#I went back in my room because I couldn’t get to my Zoloft and he wanted to talk and stuff and I almost took my backup ones from when I was

[bipolarerrepi]

7/18/2023

I got less than 8 hours of sleep but woke up energized. Had a near panic attack when the vanpool lady called to come pick me up. She kept telling me I didn’t need to rush but I panicked and rushed anyways. She said she felt bad. My heart rate was high.

I ate as normal.

In group therapy, elevated heart rate. I spoke to some folks in between and got slightly triggered, thinking they were attacking me or misinterpreting my words. I dissociated slightly in my rebuttal, watching my mouth run on instead of talking about something else I wanted to talk about.

A lot of suicidal ideation. Mostly of external forces killing me. I didn’t daydream for a calm death. At this point, pain is nearly a welcome addition. Visions of my group therapy mates beating me with chairs. Me melting away. Me being buried under dirt. Mauled by bears. Shot. Run over. Hit by a train. I mentioned it to the therapist/caseworker. She was very kind. Told me if I felt I needed to be hospitalized to let her know. Said I might since this sort of mania is getting close to the last time I tried to kill myself. Vivian mentioned drugs shouldn’t take effect until a month later.

Final group was me finally checking in. I did not want to but Vivian encouraged it. The entire time, I think I kept scratching my neck, I sort of noticed. I mostly noticed on the vanpool back home that my neck was hurting and vaguely recalled it. Will ask for more clarification tomorrow.

In group, I spoke about how this was a new diagnosis for me. How I felt lost and confused about what to do. How I had quit my last therapist because she kept pushing me to forgive my stepmom and it triggered me so I quit. How it felt to constantly be pounded with incessant thoughts of suicide. How it was presently one every 10 minutes, and during my last attempt, not even a break in between. But I got angry. Saying how I didn’t want to be a saint. I didn’t want to forgive my abuser. I wanted a chance to be angry and suicidal ideations were almost an escapist fantasy for me back from when I was 3, where I was so stuck and couldn’t think of a way out, so all I could do was wish for death.

I couldn’t stop crying. Several others cried and the room was silent, for a meeting where it was supposed to be about journaling. I felt guilty. Byron spoke up, he was supposed to check in but didn’t, saying he didn’t feel like it now and was uncomfortable. Most likely everyone was dealing with their own demons unrelated to me but I couldn’t help but feel guilty all the same.

After journaling, I couldn’t stop crying, so I went to the bathroom and cried. Thought I was feeling better, went back to group and checked in with Hannah. Maybe all I needed was a breakdown.

Cried at home. It is 8pm. Still have tears.

Have moments of dissociation during the day. Once in group and once with Daniel. When my emotions get high, it’s like I lose control of myself and it scares me. What if I get reduced to that state? I started question if I was even human.

Called the 24/7 hotline for Kaiser. The person on the other line was very helpful, she recommended grounding techniques, which I haven’t practiced in a while since I was getting better. She mentioned she was gonna tell Dr. Hyon. I asked if journaling would be a good idea and she recommended it. As a way to keep track of mood changes and to let Dr. Hyon know.

My heart rate has been elevated all day.

Had another breakdown with Daniel where I just sobbed when he was showing me compassion. I got upset, dissociated again, said some cruel things to him.

About 3 counts of dissociation today. Small bouts. It’s scary.

Going to do a little back journaling.

7/13/2023

Got the risperidone. Started taking it that night. Had been on 100mg of Zoloft for 3 days at that point.

7/14/2023 - Friday

Was extremely unbalanced all day so I didn’t move around much. Also slept for most of it. Felt drowsy and sort of drunk/bouts of vertigo

7/15/2023 - Saturday

Day we went to boiling crab. I was feeling a lot better in terms of balance. Went out and did stuff, we went to boiling crab. I still felt manic. Easily irritable. Easily excited.

7/16/2023 - Sunday

Balance was good. Played video games all day. Elevated heart rate.

7/17/2023.- Monday

First day of PHP. Had the rambling. Had the elevated heart rate. Had the couldn’t shut my mouth and felt like I put my foot in my mouth. Had bouts of dissociation when talking but less so. Did not speak. Generally normal mood aside from elevated state.

To today where I seem easily pushed into a elevated mood state. Am I triggered? Am I getting triggered more easily because of mania? How do they interact? I need to meet with an individual therapist again. Do I go back to Danielle? I will try to email her.

Got sleepy from meds, went to bed. In a relatively good mood. Honestly, kind’ve giddy. Laughed and giggled a lot. Felt almost wrong. Ate as normal. Motivation came back.

Went from outright sobbing at Daniel to being giddy with him modding my steam deck over the span of, like, half an hour. I'm exhausted.

#bipolar 1 #journaling

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 19: Thicker Than Water

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 3 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, scary situation, violence, typical TWD ❧ Word Count: 4k

❧ In This Chapter: Daryl leaves with Rick and a few others to rescue Glenn and Maggie from Woodbury, where an old "friend" reunites with Daryl, causing some internal conflict between loyalties. Meanwhile, you are confronted with intruders back at the prison, one of whom makes you question the ease with which you welcome strangers.

❧ A/N: Hate that Merle is back messing with Daryl's head, but it also makes for some interesting drama so I'm here for it.

The night Daryl left for Woodbury was difficult for you.

You tried to take your mind off of it by taking care of the baby, who Carl had named Judith, but Daryl was right—there was something off about this mission.

Before this, most of your group’s problems came from walkers. Occasionally you’d run into less than friendly folks, but never before had anyone in your group went to take on a whole township of people.

You knew Daryl would also have to kill people if they tried to kill him or got in his way. That thought disturbed you, too.

When it came your turn to take watch in the guard tower, you didn’t have much to keep your mind from worrying. You didn’t feel like reading because the only book you had was the one you were reading to Daryl, and you couldn’t write in your journal because you knew you’d just write about him.

It was one of the many moments you’d had since the beginning of the apocalypse that you wished you still had your prescription Zoloft.

When you were relieved by Carl, you headed into your cell and tried to get a few winks of sleep before the sun rose in a few hours.

You slept a bit, but it was restless, as it always was when Daryl was gone.

The morning went by slowly. There was seven of you back at the prison: you, Carol, Beth, Carl, Judith, Hershel, and Axel. The weaklings, the negative voices in your mind echoed. The women, the children, the one-legged old man, and the wimpy ex-con.

You knew it wasn’t true. You didn’t believe anyone was weak, least of all anyone who was able to last this long in such a hostile world. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what Daryl thought of you.

He’d deny it until he was blue in the face, but he treated you like you were a porcelain doll. It was the only thing about him that could rub you the wrong way, that and his insecurities, of which there were many.

By nightfall, you sat with Beth and Carl in the cell block with nothing else to do to pass the time but teach Beth how to load a handgun.

“Load your magazine in this little slot here,” you instructed her, “then you push down with your thumb on this slide release button here. Now pull the slide back and let go. It’s ready to go now.” You handed the gun to her and watched her remove the magazine and repeat your steps with accuracy.

Carl smiled at you as he watched. “So you know how to swaddle a baby and load a gun?”

You laughed. “One of those things I would’ve never learned if it weren’t for all this.” You gestured vaguely to the world around you. “I hated guns back in the day. Too loud and dangerous. Still too loud and dangerous. I like my axe or my knife better, but sometimes you gotta use the gun.”

“I did it,” said Beth proudly after she finished the steps.

“Good job,” you said, checking the magazine to make sure she loaded it properly. “You’ll get faster the more you do it, too.”

“Finally got Judith to sleep,” Hershel said as he hobbled on his crutch into the room.

“How are we with formula?” Carl asked.

“We have enough to last us another month,” Hershel answered.

Carl nodded. “(Y/N) and I can go get some more at the end of the week.”

You looked at him curiously. “Your dad and the others should be back by then, bud.”

He looked back at you, his young face so much more serious than it had any right to be. “We don’t know that. Right now, Judith is the only family I got.”

You rested a hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “We’re all your family, Carl. It’s not just about blood anymore.”

He nodded his head before looking down to twiddle his thumbs.

The comfortable silence nestling between the four of you was stopped short by the distant sound of a woman screaming.

Your head perked up and you instinctually reached for your knife.

“What was that?” Beth asked nervously.

“It sounded like it came from inside,” you said, standing up and taking your gun from Beth to return it to its holster.

“Was it Carol?” asked Carl.

“She’s out keeping watch with Axel in the guard tower,” Hershel said.

You took a deep breath. “One of you should go check on them, make sure they didn’t come back in or something.” The screams of agony kept ringing out, taunting you. “I’m gonna check it out.”

“I’ll go with you,” Carl said as he stood up with his own gun. Though you didn’t really want Carl, a twelve year old kid, to go with you on a potentially dangerous investigation, but he had become a capable fighter, and you knew what it felt like to be treated like you couldn’t do anything. At least, that’s what you thought.

Hershel raised his crutch and barred the both of you from leaving. “I can’t let you go down there, either of you.”

You huffed. “Hershel, we’ll be fine. Someone needs to check it out. We’ll look out for each other.”

Hershel looked at you skeptically for a moment, then trailed his gaze down to Carl. “My father would go.” The boy nodded in agreement.

He reluctantly lowered his crutch, then turned to Beth as the two of you began your search for the source of the screaming. “If anything happens to them, Rick and Daryl will have my head.”

Slowly, the two of you made your way through the depths of the tombs, where the screams seemed to be coming from. You both held your guns upright, with flashlights crossed over them to guide your way.

The screams and cries became more and more clear the further you went. You finally reached the boiler room where it seemed the sounds were coming from. Carl shone his light on the door, slowly reaching for it before a walker came up from behind you.

You turned yourself in a flurry to plunge your knife deep into the walker’s skull before it could get to either of you. Carl nodded to you in thanks before leading you both into the boiler room.

The sight was certainly unexpected—five living people, one man and one woman fighting off a solid handful of walkers; and a man, a woman, and a teenager cowering on the ground. You both jogged closer to see what was happening. The woman on the ground appeared to have been bitten, and she must’ve been the source of the screams and cries.

You took a cursory glance at the others, your sights landing on the teenaged boy. You froze a bit before coming back to reality and shooting at the walker the other woman was fighting with a shovel.

She gasped before turning around to notice you and Carl. The others did the same, completely in shock by your sudden appearance.

“Come on!” Carl shouted.

You wanted to say something, to stop Carl from bringing them back with you, but the walkers were pouring in from somewhere and you needed to get him back to safety. There was no time to argue.

You led the way through the dark corridors, the man who had picked up the bitten woman barely able to keep up. You turned around when you heard the group slowing their pace.

“Hurry!” Carl yelled to the man who had dropped himself and the woman to the ground in exhaustion.

“Just go,” he said.

“Carl, let’s go,” you urged him as you saw the shadows of several more walkers rounding the corner towards you all.

“I’ll take her,” the other man said, rushing over to pick her up.

“I’ll cover you,” said the woman with the shovel before hurdling towards a walker and bashing its head in.

You huffed and rolled your eyes, just wanting to get Carl back to safety. You brought your gun up to eye level and began helping them keep the walkers at bay, shooting several directly in the head. “Carl!” you yelled to him when the walkers were thinned down.

He looked at you and nodded. “We have to leave her!” he yelled.

“No way!” said the man who was now carrying her over his shoulder.

Goddamnit.

You shot one more walker before urging the group to follow you again, all the while holding Carl’s hand to make sure he was by your side. You weren’t going to let him die for these people.

Throwing open the gate to your cell block’s common area, you waited for everyone to come through before latching it shut.

“Oh God, Donna!” the man, who you presumed to be the woman’s husband, cried.

The other man who was carrying her was laying her down on the ground. “Is she dead?” the husband asked frantically.

You and Carl hurried over to her lifeless body. As her husband began sobbing, you exchanged a worried look with Carl. He seemed to know what you were thinking.

He raised his gun to point down at her head. “I’ll take care of it,” he panted before cocking his gun. You were about to stop him, not because you didn’t think it was the right thing to do, but because you didn’t want Carl to have to put down yet another walker just a few days after he put his own mother down.

“Whoa, kid wait a minute,” the man who carried her looked between you and Carl.

“She could turn any second,” you said sternly.

“Who the hell are you people?” the other woman asked. “How did you get in here? Who are you with?”

She must’ve been confused—a young boy and a young woman, presumably living alone in an abandoned prison. She probably wondered how you both had survived so long if it was just the two of you.

You looked up at her to respond, but your sights landed on the young man standing next to her again. You couldn’t place it, but he looked vaguely familiar.

“Look, we can help you,” Carl said. “First thing’s first…” He raised his gun to the dead woman’s head again.

“No, we take care of our own,” the man said. He reached back and took a hammer from the young man, who immediately began crying.

“No, Tyreese!” the husband yelled in the midst of his sobs.

“I gotta do it,” the man called Tyreese responded. “Just take Ben and lean against the wall.”

Ben.

Something in your brain snapped like a rubber band being pulled too tight. That’s the little prick who shot me.

You followed Carl into the cell block, not taking your eyes off of Ben. When you were both inside, you regrouped with Hershel and Beth. “We can’t let them stay,” you whispered. “That kid is the one who shot me. They could be dangerous.”

Carl nodded to you before he returned to the gate separating the cell block from the common area and latched it shut, locking it with the keys Daryl had left you.

“Kid, did you just lock us in here?” Tyreese asked.

“Open the door,” the woman demanded.

“No way,” you said. “We don’t know you.” You actually did know Ben, but considering he’d apparently just lost his mother, you didn’t want to bring that up just yet.

“This room is secure. You’ll be safe,” Carl reassured them. “You have food and water.”

“Come on, man, we’re not animals—don’t do this,” the woman begged Carl. She looked up at you with pleading eyes, then anger. “Hey!” she yelled, causing you to flinch at her sudden reaction. “Open this door! Open it! Now!”

“Sasha!” Tyreese said. “Back away from their door, and let them go.”

“We don’t want any trouble,” he continued.

Carl nodded as they walked away to the other side of the room to take care of the woman they’d lost.

“Shouldn’t we help them?” Beth asked.

“We did,” you said plainly.

The newcomers didn’t cause any problems that night. The next morning, you all joined them in the common area to cook some food and let Hershel doctor them up.

“Pretty nice having medical training,” Tyreese said, watching the man stitch up the other man’s wound on his leg.

“It’ll only get you so far,” Hershel replied.

You stood in the corner with your arms folded, watching the newbies carefully. “He’s being modest,” you said. “He’s done a lot for us.” You looked directly at Ben sitting at the table eating ramen. He looked up at you when he felt your cold gaze on him. “I got shot about a week ago before we found this place. Right here.” You traced over your shoulder where you were shot. “It was some dumb kid who didn’t know how to use his gun. Hershel patched it up.”

There was a brief silence in the room before you spoke again. “You people have any guns?” you asked.

Before anyone could answer, the creaking of the cell block gate marked Beth’s entrance into the room with baby Judith in her arms. You moved forwards to keep close to her in case one of the new people tried something.

You weren’t sure where this newfound protectiveness was coming from. Maybe it was the fact that Daryl wasn’t there, or maybe you were trying to prove that you could keep people safe. Maybe you were just afraid of losing more. You quickly tossed that thought out, though. You couldn’t afford to be afraid anymore.

“Who’s the mother?” Sasha asked, realizing that Beth was much too young.

Sasha looked over to you curiously. You shook your head “no,” then looked down at your feet as you recalled that horrific day.

When the rest of the room fell quiet, Sasha realized. “I’m sorry.”

“Man, you people have been through the mill,” Tyreese added.

“Haven’t we all?” Hershel asked.

“It’s only getting worse out there,” Tyreese replied. “Dead are everywhere. And it’s only making the living… less like the living.”

“You’ve been out there this whole time? Hershel asked.

“Our camp was overrun… six, seven weeks ago,” Sasha said.

They all fell quiet before Tyreese looked over at you. “We had a few guns, but we ran out of bullets.”

You nodded your head, looking over to Ben again. “Must’ve used the last one on me.”

From what you’d gathered from talking to the group, the brother and sister, Tyreese and Sasha, seemed trustworthy enough. It was Ben and Allen, his father, you were wary of. They didn’t seem to be particularly interested in making friends with any of you. Tyreese and Sasha seemed to be more insistent on trying to “earn their keep” to stay with your group. It seemed like a good sign to you, but the silence from Ben and Allen, and the fact that Ben had attempted to rob you before shooting you, made you keep your guard up around them.

Ultimately, it wasn’t for you or any of the others to decide. It was Rick who determined that kind of thing, and you were that if he knew one of them had shot at you, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw them out.

You were a bit torn. You could still empathize with their group. They’d been out there on the road for a while, they needed somewhere to stay. On the other hand, you couldn’t trust at least half of their members. Whatever Rick would decide when he got back, you told yourself you’d accept it.

Beyond the prison walls, Rick was already dealing with the decision of letting in another potential group member: Merle Dixon.

Your group was able to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the clutches of the Governor, the man who ran the town of Woodbury, but they’d found out in the process that Merle had joined in with them shortly after he’d been left behind in Atlanta. On the brink of death from blood loss, the Governor took in Merle as his right-hand man (or, left-hand man, since that was the only one he had left).

Merle had helped Daryl and the others escape from Woodbury the night before, but now the group was fighting Daryl’s insistence on bringing his older brother back to the prison.

Maggie, Glenn, Rick, and Daryl now stood together in the middle of a dirt road a mile or so outside of Woodbury as they discussed what to do with him. The others tried to get him to understand that they couldn’t bring Merle back with them given his past behavior and more recent affiliation with the Governor, but Daryl couldn’t accept it. He refused to go back with them unless they took in Merle, too.

“What do you want us to tell (Y/N)?” Glenn asked.

He bit the inside of his lower lip in thought. “She’ll understand,” he said, as if trying to convince himself more than the others. “I’ll come back for her, but I ain’t leavin’ my brother out here alone. No way.”

He strutted back to the car to grab his things before heading off with Merle. He turned off all the thoughts in his head telling him not to do this. He couldn’t think, it would just confuse him more. He was getting too used to thinking around you. Before you came along, he didn’t have to think—Merle did it for him.

Rick caught up with him and tried to talk some sense into him. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“Don’ ask me to leave him,” Daryl said. “I already did that once.”

“We started something last night, you realize that?” Rick continued to hound him as he gathered his things from the trunk of the car.

“No him, no me. That’s all I can say.”

There was a deafening silence between the two men.

“Take care of yourself,” Daryl said. He looked down at his feet. “Little ass-kicker… Carl.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his feet then back at Rick. “Watch out for (Y/N). Tell her I’ll see her again, just… gotta work things out.”

Rick couldn’t even think of a thing to say as he watched Daryl join his brother and walk off into the woods. What’s more, he had absolutely no idea what to tell you.

When you heard the rattling of the prison gates opening that afternoon, your eyes widened and you immediately handed Judith to Beth to finish feeding her.

Running out to the front gates, you met up with Carl, Rick, and Carol as Maggie and Glenn kept driving the car up further, with Michonne in the backseat. You waved at them, happy to see they were all right. As you approached Rick and the others, you noticed Carol appeared to be crying, and then you realized Daryl wasn’t with them, or in the car with Maggie and Glenn.

Rick walked up to you with a solemn look to his face. He put his hand on your good shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “Where is he?” you asked, your head swimming and a lump in your throat beginning to form. You swallowed hard and closed your eyes. “Is—oh God—is he…”

Rick looked down for a moment, then back at you. Carol stood behind him and tried to wipe away her tears. “He’s alive,” Rick said.

You opened your eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Then where is he?”

“He left,” Rick said softly.

Your breath hitched and you could feel the tears already seeping past your waterline. “What? Why?”

“He ran into Merle, back at Woodbury.”

Your eyes darted in confusion as he continued to speak. “He wouldn’t come back with us unless we brought Merle back, too.” Your legs felt like they would give out from underneath you at any second. Rick noticed and brought his hands to your arms to keep you steady. Carol came over and wrapped her arm around your shoulders.

You couldn’t even say anything without it coming out in a garbled mess.

“He—he said he’d come back, (Y/N). I don’t know when, or if he’ll be with Merle… but he couldn’t leave him, and we can’t have Merle here. There was no compromising.”

You closed your eyes tightly, squeezing out the tears as they formed. Rick let go of your arms and Carol pulled you into a tight hug.

“He’ll come back, (Y/N). He will,” Carol whispered.

You let out a stream of strangled whimpers into her shoulder. “How could he just leave?” you asked. It wasn’t a question directed at anyone in particular, just a question for the world. “After everything…”

Rick held a meeting with the new people that night, but you struggled to pay attention. Besides your testimony against Ben, you didn’t have much to say. The others seemed convinced that Tyreese and his group would make good additions, especially since you needed all the help you could get with the new threat of the Governor and with Daryl gone.

When Rick asked what you thought, you simply shrugged.

By the end of the meeting, Rick had seemingly lost it, pointing his gun at Tyreese’s group and yelling at them to get out. It wasn’t how you would’ve dealt with it, but you were too distraught to care enough.

You didn’t eat that night. You just stayed in your cell. You found yourself laying on your bed and staring at one of the motorcycle posters you’d taped onto the brick wall for Daryl’s amusement. The longer you looked at it, the more obscure it became. At one point, it didn’t seem real anymore.

You propped yourself up and ripped down every single image you’d put up in an attempt to make Daryl feel more at home. You sobbed relentlessly, your aching cries echoing into the cell block along with the sound of tearing paper.

You crumpled up every Playboy cartoon and motorcycle poster until you had a big glob of magazine paper in your hands. You threw it somewhere in your cell, then plopped yourself back down onto the bed to cry into your pillow.

Your sobs had been withered down to delicate whimpers and sniffles when you heard a knocking sound coming from the bars of your cell.

You lifted your head and wiped back some of the tears. “Who—who is it?” you asked, your voice still drenched in tears.

“It’s me,” Carol’s voice came out from behind the curtain. “Just bringing you some food.”

“I’m not hungry,” you said, throwing yourself back down on the bed.

You heard the squeaking of the gate as she let herself in. “You still have to eat.”

She set a bowl of ramen down on your nightstand, then sat herself down on your bed with your back still facing her. “You wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head “no,” but she still mentioned it anyway. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, and it hurts like hell, but he’s doing what he thinks he needs to do.”

You sniffled a bit, then slowly propped yourself up to look at Carol. “I thought he loved me,” you said.

Carol looked at you like you were some orphaned kitten, then reached over to move some of the strands of hair from your face. “He does.”

You scoffed. “But Merle… he cares more about him. He must. Why else would he leave for him?”

“Men like Merle… they have a way of getting into your head.”

You laughed a little as you thought of something Daryl had told you. “Daryl always talked about how he thought he owed him… for being the only one to take care of him. His dad was a drunk, and his mom was dead. When Merle was around, that was all he had.”

You curled the sleeve of your sweater around your fingers and wiped away some more tears. “Maybe… maybe he left because he felt like he owed him.” You shook your head. “Doesn’t change the fact that he broke my heart.”

“Hey,” Carol lifted your chin up to look her in the eyes, “he said he’d be back. He just needs to work this out with his brother. Then when he gets back, you can be as mad as him as you want. For now, just know that he loves you, (Y/N).”

If Daryl said he’d be back, he would be back. You knew that. Still, the question of when and under what circumstances, and the fact that he left in the first place, made you shudder. If and when he did come back, though, you knew for sure that you’d give him a piece of your mind. Nevertheless, you did know that he loved you.

You nodded. “It’s funny. I was scared to do this… to love someone again. I—I thought I’d get hurt, that he’d find someone else or just leave. Turns out he did both, in a way.”

Carol pulled you in for a hug. “Oh, (Y/N),” she sighed. “That man is crazy about you. He’s just not thinking straight. He’ll come back, and he’ll learn. Let him figure it out.”

You thought for a moment, then pulled yourself away. “He has to come back,” you said. Carol looked at you curiously. “He left that stupid motorcycle.”

~

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#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead #twd fanfic #twd #the beginning series

[wh0reafied]

MY JOURNEY-

I went to the hospital the first time because i thought i had a tooth infection and was dying. I spent the whole time in a bed crying and wanting to run out of the hospital. I got prescribed antibiotics. They didn’t really make anything better, i convinced myself i was having a deadly allergic reaction to them. I developed vertigo, which i could only believe was caused by a deadly condition- i still believe it is.

I stayed up for days, waking my boyfriend up begging him to call 911. He had to work very early in the mornings- for this i felt bad he had to endure me freaking out. I was feeling my heart being squeezed, like there was a million bricks on my chest- this i knew was a heart attack and i was going to die (or so i believed while feeling this way). I’ve never felt such a feeling in my chest before.

Second trip to the hospital, i rushed through the doors in tears and screaming “help me” “i’m having a heart attack”: of course they didn’t believe me, i had to be seated away from the waiting room because i was scared to be in public like this. The nurse, very kindly sat me down and took my vitals- they were perfect. This is when she explained to me what’s really going on- i’m having panic attacks. After hearing this, the feeling in my chest i had for probably weeks now, magically went away. I felt okay for maybe a few days.

I decided i needed to go back to my moms and get help from the hospital there and be with my family. I couldn’t put the stress any longer on my boyfriend. I stayed over a month in princeton. This is when i started having dissociation. I spent so long thinking i am dying that my body has went into survival mode to protect myself. I started to feel not real. I started to have a feeling that i’m not in my own body, rather watching from a distance. My memories don’t feel like mine.

This is the most scariest feeling, that i would never wish on anybody. it was 24/7. I started taking Zoloft (antidepressant). I went to the hospital over and over. I was convinced I had something very wrong in my brain. My doctor- who’s the most kindest, ordered me a head CT to give me some peace of mind. Of course everything was normal. So what could it be? I got into a vicious cycle of spending literally my whole time awake googling. Every. Single. sensation. in. my. body. I googled it.

I convinced myself- i was SO sure i had glaucoma. There was no doubt in my mind, i was going to go blind. I went to the eye doctor, had a whole check up. Everything is perfect, don’t even need glasses! So what else could it be? More googling.

I stopped going outside, i developed agoraphobia. Going outside is so intense for me, I sometimes can’t even open the door because of my derealization (not thinking i’m real). Some days i can’t even feel my own body. i can’t recognize my own house, it doesn’t feel familiar. Every day i wish this would go away. Its so messed up being so scared you’re going to die but not wanting to live anymore because of being so scared all the time.

Fast forward to now, about 6 months later. I’m awaiting a MRA to be done of my brain and spine, because im now convinced i have a brain aneurysm. I spent my days crying and thinking im going to die any second. I don’t know why this is happening to me- but with the pandemic this is happening to a lot of people.

Health anxiety is very real. Anxiety is very real. it’s not just feeling nervous to go to an interview. it’s thinking you’re dying. it’s feeling REAL symptoms in your body- symptoms you would NEVER think anxiety could cause.

I don’t know why i really wrote all this out for the world, maybe to get it off my chest what i’ve been going through. Thank you to everyone who’s taken the time to read this. A huge thank you to everyone who’s continuing to help me get better. I’m sorry to the friends that call and i ignore you- it’s not you it’s me. i’m sorry to everyone that i’ve caused a whole load of stress to. I hope i find myself again and overcome this mental illness.

If you’re going through mental health issues- please reach out and get help. Don’t let it develop into something big and nasty. I wish i didn’t drown mine with unhealthy coping mechanisms. It’s hard for me to believe i’m not sick psychically- only mentally.

#derealization #dereality #panic attack #panic disorder #health anxiety #mental disorder #mental health #generalized anxiety disorder #diagnosed #yourenotalone

[patrckbrewer]

okay i’m putting this under a read more because it deals with weight loss and body image issues and surgical procedures and i don’t want anyone who could be harmed by those things to be hurt

i have very large breasts (currently sitting at 34J) and i am relatively short (5’3”). i have had extreme body image issues from the time that i was 11 and woke up one morning with c cups (this is not an exaggeration). from that moment, i went from a little girl to someone that grown men (including my gym teacher) felt it was okay to ogle.

so i hid my body. i wore shirts that were two sizes too big. i wore sweatshirts in the dead of summer. i didn’t wear anything with a low neck. anything to pretend that i didn’t have large breasts, to save myself from the stares and the comments about how i “should put those things away”

i was a senior in high school when the pain started. my back and shoulders and neck ached and i couldn’t stand up straight. i was starting to get rashes and sores. i was developing (now permanent) grooves in my shoulders and under bust from my bras. so i researched how to go about getting a breast reduction.

i went to my doctor with all the research i had done, feeling confident. well, the doctor looked at me (18, 5’3”, 135lbs, literally being crushed under the weight of my chest) and said these exact words: “no that’s not your problem. your problem is that you’re obese. you just need to lose weight” and he sent me to a dietician who basically told me my only option was to starve myself.

so i gave up. my breasts continued to grow (which wasn’t helped by the fact that when i was 22 i got put in zoloft which made me gain 60 pounds in three months) and all of my issues worsened. last year, i got new symptoms: i cannot sit with my back unsupported and if i lay down on my back without a bra on i stop breathing.

so i called my insurance and found out what i needed to do. i found a surgeon and made an appointment for a consultation (which i was late for because of traffic meaning i had to reschedule all of which happened on my birthday so. fun times. i cried in a room full of strangers). but i got a new appointment and when i went the only thought i had was: “i’m too fat”

the first time i was 18 and 135 pounds. now i was 28 and 217 pounds. so of course they weren’t going to let me have the surgery.

unfortunately i was right (cue more crying) in a way. the surgeon agreed that i needed the surgery and that my breasts were mostly tissue meaning weight loss would do nothing to make them smaller. but because of my weight i was at a higher risk for wounds and infections.

so she gave me a goal - 190lbs - and a follow up appointment in 6 months. the appointment can be changed so it’s not a hard deadline. but i’m doing it. i’m losing the weight i need and just a few days ago (a month and change after my appointment) i hit the 10lbs lost mark. my 2x and XL shirts that used to be tight are now way too big and my stomach is noticeably smaller.

anyway, this is a long winded way to say that i cannot wait to get this surgery and not only be able to function as a regular person, but also be comfortable in my own skin in a way i haven’t been in almost 20 years. i’m going to wear cute clothes and i’m going to be able to run with my niece and nephews and i’m going to be able to sleep without thinking i’m going to stop breathing.

fuck. i’m so excited.

#my txt #tw weight loss #tw body image #tw surgery #please tell me if there’s anything i can add

[michaelgambons]

Baseline Romantic

Chapter 7

Warnings: poor mental health, hospitals, cuteness overloads

Y/N woke up late on the Sunday morning, and spent a couple of minutes scrolling through twitter before groaning slightly and getting up.

Voices were coming from the kitchen, she could recognise Ben’s, but the other voice was unfamiliar.

Y/N detoured away from the kitchen to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She didn’t know who was in the kitchen, but she sure as hell didn’t want to meet them looking quite as messy as she did right now.

Entering the kitchen a few minutes later, face washed and hair tied back, Y/N saw Ben with his back to her, busy with the toaster, in his joggers. At the table was a young, tall, blonde haired girl, who was wearing one of Ben’s sweaters.

‘Hi!’ Y/N said brightly as she came in.

Ben swung round, and smiled at her brightly, looking almost relieved to see her.

‘Hey, Y/N. This is Bella’ he said, gesturing at the blonde girl sat at the table.

‘Nice to meet you Bella! Is there any chance of some toast Ben? I won’t intrude for too long, I’m meeting Charlie at 2’

As Ben turned round to the toaster, you sat down at the table.

‘I’m sure I recognise you from somewhere’ Bella said. Thinking she was referring to Ben, you didn’t glance up from your phone.

‘Y/N, isn’t it? Yeah I’m sure I recognise you from somewhere’

‘Me? Sorry, I’m so used to people asking Ben that. Um, maybe, I’m on the news quite a bit - I’m a political commentator’

‘That’s it! We always have News24 on in the background at work- I must have spotted you then!’

You smile vaguely at her, with limited desire to prolong the discussion. ‘Where do you work Bella?’

‘I do PR. That’s actually how we met last night’ she giggled slightly and turned to Ben, who smiles vaguely at her, before quickly turning away. ‘I did the PR for the event we were both at’

‘Oh nice’ Y/N said vaguely.

‘I’m just going to hop into the shower, will you be ok Bella? Help yourself to any food while I’m gone’ Ben said, already out the door.

Bella smiled at him as he leaves, resembling a hungry chiwawa.

‘So, I can imagine Ben brings loads of girls back here’ Bella said turning back to Y/N. Feeling slightly annoyed to be being talked to again (did this girl not understand mornings?) Y/N said ‘only about as many as I bring back myself’. She winked at Bella, who looked taken aback.

You mock checking the time. ‘Oh shit, I need to dash. Really lovely to meet you Bella’

‘Yeah, you too! Hopefully I’ll see you again’ Bella called after you.

You smiled to yourself as you went back to your bedroom. You knew the likelihood of that was next to nothing.

—————-

After making sure that Bella had left, you drifted into the living room and sunk into a sofa. Ben sulked in after you, towel slung around his waist and droplets of water falling down his chest.

After lockdown had ended, it had been agreed that Ben would move in permanently with you and Catherine. You were more than happy with that. You loved having Ben around, loved the domestic fluffiness of it all. Only, with Ben moving in had also come the trickle of women who fell out of his bedroom.

‘A blonde named Bella who works in PR. Really Ben? You’re becoming some sort of seedy playboy- are you sure you’re not batman by night?’

Ben laughed, but looked slightly embarrassed.

‘I hope we didn’t keep you awake last night. Bella was really loud’ he says.

You snort. ‘No don’t worry, I was out like a light; fucking shattered. My new pills are knocking me out like clockwork. Anyway, just loud makes a welcome change to that squeaky one a few weeks back’

Ben laughs. ‘Christ, what was her name?’

You shrug at him. ‘If you can’t remember I’m certainly not going to. She could definitely remember yours though’. She imitated Ben’s squeaky one night stand ‘ooooh Ben, yeah just there- eeeek!’

Ben chucked a cushion at her. ‘Shut up, you’re triggering too many memories’ he laughs.

‘All I’m saying is I think you need a better vetting process’ Y/N said as she left the room, pausing to ruffle Ben’s hair as she left.

Y/N sat back on her bed. Absentmindedly her hand crept towards her panties, and slid beneath her waistband. It wasn’t a coincidence that the first thing that came to mind was Ben’s glistening post shower abs. She imagined that instead of going back to her room, she had instead gone over to him, and stared him straight in the eye as she pulled his towel away from him. Sinking down on her knees she had engulfed his dick with her mouth, and looking up, had seen him staring down at her, eyelids fluttering. She was still picturing his face as she came, quickly, brutally, writhing in her bed, his name on her lips.

This wasn’t the first time she’d got off to Ben whilst they’d lived together. In many ways it was quite useful having such a cache of material wondering around the house she could select from. She’d got quite good at telling herself she was just physically attracted to Ben. She loved Ben as a friend and a small part of her wanted to spend the night with him again. That wasn’t so unusual. Friends slept together all the time. Maybe if she could sleep with him again she could stop thinking about him. You laughed at yourself the first time it occurred to you. It was ridiculous and stupid and so unlikely to help. And it wasn’t as if she would ever act on it. He clearly wasn’t interested.

—————

That evening, it was just you and Ben in the house, Catherine was away staying at a yoga retreat in the Peak District. You’d been feeling increasingly unwell as the night progressed, and at 9:30 had muttered your excuses and headed to bed. As you were stood brushing your teeth, you suddenly felt incredibly light headed and before you had had the chance to sit down or steady yourself, you had fallen to the floor.

You came to a minute or so later, Ben peering over you looking concerned. As you opened your eyes his face flooded with relief. As you raised your head off the ground you realised he had placed you in the recovery position.

‘What happened?’ You asked, groggily, putting your face in your hands.

‘I’m not too sure. I just heard this crash from the bathroom, and shouted to see if you were ok. When you didn’t reply I came to check on you, and found you on the floor. You can’t have been out for very long- have you hurt yourself at all?’ He asked.

‘I don’t think so. I feel awful though, like I’m going to faint again’

‘Ok, I’m going to help you get into the living room,’ Ben said.

He gently lifted you to your feet, and as you steadied yourself, wiped a strand of hair out of your eyes. He cupped your face with his hands and your eyes met, yours glassy from your faint and his wide, full of concern.

Established on the sofa, you felt much better. Ben insisted however, on calling 101, much to your derision.

‘I’m calling them whether you like it or not, Y/N. Whether you speak to them or not is your choice, but I want to make sure you’re ok’

————

‘This is all such an overreaction’ you complained as Ben bundled you in his sweatshirt and helped you on with your jacket. ‘I fainted! It happens to people all the time. I don’t need to go to the hospital’

‘You heard what the woman said. She was worried it was a reaction to your medication. Come on, our Uber is here’ Ben said, offering you his hand to lead you out the door.

You held onto his hand the entire short journey to the hospital. You couldn’t quite place why, but it was comforting, warm, and he didn’t seem to resist. Once inside, checked in and sat on cold, hard backed plastic chairs, Ben had made sure you were settled before heading off to find a vending machine. He returned a few minutes later with a Diet Coke for himself and a bottle of water for you.

‘I thought caffeine was probably a bad idea until you’ve seen the doctor’ he said, registering your displeasure as you looked at the water bottle he had handed you.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and must have dozed off because the next thing you knew he was nudging you awake.

‘Come on, Y/N, they’ve just called us’ he whispered gently, helping you to your feet.

In the consultants office, you both sat down, and you handed your coat to Ben.

‘Y/N Y/L/N, right? And this must be your partner-‘

‘Flatmate’ both you and Ben said in unison

‘Sorry, flatmate. What’s been the matter today Y/N?’

You briefly explained the evenings events, looking to Ben occasionally for him to fill in any blanks you couldn’t remember.

‘The 101 lady thought it might be a reaction to some of the medication I’m on. I’ve just upped my dose of Zoloft, and she wondered if that could be it’

‘Do you mind me asking what you’re on that for?’ The doctor asked.

‘You name it, I’ve got it!’ You said brightly. ‘I’m on the Zoloft for my PTSD and depression, and until recently I was on beta blockers for my anxiety, but they were interacting with my asthma medication too much so my doctor took me off them and upped my Zoloft dose’

‘So you’re now on 150 a day?’ The doctor said, flicking through his notes.

You nodded.

‘I reckon that’s what it is, if I’m honest’ he said, turning to you. ‘That’s a big dose, and while it’s clearly what you need, it’s likely to have a few side effects with it. Fainting, or feeling light headed is quite common. If it doesn’t subside in a couple of days, I’d go back to your doctor, but for the meantime I wouldn’t worry too much about it.

You and Ben were silent in the Uber home. You were exhausted from the nights events, and still not feeling very well. Ben was staring out of the window, seemingly lost in thought.

‘Are you ok?’ You finally asked, as you took your coat off, glad to be home at last. ‘You’ve been quiet for the past 5 minutes which is completely out of character’.

‘Yeah I’m fine. Just glad you’re ok, it was quite a shock coming in and finding you like that... I didn’t realise just how bad your mental health was either. I know we’ve talked about it in the past, but you’ve always been quite blasé about it’

‘Yeah. I guess I don’t feel like there’s much to talk about. I just try and get on with it. No point burdening your friends with it unless you need to’ you said.

‘It wouldn’t be a burden though, not at all. I don’t want you to feel you can’t talk to me about things. I mean, I tell you all sorts of random shit, it’s definitely my turn to listen to you’

You yawn widely.

‘You must be fucking knackered’ Ben said. ‘Get into bed and I’ll bring you some tea’.

As you headed to bed he shouted after you ‘Do you want a hot water bottle too? It’s really cold tonight!’

You smiled slightly to yourself at his fussiness before you responded.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagines #ben hardy x reader

[neeharlow]

Nee’s Bipolar Life: Part One

Since it’s disability pride month I thought I’d tell you about the time a male doctor tried to take away my bipolar diagnosis. (tldr: a bit about the struggles I faced growing up with bipolar and how a shit head tried to take away my diagnosis after only just meeting me and reading my file)

It took five years to finally pin down a diagnosis. My bipolar was always there, now that I look back. All those times I was surrounded by any toy I could possibly want but was “bored” all the time when I was very young I realize now was my first signs of depression. I’d lay on my bedroom floor and just stare up at the ceiling for hours, it wasn’t that I had nothing to do, I just didn’t find anything worth doing. So all those times I was “bored”, there were a lot of them, it was the depression. Then the times I would be awake for sometimes days at a time, talking nonstop, feeling invisible, and running around like a child jacked up on sugar I see now that was the first signs of mania. And my parents didn’t really do anything cause they didn’t know anything about mental illness. As I grew I began acting out. 

My first time being in a mental hospital came when I was 12. I was bullied mercilessly at school and I wanted to kill myself. I told the counsel and she told my parents to take me down. I was there for a three day hold. It was at this time that I had my first prescription for zoloft. I released and looking back they released me cause I was happy. But I realize now that, because zoloft can do this (and has done it to me in recent years) when it’s by itself in bipolar people that it had sent me into a manic episode. But to my parents I was just really, really, really happy and after seeing my so miserable for so long they were happy too. 

The first doctor they took me to was a man. I don’t remember his name. But he misdiagnosed me (I don’t remember with what I was 12 and I am now 32 years old, it’s been a while.) and put me on a drug called neurontin. It seemed to work a while. But then something happened and I was hospitalized again. I don’t remember for what, but I am pretty sure it was suicide related. Anyway, the next time I saw him he says: “Well if she wanted to kill herself she would not have {don’t remember} instead she would have just taken down a while bottle of pills.” with me right there in the room. Parents were PISSED. Never went back to him. 

As they years went by things changed. For the worse. When I turned 14 my parents confessed to my that I was abandoned when I was three. I had always known that they were my grandparents, but they had raised me telling that my mother loved me, she just couldn’t take care of me. That fucked with my head. Although I understand why my parents lied, it still fucked me up mentally. This was also during a time I was being treated for anorexia. Which, I didn’t fucking have anorexia. I will live and die on that fucking hill. If anything they convinced me I had it and I went along with it so I could be done. I didn’t care about my weight. Yes, I ate once a day. I was in high school at the time and I’d rather hang out with my friends than eat. I passed out day three of High School and they did some tests and found that I had been “abusing laxatives” and concluded I had anorexia. No. When I was in fifth grade I was so constipated they had to stick a tube down my nose to give me some liquid super laxatives. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom for a couple days before I had passed out and took a bunch of them in fear that I would have to go through that again. That was just bad timing. But as you’ll learn it wasn’t the first time doctors have fucked me

As I grew older my bipolar worsened. I began being extremely impulsive and promiscuous with boys in my neighborhood. But because I hadn’t been diagnosed with anything my parents just thought I was just a rebellious teenager. My birth day, their son, had these issues too apparently so they had gone through this before. (btw he probably had bipolar too but never got diagnosed which is why he ended up killing himself but I’ll get to that in another post.) They tried buying books about misbehaving teens and sending me to a bunch of therapists. One fucking cunt even tried to tell them to send me to military school, which I swear to you, I would have killed myself. No I’m not being dramatic. I would have straight up killed myself in some dumb scheme to ‘get back at them’. 

When I was 15 they finally sent me to see female doctor. She diagnosed me after three visits. Got me started on some pills and I began to level out. Now I wasn’t exactly better, but I wasn’t jumping between depressed and mania constantly. I was still impulsive but not nearly as bad. But I had finally gotten a diagnosis. I still had to be hospitalized in a mental hospital and go to group therapy things but that’s just something I had to do. 

Fast forward to when I was 21. I wanted to kill myself. So again I was hospitalized. Also, when I’m hospitalized I’m usually pretty chill. I’m calm, respectful, and I listen and do whatever thing they need me to do. Enter Dr. Fuck Face. After reading my file, (not even talking to me.) I am called into a meeting with him and four other doctors. He looks at me, how calm I am. And he says to me: “I don’t believe you have bipolar, you just make terrible decisions.”  I blinked a few times and gave him a look of confusion. He had never met me before this moment. He only had read my file. I told him, “I don’t think that’s right.” he shook his head and said, “You don’t have bipolar.” and excused me. I left the room and I was released the next day. I had to go through a group therapy thing after that, and I told the woman doctor whet he had said. She shook her head in disbelief. 

The moral of today’s tale, Male doctors are full of themselves and if you’re a female and they say some stupid shit, get a second opinion from a female doctor.

#very long post #personal bullshit #I just had to get this out #you don't have to read it if you don't want to #tw: suicide #tw: anorexia #tw: bipolar #disability pride month #Nee's Bipolar Life: Part One

[plastic-portrait]

Hi I apologize if this adds to your workload, so feel free to ignore or so.. but I was wondering if you're still doing the writing prompts, 21 and 44 from the Hurt/Comfort for Sal and Larry? Thank you ♡

A common branSorry for being so late! This is actually an interesting combo of prompts, I had to think for a bit about how to do it. Hope you enjoy! Also TW, I’m not sure if this will be a trigger subject for any of you lovelies but I want to make sure I mention that this prompt contains mentions to things such as substance abuse. 

21: “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

44: “You’re burning up.”

(Larry’s POV)

I was pacing back and forth across my room, radio in hand. 

“Sal, answer me. Over.” God, it was the hundredth fucking time I’d said the exact same thing. Where was he? I hadn’t seen or heard from him in days. All I got from the others were shaking heads and shrugged shoulders. 

A click and static, then... not Sal. “Hey Larry, it’s Ash. Robert said he saw him come home with his dad two days ago. He went back to work but Sal never came out. Think you can check it out? I’d join you but I have to stay with my brother. Over.” 

I was both relieved and even more worried. This wasn’t what I had expected. “Thanks, Ash. I’m on my way now. Over and out.” 

I swear I’ve never burst into mom’s room like that before. She was confused, clearly, and asked what was up. 

“Can I borrow your keys?” I was out of breath for some reason. 

“Oh, honey, what for?” She sat up in her bed. 

I thought about telling the truth, but I wasn’t sure how that would go. “Sal’s dad is at work and Sal lost his key, so he can’t get into the apartment.”

“Oh, okay sweetie. They’re on the kitchen counter.”

“Thanks, mom. Love you!” I said, quickly running out the door. 

The elevator had never been this slow, had it? Every inch took hours in my mind, leaving me to worry if Sal was even here. Was I wasting time?

Finally, the doors opened. The hall was so empty, so quiet it almost hurt. I could’ve heard the rustling of the carpet if I stopped. I unlocked the apartment door. Walked inside. Nothing.

“Where are you? Tell me where you are Sal.” Normally he would’ve chuckled at my voice cracking like that. 

I looked around the rooms, finally making my way to his bedroom. Something hit the back of the door as I opened it, rattled. I saw a pile of tangled blue hair underneath the edge of the blankets on his bed. I shouted his name and ran over to him, turning him over. He was asleep. It was one of the very few times I had ever seen his face, scarred over with small round holes and larger scars, varying in shape and size like close-up freckles. His blue eye sat in a cup of water on his bedside table. 

I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. Fuck” I whispered under my breath. 

I shook him to try and wake him up. Nothing. His breathing was slow, barely there at all. I grabbed his phone and called for an ambulance. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” A woman spoke.

“I’m at the Addison Apartments, my friend has been missing for several days and I found him, he isn’t responding to me and he’s barely breathing.”

“I’m sending an ambulance to the location, sir. Can you stay on the line with me until they arrive?”

“Yeah, yeah I can stay,” I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder, and picked Sal up, carrying him out of the room. He was so much lighter than I remembered. 

When I turned to leave the bedroom, I saw what had hit the door on my way in. An orange bottle, with maybe two pills left inside. Several more empty bottles and one or two full sat on the bookshelf. 

“God damn it, Sal! What were you thinking?” I was sure he wouldn’t hear me, but that was the least of my concerns right now. As long as he made it, I didn’t care.

I waited with him on the front steps of the apartment building for the ambulance. They arrived quickly, and loaded him into the vehicle, with a respirator mask and all. I hadn’t seen them carry away someone alive before. Hopefully, Sal stayed that way. I sat in the ambulance with him, crying my eyes out and just wishing he would be okay. 

After he was settled in, a male EMT sat next to me with a clipboard and asked me what happened. I explained everything I knew. 

“Do you know which medications he had access to?” A lot, for sure. 

“Uh, I know he had a leftover Duragesic prescription, sertraline, Xanax, and um...” I stopped to think, remembering what Sal had told me each one was for. I had asked why he had so many once. “and I know he used doxepin. I think other than that it was just normal household stuff.”

The EMT wrote quickly. “Thank you sir, this helps us radio to the hospital so they’re ready when we get there. We are going to do everything we can.” He spoke to the other EMT, some things I didn’t really understand. 

I held Sal’s hand, which was extremely warm. “It’s gonna be okay Sal. I promise. You’re... You’re gonna be okay.” I couldn’t even see him through the tears in my eyes, just a blur of blue and white. 

When we got to the hospital, they put Sal on one of the rolling beds and they let me stay in the waiting room until he was treated. I wasn’t sure if it was hours or minutes before they let me see him. 

He turned to look at me, slowly. “Larry? What am... what are we doing here?”

“I found you in your room. It’s okay now, you’ll be okay and we’ll go home soon.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. “Why?”

“Why what, Sal?” 

“Why did you come find me?” He placed his hand on top of mine at the edge of the bed.

“Because I wasn’t just gonna let you die, man, you’re the best thing I’ve got here. I know there are things I’ll never know about your life. I don’t know what happened to you, why you have to feel like this every day. But...” I squeezed his hand gently, “But I’m here. I want to help, I know it doesn’t ever go away totally but I know it can get better. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

I could tell he was crying now. “I’m sorry, Larry. I shouldn’t have...”

“I know. I know. But we just have to move forward from here. I love you, man. We’ll get through this.” 

Our conversation was interrupted by a nurse, checking Sal’s vitals and anything else he needs.  “He’s stable and can be released tomorrow after overnight observation. His father has been notified and is on his way. You are welcome to stay as long as he allows it.” 

“Thank you,” I said, and she nodded to me as she left the room. 

I turned back to Sal. “After you come home, we can all get together and camp out in the treehouse. Mom will make us cookies. Sound good?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” 

We sat there together for most of the night, even when Henry showed up. I promised I would always be there for Sal, and I’ll be damned if I can’t keep that promise.

A/N: I hope you guys liked this one! I know it’s a bit dark but it’s just what I felt when reading these prompts. If you guys want something fluffier let me know!

For reference to understand why Sal would have these, the medications listed in this prompt: 

Duragesic: A brand of fentanyl that’s used to further treat pain after surgeries. Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid that is between 50 and 100 times stronger than morphine. It is prescribed by surgeons after major surgeries to treat extreme pain, or used for cancer patients. With Sal’s facial trauma he would likely have this or a similar prescription after his surgeries. 

Sertraline: A common brand of sertraline is Zoloft, it is a type of antidepressant used to treat PTSD symptoms. 

Xanax:  A common brand of alprazolam, it is used to treat anxiety and panic disorder, I’m guessing many of you already know what this is but just in case!

Doxepin: A common brand of doxepin is Prudoxin, it is used to treat anxiety, depression, and chronic insomnia or other sleep disorders. 

#sf #sf x reader #sf imagines #sally face #sally face x reader #sally face headcanon #sally face imagines #sal fisher #larry johnson #larry johnson x reader #sal fisher x larry johnson #sal x larry #salarry

[nandostateofmind]

Praying the Pain Away.....

Broken Hearted to Discover My Baby Has Anxiety....

Anxiety can be described as the body fight or flight reflex being out of wack. A physical response to a nerve issue. Having something that you were nervous about that you didn’t address directly and you bottled it up. Eventually that bottle becomes full and it manifests itself in the form of anxiety. A mental health issue bought about by not dealing with feelings and mad worse but technology in the form of cell phone addiction and constant dopamine hits from social media clicks. It claims millions of victims and now it has claimed one of those whom a hold most dear. My baby boy.

I suffered from anxiety bad, I had panic disorder. I was prescribed Xanax and Zoloft and never took them because i was afraid of needing them. So i suffered in silence. My wife works in the mental health field and particularly at that time she was dealing with severe crisis of mental health at work everyday. So many time speaking to her felt like describing an really bad paper cut to someone used to dealing with gun shot wounds in the ER. I walked around with a weighed vest of doom and gloom and i had a good time but underlying my good time was just under the surface a worry that at any moment the good times would be over and the anxiety would get me. Basically, i had anxiety about getting anxiety. I had a constant feeling of i was about to get jumped by a group of people but they never actually jumped out the bushes to beat my ass. That shit was life dampening. Made me hard to be around sometimes. I was in a panic and couldn’t mentally focus on feeling better and focus on let’s say my kids fighting at the same time without shouting and over reacting so i could hurry back to being back inside my head and worrying alone. I went to the hospital multiple times thinking i was dying from the anxiety causing chest discomfort so much so that i wrote letters to my family telling them how much i loved them in case i didn’t make it. Then while writing them i realized i couldn’t describe how much i loved them and i would only leave them wanting more and not being able to have the closure from me. I went into hiding mentally and emotionally. My family and friends helped me through it. I feel it as i write this reminiscing on what it felt like.

Then i got stomach surgery and started jiujitsu. My wife and i relationship improved from what was a dark period and i became me. Cured. The doctor cut out a huge portion of stomach and apparently he took the anxiety cells with him. I remember during those really dark times prayer harder than i ever prayed. Asking God to for help, with anxiety, with my marriage, with my family. I remember what the helpless feeling was like. Any time a friend tells me they have the issues i offer my ear and try to provide comfort to them because if there is anything i can relate to it’s that. I am now their comfort when they call. I’m proud to be on the other side. I no longer fear it i understand it and that understanding bought me comfort.

But.........here is my baby boy. Telling me of him having a belly ache and my misunderstanding him for over a month or two thinking he is expressing a need to use the bathroom or that he ate something that disagreed with him. Then Sunday came. I am having a cigar with friends at a cigar bar. Then he texts me dad i don’t feel good. I ask him what’s wrong and he finally explains in a way where i get it. He is feeling nervous he says and he doesn’t know why but it doesn’t go away and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel good because everything is fine. It clicked. I knew immediately he was describing in his 8 year old way anxiety. He FaceTimed me and began crying and i recognized the feeling of what he was experiencing.

I saw myself in the face of my sweet baby. I couldn’t have him suffer any moment longer. I immediately stood up apologIzed to my friends for my abrupt exit put on my coat and i ran. I ran across the boulevard in the rain. Through puddles wetting my feet i ran got into my car. I drove home as fast as i could. Speeding in the rain i couldn’t find a spot near the house i ended up parking three blocks away. I got out car. I started running the three blocks home no mask, fuck the mask til i got into the building and into the elevator with another family. As soon as the elevator door cracked open i began running again. I got into the apartment he was in my bed with my wife. Face down. Talking i guess. I grabbed him. I scooped him up and hugged him. My wife protested that she was talking to him but i couldn’t listen to it i needed to protect my little guy. I took him to his room i got him dressed and asked him could he accompany me to the store.

On the walk back and forth from the store we talked about what he was experiencing. I explained that everyone deals with it at some point in some form. I comforted him and he was okay for the moment. Crisis adverted. Then before bed he asked me to come speak to him because he felt uncomfortable and i had to give him the hard truth it may never go away. He can’t shrink away from it he kind of has to live in that pocket. I explain that it’s okay and never to hide from anything that frightens him. He sleeps.

Today he calls me and expresses that he is feeling the same way. He explains he doesn’t know why he is afraid but that he is panicked about the bus because one time the bus driver was sick and another driver didn’t know how to get to school. He freaked out, and hasn’t gotten over it. So i sat on the phone making a plan for him on what to do in every scenario of the bus gets lost, if I’m not at the bus stop upon his arrival, and every possible scenario. He got progressively more nervous and began crying. I calmed him, he was in the room alone worried sick. He has his plan he is calm enough for bed. My baby is sick just not physically. So he hangs up, i struggle to hold back tears empathizing with my baby’s feelings. I have a strained relationship with God. But it’s my son i have to swallow my pride and so i pray. I prayed to heal my son. I offer myself as a trade even though i know it doesn’t work that way. I say give me the pain again, give me the anxiety again, cure my baby and i will take it. I will take it for him. Let me bare the burden. I do the bid. That’s my baby. Hopefully this is some childhood regular stuff that passed like me being afraid of monsters under my bed. But until that can be seen to be the case. I will help, get him help from a therapist and finally i will pray. Pray the pain away offer myself as a sacrifice, please i just want my happy boy back.......

#newyorkcity #writersoftumblr #relationships #writer #love #writers #newyorican #puertorican #health #father #mentalstrength #mentally drained #mental heath awareness #mental health #anxious #xanax #zoloft #prayer #god #fatherandson #fatherhood #sacrifice #boricuaontumblr #anxiety #cure #faith #weight loss surgery #brazilian jiu jitsu #fighting

[flameontheotherside]

How Medications Put Me On My Spiritual Path Pt1

I was started on Zoloft in 2008/9. I was on full-blast manic because of it just months before Eriks death. For two months I was full speed ahead just going insane. I met some guy online who lived in Tampa. Remember I wrote that birthday letter for Erik in 2007 so for some time I wasn't looking anymore. I decided to go out and party with some guy and his friends for 2 weeks. I didn't even know him for a week.

I ended up on a train 4 hours north. Never got stoned before, tripped on "beans" for the first time. I also got drunk most of the time and went to my first industrial/metal club. Then I met Josh who was coincidentally in the same area I just was in. So the second time I went to Tampa was to literally hook up with him before moving in with him. But by the time I was living in Tampa, I stopped taking the zoloft because I didn't like feeling high like that for so long and it make me miss getting whatever kind of lay I was getting.

I got back on my meds when I moved back in fall of 09.

It was around August or September. Because it was still hot and humid. I was then put on Depakote, Zoloft and Trazadone. I was definitely not getting laid especially being back home.

The first interaction I think I got real sad and I wish that I had that journal. I wish I could remember WHEN it happened. But I was just laying in bed crying. Feeling it was over. Didn't know what it meant. I couldn't understand even though the psychic just a few months ago told me, "I'm so sorry for you loss, know that there's nothing you could have done." Like he sounded very remorseful and it scared me at the time. So much I cried.

Back then I didn't take psychics seriously.

Josh who is still a good spiritual friend of mine (he may come up to visit btw!) would talk about spiritual stuff. I feel bad now because I snubbed him every time he'd talk about his visions and what I regarded to be bullshit. That's probably why I never put two and two together. Even when I performed, the songs I chose didn't make sense. Instead of my usual stuff, it was shit like "Because of You" by that chick who won American Idol....Kelly Clarson! People knew me from contests and bars to song more upbeat metal and punk shit. NOT KELLY FUCKING CLARKSON! But I never thought anything of it. Josh and I broke up amicably.

From 2010 to 2012 I had been on that drug cocktail.

I started noticing that feeling of being watched. Never felt harmed or worried unless I smoked to much "weed". Things moved around me and I just explained it away in attempt to ignore it. But that one time a flower flew across me and to my room door while I was crying over that feeling my letter was forgotten. That the birthday letter was forgotten.

But at night I'd feel like I was being held by someone. It helped me sleep at night whenever I got scared. I would turn on uplifting music like enya or whatever and kept my lights on. Thats how I slept for a few years. Even when I was with my ex.

Then the dreams began.

😘💕 To be continued

#mediums #psychic #psychics #good music #my life #medications #birthday letter #enya #erik medhus #channeling erik #channelingerik #twinflames #twin flames #twinflame #twin flame #spiritual awakening #spiritual journey #ascension #incarnated alien #incarnated angel #incarnated angels #angels #spirituality #tarot readers #tarot reader #tarot community #twin soul #twin souls #channeling #chaneler

[charles195]

April 28th, 2017

Approximate date of when I lost my virginity. I was a senior in high school. I felt so consumed, like the Edible Woman. My mom yelled at me and said she wouldn’t pay for my college. Why the fuck did she say that? She didn’t even mean it and it was the start of the multiple panic attacks I had every day.

I asked for help. My therapist told me it was good I didn’t actually want to commit. I had a loose plan. I went to the doctor for antidepressants. Mistake. I said I had thoughts. Why would I ever think it was okay to tell someone my thoughts? I was locked away. It was “voluntary” until I wanted to leave and they put a 72 hour hold on me.

We had to do group therapy sessions and recreational activities for “points”. Of course I thought it was stupid. One of them was the thing where you put little colored hexagonal beads together to make a picture. “It’s a metaphor for taking small steps and creating something big and meaningful!” You wanna talk about metaphors? Let’s talk about this stupid mandatory activity is a metaphor for the system assigning arbitrary value to stupid shit to measure our compliance. Fuck it. I just made a dick. I love the ugly little distinct shape of a dick. I loved how inherently offensive it was.

I just wanted to draw or some shit. I had a headache. They wouldn’t give me painkillers. I was stuck in a mental hospital and they couldn’t give me painkillers, but they were okay with putting me on Zoloft and me asking for sleeping pills. They seemed to put everyone on Zoloft.

They actually did listen that time and gave us all pencils and paper to draw. How hard was that? Of course the other patients loved drawing. We couldn’t draw for shit of course.

I actually loved the Zoloft. The first time I took it, I was sitting on the floor outside of a door while we were waiting for some other activity and totally euphoric. Everything felt so good. Why did I have to be locked up just for some pills? My other friend mentioned afterwards that she was able to get medication for her bipolar disorder without getting locked up. It was definitely just because I had thoughts. Don’t trust dumbasses with your thoughts.

Masturbation got me through those three days. My first roommate asked me if I was okay when she noticed I was in the bathroom for a while. We were the same age, 17, and the oldest ones. She seemed so innocent. Her eyeliner was bad but I appreciated the effort she put in. We were all dressed in pajamas with the drawstrings taken out and uglyass blue socks with rubber anti-slip spots on the soles. I hate socks. I just want my feet to be free, man.

I fingered myself as much as I could when we had time to ourselves in our rooms. On the third day I couldn’t orgasm anymore. That’s when I hated Zoloft.

My first roommate was a stressed out top 10 student just like me. She was taking a shitton of IB classes. She applied for Cal Poly Pomona because she messed up on the UC application. She got in there. This year she announced she was transferring to UCLA. I loved her, she was so nice and kind hearted and she was the only one who I felt actually understood me. She was on Zoloft, too, and something else. She told me that Johnny Depp stayed in the same ward as us, too, back when it was a drug rehab center. Later I found a note int notebook from her written in secret code. We weren’t allowed to tell our names and addresses to each other in case one of us was too whack and was a murderer and liability issues. She left me her social media accounts in code. I still have her on Snapchat.

I was sad when she left but kinda excited to have the room to myself. Except we never exactly had privacy. A nurse would walk up and down the hallway periodically at night for checks. It was annoying as hell with their flashlight. I didn’t have the room to myself. My second roommate came during my huge mental breakdown.

She was a lot younger than me, but mature for her age. In a bad way. She was like 14 and said she had sex with her boyfriend. Like damn. Okay. She said she could see dead people but I wasn’t sure if she meant it or if she was just referencing The Sixth Sense. She told me she was taken forcefully and arrested by a police officer. She was a tiny 14 year old blonde girl and she was taken with force. What the hell.

She told me I wouldn’t get out if I was crying like that. She’s been in the mental hospital multiple times. She told me I had to fake progress. I told her she’s right. My first roommate mentioned the same thing.

One morning we sat together on the little seat thing at the window, and just stared out at the sky together. We weren’t allowed to go outside. Their excuse was that it was a temporary facility. That was why everything was so shitty.

When we were allowed to the actual hospital cafeteria “as a treat” instead of eating powdered eggs and other shit in the day room, she swore one of the boys from the other table was flirting with her. I couldn’t tell my eyesight wasn’t good enough. And didn’t she already have a boyfriend? What the hell?

We had “school”. We were watching a hockey movie while some lady paused occasionally and explained the significance of some scenes. Boring as hell. I don’t give a shit about sports. I had real school to return to, which I wouldn’t be able to return to for an entire month. I had AP exams to study for but I missed the AP government exam during those three days. I didn’t make it up. Studying was impossible with just textbooks. I needed my teachers to tell me what the hell the class was actually about. The month before the AP exam was the most important month in the entire school year. My learning was fucked but because I was a senior with panic attacks every single day, I was able given a passing grade. Reparation for the anxiety and depression that high school gave me. I had already been accepted into UCI.

On the third day I asked for the sleeping pills and knocked the fuck out. That was the start of my sleeping pill addiction. You can’t have panic attacks if you’re knocked the fuck out.

I was in the middle of fingering myself when I was told I could finally leave.

Some time later I finally stopped taking sleeping pills. Zzzquil was my shit. I had built up too much immunity. I was taking four at a time when two was supposed to be the max dosage.

As soon I turned 18, I had sex every day. Thanks Tinder. I couldn’t actually orgasm because of the Zoloft. But it just felt good to be penetrated really deep.

Timeline is bad, sorry. After I got out of the LLBMC, I fucked Andrew Mane. Actually that wasn’t his real name and I didn’t even realize that until much later when I looked in the yearbook. Oh my god I loved his big dick. I couldn’t cum so I faked it. It felt good. I thought I loved him. Silly me, I just loved dick. We only got to fuck a couple more time before he moved. What a guy. He was pretty whacky.

On the second day of LLBMC, I asked for my friend to visit. I chose him specifically because we marched together. We hummed the corps song together. It gave me hope. We were the last ones in the visitation room before hours ended and he had to go. He said he didn’t judge me. I believed him. I wasn’t a good friend to him. I regret that.

And then later I got into some sugar daddy stuff.

#drug abuse mention #psychiatric ward mention #self harm mention #suicicidal thoughts mention #me #comic #depression #the first half of a sandwich

[jawnjendes]

the fog will clear up | shawn mendes

chapter 13/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: sry its short and definitely a filler im sry its boring but it helps build up stuff thatll happen next ok ok im sry

*let me know if u wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist

Annalise woke with a start. She was wide awake immediately. There was no room for sleepily rolling around the sheets, her eyes weren't heavy like always. She didn't know what dying and coming back to life felt like, but she was pretty sure it felt something like that. She had a weird urge to go for a jog.

Staring at the ceiling, Annalise reached towards the nightstand next to her, intending to grab her phone. Her hand touched the bottle, and she picked it up anyway, reading the prescription label.

Annalise Flores SERTRALINE 50MG TABLET Brand name: Zoloft

"You don't waste anytime, huh?" she murmured before setting it back down. Then, she grabbed her phone and checked the time.

8:47am. A new fucking record. Annalise rolled out of bed, unable to stay still.

In the 2 hours she had to kill before work, she tidied up the dorm, ate a decent breakfast, took a shower, and got started on the course work she had to make up. The energy levels were through the roof, she had never been so on edge and productive at the same time. Why wasn't she put on sertraline sooner? Sure, she felt hyperaware and borderline anxious, but that was apart of the process of getting on a new antidepressant. She was getting things done this way. Sure, she jumped when the lock on the door jiggled, but she was up and running anyway!

If she wasn't, she wouldn't have seen Stella entering the dorm. She was surprised to see Annalise on the couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

"Oh… I thought you were asleep. I'll, uh, I'll come back."

"No, wait!" Annalise sounded a little too frantic, but it did stop Stella from leaving. "Uh, come sit down! Please!"

Stella narrowed her eyes slightly as she went to the couch. At least she was willing to listen.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," Annalise began, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm sorry for what I said. A stupid guy isn't the only good in my life. I have you. You matter to me, and I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't." She really couldn't stop herself from rambling. "I miss you. I miss seeing you here between classes, and I miss your optimism because a bitch could use some of that. And, and I'm sorry for the negativity I've brought in here. I'm working on it now, I swear. Just… come back. Come home… because bro, you're my wife, dude."

It could have been funny, but there was nothing funny about the way she said it. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and she was rubbing her hands together. Stella merely blinked her hazel eyes, nearly overwhelmed by that string of words.

"Look at you, expressing your emotions," she said after a while. "I can see why you hold it back."

Annalise nodded rapidly. "It's my first day on a new medication. Got me all sorts of hyped up, but I'll mellow out in a couple of weeks. And I'm taking therapy seriously again!"

Stella was surprised. "Oh, I see. Well… I've missed you too. Bro…"

"Bro?"

"I'll come home too. Camila's bed is too small for the two of us."

"Bro…"

"I know. I have to update you on all that."

"Br-"

"Okay!" Stella broke out a smile and stood up. "Dame un abrazo, puta."

That was much easier than Annalise had anticipated. She stood up and hugged her best friend, relieved. Stella wasn't one to hold a grudge, nor was she as stubborn as her roommate. It was another person to cross off the list.

~

Shawn had social media mainly to get his music out there. Yes, he interacted with his friends on Snapchat, and some fans on Twitter. Most of the time, Shawn just tweeted when he had new music coming out. He didn't check any of his social media very often, not even to stalk Ann's accounts because she was rarely on her's. He didn't even have his notifications on, purely to keep himself from the possibility of getting too attached to the opinions of random strangers online.

That was why he woke up that morning to a number of texts from Camila.

"SHAAWWNWNN"

"SHAWN IM LKTERSLLY BALD RN"

"CHEKC UR TWITTER RIGHT NOW!!!!!!"

"YOIR FOLLOWERS!!! AAHSKSKSK"

"SKSKSK SHAWNMM IM SCRAMING"

So to Twitter he went. Shawn rubbed sleep out of his eye as he went to his profile. He had around 10k to begin with, that he built up on his own over the last couple of years. He nearly dropped his phone on his face as he read the new number.

50.2k

"What… the fuck?" he breathed out as he sat up in his bed. He scrolled through the list, making sure this wasn't a series of spam bots.

His mentions were just as wild, and it explained the sudden blow up.

@hollaestor: @shawnmendes hiii bella told me to follow you

@samxriv: @shawnmendes i am free to hang out on tuesday to hang out when i am free

@gisellenjh: @shawnmendes bella sent me here and im glad she did! loving your music!

And there were plenty more like that. There were so many tweets, Shawn couldn't even get through all of them. It was making his head spin. There was only one Bella he knew about too… He just couldn't spell her last name. Thankfully, her handle was just @bellasanti, and it was the first one to pop up when he typed it in the search bar.

Right under Bella Santiago's name and the blue checkmark were the two little words: Follows you. Shawn refreshed the page ten times before it sank in. This YouTuber, who has over 2 million followers, somehow found Shawn's music… and she liked it. She liked it enough to tweet about it… 3 days ago.

@bellasanti: underrated spotify artists: @shawnmendes. give him a listen. send him some love. truly talented guy💖

Shawn had only overheard Bella's videos when Ann was watching them in the other room. He never really watched any of her content. But he wanted to pass out at the fact that she took the time to listen to his music and tweet about him. He wanted to jump on the bed. He wanted to call-

He texted Camila back. "Wtf why did no one tell me sooner?? This is so crazy!!!!!"

"We thought you knew and you were keeping it from us!! LMAO congrats rockstar!"

He couldn't believe it. His follower count was rising. He was getting emails from Spotify saying his songs were being added to many different playlists.

@shawnmendes: @bellasanti wow thank you so much! Love you bella❤

He deleted the last bit before tweeting it. Holy shit. Shawn lied back down on the mattress, completely breathless.

How does someone like Bella Santiago find Shawn out in cyberspace? What Spotify rabbit hole did she go down that led her to him? How many of his songs did she listen to? How many songs did she save to her library? How many of those playlist emails were from her? Shawn had so many questions.

~

There were two things Annalise noticed when she was out on the courtyard after Biology. The first thing was a table on the side of the walkway, with a handmade banner hanging off the front. It read in big letters: Shawn Mendes: Live at The Cameron House. Brian, Alessia. and Camila were all sat on the same side at this table, talking to a student who was interested in the little display.

"The lounge called back," Annalise muttered to herself.

The other thing Annalise noticed was Patrick sitting under a tree nearby, reading a book. She went to him first.

The last time she had spoken to Patrick was when they cut up flowers together. He was never one to explicitly state when something has upset him, and he has seen Annalise in a depressive episode before. Annalise knew him well. Patrick kept his distance because he didn't like the negativity around her, and he couldn't afford any more of it himself.

"Hey," she greeted.

His blue eyes tore away from his book to meet her gaze. "'Sup?"

"Trying to be less fucked in the head," she told him.

Patrick nodded in approval. "Cool."

That was all that was needed for the two of them. Content, Annalise turned and went for the table. A small line had formed when she wasn't looking, so she waited behind the last person. However, with three people running the thing, Annalise got to the front fairly quick.

"Oh, she actually showed up," Brian chimed, amused.

"Meaning?" Annalise asked.

"Thought you were too pissed at Shawn to care about his show, that's all."

She swallowed the pit of annoyance, discovering that even more people knew about that. Brian is his friend, though, of course he'd know.

"Selling tickets or something?" Annalise turned her attention to the two girls.

"Yeah! Ten dollars a piece!" Alessia explained.

"Cool, I'll take one."

Just as she opened the flap on her book bag, Camila spoke up.

"Wait. I'm pretty sure Shawn said he wanted to buy you your ticket himself."

Annalise rolled her eyes. "Well, he's not here and I can do things for myself." She pulled out her wallet and paid her own goddamn ticket.

Camila breathed out a laugh. "Are you ever gonna let him do anything nice for you?"

None of your fucking business.

A new thought occurred to Annalise. "Why are tickets being sold for this show? Aren't his gigs usually free?"

"There's more production going into this one," Brian told her. "The lounge gave him the option to make it a ticketed event, and we need to make back what we already put into it. So now, it won't be a performance, it'll be Shawn's performance."

Shawn already knew how to make an audience his bitch, but…

"Alright then." Annalise shrugged and then accepted her ticket and receipt from Alessia.

The ticket alone was already quite extravagant. There were little red roses designed around the edges. This boy really loved his fucking flowers.

"I'm guessing rose petals will fall from the ceiling or something?" she guessed with a chuckle.

"I was given strict orders to not spoil anything," Brian told her, folding his arms.

The two had a mini staredown until Annalise shrugged again. "Whatever."

Then, Camila piped up again, suddenly excited. "Ooh, Ann did you hear? Bella Santiago followed Shawn on Twitter!"

"She what?" Annalise stupidly replied.

Camila practically squealed. "She gave him a shoutout too! He's blowing up on Spotify! Isn't that awesome?"

Annalise wanted to say something, but her brain wasn't quite caught up yet. So she just walked away.

The other three students watched her leave. Needless to say, they were confused.

"Is she ever gonna be happy for him?" Alessia wondered.

"I think she was excited?" Camila said tilting her head.

"I can't believe Shawn is going through all this trouble for that," Brian said with a scoff.

"I can still hear you!" Annalise called over her shoulder as she kept walking.

All three of them went red in the face, embarrassed. Brian would have made a comment about her being a vampire with supersonic hearing, but he didn't want to be called out again.

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou  @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @goldenmndes @shawnvvmendes @shawnsunflower @shawmndes @ruinhoney @someoneunimportantxx @calyumthomas @yourdeflightfullyleft @havethetimeeofyourlifee @wronglanemendes @chillingbythesea @softmendesss @mutuallynotmutual

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x goth gf #aahhhh its so short n boring im so srryyy

[morethanithoughtofficialblog]

Chapter 13: I'm sad because I'm depressed and I'm depressed because I'm sad.

In which Sans remembers why he doesn’t talk about his feelings anymore.

*Sans's POV*

"Do you, by any instance, have suicidal thoughts?"

"i... not that often"

"But you have?"

"i would be lying if i say no"

Papyrus asked (Y/N) yesterday God-knows-what and he ended up knowing what a psychiatrist and a psychologist are, and here I am, talking with a psychiatrist. My brother said that it would be better if I had a new treatment started by a professional on the topic and not by a random monster that calls itself a doctor. Considering that in the Underground we only had general doctors, it was difficult to talk about these matters and get the help needed. Therefore, this seemed like a better option.

Papy spent the night (and this morning) looking for the best option to me, considering that discrimination it's still present. And so he went, asking multiple people if they were open to listen a depressing skeleton being depressed (he obviously didn't say it that way... I think). And so he finally found someone willing to help me, and we head off as soon as possible (hell, we didn't even eat... should I say I'm hungry?)

"Do you have a specific plan to commit suicide, Sans?"

"uh... no?"

"YOU DON'T SOUND SO SURE, BROTHER"

"it's just... i haven't thought about it that deeply. i just sometimes think that i want to disappear and that's it. no idea how, no idea when. just disappear.

"I see..."

The old man went over his little notebook and wrote something down. He was bald and had a white beard almost as pale as my skull, and had a sternum and serious look behind his rectangular glasses. He would be intimidating... if he wasn't a psychiatrist willing to help a monster. How bad could this man possibly be?

"Sans, do you sleep well? And I mean at nights"

"no, sir. i haven't been sleeping well since last year. i mean, i can easily fall asleep, but it's difficult to me to stay that way."

"I see, do you nap at day?"

"heh, a lot if you ask my brother"

"Ok..."

I freaked out for a moment, returning to an odd silence only filled by the sound of his pen writing down my weirdness. I became nervous, not knowing what he was going to ask next. But, honestly, I've been kind of unused to these unpredictable events the Surface has to bring. I was used to hearing the same dialogues and to say the same jokes, but know... everything it's fresh and new. It's scary, but quite a reliever.

"Ok Sans, do you by any chance have any specific dreams or nightmares?"

I froze and cough out the water I was drinking in shock. A quick flashback of the "Genocide Run" went all over my mind, the part of my brother dying repeating itself horribly. The empty look of that kid, the Judgement Hall being my new space... the kid giving up and resetting in front of my eyes, not before giving me a vengeful look.

"Sans? It's okay if you don't want to talk about it yet, but I need to know..."

I sighed, knowing that it was for the best. If I want to enjoy the future, I have to get rid of this fucking trauma.

"i... i do have specific dreams, sir. nightmares, actually. i... i don't want to mention them right now"

Papyrus let out a sigh in disappointment and I gave him a weak smile. I know he always wanted to know what's on my mind... but I just couldn't tell him at that moment. He smiled back to me, making me feel less pressured.

"Don't worry, Sans. We'll go step by step, no need to run all over the details. Still, the fact that you've been having constant nightmares of the same topic it's quite alarming, that's why I needed to know"

He then picked a piece of paper and scribbled some things down.

"This is for the drug store..."

He picked another one, not before drawing a small asterisk on the top.

"And this one is for you"

He then gave me the two pieces of paper and I glanced over them with Papyrus, curious about the medicines.

"In order to deal with your depression, Sans, you'll take a pill of Prozac (or fluoxetine) every morning, okay? I'll determine later for how much time"

We nodded, then glanced again at the paper, reading the next medicament.

"For your insomnia, Sans, you'll take a pill Restoril (or temazepam) every night before going to sleep. This is one of the best pills to not only falling asleep but also keeping you that way"

Before I could even nod, I noticed an uneasy look in the doc's face. I raised an... eyebrow, startling him for a second.

"I'm sorry" he stated, then sighed.

"IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG, DOCTOR?"

"Nothing it's just... the fact that Sans is having constant nightmares worries me. Do you also have constant flashbacks of said events?"

I slowly nodded, and his face got worst.

"DOCTOR? IS IT REALLY THAT BAD?"

"No, it's just... it breaks my heart to know that the Underground may not have been a better place than the Surface"

A better place?

"what do you mean, sir?"

"..."

He just sighed and gave me an apologetic smile, trying his best not to break down. I noticed he was on the edge of tears, and I felt panic running all over my body.

"Sans, there's a high chance you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or for short, PTSD"

"PTSD?"

"Yes, it's kind of a serious condition to deal with. It shows that Sans had a really traumatic event in his life, and it may seem impossible for him to have a normal life with all the fear he gained from that moment. Or am I wrong, Sans?"

I shook my head, and he gave me a sad smile. Just as he said, just as it is. I never thought it would be that serious, though.

"You'll take Zoloft (or sertraline) for that, Sans... but I also recommend you to go to a psychologist. I can directly put you an appointment with a friend of mine if that's what you want. What do you say? He'll be more than open to hearing your case"

Papyrus nodded excitedly, while I was not too sure. I felt like my normal balance would break down if I started to go to therapy... but then I looked to Papyrus again. I don't want him all worried about me, I want him to have a normal life. And for that, I also need to form a normal life myself.

"sure, may we have the address?"

"Sure, I'll give you an e-mail with it"

We gave the doctor a quick goodbye and a thank you, then head off to our home. I insisted to Papyrus that we could eat something first and relax, then go to the drug store. He groaned slightly and muttered a "lazybones" but took my offer.

When we arrived, though...

"Hello, my children! Where were you?"

Oh fuck.

I glanced over the living room and saw our small group of friends gathered cozily, including an almost smashed (Y/N), an annoying flower screaming, a suspiciously staring father, and more!

...I gulped, knowing I could never say the truth. (Y/N) is a new person in my life, the flower is a bitch, my father is another bitch, Undyne doesn't take anything seriously, Alphys takes everything seriously, Frisk is a dirty betrayer, Toriel worries too much, Asgore would go and make everyone check themselves with the therapist, Mettaton would go and check himself with a therapist, Napstablook would feel all sorry, and Arial would be highly disappointed.

...

Saying the truth sounds pretty awful at this point.

"OH, WE WERE AT THE DOCTOR, MOTHER!"

Oh crap

Papyrus seemed to notice my signal of begging help and came to the rescue immediately, never mentioning anything about a psychiatrist.

"SANS, BEING ALL STUPID, GOT SOMETHING STUCK IN HIS CHEST AGAIN!"

Ouch.

"yep. guess i need some spare ribs at this point, huh?"

Everyone groaned and so I successfully got away from the problem. I tried my best to keep my cool, but I easily spaced out a couple of times and ended up startling myself. They were doing rounds in Super Mario Bros., and (Y/N) seemed to be an expert on it, considering she was on World 6.

"Oh c' mon, when are you going to die?!" Flowey annoyingly exclaimed, foreshadowing a bit. I almost smacked him over before I saw Toriel's face, then I lost myself again on the videogame.

(Y/N) continued playing until arriving at the final castle. Surprising, to say the least. Everyone else was getting enthusiastic about her defeat, but it never happened. Instead, (Y/N) went to play all over again, making everyone groan.

"Oh my God, let us play as well!" Undyne roared, giving a death glare to the older human.

"You said you wanted me to prove how good I am..." She innocently answered, putting the controller aside.

"Ok, you've already proven yourself. Now, please, give us a chance this time" Frisk sighed in defeat, feeling vulnerable and probably fooled.

"Ok!" (Y/N) cheerily got up from the couch, then waved at Papyrus and me "Hi guys! Anything serious happened?"

Shit.

"IT'S NOTHING THAT CAN'T BE HANDLED, HUMAN!"

"I'm glad, how do you feel Sans?" She looked at me worried and made me feel like the worst person on Earth.

A huge part of me wanted to say the truth and confess my problems at that moment, but that was me feeling horrible. I always hated lying, but that's what my life has come to. At this point, I can barely feel sorry for lying...

Except on this topic.

I've always been sensitive with this stuff, and that's how Papyrus ended up knowing. It has become something really messed up that I want to let all the people I care about that I'm not okay. I want them to help me feel complete again. To feel safe. To have hope.

"Sans?"

"HUMAN... SANS... IS IT OKAY FOR YOU IF I TELL HER WHAT'S GOING ON? I TOLD HER SOME THINGS YESTERDAY AND SHE WAS REALLY COMPREHENSIBLE. BESIDES, MAYBE SHE CAN HELP US MORE WITH THE SUBJECT!"

I glanced over her, and she gave me a small and recomforting smile. Out of all the people, I never knew she would be one of those who know what's going on.

"If you don't want me to, Sans, I understand. Just know I'm here to support all of you, ok? And don't take that as an associate... but as a friend. I'm more than willing to help you out in any way I can... but that depends on you"

A deep pain went all over my soul, but then I nodded. If she was so understanding as Papyrus said she was when she heard what problem I have... maybe telling her a bit of detail won't hurt.

"we'll tell ya later, ok? now it's a little bit crowded"

"I understand, thanks for trusting me"

"thanks to you, kiddo"

Thanks to you...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Your POV*

It was a while after the small gathering ended, everyone having to go earlier than expected. I already attended my work-hunting business and find a convincing and small company. I sent them an e-mail, and so I'm waiting for them to text me back. But for now, more important things were on my head.

I feel really sorry about Sans's case, and how desperate Papyrus seemed yesterday when he told all about it. I suffer from some things as well, and I know it isn't easy. It's never easy to deal with yourself...

"HUMAN, SANS, SHALL WE DISCUSS NOW OUR LITTLE SECRET?"

Sans chuckled a bit and I nodded, preparing myself from what I was about to hear.

"OK, SO... YOU REMEMBER THE TALK WE HAD YESTERDAY, RIGHT HUMAN?!"

I nodded again, and he smiled and reassured his brother that he was in good hands. I giggled softly, and the short skeleton just scratched the back of his head out in embarrassment.

"I FOLLOWED YOUR ADVICE, AND I TOOK SANS TO THE MOST ACCESSIBLE PSYCHIATRIST I COULD!"

I smiled, glad that Sans accepted any help.

"What did the doctor diagnosed you, Sans?" I asked, hoping he would be the one answering me this time. After all, this is Sans's main problem, not Papyrus's. He tensed up a little but quickly relaxed as he remembered the presence of his brother there. He took enough courage silently, then spoke with that characteristic deep voice of his.

"depression, insomnia, and... well, something called ptsd, which is-"

"PTSD?!" I interrupted abruptly, not believing what my ears just heard. Sans having depression is hard to admit, but PTSD? Oh lord, what has this poor guy endured in his young life?

"uh... yeah, i... eh..."

Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap.

"Nonono, don't think that way, Sans. It's just... a bit surprising, coming for you. I never expected you to have such a problem, but I guess appearance is quite a bi... beach."

"BEACH?"

"Uh, yeah..." Please come with a good excuse, (Y/N) "You know, beaches may be all pretty on the photos, but the dangerous creatures and natural phenomenons they bring show that they are not that perfect. I guess that's the same for Sans. He easily can go on and hide perfectly with jokes and laughs, but that doesn't mean he's that careless nor happy on the inside... sorry for putting you that way, Sans"

"it's okay kid, i think i get it" he jokingly winked at me, noticing what I was going to say at first. I sighed, feeling pretty stupid at this point.

"Anyways... what has the doctor prescribed you, Sans?"

"this thing called 'prozac', another one called 'restoril' and the last one being 'zoloft'..."

Huh, I have all of those at home.

Maybe I can give him some, considering I have a ton of them...

"HUMAN! SANS MAY BE ON TREATMENT AND ALL, BUT I DON'T WANT YOU TO THINK LESS OF HIM! HE'S AN EXCELLENT MONSTER, EVEN IF HE'S WAY TOO LAZY, BUT HE'S A GOOD BROTHER!"

I saw a slight hint of blue hue spread all over Sans's cheekbones, and I assumed it was blush. I smiled softly, knowing that would be the kind of brothership I would want. Instead, I had the goddamn curse to have no brothers or sisters, and here I am. Alone.

"I would never think less of anyone by this reason, Papyrus" Then I came up with a wild idea, but that mind instantly approved. My smile grew bigger, and I continued "Actually, now that you're confessing me something quite touchy... I guess I should do the same. It may help you to feel a bit more comfortable, Sans"

He raised an eyebrow and I returned to my soft and small smile, preparing myself...

Now that I was thinking about it, it was a bad idea. It was a bad idea to show my weak points, to show my problems, and to show how vulnerable I actually am. But that didn't stop me. And it will never do.

"I... besides from dealing with, well, anxiety, I also suffer from depression..." His eyes widened and tensed up, staring at me with the same shock I felt when he mentioned PTSD. I continued "I have insomnia as well, and... a psychiatrist said I probably had PTSD, considering some constant dreams I have..."

"i... how?"

What?

"i mean, how can you have all those things and still want to help others instead of yourself?"

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Then I sighed with a smile on my face, trying to feel as confident as I could.

"Making others happy is what makes me happy, Sans. And that's what I need the most..."

"To be happy"

#sans x reader #sansxreader #more than i thought fanfiction #more than i thought #chapter 13 #sans #x reader #undertale

[liltcm]

hylandtask001

lillian christine thomas: sept. 5th, 2019

“Hello, Ms LILLIAN THOMAS. My name is Detective Booth and I’m handling this case. I don’t need to go into details; you know why you’re here, and we already have you down as a suspect in her death. We’ve got witnesses to corroborate and a budding timeline, but we need more information from you directly. Make my day easier and cooperate with me on this, will ya’? I just need you to answer these questions for me. Do me a favor and don’t lie – you’re talking to a trained professional right now, I’ll be able to pick up on certain things whether you realize it or not. Lying will only come back to bite your ass later on. Just some food for thought. Let’s begin.

Lil did not want to talk to these people. She thought about her court hearing with Dominique; a charge for attempted murder only amounting to a shitty ten-day restraining order. She was livid, and didn’t want to cooperate. This was now the third time she’d been in a room like this, and she was getting sick and tired of it. She said nothing to his initial greeting, arms crossed over her chest, clearly irritated that this was happening.

Q: I’m gonna’ start light. I hate interrogators who go straight into the hard stuff, ya’ know? I find it impolite. So, tell me a little about yourself. Give me your full name.

“I’m Lillian Christine Thomas. I go to Hyland University, I’m a dance major and cultural anthropology minor. I work at the library so I don’t have to talk to people, and I’m president of Hyland Dance Alliance.”

Q: Alright. Tell me your date of birth and age.

“October 31st, 1999. I’m twenty going on twenty-one. How old are you?”

He laughed lightly, and she didn’t laugh back. He took that as a cue to continue.

Q: Where did you grow up? What was your home life like? Tell me about your family and your upbringing. Give me your story.

“I lived in Crystal Lake with my mom and dad for a while and then moved here to Chicago when they split. They had split custody so I was always going back and forth. Mom got remarried when I was seven to this Asian lady that I’d thought was my godmother. Life with moms was cool but dad was a little weird to be around; I think he resented my mom and I have her face. I have an older brother Charlie, who was mostly nice to me but still picked on me like a normal older brother. I danced. A lot.”

Q: Tell me about the most impactful people in your life. I’m not picky – they can be good or bad impacts.

“My sophomore year biology teacher pulled me aside to talk to me about how I was doing when I clearly wasn’t doing alright. I wasn’t raising my hand in class anymore even though I clearly loved science, I could hardly stay awake, and I never turned in homework on time. She was the only person to notice or ask me and just didn’t assume I was lazy.”

“Other than that, I would say... my dad. He’s a CEO and is on his second wife since divorcing my mom. We had a falling out when I came out of the closet to him, and things still aren’t fixed. But it’s more complicated than that, now. I think we were closer when I was younger, but age just divides people, I guess. Still, he’s had the most impact on me lately, so.”

Q: What are your goals in life? What would be your ideal final ending? What would help you reach these goals?

“Uh... I guess I just want to dance. If I could dance until I died I would. Like those people in France. They did that, right? The French? Diagnose me with that.”

Q: How would you describe yourself?

“Prickly. Dynamic. Harsh. But reliable, a team player. I’m good at understanding people but don’t have the patience to layer everything I say with bubble-wrap.”

The investigator, Booth, very badly covered a snort. Lil wasn’t trying to hold any barres; fuck these guys. They could interrogate her as much as they wanted and she’d still tell them the same things.

Q: What do you do in your free time? What’s your idea of fun? What sports or extracurriculars are you in at Hyland University?

“I dance in my free time. Dancing is my idea of fun. A good birthday party is my idea of fun. Pokemon. Normal shit. Fuck sports, but I do watch games sometimes to support friends even if I’m bored.”

Q: Do you drink? Smoke? Take drugs of any kind? Answer carefully on this one, kid.

“Do you count Zoloft? Because if you do then we’re probably going to have a problem.” 

Q: Tell me about the relationships in your life. Friendships, romantic, everything in between. 

“Romantic? None. Friendships... I’ve been friends with Caroline Kinsey since we were just being freed from the duck-foot trap that are diapers. We’re not particularly close but she’s been there long enough that I consider her important.”

“Reid Garwin gets on my nerves but he trusts me enough to have the key to his apartment for some reason and I’m planning on leaving a dog at his place. Is that a crime? Is that reverse stealing?”

Q: What’s the best thing that has ever happened to you? What’s the worst?

“My best moments happen on stage. Every time I can possibly think of I’m surrounded by all of the people that share my passion and support me and move with me.” 

The detective seemed warmed by this, which is why she decided to attack him next.

“Both of the worst things that ever happened to me are probably in your fucking case file on me, considering I went to court for both of them. Thanks a whole lot, by the way. Fucking ace detective work, pretending giving someone something they’re allergic to and then literally stabbing them in the chest with an EpiPen isn’t attempted murder or at least assault. How much did Daddy pay you? This department is a little bitch. I bet if Morgan’s parents were paying you that much the case would be “solved” by now.” 

His pleasant expression wiped clean off of his face. If he was going to try to incriminate her then she was going to shove blame right back onto him. “That case is closed.” He couldn’t say shit because Lil knew she was right. They both knew. Fucker.

Q: Let me throw in a fun one, lighten up the mood. Would you rather only be able to tell the truth or only be able to lie?

“The truth. Lying is stupid.”

He made a mark with his pen and Lil wondered what it was. The question was stupid, too. “I could’ve guessed that.” He admitted.

Q: Did you kill Morgan Parrish? 

“I don’t see my lawyer around so I elect to say nothing on that.” 

Q: Let’s get some background information on this. How do you know Morgan Parrish?

“We had the same freshman seminar class. We hit it off because we both liked to talk shit about people.” 

Q: Explain the extent of your relationship with her. Was it platonic? Civil? Rocky? Romantic?

“Rocky and romantic. We dated for a while, but it didn’t always feel like dating. Have you seen those kinky porn videos where people get vibrators tied to them and they just have to sit there and suffer until they cum? That’s how it felt with Morgan, emotionally and physically. Suffering and catharsis until you’re kicking and screaming.” 

The detective pulled a face of distaste; obviously, it was too much information but that was honestly how Lil would describe it. “What? Squimish, detective? I would’ve thought you’d heard everything by now.” 

Q: In your own words, describe Morgan Parrish to me.

“A self-serving, lying, cheating, manipulative bitch. Do you want me to elaborate?” 

Booth inhaled a deep breath, and if this were any other setting Lil would’ve been satisfied that she was aggravating him this much. She must be the most insufferable person he’d ever interrogated. 

Q: Would you say your life got better or worse upon meeting Morgan Parrish?

“Sometimes it was worse, sometimes it was better, sometimes it was the same. You’re asking a lot of leading questions. You do realize humans are complex beings with complicated feelings? Or do you treat everyone that walks in here like a lizard person?”

Booth threw his pen onto the table, scrubbing his eyes with his hands and sitting up in his seat, staring at Lil with a stern expression on his face. “Miss Thomas-”

“It’s Lil.” 

He ignored her. “Miss Thomas, you do understand that this is a serious investigation and that it would be in your best interest to answer these questions seriously and honestly.” 

Lil sat up in her seat, leaning on the table. “What makes you think I’m not being serious? Was it my laughter? Or did my smile give it away?” she hadn’t given even a hint of a smile in three days, much less in this fucking room. “Do you want me to pretend this is a pleasant conversation? I don’t want to talk to you or even fucking look at you. I’m answering your questions. What else do you want?” 

“Some respect would be nice.” 

“You haven’t earned any.” 

They both stared at each other hard. He slouched back into his chair, picking up his pen and fiddling with it before looking back down at his questions.

Q: What was your favorite thing about her?

“She was transparent. She knew who she was and owned up to it. I admired that about her.”

Q: What was your least favorite thing about her?

“She was cruel and mean and only cared about herself. Next?”

Q: Where were you the night of her murder?

“I don’t remember for sure. I want to say at rehearsals? They take attendance if you want to get that deep.” 

Q: Where were you the day before?

“To be real with you probably the same place. Or at work or something.”

Q: Where were you after?

“Do you mean when they found her body? I don’t know. I saw it on the news while at school, eating lunch in the union. Needless to say I threw it up.”

Q: How did you feel about her passing?

“At the time I was just scared and freaked out. You don’t expect that kind of stuff to happen to people you know.” 

Q: What do you think about the way she died? Just as a refresher, Morgan Parrish was drugged, strangled, beaten, and then shot.

“What do you mean what do I think? Do you want me to give my expert analysis since you guys haven’t had luck finding the killer yet? Either someone’s just demented as all fuck or they really hated her. Maybe both.”

The eye contact was intense but Lil didn’t back down from it. She supposed his approach to her sass was just going to be ignoring it from here on out.

Q: Did you make any sort of tribute to her death and put it on social m-

Lil’s answer would’ve been a huge big fat no, if she’d had time to answer the question, but then someone else was opening the door to the room she was in.

Another interrogator walks into the room. She’s holding a folder with your picture clipped to the front. She opens it in front of Detective Booth and whispers something into his ear. He shoots you a look and then excuses himself from the room. He returns twenty minutes later, features stony. He quickly writes something down on his notepad and then caps the pen.

Lil’s anxiety spiked, even though she knew they were trying to make her nervous on purpose. She’d been through this already, and she knew that she couldn’t slip up, and that she shouldn’t lie. She just hoped she didn’t lie inadvertently. 

Q: Change of plans. I’m going to scrap the questions I had prepared and ask you what I see fit. Where were you exactly the night Morgan Parrish died?

“I already told you I was probably at rehearsals. April is when technical rehearsals kick up so I was probably at light tech.”

Q: Tell me all the details you can remember from that night.

“Uh. Assuming I’m correct about being at rehearsals, I would’ve been there at around 8pm and would’ve gotten out at around 10pm. Probably went to get food with my roommate really late at a drive-thru.”

Q: Were you intoxicated at any point?

“No.”

Q: Are there any witnesses able to corroborate your story?

“Over ten people, so yeah.” 

Q: I feel like you’re leaving things out. Tell me all the details you can remember from that night.

The berating was grating on Lil’s nerves. What did they want from her? A confession? “I woke up at five am to get to work by six, because I always work at six. Worked for a few hours, went to my first class - I don’t remember which class it was so don’t fucking ask, thanks. Then I would’ve gotten food until my next class, and then eaten again and done homework in the library until I had rehearsals. And then you already know the rest.”

Q: … are you telling me the truth, kid? We got six other students we’re talking to today – sure would suck for you if one of ‘em was able to prove that something you’re saying is false. 

“You’re asking me questions about something that happened over a year ago. Maybe you should do your job better and get on it faster and then maybe you’d get an exact account. If something I said ends up not being true it’s not because I did anything wrong on purpose. Fuck you.” 

He was trying to scare her into saying something and she wasn’t going to have it. 

Q: What was the last thing you said to Morgan?

“Probably that I fucking hated her guts. Why?” 

Q: Have you ever gotten into a physical altercation with Morgan before?

“Yeah? And?”

Q: Have you ever fought verbally with Morgan?

“What the fuck do you think?” 

He cleared his throat, and Lil looked away from him with an eye-roll. 

Q: Would you say you felt safe around Morgan?

“No. Fuck Morgan.”

Q: Do you wish you had never met Morgan?

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

Q: Do you own a gun?

These were the questions Lil hated. Morgan had been treated horribly before she died, but the nail in the coffin had been a bullet, and Lil had been trying hard not to think about it.

“No.” 

Q: Have you handled a gun before?

“Yes.”

Q: Do you know someone who owns a gun?

“Yes.” 

Her grandparents owned one and so did her dad. She’d shot before at the lake house, blasting cans off of the dock with her brother.

Q: Have you gotten into physical fights before?

“I know for sure that there’s shit in your file telling you I have so I don’t know why you even have to ask that fucking question but go off I guess.”

She was just tired and she didn’t want to be there anymore. She was ready to go home.

Q: Is there anyone who can prove where you say you were on the night of her death?

“Talk to the chair of the theater and dance office. She keeps attendance records.”

Q: Do you think Morgan deserved to die?

“Not the way she did, no.”

Q: Do you wish she was still alive?

“No.” 

Q: Do you miss her?

“Fuck no.”

Q: Has your life gotten better or worse since her death?

“Worse.” 

He seemed puzzled by that, but of all the questions he chose not to elaborate on, it was that one. That had been the whole point of contention in her case with Dominique, and here she was a few weeks later doing the same fucking thing. She didn’t know how they hadn’t arrested her already; it’d be easy to pin it on her. It wasn’t like they weren’t dealing out false verdicts anyways.

Q: If you could bring her back to life, would you?

“Hell no. The dead don’t like being brought back to life.” 

Q: Are you hiding something from the people of Hyland? From your family? From me?

Lil sneered. “What? Even my brutal honesty isn’t enough for you?” 

Q: Have you been telling the truth this entire time?

“To the best of my knowledge. Yes.”

Q: Did you kill Morgan Parrish?

“Ask me that again once I’ve spoken to a lawyer.”

The detective closed his case file, rubbing his temples and looking like Lil had given him a serious migraine. She probably had. “You’re free to go.” He waved her off, clearly exhausted. Lil pushed herself from the chair and said nothing as she left.

#hylandtask #[ lil task. ]

[infinitepurity]

Life

So basically I’m gonna explain everything that’s happened.

Mental health has always been an issue in my life. I’ve struggled from it for years but it finally came to a head when I met my ex-boyfriend. I was at the lowest point in my life and was looking to have anything bring my life up. He and I were both very mentally ill and in denial of our respective illnesses. We had our bumps in the road throughout our relationship and it was very unhealthy. I talked it over with him multiple times and tried to reason that it would be healthier to break things off.

In September, the 3rd semester of college, I was having a mental breakdown. I couldn’t handle being alone and I was completely isolated from everyone and from my friends and I wasn’t eating or taking care of myself. I was hospitalized for a night after Campus Police was called on me for concerns. I asked my parents to drive me home and they took me to Children’s Hospital as I was 17. They recommended me medications and my primary care physician put me on Zoloft and Metropolol for depression and anxiety. I went back to school and the whole time I’ve been considering overdosing. I was cutting and it was just bad.

Swing to my birthday on September 27th, I filled out the official paperwork to withdraw. This wasn’t as impulse of a decision as I make it out to be. I was seeing a therapist on campus and was working with the Assistant Dean of Students and my advisors in the school of engineering. They all advised me to take a break from school or decrease my courseload. As an engineering student, decreasing the courseload was impossible because all of my classes were co-requisites. So I took matters into my own hands after being advised and I filled out medical withdrawal papers. The Assistant Dean of Students was like I wish there was more I could do to help you as you look like you’ve given up and you have no hope. 

Now, this was an impossible decision for me because school has been my only successful portion of my life and giving that up willingly was terrifying. I gave it up though. By Oct 3rd I was home and withdrawn. All the while this ex-boyfriend was filling my head with the idea that he was going to take care of me and help me out. He even suggested getting married. And at this point, I was so unstable and out of it that I agreed. We went to Dayton to get the rest of my stuff and turn in my keys and we drove to the courthouse and filled out a marriage license. My family still didn’t know I was home and I showed up to the house with a marriage license. That didn’t go well. 

My parents were out of town and were out of the loop and when the confrontation started when they came home I was ready to throw the towel in. I had previously stolen medication from my mom; she’s prescribed Xanax. So in total I had leftover Zoloft, my new rx Lexapro, Metropolol, and Xanax. I had a bottle of Zoloft, Lexapro, and Metropolol and half of Xanax. My parents came home on their flight, we fought and I went upstairs and overdosed. I fell asleep on my bed and then my parents came up to get me to dinner and we went out to dinner. I don’t remember anything. When we got home I passed out on the couch and then my parents were asking me what I did and I pointed to the pill bottles and then I was in the hospital. Apparently, I was screaming in the ICU how I was gonna keep trying until I was successful. I spent 3 days in the ICU and my heart almost stopped. 

To this day, I still have permanent heart damage. I signed myself into a mental institution and I was transported 3 days later. My ex-boyfriend was in the waiting room when I showed up and we were separated because we knew each other and I was put onto the addiction/schizophrenia floor. I was terrified out of my mind, coming down with withdrawals and I was losing my mind. The psychiatrist admitted that none of my stay with the schizophrenics and addicts was in any way helpful or productive on my recovery. I was there for 9 days. Then I was sent to court for a 60 day hold into the state hospital. I know have that on my record. I was at the state hospital for 8 days. I got out on Halloween. 

I switched meds to Prozac and Zyprexa. I went home and worked with police social workers to get through this. I was about to start a new therapist and I had enough of my parents and hit the road. The police picked me up and because they had been working with me they let my parents choose the hospital i was going to and they moved me to Ohio (I lived in KY.) I was in that hospital for 7 days. My ex-boyfriend all the while was promising to pick me up from the hospital and getting me away from my awful parents. But as most things in our relationships, it fell through. 

I was released from the hospital to my mom and she put me in a hotel room because she wanted nothing to do with me. So I called my friends and begged for help. My friend from high school said her mom would take me in. I lived with her for a month. She took care of me, fed me, housed me, babied me, and loved me. She gave me so much life advice and so much love I’ll never forget it. I spent all of November until right before Christmas with her. I went home to my parents’ for Christmas. 

All the while my ex had attempted suicide and I was talking to him and was trying to talk him out of it. He wasn’t listening and ended up hospsitalized with over 100 cuts to one arm. And his parents filed a protective order against me saying that I was the cause behind his issues. And the court gives victim’s the benefit of the doubt and I was court ordered to stay away from him and no communications which wasn’t a problem for me, but he was stalking me. He was making fake phone numbers to text me and call me. He was leaving me voicemails while he was in the hospital. He was skype messaging me and skype calling me. He wouldn’t leave me alone and his mom was all but harassing me as well to the point I was fearful for my life and wellbeing and I got a lawyer who got the case closed due to insufficient evidence against me. But I was terrified out of my mind worried one of them was gonna get me thrown in jail or worse. But things slowly made it upwards. 

I made it to February. I had a new job and everything and it was going well but my parents were too much. I overdosed again and was in the hospital for 3 days. I got threatened to be kicked out when I came back home and I had to find a job stat, but finding jobs is actually hard and it takes forever for employers to get back. I managed to convince them to let me stay, and eventually, I was kicked out for staying out with a friend too late. I spent that night wondering the streets and freezing. I went to the library and posted on Facebook and begged for help or anyone’s floor to crash on.

My friend from high school saved me from spending the night in a homeless shelter. She picked me up and immediately fed me and took me home and her mom and her tried to reason with my parents to give me my medications. At this point I was on Cymbalta, Lithium, Latuda, Ativan. They were refusing to give it to me and were very rude to both my friend and her mom. I called my friend from Indianapolis and asked if he would help me. I moved up there with him.

For two weeks I lived on his floor and worked for a hotel cleaning rooms.My dad agreed to let me back on the premise that I’d be moving out within two weeks and that’s what happened. I found a place on my own in Cincinnati, OH and I paid rent and my deposit and moved out. Since then it’s been smooth sailing. I feel so good and happy and I have a new job and I’m away from my parents and siblings and I am thriving. I might be bored and lonely but I’m so thankful for life and everything that’s going on. I’m so grateful for the second chance I’ve been given and the life that I can live and I just wanted to get all of this out there somewhere.  

I’m officially diagnosed with an eating disorder, bipolar disorder, anxiety disorder and ADD. 

But anyway if anyone reads this, I hope you’re doing well and are getting to a better place in your life and a happier life and things do get better.

#suicide #trigger warning #tw: suicide #tw: cutting #tw: mental illness #tw: eating disorder #tw: bipolar disorder #tw: anxiety

[coughupmoney]

Dead On Arrival

Awakening to a sharp pain in your chest is scary, but also it’s really really funny. It was funny even at the time. I had started my first antidepressant about a month before this incident; Viibryd. I hate to say that I love doing drugs but I love doing drugs.

When I was diagnosed with depression, Viibryd had just hit the antidepressant scene, a new drug that would dramatically decrease the latency period before the antidepressant would take effect. The day I was prescribed, I was told the effects would be immediate. As soon as I took the drug, I didn’t even feel happy--I felt balanced. It wasn’t an “upper”: a perky, pleasure pill. It was a secret ingredient that provided my brain with some homeostasis. As immediate as the effects were, so were the adverse effects; but that is the trial by fire you face when you relinquish yourself to the world of pharmaceuticals.

The stability I was finally feeling was wonderful, but was it worth the cost of waking up everyday at four in the morning with a searing pain in your chest? I’ll tell you two truths: one, that this deliciously, delectable drug exacerbated my anxiety and two, I secretly enjoyed waking up everyday at four A.M because it was something I could count on. I’ve always been comforted by stability even if it came in the form of torment. All I craved was some structure. However, the pain started to worry me.

At the time I hadn’t recognized that this searing pain was an anxiety attack. That diagnosis came later, in the hospital. Day after day, I awoke in pain, my hypochondria sighing in sorrow. For the sear, for the burn, for the meeting of tomorrow. Every attack was greeted with overwhelming fear. Fear that I was dying. That I was having a heart attack. I went to sleep thinking that every night would be my last. Eventually, after I had let this fear build up in my chest, the fear overwhelmed me. So naturally, I turned it loose on my parents. I allowed my screams and cries to fall upon their sleeping ears. I desperately knocked on their bedroom door.

I hear muffled voices and footsteps creaking on the hardwood floor. “What’s wrong?” Father answers through a crack of the door. I’m not sure how to explain the pain that I’m in.

“My chest hurts.” I say, with efforts of sincerity. My fear is that my plea will be disregarded. Luckily, I was first held at the will of my overbearing Father.

For him, my plea was an immediate call to action. “Do you want to go to a hospital?” He responded. “I think I have to.” I said. Here’s where the water works start. How pathetic. I mean at this point, couldn’t you have just quietly driven yourself to the ER? Here we go, become a burden on all those forced to love you.

Father and I were panicked, quickly collecting ourselves and carrying our urgent vessels into the vehicle. Mother, on the other hand, was at ease. What a fucking bitch. She slowly made her way out of bed and into the shower. While she soaked herself in relaxing hot water, I waited in the car clutching my chest. Like, way to make me feel like shit, I’m sitting in this musky-ass car possibly having a heart attack and here you are taking your sweet time probably awaiting my possible death. She took her time, drying her hair, putting her face on, and adorning herself in a beautiful outfit. I was clearly no cause for her concern. Not like I’ve ever been...are you kidding? She finally made her way out of the house and into the passenger side of the car. Fuckin’ bitch. As soon as her door shut, Father hit the road and said nothing. How could he just sit there and say nothing to her while she treats me like nothing?

The closest hospital was only 10 minutes away. The ride halted at a red stop light. We sat in silence for a few minutes. I would assume if anyone gave a fuck about me they would have flown through that stupid stop light to get me some proper medical care. On the outside I was cold, stern, and stoic. WHY HE WASN’T RUNNING THE FUCKING RED LIGHT? It was five in morning, there was no other car in sight. The silence was broken by my Father who needed my Mother’s permission to run the light. Of course she made us wait. For a moment I couldn’t believe it. Until I could. It made so much sense. No ticket was worth the potential danger my life was in to this woman.

When I had finally realized that, I laughed my fucking head off. In the car, my explosion of laughter was grounds for mental insanity. My Mother questioned the validity of my pain-of course-but I just couldn’t stop laughing even as I clutched onto my chest. The pain had not subsided, even when the light turned green, even when we had made our way into the emergency room. The pain remained, but the irony was not lost on me. It was truly funny to me. This was the first time I had the full realization that I meant nothing to her. I meant absolutely nothing. I had also seen my Father for the coward his is. I realized that there was no one that could protect me from this environment and at that point all I could do was laugh. My laughter was rooted in disbelief, even though I had an entire lifetime of evidence that convinced me that this experience was completely plausible. I found this cognitive dissonance hilarious.

I guess with some introspection I realized that the alternative reactions wouldn’t have served me well. This is difficult to describe to people. Like, how am I going to tell you that depression and anxiety has been the worst challenge of my life? That it has given me insurmountable pain, and yet it has saved my life on multiple occasions? I revere mental illness as the miracle reaper of life. It has challenged every molecule of my being to give into death, yet has allowed me to navigate traumatic situations with ease because, of course, with anxiety, I expected all this to happen anyway.  

The rest of the trip wasn’t as eventful. The first course of action included attaching stickers onto my chest to monitor my heart’s rhythms. I remember two things about this scene; I had to take off my shirt, and I was afraid. What does it say about me that I was more concerned with the fact that I would be taking me shirt off rather than being concerned with the probable cause of my lurid chest pain? The technician was sweet. Tasty even, his skin looked soft and I wanted to touch it. From what I remember, I had made it clear to him that I was uncomfortable. I fear that I secretly wanted his pity. I realized that this would be the first time I was going to take my shirt off in front of a man. Honestly, it was hard to not be a little turned on.  I had spent about two years trying to avoid this moment and here my life was depending on it. I took off the white cotton sweatshirt I had fallen asleep in. Sexy right? I laid myself down on the thin, noisy paper availed upon the hospital bed bust. Pieces of my skin stuck to the leather peeking from beneath the tissue.

I knew this was standard procedure, I knew he did this everyday to all sorts of people. It still felt intimate for me. He and I made eye contact while he slowly stuck cold plastic stickers all over my chest. It made me embarrassed. I was a little wet. I was self conscience about my body. He assured me that I was doing great. The technician had no idea that I was slightly turned on and that’s okay with me. But honestly I thought we had a connection. He turned to me and showed me my heart monitor. The technician said that my results were normal. Normal heart rate, regular rhythm and if I remember correctly, he said I had a beautiful heart rhythm. What did I tell you? He loved me.

After we had ruled out that I was in fact not having a heart attack, we moved on to see if there was any damage to my upper body organs. I walked with another technician to get a chest x-ray. For this I had to change into a fabulous white hospital gown that showed off the spine line that led to my glorious plush pyjama pants. This technician was different. He was more personable. He left the room while I changed and when he stepped back in, he lifted my chart from the box above the door. I studied his face as he read my chart. I was looking for hints and tone. How was he going to address me? When he finally looked up at me, he smiled and asked, “How are you liking Viibryd?”

I was surprised but I responded slyly, “It’s pretty immediate actually, I’ve heard that other antidepressants can take up to six months to take effect.” When two people with mental illnesses get into a room together, there's an immediate sense of comradery. As long as someone is brave enough to out themselves first, the bond of emotional strife, taking drugs, and going to therapy is pretty immediate.

“I’ve been taking Zoloft for a while now”, he added.

“How long have you been depressed?” I asked. I was really hoping he’d say “Not very long! It was a temporary thing for me.” That was not the answer I received, of course.

He told me he had been depressed his entire life. That’s it. That’s always it. No one ever just does a stint with depression, it’s always a life sentence. A struggle that starts but never ends. At least, not until you end. He went on to tell met that it’s been an ongoing struggle for him and that he’s only recently been properly medicated. This is another thing that bothers me. Anytime you talk to someone struggling with depression They suffer for so long before they seek treatment. I am curious to know whether this is a folly on culture and institution or just a hazard of the illness.

He interrupted my thought, he had to ask me some health related questions before we did the chest x-ray. The technician jotted down some quick information about my age and medications I was taking. He also shyly asked if there was any way I could be pregnant. I said, “There’s no possible way.”

He responded “You’re not practicing huh?” I quickly wanted to change the subject but instead replied with a stern “no”. I don’t know why I was embarrassed to be a virgin. Maybe I was just embarrassed, about being a virgin and about my body. Two singularities existing in the multiplex of life. Whatever. He lead me to the machine. He placed a heavy lead cover on my chest. I knew this was to protect me from ray scatter.

“Just like the dentist” I joked. He told me that he was going to step into the small boxy closet in the corner of the room to take a few pictures. I stood still. I never thought anything could be wrong with my chest organs, yet my hypochondria sense was tingling. He left to take the pictures. It was painless. When he came back, I wanted to probe him with questions. “So is my chest okay?” My organs? My lungs? Was I slowly but surely dying? Was this the end of life as I knew it?

He spoke casually, “Only the doctor can really tell you that, I only take pictures.”

“That doesn’t help me.” I said.

He turned to me, not as a technician but as a person, and said, “I really think you’re fine.” I smiled and nodded. That is honestly all I’ve ever wanted anyone to say.

He walked me back to a regular hospital room to wait to speak with the doctor. I sat on the bed while both my parents sat in chairs in the corner of the room looking at their phones. Eventually, Father looked up at me, the gleam of screen still in his eyes, and asked how it went. I replied “It was fine”, so that he could get back to his phone.

Soon after, the ER Doctor knocked on the door and walked in. She looked at me hopefully. I feel like a sigh, like deflated air. She was carrying my chart, she flipped a few pages and said that my heart and lungs looked perfectly healthy. She deduced that my chest pain was an adverse effect of my new antidepressant and should subside over time. Of course at this point, Mother chimed in to say “I told you, antidepressants are bad for you.”

The ER Doctor responded, “Actually these symptoms are common while the body acclimates to the new drug.”

I’m not sure if Mother listened to one word that came out of the doctor’s mouth, she only replied, “I just believe that they’re bad.”

The doctor wasn’t sure how to respond. She told me that she was going to give me some Klonopin and beta blockers to subdue the anxiety. I took them both before we left. Within 30 minutes, my chest pain subsided. I felt lightheaded in the best way possible. We walked out of the ER and I listened to my parents talk as I slid back into the car. The only thing Mother had to say to Father about the experience was, “I can’t wait to see how much that bill will be, she shouldn’t even take antidepressants.” And maybe I would’ve cared, if I wasn’t so fucking high.

#short story #depression #humor #spilled ink

[hell-and-rainbows]

Waking up from a Coma

Trigger warning! This is a story about waking up from a coma and all the awful stuff that comes with that. It has themes of helplessness, nightmares & helplessness. Please read with care.

Waking up from the coma gets its own post. This was an experience that seemed to last for over a week, but I’m told that it was really about 3 days.

These were some trippy days. I became paranoid & delusional from the many, many drugs I had taken all without any of the super handy anti-anxiety drugs that I need to keep my feet on the ground.

As a result, I became paranoid & delusional for a bit and was convinced that secret people who lived in the basement of the hospital were coming in and moving me around the hospital at night. People were less than helpful when I shared my delusions with them. They mostly told me they were silly and couldn’t possibly be true. This is not information that is helpful to a person who is already paranoid. I figured that the people were simply in cahoots with the secret basement people.

I am still proud that I managed to kick one of the nurses across the room who I thought was a basement person who came to steal me. This was a fairly unkind male nurse who was convinced that my muscles would have completely atrophied after the six week long coma so he went to move me and was being unpleasant and I kicked out and he went flying.

I would like to state for the record that my muscles didn’t atrophy like anyone expected. I was strong as a freaking ox when I went into the coma and I was strong as a very weak ox when I woke up. But I was still an ox.

My then-husband was the worst of the not useful lot and simply told me that I was paranoid and that the facts showed that I was remaining in my hospital room. I was already mad at him because I knew he hadn’t been around when I was in the coma, so I figured he was just being an ass and didn’t care if I was being abducted by basement people.

The one good thing he did was to get me back on anti-anxiety meds once I was awake and acting like a crazy person, which took care of the paranoid delusions, which was handy.

Armed with zoloft in the mix of meds I was taking I started to come back to myself. I kept drifting in and out of sleep, which made the passage of time really hard to tell. My friend Lisa was there and my friend Meg came to visit while I was waking up. One minute I would be talking with someone and the next I was waking up again. I had no control over what was happening, which was really frustrating.

The absolute WORST was the fact that they had stopped tying me down, but they had my hands covered with these mittens which meant that I couldn’t touch anything, but also kept me from pulling out the tubes that were keeping me alive.

I hated these mittens with vitriol usually kept for terrorists. I wanted them off of my hands. I wanted to control my hands. I would wake up and no matter who was in the room or what was happening, I would spend all of my time upon awakening just working to get the velcro off of one glove so that I could then work on the next glove. I would inevitably manage to get the first glove off only to fall asleep again and awaken only to find that some nurse had reattached the damn glove I had worked so hard to remove and I had to start all over again.

My saving grace was that my friend, Lisa, would always take off the offensive mittens when she visited so that I could actually hold her hands. I will always love her for this important reprieve from the much hated mittens.

One of the nurses decided that it might help if she drew a happy face on each mitten. This didn’t help at all. It just made me angry at the nurse as well as the mittens.

I was super confused from the fact that all I remembered was going to the hospital for the surgery for my cancer. I had no idea that I’d been in a coma for 6 weeks at the edge of death for most of them.

So I was irritated as to why I was still in ICU, why I had mittens attached to my hands and was being treated like a toddler.

As I became increasingly aware of my surroundings over the three days it took me to wake up I was able to comprehend that I’d been in a coma, but I wasn’t sure why, I knew that I felt like I’d been run over by a truck, but that seemed fair considering the surgery I was to have. It was impossible for me to come to terms with the amount of time that had passed.

Plus, I had two children. Where were they? Why weren’t they there? It turned out that they had visited sparingly. They were 12 and 15 at the time and young to deal with having a mom on death’s door for what seemed like an eternity for them.

The most shocking thing I learned when I woke up was that the US Supreme Court had legalized same sex marriage, which made me so freaking happy and I absolutely didn’t believe. The world that I went into the surgery with certainly didn’t seem like one which would have this bit of good news, but it did. It really happened, which was wonderful.

I was particularly annoyed by the feeding tube. I knew that my mouth was probably a mess, but with a feeding tube they don’t let you put much in your mouth, which means your mouth feels like hells. I just wanted to have a constant ice chip dispensary into my mouth, but they don’t let you have what you want. They let you have what is best for you, which everyone knows isn’t usually the same thing.

Although the feeding tube did allow me to taste what flavor of liquid they were putting in my tube. The nurses said that I couldn’t possibly taste the flavor through the tube, but I always guessed right, so I’m going to say that I absolutely could. It was chocolate or vanilla and the chocolate is the one I could taste. It was like a faint wisp of chocolate flavor, enough for my senses to pick up on the difference in the tube.

The other nice thing is that the feeding tube was constant and the liquid that they used was cold, which meant that my throat wasn’t sore from the tube since it was soothed by the cool.

Also, feeding tubes go through your nose and down your throat. These are one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve experienced and as you now know, I’ve experienced a lot. They loop the tube around the bottom of one nostril and then click it to the main tube so you have a weird feeding tube ring on one side.

The mittens were taken off on the third day before I was transferred to the rehab hospital. Two days may seem like a minor inconvenience to you. But I cannot state strongly enough how much I was frustrated by and hated those mittens. I still can feel that sense of helplessness I felt when I was put into them and it still makes me mad.

Like I said, waking up over three days felt like a year or a minute all at the same time. It was a wild ride. At the end of the three days they put me in a wheelchair, then in an ambulance and took me to the most amazing place. The rehab hospital. Please Like, Comment, Follow!