I would have morphed into a complete monster entirely unlike the person I was before? I wish I could adequately describe the horror of addiction, how it is a disease that eats who you are, that it is a sickness that attacks your soul. That the person I had become last year had nothing in common with the person I was before using. How in hindsight it is so fucking obvious I am an addict but in my active addiction it was impossible to see. 

I used to devour multiple books a week--I took pride in my love for knowledge. By my rock bottom, I hadn’t finished a book in over a year. I could barely bring myself to skim the articles I had to read for school. My brain was so fried I couldn’t read for more then 5 minutes at a time. I once cried because I got an A- in an honors class but a mere few years later I used so much I lost the ability to read.

Not saying that I was a great person before using because I still had a lot of shit I was working through but the addiction dug out the worst disgusting parts of my brain and brought them to the forefront. All of the good qualities within myself were masked by the addiction. By the end, I didn’t do anything other than use. If a person in my life didn’t want to get fucked up, they didn’t matter. If an activity didn’t involve drinking, I wasn’t interested. Anything or anyone what didn’t feed my addiction was disposable. 

Now I’m in recovery. I’m drawing. I’m painting. I’m writing. I’m baking. I’m cooking. I’m listening to my friends and supporting them. I’m gardening. I’m sewing. I’m reading. I’m meditating. People want to be around me. I know how to give them space because I’m not afraid of being alone with myself. I just moved in with an amazing friend. I walk our dog daily. I care for our cats. I cook dinner for us. I am able to support their dreams and aspirations the same way she supports mine. I laugh. Genuinely. I smile in real life and not just in facebook photos. I go to meetings and listen to the stories of other addicts. I do service. I am learning how to be confident without being arrogant. For god sakes, people are paying me to create art! What??? How lucky am I? None of this would have been possible without my sobriety. I have a hell of a long way to go and a lot of catching up to do but I am so grateful to be sober today, in this moment. 

I believed that I had to be cruel to the world before it could be cruel to me. I thought being mean and brazen meant being tough. I’m now learning how wrong I was. I was an immature hurt child who played myself off as threatening and mean because I was so scared and insecure in myself. I am learning now that true strength comes in gentleness. It comes with a firm and calm “no” when a boundary needs to be set while being open and understanding of others. True strength speaks for itself. It does not need bravado. 

If you think you might be an addict, you are not alone. The first step is walking into a 12 step meeting. The first step is just considering that you might have a problem. You can stumble into a meeting shit faced if need be. If not using seems impossible, its okay. It seemed impossible to all of us in recovery and we are here for you. Getting clean is hard as hell but I guarantee it’s worth a shot.

If you love an active addict, you are not alone. Please remember to take care of yourself. Addicts are sick and they need to be treated with compassion and professional help but that does not mean that you have to destroy yourself to save us. Alanon meetings are a great option to consider--they are support groups for the loved ones of addicts. They can help you work through hurt and resentment. They can help you come up with tools to protect yourself while supporting the addict in your life, or if necessary, give you the strength to walk away from them.

Trauma is hell. Addiction is insanity. Most people I have met in meetings are trauma survivors like me. We are sick and scared people who are afraid to be alive. Unfortunately most of us can’t break the habit until we have lost everything. Luckily, recovery is possible and for that I am endlessly grateful. 

“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”

12 step programs are saving my life right now. I am currently on Step 2 and I am really taking my time with each one. I’m not at the steps where I write out my character defects, resentments, and make direct amends to the people I have hurt--that will come later when I have enough sober time to make sure that I can actually back up my words. In the meantime, this is a prelude that no one will probably read. I needed to get it out there though. I’m grateful for my clean slate, my new name, my new home, my fresh start. I think a huge change was necessary but I am aware that I left my old life violently and full of anger. Luckily those resentments are starting to melt away and it is making space for forgiveness and understanding. It is giving me the space to reflect on my mistakes and the pain I have caused others. When I get to Step 8, I will need to make amends to just about everyone who ever got close to me during my active addiction. For some addicts it takes years to get to that step so in the meantime please know that I am sorry, I am changing, and I genuinely wish joy and happiness in your life.