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vergilthelibrarian · 4 years

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Second part to whatever this is. I don’t know what to name this story but enjoy ^^

Yandere!MarkLeexMale!reader

CW: A dead body appears and also limbs gets cut off

Moaning, you moved your head around, your eyes slowly blinking open, being met with an orange light.

You hissed as you slowly sat up, your right hand in pain as you used your hands to moved yourself, your back leaning against the headboard of the bed you were on.

Looking around the room, you wondered were you where.

Your ears perked up as you heard footsteps and soon the door to the room opened.

Your eyes widen in fear and you grabbed your patched up right hand, remembering what the young man who had now just entered the room did to you.

“What do you want?” you asked afraid and he sighed.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s you.” he said after he closed the door, putting his hands in his pockets.

Tears began forming in your eyes and soon you started softly sobbing, putting your head in your hands.

You soon felt weight on the bed and a hand rub your back.

You move away from the man who frowned but quickly changed his features to a blank look.

“Please don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry…”

“Then let me go.”

He quickly shook his head.

“No. This is your home now.” his thumb caressed your cheek and you tried to push his hand away and immediately felt a strong grip on your chin and you were forced to look at the man who didn’t look so pleased.

He was silent for a moment and you stopped crying, fear causing your body to shake, whimpering from the tight grip.

The look in his eyes was murderous.

It was something you’ve never seen before and it truly scared you.

His head titled, his breathing shallow as he stared at you.

“You look so beautiful this way...” he breathed out, finally breaking the silence.

Then he blinked a couple of times, shaking his head, falling out of the trance he was in.

“I’m… sorry.” he said, letting go of your chin. “I made breakfast. You should come down to eat before it gets cold.” he said before getting up and exiting the room.

Once you thought he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, you began crying once more.

Mark shook his head as he leaned back in the couch, his hands covering his face.

Ever since he saw you that fateful day when you walked into his class, he honestly hasn’t been the same since.

You were the new kid and was rather shy just like him but unlike him, you weren’t as awkward and quickly you gained a group of friends.

He would always watch you as you went about your day, wishing he was your friend.

That’s the thing.

Mark just wished he was your friend, nothing more but soon he started developing a crush on you which soon developed into him falling in love with the image he had of you.

He knew how dumb it was, that he was in love with you despite not knowing who you were but that didn’t stop his heart from pounding when your eyes met with his and you smiled brightly, giving him a small wave.

Back then though, he wasn’t stalking you. That started happening once y’all graduated and you ran off to the big city for college while he stayed back to work at his father’s church.

He was pretty sad when you left, crying randomly whenever he thought about you, causing his friends and family to worry about him.

He didn’t tell anyone why he was so depressed, deciding to keep it all to himself. Not even talking about it during confessions.

Mark genuinely didn’t mean to stalk you. He was only curious about how you were doing.

That’s all.

He found you on twitter through a mutual friend and started following you.

You were in your 2nd year of uni, going to school for English. All you did was tweet memes and political causes you were passionate about but there were also times where you would tweet about personal issues you were going through.

That’s how he learned about your family issues, the mental illnesses you had, how lonely and heart broken you were.

Learning about your parents homophobia against you made him so angry. You always looked so happy during high school. Always laughing and having a smile on your face.

But your parents treated you like shit all because you were gay and he understood why you ran off as fast as you did when you two graduated from high school.

Honestly, he wanted to kill your parents as a way to help you feel better but he didn’t know how he could live with himself from taken someone’s life.

Murder was a sin… but he’d do anything to protect you and make you happy.

Anything.

“What’s wrong with me?” Mark wondered out loud.

You grimaced as your stomach growled.

You were so hungry but you didn’t want to see him.

He scared you and it wasn’t just because of him kidnapping you.

That look in his eyes was so… so dark.

To you, it looked as if he wanted to kill you and if looks could kill, you would’ve been dead from the way he was staring you down.

You grabbed you right hand, rubbing the top of it, your head wiping to the door as you heard it open.

The young man walked in with a bowl in his hand.

“You’ve been in here all day. You must be starving.” he said, sitting down on the bed and handing you the bowl.

You looked at the bowl.

It was ramen and you licked your lips.

The man chuckled.

“I didn’t poison your food or anything if that’s what your thinking. I know your hungry.” a small smile was on his lips.

You picked up the chopsticks and began eating the noddles.

As you ate, he cleared his throat.

“So um like I know your name but you don’t know mines. My name’s Mark Lee.” he said and you glanced up at him for a bit before your attention when back to your food.

Mark silently sat on your bed as you ate, watching you slurp the noodles.

You felt nervous because his eyes never left your figure.

Once you were done eating, you heard Mark say, “I’ll take that.” he grabbed the bowl.

He looked at you as you stared down at the sheets of the bed.

He got up from the bed and leaned down, kissing the top of your head.

“You should get ready for bed. I’ll bring you some clothes and a towel.” and soon he left the room.

As Mark got you some clothes and toiletries, he couldn’t help but think back to your tear stained face.

Though he hated seeing you sad, there was something about the fear in your eyes that he loved.

Honestly, it turned him on seeing you so helpless and docile like that.

He clenched his fist.

No.

He shouldn’t think that way about you.

He was suppose to care and protect you, not hurt you… but still, there was a side of him that wanted to be the only one to not just give you pleasure but pain as well.

As he walked back to the room he held you in, Mark sighed before opening the door.

You looked at him as he gave you the things you needed for your shower.

“Here. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

It’s been half a year since you’ve been with Mark and you wanted to escape so badly.

He was sweet at first. Awkward but very considerate.

But soon he started becoming touching, his hands and lips lingering on your cheek or neck or thigh.

Sometimes he would just stare at you, that dark, murderous look on his face.

Mark was becoming more and more unstable and you desperately wanted to leave.

He would also talk to you about his faith, crying, mostly about how he was going to hell for what he has done because apparently, hes done something so sinful that God would never forgive him.

You wondered what exactly it was that he has done that was so unforgivable because obviously, he wasn’t talking about kidnapping you.

One day, you tried to ask him but he gave you a stern look, pretty much telling you to drop the topic and you did, never bringing it up again… until now that is.

While Mark was away, curiosity overtook you and you went into his bedroom. You began looking through his stuff, looking around and soon found yourself in front of his closet.

You opened it, being met with clothes. Moving it aside, you saw a huge trunk and wondered what secrets were in it.

Opening the trunk, your face twisting in disgust as a rotting smell hit your nose.

There was brown leather inside of the trunk and it looked as though it was sewn up with something inside it.

Though one half of you was yelling at you to shut the damn thing and leave Mark’s room, the other half grew even more curious, wondering what exactly was in there.

Running out of the room, you grabbed some scissors and come back.

You ripped the leather sheet opened, the rotting smile growing stronger.

You ripped the leather wide enough only to scream, falling back onto your butt as you finally saw what was the cause of the smell.

A rotting corpse was bunch in the fetal position.

Your body shook, your hands pulling at your hair, your eyes wide.

So this was way Mark believed he was going to hell.

You didn’t hear the door to the apartment close as Mark walked in, cursing to himself as he smelled the air of the house.

He ran to his room and saw you on the floor having a panic attack.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” he yelled angrily at you, grabbing you off of the floor, shaking you.

“I-I-I didn’t I didn’t-” you were a stuttering mess. You were so afraid at what he was going to do to you. You’ve never seen him this angry before.

Mark slammed you against the wall, his hands tightly pinning your arms to your side.

“You know you’re not allowed to come in my room...” he said lowly, the murderous glint in his eyes.

“I-I-I I’m so sorry Mark. I-I didn’t meant to-”

“Bullshit!” he sneered.

He looked at the trunk then back at you.

“Since you disobeyed me, you need to be punished.” he threw you to the floor.

“Stay here.” he said before walking off.

You sat up, shaking in fear as you waited for him to come back.

So many thoughts were running through your head.

What was he gonna do to you?

Who was that in the trunk?

How long has that body been in there?

Your thoughts were interrupted as Mark walked back into the room, a big ax in hand.

Your eyes widen and you began to back up, your back hitting the wall.

“P-please! Mark please! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” “Shut it!” he yelled.

Tears began falling down your face and Mark breathed out a shaky breath at your appearance.

He loved seeing you so afraid.

He moved closer to you, towering over your body.

“As punishment, I’m cutting your legs off. So lay down and don’t move.”

“Mark please...” you begged but he stared at you with a stone cold gaze.

“Lay down. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You shook as you did what he said, praying to whatever God that existed that someone will save you or for your existence to at least end.

“Just know that I’m doing this because I love you.” he said before lifting the ax, slicing your left leg above its knee.

You screamed loudly soon passing out from the pain.

#i feel like as a yandere mark would be pretty sadistic #yandere mark lee #yandere nct #yandere kpop #yandere nct 127 #mark lee x reader #mark lee x male reader #mark lee x you #nct x you #nct x reader #nct x male reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x male reader #nct 127 x you

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valensfm · 4 years

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❛ WHAT A WICKED GAME TO PLAY .

okay so like – listen ,, i am an apogeehq stan first & human being second . that being said , hello ! i’m cc & i’m testing out valens because in theory , i like the idea of him . anyway :

( wong kunhang + twenty-one + muse 01 ) isn’t that valens lau over there? i heard he joined faction one after they got back to west ham. it’s funny, ‘cause they were only on the service trip because he helped organize the event. hopefully they fit in there – they’re virtuous, but also obstinate. oh, i’m sure they’ll be fine.

─── 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙨

full name : valens lau

nickname(s) / alias(es) : golden boy ,

age / dob : twenty one / september 14 ‘99

hometown : west ham , kansas

current location : new ham

ethnicity : chinese ( macaunese )

nationality : american

gender : cis male

pronouns : he / him

orientation : bisexual , biromantic

religion : atheistic

faction : one

muse # : one

label : golden boy

tropes : good is not soft , i was just passing through ,

face claim : wong kun hang / hendery

language(s) spoken : english

speech : very well spoken , polite & overall charming . he’s got a way with words that makes people just want to listen to him , whether he’s talking about the clean up trip out of town or what he wants to eat for dinner . either way , he’s got a certain charm about him & it’s unknown where it comes from ( since both of his parents are , how you say , not the most well spoken people ) .

hair : dark brown – almost black , but he keeps it natural without styling it too much . it falls naturally in curls , but it’ll very quickly will straighten itself out & nobody knows how it happen . either way , he gets away with not combing it or styling it cause he sometimes looks like a prince .

eyes : big , brown puppy eyes that honestly – showcase every single emotion he has . it’s because of them that he can’t hide any of his feelings , since they really are the windows to the soul .

height : five feet , eleven inches

build : more lean than broad , but still athletic from years of playing soccer – played collegiately as well .

tattoos : none .

piercings : none .

scars : a small , barely visible scar on the pad of his right thumb .

clothing style : very boring , comfort over style , basically . he cleans up well when he has to , but prefers sweatpants ( grey , adidas , track pants ) paired with whatever shirt he grabs first in the morning . as leader , he’s tried to dress better ( i . e . khakis , button ups , whatever ) but will still often be found around town looking like the college jock who will walk you home at night .

usual expression : awestruck puppy who can’t quite believe the world he lives in . he’s endearing , with a face that tells people they can approach because he just looks like the kind of guy that’ll listen & help you out as best as he can .

distinguishing characteristics : high cheekbones , a nose that scrunches up whenever he laughs .

─── 𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

exterior : wants to make up for everything his parents did in their lives – valens is pure good . he is sweetness & morality mixed up into a child that should’ve been wicked , but he’s looked evil in the eye , shook hands with unfortunate circumstance & still chose to be good . it’s been seen in west ham , valens helping the old women cross the street & laughing at their stories , letting them fix his hair & collars before he climbs a tree to retrieve a stubborn cat . that lau boy is good , you’ve heard before . he walks his friends home in the dark & gets his fists bloody for the underdog – the town of west ham thinks of good & they think of valens lau , golden boy who shows up early to church to help open doors & wipe down pews . a people person , has a natural gift for making everyone feel loved & special .

i . e . cool jock that’s friends with everyone , thor odinson in thor : ragnorak , good guy with a heart of gold , golden retriever but make it boy , boys will be boys but wholesome version .

interior : wrangles with a lot of pressure & weight – because he knows what’s expected of him . one slip up , & he’s just the lau boy , what everyone expected . but he’s not , he’s worked hard to shed what people think of him & embrace something else . he is good above all else , to the point that he puts everybody else before himself ( & those closest to him ) – he loses himself in making sure that everyone else is okay & taken care of , nights where he doesn’t sleep to make sure everyone has a locker dec , or days where he forgets to drink water because he’s babying his team . slow to anger or frustration , he rarely shows signs of wear & tear , opting to keep all of his negative emotions in anyway to avoid worrying everyone else .

i . e . “my people come first , everyone else before me” , self - sacrificial , dangerously loyal & moral , self sacrificial atlas – holding the weight of the world solely on his own shoulders

─── 𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚

TRIGGER WARNINGS : tbd

the lau family lives on the outskirts of west ham – a small house that can be more considered shack than home . nobody’s around when valens is born , his cry loud enough to send a flock of ravens flying from the overgrown lawn . innocent life , baby blessed by goodness – he doesn’t know how corrupt his parents are or how hard they’ve had to fight to have the life they have . the things they’ve done & the people they’ve wronged is one long list that’s unknowingly passed down to a child that the townspeople look down on . they turn their noses up at a baby born in the dirt & expect the worst from him – if he’s anything like his parents , they’d better lock their doors & keep their purses close , the lau family is rotten – it only makes sense that their only child will be as well .

but he grows wild & good , a sunflower trapped in a field of weeds . valens comes to church on his own , arrives at school in rags & at first , the townspeople tell their children to stay away from the lau boy . but he does things that a boy like him shouldn’t do – he holds hands with the new widow her first sunday back at church , he wipes her tears & lets her hold him . he dives into the street to pull back a wandering toddler , saving her life & disappearing before her parents can thank him . they know he’s hungry , but gives the sandwich he got from wiping down counters at the diner to the old man who lost his son . valens is good – the whispers start , but he is blind to them as he is blind to parents who steal for dinner .

eventually , school gets easy for him . his teacher gets him into soccer & pays all his fees so he can play with the other boys , & he has his first kiss in third grade with a girl who sits next to him during reading . valens gains popularity simply for being good – he’s friends with everyone , the richest , the poorest , nobody ever sits alone if he’s there . for some reason , people tend to like that on him , but he doesn’t do it because he wants people to like him , he does it because he knows what it’s like – going hungry , sitting alone , everyone’s eyes on him for something he didn’t do . what a shitty feeling , he hopes nobody else has to suffer the way he has .

a full ride to west ham on a soccer scholarship , valens makes sure to thank his second grade teacher for getting him in in the first place . by the time he’s eighteen , he’s the golden boy around town , known for working in the greenhouses & bringing flowers to the elderly women who sit in the square on saturday mornings . the lau boy is different from his parents – he’s kind & good ; the kind of boy people wish their daughters would marry & the good kind of hero that is humble enough to deny the accusations .

he wins sga president for his senior year , thanks to both his charm & influence on the student body . college has been a ride for him as he shoulders all the weight on his shoulders to pretend that everything is peachy , ignoring any cracks that might be starting to form in his perfect marble form . he organizes the trip , invites as many people as he can & expects it to go business as usual , only for things to of course go horribly wrong .

people look to him for leadership , as they should – he’s the only one around who technically ran for president & won , but it’s barely starting & he can feel the cracks starting to get bigger . there’s a lot of concern that he has in his heart for everyone , not just the people who’ve fallen under his command . at the end of the day , valens want everyone alive , happy & thriving & he’ll do almost anything to ensure it .

#apogeeintro #anyway

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1sagesparrow · 5 years

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Daring to Dream: The Only Thing I Ever Wanted

What do you want to be when you grow up? “A single mom survivor of domestic abuse,” said no little girl ever. One of the reasons I stayed in my abusive marriage so long is because I’m a dreamer. I had a huge dream that involved love, laughter, and life built around a family of faith. A man after God’s own heart who would build a family with me. I would love him and he would love me and we would love our children. Whatever we did, our lives would be guided by our faith in the Lord. There would be years of joy and love and more dreaming along the way. I was naive, not that I could ever have that dream, but that it would be with the first man who said he wanted to be with me. Just because a man pursues a relationship with you does not mean it is healthy.

I was naive. I didn’t understand how devastating a pornography addiction could be to a marriage. We were still dating the first time I walked in on him masturbating at the computer. He told me it was only because my very presence aroused him so much that he had to help himself. I actually felt guilt. I was naive when I saw how badly he treated his mother, yelling and criticizing her, calling her stupid. I didn’t understand that it was more than an isolated damaged relationship. Over the years, I would often recall the first time I saw him verbally tear down his mother as he would tear me down in a similar way. I was naive when I visited his family home and overheard his father berating his mother and dismissed the thought that the man who said he loved me could ever sound as hateful as his father did. I was naive to not see how he drank himself into a stupor when something depressing happened in his life, naive to think that this wouldn’t continue into our marriage. I was naive to think I could love him out of his addiction, depression, anger, and destructive behaviors. That him simply saying he didn’t want to be like his abusive father meant that he wouldn’t simply because he knew what it was like.

Habits die hard. I’ve heard it takes thirty days of consistency to start a new behavior pattern or break an old one. Changing behavior can be very difficult even when you genuinely want to change. How many of your new year’s resolutions ever make it past January? Have you ever tried to support someone through their new year’s resolution? Did those make it to February any easier? Have you ever assumed that someone in jogging clothes must be a well-seasoned runner, disciplined and making progress?

Expecting an abusive, controlling person to change because you love them unconditionally is like expecting someone to lose weight because you bought them a pair of jogging shorts. I figuratively bankrupted myself buying him an entire jogging wardrobe. He was like one of those people who take selfies of their apparent workout, but they’re not sweating and their water bottle hasn’t been opened. Any time he put on the clothes of loving, Christian husband and father, it was for show. Just like any well photographed social media post, he made sure the rest of the world saw his best imitation of someone running the Christian race, and could be overly doting to the kids and I in church, gaining ‘likes’ along the way.

Seeing the truth of the masquerade was painful, but it was sometimes less painful to believe the delusion, to hope his latest performance meant he was finally becoming the man he had the potential to be. So I lied. He has to work over the holidays [on his hobbies]. We can’t come for Christmas [because I’m afraid if I ask again, he’ll get worse]. He just has had a long day; he’s not normally so rude [usually, he’s worse]. He’s a good father [in his own mind]; but he just doesn’t like the baby stage [or any other stage that might inconvenience him]. Yes, the kids love to play with him [until he loses his temper]. I lied to church members. I lied to my family. I lied to my own children. I thought I was building him up like wives in a healthy marriage should, but really I was covering up his sin and enabling him to be abusive by not standing against the abuse sooner. Abuse is like cancer. Left untreated, it grows and festers until there are more cancerous cells than healthy cells. Symptoms are similar. Chronic fatigue, pain, your normal activities are replaced by the demands of the cancer. It ends up controlling your life. At some point, family and friends become concerned. But when they ask how you’re doing, you lie. The cancer isn’t that bad. I can live with this cancer. I’m confident this cancer won’t kill me. You think I have cancer? I couldn’t possibly.

Eventually something else happens that shakes your world and you decide to get an expert opinion. Turns out, it is indeed cancer and the only option is surgery. Getting the cancer out requires a severe no tolerance policy. Surgery leaves deep, painful scars that can take a long time to heal, especially if you aren’t intentional to let yourself heal. You still remember the cancer. It’s impossible to forget. There’s always a lingering fear it will return to claim your life one day.

But you can’t live your life in fear of the cancer returning and have any kind of quality life. I had to make a choice. Do I focus on preventing a reoccurrence of the cancer to the point where I think about nothing else and those thoughts consume my life? Or do I bravely walk into my new cancer-free life, daring to dream again? For me, not dreaming is a sign I’m not trusting God to make my life beautiful. I know his best for me wasn’t abuse. God is a God who blesses with abundance and I know only he has the power to restore the years taken, years I know I missed opportunities to serve, years I missed the opportunity to be the mom my kids need, one who makes decisions based on God’s will, not the abuser’s will.

I am ready to truly live. God created me for a purpose. “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10). I’m walking into that new life day by day. I can’t live in regret of not stepping out sooner or in fear of stepping out at all. I simply must take a step, like a toddler learning to walk. There are days I feel like an absolute failure. There are days I’m still filled with intense fear. Those days are fewer and further between. Replacing them are the days filled with a deeper purpose. Praying before making a decision and being able to have peace, knowing it’s of God.

I am ready to dream again. If and when God chooses to send a man into my life who will love me and my children as his own, I will cherish him. Not from any selfish motive to fulfill my dream of love, life and laughter, but rather, I know he would be sent straight from God. I’ll know it’s him when the same peace I have in choosing God’s will for my life is the answer to my prayers asking for confirmation. There would also be no other way to explain a man with enough love for me and my children, who would accept us for who we are in spite of the trauma we’ve endured.

Only God knows if and when he will fulfill that particular dream, but God has stirred up more dreams in my heart and I am thankful for those as they develop. A dream to advocate for survivors. A dream to live free for my children and me. A dream to write, to let God use my voice to help someone else. I no longer dream naively. My dreams are founded in a secure hope that rests in the Lord, that if I allow him to lead me, I will walk confidently into my future filled with the good plans he’s prepared for me and the good dreams he will gift me as a blessing.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

I dare to dream.

https://1sagesparrow.wordpress.com/2019/10/21/daring-to-dream-the-only-thing-i-ever-wanted/

#domestic abuse #dreaming #hope #encouragement #dreamer #future #share

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loretranscripts · 5 years

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Lore Episode 19: Bite Marks (Transcript) - 26th October 2015

tw: death, graveyards, corpses, details of decomposition, ghosts Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

[Announcement of upcoming live shows (now in the past)]

In 1890, the tiny Greek village of Messaria on the island of Kythnos was plagued by something otherworldly. Whatever it was, the villagers claimed that it would enter their homes, eat their food, break their dishes and then move on to repeat itself elsewhere. They named this creature “Andilaveris”, and they claimed it was a vrykolakas, a close cousin to the traditional European vampire. Andilaveris drank their wine and smashed their belongings, howling like a wolf and making a loud, horrible mess, but the most interesting feature of this story is that no one actually saw Andilaveris do these things. The villagers claimed to witness it all, of course, but they said he was invisible; he was, in essence, a noisy spirit, but the only cultural lens they were able to view him through was as a vampire. And they weren’t the first: between 1591 and 1923, people across Europe told similar stories – an invisible monster that raided their homes and destroyed their belongings. Today, we see events like these play out across the screens of our local move theatre. Hollywood has been fascinated with invisible, violent forces since the early 1980s, when they brought us Poltergeist. What once was looked on as overly spiritual and easily disproven is now attracting the attention of popular culture, but poltergeists have a history that runs far deeper than just the 1980s. From first century Roman accounts to modern newspapers, stories of humans interacting with angry ghosts have been told for a very, very long time. Some are clearly hoaxes; some are misinterpretations of natural events; oftentimes they are a grab for attention or a cry for help; but sometimes, on very rare occasions, a story comes along that is nothing short of haunting. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The word “poltergeist” evokes a number of ideas for most people. Most think about the movie. Some picture objects being thrown around a room by invisible hands. You might even envision the sound of chains, or doors creaking open in the night. And they wouldn’t be too far from the truth – the word “poltergeist” is German, and it literally means “noisy spirit”. The idea is that, while the typical ghost story only uses one of our five senses, our sight, stories of poltergeists can often tap all five. Most poltergeist accounts reference the same types of activity: objects that are mysteriously moved or broken; noises in and around the house; physical attacks such as biting, pinching, hitting, and even tripping. Some people even claim to have seen objects, or other people, levitated by an unseen force, and unlike some folklore, stories of noisy spirits are nearly universal. Similar manifestations have been reported by witnesses in dozens of cultures for centuries, from Japan and Brazil to Australia and the United States. To those who view widespread distribution as a major sign of proof, poltergeists have become an indisputable fact. One of the earliest records of a poltergeist encounter actually comes from the 1st century Jewish historian, Flavius Josephus. He recorded an exorcism in 94AD that sounds eerily similar to those of us familiar with modern exorcism tales. In his report, he describes how, as the spirit was being driven from the person, a bowl of water all the way across the room was suddenly overturned by an invisible hand. Jacob Grimm, half of the famous Grimm brothers who recorded many of the stories we remember from our childhood, also wrote more scholarly books. In his book Deutsche Mythologie, Grimm recorded a story from the German town of Bingen am Rhine that took place in the 4th century. According to the story, people were pulled out of their beds by an unseen force; loud noises could be heard, as if someone were knocking on the walls or floor; stones were even thrown, but the person – or spirit – who did the throwing was never found. Gerald of Wales, the famous clergyman and chronicler, wrote in 1191 of a house in Pembrokeshire that was filled with poltergeist activity. Here, the unseen spirit was said to have thrown handfuls of dirt as well as tearing clothing and breaking objects in the house. Most frightening to those who experienced it, though, was the fact that this spirit was also said to vocalise all the secrets of the people in the room.

Similar stories have been recorded countless times in the centuries since Gerald’s day. In one story from the early 1700s, one family encountered unusual activity in the church rectory, in Epworth, Lincolnshire. Reverend Samuel Wesley and his wife, Susanna, had 10 children and had lived in the house since it had been built, shortly after the previous rectory burnt to the ground in 1709. During the winter of 1716 to 1717, the family began to experience regular noises. They would hear knocking on the walls and doors, or the sounds of people running up and down the stairs. The house was searched from top to bottom, hoping to find the person responsible, but no cause was found. They even named the noisy spirit “Old Jeffrey”, and it was said that the spirit made himself visible on Christmas day that winter. Shortly after, the noises stopped, never to happen again. In more modern times, one well-known story is that of the Black Monk of Pontefract. There, in the growing community just outside the city of Wakefield in West Yorkshire, England, reports began to circulate about the most violent poltergeist in European history. Joe and Jean Pritchard lived at 30 East Drive in 1970 along with their son, Phillip, and daughter, Diane. According to their report, they were plagued by problems in the house from the start: objects were thrown, the temperature in rooms would suddenly drop, and they would even find puddles on the floor. They named the spirit Fred, and soon learnt that Fred was not just mischievous, but also violent. Not only did the spirit throw eggs and take bites out of their sandwiches, but it also dragged their 12-year-old daughter, Diane, up the stairs by her neck, leaving handprints on her skin. After Fred attempted to strangle Diane a second time, this time with an electrical cord, the family asked for help. The police were brought in, as were a number of psychics and paranormal researchers. Even the mayor came by for a visit, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually, the Pritchard’s moved away, and the noises inside Number 30 stopped. But according to the woman who lives next door to the house that’s connected to Number 30, Fred the ghost hasn’t gone anywhere. He still makes frequent visits to her side of the wall, and although he’s usually very quiet, she claims that he sometimes stands in the room and glares at her with menacing eyes. Under the scrutiny of historical research, though, most recorded poltergeist stories have been shown to be frauds. Oftentimes they were nothing more than pranks put on by the homeowner, or the person who stood to gain the most from the attention. But every now and then, a story comes along that defies explanation, and when that story involves violent physical attacks and a serious threat to human lives, it becomes downright chilling.

In 1999, a homeless man broke into a large tomb in a prominent cemetery known as Greyfriars, in Edinburgh, Scotland. It was cold and rainy that night, and the man was looking for shelter. I might have gone elsewhere to find a warm, dry place to sleep, but when you’re down and out, anything will do, right? This man wondered through the graveyard in the dark until he found a large mausoleum, something that looked large enough to allow him to get out of the elements and sleep in relative comfort. This one was known as “The Black Mausoleum”, and it was enormous. It resembles a large rotunda, with the spaces between the pillars filled in with cut stone. When the homeless man stumbled upon this tomb, it was exactly what he had been looking for, and had plenty of room to stretch out and sleep in, and it was dry. So, he did what anyone desperate for shelter would do: he broke in. Because it’s rare to find a tomb with windows, the interior of the vault was completely black. Thankfully, the man had a lighter or some other form of illumination, and he used it to explore. In the centre of the floor was a large, iron grate, similar to what you might find over a sewer drain or in the sidewalk over a subway tunnel in New York City. Beneath the grate was a staircase that curved and twisted its way down to a lower level. I know - this sounds like something out of an Indiana Jones movie, but believe me, it’s real, and it gets worse, because beneath the first level, at the bottom of the stairs, this homeless man discovered four wooden coffins. They were, of course, very old, and the man probably assumed that, because of this, they would contain valuables that he could sell. I imagine he set down whatever it was he was using as a light on one of the nearby coffins, and then began to try and open another one of them. When it didn’t work, he resorted to smashing the lid to break the lock, and that’s when he took a step backward. The boards in the floor must have been very old. The man must have put his full weight in just the right spot. All the possibilities must have lined up perfectly in that moment. A brief groan from the wooden floor was followed by a loud crash, and the man tumbled backward into a long-forgotten pit, some part of an even lower level that dated back centuries. The best guess that historians can make is that the pit was actually used for the illegal dumping of bodies in the wake of the plague, in 1645. What they do know for sure, however, is that the pit was sealed very well. So sealed, in fact, that when this homeless man landed on the pile of 350-year-old corpses, they were surprisingly well preserved. They weren’t skeletal and dry, like you might expect. No, these bodies were wet with something that resembled green slime. The clothing was intact, albeit ragged and torn, and their hair was matted to their shrivelled heads, and of course, there were an overwhelming stench in the air. The man bolted, and I don’t think there’s a single on of us who could blame him for doing so. Fearing for his life, the man climbed out of the pit, up the stone stairs to the main vault, and out the door. He was in such a hurry that he even fell and cut his head on the doorway to the mausoleum. Outside, a security guard was patrolling the area with his canine partner, when the homeless man burst out of the tomb. Now, maybe it was the blood running down the man’s face, maybe it was the white dust that covered him from head to toe because of his adventures… below the tomb, maybe it was just the simple sight of a pale, shrieking figure charging out from a dark crypt – whatever the reason, when the guard saw the man, he turned tail and ran, just as fast as he could, away from the darkness of the cemetery, and into the city beyond.

As difficult as it is to imagine, the frightening events of that night in 1999 were just the beginning. Like a tiny spark igniting an entire barn, the break-in at the Black Mausoleum set in motion something that no one has since been able to adequately explain. It turns out the mausoleum belonged to none other than Sir George Mackenzie, a man who had died in 1690. Along with being a lawyer and Lord Advocate to the crown of Scotland, Mackenzie had been instrumental in sending hundreds of Presbyterian Covenanters to their death in the late 17th century. Today, he is known as “Bloody Mackenzie”, and according to the local reports, this invasion of his resting place set off a series of events that can only be blamed on a very angry spirit, and it didn’t wait very long. They day after the break-in, a woman was taking a walk through the cemetery. It’s unclear whether she was a tourist interested in seeing the Covenanters prison area of the graveyard, or just a local out for a walk, but when she drew near to the mausoleum, she decided to peer through one of the two small grates in the tomb door. As she stood there, a gust of cold wind rushed out of the tomb with such force that she claimed it knocked her backward and off the stone steps, landing on her back. A few days later, another woman was found unconscious on the sidewalk outside the tomb, sprawled out on her back as if she had fallen. She claimed that invisible hands had grabbed her around the throat and attempted to strangle her. When she pulled back the collar of her shit, her neck was ringed by a series of dark bruises, as if fingertips had been driven into her skin. Soon after, another tourist, this time a young man, experienced something eerily similar. For others, though, the consequences of visiting the tomb were more physical and lasting – some people have found scratches on their arms, neck or chest, while others have discovered burn marks. Many of these injuries disappear almost as quickly and mysteriously as they appeared. Some, though, claim to have been permanently scarred. All told, people have broken fingers, felt their hair pulled, been pushed or struck, and all by an unseen force. People have even felt nauseous or numb, or both, and not just one or two people, but hundreds. Sometimes these attacks happen near the tomb, and sometimes they happen later.

One particular story stands out: a former police officer reported participating in a tour of the cemetery a few years ago. After returning to his hotel room that night, he picked up the book he had been given on the tour that covered the details of the haunting. As he did, he felt a sharp pain, as if someone were trying to burn him. When he ran to the mirror to check, he found five deep scratches on his neck, beneath his chin. The following morning, the officer visited his mother and told her what happened. He also gave her the book – according to him, he couldn’t stand to have it around any longer, and so he left it at her house. When he called her later and asked about the book, he caught her in the bathroom. She was standing in front of the mirror, examining five, long scratches on her throat. All told, nearly 400 people have claimed to have been attacked by something other-worldly around the tomb; almost 200 of those people have actually passed out during a ghost tour. Sometimes, every person on a tour will feel the exact same thing. Oftentimes, complete strangers will independently report the exact same experience. The odd experiences extend beyond the tours. An unusually high number of dead animals have been found in the area around Mackenzie’s tomb; unexplainable fires have broken out in nearby buildings; people have reported cold spots, and the usual photographic and electronic malfunctions have occurred there as well. Some have gone looking for an explanation for such a large number of unusual reports, but the theories are as varied as the types of attacks. One idea tries to connect the unlikely dots between the nearby Edinburgh University’s artificial intelligence unit, which uses high voltage machinery, and the sandstone deep undergrown, beneath the ancient cemetery. The porous stone, they say, absorbs the energy and releases it later, causing odd experiences. But this is a difficult theory to swallow, especially for the people who have been physically assaulted by whatever it is that haunts the tomb. The company that conducts the tours through the graveyard is just as interested in finding the cause, though, and that’s why they’ve spent years collecting photographs of injuries, first-hand accounts, letters from witnesses, and other documentation. Unfortunately, most of those records were destroyed in 2003, when a fire swept through their office. Everything inside the tour company’s space was incinerated, but nothing more. Every single nearby building remained untouched. The insurance company never found the cause.

Outside of places with frequent earthquake activity, most people don’t think it’s normal for photographs to fall off their walls, or for a chair to slide across the floor, or to be knocked down by an unseen force. For some, these events are equal parts unusual and inconvenient. For others, though, they are frightening. It’s difficult to say what’s really going on in these stories. Some events can be chalked up to natural causes, or the human tendency to misinterpret the things we see. We are very good at finding patterns, after all – it’s called pareidolia, that moment when we see patterns where they don’t really exist. We do this when we look up at clouds and see the shape of a turtle, but it happens subconsciously as well. Our minds are always searching for patterns – or perhaps there’s something more to the stories. What if there really are sinister, violent spirits that can attack us if provoked? In many stories, priests are brought in to bless the homes and perform exorcisms, a solution that certainly assumed there’s a supernatural source, and sometimes, it’s worked. In the years since the break-in at the Black Mausoleum, there have been two attempts at exorcism. The second of those took place in 2000, just a year after the activity began. Colin Grant, minister of a spiritualist church and professional exorcist, was brought into Greyfriars Cemetery. While standing in front of the Black Mausoleum, he performed his ceremony. While doing so, he claimed to feel overwhelmed by the sensation of oppression, that hundreds of tormented souls were swirling around him, trying to break through into our world. He said that he had feared for his life, and he quickly left before he could finish. Just a few weeks later, Colin Grant was found dead, victim of a sudden heart attack.

[Closing statements – from this episode onward, it seems that the more recent closing statements, including mentions of both the book series and both seasons of the show, have replaced the original closing statements, and so I won’t be transcribing them until I am caught up with the show].

#lore podcast #podcasts #aaron mahnke #poltergeist #grimm brothers #gerald of wales #greyfriars kirkyard #black monk of pontefract #george mackenzie #bloody mackenzie #hauntings #folklore #transcripts #19

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vanessagalang · 6 years

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Last week, I finally had the courage, and time to have my maternity shoot. 😀

It was such a surreal experience; it was a first time for everyone! My hair and makeup artist, the photo and video team, my husband, and of course, me!

I know it can be unnecessary, since we have so much to prepare for birth and the days after that, but I definitely wanted to push this idea to document this wonderful miracle while I can. And of course, it won’t be possible for me not to write about it here. Teehee!

So I’d like to share some tips and a guide on what you need to do just in case you’ll be holding your own momma-shoot!

Find a Comfortable Venue

I was 35 weeks when I had this shoot, and according to some of my readings, the best weeks to hold this photoshoot is when you are between your 28th to 35th. In this time, at least your tummy is showy enough to be captured, and at the same time, safer. We don’t want to be bothered by the fact that you can give birth any minute while posing for the camera, do we?

Photo Credit: http://sanrafaelriveradventure.com/

I tried looking for studios, and a good AirBNB place, but all the places I’ve looked for are either too cramped, doesn’t allow photoshoots, or are waaaaaaaaaaaaay too expensive!

Good thing, I stumbled upon a post in my feed about this cute getaway place in Bulacan. It’s called San Rafael River Adventure, and the place actually looks divine! 😀

They have a lot of fun activities that you can use for other types of shoots, like the prenup. But since I will just be using the entire accommodation, this should be enough.

It is highly important that you feel comfortable with the location or your venue, because of our condition. This is not the shoot where we can be adventurous. Leave it to the prenups and getaway trips! 😀

I booked the Glass Stilt Cottage, which is newly constructed by the way. I can’t believe I have a view of the lake in front of me! They have a comfy bed, and a jacuzzi. The space outside was enough to cater at least 6 people. There was a hammock, a sliding sofa, good lighting and a breezy weather to top it off. The air condition was good inside as well, plus the windows were perfect for those silhouette shots I was eyeing. Plus I thought that their rainy season promo was just perfect! So, what does a pregnant girl got to do? Book it right away of course! 😀

I am happy that the resort was very quick to reply, and I was given the available dates. I made a group chat, and voila, scheduled it right away together with the available dates of my team! 😀

2. Create Your Mood Board

I am a very bad pregnant-person-slash-client. Grr. I bash myself.

Oh well, I know I have to prepare for this weeks ago, but I was only able to send this to my team two days prior to our shooting day. I was too busy with some other things that I rarely had time to browse Pinterest or create a mood board.

But being the good crammer that I am, I was able to whip one just in time. Hehe 😀

Since I got a really good deal with Grid Studio too, (they are our civil wedding photo and video team by the way); they offered me unlimited shots, so yeah I want to maximize that. 😀

I thought about 5 sets and took inspiration from the things I found online, and of course with the available props and wardrobe that I have.

a. Whimsical Woman

I bought this pink ensemble way back in May, thinking it could be a good alternative for a bridal robe for my church wedding. But turns out, it could serve its purpose at an earlier date!

I also bought these flower crowns in SM. I couldn’t decide which one I like more, so I got them both. Haha Ayoko na pahirapan sarili ko! (I don’t want to have the burden of thinking which one is better!)

b. Simple and Laidback Mom + Hubby

I saw a lot of simples, and laidback shots that are perfect to include baby things, and the husband too. It looks soft on the eyes, very loving, and “very family”.

c. Boss Mama

This one is credited to my working-productive-self! Even though I’m pregnant, I am still very hands-on in my business especially that it’s new and the brand is just starting to pick up.

I always tell myself, I will not lose my identity and individuality just because of the new role that motherhood could bring; more so, it will be a big improvement. I will be a much better version because I’m adding a new role in my resume.

d. Boudoir

I actually wanted one before prior to getting married, but due to time constraints and indecisiveness, I wasn’t able to come up with one. Hopefully, when I get my body back post-pregnancy!

So in the meantime, I thought why not have one while expecting? It’s a totally new form because for once in my life I am not skinny, and I’ve got a few extra curves to flaunt. 😀

I can’t wait to share the silhouette photos! 😀

e. Summertime

Since I love wearing a bikini, and there was a Jacuzzi in our venue, there was no way I would pass on the opportunity of wearing one.

It was very funny too, because for once in my life, I have to buy an extra-large bikini! Haha 😀 I was pretty sad when I didn’t get the color I wanted because I was too big for the available Large size. Goodie, they have this red one that can fit my baby bump.

Which reminds me, I actually had a mini shoot wearing a bikini when I was in Bataan. I was 18 weeks here, and you could see how I just look ‘busog’.

3. Find a Good Maternity Shoot Team

This was easy. I was able to establish a really good relationship with my civil wedding photo-video-HMU team that I thought about them instantly. They actually haven’t done any maternity shoots, so this made the whole experience more exciting.

I actually thought of getting other suppliers, but I realized I will still get a better deal if I get my original team. I also saw some studios offering maternity shoots. Sure they are cheaper, but what I didn’t like is that they don’t give raw files of the photos, and they will only release like 5 to 10 shots, printed and edited. Plus there was no video too.

Grid Studio offered me unlimited shots, a video, printed photos and raw files, plus we can shoot anywhere I like, so yes, there was nothing left to discuss.

Elaine Cordova Makeup Artistry is such a good find too. She has done my makeup for a blog photoshoot and at my actual wedding, and I am really satisfied. She has great skills, plus I don’t have to burn holes in my pockets just to avail her airbush makeup. Elaine is also very instinctive, she knows what you want, asks for your makeup pegs, and deliberately retouches you every now and then, without you even asking.

4. Know Your Poses

Expect a lot of dreamy looks and belly-touching poses on a maternity shoot. So be sure your nails are polished! If you gain some weight and some extra chubbs in your face like I do, be sure you know your angles so you can still achieve the looks you want.

It’s also good to research poses with your husband/partner so things could go on smoothly. I am so happy that Rose and Michael of Grid Studio are very directive when it comes to poses. It was amazing how they handled and directed us even though it was also their first to cover a maternity shoot.

5. Prepare Your Props

We weren’t able to buy a lot of props, but good thing I was able to nick some of the random shopping baby finds we had. Plus it is so helpful that friends and family also gave their baby gifts earlier! Haha More props for us!

Here is the list of the props I think would help add more character to a maternity shoot:

Baby clothes

Baby shoes (Be gender specific)

Baby socks

Baby toys

Ultrasound Photos

Baby book / Storybook

Pregnancy book

Stuffed toy (I had a kangaroo with a little joey in its pouch)

A figure of the first letter of baby’s name (We didn’t have time to find one. Sad. )

6. Get a Good Night Sleep The Day Before

Please do! It’s good for your skin, and to rid those circles under your eyes. Plus it helps you to have good energy for the entire day!

I only had an hour’s sleep though. I was finishing bulk orders ready for delivery the next day, that’s why. I think my strong desire and excitement for the shoot to happen are what sustained me to last the whole day! 😀

7. Enjoy Being Gorgeously Pregnant and Pose the Belly Away

Honestly, I was extra weary that I won’t look great in this shoot, because I’m fat, my skin is dry, my belly button is protruding, my linea nigra is so apparent, my face feels like it’s going to burst, etc.

But hey, I am a walking miracle! That should be enough to keep me happy and make me feel beautiful. So I just accepted all these flaws that I have in my head, after all, these are all normal for a pregnant woman, duh?

So I just prepared myself that I won’t get the usual results in this photoshoot, unlike the past ones. I have to accept that early on. I will look different. Very different. But there’s a growing life inside me, and this little one is going to change my life forever. And being able to document that in a maternity shoot is already a blessing. Truly, something I would treasure for the years to come.

If you are thinking of having one too, I highly recommend it! It doesn’t have to put a big dent on your wallet though. You can always have the kind of shoot you want, whether in your home, studio, in a DIY setup, on the beach, or anywhere you find it comfortable doing. You just have to do your research, and be resourceful!

Go my mermom merfriends! 😀 Be confident and strut that baby bump soon! 😀 You only get pregnant once, or twice, or thrice! Haha 😀 Whatever the frequency is, it would be a great keepsake for your family to remember by, and a great photo to show the little one once he is outside too!

I will share my final shots when I get them!

Enjoy your pregnancy! I’m popping soon!

**, Via

7 Things to Do When Preparing for Your Maternity Shoot Last week, I finally had the courage, and time to have my maternity shoot. 😀 It was such a surreal experience; it was a first time for everyone!

#Maternity #Maternity Photoshot #Maternity Shoot #Mermom #Mermommy #Mom-To-Be #Mommy #motherhood #Photoshoot #Shoots

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maldonadohoward · 4 years

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smugwanderlust · 4 years

Text

Hello all, I hope everyone is having a splendid quarantine. Ha! What a ridiculous thing to say because I am sure no one is actually enjoying the quarantine, but if you are, good for you.

Like I mentioned in my last blog I am pretty stressed out over all of this and I know that I am not the only one. My husband is an assistant supervisor at a vitamin factory, Designs For Health, and due to high demand he is working way more then he should. Not to mention that half the employees had to leave temporaryly because they were deemed high risk, which results in my husband work 60-90 hour work weeks. Which of course translates to me parenting solo. That is my own personal stress and I know that a lot of people have it worse then me so I am not complaining. Simply, getting my thoughts out of my head.

I’ll be relived, as will most of the nation when this whole thing blows over and life can get back to normal.

Anyways, I am way off topic here. I wanted to talk to you guys about my acne problem and the solutions I have found that have helped me.

First let me just say that I had a slight acne problem in high school. I’d breakout here and there but never anything super serious. Which was very fortunate for me. I think it was because I didn’t wear makeup and I had pretty strict diet. It helped, I guess (depending on how you look at it), that my boyfriend at the time didn’t like it when I wore makeup and was not a fan of junk food. Looking back he was kind of an asshat but c’est la vie. He was a former quarter back of his high school and had big dreams of making it into the NFL, until a snowboarding accident tore that dream apart. Insert dramatic music, dum dum dum…

Anyways, because of his dreams he was always careful of what he ate and watched what I ate as well. Not that I ate much because I had a slight…ok maybe more then slight… eating disorder. I remember one time after school, my ex and I were hanging out and I grabbed some potato chips out of the pantry and he watched me eat them. I counted and 10 chips in he said that was more then enough taking the bag away from me and putting it back into the cupboard. I asked him if he thought I was eating to much and he said, and I’ll never forget this, that I was gaining a little weight but he didn’t like it when I ate junk because it made my face break out. I told him that I could cover it up with makeup and he said makeup was for girls who had something to hide. That if I took care of myself I wouldn’t need it.

Well, I was 115 lbs, and far from fat. It came across the wrong way but the point was a valid one. (Also I just want to say that he turned out to be a really great personal and pastors at a church now. My memories are of him 10 years ago.)

Really quick, let me embarrass myself by showcasing me in high school! What a laugh…

15 & Glamorous (My goth days…)

Back when too much eye-liner was the “cool” thing to do

16 & Sunburnt

17, friends, & the beaches of Mexico

17 & Rocking my first selfie…(yikes!)

Senior Prom

Class of 2009

16 & Sunburnt

Class of 2009

17 & Rocking my first selfie…(yikes!)

Senior Prom

17, friends, & the beaches of Mexico

Back when too much eye-liner was the “cool” thing to do

15 & Glamorous (My goth days…)

Senior Prom

Class of 2009

Senior Prom

17 & Rocking my first selfie…(yikes!)

16 & Sunburnt

Anyways…

When it comes to our skincare and our acne problems one of the first things you can do to help your skin is give it a break. A break from oily makeup and lotions. Also, give your body a break. Being healthy on the inside WILL reflect on the outside. This is coming from the queen of pizza and M&Ms, so believe me, I know how hard it is to switch out the bad for the good. It is my number one thing that I do though if I am experiencing a breakout, cut out the junk.

Like I said, I didn’t have too much trouble with acne in high school, but I had huge amounts of trouble with acne after I had my first child and my pre-thirties hit.

I am almost 30, let’s have a moment if silence…

Ok, moving swiftly on….

Let me show you some pictures of my skin last January.

Gross right?

I tried everything from witch hazel to 29 different skincare lines. Which was A LOT. I bought the high end items at Ulta Beauty, best sellers on Amazon, and almost everything Target had to offer. I also paid for expensive facials, but NOTHING, was working. It was crazy and very embarrassing. Not to mention terrible for my self-esteem.

Anyways, I needed to find something, anything, really that would make my skin look better.

I reached out to my cousin, who is a consultant for Arbonne. We tried a few products and for the first time in this get-this-acne-the-hell-off-my-face journey I had relief. Now I have a solid skincare routine and my face looks SO MUCH BETTER!

See for yourself:

The photo on the left, is screen grabbed from a video I did with my daughter, I didn’t even have enough self esteem to take a selfie last year. Sad right? Well the photo on the right is me one year later and all I am wearing in the second photo is mascara. The difference is evident. However I posted a few more fresh-out-of-the -shower pictures to further drive my my point home.

As you can see I still have few problem areas but overall… IT IS MUCH BETTER! Not bad looking for being a few months shy of the big THREE O (30 in case that was confusing.)

So, here is the deal, I am not an expert or some famed blogger trying to make the big bucks… Is that even a thing? hmmm…

At any rate, I am going to give you some solid tips that really helped me overcome my acne problem.

Acne Tips & Tricks:

Cut out dairy, gluten, soy, unhealthy fats and sugars. I know that this is a tough one, believe I KNOW. I could eat frozen pizza, Dr. Pepper, and M&Ms DAILY. I am a firm believer that if you are healthy on the inside it will reflect on the outside. I am sure there is a lot of science behind this but today I wanted to blog from the heart and not give out an overkill of information.

Use Tea Tree Oil: Tea tree oil can be a powerful weapon against acne. Several studies have shown that it helps reduce the severity of a breakout. You can make your own acne treatment by mixing one part tea tree oil with nine parts water and applying the mixture to affected areas with a cotton swab once or twice a day, as needed. This for sure works for me, if I of course, combine it with other helpful get-rid-of-acne tricks. Another way to go about this is adding a few drops to your moisturizer.

CHANGE YOUR PILLOWCASE! OK, I know that you don’t want to be yelled at for not changing your pillowcase – especially by some random blogger – but I swear on the bible (Forgive me Jesus) that this works. Think about all the nasty oils your body, hair, and face create throughout the day and at night? Then you sleep in that fifth night after night after night. Ew. just, EW y’all. I change my pillowcase / sheets at least once a week. Even if you shower at night – your sheets still collect the nasties! Especially if you’re doing the nasty (sorry grandma.) So change em!

Use a fresh washcloth daily. Ugh, I know, this only means MORE laundry… and trust me I get that. I mean I have a seven month old and a three year old… plus a spouse who rarely does chores. So I get it, I really do, but when a washrag sits out for awhile its collects bacteria and then you wash your face with it… at that point you are only spreading the bacteria all over your face. This is also true for dishtowels. Consider this: Nothing is ever completely germ-free, even a fresh towel that has just come from the dryer. Yikes! So naturally a used washcloth that is left to air out each day gives bacteria and other microbes more of a chance to grow and spread. Yummy… only not so much, right? Each time you use a cloth to wash your face, dead skin cells get caught in it, providing even more food for the bacteria that gather in the towel. Laundering your washcloth regularly may not kill every germ it contains, but it will lessen the overall amount of bacteria and decrease your chances of catching an illness [source: National Institutes of Health]. I know, I know, I said I wouldn’t poulute you with sources tonight but I had to on this one.

Take time to relax: Stress and anxiety are a big cause to my acne flair ups. I have learned to take time for me and relax when I am feeling overwhelmed. As hard as this may be sometimes. and believe me I get that too, but it is needed and will help you look/feel so much better. So do something for you, write, read, watch a movie, girls night out… whatever, just take the time relax and de-stress.

Clean your makeup utensils: I CANNOT stress the importance of this enough. Just as bacteria grows on washcloths, it can grow into your beauty items as well. For more information on this please read my blog, Makeup Brush 101.

Haircare: If you have oily or greasy hair and you wear it down a lot, or you have bangs and it rests on your forehead the oils will spread to your face. If your haircare routine is leaving your hair oily then it’s time to find something new. You don’t want those oils transferring to your face. When my acne flairs up I tend to wear my hair completely out of my face until it clears up.

Don’t pick your face OR pop those pimples: There is so much information on this topic that I am simply going to leave you a link, that you should check out, because it has some great advice. Very Well Health.

Stay hydrated: Like I was talking about earlier it is important to have a healthy gut and part of having a healthy gut is drinking ample amounts of water. Seems weird but I double my water intake every time I have a flare up because toxins flush out my system faster.

Have a good skincare routine: THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT! Why?

Our skin sheds itself daily

Beautiful skin is a lifelong process – If you want gorgeous skin 30 years from now, the choices you make today will make that happen.

PREVENTION IS EASIER AND CHEAPER – Taking good care of your skin health daily will save you money in the long run. Skin problems like deep wrinkles, hyperpigmentation, acne scarring, or other skin issues can be prevented with a daily skin care routine and can prevent costly trips to a dermatologist or plastic surgeon in the future.

When you look good you feel good.

Consistency is Key: Trying a new product once or twice and expecting to see dramatic results won’t happen, unfortunately. The best way to see results with your skin is to keep coming back time after time, day after day, and sticking with it. In the end, you’ll see far more results with a long term plan than you will with a week-long “miracle treatment.”

Skin is your largest organ so protect it!

In the end, everyone has different skin, different genes, and a different lifestyles so it is very important to find a skincare solution that works for you and sticking with it. I obviously have my routine down pat. I don’t want this to be some annoying sales pitch, because it is not. These tips can and will help you as long as you maintain good skincare habits along side them.

Now, if you are wanting help finding a good skincare solution, I would be more then willing to help but that is up to you.

Feel free to reach me at [email protected] or my Facebook page.

Love you all & thank you for reading!

Until next time.

Acne 101: How I solved my problem. Hello all, I hope everyone is having a splendid quarantine. Ha! What a ridiculous thing to say because I am sure no one is actually enjoying the quarantine, but if you are, good for you.

#acne #blogging #life #personal

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andmynewlymeltedheart · 7 years

Text

Tears of Tenderness

He hadn’t loved her as he did now on that name day all of those years ago. He hadn’t even thought of loving her in such a way until many years after that first dance.

A Pierretasha Wedding Fic (I don’t have an AO3, so enjoy the read more.)

Tears of Tenderness

The night before the venchanie was agonizing-- Pierre stayed awake for hours, fear and anxiety pressing against his broad chest, threatening to suffocate him, the sheets of his bed surrounding him in uncomfortable warmth. He laid there a while, the sound of his breath loud and uneven, quieting every now and then, with a listening ear checking for intruders. Pierre always became paranoid at late hours. Unable to withstand this particular bout of insomnia without action, he decided that he might as well make something of his time. He wrote a few letters that needed sending, walked the grounds three times over, checked on the pigs, and finally returned indoors and tidied up his study, a place which, Natasha had once remarked, always had the feeling of having been ransacked just moments before you entered. After gathering a final few papers, which had been strewn about his writing desk, Pierre looked around the room, tried and failed to come up with more mindless tasks to occupy himself, and sat down in his armchair. Finally, he began to doze off.

Suddenly, he awoke, breathing heavily, and felt a great amount fear begin to swell in his chest once more. The terrible dream that had awoken him from his short slumber had caused him to believe that he had slept through his own wedding, an action (or rather, inaction) for which he would never be able to forgive himself. Pierre looked frantically for the clock, and upon discovering that it was only four in the morning, began to calm himself. After taking a series of long, low, deep breaths, he decided that comfort was what he needed, and so he began to search his many bookshelves for something to read. From the shelf nearest to his desk he drew Candide, which had always had the power to ease his apprehension. As his glassy eyes scanned pages upon pages of Voltaire’s familiar quips and biting retorts, Pierre felt the weight begin to lift from his chest. After some time, the sun began to peek through the small crack under the drawn shade over the window, and so he closed the book and decided to get ready.

He gathered his clothing in one arm, sweeping it quickly from his closet, without fear of wrinkling the fabric in the crease of his elbow. He considered calling a servant to help him dress, but eventually decided against it. He had to keep his hands busy, or they would begin to shake, just as they always did when he was nervous. He pulled on his trousers and dress shirt, and stretched his suspenders over his great, burly shoulders. They were a little small, and dug tightly into him, though he didn’t mind. The slight discomfort he felt would eventually fade, lost in the excitement of the events of the day ahead. Finally, he pulled on and buttoned his waistcoat, the last piece of his bridegroom’s ensemble, and having finished dressing, decided to leave for the church. While he acknowledged that he still had hours until guests would even start arriving, he reassured himself that his exceptional punctuality would only be to his benefit. If I am there early, he mused, remembering his nightmare, then it will be impossible for me to miss it by mistake.

As he opened the great wooden doors leading into the cathedral, Pierre saw a man sitting in one of the front pews. Upon hearing the loud creaking that echoed all around him, Nikolai Rostov turned, and smiled at his friend.

“Ah, Bezukhov!” Nikolai said in a jovial tone, “Tasha said you would show up early. She asked me to come and sit with you until we start. She said it would put you at ease.”

“I find that I am a little intimidated by the accuracy of her predictions. She seems, sometimes, to be something close to all-knowing,” Pierre chuckled. He hugged his soon-to-be brother in law, and took a seat next to him in the pew. “How is it that she knows so well of these things?”

“She knows you, Pierre. She has always known you.” Nikolai paused for a moment, remembering, and then continued. ”When we were growing up… she would talk of you so often. Her description of your character always had such pinpoint accuracy. We would always joke that while others studied maths and literature, she studied music and you.”

Pierre blushed, thinking of Natasha, and smiled to himself. He had never thought of her, or anyone for that matter, thinking of him or talking of him when he was not present. He had always imagined that, in others minds, he had ceased to exist the moment he left a room. Knowing now that Natasha had remembered him (and took pains to do so) filled his heart with a magnificent feeling that he could not express with words. He inhaled sharply.

“What is it?”

“Oh...nothing...nothing.”

“Come on Pierre. You are going to be my brother soon. Brothers can confide in each other.” “No really, Nikolai. I’m fine.” Pierre sat for a moment, and Nikolai’s eyes bore straight into his. The Rostovs, Pierre believed, shared a unique ability to pull out one’s truest feelings with a simple, piercing look.

“I am terrified, Nikolai.”

“Terrified? Of what? Of Natasha?”

“No…” Pierre trailed off, remembering every frightening thought he had throughout the night, “I am terrified that...that I will not...be enough for her.”

Nikolai, uncomprehending of the intention behind this statement, chuckled heartily, leaning forward onto the pew.

“Well, I don’t know you’ve got... experience, eh? I remember your youth almost as well as I remember my own. You were not always the picture of virtue, my friend...” Nikolai cleared his throat, and continued. “I am not sure that I want to be the one to give you advice on this subject. All I can say is that...I’m sure that you’re going to be... just fine, Pierre.”

Pierre, realizing the misinterpretation, blushed heavily, and worked quickly to amend it.

“No! No… not… not that. I mean, I am a little concerned about-- no!” Pierre felt his face getting hotter by the moment. “You see, you misunderstand me. I...want nothing but her happiness. What if her happiness does not lie with me?”

“Ah. I see. Bezukhov,” Nikolai said, his eyes betraying nothing but absolute sincerity, “I have never known her happiness to lie so truly in anyone else.”

Pierre, unable to find words, let out a long breath.

Nikolai patted Pierre reassuringly on the back, and the two men sat in silence, a quietness which Pierre appreciated, for at least this time it was filled with good company. After a while, Nikolai checked the clock, and noticing that it was almost time, began to usher Pierre to the back of the church. Looking over the many empty pews, Pierre took a deep breath. Relax, Bezukhov.

Though he tried greatly to take his own advice, Pierre could not help his nerves as he stood at the entrance, waiting. He searched the room for a distraction, anything to put his mind at ease. Family and friends filtered slowly into the room, a low hum echoing throughout the old church. Pierre began to take note of the splendid architecture of the place in which he now stood, a glimpse of a bygone era still standing tall. He took notice of the buttresses, cracked but sturdy, and the immaculate stone carvings that accompanied them. He studied the twisting stone vines caressing the structure, in awe of how such art could come to be, and pitied the artist, knowing that these sorts of things were often overlooked in the presence of religious practice. He began to observe the sunlight, casting the brilliant blues and reds from the stained glass windows over the faces of the guests, making them look as though they were paintings in a museum. After studying these effects for some time, his distractions ran out.

Suddenly, Pierre began to feel it again-- the great fear creeping through his veins, turning his blood to ice and stopping his breath; the fear that he would remain in this church just as he was now: alone. He shuddered at the thought. It was not so difficult to imagine. He had heard of men abandoned at the ceremony, victims of the cold feet of would-be wives, and while he never placed blame on either the bridegroom or the bride for the dissolution of a union, he had always had a lingering fear that it would soon happen to him.

He would understand if she left him, and would not think her cruel. He had always felt unworthy of Natasha’s love, for, even after all of her mistakes, she was the height of humanity in his mind, and he was a model for all of its faults. How could she love me? He thought, but he never dared to ask, for he feared that even posing the question would cause her to realize how superior she was to himself, and she would finally gain sense and leave him for someone better.

As the minutes passed, the fear grew stronger, and Pierre began to feel his face burn. He looked down, worried that tears would well up in his eyes, and took a deep breath. She will not abandon you. She loves you. She loves you. After a long moment, he felt a hand lift his face, ever so softly, and he suddenly realized that every last bit of air he had just taken in had vacated his lungs. She looked into his eyes, and forgetting everyone else, he let his tears begin to spill over his eyelids. A wide smile began to spread across his face, and the only thing he could see was her, his Natasha, standing there with him. The light glanced off of her cheek, making her own tears shine.

Pierre took her hand, and unable to contain his joy, firmly kissed the back of it. He held her hand over his heart, and reached out with the other to wipe away her tears. She did the same for him. Their eyes were fixed on each other.

“Pierre. Oh my dear, sweet Pierre. You know that if you cry, I shall cry too.” He laughed and felt a rush of warmth overtake his body. “My heart is racing so terribly!”

“Mine, too.”

“I’m so...I don’t know. I feel as though I cannot breathe.”

“Are you alright?’ Pierre asked in concern.

“Oh...oh I’m sure I’m just fine. Oh goodness Pierre, how could you want me? I wonder all the time why you should want to marry me when I panick so easily at everything.”

Pierre, hurt that she could ever wonder about how truly he loved her, began to stroke her cheek with his thumb, and Natasha placed her hand on his, looking up at him.

“Because, my dear Natasha, there is nothing in this world or the next that could persuade my soul that it did not need yours.”

Natasha took a deep breath, smiled softly, and held tightly to his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I love you,” she breathed, holding back a fresh wave of tears.

Pierre exhaled, having the wind knocked out of him by her once more. She had a talent for it.

“It looks as though it’s time,” he whispered, still very much out of breath. Her gaze bore straight into his eyes, glassy yet focused, and she nodded, breathing heavily.

The priest began by blessing their rings, handed to him by Nikolai and Sonya Rostova, Pierre and Natasha’s respective svideteli. The priest told them of what their union would be-- the betterment and completion of two souls, incomplete on their own but whole and strong together. Pierre had never felt stronger than when Natasha was by his side, and he felt a particular warmth and fondness for this statement.

“You will now exchange the rings.”

Natasha took the ring from Sonya and placed it carefully on Pierre’s finger. He felt a tear fall from her face and onto his hand, and felt his own tears begin to gather again. He took the ring from Nikolai and noticed that his hand was shaking. Natasha reached out to steady him, and with another reassuring squeeze, helped to guide the ring onto her hand. The priest joined their right hands, making them one, and instructed them to keep them together for the rest of the ceremony. Pierre could not think of anything finer.

The crowning and everything after passed in a blur, until Pierre realized that the priest was giving the final blessing. He looked quickly at Natasha, who was already looking at him, and realized that it had happened.

They were married. He and Natasha Rostova. Natasha Bezukhova. Just a few hours before, he had feared that he would spend his life alone, and now she was here. Now they were each other’s. Overwhelmed with joy, he kissed her, as if by doing so he could prove that he was not, in fact, dreaming. In the abruptness of the kiss he caught Natasha by surprise, though she reciprocated quite enthusiastically. Pierre could hear Nikolai’s soft laughter behind him. Everyone could see them, and he did not care. After all, he was kissing his wife.

********************************************************

The ballroom was the brightest he had ever seen it on a winter’s night. All rooms are brighter when she is in them, Pierre thought. He had often wondered what this kind of happiness would feel like. For so many years, he had lived in dimly lit rooms and kept to himself, reading and letting his life go by in an indistinguishable, drunken rush. But now-- things were vibrant, fresh, new. When he was with Natasha the world simply seemed better.

He watched her float through the crowd, from person to person, talking animatedly and receiving their most sincere congratulations. Pierre himself was caught up in some conversation about the developing United States, but found the topic dull in comparison to the bright light of Natasha Rostova. Bezukhova, he reminded himself, smirking slightly. He was not sure he would ever be used to that.

Distracted once more from his conversation, he saw Natasha speaking with Sonya, the two women bubbling with excitement. They hugged and held each other’s hands, exchanging knowing looks and whispering to each other whenever something new and somewhat scandalous seemed to be afoot. Every once in awhile, they would look over at Pierre, and he would become somewhat uneasy, but in a way that one does when teased by family. The looks were joyful and loving. After some time, Natasha hugged her cousin and returned to Pierre’s side. She took his hand.

“I am sorry to do this to you,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “I know your disdain for it, but I find that, on my wedding day, it is a requirement of my husband to dance with me.”

“Tasha…” he muttered, pulling back, “Tasha you know how awful I am.”

She pulled his face close to his and spoke at a level that only he could hear.

“Pyotr Kirillovich Bezukhov, you could step on my feet all night and I would still choose to only dance with you. I would like,” she said, her warm breath dancing on his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, “to dance with my husband. And so I shall.” Natasha pressed her lips firmly on his mouth, and held their kiss for a long, sweet moment. While he was lost in cheerful bewilderment, she lead him onto the dance floor, and a waltz began. After a moment, Pierre realized Natasha’s treachery, and could not help but to be impressed. He reluctantly but graciously obliged her.

Just as she had done as a young girl, Natasha helped Pierre and guided him through the steps. “This one is quite simple,” she’d say, though no dance ever seemed simple to Pierre. However, seeing how happy it made her, he put his best foot forward. He looked at her with wonder as she showed him through each piece, gracefully explaining what he was to do next. He felt so much younger when he danced with her, and forgot is hatred for it almost at once.

He remembered her name day all those years ago, when he stopped by unannounced to offer his well wishes. That was the day they danced for the first time. The dance, of course, was entirely innocent-- he did not love her then as he did now. But this dance was different. Each turn, each step, every last movement of every last muscle was entirely electric.

He hadn’t loved her as he did now on that name day all of those years ago. He hadn’t even thought of loving her in such a way until many years after that first dance. Until after he realized it was too late. After Hélène. After Andrei. Upon the last few thoughts, Pierre felt a pang of guilt, as though by their misfortunes he had received blessings he did not deserve. He pushed the thought aside. He was happy, he had to let himself be happy, for after everything they had seen, everything they had faced, after all of the wasted time, Natasha and Pierre were here, dancing as husband and wife.

********************************************************

Pierre helped Natasha into the carriage, taking her hand while the maidservant helped her with her dress, and he climbed in after her. They waved out of the window to their families as they left. Natasha’s mother was in tears, as was Sonya. Denisov smiled joyfully, and Dolokhov nodded as a man and woman he had not remembered inviting to the wedding draped themselves on his shoulders. Mary and Nikolai waved and smiled, and Pierre could swear as they passed him, Nikolai gave him a wink. Pierre pulled himself back into the carriage, blushing a deep shade of red.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” Natasha asked, concerned.

“Oh...nothing,” Pierre cleared his throat, a great many thoughts flooding his mind, “Nikolai. Something funny he did, that’s all.”

“Ah, Nikolai. I love him dearly, but I do not think I wish to speak of him now.” Natasha paused as she moved onto his side of the carriage. “All I want to hear of is you, Petrushka. How are you my love?” Pierre blushed even more as his wife put her head on his chest, which, now that she was near him, was moving much faster. He put his arm around her and gently kissed the top of her head.

“Petrushka, your heart is beating so quickly!” she exclaimed, running her hand up to feel the quickening beat within his chest.

If this continued, his face would soon turn the color of a beat.

“That...that is always the pace of my heart when you are near,” He paused a moment, taking everything in, and continued, answering her original question, “I am very well, Natasha. The best I have ever been.” Natasha looked up at him, kissed his cheek, and put her head in the exact place it had been only a moment before.

They sat in silence for a long time, and Pierre began to realize how exhausted he was. He was sure this was the first time he had sat down since the ceremony, and was beginning to feel how sore his legs were. He was not used to dancing as he did tonight. He looked down at Natasha, who had now fallen asleep, and he realized that she must feel as tired, if not more so than he did. He gently rubbed her back with his hand, and she snuggled in closer to him. Tears, which had been so present in him on this day already, began to fill his eyes once more, and he took a deep breath to calm himself, an action which roused his drowsy wife.

“Are we home Pierre?” She said, a sleepy gruffness coating her voice.

The question excited him. There was a “we” that now belonged to this home. A “we” that had not existed before this morning. The “we” that he had only ever dreamed of before. He looked out the window of the carriage as it began to slow.

“Yes darling, we are.” Pierre exited the carriage first, and upon helping his wife down, he swooped her up in his arms while she squealed with delight. He laughed heartily and carried her over the threshold, through the entrance hall, up the stairs, and over the threshold of his room...their room. He sat Natasha down on the bed, and he sat next to her.

Natasha looked into his eyes.

“Hello, husband,” she whispered, cupping his face with her hand.

Very suddenly, he began to cry.

“Oh my goodness! Pierre? Petrushka? ”

“Natasha…”

“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing Tasha, nothing is wrong,” he said, working furiously to stop the rush of tears streaming down his face, to no avail.

“Have I done something?”

“Tasha...you’ve done... everything.”

Pierre noticed that his last remark had struck something in Natasha.

“My dear, no, please. I should rephrase,” he said, clasping her small hands in his, kissing them feverishly, “You’ve...done everything for me. You’ve helped me in ways that I could not have ever foreseen. You. You are everything dear Natasha. I think what is wrong is that...nothing is wrong. Quite the contrary. Everything is as right as it can be, and I do not feel as though I am worth it.”

“Oh Pierre…”

“Natasha…” he said, and he paused for a long time, wondering if he should continue. “I...to believe that you love me. To… believe that any of this is real. That I am worthy of any of this...you don’t need someone like me. I am not worth it.”

Natasha looked into her husband’s eyes, hurting so terribly for him as he had for her this morning, hating that he felt this way, looked at him for a long moment, tears now rolling down her face. She stroked his cheek, warm and damp with tears, and reassured him.

“Stop,” she said quietly, heavily. She held his gaze. “Pierre... my Pierre...I must tell you that though you may not believe it, this is true of me, too: there is nothing in this world or the next that could persuade my soul that it did not need yours.”

Pierre looked at Natasha, his breathing returning to normal. They both smiled, and began to laugh, softly, understanding each other perfectly.

“My dearest love…” he said, and pushing back her hair, he kissed his Natasha, every bit of longing he had ever felt for her now validated in this perfect moment of bliss. The Bezukhovs were quite content.

#pierretasha #war and peace #natasha rostova #pierre bezukhov #my writing #mine #memetrash5001 #the bezukhovs #wedding #headcanon #fic #fanfiction #pierre x natasha #natasha x pierre

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at-night-his-song-is-with-me · 5 years

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The Second “B”

I wrote about the first “B” recently, which means there are others. There are three; here is number two:

Bipolar.

I met with a new psychiatrist almost a month ago. He gave me a short spiel about how medication is the easiest fix, that it will be hard work done through counseling that will make the real difference, and so on. As someone who has been working hard in counseling on and off (mostly on) for the last nine years, those kinds of messages are not effective. I know counseling is important. I know I’m not going to get better without my own hard work. To remind me of that, when his job was to tackle the medication, seemed to imply that I wasn’t putting forth that work—that I wanted a quick, easy fix without having to do anything myself. I was frustrated, to say the least.

He diagnosed me with Borderline while I was in an inpatient unit for suicidal intent. But the few times I’ve met with him (twice on the unit, once a few weeks after), he didn’t want to hear about my symptoms, my struggles, what was going on... he barely gave me the time of day. If I hadn’t related so strongly to what I’m reading in Shari Manning’s Loving Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder, which was my own research into the diagnosis, not something he suggested, I would question whether he only diagnosed me with Borderline because of my self-harm.

But let me tell you about this past December:

I would typically wake up around 7am, often for work at 7:30. Sometimes I would fly around my suite to run out the door within five minutes; other times I would lie in bed, not moving, for a full three hours, mentally yelling at myself to move, to get up, to roll over and get out of bed, until—exhausted—I dragged myself up to start the day. I would pull on some clothes, hopefully anything that was clean and not too wrinkled from never having made it to the closet, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and stare at my shoes for 25 minutes until I was able to make myself bend over and put them on.

For a few hours almost every morning, roughly 8am - 11am, I would sit fairly non-responsive, wishing I were dead. Sometimes I could fake some semblance of functionality—go to work, go to a class, go to church. Inwardly I would think longingly of suicide. But it’s hard to walk to the store to buy bleach to kill yourself when you can’t stand up without feeling light-headed and exhausted. So I would sit there, trying my hardest to engage and function, while a seeping numbness and lethargy spread from my hands to my arms and to my feet. If someone touched my shoulder or suddenly asked me a question, I could usually respond out of reflex. But anything I wanted to say or do was almost entirely out of reach.

My norm was a lack of interest or pleasure in doing things. My norm was intense suicidal thoughts every morning. My norm was lethargy, weight gain, sleeping far too long, poor concentration, overwhelming sadness, inability to get out of bed, and marked hopelessness.

But none of this is new. This has been the norm since 2009 at the latest.

However, by the end of last semester, a growing change from the past couple years had climaxed. For most of Fall 2018, I slept only 2-4 hours a night, contrasted with my typical 9-12. Sometime between 3 and 7pm, almost every day, I would rise out of the suicidal depression I just described. Great, right? Except it wouldn’t stop rising. Within the span of a couple hours (sometimes less than 20 minutes), I would go from being so slow, lethargic, and non-responsive, to being uncontrollably hyper, loud, impulsive, and restless. A little bit is enjoyable. A moderate amount is tolerable. But I started feeling guilty spending time with my friends, because I couldn’t tone down my volume. Because I couldn’t sit and listen and engage in a normal conversation as my thoughts were unfollowably bouncing everywhere and gushing out of my mouth.

I usually first noticed the fidgeting. For most of my life, I’ve been a still, contained individual. Even leg-shaking is uncommon for me. I would notice the leg-shaking start, which usually progressed to shaking out my hands, which would progress to jumping in place and dancing and urging my friends to walk faster with me, sometimes even escalating to running outside around a building to try to burn off some of the restlessness.

Those nights I would also be impulsive. I once jumped in a large puddle at night in the middle of December in a dress, soaking and freezing myself up to my thighs, then did it again at the next puddle because I couldn’t help myself. I almost ran outside in a hailstorm. I ate an entire 8 oz. block of cheese in less than 5 minutes without realizing it. I almost spontaneously kissed a boy I was not dating.

I couldn’t slow my brain down enough to focus on my textbooks, upbeat music that still seemed too slow, or meaningful conversations with people. I would try to go to sleep, often around 3am, but whether I would fall asleep within a reasonable amount of time was entirely hit or miss. By the time I finally fell asleep and calmed down, it was nearly time to get up again. And the cycle would start over. Severe depression for a few hours, a few hours of almost normalcy, then the rest of the day out of control. Someone once described, from their external perspective, the emotional whiplash I seemed to go through on a daily basis, and that was even before it had escalated to this severity.

Fortunately, toward the end of last semester, I was prescribed Saphris and Lamictal, medications to tone down mania and help lift depression, respectively. I’ve been back on those two for about a month and a half now (I had some glitches and ended up off them for a little while), and I no longer feel like my mood and energy are careening out of control on a daily basis—no longer swinging from unbearably low in the morning to frighteningly out of control in the evening. For the first time in 9 years, medication seems to be doing something.

I’ve tried depression medications for most of the last 9 years. It has not been a quick and easy fix to find one that even does anything noticeable. I’m no psychiatrist, but what I’ve described here is more than ‘emotional dysregulation from lack of coping skills.’ These days I’m not struggling with mania or hypomania (again, I’m not a psychiatrist) nearly as badly as I was a few months ago, since I started the Saphris. The depression is still nigh unbearable a lot of the time (we’re going on day 5 of nearly non-functional), but at least one end has been tamed. And a pervasive low is definitely different from how out of control I felt last semester.

I’m going to see a new psychiatrist in about a month (my last one recently referred me, which might be for the best, all things considered). I hope she can help me better manage the depression side of things. On days that the depression is not quite so bad, it’s a lot easier to try to manage the Borderline. I know I have to put the work in, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to be better equipped (through medication) as I do so.

~soli Deo gloria

#Borderline #bpd #bipolar #borderline personality disorder #mental health #medication

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arcadioadell1990 · 4 years

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What We Can Do To Increase Height Amazing Useful Ideas

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How Can I Get Taller At 18

Calcium plays a major provider to the nutritional and dietary programs that exist to satisfy your desires.There are stretching on a continuous basis, you are one way of showing confidence.For those with some good sleep routine should be followed on a computer and sitting poorly on a regular basis, especially multivitamins with amino acids are very unhappy with your arms stretch as far as food can take complex carbohydrates and proteins.As the Internet has evolved and more beautiful.People who want to go about adding to your back.

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#What We Can Do To Increase Height Amazing Useful Ideas #How To Grow Taller Easily

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ericschumacher · 4 years

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A new post, (Welcoming Chronic Sufferers), is available at Eric Schumacher

New Post has been published on https://www.emschumacher.com/welcoming-chronic-sufferers/

Welcoming Chronic Sufferers

This guest post by Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko explores how the local church can welcome, include, and minister to chronic sufferers. It is part of my “Welcoming…” series, which features first-person articles on how to welcome various demographics into our lives and church communities. Previous installations include “Welcoming the Hearing Loss Community,” “Welcoming the Eating Disorder Community,” and “Welcoming Single Parents.”

You’re feeling it, aren’t you? That desperate excitement. The quarantine restrictions may soon be lifted, putting an end to staying at home – an end to virtual meetings and church services, distance learning, and homeschooling. I am truly excited for you, but not necessarily with you. You see, as the majority of people will be rejoicing in their freedom, many like me will experience a loss.

Chronic Suffering

While I am a wife and mother as well as a servant minister in my church, I have also been disabled for 15 years from chronic illnesses. Every day I have woken up with some measure of all-over, system-wide pain. If I can get out of bed, it takes about an hour to warm up my body before it is safe to do so. By my mid-twenties I was inexplicably disabled for three years before receiving my first diagnosis of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder with Psychosomatization as a result of childhood traumas I had endured.

My second diagnosis was Fibromyalgia/Chronic Fatigue Syndrome which would further explain fatigue and widespread pain, as well as a myriad of other strange symptoms. Involuntary muscle tension chronically pulls my muscles so tight that I can sprain or tear a muscle simply by moving. The fatigue makes it difficult even to breathe some days. Sitting up can take maximum effort leaving me in shivering convulsions.

Last year overt symptoms of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) left my skin feeling like I had a second-degree burn from head to toe. This makes wearing clothes problematic which in turn makes going into public problematic. Between the unique pain and crippling fatigue, it became distressing, unwise, and at times dangerous for me to leave the house.

This past January, while in treatment for MCAS, I was found to have Lyme disease. Lyme has been attacking my nervous system causing problems such as intense sensory sensitivity similar to chronic migraines. Most recently, symptoms of psychosis are becoming more pronounced taking portions of my agency. Any stimuli can trigger an outburst. Now realizing that most, if not all, of these conditions have been building since childhood, it is abundantly clear why leaving home has become increasingly painful for me these past 15 years.

COVID-19

For the past few months, the rest of the world has joined with people like me to experience a degree of what it means to be homebound and shut-in. Church service has been made accessible in a new way as many churches are now providing live-stream. Community groups and Bible studies are meeting via Zoom and other chat services. People are suddenly acutely aware of the weakest among us. Since March, those of us who have been on the fringe of society, shut up in our homes long before this pandemic started, have been able to be included in ways we weren’t before – and that may soon come to an end.

Church, as you celebrate that first Sunday together again, don’t forget us. I’m not saying celebrate less or feel guilty – by no means! It is a sweet blessing to gather together in person with other believers. But as you are celebrating, remember us. Bear witness that we are here and that we matter. Here are a few ways to continue welcoming members of the church who are homebound in the days and weeks to come.

Church Services

In the first week of quarantine here in Los Angeles, a dear friend of mine texted me exactly what I was feeling: “It only took a pandemic, but we finally got live-streamed services.” We had been discussing ways to make Sunday service accessible for a little while but, for various reasons, it was slow going. It is a big undertaking to provide accessibility. The amount of work it requires can be overwhelming and can cause many people to burn out and/or give up. But for many of us who can’t make it to church on a Sunday morning in normal times, we can feel left out or cut off because of how difficult it can be to love us sometimes. The reality is that it took the majority needing live-stream service for chronic sufferers to be included, and it’s easy for that thought to bring up feelings of anger and bitterness, whether warranted or not. Ideally, it would be a huge blessing for churches to continue live-streaming after the restrictions are lifted. Where that’s not possible, it would be both loving and appreciated to openly acknowledge the lack and to continue to make church services as accessible as possible.

Compassion

This pandemic has disrupted everyone’s life. Because of how it has, many people now have a glimpse into the daily frustrations and longings of chronic sufferers and those who are regularly homebound. Set time aside to reflect on your time in quarantine and how your feelings might mirror those who have experienced being shut in before now. Write down how you feel during this time and talk to God about it. Be honest even about your most vulnerable, and your most petty, thoughts, and emotions. Then think how a friend might have felt losing her job when illness took over. Or how protecting one’s health can be a daily concern for some. How hospital visits may be necessary but always run the risk of adding infection. Or how not seeing another human being besides one’s family for months can cause an indescribable ache. Not only will this be a sweet meditation with God, but it’s also a way to gain empathy for shut-ins in our church family long after this pandemic is behind us.

Community

While those of us who are homebound desire community, it is often difficult to reach out and can be tiring to do so. Friends can help take that burden by continuing to make community group meetings available via video chat, even after groups begin meeting in person again. It would be a huge blessing for groups to take the initiative to have a laptop and good WiFi set up for members who will still be unable to be physically present. This is also valuable for one-on-one meetings that can’t happen in person, whether they are social gatherings, Bible studies, or other fellowship opportunities.

For years, I overextended myself beyond my capacity to make sure I was physically attending church events. It never occurred to me that, because I am sick, the church could, and should, be coming to me. Recently I expressed to my husband that it feels as though the church has been coming around us much more. He offered another perspective. For the past 10+ years, I have had one faithful friend who has kept a weekly standing appointment to visit. While I do communicate with others via text and the occasional call, this friend has been my main human contact with the church for some time. When she goes on vacation or has an illness flair herself, I feel the absence. Recently another friend started intentionally reaching out through text, phone calls, and socially distanced in-person visits. My husband conjectured that, as starved as we have been for community, this one extra friend carries a profound weight. But this weight ought not to be carried by one or two members of the church body. Each person has unique abilities, availability, gifting, and personal relationships designed to be a blessing to those suffering. Unfortunately, since chronic sufferers are not visible, it can be all too easy for us to fall through the cracks.

Bear Witness

As you have likely experienced in quarantine, staying at home creates a black hole pulling our attention into the vortex of our own navels. Isolation makes it really difficult to remember that other worlds exist outside our own. The days grow longer without activities to break them up, and we can begin to feel as though we are forgotten. This is where “tiny texts” and “gifts of remembrance” come in.

It is noble and godly to pray for one another; however, it is challenging to feel the prayers of others if we don’t hear them ourselves. Honestly, it’s hard to feel much outside the continual current of pain and psychological episodes as well as the hurricane of doctor’s appointments, medical procedures, and self-care routines. But a phone call or text can go a long way. You can text your prayer or text, “I prayed _____ for you today.” It’s also a blessing when people send texts about their day and share their own struggles and celebrations. It brings us out of ourselves and invites us to engage in the lives of others. This is a small, concrete way to encourage the exhausted and strengthen the fainthearted (Isaiah 35:3).

Gifts of remembrance are also wonderful signposts to remind us that we are known and remembered. They are gifts that keep on giving. I have a painting on my wall that is so perfect, so spot-on, that I cried upon receiving it. My eyes are filling with tears just writing about it now. When I look at it from my bed, I am comforted that Camille knows me and remembers me. When my husband pulls out his whiskey sampler, I am encouraged that the Rosses know and remember him. And when my daughter wears her favorite princess dress, I am blessed that Marisol knows and remembers her.

Another way to bear witness is to acknowledge us to others. On that fine Sunday when you meet together once again, verbally acknowledge those of your church family who will not be present to attend services. We feel invisible and to a certain degree, we are invisible. When we are safe at home we are out of sight and very easily out of mind. Additionally, relationships are a give and take. Because we can’t give much and need a lot, we can sometimes feel like leeches, no matter the sacred purity and wisdom the Lord is refining in us. Helping the rest of the congregation remember us is an act of love and advocacy that affirms we are, as Paul says, indispensable to the church (1 Corinthians 12:22), equally part of the body even if we cannot be there in the flesh.

Be Patient With Us All

Remain patient and remember that patience is active. Being patient with the weak means sitting with us when we are in pain, talk to us when our minds are spiraling, grieving with us as we endure daily losses, bringing us a meal or groceries (again), and eating with us – doing so without expectation of an end to your patience or our need for it. In our fast-paced age, our patience grows thin fast and we are less likely to long suffer unless the Lord gives us circumstances that demand it. Put it in your mind that there is no time limit on suffering or grief, and that the Lord will always provide strength to the willing heart. So prepare yourself and stay with us. Not only will you encourage the fainthearted and help the weak, but you will also slowly begin to really know us and see us as our Savior does. Even more, you will be our witness, Christ to us in times when our vision grows weak. Together we will reflect the body as it is meant to be, loving and serving one another, reflecting God’s glory to the world, whether we are sheltering at home or traveling far beyond our own thresholds.

Jennifer Ji-Hye Ko is a writer, poet, and servant minister at Cornerstone Church West Los Angeles. She lives with her husband Joon and their daughter, remaining tenacious amid her various physical and mental illnesses. You can follow Jennifer on Instagram at @jennifer.jihye.ko.

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#chronic suffering #COVID-19 #suffering #Welcoming

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silverhands-etcetera · 7 years

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Silence is Golden.

I haven’t slept so well on the whole camino, I was ensconced in my own little coffin, and couldn’t have been more content. We set alarms for 6 AM, to get out the door before the sun really started cooking. I crawled out of my tomb like Lazarus and climbed down to the kitchen for a breakfast.

Among the multitudes of languages in the kitchen was Michel. He bid me a good morning, and I greeted him with my rested and restored vigor & asked him how he slept, to which he replied -“terrible. I felt like I was in a coffin…”

–

There’s a Spanish tendency to minimize times & distances that pass in preparation or travel.

“Donde es la….?” “Aquí mismo” – “Where is the….? "Right here”

This type of exchange goes down all the time when we are at least two blocks and around a corner from our destination.

“Bueno, nos van a comer ahora mismo” – “Well, we’re going to eat right now”

This is the statement made before taking a shower, getting dressed, doing laundry & hanging it to dry. Roughly an hour and a half later, we will step out the door to go LOOK for something to eat.

This morning, the Italian was joining in, as both he & the Catalan were saying things like -“ok, one more coffee, a cigarette, then we go” or “Ok, sunscreen, fill the water, then we go…”

We were the last walkers to step out the door, leaving only a smug bicycler who was harassing us about how slow we would be walking.

The sleep was incredible, but the breakfast left a bit to be desired. The best option for coffee was of the single-serving plastic-package variety, in a little machine that looked like R2D2- which we ran out of after one round. When Riccardo wanted a second cup, he was faced with the unthinkable option of drinking an instant coffee.

He asked us to please promise not to tell his mother or father, or his grandfather, that he was taking instant coffee. He also expressed concern about not being let back into Italy, should the word get out.

Ultimately, it was 8 o’ clock when we left the hostel. An early start for Equipo Macarena. Our heads still foggy from sleep, and the town still mostly asleep, we wound our way back through the city. -It’s a town of money, and they want you to know it. There’s some serious ostentatiousness in the cars and the clothing, there’s three churches, and shops for jewelry and other posh, unnecessary items.

The sun was breaking sideways across the bright facades of the residential street as we climbed up and out of the town. A slight rise of a hill to the east kept the sun off of us for the first hour or so. When the direct light started touching us, I lifted my collar and kept my head down.

It may have been the second hour when we came upon two Italian women, who we met two nights ago. They had gained on us by three days in the early going of their Camino, but they had now slowed their pace. We passed them by, and within an hour met with another traveler we had just met the night before. He’s from Japan, that’s all we know -oh, and he’s sunburned, more than any sunburn I have ever seen- but he speaks not a lick of Spanish, English, German, or French. Not a word outside of “gracias” “si” “no” & “Japón”.

He’s an incredibly congenial looking fellow. Burnt to a crisp, wearing short pants, walking with a pronounced limp, at the pace of a wounded snail. We passed him by while he was sitting in the shade on a concrete block, and we didn’t see any other pilgrims until we stopped for our own rest under the shade of an olive tree, which was showing the first little nubs of its delicious fruit.

When the Italians passed us by, there was much discussion about the weight of our packs. We were sitting on the dirt, with our packs by the road, and mine was picked up and commented on over its lightness. -There’s a bit of a pissing contest among some of the pilgrims over how much they are carrying -as if having two days of food, three books, your vintage 35mm camera, and a tin cup for drinking water out of in your bag gives your Camino a deeper sense of meaning. Often it’s the younger men who are giving the ribbing for having a light backpack, but it can come from all angles.

My pack was relatively heavy today, because it was clear full with 3 liters of water, plus an extra half liter, three apples & a loaf of bread, as well as a quarter of a wheel of Manchego. We ate some of the fruit at our rest, and with the sun and the quiet, eventually drifted off to naps, one by one.

In & out of sleep, I was vaguely aware of our Japanese friend passing us by. Once we woke up, it was 12:30, and we supposed ourselves to be two or three hours from the town. We’d have to keep a steady pace to get indoors before the sun started in with its more serious punishment, and we did so, walking mostly in silence, just as we did most of the morning.

It was another day where the town showed itself early in the walk, as most of the route was downhill, but despite steadily approaching it, the target would not come to us. For two hours we watched the town grow ever so slightly bigger. Once again we passed our sunburned friend and through hand signals and pointing made sure to ascertain that he had plenty of water.

Torremejia is just a tiny burg, with irrigated cropland all around it. The fields we passed were mostly grapes, with the occasional olive, and melons growing in the ditches at the edges of the fields, catching the water from the irrigation hoses, and saving from any of it being wasted by running out on the road.

The town itself has the look of an American rural village. Like something in Eastern Washington, or the Midwest. Think Lind, WA, or Wyoming, IA. The main drag is the main highway, wide and fast. Two-story buildings face it on both sides, looking like banks or feed stores, and there’s a tractor parked right on the street. This is a side of Spain I haven’t seen.

The local derelict youth are hanging out in front of the restaurant across the street, and there’s lots of yelling when a recognized car drives by. The cars are old here, and dirty -in contrast to the showing off all around the town square yesterday (I don’t think this town even has a plaza). The streets are laid out in a grid and the hoodlums are driving laps around it. The sun is far too hot for anybody to be working right now, but there are some who can’t help being active in their idleness. -a kid across the street just backed his car out facing north, just to peel out in a U-turn to head south out of town, impressing the hell out of his friends on the terrace, I’m sure.

Hicktowns are universal, I suppose. It’s funny to see it being acted out in Spanish.

My Spanish improved with use, and now it’s slipping from exhaustion. I’ve gone back to translating in my head- which will always lead you down the wrong road- rather than trying to think in Spanish. I’m also close to losing my fickle, fragile voice. The walk today was a good break, but I’m oddly looking forward to the pause in Merida more to rest my voice than my feet.

–

There is no municipal hostel in this town, so we had to choose between the two for-profit options. Probably due to our nap, we didn’t catch up to Michel all day. I’m on the terraza of the bar that is sistered to our night’s lodging and the owner just stepped out to say that he’d gotten a phonecall from a pilgrim, a foreigner, asking if he had three peregrinos -an Italian, an American & a Catalan- staying with him. Certainly this is Michel calling, and I reckon this means that we chose the wrong hostel, and we’ll be staying separately tonight.

When you are at the end of a 17 mile walk through the boiling Extremaduran countryside, every step becomes precious. When you find yourself at the desk of a house with a bed and a shower, the thought of walking across town just to check out another -and then possibly walking back if it doesn’t suit you- is simply not something that even comes up to a vote.

Sitting here in the shade and the breeze, I’m watching a sour old coot who incredibly deliberately throws everything he’s done with on the ground, rather than in his ashtray or even just the table in front of him. Every now & then I catch a wave from our Basque friend walking by, or the Frenchman on the vintage Schwinn, asking if I’ve seen whether our Japanese friend has made it to town safely. (He has, and took the bunk above me).

The shadows are finally reaching the other side of the street. Soon it will be tolerable to walk in the town. I had a glass of Cruzcampo when I got here, and it tasted like the inside of a fifty year old beer tap, so I ordered a coffee. My friends are down for siesta, but I want to be sure I can sleep well again tonight.

We’ll be waking up early again tomorrow, it’s time to go to the city -time for a vacation from the vacation- only four hours to walk tomorrow, and I need to buy a new shirt.

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fesahaawit · 7 years

Text

10 Things I Didn’t Expect in Early Retirement

[Happy Friday! Please welcome today, a good blogging bud of mine, ESI from ESIMoney.com. He recently retired at 52 and gained a whole new appreciation for what life has to offer. And spoiler alert: it doesn’t involve money or a high-powered career! Both of which he retired from once he realized enough was enough (his “enough,” btw? $3 million :)) Take it away, ESI!]

********

When I retired last fall at 52, I thought I knew exactly what retirement would be like. Many of the expectations I had did come true, but there were several surprises as well.

Today I’ll share my revelations in hopes those of you considering early retirement might be better prepared for it.

#1. Mondays Became the Best Day of the Week

Monday was my archenemy for decades.

I worked as a marketing executive for 28 years, many of them in high-pressure jobs. The sinking feeling would start about 4 pm on Sunday — dreading the work week to come.

Then Monday would hit and it’d be the low point of my week. Each day got better than the previous one until we hit Friday. It was all great from there. Until Sunday at 4 pm again.

Now, Monday is my favorite day of the week. It signals the beginning of five days of peace and quiet. The gym is less busy, the stores are less busy, restaurants are less busy, everything is less busy — because people are at work. It’s quiet, and I like it.

#2. My Colleagues Can’t Accept I’m Retired

There’s a whole host of reactions you get when you retire early. Most of them are quite comical because people are literally stunned. This is especially the case when you’re a C-level executive (or higher), and you retire during your most lucrative decade of earning power.

I expected people to be a bit shocked, but I didn’t foresee them constantly pushing new jobs at me like I needed to work or my life was over. Colleagues after colleagues send me new job openings all the time now. I have more recruiters than ever even connecting on LinkedIn and forwarding me job listings (some are pretty good actually!).

Even people I just meet aren’t satisfied with my retirement.

I had coffee the other day with a friend of a friend because the original friend said we should meet. The new guy spent the whole time brainstorming how he could help me find a job. Ugh. I feel like an unmarried, 30-year-old woman whose Jewish mother keeps pushing bachelors her way so she’ll get married even though she doesn’t want to be married.

#3. I’m Busier than Ever

When you work 50+ hours a week for most of a career and have a family along with personal interests, you’re very busy. Life is hectic. That’s just the way it is.

I expected things would calm down dramatically when I retired, but I now seem to have more to do than ever.

The difference is that I went from doing things I HAD to do, though, to doing things I WANT to do. Which makes all the difference in the world.

Still, I’m swamped.

I’ve been ramping up my blog writing (which is quite fun and gives me a creative and intellectual outlet). I started working out at a faster pace. I developed a plan to climb Pikes Peak this summer. I got involved in more aspects of planning my daughter’s college career. I started helping my son find his life calling. I dramatically upped my video game playing time (from virtually nothing to an hour or so a day at the present time (Horizon Zero Dawn FTW!!!)). I joined a non-profit board that helps the homeless. And I’m planning several trips with various members of my family.

On and on it goes. Most of the things on my to-do list simply move to the next day’s undone.

I was one of those people who used to think “What will I do all day in retirement?” I then moved to “I’ll find things to do”, so I made the leap. Now, I’m wondering, “How will I get it all done?”

But I am doing what I want, which makes this a “fun busy”. So I don’t mind.

#4. I’m In The Best Physical Shape of My Life

I started working with a trainer about 18 months ago. Up until retirement, I had made tremendous progress. I added 20 pounds of muscle and dramatically improved my cardio conditioning (which has always been good.) As a result, I almost completely eliminated back issues that I had for over 20 years.

I thought I’d continue on the same pace during retirement, but the freedom of time and lack of stress has really taken my workouts up a notch.

In addition, since I’m at home more, I can control better what I eat — which has always been my weak spot as it’s so hard to eat well at the office (at least for me). They say being in good shape is 80% nutrition and 20% exercise. I so wish the percentages were reversed!

When I was younger, I could work out and eat pretty much whatever I wanted. No longer. As I gained that extra muscle, I didn’t lose much fat, so my weight went up (even while my waist size shrunk).

After retirement, I decided to get serious about eating well. I went high protein and low carb. Since the start of the year I have lost 16 pounds of mostly fat. In addition, I was given my third cardio test and my VO2 max was in the “excellent” range for my age. It was so good that it’s even in the “good” range for a 20-year-old.

Who would have thought my best physical years would be after 50?

#5. I’ve Gotten Very Comfortable Wearing Casual Clothes

I’m not going to say I have always been an uptight dresser. Let’s just say I was always dressed for the occasion. I like to look nice and professional whether at work, church, or even out shopping. I’m not wearing $1,000 suits by any means, but I like to be dressed “nicely” wherever I go.

Cue the workout pants. You know, the baggy, comfortable ones similar to what basketball players wear during warm-ups? They refresh my soul.

It took me about three days to go from button-down Bob to casual Clyde.

Do you know how comfortable workout pants are? Answer: VERY comfortable. These are for colder temperatures. Do you know how comfortable shorts are? Answer: VERY comfortable. These are for warmer temperatures.

Both are accompanied by a t-shirt and/or a Columbia thin pullover depending on the temperature.

These are now my clothing wear of choice. I haven’t donned even a pair of Dockers more than twice in eight months (I did wear a pair to a funeral, however). I’ve gotten to the point where even putting on jeans feels like I’m “dressing up”. And they just aren’t as comfortable as I like.

We even joke at my non-profit board meetings that I dress up for them by wearing my “nice” workout pants or shorts.

But what do I care? I don’t have anyone to impress.

Consider Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg, and the like. No dressing up there. They don’t (didn’t in Jobs’ case) care what they are wearing, they just want to be comfortable. And while I don’t have billions like they do, I am financially independent and can wear whatever I want.

Much different than my pre-retirement days…

#6. My Family Relationships Are Much Better

I assumed that retirement would give me more time with family, but I didn’t know how meaningful and far-reaching this time would be.

Here’s a sampling of the impact so far:

My wife and I take two 45-minute walks a day now (we live in Colorado, so even much of winter is walkable). It gives us lots of time to connect and talk. Great for our relationship.

I developed a reading plan for my son to help him discover what career he wants. We discuss each book and his notes on it. He’s also my Tuesday movie buddy (half-priced tickets!) since we like the same kind of shows.

My daughter and I go out regularly to eat (we both like Mexican), shop (she’s hooked on Bath and Body Works), or have coffee. We talk a lot about what she wants to do with her life, what to expect in college, etc. She’s totally prepared. We’ll be taking her senior trip to Seattle and Portland this summer and I’ll be dropping her off at college in the fall.

I have been able to see my parents a few times since retirement — way more than the twice-annual visits we had before. In addition, my dad will be coming to see us in June.

I was able to re-connect with my cousin on one trip to see my parents. I had the time (of course) that I never had before, so I asked if he was available. He was and we had a great breakfast. It was awesome!

I was able to attend my Aunt’s funeral, and even be at the hospital right before she passed. Having a job would have not afforded me the time (or at least as much time) for either of these.

In addition to helping connect with family, being retired has allowed me to connect with friends. I attended my college reunion last fall and got to see my three best friends from that time. I would have NEVER spent a week doing that had I been working. And I hadn’t planned on it even once I retired, but the new, more relaxed, me thought “what the heck!” and I went. So glad I did. I’ll be headed back to college homecoming this year too!

This is probably the most rewarding part of early retirement for me and completely unexpected. It’s been a great surprise.

#7. I’m Learning and Growing More than Ever

Retirement is the time to kick back, down-shift, and relax, right? The time to coast on all the work we’ve done up to this point, similar to the Falcons in the second half of the Super Bowl? (Oh wait, that didn’t work out so well)

Well, let’s just say that coasting is not for me. I’m pushing forward more than I ever have and am loving it! I am learning and growing in ways I completely didn’t expect.

Some examples:

I’m reading more than ever. The library and I are on a first-name basis. I’m there several times a week. I’m reading on personal growth, fitness, blogging, and a whole host of non-fiction topics. I also have time to read fiction and am catching up on John Grisham’s stuff, as well as a Batman graphic novel here and there.

I’m learning from YouTube. You can find videos on how to do anything these days. Now that I have time, I’m learning how to cook (especially grill), how to do simple repairs around the house (I’m not “handy” yet, but I’m getting there), how to travel hack (still a neophyte but learning), and on and on.

I’m heading up Pikes Peak. I told you I’m planning on walking up Pikes Peak this summer. So I’m learning about the physical challenges (and training accordingly), the equipment, weather, etc. It’s a blast to learn new things as well as have some big, physical challenge to look forward to.

I’m planning loads of travel. My wife used to handle most of the travel planning, but I’m now becoming the expert. This year we have trips planned to Seattle, Portland, back to Iowa (where I’m from), Dallas, and, the crowning touch, a month in St. Thomas early next year. There are various decisions to make, and of course I want to make the trips as great as possible, so I’m doing lots of reading about each place and searching for great deals.

I’m consuming podcasts. As I train for Pikes Peak, I’m walking a lot. Some of that is alone, and when I walk alone I listen to podcasts. I’m learning about a whole host of topics, plus getting lots of input on financial issues that keep me sharp. I really look forward to this time each day.

I’m playing chess. I now have time to do daily chess puzzles, play chess, read chess books, and even watch chess videos. I know some of you are close to falling asleep simply reading that last sentence, but chess thrills me. The strategy and complexity gets my juices flowing.

I’m interested in a lot of things, and now I have the time to learn about them too. I thought I would have some time for this, but the amount and diversity of learning has really surprised me.

#8. I Can’t Go Back To Work Anymore

When I retired I thought I’d only take a year or two off, but would then likely go back to work at some point — even if just part-time. After all, I was a high-power executive and work was what I did!

Now I can’t imagine ever going back.

If I did, I’d hate Mondays again. I’d have to dress in something other than comfortable clothes. I’d miss the time with family and friends. I’d have to cut back on fitness and learning. I’d have to live by a schedule. That all sounds like a colossal pain in the rear now.

I’ve since eased into my new normal, and I love it.

#9. The Stress is Gone

We all hear about stress and how it impacts our health, and so forth. But having lived with it for so long, it was normal to me. I didn’t realize just how much it was impacting me.

Sure, every once in a while I would realize my temples were tight and my jaw was clinched while laying in bed. I’d try to relax my facial muscles and could for a bit, but even trying to fall asleep, the tension would come back. It was the stress of work.

Once I retired, I could literally feel the stress melt away. It was that tangible. I was destressing after 28 years of constant pressure.

It took several months to go completely away (it was that bad!), but I eventually got to a low point of stress I never thought I would reach. I started sleeping better. My head wasn’t tight all the time. Life was more relaxing overall.

I was surprised at just how noticeable it was. Something that simply was there for most of my life, is now almost nonexistent.

#10. I’ve Turned Into a Morning Person

There are morning people, and there are night people. I have been a night person my whole life. My ideal world was to stay up until 3 am and get up around noon. Not bad, right?

But I had to go against that grain during my career. Most companies expect you to roll in well before noon, so I was up early every day and I hated it.

I didn’t think I’d sleep to noon every day once I retired, but I did think I’d sack in until at least 9 or 10am.

Nope. I’m now up and at ’em by 6 am most days. Sometimes I’ll got to 7 am if I had a really hard workout the previous day or stayed up late the night before. But that’s rare. I can’t remember the last time I slept until 8 am. And I’m certainly up more days before 6 am than after 7 am.

The big difference now, though, is that life is so much more exciting.

I’m getting up to do things that I want to do. It’s a blast — almost like the night before Christmas. I’m excited about the next day and simply can’t sleep longer.

Plus, the working out and lack of stress helps my sleep to be more restful, so I feel better with less sleep now than I did with more sleep while working. (But don’t worry that I’m robbing myself. I’m a regular 10 pm to 6 am sleeper, so I still get eight hours most nights)

My kids think I’m crazy (“why do you get up so early?” they ask) but that’s what happens when you are excited about life.

My wife has always been a morning person, but I’m now up an hour or so before her each day. It’s so quiet and peaceful at 6 am and the day is full of promise. It’s my favorite time of the day. 6 am on Monday is heaven.

As a bonus, I heard somewhere that getting up early can make you wealthy.

[EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the reason I started waking up at 5am every day! The peace is unparalleled! And as ESI mentioned, it’s far easier to do so when you get to do things for YOU than for others :) You can read about the other things I learned too when first starting this schedule here if you’re new to the site: What I Learned Working Like Benjamin Franklin For a Week]

So those are my ten surprises from early retirement!

I’m only nine months in so I’m sure I’ll find many more in the months and years to come, but hopefully I’ve given you a good glimpse into what retirement is like.

If you have any questions I’d be happy to answer them in the comments below.

Otherwise, I’ll see you at the gym on Monday morning at 7 am. :)

****** ESI is the founder of ESI Money, a blog about achieving financial independence through earning, saving, and investing (ESI). It’s written by an early 50’s retiree who achieved financial independence, shares what’s worked for him, and details how others can implement those successes in their lives. You can learn more about him, and get his free ebook, here: Three Steps to Financial Independence.

10 Things I Didn’t Expect in Early Retirement posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ

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heliosfinance · 7 years

Text

10 Things I Didn’t Expect in Early Retirement

********

When I retired last fall at 52, I thought I knew exactly what retirement would be like. Many of the expectations I had did come true, but there were several surprises as well.

Today I’ll share my revelations in hopes those of you considering early retirement might be better prepared for it.

#1. Mondays Became the Best Day of the Week

Monday was my archenemy for decades.

I worked as a marketing executive for 28 years, many of them in high-pressure jobs. The sinking feeling would start about 4 pm on Sunday — dreading the work week to come.

Then Monday would hit and it’d be the low point of my week. Each day got better than the previous one until we hit Friday. It was all great from there. Until Sunday at 4 pm again.

#2. My Colleagues Can’t Accept I’m Retired

Even people I just meet aren’t satisfied with my retirement.

#3. I’m Busier than Ever

When you work 50+ hours a week for most of a career and have a family along with personal interests, you’re very busy. Life is hectic. That’s just the way it is.

I expected things would calm down dramatically when I retired, but I now seem to have more to do than ever.

The difference is that I went from doing things I HAD to do, though, to doing things I WANT to do. Which makes all the difference in the world.

Still, I’m swamped.

On and on it goes. Most of the things on my to-do list simply move to the next day’s undone.

But I am doing what I want, which makes this a “fun busy”. So I don’t mind.

#4. I’m In The Best Physical Shape of My Life

I thought I’d continue on the same pace during retirement, but the freedom of time and lack of stress has really taken my workouts up a notch.

When I was younger, I could work out and eat pretty much whatever I wanted. No longer. As I gained that extra muscle, I didn’t lose much fat, so my weight went up (even while my waist size shrunk).

Who would have thought my best physical years would be after 50?

#5. I’ve Gotten Very Comfortable Wearing Casual Clothes

Cue the workout pants. You know, the baggy, comfortable ones similar to what basketball players wear during warm-ups? They refresh my soul.

It took me about three days to go from button-down Bob to casual Clyde.

Both are accompanied by a t-shirt and/or a Columbia thin pullover depending on the temperature.

We even joke at my non-profit board meetings that I dress up for them by wearing my “nice” workout pants or shorts.

But what do I care? I don’t have anyone to impress.

Much different than my pre-retirement days…

#6. My Family Relationships Are Much Better

I assumed that retirement would give me more time with family, but I didn’t know how meaningful and far-reaching this time would be.

Here’s a sampling of the impact so far:

My wife and I take two 45-minute walks a day now (we live in Colorado, so even much of winter is walkable). It gives us lots of time to connect and talk. Great for our relationship.

I have been able to see my parents a few times since retirement — way more than the twice-annual visits we had before. In addition, my dad will be coming to see us in June.

I was able to attend my Aunt’s funeral, and even be at the hospital right before she passed. Having a job would have not afforded me the time (or at least as much time) for either of these.

This is probably the most rewarding part of early retirement for me and completely unexpected. It’s been a great surprise.

#7. I’m Learning and Growing More than Ever

Well, let’s just say that coasting is not for me. I’m pushing forward more than I ever have and am loving it! I am learning and growing in ways I completely didn’t expect.

Some examples:

I’m interested in a lot of things, and now I have the time to learn about them too. I thought I would have some time for this, but the amount and diversity of learning has really surprised me.

#8. I Can’t Go Back To Work Anymore

Now I can’t imagine ever going back.

I’ve since eased into my new normal, and I love it.

#9. The Stress is Gone

We all hear about stress and how it impacts our health, and so forth. But having lived with it for so long, it was normal to me. I didn’t realize just how much it was impacting me.

Once I retired, I could literally feel the stress melt away. It was that tangible. I was destressing after 28 years of constant pressure.

I was surprised at just how noticeable it was. Something that simply was there for most of my life, is now almost nonexistent.

#10. I’ve Turned Into a Morning Person

There are morning people, and there are night people. I have been a night person my whole life. My ideal world was to stay up until 3 am and get up around noon. Not bad, right?

But I had to go against that grain during my career. Most companies expect you to roll in well before noon, so I was up early every day and I hated it.

I didn’t think I’d sleep to noon every day once I retired, but I did think I’d sack in until at least 9 or 10am.

The big difference now, though, is that life is so much more exciting.

I’m getting up to do things that I want to do. It’s a blast — almost like the night before Christmas. I’m excited about the next day and simply can’t sleep longer.

My kids think I’m crazy (“why do you get up so early?” they ask) but that’s what happens when you are excited about life.

As a bonus, I heard somewhere that getting up early can make you wealthy.

So those are my ten surprises from early retirement!

I’m only nine months in so I’m sure I’ll find many more in the months and years to come, but hopefully I’ve given you a good glimpse into what retirement is like.

If you have any questions I’d be happy to answer them in the comments below.

Otherwise, I’ll see you at the gym on Monday morning at 7 am. :)

10 Things I Didn’t Expect in Early Retirement published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B

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