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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

Note

Can I request HSP + depression reader (who thinks they are just weak and being crybaby) x Bucky, please? I understand you are super busy right now and I didn’t mean to rush you or anything but I'm just struggling with both HSP and depression and couldn’t help but send it right now. No need to hurry, just when you are free and maybe when you had nothing to write. Thank you and I love you!

Thank you for the request, I’m sorry it’s been a difficult time for you! I’m here if you need me and I hope that this helps!!!

It’s called empathy

Bucky x reader

Word count: 1981

Warnings: depression, HSP (highly sensitive person), low self worth, negative self talk, swearing (that’s normal for me but this one’s a little extra), angst (more so internal idk if that needs a warning), fluff/comfort

Taglist: @buckys2thicc @babydaddy-buckybarnes @barnesplums @peggycarter-steverogers @mardema @abitgryffindorky @buckys-blue-eyes @strawberrimae @thatfangirl42 @freigeistundanderes @bucks-bunny @broadwaybabe18 @im-sick-of-failing

Taglist Masterlist

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Breathe in

Breathe out

Out

...in…

You felt a tear escape your eyes

Goddamn it

You didn’t want to cry, you couldn’t let yourself. It was stupid, it was just some shitty remark from someone when they were in a shitty mood, it wasn’t your fault, all that bullshit you tried to tell yourself. It never worked.

You were trying to control your breathing, looking up at the ceiling trying to will the tears away, biting your lip. You would not cry, not over this. Not over something that wasn’t worth your tears

Not when you didn’t even know what exactly you were crying over.

Yet here you were, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink with white knuckles, looking up at the ceiling trying to keep the tears at bay. And it wasn’t working.

Weak sensitive piece of shit.

What good were you to the team if you cry in the bathroom like a baby every time something remotely stressful happens? People usually cry when they're in pain or when they’re grieving - the only excuse you had was you were stressed or sad.

You felt another few tears escape and you angrily swiped them away, cursing yourself for being so weak.

You hated this, you hated yourself. You were so numb most of the time, especially when you were alone. You found yourself alone in your room with racing thoughts feeling like you were falling apart. Yet when you were alone you could only stare at the ceiling wondering if it would get any worse.

The answer was usually yes.

Whenever you would go on missions with the team, you were able to push aside your stress. You had a job to do and you would do it. But when the mission was over and you were walking back through the rubble - seeing all the blood, destruction, fear - then it would start to get to you. You would panic, you would feel tears cloud your vision. Tears for those you were leaving behind, and those who had nowhere to go, those who lost someone. That was understandable.

It seemed to affect you more than the others though. It was understandable to be moved by so much destruction. But for you everyone felt like someone you had known and loved.

You could feel the grief in those left behind, feel the sadness and pain that they were going through.

The same was true when you weren’t on missions. When those who were on them would come back. Whether they were injured or their eyes were saddened - you knew when a mission was rough. You would listen, you would be there for people. It was easy to talk to you, and you were very wise.

But it still overwhelmed you. You couldn’t say no, you didn’t want to. You wanted to help but it would be so emotionally taxing for you. So behind closed doors, you would break. Be there for others, listen when they need to talk, others come first - you took their emotional pain onto yourself.

You were grateful that you could help - but in the process it was hurting you.

You allowed yourself to feel sad when you were alone in your room. No one could see you be weak in the dark of your room. But you never cried much just from the pure exhaustion of your thoughts. Sometimes you wanted to, just feeling so incredibly empty that you just wanted to have an ugly crying session curled up in bed.

But you didn’t get to make that choice.

The crying wouldn’t come until the absolute worst times. If you had messed up on a mission, if Tony said something a little too harshly because to him everything was a joke, seeing something gruesome on a mission- whenever it came to someone else getting involved, the tears would come. Hell sometimes even being overwhelmed in public would be enough to start the waterworks.

You always felt so fucking weak for it. The slightest environmental stressor could stress you out too much and move you to tears. You had no reason to be upset most of the time. But you would get angry at yourself for being upset, which would make you more upset that you couldn’t control it, making it harder to control.

It was a vicious cycle.

Lately it had been popping up more and more recently. Smaller things were upsetting you more than usual. You were becoming more sensitive to external stimuli and as a result, you spent as much time as you could in your room. You were embarrassed by yourself. Both by your emotions and by your inability to control them.

This time you were just upset that you were upset. It had been a long night the day prior, just a lot of paperwork to do. There had been a mission earlier this week that you hadn’t been assigned to, but it had been brutal for everyone who had gone. So far today had been a normal day by anyone’s terms, an emotionally exhausting one for you. One of those where you woke up tired and the thoughts of another day were enough to draw you to tears. Nothing had even happened, but apparently nothing needed to happen.

Your emotions came and went without your consent.

You knew deep down it was probably some sort of emotional build up - that whole quote about bottling things up until they got to be too much - it happened every time but you still thought you could handle yourself better than that. You didn’t want to vent or be a problem to anyone. But when you are the emotional support for most of the team and you haven’t been able to get enough sleep or take time for yourself - you didn’t have much of a say as to when the bottle overflows.

A few more tears fell and you slammed your hand on the counter, wiping your tears angrily once more. “God fucking damn it why can’t you just stop fucking crying!” you exclaimed, feeling a few more tears falling “Weak piece of shit!”

There was knocking on the door, pulling you out of your self deprecating thoughts. You gasped lightly, wiping your face again.

Knock knock

You jumped a little, gasping slightly. No one was supposed to be here, it was the middle of the night.

“Y/n? What’s going on in there? Are you alright?”

You took a shaky breath. Of course it would be Bucky who heard you. Why would it be anyone else?

“I’m fine Bucky, it’s late, you should go to sleep.”

“Then why are you still awake?” Bucky responded. You heard him sigh a little outside the door. “Come out here and tell me you’re okay.”

“Really Bucky?”

“Unless you want me to come in there, but I don’t think Stark would appreciate me breaking your door.”

You took a small breath and walked over to the door, opening it. You crossed your arms and met Bucky’s concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Bucky.”

Bucky sighed, taking in your appearance. Red eyes, flushed face, your hair was messy - you were definitely crying. He hated when you wouldn’t admit that you weren’t ok. “You know you don’t have to be, right?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep fresh tears from clouding your vision. “What?”

“You say you’re fine, you always say that you’re fine until you break. I heard you crying, I can see that you’re not feeling okay yet still you try to keep a brave face. And I just want you to know that you don’t have to always be okay.”

You let out a breath. “I - i…” you looked down and shook your head, lost for words.

“Y/n, I’m not here to judge you. Can you try to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you said looking up at him “It’s literally so stupid, Bucky.”

“Y/n, nothing you say right now is going to sound stupid.

You shrugged your shoulders, still not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t know, I just get so worked up sometimes, but it’s stupid. I tell myself I’m not going to be bothered and then I freak out again. The smallest things bother me and I get stressed out and then I cry like some stupid weak bitch. People have it worse than me, God, you have it worse than me. Everyone here has some sort of traumatic awful thing happen to them and then there’s me and I get sad because I see other people sad,” you were crying again and you wiped at your face, covering your eyes. “God Im so fucking stupid I -”

Bucky pulled you into his chest as you let out a sob. “You’re not stupid, y/n.”

“YES I AM. I get worked up over the smallest shit, I don’t listen when people tell me to take breaks, I take everything too personally and I can’t stop fucking crying when I don’t even know what the fuck is wrong!” you exclaimed, trying to push yourself away, ashamed.

Bucky held you tightly, not letting you go. “That’s not your fault. It’s not up to you how your feelings show up.”

“But I cry at the most stupid shit and I can’t control it.”

“You’re not supposed to know how to control it,” he said, pulling back to look at you. “Emotions can’t be controlled. They just happen and it’s rarely convenient.”

“Then why do I feel so weak? If this,” you gestured to yourself “is so goddamn normal then why isn’t everyone else breaking down every other day?”

Bucky brushed some hair out of your face. “Your emotions are yours, no one else’s. No one has the right to tell you how to feel. Think of it this way - you can’t expect everyone to have the same amount of strength or stamina - no one has the same emotional response either. And that doesn’t make you weak, it makes you you.”

You shook your head. “I just feel so weak all the time.”

“And I’m here to remind you that crying isn’t weak. You are not a weak person, you are not a bad person, you’re not any of those things your mind tells you. You’re a kind and thoughtful person. You put your heart into everything you do. You help everyone you can. Mourning someone else’s loss isn’t weakness. It’s called empathy.”

You took a small breath. “Then why does it hurt so goddamn much?”

“”I don’t know. And I can’t say for certain that you won’t always feel that way. But I know I can tell you that you aren’t weak, and I’ll be here every time you feel that you are.”

You nodded your head slightly. “You don’t think I’m weak?” you asked quietly.

He pulled you back into a hug. “Not in the slightest, y/n.”

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shmegel · 4 years

Text

Stream of Consciousness Texts That I Sent to A Large Grouptext of Friends at 2 AM Again Like The Unhinged Woman I Am: Coronavirus and Chronic Illness Edition

——————-

My dad started talking about giving my brother hope about the school year and going back to school, and I’m realizing that’s probably happening before the vaccine (which will likely come out around January). What the heck am I gonna do? Do I need to move out? Schools are gonna be where this thing spreads. My brother will bring it home, I don’t know what I’m going to do about it?

I wish I were healthy so the prospect of living on my own wouldn’t be so scary. I’m so weak and exhausted, I feel like making three meals a day, doing my own laundry and cleaning, and somehow handling groceries (I guess Shipt and sanitizing them myself) would be too much for me to do alone with my limited energy. And that’s not even taking into account factors like what to do in flares when I’m BEYOND sick like can’t get out of bed, or finding a place safely, or not losing my mind alone. I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about this.

I just want to be healthy, guys.

It’s so upsetting because this could’ve been over months ago if the majority of people took it seriously quickly. If everyone stayed inside for just two frickin weeks we could’ve been fine. But now some of us may have to do it for a year because this stupid country isn’t even compassionate enough to sacrifice two gotdang weeks for the weakest of us. And I’m one of the lucky ones, able to stay in like this for maybe a year! Others just die! I’m frustrated that this is a situation in the first place, and I’m frustrated that I’m sick enough that it still could kill me even months after people have stopped caring. I never asked for this. I’ve done everything I can to be healthy. I spend more time trying to improve my health than any one of you and yet I’m the one still sick at the end of the day with very few improvements. I’m so tired.

I would be tired even without Covid, but this is just highlighting the inequity in disability. It’s highlighting the privilege many have of being able to NOT worry about health, about doing nothing to stay healthy and still having infinitely more energy than someone working hard on health and getting nowhere. God I wish I could be as carefree as those spring breakers hanging out in crowds on the beach for no reason other than they can and they don’t care. I wish I didn’t have to care. I still would, but I wish it wasn’t forced upon me. I hate that even if individuals have basic empathy (which of course many don’t), our system lacks it. This country makes me sick. Literally.

I wish I could just fly to another country with low Covid numbers (one that allows flying in if you obey their mandatory quarantine), quarantine for two weeks, then start over. I’m sick of this country anyway. Unfortunately, that would require me to be in a US airport and in a US airplane, so I can’t even do last resort stuff.

And I doubt anyone has the same level of quarantine we’re doing here- no outside cooked food, just cookable groceries. Thoroughly sanitizing everything that comes in. Not even leaving the house for work or grocery shopping. And most importantly the fact that I’ll be doing it until I’m positive it’s safe, which will probably be until there’s a vaccine.

I guess I’ll just super-quarantine in my own house. Stay six feet away from everyone. Everyone wearing masks at all times. No touching anything that anyone else might touch. I don’t know, it just seems daunting to know that many months from now things will not only have not improved for me, but will have gotten worse. Especially since this whole thing was entirely preventable- I wish Cheeto in Chief had an ounce of compassion. I wish he was punished with the disease- even if he had survived it might’ve taught him it was real and dangerous early on. I wish my life mattered to this country, this system, and to millions of people here. I mean, if you knew someone would die if you didn’t simply stay in your house for two weeks, wouldn’t you do it? I can’t believe that same logic doesn’t apply to lives like mine for so many people.

Anyway, what do I have to look forward to when all this is over? Shopping? Restaurants? Seeing friends maybe once a week? Petty. It’s all petty. I wasn’t working toward anything before this except for health, and that’s not going to be fixed because I can’t even get any blood tests right now, let alone have doctors do any in-person appointments and important checks like MRIs, X-rays, CT scans. Everything put on hold and nothing on the other side. You all have jobs and education and lives outside of the house- I really don’t. I mean, I had a part time job but it’s not like it’s working toward something, and I may have lost it in the pandemic anyway. You have jobs and new houses and apartments and boyfriends and education and children and energy to do pretty much anything you need to do and exciting or productive lives to live. What do I get when I come out of this? Probably just a bunch of cavities to fill because this happened when Sjögren’s Syndrome started melting my teeth and they can’t do much without more tests. I really have nothing to look forward to- that’s part of why this has been easy (I’m not missing much) but it’s also why thinking ahead proves to be just... disturbing. I try to stay positive but my day to day life has felt pointless for a long time, and in the short term that doesn’t matter, but god it’s a terrible thing to confront when I recognize that my only two options in a few months are going to be stay inside and feel sick OR leave my house and feel sick, and either way I don’t get anything done or really work toward anything except feeling ok, which I may never. I may never feel ok! I miss feeling like I have purpose. I still have ambition but it’s undirected because honestly I don’t think I have the energy to do any of the stuff I used to picture myself doing. So I don’t know what I want to happen here. Honestly this virus and my quarantine could go on for years and I would feel the same as I do now. I felt stuck long before the quarantine, because I’m not stuck in this house, I’m stuck in my own weak body.

And I’m sure this is disturbing to read because I’m kinda mildly fine most of the time and optimistic and positive and all that, and I know I blow up probably once a week at this point so maybe it doesn’t even seem that way anymore??? At least I still act that way in person, lucky you guys get to read my terrible rants. But I just want someone to see this, you know? I want someone to know that me being positive isn’t an accident, that it’s hard work against the mountain of garbage being thrown at me mostly by MY OWN BODY. It’s terrible in concept. I’m actually feeling fine right now mentally but I need someone to know the concepts I’m wrestling with: the fact that my worst enemy is me and it’s by no fault of my own. I was dealt a bad hand. Even in the very best of circumstances, without Covid, I’m living a pretty unfulfilling life. Sickness makes it hard enough- to be at higher risk of death or permanent damage in addition to that is just cruel. I just wish I could project this into everyone’s brain so they could understand why it matters so much that people freaking care about each other enough to protect each other from having even more difficult lives- or even deaths. I want to survive!!!! I’m clawing at the walls of suffering until my fingernails bleed!!! I keep it in my head that I’m gonna get out of this pain someday even if that’s not necessarily true!!! All I want is to live and to live well. I just want to live well. I’m happy to live and to survive so it’s gotta get better someday. I just wish the world cared a little bit more. I wish I had something tangible and fulfilling to look forward to. In this moment, I can be happy and read a book or watch TV, but I wish the other type of happiness was a factor in my life again, the sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. Sickness has taken so much from me.

#chronic illness #chronic fatigue #quarantine #sjogrens #lupus #covid 19 #coronavirus #long post #personal

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primedirection · 5 years

Text

Anniversary -Part 2

Post mobbing

It's been two and a half days since the fight and you still haven't spoken to one another, but Harry caves first.

Under simpler and more normal circumstances it was hard enough not being able to speak to you. But this time around the situation bears an immense weight. Because this wasn't just giving him the silent treatment or obnoxiously avoiding rooms he occupied, you actually left. Though once he was alone to stew in his thoughts, he couldn't blame you.

You never asked for this.

On a night that you were meant to be celebrating your love for one another, it was his baggage that intervened. And no matter how much he wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to his following, he couldn't deny that they crossed the line. Mobbing just him was one thing but to do it when he was with loved ones was another.

Harry sent a text concerned about your whereabouts merely an hour after he calmed down. By sunrise he was sick with grief, guilt, and worry. Substantially increasing due to Anne and Gemma also calling to check on you both and informing him of a particularly disturbing video gone viral on all media fronts.

One from your dinner of the girls he was kind enough to take pictures with. As it turns out they had been filming your table for awhile. Adding disgusting commentary of how much they hated you and joking about acts of harm they'd do to you if given the chance. Harry felt disgusted with himself when one of them finally suggests going over to do it and they all get riled enough to agree. Harry genuinely hates himself when hearing them discuss aloud their plan of attack. From this perspective he's able to see just how intense the impact is when you're pointedly elbowed off your chair from behind and then literally walked all over.

Only just to surround him with false praises of adoration and excitement. He feels even more ashamed that he didn't hear or see it before. But he's glad to see those girls get startled when you get back up with a vengeance and curse at them for their barbaric behavior. Teetering on the edge of dignified restraint and justified retaliation. But unfortunately he stepped in and practically dragged you out of the restaurant. The girls laugh to themselves and congratulate each other before the video abruptly ends.

The worst part of it all was that they really pulled the wool over his eyes and succeeded. He really went home and lashed out at you! Didn't even ask if you were okay nonetheless check to see if you physically were alright. He was too focused on their feelings and the backlash you'd get when the story got out to be honest.

The world already ridiculed your relationship enough, as if you didn't deserve him and he didn't want anyone to have any justification to feel that way. But this was just... He fucked up on so many different levels.

After watching the video he called you shamelessly nonstop, leaving voice mails and paragraphs of text messages apologizing. Eventually he stopped, empathy clouded his better judgment and made him realize that you probably just needed time to process everything.

On the opposing end you felt absolutely no urge to engage. Every social media account was overwhelmed with notifications from family, friends, and strangers alike. Gemma and Anne even tried to call but you simply didn't accept them based on the fact that you didn't know what to say or how to explain the situation. You didn't want to lie and say you're fine because honestly you aren't.

If you weren't hurting emotionally or embarrassed before, then watching the accursed video certainly brought on a slew of feelings. Not to mention the physical aspect of the damage.

When the adrenaline completely wore off, the dull pain you thought was bad doubled by tenfold. So excruciating and abnormally painful for just falling down, that you sent yourself to the emergency room. A full day in the waiting room and an x-ray later, you come to find out that your lovely dinner guests gave you a minor spinal fracture. Luckily enough it was just a stable fracture, which meant the best case is wearing a back brace for several weeks and no necessary surgery. Though now the worst case is that and being bed ridden as a safety precaution because the doctor also made the alarming discovery that you are four weeks pregnant.

It was impossible to pretend that you haven't been holed up for the past couple days in your best friend's guest room. Bawling your eyes out from the extravagant self pity party you were throwing yourself. Trying to wrap your head around the whole situation. How were you supposed to face anyone? Especially Harry.

It's on the third day from your split, that you are forced to figure it out because none other than Harry turns up just after your bestie leaves for work. Damn near banging at the door like there was a fire, but that more or less had to with the amount of time you took to answer it. You almost didn't, but the neighbors here were nosy enough and didn't need a show.

With the chain lock still on you barely peek through the crack of the door. Almost immediately he lunges forward, bracing his hands on the door frame trying to get as close to you as possible. It was kind of satisfying to see that he looked as miserable as you felt. In an old ratty T shirt and sweat pants with his hair in extreme disarray. His eyes bloodshot and tinted the same irritated pink as his nose and cheeks. Apparently he'd been crying. "Thank God, are you alright?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Can't get ahold of yeh any way else. I've called I've texted— been worried bloody sick to be honest. Can we talk?" His voice is thicker with more rasp than usual.

You wanted to ask if he had been drinking but thought better of it. "Think you've already said enough."

Harry's heart plunges to his toes so fast he audibly chokes on a sob. Sending his desperation into overdrive, "Y/N please, I jus' wanna explain- five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

You stare back at him for what feels like an eternity, debating whether or not if allowing him in was the right thing to do. Literally and metaphorically. He hurt you in a way that made your physical assault pale in comparison. So you're not entirely sure what possesses you to eventually close the door and remove the locks.

Upon reopening the door Harry's not as aggressive as he was before and instead waits for you to openly invite him inside. Eyes on the ground and hands shoved in his pockets.

It's while you retreat to the living room that he sees the massive cargo covering the majority of your torso. A protective vest of sorts. Although on the areas it doesn't cover on your back. He's able to see dark purpling bruises under the straps of your tank top just above your shoulder blades on each side. It makes him sick to his stomach. "Yeh had to go to the hospital?"

"Yeah, was in a lot of pain after the initial shock wore off. Good thing too because I have a minor spinal fracture," you explain and Harry's face loses all of it's color, ”The doctor said I endured the same impact as being in a car accident. Thankfully though I just need to wear this back brace for awhile."

Guilt consumes him like a flame to a torch, to the point that he almost doesn't want to continue inside any further. Because this was solely his fault and he really didn't even deserve to be in your presence. It felt horribly wrong.

He waits until you're sitting down as comfortably as you can on the sofa to speak, "Love, I can't tell yeh how sorry I am."

At the tone of his voice tears start to brim in your eyes against your will. You blink them away on a deep shaky breath and scoff, "So now I'm your love? I wasn't when I left. I was a crazy lunatic bitch you couldn't take anywhere."

His eyes clench shut at the reminder of his insensitivity, unable to withstand the disappointment in your gaze, "I didn't mean tha'—any of it, I swear. I was just being a dick cos' I knew yeh were right. Jus' didn't want to admit it"

Hearing the words aloud was bittersweet. Truly. Your emotions jumble as such, making some tears fall only to wipe them away furiously. "And what? Now you're here because of that stupid video and suddenly feel sorry for me? Well guess what? I feel humiliated enough, I don't need your pity to—”

"S'not about pity, I was wrong Y/N. So wrong." Harry's jaw clenches as he forces himself to sit across from you. Seeing you like this was out right painful and he didn't know how exactly to deal with it. He expected you to still be upset but in an angry curse him out sort of way, not the puffy eyed and anxious trembling hands type of way. "I figured tha' out long before I saw tha' fucking video. The way I reacted was the worst thing I ever could've done to yeh." He has to take a deep breath to calm the tightening in his chest but his tears come rolling down his cheeks anyway. He wipes them away hastily with the back of his hand though more are quick to replace them.

At the sight of his trembling chin you fold your arms and force yourself look away. The emotions bubbling in your chest and his own brings you to the verge of tears again.

"I was fucking atrocious to yeh and for what? For always looking out for me when no one else does? Or always being there when I need yeh to be? I failed yeh huge Y/N. Your safety should be my biggest priority and I'm the one that compromised it. If they had planned that with weapons you could've been..." He could hardly stand to think about it.

"Worse," You shudder at the thought subconsciously folding your arms over your stomach. "Neither of us knew that would happen."

You're reasoning only guts him more, "There's no excuse. You've been nothing but supportive and accommodating and so incredibly loyal... I took tha' for granted and m' so fucking sorry Y/N. I need yeh to know that. You mean literally everythin' to me, and I can't stand that I mucked this all up."

"You know how much I love you Harry. Even on our worst days but I'm not gonna lie that hurt, that like really hurt me..." Tears completely blur your vision now, and it's becoming more and more futile to talk through the constricting tightness in your throat. You reach up and press tight to your tear ducts in order to make it stop but the sobs start to slip out too. It's almost like not wanting to cry but crying anyway makes you cry even harder.

Harry wants so bad to hold you, to rub your back in comfort or in the very least hold your hand. But he knows better. Instead his fingers dig uncomfortably into his thighs, "Fuck, I know Y/N. I know."

You take a sharp breath to speak through the pain, "And I know how much the fans mean to you. Hell I love em too, they make me feel like I'm one of them! I'd never want to turn you against them or make you feel like you have to choose between us. All I wanted is for you to know when to draw the line sometimes, not just for me but for yourself. You give so much to people and I can't stand it when it's taken advantage of."

Harry shakes his head, choked up all over again hating the fact that this was supposed to be about you and here you are still defending him. He'd be a plum fool to lose you. His best friend, lover, defender, and supporter all wrapped into one. No one ever has and never would compare. "I'm so sorry love,"

"So you've said," You retort sniffling, a little annoyed that that's all he's got to say for himself.

"Well I genuinely mean it, you're so strong sometimes I forget that you might need me." His fingers rake anxiously through his hair, "Obviously I don't deserve yeh but I can't lose yeh either Y/N. Tell me what yeh need and I promise whatever it is I'll do it—whatever it takes."

He made it sound so easy but that's not the world you live in. "How am supposed to trust you won't do that again Harry?" You cry despite your attempts to remain stoic, "You're supposed to be the one I can lean on for anything and after that I honestly don't know if I can..."

He knows that you have every right to feel the way you do, but the needy and selfish part of him doesn't understand your resistance. He's apologized and currently begging for your forgiveness and yet he still can't seem to get through to you. He's beginning to feel hopeless. "I know words can't fix everything, but please just give me a chance to prove it to you. I'm upping security, I've filed restraining orders, and consider the charges pressed! I swear to God I'll-"

"I'm pregnant." You blurt out.

You didn't think it was possible but the tension in the room intensifies. Silence takes over and it's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It makes the flutter of butterflies from high strung nerves in your belly feel like earthquakes. Also doesn't help that Harry's expression changes a minimum of three times in a matter of seconds. Confused to surprised to tormented to incredulous to sad to confused again and finally to an emotion that you can't even place. Apparently unsure he heard you correctly, "What?"

You bite your lip nervously, "I said I'm pregnant. Four weeks. Found out when I went to the doctor,"

He swallows so hard it's audible, staring directly at you and yet his gaze is distant. Somewhere else completely until he blinks and the water works start flowing again. "Can I?" He asks no louder than a whisper reaching out for you with trembling hands and grabs yours in his before you can even answer.

Bringing the back of them to his lips repeatedly somehow steadies his nerves. Because within he was raging. One of the most significant moments in both of your lives had been robbed of happiness and tainted with strife because of his baggage. The way you responded earlier suddenly makes total sense now and once again he couldn't blame you. He utterly refused to be robbed of another again.

Harry presses a hard kiss one last time before dropping your hands to shift closer to you. Close enough to cup your cheeks lovingly, since he doesn't trust himself enough to wrap his arms around you without causing pain. "I don't expect you to accept it or forgive me overnight. I understand that I really hurt you and that's just not realistic. But I am sorry Y/N. I'll spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to make it up to you—both of you. If you'll have me?"

In that moment all you register is burning. The burning in your eyes that make your tears pour down, the burning in your chest and throat as the heavy sobs rack through you, and the burning flush of your skin from being so overwhelmed with emotions. Because he was right, it wasn't going to magically fix everything but for right now it was enough. He seemed really genuine and sincere in his remorse and that was a good place to start.

You ultimately nod quickly and as best as you can without putting too much strain on your back, lean in to bury your face into the comfort of his neck. Confessing sheepishly, "I'm scared Harry,"

He can't squeeze you back as tight as you both want but there's still the same amount of comfort when he cradles the back of your head, "Shouldn't be. Cos' m' certainly never going anywhere and neither are you if I have anything to say about it."

Now that the threat of you leaving was somewhat gone he found it difficult to be scared of much else. With you he felt truly invincible. His grin even became shit eating at the thought of finally unveiling the ridiculously carrot studded ring currently hidden in his sock drawer. "Thank you for this by the way, s'best gift I could've ever imagined... Well opposed to mine but you'll get it when we get home."

You want badly to laugh at that and smile even because you are indeed relieved but you can't stop crying. Clutching onto his sides for dear life since they are the best you could reach. "I need you Harry, now more than ever. You understand that right?"

His chest rumbles with a hum before he pulls back to kiss you firmly on the forehead, "Won't let yeh down lovie, I promise."

AN: Hopefully this lived up to expectations idk send me your thoughts. I want all the smoke lol Xx.

#Harry styles angst #Harry styles imagines #Harry x reader #Harry styles #one direction imagines #Harry Styles one shot #One direction one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #all me #I write I guess

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kblogsuniverse-blog · 5 years

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Education?

As a child life is good. No stressed, problems or life changing choices to be made. You go to school, study English, Maths, Topic and Music and once you have finished your day you go home to either play outside or stay inside. Same old every day. No bills, exams or jobs.

The moment you move in to year 9 it all changes, school enters a stressful time to prepare for your exams which do not start for 3 years, if you don’t have high target grades you are moved to the bottom of the pile and only “smart” students are given the full 100% package deal. I have never personally been a particularly academic subject; I excel in subjects like catering or design tech and this really did show on my Grade sheet. I came out with a 5 in maths, 5:5 in science and a 6 in catering. I straight away felt so down or even depressed as I thought I did well in my exams but now I must live the rest of my life with these failed subjects.

I did study and work hard during my exams but me and many other students let ourselves down at exams and do not have the confidence to show our full potential in exams. I personally struggle with exam stress. I know the answers and I know I do, but the moment I get into my exam my brain turns off. I am by no means stupid but because the numbers on the sheet don’t show it, I must struggle my way to do what I would like to do.

September came and I started in my local sixth form college, I already got denied entry into my preferred subjects so had to settle with Health and Social, Food, Science and nutrition and Geography which all were Btec subjects. I did what I had to do to get through the school day, I turned up to my lessons, volunteered my answers and remembered the information I was expected to regurgitate into my exams. I would then go home, do my homework and work on my coursework which involved a lot of reading studies and reports to complete.

By November I was in a terrible place with my mental health, I was doing well in my subjects, but it was not what I wanted to do, and I really hated going in to sixth form every day. I decided to drop out of sixth form and got a job in a local pub as a pot wash working at a rate of £4.20 an hour. I managed to get myself a place on an apprenticeship in mechanical engineering. I was really enjoying the studying and I was very happy to go home and research about what I had learned in my class. The tutors were great, the learning style worked with me and I looked forward to starting work after completing my level 1 NVQ. I was the first student in my intake to secure myself a job, it was in a small local press shop where the boss was willing to teach me how to use a new machine in the workshop that nobody else had been educated on. I was so excited to start until it came to my start date. I rolled out of bed an hour before I had to leave, showered ate some food and changed into my uniform. The day was great so far and I was looking forward to starting my lifetime profession. After I travelled for 45 minutes to get to work for my first day, I was greeted at the door with a surprised look, I gave one back and at this point I was utterly confused. After talking with my boss, he was waiting for my college to sort out some paperwork so I could not start yet. I went home confused and upset about how this had happened, especially considering I was the first to secure myself a place.

College did not contact me so I phoned up my tutor asking what was happening and she said that the paperwork had not been signed and I would have to start elsewhere. This was the first time in my apprenticeship I had felt down. Luckily college managed to secure me a place after a month of being behind my class in a different firm, which for the first month went well. During the month I was traveling around the UK installing air handling units. On the 24th of April while working locally I became ill and struggled to do the work as I got an infection but left it thinking it would sort itself out. I had to go to the doctors and when I went there, I got the appropriate antibiotics and was given a 10-day sick note. I was upset about not being able to get into work, but I phoned my boss and told him I was sick, had an infection and have been given a sick note. At this time college changed my day release from a Friday to a Tuesday so I was already employed the skin of my teeth as it was no longer effective or helpful having me leaving a job mid-week to go to college and I later got fired. Both the college and my mum were going on at me about tying to find other engineering employment but at this point I decided to focus on my own mental health and had to leave the college after 4 full months.

This is when the real stress started. Straight away I started seeking employment but everywhere was turning me down. I had to start paying rent at hone as my single mother was no longer getting benefits for me and the amount that was being asked, I would have to work stupid hours to cover on a wage of £4.20. I really started to struggle to do anything as I had so much money that was owed to everything, but I did not have a job. I also wanted to drive now and was also looking at going out during the summer. Currently I am starting plumbing in college in September. I know I will succeed and enjoy it as I have fixed bits around my mother’s house and enjoyed doing it. Still looking for a job and looking to work 2 jobs until September to keep on top of money.

I did not write this for empathy or your condolence, I wrote this to get my thoughts and feelings off my chest. I personally do not believe a student should be judged or compared to other students based on their GCSE grades, but should actually be judged based on their skills with people, or their ability to grasp new concepts or even someone’s eagerness to learn and excel in what they choose to do. When I do manage to work myself into the position of becoming an employer I will make sure that all of my staff are not judged by their grades at GCSE when they were 16 years old, but instead by their ability in the field of work they want to do. I would never turn down a job interview because someone hasn’t got 5 GCSE as I would always think about maybe they come from a disadvantaged family or area, poverty levels in the UK are higher than ever.

I also believe that even if a student does decide to leave their current education to put their own mental health first the person should be supported in this and offered support to find a new educational institute. No student should be willing to put themselves in a bad way to succeed in life. I personally am skilled in handyman jobs and have not struggled to do one yet. With 0 experience I have managed to build and design a decked area in my mother’s garden, change the whole water toilet water system to copper pipes and changed a shower to copper pipe with 0 experience. Grades are not the thing of the future but just a mark of the past. In the future students will be employed on their skills, creativity and ethics. I by far would rather employ someone who can complete a task over someone who has been taught to regurgitate information into an exam.

If anybody does take the time out of their day to ready this,

Thank you and I hope you succeed and become whatever you would like to in life. Always put your own mental health before anything and make sure you never let your grades get to you.

#blog #education #mental health awareness

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andcallalilies · 7 years

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even though, health wise, I haven’t been feeling all that great for sometime (stupid not being able to get my autoimmune meds until next June) there is one thing that I can breathe about. My doctor and I are doing everything we can to avoid major surgery right now and preserve my cervix since it’s taken a hella beating the past year and half from all the biopsies and procedures. She took a ton of biopsies my past visit. Luckily, the precancerous cells have hit a stalemate and they’re the same they were in April at my last biopsy from the previous doctor. Who I liked, generally speaking, but I just didn’t feel comfortable with having major surgery to hack at my cervix. Something felt off. And I’m glad I listened to my gut.

They more or less explained what was going on all wrong. Inside my cervix is okay enough to not merit invasive surgery. It’s the outer cervix that’s jacked. The doctors at the cancer center made assumptions on the condition of the cells, instead of doing actual tests. They assumed that since the cells on the border of my cervix were low grade and the cells near the opening of my cervix were high grade, that that meant in the cervical canal had high grade cells, too. And I needed to undergo major surgery on my cervix to remove them. Wrong.

There are cells inside my cervical canal, yes. But, not the kind that would merit the surgery the doctors at the cancer center wanted to do. My new doctor took so many biopsies and did a scraping of the inside of my cervical canal (an ECC) which confirmed exactly where the cells were, how they were progressing and what the next action is.

She spent an hour and drew diagrams, explained everything to me, went into more educational detail than they did at the cancer center. She took into consideration my age, my autoimmune disorders, etc and believes that doing the surgery was currently unnecessary, overkill, and could be more damaging than good at this point. That recovery for me would be long and painful and I’d take forever to heal due to the autoimmune disorders. And basically, that she feels it’s best to avoid that surgery until a true merit for it comes about. Other procedures and less invasive surgeries are planned, which I’m okay with.

HELL, I love this doctor. She knows so much about Sjogren’s and lupus. She also knows—and this something not even the doctors at the cancer center knew—that people with autoimmune disorders should not ever be put on hormonal birth control. Due to the high clotting probability of birth control, and people with autoimmune disorders can have a clotting factor. Which no one has tested me for. Not all people with lupus have it, but it’s fairly common. So, birth control is just totally off the table for me to help my periods and possible PCOS. So, we’re gonna work on that after my next procedure.

She literally compared all the results from all the procedures and biopsies I’ve had. She explained what each doctor did wrong and how it could be better handled without compromising my health. She even took into account the fact that I can’t get in to see the new rheumatologist until June 2018 and I’ll be without my autoimmune medication for some time and my health will be declining a lot in that period. So will my ability to handle major surgery. She explained that—and I already knew this—stress can impede the healing process, add on top of that the fact my body heals so slow due to the autoimmune stuff. She knows I’m stressed about the rheumatologist thing and she knows I’m stressed due to the harassment and stalking thing from the sociopath and minions. So, due to all those contributing factors, major surgery is just off the table until it calls for it.

Come to find out, they didn’t even do an ECC at the cancer center. Which is partially why I didn’t have hysterical pain after that visit. The fact that they didn’t do an ECC and still came to the conclusion to give me major surgery is, in my opinion, gross negligence. They wanted to give me invasive surgery without running the proper tests to merit it. And my gut was 100% right. While some people may not believe in “gut feelings”, I do. And they’ve never been wrong before.

I had a gut feeling about the surgery. I had a gut feeling about people (a whole established family) moving in with my ex and I for longer than a week or two. Even though they were my friends, I also knew them. And I knew it wouldn’t work. And I voiced that to everyone prior. That I would just hang back at my mom’s for the week or two in May they were SUPPOSE to be there. But, they pressured me and convinced me of otherwise. Which was a major red flag that they had no intention of living up to the agreement and they were gonna push themselves in for the long haul. Which was confirmed when one of them just announced one day they were staying until the end of July. Without discussion. Which just set off so many alarms, that I decided to go chill at my mom’s house. Between the clutter and the drugs, I was already uneasy, but after that announcement, I knew my home was being commandeered. So, I told my ex I was going back to my mom’s until they were gone. Which upset him. A lot. He legitimately didn’t want me to leave. But, he also didn’t have the capacity to stand up for himself, his partner and his home and ask guests to leave. Which is kind of sad, but I get it. Telling people no is hard. Especially when you care about them. And that’s who he is, a legitimately caring person. That is a pushover because of that. And lashes out at the wrong people because of his frustrations. Or doesn’t go about the proper way of acknowledging these frustrations and remedying them. It’s a pattern he himself clued me in on over the course of our relationship and things his mother discussed with me. Which sucks, but. You can’t help someone until they wanna be helped. Shrug. I just hope he knows I love him and I’m rooting for him, as I always have, and that no matter what, I’m here.

But, I got off track—the announcement of staying WAY longer than initially agreed on confirmed my gut feeling of uneasiness. And I told my ex that the next day I wanted to go to my mom’s until they were out. He was reluctant and upset but couldn’t keep me from going. And due to that, the sociopath, instead of taking their perceived “win”, decided they just had to “win” a bit harder. And that night, went completely unhinged on me. Attempted to assault me. Assaulted my dog. My therapist said that this behavior was because me going back to my mom’s until they acquired their own place and moved wasn’t enough. They had no intentions of moving from the history of their plans to move and the way they’ve never actually had their own apartment except for a few months some years ago. They’ve lived with family or taken over family homes, etc. They had no intention of leaving, not even when they said they would after they declared they were staying for two more months. That action, and the actions following that outburst, was calculated. It was a deliberate course of actions to ensure my home was no longer my home. A display of “dominance and control”. Which, I never really thought about. I knew this person was manipulative and controlling, but I figured their outbursts were more uncontrollable due to their mental illness(es). Which is something my therapist and my psychiatrist said was a wrong step on my end. I tried to empathically relate to someone who has showed no remorse, feeling or inclination of empathy or emotion. Basically, as an empathic person, I tried to relate to someone who has no conscience. A sociopath. And they told me on several times they were a sociopath. And from sharing my experiences, my knowledge and text conversations with both my therapist and my psychiatrist, they both tend to agree with this person’s (self?) diagnosis (I question self because at one point they did tell me their own psychiatrist diagnosed them as a sociopath. But, sociopaths lie, so it’s possible that never happened. Who knows.)

All I know is my progress in battling the PTSD is going well. And my doctors, all of them, have been helping so much. They’ve all helped me to understand better what happened. Helped me understand even better how the mind of a sociopath works. And how my kindness played into being targeted. And how, due to offering my home up for a crashing point, even temporarily, was the in the sociopath was looking for. And was exactly the moment their plan came into play. They played off my love and concern and I fell right into it.

Ah, well. Ya live, ya learn. And while I do love and miss my ex. While I did try everything to push that love out of my heart and look for other outlets to place those feelings—which was misguided and wrong on my end, and thankfully my therapist pointed out my behavior and I did my best to correct it. While I still firmly know my proverbial heart is with him and that it’s tearing me up inside this is what we came to, when not even two days prior, we were on track and still planning our future, etc… I put my foot down to the treatment of me and the family he and I created. I just didn’t have the forethought to see how it would play out or anticipate the further actions. I made the choice to get out of a bad and dangerous situation with dangerous people.

So, it doesn’t matter that he was the first person I ever saw a future with. It doesn’t matter that I’m still undeniably in love with him. None of that is in my control. I just gotta ride it out. And I am. I’m distracting myself with my education and my business plan. I’ve found and curated a plan for two things I can do while being sick.

Which leads me to another point. Just because I’m sick and I do spend a lot of time stuck in pain and sickness and in bed, I don’t see myself as “disabled”. And maybe that’s a bias I have from having a truly physically disabled brother with a disease much worse than my own. He’s been disabled his whole entire life. Bound to a wheelchair by age 8. So, I gotta put my autoimmune disorders and the cancerous stuff into perspective. I have a rough time, but he has and has had it tougher than I ever have or ever will have. And he still keeps faith, strength and drive to thrive, despite his condition. If he can do that with what cards he was dealt, I can too. And even though he’s had decades to get to the mental point that he’s at, I look to him and see inspiration. I look to him and see just how strong and capable the human psyche can be. And it brings me to tears sometimes. I’m not gonna wallow in the autoimmune stuff or let it beat me down. I’m going to do everything I can to work with it and despite it. My dreams aren’t totally impossible because I’m sick. They just take some finagling to work in tandem with my goals.

So, I don’t consider myself disabled. I consider myself challenged. And that mindset is something I’ve come to on my own. And my doctors are pretty stoked and proud of that. It also helps that I’m not surrounded by people who pity me. Who think I should just lie down and accept I’m sick. Or someone who has one of the same diseases I have and continually tried to influence me and how I should handle my conditions. They may want to just merely get by and look for a way to milk it, but I don’t. I want to be something. I want to create and inspire and help others. We’re only given one life, and to be completely defeated by what is wrong is just… not who I am. Yeah, it takes me some time to process bad shit and get back on my feet, but as my therapist said: it’s because I care so much and take things to my heart so hard. But, here I am. I’ve bounced back. Tenfold. As I always do.

It helps that I’ve been spending more and more time with people who lift me up. Who don’t treat me with kid gloves or delicate hands. My girlfriends cheer me on and push me, while still knowing the limits and respecting me when I say I “just can’t right now”. And, strangely enough, a guy I was kinda seeing for a month or two actually pushed me really hard. He didn’t accept my defeatism. I’d say I couldn’t do something, and he’d just give me this look and say, “come on. You can.” And he’d help me. He’s a good kid, but so not anyone I’d want to be with. And that was an experience in my life I really am thankful for. And I got a really awesome friend out of it. Which was something I rarely do. I rarely remain friends with people who I’ve been involved with. But, there’s 3. And they’re all so important to me.

So, yeah. Looooong post is long. And I’m working through it all. Documenting these feelings are important. My therapist recommended journaling all my thoughts. The good and the bad. The sadness and the happiness. And constantly reviewing them. And tell ya what, it’s really helped.

Sooooo. I’m going to hit the sack. I got some studying and work to do tomorrow. Good night.

#personal

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astrawberryteacup · 5 years

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My fish died

I just wanted to the best I could and I made a mistake. It should be noted that I’ve been really depressed lately and have really struggled with getting out of bed. Five (my fish) helped with that. So obviously I was VERY upset when I discovered he died. I was quickly trying to clean up everything and not cry, My dad was all yeah you did this wrong which like if someones clearly upset why would you keep harping on it? I know I fucked up stop telling me and stop saying it’s just a fish when I’m clearly fucking upset about it!!!!!

So clean up everything and I’m sitting in my room sobbing my dad at least comes in to talk to me and say ‘we’ know you didn’t do it on purpose it’s okay. Though he did refer to me being upset as throwing a tantrum but that’s besides the point.

I’m calming down it’s fine. Then I hear my stepmother saying I told her so. AND HONESTLY FUCK OFF FUCK OFF!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m CLEARLY UPSET LITERALLY CRYING and THAT IS YOUR RESPONSE. Then I point out like hey that’s kind of not cool I already feel bad?? Like wtf does she want me say “oh wow ur so smart thank you for being better then me god bless” ???

Then of course my dad gets pissed “ you’re the reason I can’t quit smoking” tells my stepmother what I said she gets pissed stomps around angrily eats does whatever the fuck else.

So I’m like y’know what no. I am allowed to be upset. I am allowed to point out that harping on it and making it seem like I’m shitty for pointing out that I deserve a little fucking empathy is NOT okay. Especially from a person who tried telling ME I had no empathy simply because I said “I’m sorry that your upset. I wish I could help but I can’t fully understand it because it doesn’t make sense to me.” ONCE Like apparently being considerate only works one way.

I go outside because I’m done listening to her stomp around and only go back in when I know I can be calm because I’m really trying to not be shitty just cause I’m upset.

I apologize for being “over dramatic” and stressing everyone out. She just goes “your fine” in the most dismissive way ever.

And you know what? No I wasn’t being over dramatic. I’m allowed to be as upset about it AS I FUCKING WANT TO! I was crying alone and would have continued crying alone and wiped my eyes been depressed about it for as long as I was and moved the fuck on. I’m an adult I’ve been doing it way before I was an adult. Am I fucked up emotionally? Yes. Is that anybody's problem but mine? Absolutely not. I didn’t ask for people to get involved. BUT guess what else I AM ALLOWED TO POINT OUT WHEN SOMEBODY UPSETS ME AND MAKES ME FEEL WORSE. And if that causes extra drama because they don’t like it??? Not my fault.

Her response was like “oh well I told her and she still did it’s her fault let’s make it worse! I don’t need to even say anything bc who cares you did it!!!! lololol.”

Anyway I had a bad night. I’m sick of being treated like a shitty person for showing emotions and asking to be treated nicely. Then when I get frustrated and respond because of that I am the bad person. All I said was I wanted to be upset and I wanted it to stop being brought up.

Not to mention also felt bad because SHE bought the fish and fish things. So like waste of her money!!! lol I felt bad for someone for no reason though I guess....

#Fish #emotional dump #death tw #ALSO APPARENTLY she's sick of me being 'rude' about it #MAYBE THAT'S MY RESPONSE BC OF HOW YOU!!! TREAT!!!! ME!!!!!

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pisati · 5 years

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my mom’s moods are something I’ve had to deal with my whole life. I don’t know that they’ve ever been that extreme, but they’re definitely the main reason I’m not comfortable talking to her and never have been.

I’ve seen those posts going around that say things like “if you make them uncomfortable coming to you for the little things, they’ll never come to you for the big things”, and that sentiment hits pretty hard. I’ve learned to choose my words carefully with her. even so, it was always hard to predict what she’d blow up about. I remember even in high school, writing that talking to my mom felt like walking in a minefield. I never knew what misstep I’d make, but inevitably I’d make one. not to mention she’d flip around over the littlest things and I never knew what she’d change her mind on. just a few months ago I told her, cautiously, that I’d wanted to try a keto diet to see how carbs affected my health. but I have no energy to make food. I asked if she could help me. she sounded almost excited about it, maybe she’d try it a little with me. she asked me a few times after that how my diet was going; I said I hadn’t started yet. I still just don’t have the energy to cook, and almost everything keto has to be prepped. I asked again if she could help me, she said no. just. flat-out no. uh, what?

I’ve always been sensitive and she knows that. she fucking knows. but when I clam up she gets even more mad. always has. since high school whenever she’d start shit with me and I didn’t feel like dealing with it or fighting back, I’d just get up and walk away. I’d get yelled at for “walking away from my problems”. yelled at for daring to vent by going up the stairs louder than usual, slamming my door. she still doesn’t understand that when I close myself off like that, it’s not avoiding my problems. it’s avoiding her. most of the time when I’d go to talk to her she’d get annoyed or snippy at me over something irrelevant, and I’d clam up.

I’ve also always had some weird behavioral things that I’ve had to work really hard to get myself through, but I still revert to that sometimes when I’m around her. it’s weird for me to show her I’ve changed. she’s told me many times how I was so hard on her. because I was shy and didn’t like attention and had social anxiety. she’d try to force me into this ‘normal kid’ mold and got mad when I didn’t fit. a year or two ago she was looking through old pictures and got this annoyed look on her face; I wasn’t looking at the pictures, so I asked what it was. she said it was from my 4th or 5th birthday party; we’d had my birthday party at one of those places like Chuck E Cheese, and I couldn’t handle it when it came time to sing Happy Birthday. now. by this point. my mom knew me well enough to know that I hated attention like that. I’m sure this was already after the time my kindergarten class performed a little song we learned in front of all our parents and I froze up entirely and had to get walked to the side by my teacher because I started crying. yet, still, we had to do the birthday thing. instead of maybe just not singing a stupid song that I couldn’t have given less of a shit about at the age of 5, my mom elected to have everyone do it anyway, and took pictures of me covering my face and crying. but it was my fault I was so miserable, of course. I was so hard on her.

but I’ve been wondering if her being so snippy and flip-floppy has affected my relationships with other people. I don’t think I’m as cautious with other people as I am with her, but I do have a similar lingering fear that one little thing I do will flip a switch. it’s not as overt as it is with my mom, but I feel like it’s there nonetheless. I think I’ve even been a little surprised when other people accept my ‘no’s. mom never really did. she’d pull me by the arm into pictures and then get upset when I looked miserable, but she knew I hated being in pictures. she’d sneak pictures of me when she thought I couldn’t see, and get upset at me when I got upset about it. she tried to physically force me out of my room once when she wanted to go somewhere with me and my brother and I didn’t want to go. she’d tell me I was the one making a scene, when all I did was say no. I don’t trust her with much. I don’t tell her anything about myself that I don’t think is safe for her to know; things she can’t hold over my head or turn against me somehow. and I used to wonder why I’d think can you be my mom? when an older woman was nice or caring towards me.

not to say my mom doesn’t try. she’s given me everything and then some. but... ya know? some people really want kids and still shouldn’t have them. she didn’t want a kid like me, she wanted a kid like my brother. I honestly don’t think she’d even like me if I weren’t her daughter. she’ll say she doesn’t pick favorites, but it’s obvious. I was so hard on her and my brother was such an easy, easygoing kid. she never laid her hands on him.

I don’t think I’d be like her, if I were a parent. at least I learned empathy. maybe my patience wears thin sometimes, but I’d prefer to talk it out than escalate it by yelling. especially if I knew my kid were sensitive. like, jesus.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the summer I got so sick and she lost her patience with me. I didn’t know what was wrong. all I knew was that I was nauseous and in pain and my emetophobia was acting up on top of my already-crippling anxiety, and it wouldn’t let up. I went to her crying once because I was in a horrific hours-long anxiety spiral that wouldn’t stop because I couldn’t just magically stop feeling sick. and for a few minutes she let me curl up on the bed next to her and she rubbed my back. but then when I didn’t stop crying she snapped at me. “you gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself”. I got up and left; staggered back to my room (because I hadn’t been able to eat; I was so weak), and she followed me. tried to force me to eat. we’d gone to a radiology center to get an abdominal CT, because I was in so much pain, but they gave me a ton of barium crap (maybe 32oz?) to drink in the space of about 30 minutes and I couldn’t do it. firstly it was flavored like vanilla milkshake and about the same consistency, which I wouldn’t touch even if I weren’t feeling like barfing, but secondly I was just in so much pain and I had hardly eaten anything in weeks. I was so scared I’d puke it up. mom started snapping at me, telling me I was wasting the doctors’ time and her time, because she had to take off work to take me there. eventually she grabbed the nurse after I’d started crying saying I just couldn’t do it; I barely got half of it down. they said it was fine. my scan came back fine. I had to practically beg her to take me to the ER after my results came back. I was so weak it took me a full minute to get down the stairs; holding on to the rail and the wall. I’d never been that afraid my legs would give out under me. I couldn’t even drink water at that point. she told me no at first, because my dad took my brother to the hospital once when he ate too much and he was fine, and then she had the ER bill for that to pay off. key difference, though, was that I couldn’t eat and I was actively dying. eventually I convinced her to take me. the following day, after she got home from work. I waited all day, dragged myself downstairs when she got home, slumped over the kitchen island because I couldn’t sit up, and she took her time looking through the mail and eating a slice of deli meat. after the whole hospital ordeal, when we learned that I just had a really fucking weirdly-manifested UTI, I had to put my clothes back on since they had me in a hospital gown. I told mom not to look, but then as I was pulling my shirt down I heard “you’re just so pretty!” I glared at her. “I couldn’t help it! you’re beautiful!” I had lost 40lbs and was probably near death, but thanks for that. pity me when I was gaining, right? then she told me she had tennis that night, and she just couldn’t cancel, because it was a USTA thing and they don’t have subs, so it would be inconveniencing everyone else, even if her daughter was just in the hospital. she left and I had to sit in the waiting area with my discharge papers, alone, until my brother could come pick me up.

but to this day she’ll still tell everyone how awful it was. poor girl. I was so sick.

fuckin hell, man.

no wonder I’m like this.

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fallen029 · 7 years

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He watches me.

That’s his thing. Watching me. Waiting for me. Feeling for me. Because I hardly ever feel good anymore, leaving the emotion as one for him to handle. He does well enough with it, but sometimes, the longer this has all gone on, it seems hard for even him to muster up happiness.

I just lay there though, on my stomach, stretched cross my bed so my head is near the end, eyes on his as he lies on his stomach as well though he’s on the floor, head between his paws, just staring. His tail had wagged at me, when I first opened my eyes, but when it got no response, he followed my suit of silence and just laid there.

It reminds me, in a weird way, of that blinking game, from when we were kids. Where whoever blinked first lost. Only, rather, he and I were playing more of a staring game and the first to look off didn’t necessarily lose as, inevitably, it would be him and my eyes would still be waiting for his to fall on once more when whatever caused him to look away stopped being such a distraction.

I should do some work. That’s what pops into my head. I have to get something done and soon or my ass is dead at work, but…

Dunno where I heard it, seems like just one of those things I’ve always known, but I’m not too sure you’re supposed to look a dog straight in the eyes. Something about an aggressive trigger or something. A dominance thing? I consider this as dimly as I consider my work before letting both flutter from my mind, emptying it once more.

It’s not like something was upsetting me. That someone that was bothering me. I wasn’t holding anything in. I was just…

People were starting to worry about me. My sister especially. She came by the apartment the other day, to check on me, when I didn’t answer her calls. She seemed to relieved when, after I didn’t answer the door, she found me inside after using her own key to get in. And my father called to bitch at me, the other day, about how flaky I’ve been recently and how I need to get my shit together and don’t I know any better than to act this way?

But that was the thing. I wasn’t acting any way. Not that I felt, anyways. It was almost as if one day I just woke up and it hit me; I’m fucking dead.

We’re all fucking dead.

And even if I make the deadline at work or if I don’t, at the end, my body still ends up beneath the earth.

It made me laugh, I think, the first time I thought of this. When I woke up. I was making coffee and had the news on in the background and my dog was whining, about having to go out, and I just…

Does no one else know this?

That’s what it feels like. They keep asking me what’s up, the people at work, because I’ve been turning shit in late and the boss is on my case and my friends outside of that place are still calling and texting, but why should I answer back?

What difference does it make?

What difference does any of it make?

Once, in high school, I had to do a whole project on depression. This big poster board, I made, with a partner, about all sorts of stupid facts and shit and I still remember a lot of it, because we had to give a report along with it and I memorized it and some of it’s still up there, in my brain, rattling around.

But no, I honestly don’t feel like that’s what I am. At all.

I’m…

I don’t wanna say that I feel above everyone else. Because I don’t. I just feel above...this. All of this. Like, if I’m only going to die, what should it matter to me when it is? If my time is limited, why should I spend it doing other things beside what I want?

Selfish. Maybe that’s what I’m becoming? But I don’t feel so.

Everyone always says that we’re working for the better of the world. Of everybody. I think the point is that it’s important for me to go into work and contribute to society because it affects others. Even others I don’t know. And somewhere down the line, yes, we all will be gone, but what about the others that come after us? Do we not want to keep the world headed in a correct path for them?

Maybe that’s what I’m missing. Somewhere in my sleep, somehow, someway, someone broke in and stole my empathy. Sympathy? Or did they just fill me with apathy?

Because, honestly, I could give less than a shit about literally everyone around me recently.

If I don’t turn in my work, it screws things up for the others at work. It ruins the business. If that closes, then people lose their jobs. And their kids starve. Because they lost their job. Because the business crumbled. Because I, and anyone who felt like me, held it back by not caring what happened to it.

That’s bad.

Right?

But what if it’s not?

If the kids starve to death, what difference would it be if they died thirty, forty, fifty years down the line? That the kids they might have had, the other people they might have somehow helped, the diseases they found the cures to, none of that happens.

But...if the kids they might have had will die anyways, the people they would have saved would as well, and the without one disease others will still die, what’s the point?

Is it just experience? Are we just pushing along for the experience of it?

My dog just exists.

I mean, yeah, he probably has wants and desires, albeit primitive, they’re still there. But so what? He could chase as many cars, bark at as many strangers, and howl at as many full moons as he wants; in the end, I’m still taking his carcus to the vet and just leaving it there.

Why did we go through the whole thing?

Was it for my benefit? Because fine, I like him. I like him a lot. But would I have not continued had he never entered my life? And even if I didn’t, aren’t I slated for death eventually anyways?

If we all end up in the ground, what are we pushing for? The eventual discovery of some sort of Fountain of Youth serum that gives us eternal life?

Because if I’m living for that, fuck it; I don’t give a shit if my great-great-great-great-great-great nephew gets to live forever if I’m in the fucking ground.

Is that selfish?

And if that was the point, to live forever, then what would be the point following that? Right? So they live forever. Great. Now what? What do you work towards?

Nothing.

And if the answer to my answer is nothing, don’t I ultimately also have nothing?

So if we’re here for absolutely no reason at all, then why the fuck should I get out of bed? Why should I give my dog food? Why should I feed myself? Because my stomach growls and I’ll die without it? I’m already dead.

We’re all already dead.

It doesn’t matter if it’s predestination or freewill; in the end you all die. So why should we give damn what happens in the interim?

Is it for the feelings that you get? The happiness? The love? That stupid shit that’s shoveled down our throats since we’re kids to make us believe there’s something higher calling us, but really only, like, a tenth of us because if we were all actually special then none of us would truly be?

Is that it that?

I’m not saying that I want to hurt somebody. Or hurt somebody else. But if I said this aloud, to anyone, I’m afraid that it’ll come off that way.

But…

If it doesn’t matter and we’re all going to die in the end anyways, if we’re all already dead, then why do we keep going?

My brother’s pissed at me. I know that he is. But my sister told him to leave me alone. I think he and my father think this is all over some guy or something. That I skipped my nephew’s boyfriend to get drunk or wallow, but it’s not that.

I really just didn’t give a shit about going.

Since that day when I woke up and just laughed because it’s all fake and stupid and...I just can’t. I push into work and to the store to buy food or stuff for my dog, but short of that, all I’ve wanted for the past month and a half is to get back to my house to just sit there and…

I don’t do anything.

And it doesn’t make me feel better.

But none of my old enjoyments do so either.

I try to watch the game, but why should I give a shit who wins? When every single person on the team I want to will one day die and be forgotten and just be names in some stupid record book? And not even all of them. Most will be as forgotten as I’ll be and that’s just it. That’s that. I don’t like listening to my music anymore because it just feels void. I’ve tried every genre I frequent. I don’t care anymore, though, about how shitty this person feels or how unfair life is. Who hates who. Who wronged who. Who’s better than who.

They’re all dead.

So no. This isn’t over some guy that I was seeing. It’s not about the fact I haven’t been seeing someone new. It’s not about someone old. It’s not about the prospect of someone new.

But fuck, wouldn’t it be easier if it was?

Because that passes.

But...I’ve a sick feel in my stomach that this isn’t going to. How do you just put it out of your mind? That you’re dead and your families dead, and oh, go to your nephew’s fifth birthday party and give him a gift and say, “Hey, kid, another year closer to fucking resting in the damn ground with the rest of us, right? Cheers!”

He’s just as dead as the rest of us.

Isn’t he?

And what was the point of him? What was the point of me?

Why do we keep having more of us if none of us knows why we’re here?

If I could suddenly snap my finger and make bread, would I just keep making fucking more of it until I knew what to do with it?

The point is to survive, but in the end, you can’t.

You just can’t.

Nothing will ever permanently be okay because you’re dead. It’s already been decided. Should I keep watching a basketball game I’ve seen the score to? Should I keep reading a book when I know the end? Not if it won’t change. Not if I don’t like it.

I’m dying.

I’m dead.

We all are.

And there’s nothing we can do about it.

My sister was relieved to see me because she thought I killed myself. When she keyed into my apartment and found me there, just killing time instead of my shell. Relieved. She honestly thought that something horrible had happened to me.

And I wanted to tell her, as she spoke around the fact that she’d feared this, that it wouldn’t have mattered if I was or if I wasn’t.

Eventually, one of the two of us was going to have to watch the other get put into the ground.

Even if we die on the same day, someone else will have to watch.

We don’t win.

No one wins.

Even if a win is just the continuation of life, eventually, someone has to lose.

Eventually, it all has to fall apart.

So why not go ahead and do it?

There used to be this prank that people would do that was so stupid, but my siblings and I tried it on my mother once. You just fill a bucket with water and you get on something, like a table or whatever, and press it up against the ceiling. Then the other person takes a broom and holds it up against the bottom, right? To keep the bucket from crashing down and spilling water everywhere?

So then you call and unsuspecting person in, hurriedly have them grab the broom handle, and, once they have it, you let go and run off and at some point, because there’s no other option, they let go of it. And water gets everywhere.

It’s really not that funny.

Especially when you get the belt after.

And I don’t wanna be too introspective, but...is it not the same. Are we not all holding the broom and waiting for the next person to grab the handle? Keep it up for us?

Bu why? The longer it goes on, the longer the poor schmuck holding it does so, the less funny it all becomes. To them and to you. Eventually they have to let go Eventually the water has to get all over the place. Eventually you’re just left with a mess?

So why not just let go of it already and get a start on that?

Or better yet-

Why just not play it from the very beginning and saving us the whole ordeal?

My dog is happy. When he’s not trying to reflect what I’m feeling (or what I’m not), he just is. He doesn’t know why he exists, but he’s glad that he does. He doesn’t think about it. He’s told to sit, he sits. I get out the leash, he knows we’re going for a walk. The water bowl has water in it, the food bowl has kibble. When I turn out all the lights, we go to bed. When I turn them all on, we get up.

We’re all born. We all die. We all go to school. We’re all told what to do following that. We either do it or we don’t. Our lives play out in accordance. Sometimes, you do everything right. Sometimes, you do everything wrong. Sometimes, even though you did the right thing, you get the wrong outcome. Sometimes, even though you did the wrong thing, you get the more favorable one. Sometimes, when you do nothing at all, either happens to you.

But you know what happens at the end?

We all die.

If without fail someone will absolutely flush a toilet, before it’s flushed, is it not already, in the eyes of the universe flushed? It’ll happen eventually. It’s already been decided. So why would we count it as unflushed?

You wouldn’t. Nd we’re all alive, but it’s already been decided that soon, we won’t be.

So what does that make us?

Everyone I know is already dead. Everyone I care about has already left me. And in a blink, I’ll be gone too.

So why should I prolong it? Why should any of us? Just whose rules are we playing by and why do we continue to? If the advantage will never be in our court?

Shouldn’t we all just quit?

Or is that against the biased rules?

Is it unsportsmanlike for me to bring to the attention of all the other players that the rig is on and the game’s outcome might change by distance between, but the house still wins?

This isn’t an abdication for self or mass harm, but rather a question of why? Every reason that I can thing of can be refuted and deluded with the simple fact that it does not matter. That none of it matters.

Does it make you feel good? To live? To be alive? Do you keep doing it because you get to be around people you care about? For the human drive? Greater good? For those you might touch? Might keep going?

If they’re all dying in the end too, then is that not more selfish?

Yeah. Who’s really selfish then? Someone who sees through the facade or someone who pretends to be ignorant and wants to keep going, only for their own personal confirmation that, yeah, they did good. To feel vindicated that you were here for nothing? To further the line of people that need this vindication?

Is that it? Am I not depressed or suicidal or any of that shit at all? I’m just secretly zero population masked in emptiness and loss of self worth?

Because, honestly, I don’t know which is worse; to realize you have no reason to be here or to come to the conclusion that there never was one and everyone’s just compounding this situation.

My dog finds a way around my contest as, instead of just looking off to eventually look back, he stands up and leaves the room. Leaves me.

I don’t blame him. I hear him in the kitchen, lapping up water.

Simple.

Pushing out of bed is no easy feat, though I do it only to go and fall into the little bench in front of my keyboard, in the corner of my room. In the month and a half of my realization, I’d tried a lot to play. To play something from memory, to learn some new songs, to even compose one. But each key I hit sounds dull, even though it’s electric, and all my cords sound muted, no matter how load I turn my headphones up.

I’m going to get fired. Soon.

My basic, neutral chord that I strike more than signifies my response to this.

My friends will stop calling eventually. Everyone does. They won’t text anymore. Maybe one or two with genuine concern will stick around, but for how long?

Forever?

Because I’m going to feel this forever and I can’t give back to you what you’re giving me if I know that ultimately caring is worthless and what you’re putting in is having no affect.

My dog finishes with the water and starts on what was left of his dinner from the night before, the sound of his bowl skidding around on the floor as he pushes it, ever the eager eater, letting me know this.

How long before my brother and father realize this isn’t a joke? And my sister comes to the conclusion that her relief was short lived? Not because I’m killing myself, but because I’ve unlocked the secret of fucking life.

There is none.

My niece has some sort of stupid middle school graduation that I couldn’t give a shit about anymore because how can I when she can do everything she wants in the world and still lose.

Will they hate me even more for ditching out on that?

Do they even hate me at all?

Should I care?

The dog’s back because the headphones aren’t plugged in and the same chord I keep playing is sounding aloud and that means he has to bark at it a few times before going to hide under the bed and hope I hurry up and plug in those headphones.

I just keep hitting it.

It doesn’t sound any better.

But it doesn’t sound any worse.

One day, even my dog won’t care anymore. One day, he’ll either die or, if I lose my job and never find my empathy again, so I’ll never get another one and hopefully I’ll at least have the sense to give him away, to someone who’s still as blind as he is, or if I don’t, then so what?

So what?

I mouth the word, but no sound comes out and, defeated again, I decide to blow work off completely, today, and lay my head back down on the keyboard, flicking off with one hand and tossing the other over my head.

Maybe if I sleep forever, the man that sneaked in and stole my caring will return it to me, realizing what a horrible deed he’s done. What a horrid calamity he’s opened human eyes to. And he’ll know that I can’t go on this way.

Or maybe he won’t.

And I won’t go on.

And I’ll die.

It wouldn’t matter; I’m already dead anyways.

#Short Story #Short Fiction #Fiction #Angst #Apathy #Depression

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positivepsychologyinterventions · 4 years

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How to Let Go of a Grudge

“I don’t know how to stop being angry at him,” said Ellen during their sixth couple therapy session. “For the past seven or eight years, I’ve felt unimportant to him. He takes too long to do a chore and acts annoyed when I remind him. We’ve had sex less than once a year.”

I admire Ellen for owning up to how hard it is for her to let go of a long-lasting grudge. Like most couples under siege, she and her husband Phil waited over six years to seek professional help.

Ellen’s complaints include: “He doesn’t initiate sex, isn’t affectionate, and usually does nothing for my birthday, not even a card. Then once in a while, he gives me a costly gift, like a certificate for a $300.00 spa treatment.” She says she doesn’t want a divorce because of Cassie, their 3-year-old daughter.

Although this article focuses mostly on letting go of a grudge against a spouse, its suggestions also apply to relationships with significant others, family members, friends, coworkers, and others.

How Grudges Build

Ellen and Phil met while earning their PhDs in computer science and now are established in their careers. I’m impressed by their openness to ask for help and their ability to be vulnerable in therapy sessions. Each comes in ready to say what they’d like to address. Between sessions, they practice using positive communication skills I’ve taught them.

A brief conversation revealed how Ellen had built up a grudge against Phil. She would become upset with him about annoyances like those mentioned above but say nothing because she was afraid to offend him or rock the boat. Eventually, her resentment would spiral and she’d start a fight, for example by saying, “You’re a horrible husband.”

His response: “You’re a horrible person.”

How to Prevent a Grudge from Building

As Ellen and Phil’s story shows, the best way to prevent a grudge from building is to prevent yourself from forming one in the first place by:

noticing when you’re feeling irritated by the person’s behavior, and then

deciding whether it’s important enough to let the person know how you feel.

If you’re not sure whether to let the person know your feelings, ask yourself how you think you’ll feel later if you don’t address your concern.

If you think that your resentment will continue to fester if you don’t address the concern, tell the person how you feel and what you would like to happen, e.g., “I feel hurt when you don’t show affection. I’d like you to hug me once every morning and night. Other times are fine, too.”

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

When should you say what bothered you? When is it better to accept an annoyance as too minor to bring up? If you’re not sure if it’s worth mentioning, you may decide to wait a bit and see if your irritation lessens to the point where you feel good enough about the big picture of your relationship to dismiss what bothered you and accept it as part of the package.

Speaking of packages, I get a kick out of a friend’s story. Sick of hearing her mother complain about her father, she said, “If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you divorce him. Then you can marry someone else.”

Surprised by the idea, her mother said, “Why would I do that? He’s my package. Why should I trade him for someone else’s package?”

I don’t mean to imply that we should ignore unacceptable or abusive behaviors. It’s often possible to improve the “package” we have by taking steps similar to the ones listed above to that prevent us from forming. We can often encourage a relationship partner to behave differently by:

Noticing how we feel.

Expressing how we feel.

Asking respectfully for what we want.

Being prepared for how we’ll respond if we don’t get what we want.

Preventing Grudges from Snowballing

The best way to prevent a grudge from developing is not to grow one in the first place. An irritation can start small, then continue to get bigger like a snowball that keeps enlarging as it rolls, picking up more snow along the way. Something like this quickly happens when we misinterpret a partner’s behavior without checking with him or her to learn whether our assumption is correct. An example of a common untrue assumption made by spouses when disappointed by their mate is “He (or she) doesn’t love me.”

Ellen had interpreted Phil’s not initiating sex mean he didn’t love her. During a session, however, Phil acknowledged his reason as, “I’m afraid of disappointing her.”

Psychotherapist Kristin Barton Cuthriell, LCSW, MEd, and author of the book, The Snowball Effect: How to Build Positive Momentum in Your Life, writes: “Your thoughts have the power to build positive or negative momentum in your life. They will snowball in the direction you choose. They will lead you toward success or destruction.”

Many of us lack awareness; we’re not paying attention. Cuthriell elaborates: “We allow our thoughts to take us down a rabbit hole of worry, assumption, and fear.” But we can create positive momentum “by paying attention to our thoughts and asking ourselves, Is this what I want? If the answer is yes, there probably isn’t any reason to change. If the answer is no, it is time to make a shift.”

Cuthriell suggests shifting your thoughts to what you want to happen. “Thoughts of hope, a positive outcome, and gratitude can turn your momentum around.”

How to Let Go of a Grudge

Getting back to Ellen’s challenge, how can she get past holding a relationship threatening grudge toward her husband? How can she learn to appreciate him as an excellent partner with many good qualities, and who like virtually all of us, could benefit from improving in a couple of areas?

Therapy can help people to notice and express their thoughts, feelings, and needs in a safe environment. By doing this and hearing each other, spouses gain empathy for themselves and each other. They can increase awareness about how they may be unconsciously repeating their parents’ ways of relating that they witnessed as children, such as a tendency to blame, placate, or hold grudges.

Coming to therapy sessions is a start, but not enough. As needed, I tell some clients: “I’m like a drop in the bucket. You’ll need to put time and energy during the week into changing from behaving in ways that increase the emotional distance between the two of you into strengthening your connection by using the tools and skills we practice here.”

Okay, I’m more than a drop in the bucket. But unless people practice what they learn during our sessions, we can have an interesting time together, but they shouldn’t expect lasting changes.

Marriage Meetings Prevent Grudges

Uncommunicated expectations are preconceived resentments, states Medium.com writer Jennifer Haubrich. The easiest way to create irritation in your marriage, or in any relationship for that matter, is not to say “what you want, need, or expect, while still wanting, needing, and expecting your partner to provide it.”

Couples who hold marriage meetings, which are explained step by step in my book Marriage Meetings for Lasting Love: 30 minutes a Week to the Relationship You’ve Always Wanted, prevent minor irritations from spiraling into grudges. The meetings encourage the expression of heartfelt appreciation for each other, teamwork around chores, romance, and communicating constructively about challenges. Difficulties often occur around money, chores, parenting, in-laws, or sex.

By starting the meeting with appreciation, couples typically feel warmer toward each other and energized to hold the other parts of the meeting constructively. Like most couples who see me for therapy, Ellen and Phil found it helpful for me to coach them through a couple of marriage meetings before they’d be ready to hold them on their own.

When Ellen complained that Phil took too long to follow through on handling a chore, I showed her how to gain his cooperation by changing her complaint into the request: “I’d like you to follow through promptly when you agree to do something.” During their next marriage meeting, Ellen told Phil that she appreciated him for buying the needed dishwasher promptly.

His wife’s spoken appreciation was a reward for Phil. Because rewarded behaviors are likely to be repeated, Phil will probably keep following through on chores more promptly, especially if Ellen remembers to tell him regularly how much she values him for being so conscientious. Consequently, Ellen’s grudge is likely to lose traction.

As partners become more comfortable saying what they want and need from each other and receive positive responses, trust and intimacy will grow, both inside and outside of the bedroom.

Haubrich offers more examples of how spouses can express their wants and needs directly and without demanding:

“I need you to understand how much stress I am under.”

“I want us to have a date night out of the house this week.”

“I need to just sit on the couch this afternoon and not talk to anyone.”

“And yes, communicating what you want in bed helps too,” she adds.

Asking for what we want doesn’t mean that we’ll always get it. The other person may or may not be comfortable about doing what we ask for, and vice versa. Yet by expressing ourselves positively about concerns that aren’t deal-breakers, we can expect to enjoy a sense of rapport with others and gain self-understanding and empathy for people to whom we relate. So there will be no room for a grudge and much room for forgiveness and acceptance.

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/2sBWNPn via IFTTT

#IFTTT #World of Psychology

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fractalfractures · 6 years

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Relationship Pop Quiz

Imagine you and a significant other are in a frustrating situation and suddenly you notice that they've taken your griping personally and are starting to cry. Do you ...

A) apologize and try to comfort them?

B) scowl and gruffly scold them for overreacting and reading things into what you say (like that "You need to be more careful with how you spend your money" was a criticism of them spending so much money)?

C) laugh at them for being such a crybaby?

D) avoid smiling or showing any affection toward them for the rest of the day because you hate being around people who are acting depressed?

E) randomly do one of the above in any given situation, so that they never know what to expect, then if they express fear that you'll hurt them the way you have in the past, tell them it really pisses you off how they keep bringing up stuff that's in the past and making assumptions about how you'll behave in the future?

If you follow my relationship drama, the short of it since the last post is that my physical living situation has improved a lot, my husband is doing a lot more of the things I want him to (although there's still plenty of times I get extremely irritated, feel unwelcome and uncomfortable in my own house, or occasionally have to prepare to sleep outside the bedroom or leave the house entirely for a few hours because it's not a place I feel physically comfortable being, for example when the place reeks of toxic chemicals that say "DO NOT USE IN ENCLOSED SPACES" that he's using in the enclosed patio with windows opening into our bedroom). But every serious discussion, every confrontation necessary to improve things, has been so emotionally agonizing it has me feeling physically sick for at least a day, and dreading to come home from work every evening for the next few.

And possibly it's been just as traumatizing for him. Certainly he always has an explanation of how for everything he does that hurts me, I'm ten times worse to him. And I'm so lucky he hasn't gotten mad at me despite how far I've pushed him (no I'm not mad, I'm not telling you all these awful things about yourself and how my family and all our mutual acquaintances are scared of you and think you're bad for me to criticize you or make you feel bad or hit you right where you're the most insecure, I'm just telling you the facts for your own good.) And he could certainly be right about everything. I mean, I'm a difficult person to be in a relationship with in a lot of ways. I'm a depressed mess and get sad for no reason and then I literally can't be outgoing and friendly and fun to be around. I don't know how to deepen relationships with casual friends. I'm absurdly sensitive to criticism and react to normal amounts of conflict as if it were abuse (including developing long-term emotional baggage from the things people say to me). I get angry about extremely petty things. I am very particular about my living space and what makes me happy is often extremely counter to what other people are comfortable with (ex: keeping shoe racks and backpack hooks and motorcycle helmets right inside the front door instead of tucked away in a back room where you have to trek through the entire house in dirty shoes before you can let go of all the stuff you're carrying. Having exercise equipment inside the house instead of out in the sun where I will never use it.) and feel betrayed when I say I want things a certain way, you say you're cool with that, and then later you go through and change everything because how I had it was too ugly. I get really upset about the house being dirty but also hate doing housework and carry around a lot of shame about not being able to live up to our mothers' and grandmothers' standards of cleanliness and when things build up to a certain point (or I just feel particularly resentful that my housemate leaves the chores I particularly hate to me and isn't willing to lift a finger to help, ever) I tend to give up and lie in bed all day crying and thinking about killing myself instead of taking an hour to get everything clean enough to not distress me. I'm bad at setting boundaries and expressing my needs. I'm too negative and critical and can't express my distress about things someone does that hurt me without it sounding like an attack. I don't express gratitude enough or make people feel loved and desired, especially sexually, since I'm too lazy and uncreative and shy and sex-repulsed to be any good in bed. And I just plain don't love deeply enough. I can be domestic, I can share the mundane stuff of daily life with someone, I can spend a lot of time giving and receiving affection, I can be interested in their life and give empathy and support ... but my life will never revolve around a single other person. No relationship will ever satisfy me enough that I can be happy without other things to give me purpose. And according to my husband, I should.

And I'm so needy. I become so quickly dependent on emotional comfort, on frequent affection and attention, on any help with Adulting that is regularly provided (like making sure I eat regularly). Without help and encouragement I regularly epically fail to achieve the goals I set for myself and wallow in despair and self-hatred, and if a partner actively sabotages me because they think I need to relax and enjoy life more then I get even worse and also resent them for it.

Anyway, nice a fantasy as having the house to myself is, I have no practical reason to divorce. I don't like living alone and inevitably wallow in depression when I do, but I have no reason to think I won't be just as miserable in any other living situation I try to get into. I mean, much as I preferred being at my mom's house this winter than at home with my husband, I wasn't actually happy living her back when I was there full time, and would have tried to move out to an apartment in a different part of the city if I hadn't ended up leaving the country. And divorce would be so unbelievably painful for both of us, and none of the things I'm frustrated about not being able to do now would be easier with him gone, between the financial issues (monthly house payments = nearly 4/5 of my income, and I live too far from the office for any of my coworkers to want to room with me, and I'd legally owe him half of the deposit that MY family paid for) and all the practical support and know-how I rely on him for.

This is in all probability the best I can get, and maybe after I get over my grief for the life I thought I would have I'll be able to accept that and move forward.

#the complications we could do without #my boring life #whining

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wordyvegan123 · 7 years

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Pumpkin

He came on strong. Calling and talking to me for hours on end, constant compliments about how smart, and funny and sexy I was..he would do whole skits and play funny characters and make me laugh endlessly... and quickly he started saying I was the kind of person that could make him believe in relationships again.

He agreed with all of my beliefs and loved my voice and wanted to meet. He called me excitedly when his grand niece was born and called every night and sent me sweet texts constantly. Then. Kablooey. He stopped.He disappeared. He got impatient with me when I enquired if he was okay.

This had happened to me once before with a guy who later told me while laughing that he had been told he had borderline personality. That guy ended up stalking me, physically hurting me, making me afraid to do everyday things like go to the gas station or answer the phone... and he still crops up in my life everytime he gets dumped by his next victim. If I hear the old ringtone my cell phone had at that time I feel sick.

So...I saw a red flag. When he called he said he had told me how much time he spends with his friends (almost all female) that he'd missed me, that it was sweet how jealous I was (I wasn't) and how it made him feel loved...and things went back to "normal"....meaning, he felt satiated again and I felt lost and frustrated, wondering why he would withhold himself from me, push me way and then yank me back. He said he planned on visiting me for Valentine's day and I asked for time off work and then he disappeared again. This time he was a little more angry when I asked what was up because I had the gall to be upset at him for changing plans without saying anything at all. He seemed like he had no genuine emotions at all towards me other than annoyance or anger. Looking back I remember him saying that was all he got from me, annoyance and anger. That projection was part of his expertise in emotional blackmail.

Somehow I managed to deal with this push-pull game for another 4 months long distance until we finally met in person. I was very upfront with him about my misgivings, how disingenuous I felt he was, but it seemed as if he took that as a challenge to up his game of charm. He really thrived on the game. It was pretty sizzling chemistry in person, but he did feel numb or distant to me, even in bed I wondered where he was emotionally.He behaved more like a porn star.

When we went to a festival together with a lot of people, he easily got caught up in talking to strangers and would forget I was there. When I'd get bored and walk off to take pictures or go the bathroom or try some kombucha, it took him a good amount of time to even realize I was gone, yet he thought I was "crazy and playing games" and called me a hot mess. I told him it wasn't my job to just stand there and wait for him and he would laugh. I started getting the impression that he had people at his beck and call a lot and being that I had no idea what he did for a living day to day, only a vague idea of what he did in the past, I couldn’t chalk that up to something that might have been related to his work position or career, although my brain did constantly try to figure out where his odd reactions were coming from. That was part of the trap I was falling into...

So the red flags were everywhere at this point, but we live across the country from each other, so I went on with my life with him flitting in and out of it. When he visited after a major surgery, things were pretty okay. He was more accepting than anyone should be about the condition of my home which could have been endearing, but made me suspicious. He knew I didn't let anyone come over and he was so insistent that he be in my space. It was like he was researching me and gathering evidence. Meanwhile he wouldn't even tell me his address and anytime I mentioned it he'd laugh as if I was being silly. All my friends told me he was probably married or had a girlfriend. I told him that and he laughed more. He was at his best on that trip, probably because I was really vulnerable and it made me trust him more.

He visited again a couple months later and this time he was really being himself, annoyed that I didn't want him smoking cigars near me when before he acted like he cared, saying I wanted to change him for behaviors he had hidden all along, picking fights in public and yelling REALLY loudly at me and blaming me for all of it.... then acting like it didn't happen later or joking about "MY" blowout, then calling me a hot mess again and saying he loved me and how perfect we were for each other. He was on the next step of making me question my own reality.

Then we went to Taos for the day and by that night he went into a rage because I asked the bartender if I could bring my chihuahua into the bar if he stayed on my lap. I think he was angry because I asked him to ask them if it was okay... & he had refused for no reason that made any sense to me...I was cold. He gave no explanation. He also didn’t try to cuddle with me to warm me up. He really didn’t like that I went and handled it myself and took it really personally. He was indignant and full on screaming at me in the middle of a bar and I never even rose my voice back. My calmness made him even more enraged. He called me a cunt at least 20 times, probably more that night. He said the only reason people were worried about me at the bar was because I’m white. Obviously I realized I was with a very sick person. I was shaking inside but kept myself calm and attempted to pick him up and drive him back to the air bnb but he quickly went into a rage again and I screamed at him to get out of the car. I blew up and tried to push him out when he refused. I left him there and I probably should have made that permanent.

Yet, since he was thousands of miles from home I drove back to get him at the hotel the next morning and he was ALL about how mean I had been to him, how scared he had been and it truly sounded as if he had completely blocked out what he did. Mainly, for my own safety I went along with it, but now I was observing him from outside myself, like one does in a dream. He left for the airport and the whole ridiculous dance continued long-distance, but I cared less and less when he disappeared. His funny skits got repetitive. His memory was terrible and I was always catching him in inconsistencies and then he'd just laugh it off. He kept saying he'd visit and months and months went by. I'd tell him we should just stop talking, because it was all meaningless and fake and then he'd start talking about visiting again. I’d say I deserved better and he’d say no one deserved more than me.

I realized he could stay in this state of fake relationship forever. He seemed happy in that place while I was fractured emotionally and starting to lose my groundedness in my real life. Problem being, if I stopped talking to him he went crazy without his supply, my emotions, anger or hurt, or anything was his fuel. He constantly called me his muse as if it was a compliment, but he was admitting that his only need from me was the emotional feed to his ego.

When I blocked him on Facebook he lost it and especially when I blocked one of his fake accounts he uses to spy on people. I blocked his phone number and he started emailing, something he never did, probably because he didn’t like a written record of anything? I unblocked his number after a few weeks and he called and he sounded elated. He missed me! He LOVES me! Calling me pumpkin constantly because my parents called me that and he knew it worked, but now it just triggers anxiety and anger. He kept talking about this fantasy future, moving here, what could he do to get me back (other than therapy),blah blah blah.

Then, boom, I lost my phone and I asked if he could send me his old one that was sitting in a box, 3 phones ago for him, too old for any of his family to want, and he went into the characteristic narcissistic rage again. I'm living now 6 months without working plumbing because of my financial situation and to him I am being greedy and ungrateful asking him for his old dusty phone. I said, I see you now, I'm done. He wanted to call. I said no.no.no.no.no.

Since then I keep getting texts, many full of rage, followed by "oh, silly becca" i get you, you’re a hot mess and I still love you, “sorry, i’ll get therapy”, then "are you ever going to talk to me again?" This time the answer is no. From what I’ve read of this kind of abuse, the only way to be okay is to leave. Even with therapy the person will still lack empathy and will only learn to imitate the healthy behaviors of human beings. There will never be love. There will never be authenticity or loyalty. When someone says they are broken, believe them.

#no contact #its bean real #narcissistic abuse #npd

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msannemills · 7 years

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How can I even begin to describe my time in Ethiopia? Every time I think about it, my heart overflows with nostalgia and I long to be there again.

Click here for a playlist of the music I listened to on the plane if you would like to feel as though you were there with me!

Also if you would like to see all of the pictures I took you can view them *here*.

It all started when one of my friends told me she was going to Africa in the next six months, and I immediately responded with, “You know I’m going with you, right?” I have made it a sort of personal commitment of mine to take every and any chance I get to experience new places and people.

So a bit of an introduction here: Her uncle had founded a non-profit organization back in 2007 called Crisis Aid International that provides safe houses for women both in the USA and Ethiopia who are victims of sex trafficking. This is the main goal of the organization, but in Ethiopia they also provide aid through food distributions in rural villages, have established an all girls orphanage, and have set up a girl’s home for those rescued from the red light district with nowhere else to go. There is also a vocational school where these women can learn trades such as weaving, typing, hairdressing, and entrepreneurship in order to support themselves in a productive, healthy and fulfilling way. While in Ethiopia, the founder of the non-profit was also with us, and was able to show us the future sites of a medical clinic, another girls home with a storefront they can invent and operate themselves, and a possible coffee plantation/organic farm.

“Ameseginalew” pronounced ah ma saht genalo, means thank you in Amharic. This is the main language Ethiopians speak, but of course there are many variations and dialects depending on region. A couple of other phrases I picked up: Salamnew (salamno)- “Hello” Endatnesh (inditnish)- “How are you?” Dena negn (ning) – I’m fine

Betam ameseginalew- “Thank you very much” Chikuryelem- “no problem!” Ciao of course means goodbye Odeshalew – “i love you”

As with any life-changing experience, my outlook and priorities progressed and fluxed during that week in Ethiopia. I kept a journal while there and I will share the entirety of my entries here along with some recent additions:

Friday, Nov 13th 2015

Being on a plane to Ethiopia right now is surreal. I keep getting these waves of excitement thinking, “wow, is this really happening?”

Going through security I thought I had removed everything that was not permissible, but I had yet again left my mini swiss army knife, one of my grandfather’s, in my bag. Of course they had to confiscate it, but for some reason it made me so upset. The way the man had no empathy or understanding of my position. Yes it was my fault that I left it in there and part of my frustration was with myself because I did not remember to take it out. Nevertheless, that little knife was a reminder to me of

him, that’s why I kept it with me all the time. If he could be embodied in one single object it would be that. He carried them with him everywhere, using the toothpick religiously, or using the little scissors to cut open our toys we had just gotten from the Bass Pro shop or WalMart or wherever else he took us that day. I just felt like I was wronged somehow. How could that man take away something so precious to me and not care at all what happens to it or me? Not care that its just going to get smashed up and thrown away. It conjured up feelings I haven’t felt since he died. It was almost like it was happening all over again, hearing that shocking news. And there I am standing in the airport crying over a tiny pocket knife. How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I just leave it at home?

∗ ∗ ∗

Saturday Nov 14th LONG. DAY.

Today was a lot to take in. When we first arrived I was excited to be in a new country and experience the people & places in this part of the world. I simply sat in the van silently observing, listening. The first thing I noticed was how quiet everything was. Almost eerily quiet. I think it’s incredible how accustomed we get to noise, it is constantly surrounding us and we are bombarded day in day out with it. I cannot tell you how calming it was to be in the absence of that raucousness. Something I value about Ethiopia is its pace of life. No one is in too much of a hurry to forget what is right in front of them. Time is almost non-existent and life is simplified. Driving through Addis, the city was bigger than I expected it to be, but as far as economic development goes I had an idea of what it would be like. There is so much to describe, however, I am completely and utterly exhausted. I want to be able to accurately recall and document my experience…

This day seemed like it was two whole days packed into one. We started out in D.C., got on the plane there, after what seemed like an overnight eternity, stepped off into Addis and started the day all over again. When we were driving through the city I kept waiting to drive through a nicer part, like we were just in the especially poverty stricken areas. But then I realized that it doesn’t get nicer. Even in the marketplaces, shopping malls, and “5 star hotels”, there are beggars and children desperately trying to sell anything they can, following you and coming up to the bus. Their desperation operates every fiber of their being. The whole time we have been here, even back in D.C., we have been the ones receiving the assistance. The men who handle our luggage, the men who drive us around, the children and younger men who make sure we have our amenities and that our utilities are working. You know, its like, I came here to serve these people, not the other way around. And it just makes me feel guilty almost. I wish I wasn’t American. I wish my skin was not white. I wish that I could speak the language and truly connect with these people instead of communicating through smiles and waves. And I wish that I could fix it. All of it. The poverty, the sickness, slavery, oppression, and sadness. It’s just shitty.

I honestly wanted to go home. I felt like I had made a terrible decision. Who am I to pay thousands of dollars to see the every day lives these people live?! We drove to the red light district and walked through a couple of streets. It didn’t feel real. It was like some sort of sick tour. These girls are trapped. They have no way out. And here I am walking down the street with a bunch of other white people, seeing this sight. It’s awful. Some of them let us shake their hands, or give them hugs. I shook one girls hand, but mostly walked the rest of the way. I didn’t know what was happening. I couldn’t process what was going on. How could I be there, really there? It seemed like a bad dream or a scene out of a movie. I had never felt more surrounded by hopelessness. It just made me realize that these people live in this shit, day in and day out. Every. Day. And when I go back home, while I sleep in a bed, use running water, drive a car, live in a durable mess of objects I call home, go to a building to gain knowledge, they will continue to live here in these conditions. It doesn’t end just because I am not witnessing it.

Then you have the question, “Well how do you help?” Progress is a slow moving, stubborn creature. Especially when there are multi-faceted, complicated problems needing to be solved. It must be chipped away, time after time. It all starts with rescuing one girl from slavery, feeding one child, building one home. Just because the task is hefty does not mean nothing should be done. On a large scale, fixing the problems Ethiopia has is next to impossible, but on a small scale, lives and hearts can be fulfilled.

Sunday Nov 15th

There are no “indoors” in Ethiopia. At least not like there is in the States, where each store you walk into is its own little sectioned off, air conditioned box. Here everything is more fluid. The air moves throughout open space, homes, and stores alike.

The streets in the city are lined with corrugated sheet metal shantytowns and large concrete buildings, most of which stand unfinished, the wooden scaffolding abandoned as well. Some of the shanties are inhabited, others are used for selling various goods such as clothing, beverages, fruit, cell phones, and souvenirs. Some are cafés and some are photo centers. There are also a lot of hardware businesses along the street, selling house materials including large, elaborate metal gates, lumber, concrete, ceramic tiles, wooden furniture and mattresses.

The whole city is one big contradiction. There’s people living on the streets in makeshift homes, some of which are merely umbrellas or wooden poles with tarp stretched over them. Yet there is ongoing construction everywhere, landscaping in the middle of the roundabouts, trench digging on the side of the road for drainage, concrete skeletons, and railway construction. The paradox lies in this: the majority of Ethiopia’s population does not have enough money to use these facilities or to be consumers of these products. People don’t have the homes to put the tile in. They don’t have the room for furniture. The current system is clearly not working, at least not in favor of all Ethiopians. When I look at the city as we drive by, I think to myself with dismay and incredulity, “people LIVE here”

*Excuse my wobbly writing, I am currently on a long bus ride to a rural village.

Being in this country is the most surreal experience I have ever had. When I go to sleep, I am no longer in Ethiopia, but when I wake my brain must be retrained. I do not want to liken the situation here to the extremes of war, but there is a similarity in that sleep is a luxury: the simplest things can have profound meaning and value when great suffering is experienced up close and personal. There are moments where you forget all the pain and suffering in your midst, and in that moment you feel at home. I guess you could call it the intersection of truth and grace.

The party at Mercy Chapel was a happier note than last night in the RLD. Seeing all those girls raise their hands saying they want to dream, to have a better life. Hearing the stories of what these girls have been through and how their lives have changed for the better is just incredible. I am so grateful to have the chance to talk with them, love them, and just be with them. They made me feel so welcome. They hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. We took pictures together. They did my makeup, and it was a blast. As some of you may know, I have Alopecia and wear a head wrap as an alternative to wigs and other cosmetic “solutions”. The girls here in Ethiopia loved my head covering, and one of them specifically called me over to tell me that I reminded her of her grandmother because she used to wear something similar. This girl’s name was Betty, her English was very advanced, which allowed us to make a connection that would otherwise be a bit more difficult. She was an extremely kind and upbeat person, fully accepting me for me and not questioning why I look the way I do. It was freeing to be received that way by not only her, but everyone. In Ethiopia, I was not constantly reminded of my disease with people asking what’s wrong with me or if I had cancer, but rather uplifted in my spirit and made comfortable in my own skin.

I knew that the girls who had just graduated were or had been in the RLD, but until after the party I was not aware that all the rest of them, the ones who were invited to celebrate were currently in the RLD. That just completely broke my heart. These girls were normal teenage girls! Some of them younger. I just could not wrap my head around the tragedy that was normal life to them. It was just what they had to do. They were so sweet, its terrible that they are not free. They deserve a better life. They deserve to be treated as human beings, not objects. It makes me feel helpless and angry because, what can I do for them? Meet and spend one day with them, and then completely disappear out of their lives? What good does that do? I wanted to come to Ethiopia to have a realistic perception of this country, but at what cost? To say that I have been to Africa, that I know what it’s like? This is not a vacation. This is not just another country to cross off the list. There are real people who live here with unique character and raw emotion. They are full of personality and for the most part, kind hearted. Not at all like I expected. In fact, this whole trip has completely thrown my expectations out the window.

It seems to me that some people where I grew up still view Africa as it was during colonial times, like it never developed past them. Like it has just been trapped in a vacuum for centuries, existing in nothing but darkness. To be honest, I kind of bought into this for a portion of my life. But then I realized that no culture or people exists inside a vacuum, and I wanted to experience the real Africa, the real Ethiopia, not the vague, fabricated version that existed in my mind. The land only characterized by lions and starving children (of which I was promptly reminded every time I failed to finish eating my dinner as a child) : the place I have been told about my whole life by people who have never even set foot there. I wanted to create an accurate, dignified depiction of these people so that no one may be ignorant, including myself. Because ignorance is the root of all action upon stereotypes which is rooted in prejudice and racism which in turn is an implicit or even blatant lack of desire to understand the people who are different from you.

∗ ∗ ∗

Monday November 16th

HAH. I don’t know why I thought I would be able to journal every day…….it is actually Friday night as I am writing this. I am just going to start from the beginning and explain what I did each day chronologically.

One thing I left out about the first day we arrived was that we went to a child sponsorship party, and that was really the first time/chance I got to spend time with the Ethiopians. I realized that some things are simply universal, and that no matter how much of a language barrier there is, hand gestures, hugs, kisses, and games-especially soccer-can be excellent forms of communication. There is something innate in all of us that surpasses all forms of lingual communication: the desire to be in communion. We are social beings, and these people long to be loved, to be treated as human, to be told and shown that they matter. Getting to spend time with these kids and speak their language through soccer was a very uplifting experience. I think at that point everything was still very surreal and I couldn’t put down my rose tinted glasses. Then when we went to the RLD I realized the gravity of the situation, and the lives, true lives of Ethiopians became real to me. I saw the suffering, the desperation, the corruption. It all finally materialized in my mind, just how incredibly grim the situation is. And then there we were, jumping at the very first chance of wi-fi & coffee….

I think, in the midst of all this poverty, it can be easy to feel guilty for the things I do have, and the privileges I enjoy because I was born in America and my skin is white. But feeling guilty about it gets you nowhere. I think that is one important thing I have learned, is that it’s about the experience, that is what will lead to action. Use your anger and frustration in a productive way. “It’s ok to have fun”, is what Pat says, the founder of Crisis Aid. But at the same time, I think about these people, and I say to myself “they didn’t choose to live this way”. They were born into it. Just as I was born into my life without having any say in the matter. So why wasn’t I born into their life, or they into mine? Does anything really separate us? There is no reason we could not have just as easily been born into different lives. There is a common denominator here; we all consist of the same cosmic ingredients. What really breaks my heart is that it’s not their fault. They do all they can to provide for themselves and their family, which includes selling their bodies. Men will promise young women a job and a nice place to live, yet little do they know that these men are lying. These women do not choose to sell themselves; they are forced into it.

Whew ok kinda got off track there. I think I pretty much covered what we did Sunday. Monday we basically drove all day, so it was a good day to process. I did not journal much because the bus was bumping around a lot and my handwriting was becoming illegible. Anyway, the drive was beautiful, and that’s an understatement. We drove through lowland plains, mountainous hill country, arid desert stretches, and lush green forests. Ethiopia is the most geographically diverse place I have ever laid eyes on. It is simply breathtaking. (Also, side note: the crescent moon is “upside down” in the night sky of Ethiopia, which I appreciate as a challenge to conventional ways of thinking regarding the way we orient the world). As we were getting further from the city, I realized something about Ethiopians. The people in the villages will drop everything they are doing just to wave at you. Kids will come running, shouting “you! you! you!”and whistling at the bus. One thing I have noticed about Ethiopians is that they all have this hidden joy about them. Any time I would smile and wave at someone, they almost always smiled and waved back. They could have the most serious, sullen countenance, and then the next minute there is this brilliant smile on their kind face. It really made me think about my perceptions of strangers, especially back home. That if these people, whose living conditions are ten times worse than mine, can have that much joy towards a stranger, then I should be able to as well. Ethiopians will quite literally drop whatever they are doing to wave. I waved to one little boy, and as soon as he realized I was waving at him, it was like he put every ounce of his being into waving back, both arms outstretched, fingers spread wide, lunging forward. It was extremely humbling.

Another thing I noticed about Ethiopians, especially in the city, is their lack of censorship. Men will walk over to a tree or bush or wall and start urinating. You’re lucky if they even choose that route. There are also meat markets with slaughtered animals hanging right behind the counters. When we were driving to one of the villages, we actually saw a group of people dressing a cow they had just slaughtered. Everything is just out in the open. There are no taboos, no shame. Mothers breast feed their children without a cover. One little boy was peeing as he was waving to us. Some little boys only wear a shirt, or their pants have so many holes that everything hangs out anyway. People will bathe in rivers completely nude. But they don’t care. It is not something that is considered to be private or shameful I guess. This rugged, raw attitude is also seen with the way people drive. There are very few traffic lights, if any. Most of them are in downtown Addis. For the most part, driving is pure chaos. They use their horns to communicate. There are roundabouts everywhere. Little tiny three wheeled blue and white taxis maneuver in and out of traffic. Yet even in disorder there is order. It seems ridiculous, but they make it work.

WARNING: There is sensitive content in the following paragraphs that may be upsetting to some.

Monday night after a long bus ride we finally got to the place we were staying for the night. It was a college campus that was small, but beautiful. Just being able to sit outside the next morning and let the sun warm my skin was food for the soul. Tuesday then was probably the most difficult day of the trip. We drove to a stabilization clinic which housed the worst cases of starvation and other potentially life threatening health problems in assisting them to recovery. The bags of flour that were to be taken to the food distribution center were stored here. So we proceeded to take these bags and load them onto a truck. Once we got to the food distribution center, it really started to hit me. These people’s lives are mainly characterized by hunger, illness, and filth. Their living conditions are horrid, yet every single one of them can still smile. I find that incredibly humbling. There were hundreds of women and children waiting for us when we got there. The first couple things I noticed about them physically was that they were all barefoot, their clothes were tattered and dirty (probably the only clothes they owned), and a lot of them barely had toenails anymore. I specifically remember seeing one girl’s shirt that said “Don’t cry just say fuck you and smile”. This girl was probably six or seven years old, and there is no way she had any idea what it said. Most of the clothes I saw seemed like they came out of a Goodwill donation box. One man I saw had a D.A.R.E. t-shirt on, and another young man had a bright pink Victoria’s Secret jacket on. Again, the stark irony of affluent Western society superimposed onto the rest of the (starving) world.

As I am walking into the food distribution center, I greet as many mothers and children as I can; saying “salam” to each one, hugging them and shaking their hands. Pretty soon I am surrounded by a sea of faces. It was quite a sight to see that many people gathered together in this beautiful green courtyard. We had to make our way to the room they were keeping the children and mothers whose malnutrition needed to be measured and documented, photographed, etc. We went around the room and hugged each mother, greeting them with “salam”.

It’s funny how some kids just stick to you, they pick you out and never leave your side. One little boy kept grabbing my arm and kissing my hand. I decided to reciprocate after the first couple of times, and I did so for all the other children who kissed my hand. When it was time to unload the flour, something beautifully communal happened. All of the children lined up on each side of the gate, and started to clap, singing songs of rejoice as we were bringing the bags out of the truck. Ethiopians are the most gracious, appreciative, selfless people I have experienced.

After we unloaded all the flour from the truck, it was time to document the mothers and their malnourished children. This was the most difficult part of the whole trip. I didn’t know what to do, I felt so helpless. Everyone else had a job to do. Aiyana was measuring the children’s arms, Cheryl was writing their information down while Dawit translated for her. Others were blocking entrances making sure no one came in who wasn’t supposed to. And there I was, just sitting there. I felt so useless amidst all this suffering. One mother was sitting on the ground with her five year old son who was extremely malnourished. She said he has been unresponsive, and she has to chew up food for him and put it in his mouth. Seeing her sob and sob and sob for her son broke something in me. When the presence of white people is known, the worst cases come out of the woodworks. There was a blind girl who made her way into the area we were in, desperately looking for someone to heal her. Another woman came in with her baby who had a severe infection on his foot and some other places as well. They are desperate for help, to be healed, to be full. They look at us in desperation, their eyes shouting. And to see these children, with distended bellies and skeletal limbs, some of them so bad that their feet and face have started to swell, starving so severely that their organs have begun to consume themselves in a last attempt to survive. It makes me think “How can the government allow this?!” To think that this village center was just one out of hundreds of thousands just like it makes my angry. And sad. And determined to do something about it.

SAFE TO CONTINUE READING BELOW.

That night we stayed in a much nicer hotel than the ones we had been staying in. We were on the fourth floor, so we had a great view of the town and the hills in the distance. At dinner, we got to eat “American” food for the first time. I got a Mexican burger with avocado & fries that I only ate half of because it was so massive. We had the privilege of eating dinner with Pat at our table, and I asked him what brought him to Ethiopia. He said, “I was reading a newspaper with a headline that said “14 million starving in Ethiopia” and I knew I had to do something about it. Next thing I knew I was over here with just a phone number.”

Wednesday rolls around, and we didn’t do much except go to a house where some higher risk families were being taken care of. I started to feel sort of useless because we didn’t really have a specific reason for being there as we did for all the other locations. I started wondering what good we could do for the people by just hanging out and standing around. But then something Pat said really struck me that day. He said, “I know you may think you’re just sitting around with them here, but they will remember this for a lifetime: that someone took the time to sit with them and spend time with them. So don’t think that you’re not doing anything worthwhile here, because you are.” That moved me out of my stagnation and stand-offishness into action and allowed me to make a deep connection with them. There were two people there that day that I will never forget. This one little boy, no older than two, was severely malnourished to the point where even his face was swollen, seemed like nothing in the world fazed him. I held him tight for a long while, and I think that was the closest thing to motherhood I could feel without having a child of my own. This boy was so quiet and calm, it made me sad to think that he might not survive much longer. I held him in such a way that all my hopes for him were channeled through my arms. In the same way, I compiled every ounce of empathy I had into the hand I placed on the skeletal shoulder of one young woman. I brought as much of my love I possibly could into my eyes to look at her with, so maybe she could carry it with her.

The region we were in for the majority of the week is about eight hours south of Addis called Sidama. It is close to Yirga Chefe which may sound familiar to any of you who are coffee connoisseurs, and is where most of the world’s Ethiopian coffee comes from. In fact, it happened to be coffee harvesting season when we were there and I had the pleasure of walking through many gardens filled with coffee trees. Every time I drink Ethiopian coffee, I am grateful to have been to the source of those beans and to have met people who ensure the quality and safety of each one before its journey across the Atlantic. Because coffee trees grow like weeds in this region, it is not abnormal for people to grow their own coffee and use the harvest from one or two trees in the yard. I had the great pleasure of experiencing the most genuine cup of Ethiopian coffee through a traditional ceremony. Some friends of Pat’s who owned the house we were at had already harvested their beans and laid them out to dry in the sun. We all gathered around as the woman of the house made popcorn for a communal snack before roasting the beans in the same cast iron skillet over hot coals. When they were browned to her liking, she took them out and ground them up in a mortar and pestle. She then put the grounds directly into the jebena with water to boil. After the coffee was brewed, she got out about a dozen tiny ceramic cups and put a teaspoon’s worth of salt into each one before she poured the coffee in. She then passed the tray of cups around for everyone to take part, and needless to say it was simply delicious. I think what is so compelling to me about Ethiopians is their generosity and hospitality. It does not come from a place of subservience, but rather of genuine selflessness and desire to be in communion with everyone. I have yet to experience such a welcoming feeling from complete strangers in any other group of people I have encountered.

Coffee trees

Harvested coffee cherries

Whether it was genuinely smiling and waving out the window, blowing a kiss, giving a thumbs up because I knew it would make their day, playing soccer with the kids, letting the girls do my makeup, speaking to them in their language, or even simply holding them close, I know it made all the difference. That is something that is difficult for me to remember even to this day. I am such a pessimist that it blinds me from what is plain to see. Meaningful, genuine human interaction does not operate on a solely linguistic plane. People just want to be loved, to feel like they belong. I think if everyone held this truth and intentionally acted on it, the world would be a much better place.

So Wednesday night we stayed in one of the most remote places I have ever set foot. It was this resort/hotel of sorts called the Aregash in a town called Yirgalem. It featured bungalows as the living quarters and the food was all organically grown in their gardens on site. The water came from a well, so it was good to drink and use. They had the best avocados I had ever eaten. In fact, the whole meal was soul stunningly good. We even had a glass of wine afterwards. One of the main attractions of this place is the hyenas that dwell in the surrounding forest. Every night they come up to the fence to consume whatever scraps the staff has for them. Late at night their cacklings and “laughter” can be heard from inside the bungalow; what an eerie experience that was! In the early morning, one of the groundskeepers was our guide on a hike in search of them. On which I had the luck—or lack thereof depending on your perspective—of peering at what looked like either an abnormally large dog or small bear from a (somewhat) safe distance. There were also some lively monkeys chatting away in the trees. This spot on the map was one I will reminisce about for the rest of my life.

Thursday we made the drive back to Addis. But about halfway we stopped at Lake Ziway to eat lunch and take a break. Simply beautiful, this lake was. The birds there were iridescent in color and feisty in personality. There were also some ancient tortoises, cactus trees riddled with carved initials and notes, enormous trees perfect for climbing, a ping pong table, a life size chess board, swings, and a diving dock near the shore. The restaurant we ate in had an open building plan where the birds could fly freely in and out for visitors to observe. Oddly enough, this lake was in the middle of a dry, desert land. We saw dirt devils and camels on the way back to Addis. At that point, I wanted to stay in Ethiopia forever.

By Friday and Saturday however, I was ready to return home. My heart had witnessed and expressed a whole slew of emotions within that week and I doubt it could handle much more. Those were the days we visited the girl’s home and the orphanage. I enjoyed the time we spent there and being able to connect with the girls and form friendships was part of the whole reason I decided to take this journey. As a woman, I wanted to fight for the equality of my Ethiopian sisters and show them that they have value and should be able to live a life they want to live. I didn’t want to continue to be part of the problem, sitting back and acknowledging what a shame it is yet never really doing anything about it. I had to shed my ignorance and interact with the living, breathing people of Ethiopia, not just the far-off suffering, poverty stricken people I heard or read about.

THE DEBRIEFING

When I came home from Ethiopia, I experienced a horde of mixed emotions. I was happy to be home again, but I became very depressed. At that point in my life, even before leaving for Africa, I was not exactly living purposefully nor did I have any sort of stable mindset about my life. I was looking for something to drown out my discontent so as any good college student would do, I turned to alcohol to solve my problems. Of course, that only suppressed them and made everything worse, but who thinks about that when the world is crashing down on you? I didn’t know what to do. It seemed like my entire life was an existential crisis (and still does quite honestly). But what woke me up from all of that was that I had to do better, not for me, but for all of the people I had met and shared moments with in Ethiopia and the rest of my brothers and sisters around the world that share in their suffering. To be better. To take my life seriously and appreciate the life I have been born into. Who am I to take my education for granted and complain about the many privileges I enjoy? I owe it to the underprivileged and exploited world to do everything in my power to help. If I can do something to make even the slightest bit of impact, make even the slightest improvement in one person’s life, I must because the world needs more genuine care and concern for other human beings.

Thank you for enduring my book of a blog post, and congratulations if you’ve gotten this far because this is it!

THE END

East Africa: November 2015 How can I even begin to describe my time in Ethiopia? Every time I think about it, my heart overflows with nostalgia and I long to be there again.

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