#wish i had a xanax prescription

[beneaththebrim]

uggghhhhhhhhh i have to do interview prep

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 1

Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Y/N is getting sober and trying to rebuild her life after a hard breakup when she meets Marshall Mathers.

Tags : mention of SA ; Miscarriage ; Addiction

Author’s note : this is my first shot a my writing a fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it x

Chapter 1

- Thank you for having me, you said to Talia.

- No problem, baby. You stay as long as you need to, she answered while giving me a hug.

You looked around, taking everything in. In a matter of days, you had lost nearly everything. It all started when you woke up in the hospital, several tubes attached to your body.

FLASHBACK

Apparently, you had been in a coma for three days. Simon, your boyfriend of two years was sitting in a chair next to your bed.

- I can’t believe you did it again, Y/N.

- It’s not what you think, Simon.

- It is exactly what I think. You need help. You need to get yourself together. Next time you might not be so lucky. You might actually die, he said.

Dying. To be fair you hadn’t really tried to kill yourself. It was more complicated than that and Simon knew it.

- I’m sorry, you said, trying to hold his hand.

- No, he simply answered, taking his hand off yours.

He looked at you with a piercing gaze, not saying a word for what felt like forever. He didn’t need to, anyway. You already knew it was over.

- I love you, Y/N. I really do. But I can’t go on like this. You need to seek treatment, he said with tears in his eyes.

- I just wanted to sleep, you know, you tried to explain.

- By taking over 100 pills of Xanax ?! Are you fucking kidding me ? He asked, fire coming from his eyes.

- I…

Tears started rolling on your cheeks. As much as you knew you had done something terribly stupid, you wished he wouldn’t break up with you. You wished he would understand.

- Simon, don’t do this, you pleaded.

- I’m sorry, he simply said, getting up and grabbing his jacket. You have a problem and I cannot deal with it.

He walked towards the door and faced you for the last time.

- Your stuff will be packed when you get out of here.

And there it was. Shortly after moving in with your boyfriend, you were homeless.

END OF FLASHBACK

- Are you ok, Y/N ? Talia asked.

- Yeah. Sorry. I just… I can’t believe it’s over, you said. I really screwed up.

She gave you a big hug again.

- What’s done is done. Now you need to focus on getting better, she said.

- Thank you for being here for me. And allowing me to move in with you. And not judging me.

- What you need now is not judgement. It’s support. I am a bit mad though, she explained. I wish you had come clean to me about all those prescription pills.

- I thought I could manage, you tried to explain.

- Well you thought wrong.

Your best friend was being hard on you, and she had every right to be. For months, you had been lying through your teeth to everyone in your life. You had pretended that you were this happy-go-lucky girl who had it together. On the outside, you had everything : you were successful in your PhD research at university of Michigan, a loving boyfriend you had just moved in with and a tight-knit circle of friends who loved you unconditionally. But deep down, you had been unable to handle the pressure of your studies and, the hardest thing of all, you had lost your baby, going through a miscarriage at 13 weeks of pregnancy.

- You should rest before I take you to your meeting, Talia said. And then, we’ll go to the studio. Jamal invited us.

- Do we have to ? I think I’d rather come back here right after the meeting, you pleaded.

- Meeting new people will be good for you, she said. And I won’t lie : I don’t think you should be alone in here.

She was making it clear that she didn’t trust you. After all, how could you possibly prove that you weren’t going to be popping pills as soon as you were alone ?

- Right, you said.

She left you to your new room. Thank God she and Jamal, her boyfriend, were living in a big house with plenty of room to spare.

Jamal was a beat maker and producer and had made quite a name for himself. He was now starting to work with famous people. One of them was Eminem. You weren’t a big fan, although you did enjoy some of his most well-known music. In fact, this man was to be credited for you learning how to swear in English, as you’d learned the language by watching movies and listening to music. You hadn’t listened to him in a long time though and you were kind of wondering what he was up to, now.

Talia sometimes went to the studio with Jamal and she was getting along with everyone. According to her, “Em” (as she called him) was a great guy and she was pretty sure the two of you would get along.

FAST FORWARD

You had officially made it through your first NA meeting. It had been emotional but you were glad you went. Now was the time you dreaded : meeting everyone at the studio. As much as you appreciated Talia’s efforts to help you clear your head, you weren’t exactly the social type.

As the two of you entered the studio, you were greeted by half a dozen people. As soon as he saw you, Jamal got up and have you the biggest hug.

- How did it go ? He asked.

- Uh… it went well, I guess, you answered.

You weren’t particularly intent on talking about it, especially in front of people. Fortunately, Jamal was wise enough not to elaborate. The two of you were close and he knew better than to embarrass you. Still, you were thankful for his concern. From the moment he learned you’d be moving in with them, he had been nothing but supportive. « I know you’ll get through it », he had said.

Talia introduced you to everyone.

- So, this is Y/N, our new roommate and my very best friend, she said.

- How come we never met you before ? Somebody asked.

- Well, Y/N is a scholar so she doesn’t have a lot of time for people with lesser minds, she said jokingly.

You blushed immediately. Your best friend was the most supportive person of your work and she never stopped telling you how proud she was.

- Nice to meet you all, you said a bit awkwardly.

You shook everyone’s hand and you kind of had a shock as you introduced yourself to Eminem. You remembered him from at least fifteen years ago, blonde hair and clean shaven. He was now sporting brown hair as well as a well-trimmed beard. You would never have recognised him, had the two of you crossed path in the street. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was rather good looking. And in pretty good shape for an older dude who was in his early fifties. In fact, he did look at least ten years younger.

- Call me Marshall, he said as soon as he shook your hand.

- Ok, Marshall, you said while looking in his deep blue eyes.

He wasn’t as cheerful and smiling as the others, but he wasn’t distant either. You had always pictured him as a loud person, but the man you had in front of you was far from it. In fact, he seemed like the quiet, rather serious type. He looked like he was staring at you as if he was trying to read into your soul.

You joined Talia and sat on one of the big leather couches while everyone got back to working. You looked around and noticed that the studio seemed like a very comfortable, soothing space. For the first time today, you eased a little.

After some time, the group decided to take a break. Most of them went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air, but you stayed inside. You did indulge in the occasional cigarette but you had been told it would be easier for you to refrain from taking any substance. You tried to be reasonable and not get tempted by the smell.

At some point, you were left with only Marshall, who was listening to the tune they just recorded in his headphones, pushing buttons on the mixing desk.

- So, how long have you been sober ? He asked as he looked at you.

- How do… how do you know ? You asked in shock.

- I was with Talia and Jamal when they got the call about one of their friends behind in the hospital after an OD. And you playing with your NA chip kind of tipped me off, he shrugged.

- Oh. Right. Actually, today was my first meeting, you said and blushed a little.

- Recovery is hard, he pointed out. Congrats on taking the first step.

You didn’t say more and he got back to mixing, as you stayed silent and watched him being extremely focused. As you studied him, you couldn’t help but notice an AA necklace dangling from his neck.

- So you’re in recovery too ? You asked.

- Yeah. Been sober for fifteen years now, he said with a smile.

- Wow. That’s impressive.

- Doesn’t mean it’s always easy, though, he confessed. But it’s 100% worth it.

There were a hundreds of questions going through your mind, but you clearly did not know him enough to ask them. Instead, you just smiled.

- Want to give me your opinion on the track ? He offered with a smile while handing you the headphones.

- I know nothing about music but sure, why not, you said, taking place in the chair next to his.

You placed the headphones on your ears and he played the song. You closed your eyes, in order to concentrate on what you were hearing. You were amazed at how fast this man was able to rap. Yet, you could hear and understand every single word. You particularly enjoyed the rhyming schemes. And, as ever with Jamal, the music was on point.

- it’s good, you said. It’s really good.

- Good to hear, he said with a smile.

The others came back to the room and Talia seemed extatic at the sight of you and Marshall talking. She knew how shy you were and every time you talked to someone new, she saw it as some sort of victory.

- So, people, Jamal said. How about y’all come to our place after ?

Everyone cheered and agreed. From what you gathered, it was usual for the group to meet at Jamal and Talia’s after a long day at the studio, so that they could kick back and get their mind off work. Talia held your hand in hers.

- I forgot Jamal wanted to have people over, I’m so sorry she said.

- It’s fine, you reassured her. But I’d rather stay in my room, if you don’t mind.

As everyone was arriving at Talia and Jamal’s, you said your goodbyes decided to hide in your room. Not that everyone hadn’t been super nice, but you highly suspected that there would be alcohol involved, if not weed. While you were climbing up the stairs, Talia grabbed your arm.

- Are you going to be ok ? There won’t be any hard liquor or anything like that, Y/N. Just a few beers, she said.

- I know, but… it’s been a long day. Meetings, people… I’d rather rest, you reassured her.

- Sure, she said as she gave you a peck on the cheek. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.

As soon as you entered your room, you changed into some comfier clothes : a cream-colored, cashmere set. You removed your makeup and put your hair up in a bun. You weren’t going to see people anyway so why bother ? You decided to watch Friends (your favorite show on Earth) and snuggle under a throw that reminded you of the place you shared with Simon.

After a couple of episodes, you heard a unfamiliar knock.

- come in ? You said.

The door opened and you saw Marshall standing there.

- So, are you hiding ? He asked with a smile.

- Kind of, you admitted.

- You have nothing to be scared of, he said. It’s very chill, downstairs.

- There’s still booze, right ?

- Just beer.

- I don’t really trust myself, you admitted.

- You had a drinking problem too ? He asked.

- Nope. Just pills. But now that they’re gone, I swear I’d take anything just to feel remotely… whatever.

- I feel you, Marshall said.

- Do you ?

- Yes, he simply said, showing his AA necklace.

- How do you feel so comfortable in a setting like this then ? You asked, wondering if you would ever get to the same point.

- It’s been 15 years, he explained. It gets easier with time. Plus, I’ve come to value the person I’ve become much more than the person I used to be when I was using. No money in the world could convince me to come back to that.

- It’s hard, you know. Hiding here when I know what’s going on down there, I said.

- Talia already gave Jamal so much shit about it, he said with a laugh.

This made you smile. Deep down, you knew Jamal didn’t mean harm, so you were kind of hoping Talia wasn’t giving him too much of a hard time.

- Thank you, you whispered. I don’t want to deprive you of your own fun, though.

- It’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna stick around for long. I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drive. You know, change your mind …?

- Uh… sure, I replied. Give me 5 minutes so that I can get dressed ?

He left the room and you quickly put together an outfit with a pair of dark wash jeans, a black turtleneck, a pair of knee-high boots and a blazer. You put your hair in a sleek ponytail and added some mascara for good measure. You weren’y trying too hard, but I definitely wanted to make an effort. After all, you had just met him - and he was extremely attractive.

- Ready to go, you said as you emerged of my room.

- Some sweats would have been enough, you know, he said joking.

- Oh. I started blushing.

- You look great though.

He didn’t say a word more and you got downstairs.

- Y/N and I are going on a drive, Marshall announced.

- Wait a minute, Talia said before you got the chance to get through the door.

She looked at both of you.

- No messing around. No drinking. No smoking. Nothing illicit or illegal. And you’d better be back home before midnight.

- Yes, Marshall noted with a chuckle.

- Yes Mom, you said jokingly while giving her a peck on the cheek.

As you got ouf of the house, you got to an impressive car. You were never good at recognising the brands or models, but this one was huge and it seemed like it was really expensive. It was also a bit contrast with Marshall, who did not look like the over-the-top stereotypical rapper. In fact, he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a hoodie, no luxury logo to be seen.

- Where are you taking me ? I asked.

- You’ll see, he said with a voice full of mystery.

Normally, you wouldn’t have agreed to a car ride with someone you barely knew, but you were so eager to leave the house that you did not really care.

You took place in the car and Marshall started driving.

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Unsweetened Lemonade [Hotch x Reader]

Photo Credits: Center (@2k17-xanax-girl) Right and Left (@lesbianhotch)

Prompt: Aaron struggles after the death of Haley, until he takes a prescription sleep aid, Halcion. The ramifications of that choice will change his and the reader's life forever. 

Pairing: Aaron x Bau-Reader

Category: Angst/Whump 

Word Count: 4.4K

Content Warnings: Drug abuse [Hotch] trauma [Hotch] distressing situations, depression, and hospitals. If I missed any, please let me know. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! Here is the first whump fic of the month! I know the month is almost over but from me the whump will continue a while longer as I have four other whump fics planned. My writing this took some time but I was happy when I was writing rather than stressed, so I think that’s a good thing. The fic title is based on the song by Amélie Farren titled "Unsweetened Lemonade" I recommend you give it a listen if you are down. That being said, thank you to everyone who has kept up with me, or to any new readers or followers! Please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

“You are relieved of your duties, Agent Hotchner. I wish you well with your future endeavors.” The words stung Aaron more than he expected. He knew this was coming, but the reality of it hit him like a splash of cold water. Hotch refused to look away from Strass. He could tell from her expression that she didn’t wish him well. What was worse was that he knew she knew. He got up from his chair and extended his hand. The Director also stood, and the height difference between them was almost funny. She took his large hand and gave it one firm shake before dropping her hand to her side and giving him a look that said, “You’re dismissed.” without having to utter a sound.

Aaron took a breath and walked out the door. Dave was at the end of the hallway, he had been the whole meeting. Aaron shook his head, no, and Rossi dropped his head. He’d clearly wanted, and maybe even expected a different outcome. Hotch hadn’t, he’d seen it coming for over a month now. No matter how much he thought about the outcome of today, he’d never in a million years seen his life turning out like this. Only a few months ago everything had been fine, fine? 

Many weeks after Haley had died, Hotch had still woken up dripping sweat from night terrors or nightmares about her dead corpse rotting, stalking, or begging him to let her live. Night after night his former wife was tormenting him for not being good enough. Worse, it wasn’t his failure as a husband, but his failure as an FBI Agent and Unit Chief. When he’d almost passed out and had a breakdown on a case, Dave had pulled him aside and insisted that he go to a hospital. Aaron felt guilty about going to get care during a case. He’d resisted. However, when the small-town doctor had filled a prescription for Halcion and he had taken the meds that first night, he had the best sleep of his life, or at least for the last year. 

Things really had been good for a bit after that. When he felt like he needed a strong night’s sleep, Aaron would pop one of the small blue-greyish pills and would knock out a few minutes later. The team had even noticed his improvement in mood and energy. Most of them thought that it was because he was continuing this therapy, which he’d stopped as soon as was allowed by the departmental standards. He couldn’t speak about his failings any more than he had. When the topic of Haley came up, he’d felt such a sharp pain in his chest and stomach it made him want to vomit. 

On one of those good mornings, y/n had brought pastries and coffee for the team. Aaron was nowhere to be seen, and she knew that meant he was either in a meeting or holed up in his office like he normally had been -- more -- in the months before Foyett. Just as she ascended the stairs, the elevator dinged and Aaron stepped out and toward his office. y/n offered him one of her brilliant smiles and said, “Speak of the devil.” Hotch chuckled and replied, “Who, me?” y/n rolled her eyes and said, “I brought you one of those danishes you like from the bakery. You know you’re losing weight, right? What do I need to do to fatten you up?” y/n said it half in jest, but there was a seed of truth in her statement as well. 

Aaron and y/n had an odd relationship. Almost like they were dating, but they weren’t. But if anyone else saw them, that would be the assumption. Aaron opened the door for y/n and said, “I could write you up for insubordination for a comment like that y/n, you know.” y/n brushed past him and looked into his eye a slight twinkle in her own as she said, “Right, right, and you’ve said that to me how many times this week already.” 

When Hotch got to his desk, he poked back and replied, “Where’s my coffee? I see Reid and Garcia have theirs.” y/n crossed her arms over her chest and said, “You don’t need coffee. You’ve been more active than usual these last few weeks. What’d the therapist give you? Or did they finally put the cocaine back in Coke?” Aaron looked up, straight-faced, but he was near laughter. However, y/n’s words cut close. Too close. He could feel the pills in his desk like a small fire threatening to get bigger with a small gust. He wasn’t supposed to have kept taking them, but the form that he had gotten from the small-town doctor who was also the psychiatrist, was so easy to change to his D.C. doctor’s name so he could get a refill by just going to the website and hitting a button. Thankfully for him, the office staff hadn’t noticed the change yet. 

Hotch had never done drugs, at least not hard ones. In undergrad, there’d been some weed, and LSD, but nothing major and not often. He didn’t find it so hard to stop, as he needed his full faculties for school. He realized it wasn’t worth the high of the moment versus the accomplishments he could make in the future. Now he felt like he was back in his dorm as he took his one pill a night, but he hadn’t seen any negative consequences so far, and as y/n had said, he even had more energy which was better for the team, and much better for Jack. 

Five months later had been the real shift. After all, the road to hell was paved with good intentions, and Hotch did think he was doing the right thing with the pills. They were helping him get back on his feet. The five-month anniversary of Haley’s death hit Aaron hard. It was close to their wedding anniversary and the two events cut into him like a red hot brand. He hadn’t expected it to be such a strong feeling that it nearly knocked him off his feet. Thankfully there wasn’t a case that week, and even if there had been, Dave would have told him to stay home anyway. That night after getting Jack to Jess’s and saying goodnight to his son, he drove back home and took two pills instead of one. He was out like a light. The dawn came and his mouth was dry and he felt a little woozy as he got out of bed to shower, but the cold water perked him up and he realized he felt pretty fucking good. Well rested again, even after something emotionally hard. 

Hotch had promised himself that taking two pills would be a rare occasion. Only for the toughest nights, and only when Jack wasn’t home. He wasn’t sure how “out of it” he was when he took two, so he didn’t dare risk it while his son was home. But the next few days he really didn‘t sleep as well and he went to work cranky and off-kilter. The pins and needles were a feeling he had and an irritation that wasn’t like him. No one on the team had really noticed, and Aaron was especially glad that his stoicism often came off as disinterest in anything apart from work. There was always Dave though. Hotch could tell that his friend was worried about him, just not sure what to be worried about. Aaron knew he’d have to come up with a valid excuse for Dave soon or start acting like a normal functioning human. 

Hotch felt bad now for how he’d treated Spencer for his Diludad addiction. Not that he hadn’t offered support and help. He’d even offered to pay for Reid to go into rehab if that was something he wanted. Of course, Reid had declined and pretty much fully recovered. There were moments sometimes when Aaron could see the desire for a hit on the young agent's face. It pained Aaron because he knew how much Spencer was struggling in those moments. However, he’d never fully understood as well as he did when he was dealing with his own addiction. Not that Hotch was willing to call what he was doing an addiction. It was just a small problem to solve. It was shocking how much cognitive dissonance Aaron held with his ever-growing issues. What he was calling a “small problem,” was developing into a fully formed addiction - though his rate of intake might have been slower than others on Benzos. 

When Aaron was on a regular schedule of taking two pills a night and starting to consider a third dose mid-day but he he hadn’t gotten there yet. It was an annoying case with as many authorities as possible walking over everyone else’s toes and getting hurt when it happened even though that party just did the same thing to the police. The team was out in a field and to be brutally honest, Hotch needed the restroom, Spencer and Emily were having a loud half conversation half argument near him, Rossi was trying to calm the state troopers, JJ was off somewhere talking to a troublesome reporter and the sun was so bright. It was giving Aaron a migraine that was only getting worse. 

Morgan was on his left asking some sort of question and becoming more insistent with each word, but Hotch couldn’t understand him and his head was pounding until he finally said, “Give me a Goddamn minute, Morgan.” A look of shock and then briefly anger flashed on the strong agent's face before Derek said, “What the hell is wrong with you, Hotch? You’ve been acting off for weeks now.” Aaron thought about snapping back, but his brain had caught up with his mouth, and he closed it before any other hateful words seeped out. He’d fucked up big time and he knew it. Even if Hotch wasn’t going to say anything else apart from an apology, Morgan who could be hot-headed was winding up to say something else. Before he got a chance, Rossi took hold of his arm and said, “Come on, Let’s take a breather before any of us say anything else that we regret.” While Rossi towed Morgan away, the light touch of y/n’s fingers on his arm indicated that he was to follow her which he did. At least in y/n’s company, he was unlikely to explode again. 

They walked in silence as the sky grew quickly grey and the wind blew the leaves on the ground in pointless circles. Hotch and y/n didn’t talk at first. y/n wanted to give him time to sort out his thoughts before asking questions or giving advice. Certainly, there had to be a reason for his odd behavior. Derek had been right about one thing, Hotch had been acting off the last month or so, but no one had yet brought it up with him. 

While y/n was thinking, Aaron’s mind was also a sea with crashing waves and he was a man lost in that vast ocean struggling to catch his breath. Unknow the the rest of the team apart from Derek there were other tensions between the men that hadn’t been resolved. Two weeks there was talk about promotions in New York or Chicago again. Morgan’s name had come up at the round table, and trying to be supportive, Hotch had only said that Derek’s leadership skills were on par or above anyone else mentioned. The next week, Strauss had called Morgan into a one-on-one meeting to discuss his possible transfer to either Chicago or New York. No matter which option Morgan picked, it would say something about Aarons's leadership and judgment. Before he had a chance to decline the offer, Erin added, “Agent Hotchner speaks very highly of your talent you know. Your ambition and drive are a cut above.” Strauss adding the last phrase, which Hotch had not said, made Morgan scowl for just a second. What did Hotch know about his drive and ambition? To him, it sounded like Aaron wanted him off the team because there was some secret competition between them. That their fearless leader was scared of him. This set Morgan off. First, he didn’t like comparison and second, he didn’t like being told what to do. 

By the time the meeting was over, Derek had told Strauss no, he was seething. He moved straight to Aaron’s office where they spent a good twenty minutes whisper yelling at each other so no one who looking into the office would think anything weird of it. Derek started strong by saying, “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Hotch. You might be my boss, but you don’t run my life!” Aaron looked a bit shocked and asked, “Pardon? What is this about?” This response only made Mogan more angry. He assumed Aaron was trying to brush it off. When he had clarified, the two continued to talk, and though they’d partially patched things up over the last week, the foundation was a bit weak at the moment. Hotch’s outburst hadn’t helped him any on that front. He could picture the small cracks in the concrete getting bigger with each step. 

Finally, after a long time, y/n asked, “You gonna be alright, Hotch?” Aaron sighed and looked at y/n before replying, “Yeah. I just have to apologize to Morgan. This case is eating at me more than normal.” That was all a lie. The Benzos were eating at his mind more. More. More. More. But y/n didn’t seem to notice as she said, “Yeah. This one’s weird. Too many cooks in the kitchen. No wonder the pot boiled over.” Hotch nodded and gestured for them to start back to the scene. He hoped if he did apologize they could get back to the prescient or motel faster, his heart was beating oddly and the pins-and-needles sensation was creeping back up his legs. The day somehow managed to drag along to a conclusion but it was long and stressful and almost as soon as he was in his room, Hotch popped three pills and planned to take even more before he slept. Once the dose hit that warm sleepy feeling came over him and the world was right again. He pushed himself toward his bed in the tacky motel room and was out like a corpse before he even had the chance to turn off the overhead light and fan that was making lazy circles and circulating the warm air around the cramped space. 

If that complicated situation with Morgan hadn’t been embarrassing enough for Aaron, then nothing would be, but he’d regret the path he was taking soon enough. And this go around, there would be no patching things up. 

It was another case. It was the dead of winter in Wyoming and there was a killer forcing people to freeze to death. The cold was biting and hard for everyone, and the team was used to cold. However, this case required them to be out in the frigid air for long stints and it made everyone feel numb at some point or another. The team was functioning pretty much as normal and after a significant lead had been taken and moved the case forward at a fast clip, Hotch called for the team to get dinner and have an early night as a reward. He said that they would pick up early in the morning and that they should get inside before someone caught a cold. Although the gesture was appreciated by the team, y/n and Rossi gave their Unit Chief a weary look. Hotch was being odd again and no one else seemed to be noticing. y/n looked over to Rossi who gave a tiny nod that had also noticed her gaze. 

They would talk about their concerns with each other when they got to the hotel. Unfortunately, their conversation about what might be wrong with Aaron would be no use, because at 3:00 AM a guest who wasn’t on the team who had gotten high tried to make microwave mac and cheese, but completely forgot to add water to the spinning plastic container. Within a minute the fire alarm was blaring as the carbs and plastic burned and sent acrid fumes throughout the hallway and the hotel as a whole. With the smoke and alarm going off, everyone asleep or not moved outside as they waited for the firemen to arrive. Everyone except Aaron. All the team were assembled outside wondering what had happened and if there was something else going on with the case or if this was a drill or any other variety of things. Hotch still hadn’t come down and they assumed he was grabbing something, but after a minute they all became worried. 

Just as they headed toward the door to go back inside and see what was wrong, the firetruck came screaming into view and the firefighters intercepted the team. One burly woman held y/n back from going inside and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?” y/n sighed and said, “My boss is in there!” y/n composed herself and pulled out her ID and said, “I’m a federal agent and he’s the Leader of the Behavior Analysis Unit, I have to get to him.” The woman huffed and crossed her arms over her chest as her unit rushed inside ready to face the “fire,” and replied, “Ma’am, you could be the King of England and I’d still not let you in there. Let my team do their jobs, please?” Desperate but with nothing else to do, y/n stepped back toward Rossi and Derek who were pacing and talking. 

After what felt like ages, the ringing of an ambulance sounded louder and louder. y/n internally begged that it wasn’t for Hotch. After all, there could be other people trapped in the tall building who were hurt. Everyone standing outside in the cold moved aside as the paramedics moved it. At this point y/n was frigid and Spencer stepped forward draping his warm sweater over her shoulder. Shocked by the sudden warmth, y/n turned around and said, “Thanks, Spence.” A few minutes later, y/n and the team could see the paramedics and firefighters moving toward the exit. Someone was on a stretcher, and once the cavalcade was outside the BAU members noticed it was Aaron being wheeled out. They all ran forward and Derek asked one of the medics, “What happened to him? Smoke inhalation?” The EMT looked up briefly and then back down before saying, “Benzo overdose, or close to. He must have been using it for some time to build up a tolerance this high. We found lots of bottles in his room. We’re having them tested to see where they’re from.” 

The comment the man made left everyone dumbfounded. Aaron had OD? The team’s silence was momentary as they burst into chatter about what this meant and if it was intentional or not. Was it related to the case? Though no one really wanted to believe it was a choice Hotch would make, Derek, Dave, and y/n knew deep down inside that this wasn’t case-related. 

When Aaron woke up, it was with the biggest sense of not knowing where he was he had ever experienced. Everything was foggy and he could feel a needle in his arm. When he could open his eyes enough to recognize Dave sitting in the corner of his room the reality of the situation sunk in. “What happened?” he rasped out. His throat was so dry that it felt like it was on fire. Rossi looked up from his corner before standing and grabbing Hotch a small paper cup full of water. Once Aaron had drunk, Dave said, “You almost died. There was an accident at the hotel and the fire alarm went off. You slept through it and the firefighters called EMS. You’re lucky someone was high last night, you might not have made it.” 

Aaron closed his eyes hearing this news. It was over, it was all over. Somehow even more so than when he took extra pills last night without really thinking about it. It wasn’t a good feeling, but at least his horrible, shameful secret was out. He didn’t have to keep hiding it or attempt to hide it. Hotch suspected Rossi had known all along and was waiting for him to ask for help. Not surprisingly, Dave asked, “Why, Aaron? Why do this to yourself? You’ve always been the strong one. The one that weathers the storm. This isn’t the friend that I know.” Rossi’s words stung, but he was right. Hotch took a few moments before saying. “Maybe I’m tired of being the strong one. I’ve had enough. After Haley… I didn’t feel like trying. I don’t want to feel like trying. I don’t want to die or anything. I need to be there for Jack, but the job is different now. Tainted. And I have a feeling when I’m gone I’m still going to be working here in some way. Something will go wrong and I’ll still somehow get the blame, ‘Oh that was Hotchner’s duty, must have not gotten to it before he was let go.’” Rossi bit the inside of his lip because Aaron was being honest. One thing about the FBI, if you could throw someone under the bus, you would cover your ass. 

Rossi said softly, “You should rest. You’re going to need it for what comes next.” Aaron gave a small nod and decided not to be a smart-ass and retort, “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing too much of here?” Surprisingly, Hotch fell asleep pretty quickly even if he thought he wouldn’t. When he woke, Rossi was gone, but he wasn’t alone. y/n was in his seat instead. She noticed he was awake and said, “How are you feeling?” Hotch gave a small grunt before saying, “You shouldn’t be in here, y/n.” The bluntness of his words cut at y/n and she furrowed her brow saying, “Aaron, it’s not like you’re going to get up and attack me, and from what I know Benzo's addiction isn’t transferred by air.” 

y/n would never have said something like that, but she felt fried and his opener hadn’t helped her mood. Hotch sighed. He knew he’d made a mistake speaking that way. But he needed to do what he did next for y/n’s sake. He could wreck his own life, but not y/n’s. He’d never do anything to hurt her. And realizing that he finally realized he loved y/n. That tiny seed had been germinating for months and finally bloomed too late;  now he’d forever lost his chance. He put on a stern face, a reprimanding face as he said, “No, I can’t give you that, but my reputation is a tainted one now, and you should stay far away from me. Pretend you didn’t even know me for your career.” y/n huffed, seeing what he was trying to do. She bit at her thumbnail before replying, “We can fix this though, right?” The panic in her voice broke Aaron as he said, “No.” 

y/n took a sharp breath in before stating firmly, “But Reid…” Hotch cut her off saying, “That was different. You weren’t there for that, y/n. We protected him. That can’t happen for me. And you are not to try and save me. Let that be my last order to you as Unit Chief.” y/n looked devastated. How was the team going to be a team without Hotch? She tried to hold back her tears but they bubbled over and she rushed from the room, not wanting Aaron to see her like this. When y/n was gone, Aaron slumped back into bed and harshly rubbed his eyes. He felt more alone than ever.

It was two weeks that Hotch was formally suspended and three days later, on a Friday he was let go from the F.B.I. Derek would be taking his spot as Unit Chief, and though he wouldn’t be there to see it, he knew it was going to be a rough transition. He was only happy for Rossi to still be there to be a mentor to Derek and the rest of the team. He’d prepped for this day that he knew was coming and as he left the office for the last time, he dropped a letter off in y/n’s mailbox. He wouldn’t be so conspicuous as to just put it on her desk. It read: 

y/n, I’m so sorry things had to end like this. You are an amazing agent and will continue to be without me here. There are so many things I regret, the things that led up to this firing, but my feelings for you as well. I know it’s unfair to you for me to do this now, but you really are a special person, y/n. Maybe, years from now when things are different we could see each other again? I hope that’s something you would want. I hope by then I’d be worthy of you. I wish you the best, and, until later, you have my best thoughts and wishes - Aaron. 

Hotch walked out the door as Derek got out of a meeting this Strauss. Agent Hotchner was to be forgotten as much as possible. No bringing him up or asking him for help. Morgan walked into the mail room and saw the letter poking out from y/n’s box. This was odd because she was relatively new and didn’t get much if any mail. Derek suspected it was from Aaron, and his suspicion was proven correct as he pulled out the letter and studied the outside. Of all of them, y/n would suffer the most from Hotch’s loss, so without much thinking about it, Derek grabbed the letter, crumpled it, and tossed it in the recycle bin. Over the next few weeks there were many challenges for the team and Aaron, but at least Aaron thought that his message had been clear, little did he or y/n know that it hadn’t been received. So the weeks went on and y/n thought Aaron had dropped her like a hot potato onto the ground, and Aaron, waiting for some sort of reply lost hope that he would hear from y/n again. Maybe she was listening to the rumors about him that must be circling the office. Either way, what could have been a sweet and lovely thing, remained soured like unsweetened lemonade.

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[deerfests]

Fraser. After it’s been a couple days, and grief gives way to reality, do you think it haunts David Mills, the fact that he pulled the trigger and gave John Doe exactly what he wanted?? Does he ruminate on the moment in the stairwell, and think of the infinite possibilities that could’ve made things end differently?? Do you think he becomes jaded and disenfranchised by the legal system, feeling as though everything’s so corrupt, that there’s no such thing as “good guys” and “bad guys”, but there’s no way he can work another job, not after everything that’s happened.

Or do you think that he still clings to his values, now more than ever, and strives to fight for a better world so that no one has to go through what he went through, because otherwise his wife and unborn child died for nothing? So he tries his damndest to make the world a better place??

Personally, I always imagined something of a slight mix between the two. Mills being so one track minded from the start that there's no way he can be anything but a cop even if he wants to quit, walk away. Unfortunately, there's still bills to pay, he is alive and even if he wishes he wasn't -- he hates the thought of disappointing the last remaining person in his life like that -- Somerset. Because I also imagined they become constants in each other's lives, as only they can understand each other's pain.

On the the other hand, David has to force himself to try harder, to not let anyone down ever again due to his failures. Even if he won't allow himself to live his life to the fullest.

I also imagined Mills being a cop doesn't get stuck in prison for too long, they find a way to call it a "temporary insanity" due to the grief of the news he had just learned. Which in part, was true. Maybe fully true, even. I do think David lives with intense regret for what he did, however. As well, as the loss he experienced doesn't let him out of the grips of grief. At least not long enough to live a normal life.

Somerset being his only constant at this becomes his only real connection to any peace. Somerset becomes something of an anchor for Mills, maybe. Again, the only other person who can understand the pain.

When I roleplayed post-movie Mills, I always had fun with the idea of Somerset finally moving away to the little house he was trying to buy for his retirement*, fixing it up and not fully grasping he left Mills to spiral, though. He just left Mills, who was forced to go to therapy and take meds, who abuses the hell out of his Xanax prescription. Mills, who smokes and drinks too much sometimes. Anything to shut up the echos of the fact that he's suffering without Tracy.

Gah!! I love the movie.

*If I recall, this was mostly cut out of the movie, but is in the deleted scenes. Usually, I would disregard deleted content as not canon, but with this movie I allow it. It just makes sense.

[obstinatecondolement]

Content warning: internalised ableism relating to stigma about psychiatric medication

I wish I could take Xanax without feeling like I'm being ridiculous and melodramatic. I am not like this about any other anti-anxiety medication I've had to take for panic attacks, so this is 1000% just mindrot from people making snide jokes very specifically namedropping Xanax about hysterical rich women with no problems "popping xannies."

And like, I'm not saying that there are no rich or otherwise privileged people with mild anxiety who have significantly better access to psychatric care, and therefore prescriptions to psychiatric medication, than others with "bigger" problems who just have to get through things unmedicated and without "making a fuss." I'm not even saying that rich people never take psychiatric medication frivolously when they're not that upset, but presumably some do.

But also like... that's a very mean joke that is frankly misogynist in addition to ableist, and I wish people would stop making it, and I also wish it didn't live rent free in my life.

Also, just to say, having access to psychiatric medicaton doesn't mean someone don't have problems, them having "big" reactions to "small" problems doesn't mean that they are acting out, or that they're not trying their best to cope as well as they can, and even if they're not people still do not have to earn a lack of contempt through some arbitrary benchmark of adequate amounts of hardship.

[fairlyqualityanon]

@ Anon

1) Yes

2) that's what I thought

3) the really fucked up part is this:

So the reason Emma left is because she was spiraling into a deep depression and trying to explain why it hurt and was important, but we told her basically to shut up because she was harassing people, even though the mod supposedly knew Emma had been hurt this way by this person before. Anyway she has a right to her feelings (because I've hurt her this way before and promised not to do it again) but since her trigger was something I said, now I want to kill myself and here is a graphic explanation of how I wish to do it.

Did anyone go "oh shit Emma is spiraling and nobody's heard from her in a day and a half? Can someone go check on her?" Nah. Just more "oh you poor thing, how dare Emma!"

(Also I'd posted prior to this in vent chat about my history, and even why Thing hurts so much, and everyone said they'd support me... So yeah that was a lie.)

In case anyone is actually concerned, I'm out of "wish I was dead" status and into "if I don't wake up in the morning that's alright by me" zone. :) Fortunately I'm on some heavy psychiatric medication plus determined to outlive a couple sexual predators plus I've got a prescription for Xanax (abiding by the dosage/timing, don't worry).

Edit: if you say "we're your friends" but your response to "Emma is in a suicidal spiral" is to ignore she exists... you're clearly not a friend

[grapenehifics]

Chapter 61

Link

Just like the juxtaposition of the birth of the twins and Satine's death, I also really like the combo of very-recently widowed Obi-Wan attending a wedding.

This chapter contains a loving homage to Sallah's line, "Life goes on, Indy. There is the proof," from Raiders of the Lost Ark. (God, I wish we could get John Rhys Davies in Star Wars...)

Drinking until you lose feeling in your fingertips is something Legolas said in Return of the King (I think maybe only the extended editions?)

The name of the mother of the classmate of Ahsoka's who found weed in her room is an in-joke to myself and anyone who went to high school with me; we showed up one morning to find out the cops had come the day before and searched a bunch of lockers and had a list of people who were being suspended for possession. (I was in band; that basically meant we couldn't rehearse for the next three days because half our people were out LOL). Weed was not my particular bugaboo (and if it was, I hope I would have been smart enough not to bring it to school?), but I was a little nervous because I did have almost $100 cash in my locker because I was running an underground betting pool on our football team at the time.

Obviously different people have different preferences, but for my money, Einstein's in the best large-scale chain bagel place.

Obviously, Obi-Wan mixing alcohol and pills - and Anakin handing out his own prescription medication - is very much a 'don't try this at home' scenario. But I did want to make it clear that Anakin's not worried about drug interaction because he knows Obi-Wan's prescriptions as well as he knows his own, and that he's well aware he shouldn't be doing it, but he's so desperate to help Obi-Wan feel better he'll try just about anything. (This is also the boy who was dealing Xanax in high school, after all.)

Not that I should really be admitting this on the internet - and if you're a cop than I'm a fiction writer and this story is totally made up - but I am very much from a family where not sharing your pills would be, frankly, deeply rude. I kind of thought all families had a communal stash of muscle relaxants, honestly. Like, sure they might be a little expired, but if I ever had a headache I couldn't shake I'd have three aunts and a cousin all offering me the 'good' pain meds. I have one family member who went to pharmaceutical school because she figured it would be a shame to let all that knowledge about potential drug interactions go to waste. This was how we showed love!

Just before I left for college one of those aunts finally went to therapy, and she came back after her first session and was like, huge news, everybody, we all have something called generational trauma! Also, I flushed all my Vicodin down the garbage disposal. It took a while, but you can, actually, change family culture in a generation, and now we (well, most of us) are getting better about dealing with pain rather hiding it in alcohol and prescriptions. Or it's a work in progress, at least.

[sincelastsession]

I wish I could go into auto pilot

It's just the state of mind that I get into and I just walk around and I do all the things that I can get done in a robotic like state of mind and I call it auto pilot

And I don't know how to get there but sometimes I just go into auto pilot and do things and function and I'm like that all day and it's blissful

Like I don't have any thoughts in my brain my head is just empty other than I gotta do this I gotta do that I'm doing this I'm doing that I'm just puttering around my apartment doing things without just any worries

And I wish I could trigger my brain to go into auto pilot it would be so fucking nice right now

I would love a manic episode Because I feel completely fucking drained and the kind of manic episodes that I have had in my lifetime like I said not related to bipolar just random

I mean they were nice I didn't do anything stupid except like go get my haircut short and colored once I mean it was the dumbest thing I ever did and then the rest of it is just me getting things done and cleaning and feeling accomplished and feeling on top of the world and then I would just go back to normalI mean I wasn't talking fast I wasn't doing anything weird so maybe I was just an I thought it was Mania I don't know anymore because the last time I had a manic episode was like 5 years ago

And I stopped having a lot of depression and manic issues and other issues when I got off of prozac by myself because I couldn't figure out which medicine was making me want to fucking die and since the psych facility ripped me off of my xanax in a very malpractice way and the only other antidepressant that I had that I was taking happen to be prozac well it was easy to figure out what was causing it

I don't know I'm talking all over the place and I'm pissed off at that and I can see my bottle of her all that's going completely untouched because if I start taking it again which I can because it's got my name on it and it's my prescription and I can take it if I want to I don't think there's a log against that but I'm not going to it's going to sit there because I don't know what to do with it I'm obviously not gonna flush it there's a fucking shortage of her all in what if I get put on It again

But I'm so tempted to take some I can have some quiet time and my brain and actually talk in a straight line and do things

And I don't think that my psychiatrist is a very good psychiatrist other than knowing that I need to be on my anxiety medication

Like I've explained to you I've been on every anxiety medication and this is the only one that works with my brain and I don't fucking know why other than there's an extra o-ring and I've tried the non binzo medications as well and they don't do anything

And I don't really want to be talking about this almost obsessively like I'm not talking about it on purpose it's just like compulsive

I understand that there's nothing that I can do about that right now and it's unlikely that anything is going to happen to fix it but my brain just keeps rolling it over and over and over and over and overrun and my head and it's very annoying so it's coming out of my mouth and process

And Doctor Todd said that he thought that region's medical fucked me up because I was just talking like this after I got out andHe was worried about brain damage and all sorts of shits that they could have done to me with the medicines they gave me and I never got a list of those medicines and I never got a copy of my charts from that facility because they refused to give them to me because I was going to Sue them and then my parents were going to help me get a lawyer and then all of the sudden they just stopped trying to help me and I ended up not Sue anyone I should have

And this man is probably fucking up other people because I wasn't the only patient that Doctor Todd had to fix after he fucked other people up

And Doctor Todd told me that he thought that I was probably processing things out loud and hyperverbal because of the ADHD But I think it's like a combination of autism and that and o CD an anxiety and it's just this monster ball of crap and if I could only just fucking calm down and have some peace and my brain would feel better

And I talked to a friend of mine that's a general practitioner and he told me that he thinks the same thing as my last psychiatrist thinks he thinks that they put me on so many different medicines that it fucked up my brain chemistry or something to that effect and he thinks that I have probably a Saratoga and dopamine oxytocin all the feel good work right brain chemicals like he thought that I might have an imbalanceAnd I'm like 00k so what do I do about that and he's like well you would need to get back on your medicine for your attention deficit disorder obviously because if you're out of dopamine or you're low on that you can't function very well and I'm like well yeah and I'm like man I wish you could be my Doctor and he's like I technically could but I am in Mississippi and I'm like well shit I can't really move to Mississippi and that was the end of that conversation

I mean I'm scared that I'm gonna wake up in my electricity is going to be turned off tomorrow because my dad is mad at me

I'm scared that they're not going to unblock me and I will have no parents to talk to

I don't want to talk to Travis everyday and some days I don't and he calls me frantically like I'm dead or something and I'm like dude you don't have to worry about me like that I was just taking a quiet day and I of talking everyday because I'm just chatting with you while you're at work and repeating the same things over and over

And he's like oh it's no problem I don't care it doesn't bother me let me just tailor myself to be the perfect guy for you and not take care of other shit for myself andAnd I keep having to mention out loud to other people who say that we're such a cute couple that he's like my brother and I don't care if that's embarrassing or annoying to himBecause I set a clear boundary

But like I have pattern recognition and I'm noticing a pattern in his behavior that I have noticed with other men that I was not interested in that continued to pursue me no matter what I said to them

So I'm watching very carefully and I'm wary that we even have a friendship

And I mean it very well could just be because of all the shit I went through with past friends and boyfriends and Justin recently and

I don't know I just feel currentlyA whole bunch of different ways

I feel used and empty and lonelyAnd I'm tired of crying and understand that I need to feel my feelings and let them out but this feels like grief that just will not go away and it's not depression I know the difference because I lived with depression deep dark nasty depression most of my life and it's not like I forgot what it felt like

I'm scared I don't feel secure I don't want to be alone

And if I do have some sort of inner child then maybe that's it maybe that's where all the fear is coming from I don't know

I don't think I've ever met my inner child I don't even know if I have one

I don't think I do because I don't think that I developed correctly growing up due to the traumas I had

I don't really even remember being a kid and doing things that kids got to do

I feel like I've gotten trouble for how I played with toys

I feel like if I didn't let my dad win aboard games that I would be in trouble because he would always throw tantrums when he lost like would flip the fucking board

I don't know what to do and I don't want to live in low-income housing because if I can't live in this apartment complex with these people I'm not gonna make it in low Income housing at all and I don't want to fucking live in that environment

And you know they told me June or July I would get to move and now they're telling me oh August end of July and beginning of August and now it's like September and then now it's like oh we're not gonna move you at all just hang it up get over and it's not happening

But then they're telling me I need to be patient if I want to move which does it make sense with the last statement at all so I'm tired of getting mixed messages and all I've been asking my parents for its clarity because I'm going fucking insane trying to figure out when I need to do things and they're asking me to wait and so I'm putting my entire life on hold which is actually a pretty common thing for me

If I have one appointment to go to and I have other things I need to get done I will do nothing in prepare myself all day for that appointment and then I will go home and do more nothing

And I have been told that that is like a classic ADHD thing

And I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that

And I just want to have a life

Like I just want to fucking do something but every time I try to make plans for myself my parents like since this in a psychic way somehow and they call me and they're like OK so we're gonna do this this this this and it's not Michael I had plans and then they have a tantrum so I have to cancel my plans to do things with them and thenAnd I tried to explain this to them and then they're like what plans did you have you don't have a life you said you don't have any friends

And I don't really feel like I have any true friends I feel like the people that understood me are all dead

I mean call Travis my best friend and he's not a terrible person even though I'm noticing a weird pattern with him but I mean I guess he's a friend I don't know if I would call him my best friend but I just say that because I don't know what else to say

And I don't feel like I have a life because of my parents because when I was old enough to go out and do things and I did that I would get my phone blown up because I would forget to do the dishwasherAnd I would be called home just to do the dishes

And that's fucked up because I was just trying to live my life and make social connections and make friends and things like that and dishes can wait or they could have done them themselves

Nobody at that point in time was so crippled that they couldn't have just loaded the dishwasher

I was young and I was just trying to go out and hang out with friends and I remembered later when I was hanging out with friends and I was like oh damn I'm gonna get in trouble for that and sure enough I would get a phone call and then one of my friends would be aggravated that they had to drive me back homePeople would get sad that I had to leave or they wouldn't understand why I had to just go home and do the dishes and I couldn't come back and hang out and this is from the time I was like old enough to go hang out with people into my 20s

My parents exerted control over me until I was able to move out and they still figured out a way to fuck with my head on phone calls and that started when I moved out the hang up call back scream at me hang up call back scream at me convince me that I need to call them back and frantically apologize and I don't fucking apologize anymore because they don't ever apologize to me when they're off the wall insane mean ass shit that they say

And of course it's never said in text so it's hearsay isn't that funny

They make themselves look good in text form and then I look like the reactive abuse asshole

I don't know what to do anymore about anything am I supposed to just rot in my bed

A psychfacility isn't going to do anything for me

Medications aren't gonna relieve fix anything else

I mean I'm terrified that my primary care is going to admit me to efficiency on Monday or Tuesday whenever my next appointment with her is

And I don't even want to go

I don't want to go to that appointment and talk about all the other health problems that I'm dealing with that I don't talk about here or with anybody else

Because nobody wants to talk about how painful and awful it is to have chronic boils and cysts that no Doctor can seem to figure out what the cause is or treat properly I just keep having this fucking infection and so even if I did meet somebody I couldn't be sexual with them and if I could then that would be a miracle because people are going to see the cysts and think that STD or an STI And it's not because we've ruled that out I'm literally singing an infectious disease as Doctor about like why I don't make Anna body's for covid

And then I have this mysterious versioh herpes that pops app next to my eye that they can't really figure out because I get like facial drooping and numbness and tingling and shit like that now I'm like OK well am I having a fucking stroke or is it my nervous system because of the herpes or what because some asshole with herpes on their mouth or possibly I don't know I was a tiny child when this happened somebody got it on my cheekbone next to my eyes so when I get super duper Immune system fucked up and stressed out all at the same time I'mSurprised I don't have a big giant rash under my eye with my eyes swollen and I'm surprised that that's not happening right now because it usually does when I'm under a huge amount of stress

I don't think my parents are taking me seriously at all about anything ever because they just call me dramaddict and I'm not trying to be dramatic and I don't act dramatic on purposeLike that. Like the most that I purposefully act dramatic is what I'm trying to a moat enough for people to understand when they aren't catching on to they aren't catching on to the fact that I'm making a joke or something but cause apparently my internal voice definitely doesn't match my external voice at all and I don't sound flat to myself but to everybody else I do and so they can't tell if I'm making a joke or not half of the time And I happen to have pretty dry dark humor so that can create problems because they're not catching my inflections or anything so I have to try extra hard and then That's really frustrating

You know I do sit around and I do try to remember good parts of my life like very impactful parts like the opposite of a trauma I don't know if there's a specific word for the opposite of a trauma I always wonder if they're like a psychological term that they made up for something but I never looked into it but anyway I guess you could say a joyous moment in my life that wasn't a trauma and I can't really think of much of them

[nathank77]

4/20/24

3:36 a.m edited/added to 3:50 a.m

So I took that shower, and shaved my head and face once I stopped having sporadic heart palpitations. I really think I'm going to be diagnosed by a cardiologist with panic attacks and I'm worried it'll affect my insomnia prescription.

They give you antidepressants for it sometimes and I'll straight up refuse. I'm ommitting psychosis but antidepressants are always pushed. Of course they could perscribe me .25 of xanax for panic attacks intermittently. Idk I'm just afraid it'll make me lose my current script so I started panicking about that.

Then I started panicking about my report for Kristen bc of the freedom of Information act. People will see I'm lying about psychosis but I mean you can't tell I have hallucinations... so I mean if I say I got better and I act like I have been, how can you prove it? But can my Doctors see it when I submit it? Can anyone look it up like say a motor vehicle ticket or a court case? Cause that's concerning if anyone could look it up including my current Dr's.

I tried to look up complaints ingeneral in ct against therapists and doctors and I couldn't find a site with any information. Either way Mike was right about it and it was making me panic and have palpitations as I read about it bc I don't want this label anymore but Kristen needs to go fucking down. She needs to be stripped of her license. She's fucking negligent.

When I stopped reading and said as for right now the report isn't finished. Also I can say I refuse to take antidepressants and I can ask if I get a psychiatrist from my cardiologist, if getting a benzodiazepine script will stop my current script from my PCP bc at that point it isn't worth it. But it could be a heart condition but I think I got diagnosed at the ER for anxiety for a reason....

Once I stopped reading everything and thinking about it they stopped. However I think Kristen is the source of the problem... I can't stand that she is getting paid as a negligent therapist for months at a time while I suffer and she couldn't even say she's sorry when I'll never hear the wind in the trees again without hearing an auditory hallucination. When I'll never have silence again. She's getting paid and my life is ruined and constant chatter is necessary and it makes my life intolerable.

I had some palpitations out of the shower but I guess I'm just developing panic disorder I don't have to treat it with antidepressants right? As for Kristen I'm worried anyone including say my PCP will be able to read it and see NATHAN IS GOING TO LIE TO EVERYONE TO GET TREATED AS A HUMAN. That's my concern. Kristen still deserves to lose her license. Mike gave me real anxiety but he wasn't wrong. I just don't know how you find the information.

Anyways this is my head:

I wish I had lotion. That wasn't like extreme lotion for my hands that fall apart from washing them.. as a bald guy I should know better than to shave more than once every 4 or 5 days. I forgot when I used to shave every other day my skin got mad. That's why I started buzzing it with no gaurd instead.

Anyways I'm a warrior for fighting all these mental health issues and doing everything I do, it's hard and I feel like a warrior with an arrow in my knee or something but I'm still fighting, blood stained and partially dead, but more alive than I've ever been cause I love this guy and he is worth fighting for:

Silverstein is my vice atm. Silverstein is becoming my favorite band tbh. I like, like 50 of their songs lol idk if they top linkin park but it's fucking close.

[dzpenumbra]

2/18/23

Things took a very big turn today. And I haven't been doing this poorly in a very long time.

I wasn't going to even write tonight. I didn't even eat dinner. I ate a can of chef boyardee and a microwave soup and a rice cake, and I hated all of it and now I have bad heartburn. And all I'm thinking is "I wish I had just gone out and gotten piss drunk, and I don't because drinking makes me feel sick and gives me heartburn... but now I have heartburn so..."

I. Want. To. Smoke. Cigarettes. So. Badly. Right. Now.

I have no idea how I haven't just driven out to literally any convenience store and bought a pack of Marb 27's and sat out on the picnic bench outside my building and just shamefully sucked down that nasty ritual until I felt dizzy and nauseous and kinda like I have to shit. Yeah, really selling it, huh.

Or maybe I can just smoke some weed, yeah? I have a bunch of weed, and a tincture too! Why not just take a few hits and... start questioning my own reality... start hearing my neighbors making sounds through the walls and convincing myself they're conspiring against me... start feeling these intermittent chest pains and heart flutters I've been feeling all night and be absolutely deathly convinced that I have minutes to live...

Wow. Wonder why I don't have any vices... Let's rephrase that, shall we. Because when it's a prescribed pharmaceutical, it's called a "medication" for an emotional regulation issue. When it's Xanax given to you by a psychiatrist in a community counseling service, it's a coping tool to make emotional processing more bearable and healthier. When it's outside of that environment? It's a vice. It's an addiction, to the point where it will actually make it more difficult for you to get prescription medications for the same purpose. Figure that shit out.

This species is just a bunch of dumb fucking apes with fancy gadgets, pretending like we've gotten everything all figured out, acting like we've got it all figured out, even believing we've got the perfect systems and we're so advanced and we look at those just a hair's breadth below us and we snub our noses at how fucking savage and barbaric they are. We have no fucking clue what we're doing. And all of these systems that we've invented are being made up as we go along. And, from my experience, most of the people I'm coming across just don't really understand... no... don't take the time... to understand how to deal with a situation properly. So they tick boxes, and generalize, and lump people into groups like cattle, and off they go, into their generalized plan.

I'm upset. Can you tell?

Why?

Well... today may be the last day of my past life. It certainly feels like it. The person you've been reading here? For a lack of better words... is going to cease to exist. As with every rebirth, I will evolve. I will morph and mutate into another permutation. Maybe that means a name change? Yay. That makes like... 7 now. And every time I am forced to change my life (read: the way I live my life, my habits, my routines, my goals, my focal points, my motivators, all of that), my personality... fragments a bit. I get very disoriented. I have to re-learn how to... live.

I don't mind adjusting my life. I mean, I already am, due to losing my cat. That was a major change. And now... I have to change again. It's been 2 weeks. It's been exactly 2 weeks. I think, I think she was put down on the 3rd. 2/3/23? I was pretty sure. I really don't want to go back and check. So... I guess that's enough grief, time to take a sledgehammer to the rest of my life, yeah? I was saying - keep getting lost in swirling thoughts but one keeps rising to the surface that needs to speak - I don't mind adjusting my life, but this is not my choice. I am not choosing this. I am actually actively resisting and protesting this. And... unfortunately... whenever I do, I get looked at and treated like I am privileged, like I am spoiled, like I am not worthy of the life I desire, like "why do you get the life you want, and this person over here doesn't." That thing.

Well, let me tell you why I get to be an eccentric artist/musician/writer and you are a social worker/investment manager. Because I didn't give up. Because I was willing to pay any price for the life that I deserve. Because I did not turn away. I. Kept. Walking. For years. After finally getting myself off of medications, out of a toxic self-defeating mindset, and out of an incredibly unhealthy relationship... alone... with no support... I reconnected with who I truly am. Who I have been since I was a child. My TRUE SELF. A curious, creative soul who loves to walk around outside barefoot, and look for cool rocks and nature stuff, and play in fantasy worlds, and play with animals, and study history and mythology, and draw cool designs and things I find interesting or captivating. I found that inner self alive and well, incubating inside this rotting husk of a carcass I've been hauling around. And I set him free again, and started to heal. And I gave him new tools. I gave him direction. I gave him inspiration. I united with him. And he is me. Hi.

In the years since I reunited with my True Self, and accepted myself for what I am... I lost every person in my life. All people who I had met at various stages of creative development. My former best friend who I met when I was in college majoring in Art, doing nothing but art all day every day. Her husband, who would talk mythology, spirituality and creativity with me late into the evening. My old Minecraft "friend" who I would constantly talk about --- you know what, I don't even want to talk about these assholes anymore. My point is that these people were all hobbyists. They all were one foot in and one foot out. They were weekend warriors. And when I finally got the framework together to like... put together something legitimate and really try to make a solid push to make this life a real thing, something self-sustaining, something with financial backing and public exposure... they not only retreated, but they actively tried to sway me out of it. They tried to convince me to quit.

They looked at me like a fucking kid, like a hobbyist kid who just didn't really know that the world doesn't work like that. The world doesn't have room for creatives, for artists, for storytellers. That's why I see them everyday, right? Well... those people got lucky. And I'm unlucky. So why fucking bother trying. Go get a job. Any job. Who cares. Make some money. For someone else. For someone else's business. You know, the person who had an idea like "hey, I should make a board game shop", and actually had people in their life who believed in them, supported them. That person. Go make them some money. Go mind their cash register, and sell products to people. You might make some friends. Look at the silver lining, might as well, you literally have no choice. And with the majority of your time that you give to this establishment, you will be not drawing. Not making music. Not working on your list of 14 unfinished projects that you could really use a hand making a reality.

Hey, you know what occurred to me? The people who give me this like... fatalistic advice on how you really have no choice but to go and join the in-person labor force by working for someone who already has an established foothold in the region... these people conveniently are rarely even aware of what projects I have open ended and ready at a moments notice to be worked on. Here, let me share, I have a whiteboard to my right that I look at every day that is completely full of unfinished projects.

-Shape and Polish Stones (might not go for a ton, but they're unique, they're hand-crafted, and if I get into rune/glyph/sigil carving and blessing rituals and stuff, I could probably sell them for a bit, at least as a package deal) -Wirewrap stones (I do not have enough devoted hours to this to feel comfortable selling these pieces) -Carve wooden beads (again, lacking tools and experience, but went with painting instead, and I am currently troubleshooting a process) -Weave Cordage (aka just make bracelets or necklaces from only hemp, or maybe added beads. Won't go for much, but I could get one done in a day.) -Wood carving (staves, reliefs, that kinda thing. I prefer carving walking sticks, it's just sorta been the thing I have had the most experience with. Again, working with cheap tools but that's whatever. I have thought for a long time that this could really be something that people would put some serious value on. They are, however, a big time sink and very rough on the forearms) -Tarot study (there are 2 shops less than 15 minutes away from me that offer tarot readings. I was going to do them on Twitch, I just would prefer to be more acquainted with the cards before I start charging, but that's my inner perfectionist talking. I also have no ability to practice with others, which makes this insanely anxiety inducing, its one of the only interpersonal projects on the list.) -SketchDaily (a drawing subreddit, this is for keeping my drawing skills sharp) -Poetry/Lyrics (always neglected, but music was going to be my conduit back into it. But, just spinning too many plates, not enough hours in the day. I do have my poetry BOOK that I put together that I could try to get published, but no one has really seemed to give half a shit about it... ever... so... not a lot of incentive there) -Poetry Illustration (obviously a pairing, and a way to either turn my book into a more immersive experience, or to serialize my poetry by turning each poem into its own book and illustrating each metaphoric image, my poetry has a lot of visual metaphors and scenes, it's very dream-like, so I was thinking of doing mini-books that are illustrations scene-by-scene of each line in the poems. A LOT OF WORK, but the end result would be stunning) -Clothing Art (this was a big one before coming up to the new city, I was really banking on this. But the fact that no one has even mentioned or really seemed to notice my custom designed hoodie that I wear literally everywhere... has been nothing short of disappointing. Maybe it will draw more focus if I add color, I've had the theory for a while, or at least some lighter shades, like a lighter grey or something. It's at the front of my mind. I would be doing these pieces on commission, and since they are handdrawn in permanent ink... probably charging tattoo prices for them, the gimmick is "clothing tattoos") -Simian Storytime Storyboards (I was going to do a graphic novel/comic strip kinda series where I illustrated very powerful moments of my life, but all the people in it were... like a missing-link ancestor of modern humans. Where they resembled the people who I am drawing, and myself of course, but I am portraying them as primitive. There are a lot of layers to this, mostly playing on the fact that during these interactions and memories, the less evolved parts of the brain are what we tend to be using. This is a call-back to a very short sketch series I started doing back in college, I remember these pictures very vividly, of apes in business suits with briefcases, and stuff like that. Reminders that we are animals, and it's kinda silly that we keep trying to act like we're not. This is much more fine art than anything else)

This was after I purged dozens of ideas from the summer. Any single one of these ideas I could delegate to a team. Any one of these ideas I could get assistance with, would be reaching a different type of audience, and could be maintained autonomously. And people giving me the advice that I should just give up and find some other thing to do? Come back to this in 5-10 years? When I'm 41-46? I mean... hopefully I'll have a young kid by then... and I really don't know if I'm going to be able to manage a full-time job, a kid and all of these projects, I just don't see it happening. I can't even do these projects and reliably get my fucking laundry done, dude. The people giving me advice to give up don't know a damn thing about how much I have available. This isn't even touching music - hip-hop, improv, metal, drums, guitar, bass, vocals, arrangement, transcription, orchestration, scoring. This isn't even touching acting. This isn't even touching tutoring. I have spent this much of my life developing these skills, honing them, and I'm far from perfect. I have plenty of flaws, I have so much more work to be done. I am constantly improving, constantly finding flaws to refine. Constantly finding ways I can reduce finger movements in my sloppy self-taught guitar playing. I am far from perfect as an artist, as a musician. I have plenty of flaws and weaknesses. But I am authentic, and I live my art. It comes from the heart. It's my way of speaking to the world.

Like this. This is my way of speaking to the world. Hi, world. This is my art. And I'd like to think that this isn't just a fucking hobby. This is something I put my heart and soul and time and labor into. And... that's just... not worth compensating? Not worth supporting? Instead, I need to change my entire way of living, log in X amount of hours per week at literally any location that isn't my own work, cash my paycheck and use that check to pay my rent. And in my free time, I can work on my real work. Whatever free time I get. And the 15 years I spent dedicating myself to my craft? So I can go apply for jobs with a resume that has been blank for a decade. So I can tell them I have been in therapy for 6+ years because of crippling PTSD, and probably other shit. And they're totally gonna hire me. Trust me, they'll hire me just like the last 5 places I applied to and never heard back from. And if I do get hired, totally gonna move my life forward. Because there I will make money. And money gets my parents' influence and harmful pressures away from me. And then I'll meet people. And those people... well, they're magical, you see! They, somehow which has not been articulated whatsoever, are going to make my art/music/writing/entertainment/tutoring/whatever career blow up! They will! How? Fuck if anyone knows! But it is always said with absolute certainty.

So... the plan is... ditch the rental car. Take the bus 2.5 hours back home with my skateboard and hawk feathers and whatever else I can carry from my old car. Sell the old car for scrap, basically. Be a public transit guy now, I guess. Which, I mean.. if you were raised in a city, you probably hate the way I'm talking, but... I grew up in a different environment. And I've seen how you city folk react when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere and you have to drive 20 minutes just to get to the nearest gas station, and you hear coyotes 20 feet away and lose your shit. So... nature doesn't scare me that way quite so much anymore. But public transit sure as fuck does. I trust those coyotes way the fuck more than I trust some of the people I see lurking around bus stops. I'm sure I'll get used to it in time, again, changing the way I live... But, I'm not excited.

Then I'm going to get literally any job. Any one, doesn't matter. Ideally a gaming shop, a new age shop or an antique shop. Again, these are not bad jobs, I am not upset about that. I am pissed that I am being socially pressured to change my life goals rather than being supported in my own goals. These are not impossible goals, by any means. They are merely difficult and... unique. Different. I have no idea how people can come up to me and say "I'd be glad to support you in achieving your goals, sure! First order of business, let's change those goals, shall we?" Fuck you.

Then, at this new job where I will spend most of my time, assuming someone takes the gamble of hiring me with zero references and no work history for a decade... when I'm a complete stranger... What I'm told will happen is that these people, my new friends, will be different from all the others. They will support the projects that I quit working on for this job. They will provide me clients and social outlets to promote my work, so that I can get commissions that I will, with near-absolute certainty, will not have the time to work on.

And hey, it might actually work. I'm not shitting on this completely, the bones of the plan are sound, yes. But like... if I'm just going there to get a paycheck? I'm taking a job from someone who actually wants that job, who is actually passionate about it. If I'm there to just make social connections? Why the fuck am I not just going and hanging out there? Like... going and shopping frequently at that location. Like... a rock shop, let's say. Say I go there regularly to get stone beads or tumbled stones for necklace centerpieces or something. And I ask a bunch of questions, and I become a regular and I get to know people, and they see my jewelry and my custom clothing. In time, after I become a regular, we get to know each other. And then I get the same connections, the same assistance, but they don't have to worry about giving me a bunch of contracts for my other job, which takes my time away from their shop, and then inevitably lose me as an employee when I get enough traction to sustain myself. Or... is the assumption that I will never actually succeed? Hmm...

Okay... it's probably about time I explain myself. 4:40 AM, what better time to explain how I got here. My mom called me as I was standing in my bathroom in my underwear, just hopping out of the shower. I finished up as I was on the phone. I caught her up on the frustrations with the bead last night. I didn't disclose that it was for her. Didn't want her to feel guilty or something. It was a good learning experience, and I am genuinely grateful for it. The conversation quickly went to my car. And... I had my therapy appointment in an hour.

The conversation took a dramatic turn immediately. There was nearly zero progress made. I was desperately, the entire time, trying to get my mom to just... think about more than just her fucking money. Think about how this is affecting my life, how I'm going to be living my life, how all of this is going to be experienced through my eyes. Think about how silly it is for me to go shopping for a car when I have no money, no budget, and any option I bring back to my mother for approval will inevitably get shot down. I have already put out two ideas, the only two that have been on the table - to buy or lease the rental outright, or to get a Jeep, because an older Jeep could be cool, but honestly I'd prefer a more environmentally friendly car if I'm going to actually buy a fucking car. She just... couldn't understand, and was treating me like... I have no idea. I honestly have no idea. Like I wasn't grateful? Like I was spoiled? Or something? I've just been getting heavy vibes of that tonight. Ever since the sun went down. I'm spoiled for pursuing an art career, I'm spoiled for having controlling parents use money to like... punish me or something... I honestly don't even know what it is, it sure as fuck isn't support, it's barely even tolerance. They seem genuinely upset that I'm still pursuing this career and that I'm not fucking rich. They, for some fucking reason, thought that a man in his mid-30's who has been pursuing a full-time fine art career while singlehandedly managing his mental health, with no friends, no supporters and minimal family involvement, would somehow have a self-supporting stream of income just like... magically. Like on one of my hikes in the woods, I would run into a mystical gnome who would ask me three questions about obscure occult spiritual lore, and my genius ass has been studying, right? And I ace that little dude's test, and he deems me worthy of the Forest's Blessing and donates a gigantic tax-free deposit into my bank account or something.

Honestly, that little fantasy scene right there sounds way more likely to happen than me getting like... a net-total $2k a month on Patreon from other humans who just genuinely enjoy watching and supporting the work that I do.

Maybe now is my Dharma Bums moment. Maybe it's my time to take that job in a firewatch cabin in a national park and work on my shit there, just making enough money to keep doing what I do that way. For fuck's sake, why is no one brainstorming ideas like this with me? Why the fuck do I not get a fun life? Because others didn't get a fun life too?

YOU KNOW WHAT. If any of the people who have given me this advice came up to me and said "hey ____, I gave up on making art when I was younger. I was afraid I wasn't good enough. I was afraid if I made it a successful full-time career that it would kill the thrill of it. That it would ruin it. And when I gave up on it, it never really came with me. I'd like to reconnect with it, but I have a very difficult relationship with it now. Could you help me reconnect with it?" I would devote my entire self to helping them. Every tool I have, every tool I can Google, would be at their disposal.

But me? I get told "hey, you need to get some form of income so you can get away from your family, because this is literally killing you." And I know they're right. I know, at surface level, they're right. And I don't contest that, that's not the part of it I contest. I try so hard to voice it correctly, but I struggle to communicate it. "Yes, I need to be free of this, but I need to find the right thing, something that fits into my comfort level, something I'm passionate about, something right for me." With all the projects I listed earlier, how the fuck is there no overlap? You know what I see happening? The only "Hiring" sign I've seen so far? Michael's. That's what I'm seeing. I'm seeing myself taking the bus to a run down old mall by a major highway, putting on a uniform and stocking shelves and telling septuagenarians where the yarn is. "No, it's all the way in the back, Gladys. No. No in the BACK."

I'm sure I could make it fun. I could. But I feel like I'm giving up control of my life. I feel like I'm giving up, and resigning my agency. Like I'm just shifting that control out of the hands of my family, and into the hands of some corporate entity, or educational institution, or private owner, who I have zero reassurance doesn't also have selfish intentions.

I'm sure I could make it fun, but do I really have to? Is this just... the hand I'm dealt? Am I supposed to just say... yep, I was given red paint and blue paint and green paint, and... I guess I just paint red and blue and green stripes. No mixing? No gradients, even? Like... what's the point of being creative when you just do what everyone around you is telling you to do? What use is a creative brain when you are put in a box and expected to follow instructions with precision and accuracy, deviating from expectations as little as possible. Don't you fucking people think that might be a little.......... stifling? For a creative person? Maybe a little... unnatural? Hmm? Maybe you are all logical, analytic types... who follow linear paths of deduction... and I come in from my barefoot off-trail hike in the woods and go "hey, I invented a new written language today" and you think I'm going to fit in well in... a boilerplate "job". Just... "job".

Alright. See, I unearthed my old rubber wizard mask the other day. That popped right into my head right now. I wore it on stage when I played with my old improv band. We weren't very good, but we loved what we did and we had fun with it. And I'm thinking... "alright, time to get the old masks out." "Time to practice pretending to be a person again." This time, it's not just half an hour to an hour while shopping or going to an appointment. Now, it's being contractually obliged to a specific location and role for x hours per day, at risk of being fired. Forgive my alien descriptors, I haven't done this form of labor in a decade, it's been exclusively freeform and self-reliant; self-accountable. I hope my mask still fits. And I hope it's a healthy time for me to be acting for hours at a time with no real coping mechanisms short of breathing exercises.

So yeah, conversation with my mom went absolutely shitty and really painful, hurtful. Degrading. Brought out a lot of bad shit. And made me late for my therapy appointment, and I'm never late for therapy. Ever. And then in the appointment, we talked about getting me some form of substantial income to get me free of this. He visually saw how absolutely ravaged I was by that experience and insisted I need to do something about this now. I think he said "I feel like I can't just sit here and watch them do this to you." Or something close to that. He seemed concerned enough to venture into the work realm, knowing how sensitive it is for me. Clearly, look at this tirade, good lord... XD

He reassured me that the busses are not bad, and he has friends who use them. I'm just not really used to the idea of them, honestly, it's foreign to me. We briefly talked about disability, because that was on the table with my last therapist, but I mentioned that that kinda fucked with my head a bit, my self-esteem and guilt, and I was worried about it causing more damage than good. Even though I'm pretty clearly stuck. And we got into this realm of painting options that was like... A) go on disability and... keep making art, but risk complicating my mental health issues. B) keep parental "support" and continue to be manipulated and pressured, having to run every decision I make past my parents and having brutal hours-long fights multiple times a week. C) Find some place to work out in the real world, out there, the place I struggle to get myself to go for fun.

So you tell me. If you were awake at 5:30 AM, still grieving, processing being essentially trapped in an area where you know no one, feeling insanely unsafe due to multiple PTSD triggers being fully primed, activated and firing on all cylinders, with tons of empirical evidence that these threats are very real fueling that brutal machine... would you think going to a fucking job interview with an empty resume and no references is going to go well? Would you be looking forward to that? Would you maybe, just maybe... want to... improve those odds a bit? Instead of just going "Hi, I'm really nice and smart and hard working. Please take my word for it. I know all my clothes are over 10 years old and I look like I haven't slept in a month (because I basically haven't) and my left eye keeps twitching from stress and I have some weird fucking bacterial infection that looks like acne all over my scalp... aka I know I look homeless and I have no work history or references, but like... trust me!" No fucking pressure. No reason to be anxious. No reason to feel like literally my entire life is riding on it, and the other side is like... more brutal fights... more pressuring me into living a different life... more making me feel like shit for being myself, having the interests and passions and skills and opinions that I do. Good lord, okay. Which is worse?!

So... I spent the rest of the night curled up in a ball under a blanket until I wrote this. I called my mom back 3 times and was ghosted. I texted, she left it read. Texted more later, just to get more out. But I have a feeling this is just... it's gone. It's too far gone. And I can't just sit here and watch the months and years peel away waiting for someone else to get over their shit. I had an intense realization the other day. My lease started on November 15th. I'm 1/4 of the way through my lease. And my shit is still in boxes. And I'm still driving a rental car.

Waiting does not fix these problems. If there's anything I know with certainty, it's that my priorities, my urgent issues, are not on anyone else's urgent list. So... I really need to stop waiting.

3 days ago, my biggest issue was like... where can I find some affordable furniture that meets my needs? Now, I'm having to reconcile changing the entire direction of my everyday efforts. Changing the framework of my life. Because this fucking car dealership said they could fix my car, and didn't. And they won't recommend someone else. They're just gonna sit here forever, "waiting" for a manufacturer to make parts that they don't make anymore. And they're just going to rent this fucking car to me as long as I'm willing to pay for it. And it's on my card. And because of this conversation, about these slimy motherfuckers squeezing money out of my parents. SOMEHOW. That leads to me needing to abandon my career and go get some job at some random shop so I can escape my parents.

And this is not the first time, not by a long shot. This has happened dozens of times over the past few years.

It makes me wish I had never reconnected. It makes me wish that, instead of reconnecting with my passions of art and music and mythology and spirituality and nature, I had just gotten some random fucking job somewhere and worked triple shifts the whole time. And gotten into crypto or some shit, like my fucking little brother did. Then I'd be fine right now. I'd have a buffer. I'd have no one crawling up my ass. But I'd have no soul.

This is so fucking deeply depressing. And I know I'm exaggerating bits of it, but this is so insanely overwhelming for me, especially since I've been in this extreme isolation for like... since 2018? So like... 4ish years. That's a long time to be away from society. And it's still really weird to be in public, very overwhelming and unnerving. The idea of being required to be in a public space for a specific span of time, with no escape routes, no respite, and no way to like... explain why in a relatable way. "I was in lockdown... for over 3 years. And now I'm working retail. And I haven't been afforded the luxury of an adjustment period." "Life just... didn't really go my way."

Seriously, there's a very strong reflex that kicks in. It doesn't kick in when I think about one-on-one tutoring, or even streaming, or doing dog walking or private dog training, or working at a bird sanctuary or something. Somewhere without a lot of people, so I can adjust. So I can get used to being in proximity to other humans again. It's so odd to me that no one has really considered that this might be like... a big deal for me...

Okay, I think I've sufficiently vented, now that it's 5:45 and I still have to read this back. Sorry if you read this whole thing. Welcome to my shitstorm. Hopefully it has a happy ending. Because I really love the potential of life way too much to give the fuck up.

[treatnow]

Geoff Dardia on mTBI misconceptions

‘It’s All in Your Head’: Military Veterans and Mild Traumatic Brain Injury

"Logistics Support Area Anaconda, Iraq." (The 302nd Mobile Public Affairs Detachment/Department of Defense) Battlefields Staff January 29, 2023 Updated: January 29, 2023 Commentary Anyone who has battled with brain injury knows the frustration of having their injury downplayed because they “look fine” from the outside. There have been times when I wished I was missing a limb so medical providers would take me seriously. Unless you have been stuck in the shell of a person you once knew, you will never understand what it is like to have an injured brain. Regardless of what side of the political aisle you find yourself on, recent missile attacks in Iraq highlighted a significant problem with the misconception about the seriousness of “mild” Traumatic Brain Injury (mTBI). As of 2020, there have been approximately 414,000 cases of mTBI diagnosed within the Department of Defense, according to data released by the Pentagon, the majority are from the United States Army.From the perspective of someone who has been exposed to thousands of blasts, had multiple loss of consciousness concussions, inhaled countless toxins, and been on the verge of calling it quits, there is nothing “mild” about any type of brain injury. In fact, I’d say having “mild” brain injury can be more dangerous because the people who have it often don’t know they have it and suffer years without a diagnosis and end up being medicated for all of the symptoms associated with mTBI. Mild traumatic brain injury often goes undiagnosed and undetected unless you get on a medevac bird and get hospitalized for it in combat. People could be battling depression, anger, anxiety, insomnia, sexual dysfunction, obesity, ADD, migraines, balance problems, vision problems, and be told: “it’s all in their head.” When they finally do decide to go get help for all the things mentioned above you, they end up with a box full of prescriptions that mask all those individual symptoms associated with TBI. Or worse, they get told to go to behavioral health to get their head examined, except nobody ever examines their actual head. A provider asks you a list of questions and without any physical examination, laboratory assessments, functional brain mapping, or imaging, they will prescribe you a list of prescriptions (Xanax, Zoloft, Effexor, Paxil, Seroquel, Ambien, Adderall, Lipitor, Viagra). I have never heard one success story about anyone recovering from a brain injury on the zombie cocktail. In fact, I have lost a lot of friends to suicide who were on the Dr. prescribed zombie cocktail. As a person who doesn’t want to be ripped off of a team, miss a deployment, lose a security clearance, or a promotion, you battle through all of your health issues in silence, in fear of being stuck in a staff job or being sent to the schoolhouse. What do service members do to survive another promotion, assignment, or rotation? They self-medicate with drugs and alcohol to get by but end up putting themselves, their families, their teammates, and careers at further risk. You cannot solve old problems by adding new ones, it will catch up to you in the end. Brain injury doesn’t get better with more blasts, chronic stress, insomnia, alcohol, prescription drugs, infectious diseases, and divorces, it gets worse and you end up in a downward spiral. The downward spiral is where you get all the Ds: Depression, Dependencies, Diseases, Divorces, Debt, Domestic violence, DUIs, Discharge, and eventually Death by suicide. That downward spiral often gets chalked up to “that guy is a turd,” even though he probably has had an incredible career for the 15 years prior, and now he is all of a sudden a turd and needs to be flushed from the unit as fast as possible.

“Military Progresses in Identifying, Treating Brain, Mental Injuries.” (Office of the Secretary of Defense Public Affairs/Department of Defense) Misconception and ignorance of brain injury is not exclusive to the president of the United States, it is widespread throughout the military and the medical community still to this day. The president’s comments were the exact words echoed by many medical providers and leaders over the past two decades of war. Countless service members have been told for years by their leadership and medical providers, “you only have mild TBI, it’s not very serious.” Recent studies have shown that people diagnosed with traumatic brain injury are nine times more likely to kill themselves and the Centers of Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that suicide is a top cause of death tied to traumatic brain injury. There is nothing mild about any type of brain injury and with the number of suicides and brain injuries in the military, it is time we take these problems seriously and address the root causes of brain injury and suicide. by Geoffrey P. Dardia This article originally appeared in The Havok Journal. The appearance of U.S. Department of Defense (DoD) visual information does not imply or constitute DoD endorsement. Views expressed in this article are the opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.   Read the full article

[seeinghcsts]

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎THOMAS FELT THE muscles in his jaw twitch , and he cut his eyes to camille , his gaze flashing with guilt sparkling in them as his lips curled downwards . " no , no i didn't — i didn't think you did , " he bit , words sharper and more defensive than he intended . he then sucked in a deep breath , lips pursed as if wrapped around a straw , his sternum tight as a balled fist moved to rub against the chest bone that ached .

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎it felt like an ice pick had gone through his lungs , he knew pushing it when it came to milo put him at risk of taking it a step too far — a step too close to an explosive argument where thomas knew he would have little control over what did , and didn't , come out of his mouth . to follow it up with the imagery of himself dead ; it was cruel . uncalled for . so , thomas tried to move past it , moving his hands to roll their heels against shut lids as he stepped forward , walking until he felt the edge of his mattress against his knees , before turning and sitting beside her . the mattress sank deeper with his weight , leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs .

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎" sorry , that was too far , " he apologized , voice gruff as if the very notion of being sincere was foreign to him . it wasn't , not exactly , but it felt more so like a thing in of the far distant past than anything . a misted memory that was reminiscent of an echo ricochetting off the walls of a a bottomless well. he sat there in silence for a moment , cam's words ringing in his ears and making his temples throb . suddenly , the packed jansport on the mattress beside him felt like a ticking time bomb ; counting down until the world as he knew it blew up in his face . again . this time , it was the loss of camille that scared him — a loss that hadn't happened but one he now feared he'd manifested just by thinking about it . thomas laughed , trying to shake the feeling , and upon realizing he couldn't , he swallowed the amusement down like a bitter shot of stale bourbon .

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ " alright , alright — no body bags , " he lifted his head , looking at her . he scrunched his brows , studying their face . he then took a breath , wishing he could read their thoughts , wishing he had kept up with his xanax prescription .

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ " where's your head at with this whole thing , cam ?? " tom asked carefully , rubbing at his jaw once more , trying to soothe the ache that sat in the hinge .

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ " you really think we should go ?? "

❝           i didn’t say that,❞ camille protested. however, there was no shortage of other people who would be willing to say that. perhaps in cases like kody could be justified, but they would never lower the rose-tinted glass long enough to admit that. even as he had a button of every button to push, he was her brother.

the roll of his eyes sparked a defensive edge from the younger ortesky. ❝ good ! it would be fuckin’ weird if you did. ❞ her tongue as sharp as the stare fixed on thomas. ❝ i’m not asking for your opinion. ❞ because it wasn’t much of a guess. ❝ but it’s nice to have a little consistency. ❞ did it count as consistency if they were getting with and then separating from the same person, consistently ?

it counted to camille.

the softer tone was cue to lower her guard to match. put down the weapons, you’re safe. a rare sentiment in their life, yet so familiar when it was just the two of them. ❝ don’t say that. ❞ the word uncharacteristically soft and quiet for camille. lacking the edge and strength that she clung to like a lifeline. ❝ i’m not carrying you anywhere in a body bag. ❞ she loved eliza. the other girl had filled a void camille didn’t think possible – but her feet would not move one in front of the other without thomas. ❝ if you’re not leaving there, neither am i. ❞

death had brushed their lives as children. of course, camille had played that hypothetical in her mind before. not always the same – the mind had its own creative cruelty, but there were always consistent things. without thomas, a shell of a human was left. there was no future without their brother. without camille, there was a lack of protection. maybe it was giving themselves too much credit. maybe he’d get on just fine without her. but her fate was carved in stone. each hobby thrown away, each dream to die – chisels picking away to seal their fate.

[m4rgera]

dave england ★ lonely girl part one

authors note : sorry for the length! i would rather have it be really long and impactful then short and boring. last few paragraphs are not proof read since i wrote them slightly in a rush. they will be fixed and edited tomorrow.

warning : this story will contain sexual subjects, drug use, drinking and topics of severe stress and anxiety. the character is written as female, although she / they pronouns are used. if you are sensitive to any of those please refrain from reading this. also lowercase is intended, requests are open for one shots and headcannons.

“hello?” monotone rang throughout the phone. the line was blank until jeffs voice was finally heard from the other end, “hey y/n, quick update on the show. its premiering tomorrow night and mtv rented out a spot in a bar for the whole crew tonight, to get an early viewing. im just calling everyone to let them know. hopefully see you there.” the line went blank. it took you a few seconds to process what jeff had said with how quickly he spewed it out.

you slammed the notebook shut that you had been scribbling some ideas for stunts down in. being a screenwriter for jackass was, well, tricky to say the least. it’s difficult to write a script for a show where all thats going on is injuries, injuries, and more injuries. you got stressed and frustrated easily with it yet couldn’t afford to lose your job.

your plans for staring through the notebook for the entire night and not getting any ideas out, were ruined. you let out a huff, not quite yet having the motivation to at least change your clothes and brush your teeth.

the bar wasn’t exactly packed. besides the whole crew, there wasn’t too many people in here. some of the guys had brought some of there buddies along and there were a handful of girls from set as well. you weaved your way through until you were will the few people you felt comfortable with being around — stephen and chris.

stephen had been supplying you with xanax for the past month after your doctor cut your prescription on it. it surprised you since he never really complained when coming to him for it, and never made you pay. yeah he was your plug but he was also a genuinely great guy. and chris just radiated happiness. when filming sometimes he would just sit by you and smile, he was a sweet guy.

“dude! you just missed steve-o licking ricks hairy ass nipple!” chris yelled while walking over to the wall you were slightly leaning against.

“wow, i really wish i didn’t miss that!” you said with a sarcastic tone. “don’t worry it’s all on video.” chris giggled while holding the camcorder up for you to see, you gave him a smile back. stephen came shuffling over to you two, stumbling slightly on his own feet. he had a drink in his hands that was nearly empty, “bro this is sick. we’re like famous or some shit.” stephen chuckled while nudging chris.

you tried your best to make small talk with the two of them, but most of your time was spent with trying to convince stephen not to lick everyone in sight. it was almost like watching a toddler, except the toddler is 26 and on ecstasy. “you haven’t really talked with the other guys have you?” a voice was heard right behind your shoulder, knoxville.

you were acquainted with johnny but never got to much talking. in a way he almost intimidated you, he came up with stunts and ideas so easily and it wasn’t even his job to, it was yours. “um, yea not really. i didn’t wanna come here. i got a ton of work to catch up on.” your voice was just loud enough for him to hear. everyone was having such a great time and you didn’t wanna bring down anyone’s mood just because you were so worried about work.

“ahh, well thats never a good excuse to not have a good time!” he gave you a slap on the back, and shook your shoulder slightly. “they already know everyone on set. just go chit-chat, you’ll be fine.” you pursed your lips and nodded slightly. you could visibly see him sigh before walking over to a group of some other guys, you deciding to follow along.

“you just can’t get enough of me can you.” johnny implied ending his sentence with a small chuckle. “yea right, you told me to talk so im here to talk.” he gave you a small shrug of defeat before pointing at a boy with blonde hair, and what looked to be blue eyes. yet it was hard to see anything under the horrid lighting of the bar. “see, him over there. that’s dave, go talk to him. you two will get along.” he shoved you slightly away, sighing you decided to go talk. it would be better then just sitting here in boredom swallowed by the thought of jeff scolding you next week for lack of script.

you made your way over, it looked like he was talking with chris, this calmed your nervousness a bit. you were familiar with chris and comfortable enough to go talk. turning around you could see johnny giving you a thumbs up and smile, you gave a small laugh before flipping him off and walking over to chris.

“yay, y/n’s back!” chris’ words were starting to melt together due to the alcohol, earning a laugh out of you. “y/n this is dave, but you already know him im assuming.” chris drunkenly waved his hand in the air while speaking. you looked at dave, who didn’t look quite as intoxicated as chris but had a drink in hand.

“your lucky your not meeting darf right now.” chris continued on with his awkward little giggle, “darf?” you questioned chris, looking over at dave who looked just as confused as you did. “darf is dave when drunk. and darf is not a fun guy, trust me.” chris was describing all his words with hand motions, it had both you and dave laughing. “hey did someone roofie chris?” dave yelled out jokingly.

“you caught me, i roofied chris.” you held your hands up in defeat. “yea right, it was probaly fucking steve-o or someone, but im not roofied. this was all caused by that tap over there.” chris waved his hand over to the bar, where the tapped beer was.

“are you implying i can’t roofie someone?” you turned your head towards chris pretending to be mad at him, but he just kept laughing. “no y/n im sure you’ve roofied tons of people before!” dave said imitating chris’ dramatic hand motions.

“you know that’s not funny dave. y/n would never roofie anyone, and if they did, it’s would be themselves… or themselves.” chris tried to laugh at his own joke, it was until he noticed neither dave or me were really laughing until he stopped.

“that was a joke, y/n hates drugs.” he winked very obnoxiously, which was followed by a giggle again. “you know i’m hoping that was a joke but i have a feeling it isn’t.” dave said, the laughter continuing on.

“it isn’t.” chris was in a unstoppable fit of laughter. you shot him a small look of disappointment, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to hit him. “maybe he’s so drunk he’s confusing you for steve-o.” dave nudged you with his elbow slightly and you forced yourself to a laugh.

it wasn’t until now you had really looked at what dave looked like. and it sounds odd but his smile was very odd looking, almost like it would cause a domino effect of smiles. and that’s exactly what it did, you found yourself smiling just as big and chris and dave, yet you weren’t quite sure what you were smiling for.

“hey i heard that and it wasn’t funny. y/n is nothing like steve-o!”

“yea im definitely driving him home tonight.” you sighed in defeat as chris wobbled away towards ehren and preston. “someone definitely is.” dave blurted out before downing the rest of his drink.

the night was passing by pretty quickly. you weren’t fleeing to chris and stephen when left alone, because for the remainder of the night you have been with dave. you went on explaining to him how much work had been getting to you lately. you wouldn’t normally share that with someone you met a few hours ago, but he was going on about how some of the stunts were more interesting in the past few weeks and the conversation just bloomed naturally.

“if i were you i wouldn’t stress too much about the stunts. if jeff doesn’t like them he’ll just modify them. plus you can always just call me and i could give you some idea starters.” you hummed at his words, only really picking up parts of the conversation, only really picking up parts of the conversation. “yeah, i guess so, but i mean if jeff ever found out i feel like i can get in trouble for it.” your starting to feel there was no way of getting around this obstacle they called the writer's block. in a couple weeks you probably get another phone call from jeff warning you that if you didn't get any work in soon you're going to lose your job. you didn't want to have to put the burden on dave - someone you just met an hour ago - of helping you write things for your job, not his.

“who said jeff had to find out?”

a few weeks have passed by and nothing interesting really happened at the bar, except for you and dave exchanging numbers strictly for work purposes. although you do find yourself thinking sometimes you wish it wasn't for work purposes. whenever that happens you have to block out the thought, jeff was already getting mad at you enough for getting you're working late. you can't quite imagine what he would do if he found out you had been sleeping with one of the actors. you two have never shown even a sliver of interest in each other, except for the thoughts in your head, everything was strictly for work. it was a never-ending loop; exchanging ideas for stunts, sending them into jeff, filming them, and repeat.

although you weren't commonly on set, today you happened to be there since you wanted to see how a stunt had turned out although you did not come up with this one. dave had yet to be credited with it since there was nothing to turn in for that week, and dave did what he normally did, faxing you over a few ideas for you to use. you felt horribly guilty doing it however dave promised you he didn't mind at all, and you can't really afford to lose your job quite yet.

the set was fairly empty besides the film crew, ehren, preston, stephen and dave. the air was sticky and hot, summer was at its peak. the guys were doing some stunts involving water so a lot of them were shirtless, as you would expect. it didn’t bother you, however your eyes kept getting drawn to dave. you hated it. you weren’t a creep, you never were a pervert and you weren’t gonna start living a pervert lifestyle today by wooing over dave, even worst, while at work.

deciding to end your staring session, you walked over to dave to break the awkwardness that was only in your head. “hey dave, is it going as planned?” you motioned over to ehren who was being wheeled down a ramp into a length. “not sure, i think there trying to find the best chair to push him down on.” he looked up from the lawn chair he was sitting in, squinting at the sunlight.

you felt your heart flutter, his eyes were such a piercing shade of blue the only way to describe them was alluring. “are you ok y/n? you’ve seemed kinda off ever since yesterday on the phone.” all the air you were holding in was released in one big quiet breath. you tried to block out the phone call. dave called, like the usual, to discuss a stunt he had in mind. the whole call your mind was in other places, something that you tried to forget due to embarrassment. you ended up missing everything he said, after twenty-minutes of him describing this extravagant stunt all you could say was ‘uhm’ before hanging up.

“yea no im fine, somebody else was just calling me. it was an emergency so…” you sucked at lying. dave saw right through it laughing, “alright, cool.”

this is horrible your whole demeanor was probably making him extremely uncomfortable but you couldn’t help it. attraction is a infection and you couldn’t get rid of it for the life of you.

“not sure if your interested but i have a break in ten minutes, wanna go brainstorm ideas for stunts.” you forced your gaze down towards him, giving a small nod, “sounds good.”

your not sure what the fuck just happened. anyone would’ve seen that as a normal conversation, but with the pairing of dave being shirtless and soaked from the lake, your pretty sure everything was obvious. like everyone had a red alert going off that you wanted to fuck dave england, bad.

you got to your truck for some fresh air, fresh air as in an edible. seated in your car, you scurried through the center console digging out a baggie filled with pills. not edibles but it will do. it was either xanax or something stephen left, you took a lucky guess that it was xanax due to the shape and took a bar.

you dry swallowed it, trying your best to catch your breath yet there was nothing to lose it over. you found yourself still being hot and bothered over nothing, well, of course it was something but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it.

leaning your head back and closing your eyes you tried your best to collect your thoughts. it was going well, that was until there was a knock on the drivers side window. you huffed while tilting your head to see who could possibly be bothering you. it was dave, peeking through the window and waving at you. you weren’t quite sure what he was trying to do, so you just smiled.

he ran around to the passenger side door, opening it and hopping in closing it behind him. “i left a little early for the break so i figured i should go looking for you.” he flashed his cheesy smile at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “i didn’t know you wanted to talk somewhere else, let alone in my car.”

“actually it’s not about stunts. somethings bugging you, does jeff know i’m helping you with stunts or some shit?” he kept eye contact with you, you could tell he was genuinely concerned and it was making you even more nervous. how the hell can you lie your way out of this?

“just stressed out with work.” you tried to look away, instead you tried to scan the dash for anything that could distract you from doing something you could regret later.

“y/n you are a horrible fucking liar.” he let out loud laugh, if your face wasn’t heating up with embarrassment you probably would have laughed along. despite the embarrassment you took your eyes off the dash for a bit to glance over at him, a beaming smile still lit on his face.

“well it’s not like i could’ve made a move at the bar and it’s too late now.” it all came up at once, you couldn’t even look at the dash, so you just looked out your window. maybe if you stared away long enough he would leave.

“of course you could of! you think i wasn’t wanting too the whole time? you really really suck at lying.” a wave of shock hit you, dubbed with confidence as well. your not sure where it all from but you looked at dave who had a small smile rested on his face. you took time to build up your vocabulary again as it feels as if your brain is mush, completely wiped with no thoughts or words. “you know, i get really bad at lying when i wanna kiss someone really bad.” you laughed at the end of your sentence, letting the silence ring out.

“really?” you gave him a small nodd, your heart beating so fast you swear you could hear it in your ears. you rested your elbow on the center console leaning forward slightly, you were trying to tell if he was feeling the same as you, or if he was ready to jump out of the car and run very far away from you.

“y/n, if you joking this would be a great time to let me know.” his words were breathy and spaced out, “dave, im not joking.” it felt like and entirety before you finally responded.

the events to follow were only to be described like a whirlwind. your lips met together, leaning between the two seats to do so. moving in a steady rhythm pulling apart for breath, you made eye contact once again, him being the once yo shoot yiu a shy smile this time.

you awakwadly hopped over the console to the passenger side were dave sat, yiu looked at him giving a slight nod to make sure that this all wasn’t too much. that none of it was a mistake or something yiu would regret for the rest of your life. he didn’t even have to respond, the smile and small mld he gave you was all you needed for the go.

he pulled you into his lap, it wasn’t the most comfortable due to the confined space of your car but at the moment all you cared about was dave. your lips continued to mold into eachother, hands slowly roaming as you both still warmed up to the feeling.

with what fell like seconds you both pulled back to gasp for short breaths of air. he kissed you once more before making his way down to your neck and shoulders nipping and sucking ever so slightly. almost too embarrassed to moan you let out small breathy sighs. the overwhelming feeling of relief yet tension building. he broke away for a few seconds just to move the strap of your tank top and bra to the side.

as dave was pulling your top down, a knock was heard from the window and panic settled in quickly. your heart was beating faster for a bad reason now, too afraid to look you rushed over the console hitting your head in the process, returning to your seat. looking over you could see it was only chris, who was waving with a smile on his face.

“what the fuck…” you let out a mixture between a sigh and a laugh while rolling down the window closest to dave.

“as bunny the lifeguard would say, wrap before you tap my friend.” chris reached his hand through the window to give dave a high five before giggling and walking away. you both laughed, although daves was more of a sigh.

“maybe my next break we could resume what we started.” before leaving he reached over pulling your bra strap back up before exiting the car.

[should-be-sleeping]

Sorry for the delay of this update, as you can imagine, I've been exceptionally busy since our neighbor was forcibly removed from her own front lawn and hospitalized. I don't blame the police for being concerned enough to call paramedics, and I don't blame the paramedics for having to take her to the hospital, but that doesn't make it less traumatic.

When I called the hospital last Thursday they would only confirm that our neighbor was there and safe, but no other information and no visitors. When I called back at 7am Friday morning, I was at least allowed to speak with her actual nurse who gave me a little more information (within HIPAA, naturally), like that she was sleeping and they were waiting on a couple of consults and then her case manager so to call back later.

So that's what I did. Several times. She'd been in the E.R. for nearly 19 hours before a nurse finally just let me speak with her directly over the phone. She was terrified. They had brought her in and put her in a corner and that's where she'd remained basically the entire time with barely any care to speak of. She didn't even know how she got there or why she was there. She had no personal belongings with her (read: no phone) and no call nurse button. If she needed help she had to just... yell. Over everyone else yelling and screaming in an E.R. Then the nurse told her she had to hang up (probably because she was making them sound bad), so I promised her I'd see her soon.

And then I went down there.

It was boggling to be that after that much time they were still just waiting on her case manager. What's the point of her being there if nothing's happening? She's literally just being held in the E.R., she doesn't even have an IV. I needed to find out wtf was going on.

The E.R. rules on visitors are very strict. Family members and only one person at a time. They run your ID, input you into their system, print you a badge, and a security guard personally escorts you to the patient you're visiting. It felt like trying to board a plane in 2001.

When I got there she was so relieved to see me that she started crying. I brought her DNR so no one could claim they didn't know her wishes directly, all of her medications, and her phone. She wasn't in a bed, she was still on the plastic, hard ambulance gurney. wtf, wtf, wtf?

She was shaky and weak and hadn't been able to actually sleep due to the noise and the constant fluorescent lighting. At some point a nurse had brought her a bottle of water, but she was unable to open it herself, so it still sat there on her tray. I opened it for her. Someone in the curtain beside us opened a can of soda, she said, "Oh man, a soda sounds SO good right now!" so I left to speak to her nurse and hopefully get her at least a soda.

Her nurse was overworked and undoubtedly being underpaid. I get that. It was now Friday the 13th, in October, so, y'know. That was a factor as well. The E.R. was very busy. That said, this nurse acted like our neighbor was just some sorta bother that didn't need to be there. Despite there having been no testing done either way to even determine that yet.

I gave her the DNR and all of the prescriptions so that she could enter that into the system and after some insistence got her to let me give our neighbor one of her anti anxiety medications. It's basically just an antihistamine that calms you down a little. It's not like a Xanax or anything like that! Give the woman a break.

I then asked if there was a way to bring her a soda and her reply was, "idk, like, you can obviously go buy one?" Lady. It was harder to get into the E.R. than it is to open a bank account, I'm not going anywhere. I gave her a look that suggested a lot of words I wasn't saying out loud. She broke eye contact.

I changed the subject and asked for the case manger to call and speak with me. It had been over twelve hours since the case manager was reportedly coming to speak with our neighbor and they hadn't done it yet. They could come do it now. This is ridiculous. I know being in the E.R. can take a while but that's usually because you're actually being treated or getting tests run. Not literally just laying there for twenty hours being ignored.

Apparently thinking our neighbor actually has living family who can sue them if she dies there without proper care put the fear of god into these people because the case manager called to speak with me immediately and as I was on the phone with them the nurse very sheepishly came and gave our neighbor a nice cold can of soda.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

The quality of care was improving quickly now that she wasn't a lone "altered" elderly woman. The case manager gave me more information about what the plan was and the timeline and took my information so they can call me to keep me updated.

I asked if we could get our neighbor into a room and they told me there wasn't a room available so I asked if we could get her a @#$%ing bed then because she was still on a gurney and they ordered her one on the spot. I could hear the nurses scurrying outside the curtain to get it ready ASAP. Why didn't they transfer her into a proper bed upon arrival?

Our neighbor, an old woman experiencing a lapse in lucidity so severe it landed her in the E.R. had been laying in a gurney, with no access to bed controls or a nurse call button, for almost 24 hours. Are you KIDDING me? No.

I stayed with our neighbor while they got the E.R. got their crap together and updated her about what was going on since no one had told her at any point before this. She literally had no idea why she was even there. She was just alone and afraid. She thought she'd been arrested for some reason because of the way she was being treated.

I explained that she was still in the E.R. because they were waiting on a few doctors to come examine her and run actual tests to see if she was safe to return home or not and so she should try her best to make sure she stays hydrated and eats so she can prove how strong she is.

She'd been complaining for some time now about the numbness in her legs growing worse, so my hope is they'll figure out why that's happening to her. She hasn't seen an actual doctor since her previous hospital stay in July where they informed her that she was dying.

But, as I had been trying to explain to her, she's not dead yet, so her quality of life is still important! That she should see a doctor about pain or numbness so that she can remain independent for as long as possible. If nothing else, hopefully this stay in hospital will help her accept that she can be both terminal but also in need of care. It's not just The End so who cares?

I feel like depression in terminal patients is never appropriately addressed. Like, of course they're depressed, right? But I'd say it impacts their quality of life and longevity itself even more than their physical illness does. It needs to be considered and treated. Had our neighbor gotten that kind of help she may not have declined so rapidly. Throwing bad news on top of it... of course she's in the hospital.

We talked for a good long while and I braided her hair for her so that it wouldn't get so tangled they have to cut it (like last time). I explain in our culture you can only braid the hair of someone you love and care for and that you can never braid someone's hair if you're angry with them. She adores this.

I assure her there's nothing to worry about except getting better. I locked up her house for her after the police left, and took her valuables to our place for safe keeping. I make a list of things to bring her when I come back. I want to make sure she's as comfortable as she can be.

I help her get to the restroom because who knows how long it'll take an E.R. nurse to help her and I'd have to go find one first anyhow. The nurses are stunned she had to strength to do this. I explain she's usually stronger than when she was brought in and now that she's not in a constant state of panic, she'll probably be a lot more lucid and capable in general.

The bed arrives as I get her back to the gurney so we have part ways there, as there's really not enough space behind the curtain for her, me, an orderly, and two nurses swapping out the gurney for a bed and my time as a visitor is nearly up. She feels a lot better having seen a familiar face and having been finally told what's going on and how and why she wound up there. Being in a proper bed will also help immensely. I promise to visit again and try to get her a room proper.

We hug a good long while and then she tells me I'm an angel. I tell her I'm just doing my best and that I'll see her soon and to text or call me any time, now that I've brought her her phone. She texts me before I'm even back in the car, letting me know how comfortable her new bed is. Then for the first time in nearly 24 hours she goes to sleep.

Tough day today... and friendly reminder that being human is easier when we help each other.

I saw one of our neighbors, an older woman we sometimes talk to in passing, sitting outside of her house. I don't know what exactly made me look twice, but on second glance as we drove by I realized her walker was in the grass. She was otherwise just sitting there, like she had a thousand times before, so it would have been easy to assume she was fine and go on with my life as normal but something told me to go check in on her anyway.

She was not fine. She was the polar opposite of fine. Just diagnosed with terminal cancer not fine. No next of kin not fine. A veteran facing eviction from her house for missing rent while in the hospital not fine. In constant debilitating pain not fine. Only semi-lucid not fine. She was extremely alone not fine.

I thought, at most, she might be bored while unable to pick up her walker not fine. A five minute detour from my day not fine. A help her back into her house and say "see you later!" not fine. Instead I spent the last three hours with her because she was so scared and alone and no one should be alone.

We talked a lot while I was there. She's actually two years younger than my mom (who also has cancer but slightly better luck, I guess). I helped her into her house and got her a drink and we talked about what all is going on with her. None of it was good. I was as reassuring as I could be, but there's only so much of this I can actually help her with.

"Why did you come?" she asked through tears.

"Because you looked like you might need some help."

She called me an angel. I told her I was just doing my best. I told her that kindness should never be rare. That we should all try to make the world just a little bit better than it was.

She offered to pay me but I told her I was just there as a friend. Before today we were basically strangers. No need to repay me with anything other than her company, I assured her. She cried, a lot. I managed not to somehow. Something tells me she had needed to cry long before this but in being Strong she never had the chance to.

She needed to get her mail, which is a long walk when you're disabled because it is not at all handicap accessible (across a parking lot, over a bridge, across a small field). So I helped her get her mail. We stopped every three feet because her pain was so bad, but she was determined to be able to go do this with me and not just send me on an errand. I patiently stayed with her and reminded her, through her apologies, it was fine to take our time: there was a nice breeze and birds were singing. She appreciated this. She loves nature.

Halfway back she said she wanted to go to the pool. To put her feet in the water. She loves water, and has not been able to even see the pool in a month. Neither of us were dressed for swimming, but I took her to the pool anyway. There is a stair leading down to it, meaning she couldn't bring her walker, so I offered her my arm.

We went to the pool. She put her feet in the water and then, with more energy and enthusiasm than I'd seen the whole time, she jumped in. In her fancy dress! She was instantly ten years younger at least, clear and happy, floating in the sun. Dress and all. She grew up with a pool and had been on a swim team.

I sat by the edge of the pool while she swam, keeping her company and also making sure she was okay. When she got tired I took her back home and then had to help her get undressed and redressed. I made sure she felt no shame. Getting out of wet clothes is hard for anyone, let alone someone with like twenty pounds of tumors racking them with constant pain.

She was so fucking happy to have gone swimming.

She is trying to "make everything right" before she goes. Trying to repay her debt to society and her debts in general. She couldn't understand why the corporation that owns our houses wouldn't take her money. She was genuinely distressed -- not to be homeless on her deathbed but to not leave this world with a clean slate. I told her intent matters. She can only do her best.

This company not letting her repay her debt was their fault, not hers.

When I finally needed to go, I told her to let me know any time she needed a hand or just wanted company. She told me she was going to die tonight. I told her I hoped not, so I could see her tomorrow. I offered her a hug, we hugged and she sobbed for a solid ten minutes into my shoulder. I told her she was okay. That it was okay.

When I got home I cried myself, because I could not believe she was going through all of that alone. I cannot even imagine how isolated she must have felt. Once I pulled myself back together I sent her a text reminding her to reach out any time and I'd do my best to come over. Like, any time at all.

I hope she is here tomorrow.

[sarahlynnirl]

Losing my best friend - Sugar Daddy culture is not empowering

I finally feel strong enough to talk about this and hopefully get some love, support, and reassurance from other women who agree that this is fucked up. I’ve never been “terfy on main” before so here goes. (TW child abuse + SA but no graphic descriptions of SA)

My mother is a narcissist who financially and emotionally abused my father and myself, with some additional physical abuse of me, for as long as I can remember. My dad made plenty of money but my mom controlled it all and made sure it didn’t go towards anything for me beyond the bare minimum required not to look obviously guilty of child abuse and neglect. I met Kiara (not her real name) when I was a junior in highschool and she was a freshman. Her mom was a single Korean woman doing her best to support Kiara and her 2 sisters while also running a Korean restaurant. My first jobs were a summer camp counselor and fitting room attendant at Forever 21. I would spend the last scraps of my paycheck making sure Kiara was able to order a full meal when our friends went out to dinner, buying her little gifts, and generally trying to keep us both as happy and healthy as possible.

When Kiara graduated highschool her mom drove her into Koreatown New Jersey, got her a room in the apartment of an acquaintance, and basically left her to fend for herself. Kiara spoke barely any Korean. She began working at a Korean salon where she met Ariana (not her real name). She had a NY cosmetology license, not an NJ one, while Ariana was an illegal immigrant from Korea so they were both overworked, underpaid, forced to work overtime, paid under minimum wage, and deprived of their tips. They couldn’t report or complain about this since they were both working illegally.

Kiara had to pay rent for the one room she occupied despite her land lady yelling at her, walking into her room while she slept, banning her from having friends over, and reporting to her mom if she spoke to a guy on the phone or a guy dropped her off. I was working at a restaurant in my college town on top of my classes and doing my best to keep surprising her with little gifts, but neither of us had enough disposable income to afford to visit each other. This was really difficult for me as she was my favorite person in the world and I was used to spending every second with her when we both lived in upstate NY. Ariana got them both to start using SeekingArrangement for one time meet ups with Sugar Daddies where they were paid anywhere from $200-2000 for sex. “The first time I ever did it I walked out of the hotel and just screamed because I was so disgusted and I was thinking about his wrinkly skin touching mine and all I wanted to do was get in the shower and scrub it off but I had $1000 cash in my hand for a couple hours of work which was so crazy and kinda made it all worth it ya know?” - Ariana to me

I was immediately skeptical and a little grossed out but Kiara genuinely seemed happier. She was buying new clothes for herself, ordering food to the apartment when she was hungry, and taking trips into NYC to have fun with Ariana and her friends. By the beginning of the summer of 2019, Kiara had found the Sugar Daddy who she would establish a long term agreement with and who ultimately ended up completely supporting her. I’m not going to say his name here but if people want to know it just ask, I am willing to share. He moved her into a much nicer much bigger apartment with Ariana as her roommate. He paid for me to fly up and visit her, and all of our activities during this vacation. I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry. I wish I shoved the money back in her hand before it was too late, I wish I worked harder and longer hours and got us an apartment in Florida and paid both of our rent. I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t listen to my instincts and allowed her to brush off my concerns. It was the most freedom we had ever had, I ran around NYC by myself while she was at work, and my ex took the bus to NJ from upstate NY and joined us for a few days. I feel so selfish but I also didn’t know how bad things would get.

One night Kiara and I went to NYC for dinner with her SD and she took the bus back to the apartment because she had to work early the next morning. It made sense for me to stay in the city because I was supposed to visit my friend at NYU the next morning. In the Uber to his apartment alone with him he was drunk and high and I very clearly looked scared shitless. At this point she was 19 (but she had looked that way since age 17 and I doubt he would have minded if she was lying about her age), I was 21 and he was 44. He seemed offended by my discomfort and was basically like “jeez relax I’m not gonna touch you, I really care about Kiara I think she’s so amazing, just go to the guest room and sleep, make a left to walk to NYU when you wake up.” I peaced the fuck out of there early the next morning.

After that summer Kiara and Ariana quit their jobs at the Korean salon and sugaring became their sole incomes. Ariana was still doing one time meet ups, not nearly as financially stable as Kiara, and got herself into a lot of credit card debt that to my knowledge she’s still in. At this point Kiara was flying down and staying with me in Florida so often that people at my college thought she went there too. I also wasn’t working at this point because college had gotten harder and my ex was fucking up my mental health real bad. He had given me a coke problem and Kiara sending me “grocery money” was enabling me to continue. I wasn’t honest with her about where all the money was going. During Halloween week we didn’t know that she couldn’t just snort molly (MDMA) with the frequency I was doing coke, she ODed, my guy best friend took us to the ER, it was so fucking scary, she got IV fluids for 2 hours and made a full recovery, she stopped doing molly, I kept doing coke. I’m so sorry :(

In November her SD paid for us to take a trip to Cancun Mexico. He was with us for the first part of the trip and this is where things started to get really bad. He tried to be my friend and act the way a boyfriend of my best friend who was my age would, but it was creepy and wrong and I was so uncomfortable. He asked about my drug use in a way that was gross and shamey and basically him seeing me as the “coke whore” stereotype...while continuing to buy me more coke. He also brought and gave us ecstasy pills. He asked really invasive questions about my relationship with my ex, why I stayed, my sex life, etc. It felt like an uncle asking me these questions, I did NOT wanna talk about any of this with him. But from what I did say it was very clear to someone with 44 years of life experience that I had an abusive mother, an addictive personality, and was in an unhealthy relationship. He offered to set me up with an SD friend of his looking for a sugar baby. I of course declined because I always knew this was a boundary I wasn’t willing to cross. No matter how bad my addictions got I would NOT give up that piece of myself in return for money.

In this part of Mexico, drugs that were only given with a prescription in the US were available over the counter. Kiara and I got a little box of 1mg Xanax with my money. My ex had given us Xanax a couple times in NY and we had fun with it, but at this point in time we did NOT have a problem with it. We had bought one bar, broken it in half, and each took half one night of Halloween week and called it “xanpires”, but this wasn’t something we were scripted or buying regularly from plugs. We went to dinner with her SD, we got up to go to the bathroom, and she immediately slipped and hit the ground. I was like woah did you take one of the xans and forget? Because we were supposed to tell each other if we were taking one so we could look out for each other. I was never mad at her! I never wanted money from her! I was just a little concerned, and once I determined that she was safe we thought it was kinda funny that she had taken a xan without realizing and started joking around about it. Her SD of course didn’t understand how a 19 year old and 21 year old girl joke with each other because he was a creepy old man, decided that we were “arguing”, and got up from the restaurant, walked across the street, bought a 90 count bottle of 2mg xans and gave it to me. This was honestly the most irresponsible way someone has ever treated me in my life, and this is coming from someone with an abusive and neglectful parent. Google “benzo withdrawal” if you’re not familiar with it.

We went to a different hotel, and Kiara and I both took xans and blacked out. I passed out on the guest bed, while Kiara was awake but in a conscious blackout. I woke up on the couch on the balcony (which was fine, it was comfy and I saw the sunrise over the beach. The gross part was that meant her SD had picked me up, put his hands on my body while I was unconscious and carried me out there). I remembered that at one point I had woken up, wanted to go to the bathroom or get something from inside, caught a glimpse of what I thought was them having sex, and went back outside. I mentioned it to Kiara and she had no memory of it whatsoever, she thought all she had done was gone to sleep. She was rightfully pissed the fuck off that her SD had taken advantage and done things with her while she was blacked, screamed at him, he gave us a half ass apology, and bought us more stuff (buying our silence). He finally flew home and we got to enjoy the trip with just each other, but I was careless with the dosage of a drug called tramadol, and I ODed with my head in her lap...I’m sorry. When I woke up I was hallucinating, hearing voices, crying hysterically and terrified. Kiara called my ex who asked how many mg I took, told us I was 100mg short of the amount that would require medical attention, made me laugh, and told me to go to sleep. I recognize how scary and unfair to her this was and I really do take responsibility for my actions. The day I was supposed to leave I did ecstasy, hooked up with a guy from Canada, and tried to skip my flight. She was mad because like yeah what the fuck. She got me on the flight, the ecstasy comedown hit, and there’s pictures of me crying in the airport because I hated when we fought.

I was supposed to stop in Miami, then fly back to my college town but while in Miami I texted my granny that I was “sad and really didn’t feel good and could she and my uncle visit me at the airport and bring my uncles dog?”. Her parenting instincts went off that something was very wrong, made me skip the flight, picked me up from the airport and took me to her house where I immediately threw up and ran an extremely high fever that night. She said it was one of the scariest nights of her life and she kept checking on me to see if I needed to go to the hospital. She drove me back to my college town where my guy best friend took me to the ER and it came out that Kiaras SD, in addition to giving me drugs, had also allowed me to drink Mexican tap water throughout the entire trip. I was treated for that + given chlamydia meds just in case since I’d had unprotected sex in a foreign country. I was fine, promised to do better, Kiara forgave me, things started to go back to normal. Except I had begun taking Xanax daily to deal with the anxiety of the illness...and she had a trip to Bali planned.

During that trip things managed to get even worse. She was there with her SD and another Korean friend and her SD was pressuring her and guilting her into sex, isolating her from her friend, going through her phone, and becoming extremely aggressive. She would call me crying and having panic attacks and I would walk out of class to try to comfort her over FaceTime. She did not have panic attacks before this trip. She begged to go home early because something was very wrong but he said it was a waste of money and kept her in Bali until the planned end of the trip. I think it was almost a month. She sent me a recording she secretly took of him screaming at her and her saying “don’t touch me, don’t grab me like that, leave me alone”. When she got back to the US I was begging her to stop. I was so worried for her safety. I said the money wasn’t worth it, we’ll get jobs, please just stop. I’m pretty sure he read those messages. We also had a suspicion that he had installed spyware on her phone but were never able to prove it. At this point I also reached out to my dad for help and his response was basically “I don’t care, not my problem, focus on school”. I reached out to my granny who absolutely cared, but her response was “I’m sorry but I can’t afford to support her, I have to focus on taking care of you, if she won’t stop this you’ll have to stop being friends with her”.

I went home to New York for winter break, suffered through my first round of Xanax withdrawal and was truly trying to get better but my ex manipulated his was back in my life and got me addicted again....but now this bottle of 90 had run out. I went back to my college town, got scripted, and was copping street bars when my script inevitably ran out early. What comes next is blurry for obvious reasons. We moved to the town in Florida my granny lived in and got an apartment together. The female friends she made in our town (my current home) she got most of them into sugaring and using SeekingArrangement. Things deteriorated super fast at this point. I was struggling hard, failing my online classes, and eventually got completely financially cut off by my parents. My granny was paying my half of the rent and my puppy’s vet bills but I was too embarrassed to admit I couldn’t afford groceries. Kiara was pressuring me hard to go on SeekingArrangement but I still refused. I would sit on the floor of the bathroom in a towel after I showered and just cry because the steam made me nauseous and dizzy since I wasn’t eating.

I met my current boyfriend and something just started to click: I didn’t wanna live like this anymore. The mom of a friend from this town who also refuses to sugar landed me an interview at the gym I currently work at, I fought for the job, and I got it. Now I knew I didn’t wanna be completely fucked up all the time anymore but I was still doing enough Xanax to keep me out of withdrawal. The 2mg that had blacked me out at the beginning were now just barely enough to keep me functional. Kiara and I were fighting frequently and bad by this time. She and her partner in sugaring, Mena (not her real name but pretty close to it, fuck this bitch fr) were expecting me to keep how they made their money a secret....from friends and guys that I saw every single day. They both very obviously did not work and were flexing new cars, designer clothes, and cash all over their social media. Kiara thought she could cover her ass by saying she dealt drugs but it was also obvious that she wasn’t putting the time into that to come up with the amount of money she had. The only one dealing drugs was me, and not enough to do anything flashy, just enough that in addition to my work money I was usually getting enough to eat. But there were still some times when the previous weeks paycheck had run out and I was having my first meal of the day at 3pm after someone had bought adderall from me. We had our serious serious fight where she threw my stuff in the lawn and I lived with my current boyfriend full time for about a couple weeks since my bedroom at my granny’s was getting refloored when this happened.

By January 20th he was concerned by my Xanax problem and wanted me to seriously try to stop. At the time I started tapering because I wanted the girlfriend title but I’m forever grateful for him giving me a reason, even if it was a shallow one, because I just needed to START. We tried to reconcile once, despite boyfriend and guy best friend begging me not to, and of course the same problems reappeared, we had another serious fight and haven’t spoken since.

Now the fog is clearing and today I’m 96 days clean of xanax, 16 days clean of all benzos, and 19 days clean of gabapentin (what was keeping me from having a seizure while quitting benzos). But it’s hard because being out of the fog means feeling all of my emotions, even the really bad ones. This past week I’ve been waking up and crying sitting in front of my mirror trying to put my makeup on for work and it just drips right off and I have to start over. She was my best friend for 8 years. My favorite person. My partner in life. I loved her more than anyone.

My boyfriend and guy best friend are pretty uncomfortable when they hear someone express an opinion of me that’s “Kiara’s side of the story” and I don’t correct it. Both of them saw exactly how bad it got near the very end and don’t get why I don’t defend myself more or tell people about her letting my dog eat dab (THC) wax while she was supposed to be watching her and having to be rushed to the animal hospital TWO separate times. (She’s a Pomeranian and the highly concentrated THC was super dangerous to her tiny little body). Yelling at me and giving me the silent treatment because less than 48 hours after my SA she expected me to drive her to a hair appointment in Miami and I woke up late and didn’t get her there on time with traffic. Me begging her to be there for me when it felt like everything was falling apart and I self harmed for the first time and her leaving me to go on a vacation to Orlando with a girl we didn’t even really like. Me not wanting to sleep in the apartment alone after my SA and her not letting me sleep in her bed anymore, her and Mena just dumping me at the neighbor’s so they could continue to sugar, party, and see guys our age at night (this sounds super awful but neighbors roommate —> current boyfriend. He kept me safe until I felt better, was really sweet and careful, and I was the one to make the first move). There’s more but I really don’t like talking about it, after the abuse she went through and I assume is still going through, I expect her to be pretty damaged and not have it in her to treat people right all the time. Not exposing every bad thing she’s ever done to all our mutual friends and acquaintances is kind of my last gift to her.

I also admit that sugaring wasn’t responsible for everything that went wrong. Loving an addict is difficult and exhausting and I went through it myself with my ex. I was also out bi and she was “probably straight, maybe a little bi-curious” in her words. But when she was drunk or on Xanax she’d kiss me first...we had done more than kiss but only during 3somes with a guy. I don’t know, I think I loved her more than I was supposed to and some of the stuff she’d say made me think she saw me in a way she really didn’t. When we first moved to this town I had a thing with a girl and expected it to be no big deal but things here were different than up north. I got called the d slur for the first time by someone who wasn’t joking. It was like getting slapped I was so shocked and hurt, I truly didn’t think that happened anymore. I think she saw what happened to me and kinda closed off that part of herself because she didn’t wanna experience that herself. She stopped making out with me at bars and parties after that and it made me sad and maybe a little jealous. But I really do blame her SD for basically “breaking her”, for handing me that first bottle of free Xanax, for a lot of other little things that I can’t possibly include because this is already way too long. This is my first time even saying this much. Feel free to add your own experiences or thoughts on this or anything you’d like. [I’m prepared to get death threats or called a SWERF or whatever but I don’t care, now that I started talking about this I’m not going to stop.]

[iamnotawomanimagod]

(drug abuse/use talk under the cut)

god I just wish I had access to my OWN adderall. I just wish I had a prescription!

I can't imagine feeling like this every day, that seems like a dream. like an unattainable, total impossibility of an option. like the idea that other people get to feel like this every day without chemical assistance is mind-boggling to me.

I'm just so worried about coming across as drug-seeking. My psychiatrist is already wary because of my drug abuse with marijuana, and I previously told her I "liked xanax too much" (it turns out she personally does not prescribe it anyway as she thinks it's not the right solution, which works for me since I can't take it.)

although looking back I didn't like xanax so much as I appreciated the fact that it turned the volume down on my meltdowns. being on the right bipolar meds has just generally helped my meltdowns so much that even if I could take xanax, I don't think I'd elect to.

but adderall, man. I fucking love adderall.

I get so much done. I feel so much better. I feel like an actual person with energy and motivation and the ability to execute my plans. I get things done. I don't feel the overpowering urge to pass out in the middle of the afternoon - an urge high amounts of caffeine barely even scratches the surface of fixing.

like I started my period today and usually that means I'd be in bed for most of the day. it exhausts me to the point of no return. but with the adderall I barely even remember that I'm on it. this time last month I was curled up in bed sobbing and on the verge of going to the hospital. this month I am 100% fine.

I also took pain medication at the first sign of trouble which almost certainly helped, but still. even with minimal cramps my exhaustion is usually much worse, especially when I'm on my period.

I do want to talk to my psychiatrist about this. I don't know how to broach the subject. I suppose I should just be honest. but the fact that I've been taking them without a prescription is a big red flag and I know she won't like that.

plus I am 99.9% sure she will want me to quit smoking weed before she even considers it.

I need to quit anyway. if I can focus on things well enough to complete them, maybe I won't feel the urge to smoke weed just to keep myself from dying of boredom. maybe I can get and keep a job. like I feel like I could handle a job when I'm on adderall. I feel like I could handle socializing and being responsible and staying on top of things.

but I also know that there's a lot of danger here and a lot of red flags. like I am intimately acquainted with what addiction and addictive behavior looks like. it's so hard to get a read on yourself though. addicts aren't exactly known for honest self-awareness, denial is more the name of the game for them (for us, if I'm being 100% real. see I just did it.)

I can also tell that I did take too much today. my brain is buzzing and I feel hyperactive. Idk that's probably a sign it doesn't do what it should do, right? but dosage is important. when I limit myself to 10mg I feel productive but not wired.

I both want advice and don't want advice, lol.

it's such a touchy subject for me because addiction absolutely runs in the family, it's ruined more lives for my loved ones than I can really count and in ways that are hard to quantify. but trust me when I say that suffering because of addicts and addiction is a very old reality for me. I know I'm both extremely susceptible to addiction and perhaps a bit too hyper-vigilant about it.

jesus fuck look how much I just wrote lol.

at least I can look back on this tomorrow and decide how nuts I seem right now lmao.

whether I need it or could benefit from it or not, I did take too much today. I can't do this again.

if I take it to be more productive, I can't do that more than twice a month, at MOST, and I can't take more than two per day.

that's the limit, that's how I manage this. and if I can handle that and keep myself under control but I also notice a significant increase in my quality of life when I do responsibly take it, then I'll feel better about approaching my psychiatrist.

I still don't know how to though, without admitting that I've been taking my husband's 'script. (with his permission.)

problem for a future day. it's not like I can do anything about it at 7:45 on a Tuesday evening lol.