#even if someone is on a dangerous drug like meth or heroin you are not better than them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waywardxwords · 6 months

Text

The Fix - Part 8

Summary: Everyone has a past, but yours seemed to haunt you. You've tried to move forward with a normal life, but the day comes when that's not possible anymore. When Sheriff Beau Arlen enters your life, you're certain he is going to judge you just like everyone else in town does. But something about Beau is different.

Warnings: Slight language, discussion about drugs/drug dealing, slight angst, fluff-ish

Word Count: ~2.7k

Beau’s foot pressed down on the accelerator of his truck until it had touched the floorboard. He tried to get a handle on his emotions, but he wasn’t used to feeling this way and he hated it. He had always been able to use his adrenaline as fuel in his line of work, but this felt different. All he could think about was Matt Donahue’s words—“We’re going to offer him a plea.”

In all honesty, he should’ve seen it from a mile away. As a Sheriff and someone who worked with prosecutors on a daily basis, a plea deal made sense. The FBI weren’t interested in some small town drug dealer. They wanted the big guys. But he was too close to this case, and it felt dangerous.

The tires of his truck squealed as he pulled into the parking lot in front of the office. His feet carried him to the front of the building as he tried to slow his breathing.

The glass door swung open with more force than he had anticipated as he barged into the lobby. Justin Markham, the district attorney, stood there as if he were awaiting Beau’s arrival. Next to him was Matt Donahue, the agent Beau was getting increasingly annoyed with seeing in his town.

“Beau,” Justin started carefully as he read the frustration and anger across his face. “I need you to just hear us out.”

“Hear you out?” Beau bit back as he planted his feet just in front of them. “You call me, tellin’ me you’re offerin’ Jackson Lyle a plea deal. Jackson Lyle, the man who has been dealin’ heroin, cocaine and meth in this town for the last four years. The man who kidnapped his child, shot one of my deputies and then held me and the child’s mother at gunpoint?!” He couldn’t control the volume or tone of his voice any longer.

“I know you’re disappointed,” Justin spoke while Matt remained silent. “There’s a reason–”

“There’s absolutely no reason for us to explain this to you,” Matt sneered as he cut Justin off. “This one’s above your pay grade, Sheriff.”

“It’d be in your best interest not to speak, agent,” Beau snapped back. He turned back to Justin. “How do you expect me to keep the people of this town safe when you’re just gonna let this piece of shit back out on the street? What’s the deal, anyway? Is he even gonna see the inside of a cell?”

The DA took a breath and glanced at the agent. Matt seemed to give up and waved, as if saying he didn’t care and to just fill Beau in at this point.

“Let’s go to your office, alright?” Justin placed a hand on Beau’s shoulder as the three men walked in and closed the door behind them. “The judge is ready to sign a restraining order for the victims today. There’s no question on that, it’ll be very clearly stated to Jackson that he’s not allowed anywhere near them or their property. He’s already agreed to it verbally.”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds great. Let’s trust the abusive drug dealer who doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself,” he said sarcastically. “Fan-fuckin’-tastic work, guys.”

“Sheriff,” Matt said firmly. “We have an opportunity to get to the root of the opioid crisis in Big Sky. We can take out the source, and that starts with information we get from Jackson Lyle.”

“I’m not an idiot, I hear you,” Beau snapped back. “I’m tryin’ to figure out how I’m gonna tell the mother that just got her daughter back and has been afraid of this man for all these years that he’s gonna walk.”

“It’ll take some time,” Justin tried to assure him. “The restraining order will be firmly in place, and the FBI still has a lot of information they need to get out of him. He will remain in custody until everything checks out. We’re talking a month, minimum. It could be six months, for all we know.”

Beau sighed and rubbed a hand down his mouth as he processed. “Alright,” he finally conceded, more so because he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to change the outcome. He shuffled in his pocket as he felt the device vibrate against his thigh.

“The FBI has promised they will keep you in the loop along the way,” Justin looked at Matt pointedly—as if he was reminding him of the expectations.

“I sure as hell hope so,” Beau’s voice trailed a bit as he saw Cassie’s ID on his phone—he had received a text message. He scrolled to open it.

Cassie Dewell Hey, can you send me their home address?

Beau quickly wrote back.

I don’t have it on hand. It’s off of Arbor Road just off of Main. Why?

“I, uh, I gotta get going. I’ll say thank you for keeping me up to speed, but I’m still not happy,” Beau grumbled as he nodded at both the agent and DA.

“I’ll call you later,” Justin shook his hand before Beau headed back for the front door. He stepped into his truck and pulled his cowboy hat from his head, placing it in the passenger seat before he put the key in the ignition. His phone vibrated once more.

Cassie Dewell They left a note that they headed there to grab a few things and to meet them there.

Beau felt like he could scream. He knew there wasn’t any immediate danger after talking to Justin and Matt, but he also knew he had asked one thing of you—to stay put and just wait for Cassie to get there.

“Dammit,” he couldn’t help but curse as he squeezed the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

The tires crunched upon the gravel. He barely waited for his truck to stop before he shifted into park and threw open the door.

“Hey,” you said, a bit confused as you approached from the front door. You had heard the familiar sound of his truck pull up and decided to greet him from there. “You okay? I thought Cassie was coming. What did they say?”

Beau slammed his door shut. “Was there any confusion about what I asked you to do before I left? Was I clear, or do you just not care that I’m trying my absolute damnedest to keep you safe?” His words nipped, much like the cool Montana air.

“I just wanted to come back to get some fresh clothes and bring Bailey back to the comfort of our home for a few minutes,” you tried to explain with your eyes widened. He was mad; pissed, even. But you didn’t feel like it was fair. “Jackson’s locked up, right? Even with a potential deal, there’s no way they’d let him out right now.”

Beau knew you were right, but the fear just wouldn’t dissipate. “But if there are people lookin’ for him, where do you think they’re gonna go when they find out he’s locked up, huh? Where would they go when they realize that he’s probably gonna strike a deal for ratting them out? Who would they go after to get to him?” His eyes hadn’t faltered from yours as he took focused steps towards the stairs leading up to your porch. He stopped just before the first one.

You, too, knew there was truth behind Beau’s words. “So you’re going to stand out here and yell at me?!” You couldn’t help the rise to your voice. After what you went through with Jackson, you had sworn you’d never let a man control you like that again. Even though Beau was being rational, you couldn’t allow yourself to accept it. “You’re going to argue with me because I just wanted some normalcy again?”

“I’m arguin’ with you because I’m trying to fix this,” he sounded exasperated, though unphased by your tone. “I’m tryin’ to keep you safe.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Sheriff,” your tone was snarky. “I don’t need you to fix a damn thing. There isn’t anything broken that needs fixing.” You muttered, frustration burned your eyes in the form of angry tears. It was a lie. You felt completely broken most of the time, but your frustration had gotten the best of you and you didn’t feel like admitting it. Beau knew anyway.

“You know what,” Beau grumbled as he shook his head. He sucked on his teeth for a second before he returned his gaze to you. “You’re right, darlin’. You don’t need fixing. But this situation you're in? It makes me crazy. You don’t deserve it—an ounce of it,” his words were purposeful as he stood planted just in front of the first step of your porch. “And over the last few days, I’ve gotten to a point where I care…I care a lot. So I’d be damned if I put you in a situation where you’re not safe. Because when you’re not safe, I can’t even think straight.”

The air between you was tense, and you weren’t sure what to say for a moment. Beau’s chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took. The air he blew out created small clouds, a clear indication of how hard he was breathing and how cold the air was.

“I’m sorry that you were scared,” you tried to dissect his words. “I’m sorry that I didn’t listen. I’m not used to this…” you paused as you tried to think about how you wanted to explain the situation. “I’m not used to having someone look out for me. I look out for myself.”

“You’re gonna have to let that go, darlin’,” Beau was still frustrated, but his tone had softened. His feet moved slowly as he climbed the first stair. “I am standin’ here, telling you I want this.” His voice was low as he took another step. “I want the hard times, the good times; I’ll take on all the crazy…” with one more step, he was level with you now. He stood there unwavering, and you found it hard to hold his eye contact under the weight of his words. “And if that’s what you want, too? Even better. But I need you to meet me halfway, sweetheart.” His voice was just above a whisper now.

Frustrated tears had pooled in your eyes again, but this time it was something deeper. Your life was complicated—it had been complicated—for a very long time. You hadn’t thought of sharing your life with anyone but Bailey for as long as you could remember. But here Beau stood, telling you he wanted all of it.

“How am I supposed to meet you halfway when you won’t open up to me? I barely know anything about you, Beau. You can’t take your walls down, so how am I supposed to meet you in the middle?” You folded your arms across your chest and stood your ground.

Beau broke eye contact and a hot breath escaped his lips. “You’re right, darlin’,” he said softly. His tongue darted out over his lips. “You wanna know my story? I left Houston because I screwed up.” He lifted his head to find your eyes again. “There was a case I was investigatin’ and it went south. I was followin’ the wrong trail, and a deputy got killed because of it. I panicked, and I wasn’t gonna take this job because of it. But I had to be close to my daughter and I didn’t know anything other than law enforcement. Nine times outta ten, I feel like an imposter in this job. But I promised myself I’d never make another mistake again. I’ve spent the last three years trying to fix it—all of it. Trying to fix myself, and tryin’ my damnedest not to screw anything up.”

He paused, and your heart sank in your chest a little. You felt overwhelming sympathy for him and what he had been through. “You can’t blame yourself, Beau.”

He chuckled almost sarcastically. “Oh, I can and I do, sweetheart,” he sighed. “But that’s besides the point. We all have stuff. And you’re right, I need to open up more if I’m askin’ you to meet me in the middle. I’m willin’ to do that…I’m willing to try.”

“I want to try, too, Beau,” you breathed out, Beau’s smile hidden for only a moment as your breath fogged in front of you. “I can’t promise we won’t have more moments of me not listening or pushing back on you…”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’,” he drawled, just before he captured your lips with his.

Cassie had arrived shortly after and agreed to hang out with you and Bailey. Beau had said he had one more stop to make, and while you didn’t know where he was headed, you didn’t push back or ask any questions.

Beau had called in a favor, one he wasn’t sure would be granted. But for the first time since this whole ordeal started, the FBI had come through.

He pulled open the heavy metal door and prepared himself to go through the metal detector.

“I’m meeting Matt Donahue with the FBI,” Beau said to guard just past the security entrance after he showed his Sheriff’s badge. The man led Beau through a code-locked door that closed shut with a loud bang.

Matt stood there in his suit with his hands in his pockets. “I’m breaking a lot of rules letting you do this,” Matt grumbled as he glanced at the watch on his wrist.

“Yeah, well,” Beau cleared his throat. “I helped catch him, didn’t I? He’s been creating mayhem in my town, I think you can give me five minutes.” Matt rolled his eyes but started down the long hallway. Beau followed.

There was another guarded door with a code lock. Matt nodded at the guard there, who unlocked the door and opened it for them to walk through.

Beau glanced around at the barred cells. Chatter and yells from the prisoners echoed off of the walls. Matt stopped in front of a cell.

“Ah, if it isn’t the pretty boy sheriff,” Jackson Lyle sneered from where he sat on his cot. He had bandages around his shoulder and upper torso. Seeing that brought Beau a little bit of joy.

“At least one of us looks good,” Beau snided back. He glanced at Matt with a pointed look.

“Five minutes,” Matt repeated before he retreated back down the hallway, as promised. Beau turned his attention back to the cell.

“Ooh, what’s the pretty sheriff got to tell me, hmm? You hear I’m getting a deal? I’ll be out of here in no time,” he seemed so proud of himself.

“Yeah, about that,” Beau glanced down but then locked eyes with the man on the other side of the bars. “As we both know, you’ll have two restraining orders against you the second you step foot outside this prison. But I also want you to know, I’ll be watchin’. Every step you take, you’ll have eyes on you as long as you stay in Big Sky.”

“You say that now, but just you wait and see. My ex-wife can be a real bitch. You’ll get tired of her shit the same way I did,” he sneered. “She’s a broken woman. She won’t let anybody try to fix her.”

“Here’s the difference,” Beau was firm in his words and made sure he held his composure. “I’m gonna go in there and pick up the pieces that you broke. And she and I, together–we’ll fix it ourselves. While you’re only interested in getting your fix, I’m prepared to put in the work and be what she and Bailey need. You’ll never see them again, Jackson. And if you do, you’ll end up with a bullet between your eyes. I’ll put it there myself.”

A/N: And there we have it, folks! Part 8! Did we love it? Hate it? Surprised by our least favorite FBI agent's slight change of heart (or that he has a heart at all?).

It pains me to say, but this will be the last full chapter for The Fix! I'll post the Epilogue on Wednesday that will bring things full circle. I've struggled with if I wanted to carry this further (and while I think there are opportunities for additional development, I also sort of feel like I'd be drawing it all out if I kept going). All of that to say: I do think there may be a one shot or two (or more, I mean--who knows?) in the future. I really loved branching out and pushing myself to write Beau Arlen, and I truly enjoyed writing the reader & Bailey in this series, as well.

While it's not quite the end just yet, I can't forget to say THANK YOU! I have gotten so much love on this series, and I truly appreciate it.

See you on Wednesday :)

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @zepskies @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @djs8891 @globetrotter28 @deans-baby-momma @k-slla @agentorange9595 @dragonfly92 @nancymcl @springsteeen @perpetualabsurdity @deanwinchestersgirl87 @mimi-luvzyu @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @ultimatecin73 @spnfamily-j2 @impalaspixie @daughterofcain-67 @lacilou @jasminewinter140 @yvonneeeee @stoneyggirl2 @rizlowwritessortof @marimarvelfan @jc-winchester @taylortot @siampie1990 @thewritersaddictions @raisinggray @tabsluvsu @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @nyotamalfoy @ades106 @akshi8278

#big sky fan fiction #big sky fanfiction #big sky fanfic #big sky fan fic #big sky ff #beau arlen fanfiction #beau arlen fan fiction #beau arlen fanfic #beau arlen fan fic #beau arlen ff #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x ofc

149 notes · View notes

daykinking · 1 month

Text

Intro Post

🕐if im posting before noon PST its a queue

if you get off to my pics/videos consider thanking me through cashapp $squigglefish 💕

❌no anorexia anything❌

x I don't rp, sorry :C but feel free to use my posts as rp inspo

Hi, welcome to my super secret fet blog. Below the cut I will describe what this is for and who I am.

✅ AI scraping is turned OFF for this blog! Your art is safe.

‼health and safety disclaimer: this is a blog rooted in sexual fantasy. claimed levels of alcohol consumption by OP may at times be greatly exaggerated or otherwise unsafe to imitate. original characters posted on this blog are fictional and can consume lethal amounts of alcohol because they're not real. please do your own research on the real-world dangers of alcohol poisoning and drink responsibly.

Who am I?

You can call me Vee. I'm around 30, transmasc and I use he/it pronouns. I live in the USA on the west coast. I have a main tumblr but I don't feel comfortable attaching this kink to my identity. So it's our little secret.

What's my fetish?

Well, I've known for easily over a decade that I have an intoxication fetish. >////> Specifically, regarding alcohol. Other forms of intoxication don't compare.

What will I be posting?

Hopefully art, at some point. I have several OC's and a fantastical setting that I've been daydreaming about for a while, and I'd like to introduce them to other like-minded people. Other than that, I may post about getting stoned. While weed intoxication doesn't turn me on, I really enjoy it, lol.

More Fetish Details

It's taken me until literally this year to explore the intox fetish tag because literally I'm so humiliated I have this fetish that I can't even let the dust motes in the room see what I'm looking up. Furthermore, I've followed and unfollowed the tag on my main blog because a lot of it misses the mark for me. For example, forced intox makes me a little uncomfortable, and while I'm not opposed to CNC it's really hit or miss for me.

While I enjoy being drunk myself, I'm more turned on by watching/imagining others being drunk. Currently I'm trying to be (California) sober as well, so you likely won't get a lot of posts of me being drunk, but we'll see. I do love an IPA.

Some specific things that turn me on in regards to alcohol fetishism are:

gluttony (for alcohol mainly, but also weed, food, sex)

drinking from the bottle

finishing other peoples' leftover drinks

hiccupping

blushing/red/sweaty face

unfocused/half-closed eyes

swaying, stumbling, falling over, especially while sitting or standing in place

showing tits/sucking dick/etc. in exchange for alcohol

being/getting drunk in an inappropriate place (in church, on break at work, etc.)

accidental drunkenness

daydrinking, the earlier in the day the hotter

waking up extremely drunk

pissing self from being so drunk

pissing while actively taking a drink

losing ability to walk

losing ability to speak

falling over while actively taking a drink

alcohol causing breast expansion (also belly and butt, but primarily breasts)

anime intoxication indicators (slanting blush strokes, wobbly mouth, tears on corners of eyes, bubbles and swirls popping around their head)

CNC on a technicality because having sex with someone that's fucked up is automatically NC

feeding/gaining as long as copious amounts of alcohol are also involved

Squicks

These are things that put me off for whatever reason. While I don't judge people who are into these things, if you post about them, I'm likely not to follow back.

scat

diaper play

MAP/NOMAP (i do judge this one)

gore

cops

real/realistic incest play (fauxcest doesn't trigger the same response)

nonconsent

certain drug use (meth/heroin, permutations thereof, any sort of pill abuse)

forced intoxication (case by case)

While this blog is about my alcohol/ism fetish, there are a few things I'd be willing to engage with on here through asks and post interactions. I smoke weed every day and I'm up to sharing photos and videos related to that, however faceless. Sometimes I do whippits as well and I can post about that here if it turns people on. While I don't have a foot fetish myself, I have very cute feet, to whom it may concern.

Most other drugs I don't do. While I have done coke, acid, and mushrooms (not all at the same time), I don't prefer them. I do like molly (duh who doesn't) but don't have a reliable dealer atm, also it tanks my mental health. I have never done any drugs other than the ones I've mentioned and don't have any desire to partake in them.

If you suspect that you know me, no you don't! I can't impress enough that I really do not want my blogs to be associated with each other. There is a chance that over time some people could recognize me from years past, when I did publicly incorporate this kink into fan art and fanfiction. To those people...hey :) please don't out me.

Um that's all I have to say I guess! Until I decide to update this post.

#pinned #about me #intox kink #alcohol intox #dumbification #txt

7 notes · View notes

stevensaus · 7 months

Text

Not All Substances Are The Same: Bad Research Illustrates How The Conversation Needs To Change

We need a different way to think about drugs. A way that uses our knowledge about them to maximize the good they can do, while both acknowledging and minimizing their harm. Let's start with carbs. You know, the thing you take to solve your "hangry" problem. It sounds silly, but "carbs" actually illustrates exactly what I'm talking about. - Carbs have an effect on your body and your mind. - Carbs can be good for you. - Carbs can be a problem and cause health issues. - "Carbs" is a hopelessly non-specific term that covers a lot of different things. You don't need a nutritionist to know that "carbs" from refined sugar are different than "carbs" from quinoa and oats. Treating all "carbs" as if they are the same is obviously Not Smart. The unintelligent way that we think about "drugs" as a society is just as stupid. For example, this Healio headline seems like the journalist tried to sensationalize it : "Any substance use during pregnancy ups risk for acute heart events during delivery." Any substance? Really? Except this is not the fault of bad reporting. The study itself is worse. When they say "substances," the study authors meant "amphetamine/methamphetamine, cocaine, opioid, cannabis, alcohol, or polysubstance use." {1} Yes, that's right. They lumped together meth and heroin in with beer. They also did not factor in amount of usage -- just a single "yes" or "no" value. Someone who had a single THC gummie was (for most of the study, at least until you get to this chart) lumped into the same category with someone snorting cocaine every day. Maybe they buried the chart because it illustrates exactly how badly their study was designed.

Look at it. Cannabis has a lower risk of being associated with an acute cardiovascular event than alcohol... which has a higher risk than either cocaine or opioids. This is just as silly as if they'd said "carbs were bad" after lumping together someone who ate three dozen glazed donuts a day and someone who a single "power bowl" a day with quinoa. Not just silly... but dangerous. There are real risks involved with pretty much anything we take into our bodies. But those risks are not absolute, nor are they the same for every person. The effects of eating a "killer brownie" are going to be radically different for different people, depending on how well their pancreas is working. What would be a tasty treat for me could put someone with uncontrolled diabetes into a coma. Trying to treat these substances as simple "safe/not safe" binaries for all people, in all situations, is medically and socially unsound. Inevitably, someone will think that a "substance" is "safe" when it is not... or be denied a needed medical treatment because it would be unsafe -- medically or socially -- for another to have it. Those of us who grew up after the institution of the DARE program were absolutely unsurprised when research showed that it was, at best, barely effective, and in many cases, counterproductive. One theory is that the D.A.R.E. program educates children on drugs, but approaches it from a non-educational standpoint by telling kids to say no instead of telling them what happens if they take the drug; this can lead to children participating in risky, ignorant behavior. When you had horror stories peddled to you by authority figures... and then saw those extreme horror stories absolutely not happen in real life with your peers... well, that tends to make you stop believing anything else those authority figures had to say about drugs. This means that real risks are often ignored by those who use them. Decades of fearmongering also has many people somehow believing that "natural" or "organic" are the same as "unable to cause harm," which is just flat-out wrong. Even something as innocuous as vitamin C -- at high enough doses -- is linked to increased risk of developing kidney stones. And, of course, societal approval means that we tend to completely ignore the effect of some drugs entirely when we talk about "drugs". High doses of caffeine, for example, appear to increase the risk of miscarriage at a rate comparable to {2} the rates that alcohol consumption increases the risk of miscarriage. Yet our society would look askance at a pregnant woman having a single glass of wine during their pregnancy ... but would not question their daily cup of coffee. My point here isn't "legalize it" or to scare people about their morning coffee. Rather, it's to say that we need to actually treat all these substances -- from carbs to opiates -- individually, and in terms of their actual risks and benefits, rather than irrational fears, sloppy science, and flat-out racism. {3} There is no simple, universal answer as to whether a substance is "good" or "bad". There is only how each helps and harms each individual, in each situation. We all deserve nothing less. {1} It's actually worse than that -- they used whether or not a physician put the applicable code in the chart... even though there is not an actual code for methamphetamine use. {2} Unless I am reading these studies wrong, which is very possible. {3} The temperance movements -- both with alcohol and other drugs -- are strongly rooted in racism and xenophobia. Featured Photo by Roberto Sorin on Unsplash Read the full article

#carbs #drugs #marijuana #medicine #research

0 notes

briamichellewrites · 7 months

Text

Bria and Brad were caught by the paparazzi having lunch together. It looked like they were on a date, even though they were two friends hanging out. People wondered who she was. Since his relationship with Jennifer ended, he has been single. But that didn’t stop people trying to figure out if he was dating anyone. He hated the attention his personal life received and he wanted to protect Bria from that. Who he was dating was nobody’s business.

During lunch, they talked about her walking away from escorting. She initially didn’t want to because she enjoyed doing it. What made her change her mind? Mike. He didn’t feel comfortable with her going around the world with random men. It wasn’t about controlling her, but his anxiety. He completely understood why he would be uncomfortable.

What if something happened and he couldn’t help her? That was his argument and justification. He went over her finances with her and he showed her that she didn’t need to do it. She had enough money to last her the rest of her life. What about her friend? Was she still selling to him? No, he was in rehab. Her friends confiscated her drugs. Mike was going to let her have marijuana, though because she showed him that it was safer than alcohol.

“It’s less dangerous than alcohol? Where did you find that out?”

“I found a study online that showed it. It’s safer because there’s less chance of getting addicted. You can’t overdose on it. You’re not going to commit any violent crimes because of it. Like people do on drugs like meth or heroin. You’re also less likely to hurt yourself on it.”

“Damn. You convinced me and I’m not even against it! Okay, what about Mama? Where is she when you’re smoking?”

“She’s not with me. I go into the bathroom and turn the fan on. I would never smoke around her.”

Speaking of which, Mama considered him her best friend. He laughed and admitted he never thought he would love a kitten as much as he loved Mama. She was like watching a toddler discovering the world for the first time. He was welcome to catsit anytime. What was her friend’s name? The one in rehab? Chester, but she called him Chessy. He was a crazy dude with a heart bigger than his entire body.

He loved women, music, coffee, his kids, and the people around him more than himself. Not necessarily in that order. He was sensitive and would be the first person to comfort someone if they were upset. While putting himself last. Brad could tell he had been through a lot. Yeah, he had. She was happy he was getting the help he needed. The day before, she had told him that he needed help, but he denied it. What happened? He was just on edge and probably going through withdrawal.

“If there was ever a zombie apocalypse, he would be fighting the zombies with submachine guns while all of us are running away.”

He laughed. “Where would he get the guns?”

“He’s Chessy. He’ll think of something.”

Phoenix was overwhelmed by the band asking him how they could help his family. They offered food delivery, groceries, going to appointments with his mother, spending time with her, helping out with errands, or whatever else they needed. He graciously thanked them. It meant the world to him and his family. His mother had started chemotherapy treatment to shrink the tumor. It was hard for her physically because the drugs made her feel sick.

She had nausea and was throwing up after every treatment. But, she was also a fighter. She was not going to fight the disease lying down. Phoenix cried when he heard about the diagnosis. Cancer was something nobody should have to go through or worry about. Friends from church were also donating their time to help out, while others offered their prayers.

Cancer brought people together. That’s what he was learning. It was humbling and it made things a little easier. The nurses were available to help listen and answer any questions they might have. He had zero complaints about the care his mother was receiving. They were all knowledgeable and professional. If they didn’t know the answer to their questions, they found someone who did and got back to him with an answer.

Thank you guys so much! I can’t even begin to describe how much this means to us! My mom has started chemotherapy treatments. She is a stronger woman than I could ever give her credit for. I’ll let you guys know when we need something. Is that okay? – Phoenix

Oh, yeah! They were completely okay with that! They imagined he was probably overwhelmed with everything going on. They were available whenever he or his family needed them, even if it was just to talk. He again thanked them. At the moment, Kathy was in the living room visiting with friends from church. She assured him she was okay and to do something for himself. Okay.

“I decided that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, Chessy would be the one going after the zombies with submachine guns.”

Mike laughed. “He probably would, knowing him.”

With the band taking a break, Mike visited Bria regularly. He almost lived at her house since he only went home to shower, eat, and change clothes. Misty was having a lot of fun with his parents. They were spoiling her with a lot of attention and belly rubs. They took her to a dog park, where she got to run around and play with other dogs.

She even got petting from a couple of little kids. Mama made her presence known by crawling into her lap. She had woken up from a nap and was ready to play. Bria asked her what she was doing. She was hiding. Mike laughed, making her poke her head out. She then ducked down again with only her triangle ears sticking out. You can’t see me! She scratched the top of her head. Hey, I was hiding! She decided to crawl out and go over to her toys.

The night before, they had a long conversation about their dreams. She didn’t want to be forgotten. He wanted her to talk to a professional because he was concerned. Even though he wasn’t an expert in mental health, he thought she had trauma from her previous life. Sexual assault is one of those, along with abandonment issues.

He would help her find a therapist who would understand what she was going through and would take it seriously. She wasn’t having delusions or hallucinations because he was experiencing the same thing. But, he could see how it could be mistaken for something like schizophrenia. He also suspected she had her mother’s trauma of extreme sexual abuse. She had been fighting for too long and he wanted her to finally feel genuine happiness.

“I will never forget you. You’re my best friend and I love you too much to forget you”, he told her.

“I love you too, Mike. I will never forget you.”

He wiped away her tears with his fingers before kissing her forehead and pulling her closer. Maybe they both needed to talk to a therapist. He had trauma from being cheated on over and over. At the moment, he put all of that aside for her.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

1 note · View note

13thpythagoras · 2 years

Text

i was listening to a lecture by a "scientist" about the dangers of cannabis, and the lecturer says offhandedly multiple times that they are superstitious (red flag, for a "scientist") and that even though their "decades of data" is admittedly from self-reported data from students, the fraud is revealed toward the end when the lecturer goes "there's even a FEDERAL certificate of confidentiality, so the students know their admissions of using cannabis will be confidential! knock on wood they are telling the truth right?" end of lecture. Yeah man I'm sure disadvantaged teens who grew up amidst systemic racial oppression that you deny exists certainly are telling Mr. Government-"Survey" man the absolute and total truth about their criminal history, I am sure all those survey takers felt totally comfortable that this "certificate" of confidentiality is not an I.C.E. ruse to deport them and their family over a scedule-1 narcotics confession, given that cannabis has traditinally been classified by the US gov't along with meth, heroin, and other hard drugs.

this is a lecturer who insists on the pronoun "Doctor." A guy who uses nothing but emotional reasoning, no substance, no facts, totally non-random surveys rife with selection bias, and a quack who argues alcohol is fine while cannabis causes someone's life to end, again with zero facts or evidence, for a 40 minute lecture.

I'm in what that quack would call "cannabis withdrawals" right now and guess what? No anxiety or depression. No addiction. I've been addicted to opiates in my teen years, and that was a fuckin addiction. Weed is not any more or less addictive than burritos. With fraudulent doctors out there like that, no wonder he mixes up cause and effect while extrapolating causation from mere correlation.

This is a public health official who has used these "results" to serve as "evidence" that most teens and young adults actualy haven't tried cannabis- my contention is that it is pure propaganda to use government money for a selection-biased non-randomized survey that fails to meet even the minimum requirements for statatistical validity, and then use that incredibly biased data as the basis for "public health awareness campaigns" that try to "set norms," or in other words stigmatize and isolate those who use cannabis.

#this car speeds up for doctors who lie

0 notes

ultrastarbee · 2 years

Text

Queen of Hearts

Title: Queen of Hearts Request: no Couple: Kokonoi x fem!reader Category: LIGHT angst Content Warning: drug dealer, drugs, gambling, mean reader Word Count: 1.721 Summary: you are the head of a drug scheme and your old friend Koko comes to make a deal for Bonten A/N: I was longing to write for Koko. This one might become a small fic with other Bonten members if I can keep my thrill

MASTERLIST ....... RULES ....... SERIES LIST

Everything on your life moved so fast like the flames licking the torches lighting up the main hall of your cassino. The gambling is a facade for the real deal and the cassino is a part of a big drug scheme under your command. Coming back to Japan after years away you brought with yourself a new party drug: Ember, a special breed between meth and heroine. Dangerous, deadly, expensive and high addictive. It's popularity rise everyday between young people and it's known for its red color and neon orange glow when on crystal form and pure red when it's powder. You have at least thirty clandestine laboratories working for you, that's how you caught Bonten's attention. Now you are at the cassino waiting for them to come meet with you.

"They're here, mam" a security man speaks and you smile. Fucking finally. "Bring them to me" looking around the cassino before going to your office your eyes glow. All this power and despair on your hands. You are addicted to it

"Queen of Hearts is a sharp alias, don't you think?" the man with long white hair starts laughing, but he freezes as soon as his eyes fall on you "Y/n?"

"Good to see you again, Koko" you smile looking at his astonished face. The man with him is confused watching you talk. "Come here, kitten. I guess we have something to talk about".

"Shit. Where have you been?" Kokonoi and his peer sit across you at your office's table.

"That's not it, Koko. You are here to talk business with me" your eyes now looking at his partner "I have seen you around, haven't I?".

"This is Sanzu, he is Bonten's second" not sure if in a good way, Kokonoi was still surprised.

You missed Koko. He looks different now, but the same sharp eyes cutting through your soul. You once had a big crush on him when you were kids, but he loved Akane. Koko never told you that, but you knew it just from the way he looked at her. She was beautiful and kind, no wonder why Koko loved her so much. You were two or three years younger than her, sincerely you can't even remember, but you were friends with Akane, Inupi and your beloved Koko. You never told him your feelings and Inupi was the only one who knew about them. He was sorry for you. When Inui's home burned down you, your family saw it as a warning to leave the country. They were owning money for Yakuza and scared out of their minds. Out of Japan you focused on your education, saving money to pay the debt and come back home. The plans changed midway. You build your empire alone using your chemistry degree the best way you could. Now Bonten wants to share your gains? Maybe you can accept a deal with them if it hurts Koko's little charred heart as he hurted yours back then. What can you say? Forgive and forget is not for you.

"Can we see the product?" it's Sanzu speaking. You are sure you saw him around the cassino before, but he doesn't look like someone who tried Ember before. Koko's eyes are avoiding you now.

"Sure, which form would you like better? We are pretty flexible." you stand up with a proud grin "We improved our recipe on two perfect shapes: one is a pretty red powder and the other are crystals that glow on a terrific neon orange. I'm now working on a strong concentrated liquid form of it, but it still needs some adjustments".

"I want to see all of them" Sanzu again. You want Koko to talk to you, not him. But Sanzu is Bonten's second, not Koko, so it is what it is.

"Sure" you smile again. With a signal for your security man you three wait for him to come back. When he does, a silver tray is on his hands and soon in front of you at the table. "We had minor issue while testing the liquid form, so we are not selling it yet. Our test pig had a heart attack".

They knew you weren't talking about an animal. Sanzu pulls the tray to his front and touch the powder inside a small dish with his fingertips. It's the same feeling as sugar. This must be hurtful to inhale, so he is now curious with the effects for it to be so popular even if it's painful to use. The cystals are inside a fancy tea-cup and they really glow as everyone said. Ember is a perfect name since the drug reminds him of fire with its red and orange collors. The liquid form is inside a small flask covered with a wine cork. It looks like lava.

"What are the side effects of Ember?" Sanzu asks looking excited. Koko wasn't with a happy face. He could never thought you would become this kind of person. He was no angel himself, but you? You used to be.

"Why don't you see for yourself, candy-boy?" now taking the liquid form of the drug on your hand you walk Sanzu and Koko back to the main hall "Can you see all these people in despair chasing some pleasure? My Ember creates the perfect atmosphere. You almost can smell it's sweet flavor in the air. Why don't you go down there with them and give this to some whore? The liquid is the most powerful form of Ember. If she dies you can just leave the body there. We deal with it later and the others are so high they will not even notice".

Sanzu opens a devilish smile. He knows better than to try something like Ember on a place like this, but he's not against trying it on other people. Sanzu leaves and you take Koko back to your office. Now you are alone the real game will start.

"His eyes gave me chills. He is a true sadistic, isn't he?" you laugh "now he's gone I think we will have some time to ourselves, kitten".

"Sanzu can come back anytime" Koko's voice is firm as he watches you moving around.

"Do you wanna try it?" you ask before taking away the tray with the drugs.

"I don't do drugs"

"Figured. Don't use the product you sell, am I right?" now you take a deep breath "Why are you so defensive, ain't we old friends, Koko?".

"How you ended up like this?" he ignored your question.

"How you ended up on Bonten? Such a bad guy, kitten" you sarcastically say as Koko decided to talk sincerely with you, afterall you were childhood friends and you knew Akane.

"After the fire on Inui's house I..-"

"No! Stop! Don't wanna talk about it" you stand up again and move away from him, going back to your original spot at the table "What do you want from the Queen of Heart, Kokonoi Hajime?" Koko doesn't know why your playful behavior had such a change, but now you are serious and looking at him with some anger on your eyes.

"My boss wants to know if your business is worth his time" Koko's shoulders tense with the questions on his head. He couldn't just keep his thoughts to himself "and I want to know why did you left".

"Family shit" unlike you, Koko really didn't bother on knowing about you all these year. Such a selfish man.

"We could have helped Akane! With your gambling and my brain we could have raised enough money to help her family with the surgery!" the despair on his voice was tasty. You are used to hear the despair on the addicteds voices, but on Koko's it just sounds so sweet.

"Koko, kitten, why the fuck would I have helped Akane's family?" your laugh is dry as Koko looks at you astonished. Even if you wanted you couldn't have helped, you had your own debt to pay.

"The FUCK you saying? You were friends!" Kokonoi's voice is high, but not enough to be heard outside your office.

"We were" you are so calm while watching him break. Koko's anger and despair leaving you thrilled. His sharp eyes burning your soul. "We were friends and I do think about my old friends. Come on, I even named my masterpiece after her! Ember is as red as the flames that ate her body".

"What are you saying? Why the fuck are you like this now?" now Koko's anger is showing on his words as he gets closer "you used to be so nice and caring. Are you on drugs, fucking bitch?".

"Of course I was nice and caring, I was a kid in love, dumb kitten!" even when arguing you keep calling him by the same old nickname "but now I am a queen, I don't need to deal with what people think".

"What does Inupi has to do with it? I don't care if he rejected you or something" Koko looks at your face as you laugh. Inupi? This is the most funny shit ever "what?"

"Inupi, Koko? Are you this blunt, kitten?" still laughing you starts to pack the Ember crystals in a small red velvet bag "What a joke!"

Koko's face became pale realizing his mistake. Now everything made so much sense. That's why you were crying the day he confessed to Akane. Inupi was holding you, so Koko thought you two had a fight. He does feel a bit guilty about it now, but he doesn't regret confessing to her.

"But I guess it was nice of her saying she would wait for you" with poison in your words you felt Koko's anger grows into pure rage, now with him standing behind your back "we both know she wouldn't. You were too young for her, kitten".

You felt Koko's hands against you throat while he pushed your body against the big office table "shut the fuck up!". You could taste the despair on the air once again. It was yours this time.

"This is your way to do business, kitten? Kinky" your smile is tainted with malice as you touch his face with your gloved fingertips instead of fighting his strong grip "don't blame me if I fall for you again, kitten".

Kokonoi can feel your fast hearbeat through the veins on your neck. Why are you so insane? Why aren't you even trying to get loose from his hands? Are you enjoying this? Is he enjoying being in this position? You are over the table with your legs around his body. One of his hands holding your throat and the other at the table on the side of your head. This hand goes down to your waist as you touch his lips. Koko doesn't let go of your throat though.

"Come on, Koko. Got the information Mikey wants" Sanzu smiles looking at you two "are you fucking or fighting?"

"Neither" Koko lets you go. Bad timing, Sanzu.

"Sadly" you laugh.

"We will keep in touch to talk about the deal" Sanzu informs you.

"Will wait for you, candy-boy" you blink at him and he waves off laughing with your flirty words "see you soon, kitten".

Kokonoi ignores you, but you could see him clenching his fists as the two of them walk away.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers headcannons #tokyorev x reader #koko x reader #koko x you #koko x y/n #kokonoi x reader #kokonoi scenarios #kokonoi x you #kokonoi x y/n #hajime kokonoi

118 notes · View notes

queernuck · 4 years

Text

like, as soon as people start talking about heroin it is absolutely mask off with how they hate people who use drugs. meth and crack, even cocaine to some extent, get this treatment but I see it so often with the way that people talk about dealers, users, and the overlap between the two, it is so fucking incredible and it just reveals so much of how they moralize and condescend

i mean, genuinely, do you want to be able to make it so that there is less danger, less violence, less of a predatory structure around drugs? well, making it so that people who use drugs can reside within a community without being endangered, having their housing and ability to eat and so on threatened by the mere fact that they use drugs, and making it so that drugs are accessible readily will go a long way toward providing an environment where drug use will be dictated by what people want to use, not what circumstances compel them to

if tomorrow you walked up to a person who uses drugs and told them you had nothing against them, you supported them entirely, you in fact thought they were great and revolutionary and all of that, and so you took care of having a dealer around and they wouldnt have to worry about that problem anymore, you would deserve to get your ass kicked. sympathy for people who use drugs that requires (explicitly or implicitly) creating conditions where they cannot use drugs is not terribly useful. it is saying that you would rather a bourgeoisie moralism be applied to marginalized groups than you critique your assumptions about how these kinds of things function.

for that matter, some of the work that I most directly see from Anarchists that directly impacts me is harm reduction and advocacy for people who use drugs because it overlaps so much with advocacy for sex workers, for People with HIV/AIDS, for the communities most impacted by the War on Drugs, and indeed, for an end to the racialized policing both of people who use drugs and drug dealers

what, exactly, do you think happens when you say you have no problem with “street-level” dealers or people who use drugs but go one step up to...someone who has some commodities but no meaningful “wealth” in the sense of property, no real control over the means of production, so on? The position of working class, if it is indeed a material position, relies on one’s relationship to production and distribution and you have to go rather high up to get to anyone who is a meaningful accessory to the bourgeoisie, and at that point the relationship is codified by relationships to politicians, to the banks and businesses that launder your money, an actual stake in “legitimate” capitalism. at that point, we are discussing someone for whom drugs are a commodity, for whom life is so distanced from any kind of dealer that most users will ever meet that it is frankly almost absurd

when it comes to almost all of your actual dealers, even getting pretty high up they probably use something, while it may not be what they sell themselves, a dealer who sells heroin and sips lean, pops percs and bars, that is also a person who uses drugs and simply has a different preference. all of us deserve safe supply, the idea is closer to a public health suggestion at this point than it is a radical notion, given how many countries have safe supply programs in place and how we are starting to see a shift toward decriminalizing more drugs that are still relatively “soft” but are not marijuana.

we’re in this mess, and frankly it is the sort of thing that the mere idea of being out of is something where speaking of it makes it far less likely. bringing back easily-available Oxycodone, Alprazolam, having pure supplies of drugs such as heroin, cocaine (as well as crack), methamphetamine, giving out safe use supplies and having safe injection and safe smoking sites, making it so that people who use drugs are not afraid to be themselves is the task at hand

699 notes · View notes

gabriella-nastasja · 3 years

Text

The Cape Town Drug Counselling Centre – A Ray of Sunshine During the Substance Abuse Storm

How the rehabilitation facility’s work is transforming lives and where to get help

By Gabriélla Siebritz

Substance abuse – a familiar topic since the Life Orientation periods spent during school, is even more familiar to those experiencing it.

The Cape Town Drug Counselling Centre (CTDCC), with branches located in Observatory, Mitchell’s Plain and Atlantis in the Western Cape, is a rehabilitation centre that began in 1985 aiming “to treat and rehabilitate substance abuse users and those directly affected to bring about Transformation and Recovery”, reads their website’s mission statement.

How does the CTDCC help patients?

The CTDCC provides confidential assistance to individuals who need it, in an environment where patients remain within their daily routines. Operating as an outpatient programme, patients deal with their addictions with majority of the responsibility resting on their shoulders but still with assistance from friends, family and CTDCC counsellors. As the CTDCC describes it, “as an outpatient, you are forced to deal with the situation ‘on your feet’”.

The CTDCC’s logo, sourced from their website

The CTDCC’s director, Ashley Potts, says many patients seeking treatment have been referred to the facility by schools they attend, stating that it is not uncommon to feel unhappy and angry about needing rehab. “Kids normally have problems realizing the effects that drugs have on their lives,” he says. Those who approach the CTDCC team are confronted with their problems honestly, and are reminded that their choice to deal with their addictions is the choice that matters.

CTDCC Director, Ashley Potts

The youth and substance abuse

The Western Cape Government shared in 2016 stated that substance abuse remains the primary reasoning behind increased crime, with a concerning spotlight directly placed onto the youth and their engagements with illegal substances. “A Cape Town study indicated that adolescents first try either alcohol or cigarettes, followed by dagga (cannabis), then inhalants,” said the website.

Outside the CTDCC’s building located at 1 Roman Rd, Observatory

Between the ages of 10-14 is often when risk-taking and unhealthy coping mechanisms are developed,” continues the website. By the time the age of 13 rolls around, one third of youth drinkers have already taken their first sip, and fourteen percent of cannabis users have started regularly taking the drug.

Crime and substance abuse

Don Pinnock, a writer for The Conversation, wrote in 2019 that a notable quantity of Cape Town’s street crime can be tied to the illegal drug trade – a heroin route crossing South Africa from the East African “heroin coast” into South Africa’s cities and moving into Europe and the Americas, reported Simone Haysom, an author and analyst. “Rival gangs fight for control of the market and dependent users commit robbery to pay for drugs,” wrote Pinnock.

South Africans from poorer communities are more at risk of becoming addicts. Findings from a 2010 study revealed those communities have little access to treatment facilities, further contributing to the pre-existing high rates of substance abuse, mentioning that “Cape Town, the capital of the Western Cape, is particularly affected by these problems, with higher proportions of arrestees and trauma patients testing positive for alcohol and other drugs than other major cities in the country. Taken together, these findings underline the need for accessible substance abuse treatment services in Cape Town.”

Lize Walker & Mogamat Sedick, social workers at the CTDCC

What to look out for

Information shared by the Western Cape Government stated that not all addictive drugs look like drugs, including alcohol. Because of the false idea that alcohol is less dangerous than drugs, the negative implications sometimes go un-noticed, especially in the Western Cape, notorious for being the hub of South Africa’s alcohol consumption, further stating that “The Western Cape is the drinking capital of South Africa and a global leader in alcohol-related harms, including violence, road deaths, HIV and Aids, TB and Foetal Alcohol Syndrome.”

Learning harmful substances can go a long way to recognize and help someone with an addiction they may be hiding. For more information on identifying different types of drugs, the Western Cape Government has provided a detailed table for viewing.

The CTDCC includes a lengthy list of substance abuse signs to look out for, as well how negatively you may be impacted, which include placing yourself and others at risk of contracting diseases due to the sharing of needles, the possibility of overdosing, and the harmful ramifications of mixing illegal substances with poisonous ones.

Personal Stories

One patient at the CTDCC is a 25-year-old addict in recovery from “tik”, better known as crystal meth. After coming to the centre, doing intensive work with a provided counsellor, unlearning bad habits and allowing growth to take place, they can confidently say they feel changed and would not know what they know now without the help of the CTDCC.

Another patient is a 61-year-old medication addict in recovery. Initially feeling stuck in their recovery journey, over time they have gained some confidence in knowing that their addiction can be managed and that taking drugs solves nothing – the only way through their feelings is acceptance and patience as their healing unfolds.

Resources

If you or someone you know needs help, please contact the CTDCC with the following numbers:

· Observatory: 021 447 8026 or 073 755 1913 (WhatsApp)

· Atlantis: 021 571 7180 or 063 247 2918 (WhatsApp)

· Mitchell’s Plain: 021 397 0103 or 073 875 0548 (WhatsApp)

Email the CTDCC at [email protected].

For more information, please visit the CTDCC’s website: http://drugcentre.org.za/

As much as we would like to believe that we know better – insisting that it could never happen to us because we are smarter and better than those unfortunate enough to get roped into the substance abuse lifestyle – the possibility might be slim for some of us, but never impossible.

Words// 938.

3 notes · View notes

studyingsobriety · 3 years

Text

Why Did I Get Help NOW

This was my second exercise for my rehab program. It's called "Why Now?" The purpose is to explain why we got help now and not a month ago or a month later. What led up to the point where I decided that I need help right now? Then, I had to write what could've happened had I not decided to get help.

Here's my story:

I was sitting in my bathroom floor. I was home alone, depressed, and wanted to get that daily high, but I wanted more this time. So I had a 100 pack of whippets (whipped cream chargers or cartridges of nitrous oxide which you can inhale). I felt guilty, ashamed, depressed, alone. I was having a panic attack so bad that I was retching into the toilet while I loaded up another whippet and hit another after another.

I knew whippets could cause seizures or even kill you, I had done enough research on it. But I liked them too much to care, they eased the pain. Part of me even hoped in that moment something dangerous would happen. That was my "rock bottom," as some call it. That was when I knew I had to change. This happened around Christmas time in 2020. As the days and weeks went by, I stopped doing the, everyday like I had been. But I would still give in every time the cravings were too intense to ignore. One day, I had another breakdown after using again. I was "sick and tired of feeling sick and tired." I was determined, and I was whippet-free for 3 weeks.

Until one day, I had another panic attack, and those cravings just came back. "It'll make you feel better." "They numb your body and your mind." "It'll make your emotions less intense." All of which were true while you're using...but after, it only gets worse. But I didn't think about the aftermath until I was sitting in my car, hitting a whippet, when someone walked up to my window. It was my roommates...I could see their hearts breaking, and it broke mine too. I wish I could say that's what brought me here and that I haven't done them since. But I did them the next day. And the next. And the next... Next thing I knew I had been using everyday again for a week.

I drained my bank account, both checking and savings. I would ask my parents for money for food and gas, but that's not what I was spending it on. I relied on my boyfriend and friends for any food. This whole time I was lying to everyone around me. Friends suspected but were too afraid to speak up. That last time I used, it was a Monday, I had class at 12. I told myself, "well, I'm going to be late anyway, might as well get some," so I did. I didn't go to class. I hit my last whippet. I had to use the bathroom, so I walked into a building on campus to use the restroom. I suddenly started crying, uncontrollably.

I felt that guilt and shame again, like I was a liar, a drug addict, I was hiding and taking money from my parents. I felt like a bad person, like I didn't deserve anything good. On top of that, I was having suicidal thoughts. I broke down, I asked my friends for help, I told them the truth. I'm lucky to have such understanding and supportive friends. One of them told me I should call the 24-hour on-call counselor we have on campus, so the next day, I did. She really, really wanted me to go to a rehab, but she wanted me to be in an inpatient rehab, which is a huge step and a big decision that I wasn't ready to make.

She set up an assessment for me with an inpatient rehab, but told me I didn't have to go if I wasn't ready. I've been in inpatient care before. In 2019, I admitted myself to a hospital for having suicidal thoughts. I had some...interesting experiences in there that scarred me a little. Of course, a rehab is different than a psych ward, but I think that lonely feeling would still be there. So I started researching outpatient rehab treatment programs. The first one I found was Lion Rock. I talked to them, and it sounded like a good fit for me. I wouldn't have to drop out of school for the semester, leave work for a few weeks, and I could still have my main support system with me (my friends and family). So it just seemed to be the best fit for me. And that's how I got here.

Now, here is what could have happened if I didn't reach out for help:

Had I not reached out for help or told anyone about my continuous use, I would've continued to use. It would've continued to be that endless cycle of "I'm depressed, some whippets would help" and "I did whippets again, I feel like I'm just a stupid drug addict." The depression would've progressed. I would continue to drown my anxiety and depression in intoxication. I would hide it from all the people willing to hold me accountable, because I wouldn't want to be held accountable. I'd rather get high than do what's best for me.

At some point after using regularly and hiding it for weeks or even months, there is only these negative outcomes of continuous use with no help:

I would be mid-whippet when my heart decides to stop or my body has a seizure from my organs getting so cold. Someone would find me in my car, with the canister still in my hand, with my lips purple, and my face cold. Whoever it would've been to find me, it would be a horrific scene for them. It would likely traumatize them for life.

I would be so depressed, so suicidal, I'd be blaming myself for everything. I'd tell myself, "this is who I am now." I would use the whippets as an act of self harm, hoping it'd kill me or give me a seizure. Praying that I'm putting myself in danger. It would be what I want. I'd want to physically hurt myself so that people can physically see my emotional pain. People don't understand what you're going through until they see it physically. Since people can't see your mental health, it's harder to understand how severe it gets sometimes unless you physically show them. And in that moment of self harming by whippets, I would hope I could physically show them my pain.

I would continue to use in a riskier manner. What I mean is, I would continue to drive while high on whippets. Driving down the road, loading one up, hitting it, holding my breath until I load up the next one, exhale, and hit another. It would be a high possibility I could kill myself. Or someone else. Worse case scenario, I kill someone else and am totally safe myself and have to live the rest of my life with the consequences. I could kill somebody's child, somebody's wife or husband, somebody's best friend, somebody's mother or father. I could have another incident where I black out while driving except actually passing out this time. I could run into a tree, run a pedestrian over, hit a motorcyclist, or just have a horrific freak vehicular accident. Granted, I could be totally fine and never actually get to the point of passing out while driving, but all of these are possibilities.

I could be sitting in my parked car or even driving down the road, hitting whippets, and a cop could possibly catch a glimpse of me inhaling something that doesn't quite look like a cigarette or vape at all. If they were to catch a glimpse and question what I'm doing, they could easily come up to my car or pull me over and ask what I was just doing. As someone who doesn't lie well, I'd freeze up, but there's no way I'd admit to a cop that I'm inhaling nitrous oxide in public or on the road. I'd probably say something like, "Oh, I was just sitting here on my phone," or "Oh, I'm just driving home, I was just hitting my vape." But they'd suspect. The bigger problem is if they'd ask me to step out of the car. That's where I'd be terrified. During my use, because I would do them so frequently in my car, there'd be piles of cartridges and boxes for whip-its! in the back of my car. They would find the numerous cartridges filling up my console, underneath the seat, in the cup holder, everywhere. The cop might not know right off the bat what it is exactly, but it would definitely be suspicious. They would ask, "what are these?" I would--not being able to lie--tell them they are whipped cream chargers. That they are used to make whipped cream. They would ask me, "why are there so many in your car?" That...I don't know what I would say. But I only see myself getting arrested at this point and possibly being reported to a rehab and being court-ordered to attend an inpatient rehab. Inpatient rehabs are scary to imagine, but being forced to be in one...even scarier.

"Whippets" could turn into something else. Like how marijuana turned into Adderall. And Adderall turned into the whippets. How do I know I wouldn't find a new substance to replace the whippet addiction? I don't know. I had tried Xanax a couple times and really liked it and craved it often, I just didn't have a source of finding it easily. I remember worrying Xanax was the next move. How would I know this replacement of one drug to another wouldn't lead me to heroin, meth, crack, or something terrible? Something that would take over my life the way marijuana, Adderall, and whippets did but is much harder to hide, harder to control. How do I know I wouldn't fuck up my brain from all the drugs? I could kill so many brain cells that I can't function. I was once hospitalized for severe anxiety and depression, I've met people who can't even function like a human because they were so messed up from the drugs they've used. I met people who couldn't relax without some xanny. How do I know that wouldn't be me in the future? I didn't know, I still don't know. It could've been me if I had continued.

Like I said, any of these scenarios would have been possibilities had I not reached out for help sooner. They were all possibilities when I was using and that's scary to think about. I have to say that I am grateful that I reached out for help myself. I wanted help before one of these scenarios became a reality. I am doing this all for me.

My takeaway from this exercise:

Writing out what led up to the point of getting help makes it clearer just how bad it really was. It's kind of sad. I knew it was a rough time, but reading it in black and white really opens my eyes, and it's crazy.

Writing what could've happened really makes me just feel...like the face palm emoji. Because not only were these scenarios possible had I continued to use, but they were all possible when I was using. And that's really scary. These scenarios really paint a picture, and not a pretty one. Overall, this exercise made me incredibly grateful that I decided to get help when I did.

3 notes · View notes

theroguefeminist · 4 years

Text

yes the war on drugs is wrong and all the anti-weed propaganda the government has put out over the years is inaccurate and weed should be legalized but the idea that weed “isn’t a drug” and no one can EVER get addicted to it and it can never cause harm is COMPLETELY false and dangerous. i say this as someone who has a lot of addiction in my family and is currently dealing with family members who literally can’t stop smoking and are constantly baked and have withdrawal symptoms if they ever stop and always drive and work while stoned and are self-medicating their own undiagnosed health issues and mental health problems and can’t stand being with their own thoughts, dealing with their own emotions, or interacting with other ppl while sober - it totally damages my relationships with them and it is inhibiting their mental health & quality of life.

like alcohol, many ppl can smoke weed occasionally with no problem, but some ppl become dependent on it. if you feel like you constantly need weed to function or cope and can’t stand being off it for an extended period of time look out for the signs and get help bc while it’s not nearly on the same level as like heroin or crack or meth being addicted to pot has huge costs even if you don’t realize it

#drugs #substance abuse #addiction

120 notes · View notes

ndragoon · 3 years

Text

I am aware that I am borderline obsessive with my hatred of conservatives. For that I do apologize for those who actually have to read my rants as often as they do. But I do not apologize for hating them.

TW for: sexual assault, abuse, homophobia, transphobia

I grew up in a part of southwestern PA, where everyone was expected to hate gays, jews, and blacks. If you didn't, there was something wrong with you. My neighbor told me that he kept a gun handy should any of them ever show their faces in the area.

The next "town" over (it was actually a series of 'places' because they weren't populous enough to even be villages) regularly found burning crosses in people's yards anytime "unwanted rabble" tried to move in.

We were to take everything Fox News said and believe it as gospel. They would never lie to us, and they were protecting us from those horrible liberals who were trying to ruin everything. They even got into our schools and tried to greenwash our children! When I saw that they mentioned using wind power on the PSSAs, I hated doing those questions. Why did they have to put this greenwashing BS in the SCIENCE section? Everyone knows that green energy doesn't work!

Every time something happened on the news, like a shooting, a lynching, a mass shooting, we weren't supposed to care. We didn't know anyone, so why should we care? They were taking away people's rights, but it wasn't ours, so we should just stay out of it.

Everywhere in the area, being gay was a capital offense. You were beaten or shot on sight, no questions asked. When I was in school, there was always some new theme of what made you gay. If you were unlucky enough to be caught with it, you were beaten in the restroom or locker room. If you were caught looking at the person walking by, it was cause enough to destroy your belongings and beat you. The mere mention of it outside of school property made people ready their firearms.

It was okay to beat your kids for everything. They didn't do the dishes right? Here can the paddle. Didn't do your homework? Here came the paddle. Didn't get good grades? Here came the paddle. Didn't look them right in the eyes as they yelled at you? It was sheer disrespect and you got backhanded. Get caught looking at porn? You lost all computer privileges, and had all your games and files deleted...it was okay for them to keep porn mags under their bed though. That was fine.

When I came out, my mother was disappointed, my father was about to murder me (and likely would have if I didn't choose to come out outside the house). Nobody could know, though. I had to go back in the closet and pretend to be straight every time we had a visitor, or when we went somewhere. Every time Obama mentioned something about gay rights or gay marriage, my father would sulk out of the room and wouldn't come back in until the program changed.

It took me until I was around 21 to finally come to terms and come out. Because I knew I was interested in other guys, it just took me that long to get over the "but I'm not gay, being gay is wrong" mentality.

The military is EVERYTHING. You need to join them, and worship them. If you see one in a restaurant, you should always pay for their bill, no matter what. Anyone who dodged a draft or lied to get out of service for any reason was a dirty draft dodger liberal who deserves to be executed for disrespecting the country.

Fast forward to 29, the modern era. My family tells me I shouldn't care that they are trying to get rid of gay marriage, because "you don't want to get married anyway, so why do you care?" They tell me that conservatives are keeping this country from being ruined by all those liberals who are making everything politically correct. Some distant relatives talk about how cops should be more violent because "too many n*ggers and young punks have guns nowadays" and all deserve to be shot on sight because only older white men who aren't liberals should be allowed to have firearms.

The Civil War had absolutely nothing to do with slavery, it was about states rights and how the federal government was overreaching with its authority so the other states did the right thing and fought back to maintain their rights from the tyrannical government.

Black Lives Matter is nothing more than a bunch of thugs and criminals who want to make themselves superior to white people and get everything for free. The protests are never peaceful, they are always violent riots where they break in to kill white people for being white and they destroy and steal from local businesses because they don't care about anyone or anything.

No women actually get raped. It's just a bunch of women who want their five minutes of fame. After all, if any of it ACTUALLY happened, they would have reported it immediately. Of course, when a woman does report someone, it's because she was "dressed like a whore" or because she led him on or because she wasn't enjoying the sex so she decided to report him for rape instead.

Trans people are this multitude of things, depending on what's going on. If they were trying to use the women's restroom, it's because they are perverts who want to molest or rape women, or abduct children. If they were just seen existing in public, it's a mental illness and they need to be locked up to protect people from the harm they will cause. Of course, it's all just men dressing like women, there is no such thing as a woman wearing men's clothes.

And our guns! Everyone but the conservatives want to take our guns! They want to disarm us, they want to take our firearms away! They'll have police going from door to door, tearing every house apart to take every single gun we own! They want to work with Russia and bring communism over to the US to take us over and destroy our freedom, and they'll do this by taking away our guns! We need to protect our guns!

Everyone on disability is faking being hurt just to get benefits. They have a doctor friend who goes out of their way and risks their medical license just to give them all this free money in the world so they don't have pto work!

Everyone on welfare is just some lifer who learned to work the system. It's why they keep popping out child after child, because you get extra hundreds a month in welfare money for every child you have. They are also all on hard drugs like meth and heroin or that dangerous and dreadful pot. Everyone needs to be drug tested weekly, and if they have a trace of anything, they need to be stripped of all benefits and kicked to the curb.

Of course, both benefit systems need to be stopped. Except for us. Because everyone else but us is working the systems, of course.

And everything is political correctness nowadays. You're not allowed to hit on women or rub their shoulders or kiss them as a friend, because we need to be PC. You're not allowed to say "colored" anymore because we need to be PC. You're not allowed to call people slurs anymore because you need to be PC. You're not allowed to stereotype and insult everyone within sight, because we need to be PC.

So I guess you can say they are good people who only have El everyone's best interests at heart, and that's why we should keep everything the way it was in the 40s.

#Personal #Not health #Not sorry

1 note · View note

gwaciechang · 4 years

Text

Love Run (4/10?)

“Welcome to my table, bring your hunger”

Yes, I know that line’s from The Horror and the Wild. Deal with it.

Once again, trigger warnings for Bobby Hayes’ life and everything involved in it. This chapter also involves a character with OCD whose rituals lead to an argument with the POV character, the discovery that an addict is keeping drugs in a recovering addict’s living space (a brief line that will be discussed later), and a heavy discussion of the POV character’s past drug abuse and recovery. Read at your own risk below the cut.

“Home sweet home,” you breathe a sigh of relief. Behind you, Bobby is tense and unhappy. That doesn’t change when he steps inside. You wince when you notice the mess. God, why didn’t you clean up before?

Well, missing the bus, making a friend, and killing a hitman might have had something to do with it. You shake yourself out of the memory before it can overwhelm you. You're literally too tired to have a panic attack, how sad is that?

You start scrubbing the dishes you left from breakfast that last morning into the sink. The handle falls off the mug, and you curse. That had been your favorite, too, because it’s the only one your ex didn’t give you when you two moved into this place. The only glue you have in the house is a children’s gluestick that couldn’t hold two pieces of paper together, assuming you could even find it. You resign yourself to a trip to the store. Bobby would probably insist on his own set of dishes anyway, and you do’'t blame him, you're the one who let this place become a sty, after all.

“D-do you mind if I help?” Bobby asks shyly.

“No, of course not. Just, um, just let me know where you put things later, and, uh, try to keep similar things in the same place. That’s dish soap in the handsoap dispenser next to the faucet, by the way. I have a gallon jug of dish soap under the sink next to the trashcan that I refill it with, it’s just easier.” When you realize you’re babbling, you shut your mouth with a click.

“That's smart,” Bobby’s smile is pained. “That’s normal person smart.”

“Normal?” you hold up your hands, which are still covered by his gloves.

Oddly enough, this actually makes him smile, and he gets to washing the dishes with his bare hands, even though it means having to touch four-day-old egg, or whatever that yellow crusty thing is. You go to your bedroom and try to organize your clothes, or at least get them off the floor. And that’s when you realize.

“Shit!”

“What is it?”

You poke your head out to say, “I don’t have a couch, and there’s only one bed.”

His face is grim and he fidgets when he says, “If you don’t mind, I could take a spare blanket and sleep on the floor.”

”I can’t let you sleep on the floor, Bobby, shit.” You take out your thickest blanket anyway, and go to the gaming room your ex set up to dump on the reclining chair. “I’ve fallen asleep here before,” you lie, you’d never used this room before. Bobby’s not paying attention, he’s too busy staring at your ex’s computer.

Right, he’s a fucking computer expert, and your ex, for all his uselessness, was very much into getting the latest technology for League of Warcraft or whatever it was he played.

“Yes, it is most likely whatever model of computer you’re thinking of. I don’t know exactly, since I’ve never used it,” you roll eyes and busy yourself with trying to figure out how to get the reclining chair to actually recline.

“I thought you said you’ve fallen asleep here before.”

Ah shit, you need to be more careful. “Um, yeah,” you hide your face carefully. “When my ex would fall asleep here, I’d usually come join him.” That actually isn’t a lie. “I hate sleeping by myself in that big bed.”

Bobby makes a sound, and for a second your heart beats fast with the hope he’s going to offer to sleep in the bed with you. But then he opens his mouth. “Have you considered getting a large stuffed animal?”

The idea is appealing. You hadn’t held a stuffed animal even close to your size since you were maybe five, but you’d be damned if you let Bobby knew that.

“I will throw this chair at you,” you threaten.

He honest-to-god smirks. “You can’t even lift it.”

You do your best and succeed at tipping the chair over right into the window. The headrest smashes into the blinds and starts to go through the glass as well, but Bobby catches it at the last second and very carefully tips it back.

“Well, fuck,” you say, examining the crack in the glass.

“I don’t usually sleep at night,” Bobby says suddenly. His fingers are tapping that nervous pattern against his elbows again. “We could take turns sleeping in the bed?”

“Actually, that might be a good idea,” you remember what Harry said. “One of us should be on alert, just in case somebody tries to break down my door, too.”

Bobby tenses at the reminder, and his eyes flick toward the door like somebody’s about to jump out right now. “I will,” he promises, rubbing the sores on his arms. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I can stay awake for a long time.”

“Well, so can I,” you think ruefully of being so high on meth you wouldn’t even realize a week passed by until the high ran out and you crashed, starving, hallucinating, for days.

“Don’t take anything, please. Don’t take anything that’ll keep you awake, and I promise I won’t take anything,” Bobby’s eyes are fierce.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I’d rather die. I’m not joking, I’d rather die.”

He gets closer to you, one inch at a time. “Well, don’t do that either,” he lays a reluctant hand on your shoulder.

“I think I’ve done a pretty good job of not doing that,” you try to force some levity into the situation. “Now come on, you barely have any clothes, and my groceries have probably gone bad.”

It turns out to be a mistake, because you forgot it was Friday and not Monday, and the shop is crowded.

“I don’t need anything,” Bobby says sullenly. He flinches every time someone brushes past him.

“Is it because the police took your money? That’s fine. I can afford it for a couple days,” you walk in front of him so you’ll deal with the crowd and he can avoid people in your wake. You also fail at trying not to think about work. You’re missing almost a week’s worth of income, and you don’t even know if Bobby has a job.

“No, I brought the box. I don’t like it here. It’s too loud.”

“Okay, let’s go home, and then you can make a list for me of things you need, and I’ll get it,” you start to turn him to the exit.

“No,” he takes your hand. “I’m not leaving you alone.” Does he realize he’s humming to his usual six beats?

That gives you an idea. “Here,” you take his gloves off and hold them under his face so he can see them.

“They’re yours,” he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “They keep you from scratching.”

“I’m not scratching, they worked. Now put them on.”

He does, and with his hands covered, he doesn’t stop tapping, but nor is he flinching when people pass by him. You’re not arrogant enough to believe it’s because you’re holding his hand now.

He closes all the blinds once you get home, then opens them to close them again.

You leave him to it, opening up the refrigerator door to toss the rotten carrots and a bag of things that could be kiwis or apples out. The cherries are a little soft, but they look edible, and so do the wrinkly oranges, so you put the green bananas in between them to help them ripen faster.

“I’ll do it,” Bobby yanks the groceries out of your hands and starts rearranging your food.

“Can you leave the fruit where it is? I want the bananas to ripen faster.”

“You could’ve just bought ripe bananas,” he says.

“Yes, but I don’t eat them that fast,” you try to keep your temper in check.

He takes the bag of cherries. “These are old.”

“They’re still good,” you argue, trying to keep him from throwing them out.

“They’re old,” he insists.

“You’re not the one who’s eating them!” your voice is getting higher now.

“I don’t want them in the refrigerator. They get old and they become breeding grounds for bacteria.”

“It’s my refrigerator!”

He throws the cherries at you before storming out of the room, and you just barely catch them. He’s tapping his fingers so hard against the wall that you’re afraid he'll break them.

“Bobby-”

“SHUT UP! STOP TALKING!” he screams. His eyes are clenched shut and he’s doubled over. You wonder if his injuries are still bothering him, and all your anger drains out.

You drop the cherries behind the bananas so they’re hidden from view. “I’ll leave the groceries to put away how you want,” you say as you walk off to your room. You close the door quietly to avoid disturbing his rituals, turn around, and find his box at the top of his dresser.

You know this is invasive, but you need to know. You of all people know how tentative the hold on sobriety is, and if someone has hard drugs that you know is triggering for you, you have to protect yourself. Still, knowing that doesn’t make you feel any less awful to start singing Bonnie Tyler again to hide the sounds of you opening the box.

Well, that’s a lot of cash and not a lot of heroin, maybe. You can’t smell it like this, but you know what it looks like.

You leave everything where it is and close the box in favor of something you can control: sorting the laundry. That’s how Bobby finds you, and he lets out a little sigh of relief when he sees his box hasn’t been disturbed.

“There was so much noise,” he says harshly, and then he winces.

“I understand,” you try to reassure him. “Your life just got turned upside down, you lost your apartment, you’re in a whole new living situation with another person, your life is in danger by people you don’t know, and shopping in big crowds can be stressful. You’re trying to get your control back.”

“So are you,” Bobby insists. “You’ve got a new roommate, that roommate’s reminding you of the worst time of your life, and you’ve still got nightmares of that man you killed for me. I should let you have your comfort food, it’s not my comfort food.”

“Which is why I put the cherries somewhere harder to see,” you say. “And if there’s anything else I can do, let me know, alright? We can compromise as long as we talk to each other.” You take tentative steps toward him. “Thank you for being honest with me. Thank you for not hiding or getting high to avoid having this conversation.”

“You shouldn’t be proud. I'm just doing something you’ve been doing for years.”

“Well, too bad, because it's my feelings and I get to feel whatever I want,” you say, standing up. “Now, I’m going to make myself some food. Coming?”

He does, like you hoped. Honestly, that boy needs some meat on his bones.

“What do you like?” you ask, getting your cooking utensils out and leaving the doors open so he can rearrange them the way he likes. He’s doing you a favor, really, you don’t have any organizational system for most of your kitchen.

“I want to know how to make your favorite.”

You can’t help yourself from clutching your chest. “Lu mian it is,” you say, taking out the yellow bean sprouts from the fridge so you could snap the roots off. “Could you take the shredded beef out of the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw?”

He obeys immediately, the sweetheart.

“Great. Now get me the big metal bowl and a plate from the dishwasher. The bowl’s on the top shelf, the plates are on the bottom, and you can organize it however you like after that.”

“Okay, you see that big three-layered pot in the corner? Take the top two pots off, fill the bottom pot about halfway with water, and then put it on any of the stoves and turn the heat to medium.”

The water turns on, then off, and the pot clinks against the stovepot. Only once.

“What else?”

“Get a porcelain bowl from the dishwasher, top shelf. And then you see the sauces next to the stove? One of them says ‘light soy sauce.’ Pour about a tablespoon of it into a bowl. When you're done with that, there's garlic in the fridge in the same place you keep your butter in your refrigerator. Dice five or six. The cutting board is next to the sink. Then mix the garlic in with the sauce, and when the beef’s thawed, pour it into the bowl and mix it again.”

The microwave dings, and he pours the beef into the bowl. “Like this?” he asks.

“Exactly, perfect.”

Is that a blush?

“Alright, what’s next?” he asks when he finishes.

“Next? Next you listen to me thank you for following my directions perfectly.”

Bobby blushes. He’s so beautiful.

“Is the water boiling yet?” you ask as you wash the sprouts.

“Um, it’s getting close, it’s bubbling.”

“Okay, take two chunks of noodles out of the freezer and put them on the plate. 30 seconds in the microwave should thaw them out enough for you to separate them.” The microwave dings right as you pour the water out of the sprouts. You leave the sprouts next to the sink, separate the top two pots, and walk up to Bobby as he takes out the noodles. “Okay, do exactly as I do,” you say, taking one chunk of noodle from him to unravel into one of the pots. He, of course, follows your instructions perfectly and his pot is much neater than yours, the show-off.

“The water’s boiling," he says, looking at the stove.

“Perfect,” you put your pot over his and put them over the pot already on the stove. Then you grab a pot and pour about two tablespoons of vegetable oil into it, and crank it up to high. “Okay, pour the beef and garlic in here,” you point.

He’s already brushed the mixture into the pot by the time you realize you didn’t give him the spatula, so rinse it out quickly before stirring the mixture with it. Steam hisses, and you roll up your sleeves.

That was a mistake.

You cover the scars as soon as you can, but Bobby is already horrified.

“It’s not that bad,” you focus on making sure the garlic doesn’t stick to the pot. “They were uglier before they healed,” you try to joke.

Bobby rolls up his sleeves, too, so you can see his bruised injection sites. He makes eye contact the whole time, daring you to call yourself ugly again. You nod in acquiescence, and he takes over stirring for you. “How long do I do this for?” he asks.

“Until the meat turns brown,” you say, grabbing the bowl of sprouts. “Move over, I'm going pour this in.”

“Do I mix it in?” he asks. You’re so close to him that you can feel his warmth.

“Yes,” you squeak with a dry mouth. You don’t want to move. “A little more than that,” you say, peering at the pot. “A little more,” and technically this is good enough, but you don’t want to move. “A little more.”

The dry hiss of the noddle pot tells you that it needs more water, snapping you out of your stupor.

“Take the top two pots off,” you say, filling the metal bowl with water to pour into the bottom pot. Then you take the top pot off and put it on the bottom pot. “Now put yours on top of mine.” Man, you would love to say that in a different context.

When the noodles are done, you mix them into the meat and sprouts, and then you both sit down to enjoy your meal. Neither of you have rolled down your sleeves.

“I can’t remember when the noise really started getting to me,” Bobby says suddenly. “I remember the first time I lost my tooth, I kept counting my teeth. I don’t think anybody knew what I was doing yet. And then I had to do more and more. At some point, whenever I went out, I had to count all the trees, and if they weren’t in six, I couldn’t go to where I need unless I counted enough trees to fit six. So I stopped going out, things were just too scary. I broke my fingers one day, to try to keep myself from counting, and the doctor gave me Valium. It made me feel like I was floating, and when it wore off, I had to feel it again. When I’m on heroin, the world isn’t so scary anymore. But the noise always gets through again.”

You reach halfway across the table and lay your open hand down. “When I was thirteen, one of my friends had expired pills they let me take, because I was tired all the time and I didn’t know why. And I still don’t know. I just had to keep taking more and more of it to just stay awake, and then I started mixing other amphetamines. And then when I was fifteen, one of the people I used to buy from said he had something better than expired pills. He gave me crystal meth. He told me he’d inherited this mansion from his uncle, and it was full of the stuff. It was probably just an abandoned building, but it was always full of people using everything he sold.”

Bobby’s eyes are wet, but they’re looking right at yours, and he takes your hand. “How did you stop?”

You chuckle. “Honestly, my sister. My entire family stopped talking to me after they found out I was a tweaker. And one day, when I was too tired to care how much I took, I ended up having a heart attack. I still don’t know how she found me, but she did, and she called an ambulance and kept me alive until it got there. When I woke up, she was next to my hospital bed. She didn’t speak to me, but she locked me in her apartment while fluids poured out of me from both ends, and you have to really love somebody to do that while they’re screaming about how much they hate you.”

Bobby swallows. “Does your family talk to you now?”

“Yeah, eventually. It took a while to get my dad to come around. But having Chloe around to vouch for me really helped,” your eyes are blurring. You rub the tears away roughly, but they’re soon replaced by many more.

Bobby lifts his fingers and wipes them away.

“Thanks,” you say into your noodles.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” he says with way too much feeling.

“Well, once you get past the ‘Holy shit I almost died’ thing, you stop being so scared of things that aren't likely to kill you right this second,” you try to smile. It feels wrong on your face.

Your ex’s chair squeaks when Bobby stands up. You’re not sure what he's doing as he walks around the table, but his face is determined, so you don't say anything as he opens his arms and covers you in a hug.

#lucky man fanfiction #bobby hayes #joey i am literally begging you not to look through this tag

2 notes · View notes

bonscottintheimpala · 5 years

Text

PSA FOR FOLKS VISITING SEATTLE (from someone who is from there)

If you are thinking of coming to Seattle, here are some tips to stay safe:

DO NOT GO ANYWHERE NEAR PIKE PLACE MARKET WHEN IT'S STARTING TO GET DARK. It's a sketchy area by day, but it's worse at night.

Like seriously, even cops don't go down there at night. It's that dangerous.

There's a chance you'll see someone shooting up heroin, making drug deals, ect. Even in the light of day. It's normal by now, so we pretty much just ignore it after the first time seeing those happen.

Don't look at someone who is screaming on the sidewalk. Chances are they're high on meth, and may or may not try to hurt you.

Wear shoes with thicker soles so you don't get pricked by needles if you accidentally step on one, particularly in the areas near Pioneer Square/the major homeless camps downtown.

AGAIN, STAY AWAY FROM PIKE PLACE MARKET AND PIONEER SQUARE AT NIGHT, PROSTITUTION AND DRUG DEALS ARE AT PEAK HOURS.

Any other Seattlites can add on anything I missed, but these are some of the big ones I know.

#buying the stairway queue heaven #text #seattle #psa #tourism #washignton #words

11 notes · View notes

dxlansfxck · 5 years

Text

Saints & Sins [G.D] Part 09

„I can’t wait to finally be away from you! For fucks sake. I won’t need to share my fucking room with you disgusting bitch!” Wildly gesticulating, Grayson screams the wildest names at Y/N. The reason for their argument was obvious: drugs.

Our good friend Grayson doesn’t smoke weed or swallows trip after trip anymore, but he’s snorting Coke like there’s no tomorrow – more and more gravitating to take Meth and Heroin.

Y/N came fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her tiny body, her hair dripping onto the floor, when she saw Grayson sitting on his bed – with a Crack-pipe in his left hand, a lighter in his right. The window was opened, as if he would want the toxic gases to leave the room. Unnecessary, of course. The entire room smelt like Grayson, his attacks of sweating and the drugs he took. Even the curtains smelt like weed. “Crack, are you fucking serious? You dumb idiot, you know how addicting that is?” In moments like that, Y/N gets all moral and sits down next to him. “Gray, please. Even if you hate me that much – you still mean the world to me. I love you and I can’t keep on watching you destroying yourself.” Grayson on the other hand gets angry all the time about this topic. “I mean something to you? I overheard you and Jai, that you would hook up with him if you haven’t had Luke. The fuck? Just shut up, Y/N.”

“I was drunk, that’s it. He tutored me – I would’ve never said something like that if I was sober. I mean, I’ve got Shawn – the hotter one. Besides that; why are you with Jai? Because you love him? Because you want to build a future with him? Boy, you’re into his drugs, that’s it. You won’t have a future, half a year from now at the latest you’ll be dead. The drug-cocktail you’re enjoying too much will eat you alive. Don’t you smell yourself? Don’t you look at yourself? How much weight have you lost since we broke up? 20 pounds? 40? You’re nothing but a skeleton that smells rotten. Your hair is matted, your cheeks hollowed. Can I be honest, Gray? I’m glad it’s over. I’m glad we don’t talk anymore and that I didn’t fall down the rabbit hole. And I truly hope that we’re never going to see each other after that”, by now, Y/N was in full rage mode, throwing the pipe out of his hand and screaming a “And I won’t come to your fucking funeral!” at him before grabbing her headphones to watch some Netflix in her bed. She opens another window to not breathe in his drug-fumes.

About half an episode of The Vampire Diaries later, someone ripped the headphones out of her ears and she was thrown onto her back, Grayson laying on top of her, his eyes almost glowing from anger. “Do you really think you can talk to me like that? You were nothing to me besides a lapdog to have fun with. And even if I look that destroyed, that rotten, you still think I’m attractive. You would take every chance to fuck me again, just to bring back the ‘good old times’. Angel, you chose Shawn just because I found someone else”, his knee finds its way between her legs while she moans in protest, making Grayson smirk. “You’re missing the danger in your life, Shawn is a nobody, he can’t give you adrenalin, he can’t give you action or passion.”

His stubbly chin stokes her neck, her hands automatically balling into fists, but she doesn’t fight him. Doesn’t tell him to stop. His rough hands find their way under her shirt, caressing her ribs and giving her goosebumps. Soon enough, her shirt was laying on the floor, followed by her leggings. Grayson’s lips follow the softness of her stomach while she was still laying underneath him, turned on but scared at the same time. “Gray, that’s doing nothing to me. I’m not turned on, I despise you”, she moves and tries to get away from him, but he was still stronger than her. One of his large hands finds her wrists and pins them above her head. The other one was stroking her cheeks, her neck and her breasts down to her thong before pulling it down. He grins, seeing her wetness tickling down in between her thighs, her smell making him go wild. Once he sticks out his tongue to teasingly lick soft stripes up her aching core, her self-control was gone. Y/N grabs his hair to shove him down her cunt even more, drowning him in her juices and making him drink up whatever leaves her body. Grayson didn’t seem to care, his free hand was tight around his cock, rubbing and stroking himself while bringing her closer to an end. Once she came, she pushed him off and puts her clothes back on, not caring about him or his orgasm at all before leaving the room without looking back.

She didn’t even care about what had happened, but she didn’t tell Shawn either. For being his lapdog, Grayson got turned on really quick once he had his tongue on her pussy. Stupid idiot. But the only thing she thought about was revenge – and she knew how to get it.

Grayson hasn’t been in their room the next couple days and Y/N had enough time to go through his belongings, lay down on his bed and smoking his weed – that he ‘didn’t smoke anymore’. There were about five bags filled with beautiful flowers in his nightstand and she didn’t hesitate to grind and smoke them in Grayson’s pipe. It has to be the stuff that Jai brought him, because it didn’t take lots of drags to feel the calming sensation and the puffiness of her eyes. Y/N laughed while letting herself fall back on his bed and to cuddle his pillow, smelling still like Gray. She began to think about everything, about her feelings for Gray, for Shawn and she even thought about Luke a couple of times. Then she thought about why she hated Grayson so much, she was admiring him long enough, she would’ve died for him, but what now? Anger, Fear and Anxiety. The fear of him replacing her with drugs. Or the fear of him dying without any chance of saying goodbye. The fear of being alone even though she was the one to break up with him. But he didn’t seem to care, he was alright, maybe even better than with her. But she knows that neither of them could ever feel complete without the other one. Y/N gave up so much for Grayson, but he never cared. Her grades got worse, she broke up with Luke and she was consistently lying to her parents about everything. But what did she get from it? She was still alone, Grayson was fucking Luke and she was worrying about his death every single day. But she was still in love with him. And even if she couldn’t convince him to go to therapy, she’d want to spend his last time together with him. God damn, she knows he loves her as well. Tears were running down her cheeks, droplets falling onto his pillow and she realizes the down of the high has arrived. Desperate for more, she was searching through his drawer for something more, something that could light her up again. Maybe to find something that would lift her up on the same level with Grayson. Then they’d be reunited again. It would be only them, not even Jai could keep up with them. Y/N peers over to his pipe, still laying on the night stand and the Ice that was still in his drawer. Out of nothing she knew it was the only opportunity to get to him. Her hands were shaking as she opened the small bag and placing some of the clear crystals onto the pipe that she didn’t even bother to clean. Weed and Ice have to work together. She takes a small drag before exhaling frantically, the fear somewhat still in her mind. “Don’t be a wimp”, she scolds herself before placing the pipe back between her lips and holding the flame of the lighter against the Ice. It felt like the fumes got right into her bloodstream and her head felt like a rollercoaster. She smirked, followed by a loud laughter before repeating the process once more. She feels the adrenalin and hopes for Grayson to come back sooner, to get high with her, to love her, to admire her. Y/N knows that their relationship just got onto a whole new level and there wouldn’t be anything that could separate them from now on. Their love was devastating, they would die for each other. She was almost angry that Grayson wouldn’t want to share that amazing experience with her, so she inhales once more, trying to get the double amount of fun. Mischievously grinning, she put everything back onto its original place before opening the window and watching the birds outside. God damn, life was good.

#Grayson Dolan #GraysonDolan #Dolan Twins #DolanTwins #Dolan Twins Smut #Ethan Dolan #Saints and Sins #Fanfiction #Dolan Twins Fanfiction #Grayson Dolan Fanfiction #Grayson Dolan Fanfic #graysonsmut #graysondolanimagine

59 notes · View notes