#when it happens i call in a new rx and find a better hiding place for the stealable stuff and move on with my life

[some-stars]

i have absolutely NO patience for anyone being shitty or judgmental or othering about addicts, not just because of my ethical principles and baseline compassion for other human beings, but because i have personal experience with how inseparable substance abuse is from mental illness and other kinds of inescapable suffering. i got high on cannabis and benzos all day long, 6 days a week for two years because i had severe treatment-resistant depression (aka i had tried EVERY legal treatment available without improvement). when i found a medication that made it go away almost entirely, i dropped down to maybe 3 times a month purely for fun and after my day's responsibilities are done, within days of starting to feel better. and now i feel like shit again and i've been getting high several times a week as literal self-medication. because, you know, i'm in horrible pain and it would be cruel and inhuman for someone to tell me i had to ignore the one tool i had access to that would reduce my suffering, just so i wouldn't be an ~addict~, which is of course the worse most disgusting worthless thing a person can be.

i know that there are many addictions that are more physically damaging and that people continue to crave physiologically even when they start recovering from the mental or physical pain that drove them to drugs in the first place. i am very, very fortunate that due to my life circumstances i have no access to meth or heroin or more dangerous stuff like that. but it is sure as hell a lot less difficult to resist even those cravings when the pain that they were used to alleviate is drastically reduced!!!

anyway this is all just me restating the rat town study that proved almost all drug addiction is caused by capitalism and/or trauma, and weakening capitalism and building rewarding caring societies eliminates substance abuse almost entirely. why the fuck would you scream at and shame people experiencing unspeakably terrible pain rather than the forces and people who caused/failed to treat that pain?

[toyboy-molloy]

reddie + accidental fake dating | part two |

Usually, Eddie hated sleeping in. He liked to get in a morning run before heading off to work. But something about being in L.A with his best friend, rather than New York with his ex-wife, and the fact he was currently on leave from work thanks to a killer clown claw, he figured he was owed an extra hour or two. He stretched and yawned, opening his eyes to find a post-it note stuck to his forehead. Rolling his eyes, Eddie removed the message from his head, reading it fondly.

hey, bud. gone to get breakfast. relax, take it easy. I’ll be back soon. rx

He smiled affectionately and carefully climbed out of bed, wincing from the effort. He and Richie had been living together ever since they’d Derry, once Eddie had resolved to divorce his wife and get on with his life. Richie had suggested they live together through his recovery and Eddie had been so relieved that he wasn’t going to be on his own, he agreed. Things were great. Richie was a better roommate than he’d expected. He helped Eddie with his physical therapy, make sure he took his (genuine) medication and generally took care of him. Eddie felt like he was getting his life back and it was all thanks to the best friend he was hopelessly in love with. But that was a whole other problem he wasn’t ready to deal with.

Eddie was showered and fully dressed when his phone rang. He smiled already, thinking of Richie. He was more than a little surprised to see it was Maggie Tozier calling. They’d only met once since they’d returned from Derry and Eddie hadn’t really been in a fit state for visitors back then. Still, he answered.

“Hi, Mrs. Tozier.”

Of course, Maggie laughed softly, “Eddie, dear, we’re practically family. Call me Maggie.”

“Sorry. Old habits,” he eased himself into Richie’s comfortable La-Z-Boy - which was more his at the moment since it was the only thing he could handle right now. He tried not to sound pained as he asked, “how’s Went?”

“Oh, his hip’s playing up, poor thing,” Maggie said casually, “he’s been working on that damn car again. He’s only got himself to blame. But enough about us, how are you? Is Richie looking after you?”

“I’m fine, Maggie, Richie’s been amazing,” he smiled, absent mindedly stroking his t-shirt, underneath which was his healing wound, “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Maggie scoffed and Eddie could almost hear her eyes rolling, “that man adores you, Eddie. I thought he was going to burst when he told us you were moving in together, he was so happy,” Eddie paused, a slight frown on his face but he didn't say anything. Maggie didn’t seem to notice as she giggled, “now that you’re together, I guess I can tell you Richie always had a thing for you when you were kids. I can;t tell you the number of times...”

Maggie’s voice grew faint as Eddie’s mind wandered, deep in thought. It was clear she assumed that he and Richie were dating and had been for a little while. And Richie hadn’t corrected her. He was vaguely aware that Maggie had finished talking; Eddie swallowed, his throat dry.

“Huh?”

“All I’m saying is I’m just glad you two finally sorted things out. You’re perfect for each other. Anyone can see that,“ Maggie sounded so happy that her beloved son had finally found happiness, it broke Eddie’s heart that he wasn’t Richie’s actual real-life boyfriend. He wanted to be the one to make him that happy. But he wasn’t and he wasn’t about to burst Maggie’s bubble, either, so he kept his mouth shut. That was until she said, “so is Saturday okay?”

“Uh...for what?”

Maggie chuckled, “well, we figured we’d come and visit you two. Save you the journey, dear. They’ll be plenty of family gatherings at our place when you’re strong enough.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, Eddie found himself speaking before thinking, “thanks, Mom.”

"Oh, Eddie, darling don’t make me cry, I’ve just done my make up,” Maggie, too, sounded emotional but she was better at hiding it than Eddie, “we’ll see you at the weekend. Take care. Give Richie my best, tell him I’ll call him later.”

“Will do. See you soon.”

He hung up, staring at his phone. He barely had time to take in the large amount of information he’d just received as Richie barged in through the door, carrying four shopping bags in one hand and two takeaway coffees in the other.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called playfully, winking when he caught sight of Eddie reclining in his chair. Eddie rolled his eyes and reached for the lever so he could stand. Richie waved him off, “you stay put, Eds. I’ll get breakfast ready.”

“Why, thank you, dear,” he emphasised the final word, expecting Richie to take the hint. Instead, the other man just bowed, blowing him a kiss as he began to unload bags of takeaway breakfast. Eddie shook his head fondly, “I spoke with Maggie just now.”

“Yeah? Lemme guess, Dad’s hip, something about that bitch Paula from the knitting circle and some supportive but misunderstood stuff about my new stand up?” Eddie chuckled as Richie put on his best Maggie Voice (which just sounded like The Old Lady), “’Richard, what’s a Netflix and where can I watch it?’“

Eddie took his coffee and portion of french toast and fresh fruit from Richie, suddenly realising how hungry he was, “actually, she mainly talked about us,” he watched carefully as Richie slowly finished dishing up his own, less healthy, breakfast. Eddie tucked into his own, avoiding looking directly at Richie, “she thinks we’re dating.”

“Yeah, kind of,” Richie didn’t quite know what to say. He didn’t want his mother meddling in his love life, especially with the best friend he was stupidly in love with. He stopped stuffing his face long enough to say, “she’s been on about it for ages. I didn’t think she’d still be on that shit.”

"You didn’t correct her,” Eddie pointed out nonchalantly, watching Richie curiously. He lifted his head, blinking repeatedly at Eddie.

"You didn’t correct her.”

They continued staring at each other for the longest time, neither one daring to break the tension. It was out there now. Neither had corrected Maggie’s misunderstanding and now she was visiting under the assumption they were a couple. Eddie finally broke the awkward silence.

“I don’t want to lie to her.”

Richie almost choked on his coffee, “what, you want to be boyfriends?”

Rather than laugh at him, like Richie had expected, Eddie just shrugged, chasing a stray blueberry on his plate, “why not? It’s just for the weekend. After that, we can tell Maggie we decided we were better as friends or something. What could possibly go wrong?”

“Okay, if you’re sure you can resist all this,” Richie gestured at himself, grinning lecherously. Eddie laughed, easing himself to stand so he could put his plate in the dishwasher. He returned to Richie and, leaning forward as much as he was capable, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, whispering into his ear.

“I’ve had thirty years practice.”

It took a while for Richie’s brain to catch up with what had just happened. When he opened his eyes, Eddie had gone, probably off to his bedroom to get changed for swim. Richie shook his head, leaping up and following after his friend, “yo, Eds, what the fuck does that mean?”

[ratifythesilence]

will i find my home // THE BRIGHT SESSIONS // mark, sam, & damien

"We’re in love with the same man, I think that’s enough common ground without trying to call us friends.”

Will I Find My Home - Through Juniper Lane feat. Vian Izak (Sam, Mark, Damien)

are you worth getting lost over love/if i offer myself/will you lift me up/are you worth letting into my heart/if i go and get caught/will i fall too far/will I find my home/will I find my home/my home in you/home in you

Everlasting Light - The Black Keys (Mark & Sam)

let me be your everlasting light/your home when there is cold/in me you can confide/when no one's by your side/let me be your everlasting light/oh baby can't you see/it's shining just for you/loneliness is over/dog days are through/they're through

Yellow Light - Of Monsters and Men (Damien & Mark)

just follow my yellow light/and ignore all those big warning signs

I’m Not Calling You A Liar - Florence + The Machine (Mark/Damien)

there's a ghost in my mouth/and it talks in my sleep/wraps itself around my tongue/as it softly speaks/then it walks then it walks/then it walks with my legs/to fall at your feet

One Day - Opshop (Mark/Sam)

one day you'll understand how much you have me/one day you'll realise we have it easy/i can't offer you the future/i don't know it myself/all i can offer you is me

I’m Your Villain - Franz Ferdinand (Damien/Mark)

if i could laugh i'd love you/if i could smile at anything you said/we could be laughing lovers/i think you'd prefer to be miserable instead/if i could love i'd love you/if i could love like anybody else/i know what i am/i'm your villain

I Don’t Know What To Do - Pete Yorn & Scarlett Johansson (Mark/Damien)

but when you're with me darling i don't believe in anyone else/i'm so confused by you/i don't know what to do/i don't want you coming here

Mostly - Vian Izak feat. Through Juniper Vale (Mark, Sam, Damien)

i'm mostly scared/i am mostly unprepared I'm a mess/i've lost most of myself as the waves came crashing down I'm a wreck/i've bought up all my dreams and sold off most my heart/i'd been lying to myself just to bury all my thoughts

Don’t Judge Me - Janelle Monae (Sam/Mark)

don't judge me/i know I got issues/but they drown when I kiss you/don't judge me/baptize me with ocean/recognize my devotion/the water's perfectly good/let's re-introduce ourselves/from a free point of view/if i'm gon' sin, it's with you/tattoo your love on my heart/let the rumors be true

One More Time With Feeling - Regina Spektor (Mark)

hold on/one more time with feeling/try it again/breathing's just a rhythm/say it in your mind until you know that the words are right/this is why we fight/you thought by now you'd be/so much better than you are/you thought by now they'd see/that you had come so far

Dreaming Of You - The Coral (Damien & Mark)

when i'm down and my hands are tied/i cannot reach a pen for me to draw the line/from this pain i just can't disguise/it's gonna hurt but i'll have to say goodbye/up in my lonely room/when I'm dreaming of you /oh what can I do/i still need you but/i don't want you now

Love Don’t Leave - Avalanche City (Mark/Sam)

her heart was beating fast/and i hoped that we could stay/in our hiding place where it was warm/and cold could not invade/we laughed aloud and talked of things/that happened yesterday/but the storm could hear our voices clear/so it came on its way and she said/love don’t leave me now

RX Stop What You’re Doing - Marian Call (Sam)

stop what you're doing and laugh for a while/at all of your foolish ambition/deluded and fragile and brave like a child/who still thinks life comes with a mission/drop your sword and your flag/get your sponge and your rag/let the mirror remind you/let your fairy-tale dreams melt away

New Histories - Brooke Fraser (Sam)

i stare at the space you left/it stares back unimpressed/i said i was sorry/now when will you come home to me/and i wait/something’s gotta give oh can’t you see/someone’s gonna win eventually/we could write a new history/oh let’s write our new history

Okay I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don’t - Brand New (Damien)

you’re holding on to your grudge/oh it hurts to always have to be honest with the one that you love

Human - Brooke Fraser (Sam & Mark)

it is not a failure to be flawed/it's beautifully symptomatic/i am not afraid of being more/than what I've been/i want to see how the light falls/i want to feel it on my skin/so how do I begin

[secretgiftsforshaman]

I wrote 2826 entire words before I collapsed last night

I have been seriously struggling this academic quarter. And I seriously struggled last academic quarter. As I did in undergrad, and in high school, junior high, and elementary. But I do not have any learning disabilities. And you have some idea of how smart I am in general, but I’ll share one specific example about just how very academically intelligent I am. On the SAT, I scored 700 in reading, 730 in writing, and 780 in math and I did not study for it. I spent most of the test bored and waiting for the allotted time to run out because I finished nearly every section way early. Early enough that at one point I had enough time to leisurely leave and use the restroom and came back before everyone else had finished. The only reason I did not score a perfect 800 in math because I missed *exactly* one question. I can still remember and visualize exactly which one it was – and only I missed it because it was the second to last one of the last math section and my brain read the word ‘diameter’ and was tired enough that my brain went ‘oh cool, radius’ even though I could have easily solved that problem when I was 11 or 12 (if you haven’t already gone “wow, she’s got some serious perfectionism issues” then now would be a good time for you to do so).

All of this to say: it has never been a question of not being able to understand the content. Very, very rarely in my entire scholastic lifetime have I ever not understood what was being taught to me. It is – and always has been – a matter of not being able to sit down and do the work.

One of the rubs of being so smart (especially when also socially inept – I don’t think I’ve ever had a formal diagnosis, but I would be astonished to learn if I wasn’t somewhere on the autism spectrum) is that your sense of self-worth is all too easily conflated with your intelligence and academic performance, placing massive pressure on yourself to be good at school, ‘cause that’s one of the few things I was reliably good at. 

Most of my school-age bullies, particularly the loudest ones, were just as smart as I was: all enrolled in the same accelerated classes, but they didn’t struggle the way I did, and they definitely saw it, and made sure I knew they did. They could all do their homework and turn things in on time, but I just couldn’t sit down and do even the simplest assignments sometimes – let alone the big projects and reports, not without crippling deadline pressure. My parents and teachers also tended to view the situation as if there was some kind of issue with me, too: that I was lazy/disorganized/not ‘applying myself’/needed discipline and punishment and then I’d be fine – alllll of that unhelpful bullshit.

Nobody thought that I wasn’t smart enough, though. Clearly, I was always great on tests: sit me down and ask me what I know and if there’s a definitive correct answer then odds are good that I knew what it was, so I excelled in math and science, and I took great comfort from knowing what I was doing and working familiar problems over and over. But having to go find sources for research and report on something or answer essay style questions – anything subjective or humanities-ish – was my kryptonite. I couldn’t ever say “this is enough information, this is complete and I’m done now” – once I started searching I’d drown in all of the information available and not be able to pull myself out with just enough to get the job done. I would become paralyzed simply by the thought of needing to sit down and do schoolwork, so I’d avoid it and distract myself with reading or anything else BUT schoolwork. And if I ever fell behind (which ALWAYS happened because that’s what happens when your avoidant coping is your default), then it was like pouring anti-napalm on everything: I’d be even more frozen and unable to function, like cold terrified acid licking through my veins. I have been a student most of my life – 21 and a half years to date – and the entire fucking time I’ve been limping along like this, always hoping at the start of each new term that This Time, somehow, I could Just Do It Already The Way I Should Be Able To, but over and over that optimism has crumbled to ashes in that undying flame of fear, paralysis, self-disgust, and despair.

I am able, now, to identify and name what I have suffered from my entire life, the condition that I was made to carry so much crippling SHAME for, that I learned to hide almost completely from all of my loved ones for over a decade so nobody would see that shame and decide to think less of me.

I have anxiety and complex PTSD. 

Where one ends and the other begins isn’t worth the effort of trying to tease them apart. The DSM-5 is an imperfect tool and no diagnosis is a uniform monolith – anxiety, PTSD, depression, and every other name of every other illness is merely a professional shorthand for “all/most of these symptoms are present.” It makes much more sense to treat my anxiety and PTSD as a single condition. Moreover, I have a strong suspicion that my endocrine disorder, PCOS, was triggered by the chronic stress/elevated cortisol and insulin (because one of the most socially acceptable ways for our nervous systems to regulate and soothe themselves when under stress is with food), and if it isn’t completely just part of the same thing, then it’s LARGELY overlapping with the anxiety/PTSD (I know that my mother and grandmother suffered in a very similar way in school, and I know that the PCOS is tied to inherited/ancestral trauma, so it makes every kind of sense if the anxiety/PTSD that we all have is related as well). 

I have had a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis on my chart for years, and I’ve known, in my rational brain, that I’ve needed to get it under control to feel better and function in school (and to be honest, with almost all other professional/adulting things too). But thinking about what I need and actually DOING something about it are such utterly different things. It has only been in the past few weeks that I have been able to admit to myself that I need real, professional help to overcome this condition – and to ask for and start receiving that help. There is a big culture in my family, especially us women, about ignoring our own issues and focusing on helping other people first (I know I must have written to you about this before), so this has been a massive step for me. 

For a while I’ve been struggling to stay on top of my classes, and have fallen behind in all four of them, and the feeling of being overwhelmed has only increased exponentially. I’ve wanted, desperately, to go to an emotional ER so many times the past month, so much so that I found myself wanting (and knowing on a deep level that my body needs) some kind of pharmaceutical support to get me through the fucking day and allow me to do some of the massive, teetering pile of backlogged work. Upon hearing about my experiences of paralysis and dysfunction, and scoring very high on the anxiety diagnosis questionnaire she used, my doc, who rarely reaches for her Rx pad off the bat, suggested putting me on Clonidine (non-addictive, originally developed for hypertension) especially after my double-checked at-home blood pressure reading was 154/80 (which is consistent with STAGE 2 HYPERTENSION in an otherwise healthy and young TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD for fucks sake)(insert emojis denoting ABJECT PANIC here).

I am comforted by the fact that my doctor, who I’ve seen since I was a tweenager, has shifted in the past few years to specialize in treating addiction and substance dependency, so if there’s anybody who I can trust to medicate me without causing a chemical dependence it’s her (thank GODDESS). Dr. M agrees with my perspective that the meds are just a temporary measure to alleviate my symptoms enough to function, and that the true treatment is the therapy work that I’ve been trying to do for myself, but there’s only so much you can do all by your lonesome, no matter how many self-help books you read (and goodness knows I’ve read a TON).

So I also finally started seeing a therapist (!), and just admitting some of this out loud to another person has been so profoundly healing. Our second session was this past Wednesday, and I was able to start opening up and telling her that I think my anxiety traces back to ancestral trauma and how I feel called to use a bottom-up, somatic approach (hence my recent interest in shamanism, ritual, soul retrieval, transpersonal psychology, etc., which she’s totally accepting of; again, THANK GODDESS).

One of the many many many self-help books that I’ve had my nose in is “The Instinct to Heal: Curing Depression, Anxiety, and Stress Without Drugs and Without Talk Therapy” by David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD (which I started reading like a day before I finally admitted that I needed to take drugs and do talk therapy *laughing at myself emoji here*). Servan-Schreiber beautifully articulated the relationship between our neocortex: the newly, highly developed, outer portions of the brain where our logic, reason, cognition, and consciousness arise from, and our limbic system: the older, more primitive inner section of our brains that controls our unconscious, autonomic physiological processes (like breathing, digestion, heart rate, etc.), trauma, instinct, intuition, and emotion, and is therefore far more deeply and intensely connected to the body (and bodily held memories) than the neocortex. 

I’ve been running around in my rational, conscious, neocortex mind *thinking* about all of my issues and traumas and everything for ages, and I understand so much about these things on that rational level – but that is miles away from the irrational, unconscious, limbic bodymind where all of those traumas actually ARE and continue to play out over and over as if they’re still happening. This is something that my therapist helped me understand – our neocortex understands that this is a different time and the thing that happened in the past is over and done and we’re safe now, but the limbic system has no sense of time. In our irrational reptile brains, everything still exists the same as it did all those years ago as if it never stopped happening. THIS is where our inner wounded child lives, where a soul fragment likely fled from for safety in the midst of the unendurable whatever-it-was that precipitated the trauma response, and where the empty spot is where it needs to be called back to still resides, open and waiting and longing. 

THIS is why I’ve felt called towards the irrational, mystical, shamanic modes of healing: I’ve done as much as I can with my rational mind, which cannot be used to solve an irrational problem or heal an irrational wound, which is what all trauma is. A couple of weeks ago, when I asked you for your help as a shaman with conducting a soul retrieval, this is the kind of work that I was starting to realize that I need to do. The crazy Thing That I Did that I told you about (and meant to describe for you more at the time but I was exhausted and desperately needed the rest instead) was a small and beautiful spontaneous retrieval of a part of me when I was seven, a part that was thirteen, and a part of me as a young infant that I brought to my own breast in recognition that I was both deserving of my own love, nourishment, and care, and capable of being a loving, heart-centered parent to myself. I felt all of the past, younger versions of me that I’ve already been gathered in concentric circles within me, and all of the older versions of me that I’ve not yet been spiraling around me, and my ancestors and guides and spirits and all of the love and kindness that anyone has ever directed towards me gathered around all of me like a compassionate embrace, and I think that it was that experience that gave me just enough of my soul back, just enough juice and magic that I could start digging my teeth in and taking the steps I needed to take to seek treatment and get my legs back underneath me.

As amazing and beautiful as that experience was, it wasn’t everything that I need in order to heal. I want to do a soul retrieval/healing ritual to unfreeze the part of me (and the part of my mother, grandmother, and other ancestors) that is stuck in that root trauma – where the anxiety, complex PTSD, PCOS - where all of that junk stems from. I don’t yet have much sense at all what that’s gonna look like, but I know that it’s gonna be the biggest damn spell I’ve ever cast, and that I don’t think I can cast it alone. Watch this space.

I do think, though, that preparing for that is the thing to do for now, by accumulating small things on multiple fronts – growing my strength, calling back small parts of me, telling more and more loved ones about my truth, chipping away at the stack of things to do, continuing with meds and therapy, contacting my professors and possibly the department/program admin (with a letter from Dr. M in hand documenting my diagnosis and treatment) to let them know that I need help I’m figuring out how to make up for assignments that I haven’t turned in and make sure that I can continue next quarter and not get kicked out of the program. I’m still carrying a lot of fear of failure/expulsion around this (and anxiety = paralysis = inaction for me, even though I desperately want to fix it) – especially after handling myself so badly in a similar situation at the end of last quarter. When you’ve got a minute, I’d appreciate a pep talk about broaching the subject with them.

All in all, I’m doing well and things are looking up in a way I’ve NEEDED them to start looking up for literal decades. I’ve even been able to start telling my mother about how badly I’ve been doing (she knows I’ve seen my doctor and started therapy and meds) and allowing her to see that pain and struggle after years of hiding it from her out of shame has been scary but such a relief. But Goddess Knows I’ve got A LOT to do still. Just cause I’ve finally struck a match and can navigate a little better doesn’t mean I’m out of the dungeon yet.

I began the meds just yesterday, and I’ve spent the day decompressing (never been a better time for me to have a few days all to myself kitten-sitting for some friends while they go to a tiny, COVID-regulation compliant thanksgiving visit with their family in Portland). Drowsiness is a listed side effect of Clonidine, and I was really worried that my prescribed dose was too high after being soooooo tired yesterday and today after I took the pills, but my increasing suspicion is that I’ve just been so high-strung and hypervigilant (hello super premature hypertension!) that the anti-anxiety/BP-lowering drug just uncovered the chronic e x h a u s t I o n that was already (always) there, rather than them making me drowsy when I wasn’t. So I’ve spent the day eating my friend’s leftovers (she’s an AMAZING cook) and cat napping with the two sweetest little troublemakers you ever did see (I’ll send pics!). 

I think that FINALLY being able to relax like this was what helped me to begin to be receptive and start opening up (and connecting with you!) again. Anxiety = I clam up, my libido nosedives, and my pelvic tightness/vaginal armoring gets painful and rigid – all bad prospects for wild, sexy, blooming Love-Lust-and-Light fun. I was so glad to reconnect with you – and that you reminded me that I need to get this out and I can process it and heal it by sharing it with you – that our Sacred Space is still there for me to use and pour my pain and magic and consciousness out into.

I think that’s all the most important developments. I’m excited to hear all about all of your new developments, processing, perspectives too. 

And now I’m gonna go to bed. One nap today was NOT enough to recover from  goddess-knows-how-long-I’ve-had-this chronic fatigue. I’ll talk to you soon

I love you, Άδης

Your Εκάτε <3