#worst nightmares I’ve ever had are because of the pills unfortunately

[vampireknitting]

Here I thought I was being super lazy and silly for not doing anything since the 4th. But today I had to stop the t3s because night terrors during naps are horrible. It wasn’t until today’s nap that I realized why I kept waking up shaking. I don’t process codeine well is all this means. Oh well.

I can eat soft things so I’ve reached the point of healing where I’m just doing better. And now I’m not so hungry. Even though I’ve been chugging the extra calorie ensures (350 each 4 times a day) and drinking as much apple sauce as I want it. I’ve been hungry. I’ll keep drinking them till the stitches all fall out so I don’t push it but I know this is the fibromyalgia making the healing annoying.

But my goodness I didn’t leave or do much than step out for a smoke and i almost fainted.. twice. So no smoking, only edibles and the safe non nightmare inducing painkillers so I can heal without feeling insane. It would be nice if I could have a some what normal healing experience though

[whumphoarder]

Beanimia

Summary: While Peter is visiting Tony and Morgan at the lake house for a long weekend, the six-year-old manages to accidentally break his nose. Unfortunately, Spider-Man's super-healing decides to go on holiday the same weekend that he does.

Word count: 3,877

Genre: Fluffy illness/injury, whump, hurt/comfort, humor

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta-reading and to @awesomesockes for plot, summary, and title ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

“So”—Tony snaps the single use ice pack to activate the chemicals and gives it a few shakes as he moves back over to the kitchen table—“which one of you is going to explain what happened here?”

Morgan shakes her head gravely side to side. “Peter didn’t catch the beans...”

“Well, to be fair,” Peter points out, his voice significantly more nasally than usual due to the wad of paper towels he’s pressing to his heavily bleeding nose, “you didn’t really warn me you were about to chuck a can of beans at my head.”

“But I did!” the six-year-old defends. “I said, ‘I’ll throw down the supplies.’”

“Supplies for what?” Tony questions. He passes Peter the ice pack, earning a grunt of thanks.

“For the mission,” Morgan explains as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We were playing superheroes and we needed to pack the supplies to take with us ‘cus we had to go fight the bad guys in space.”

“She’d been stockpiling stuff for the last couple days in the treehouse,” Peter goes on, “so she was just tossing everything down for me to put in the bag. Which, y’know, was fine for the stuffed animals and the walkie-talkies and the plastic lightsabers”—he gingerly touches the ice to his nose—“just not for a sixteen-ounce can of refried pintos.”

(Tony winces in sympathy.)

Morgan lets out an exasperated exhale. “Well, we had to bring something to eat—it’s a long way to Pluto.”  

Huffing out a laugh, Tony shakes his head slowly. “I guess it’s hardly Peter’s first experience getting injured before a mission officially even begins...” he muses. He grins at the teenager. “Remember when you tripped off the quinjet ramp and sprained your ankle two minutes after we landed?”

Peter rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “That was one time, Mr. Stark.”

“Memorable though,” Tony quips. He gestures to the kid’s messy face and sighs. “Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Reluctantly, Peter pulls the paper towels away and fresh blood starts to trickle down. There’s a cut at the bridge of his nose and it’s rapidly swelling, a dark bruise already starting to form under his eye.

Tony prods carefully at the break, making Peter wince. “Well, it’s definitely broken,” he reports after a moment, “but it seems pretty well-aligned at least. Nothing to reset.”

Peter lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Probably because it was already a little crooked from the last time I broke it. Guess she knocked it back.”

“So… I made it better?” Morgan asks hopefully.

Tony turns in his daughter’s direction. “Oh no, don’t you start thinking you’re off the hook here, Little Miss Budding Plastic Surgeon,” he says, holding up a stern finger. “You still need to be more careful where you’re chucking your beans.”

Peter snorts, then instantly seems to regret that as he groans and adjusts the ice pack on his face.

Morgan’s expression sobers and she drops her gaze down to her feet. “I just thought he would catch it. He always catches stuff when I throw it to him…”

Her comment gives Tony pause. Now that he thinks about it, it’s not the first time since Peter arrived at the lake house for their long weekend that the kid has seemed rather sluggish and off his game. He’d dozed through most of the drive over on Friday afternoon and then slept in until almost noon the next day. Even now, he can see the dark circles under Peter’s eyes and the pallor to his cheeks that can’t be completely explained by his current blood loss.

“It’s okay, Mo,” Peter reassures her with a small smile. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’ll be all better by morning, okay?”

Morgan perks up at that, so Tony pushes aside the twinge of worry in his gut. After all, Peter’s been taking seventeen credit hours at MIT this semester, not to mention his Boston vigilante activities and the additional part-time lab assistant gig he’s picked up; that’s enough to make anyone run a little ragged.

“Why don’t you two just watch a movie or something?” Tony suggests. “Give Peter’s nose a little time to sort itself out.”

Morgan and Peter agree, so Tony rustles up some of Peter’s super-strength painkillers and sets the kids up in the living room with some weird movie that Morgan inexplicably loves about a talking parrot whose biggest goal in life is to see the sun rise over the Grand Canyon. Before they even hit the fifteen minute mark, from out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees the ice pack slide down Peter’s face as the boy drifts off.

X

The combination of pain pills and the usual post-injury recovery time knocks Peter out and he sleeps straight through the rest of the movie. He’s still a little groggy and disoriented when Tony wakes him for dinner, but years of mentoring a reckless teenage superhero have taught the man that this is all par for the course.

Given that the pork chops Pepper left for them to reheat (before heading to her sister’s house for the weekend) require a bit more chewing than Peter’s face is up for at the moment, Tony whips the kid up a smoothie to drink instead.

Peter peers warily into the glass Tony hands him, swirling the green contents around. “What’s in here?”

Tony shrugs. “Whatever I found in the fridge. Blueberries, yogurt, scoop of protein powder, a banana, some spinach…”

“Ew, why would you drink spinach?” Morgan interrupts, her nose wrinkling up in disgust. “That’s gross.”

“Says the girl who put mayonnaise on her graham crackers last week,” Tony points out.

“It was good!” she defends.

Peter takes a cautious sip of the drink. He looks contemplative for second, then must have decided that he approves of the flavor because he just shrugs and proceeds to down about half the glass in a few gulps.

Morgan makes a dramatic gagging noise. Tony rolls his eyes and flicks her arm playfully.

“It’s actually really good,” Peter admits, lowering the cup back down. “Been awhile since I’ve had real vegetables.”

“Ugh, lucky,” Morgan groans as Tony adds a few pieces of asparagus to the little girl’s plate. “They’re the worst. Except for artichokes—those are good.”

“You like artichokes?” Peter questions.

“Uh huh.” She grins. “And turnips!”

“Well, Gerald likes turnips,” Tony clarifies, “and Morgan likes feeding them to him.”

This comment inspires Morgan to launch into a long-winded explanation of all the things she’s ever seen Gerald eat—from grass, to broccoli stalks, to a weird-looking bug—and which of those were his favorites. Peter nods along to her rambling, but seems far less engaged than usual and doesn’t even react when she mentions Gerald’s favorite type of cookie is double stuffed Oreo.

(Tony, on the other hand, interrupts at that point with a stern lecture for the six-year-old on what she can and cannot feed the alpaca moving forward.)

Once dinner is over, they all migrate back to the living room. Morgan wants to play Uno, and Peter obliges for a while, but his overall lack of focus persists.

“Peeeterrrr,” Morgan whines for the third time, poking his arm to snap him out of his daze. “It’s your turn again. You gotta draw two.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Peter takes two cards from the deck and adds them to his hand before reaching up to rub tiredly at his temples.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Headache?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Peter admits. “It’s not bad, just like… there.”

“Hm.” Tony nods. Turning to Morgan he says, “What do you say we finish this game up tomorrow?” Morgan’s face screws up and she looks like she’s about to protest before he adds, “Pretty sure there are some fudge-pops left in the freezer. I won’t tell Mommy if you don’t.”

Morgan drops her cards with an excited whoop and jumps up to run to the kitchen.

Tony gets to his feet to follow her. He glances back at Peter, who has sunk into the cushions with a relieved sigh. “Fudge-pop?” he offers.

Peter makes a non-committal noise in his throat. “I dunno. Think I might just head to bed.”

Tony glances at his watch. It’s just shy of eight o’clock—even Morgan doesn’t usually go to bed for another half hour. He knows Peter’s healing always takes a lot out of him, but he’s seen the kid looking less drowsy and out of it after getting slammed into the airport tarmac in Germany and cracking three ribs than he does at the moment. “Think you might be coming down with something?” he asks.

Peter shrugs once more, prompting Tony to press his hand to the kid’s forehead. He definitely isn’t detecting a fever—if anything, Peter’s skin is a little cold.

“What’s not feeling good?” Tony clarifies. “Head? Stomach? Throat?”

Peter hesitates a second. “Just… just my head I guess.” He sighs. “I think I’m just tired. Haven’t really been sleeping that great lately,” he confesses.

Tony’s forehead creases in concern. “Kid, you know May and I talked to you about overloading yourself your first year at school.”

“No, I go to bed,” Peter clarifies, “I just don’t always, like, sleep.”

“Why?” Tony’s frown deepens. “Are you having nightmares, or…?”

“No…” Peter exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. I just can’t always, like, settle down? I don’t know—it’s really not that bad,” he quickly backtracks. “I think I just need a good night’s sleep. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

(Like an idiot, Tony believes him.)

“Alright, well, sleep well kid,” he says as Peter shuffles off to the guest room.

X

“Okay, so... this is a little weird,” Peter says as he enters the kitchen the next morning.

Tony glances up and blinks at the sight of Peter’s very swollen and now darkly bruised nose and cheekbone. He sets down the bowl of waffle batter he’s been whisking and moves over to get a closer look.

“What the hell, kid?” Tony mutters under his breath, running his fingertips carefully over the still-clearly-broken bone. “You once healed from a compound fracture overnight.” He pauses a beat. “Of your femur.”

“Eh...” Peter shrugs tiredly. “Super-healing isn’t really a science, is it?”

“Well it’s certainly not an art,” Tony retorts. He gestures to the kid’s nose. “Unless this is your Black-and-Blue Period, Picasso.”

Peter groans, sinking down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “That was almost as painful as my face,” he complains.

It’s clear the kid meant it as a joke, but that admission does nothing to alleviate Tony’s concern. He finds Peter a fresh ice pack and doses him out another painkiller before resuming making breakfast.

Somehow even a second night of sleep doesn’t seem to have restored much of the kid’s energy. Peter sits hunched forward with one elbow on the table to hold the ice to his face and has his phone resting in his lap. He scrolls idly through it, looking like he might nod off any second.

After a few minutes, the backdoor to the kitchen swings open and Morgan re-enters with pieces of hay still stuck to her boots.

“I gave Gerald two turnips,” she announces. “And he hummed at me and then he tried to steal my hat but I got it back ‘cept for the fuzzy thing.” She points at the red knit hat on her head, which is missing a pom-pom.

Tony groans as he ladles more waffle batter onto the iron. “He didn’t swallow it, did he? Because if that vet has to come out here one more time, I swear—”

“Peter!” Morgan blurts, suddenly noticing the boy at the table. He startles and looks up from his lap as the six-year-old runs over to him. “Your face looks so bad!”

Tony clears his throat. “Uh, Morgan, we don’t—”

“So, so, so, so bad,” she emphasizes, as tears well up in her eyes. She throws her arms around his waist. “I’m really r-really sorry!” she cries. “I didn’t m-mean to hit you with the beans!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Mo,” Peter assures, wrapping her in his arms. “It’s gonna heal really soon, okay? I’m a spider, remember? I always heal fast.”

“But sp-spiders don...don’t heal fast!” Morgan sobs into his chest. “You can squish ‘em re-really easy and they d-die if it gets too c-cold or if they get sprayed with bug killing stuff, an-and…”

Peter glances up and shoots his mentor a look of utter helplessness.

In return, Tony shrugs his shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. “Don’t look at me, kid. I’ve been wondering the same thing since we met.”

Still holding the crying child, Peter rolls his eyes at him.

“Kidding, kidding...” Tony says under his breath. He abandons the waffle iron and heads over to gather the sobbing six-year-old up into his arms. “Morgan, sweetheart, listen to me,” he says as he rubs her back gently. “Peter isn’t really a spider, okay? He’s actually more of a mutant.”

(Morgan only cries harder at that.)

Peter huffs out a short laugh and leans back against the chair. “Doing great, Mr. Stark.”

“...And because he’s a mutant,” Tony plows right along, “his DNA is different from ours and that’s why he usually heals freaky fast,” he explains over her tears as she buries her face in his shoulder. “Except it’s just being a little slow today, so we’re gonna just let him rest and eat some good food and that should help fix him up, okay?”

She hiccups a few times. “So he ju...just needs some w-waffles?” she manages to get out.

That jogs Tony’s memory. He spins around to see that the iron is still very much on and the waffle is starting to burn, smoke wafting up around the edges. “Ah shit,” he mutters.

“It’s okay, I got it,” Peter says, pushing himself quickly up from his seat. But the moment he gets to his feet, he staggers sideways and grips the table, his face draining of color.

“Pete?” Tony goes to set the still-sniffling six-year-old back down, but before he’s able to get her feet on the floor, Peter’s knees give out.

Tony curses and shoots a hand out just a second too late as Peter crumples first to his knees and then to the ground, landing directly on his already-injured face.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “Daddy!” she shrieks.

Tony plops her down abruptly. “Go unplug the waffle maker, okay?” he instructs her as he drops to his knees next to Peter. He figures the last thing they need to add to the chaos is a smoke alarm.

Eyes still locked on the scene before her, Morgan nods and runs over to the counter to unplug the device. Meanwhile, Tony rolls Peter over onto his back and instantly grimaces at the sight. Besides the deathly pallor, the kid’s broken nose is definitely crooked now and fresh blood is streaming down.

“Is he… dead?” Morgan asks, horrified.

“No, no, of course not...” Tony presses two fingers to the pulse point in the boy’s neck, relieved to feel a strong, albeit fast, beat. “He just fainted—he’ll be fine,” he says, shaking the unconscious boy’s shoulder. 

“He looks dead,” Morgan whispers, still staring.

“Yeah, but he’s not,” Tony says firmly. Not wanting the blood to run down Peter’s throat, he continues to roll the kid over until he’s on his side in a sort of modified recovery position. “Pete, c’mon, this isn’t a good look,” he mutters, tapping Peter’s cheek. “We’re all getting enough trauma therapy as it is…”

Finally, the kid’s eyelids start fluttering open. “There you go, that’s it,” Tony praises when Peter blinks up at him. “You back with us yet?”

Peter groans and lets his eyes close again. “Do I ‘ave to be?”

“Yes,” Tony says curtly. He starts shaking Peter’s shoulder again, though gentler now. “I need to know how I’m taking you to Bruce—car or ambulance?”

“Ugh… How ‘bout neither?” Peter mumbles. He lifts a hand up tiredly to wipe a bit of blood off his upper lip. “‘M alright. Just got a lil’ dizzy…”

“Nope.” Worry is quickly taking over Tony, though it comes out in the form of briskness. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get off the floor or I’m choosing for you,” he declares, already pulling out his phone.

Morgan’s voice comes out small and quavering. “Peter...?”

Ultimately, that sound is what it takes to make Peter move. With Tony’s support, he pushes himself up and sits there for a moment, blinking wearily as blood trickles down from his nose. Tony sends Morgan to fetch a box of tissues and a clean shirt for Peter, then loads them both into the car for a little field trip.

X

“Anemia?” Peter repeats, incredulous.

The kid is sitting on an exam table at the SHIELD Medical base, his recently-reset nose now splinted. Meanwhile, Morgan sits in the chair beside Tony, entertaining herself with a handful of wooden tongue depressors and a roll of medical tape.

Bruce adjusts his glasses as he scans the results from Peter’s blood panel on his tablet. “Yeah, that’s what the tests are showing. Basically, it means that your body isn’t getting enough iron to produce hemoglobin, so it can’t carry oxygen effectively. This results in fatigue, lightheadedness, insomnia, headaches, shortness of breath, and—apparently in your case—a reduced healing factor.”

“But how did I get anemia?” Peter balks. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“Well, there are a few possible causes,” Bruce explains, “but based on several nutrient deficiencies I’m seeing in your bloodwork, my best guess is from your diet.”

“Ah.” A look of understanding flickers across Peter’s face for a second. “Yeah, okay, that checks out...” he mumbles.

“Wait, how exactly does that ‘check out’?” Tony asks.

Peter shrugs. “Well, I just… haven’t been eating the best food lately.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Doesn’t MIT’s cafeteria serve a pretty decent spread?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Peter allows. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just haven’t been really… uh, going there?”

Tony blinks at him. “Why the hell not?”

“That’s Mommy’s word,” Morgan pipes up without looking up from the two wooden sticks she’s connecting together with tape.

“I just don’t have a lot of time between my classes and job and stuff, and the cafeteria is all the way across campus,” Peter explains. “So I mostly just eat my own food.”

“Which would be…?” Bruce asks.

Peter hesitates. “Ramen,” he says after a moment. “The chicken flavor one.”

“Hm, okay…” Bruce nods, jotting this down on his tablet. “Not really the most nutritious option, but definitely a college staple. What else?”

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Peter starts picking at a piece of fuzz on his sweatshirt. “Uh… sometimes I get the beef one?”

Tony blinks at him. “Beef ramen?”

“I tried the lime chili shrimp one once. Not a fan.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Tony blinks again. “Peter, I’m paying for you to have three square meals a day at that college—not three styrofoam cups of dehydrated noodles.”

“I also eat granola bars,” Peter says. “And bagels.” He starts ticking foods off on his fingers. “Microwave burritos, yogurt, uh.... those little frozen chicken taquito thingies? But like, only if my roommate isn’t using the freezer for his weird cult ritual stuff. That’s why I usually stick to the soup.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves out a sigh. “Jesus take the wheel…”

“Oh! I had an apple last week!” Peter throws in.

Bruce runs a hand through his own hair, exhaling a carefully measured breath. “Okay, Peter, you know that you have an enhanced metabolism, right? That means you need to eat significantly more food than the average person.”

“Right, and I do!” Peter nods. “I always make sure I get enough calories.”

“And that’s good,�� Bruce says, “but you also need to make sure you’re getting enough nutrients. Calories are just a part of that. With your unusual physiology, it’s especially important that you’re getting all the required vitamins and minerals to support the rapid regeneration of your cells, and a diet of cup noodles and bagels—”

“And frozen burritos,” Peter interrupts.

“—is simply not nutritionally dense enough for you,” Bruce finishes. “Not by a long shot.”

There’s a beat.

“Oh.”

“What does ‘nu-tri-tion-al-ly dense’ mean?” Morgan asks. Her tongue depressor creation has folded over itself and vaguely resembles a collapsed bridge now.

“It means Peter needs to eat more vegetables,” Tony butts in. “Just like you and Gerald.”

She sticks out her tongue. “Gross.”

“Alright, we’re gonna start you on some iron supplements,” Bruce addresses Peter. “But it might take a couple weeks to get your levels back up enough to reverse the anemia. I’m also going to give you a list of foods high in iron—things like dark leafy greens, broccoli, dried fruit, nuts, red meat, kidney beans—”

“NO BEANS,” the other three all declare in unison.

X

After hauling the kids back to the lake house, Tony sets Peter and Morgan up on the couch with another movie (Pirates of the Caribbean this time) and heads to the kitchen to fix them all some lunch. Potatoes and turnips are both high in iron, so he cooks and mashes up a big potful with some milk, butter, and salt, figuring that would be easy to chew without hurting the kid’s face too much. He scoops some into a bowl for Peter and then whips up another green smoothie for him to drink, as well as sandwiches for himself and Morgan. Once everything is ready, he piles it all onto a tray and heads back.

As he approaches the living room, Tony can already hear Morgan’s voice floating towards him in the falsetto stage-whisper she always uses when she’s voicing make-believe characters.

“Help me! Help me!” she cries. “Oh no, I’m falling!”

Tony stops in the room’s threshold to watch. The movie is still playing in the background, but neither kid seems to be watching. Instead, Peter is lying on his back on the sofa with his eyes closed, giggling quietly while Morgan kneels on the floor in front of the cushions, dancing a single M&M around the edges of the boy’s open mouth.

Suddenly, she drops the candy into his mouth with a dramatic gasp. “Noooo… the king has fallen into the pit! The anemia monster got him!” she cries.

“The anemia monster?” Tony asks in amusement.

Peter’s eyes snap open. “Uh, we were just playing a game.”

Morgan turns back to look at her dad, grinning. “Chocolate is on the list Uncle Bruce gave him!” she says, waving the piece of paper in Tony’s direction.

“Pretty sure that says dark chocolate,” Tony says, eyes narrowing at them as he crosses the room. “Not leftover M&Ms from the Christmas stash.”

Morgan’s face falls. “Aw…”

Tony sets the tray of food down on the coffee table. “Don't worry, kids,” he says, passing Peter the kale and fruit-rich protein smoothie. “Iron Man to the rescue.”

X

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[keirangoldenwatch]

WIP Wednesday

So the best way for my brain to write long fics is to sometimes break from the middle of the “present” scene and just write out a scene I’m going to slot in somewhere in the future, if said scene is chewing on my brain.  So this isn’t a scene from the latest chapter of Surprisingly Good Judge of Character; but it will happen at some point.

So here we go!

When dawn--or whatever her internal clock registered as “dawn”--came, Rezhek found herself waking up in the Kaas Mistake’s lounge, the beginnings of a headache beating at her temples.  She didn’t remember drinking so much as to pass out last night.  No, she’d just been exhausted after trouncing around Nar Shaddaa hunting “invisible” enemies, so a few drinks and a couch was all it had taken for her to fall asleep.  With a soft grumble she forced herself to sit up and felt fabric fall from her chest to pool around her waist.  A thick synthfur blanket had been draped over her at some point.  Given the slight smell of expensive soap on it, she would have guessed it was Risha’s, but Rezhek doubted the frigid woman would have given this to her.

The more likely culprit was one of the two bright lights she saw on the ship.  Bowdaar's enormous silhouette was easy to make out, and she assumed the second smaller, dimmer light was Risha.  Both were still sleeping in the crew quarters.  But she could see Tivvea sitting in the cockpit--because nobody else was allowed to pilot the Kaas Mistake--and, by process of elimination, Corso in the mess hall.  

Rezhek pushed herself onto her feet and folded up the blanket, leaving it in a perfectly neat square on the couch as she started towards the kitchen and the smell of caf.

Corso’s silhouette turned towards the doorway once she was close enough for her footsteps to be heard, and his silhouette became detailed and defined just before she reached the entryway.  Rezhek paused at the edge of the door.

Something was shining at the corners of his eyes.  Tears.  Corso swiftly grabbed a towel to wipe them away, trying, in vain, to hide it before he was seen.  If it was any of the other crewmates of the Kaas Mistake, or Aric or Elara, he would have succeeded.  How unfortunate that it was her this time.

Rezhek drew in a deep, just slightly unsteady breath.

Alright.

When Rezhek entered the mess hall Corso had stuffed the towel behind the therma-slice.  He saw who was coming in and, to his credit, managed to keep the friendly smile on his face.  “Hey, Rez.  You’re up pretty early.”

“I always wake up early,” Rezhek corrected, a faint smile pulling at her own lips.  

Corso shrugged one shoulder.  “After that sort of drinking you did last night, I expected you’d be out another hour at least.”

Her smile turned into a frown.  “It wasn’t that much.”

“Ma’am, you put away over a half a bottle of Cortyg brandy.”  He chuckled at her, and it made her frown deepen under slowly heating cheeks.  “That stuff from Kashyyyk is strong.  Bowie said you may as well have been chained to the floor.”

Rezhek grumbled to herself about how drinks that strong shouldn’t be so sweet, and whilst grumbling Corso fetched a second mug and slipped it under the caf machine’s nozzle.  Her sight stayed on his face even when he was turned away from her.  He was still putting on a smile.  She knew her “eyes” hadn’t been wrong, though.

Should I say something?  Telling him I saw him crying might put him on the defensive.

“Do you put anything in your caf, Rez?”  Corso pulled a now full mug of deep, dark liquid from the machine and slid it towards her on the countertop.  It smelled very strong, and knowing how this ship’s captain slept it probably was.  “I’ve got the milk out, but there’s synthmilk in the conservator.  I’m sure Risha won’t mind if you use it.”

“Milk is fine.  Thank you.”

Corso nodded and pushed a glass cylinder full of liquid next to the mug, and Rezhek walked up to mix in her preferred milk-to-caf ratio.  Usually she didn’t drink stimulants, but she’d make an exception for today.  Her temples were still pounding.

“And there’s kolto pills in the drawer there,” Corso added smoothly, taking a sip from his mug.  

Rezhek pursed her lips into a thin line and grumbled a smaller “thanks” as she nabbed those.  She popped two of them from the bottle and dry-swallowed them, sure that the caf was too hot to drink right away.  Corso chuckled at her again.

It was quiet for a little while as she mixed her caf and waited for it to cool.  Corso glanced subtly towards the therma-slicer.  Rezhek considered the best way to approach this, or if approaching it at all was a bad idea.  This wasn’t the first time she or Aric had caught him after a nightmare or in a similar state.  If it was from his time in the Peace Brigade, then she wanted to help him.  He wasn’t the only one with lingering trauma from being too young in a warzone.

Was that it, though?  What if she was wrong, and it was more personal than that?

At least say something.  Anything.  Just...open up the conversation, somehow.

“I signed up for the militia when I was fifteen.” Rezhek blurted, and immediately regretted that that was the first thing that popped into her head.  Corso’s eyes snapped back to her and his brow shot up, his mug lowered from his mouth.

“What?”  

“I was--” she took a sip of still hot caf to make her throat feel less dry and tried again, “I was fifteen.  When I signed up for the Republic military.  I...wanted to just share that, for...no reason.”

That lie was the worst one she had told to date, and said as unconvincingly as possible.  Corso  still looked surprised, but it morphed slowly into confusion.  “So you were...” he paused, “Wait, I thought the Republic didn’t take anyone younger than eighteen.”  

Rezhek drummed her fingers against the side of the mug.  “They don’t.  I lied about my age.”

Corso’s mouth fell open and stayed that way for a stunned silent second.

“I understand,” Rezhek kept speaking, her tone growing softer, “I understand what it’s like to be a kid in a warzone.  I know what it feels like.  So I just...I’m a bad talker, and bad at showing care, but I’m okay at listening.  If you ever want to talk to anyone to talk to, I’m here.”

The blunt, battering ram style of empathy was not the most gentle of approaches, but it was all she had right now.  Rezhek couldn’t really avert her sight from Corso’s face but she tried to focus on every other detail in the mess hall.  Her tongue hurt slightly from the temperature of the caf, but that was the least of her worries at the moment.

The quiet lasted until Corso pieced together what she was saying with the “why”.  He sighed, placing his mug down on the counter slowly enough to avoid making a harsh sound, and stared at the metal floor.  “You saw that, then?  Before you walked in?”

Rezhek didn’t say anything but that was an answer in itself.

Corso raised the hand not still resting on his mug to run over his head, calloused fingers threading the tied-back dreads.  “I appreciate it, Rez, but you’re wrong.  That’s not...what that was about.”  He swallowed.  Rezhek turned her head just slightly to indicate her attention was on him, even if she didn’t need to to see him.  “The Peace Brigade was rough at times, but it wasn’t anything that I couldn’t handle.  And we were helping people who really needed it.  That made all the terrible stuff worth it.”

“But while I was out there, the separatists reached Ord Mantell.”  The softness of his features hardened, eyes growing colder as they glared at the floor.  “They started doing raids, taking supplies...just hurting people, whoever they could find.”  Hatred made his voice rough, harsh--more than she believed she’d ever heard in it before.  It didn’t suit him.  But it was very well warranted, with his next words. “They found my home, my family.  They killed them.”

Her hands clenched tight around the caf mug.  Every icy glare, every guiltless shot, every separatist brutally killed on Ord Mantell made much more sense now.  It was the explanation she’d been missing--why such a kind, friendly person like Corso had wound up a mercenary in the first place; why he was a whole other person when talking about or killing separatists; why he’d latched onto Tivvea’s story about her mother’s death, because he had been in much the same situation.

Rezhek...couldn’t.  She could sympathize--she could imagine how terrible and alone they must feel--but her imagination was shallow compared to how it had to really feel.  To be orphaned, to be alone in the galaxy...

Their stories are hardly unique after the war, the cynical part of her remembered.  She ignored it.  

“Corso...” Rezhek started, not sure what she was even going to say following that.  

She hesitated too long.  He cut her off, shaking his head and straightening himself so he was looking at her instead, the cold fury that had hardened his face faded into tired sadness.  “It’s alright.  I mean, it’s not,” he tried and failed to joke, kind of like Tivvea would, “But I’m alright.  Only time I really feel it anymore is after nightmares.  And I don’t get those that often.”  Just often enough that both she and Aric had noticed and voiced concerns about it.  Not to Corso, but, well, here Rezhek was now.  Corso rolled his shoulders back and averted his eyes from her again.  “I’m sorry that I was worrying you.”

Ah--

When Corso looked back at her, his eyes suddenly went wide and he took a step back before his hands came up, hovering awkwardly in front of her.  “H-Hey!  Don’t...don’t do that, it’s not--”

Rezhek’s head jerked up.  Only then did she realize her mask was dripping tears, letting them slide down her face.  She raised her hand to her cheek and brushed the tears away with her fingers but they kept running.  With a  small swear she brought both of her hands up and pushed up her mask, pressing her hands against her vestigial eye sockets--partially trying to stem the flow, but also trying to hide it.  

“Shit,” Corso winced and he stepped closer to her instead, hands still hovering like he was trying to figure out what in the world to do.  Rezhek could relate, because she, too, had no idea.  His brow was pinched with worry over his wide, dark eyes. “Rez, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Shut the frell up, Corso,” Rezhek suddenly snapped behind her hands, and his own flinched back like he’d been burned.   “Don’t karking apologize.  You’re not hurting me, you’re not bothering me--crying isn’t going to kill me, you stupid, selfless dolt.”  

Corso made a noise that might have been a nervous chuckle.  “Harsh words for a lady crying in a mess hall at four in the morning.” 

That got her to laugh behind her hands, albeit half-drowned with withheld sobs.  

Damn it.  The last time she’d cried had been after Tavus’ defection.  Those had been out of anger, though; a much cleaner feeling than whatever the heck this was.  Maybe kolto made her tear ducts weaker.

Corso’s hands finally figured out where to go, as he nabbed a towel from one of the cupboards and held it just at the right height for her to take without flashing her tear-stained cheeks to him.  

“...thank you,” he managed in a quiet, soft voice.  His smile was gone and his eyes still watching her full of concern, but there was something else there, too.  Not the tired sadness, but something adjacent to it.  Something that made Rezhek’s chest ache.  “I didn’t want to make--for you to cry, but it shows that you care.  You said you’re bad at that.  That’s,” he chuckled weakly again, shaking his head, “That’s as good a way to show it as any, I think.”  

Rezhek started reaching for the towel with one hand as he started talking.  She changed direction as he finished.  She’d stepped into Corso’s reach and had her arms wrapped around his torso before she’d stopped to consider what she was doing.

Corso’s arms went up at his sides, confusion once again shocking the rest of his emotions right from his expression, but it didn’t last nearly as long as the last time.  He placed the towel down on the counter beside them and rested his arm gently over Rezhek’s shoulder, his chin raised so as to not bump into the top of her head.  He drew in a long, deep breath before his other arm wrapped around her as well.  Rezhek heard the shake in it before she felt the slight tremors in his chest.  She squeezed him a little tighter, and he matched it back, and they stood there for a while.

It probably wasn’t as long a time as it felt, but it had been a long time since Rezhek had been the one to initiate this level of physical affection.  Gentle--intentionally gentle--punches on the arm, affectionately pushing people around; those were easier.  Comforting others with physical touch or even words was so, so much harder.  She’d tried and failed at it a lot.

But failure simply wasn’t an option right now.

[richiefuckfacetozier]

Chapter 3: Winding Me Up Inside

Story: Why Can’t This Be Love

Click to read on Archive

Art of Eddie and Richie by @whatidoisxsecret

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

___

Eddie honked profusely at the car in front of him. Everyone had decided it was idiot day on the road as one of the bridges was down from a car fire. People were cutting him off or making illegal u-turns that almost hit his car. He ended up pulling over to grab a drink at a restaurant. He wasn’t very well going to die tonight if he could calm his nerves with alcohol instead. It was unfortunate that he left his pills at home, knowing they could calm him immediately but a gin and prune juice, his healthy alcoholic beverage of choice, would have to do the trick. 

About a month had gone by since ‘The Arrangement’, something Richie had started calling their pretend dating. Eddie would’ve rather called it ‘The Nightmare’ but Richie wanted a positive outlook on the situation. 

Eddie eyed a grungy bar next to a pizza joint that looked perfect to grab a cheap drink. However, upon further observation, there was a rainbow flag sticking out above the bar’s entrance. He blinked at it, took a step forward, then froze. His body had seized up at the prospect of going in.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there but a booming voice said, “You in or out?” Tossing him from a temporary mind blank.

“Huh?” Eddie focused on the bouncer standing by the entrance, who was ripped and large. He never understood having such intimidating people be the first greeting you encounter before entering a bar or club. Don’t these businesses want people to come in? “Oh...er...no no. Just searching for a place to drink.” 

“Well, this is a bar.” The man eyed Eddie up and down, giving the impression of being humanly x-rayed. “Drinking is the main activity...among other things.” There was some prolonged eye contact between them that dried Eddie’s throat into a Sahara desert.

Eddie nodded shifting forward. He reached for his wallet, which had his ID, but his hand merely hovered over his slack's front pocket. 

“Maybe another time?” The man suggested with a lighter tone. Eddie straightened up, nodded and walked away. 

He just failed at that pretty spectacularly. What would Richie think? Probably that he was a chicken. This had been an extra hard month. With the realization, he may have stronger feelings toward guys than he had ever admitted to himself. He had stopped sleeping, barely ate, and secluded himself more. 

Suddenly, the demise of his relationship with Myra was making more sense. When she used to touch him sensually, his skin crawled. He assumed that was from the years of his mother convincing him the world was a germ-infested blackhole, girls were dirty, and how he could never truly be clean. Except he rarely felt that way when Richie touched him. Or any of his friends. Sure, they had known each other for years, but he knew Myra for a long time too and it didn’t settle into a comfortableness that relationships were meant. 

He tended to resist Myra’s kisses, fake not feeling good to get out of sex, and pushed her away constantly. Their break up had been devastating. At the time he believed it was because the love of his life left him. Now he knew the truth. 

Eddie eventually got a drink at a bar a few blocks away. The drink refreshed and calmed him immediately. It’s funny how certain things relaxed him right away because he’d conditioned himself to feel that way. His mind began thinking about tomorrow, a chilling dread running up his neck. He scratched at the nape even though nothing truly itched. 

He was seeing his friends for a pre-engagement party celebration. Just the seven of them. The thought almost made him break out into sweats. He downed his drink and ordered another. Usually, he would be extremely excited and thrilled to see the losers club, except the next step in the arrangement, was occurring. Eddie had to come out collectively to the group. A fake coming out but that fakeness was becoming authentic with every passing moment. 

He wished there was someone he could talk this out with. There was Mike, but that felt wrong somehow. The one person he wanted to tell was Richie. What would he even say? There was a nightmare scenario he replayed every day that Richie would laugh in his face, which logically he would never do but Eddie’s attempts at controlling his imagination have never come to fruition. 

While he was absently stirring his drink, his phone started ringing. A picture popped up on his screen of Richie lifting a screaming/laughing Eddie from behind. He took an extra second to remember the joyful memory, running a finger over the picture then answered. 

He sighed into the phone, “Hey, Rich.” 

“Where you at, gumdrop?” said Richie with an obvious smile in his voice.

“A bar. The traffic was crap, so I am waiting it out.” 

“What’re you wearing?” He said suggestively.

Eddie frowned, huffing out, “Work clothes, why?” 

Richie clicked his tongue, “Cause you are supposed to be at Beverly and Ben’s celebration extravaganza in,” quick pause where Eddie figured Richie was looking at his phone for the time, “20 minutes.” 

“No, it is tomorrow.” Eddie insisted.

“No, my cutie patootie Eds, it is today.” 

“No,” He said slowly. “It’s on Friday, you turd.” 

A laugh came through the phone, “Today IS Friday.” 

Eddie paused as horror sunk in fast and deep. “Oh shit…”

“Yeah, so see you at the restaurant!” Richie hung up, leaving Eddie to his panic.

He slapped down a $20 on the bar counter, despite the drink being less than half that and bolted out the door. He ran past the bouncer who shouted, “Don’t trip, kid!”

His car turned on with a roar then he zoomed out of the space. The traffic had significantly cleared which worked in his favor as his car swerved around dangerously. His heart pounded with adrenaline. When he pulled up in front of the restaurant, Richie was standing on the curb smoking a cigarette. 

Eddie gave the valet his car keys, not even thinking about how much that would cost him at the end of the night, and hurried over to his friend. 

“The prodigal son has returned!” Richie tossed the second half of his cigarette on the ground, stomping it out for good measure. As Eddie neared Richie wrapped an arm around his shoulders pulling them close together. The smell of smoke was both overwhelming and familiar. As much as Eddie despised the disgusting habit, he was so used to it that he could brush it off. 

Eddie pushed on his chest to free himself a little but not enough to break contact. “I can’t believe I fucking forgot.” 

“Take a minute to breathe, Eds. Where’s your head been at lately?” Richie asked in what he probably thought was a casual tone, except, Eddie knew better. His friend was really asking ‘Where have you been?' or 'Why are you isolating yourself?’. 

Isolation was the only solution for hiding his emotions, which had been many and increasing each day he spent alone with his thoughts. 

Instead of answering the question, Eddie shrugged and smiled lightly. 

Richie reached up and pinched Eddie’s cheek with a “Cute, cute, cute!”

“Stop it, I hate that!” 

He laughed, “You ready to do this?” 

Eddie took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, “I can’t do this.” 

“You CAN do this!” said Richie with excitement. “Just be yourself.”

“Fake coming out to my friends is the worst idea we’ve ever had. It is wrong.”

“What do you suggest then?”

Eddie nervously glanced at his feet, “I think we should just out ourselves to Bill like we planned next.”

“You think they are going to believe Bill without any pretense? No, you have to come out and it has to be tonight since it’ll be the only time we are all together before Beverly and Ben’s engagement party. If you steal her thunder in any way, she will murder. Who she’ll murder is unclear but it starts with Ed and ends with die. Hey! That was more clever than I intended.”

Eddie swallowed, “Alright, but Richie…”

He made a tracing motion toward the ground  “There will be a chalk shaped Eddie on the ground with Beverly DNA everywhere. It’s going to work, Eds. I promise.”

“Don’t call me, Eds. Listen, Rich I…”

“Stop trying to come up with excuses! It’s going to be fine.”

“No, Richie! Just shut up a second!” His heart was beating out of his chest, he had to tell Richie what he had been going through or everything could be ruined. He had to give him an out if he wanted. Eddie shrugged off Richie’s arm, so they were facing each other. “I’ve been thinking that I...I…”

“Well, spit it out Eds. Thinking what?” 

“I THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY LIKE GUYS!”

Richie stood shocked and silent at first, just staring. Those ice-blue eyes hiding secrets and judgments that Eddie desperately wanted to hear aloud. Tears had caught in Eddie’s eyes which he blinked away quickly. “Well! Don’t just stand there, asshole! Say SOMETHING!” He demanded. 

“I...I…” Richie sputtered face turning crimson red. 

“Well, spit it out, Trashmouth.” mocked Eddie.

“I do too.” He gasped out. 

It was Eddie’s turn to stare in silence. “Sorry, I think I went temporarily insane. Repeat that?”

“I like guys, too. I have since college.” Richie sighed with relief. “Maybe longer.”

“What? You have?” This revelation made Eddie take a step back. “I had no idea.”

“Not relevant information to disclose.” Shrugged Richie. 

Eddie gave a confused look then lowered his eyes skeptically, “This isn’t a joke, Richie. I actually believe I am gay.”

“You're the one who shoved a rainbow cake with sprinkles on top of my bisexual pie.” Richie’s eyes twinkled. 

“Wow,” A smile broke out across both their faces, pure joy at the realization that they weren’t alone. They had never been alone. “What were the chances that 2 out of the 7 of us friends would be gay.” 

They stood there, in a rare silence, watching each other with a newfound comradery that didn’t seem possible after 20 years of friendship. Richie grabbed Eddie’s forearm and pulled him in for a hug, which was returned 10 fold. Tears that he forgot to keep holding in fell into the side of Richie’s neck. His emotions were on a rollercoaster with no chance of stopping. He faintly heard Richie say, “Eddie, I…”

He didn’t get to finish what he planned to say because a “Richie! Eddie! W-what’s the hold up?” Interrupted them. They quickly broke their embrace as Bill appeared beside them. He looked calm despite a bit of impatience in his eyes, then saw their faces and concern washed over him immediately. 

Bill put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the weight very comforting. “Everything ok?” He reached in his pocket and took out a travel tissue pack. Eddie gave a watery giggle, taking one and blowing his nose. 

“Yeah, Big Bill,” said Eddie. “Everything’s great.” And he found that his words were true.

After a few more breathes and checking himself in the selfie camera of his phone, Eddie felt ready to face his friends. The three men walked into the restaurant, heading to a back room that Ben reserved for the occasion. 

“Congrats to the couple!” Richie shouted as he bounded over to bear hug and lift Beverly off her feet. She laughed swatting at him, “Let me go you dorkface!” 

“Dorkface!” Exclaimed Richie. “Of all the sass to receive from your dude of honor.” 

Eddie watched the exchange warmly. Ben patted him on the back. “Traffic?” 

“Huh? Oh yeah.” Eddie said embarrassed. “Tons.” 

“There was a car fire and crash on the bridge.” Came the dry, toneless voice of Stanley Uris. “Surprised it wasn’t you Eddie, with all your road rage.”

Eddie gave a pout in Stanley’s direction but walked over to his friend for a handshake and a hug. “Such a kind, warm greeting from you Stan. I miss you, too.” 

“Where’ve you been lately?” He sounded unperturbed, but he wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t a genuine concern.

“Oh ya know,” Eddie trailed off with a shrug. Stanley lifted an eyebrow but didn’t push it, for now at least.

Eddie started to seat himself between Stanley and Ben when Richie grabbed his collar jerking him backward. “Scoot over, Stan the man.” 

Stanley rolled his eyes, “No.” 

“Why?” asked Richie.

“Because I am comfortable here.” 

“You’re being a stinker, Stanley. Move to the seat next to Ben. You like Ben, don’t you?” 

“Of course I…”

Richie looked right at Ben, “Too bad for you, Benny boy, it seems Stanley doesn’t like you anymore.” 

“Beep- beep, Richie,” Beverly warned while drinking a glass of wine and placing a hand on Ben’s arm. 

“I’m just saying it is suspect that the best man doesn’t want to sit next to the groom.” 

“He’s not a groom until the wedding day.” Stanley insisted. “And I am already sitting…” 

“Richie isn’t gonna let it go, Stan. Just move over one.” said Bill with strong finality. None of the losers liked to admit anymore that Bill remained the group’s leader even into adulthood. But when he made a request it was usually followed with little argument. Eddie figured it didn’t matter how independent any of them grew up to be, Bill still held a controlling rope over them. Something Stanley was known to resent.

He moved over a seat as Eddie gave an apologetic look at every one. Getting between Richie and Stanley tended to end in him being yelled at, so he rarely bothered anymore. Besides, he bickered with Richie more than anyone else so Stanley had no room to complain. 

Richie glanced around the room realizing they had a missing loser. “Where’s Mike?” 

“Bathroom,” Responded Beverly, still nursing her drink. “How was work, Eddie?” 

“Fine, I guess.” The last thing he wanted to talk about, except his mother, was his boring job. “An econ student was hired as my intern, which makes me think I’ve finally made it.” 

“Poor bastard is in for a world of ribbing by all your accounting co-workers,” said Richie, bumping Eddie’s shoulder. 

Eddie laughed, “Oh, I already made a joke at him today. Why do economists exist?” He scanned around the table then opened his mouth to answer. 

Mike’s voice interrupted from the door of the private room, “So accountants have someone to laugh at.”

“Mike!” whined Eddie. “You stole my punch line.”

“Sorry, Eddie.” He took his seat between Beverly and Bill. 

Stanley smirked, “You practiced that joke didn’t you.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie groaned. “How was your trip, Ben?” 

“Not the best,” Ben sighed, he wore a deprecating grin. No matter the story, Ben always had some kind of upturned smile, it was a unique quality. Considering most people told Eddie he had sad eyes, being able to smile at all times would be an excellent trait. “I didn’t leave early enough like I usually do because it was so early in the morning. I left my water bottle in the rental car they got me, then ran from TSA to the gate, was in my seat when I realized the sweater Bev got me for my birthday was back at security.” 

Beverly rubbed his back soothingly, “We can get you new ones of both those things.”

“I know, it’s just a bummer because they were special items before I lost them.” Eddie understood. Ben and he shared the same mentality about their personal items, each thing they owned held a nice memory. He knew that the water bottle was one Ben got from his job after the big promotion, he could ask for another one but it wouldn’t be the same as the moment he received the gift. The feeling of pride and achievement all through a meaningless material item. 

“Well, lucky for you, Ben.” Richie pulled out something from his bag, handing it across the table to Ben. “I had these made for everyone.” Richie continued grabbing water bottles from his bag, passing them around. 

“This is so nice, Rich!” said Beverly. She laughed at the label. Eddie looked down at his seeing ‘#TeamBenverly’. It was great quality, a platted maroon paint covered the bottle with the lettering in a bold white. 

“I still have the keychain you gave us for my bachelor party.” said Bill.

“That’s right!” Mike chimed in. “What does it say again?” 

“Big Bill’s Bitchin’ Bachelor Bash.” Stanley drawled. “Kinda clever.” 

Richie grabbed Eddie’s shoulder, making Eddie almost jump in confusion. He stared at Richie, who was clutching his heart in mock shock, “A compliment? I don’t think I can handle that from you, Stanley Urine.” 

“I take it back,” said Stanley, “You don’t have any cleverness. Only idiocy.” 

“Hmmmm, insults,” Richie leaned in front of Eddie, still holding his shoulder as his face got closer to an unamused Stanley. “They feed my very soul.” 

Eddie placed his hand over Richie’s face and pushed him backward the metal of his glasses digging into Eddie’s hand, “Your soul has a healthy appetite then.” 

“Oof, your words fill me up most, Eds.” 

“Eds is a dumb nickname and you know it.” 

“Alright, alright!” Mike called the attention toward him. “Let’s hear from Ben and Beverly. A decade of being together and now you’re tying the knot. How does it feel?” 

Ben looked to Beverly, who smiled sweetly at him. “Feels perfect,” said Ben simply, but in those two words, he expressed years worth of working toward friendship and partnership that went beyond infatuation. “I’m so happy. And even happier to have my best friends around to celebrate.” 

“This wedding is really about coming together,” started Beverly, “With our friends, the family we’ve chosen, to celebrate love. I think what we have with all of you is rare and...” 

Eddie thought deeply about her phrasing ‘the family we’ve chosen’. He had many issues with his mother, different than Beverly’s father problems but they both came from toxic environments. Kindred spirits in a dark and twisted way. 

With all his thoughts lately, he had pushed down how his mother would react. He may never tell her, if he could help it. Her religious views left no room for tolerance on the subject. 

He shoved thinking about his mother deep in a box in his brain and focused on Beverly, who was still speaking, “...so just thank you for being there for us. Anyway, let’s fucking celebrate!” 

They all cheered, Eddie looking around with a smile on his face. With his ‘chosen family’ he could trust them to love him no matter what. 

As the night wore on with lots of laughs, food, and stories. Ben brought up the story of when he finally got the courage to ask out Beverly, “I was waiting outside of school, sweating profusely, despite wearing 2 sweaters…”

“You always wore so many layers!” said Bill laughing. 

“Well, when you are fat and subconscious, that’s how you hide it.” Ben said, voice lowering a bit in embarrassment. 

“Ben Handsome now shows off his true glory and beauty.” said Richie with a wink. “Just the way I like it.”

“Beep- beep, Richie.” Blushed Ben. “As I was saying, I waited outside and she approached me like in slow motion. I thought I was going to throw up. As I opened my mouth to say something she said,” He motioned for Beverly to continue the story. 

She giggled, “I said, ‘Ben, let’s go to prom together’. His face drained of color and he passed out.” The whole room erupted in laughs. “I..I was knocked to the ground!” Beverly tried to say through gleeful tears, “He fell forward into me.” 

“You were a very pleasant landing.” Ben smiled in mortification. 

“You planning to faint at your wedding too?” said Stanley, “As your best man, I will need to prepare.” 

“No, I’m not. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” said Richie. “I will have a fainting couch ready as a precaution.”

“You’ll probably just jump in front of Beverly and take one for the team,” piped Eddie.

“Speaking of the wedding,” Stanely rounded on Eddie and Richie. A dread bubbled in Eddie’s stomach. “You two having to bring dates is the smartest rule. I should have thought of that for my wedding.” 

Richie threw his napkin at Stanley’s face, “Don’t make me take YOU as my date Stan the man.” 

“You could never get this, Trashmouth.” 

“I can get whoever I want. Right, Eds?” 

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie mumbled. “While we are on the subject, just so no one is surprised, I might bring someone who none of you would expect.” Eddie felt his knee being squeezed from under the table. It took him a moment to realize it was Richie’s hand, he was giving a warning. Most likely telling him to keep the details limited, but Eddie hoped it was a touch for encouragement.

“Please, don’t bring Myra.” said Mike making the group groan collectively. 

“Now, that would be unexpected.” Richie snickered.

“Eddie, you’re not actually thinking…” said Bill seriously. “Beverly, if they get back together I blame you.” 

“Me?!” Beverly opened her mouth to fight but Eddie interrupted. 

“Hello! Back to me, losers. I am not bringing Myra. I am not even interested in women!” The words slipped out quick, and he wished they could be suctioned into his mouth once more. 

They went quiet, as the news hit them. Mike was smiling at Eddie. He felt his bravery trickling into cowardice the longer none of them said anything. 

“S-so does this mean,” began Bill. “That you-you’re g-“

“Gay? Yes, stuttering Bill.” Richie answered seeming to be frustrated by Bill’s condition for the first time in a long time. Then a chair screeched out and Beverly ran around the table, slamming herself into Eddie. 

Her soft hair tickled his neck, his heart was calming down from her sudden show of affection. He placed a hand on the arm she slung over his chest. Richie’s hand hadn’t left his knee either. Everyone else’s reactions were fairly standard, awkward congratulations or they were proud of him, all expected. The surprising reaction was Stanley, perhaps because he didn’t react at all. He was silent for the rest of the evening. 

As they all stood outside saying goodbyes, Stanley seemed to linger a little aways from Eddie. He waited for the rest to leave, Richie was the last to hug him and head to his car. He wandered toward Stanley hesitantly. The taller man was twisting his key in hand repetitively, tapping his foot methodically. 

“So,” Eddie begun lightly, “I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah,” answered Stanley stiffly. Eddie cocked his head to the side trying to meet his friend’s eyes, then gave up turning to leave. “How do you know?” Came his voice clearly from behind.

Eddie turned around, a few paces away. “Know what, Stan?”

“That you’re into guys.” 

“Because I just do?”

“How long have you known?” 

“Er...that’s more complicated. I mean I’ve been sitting on it for a month but..”

“A month?” interrupted Stanley, he was getting pink in the cheeks. “You’ve known a month and are coming out. That’s not enough time to know.” 

“What’re you talking about?” Eddie was trying to keep his voice calm, he could feel that tingle of rage that surges in him when he feels attacked.

“Have you ever been with a guy?” 

“What does that have to do with knowing whether I am gay? I know that every time I’ve thought of girls it hasn’t been the same as with guys. Or how with Myra...” 

“Ok, yeah! Myra!” He rose his voice like winning some kind of twisted victory. “You were with her for a year and you really didn’t know?”

“Stan, you’re being a jackass.” 

“I am trying to understand why you kept this from us?” 

“From YOU, you mean? Stan, I didn’t keep it from anyone. I was figuring out my shit, then I talked about it with Mike and…”

“You told Mike first?” 

“Um...no…” He caught himself quickly. “I told Richie first then Mike.” 

A hurt flashed over Stanley’s eyes that Eddie hadn’t seen in years. “You told them before me?” 

“Stan...come on. I told the rest of you at the same time. It was just easier to tell them at the time.” 

“I’ve known you as long as Richie has. Much longer than Mike.”

“It’s not about that!” Eddie was at a loss. This was getting nowhere. “I don’t know what to say, Stan. I’m not going to apologize.” 

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

“Then why are you fighting with me like there is?” 

Stanley remained silent. His arguments lost on his tongue. “I am tired. I will talk to you later.” And he walked away. Eddie stood there, stomach twisting the food inside uncomfortably, eyes watery from the sadness creeping in his head.

_________

Thanks for the patience for the new chapter! Longer one cause I apparently had a lot to get through. I am starting a second job soon, but I will keep working on the next chapter as inspiration hits. Don't forget to subscribe!

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[fa1thfull]

I need to write.

So many thoughts swirl in my head, if I acted upon even the tiniest percent of inspiration that comes, I could alleviate the source of ninety-nine percent of my anxieties. 

People say “money isn’t everything” and “money doesn’t solve your problems”, but I’d like to find out for myself. 

I’m not sure why I’m so hard-headed. I have a soft heart with a rotten core. It’s crumbling apart. 

Lately I’ve been drinking so much, I forget. I try not to appear drunk, and sometimes I think I coast through the afternoon well enough, but when I lay down for a nap and wake up I realize that I’ve lost a lot of details. I’m 28 and sometimes I worry that I’m permanently damaging my brain. 

Once, when I lived in NYC I went to a nice hotel with a rooftop bar after work. I was lonely. It was much too late for me to still be in my work clothes. In hindsight, it must’ve been obvious that I didn’t belong: my dress was too long, my bag was too big, and my shoes were short and sensible. However, I’d met a group of tourists that were staying in the hotel. I don’t remember much from that night other than sharing the liquor I’d stashed in my purse and bumming cigarettes off of really beautiful and confused British people on the roof. I’m not sure if I stayed until the bar closed or if I got kicked out, but I don’t remember leaving. I do remember wandering Chelsea with a guy trying to take me home, but I also remember not wanting to tell him exactly where I lived. The next morning I woke up in a hospital. The nurse asked me if I knew how I had gotten there and I couldn’t remember. My belongings were there, my clothes were on, my hair and makeup looked nice, with the exception of broken or missing press-on nails on every hand, and a sore thumb, I was completely intact. My underwear was on and my pantyhose weren’t ripped. My coat was wrinkled, but not stained. I had no evidence of the night before except for an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach. The nurse said that a cab driver brought me in because he saw me with a man that he was worried would hurt me. I attempted to self-assess, but nothing was sore! Wouldn’t I know if someone hurt me? 

I grabbed a coffee on the way home. I still had my phone and it was charged. I laid down for a nap after showering the night off of me. My body seemed untouched and unsexed. Nothing appeared to be amiss. However, my head was pounding in the most unusual way when I woke up. It felt like a migraine, not a hangover and it was deep in my right temple. I tried everything I know how to do to relieve it, but nothing worked. I eventually returned to the hospital a week later to ask if I’d had a concussion. There was no record that I’d ever been there before! 

I felt like I was in the twilight zone. If I believed in alien abductions, that might’ve been the night. To this day, I try not to think about it. It’s one of many worries swirling around that I’m too afraid to touch. I haven’t had health insurance in a couple years, so I’m not receiving any medical treatment even though I need it. Last December I went to the hospital explaining that I used to be on antidepressants and I thought I needed them again. I was told by the emergency room doctor that they couldn’t prescribe them without keeping me there for observation to make sure I had no adverse side effects, so I agreed. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that I’d Baker Acted myself. I felt betrayed. Also, the medication they cave me made me exhausted on top of clenching my jaw and grinding my teeth. I had a nightmare that the pills were killing me. I saw a black screen with a neon green skull and crossbones flash across my vision and I understood that as my body’s way of telling me something was wrong with those pills. Before discharge, a nurse asked if I had any side effects and I told her about feeling the medicine in my bones, and how it made me feel stiff and brittle and grind my teeth, and she assured me she’d report it. When the doctor stopped by my room to confer with me, he asked if I normally grind my teeth, and I said no. He told me that wasn’t a side-effect of that particular medication. Mental hospitals are the worst. My doctor literally told me that my side affects weren’t side affects. In hindsight, I wonder what the 36-hour observation was for if they didn’t care what happened to me anyway. 

I stopped by the hospital pharmacy to collect my medicine on the way out. When I got home, I slept. I didn’t know it yet, but I’d already lost my job. 

The funny thing is, I still have to pay for that. 

Most of my medical bills are related to being Baker Acted. Living is exhausting, but death is expensive. Most of my medical bills are in collections. My credit score is under 500. Most of my worries are a series of cause and effect. 

I worry that I may have dementia. I worry that I have some other sort of mental illness that everyone is aware of except for me. Imagine living your whole life being “special”, but no one telling you because they want to treat you equally. 

I don’t want to be treated equally, I want to be taken care of. 

I want to be married! I want a beautiful man with a beautiful heart to love me and make love to me every morning before he goes to work doing something he loves that covers the expenses of a modest living consisting of a home, a car, healthcare, food, and safety. I want to know what its like not to worry about those things. Honestly, I just want to be held like a baby and cry into the chest of someone who loves me. I want to feel safe. I want to be reassured that everything will be okay by someone who means it and actually cares that it’s true. 

Recently I discovered that I have daddy issues. They’re so deep, I couldn’t see them. This phase I’m in now, whatever it is, is an identity crisis. I pray to die almost every day. I know better than to try to kill myself, but I’ve lost focus of what it’s all for and I’m struggling to see how to make anything of my life. I used to be an extremely hopeful and optimistic person, but lately I just want to drink and sleep. I don’t even cry like I used to. I feel like I’m fading away. 

I know that God has a purpose for everyone, and I know that Jesus loves me and died for me. All I want is to be what I’m supposed to be, but I feel like such a failure and a fraud. People who don’t know me well think that I’m happy and friendly, and once someone even called me a “Jesus freak” and I was so flattered! I want to be the kind of person that shows Jesus to people! I want to be kind and peaceful and joyful and loving, and make people feel good when they’re around. I want to inspire people to learn about God for themselves, and have conversations about The Bible and what it means to be in relationship with Jesus... Honestly, if I could get out of my own way, that’s what I’d do with my life. I really just want to be useful and helpful. 

So much time is wasted. 

I just need to write. I don’t even know where to begin, but I’m going to journal until I get back into the habit. 

[adoubleshotdepresso]

And so it began.

I saw the light, and decided to be born. Not really, but I assume that’s how it goes.

hi, hello, my name is Em. There’s a few more letters to the name, but all my friends call me Em, so I thought it was appropriate to introduce myself as that, to you, the reader, whoever you are and wherever the hell you may be.

I was born in 1993, in Busan, South Korea. And that’s basically all I know regarding where I’m from. I was put up for adoption, and my parents adopted me when I was 12 weeks old. I don’t really have much to say about my time abroad, mostly because I was an infant and don’t remember, but also because it doesn’t make me who I am, and has not had any influence on who I am today.

So, adoption hey. You’d be surprised how many people you know are actually adopted. I know a handful myself, and I think it’s a pretty amazing thing. The first question I always come across is; “Do you think you’ll ever want to go back?” And “do you miss or want to find your biological parents?”. And look, depending on the day and how I’m feeling, the answers may vary. Slightly. But realistically, the answer is absolutely not. I have the best family anyone could ever imagine, and my parents are my best friends. I have an older sister who was also adopted from South Korea, Seoul. She’s 6 years my senior and is also one of my best friends.

My family is tight, yo. And we’ve always been that way. My mum is the most dedicated person you will ever meet. She puts her heart and soul into absolutely everything she does. I might be completely biased here, but I’ve never met someone who loves her family so fiercely and would do absolutely everything possible to make sure we are happy and well. She’s always the first person I call when I feel myself go under. She’s a pretty great woman. I know I can always count on her to be there for me and my family no matter what, and one day I hope to repay everything she’s given to me.

I’m so lucky to have a father like mine. He has always supported my decisions and even though some of them have been dumb, he’s never judged me for them. I mean, I get the whole “I told you so” every now and then, but that’s understandable. When I first started having issues with my mental health, dad didn’t really understand what I was going through, as he never really grew up with it nor had any involvement in the area either. But as I got older he really made an effort to understand me more, and ended up being my biggest support beam in my adult life. He’s the sort of person who tells you “I’m just a message away” and actually means it. At my lowest times, it’s nice to know he’s always got my back.

I have one sibling, my oldest sister, who is YOU GUESSED IT, one of my best friends. Our relationship has not always been easy, and there have been times when we wanted to rip each others eyeballs out, but now we’re both a bit older and understand each other better, we couldn’t be closer than we are now. She moved overseas for a while, met the love of her life and married him while still living in America. I went over there a couple of times to visit her, and to be a part of her special day, She’s been back home for a couple of years now, and though we don’t see each other frequently, I know I can talk to her about my struggles too. She’s had her fair share of mental problems, and she still gets through every day, and for that, she’s my god damn hero.

Now we’ve gotten the introductions out of the way, lets get into it. My childhood was pretty normal to be honest. My parents both had stable jobs, weren’t addicts or assholes whatsoever, so we always had food, hot water and a sweet bed to sleep in. Between my parents and their parents, we always had somewhere to go and never had to use babysitters or after school care, which is pretty extraordinary.

Primary school was whatever. And that’s about it. Girls are assholes, and boys were the most fascinating thing in the world. It was average, nothing that bad happened, and nothing spectacular happened either. But shit got real when high school started. For the first year of high school I attended a fancy private all girls here in town, and that was honestly the worst. Not the worst of my life, but for “back then” Em, it was pretty damn bad. I dealt with the usually bullying thing, and I think that’s when all my problems started. Which is kind of crazy because I was probably only about 13 years old when I started to develop depression and anxiety disorders.

Not only did I lose trust in my “friends and peers”, I also lost faith in the teachers and the other adults who were supposed to be there for their students, and to protect them while on school grounds. Well, what a load of shit that was. After holding out for a year, my parents finally agreed I needed to move schools. I was accepted into another private school, but this time it was a co-ed school, and much smaller in size. All in all, it was a pretty good school, but unfortunately I was a very had teenager to please, and hated every single second I had to be there

I started skipping school, chucking sickies every week and avoiding homework, study and assignments. I found it very hard to concentrate, and because of the first year of high school education for myself was an absolute damn nightmare, I had zero interest in my education. I started smoking cigarettes and nicotine at some point in this time, and found it hilarious to drink until I vomited on myself. Looking back now, I should have realised it was something more than adolescent behaviour problems, but what kid goes, “wow, I’m extra cranky today, I must have clinical depression!”. So I kept on being an asshole to everyone around me, not caring about my studies and doing whatever the heck I wanted to do, which included going to parties, seeing boys and lying to my parents. I would tell them I’d be staying with a friend, but lets be real, I was really at a party, getting hammered and kissing lots of boys.

So, high school eventually came to an end. It felt like it was going for an eternity, but I look back now and I wonder where the time had gone. And I think that’s when I realised I was having some real mental health problems. I had a full time job at a chemist, and stayed there for many years, 10 to be exact. I loved my job for a very long time, and stayed there up until a couple of years ago. I don’t think it helped my mental stability, and close to where I resigned, I felt myself crying and having panic attacks in the back room of my work place. I wanted to call in sick every day, rather than go into work and have to face customers and certain staff. I wouldn’t blame work for what happened to me in the end, but I’m sure it didn’t really help either.

That brings us the last few years of my life. And did SHIT GET REAL, my friend. I’ve had the worst days of my life, but have also experienced some of the best. Some of the worst you say? How much time do you have? There’s been a few doozies, that’s for sure. I was in a relationship that started off beautiful, but ended up being the absolute downfall of my mental stability. So many things contributed to my depression, but I dare say the break up, and the loss of my grandmother definitely was the icing on the cake.

I’m not going to point fingers and blame someone else for what happened, but okay I am. The break up I experienced was enough for me to want to die. Literally. My grandma who I was very close with was dying, and my ex didn’t really care. We used to fight all the time, even at the beginning of our relationship, but it only got worse. And even evenB when I thought it wouldn’t get worse, it definitely did. I started drinking a lot, and abusing prescription medication, Valium mostly, but also some sleeping medication too. One day, I was feeling very low, and begged my ex to come back home. I told him every 10 minutes he didn’t respond to my calls or text, I’d take another pill. And I did. I also felt like it was necessary to extinguish cigarettes on myself. The physical pains of the burn was a welcoming distraction to the storm raging inside my head.

After that, it was all a blur. I overdosed a couple of times, some I was able to manage myself, but two more times to come I would need medical attention. The first time I was hospitalised, I called a bunch of friends for help because I thought I was about to die. I don’t remember making the call, and I hardly remember leaving my home in ambulance. Once I gained consciousness again, I was forced to go see a therapist even when I declined. And let’s just say, therapy is not my thing. I have tried again and again to go, and to find that connection with a therapist but never really got remotely close enough to ever trusting one.

The last few years have definitely had its up and downs. I bought a house a few years ago, the house my grandparents owned when I was growing up, and not long after I moved in, I met my parter. I had known him for a couple of years before we started seeing each other, and not long after that, I asked him to move in. It was only a few months into our relationship, but it felt right. You know when you know and I can’t really explain much more than that.

I’m not going to sit here and lie to you and say everything gets easier when you’re older, and your problems you experienced before seem to fade away, I’m here to tell you the truth what it’s like to live with a severe depressive and anxiety disorder. Not every day is easy, and sometimes, the bad days feel like they’re never going to end. It’s easy for some people to hop online, and talk about how easy it was to get out of their own heads, and all you have to do is look on the bright side of life.

Because no. It’s never as golden as what influencers try and tell you, and it’s definitely not as glamorous as you see and read online. Some of the worst days I have experienced have made me feel like there is no possible way out. So, hold onto your seatbelts, and grab your Kleenex, because shit is about to get real.

[ananxioussheep]

My Miscarriage Journey

Today: Tuesday, October 1st 

On October 1st, 2019 our journey of parenthood was put on an indefinite pause. What started as a routine check-up for the day became our worst nightmare. The second you find out you're pregnant is the most exciting and terrifying moment. You immediately change everything you are doing to ensure your baby is healthy. For me, unfortunately, our baby was not going to be. When I met my midwives that morning I went in for a Doppler check. My midwife was going to look around to find our baby's heartbeat. We couldn't find it the week before. She told me before she had even started last week not to worry if that happened since the baby could be behind my pubic bone or could still just be too small. When we didn't hear it we scheduled a recheck for next week once the baby grew a little more and I kept my bladder full for the check so that my uterus would hopefully be in a better position to finally meet our baby. Three midwives tried with no success. They told me a number of things could be happening, maybe I'm not as far along as we all thought, maybe my uterus wasn't shaped the way it was supposed and baby is just in a different spot, or maybe I was experiencing what is called a missed miscarriage. I left their center and headed to get an ultrasound. Jacob was at work for the day because we thought I was going to be having an easy check-up and I would be leaving with a video for him so he could meet our baby. When I got to the radiology center and saw what was happening I immediately knew this wasn't good. I spent a long year as a vet tech and have seen lots of ultrasounds. I had lots of pregnant friends and knew what I should see. I have a biology degree and have studied a lot of reproduction. When the tech turned the screen my way I saw my uterus. And I saw where my baby should be and wasn't. She decided she wanted to do a transvaginal ultrasound to be sure. If you know what this is then you know this is the last thing you want to be doing as your fighting back tears waiting for the inevitable. We found that although I was past 12 weeks, my baby stopped developing around week 7. My body still thought (and still thinks as I write this) that I was pregnant. I now have to walk around for who knows how many days still being pregnant and waiting to labor this child. Jake and I spent the day sobbing. Wondering what we could have done differently. I spent my time talking with God. Asking him if he had changed his mind about thinking if I was going to be a good mother. We told our family and friends and bosses that we would be missing for a while. That we were not going to be meeting our sweet baby in April. That our dream was ending for now. And that we wanted some time and space to process. Right now it's 6 am. I've fallen asleep for 2 hours. My mind can not shut off. I can't stop thinking about how this fight isn't over and I still have to “have” this baby. I can't stop thinking about the fact that we already announced because things were good. I was really sick for weeks so that must mean we have a healthy baby. My body still thinks I'm pregnant. I spent 4 hours last night having reflux and puking. But I still have not had a bit of spotting. We haven't taken a step toward “having” this baby. Part of me wonders if I just keep going along like I'm pregnant maybe God will perform a miracle. But most of me doesn't want to hold onto any hope because that would hurt more. It's crazy how quickly the best season of your life turns into the worst. 

72 Hours Later: Friday, October 4th 

Take day 3. It's been over 72 hours since we found out we lost this baby. I haven't made any progress in “having” this baby. I am angry. And I'm drinking and I'm almost entirely dependent upon my anxiety medication. My husband who never cries is crying a lot and I don't know how to help. I'm ready to have this child, bury this child, and begin to move on. This is the most challenging, devastating, and world-altering. I have so many doubts? Will I ever be able to be a mother? I want to try now, as soon as possible, but Jake's pain is too much to get there now. Will I ever heal from this? Am I capable of going on? 

6 Days Later: Monday, October 7th

Yesterday I called my midwife sobbing. I just can't wait for my body to do this anymore. I can't keep walking around like everything is fine with my lifeless angel inside me. Help. I'll get the pill on Tuesday. I'm reading the same scriptures over and over and over. Jake finished a 1000 piece puzzle in 8 hours and didn't sleep last night. I hid in the office at work all day because I can't afford to not be there. Worship music non-stop. Jesus as much as possible. And literal devastation. How can you miss something that's still inside you? We decided to name our baby even though we don't know what it is. Our baby deserves a name. Emerson, it means brave and powerful (I just keep referring to her as Emmie because I had so many dreams about it being a girl). Exactly what our angel is. And exactly what we will have to be these next few months. I'm planning a tattoo of rosemary their purple blooms which signify love and remembrance and I've decided our baby is a honeybee. All my dreams and plans during this pregnancy have been around bees. When I looked up their meaning I found that they extract sweetness from life, and represent abundance, brightness, and personal power. Because of our sweet little baby bee our family will learn all of these things this season. And now, we wait to finally do this tomorrow; have this baby. 

Tuesday, October 8th, 11:55 PM

Preparing for a long night ahead as I FINALLY started bleeding. As absolutely devastating as this moment is I'm so relieved to finally let this baby move through my body naturally and I'm it's timing. I was scheduled to pay another $300 tomorrow for another ultrasound for confirmation to get the medication. I am praying to God and have been asking him to let this be the way this happens. So now. At midnight Jacob and I are running to Walmart for freaking incontinence pads for old people. All because we decided we wanted to love each other a little tonight and I guess that's all baby needed. To know Jake and I still love each other. (He will literally hate me for that but guess what most happy marriages have sex lives, it's totally biblical y'all). Part of me feels terrible for celebrating right now and I know it won't feel like this as the pain and bleeding continue but right now, I'm proud of Jake and me for getting through this and so proud of our baby for trying as hard as it could in this short little life. 

Wednesday, October 9th, 10:00 AM

Well, I barely bled at all so to the Dr. we go to get this process rolling for real. Last night I held my tummy and told my baby how proud I am of him or her. It fought so hard for this life. And it's fighting so hard to get to the other side of this life. I'm so ready for us all to be at rest and be ready to heal. Jacob and I are realizing how perfect God's timing is. Although we were pretty annoyed when we didn't get to go on our Labor Day cruise I can now see that God perfectly planned this time away for us. I'm believing it's going to be so healing. And it also helps give me perspective that God knows exactly what he's doing with this little babe. They were just too precious to be earthside. I find a lot of comfort knowing we have a personal angel caring for us from above. 

Wednesday 5:30 PM 

Here we go. Pain. Cramps. Aches. I'm tired already and it hasn't even begun. 

Thursday, October 10th, 1:00 AM

3 pills in. I'm finally losing my mind. I just woke up Jake with my crying because I officially feel like I have lost at the game of life. I currently feel insufficient as a wife, a friend, an employee, and especially as a mom. I'm looking back on this year and honestly, it has been the most miserable and lonely year of my life. And this moment has been by far the hardest. There is no pain that can compare to watching pieces and clumps of cells that should have been your child fall out of you. And having to force your body to do it with pill after pill because after 7 weeks it still won't understand that it's not going to have this baby. I don't recognize myself or my life anymore. For the past 8 weeks we've known about this baby I finally felt purposed again. I was working toward a goal. A life that I saw so much fulfillment in. And all of a sudden it's just gone. Nothing can prepare you for these moments. I'm so deeply pressed for anyone who has ever and will ever do this and I'm trying to imagine how I will dig myself out of this. Here's what I know, one, I will not apologize for doing the things that are best for me and two, I will speak up about this experience as much as possible because this baby deserves a memory and this experience deserves to be de-stigmatized. My head is throbbing, my back is throbbing, the pain is so deep in my abdomen that I am nauseous yet nothing else is happening. I'm just exhausted. Physically, Spiritually, Emotionally. I'm fried. 

Thursday: 8:30 AM 

I was wondering why everyone kept saying you would know when it happened because I really didn't think I would know, but then it happened. Feeling dizzy, nauseous, and a little more empty. I love you little babe. 

Friday, October 11th

Today we took what remained of our little and planted a tree. It’s the first thing I see every day when I walk in the door. 

Sunday, October 13th - Sunday, October 20th

Time for “vacation” In the photos we took and posted are beautiful mountain ranges, conquered fears, crystal clear oceans, and lots of smiles. On the other side of those photos was a lot of time spent mourning and grieving. While I'm so thankful to have the opportunity to have moments like these it does not change how hard these past few days/weeks have been. I'm so proud of the steps Jacob and I took to enjoy this vacation as much as we could. I'm happy to say we have learned so much and are a stronger couple now than we were just weeks ago. But I would be lying if I uploaded all those smiles and didn't share the tears that were behind them each and every day. At the dinner table. On the beach. At the top of a mountain. There's no convenient time to suffer loss. While others might forget, Jacob and I will not. While others might feel it's time to move on, I'm not ready to. While others think we are supposed to smile, we have to cry. Don't mistake this for a pity party, but understand that miscarriage is excruciating on your mind, body, and soul. It's time we start being more honest with ourselves and others with the state of our hearts. I wanted to shed some light on our week. I wish I could say our vacation was all I hoped for and that I experienced so much healing during this time as I wished I was going to, but I didn't. I hope this encourages someone else today to know that it's ok to not be ok for a while and to be a little more honest with themselves and others about the state of their heart. I'm confident God has a plan for this as he works all together for good. 

Monday, October 21st 

I went back to work today and spent the night before sleeping a total of 2 hours and having panic attacks all night long. I spent my lunch break having one of the worst panic attacks I ever had, my breathing was so stifled I almost called 911 I was sure I was going to pass out. I walked away into the back office and cried for over an hour because someone asked me if I had kids… I’m feeling like it’s impossible to live in this world now. This whole process and loss hurts more now than it did when I found out or as I was living the miscarriage itself.  I am literally dragging myself out of bed day to day as a necessity and 3 times my normal dose of meds still aren't doing the job. So I guess the whole gist of this whole story is… It’s ok to not be ok... 

...I struggled with where to end this post because truly the end of this post isn’t the end of this process, but I hope this gives you insight into the brokenness of this process for so many women. I’m happy to answer any and all questions surrounding this devastating situation. Education is power, in all circumstances. 

[ferryman1001]

Limited to Pampering in Marriage: Report to Captain, I’m Pregnant (Chapter 1 - Even The Dogs Are More Skillful Than You)

Chapter 1 - Even The Dogs Are More Skillful Than You

Gu Nanyu counted sheep, hoping that she would fall asleep soon.

However, the person atop her obviously did not want her to doze off, and neither was he pleased with her zoning out.

Although he was not very forceful, Gu Nanyu furrowed her brows in annoyance.

“Fu Beichen, are you born in the year of the dog?”

The man lifted his head. Illuminated by the dim lamplight, his dark eyes looked like a bottomless abyss. One look of them would send shivers down the spine.

He had sharp and narrow eyes that were irresistibly charming. They exuded an overwhelming and domineering aura.

Overtaken and clouded by lust, the impassive look in his eyes subsided.

“If I am a dog, then what are you under this circumstance?” His voice was hoarse, and was laced with a cold undertone.

Motherf*cker…

He had insulted Gu Nanyu in a veiled way. However, she did not shy away from the argument.

“Even dogs are more skillful than you.”

Nevertheless, the only response she got was Fu Beichen’s endless lustful assault on her body.

He finally stopped when dawn broke. Gu Nanyu barely had any strength left in her.

“Aren’t my skills great?” His slightly hoarse yet magnetic voice queried. It was as smooth as notes from a cello.

Great your a*s!

Gu Nanyu did not even have the energy to speak anymore. She cursed him under her breath before finally falling into a deep slumber.

In another two months, there would be a military parade at the military district. Then, Fu Beichen would probably not have time to torture her anymore.

She too would be busy then. The movie she was filming had entered the final month. After the filming was done, she wanted to have a good rest.

Time flew by especially fast on days without Fu Beichen.

One month had passed in a flash. After they wrapped the movie, they were now on a promotional tour.

Throughout the press conference, Gu Nanyu wore an elegant smile.

Unexpectedly, her pleasant facade was utterly shattered by a paper in a reporter's hand.

“Miss Gu, this is a newspaper from 10 years ago. You should be familiar with the person mentioned here.”

The reporter's words were like poison. Gu Nanyu felt as if she was plummeting down a bottomless abyss.

The newspaper pictured a young girl in a prisoner's uniform. Her complexion was pale as if she was drained of all energy.

The attention-grabbing headline read, “Long-term sexual abuse causes underage girl with psychological issues to kill two people.”

Fu Beichen saved her out of prison that year. He silenced and diverted all the public scrutiny away and covered that incident up.

However, the incident was once again brought into the limelight now….

Gu Nanyu still remembered that day vividly. Her father had raised her as a boy since she was young.

To frame her and chase her out of the house, her Second Uncle’s son attempted to destroy her reputation by colluding with a gay at a party.

In a panic, she killed the man by accident.

After she fled from the scene, someone in the hotel….

Her worst nightmare happened that day.

To this day, she still had no idea who the man was. After that, she returned home, bruised and exhausted, only to find her beloved twin sister hurt by her beastly uncle, Gu Xiang'an.

The knife in her sister’s hand, her uncle lying in a pool of blood, and one year of life in prison….

Gu Nanyu fainted as her mind was assaulted by memories of the past. When she woke up, she found herself in a hospital.

“Sister, you should quit the entertainment industry.” Her sister, Gu Dongxue, was by her bedside. She stared at her with a pair of sorrowful eyes.

Gu Nanyu did not answer. She felt beyond fatigued.

She used to be the eldest son of the Gu family. Everybody constantly reminded her to work hard because she had to shoulder the burden of caring for her whole family.

Back then, she thought it was hard to be a man.

Only after she was released from jail to rejoin the society as a girl, she realized that the world was even harsher to women.  

Gu Dongxue’s grip around her hands tightened. “Sister, you are one month pregnant.”

Gu Nanyu’s eyes widened upon hearing Dongxue’s words. Her tears welled up in her dark eyes.

“Dongxue, please arrange an operation for me.” Only one thought came to Gu Nanyu’s mind. I cannot keep this child.

I cannot give birth to a b*stard.

Fu Beichen would not marry her..

Gu Dongxue was the youngest doctor in the hospital. After winning an international award, she was assigned to an important position right after her return from abroad.

There were only Gu Dongxue and Gu Nanyu in the operating theatre.

Gu Dongxue held Gu Nanyu’s hand to comfort her as the liquid gradually dripped into her body.

As the anesthesia took effect, Gu Nanyu could feel that her thoughts were getting muddled.

Right then, Gu Dongxue’s soft voice floated to her ears. “Sister, do you know? As a doctor, I have never made any mistake. A scalpel can save lives, but conversely, it can also take a life away. It all depends on the person who is wielding it.”

Gu Dongxue’s voice was tinged with coldness. Her tone was devoid of emotion although she was talking to her sister.

Eyebrows knitted together, Gu Nanyu attempted to move, but found herself unable to budge even an inch.

“You are the only sister I have in this world, but you shouldn’t have appeared in front of Fu Beichen! He was a military instructor when I was in college. Ever since then, I've always liked him. However, after I returned from abroad to enter the military hospital, you became his lover.”

Gu Nanyu was dumbfounded. Gu Dongxue now felt like a stranger to her. It was as though she had never known her at all.

Does she want to murder me because of a man?

“I have to do this to get him. You and Fu Beichen have never used contraception. However, you're afraid that you'll get pregnant and you have been taking contraceptive pills. Finally, you finished your pills, and as your sister and a doctor, I brought you some contraceptive pills. Little did you know that those pills I got you were just normal vitamin tablets. And as expected, you’re pregnant now.”

Gu Dongxue began to laugh as she talked. Her voice was laced with a sinister undertone.

“You were shocked and desperately wanted to run away from Fu Beichen. There is no way you would want to bear his child, and if you want to abort the child, you will turn to me — your biological sister — to operate for you.”

Gu Nanyu felt a chill down her spine as her sister spoke.

“Everybody knows that I’m your beloved sister. I turned down my chance to represent our hospital in an overseas conference just to perform this surgery on you. I am the surgeon in charge, and it's easy for me to make you lose some extra blood. Nobody will suspect me and they will only think of it as an unfortunate accident. Moreover, nobody will be suspicious as I will also skillfully achieve hemostasis for you.” Gu Dongxue laughed gleefully.

Gu Nanyu’s heart sank and her blood ran cold.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve already prepared some blood packs for you. However, they're labeled with the wrong blood type. Your blood will coagulate due to the incompatibility. Whether the transfusion is stopped or continued, you will die either way. I am only responsible for the surgery and nothing more than that. Tell me, isn’t this a perfect plan?”

Die?

Gu Nanyu could not react when the words registered in her mind.

“Sister, learn to be smarter in your next life. Fight for your chance, or create one by any means necessary if you don’t have it. I was the one who kept that newspaper and contacted the reporter. Your reputation is ruined now. Fu Beichen will not miss a nasty woman like you even after your death.”

Gu Dongxue’s voice was soft like a spring breeze.

At this moment, Gu Dongxue reached out to yank the necklace off Gu Nanyu’s neck.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that we’re not children of Gu family’s. I found our biological father. He came from a family as powerful as the Fu family. I will reunite with our father and live a good life to make up for all the suffering I have gone through for the past 20 years. This necklace given to you by our mother is the only evidence to prove my relationship with our father. Remember to thank our mother on my behalf for giving me such a powerful father when you arrive in the netherworld.”

Gu Nanyu could not fight it any longer, and finally submitted to the darkness that claimed her life.

She wanted to bite the tip of her tongue to stay awake, but she did not have the energy to do so.

For a man…

She did this for a man!

The beloved sister whom she adored wanted to take her life!

What happened to the sweetheart who would trail behind her and call her sister?

We used to depend on each other. Where has my beloved younger sister gone?

Tears glimmered at the corners of Gu Nanyu’s eyes.

The tears were not a result of fear. Instead, they stemmed from regret.

She did not fear death.

Instead, she found this cold unfeeling world more terrifying than death.

If I can't even trust someone who is of the same blood, then God, please tell me, is there still any warmth left in this world?

Her plea to God went unanswered. Her only reply was the endless darkness.

Deep and unending, like an infinite chasm…

[briocheandbagels]

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

PTSD. When you hear the word, what do you think of? 90% of people will say “army” or “military”. Some might say “childhood abuse” or “rape victims”. No. Not always. The actual causes of PTSD are numerous. Anyone who has experienced trauma can experience PTSD. This includes mugging victims, natural disaster victims… Even Barbara Streisand, has suffered PTSD after forgetting her lyrics live on stage and henceforth developing a fear of being in the spotlight. What about when you think of PTSD? You think of a veteran rocking in the corner because the television is too loud? You think of panic attacks, heavy breathing into paper bags? Or being scared of the dark and sleeping with a light on? No. Not always. There are so many symptoms and the reality of dealing with PTSD is really unknowable until you’ve experienced it.

I go to work and I smile and chat. I go out for dinner with friends and family and I smile and chat. I'm hyper at the best of times, I can laugh until I cry. But just because I look ok most of the time, that's not to say I "can't have PTSD". This is exactly why I'm writing this post.

PTSD is defined as having had symptoms such as flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks etc for one month or more. Some people say it’s too commonly diagnosed in 2017. I say when you know you’re suffering, you know.

On the 9th May 2017 at 5.15pm I was driving to pick my boyfriend up from work. I won’t go into the gory details, but the bottom line is I hit a young pedestrian. She survived, albeit bravely fighting some pretty severe injuries despite not even being 16. She was lucky to have survived, but also lucky in one other thing. She didn’t remember the accident. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for me.

Some people say they remember accidents such as these in slow motion. Others can’t remember it at all. My memory is in incredible slow motion, so much so I can almost remember my thoughts as it happened, although in real time I wouldn’t have had time to think these things. Sometimes I’m unsure as to what my true memories are of the event, and what is simply my mind playing tricks on me since it happened and trying to fill gaps.

I experience a number of symptoms with my PTSD and have done since the accident.

Nightmares. For the first few weeks I had the worst nightmares I’d ever known. I had to be put on sleeping tablets temporarily because I couldn’t even bear the thought of closing my eyes. Almost three months on, I take the pills once in a blue moon, usually when I’m on my own and not with my boyfriend, because at least I know if I wake up with him there’s someone there to soothe me back to sleep. Waking up alone during a nightmare is not pleasant. It’s usually just a repetition of the flashbacks, but when you’re asleep there’s no escape from them and no distractions and the sounds seem heightened and clearer too. I usually wake up around the time I hit the girl in my dream, which emphasises the bang much more loudly than my mind actually remembers it. Flashbacks. I can see certain still images from the accident. They play like a slideshow. I see the girl so close to my car it’s like she was about to get in the passenger seat. I hear the bang and it goes black for a second. Considering she was almost a full grown adult, the bang was fairly quiet. My head is thinking, I’ve hit her. But maybe she’s just walked into my wing mirror or door. I’m starting to hit the brakes already now. Smash. This time it’s loud and it breaks through every sound in my head and in reality. The windscreen shatters on the passenger side. Glass is spraying inside the car. The brakes are now on so hard my seatbelt chokes me. I get out the car. She’s lying in a heap. As an avid fan of Casualty, I suddenly feel like I’m in an episode like I’ve always wanted to be. But this is the only time I wished I wasn’t. I’m screaming, “can you hear me?”, not wanting to move her, but all first aid training going completely out of my head. I try moving her hair to see her face, and that’s when I see the blood. It was then that I backed off and a witness wrapped their arms around me and pulled me toward the pavement. My car was stranded in the middle of the road. I didn’t care about the fact it was damaged or that I’d only had it for 6 weeks at this point. I always thought if I was in an accident I’d panic about damaging my car. It’s so different when it happens. I couldn’t have cared less if I tried. I just wanted her to be ok. Panic attacks/Upset. I saw an ambulance a few days ago just metres from where I had my accident as I was driving past. This alone was enough to put me into tears. In the early stages, seeing blue lights and hearing sirens was enough to make me want to be physically sick. Headaches. I never used to get headaches before the accident. They seem to be a new thing. I’m putting it down to my brain working overtime. Once or twice I’ve been physically sick with them, once at work when my insurers phoned me on my lunch break pressuring me to talk about the accident in detail. I can’t say they handled the situation very well.

A few days after the initial accident, I visited the pedestrian in hospital. Meeting her and her family was probably the turning point. If I hadn’t have done this, and if they hadn’t have been so very kind and warm towards me despite their little girl being hurt, I don’t think I’d have coped at all. Giving her a hug and seeing her smile despite her scratches and scrapes on her face made me feel like I could go on. I was struggling until this point to feel normal at all. I didn’t miraculously recover after this, but I do think this helped massively in my emotional recovery. A big thank you goes out to her and her family, you know who you are.

In the first few weeks I felt like if I had a £1 for every time someone had told me “it wasn’t your fault” or “there’s nothing you could have done” I’d have been a very rich young lady. I wanted to scream every time I heard it. I was very aware I didn’t purposely set out to almost kill a young girl on picking up my boyfriend from work. But whether it was an accident or not still isn’t going to magically clear my memory of what happened.

It’s been nearly 3 months since the incident. I drive past the location a few times a week, although to start with I avoided it. I didn’t realise how far the girl had travelled until I drove past again after the accident. I told my insurers it was 5 or 10 feet, but after revisiting the scene I realised it was more towards 20 or 25 feet.

I’m a very lucky girl. I have an incredible support network. My dad lent me money to fix up my car. My mum cooked me dinners. My boyfriend woke up with me shouting in the first few nights and cradled me back to sleep. Between my parents, my boyfriend and my friends and family, not a single person has failed to put a smile on my face in the darkest of times.

PTSD is probably not what you expect it to be. It’s the person is front of you driving at 18mph on a 30mph road. But instead of thinking, “WHY are they going so slowly?”, think “WHY are they so scared that they feel they have to drive at almost half the speed limit?”. If you apply this sort of thinking to every day life, more and more people will build a patience and tolerance for sufferers of PTSD in the long run.

Max ❤️

[dwarva]

Stardew Valley 30 Day Challenge Day 22. Exploring the Mines

"Take the pills." Harvey thrust a vial of white tablets towards the old man in the wheelchair who looked down at them as though he's been offered poison.

"They make me cranky."

Harvey rolled his eyes behind his smudged glasses and crossed his arms as he debated where the professional line lay. "I don't think it's the pills that make you cranky George." 

Evelyn took the bottle with frail, crooked hands and nodded as she stuffed them into her purse.

"Don't worry Doctor Harvey. I'll make sure he takes them." She cocked her head around at her husband's scowling features. "Won't you?"

He grunted and she mouthed 'he will'. As she pushed her husband towards the door and refused the offer of help back to the house Harvey stood and watched as the wheelchair made distant trails on the thinning snow until he could no longer see the pair. It had been mild for a few days and he'd heard a few villagers wondering whether the bad weather was gone for the season and it might start to brighten up. Harvey had even popped for a walk a few hours before without a jacket, sitting on the bench by the river, eating his sad cheese sandwich.

But now the evening was closing in and the sky was mottled with pink and yellow. This was the time of day he hated most; the one where he'd have to lock up the door and go sit alone for a few hours before he went to bed. And even then he knew he'd lie awake for hours, his mind cycling through a thousand unnecessary scenarios before he eventually drifted off into an uncomfortable and unsatisfying sleep. He didn't enjoy it but the thought of a new life with Rae perked his lips slightly as he rummaged for the keys in his pants pocket.

If he'd closed the door a moment earlier he wouldn't have seen the hunched, dark figure limping round the corner. Medical instinct pushed him out the door to rush to the casualty and his mouth hung open as recognition dawned.

"Rae?" He grabbed her body and she winced, pushing him away slightly. "What's happened?" His voice was panicked as he ushered her reluctantly into the clinic.

"I'm fine..." she trailed off, holding a grimy hand on to her waist.

"You're not fine!" He practically shouted and he lifted her onto a sitting position on the bed once they reached the back room of the clinic. "Were you attacked?" The possibility seemed so remote but he couldn't think what would have caused the injuries. He rushed to a tray of equipment at the back of the room.

"Well..." she muttered. Harvey looked at her with confusion as he gathered everything he'd need together. His expression became grave as he realised what had happened.

"You were in the mines." It wasn't a question and Rae didn't respond.

"Nothing's broken." She held out her arm and braced her side with her other hand.

"I'll be the judge of that." He said curtly, examining a widening stain of blood on the bottom of her sweater at her hip. "Take your top off."

"Wow Harvey, so forward." She tried to laugh but it quickly became a coughing fit and she crumpled in pain. Harvey looked at her, lost. If anyone else had stepped through the door he'd have given them a thorough and detached examination but with Rae he just wanted to whisk the problems away and cling onto her for dear life until she felt better. Everything he'd learned in twelve years of practising medicine suddenly seemed to evaporate from his head as his lover sat hunched on the bed.

"No jokes Rae. Not now." His face was pulled into an expression of tight fury and Rae evidently saw this as she silently lifted her top over her head to let him examine her leaving herself in her rose pink bra. She'd later tell him she was surprised he didn't so much as glance at her breasts but instead looked closely at the wound. It looked superficial but it needed pressure. He placed a compress against it and looked up at her over his glasses as he pulled on a pair of gloves. "Did you hit your head?" As he looked into her eyes he watched her pupils for signs of concussion.

"No. There are a couple of little scratches on my arm and my legs will be bruised up but I've had worse scything wheat. Other than that just this thing on my side and that's probably just a graze."

"It's not." He said impatiently through gritted teeth. "It's a huge gash and is going to need stitches. Is that the only place it got you?"

He wondered for a moment about what sort of creature had attacked her. It likely wasn't a slime because they tended to leave a thick residue over the wound. Bats and bugs normally attacked the face and head. And golums didn't respond unless someone attacked them which she wasn't likely to do.

He broke the twist cap off the bottle of saline and rummaged for some gauze in the box. "How far down did you go?" She looked at him, her face smeared with dust and grime and her hair hanging in tangled knots. He knew there were creatures on all levels but how dangerous they got advanced as the depth did.

"Further down than I've ever been before." She whispered. He didn't have a response. Instead he set his jaw and squeezed the saline over the wound. She jerked at the pain.

"Sorry," he muttered. As the fluid cleaned the debris and blood from around the wound a relatively small circle surrounded by what looked like black scorch marks could be seen. He leaned in closer and touched a gloved finger against them. "Rae, what got you?"

Her expression darkened and her dangling feet swung around awkwardly. "I don't know for sure. It was a black creature with white glowing eyes. It just lunged at me from the shadows. I slammed my dagger into him but I dropped my damn backpack with all the ore and just crawled to the ladder while it was stunned."

"Good Yoba Rae..." He watched as tears pooled in her eyes as he pressed the gauze hard against her hip. The room was silent but for the whirr of the heater in the waiting room and Harvey felt the blood vanish from his head as he imagined Rae's form lying in a heap outside the mines. "You need to be more careful out there. I have nightmares about your limp body being wheeled into the emergency room."

He hadn't intended to make her feel any guiltier than she already clearly felt but she lifted her free hand to his arm and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry Harvey. I just have to do something to keep the farm going in winter. You know all the crops die off in this weather..."

"Learn to fish..." he hissed.

He lifted the gauze off and confirmed the blood had stopped flowing. The suture kit was on the metal tray he'd brought over but he stepped away to the cupboard for a vial of anaesthetic. He twisted it onto the syringe and Rae withdrew.

"Harvey I can't really...I mean I'm not exactly swimming in gold at the moment. Could you maybe stitch it up without that?"

"No," he answered, leaning in and sticking her with the needle. "Don't worry about the cost." His tone was final; this was an argument for another time and he shook his head slightly as he tossed the needle onto the second tray. "Give it a moment to kick in."

His mind was in turmoil. How could he be so utterly furious with someone at the same time that he wanted to grip onto her and never let her out of his sight again? What was she thinking going into the mines with all their danger? He'd never understand it. Harvey knew he was a damned coward but this was beyond normal. As he noticed her green eyes had dark rings beneath them some of the anger melted and he rested his hand on her thigh. A few weeks ago he wouldn't have had the courage to even do that, especially as she sat half naked in front of him, but now, as he tried to remove her pain, he stroked her gently and she offered him a weak smile.

"I'm sorry. I know it's dangerous and you don't like it. Frankly I'm not too fond of it myself but needs must."

"No," he said gently. "I know what it's like when money feels tight but don't do this. We'll figure something out." That made the unshod tears spill from her eyes and down her cheeks as she hiccuped a sob.

"And now I don't even have the damn ore because I had to leave it there." She cried. He leaned in and embraced her, her small body shaking with whimpers. "I'm such an idiot."

"You are," he smiled as he pulled away from her and looked deep into her eyes. "But don't worry. So am I. But luckily your boyfriend is an idiot with a medical degree."

She straightened her body. "My boyfriend?" She sniffed loudly. "Maybe today isn't turning out to be the worst one for a long time after all."

He pulled open a sterile packed of needles and medical thread and used the scissors from the tray to thread the needle. "If you were at a city hospital they'd have a packet of dissolvable stitches and this would be a lot easier. "He indicated for her to hold still. "Unfortunately you've just got a small town doc who doesn't do an awful lot of this. Do you feel this?" He asked, pressing the skin around the wound.

She shook her head and sat calmly as the needle pierced her skin. He swallowed as he fleetingly wished he were this close to her under better circumstances. They sat in silence as he carefully closed the wound and taped a fresh square of gauze over the site.

The scissors crashed into the metal tray as Harvey threw them in. He ran his hands over the cuts on her arms but she'd been right; they were nothing to worry about. He broke open another saline and soaked a pad with it, cleaning the scratches with care.

The last time he'd had to stitch anyone up was in his ER rotation nearly a decade ago. The last years in Pelican Town were mainly spent nursing runny noses and dealing with the occasional sprained ankle. People knew not to go near the mines. The old fool Marlon was the only one who dared go in there any more; until now it seemed. Instinct wanted him to demand that she never set foot in there again, that agree and never even give any thought to how much gold Clint would pay for the ore and gems she found in there. But he knew he couldn't do that. He didn't own her and wasn't in charge of her. His head twinged with pain as he tried to figure out what to tell her.

The silence they sat in was oddly comfortable and when he'd given her a complete look over and determined nothing else needed attention he placed his arms on either side of her on the bed and leaned in, leaving mere inches between their faces.

"Rae... you... you mean the world to me." His brow furrowed as he struggled to come up with the words to describe how he felt. "I know I can't tell you not to do anything. Even asking you not to do something isn't fair. But the mines are dangerous and this won't be the last time you get hurt in there I can guarantee it. I'll always be here to stitch you back up..." His voice lowered. "...until stitches won't cut it anymore."

He didn't dare look at her, instead resting his forehead against her own as she wrapped her arms around him. They stayed like that for a while, breathing in each others essence before he lifted his head up and pressed his lips against her cheek. He kept his head against hers and whispered, "Stay here tonight." She turned to look at him, her expression desperate and confused before shaking her head.

"I'm OK Harvey. I need to get back to the farm and have a shower." He could tell it wasn't what her heart was telling her but she'd made it clear she wanted to wait and for the time to be right.

"I'll sleep on the sofa Rae. I just don't want you to be by yourself. What if you do have a concussion?"

He stood back and she eased herself off the bed with a scowl. She smiled at him sadly. "I'll be OK. I promise." She headed towards the door, leaving him by the bed and as he out a sigh that felt as though it had been hours in the making. Before she let the door swing behind her she offered him an impish grin over her shoulder.

"Maybe I'll come by and see my boyfriend tomorrow for a follow up though."

He heard strained giggling before the door closed sharply behind her.

"Couldn't have found yourself a nice easy one Doc." Harvey muttered to himself.

[thaiconsent-blog]

My wounds.

**This story contains traumatic content and sexual harassment which could be sensitive to some. Kindly avoid this article as it might trigger mental wounds or unpleasant feelings.**

This article is dedicated to #MeToo and all the fighters out there. You are not alone.

I’ve been hesitating for a long time whether I should tell the truth or not, whether it is worth it to take this risk, whether I’d be seen as a liar… Many times I decided to keep this to myself, but the truth kept burning inside of me, as if it was a time bomb counting down in my heart. I truly longed for an end to this feeling, but I still couldn’t find a way to move on with my life without suffering. Even though there were times I was feeling better, eventually I ended up encountering triggers that took me back to my state of agony every time.

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From time to time I ask myself what is the point of existing. Many times I think of escaping this reality through death, but I couldn’t. Until today… the day I decided that I couldn’t stand keeping this to myself anymore, and that I must share this story. The story that happened many years ago (that I mislead it as ‘sexual harassment’ when it was clearly more than just that.)

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It happened when I was 18. I had known this person since I was around 14-15. He was always giving me small tasks to do, and was my guidance in certain times (especially regarding family issues that I couldn’t tell anyone). I respected and trusted him more than anyone else. To me, he was a benefactor, as he had helped me out through thick and thin, from office equipment to lunch money in times I had nothing at all. I used to think that without him, there wouldn’t have been me. Unfortunately, nothing in this world comes for free, and this is how I had learned it the hard way. I had learned of the darkest side of humans. I have learned of the escape of my own reality. And I have learned of the capability one can protect their own mentality, including mine.

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When I was 18 turning 19 years old, he and I decided to go out together. I thought of myself as the luckiest woman on earth. Rather than choosing one of the pretty, rich or clever girls around him, he instead chose me who had nothing. I wasn’t attractive nor wealthy, not to mention my intelligence. At least we had one thing in common, which is the desire to help out fellow humans. He was nice-hearted, a good leader, smart and was a guidance to many of those in need. I was happy, elated that I would be able to walk that path together with him.

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Until one day, out of nowhere he told me that he would come to visit me in the upcountry, and he straightforwardly asked to have sex with me, in which I rejected directly. I considered myself a little conservative and I was only 18-19 during the time, which I felt it was too fast, and if it was really about time, I’d rather it happen according to the norms (after marriage, for instance). I can’t remember if he was kept on asking or not, but it ended by him agreeing that he ‘promised’ not to do anything, and appointed me to meet at a hotel.

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I totally understand if people are going to judge me, that ‘there aren’t any good women who would meet a man at a hotel’. I must say it right here that meeting another man privately, or being alone with him in a room doesn’t mean that I am ‘asking for it’ or ‘okay’ with everything. Every time he asked for sex, my answer was still always ‘no’. And with my trust for him, I still believed he would keep his promise. Until I realized I was wrong. I was wrong that I trusted him.

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You can say I’m stupid, but it wasn’t as easy as you think it is.

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‘If it happens, you just resist.’ The world doesn’t just offer you simple solutions like that.

It could have been that way, hadn’t he been a total stranger, I would have fought my best.

But in this case, it wasn’t. Let me remind you again, he was the person I trusted the most.

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In that situation, my head went blank, I couldn’t gather any train of thought. And the moment I realized, it was too late. All was left was a hole in my heart, grown to become a black hole, gradually expanding and consuming my existence, leaving an empty shell with no sense of my own identity. I felt like I was someone else completely. Although I have no knowledge of psychology, judging from living through this memory for years, I assume that it happened due to my attempt to run away from reality; I refused to believe that the person I loved and trusted to most would do anything as horrendous to me. And with the fact that he is like my only anchor, ‘I was so afraid I’d lose him’, although I wasn’t okay with what happened. It was as if I created a new identity, or as if I just pretended I was okay with it, just so I wouldn’t lose anything, while in fact I felt lost at the same time.

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I went home with a sense of emptiness, vacant, obscure and perplexed. Situations like this happened more and more severe. During the year and a half we were together, he started purchasing clothes he’d like to see me wear, including lingerie, or even asked for my own underwear for him to keep. He tended to place cameras in certain corners of the room, something that also started to become another reality I refuse to believe it happened (and it got worse when he would place 2 cameras, one in the corner and another in his hand). He started to ask/force me to take suggestive photos of myself, in our room or even in the car. Perhaps the worst of all was in public, in a park in Bangkok.

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Many times I refused, but he didn’t seem to submit, and every time (that I recall) it ended up with me ‘agreeing’ just to be over with it.

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Who would have known that someone you walk past normally might be a victim under a force such as me (because at the end I learned that this darkness doesn’t hide in the corners, but in the open air of the society.)

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And here is the problem, the point where I clearly realized his distortion, his darkest side.

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The problem persisted from the very first day it happened, my body didn’t respond to the stimulations. This resulted in him having to use lubricant every time we did it. I always lied every time he asked if I felt anything, I never did. Each time it happened, I only wished it would be done as quickly as possible, but it seemed that he isn’t satisfied since the body can’t lie. He began to have me watch porn, in which was useless. He also scolded at me, saying that it wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t enjoy it as well. And he started reinforcing restrictions on me, forcing me to lose weight, sending me pictures of young actresses, wanting me to be like them ‘petite and lean legs’, (which wasn’t my body type at all). Even forced me to cut my hair the way he wanted, threatening with reasons I can’t recall.

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I lived in fear, increasing every day, fear that if I couldn’t satisfy him, I might lose him (looking back I also don’t understand why I have to be so afraid considering what he had done to me). My humanity was destroyed into pieces, including my confidence… that he’d shame me, my body, that it would never be as how he wanted, and it became deeply rooted into my head.

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A year and half of hell happened.

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It sounds like consent, right? It isn’t… From the bottom of my heart, everything that happened was all influenced by my fear, and fear does not equate to consent. Fear isn’t saying ‘yes’. Fear is emptiness. Fear is hesitance. Fear is juggling between one and another. Therefore it is not, nor will ever be consent. Fear occurred because at the time, he was in control of me. Having said all that, the real ‘hell’ happened after the end of that relationship.

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Apart from loss, I also had to face disgust, strong disgust of my own body. My confidence went on negative to the point that I tended to lock myself up in my own room. Even if I have to leave the room, I’d wear long sleeves no matter how hot the weather was. Many times I felt like scraping my skin off my body due to how filthy I thought it was. It was so disgusting that I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t wash the filth away. Eventually I was disgusted with myself, that I was flawed, imperfect, bizarre and ugly. I didn’t even want to see myself in the mirror.

.

.

And it worsened when the symptoms of PTSD intensified. I went through months of nightmares. I feel anxious around others. I feel unsafe, uncomfortable. Sometimes I feel the impulse to harm others, especially men, just any man. I wanted them to feel at least a speck of the suffer I had to go through. And with that thought, I felt anxious around my own existence, drowning into guilt, dehumanized.

.

Once or twice, I was so cautious that I couldn’t leave my own room

.

Many times I think of escaping, by committing suicide.

.

But a part of me wants to live on, to forget everything. It was just that the symptoms wouldn’t let me.

.

During the beginning of my anxiety and continuous nightmares, all of my awful memories were brought back in rewind, as it just happened recently. It was nauseous, plain white. I even recalled the details of the room where it all happened; how was the room, where were certain pieces of furniture were located, even the pain. It felt like I was in hell, unable to reach out my hand to anyone.

.

Sometimes I chose to let it all out, sometimes within those times others would tell me that I was dark, that it was my choice to run into those thorns.

.

I didn’t blame them at all. I’m even happy that they would never understand.

.

I couldn’t choose that today I am going to be happy, bad dreams were always ready to pull me back into them.

.

I couldn’t choose…

.

Sometimes when I feel lonely, when I look at other families, I wanted to have my own family, too. I wanted to have children, but I thought it would be impossible. Who would accept this body? Who would accept someone with this kind of past? There is no one who wouldn’t give importance to sex. Even though I have been treated, the symptoms aren’t completely gone. Sleeping pills couldn’t entirely help with the nightmares since they occasionally come back. But as long as they aren’t related to what happened, I am more relieved.

.

.

And this was what happened to me… What I had to endure throughout all of the years. Many times I was accused of making this story up, to the point that I was too afraid to publish my story anywhere (which only made it worse). I only hope that my story would be a disclaimer for others, that even the ones they trust the most, you’d never know what would they choose, between respecting your decision, or satisfying their desires.

.

Not only with women, even men can experience this as well.

.

I’d like to thank everyone who has been a motivation throughout and has made me feel I’m not alone, including other guidances and articles which demonstrate the issue of consent by Thaiconsent. Including toxic relationships and toxic partners, I’d like to recommend Free From Fear.

.

Lastly, I’d like to thank my own courage, that made my finally brave enough to publish my story, including my favorite series and quote from my favorite character Derek Morgan from Criminal Minds, Season 8, Episode 18.

[ It can cause a lot of isolation And there can be anger and rage.

It can cause pain and suffering But you can get through it.

It can make you stronger.

It does not have to destroy your life.

It can make you fight back.

And it can make you want to spend the rest of your life protecting others. ]

Story by Anonymous Illustration by Nanaaa First published in Thaiconsent Facebook Page

[confessionsofanoreoprincess]

(cat anon again!) It sounds like family can be very overwhelming and giving you a hard time especially over the holidays isn't very nice at all..But you're a wonderful person and I hope you get to have your own place where you can enjoy the warmth of another precious cat soon..! Your previous cat sounds lovely and I'm sure you gave him the best life with lots of love and care because that's who you are! I'm sorry he had to leave on such a day that's supposed to bring you joy.. *sending hugs!*

Thank you very much, Anon! As far as family goes, I tend to be the one who has to deal with a lot of the negativity now, due to the fact that I am unmarried and have no children. Granted, I'm in my early twenties, but I've never been in a relationship with anyone I cared about enough to marry, nor am I in one now. I would love to marry and have kids one day, but I am not there yet. They're also very harsh to me due to my mental health issues and whatnot. Not all of my family, but the ones I don't see on a daily basis. It can be tough being around them and constantly being made to feel like you're less than worthy of even being alive, you know? Ah, but I will be okay, I am certain. It's just a bit overwhelming sometimes. But as far as my cat is concerned, he was a total gem (most of the time). He was a very good cat. He could be a totally mean snot to everyone else, but he loved me to death. He was very protective of me and I have so many funny stories about him. He really was such a wonderful cat, though. He really was the most wonderful cat that I ever had, and I did have other cats and dogs growing up. But he truly was the best. His personality was so different than any other animal friend I had. He was my little partner in crime. It's been several years now since he passed, and he was very ill, so I had known for the few days prior to his death that he didn't have much time left. It was and still is, the worst birthday I ever had, though. Not only did he die, but I also had to attend a funeral that day for someone very dear to me, and I had the flu. So all in all, that day was a nightmare. I didn't get to be with him though when he passed. I was at the funeral, and when I came home, my father had already buried him beside our dog, Sassy (who was his very good friend). I spent about an hour sitting outside crying. And for an entire month I cried myself to sleep. I eventually made him a little headstone, and after that I was able to better cope with losing him. His brother, my other cat baby, died exactly one month later and was buried beside him and Sassy. It still is very difficult to think about them or talk about either of them without getting a bit emotional. They had been part of my life since I was very little and losing them was like being a parent and watching your children die before you. At least, that's how it felt to me. Unfortunately, I never really had many pictures of them. This was in an age when cameras had film or were digital and cellphones were flip phones. It wasn't till the latter portion of their lives that cellphones were smartphones, and I was never big on taking pictures (which I regret now). I did keep their medications in the pill bottles, which I keep locked in a little box with a few other special things. Its the only physical evidence I have that they were ever really here.

[samanthasroberts]

I Hid My Antidepressants From My Lover Because I Felt Ashamed

It was early February 2012, but it felt like mid-f*cking-July. I wasa displaced New Yorker in Florida, where the air felt suffocatingly thick and densely humid.

I had just moved to Florida from London for a job. It was supposed to be a temporary, fleeting move, but I had fallen in love (love always ruins your plans, doesn’t it?) with a bartender named Luna.*

The moment I laid eyes on Luna, I was addicted to our intense chemistry.Luna just had that energy,that palpable fun-loving charismathat made everyone around her feel good.Especially me.

So she was the reason I found myself NOT in the wonderfully chic city of London, but at a bro beach tiki bar in the middle of winter.

Imagine a spindly 25-year-old Wednesday Addams (black braids and all) hanging out in a bikini on a powdery talcum beach amidst a crew of deeply tanned, ankle-tattooed girls with frosted highlights in their shiny waist-length hair and warm beers nestled between their olive-skinned fingers.I was sorely out of context.

I really clashed with an impossibly LOUD entity named Phoebe.*

She was the kind of girl who spoke louder than everyone else and was, more often thannot, in the thick of a total and complete whiskey blackout. She constantly interrupted you and blew cigarette smoke in your face. She sucked the air out of a room.

It’s rare I ever say this, but Phoebe was just too much. And my best friends are drag queens and wild, sexually deviant eccentrics, so that’s saying a lot.

In her usual drunken haphazard state, Phoebe pulled a bottle of antidepressants out of her canvas backpack and slurred “F*ckkkkk theeeeeese pills. I don’t even TAKE THEM!” at the top of her lungs for no necessary reason.

“Oh girl, don’t be ashamed. I take Lexapro,” I blurted out, totally forgetting that I hadn’t yet told my new girlfriend that I took antidepressants.

I almost got away unscathed. It was easy to go unnoticed around Phoebe. But unfortunately for me, Luna’s best friend Maria* had overheard me.

“WHAT, ZARA, YOU TAKE LEXAPRO? LUNA, ZARA TAKES ANTIDEPRESSANTS!” Maria shouted, breathing beer into my face.

I went into immediate fight-or-flight, electric shock mode: “NO, I was totally kidding!” I lied, straight through my newly whitened teeth.

“Thank God!” Luna sighed. “I hate antidepressants. They turn you into a f*cking zombie. I don’t want to date a zombie.”

Then, everyone beganfiring out anti-antidepressant rants at the speed of rapid fire.

“Yeah, this country is waaaay over medicated!”

“Yeah f*ck antidepressants, they’re the worst.”

“Oh yeah I could never date someone who chose taking pills over confronting the pain…”

And I stood there, feeling self-consciously pale, clutching my hot pink Rebecca Minkoff purse laughing along, nodding my head in vehement solidarity and stone-cold agreement with Luna and her friends about how “antidepressants are BAD and ruining America.”

Meanwhile, resting in the small zipper part of my little pink purse were20 mgs of the little blue pill I had been taking for the last seven months, that I’m pretty sure had saved my life.

But I got it. See, I had been one of those peoplein the past, who scoffed at the prospect of medication, thinking all I had to do was strap on my black combat boots and put on a brave face and get the f*ck over it. I’m British; we like to suffer. We are the very face of the “stiff upper lip” movement.

However, I had recently been hit with a bout of depression so black I couldn’t see my way out of the pain. It was the kind of depression that’s so severe, simple acts like brushing your teeth or combing your hair feel taxing.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to be alive. Things got so dark in my head that I no longer felt like I was in a safe place.

Finally, a family friend got worried about me and took me to her doctor.I got prescribed a low dosage of Lexapro, and after about two weeks, I could finally muster up the energy to get out of bed.

Lexapro wasn’t a miracle drug that fixed all of myproblems, but it gave me the strength to start going to therapy and confrontthe slew of painful memories I had spent the past decade suppressing.

In that time in my life, I needed the help of medication. It was life or death.

But in that moment with Luna, I felt ashamed. I felt like a f*cked up loser who wasn’t strong enough to deal with life. And when I feel ashamed, I start to lie. Humiliation and embarrassment have the ability to silence me like nothing else.

For the next several months,I hid my pills from Luna. I kept them in a delicate daisy-decorated sponge makeup bag, the kind of contraption that respectable nice girls would probably use to store their tampons. (I’ve always been the girl who recklessly tosses her tampons into her bag.)

I so badly wanted to fit the image of what Luna wanted, and needing medication wasn’t part of that image. Luna wanted fun-loving Zara. Fashion-crazed Zara. Unafraid-to-tell-anyone-off Zara.

Who wants to be with the Zara who suffers from depression and anxiety so severely that sometimes she’s scared of her own thoughts?No one wants to be with that Zara. And all I wanted was to be the girl that Luna wanted to be with..

Finally, it all came crashing down. I grew sick and tired of keeping a huge part of my life hidden from Luna. I loved her and craved her support. I wanted to tell her what I had been through and what I was going through.

So one day, it spilled out of me. I told her everything. The shame. The trauma. Why I had lied to her for the better part of a year.

“Luna, I can’t hide this anymore, but I’ve been battling depression and taking antidepressants. I know you’re super against antidepressants, but I need your support. I’ve been lying to you and hiding my medication from you.”

We were in the car on our way to the airport. We were taking our first couple’s vacation to Brazil (excellent timing for a heavy conversation, I know. My bad.). I gazed out the window and stared at the palm trees lining the streets. I braced myself for a judgmental lecture or massive argument because I had, after all, committed the worst relationship sin of all (especially for lesbians), Ilied.

Much to my surprise, my confession didn’t end in a screaming match. She felt instantly terrible thatthedrunken comments from her friends almost a year ago had made me feel soinsecure. She didn’t judge me like I had feared. In fact, my confession made her love me more.

And it taught me one of the most life-changing lessons I’ve learned in my adult life: People don’t really fall in love with the perfectly curated version of you. They might admire the filtered, air-brushed version of you. But it’s not love.

I’m areal person, not just an idea of a person.

People are only going to fall in true love with thewhole you. The you whohas nightmares, and awkward birthmarks, and a loaded past, and strange phobias. I’ve found the things I’ve been the most ashamed of are the very things my partners have fallen in love with me for.

So sweet kittens, don’t be shamed into silence. Don’t water your eccentricities down because you’re afraid of being “too much.”

And if peopletry to shame you for needing to take medication, or your weird family, or the funky scar on your body, f*ck them. Who needs false love when you could have real love?

Find the person who loves all of you, blue pills and all.

*Name has been changed

More like this:

F*ck the Stigma: I’m Sick of Being Ashamed for Being on Antidepressants

How to Tell If Someone Loves You Or Just The Idea Of You

A Ridiculous Dose of Antidepressants Made Me Emotionally Numb

Source: http://allofbeer.com/i-hid-my-antidepressants-from-my-lover-because-i-felt-ashamed/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/03/23/i-hid-my-antidepressants-from-my-lover-because-i-felt-ashamed/

[allofbeercom]

I Hid My Antidepressants From My Lover Because I Felt Ashamed

It was early February 2012, but it felt like mid-f*cking-July. I wasa displaced New Yorker in Florida, where the air felt suffocatingly thick and densely humid.

I had just moved to Florida from London for a job. It was supposed to be a temporary, fleeting move, but I had fallen in love (love always ruins your plans, doesn’t it?) with a bartender named Luna.*

The moment I laid eyes on Luna, I was addicted to our intense chemistry.Luna just had that energy,that palpable fun-loving charismathat made everyone around her feel good.Especially me.

So she was the reason I found myself NOT in the wonderfully chic city of London, but at a bro beach tiki bar in the middle of winter.

Imagine a spindly 25-year-old Wednesday Addams (black braids and all) hanging out in a bikini on a powdery talcum beach amidst a crew of deeply tanned, ankle-tattooed girls with frosted highlights in their shiny waist-length hair and warm beers nestled between their olive-skinned fingers.I was sorely out of context.

I really clashed with an impossibly LOUD entity named Phoebe.*

She was the kind of girl who spoke louder than everyone else and was, more often thannot, in the thick of a total and complete whiskey blackout. She constantly interrupted you and blew cigarette smoke in your face. She sucked the air out of a room.

It’s rare I ever say this, but Phoebe was just too much. And my best friends are drag queens and wild, sexually deviant eccentrics, so that’s saying a lot.

In her usual drunken haphazard state, Phoebe pulled a bottle of antidepressants out of her canvas backpack and slurred “F*ckkkkk theeeeeese pills. I don’t even TAKE THEM!” at the top of her lungs for no necessary reason.

“Oh girl, don’t be ashamed. I take Lexapro,” I blurted out, totally forgetting that I hadn’t yet told my new girlfriend that I took antidepressants.

I almost got away unscathed. It was easy to go unnoticed around Phoebe. But unfortunately for me, Luna’s best friend Maria* had overheard me.

“WHAT, ZARA, YOU TAKE LEXAPRO? LUNA, ZARA TAKES ANTIDEPRESSANTS!” Maria shouted, breathing beer into my face.

I went into immediate fight-or-flight, electric shock mode: “NO, I was totally kidding!” I lied, straight through my newly whitened teeth.

“Thank God!” Luna sighed. “I hate antidepressants. They turn you into a f*cking zombie. I don’t want to date a zombie.”

Then, everyone beganfiring out anti-antidepressant rants at the speed of rapid fire.

“Yeah, this country is waaaay over medicated!”

“Yeah f*ck antidepressants, they’re the worst.”

“Oh yeah I could never date someone who chose taking pills over confronting the pain…”

And I stood there, feeling self-consciously pale, clutching my hot pink Rebecca Minkoff purse laughing along, nodding my head in vehement solidarity and stone-cold agreement with Luna and her friends about how “antidepressants are BAD and ruining America.”

Meanwhile, resting in the small zipper part of my little pink purse were20 mgs of the little blue pill I had been taking for the last seven months, that I’m pretty sure had saved my life.

But I got it. See, I had been one of those peoplein the past, who scoffed at the prospect of medication, thinking all I had to do was strap on my black combat boots and put on a brave face and get the f*ck over it. I’m British; we like to suffer. We are the very face of the “stiff upper lip” movement.

However, I had recently been hit with a bout of depression so black I couldn’t see my way out of the pain. It was the kind of depression that’s so severe, simple acts like brushing your teeth or combing your hair feel taxing.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t want to be alive. Things got so dark in my head that I no longer felt like I was in a safe place.

Finally, a family friend got worried about me and took me to her doctor.I got prescribed a low dosage of Lexapro, and after about two weeks, I could finally muster up the energy to get out of bed.

Lexapro wasn’t a miracle drug that fixed all of myproblems, but it gave me the strength to start going to therapy and confrontthe slew of painful memories I had spent the past decade suppressing.

In that time in my life, I needed the help of medication. It was life or death.

But in that moment with Luna, I felt ashamed. I felt like a f*cked up loser who wasn’t strong enough to deal with life. And when I feel ashamed, I start to lie. Humiliation and embarrassment have the ability to silence me like nothing else.

For the next several months,I hid my pills from Luna. I kept them in a delicate daisy-decorated sponge makeup bag, the kind of contraption that respectable nice girls would probably use to store their tampons. (I’ve always been the girl who recklessly tosses her tampons into her bag.)

I so badly wanted to fit the image of what Luna wanted, and needing medication wasn’t part of that image. Luna wanted fun-loving Zara. Fashion-crazed Zara. Unafraid-to-tell-anyone-off Zara.

Who wants to be with the Zara who suffers from depression and anxiety so severely that sometimes she’s scared of her own thoughts?No one wants to be with that Zara. And all I wanted was to be the girl that Luna wanted to be with..

Finally, it all came crashing down. I grew sick and tired of keeping a huge part of my life hidden from Luna. I loved her and craved her support. I wanted to tell her what I had been through and what I was going through.

So one day, it spilled out of me. I told her everything. The shame. The trauma. Why I had lied to her for the better part of a year.

“Luna, I can’t hide this anymore, but I’ve been battling depression and taking antidepressants. I know you’re super against antidepressants, but I need your support. I’ve been lying to you and hiding my medication from you.”

We were in the car on our way to the airport. We were taking our first couple’s vacation to Brazil (excellent timing for a heavy conversation, I know. My bad.). I gazed out the window and stared at the palm trees lining the streets. I braced myself for a judgmental lecture or massive argument because I had, after all, committed the worst relationship sin of all (especially for lesbians), Ilied.

Much to my surprise, my confession didn’t end in a screaming match. She felt instantly terrible thatthedrunken comments from her friends almost a year ago had made me feel soinsecure. She didn’t judge me like I had feared. In fact, my confession made her love me more.

And it taught me one of the most life-changing lessons I’ve learned in my adult life: People don’t really fall in love with the perfectly curated version of you. They might admire the filtered, air-brushed version of you. But it’s not love.

I’m areal person, not just an idea of a person.

People are only going to fall in true love with thewhole you. The you whohas nightmares, and awkward birthmarks, and a loaded past, and strange phobias. I’ve found the things I’ve been the most ashamed of are the very things my partners have fallen in love with me for.

So sweet kittens, don’t be shamed into silence. Don’t water your eccentricities down because you’re afraid of being “too much.”

And if peopletry to shame you for needing to take medication, or your weird family, or the funky scar on your body, f*ck them. Who needs false love when you could have real love?

Find the person who loves all of you, blue pills and all.

*Name has been changed

More like this:

F*ck the Stigma: I’m Sick of Being Ashamed for Being on Antidepressants

How to Tell If Someone Loves You Or Just The Idea Of You

A Ridiculous Dose of Antidepressants Made Me Emotionally Numb

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/i-hid-my-antidepressants-from-my-lover-because-i-felt-ashamed/

[funsizeparenting101-blog]

GULTY?

Have you ever felt guilty? Like the minute you do something and you instantly regret it? It’s too late…you can’t go back now. No re-do.

A little under 3 years ago I found myself crying on the bathroom floor while holding a test. Yup, I was pregnant for the 3rd time. I had a 4 month old in the room next to me. I was tired, emotional, and still recovering from my cesarean. I went to bed that night wondering what my boyfriend would say when I tell him. Fearful of how he might react. The next morning I told him, and of course he was confused and angry.

I made an appointment with a local Planned Parenthood to see how far along I was. The appointment was a few days away. I realized we couldn’t afford another child. My health was not in a good place to have another baby that soon. Then came the word I was least expecting. Abortion. At first I was appalled. Me and my boyfriend talked about the option and it unfortunately it sounded like the only solution at the time. I called Planned Parenthood again and asked for information regarding an abortion. They told me I had two options. If I was under 10 weeks I could take the pills. If I was past 10 weeks I had to do the surgical option. I could pay either 550$ for four pills, or 1,500-3,000$ for surgical. At this point I didn’t know how far along I was, so I had to wait and find out.

A few days had past and it was time for my appointment. I remade the Appoinment as an abortion Appoinment. I was expected to be there minimum 4 hours and bring 550$. I was in a room with a ultrasound tech. I wasn’t allowed to see the baby, but she did tell me I was 9 weeks along. Next thing I knew I was in a room where a nurse watched me take two pills. 5 hours later I was walking out with a brown paper bag and two more pills I was scheduled to take at 11pm that night. That was the longest day of my life. I just wanted it to all be over with.

11pm was now was here. My heart was pounding and I was scared. I took the next two pills and fell sleep. Suddenly I was awoken at 2:30am in labor. No warning, no pre labor, full on labor. I rush to the bathroom in agonizing pain. 10 minutes later my baby was born. After catching my breath, I turned around to find an entire fully intact amniotic sac. I decided to pick it up and make sure nothing was wrong, then I see it. My baby. Little hands, little feet. Eyes, nose, arms legs, and heart.

WHAT HAVE I DONE!???

I just started sobbing! I was alone, no one there to comfort me. Feeling like a monster. I just KILLED my OWN baby! I felt guilt like I had never felt before. I was right beside those who are murderers. Not sure what to do, i closed my eyes and flushed the baby down the toilet.

Over the next few weeks, I continued to have contractions and bleeding a ton. I went to the ER because of how the pills effected my system. But you know what? The pain, bleeding, or even stress wasn’t the worst part. It was GUILT I felt! I started to become depressed, Angry, and panic attacks. Trying pill after pill to help cope. Nothing worked.

About a year later I found myself in church. I was sitting next to the wonderful gal who brought me. I had been going for a little while. Then I heard a message talking about guilt, shame, and depression. How guilt can ruin you. How it’s destructive. Then God made me realize what he had done for me. How I didn’t have to be guilty anymore! How he paid the price for my sins. It wasn’t until then that I realized I didn’t have to look to pills, or alcohol, or even guilt to fell better. I needed to understand God’s grace and mercy for me. I got pregnant two more times after that and both led to miscarriages. I grieved a lot, but I had God but my side.

Even though I was grieving, I started to live life for the first time since my abortion. I truly felt myself for the first time. I could enjoy my son and being a mommy again! I know I’ve mentioned a very taboo subject that most people are scared to talk about. Why? Because the people who know the most have most likely had one. They feel so much guilt and shame, that it’s just too much to talk about. But I am here to tell you, no matter what you have done, you DONT have to feel guilt or shame! This doesn’t mean you won’t feel pain or memories, but you don’t have to beat yourself up for it everyday. You CAN move FORWARD with life because God has it all in His hands. That is why He Died for us! So how awesome is that!!???

I won’t deny I still feel a lot of pain and hurt from the situation. I have cried a lot since then. I’ve had nightmares and even been going to therapy to help me deal with it. So in conclusion, I want to tell you that God loves you! Even when you feel the most shame and guilt. He desires your heart to be fully His. No matter what you’ve done. So make sure you do what you need to do in order to help cope with your guilt. Get right with God, and take proactive step in healing. I’m still in the process of healing, but I’m also okay with that. I am thankful for every day I am alive and loved by my creator.

[diariesofayoungwhitefemale]

I’m here, and you’re sitting in a fucking cell

you should be here. in the room below me. sleeping sound without a sweat. I am not sure if I've grasped whats happened fully, again. I always said it was my worst nightmare, and would be the worst thing to ever happen again. and there she blows. 

if I think about it, ill start to drown. and I can't handle that because I'm not sure I could find myself afloat again. so many things have changed yet so many stay the same. will you ever stop taking pills. I don't know. but I need to put my mom out of her misery

there is nothing more heartbreaking than the .. look in my mother’s face. she can barely lift the corners of her mouth to fake a smile. I see it in her eyes. we try to hide our feelings but forget our eyes speak the loudest of words. 

I am ok. until I face it. but its the only realistic way to live

for some reason I just distract myself from the pain with even more toxic, dangerous, and hurtful situations. and then I have a moment of silence and everything comes crashing down. but I am not drowning. I am swimming against the current. but I am above water.

my heart still tears recklessly in half for both of my parents. my dad called me the other night and I could smell the alcohol through the phone. I had never heard him in such a way. I entertained him for 7 minutes, hung up, and began to sob. I cried when I realized the conversation was only 7 minutes, because it felt like a lifetime.

how does one person hold so much power to destroy those around them. and themselves of course, but ruining your life is a lot more manageable than taking down four people with you. and the worst thing is, I am ok - but my mom is not. he holds her hostage. I leave, she stays. she faces everything. he fucking takes, takes, and takes. soon she will probably have nothing; then I will try to give her anything I fucking have

I can't even talk about because I have no idea what I'm doing or thinking or whats happened. I've lost complete and utter control of the situation: that I admit. but tonight is my chance to gain it back, as unfortunate as it feels, I do know it’s probably right / whats best / whats appropriate. I don't really care about the appropriateness of it, but I have learned to protect myself too much to get in such a tangle. I'm too much. I'm too little. I just don't know, but I know it had to end eventually. 

the only thing I've ever fully known is that I trust God, of course, which is why I rise every day excited to live my life. I can’t lose sight of my gratuity; it’s possible to be going through adversity and conflicts within yourself in life, but that doesn’t mean you become ungrateful. you don't unsee everything you have right in front of you. In theory, besides my brother, everything in my life is seemingly perfect. but it never is perfect, until and unless you create a perfect peace within yourself. 

I forgot how smooth my fingers glided across a keyboard; like sharp scissors on crisp white paper. I do feel like I've been keeping a lot in, and when I write, it all comes out naturally - medicinally - just in a way I can't capture anything else