#tw health care system failure

[greatpain]

𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝚀 #𝟷  ...  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝚂𝚃 𝙿𝙴𝚃? 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁  ...  𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚘

𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝚀 #𝟸  ...  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁'𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴? 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁  ...  ****

𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝚀 #𝟹  ...  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙸𝙶𝙶𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚁? 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝚂𝚆𝙴𝚁  ...  ************** **** ******** ***** **********

               𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚄𝚂𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙱𝚈𝚃𝙴

𝟶𝟶𝟷.   𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂   ...

⋯⋯⋯   GENERAL DETAILS.

FULL NAME:   yejide muyiwa. NICKNAME(S):   none. ALIAS:  agent byte. AGE:   twenty8. DATE OF BIRTH:   august 18. PLACE OF BIRTH:   seattle, washington. CURRENT LOCATION:   apex city, washington. GENDER:   agender. PRONOUNS:   she/he/they, no preference. ORIENTATION:   bisexual. ROLE:   intelligence agent,  five years. EDUCATION LEVEL:   college drop out (mit).

⋯⋯⋯   PHYSICAL APPEARANCE, ETC.

HEIGHT:   5'6. TATTOOS:   none. PIERCINGS:   one in each ear. CLOTHING STYLE:   1) comfortable. 2) colorful & fun. DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS:   biiiiiig smile.

⋯⋯⋯   HEALTH.

ALLERGIES:   peanuts. SLEEPING HABITS:   poor. non-existent sleep schedule, but sleeps a lot? day naps... so many naps...  EATING HABITS:   enjoys sweets a lot. SOCIABILITY:   10/10.  highly sociable.  the extrovert friend. DRINKING / SMOKING / DRUGS:   no / no / no. RADIANT STATUS:  none.

⋯⋯⋯   PERSONALITY.

LABELS / TROPES:   awesome by analysis,  beware the nice ones,  bunny ears lawyer,  doesn't like weapons,  cause = consequence,  the heart,  magical computer,  mission control,  the nicknamer,  recruiting the criminal,  the reliable one,  the smart gal,  voice with an internet connection,  perpetual smiler,  silly rabbit cynicism is for losers,  you are not alone,  bad liar,  the cutie,  beware the silly ones,  did not think this through. INSPIRATIONS:   jester lavorre (cr2), jessica day (new girl), phil dunphy (modern family), penelope garcia (cm). POSITIVE TRAITS:   ambitious,  enthusiastic,  creative,  expressive,  mischievous,  intelligent,  resourceful,  excitable,  active listener,  compassionate,  perky. NEGATIVE TRAITS:   clumsy,  credulous,  unrealistic,  troublesome,  unorganized,  overimaginative,  impatient,  easily discouraged. LIKES:   all music,  winter,  birds. DISLIKES:   alcoholic drinks,  tight schedules,  summer. FEARS:   disappointing people that depend on her,  failure. HABITS:   bouncing on toes, nervous laughter, bouncing leg, filler words. HOBBIES:   watching tv / movies, reading, strategy games, d&d.

⋯⋯⋯   FAMILY, RELATIONSHIPS, ETC.

MOTHER:   unknown. FATHER:   unknown. SIGNIFICANT OTHER:   none.  BEST FRIEND:   tba.  EXES:   none serious.  SIBLING(S):   none biological.  CHILDREN:   none.  PET(S):   parrot named sir talks a lot (lottie for short).

𝟶𝟶𝟸.   𝙱𝙸𝙾𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝚈 / 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂   … 

shortly after birth, yejide was left in a baby car seat at seattle's fire station 19, accompanied by a letter written on composition paper stating her name and how sorry her birth parents are for leaving her like this, but they simply do not have the means to raise her right now. until proper care can be given, yejide is taken care of by firefighters that dote upon her every second of the day.

she is shortly placed into the foster care system, and though she is nearly adopted several times over the first few years of her life, something always happens that stops the process right in its tracks.

long story short, she is never adopted, simply bounced around from foster house to foster house getting her hopes up only to be miserably crushed. yejide came out of the system with lifelong friends made with her foster siblings.

[ car accident tw ] she was accepted with a full scholarship to MIT, attributed to her incredible capabilities on a computer. she kept in close contact with all of her foster siblings and even attended MIT with one that was a couple years older. unfortunately, they died in a car accident. filled with grief over losing someone she considered family, she dropped out of MIT and bounced around the country, couch surfing.

she continued to teach herself coding and advanced computer engineering in an attempt to keep herself together and occupied. eventually, this formed into becoming a vigilante hacker, attacking businesses and people she thought were engaged in criminal activities or other such activities that went against her own moral compass. curious about mercy, she did hack into mercy's systems and was caught shortly after. yejide was given the option between working for them or serving jail time, and she decided to accept the job.

she has been at mercy for five years now, and does stay in the on base accommodations as she feels that's what's best for her and it gives her a way to interact with everyone in one way or another. absolutely the person you want on your side during any problem, whether that be personal or professional. undying support and loyalty for anyone that shows her a smidge of kindness. surprisingly great at interrogation if only because of her unnerving ability to talk her way into or out of anything, alongside her undeterred charisma, but she honestly hates the interrogation part of her job the most and is likely to trade any interrogation assignments with a coworker for a favor.

𝟶𝟶𝟹.   𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂   ...

updated soon... prommy

[weeping-vintage-toes]

I vent way too much on here. Like, I'm sorry, I just need an outlet :,) So I'm venting again - and it's kinda intense. You don't even need to read this.

(Tw: SH & Suicide)

I said in an earlier post that my depression was getting bad again (which is cringe /j). I didn't think it would ever be this bad, though. I am taking care of 2 kids as well as a house cause my mom keeps making excuses on why she's not here. The kids have missed about 2 months of school. It got so bad that the police showed up.

I honestly feel like a failure to my kids. My older brother is a big help, but he's graduating this year. Then, he's moving out right after cause he doesn't wanna be stuck in this shit hole of a home. Can't say I blame him. But that means I'm gonna be stuck here with 2 kids and a house to take care of without a mother figure.

I am failing all except 2 of my classes and can't take care of anyone, not even myself. I can barely even get the energy to wash my face. It's gotten to the point where I only take 1-2 showers a week, when I usually take one every 2-3 days.

I can't cook for shit and the dishes are used up as soon as I wash them. We barely have actual meals cause my mom basically stopped going shopping. She just buys sodas and snacks from the dollar store every week.

I feel like shit all the time, but I can't stop cleaning or doing something around the house cause of how quickly things pile up.

I live with my brother (17), sister (7), cousin (10 m), and mom (if she even counts anymore), and now apparently my aunt is moving in too. I live in a 2 bed 1 bath. There is no room for someone else. I already slept in my moms room with my little sister. (And mom if she's home)

My house is such a shit hole. So, I don't wanna stay there but school is stressful and I cry almost every day there. So, there's literally no escaping my stress and anxiety.

I try and make jokes at school to get away from it all. But it's getting harder and harder to try and keep everything bottled in. I joke about killing myself and shit but sometimes, it genuinely crosses my mind. I would never do it, and those thoughts scare me.

I used to SH about a year ago. It's not some I'm proud of, but it's true. I would like to say I'm clean now, and thankfully, my recovery process was quick. But sometimes I'll catch myself thinking about it. It scares me, but it's happening quite often nowadays.

I have a lot of shit on my plate, and somehow, I'm still supposed to have good grades and stable mental health. My own mother said that I'm definitely not mentally ill. She barely knows who I am anymore.

I'm just so tired. But that doesn't mean I don't have good things in my life. I am so grateful for the two best friends I think I've ever had. They get me through the day, and I love them more than they know. I wish I could let them know just how much I care about them and how much they have impacted my life since I've met them.

I've known one of them for just 2 years, and I only started talking to my boyfriend at the beginning of school. But it feels like I've known them forever. I hope they know how much they really mean to me.

Anyways, sorry for the rant, I've just had those thoughts bottled up for a while and needed to get them out of my system. I've come to find that just talking about my feelings through text is really therapeutic. So that's probably why I talk about my problems so much on here. And it's not like people see these anyways, so it's kinda like my own personal diary that only one other person sees.

So, again, sorry for the long ass rant. I hope you have a lovely night or day. Mwah <3 gn lovelies.

[searenbound]

i saw ur post abt being potentially autistic, n how u think being afab/born a woc could be part of it n i did a little bit of research on this a while ago, where afab, ESPECIALLY woc or ethnic women, will have a harder time getting a diagnosis purely because of racial biases, i had a therapist tell me i was bipolar/bpd and not autistic bc jewish women are naturally more aggressive and loud n ended up going years w/o even being considered for a diagnosis which SUCKS so bad bc it ended up being all three 😭 so i get where ur coming from,

on a lighter note, i saw this post a few days ago and i’m demi and hyper sexual so i thought it was rlly funny since i know where he’s coming from 💀

Holy hell that was antisemitic of them, I can’t even wrap my head around why you would ever feel ok saying that to anyone?

I hate health care professionals that think like that, we go to them for help and they treat us like hysteria aka being a woman disorder is still a diagnosis that we obviously must have. Pisses me off. Unfortunately I live in the US in a swing state that tends to lean red so it’s probably better I don’t get diagnosed here. It’s a social safety and work stability risk for me here.

But on a littler note! I’m happy you thought so! I hc Bakugou as Demi bull I don’t really talk about all too often so when I do I end up rambling a little so I’m happy to hear someone enjoys it

I’m aroallo (bi and lithromantic specifically), but I used to id as Demi before I did more research and realized my willingness and preference to wait wasn’t the same as not having immediate sexual attraction to someone and needing to know them before you feel that attraction.

[tmntgirlie]

Saviors in a Half Shell Turtles x Fem!Reader Hinted Leo x Fem!Reader

!TW! Attempted Suicide !TW!

"All in a night's work, huh, guys?" Leonardo boasted. He would never tire from leaping rooftop to rooftop in that city. The adrenaline rush, the confidence boost- he ached for more.

"So much for the most powerful gang in the city! Looked like they were about to wet themselves," Raphael snickered, leaping one step ahead of his elder. "I'd wet myself if I were up against us, too, as a human."

Longing to blend in was a thing of the past. With all the good they did for the city, the four brothers learned that they preferred to be thankless heroes. April made sure they were barely even a shadow, no echoes of who they were or where they came from. Those that did see them were... Let's just say they would never wish to speak of them. They knew the consequences.

After all, four over six foot tall ninjas? You definitely don't want to be on their bad side.

It was seven years since their first experience topside. Seven years since they finally met the woman that saved them. Seven years silently fighting, growing closer with each mission, each victory.

To be honest, Leo wasn't sure if Mikey was happier with each new personal best or when he got to pick up takeout on the street corner. He treated both instances as the same.

“Scanner’s starting to slow down for the night, should we call it? There’s this Thai food place we could order from, I hear they’re really good!” Donatello said, easily taking up the rear of his brothers. He barely focused on the obstacles in front of him, instead looking directly into the screen of his glasses.

He swore he wouldn’t actually go blind using them all the time.

“Go ahead, then, what are you waiting for-?” Leonardo began to shout.

He stopped.

One by one, his brothers ran into his shell at full force, almost knocking him to his knees. “Watch it!” he whisper-yelled, shaking his head.

“Leo, what’s with the-”

“Shh!” He gestured to the nearest edge of the rooftop.

Like most rooftops in New York City, it wasn’t completely flat. It had air conditioning units, ventilation systems, some even boasted botanical gardens if they residents were daring enough. This one was rather plain, with only a small door leading to a stairway down, a few patio chairs, and a two foot deep lipped edge. Two feet of presumably concrete was all that stood between the rooftop and the city beneath.

No, this didn’t seem right. What was this girl doing standing on that ledge?

“Do you think she’s meditating? Should we leave her alone?” Michelangelo whispered to his brothers.

Donnie gave him a firm nudge. “No, people don’t just- just meditate on the edge of a high platform like this.”

“Is she looking at the stars?”

“No, she’s looking down, Mikey. Stupid.”

Leonardo felt his breath hitch as he realized what they were about to witness.

Crime fighting was one thing. It was becoming almost second nature to the mutant turtle family. As easy as breathing, essentially.

“Uh, Miss? Are you okay?” Leonardo called out after a brief moment of silence between his brothers.

“You guys should leave. You shouldn’t be up here.” Something about her voice didn’t sit right with Leo.

He quickly ushered his brothers into the shadow of the rooftop doorway. Even if she turned around, she wouldn’t see them. She couldn’t see them.

“Are you okay? You’re awful close to that ledge,” Leonardo said, choosing his words as carefully as he could.

“You should leave,” she repeated. The woman didn’t move, still looking towards the ground. It was such a long way down.

What on Earth was she thinking?

“What’s your name?” he asked, holding up a quick hand to his brothers. He didn’t want anything said that might set her off. She was so close to that ledge. One step and…

“My name?” the woman said, speaking quieter now. “Why would you care what my name is? What’s yours?”

“My name is Leonardo. I’d like to know your name.”

None of his training prepared him for something like this. What could possibly be on her mind for her to be this close to falling? All on her own accord.

The woman leaned back on her heels, taking in a deep breath. “Y/N.”

“Y/N? That’s a lovely name.”

“Thanks,” she said through grinding teeth.

Leonardo took quick breaths in and out. Think, Leo, Think.

He felt his heart jump out of his shell as she shifted her weight back on her toes, leaning more into the thin air. “Wait!” he yelled on impulse.

“You should leave,” Y/N said again, shaking her head, her hair shifting back and forth against her neck. “I don’t want company right now.”

“I can’t leave. I swore to myself and my family to protect the citizens of this city. That means you, even if it’s against yourself.” Leonardo felt like he heard the words he said out loud before he heard them in his mind. He hoped to all that was good that he could get this woman out of this situation.

“Leo, we should…” Raphael whispered, though at the look of his elder, he stopped his train of thought. No.

The woman on the edge forced a laugh. “Don’t you have Thai food to get or something?”

“Do you want some?”

“I don’t think I’ll need any, actually.”

That wasn’t the answer Leo had expected. He took a small step forward, on the edge of the shadow and the light from the moon. “What do you want?”

Y/N began to shift back on her heels, exhaling. Ten seconds went by, but it felt like an eternity. Leo was ready to jump forward. “What does anybody want? Really?”

This was a type of low Leonardo never thought he would witness. How was it possible that someone would be so close to the edge, quite literally, and just not seem to care one way or the other? How could that be possible?

“You know, I never really thought I’d make it this far,” she said suddenly. “In life, this far… This close. I never thought I’d make it.”

Leo took the smallest of steps forward as he could, light barely reaching his forehead. “What do you mean?”

“Here I am, in the Big Apple, making my way through life. I’m successful, I have a good credit score, I have my own place. Why does it feel like I still have nothing?”

Shit. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Don’t you have family?”

She scoffed. “Hardly. Dad’s dead, mother’s a narcissistic sociopath, and sister is a hotshot accountant in the Midwest. Words I never thought I’d say about her.”

“Friends?”

“Do you know how hard it is to keep friends when you feel like a prisoner inside your own head?”

Ouch.

Leonardo sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m not going to let you do this. If you jump, you lose.”

“What could I possibly have to lose?”

“Don’t you want there to be a chance that it will get better?”

“Wanting that chance has got me this far. I’d say ‘chances’ are pretty slim.”

Leonardo growled, shaking his head. When he opened his mouth to speak, he saw the tip of her shoe begin to slip. “No, wait-!” He had never felt his heart beat so fast in his life. Did he fail?

Before he could think, he felt his body run to the edge of the rooftop faster than he thought he could ever go. Leonardo reached out his arm to grab hers. “Y/N!”

He couldn’t fail. Failure wasn’t an option.

Leo had barely blinked when he saw red in his peripheral. As he grabbed one arm, he felt his brother beside him, holding onto the woman’s other arm just as tightly, her legs dangling beneath her.

The woman shut her eyes tightly. “I told you to leave! Why can’t you leave me be? I’m a nobody! You don’t even know me!”

“We don’t have to know you to care, miss,” Leonardo said quietly. “We care about all citizens. Well, most of them. And you don’t seem like one of the bad ones.”

Y/N opened her eyes and looked up at her two… Rescuers? Unwelcomed heroes? “You- You- What-”

“I thought you said to stay in the shadows, Leonardo,” Donatello whisper-shouted across the rooftop, keeping as far from them as possible. He didn’t want to think about what was going through Mikey’s head right then. It couldn’t be good.

“You- What-” Y/N stammered as the two mutant turtles pulled her from the rooftop’s edge. They sat her down gently against the pavement, away from the edge. The brothers exchanged glances with one another, only barely looking back to the two that completed the foursome. It was silently agreed that this was necessary.

“Who are you?” Y/N finally said, closing her eyes tightly just to open them again.

“Now, that’s a loaded question,” Raphael said with a small snicker as his brother elbowed him. He held nothing back. “Hey!”

“Right now, we are just strangers that care about your safety,” Leonardo told her, finally able to look this woman in the eyes. They were blue, like his, and almost a perfect match. “Do you think you’ll be okay?”

Y/N sucked in another breath. “I don’t know- Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

It took less than a second for Raph to fling the woman over his shoulder like a ragdoll. He shrugged sheepishly at his elder brother, who glared daggers. “Looks like we’re getting Thai for five tonight, boys.”

“Hey! This is kidnapping!”

“What are your other options? We send you to a mental institution? I don’t think so,” Donatello scoffed as he stepped out from the shadows. “Mental health facilities are not at all satisfactory in this country.”

“Think of this as ‘suicide watch’, miss. It’s for your own good,” Leonardo said. “We’re not gonna hurt ya. We want to help.”

For the second time that night, Y/N seemed to just give in. Her body lost its tension against the strange being holding her. She gave up. What else could really go wrong now? Suicide watch, huh?

“I’ll tell the Master we’re having company,” Donatello told his brothers.

Master? Who were these ‘rescuers’, anyway?

[x-lulu]

hi, so i’m back again with another rant about mental health

//

tw - self harm, mental illness, my experience, just me ranting for a bit, not washing your hair for a week? mention of being suicidal, mention of therapy, if there are others let me know x

also i just want to say that i was just ranting for a bit and getting thoughts out of my head so this might be filled with incorrect sentences and errors, also maybe i didn’t use the right words in that case i’m sorry if i hurt someone’s feelings and you can always educate me

and yes some of this was hard for me to say, but i’m not gonna hide, i’m not gonna pretend that mental illness is like they show in tv shows, movies, commercials, books. yes some might experience their illness as in one of these above, but there are so many things nobody talks about, so i told myself: i’m not gonna be one of those people, while i am a small blog, i’m pretty sure there are a few people following me who are struggling with these kind of things and if i can help in any way, i will

//

on different social media platforms we can see positivity and people talking about mental health and things that can helps or experiences, while I’m all about sending positivity, i also think we should be realistic. now you might think oh she is gonna talk some negative shit, no i am not, while ofcourse i have my negative moments i try to be positive and definitely when i talk to others. the only thing i want to reach with talking about my situation is helping people, make them feel like they’re not alone, that their feelings are valid, all those things, so that’s why i decided to post something about myself when i’m not feeling that great. i’ve posted things about having energy for the first time to put on make up or being clean for a month. well the situation atm is not that good, so i thought why not talk about it, i am not the only person feeling like this and i want people to see mental health and illness for what it is, not what for example tv shows or movies make us think it is.

my mental health issues started when i was around nine years old, of course it didn’t come out of nowhere and i’ve had traumatic situations before it, but that’s the age when i started really noticing how bad my mental state was. i’ve been suicidal ever since, i’ve been to 10 different therapists, psychologist, psychiatrist and basically a lot of different treatments. about six of those I’ve been to in the last year. you see I got help when I was younger but after that I pretended to be fine for years till I got my breaking point in November 2019. I think it’s been about five months since i finally got the treatment that fitted with my situation and helped a bit, two months since I got the medication I needed, my doctor didn’t want to give me any because I was a minor, but eventually she agreed because all my psychologists and psychiatrists said it was necessary, i’ve had up and downs ever since i started this treatment five months ago. that’s the deal with mental illness, you don’t recover in one line, sometimes you have relapses and those aren’t a sign of failure!!!!

there are so many things about mental illness that people don’t talk about. for example taking a shower or washing your hair can be so diffecult. i take a quick bath every day but it takes me a week to build up the energy and the courage to take a shower and wash my hair and yes this is something i can feel embarrassed about but it shouldn’t be, it’s normal! i don’t have the energy to put on make up, i don’t have the energy to keep a smile on my face every second of the day, i don’t have the energy to go to shops even though i really need clothes or food, i don’t have the energy to shave or do my eyebrows. this might gross some of you, i do take care of my hygiene, im pretty big on that, (also some people don’t have the energy for that either and that is also totally fine) but these things are real issues and we should normalise it. things can be hard while other people don’t understand it and that’s okay, we should treat each other with respect. all these things are normal and valid, you don’t have to feel bad about it or hate yourself for it. i can’t be a hypocrite here because yes i despise myself and punish myself for these things, but i know that that is wrong and it’s okay to feel this way and not have the energy. this is also just an example and just something that i’m thinking about at the moment but there are so many other situations, so believe me when i say this. it’s not weird, you don’t have to feel bad about it or embarrassed, you’re not alone, you’re strong, this is normal and you will get through it. not right now, not in a week, but eventually you will get the life you deserve filled with love and joy.

another thing... like i said recovery isn’t something that happens in one line, there are gonna be relapses. selfharm is something i have really mixed feelings about, for me it started out as to feel something different than the pain i was feeling, it started as numbing the voice in my head, it became an addiction, sometimes i can’t leave a matter alone before i cut myself, it can feel like closure to me, it also can feel like i need the punishment, there are so many reasons and feelings when or why i do it, it can be hard to explain. so i’ve been trying to stop for three months i think? at first i went three days without, then i cut myself again, so i tried again, i went two weeks without, tried again, a month, tried again, a month and a half, tried again, two weeks, tried again, four days and now i’ve been clean for three days and i’m still trying. like i said there are relapses. my scars were recovering and now i’ve cut all over them. this isn’t something i’m proud of and yes i felt like i was weak and too scared to tell anyone and disappoint them because everyone thinks it’s going better. but the things is, it isn’t something to feel weak about, it’s a coping system and while it isn’t the best coping system it’s my/our way to get through the pain, it’s a sign of strength, for still being there even though you’ve been through so much. so i will be trying again and again and again, i will be trying as long as i have to, not only for the people who care about me, but also for myself, because yes life can suck, it can suck big time, but life can also be beautiful and i and every single one of you, deserves to feel loved, happy and peaceful. there are so many great things in the world and they will come to you too. we just have to fight and while you may not believe it, you are strong enough and you are not alone. i’m here and i will fight with you.

[marshmallowprotection]

Hi! Can I request Seven with a Mc who picks up going to a neurologist and trying to find a therapist after giving up on her mental health journey for a very long time but now she's worried that she won't be able to pull through and that she might give up like last time, disappointing everyone who's trying to help her? Please and thank you 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 sorry if this is too specific and I hope you're having a nice day ^^

TW: Medical Trauma Seven

It’s never easy to deal with your mental health. Seven can’t really talk above any other person because he never even wanted to acknowledge that needed any kind of help when he clearly did from a young age. It was something that he had no chance of helping or finding the right resources to work through that kind of outlet, you know?

Even now, there are times when he isn't even sure of himself and his actions, but at the end of the day, he remembers that he needs to get better for himself and that fighting for that is a constant battle that never ends no matter how long it has been. 

So, for you to admit that you need help and that you need to start the long fight again, he stands behind you like you stood for him when needed someone to be there. 

He wants you to get better for yourself, and not for anyone else. 

It’s never to start doing this. It’s never going to be easy and it’s going to be hard to get through. 

There’s no sugarcoating it or pretending that every single day is going to be a good one. He knows that personally and he sees it in his brother every day. But, he knows that it’s for the better, and he knows that deep down, you know that same thing. 

He sees your tired eyes and he sees someone that he loves going through a hard time. He would do anything and everything for you but there are things that he cannot do and he acknowledges that. 

He can’t just make things better by giving you a hug or a kiss, but he can make things easier by supporting you and helping you when you stumble. 

You always extended your hand to him when he fell flat on his face, so he was going to help you get right back up so you could keep walking forward with him, not in front of him, or behind him. He wants to walk forward hand and hand to the future ahead. 

It may not always be a simple way. 

But, he wouldn’t change where he wound up here because it brought you to him and he will forever love you and show you that care that he holds for you. So, if you feel like you shouldn’t even bother trying because you’re going to fall down and fail, Seven is here to remind you that you will never fail and that you have never failed. 

Everyone stumbles. 

It’s not a failure. 

It’s a little bump in the road that you need some help to walk over, and he will be there to help you push it off, as will the rest of the RFA. You need a good system of support to keep on living with that smile and he’s happy that he’s got you and the others, just as he hopes that you’re happy with all of them. 

“Hey. You never gave up on me and I’m never going to give up on you. Things are going to be okay because you’re doing your best. I believe in you, Y/N. It will get better and I’m not going to go anywhere no matter how hard it gets or how easy it gets. Focus on you, and we’re always here cheering you on when you need us, or when you don’t think you do. I know you can do this. You’re very brave for fighting for yourself, y’know? So, let’s get up together and keep looking to the future, okay?”

[myrecovery18]

A year in Recovery

After a year in recovery from restricting there are things that I noticed I did before that I no longer or rarely do or that I’m able to eat now. Plus a little tips on what helped me recovery and stick with it. 

TW: MENTIONS OF RESTRICTING, ANAMIA, BIRTHCONTROL,  RECOVERY, TO THE BONE, TRAINING, LEARNING TO LOVE YOURSELF, SELF RECOVERY TIPS, & LITTLE HEALTH RANT IN THE MIDDLE.

I’m aware I can’t count calories anymore because I mentally will go under 1,500 calories without fail. 

When I use to eat I use to watch an edit of “To the Bone” religiously, I only watch it now when I want to. I don’t want to watch it when I eat. 

I use to sit in class and save food recipes or pictures of food to a Pinterest board instead of paying attention because I got bored and was thinking about food

I use to workout for an hour and a half in the morning and would get pissed if I couldn’t. I quit working out for a year until I was able to and injured my knee only to restart this year because working out is the one thing I know that helps relieve stress. Instead of focusing on working out as a form of losing weight, I focus on it now as a hobby, if I don’t do it one day that’s fine. I don’t get upset at myself. That took awhile to build that mentality especially coming from a 10 yr athletic background with a physical sport that required you to train 3 hours a day like volleyball. 

I used to eat and feel panicked about being watched by others; rarely do I think about that now. I can’t give you advice on how to stop that mentality.

I avoided eating Garlic bread for six years, it was apart of my fear foods. I nearly cried when I ate it for the first time this year and didn’t feel an ounce of anxiety. It still scares me the idea of eating it, but physically eating it doesn’t bring me anxiety. 

There are days where I eat one meal and I don’t blame myself, but I do let others know that I forgot to eat because my hungry cues didn’t signal that I was in fact hungry and needed to feed myself. 

While in recovery, I’ve come to realize that when I miss a meal, my body will pick up either the next day or two days later and tell me it’s hungry. I don’t force myself to eat if I’m not hunger. 

I use to cook myself every meal so I knew what was going into it or I monitored what my family was putting into the food. I don’t do that now or I use to make my own plate and make it smaller than I needed it to be. I allow for them to cook my food and plate it if they want to. 

I use to have bad mood swings; I rarely do. 

I use to drink coffee because I knew it is a natural laxative for me when I was having a bad day; I don’t drink it anymore for that reason. I drink it because I like the taste and enjoy coffee. The upset stomach is a negative now.  

Being told to lose weight by doctors or family members or that I was getting bigger would trigger me but now I don’t bother to acknowledge it since I know most doctors don’t acknowledge the pills I’ve been on caused the weight gain. The only doctor I’ve accepted the weight loss advice was my neurologist because I went through all the test and they came back normal, so I know I suffer from migraines naturally.

Birth Control Pills: I’m not a fan of them and refuse to be placed back on them despite the other ladies I go to pushing it on me to regulate my abnormal bleeding I recently had. Despite the fact I told her it was caused by the other Gyno’s failure to notice that it counteracts with my migraine medicines and caused the bleeding to extend by putting me on the birthcontrol pill I didn’t want (Side Note: I have iron deficiency anemia that no one can really fix because my panels come back with a weird combination so due to the gynos mistake it kicked in and I had to take my iron pills because I was getting exhausted too fast because of my blood loss which made me have more headaches. I do not take them daily because my previous doctors said I had too much iron in my system but I have a hard time storing it which is why every doctor I see can’t really fix it or diagnose it again because my panels read either too high, normal or low, so cheers to that.) I know this because my recent period lasted 7 days and was normal flow similar to how they use to be before I got on before control. I say this because your doctors won’t listen to you and will prescribe you a medicine regardless of your wishes. I decided not to take it and even now I’m losing the weight I gained slowly. 

My migraine medicine: Is used for both migraines (my neurologist wanted to boost it to the highest dose which I didn’t agree with since I already have the muscle tingles that happen all day and are annoying and could get kidney stones and I know I don’t drink enough water to stop that from happening; so I stuck to the dose I’m on. Again sometimes your doctors can be wrong. GO with what you’re comfortable with) and weight loss. The weight I’m losing could be contributed to that or the fact I stopped my BC pills, I’m unsure which or the fact I’m working again. 

So what helped me recover? 

 For one, I had a support system that kept me accountable in the form of my boyfriend who knew I struggled with eating. Including one of my highschool friend who kept track of if I eat in highschool when we were at lunch together, when my boyfriend couldn’t be there. Once I got into college, it became my own responsibility to hold myself accountable for eating and sometimes that didn’t happen because I become hyper-focus on one thing (still do) and fail to remember to eat. My boyfriend still checked in whenever he could to make sure I did eat whenever he choose to 

I changed my mentality. I no longer look for a diet to do. If I eat what society sees as unhealthy or healthy that doesn’t concern me. I’m going to eat what helps my body because I know what helps it. I know personally if my body doesn’t get enough nutrition I’ll suffer a headache and will get tired later on that day. You have to know your body and that starts with your mental. Some days will be bad and that just comes with recovery.

Eating the foods you like. I’m lucky enough to be on a college campus that allows us to be back in person during a pandemic and is serving us food. By them do this, I don’t often eat in my dorm room so I can save my food or don’t eat out or order in as often. Last semester when I lived in my own apartment, I ordered food a lot and I wasn’t ashamed by it. It just took a lot of my money. My college thankfully has the healthier options available for students who can’t eat meats or doesn’t prefer it. If I don’t eat in my cafetria on campus, I’ll go to our schools tea room if it’s open to grab something to eat if I don’t like anything they have, unless I ultimately have no time left I’ll eat in my room. 

I choose to eat whatever. Some days I’ll eat more vegetarian than meat or vegan that vegetarian or I’ll eat more meat if I want it. However, I do know that there’s days I’ll crave pizza. I don’t hold back and I’ll go get a pizza and it’ll last me three or two meals depending on how hungry I am or if I get Chinese food, that’s two meals. I learned to stop holding myself holding myself back from my cravings. If I want something, I’ll eat it.

One of the last things that helped me was watching over people go through recovery the same time I was choosing to. These people have already recovery so they don’t have many videos up anymore from that time in their lives so I can’t tag their channels here and probably won’t ever. But they helped me get through and see that I wasn’t alone. That it was okay to feel the things I was feeling. 

Lastly, I learned to start to love myself. I haven’t fully done it yet. But I don’t hate myself either. It’s taking time to realize that I deserve better in life. That despite what I look like, even if it’s at my heaviest or at my lowest I won’t care what people think of me as long as I love how I look. Now that’s been a struggle to work with and I’m only a few months into that mentality, but it feels good. I spent majority of my life avoiding mirrors and avoiding taking pictures with my family to the point I don’t have many pictures of myself from the times I grew up to now. Or I hardly understand some days how I look because I don’t look in the mirror. But I slowly starting to. I can tell in pictures on days where I do love myself and have confidence that I’m happier. I also learned to understand my worth and know that I shouldn’t feel miserable in a friendship. 

There’s small things you can do to recover now. It’s not an over night thing. There’s days where recovery will see pointless or if you’re even doing it right or if you’re just faking it for the shits and giggles, but you’re doing a good thing. Ultimately, recovery is about you. It’s not for anyone else. Not for your family, or your friends or your boyfriends or your pets. It’s for you and you alone. Because it only effects you physically and mentally and emotionally. You’re the one who has to deal with it 24/7 and has to actively choose to heal and keep healing every single day. It’s not going to be easy. I only listed a few things I’ve been through that was singular for me and important to me to voice, there were more things I did. I wish you all the best whether you choose recovery now, tomorrow, or in the future. Please stay safe.  

[ask-the-good-creeps]

You can open up if you'd like

TW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT MENTIONS. DEPRESSION MENTIONS. MENTAL HEALTH MENTIONS. DO NOT READ IF THESE THINGS COULD NEGATIVELY AFFECT YOU.

 Okiedokes, mi amigos. The following story happened years ago, but it still comes up in my mind a lot; and I feel like sharing the experience may benefit someone going through a rough patch and/or yield a bit of insight to y’all about why I think the way I do. If you decide to read further, please read it to the end.

 So, this story begins with my first year of university. I was nineteen years old, fresh out of the Arizona foster care system, and had a history of mental health issues (official diagnoses from the psychologists I saw was PTSD, Anxiety, Depression, and Bipolar Disorder Type II – all of which triggered and fed into each other) that I was medicated for at that point in my life.

 Things were going well for the first year…I made friends, I joined clubs and events, had an on-campus work study job, and was pulling decent grades in my classes. Then, the year ended and summer rolled around. I volunteered to spend my summer on-campus as a Resident Advisor for the university’s honors outreach program (where we brought 7th-9th graders to the campus for 2-week programs to give them a taste of college life and encourage them to come to us after high school, pretty much).

 To anyone on the outside looking in, things looked like they were going great for me. In my eyes, everything was going great. Except for one thing…my grade hadn’t posted in one of my classes for the semester, and I didn’t do to well on the final (in my opinion). I was slightly worried that I was going to fail the class – looking back now, that was a ridiculous worry because I was doing great in the class and the professor was a really cool dude that usually didn’t fail students unless they put in literally zero effort throughout the semester.

 But, I worried nonetheless.

 Even then, it didn’t feel like a big deal to me…what I didn’t realize is that subconsciously it was the straw that broke the camel’s back for my mental health.

 You see, being in foster care as a teen is Hell. Especially in Arizona. One of the things they drill into the heads of teens in “the system” is that we’re absolute failures who will drop off the map and end up leading miserable lives after we age out of foster care (probably because they don’t teach us the necessary life skills to survive outside of their care, but I digress…that’s another story for another day).

 In the group homes, I was the kid that stayed out of trouble and got straight-A’s in school. I was the kid who never smoked, drank alcohol, or tried drugs not even once in my life. I was the one that kept climbing and got accepted into university on full scholarship after high school. So, I was the one that all those adults of the foster care system used as an example…the one who had extremely high expectations on their shoulders as a result.

 So, when the grade for that class finally posted online and was not an A like my other classes (it was a C), it was the end of the world to my mind. I didn’t realize it when it happened, but seeing that grade made a thread of stability quietly snap behind the scenes where I couldn’t see it.

 As a result, I had a rogue thought.

 Now, when it comes to my thinking patterns, there is always a clear…well, pattern. If I’m thinking about my Great Aunt Vickie’s cat, for example, I can recognize that I started thinking about her because I thought of a funny cat story that was something similar to what Vickie’s cat did; and I can recognize that I thought of that funny cat story because I saw a cat meme on the internet yesterday; and so on, and so on, until I find the real-life stimulus that triggered the whole line of thinking.

 Rogue thoughts are a whole different matter entirely. Unlike my usual thinking patterns, these rogue thoughts just show up without any noticeable stimulus or previous thinking…and that makes them dangerous for someone like me, who has learned to control my depression through CBT and recognizing when my thought patterns are starting to get too negative for me.

 I returned to my apartment in between summer outreach programs (we had a few days to recoup between each 2-week session) and that’s when the rogue thought in question appeared.

 “Kill yourself.”

 That was the thought. It was not linked to any depressive thinking patterns, it was just there. It didn’t feel like a big thing, just another item on my to-do list for the short break I had. Had I been more used to rogue thoughts and encountered a similar one to this in the past, I would have thought more about it.

 I would have recognized that this thought may have popped into my conscious line of thought out of nowhere, but seen that it had deep roots in my subconscious thinking.

 But, I hadn’t had a rogue thought like this in the past.

 All of my previous suicidal ideations had patterns to trace back to in my conscious mind that allowed me to work through most of them without incident.

 So, I sat at my desk and started writing out a suicide note. It was very casual in tone, like a friendly farewell to my friends and family as opposed to being a depressing final record. I planned to jump off my apartment balcony the next day. After careful consideration, I decided that I would prefer my body to stay in one piece (my apartment was on the eighth floor, after all) and I opted to overdose on my medication instead.

 I had a little garden at my window, and I set the note there. I sent a quick text to my father that simply read, “My plants know the reason why.” I was prepared to take the pills…then my father called me.

 He was concerned, but I lied and said that I was just spouting random nonsense with the intent to confuse people (easily believable, as my catchphrase at the time seemed to be, ‘the pancakes fly at midnight and the waffles swim at dawn’ for some reason). He asked multiple times if I was alright, to which I always answered affirmatively. Then, the call ended.

 I went to my room and laid in bed. I put in my headphones and turned on my music. Then, I swallowed ten of my prescription pills (which I was only supposed to take one of every 24 hours, for reference). After that, I swallowed a literal handful of melatonin tablets I picked up OTC, because I didn’t want to be awake for the damage the prescription meds would do to my system.

 I laid back in bed with the music going, and passed out fairly quickly. However, the melatonin wasn’t enough to keep me unconscious as my body started trying to purge the pills in an act of self-preservation. I couldn’t open my eyes because every time I did, the room spun. I was throwing up a lot, and at one point when I leaned over the bedside to get it on the floor instead I lost my balance and faceplanted onto the ground (which I found out later had led to a broken nose). I didn’t even feel it, just the pain my insides were going through as I faded in and out of consciousness.

 Here’s where it gets interesting, reader. It was night by now, and the lights in my room were off. The livingroom light was on and it shined in through the crack under my closed (and locked) bedroom door. Even if I could open my eyes, it wasn’t enough light to see by.

 Yet, it wasn’t my eyes that detected anything. I felt a presence in my room with me, there in the dark. It felt like I knew this person, as if they were a close friend, despite the fact that I had no idea who they were. I remember asking this person,

 “Do I still have enough of the poison left in my system to kill me?”

 To which I received their reply:

 “No. You’ve coughed enough of it up. You’re going to be alright.”

 I cracked my eyes open ever so slightly and saw a flashing blue light shining up at the ceiling every so often. It was a notification light on my phone, which I had left plugged in to charge on the dresser next to my bed.

 My goal here was to die, not to suffer. Since this person there with me insisted I wasn’t going to die, I reached out with my eyes still closed a couple times. I managed to grab my charge cord and pull my phone off the dresser and to the floor next to me.

 It took a couple tries to dial emergency services (911) because I couldn’t keep my eyes open very well, but eventually I got an operator on the line and managed to briefly explain why I called in between bouts of vomiting.

 The paramedics came in. They asked me what I had overdosed on, how many pills I’d taken, and when I took them. I answered with the name of my med, that I had taken ten times my normal dose, and that I didn’t check the time but it was still light out.

The paramedics didn’t believe me at first. One of them told me it was almost light out again now, and that taking that amount of that med meant I should not be alive still, let alone able to express semi-coherent thoughts. They didn’t believe me until they picked up my pill bottle and saw how many were gone.

 I was taken to the hospital and spent a few days recovering there. I had my eyes closed and was in and out of consciousness the whole time, so I’m still not sure exactly what they had to do to keep me alive (though I don’t remember getting my stomach pumped, and I think I heard someone say something about charcoal).

 On my third day there, I started to think on what happened and realized something. I still didn’t know who had been in that room with me. The paramedics had to get a key from the front desk when they arrived and go through two locked doors (my front door and my bedroom) to get to me. My apartment was on the eighth floor, so someone coming in through the (also locked) window was out of the question.

 I didn’t recognize the person’s voice, so I chalked it up to my brain treating me to reverse psychology through an auditory hallucination to keep me alive. Though, that is just a theory.

 So, dear reader, you’re probably wondering why I decided to share this story. Well, it’s not really the story that I wanted to share, but what I learned from the experience.

 I learned that suicide is not a proper course of action, no matter the circumstances. 

I learned that we cannot die before it is our time – the universe will intervene. 

I learned that I have plenty of people who care (though very few of them know why I was in the hospital in 2015). 

I learned that stress is not to be taken lightly (subconsciously I had been super stressed about my C-grade and the implications that I was a failure because of it, and also because of everything loaded on my plate) and it must be handled in a healthy way. 

I learned how to say ‘no’ to avoid putting too much on my plate.

 Most importantly, I learned about freeing myself from the expectations of others. You see, my friend, you will meet many people throughout your life that are important to you that have expectations of you. Family, friends, teachers, mentors, and so on…and you may be worried about disappointing them, as I once was. But please understand that only your own expectations for yourself truly matter, and if you try to please everyone else you’ll end up in a really tight spot. Learn to let go of what they want and pursue your own passions and dreams (preferably before you end up going to university for a major you aren’t even fond of, like I did).

 Lastly, If you feel or think in any capacity that suicide is something you should do, I encourage you to think twice, and reach out openly and honestly with what you’re experiencing to someone you trust in your life or to a Mental Health/Suicide Prevention hotline. If you feel like you have nowhere else to turn, I’m here.

 As someone who almost became a statistic, believe me…I understand.

[quinintheclouds]

Heyyyyyyyy quin, im gonna rant at you for a bit, because im fucking done with this bullshit!!! So, as of right now, my father's plan is to force me to redo freshman year, wether i want to or not(surprise surprise! i don't) He concluded this after taking one look at my grades from this year(four ds, one two as, two bs. not what i would consider good but thats not the poINT HERE) His exact words were "you are redoing your 9th grade year. its just a question of when." 1/idontfuckingknow

(Gonna paste the rest of your asks here. Tw: suicide mention)

Now, i, having already had a slightly toned-down version of this bloody conversation with my mother, did not have the patience for this shit. The following argument goes aproxxamately as follows,(this is a paraphrased version) beginning with me: "No. No, i already had this fucking conversation, im not redoing a year." "What POSSIBLE ARGUMENT COULD YOU HAVE for me to think so??" silence. "Do you ASPIRE to be a waitress?? Maybe a hairdresser" nothing. It only gets worse frome here. 2/??

"How much EFFORT DID YOU PUT INTO FUCKING THIS UP??" Now, lets stop here for a moment. What the fuck is my father, the man who's jizz became me, trying to pull? Anyway, my response was bewildered at best and full on APPALLED AND ENRAGED at worst: "you think i fucking- what makes you- I PUT EFFOR- THATS THESTUPIDESTSHITVIE EVERFUCKINGHEARD!??!!!! WHAT makes you think i DID IT ON PURPOSE??????" "THIS- *waves my report card in my face, wildly* MAKES ME THINK YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE." 3/4maybe5or6idk

Now, ive been trying, oh have i been trying, to get it through this man's head FOR YEARS, that i would never get bad grades on purpose. That should be a given right??? Anyway, he waves the paper in my face, and i (justly) had tears in my eyes. This is the angriest ive seen my father, which is saying a fucking lot, and hes about 8 inches from me, looking me DEAD IN THE FACE. And I have tears in my eyes. I was terrified, and im pretty sure i looked terrified. But did he care? mmmnotreally! 4/???

Ok, im not sure what else exactly he said(other than, sprinkled in there, that I manipulated my mother[no,] and that i 'couldve not shown up to class and still wouldntve done this bad') but either way, he walked away, saying "You WILL NOt be a sophomore at [my school] next year. we arent doing this again." *john mulaney voice* now, we don't have time to unpack all of that, If my father didn't give a shit about me before, he definitely doesn't now. This just fucking confirms it for me. 5/6

Actually, let me rephrase. He, no, BOTH of my parents don't give a shit about my mental health. They care about my grades because, if they turn out good, this tells them theyve done something right. They only give a shit about me if it benefits them, in that way or otherwise. This is what I've figured out. Honestly, i think im gonna have to tell him that ill fucking kill myself if im forced to redo freshman year. At this point, its the only way to get it through his head. 6/fuckigottadoonemore

And, at this point, im not even sure that if i said that, I'd be lying. In fuCKING conclusion, my parents do not give a shit. They don't give A SHIT, about how much BEING HELD BACK, is gonna FUCKING AFFECT ME, THEY JUST WANT MY GRADES TO BE BETTER SO THEY CAN FEEL BETTER ABOUT THEM-FUCKING-SELVES. I'm done now.

_________________________________________________________

Wow, that sounds stressful as all hell... also your parents sound like mine. I can’t stand parents who put blame on their kid for their mental health or struggles. They don’t need the burden of thinking it’s their fault ON TOP OF the burden of actually dealing with that shit! Is it possible to talk to a counselor at school about not wanting to repeat the year? Those grades qualify you to move on, don’t they? I’d be as pissed as you if my dad tried to do that. It’s your education. My parents have screamed at me about grades many a time, and I FEEL your pain. The way they’re acting is unhealthy for you, and I’m so so sorry you have to go through it. Telling you your future has no potential unless you do what they say is manipulative bullshit.

"How much EFFORT DID YOU PUT INTO FUCKING THIS UP??" OH MY GOD if I had an ant for every time my parents said this to me I could make an ant colony strong enough to take over the world. It is NOT okay. Suggesting that your work is a failure in the first place is awful, but adding in that you did it on purpose is a terrible parenting excuse because they think it reflects on them. That shit will mess you up. I still struggle to remember that me having trouble with something doesn’t make it my fault. I used to believe them and blame myself for every break I took. Playing a video game? Could’ve been studying. Reading a book? Should have asked for extra credit. All of that is ridiculous and harmful to any kid or adult. Let’s get one thing clear: it is NOT. YOUR. FAULT. And another: grades are not a measurement of effort, intelligence, or worth. They’re structured poorly and the entire school system desperately needs revamping. Your future is not doomed regardless of your grades.

Your dad saying you “'couldve not shown up to class and still wouldntve done this bad'” is ABHORRENT. Telling you that you not trying at all is better than any efforts you make is just so profoundly fucked up, pardon my French. Also, completely wrong. 

“BOTH of my parents don't give a shit about my mental health. They care about my grades because, if they turn out good, this tells them theyve done something right. They only give a shit about me if it benefits them, in that way or otherwise.“ My parents are the same way. They only care about whether something makes them look good or bad. You are NOT their trophy to show off as though your achievements are their own, and you are NOT some shameful thing for them to treat poorly. You are, always have been, and always will be, your own person. 

I’m gonna use a quote from a show that hits me really hard and I feel that every child of awful parents needs to hear. “I’m... sorry. I’m sorry your parents don’t care enough. You have every right to be angry. But you deserve to be happy.” You have been through so much, and your anger is absolutely justified. And yet, that doesn’t mean you can’t or won’t be happy. You deserve better than anger. You deserve to be happy. “And I hope you can find that... even if it’s not today.”

“Honestly, i think im gonna have to tell him that ill fucking kill myself if im forced to redo freshman year. At this point, its the only way to get it through his head. And, at this point, im not even sure that if i said that, I'd be lying.” I have been there, so I’ll be 100% honest with you. If your parents are anything like mine -- and it sounds like they are -- telling them you’ll kill yourself still won’t get through to them. In fact, it might make them take you even less seriously if they see you using it as leverage. Kids of parents that don’t take mental health seriously often drive themselves further into depression as a cry for help (not by their own fault) that’s perpetuated by never being heard. I got worse and worse (tw suicide ment) and I told my parents I was having suicidal thoughts. They just saw it as lazy and selfish and overreacting. I spiraled deeper. Then, when I made an attempt, my mom was furious, screaming at me and threatening me because I could’ve messed up her gun. “If you really want to be dead, ask me and I’ll gladly do it for you. At least I know how to use a fucking gun right.”

I could go on with the rest of that story, but I’ll sum it up by saying: I got help. I got better. I realized that if they wouldn’t care about me, I would. I knew what I was feeling was real. I knew I needed help if I wanted to survive. And now, I’ve found real happiness and more stability. Mental health issues don’t go away easily, and I know it’s not the same for everyone, but working on them is so worth it. I promise it can get better. People like to think of happiness as a long-term thing, but life will always have its ups and downs... I still have down days. I won’t pretend I don’t still have a lot to work through. But I am, finally, okay. I never knew “okay” could be the default, or how okay life could be. And it’s amazing. Happy happens a lot more now, and depression is smaller and manageable. I know you’re stuck where you are for now, and may not have access to professional help. But please... Please care about yourself, even if your parents don’t. I care about you. You deserve to, too. 

I’ve had so many moments that I felt were the last straw, that I couldn’t handle any more, that I was broken or ruined or doomed, but even then I somehow managed to survive. And I can honestly say I am so, so glad that I did. Please don’t let your parents ruin that for you. It’s not your fault for where you are. And it’s not where you’ll be forever. No matter what happens in this situation, whether it’s repeating the grade or moving on to the next, I believe that you can make it through. You are so fucking strong for making it this far. I know you might not believe me, but try to trust me. You. Deserve. Better. And even if it sucks right now, you absolutely can get there.

[jvnisms-blog]

♡♡          hey babes !! it’s ya gal charmi at it again, the mun of azami, with yet another chaotic child on my hands. meet jung woojin and find out more about him below the cut & hit me up for plots or like this and i will slide into your messages !! before you read on please be aware of these triggers: tw: eating disorder mention, tw: depression mention, tw: anxiety mention, tw: self harm mention, tw: parental death mention, tw: suicide mention, tw: domestic abuse mention. all of these are brief and very vague however i want y’all to be safe !! without further ado: 

BACKSTORY: 

was in and out of the adoption system most of his life and went to many toxic homes and families that were neglectful or abusive because he wasn't the perfect child they had dreamed of. at first thought he was never going to be fostered at all because he wasn't the ideal age or considered young enough really for many family setups to want him. 

was separated from his brother in the adoption system and has never fully got over it since they grew up closer than ever due to their circumstances and were more like twins. strongly believing for a long time they were the only ones who could look out for each other and make the miserable upbringing worth fighting through. he still believes he's the only one who can really protect his brother and tears himself apart thinking of how he might have suffered without him, if it was the same way he did. 

the father died of alcohol issues and early set heart failure. the mother decided in her grief and mourning she could not cope with the boys and got rid of them before taking her own life. both parents were fairly young when they had the boys, too young really. 

the boy grew up believing he was a monster and that he was far too violent for loving or to be loved. that he only brought destruction and damage everywhere he went. simply put he was too rough around the edges. 

was taught to believe that if he simply kept quiet and out of the way maybe his foster parents would love him more and he could make his life there more bearable.

his school and teachers did nearly find out but he always lied and covered it up well, in fact lying became increasingly easy because he didn't believe there was anything better waiting for him anyway, he did not want to be saved and a part of him still wanted to pray for the best in his foster parents, a sudden change. a part of him thought he was strong enough to deal with their violence bestowed upon him now. 

of course though this made him a very angry kid with a lot of secrets and a lot of pain he had to keep buried, a lot of the time he became too agressive with his friends and people who attempted to help him because it was all he knew, agressive spat out hurtful words and rash actions that are just a touch too brutal. a shove, words spat in faces. he's trying to be better though, he really is. he doesn't want to hurt or break things anymore. that's all. 

he's beaten up a lot, he tends to brush it off with a 'it happens' or 'it wasn't a big deal' when his ribs end up broken and he's taping them up himself etc.

some nervous dispositions that have stuck are things such as shaking a lot, folding arms in on himself and making himself appear smaller, biting his nails down over excessively.

abandoned foster child who fell prey to the system and came out worse for it because of it all is basically his whole niche. 

a lot of things become an argument even when he doesn't intend it, apologies can come out more like taunting. he can be sharp tongued and ugly with his words. 

in turn he's bad at accepting apologies even when he knows deep down things are his own fault. he struggles to find words that don't burn and hurt and take. he just doesn't know how to do comfort, he thinks he has the idea sometimes but he is scared to reach out and give the wrong touch, end up hurting more instead. 

he has an issue with touching in general. he doesn't let himself do it much, doesn't bestow it on others. he knows what he can be capable of how he can't control his own strength and he is terrified of himself.* biggest promise to himself is that he never hurts anyone even in the smallest way even when its justified in an emotional breakdown or when he is trying to keep himself from being abandoned once again. he won't let himself. 

' you know what they say about monsters. you know what happens to the people who love them. are you going to do that?' even if no one else is afraid of him. he is afraid of himself.

' your hands don't know how to be gentle, think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise. you wolf boy, you war machine. you wouldn't know how to hold something magic and not destroy it...' 

is littered in bruises and scars and burn marks. 

CURRENT LIFE: 

since moving to daegu he has slowly made progress, healed, gotten better. he has worked away at himself until he made himself more of a tragic masterpiece than a messy splash of unfinished painting and blurry mottled colours. 

he lives with four friends, close friends who have been with him through everything and taught him how to healthily feel not only happiness and love but also let go of and exhale all of that pain and anger and violence he could not control. that was not his own but haunted him. aching to be placed somewhere else than inside his body which was too small to feel such hurt and heartbreak.

he got therapy after many tries with many therapists who botched up he eventually found one who worked and helped him look for new hobbies which would channel and turn his pessimistic and negative energy and burdens into something more beautiful or better managed. he slowly learned to trust himself at least a little bit more once again. she also helped him on a journey of distance without isolation so he could understand he would not do the harm he always imagined he was the root of. 

when he leaves his family, it is in the middle of the night with packed bags and not much else to his name. he thinks it'll be easier on everyone that way, no letters or texts or calls. in fact he breaks his phone and switches it out for a cheap new one when he's ready to be contacted once again. there are no goodbyes.

he spends four years just crashing on his friend's floor of their apartment who are a couple who practically raise him and take him under their wing and simply accept him in all his flawed and closed off excellence, simply listening and accepting and providing a safe haven without expectations of any kind. 

he works on painting, writing, gardening anything that will teach him how to love and nurture better than he did before. to see beauty and nourish it instead of destroy it or twist it. he learns piano finding romance in the music. 

he got over his eating disorder and began cooking, become a rather skilled chef with his friends help and had more regular meals especially under his guidance when he couldn't cook then the other would do it for him. feeding him steadily every day to build his appetite back up again. 

he took more care to exercise and keep his body and health much more good, nothing amazing but finally the average. he also got a couple jobs all that would help him with communication and learning new talents or discovering his own further.

slowly he stopped flinching every time someone tried to touch or did touch him. small touches from his friends ease him along, an arm slung around his shoulders, a hand in his own, a gentle hug. he finds a makeshift home and love and happiness where everyone isn't trying overly hard to find a way to nurse it into him.

eventually recently he has came to a point where he can cancel his therapy sessions comfortably and flush those pills to help with that anxiety and unbearable sadness. somehow he learns how to breathe again all by himself without someone else coaching him through it all.

EXTRA: 

woojin is gay so romance plots are only applicable to other male muses however in the past before he knew of his sexuality he could’ve had an ex girlfriend or two!

potential romance plot inspiration heavily inspired by the poem yes & no by natalie wee. there’s a lot of flexibility on this one in terms of timeframing so just hit me up to discuss it more after reading the poem if you’re interested !!

the usual plots are of course up for grabs: childhood best friend, current best friend, ex’s, first love, friends he met through therapy, friends he met in the foster system, confidant, coffee fix partner, fake dating, study partner ( he’s studying music ofc and he specializes in production ), someone he writes lyrics for, someone he writes lyrics with or produces with, someone who makes him realize how amazing his lyrics actually are and how much potential lies within that talent as a career goal, his muse, i imagine he works a part time job as a waiter so do with that what u will maybe they can be work buddies?, also does babysitting every now and then for extra cash, etc. 

[queenofnevers]

[TW: Suicide] So my birthday is almost upon me. It’s never a good time for me because it’s so easier to dwell on all the failures in my life regarding where I want to be in my transition, with regard to financial stability, and so many other aspects of my existence. It just feels like an anniversary of lost time. Of mortality being fleeting and that I can’t get back the years I’ve lost, that I wasted, that I waited, that hesitated and let my mental health issues take from me. There’s no refunding that. I want that time back so badly. I want the decade back I lost that I could have spend transitioning and being the woman I was meant to be. The worst of it is that it reminds me I’m still here and feeling stuck still. I originally made a promise to myself in my mid 20′s that if I wasn’t out of this pit of an existence I’d lived in since I was a teenager that I’d kill myself by 33. I didn’t want to live another decade like that. I had even intention to do it. I was ready to just chance that nonexistence was better, that a higher power would take pity on me being another trans woman who wouldn’t make it, or that the slim chance I’d get another roll of the dice and come back in the right skin could happen. By despite having tried to kill myself at least two times prior to that when my 33rd birthday came I couldn’t do it. I tried to resolve myself that I could keep going and to stop giving a fuck about all the things that were holding me back and just be me. I came out about being trans, then being non-binary, then wanting to transition, then about two years ago changed my name among my friends and the like, and even in the last six months I’ve overcome an utter fear of being photographed and started sharing my face with people, dressing en femme as often as I can, it all feels like baby steps but I’m closer to getting on HRT and living openly and freely as who I want to be and that all feels worth it, like I made the right choice. But there’s also this strong sense of being lost and still feeling stuck in a lot of ways. Like I’m five years now past that point, at the threshold of my 38th year, and I’ve barely gotten this far because I spent so long being sure I’d be dead and none of this would matter so my credit is garbage, my finances are a disaster, I’m barely staying a float work-wise, I have no savings for retirement, and my health isn’t great due to not taking care of myself during 10 years of living entirely in the shadow of my depression, dysphoria and anxiety. So while I know I’ve taken steps towards where I want to be, and they’re huge steps when I really think about them, it just looks like there are so many more left and I feel like I ran out of time years ago and my chance should be up. So I feel lost and aimless and adrift despite being nearly 40. Everything just feels so liminal and I like spinning plates waiting to fall and it seems so much worse around that anniversary of my suddenly existing despite getting no say in the matter. I’m better than I was, further than I thought I’d ever get, but I’m worried there aren’t many hours left in the day and that I won’t make it where I need to go. Just needed to say all this and get it out of my system if nothing else. At least shouting into the void is cathartic for a fleeting moment.

[loretranscripts]

Lore Episode 6: Echoes (Transcript) - 18th May 2015

tw: mental illness, abuse, rape, death, mistreatment of mentally ill people, lobotomies, body horror, medical procedures, ableist language - generally, be very careful with this one

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

The setting of a story is everything – it creates mood and atmosphere, it triggers memories, and helps our minds fill in the blanks, adding tension and suspense where there was only words and images. What would The Shining be like without the long hotel hallways of the Overlook, or The Legend of Hell House without the dusty bones of the old Belasco House, and how can anybody ever look at an old cabin in the woods without a chill running down their spine? Not me, that’s for sure. One of the most iconic and most visceral settings from any horror story, without a question, has always been the insane asylum. These days we refer to the institutions that treat mental disorders as psychiatric hospitals. They’re hard places to work – I know this first hand thanks to a colourful college internship that featured a double amputee who enjoyed streaking down the hallway on his knees. Mental health professionals do amazing work, but a lot more than just the name has changed than the name of these hospitals of the mind. In the late 1800s and through to the 1850s, asylums were a very different place. They were filled with sick people in need of help, but frequently they were only offered pain and suffering. When H. P. Lovecraft wrote The Thing on the Doorstep in 1933, he imagined a place that he called “Arkhum Sanitarium”. Arkhum is the seed, it’s the first of its kind; through it, Lovecraft brought the asylum into the horror genre, and others quickly caught on. The famous super-prison and mental hospital of the Batman universe, “Arkhum Asylum”, is a blatant and direct call-back to Lovecraft’s invention. Arkhum was a real place, though, known as the Danvers State Hospital. In fact, the remains of it stand just 8 miles from my front door, and even before construction began in 1874, the hospital’s story was already one of fear and suffering, a theme that continued unchecked well into the 20thcentury. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and the is Lore.

Before the days of institutional care for the mentally ill, the job was left largely to independent contractors – people who were hired by the state to look after others, but that was a system with far too many opportunities for failure. Patients were routinely placed in cages or stalls, and they were chained and beaten into submission. Violence, rape and death were everyday occurrences. Thankfully, people began to look for a better way, a more humane way of caring for these individuals, and those conversations led to the establishment of a new, state-of-the-art mental hospital. Plans started off on the wrong foot, though. The site that was chosen for the construction was the former homestead of John Hathorne, one of the nine magistrates who oversaw the witch trials of Salem in 1692. Hawthorne was known for his vicious, harsh attitude towards those who were accused of witchcraft, and he pushed hard for their execution. He was so well-known for his violent and hateful personality that his great-great-grandson, the author Nathaniel Hawthorne, changed the spelling of his last name, adding the “w”, to distance himself from that reputation. And it was there, on Hathorne Hill, that the foundations of the hospital were laid. The chances are pretty high that no one made the comparisons at the time, but hindsight is always 20/20, and looking back over the last century and a half, it’s clear that Hathorne’s legacy lived on atop that hill.

The Danvers State Hospital was actually intended to be a beacon of hope. There was a specific plan behind its design, one that was based on the work of Dr. Thomas Kirkbride. He designed the building with four radiating wings on each side of a central structure. His reason was simple: with more of the rooms exposed to sunlight and proper ventilation, more of the patients would experience recovery. All told, the hospital was designed to house 500 patients, covering a wide spectrum of mental illness, who were served by a team of roughly one dozen staff. When the doors finally opened in 1878, it was originally called the State Lunatic Hospital, and there was no other place like it in the country. It was set up to be a leader in the humane treatment of patients, and became the model for countless other facilities like it, and rightly so - this place was amazing. The ornate interiors, private rooms, sunny corridors, all connected to the central Kirkbride building. The patients were encouraged to exercise and participate in the community gardens outside. The small farm there even produced enough food for the hospital kitchen to feed the patients home-grown meals. Over time, though, the hospital expanded. There were separate Tuberculosis buildings, housing for staff, a machine shop, a medical building, and a pump house to pull water from the reservoir. All of these locations were connected underground by a network of dark, brick-lined tunnels, arranged in the shape of a wagon wheel to allow easy movement during the harsh New England winters. Bur the hospital campus wasn’t the only thing that was expanding.

As with all good things, the bright days of the Danvers State Hospital didn’t last long. More and more patients were admitted each year, and the staff continued to struggle with keeping up. In addition, decreased state funding prevented them from hiring more help. By the 1920s, the population had grown to almost 2000 patients, four times what the facility was designed to hold. One eyewitness reported that in November of 1945, the evening shift at the hospital consisted of nine people, and they were expected to care for the needs of nearly 2300 patients. You’ll have to pardon the expression, but things at the Danvers State Hospital had begun to get crazy. Patients were frequently sick and filthy. It was not uncommon for some to die unnoticed, only to be found days later. It was nearly impossible for the staff to manage so many patients, and so they turned to the acceptable tools of their time: straight jackets, solitary confinement, even restraints. However barbaric they may seem to us today, were mild compared to some of the other methods used by the staff. Patients were regularly subjected to hydrotherapy and electro-shock therapy, and yet it somehow still managed to get worse, and that’s where the lobotomy enters this story.

First pioneered by Dr. Walter Freeman in 1936, the lobotomy was a complicated procedure. The surgeon would literally cut the patient’s brain, severing the connection between the frontal lobes and the thalamus. The goal was to reduce symptoms and make patients more manageable. The results were mixed. Some patients died as a result of the procedure, while others would commit suicide later. Freeman, though, quickly grew tired of how long it took to complete the procedure. He heard of a doctor in Italy who had operated on his patients through their eye sockets. Working without drilling or cutting presented an opportunity that Freeman simply couldn’t pass up. He called his technique the “transorbital lobotomy”. It’s fairly easy to describe, but its not for the faint of heart. Freeman discovered that the only surgical tool he really needed was an ice-pick. According to his son, Franklin Freeman, in a PBS interview in 2008, those first ice-picks came right out of their kitchen icebox, and they worked like a charm. By inserting the ice-pick into the inner corner of a patient’s eye, Freeman could punch through the skull to reach the brain. Then he would essentially, um, stir the frontal lobe until it was no longer functional. Oh, and one more thing: he did all of this without anaesthetic.

And he got good at it, so good, in fact, that he took his show on the road. He literally toured the nation in a van that he called the “lobotomobile”, stopping at mental institutions, where he would educate and train the staff in his own technique. While he was there, he would perform as many lobotomies as they needed for the low, low cost of just $25 per patient. It sounds like Freeman was delivering the solution to a desperate industry, but that was pretty far from the truth. His patients often lost the ability to feed themselves or use the bathroom unassisted, and those skills would have to be retaught, if it was even possible. While many patients recovered, about 15% died from the procedure. Relapses were common, and sometimes the lobotomy would have to be reattempted. Once, in 1951, at Iowa’s Cherokee Mental Health Institute, Freeman stopped in the middle of a lobotomy, ice-pick clutched in his hand, so that he could pose for a photograph. The instrument penetrated a bit too far and the patient died. He never wore gloves or a mask, and he apparently had no limits. In fact, of the 3500 lobotomies that he performed in 23 states, 19 of those patients were minors - one of them, a four-year-old child. Ironically, some people still don’t believe in monsters.

The horror of institutional lobotomy ended in 1954 when a new drug was brought to the market. Thorazine was marketed as a chemical lobotomy, and the need for the surgical procedure dropped dramatically. But the nightmare never really stopped at Danvers State Hospital. During the 1980s, reports began to filter out about missing teenage patients. One account I managed to find said that upwards of 115 patients had disappeared in the space of about three months. The hospital never spoke about it publicly because their closure was already looming on the horizon. They knew that it was happening. When the staff was questioned they all pointed toward a new doctor on staff. In each case, they said these patients had been assigned to this new doctor upon admission, and then vanished. Scraps of paper were found in several of the patients’ rooms that mentioned a tall man in the woods. Some were drawings of the man, and some were simply too illegible to make out at all. As the pieces were slowly put together, it became clear that this doctor had been taking patients outside of the building, without permission, for unknown reasons. Eventually the police were called, and when they arrived to take the man into custody, they found that he, too, was gone, and his patients were never found.

But this was just one more tragedy in a long string of bad news that had wrapped itself around the Danvers State Hospital, beginning in the 1960s. Massive budget cuts, building closings and structural damage had all conspired to slowly push the doors closed. By 1985, nearly every building on campus was abandoned, and the Kirkbride administrative building itself even closed in 1989. The last remaining patients were moved to the medical building onsite, but were all eventually moved to other facilities with the help of the national guard and 80 ambulances. The hospital was officially abandoned in the summer of 1992, and stood vacant and derelict for nearly a decade. The rooms that once played host to mindless victims of Dr. Freeman and his ice-pick became the home of homeless squatters. They built their lives around the decaying medical equipment, the wheelchairs, the bedframes… It’s probably the healthiest inmate population the building had known for decades. In 2005, the property was bought by a developer, and much of the campus was demolished to make way for a sprawling apartment complex. But they left the front façade of the Kirkbride building, with its soaring Gothic towers and intricate brickwork. But the hospital, it didn’t go quietly. In April of 2007, four of the apartment buildings, as well as a handful of construction trailers, mysteriously burnt down. It was a fire so big that it was visible from Boston, 17 miles to the south. There was an investigation, but it turned up no evidence other than webcam footage from the construction site, which inexplicably cut out just before the fire began.

The image of an asylum will forever hold a place in our hearts as something to be feared and avoided. Whether new and sunny, or ancient and decaying, the asylum is a setting that causes people to back away, a ball of terror rising in their stomachs. But why? On a rational level, these were places of hope for many people. Still, the very concept of a residential hospital for the mentally ill, complete with 19th century décor and equipment, is the stuff of nightmares. Perhaps what we really fear is losing control over ourselves. Restraints, locked rooms, medication and irreversible medical procedures represent for many of us the opposite of freedom. We fear losing our dignity, losing our well-being, losing our very minds. Death, however, is chasing all of us. The curse of mortality is that we are already handing those things over, day by day, until the time when there’s nothing left to give. Perhaps the stereotypical asylum simply reminds us of the inevitable truth that is our own death.

The Danvers State Hospital is nearly gone today, but reminders still linger of its presence. Besides the brick façade of the Kirkbride building, one of the roads there is even called “Kirkbride Drive”. The reservoir that provided the facility with its water can be found behind the apartment buildings, and that vast network of ancient tunnels is still there as well, snaking its way beneath the modern structures, and the people who live inside them. One final reminder awaits people who come for a visit, though. The old asylum cemetery. Its where the staff buried patients who died and went unclaimed by family. There are no tall tombstones, though. Instead, each grave is marked by a small, square stone with a number engraved on it, and there are hundreds of them. Anyone looking for the cemetery will know that they’ve found it when they see a large boulder that marks the entrance. It was placed there in recent past to explain why all those small, square stones are there. But it’s the message engraved on it, and not the grave markers themselves, that communicates everything we need to know. It simply reads: “The echoes they left behind”.

Lore is a biweekly podcast and was produced by me, Aaron Mahnke. You can find out more about this episode, including the background music, at lorepodcast.com, and be sure to follow us on Twitter and Facebook at lorepodcast. Your ratings and reviews on ITunes make all the difference for this show, so please take a moment today to fill one out. You can find links to help you do that at lorepodcast.com/support. Oh, and if you enjoy scary stories, I happen to write them. You can find a full list of my supernatural thrillers, available in paperback and ebook formats, at aaronmahnke.com/novels. Thanks for listening.

Notes

1. I just wanted to note that the story of “the tall man in the woods” is in fact inaccurate, and based on an edit someone made to the Wikipedia page on Danvers State Hospital, which was based on a creepy pasta they had written. It was only up for a week, but that happened to be the week during which Aaron was researching.

[leviathangourmet]

Two decades after political theorists in the United States and Europe celebrated a “post-national constellation” and “cosmopolitan democracy,” politics is increasingly shaped by explicitly nationalist appeals. The avatar of this new nationalism is Donald Trump, who urged the world in his United Nations speech last month “to reject the ideology of globalism and accept the ideology of patriotism.”

In Mr. Trump’s version of nationalism, Muslims and Mexican-Americans are stigmatized, and African-American football players who protest racial injustice by kneeling during the national anthem are denounced. Some of his applications of “America first” — repudiating the Paris climate agreement or abandoning the Iran nuclear deal — may not even prove to be in the national interest.

But these failings should not lead you to dismiss the value of nationalism, which, by itself, is neither good nor evil, liberal nor conservative. The perception of a common national identity is essential to democracies and to the modern welfare state, which depends on the willingness of citizens to pay taxes to aid fellow citizens whom they may never have set eyes upon.

Today’s nationalist revival is in reaction to the failure of global, not nation-based, initiatives that sailed over the heads of ordinary citizens. The reaction has been most potent on the political right, but there is certainly a basis for a liberal or social-democratic nationalism. If anything, the decline of liberal and social-democratic parties is a result at least in part of their inability to distinguish what is legitimate and justifiable in nationalism from what is small-minded, bigoted and contrary to the national interest it claims to uphold.

The bold supranational initiatives of globalization — a system of floating exchange rates in relation to the dollar; the unrestricted flow of capital; free trade (with few tariffs and government subsidies) monitored by the new World Trade Organization; the expansion of NATO and the European Union to ensure that former Communist states became liberal capitalist democracies — have unquestionably done some good. They helped expand trade and benefited immigrants who fled from less to more developed nations.

But in the United States and Western Europe, none of these initiatives really delivered as promised. The global economy has suffered a succession of financial crises culminating in the Great Recession and continuing to this day in Turkey and Argentina. The free movement of companies has led to a global race to the bottom for wages, taxes and regulation and to growing inequality within nations. Instead of producing convergence between the richer export-driven economies of Northern Europe and the less developed countries of Southern Europe, the euro has widened the gap between them.

They also failed to transform the global order in a way beneficial to Western democracies: NATO’s expansion eastward, betraying a pledge the George H.W. Bush administration made to Soviet leaders, contributed to rising conflict with the new Russian federation. And China’s entry into the W.T.O. didn’t lead to Beijing embracing free enterprise and liberal democracy. China used its command economy to run huge trade surpluses with the United States and Europe, helping to create a new class of angry “left-behinds” in factory towns in the American South and Midwest and in northeastern England.

The rush of immigrants in the United States has brought about a clash of culture just as it had in past centuries. Employers have also used low-skilled immigrants to undercut unions and to turn mid-wage jobs in construction, meatpacking and janitorial services into low-wage labor. After Sept. 11, 2001, the resentment toward immigrants became fused with a rising fear in the United States and especially in Europe of Islamist terrorism. That created a huge political backlash against immigrants and refugees.

Put that backlash together with the anger bred by lost manufacturing jobs and declining social services from reduced tax revenues, and you have the political base for Mr. Trump’s victory in 2016, Brexit and Italy’s League party.

In the United States, Mr. Trump’s nationalist policies have not been without merit. Where his predecessors have feared alienating China, he has boldly challenged its transfer of technology, cybertheft and hidden trade subsidies and barriers. He has also spoken up for American manufacturing industries and their workers, and chided footloose companies like Nabisco, Ford and Carrier.

But much of what Mr. Trump has done to make America great may eventually make it poorer. His corporate tax cut accelerates globalization’s race to the bottom. Much of the savings have already gone to corporate buybacks rather than new investment, and the resulting loss of tax revenues will threaten social spending for the people he claims to represent.

His Hobbesian take-no-prisoners approach to trade and foreign policy — sowing conflict with allies as well as rivals and foes — will threaten the underpinnings of global peace and prosperity, which still depends on a grudging acceptance of American economic and military power. There are already foreshadowings of future financial disorder — in discussions by the European Union, Russia and China to defy American sanctions against Iran by creating a new funding authority that would evade the dollar and by Russia and China’s decision to use their own currencies rather than the dollar as the medium of exchange. Mr. Trump’s immigration initiatives, too, have merely reinforced cultural resentments and done little to stem the oversupply of unskilled and easy-to-exploit unauthorized immigrants.

In all of these areas, Mr. Trump has harmed, not strengthened, our nation. Yet in the United States, the liberal opposition has generally failed to acknowledge what is valid in the today’s nationalist backlash. Many liberal pundits and political scientists continue to echo Hillary Clinton in characterizing Mr. Trump’s supporters in 2016 as deplorables. They denounce Mr. Trump’s tariffs without proposing any plausible means of counterbalancing the huge surpluses from China and Germany. They dismiss as a lost cause the attempt to revive the towns of the Midwest and South by reviving manufacturing. They rightly insist that the United States find a way to integrate and assimilate the country’s 12 million or more unauthorized immigrants, but they ignore the continuing flood of people without papers crossing the border or overstaying their visas and they dismiss attempts to change national priorities toward skilled immigrants.

Here is the simple truth: As long as corporations are free to roam the globe in search of lower wages and taxes, and as long as the United States opens its borders to millions of unskilled immigrants, liberals will not be able to create bountiful, equitable societies, where people are free from basic anxieties about obtaining health care, education and housing. In Europe, social democrats face very similar challenges with immigration, refugees and euro-imposed austerity. To achieve their historic objectives, liberals and social democrats will have to respond constructively to, rather than dismiss, the nationalist reaction to globalization.

[justuwuthingsblog]

tw/ suicide attempt

i was so close, so close to ending my life. i lied to my therapist about not attempting suicide, but i actually did, a couple of times.

i was getting sick more often, because my depression got really worse. i've been having mental breakdowns, panic attacks, nightmares, and paranoia. people started hating me because they all think i'm going crazy and i was getting really annoying but the truth is, i have been struggling mentally and emotionally. my depression gradually got worse with time, following teachers pressuring us and making us feel bad, our coordinator humiliating us, stress from all the school work, stress from the people around me, and of course who would forget that one kid who keeps bullying me, blaming me for his failures that he did himself and constantly just humiliating me in front of our classmates and our teachers. all those stress together with my poor mental health, it was a huge breaking point for me. everyday i would come home shivering, screaming, crying, because i was just tired. i was tired of life, i was tired of waking up everyday with no meaning and direction. i had a lot of anxiety, i was paranoid. i thought i was going crazy. until i saw a cable of a charger of a phone on my desk, i tried to wrap it around my neck til i was suffocating, but then i heard a sound of a motorcycle beep, it was my father, so i failed my attempt. the second time, i came home alone again from school, i tried drowning myself in a bucket of water, but i failed because of fear, so i just gave up. everytime i came home i would always breakdown and cry, always had a lot of panic attacks. i tried self-harming by suffocating myself with plastic bags or a cable charger. i had been getting panic attacks at school as well but everybody thinks it's just normal for me so they don't seem to mind.

i was always alone, at school, even when i talk a lot with my friends, i still feel alone and when i get back home from school, i was still alone. i felt really empty like i was already dead inside. i came to a point where i would always get sick, all the teachers knew i was very sickly, it was because i was always depressed that even my immune system is giving up on me. i had a lot of absences from school and even went to class having a fever multiple times. then there came a time, i had my dengue fever for the 3rd time, (2nd time in just one semester). i wasn't getting better. my platelets were always decreasing each day that even our doctor seemed like she lost hope for me. in that moment i thought, maybe this is it. maybe this is my time to finally find peace. so i decided i should better end this now, at least i could finally take a rest from this world. so, i decided not to eat or drink anything from that moment. whatever solid or fluids they gave me to consume, i wouldn't take. and so i've been getting epistaxis and a really heavy menstruation that wasn't in the normal time to come. so my platelets got lower and lower and i was already willing to accept it, my body lost a lot of weight, i got really weak, and everytime i tried standing up, i'd get really dizzy. i still continued not to eat or drink anything so that i could finally claim my tranquility. one day, the doctor came, she said my platelets were always decreasing and it was really low. she just hopes my platelets would increase even just a little and if it did, she might already put me on discharge as an outpatient. my mother started crying, because she was too scared of losing, and for the first time, i saw my father crying too. i heard my father has been going to church everyday to pray and asking a lot of his friends what to make me drink to increase my platelet count. my mother would also pray all the time with me. one night after the doctor's visit, my mother came to me and cried. she told me to be strong because they didn't want to lose me, my father, my brother, and my sisters were all sad for me. and so my mother vowed that i will take a semester off when i finally get better. she told me to pray with her, for my recovery. i thought to myself, maybe i was being to selfish, leaving my family behind, who cared for me the most, i know how it feels to lose somebody who is important in your life as i actually also lost my cousin almost three years ago. i might have stepped crying but i still remember and miss him very much. that night we cried inside the ward and prayed for my recovery.

so i started to eat and drink everything they tried to give me because i just had to survive, not for me but for my family. and so a few days later, we received some good news. my platelet count started increasing and so i was discharged from the hospital the next day. and so that day, i decided not to take my life away, for my family at least.

but that didn't end my depression. it's still here to this day, lingering, attacking me without any warning. i still cry at day and night, i still get panic attacks and suicidal thoughts but at least my nightmares aren't showing up, for now. therapy has been working out for me just fine but i still struggle though, a lot. but i won't let that take over me anymore. i will continue to live, but this time, not only for the people i love, but also for myself.

[neworleansroleplay]

Name: Kathryn Kaplan.

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/Her.

Date of Birth: May 5th, 1993

Age: 26.

Hometown: Melrose, Massachusetts

Length of time in New Orleans: Eighteen months.

Neighborhood: Bywater/Marigny.

Occupation: Student and Beauty Pageant Titleholder.

Faceclaim: Emily Ratajkowski.

Biography (emotional abuse and abandonment tw)

Chelsea Nowak was a natural when it came to beauty pageants, starting by participating in local pageants in her native Massachusetts to winning the title of Miss USA in 1993, on the path to representing her country in the next installment of the prestigious Miss Universe pageant. She had a crown on her head and a wealthy boyfriend on her arm, but her dreams would come crashing down just a couple months into her reign with one positive pregnancy test. The Miss USA title was passed on to the first runner-up while Chelsea traded her evening gowns for maternity clothes. Her boyfriend Robert Kaplan was the son of prominent New York lawyers, who was enrolled in Harvard Law School in hopes of following in their footsteps. A diamond engagement ring was followed immediately by city hall wedding, and the pair welcomed a baby girl into their lives. The new family bought a house in the Boston suburbs, with Robert getting a job at a law firm in the city and Chelsea staying home to raise Kathryn. 

Chelsea always saw Kathryn as the child who was responsible for her losing her crown, and did not hide it from either her daughter or her husband. Although she subconsciously knew that her disdain was misplaced, the disgraced beauty queen needed someone to blame for her ill luck - some days it was Robert, but it was usually Kathryn. As much as Chelsea resented her daughter’s existence, she could not deny that the youngster got her beauty and thought that she may be able to make the best out of this situation. Kathryn’s first pageant was shortly after her fourth birthday, when she was crowned Toddler Miss East Coast USA. Although Robert had reservations about his daughter competing in pageants at such a young age, he was often too engrossed in his legal cases to be present enough, which ultimately led to his wife making all of the calls when it came to raising Kathryn. A childhood spent being driven to various pageants, training with coaches and working on skills to make her more competitive was the only one that Kathryn knew. 

A divorce between the Kaplans was inevitable; many were surprised that their marriage actually lasted as long as it did. Chelsea was awarded full custody of a ten-year-old Kathryn while Robert moved to an apartment nearby and would see his daughter every weekend. The family made it work to the best of their ability for four years until Robert found love again and was planning to move to New Orleans to be with his girlfriend. Before he left Massachusetts, he promised Kathryn that they would remain close and that he would invite her to spend time in New Orleans with him. In between her preparations for the Miss Massachusetts Teen USA pageant, Kathryn went to visit him and her stepmother-to-be for two weeks in the summer after her sophomore year of high school and returned to New England dreamy-eyed. Her father’s fiancée had been nothing but kind to her, and Kathryn even got along with her future stepsiblings. Filled with jealousy and needing to take control of the situation, Chelsea refused to hear any more discussion of New Orleans and moving there one day, reminding Kathryn of her focus: getting into college and winning pageants. Robert’s promises were empty, as Kathryn did not even receive a wedding invitation from him - in fact, she stopped receiving letters and emails from him on the whole. The abandonment crushed her, but Chelsea kept reminding her that she was the only one that Kathryn could count on and that she had a crown to win. Unfortunately, her father’s negligence affected her performance so much that she fell short at the competition and another teenager ended up representing the state at the Miss Teen USA pageant. While Chelsea ragged on her daughter for her failure and incompetence, Kathryn distracted herself with preparation for senior year and college applications. 

Kathryn enrolled in Boston University’s Psychology program, finally glad for a chance to focus on something other than pageantry and to get a break from her mother’s nagging. She felt bad for thinking so poorly of the woman who raised her, as she only wanted what was best for her only daughter and was so hard on her because she cared. Kathryn had already lost her relationship with her father, she could not lose the one with her mother. Even as she made friends at college and even began dating, Chelsea was the only constant in her life and the elder woman took every opportunity she could to remind her daughter that friends and lovers will come and go, but she would also be there - although she usually said it more as a warning than a reassurance. Kathryn graduated with honors, having spent a year abroad in Denmark and intending to either apply to graduate school or teach English abroad once she had her degree in hand, but her mother reminded her that it was time to get back to pageantry now that she was a university graduate. The preliminary pageants that would lead to Miss Massachusetts and eventually Miss America were coming up, and Chelsea had already registered her daughter for them. Kathryn participated with enthusiasm, especially because these pageants incorporated social impact initiatives and talent more so than actual beauty - she felt more accomplished being judged on her knowledge and skills as opposed to the physical attributes that she was lucky to have been born with. She increased her activity around her chosen platform, affordable and accessible healthcare for everyone, and prepared with the guidance of her mother and pageant coach for the various events that eventually saw Kathryn crowned as Miss Massachusetts. It was excruciating preparing for the Miss America pageant, with Kathryn having to maintain her diet and workout schedule in addition to practicing for everything that was to come.

After finally competing in the Miss America pageant, the crowning moment was a blur for Kathryn. She remembered people cheering as the outgoing titleholder placed the tiara on her head and invited her to take her first walk as Miss America 2017. Her reigning year was spent at various locations throughout the United States, making public appearances and furthering her social impact initiative, which was especially relevant given the political debate surrounding healthcare and insurance in her country. While attending an event in New Orleans, she encountered the one man whom she thought she had left in her past for good: Robert Kaplan. After attempts to speak with his estranged daughter throughout the night went in vain, he became persistent to speak his truth when Kathryn had accused him of abandoning her all those years ago. The tiara almost slipped off of the beauty queen’s perfectly styled tresses when he revealed that he had tried contacting her, but her mother had blocked all efforts and had even returned mail to him including unopened letters to his daughter, telling her that he loved her and asking her to come visit him. After taking some time to collect herself following that incident, Kathryn confronted her mother and to her surprise, Chelsea admitted to everything but claimed that she had done it for Kathryn’s own good. Reminding her daughter of how far they’d gotten together without him, how far she had taken her and how Kathryn owed her everything was the last straw. After telling her mother that it was not her place to prevent her father from keeping in touch with her and for all the emotional abuse she had endured over the years, Kathryn cut her mother out bit by bit until the end of her Miss America reign, where she passed on the crown and no longer wanted anything to do with pageants - or her mother. 

After staying with a friend in Boston for a few weeks, Kathryn made a call to Robert and he readily invited her to come to New Orleans, at least until she figured out her next steps. Her Miss America title left her with a hefty scholarship which she was planning on using for a master’s degree, but she was glad for a support system in the meantime. Initially thinking of her father’s alma mater of Harvard, Kathryn began reconsidering when she realized that what she wanted to do was to be as far away from her mother and her pageant coach as possible. Even though she had shortlisted a few schools in the northern states and California, she began to consider how much she had come to love New Orleans in the months since she’d been there - as well as the potential family that she could have. With some guidance from her stepmother and encouragement from her father, Kathryn’s application to Tulane University’s Masters of Public Health program was submitted and eventually accepted. Although she was no longer the reigning Miss America, her passion for accessible healthcare did not stop when she placed the crown on her successor’s head. 

Since starting her degree program in September 2018, Kathryn has moved into an apartment in the Marginy neighborhood and is still working toward rebuilding her relationship with her father, as well as starting one with his new family. Although she has hung up her pageant sash instead of trying out for MIss USA as she had initially planned, for once in her life Kathryn can actually say that she is in the driver’s seat and not in the backseat while someone else is driving over the speed limit and ignoring her pleas to slow down. But after so many years of someone else telling her what to do with her life, Kathryn is at a crossroad in her life right now, unsure as to where to go next. At least until she graduates from her program next year, she can call the Big Easy her home. 

+ Personable, passionate, hardworking, resilient

- Insecure, stoic, self-righteous, arrogant

pinterest board.

[algeroth]

Bioprinting originated in the early 2000s, when it was discovered that living cells could be sprayed through the nozzles of inkjet printers without damaging them. Today, using multiple print heads to squirt out different cell types, along with polymers that help keep the structure in shape, it is possible to deposit layer upon layer of cells that will bind together and grow into living, functional tissue. Researchers in various places are tinkering with kidney and liver tissue, skin, bones and cartilage, as well as the networks of blood vessels needed to keep body parts alive. They have implanted printed ears, bones and muscles into animals, and watched these integrate properly with their hosts. Last year a group at Northwestern University, in Chicago, even printed working prosthetic ovaries for mice. The recipients were able to conceive and give birth with the aid of these artificial organs.

No one is yet talking of printing gonads for people. But blood vessels are a different matter. Sichuan Revotek, a biotechnology company based in Chengdu, China, has successfully implanted a printed section of artery into a monkey. This is the first step in trials of a technique intended for use in humans. Similarly, Organovo, a firm in San Diego, announced in December that it had transplanted printed human-liver tissue into mice, and that this tissue had survived and worked. Organovo hopes, within three to five years, to develop this procedure into a treatment for chronic liver failure and for inborn errors of metabolism in young children. The market for such treatments in America alone, the firm estimates, is worth more than $3bn a year.

Johnson & Johnson, a large American health-care company, is so convinced that bioprinting will transform parts of medical practice that it has formed several alliances with interested academics and biotechnology firms. One of these alliances, with Tissue Regeneration Systems, a firm in Michigan, is intended to develop implants for the treatment of defects in broken bones. Another, with Aspect, a biotechnology company in Canada, is trying to work out how to print parts of the human knee known as the meniscuses. These are crescent-shaped cartilage pads that separate the femur from the tibia, and act as shock absorbers between these two bones—a role that causes huge wear and tear, which sometimes requires surgical intervention.

More immediately, bioprinting can help with the development and testing of other sorts of treatments. Organovo already offers kidney and liver tissue for screening potential drugs for efficacy and safety. If this takes off it will please animal-rights activists, as it should cut down on the number of animal trials. It will please drug companies, too, since the tissue being tested is human, so the results obtained should be more reliable than ones from tests on other species.

With similar motives in mind, L’Oréal, a French cosmetics firm, Procter & Gamble, an American consumer-goods company, and BASF, a German chemical concern, are working on printing human skin. They propose to use it to test their products for adverse reactions. L’Oréal already grows about five square metres of skin a year using older and slower technology. Bioprinting will permit it to grow much more, and also allow different skin types and textures to be printed.

Printed skin might eventually be employed for grafts—repairing burns and ulcers. Plans are also afoot, as it were, to print skin directly onto the surface of the body. Renovacare, a firm in Pennsylvania, has developed a gun that will spray skin stem cells directly onto the wounds of burns victims. (Stem cells are cells that proliferate to produce all of the cell types that a tissue is composed of.) The suggestion is that the stem cells in question will come from the patient himself, meaning that there is no risk of his immune system rejecting the new tissue.

The real prize of all this effort would be to be able to print entire organs. For kidneys, Roots Analysis, a medical-technology consultancy, reckons that should be possible in about six years’ time. Livers, which have a natural tendency to regenerate anyway, should also arrive reasonably soon. Hearts, with their complex internal geometries, will take longer. In all cases, though, printed organs would mean that those awaiting transplants have to wait neither for the altruism of another nor the death of a stranger to provide the means to save their own lives.