#anyways begging my family (my sister) to deal with her shit and see a therapist or smth bc this is wack | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nosuchthingasstars · 2 years

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Prompt: A memory intertwined with a song

This is a mental health prompt, and my memory is -- you guessed it! -- mental health-related.

About six years ago, in late 2015, I was having a bad time. I still don't know exactly why, and I guess sometimes that's just how these things go. I had just moved across the country, and a lot of things had changed all at once. But I did have friends, both local and remote, and I'd been living away from family for years, so it just seemed like "I should be able to deal with this, right?"

There were a lot of little things that probably helped spur along my problems, though. I'd been excited about starting grad school, but I was having trouble making new friends in my department. I was sad that my officemate didn't seem to want to have anything to do with me. Around the time everything really started to unravel, I was hit by a car while crossing the street. I wasn't injured, more upset than anything. It was more of a bump, really. And since I was basically fine (a couple of bruises, nothing more), I kind of just tried to keep going.

Some of the therapists I've spoken to think that event was super influential in this whole thing. I'm less certain... Things had already not been going great, and while I'm told I felt guilty for surviving... I didn't feel that way, and I still don't. I was angry at the guy who hit me, I guess, but even that passed pretty quickly. I do think maybe I could have taken a day or two to process or something, but I really don't think it would have made a difference. Things were already pretty bad. I think of the car thing as "the icing on the cake." Except the cake is shit and the icing is something equally gross. Use your imagination.

I started having these weird thoughts that I just could not seem to push out of my mind. (They're called ruminations, btw, but I didn't know that then.) I became obsessed with this idea that I had cheated my way into grad school. It got really out of hand. I was so consumed with that idea that I couldn't even focus on my work, which was the whole reason I was in grad school to begin with. I was slowly convinced by people around me that I needed professional help, but it was harder to get than I expected. When I saw a campus therapist, she essentially told me that my anxieties seemed perfectly rational to her, so why was I seeking therapy anyway? My mom became so worried that she flew out to see me and, one afternoon, begged me to go to the walk-in mental health clinic. There, I was basically told "Grad school is hard, man" and asked if I was aware that this service was intended for emergencies. I saw a psychiatrist on campus, too, who prescribed me Zoloft (good choice, I still take that) and Ativan (much more questionable choice). For the uninitiated, Ativan is an anti-anxiety med. It can calm you down if you have anxiety. However, much like alcohol and many other substances, it's also a "downer". It's not an awesome choice for someone who is depressed.

By the end of that semester -- which I managed to hobble through, somehow -- a friend had convinced me that it really wouldn't end my career to take a semester off. And I did that, in the end. And I am so glad I did, because things got so much worse before they got better. I stayed with my parents and saw a therapist weekly while taking my meds every day and trying to keep it together. It was not a happy few months, to say the least. I ended up needed more medication (yay, Abilify!), and my therapist did her best to teach me how to deal with the intrusive thoughts until the medications started to take effect. Officially, I have depression and OCD. Untangling who caused which symptoms is complicated, because some of them overlap. Fortunately, the medications overlap, too. Little by little, the thoughts went away, but waiting for that to happen was absolutely agonizing.

So finally, we come to the song. I'm not sure when I first heard it. It's on a Gavin DeGraw album that my sister didn't like, and I probably only listened because it was on Spotify. But there's this line that repeats a couple of times.

Take those boots off the shelf Wipe that dust off yourself Even if you've been through hell, you're back

Still gets me. Because I did feel like I'd been through hell. I even questioned if I wanted to go back to grad school at all. But I did go back, I spent an additional five years there, and I got my PhD in the end. My career didn't suffer for having taken time off. Realistically, I couldn't have stayed while all that was going on inside my head. I left, I did what I needed to do, I got the help I needed, and I came back.

Mental illness told me my life and career were over. It told me all kinds of lies about myself. I still have bad days sometimes. But, all in all, things have improved so much since then. Even if you're going through hell now, you can come back. It doesn't have to be the end of your story.

#my happy place #Spotify #your happy place

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nadisabug · 3 years

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Plus One

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 3.1 k

Summary: You would do anything for Tooru, but is he asking too much when he asks you to be his plus one to his sister’s wedding?

A/N: Thank you to my lovely betas @luvnami and @snoozless !!!!! This is for the HQ Hangout Net’s Spring Formal Event! Everyone check out the other amazing works everyone else did @hqhangout !!!

This was too much.

You felt like imploding.

The pressure in your head was just too much to bear; tears welled at your eyes and a solid lump was forming in your throat. This was just too much.

However, you kept up your facade. You were still smiling, eyes dry, looking up at Tooru.

And he was smiling down at you.

“Well?” He asked again.

There were a lot of things you could do. You were talented, not that you recognized it yourself. But you were strong, you could do anything you set your mind to. You could say ‘no’ and stand up for yourself. You have done it before.

Like when that chump from your class asked you for your homework. Or like when he then asked you out on a date. Or like when he had asked to put his name on a project that he had done now work for.

You could say no.

You should say no.

So why didn’t you?

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

“Hajime, I am going to die,” you groaned into the phone. Tooru had just dropped you off at your house. You called your best friend as soon as you could, still reeling from the life-changing conversation.

“Well, I mean, what did you say?” His voice was level and calm like always, even though you were in hysterics.

“I don’t have a dress,” you sighed.

“Y/n, that’s basically a yes.”

“I am aware!”

“What did he say?”

You fell silent.

“Y/n, what did he say?”

You mumbled your response, pressing your mouth to the end of the phone.

“Well I for one can’t fix that. You’re screwed,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Don’t say that Hajime! You’re supposed to make me feel better!”

“He wants to go dress shopping with you, on top of being his date to his sister’s wedding, you’re doomed. I'm sorry that’s just how it is.”

“Hajime!”

“What, what am I supposed to say? I want to be optimistic but this is kinda the worst it can get. Especially since you’ve been in love with him sin-”

“I am not in love with him!”

Hajime didn’t respond. You sighed.

“Fine I am, but how does saying it help anything?”

“I’m just trying to get a better sense of your situation.”

“Oh really? It sounds like you’re trying to rub it in.”

“You know I would never,” Hajime sighed.

“Yeah, you’re a good friend,” you paused. “A really good friend, the best friend. How long have we been friends? Quite some time right, I was thinking-”

“I am not coming with you and that is final.”

“Please, Hajime, I’m begging you.”

“Well beg someone else, Y/n, because I am not third wheeling.”

“Hajime, it won’t be third wheeling!”

“Yes it will, it’s a no and that’s final!” He paused for a moment. “Sorry, Y/n, but I just can’t. It’s already too much having to play therapist to you both talking about each other.”

“Oh shove off,” you rolled your eyes. “He does not like me.”

“Whatever,” Hajime sighed.

“He does not. If he did, why wouldn’t he just ask me to be his date like a normal person?”

“Really? This is Shittykawa we’re talking about.”

“Okay true, but still. He had plenty of chances to date me back in high school and he never did.”

“You never made a move either,” Hajime noted.

You didn’t respond to that.

“How long has it been since you last saw him?”

You had to think about that for a minute. It had been years since you graduated high school, back when you saw him on a daily basis. You guys still talked all the time, but you really didn’t see him that often.

“The night that he came to my house to tell me goodbye. The night before he left.”

Hajime hummed. He knew all about that night, you had called him as soon as you had gone back inside. It felt like he had something else to say, but instead he changed the subject.

“When are you guys going?”

“About that…”

“Oh no…”

“He’s waiting outside for me right now.”

“Right now? What are you doing talking to me then?”

“I said I had to do a few things then I’d be out. It’s fine.”

“Well you better get going. We’ve been talking for a while.”

“Please come with me?”

“Ahaha, no. Bye.”

“Wait don’t hang-”

You were greeted by the click of the receiver. Great. You tossed your phone beside you and sighed. You were sprawled out on your bed, in the same position as you were when you first threw yourself onto it.

You laid there for a second, cursing your luck. Well, it wasn’t really your luck, you were the one who said yes anyways. You felt tears beginning to form in your eyes, but you shook them away. You got up and changed out of your work uniform and into better clothes for dress shopping.

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

“I am not wearing that,” you spat angrily.

“Aww, why not,” Tooru purred, sliding up to you while holding the offending dress out in front of him.

“Because I like my privates to be private, thank you very much,” you rolled your eyes and pushed him away.

The piece was a strapless, v-neck dress with a slit up the side. It also had holes in the sides, like those vintage swimsuits you saw in old magazines. It was a pretty color, but you knew you could not wear that in front of Tooru.

“Okay, fine.” Tooru put the dress away. You knew he only plucked it out to tease you; he didn’t actually think you were going to wear it.

“Why do you need a date again?” You asked while perusing the dresses.

“Because,” he sighed. “I begged my sister to allow me a plus one and she finally granted my wish so I can’t show up alone.”

“But she knows me. She won’t believe that we’re dating,” you sighed.

“Well…”

“What?” You whirled on Tooru.

“I already told her that I asked you out… and you said yes.”

Your jaw dropped. What were you supposed to say? Tooru had that look on his face, the one where he knew he had done something wrong but was trying to weasel out of it. It never worked on Hajime, but on you… you could never resist his honeyed eyes.

“What did she say?”

“Finally.”

You laughed, genuinely. As if anyone would think that you two would get together. Tooru was just… out of your reach.

“What? Is it that ridiculous that we could be dating? I’m hurt,” Tooru pouted.

“Yes it is, as if you would ever date me,” you answered honestly, knowing in your heart he could never love you.

“And why is that?” He asked. You missed the look in his eyes as you pulled out another dress.

“Because,” you shrugged. “You only see me as a friend, a little sister if I may be so bold. Now what about this dress?”

“But what if I didn’t,” Tooru smirked and leaned on the dress rack.

You rolled your eyes.

“Then I’d eat this dress. Simple. Now come on, what about this one?”

“Let’s try it on.” He smiled. “Then we’ll see.”

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

“I’m gonna throw up,” you groaned. Tooru just rolled his eyes at you.

“No you’re not, you’ve seen my family a thousand times, this is no different.”

“Yes it is!” You hissed. “Back then I was a little sister, now I’m a fake girlfriend.”

“Well, they don’t know about the fake part, so can you keep quiet about that?”

“Whatever,” you sighed. You watched as he knocked on the familiar door, an unfamiliar sensation in your gut.

You heard clamoring behind the door and suddenly you were swept up in Mrs. Oikawa’s arms.

“Aw, Y/n, I am so, so, so happy you are here, and especially why!” She pulled back and you saw tears glistening in her eyes. “I always knew you and ‘ru would get together, I am just sad it took this long!”

A sharp pain ripped through you. “Yeah, of course.” You forced a smile.

“And ‘ru, how dare you take so long to confess!” She whirled on Tooru and hit him lightly on the shoulder.

“Ah, sorry Mom.” He shrugged it off, scratching the back of his neck with his other hand. “I guess I am just slow to the uptake.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Oikawa nodded solemnly. “It was obvious you both liked each other way back in high school.”

“It was?” You stammered.

“Yes, of course, the way you guys used to look at each other.” She smirked. “And still do.”

“Yeah,” Tooru said softly when you did not say anything.

“Now let's get you two inside, we have a lot to do!”

You were then rushed inside and whirled around as preparations fell into place. The rehearsal dinner flew by quickly. You didn’t have many responsibilities as a guest, so you spent your time talking to members of Tooru’s family. Which was… awkward, to say the least. You already knew all of them (you found out that this was supposed to be a very small family event) so it was awkward reintroducing yourself as Tooru’s girlfriend. It was harder because technically you weren’t supposed to be here.

You found Tooru in a gap in his busy schedule and pulled him to the side.

“Why didn’t you tell me this is a family affair?” You seethed.

Tooru smiled shyly. “That’s why it was such a big deal that Sis allowed me a plus one, that’s why I just had to take you.”

“I hate you,” you spat angrily, but Tooru just smiled. “Do you know how many people asked me if we were engaged?” He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Now is that anyway to talk to your fiance?”

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“Just kidding, love. Don’t worry, we’re not engaged yet.”

“I hope your family gives you so much shit when we ‘break up.’”

Tooru frowned. “About that I-”

“Tooru? Where the actual fuck are you?” Tooru’s sister nearly screamed.

“You better go,” you sighed.

“Yeah.” Tooru frowned.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it when his sister screamed for him again.

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

The wedding was beautiful. It was a small affair at a local meadow, with blooming wild flowers surrounding the guests. It was ethereal, overflowing with the spirit of spring. You sat alone next to family, as Tooru was a part of the wedding procession. After the ceremony, the reception took place at a nearby banquet hall. You were shuttled off into a separate car from Tooru, but you didn’t mind. You had made friends with one of his cousins and you had been talking with him to pass the time.

“So when did you and Tooru meet?”

“Back in high school,” you responded easily, recalling the memory fondly. “He came up to me randomly in class and demanded that I be the volleyball club’s manager. I had said no, of course, until his friend had asked me a bit nicer.”

“Sounds just like him,” he scoffed. “Only concerned with himself.”

“Yeah,” you agreed absentmindedly.

“So what made you date him? I mean, no offense, he’s my cousin and all, but why do you even like him?”

You paused for this question. What did you like about Tooru?

“I… well… everything. I didn’t like him at first, I actually hated him. He was so arrogant and cocky and rude, but after a while I realized that there was so much more to him. He’s dedicated and strong. Tooru puts on this facade for other people so that he can be strong for them, too. He understands people and helps his teammates, he treats them like family. He’s so receptive and intuitive, you really can’t hide anything from him. He’s just… so perfect, yet so layered. He is so raw and human and I love that about him. I love that side of him, the one no one ever sees. So I guess I just love everything about him.”

“Wow,” he laughed. “Wasn't expecting that.”

“Sorry.” You shrunk in on yourself.

“No it’s fine, I was just gonna say I’ll shoot my shot if it doesn’t work out with him, but it turns out you really like him.”

“Oh,” was the only thing you could say.

“Can I have a pity dance?” He extended his arm towards you.

You smiled. “Sure.”

He led you out onto the dance floor and swept you up into his arms. You followed his lead, not really sure how to dance, but he assured you that you could just follow him.

“You know, you look amazing in that dress.”

“Ah, thank you,” you smiled. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Thank you, I can clean-”

A person behind you cleared their throat. You turned to see Tooru. If you were anyone else, you would have thought he looked pleasant, with the soft smile on his face. But you weren’t just anyone else. So you knew that there was a rage in Tooru’s eyes.

“May I speak to Y/n?”

“Actually, we’re in the middle of a dance so-”

“That wasn’t a question,” Tooru smiled, closing his eyes and tilting his head.

“Tooru,” you hissed. “Just let us finish the-”

Instead Tooru grabbed your arm and tugged you away from his cousin. The cousin scoffed and threw his arms up.

“Calm the fuck down, Tooru. She’s all yours.”

The cousin walked off, and right after you whipped around to face Tooru.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?”

Tooru looked around him and then grabbed your arm again. “Let’s talk somewhere else,” he urged. You looked around to see a commotion beginning, with you guys at the center. You bottled your rage for a moment and allowed him to lead you outside.

Once you were out of earshot of the guests, you let loose.

“Oikawa Tooru, you explain yourself right now, because that just now was not okay.”

“He was hitting on you, I heard him,” Tooru responded, his face set into a scowl.

“So? And if he was? What right have you to step in?”

“I-”

“No,” you cut him off. “You have no right. I’m not even your girlfriend!”

Something flashed in Tooru’s eyes, but you were too angry to analyze it.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Tooru hung his head.

“You should be. You’re just so obsessed with your image that you don’t want a guy to hit on your supposed girl.”

“That’s not it,” Tooru bit out, looking up to meet your gaze.

“Oh? Then what? Do you have such little faith in me that you think I would leave you for your cousin at your sister’s wedding?”

“No.”

“Then what? Then what Tooru? What in the world could drive you to do something so fucking stupid-”

“I was jealous, alright!” When you didn’t respond to him he took a deep breath. “I was jealous,” he said again, except much calmer.

“Why?” You breathed softly. The air was tight between you two, and you felt like if another person yelled it might shatter.

Tooru slumped. “Don’t make me say it.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No you don’t.”

“Yes, I-”

“No, Tooru, you don’t. You are just hurt over your girlfriend and you're reaching out for something, anything, and I will not be it so don’t you dare say it.” You felt tears welling up at your eyes but you willed them down.

“Y/n, I’m not. I actually-”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned again.

Tooru sighed. “Y/n, do you know why she broke up with me?”

You didn’t respond.

“Y/n… she broke up with me because she realized that I was in love with you.”

You blinked once. Twice. You took a deep breath and tried to process what he just said to you.

“How…” It was the only thing you could mutter, you were too taken aback.

“I was just talking about you and she asked me. She asked me if I loved you. I couldn’t lie to her any longer.”

Your heart raced in your chest and you looked into eyes, searching for any dishonesty. The sheer earnestness in his gaze made you swallow thickly around the lump in your throat.

“How long?”

Tooru sighed and reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Dunno. Been a while though.”

It fell silent.

“So what do we do now?” You asked.

“Well, will you give me a chance?”

“Pull that shit with your cousin again and it is a no.”

“Okay, okay, I said I was sorry I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you and you technically weren’t mine yet and I-”

You reached up and kissed him. It was a passionate kiss, years of pent emotion behind it. Once Tooru reciprocated, it just felt like he was smashing his face into yours, desperate to be closer. You pulled away, Tooru chasing you with his lips.

“Calm down, I’m not going anywhere,” you smiled at him, cupping his face.

“I know I just-” Tooru stopped mid sentence, but he really didn’t need to say more. You understood.

“Tooru, where the- oh.”

You tried to look behind you to see who it was, but Tooru was holding you too tightly. The best you could do was crane your neck to catch a glimpse of white. Tooru’s sister.

“About time, bro,” she laughed.

You looked up at Tooru. He had a sheepish smile on his face. The gears in your mind suddenly slotted together.

“She knew it was fake? But… then… why…”

Tooru didn’t answer, instead his face grew red and he averted his eyes.

“He wanted to take you the whole time, sweetheart. He’s just emotionally constipated so he can’t ask like a normal person.”

“I am not!” Tooru cried indignantly.

“Whatever, I need you back in there so you got five minutes with your new girlfriend before I drag you back in there. Got it?”

Tooru nodded. You heard the door close behind her and looked back up at Tooru.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“I really am.” Tooru smiled brilliantly.

Then he leaned down and stole your lips in another kiss.

Taglist: {OPEN}

@tanakas-hugs-and-kisses , @snoozless

#ahh thank you for those that filled out my tag form ily #looking at you meg <3 #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa tooru #haikyuu tooru #tw: cursing #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #hqhangoutnet #Hqhangoutnet's SPRING FORMAL #haikyuucafe

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lovelybarnes · 4 years

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gone world- peter p.

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: death

PETER PARKER

warning: this is sad, mentions of death

my dog is snoring aaah she's so cute

y/n stark didn't shed a tear when tony stark died.

she had been trained to be strong, and that was what she was going to be. so she shut off all of her emotions, burying them so deep down, she was practically numb.

she held herself together and kept a calm face, as she kneeled down in front of her dying father, smiling at him as pepper and peter cried behind her.

"it's okay, dad. i promise you i will take care of them," she had promised, and he had smiled at her weakly, his smile reaching his eyes.

"i'm so proud of you. i'm sorry i never told you that enough."

y/n noted how hard it was for her father to continue talking.

"i love you, y/n. you- you make me so-" tony paused, struggling to breathe. "happy, and-"

tony wheezed again painfully, and y/n shook her head.

"it's okay dad. you can let go."

tony stark took his last breath surrounded by the people who loved him.

at her father's funeral, y/n ignored the emotions that needed to be let out. she ignored how badly she needed to mourn for her father to protect her little sister, and for peter, who she knew was hurting tremendously at losing another father figure in his life.

she talked about her father in front of his friends, and made them laugh, just like tony had told her he wanted.

at hearing the news that natasha was gone, y/n had completely shut off, not wanting to feel the pain of losing her best friend.

she couldn't even feel it when steve left, barely acknowledging the fact her second dad had left her.

instead, she stood by peter and morgan, holding both their hands and being both their shoulders through their pain, never once asking them to be hers.

y/n read morgan bedtime stories, giving her endless hugs, and made her favorite food, attempting the almost impossible task of trying to make her feel better.

she had given pepper space, and then let her talk to her about anything, making pepper laugh even through her tears.

and she had been there for peter. every second of every day.

she was there each time he needed her; sneaking into his room as stealthily as possible and calming his panic attacks, running her fingers through his hair, and whispering things that made all bad thoughts leave his mind.

and through all that, she had not let herself feel an ounce of pain over the loss of her father, much less the rest of her family.

and it weighed on her, all the emotions she wouldn't let come out made her life hard and being happy impossible.

no one noticed, too busy mourning. she didn't mind, it made it easier for her to hide, to be numb.

she held herself together after losing three of the most important people in her life; deciding to push away much it hurt to lose natasha, her sister, who took care of her and was always there for her since y/n was a child. the person who trained her to be the fighter she was.

she ignored the pain of losing steve, who had taught her about the past, comforting her through breakups and baking her awful cookies, being more of a dad that tony was at times.

instead, she filled her mind with plans to distract her family. she taught herself recipes to surprise morgan with, baked poptarts for thor, and worked with bruce, trying her best to make everyone but her happy.

on one of the nights where all the avengers decided to come over, while putting morgan to bed after reading her a story, her phone vibrated with a text from peter; which she didn't need to read to know he was in her room.

she kissed morgan goodnight, and excused herself in the living room where all the avengers were, heading into her room hurriedly.

inside, her already broken heart broke even more at seeing her boyfriend, his eyes brimmed red from tears, and his curly hair messy.

"y/n..." he started, reaching out to her like a child, and y/n ran over to him, wrapping him in her arms tightly, and playing with his curls soothingly.

her squeezed her close, tears running down his freckled cheeks and falling on her shirt.

she gently pushed him on her bed, where he laid down, snuggling his head into her chest as she laid down next to him, embracing him tightly.

"baby..." y/n mumbled, kissing his wet cheeks as he whimpered, his breathing rapid.

"y/n... i- i don't know what to- to do-" peter stammered softly, and y/n shushed him gently, "it's okay, everything's okay," she whispered, trying to convince him as much as herself.

"make it feel better, y/n," peter begged quietly, squeezing y/n's waist impossibly closer to him, and his cries started to grow, his breathing quick.

"breathe, sweetie," y/n said, and peter obeyed, taking deep breaths, his cries starting to calm down.

"don't leave me too," peter said, and y/n gently pushed his face up to look at her, "i won't, baby. i promise."

"i miss him," peter mumbled as y/n peppered his face with soft kisses.

"i know, pete," y/n said, looking into peter's beautiful chocolate brown eyes.

"don't you?" peter asked, and y/n hummed a yes. peter pulled away, his eyes shocked.

"you don't," peter stated, his eyes scanning over y/n.

y/n stared at him in surprise, understanding that he was just in pain. she took a deep breath, keeping the emotions she had shoved deep down down below.

"of course i do, pete-" y/n started softly, before being interrupted by peter.

"bullshit!" peter accused loudly, and y/n winced, hoping the adults in the living room hadn't heard it.

"peter, please calm down-" y/n said, and she jumped back on her bed when peter walked towards her.

"y/n, you didn't even care when he died. he was your father, and you didn't give a shit." peter said, and y/n gulped, taking deep breaths.

"peter, please, you know i-"

"you're an awful daughter, y/n, he would be so disappointed," peter cut her off, and his words stung, hurting her in such a way she could only see red.

"i know, peter! i know he would be disappointed, that's all he's ever been with me since he met you. he was my father. he saved me, from myself, from from the world. he protected me, and although he didn't do a perfect job, he did it." y/n started, emotions from long before finally bubbling up.

"you think i don't care?" y/n asked angrily, standing up and jabbing a finger in peter's chest.

"i loved him. he didn't want me to know, but nobody wanted me to stay because my mother was one of my father's old girlfriends, but my dad kept me anyways. he gave me a life because he believed in me," y/n spat.

she was so angry, she didn't hear her door open.

"he was my dad," y/n repeated, her voice breaking.

"he was my dad and now he's dead. and i miss him every single day. it hurts me to think about him, and i can't ever stop thinking about him because everything reminds me of him!

"he was your mentor, and my sister's dad, and my stepmother's husband, and my best friends' best friend. i'm his daughter! i see him everywhere! i can never not- i can never not see him or think about him. and it makes me want to give up knowing that i will never see him again," she continued, and peter felt awful, realizing he had been so caught up in his own grief, he didn't see her not grieving.

"i lost my whole world, peter. tasha was my best friend, steve was my second father. i am in pain every second of every day, but i have to keep it together for you and morgan, and pepper, and everyone!" y/n exclaimed.

tears were actively flowing down y/n's face, and she shook as she talked.

"i have to deal with the fact that i wasn't enough for tasha or steve to stay," y/n breathed, voice cracking. she tried her best to compose herself. "but i deal with it," y/n said softly.

"you know why i do that, peter? because my father taught me that everyone else is before me. and so i spend my life making sure that everyone else is okay," y/n explained, sighing as she angrily wiped tears from her face.

"i miss him like hell. and it hurts so much," y/n said, breathing deeply.

"because i know if he hadn't been so damn stubborn he would be here and i would be gone and everything would be okay," y/n muttered, and peter's eyes widened.

"and every day, you, and pepper, and morgan remind me it should have been me and not him! and i know that. and i wish every day it had been," y/n finished.

"i know you're hurting peter, we all are, but you have no right- n- no right," y/n mumbled. she turned, surprised to see the avengers outside her door, listening in.

at the broken looks on their faces, she crumpled, her legs giving out as she sobbed into her hands. "i failed," she whispered, "damn it. i'm sorry," she mumbled.

peter had been left feeling both shocked and guilty, and all he wanted to do was go over to her and apologize, but, bucky had picked y/n up from the ground, and thor was standing in front of peter with clint, and they did not have encouraging looks on their faces.

"y/n..." peter mumbled, starting to walk over to the door, but bruce stopped him with a disappointed look as he placed a hand on his chest, "you messed up kid. now you have to pay for it."

y/n had woken up on the couch, her arms wrapped around morgan, who had, at some point, climbed in with her.

y/n smiled at seeing her little sister, and she started running her fingers through morgan's hair, careful to not wake her up.

as memories of the night before flooded in her brain, y/n groaned, sighing in disappointment at herself.

as she looked down at morgan though, tears stung at her eyes, she needed to be strong for her little sister.

she smiled, even as her eyes burned, remembering how excited morgan was to meet her big sister, and how she had clung to y/n after hearing of her dad's death, hugging y/n's leg as if they had known each other for years.

y/n didn't want to feel it, the effects of losing three of the most important people in her life, but if she didn't, after that past night, she was sure the avengers were going to send her to a therapist to deal with her.

she pulled morgan closer to her gently, kissing the top of her head, before slowly laying her down again, covering her little sister with a blanket as she stood.

she stretched quietly, walking over to the kitchen in search of food, deciding on a banana before going to the training room.

y/n was surprised no one had been waiting for her. after last night, she had thought her uncles would be following her closely, just in case she would explode all over again.

she was grateful it wasn't like that, though, and especially so as she exercised in the training room, sweating out her frustrations.

she was distracted, which led her to be surprised when she was suddenly pinned to the wall, and she cursed, realizing who it was almost immediately.

"clint- what the hell?" y/n asked, before reacting, kicking at his leg harshly and making him fall, quickly pinning him down on the floor, and clint smirked.

he tsked, and y/n rolled her eyes, getting off of him and helping him up.

"what the hell was that about?" y/n asked, and clint shrugged, "never be distracted, y/n. not even in your own training room."

y/n huffed, scanning his face, realizing what he was really doing.

y/n squinted at him, "just say it. just say whatever you really want to say, i know that's why you're really here."

clint's face grew serious, and he sighed. "why didn't you tell any of us what you were going through? we would've helped you, you know?"

y/n shrugged, "i know, that's why i didn't. you had your own problems to deal with, and i can deal with mine very well, thank you."

she started to walk off, but clint grabbed her arm. "you shouldn't have to. we're a family, we support each other."

y/n didn't answer, and clint let her go in defeat.

"and you're more than enough, natasha... she was made for this, she was made to save the world," he said, and y/n sniffled.

"it doesn't make it hurt any less," she mumbled, heading for the bags.

it was bucky who came up to her next, while she was watching television in the common room, laughing at her favorite show.

"hey n/n," he said, and y/n had smiled at him, him and her had grown a lot closer, talking about steve and comforting each other during nightmares.

it was strange, the soldier had come into her life, and she had a strange sort of understanding with him, he was the uncle she never knew she needed. there were few exchanges of words, but it was enough, somehow.

"hi buck."

he hadn't beat around the bush, getting straight to the point immediately.

"it's not that you weren't enough y/n. steve, he deserved to be happy, he deserved to be a little selfish. he almost didn't leave because of you. but he knew you were strong- are strong, and he loved you, doll. he really did. you were the daughter he always wanted. he knew you would be okay. he had finished here. he brought me back, he saw you grow up, he saved the world, he just wanted the girl."

y/n froze, "i don't need- comfort, i, i'm good," she managed, and bucky rolled his eyes.

"come on, y/n, i 'm not stupid. and neither are you, you know not to keep things bottled up, let him in," bucky said softly, and y/n felt herself nod.

"okay," she said, surprised at herself.

she was sitting on her bed, watching television with morgan when peter came up to her.

y/n had just been informed morgan was also mad at peter because he 'made her big sister cry,' so it was really no surprise when morgan didn't greet peter like she usually did.

"um, hey morgan, do you mind if i talk to y/n for a little bit?" peter asked gently, but morgan had huffed, ignoring the brunette.

y/n had smiled softly at her little sister, kissing her head. "hey, maguna, i'll be right back okay?"

morgan grabbed onto y/n's hand, but y/n gave her a reassuring smile that made morgan let go, and give peter a stink eye.

y/n led peter out of her room to the hallway, where she stood awkwardly, arms crossed.

"i'm sorry, y/n. i am so sorry, angel," peter started, but y/n wouldn't meet his eyes.

y/n swallowed, "i know, it's okay, you were stressed-" she mumbled, but peter cut her off.

"no, no! it's not okay! i should have noticed you weren't dealing with this, and, and i shouldn't have told you those things. they're not true and they're awful, and, i'm so sorry, y/n," peter exclaimed, and y/n finally looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"i appreciate you so much, everything you've done for me, and now it's my turn. i'm here for you, y/n. let me be here for you," peter begged, taking a step closer to his girlfriend.

"you lost your whole world, let me help you," peter whispered, bringing the girl closer to him the same way she had done to him.

y/n melted against him against her own will, hugging him back.

"you made me feel really awful, pete, please- please don't do that. because if you do, you know maguna and i won't be as forgiving."

peter smiled at her words, pressing a kiss to her head. "i won't, angel, i promise i won't."

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sluttyprincessinarizona · 4 years

Text

Holy shit, alright.

So, first off, hi. I’ve been having a tough few days because of various reasons that I may or may not get into in this post. I’ve been bottling up all of my feelings for too long and writing things down has always been easier for me than talking about them. Basically, this is me spilling a lot of my secrets so I can get them out of my head. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you expected or wanted from me, please skip this if you’re not okay with a post like this.

TW//: Talk of anxiety and depression, mental and emotion manipulation(?), mentions of death and suicide, and just dark shit in general. Proceed with a lot of caution.

Hello. My name is Malachi. That’s not my birth name but it is the name I choose to go by. I am a non-binary African American person that is trying their absolute best in the life I was given. Admittedly, I’m not fairing very well but I continue to try everyday.

I come from a fairly large family. 8 siblings in total, 1 on my moms side and 7 on my dads. My mom and dad never married, they broke up when I was five years old, and when my dad moved out, I stayed living with my mom. My mom is bipolar and manic depressant and my older sister, my moms daughter, was a spoiled brat until I was born. From very early on, my sister would constantly tell me that I ruined her life, that she wished I was never born, that she hated me, etc. Unfortunately for me, my mom wanted me and my sister to get along so I was always around her. She would read books to me and have me around all the time. Because of this, I’m pretty sure anyway, I grew up to be very gifted. I entered kindergarten a year early, and all of my school life felt easy. I was never challenged. Even the gifted classes I was out in were hardly anything to me. Now, I know this sounds like I’m bragging, but I take no pride in these words or my talents. I’ll tell you why later.

Growing up was surprisingly difficult for me. My mom was struggling to support both of us so we moved house a lot. We moved into our grandma’s house at one point. That was when it was the worst. My sister would constantly tell on me, but when I turned the tables on her, she’d beg me not to. She’d promise that she’d ever tell on me again, and then turned around and threw away said promise as soon as I let it go. I was the “problematic” child. My sister berated me constantly, telling me that I was bad at dancing and singing, which is still one of my passions to this day. It stuck with me. Everything does.

Fastforward to middle school. I had spent the last few years of my life with a less than agreeable sister and a difficult to approach mother. I’ll get into my father’s deal in a little bit. Elementary school hadn't been good either. I was at a higher level than lost of people, so I would occupy my free time with books. PE and outside activities never intrigued me as much as most kids, and so I was then deemed the class outcast all the way until about 7th grade. Up until 5th, I trusted others way too easily. Someone could walk up to me, tell me their name and say they wanted to be friends and within a week I'd be telling them all my secrets and family troubles. It was stupid really, but no one taught me any different. I was betrayed a lot, and everyone in our grade knew things about me that I'm embarrassed to admit. It was heartbreaking to 5th grade me. Why was everyone so mean?

I was always more of a tomboy, even as a child. The girls were too "girly" for me and the boys didn't converse with girls so I was, again, alone.

By the time I got to 6th grade, I had already adapted a system. Go to school, do well, read in your free time, go home. No friends, no acquaintances, nothing. It was how I kept my heart safe. And it worked for a while. Luckily, I moved schools when I came up with the system, so no one was too keen on approaching me in the first place. Then, 7th grade came around. And holy god, was it horrible. For some reason, I made a friend. Now, she was nice. Very nice. We bonded over Undertale, she was great. We're still friends to this day. But I kept her at arms length, cause I had just broken the system. That wasn't apart of the plan. Even worse, I made two more friends. And worse than that, I developed my first ever crush on someone. All of my plans were failing, my walls were crumbling. But when these walls fell, my heart grew weaker still, cause having friends isn't as great as it should be. Especially in middle school.

Our small group was riddled with mental illnesses, and we'd joke about wanting to die at least twice a day. It was how we coped, even though none of us made any effort to get better. It wasn't the best, but 8th grade was somehow worse.

Our group split right down the middle. Half of the group wanted nothing to do with the other half. And I was stuck in the middle. I liked everyone, they were all my friends. How could I possibly choose between them?

And then, as if things couldn't get worse, one of my closest friends in that group called me out. Apparently, I had become so dependent on them, on her, that I was becoming "too outgoing" and annoying, and she stopped responding to me. I had let her inside my walls and she still hurt me deeper than anyone else. I apologized profusely. I had gotten so used to not being a bother that losing her trust was one of my worst fears. It scarred me. I spent days sulking, just wanting to properly apologize to her. I wanted to hear from her, I needed to. Eventually she forgave me, but the damage had been done. That was when I had come up with a new idea. Another system. I didn't execute it, but the idea sprouted in the back of my mind.

8th grade was the year of my first panic attack. It was dumb, really. I woke up, got ready for school, and realized there was an assignment I forgot to do that was due later that day. I had had a perfect record. My homework was never late, and it terrified me to no end to think that my streak would end like that. I sat against the wall of my bedroom, covering my mouth and hoping that I was crying quietly, so I wouldn't wake my dad. No one to help me, no one to ground me. I was spiraling for too long. The only thing that snapped me out of it was myself. I had to go to school or I'd be late, that was how I got myself out of that darkness. Pathetic, I know.

High school was a different battle field in and of itself. Sophomore, Junior and Senior year were pretty good, so I'll only talk about Freshman year.

I was very scared of high school. All the middle school teachers said high school teachers were ruthless, mean and impatient. They kicked people out of class, out of the whole school. School had been easy but high school was different. The mere mention of it made me nervous. Oh yeah, I haven't mentioned it before, but I have pretty bad anxiety. It's primarily social anxiety, but it gets bad at the worst possible times. I think I might have depression but I'm too scared to bring it up with my therapist, so that'll probably stay unsolved.

Freshman year wasn't very bad. It wasn't worse than 8th grade at least. What really got me was the workload. Self discipline, time management, all the mature people things that I had to learn. It made my anxiety skyrocket. I would be finishing assignments during lunch, mere hours before they were due. I was a rightful mess, on all accounts.

I had a big fallout with my dad, and that just made all of my problems worse. I'll get into that another time, seeing as this post is already too long.

Finishing high school was a breeze compared to earlier years. I made a small group of friends, many of which are onto bigger adventures in life. I haven't started college yet, but I haven't talked about what it is that I really wanted to talk about. The thing that's really been on my mind.

I'm nobody. I'm not just a nobody. I'm nobody. I honestly don't know who I am. My entire life, I had forfeited finding myself in favor of catering to others. I relinquished my personal freedom to make others life easier. I listened to everything my parents told me to do. No question, no complaints. I bend and broke myself to make my sister happy. I gave her so much of myself that I didn't have any left for me, yet she's still not happy with me. My friends don't know who I am. My mind is constantly thinking, I'm constantly drowning in dark thoughts and harmful words but they don't know. I hide it from them, I hid everything from them. I told them not to worry about it. And eventually, they did. It hurt. It stung. But it was my fault entirely.

My dad called me a robot once. I followed orders with feeling or hesitance. He was right. My constant thought process is all of my responsibilities. All of the things I need to do for someone else. Taking a break is impossible. Mt family needs me to function properly so they can live freely and without regret. I can't do that.

I can't eat what I want without making my mom angry in some way. I can't say or do or buy or receive anything without getting into an argument with my sister about how I'm somehow the spoiled one. Hell, I take a nap for too long and my mom gets upset at me. My dad is another ball game all on his own, so I won't talk about him right now.

What I'm trying to say it that my life isn't mine. My life is spent caring for others. Listening to other people over myself.

I'm horrible at taking compliments. I brush them off, deny them, pretty much anything other than saying thank you. It's not that I'm not grateful. I'm just tired of them. I've been showered with praise all my life, but it's bittersweet when you're taken advantage of every day. Taken for granted endlessly. They start to fade together.

Generic, everyday praise infuriates me to the highest level. Don't you dare say that cookie cutter bullshit to me. You think I haven't heard "oh you're so smart" before?? You think I haven't heard "you're beautiful" before??? I understand that you're just trying to be nice, but fuck off with that run of the mill fuckery.

Compliment me

How about you say, thank you for trying so hard for us?

Or, I see you helping out. I appreciate it.

Or, god forbid, you cab relax for once, I can take care of it.

Because god knows that I need a fucking break sometimes!

Oh, take a day off? Unless you want to come over here and handle my 101 responsibilities for this day alone, I suggest you shut that shit up right now.

Telling to take it easy doesn't fix the fucking problem.

One thing I know I do have are some major anger issues. That's not easily solved. None of my problems are.

At this point, I feel like I am my problems. Without my anxiety and my anger, who am I?

Who would I be?

Would I be better? Worse? Who would I have become?

I don't want help because help would change me. Help would get rid of me.

Whoever that me may be.

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timeoutforthee · 5 years

Text

Like it or Not-Chapter 14

Taglist: @itsausernamenotafobsong, @sea-blue-child, @iaminmultiplefandoms, @princeanxious, @uwillbeefoundtonight, @zaidiashipper, @arandompasserby, @levyredfox3, @falsett0, @error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong, @scrapbookofsketches, @podcastsandcoffee, @helloisthisusernametaken, @amuthefunperson, @michealawithana, @yamihatarou, @heck-im-lost, @unlikelynightmareconnoisseur, @idkaurl

Summary: Logan, Patton, Roman, and Virgil are all struggling in their recovery. Their doctors, Thomas Sanders and Emile Picani think they can help each other out.

Aka Group Therapy AU

Trigger Warnings: referenced self-harm, mentions of families breaking up, CPS

Read it on AO3!

“Virgil?”

“Just a second,” Virgil slips the knife back into the pillowcase and sets it on the top shelf of his closet. He shuts the closet door and opens the door to his bedroom, “What?”

“Can I come in?” Violet asks. This is a test, and Virgil knows it. If he says no, she’ll just think that he’s hiding something. Which he is, but he’s actually good at hiding it.

“Sure,” he opens the door and steps back to let her in. She frowns, just a little, and walks in, sitting at his desk.

Virgil’s room is pretty bare. Before him, his aunt had lived in a one bedroom apartment, because that was all she needed. For about a month, he slept on the couch. Eventually, they moved to a new apartment in the same building, one with two bedrooms. But Virgil still kept his stuff packed up, ready to move back to his dad’s at a moment’s notice. Now, his aunt is looking at the boxes and frowning.

“What do you want?”

“You have a session with Picani tomorrow.”

“I do. You’re not invited, if that’s what you were asking.”

“I was just wondering...if you had talked about your...previous circumstances at all. You know, about your dad, about how you got here…,” she trails off.

Virgil lets the silence hang in the air for a second, before he says, “No.”

“I thought you said you liked him?”

“Like is a stretch,” Virgil lies, “He’s just better than the therapist you found.”

“Right,” Violet says, “I’m just worried about your progress.”

“Don’t. I’m progressing just fine.” The cuts on his side are throbbing and he can practically hear them shouting liar, liar, liar, liar-

“Do you think you’ll actually feel comfortable enough to tell him everything eventually?”

No. “Sure. Eventually. Not now.” Anything to make this conversation end.

It must not be convincing, because his aunt is giving him the same “cut-the-bullshit” look she gives her clients.

Violet never means to be intimidating. In fact, when you work for Child Protective Services, it might be better to be open or warm. And she could be, if she tried. But she had seen too many parents pout and cry when they asked about the marks on their kids arms, heard too many promises that their kids were getting enough to eat, smelled too much liquor on their breath. Sure, some families were meant to stay together. Some were meant to weather the storm of addiction and come out on the other side. But, some kids needed toxicity cleansed from their life. That was what was best for them, and when it was, Violet was there, holding their hands as they walked away.

Violet has been called cruel, a monster, evil. She was the worker they told stories about. The evil CPS worker who just wanted to steal kids away from their parents. Didn’t she have a heart? Would she do it to her own family?

Well, turns out she would. She took her nephew away from her brother, because it was what was best for Virgil.

“Would you?” Virgil asked, going a more honest route.

Violet opens her mouth, ready to insist that yes, it was time to be more open, to break down his walls. But it’s hard. She knows it’s hard. And going to therapy in the first place was already a huge deal.

“I guess that’s up to you,” she says. She stands up from the desk and heads out the door.

“There you are.”

Virgil jumps at the sudden voice, but when he turns his head, it’s just Elliott. He sighs, steeling himself. He had to start hiding during lunches, because they would always find him and either beg him to come eat, or bring around their douchebag boyfriend.

“Hey, El. What’s going on?”

“So you know Kai?”

Virgil squints. He’s sure he’s seen him around, skating or something. “Barely.”

“Well he, you know, comes around Picani’s office sometimes, so we’ve been talking. But he had this idea that we could go over to his house for a bit, have some snacks, play some video games, but he’s really good so we’ll probably lose but that’s fine it’s just for fun-”

Elliott is rambling. Which is a problem, because it means there’s something wrong.

“What’s actually going on?”

Elliott stops in their tracks. “I, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing that therapist?”

“Yeah?”

“We talked about Mitchell, and how we might not be totally healthy?”

“Literally everyone tells you that, but sure. Therapist guy.”

“We just did some talking, and I thought about it a lot and…,” Elliott trails off then shakes their head. “I broke up with Mitchell.”

Silence.

“You what?”

“I broke up with Mitchell,” they repeat, even though they both know Virgil heard them the first time, “And I...I think it’s serious this time.” Their eyes are tearing up. “Kai just thought...if we had some fun this weekend, this party or whatever, I wouldn’t think about it and I wouldn’t regret it and I just-”

Elliott can’t continue because they are being crushed by a hug. Virgil is hugging them, which catches them off guard. They may be best friends, but Virgil still doesn’t do hugs, ever, with anyone. Elliott hugs him back.

“That’s amazing, El, I’m so proud of you….,” Virgil whispers, and damn, now both of them are teary.

“Yeah, I...I am, too. I think,” Elliott winces, “You know, we’re working on my confidence next.”

Virgil laughs and finally pulls away, “I’d say that’s a good thing, but I don’t have much room to talk.”

There’s a beat of silence that lasts a little too long, and he looks over at Elliott with raised eyebrows.

“You know, I’ve just been thinking. Therapy has been good for me. I think...it might be good for you, too?”

Virgil shakes his head, “To go to therapy, you need a car. And my dad would never drive me to therapy.”

“If all you need is a car, my sister can drive us,” Elliott says, immediately.

“I’m not going to bug your sister. Besides, what happens in September when she heads up to college?”

Elliott’s face falls and Virgil regrets bringing that up, but they just shake it off and go back to the topic at hand.

“I already asked her, she said it’s fine. And we can figure it out when it gets here. Just, consider it, Virge, please?”

“I’ll consider it.” Virgil didn’t trust therapists. He didn’t need anyone poking around in his life. He had to keep everyone at a distance, or things would we really go to shit. And if this guy could convince Elliott to break up with Mitchell, who knew what kind of mind games he could play?

“Look, Virgil, I got a new toy!” Emile says as soon as he walks in.

Virgil turns his head to the end stand, where his therapist keeps all his fidget toys. There’s therapy putty, a tangle, a fidget spinner, and now a small cube.

“Good for you, Emile.”

“Well, aren’t you gonna play with it?”

“I think I’m good.”

Virgil still didn’t completely trust him. At this point, he had been burned too many times to fully trust anyone. But Emile had earned his respect before he even met him, because if he got through to Elliott when so many others couldn’t, he must be doing something right.

Even if some of his methods were...interesting.

“C’moooooon,” Emile whines, “It has buttons.”

“Oooh,” Virgil says, sarcastically. He picks up the small cube, anyway, just to humor him. He presses a few of the buttons, looking it over to see all the different sides.

“So what are we going to talk about today?” Dr. Picani asks him, leaning back in his chair and pulling out his notebook.

“I’m guessing I can’t say ‘nothing.’”

“Well, you could, but that wouldn’t be very beneficial, would it?”

Virgil sighs, clicking the buttons quicker, trying to think of something. There was only one thing on his mind, but he didn’t need to think about that, it was over.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Seriously, how did he do that?

“I’m thinking about some things that happened this week.”

“You know, it’s a little easier for me to try and help if you’re a little more specific.”

Virgil looks up and glares, flicking the little light switch on the cube.

“Logan...wasn’t doing so well recently. I’m not saying that to judge him or anything, it’s just,” he sighs, “We were worried, you know? He stopped eating one day, and then the next he avoided us all, and then he skipped his therapy appointment.”

“Is he back on track now?”

“Yeah, he’s good now,” Virgil says, “It was just...off for a little bit.”

“And what did things being ‘off’ mean for you?”

“I feel like that’s just your way of asking me how I feel without being a cliche.”

“I feel like that’s you dodging the question and hoping I don’t notice.”

Virgil huffs, leaning back on the couch. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just...I’m not used to this friends thing, you know? Like how is it supposed to work? I tried to make Logan feel better, but I almost made it worse. And then Patton made him feel better, which is not surprising because Patton is the same one who made me feel better during a panic attack. But what if he gets tired of trying to help us all the time? What if we’re not helping him enough? What if one of us gets better and can’t be pulled down by the rest anymore? What if-” Virgil cuts himself off, pulling his eyes away from his therapist and focusing on the fidget cube.

“Virgil?”

“What if one of us gets worse?”

Dr. Picani inhales, deeply, “Well, I can’t promise you they won’t. Eating disorders can come in waves of severity. But I think you need to remember you guys aren’t alone in this. You have me and Thomas. If someone is starting to spiral, we’ll know.”

Virgil’s mind flashes back to Patton, back to all his snarky comments about himself, flashes to Logan, and how he backpedaled so quickly so suddenly. “Will you?”

Picani purses his lips, then leads forward in his chair, slightly. “Virgil, can I ask you question?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“If I asked you who you trusted, who would you say?”

Virgil opens his mouth, ready to answer, but stops. He used to be able to say, honestly, that he trusted Elliott. And, well, look what happened there. He could say Patton, he can’t imagine him ever purposefully hurting anyone, but you never know. He definitely didn’t trust his aunt, not after she decided to completely overhaul his life without his input.

“I guess...no one.”

Dr. Picani frowns. “We’ll have to work on that.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sander sides fanfic #like it or not #virgil sanders #i don't know how this entire chapter ended up being him but it is

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notconsolation · 6 years

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So here’s my history. It’s gonna be long, so I fully do not expect anyone to read this, this is as much a record for myself as it is anything else. I fucking pray this read more works. If it doesn’t, happy scrolling, it’s a long one boys

It’s hard to place because my memories of the beginning are quite vague. It became noticeable at the end of the summer of 2012, so I’m guessing it started in sort of late 2011. So I was 13. It sort of kicked off with orthorexia, but neither I nor anybody in my circle would have known the signs to notice them. It also turned into anorexia pretty early on I think. Or at least I just finally accepted the label after a while. I always hated the word, though. It’s a phonetically horrible word. The german was worse to me, though now I think it’s more accurate. ‘Magersucht’ - ‘gauntness/skinness addiction’ basically. I don’t know- I just started eating things like a salad with no vinegar and no oil once a day, then sort of once every two days and nobody really noticed. I went on an exchange trip to Spain that summer and I hated it because everything was oily and I felt the stains the food left around my mouth and had to fight the urge to wipe away at it constantly. I would try to cut it up and spread the food around the plate to get rid of oil, I’d rub it on my lips on the way to my mouth so that I could wipe it off afterwards rather than take it in. I went vegan I went gluten free I went uh.. food free after a bit basically. My mother noticed in late 2012 because she went away for a week and when she came back she said my clothes hung off me and I’d always been a size xs. Didn’t stop me from doing youtube workout videos from 11pm until 2 every night. God, my tailbone bled onto my sheets sometimes and I’d use that to pretend I was still getting my period. It was obsessive, but in a way that’s very removed to me now, because now I’m obsessive in so many different ways, though partially about the same things.

We spent a long time sort of not doing much except my mother fretting and my father not mentioning it and my sister rolling her eyes at my attention whoring by coercing my organs into imminent failure. We went to a couple of doctors to try to get some kind of diagnosis because I wasn’t strictly denying that there was something wrong, but I wan’t going to take the intiative to get ‘better’ from a situation which I perceived as not normal, sure, but not my responsibility to fix because it wasn’t my mind that told me I wasn’t normal and okay, it was everyone else’s. So if my being deathly thin bothered them, they could do something about it but I wouldn’t. I think that’s more or less what my thought process was. I guess around this time I was hovering around 42-44 kilos. I got so fucking good at figuring out which of my clothes weighed the most so that I could wear them when my mom would weigh me and cry. I knew she wouldn’t want to see my body, so I wore layers of wet clothes under denim and she never asked me to take it off cause she didn’t want to see my bones. In fairness I cried a lot, too. Sometimes I guess we cried about a lot of the same stuff.

My relationship with my ED is, to a large degree, inseparable from my relationship to my mother because for three very formative years in my life we spent every conscious moment aware of how much suffering each was going through, and that empathy magnified the pain and suffering itself. I talk about this in past tense when really I shouldn’t, but it’s easier to pretend now that we live in separate countries. She is the best person and I don’t know.

But anyway, we went to different therapists for a while. None of them did much. We tried this family based approach for a while which was... god i never want to go to family therapy of any kind ever ever ever again. Didn’t help, really. I saw that therapist about a year later when I was walking home from school and she stopped me and said I was looking so good and wasn’t it nice that I was recovering and I was thisclose to spearing her with a pitchfork and telling her that really, as a therapist that specialises in eating disorders she should know better than to assume someone is in recovery because they’ve gained weight before cooking her up like a suckling pig. She was probably objectively nice. But she was such a fucking Karen. Anyway, all this time I was still losing weight. I got up early and drank litres so I’d still weigh the same in the morning, but man. There was a morning when I overslept and I panicked and my mother panicked and we all cried and she wouldn’t give me time to layer up and drink and so - tada - there’s the number blinking up at me and everyone i angry and there’s a lot of snot from my mother and spit from my father, but my body holds on to its fluids because it knows i can’t afford to lose them. anyway, I hate the number 35.8 now forever. I’m not even entirely sure that was my lowest weight but I’ve literally blocked out those memories. I have no access to them whatsoever.

I have no idea how i never fainted. I missed a lot of school. Everyone went so far out of their way to accommodate me. I realise i haven’t been talking about what went on inside me and it’s because it’s like there’s a haze over it all, muffling the whole thing and inserting this sort of dead, lifeless ringing into my ears and before my eyes. I know I was obsessive and that I was aware that I should get better and I agreed that I should get better, but that I would always find ways to make sure I didn’t eat more than 800 calories a day at most. Thereabouts, anyway. I just Don’t Remember so much of it. But yeah. My parents got me a place on a clinic waiting list and I got moved up to have an interview with the Oberfrauärtztinchefincaptainsirmaam and i am so very grateful that she was so very awful. I distinctly remember her telling me i should be strapped to a bed with a needle in my arm and that i shouldnt be thinking and doing school work anymore because intense thinking can burn as many calories an hour as a lumberjack at work. So when a spot opened up at the clinic I was able to beg and cry and beg my parents for one last shot at doing it myself. I have no idea why they let me, I really don’t. By this point one or more of my organs had probably been permanently damaged and it’s a miracle my bones aren’t entirely porous and brittle. I get survivors guilt sometimes because I really do think that, objectively, I shouldn’t be alive. I shouldn’t have made it through that. And I was so difficult about it. I would say I want to recover, and then not do anything to further that. I’d shoot down every suggestion and option and resolutely state that I was different and so, sorry mother mine, but the big fat book you bought with helpful tips and tricks? not gonna help, go away, leave me alone. I guess that was my version of teenage angst: ‘go away, I don’t need help literally staying alive because I’m a different human being from every other human being that’s ever gone through this’.

I do still believe that, in a way. I believe that everyone’s experience of it is different, and the causalities are so muddled that they’re barely discernible, but I was such a bitch about. I mean I still am, 100% but..!.

But I did gain weight back. I was still fucked up inside, but people stopped asking if I was feeling okay and started telling me they were so glad and proud that I was feeling better. Nobody really thought ‘hey, maybe telling this girl constantly and with strong, authoritative voices that she needs to eat eat eat eat eateateateatEAT might fuck her up a bit uwu’. It’s simplistic to blame it on that, though. But yes. I gained about 30 kilos in 2 years and I hated every second of it and my mental state deteriorated pretty steadily and lo, my anorexia became more akin to binge eating disorder. Depression kicks in, identity crises abound, the constant nagging intrusive ideas and noisy background of thoughts never stop, gender dysphoria jumps on the bandwagon for a while, and all manner of those tasty self-destructive tendencies find days of my life to cronch down on and consume whole.

But it always comes back down to food. I’ve made the binge eating section of this so brief because it exhausts me so and because I’m not sure how comprehensible it is as a concept to people. When you say binge eating disorder people sometimes think ‘oh shit man, I get you, I eat waaay to many pizzas AND, christ help me, sometimes I have a whole tub of ice cream by myself i hope god can forgive me hahaha’

BUt, Chad, what you fail to understand is that this is chronic behaviour where I consume sometimes seven or eight thousand calories at once and calculate every single one afterwards and literally worry that my stomach might rupture from the sheer volume of food and also that I’m doing yet more serious long term damage to my body and oh! hey frantic google searches on how diabetes works and if you can get it from repeatedly eating whole jars of nutella! didn’t see you there!

Listen, it’s all been a downer, yeah. By this point I’m assuming I’m speaking exclusively to the future self that I wrote this for as a record of what I remember. But listen. It always comes down to food for me. It just always does. And this whole thing was just sparked by the notion that I would love it if more people were aware that, sure, I deal with it because I have to and because it’s what one does, but if you could just... not bring up food to me unless I bring it up first? that would be great? And i don’t mean questions about my thoughts on it or anything, I just mean specifically for the future prospect of eating. For that very specific thing, if you don’t bring it up I’ll be super grateful because yeah, I’d love to watch a movie with you, but I’d love it even more if I didn’t have to spend an hour thinking of an excuse for not eating popcorn or not wanting to go for drinks afterwards. I think it would be amazing if we could establish a dialogue as a norm.

something like at some point having a conversation with someone along the lines of

‘hey, you know I don’t judge you or expect you to justify your eating habits to me, right?’

‘wait, really?’

‘yeah, that’s your business and I honestly don’t care, so you can stop stressing about it’

This has been an ED chat with Hannah

#about #what a ride #come back for the next instalment whenever life next gets to much for me xoxo

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becca-5280 · 6 years

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Just a glimpse...

This blog isn't going to be one of the happiest. But, I unfortunately was one of billions of kids who grew up with an alcoholic parent. Sometimes I can be hesitant to share my full story because I know damn well there is people out there who had it far worse than I did. Both my mother and father were loving and compassionate people. But, my father was also and still is an alcoholic. I love my father deeply, and he is a wonderful person and every single day I wish there was something I could do to make him stop, or try to help him. But, he does not want my help, nor anyone else's. He will drink from the time he is off of work which can be anywhere from 2-5 PM until 1-2 AM. A 24 pack of Budweiser, and a pint of Peppermint Schnapps. 12-15 beers a night. More than half the bottle of Peppermint Schnapps. He can put it away, and that's not a compliment.

I was four or five years old in my earliest memories. I can vividly remember coming home from school and making myself a bowl of top ramen and watching Cyberchase or some show on PBS every single day. My dad would get home and go straight downstairs and start to drink. I lived upstairs, my parents were downstairs (at our old house) My parents would stay downstairs, and I would be left upstairs to play by myself and feed myself most nights too. Thankfully my parents kept food in the house, it wasn't always the best... but as a kid Chef Boyardee and Ramen are some pretty good options. My mom always worked late shifts or graveyards at the Texaco up the street from my house that is now a Starbucks. (insert eye roll here) Things would be okay, until about 10 PM, after that it was always a waiting game. Loud music. Screaming. Throwing things. The whole shaaabang. Countless school nights I got no sleep because my parents were fighting all night long. Countless nights I needed rides and didn't have one because my dad was too drunk to drive. (Insert story here: I remember one night I was at the Arvada Center doing community service for a shoplifting BULLSHIT charge I got, I was not shoplifting, someone else was. I was just with them. ANYWAYS... my dad came to pick me up that night, I called him 10 minutes before I was out of there, and then I get a call about 20 minutes after hanging up with him saying I had to walk to the maintenance shop across the street because he got pulled over. Instant panic set in, because if I knew my father, he had been drinking. I ran all the way there got in the truck and my dad is just eating Rolaids like candy to cover the smell on his breath, he's shaking. Terrified. I'm scared. Cop walks up, asked where I came from I told him, and then he wrote a ticket for my dad for using private property to avoid a traffic control device because he went to cut through the parking lot to get to me. HE GOT LUCKY. And he knew that, and you know what he stopped drinking heavily for a while after that, but fell back in eventually...) My father turns into an asshole when he drinks, and that's putting it nicely...

I have a shoebox full of sorry letters and cards from my father, because he wakes up and doesn't realize the mean and hurtful things he says when he drinks, and so when I don't talk to him or I called him out on being rude, he'd run to our local Walgreens and get me some sort of candy and a card saying sorry. I just got to the point of accepting this is who my father is and I'd rather accept the shitty apologies than never talk to him. I had to grow up quicker, but it made me into the person I am today. I spent years trying to figure out why. Why he drank so much? Is he in pain? Why did he turn to alcohol? So many questions I don't think I'll ever have the courage to ask..

But guess what? The thing no one will tell you about loving someone who has an addiction... It will FORCE you to see the world through different eyes. I went to therapy as a kid, several times. I never understood why my parents made me go. I felt like I had no reason to be there. The only thing the therapist would explain to me over and over again is your father is a 'functioning alcoholic,' The first time I heard this term I was 9, and literally I wanted to scream ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? Don't make excuses for him. He is an alcoholic. But now that I am older and can better understand the term, it makes sense. A functioning alcoholic is someone who is an alcoholic but they are able to function as they normally would.

But, my father, god forgive me for saying this, is quite possibly the meanest most cruel person I have met to this day. He is very precise with his word choice when speaking to my mother or I. He knows what to say to make us upset, and he uses it against us EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT. It was a nightly thing. Every night something new. Eventually my mother got to a point where she was pushed beyond her limits, and she started to attack my father. Now my father NEVER laid his hands on my mother not even to get her off of him. So I have a respect for him from that. But, at some point 5-6 years ago I realized no matter how many notes I slipped under my dad's door begging him to not drink anymore, or no matter how many times my mother and I would tell him what he had done the night before... nothing was going to change. Because, my father is an alcoholic.

I was 8 years old when I realized that maybe my dad wasn't the only one who needed help... It started out like any other night. Normal. My sister and I anticipated a fight every single night during this period of my life. It started with loud music... and ended with my mom going to jail. This was also the night we found out my mother was bipolar. My father had been drinking heavily that night, per the usual... And he was playing his music, LOUDLY. Now my mother had work early the next morning and was growing frustrated that he wasn't turning it down. So she went downstairs to try and get him to turn it down. And he did... For I'd say 2-3 minutes. Then right back on... My sister and I obviously couldn't sleep either. At this point my mother was steaming, it was late... I didn't blame her. She was pacing around our dining room table throwing the chairs on the ground and my sister and I were behind her picking them up and trying to get her to calm down. She walked right past me and my sister, and we just waited. Then all of a sudden the music stopped. It was SILENT. I went to walk downstairs and the next thing I know my dad rounds the corner to come up the stairs, and his exact words... "Your mother is downstairs calling the police on herself, I tried to get her to stop, but I couldn't. Your mother fucking stabbed me. She stabbed me!" Blood was running down the side of his head. I ran outside screaming. Moments later police officers arrived, and both of my parents were gone and my Grandpa was at our house to stay with us. At 8 years old that's a lot to take in. All my sister and I wanted to do was sleep in our mom's bed, because we had been told there is a chance we may not be able to see our mother for a while, and we were devastated. I went to my grandfathers the next day, and my mother was out and staying there because my father chose not to press charges. AND YES THEY ARE STILL MARRIED TO THIS DAY. It took a lot of forgiving, which honestly I don't think has really been done, but my father likes to say he forgives her. I mean, I can't blame him. But I am biased because I love both of my parents.

From that point on though things actually got worse, A LOT worse.

My mother was better, but my dad... He got worse.

Middle school was a joke. I mean I did really good. 4.0 student both years. Did all I could to make my parents proud, and I did.

But, when I hit high school. It was different. Life got hard. And I'm sure everyone says that because high school is a bitch. But, my home life got hard, which in turn made school hard. I started to stay out late, and not come home because I didn't want to deal with my dad's drinking. But that started to backfire on me quick.

My father started to accuse me of things would have never even thought of doing. He thought I was prostituting myself out. ( I worked at a movie theater, lol) There is one vivid quote I will forever have imprinted in my head. One night he was in my room talking to me, and I obviously was at the point by now where I wanted him out, and I didn't want to deal with his shit... But, my dad is relentless. He looked me dead in the eyes and said... "How are you making money?" I said... "I have a job dad. At a movie theater. I go there serve popcorn and they pay me money to do that" His response... "I'm going to go downstairs be sure to send me the URL to the video that you made sucking some guys dick to make money."

He would take vulgar degrading stabs at me night after night. Make me feel absolutely worthless.

He was only ever abusive physically with me twice. Both times were deserving, yes. But, he could've approached it differently.

I got to the point where I didn't want to invite people over. Because if you had been over enough times, you'd know that you too become a subject of my dad's asshole snarky comments.

Trust me, I use sarcasm ALL THE TIME. But, there is a limit to it, and my father doesn't know his. And he can get very offensive with his words very quickly.

For the most part we lived an isolated life, my mothers dad would stop by from time to time to say hi. And I would see my cousins, but beyond that we were just living life. Our family didn't know about all the shit we had been through for the longest time.

But I get it.. When you come from a family where things can be absolutely fine one minute and change 180 degrees in another direction all from one wrong word, or one two many shots... Why would you risk exposing all your issues if you don't have too.

My dad promised me 1000's of times when I was younger that he would stop. Obviously never held up to his end of the bargain. So I've always had this internal fight... To love or to hate? Fucked up, I know. But it goes something like this I think my dad loves me, and that sometimes he messes up, but he has also done so many good things for me... But at the same time there was so many nights where I wanted to run away from him and never come back, because in that moment I thought I hated him.

But I've reached the point where I laugh. As morally fucked up as that sounds. He doesn't get the same satisfaction.

because the thing with my dad is that he loves to push buttons. And he loves to see how far he can push you before you crack. So if I fill where I once used to cry with laughter he doesn't really know how to take it. And leaves me alone. He probably thinks I'm crazy. But if it works, it works. Every single person deals with or copes with things in their own ways. Whatever is easiest for you, may not work for someone else.

The toxicity I grew up with shaped me into who I am today. And I'm thankful for it. None of it was easy. And there is still things I struggle with to this day. But, learning to cope and not let the same abusive words get to me is my main goal.

I love my father more than I'll ever be able to explain, and I know he loves me too.. But alcohol is one hell of thing, and it's got it's claws in my dad so deep I don't know if he will ever come back. But I can't go on hating him, because if I do I'll regret it one day, and that's something I don't want. I want my parents to know that regardless of what they've done to me, or what I've done to them, that I love them. And that they both mean the world to me.

But sometimes leaving the toxic for something brand new is the best thing.

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khedmedarcue-blog · 5 years

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Dating a borderline personality disorder man

Top 10 Signs That You're Dating a Borderline Personality To be honest, I am a human being, she need me to be perfect, strong, dun have fear, and I cannot even cry! While love addiction is not medically diagnosable, addictive behavior is difficult to live with. He tells people he wants me and loves me, but his actions do not reflect that. You do learn a lot about yourself! Insecure women love the fake alpha male. Alyssa February 4, 2013 at 3:06 pm Hello,you are just an absolutey wanderful woman to of said what I just read,I have been in a relationship with a woman for 3 years that had the mom problems early in life and all the rest,I tried to save her. Most guys instead try to fix them and be positive and make them feel better.

Dating a person with borderline personality disorder She makes me the happiest person alive, but so does she make me the saddest person alive. Thankfully I realised how emotionally abusive he was after only a few weeks yes he showed me all of this in the space of a few weeks! Hence why experience is important. Two individuals come together — attraction, lust, love, personality styles, personal and family histories, attachment, and lifestyles collide — and there you are in the middle of a daring, challenging, and steamy relationship. I´m not sure if there will be anything, but I feel myself good — because can be myself and don´t give other to control my life! Relationships that shame and realities of. On the first day she asked me when i am going to marry her i said lets speak to her parents and start things for the wedding.

Dating Someone With Borderline Personality Disorder Borderline Personality Disorder in Men Borderline personality disorder in men is often overlooked and brushed off with a recommendation for an anger management class. That is probably the only bit of truth I have ever discovered in my relationship with him. You describe to me a man that does nothing for you, treats you like shit, is basically scum, and then you go and say that you love him. I think you should have another look at the text and perhaps try and help rather than be so quick to jump on the attack. One day he said he loved me more than his own mother, more than even his own daughters. I hated how I treated people and I hated feeling that sense of superiority.

Relationships and Borderline Personality Disorder My situations maybe a little different. For one thing, men, in general, are more averse to seeking professional help for medical or mental problems. Over the next few years, he continued to ask me to marry him one day and then indicated I made it up. They apparently try to manipulate the therapist to believe the other partner has the disorder. Creating a plan on how to deal with the behaviors ensures that you are not feeding the symptoms of the disorder by ensuring you stay calm in the midst of an issue. I made her move out shortly after.

How To Date A Man With BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) Meds create way more problems that these personality disorders. When you do hang out with him, just keep it friendly. Bad person with borderline personality disorders affecting wife assault post-treatment recidivism. I'm not really great at dealing with all the unkindness and negativity myself. Like Dave Chappelle said if it was my sister they would have found the bloody glove at our house. A real toll on the same symptoms are chaotic, rent the signs that the most people with someone with someone with borderline personality disorder. She became extremely jealous even of family then flirt with other men and throw it in my face.

Male Borderline Personality Disorder: What You Should Know I hated obsessing about people who I perceived had wronged me. Often the way a couple interact tends to exacerbate problems. Anyway they're different, for one borderline personality disorder can be cured! Please give me some advice on how to deal with it. He could reach out to you as well. I begged her not to got my things and moved out hoping it would give her the space she needed. Then, not too long after she was threatening and saying very bad things but now I am just no longer replying to her. Let him be the one to open up to you, to ask you to be in a relationship.

Dating Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder Even though they are beautiful and have material things, they envy you for your beauty, your intelligence, your clothes, your car, etc. But the more I learn about this monster in my head, the more tools and armor I can pick up to slay it. When Michael said he would see the counselor again with Diane, and that he diagnosed Michael with 2 diagnosis; alcohol abuse and impulse control disorder. She told me how it was an extremely toxic relationship. This was nothing like my previous relationship.

Dating Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder I had looked back on my previously relationship and had learned a lot about myself and what I had done wrong. In my own personal life, romantic relationships were often marked by drama and more drama. She would refuse to say, medication, rent the cycle of the traits of violent men shortly before or have a lot. Within weeks her old abusive ways returned. To get straight to the point she got insane mood swings and can get mad about things i mean in a good way. I was disappointed in myself a bit with that the day she broke up.

Borderline Personality Disorder, Fear of Abandonment and Dating Rick, How about if she is more negative on herself than anything? My point is to get her back, but for good this time. Children of bpd parent will grow up to be either bpd or a pushover like most spouses of bpd people. Because the fault is always yours. Author: Whitney Easton Whitney is a writer, blogger, and social media enthusiast. I have been willing to try to work things out. So you started out the relationship keeping your son a secret from him? I could have written the above.

Borderline Personality Disorder, Fear of Abandonment and Dating Teach your kids to constantly be searching for that inner strength and peace, teach them to believe in themselves, teach them about inner confidence, strong core values, etc. She stresses the importance of helping your partner by lending physical assistance, but not enabling her emotionally by preventing her from doing what she is capable of doing for herself. The more and weaker you are with boundaries, the more likely you are to be abused and taken advantage of. He begins to pull away, and all of my greatest fears are validated. I talked to him and we made up.

#Relationships #and #Borderline #Personality #Disorder

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behdahbswriting · 6 years

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Ship me out of sight

“You don’t know what she’s capable of; she’s got a fucking gun....”

It’s a woman’s voice, or maybe a man’s voice that’s high pitched. Not that I’d be able to tell, and I’m not even sure that’s what was said. I don’t know anything right now; I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what I did to get here- my head is throbbing, and my legs are burning. I can feel the bruises on my arms, on my ankles, and around my throat. There’s someone there too, someone lingering around me, I can smell it -the cigarettes and the vodka. I can’t stop shaking and when it goes dark- like someone’s buried me six feet underground- I start to wish I was dead.

* * *

Finally, I woke up, sweat dripping from my face, tears coming from my eyes as if I cried in my sleep and my head's still fucking throbbing. I was fine a couple of days ago, but they don’t tell you the consequences of accepting help from the wrong people, the kind of shit that gets you killed. I shouldn't say that though, cause my family tried, believe me, they tried harder to warn me of dying then they did about unprotected sex- which could kill me just as equally. I never listened to anything though, and I set up a trip by myself. Figured I’d head across the border, I could get across without a passport and just shuffle around from one state to another for a while until I found something- or someone- permanent. So, I didn’t have a plan- first mistake- but I didn’t just go without a plan to keep myself safe. I knew the laws of each state, open carry- licensing, and weapon laws- all of it. I just wanted to be on my own away from all my -imaginative- drama. Which brings me to my second mistake- thinking I could do anything alone knowing damn well how I'm treated out here on these streets and in these neighborhoods. There might as well have been a bounty on my head for $5,000. See, there was a guy who killed a woman a few years back in Toronto and was let out on $5,000 bail- she was beautiful and a mother, and she ended up dead. So that's basically where my mind wasn't. I didn't think of that then, and I'm still trying not to think about it now, but I'm still breathing, aren't I? So I must be thinking of something. My therapist said it's a survival instinct, but I think it's just me making up excuses for what happened to all those people because of me.

* * * I can't think a whole lot of anything right now, just staring at the ceiling and remembering when I was listening to my annoying ass sister, as she begged me to stay. As of now-I'm in a hostel- not a brothel- let's get that clear first off. I couldn't afford a hotel, and those dingy little motels smell like piss and had cockroaches on the fucking walls. Who knows what kind of disgusting diseases were all over those bed sheets? I had about $3,000 saved in my bank account, the majority of it going into luggage, car rental, and bus tickets to get me wherever the hell I want to. First stop was Seattle, don't ask me why- I saw it in that 50 shades movie and I just really liked the skyline. So, Seattle it is, a hostel right by the bridge, you could see the sunrise every morning and see it set every night. It was a girls only hostel- specifically a girls-only sorority looking apartment with no cocaine on the tables and no stocked bar- so no fun. The booking woman looked like a cheap version of the Kardashian clans mother- over made up with makeup creasing in her wrinkles and smelling like every expensive perfume mixed on her skin. I wasn't going to judge her, but I could tell she didn't have much of a life, so in a way, I pitied her at first. The tour was standard- kitchen to cook in, bathroom to bathe and piss in, bedroom to fuck and sleep in, and of course, a living room to not socialize in at all. I took a glance at the other places in the hostel; there were around six rooms not counting the master one, one each with a girl either doing her makeup, watching tv, or eating a cup of noodles on her bed. I couldn't take them- or the scenery- seriously so I just ignored the fact that I was apparently the oldest one there. I'd have to deal with the implications of maturity much later on anyways.

When I first showed up, the rent lady said we could check in for a cost of $200 for a week. An hour later she said I could just pay her $500 up front and stay for a month, I figured It was my best price and best place to settle in for a while since I was running out of money- and fast. I gave the lady $500 in cash and called it a night. Within a few hours of not being able to sleep, I heard one of the girls crying- annoyed I opened my door and looked where it was coming from in the living room. It was the girl who was doing her makeup all fancy; she'd just gotten home and looked a bit roughed up to me. "This is only temporary..." I told myself, don't get into it with these people who wouldn't give two shits if you disappeared tomorrow, just leave them be. I did just that, I put on my headphones and drowned out everything else, I collapsed at some point and woke up to the sun shining directly in my eyes. I looked in the living room, and at the open-concept kitchen right next to it, the same girl was making herself a coffee and seemed to be doing better. I got up, threw a baggy t-shirt on and headed for the bathroom. Within a millisecond I was swarmed by the girls, the youngest ones anyway, they wanted to know why I was alone- did I have a boyfriend/husband and of course- did I hear anything about the disappearances in the city- which was a long pause and a no. I was intrigued but reminded myself to stay within my bounds for comfort and shit.

I can see all the windows and the one door; I can feel the anxiety go straight through me. It starts at my head; first, I overthink- scream? No. run? Fuck no. Punch, kick, bite? -Do you want to be tortured with a hot curling iron again? Then again-I tried my hardest to ignore it, but it kept spreading like a fucking cloud of smoke. It's in my throat and my ears now. I can't hear to be clear I'm deaf, so I shut my eyes-they say canceling out a few senses helps the other ones, so I close my eyes- feel my throat burning like acid was shoved in my mouth- and feel for something with my hands. I felt the footsteps, the clicking of heels and something else- thud-thud-thud-thud-glass breaking- some girl just pissed off the most massive guy here. I can feel the running of her feet, running fast and then it just stops- a louder thud- he must have knocked her out with his gun. My throat dries up and closes; she was young- too young. She was only 14, and she just signed her death certificate for not complying with the john or "daddy." I keep feeling for something- then it spreads in my chest. I sense it carefully- I can't breathe anymore so at this point I'm hyperventilating hoping I'll pass out until they've done what they wanted with me. I feel it spread to my arms, and my hands, then it spreads to my stomach. It burns, I remember the hunger I was feeling earlier, now- I can feel the sickness come over me. That feeling of knowing what's happening and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. I hold my stomach to try and calm it- if I throw up, or if I complain even my stomach feeling sore would be the least of my problems. I'd be forced to clean it and eat it while being whipped with an electrical cord or something worse. The anxiety spreads to my legs now, going past parts I'm trying to ignore, my waist and hips and everything in between. Everything burns as if someone took a blow torch to me- as if I was being made to feel what it was like to survive torturing slowly and surely. I don't feel much in my legs now; the anxiousness doesn't send me kicking or trying to get out of my chains on my ankles. It just makes my legs

I killed them, all of them, or maybe just three of them. I remember what it felt like, the way the gunshot back and almost made me hit my face. The way the shots rang out as I felt them in my hands, arms and my chest. I felt it and saw it, but I didn't hear it, that's why I was still standing. They say when you hear a gunshot at close range your ears start ringing and you can't think for a second; I don't have that problem, so I kept going. I emptied the entire clip, which was apparently ten bullets.

The one guy I recognized him, from over a year ago, he beat me, and I killed him. The other guys, I have no clue who any of them are, I just saw them enter rooms that ended with screaming and crying coming from the girls. I heard the whips, the torture they put the girls through, and that was it. That's all I knew about them- and it was enough- I didn't care about their family, their work, if they were given an honor medal for being in the army, if they were a prestigious doctor or lawyer- they were worthless. They didn't deserve mercy, not from me, not from the women- not from some God people seem to make up in their heads.

The others left and ran- or they were already dead. I didn't stick around to check and see, the only one I care about was Serena.

My brother showed up- of all people, and he's not even my brother anymore, I hardly ever saw him. He was in the army for some time when I was a kid; he used to fly in a helicopter called some birds name. There are pictures of him during his time over there. Now he's forcing me to do the same fucking thing. I don’t want to survive this shit just to be sent to my death sentence again.

I'm not some fucking moronic little girl who cant handle herself anymore.

He said I have to go to Chicago and enlist, or I’ll go to jail, or I’ll end up dead.

Sounds like a never-ending five-way street to ending up assaulted by more men and beat to death if you ask me, but of course he didn’t.

I don’t know what he's trying to do but I'm in this stupid fucking uniform now and we’re on our way. I said I wasn't going to cry, cause soldiers don’t show emotion unless someone dies, but I feel like I did. I died back there, I survived, but that part of me that was still human is fucking gone now. It's like my soul or spirit or whatever the fuck you want to call it, is floating around somewhere waiting for me to go looking for it but I cant do that. I'm fucking gone; I killed people, I reduced myself to having no more humanity left, so this last stop, this drop off the face of the earth- it's all I've got left, and it's my only chance at "normal."

The one thing I swore id never do was to take another person's life, but those criminals weren’t people, they weren’t human, they were there to rape, beat and kill all the women who were with me. They were there to kill me too; they knew it would only cost them a little bit of bail money to get off scot fucking free. I keep saying I didn’t think about it; I didn’t even think about how to fire a gun and how to aim it. I just did it, and now I'm stuck in a hot ass car on my way to Chicago with the only person who could find me alive. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be anybody? It’s a fucking joke; I should have just let them kill me when they had the chance. If I did...nobody would be dead and I wouldn't be on my way to another shit show.

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theboardwalkbody · 7 years

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47, 42, 37?

37. What’s your relationship with religion like?

The short version: Complicated

The long version: I was brought up Roman Catholic at my paternal sides VEHEMENCE. The same forcefulness that forced a Jewish woman to convert and baptize her children unless she force them and herself to face ridicule their entire lives at the hand of their own family members. My mom, a Methodist, was never too religious and mostly celebrated the Major Holidays and called it a day. The Roman Catholic side ALSO celebrated the Major Holy Days (added Ash Wednesday and Palm Sunday) but were never the ‘grace before meals and church every Sunday variety’. But for some reason the ALIGNMENT or DESIGNATION of Roman Catholic was/is a DEFINING CHARACTER TRAIT. This I do not understand. Anyway - my mom refused to convert despite their protests.

Still - I attended a Christian Pre-school (location was a factor) and before/after classes we would say the Our Father. I was baptized as Catholic, I was enrolled in CCD (I still have no idea what that stands for) and attended every Sunday during the school year. I made my Holy Communion and my Confirmation. My mom picked out Cecilia (saint of music) for my Confirmation name because of how much I liked music. My sponsor (the person who is with you when you make your confirmation and is ‘responsible for guiding you to jesus’ or something) was one of my Aunts. I was my sister’s sponsor for her confirmation as at the time my parents were in the middle of a nasty divorce and my mom did not want my dad or his family to be there (as a huge FUCK YOU because THEY are the Catholics) and because my mom and her family are Methodist they can not be sponsors. So I was the only option.

But what does this mean? I have no idea.

1. I hardly understand any of my own religion. I don’t know the difference between Catholic and Christian. Why are fucking FB notifications popping up on my computer all of a sudden I did not authorize this what the fuck. I learned NOTHING in CCD despite the fact I was SUPPOSED to be taught about the Saints and the various religious texts. I never paid attention because I was bored the fuck out of my mind. I never really cared.

2. But I was scared. Catholicism, in my own personal experience, is based on FEAR a lot. NEVER DO THIS AND NEVER DO THAT BECAUSE YOU WILL GO STRAIGHT TO HELL DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT COLLECT 200.00. I have been to church only when FORCED for someone’s baptism or communion or confirmation (or my own) or marriage. Here’s the three things you experience in church: a) lovely music that is kind of warming to the soul, b) SINNERS GO TO HELL c) your family members yelling at you to sit still, be quiet, do not embarrass us, be a perfect little angel all while you are UNCOMFORTABLE AS FUCK in a starchy dress because apparently when you go to church you need to be dressed like you’re about to meet God himself.

I was always scared I would go to Hell for one thing or another growing up: swearing, lying, stealing an eraser from a classmates desk in 2nd grade and feeling guilty so ditching it in a different classmates desk a few feet away, and masturbating. LOL During your confirmation you’re supposed to go into a confession box and confess all your sins so you can start your Confirmed Life free of sin - I didn’t tell the priest about my masturbating and when he asked “is that all you have to confess?” I said yes. So I started my Confirmed Life with two sins: a) chronic masturbating, and b) I fucking lied to a priest. So I assume I am going to Hell in a hand-basket.

I was fortunate enough to be invited to a synagogue a few times by a friend. I remember I was TERRIFIED the first time I went. I assumed, due to ignorance and my only experience thus far, that I would be yelled at and dammed - the norm at church. I tagged along anyway, to make my friend happy, and borrowed some clothes to attend (black skirt and shoes, white shirt). I was even more scared after learning there was an even stricter dress code than Church. As I sat there, trying to understand the words the rabbi was saying for a SOLID TWENTY MINUTES before leaning over and asking my friend “wait - is he speaking English?” only to have her look at me with WTF written all over her face and reply “no....”, I was so paranoid I’d be “found out”. What I mean is - I felt like an Outsider. Like I was Intruding. Like I had “Catholic” stamped all over my forehead and everyone could see it clear as day and that someone, eventually, would stand up and shout at me to leave and curse me for desecrating a holy place with my presence. None of that happened, naturally, but when my friend and her family went to the rabbi after the service to discuss with him plans for her bat mitzvah I was shaking with fear because HE’S LIKE IN CHARGE AND WE’RE TALKING TO HIM AND HE’S DEF GOING TO KNOW I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. Anyway - I was never kicked out, I went back a few more times and the anxiety went away. My mom was like ‘that’s cool - it’s a new experience’ and when my GRANDMOTHER found out... well, she flipped. “DO YOU STILL LOVE JESUS? YOU’RE GOING TO GO TO HELL IF YOU EVER GO BACK THERE. YOU NEED TO GO TO CHURCH TOMORROW. YOU NEED TO BEG JESUS FORGIVENESS”. I went back a few more times and just didn’t tell her.

I think I actually liked it better than Church.

And other side note: whenever Jewish people happen to ask me my religion (not often but it has happened a few times working in the hospital and once during nursing school) I always feel really bad about telling them I am Catholic. I become ashamed and feel like I need to apologize. I never quite understood that, until I met a Jewish Classmate who explained that “all the Catholic’s I have met in the past have been really antisemitic”. And then I remembered my grandmothers treatment of Jewish people, including my aunt and cousins - her own grandchildren - and I realized. I feel like I owe everyone an apology on behalf of people like my grandmother.

3. Here’s my Adult Feelings. I don’t have a problem with religion. Any of them. I also don’t have a problem with anyone’s lack of religion. As long as you’re NOT AN ASSHOLE then you and I are good. I don’t go to church - I don’t care to. I do not want a religious wedding ceremony. I will PROBABLY baptize my children (unless perhaps I go the route of my uncle and marry outside of my religion in which I will allow my children to get older and DECIDE FOR THEMSELVES what they would like to do/which religion they want IF ANY - this was what my aunt and uncle wanted to do before my grandma and some other family members got involved). I will teach my children what I know - Jesus is a dude I guess - here’s easter and christmas and here’s your presents. But it’s never going to be a Big Deal. Because it’s not a Big Deal to me.

4. Why It’s Complicated. Do I believe that God exists? I want to say yes, but I know I say it out of FEAR. I believe “I may not go to church, and I may curse like a sailor and masturbate like my fucking health depends on it, but fuck - I know I am a morally sound person and God knows this, too, therefore He can judge me in the way I conduct myself with other human beings. I don’t need to get on my knees and send him postcards for him to know I’m Good™.” However - recently I’ve had some Jesse Custer level moments of “God, I am reaching out and I really need some fucking help here” only to be met with NOTHING in response. I prayed during my Nursing School Grade Appeal meeting. Just praying for ANYTHING so I could get back into the program. What happened? Reality happened - I did NOT get back into that program. In that moment I thought: That’s it - there is no God at least not one who GAF about me. I cried harder.This month I went to a University to try and get into their nursing program. Upon arriving at my meeting I was told I had been misinformed and the school did NOT offer a Nursing Program. As I waited for the woman at the desk to grab the advisor anyway to discuss options I tried praying again - just for things to work out. They didn’t and I got angry - Of course they didn’t work, I thought, because it’s all a bunch of Bullshit.

SO yeah - it’s complicated. I verge on “It’s all bullshit” after spending about 10yrs thinking “well MAYBE it’s not - maybe it’s real - but I’ll be judged on my treatment of others, not on my practice of going to church and shit”. And even still all of it was based on FEAR. Also the sky outside has gone from green to red. What a storm.

42. What’s something you’re afraid that you’re capable of?

I am afraid that I am capable of fucking my entire life up. In two ways:

1. Suicide2. Self-Sabotage.

In terms of Issue 1 - I have gotten close with a lot of thoughts in the past. Three times I almost actually carried through with it. Twice spontaneously, and once was a “if no one answers my next phone call for help I am going to just give up and go swallow all those pills”. Someone did answer that phone. I called 5 people because I think deep down I didn’t want to give up, but every phone call that went unanswered I got closer and closer to ending it. My stepbrother answered call #5 on what I am almost convinced was one of the last rings. In the past I maybe had something to stop me - something saying ‘you need to live because XYZ needs you or because you need to ABC’. I’ve got none of that left anymore.

In terms of Issue 2 - I talked about it a little the other day, but my therapist isn’t wrong in regards to the fact that all my behaviors are destroying myself. I complain about being broke and yet I spend every dollar I have on garbage and food. I complain that I am unattractive and overweight and yet I continuously eat nothing but fast food and go out to restaurants by myself. I am out of shape and have high cholesterol, I continue to sit on my ass and shove fried food in my mouth. I want to get back into Nursing School but I spent all summer moping about not being in Nursing School and Having No Money and Being Depressed that I made 0 fucking effort to get back INTO it. I want to be hired as a nurse for the company I work for and yet I call out of work constantly and now have gotten FUCKING IN TROUBLE for it. It’s like I have two lists in my head. Good Wants (nursing career, weight loss, health increase) and Bad Wants (immediate satisfaction: clothes, food, vacations, etc.) and the ONLY wants I give into are the BAD ones.

Yes, it’s hard - I’ve got the Anxiety and the Depression. I have no motivation, think everything is pointless, and have 0 hope for the future.

But I am also lazy and impulsive and both of those things need to stop. I have coddled myself all summer and said it was OK to lay down and Give Up. Hell, LAST NIGHT I laid in bed and thought “but what if I did just give up? what if I quit my job, stopped going to school, and just decided to lay down in bed and never move again. I could be 800lbs and shit myself and then probably go to jail for never paying any of my bills - maybe I could say I’m insane and be locked up in a psych facility for the rest of my life - I could go through the motions of just existing every day.”. Of course it isn’t what I WANT with my life - I want to LIVE it and I want to be HAPPY - but this is the way I function anymore.

I am single-handedly destroying my OWN life. And that I KNOW I am capable of now.

47. Have you ever forced or let someone take a fall for you?

I understand this to mean “take blame for you” and not “have you ever pushed someone down” but yes - I have actually pushed someone and they fell down. I shoved a friend of mine back when we were like 14 and he tripped over a log behind him and fell on his ass. He was very upset and didn’t want to talk to me for a bit until I apologized. I feel bad now because I know what inspired the push and it was REALLY SHITTY of me to do it. But yeah.

Anyway - the real question: The only thing I can remember is that time I stole that eraser from my classmates desk back in second grade but then I felt guilty (and also knew that they would recognize the eraser as theirs if I took it out) and ditched it in a different classmates desk.

My logic there was: they wont think it was me because they’ll see it in THEIR desk and not MY desk and they will thing THAT PERSON stole it and get mad at THEM instead of me because they won’t know I did it. I honestly don’t remember the outcome of it. But I don’t think anything happened. I think, if I remember correctly, the person pulled it out of their desk and was like “how did this get in my desk” and handed it back to the proper owner and said “i found your eraser in my desk I don’t know how it got there, but here you can have it back” and the owner said “ok thanks”. and it was 100% not a big deal because they were both confused as fuck.

I KNOW I GET REALLY IN-DEPTH WITH THESE I AM SORRY BUT DO PLEASE ASK MORE.

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