#i’m sorry but as someone who has dealt with her share of mental health issues it’s not only not funny but also genuinely hurtful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sariahsue · 3 years

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I'd love to know what movies get wrong about orphanages if you wouldn't mind sharing!

Oh, I'm so glad you asked!

So imagine all the movies with orphanages in them: Annie, Despicable Me, Meet the Robinsons*, Stuart Little, etc. The narrative goes like this. A bunch of poor orphans live in a home run by usually one person. When prospective parents come to visit, the children eagerly all line up, hoping to get picked! So exciting! The parents find the child they want, fill out a bunch of paperwork, and go home with their new child. There may be a couple bumps as everyone gets used to the new family dynamic, but they work themselves out by the end of the movie. Happily ever after!

Literally every single thing about that scenario is wildly incorrect. First off, and this comes as a surprise to most people, there aren't any orphanages in the United States. None.

Not many kids are orphaned these days thankfully, and if they are, there’s usually extended family or other arrangements previously made by the parents (like through their wills or godparents). If there’s truly no one that can take the kid, they’d be put into foster care and given an adoption worker along with their normal social worker.

The closest thing we have to orphanages are probably residential programs and group homes (which are basically a step down from residential and in a house with a smaller group of kids). I say they’re similar because they look it from the outside. A bunch of kids living together being cared for by adults who aren’t their parents.

That’s where the likeness ends, though. Kids in residential aren’t up for adoption. Strangers can’t go in and visit. The kids are there to receive extra care. They have something going on that make them too much to handle for their parents or foster parents, and it could be physical disability, behavioral issues, or mental health struggles. Most kids are in programs like that temporarily, though some live there for years. The adults that work there don’t live there. It’s a normal 40-hour workweek and many people work in shifts to make sure it’s properly staffed.

The government does line the kids up to show them off to prospective parents sometimes. They’re called adoption parties, and for some reason they’re held at Jordan’s Furniture store a lot. (Because they volunteer the space, I think.) There’s food and music and lots of kids up for adoption and lots of parents hoping to adopt.

Little kids tend to like them because they’re too young to understand what’s going on and, hey, lots of people to pay attention to me! Older kids HAAATE them. If they want to be adopted, then this is a great way to feel judged and rejected for a few hours. Most aren’t really excited about being adopted. Most kids’ birth parents are still alive, but their rights were forcefully terminated by the state. The kids can feel lots of things about this. Angry. Disloyal to their birth family if they want a new family. Scared of being hurt by the new family. Sad to leave their foster family. Still want to go home even if it’s not possible. It’s not a fun time.

Nothing concrete comes of these parties usually. Parents can talk to social workers afterward if there’s a kid that they want more information on, but it’s really the beginning of the process. There are other ways to begin that process. I’ve heard of teachers meeting a foster kid and wanting to adopt, or someone knowing a foster family taking care of a kid who’s up for adoption. Others simply talk to an adoption worker. I don’t know what the process is like for that. Quite often, foster families will take care of a kid and then adopt them. (That’s what happened to us. We fostered a newborn. He wasn’t up for adoption until he was two, and we were couldn’t even contemplate giving him up at that point.)

Sometimes, social workers will try to get prospective parents to meet kids without the kids realizing the adults are thinking about adoption, to spare the kid the worry and rejection. Once the parents have decided to move forward, there is paperwork, but I think it’s normal foster parent type paperwork because, surprise, you can’t adopt them yet. Kids have to live in your house for six months before you can adopt

Since most kids will be with a foster family before going to a pre-adoptive home, and they probably are comfortable there and attached to the family, the transition to the new home is gradual. They start out with visits for a few hours, then sleepovers. If the kid hasn’t figured it out already, they’ll let them know these people want to adopt them around this time. Some kids take it well. Some... don’t. Longer sleepovers, then finally they officially move in. This could be a couple weeks if the kid is already familiar with the adoptive family or longer if they’re particularly attached to the foster family.

If six months are up and things are still going well, the real paperwork can start. There are home evaluations, interviews with the parents, interviews with the children already in the family, psychologists determine if the adoptee is adjusted well and securely attached. I’m sure there’s a ton more that I don’t know about. It freaking takes forever. When you’re done, you have to go to court and have papers signed by a judge. I’m sure this is the best part of every judge’s day. There are smiles and pictures and kids happily banging the gavel to make it official!

Unfortunately, the issues that come from adoption are not all solved at the end of the 90-minute movie. My brother, who never lived with his birth mother and has only had us as his family, still has issues. I know a girl who was straight up abandoned by her mother. She’s got serious mental health and self-worth issues years later, even though she and family adore each other and they are so good to her and super supportive. On the other hand, some people have zero issues over it. They don’t know and don’t care about their birth family.

Some issues go away after time and love. Some people start out with no issues, but after a few months or years, things start to change. Their subconscious realizes that they’re not in danger, and this is a safe environment where they can finally start to work through the trauma they’ve been through, and suddenly they’ll start having mental health or behavioral problems, and sometimes they’re severe.

It’s sad, but occasionally adoptions fail. This is part of the reason for the six-month wait. Sometimes the kids have so many issues that the parents can’t help them and keep them safe. Sometimes the parents weren’t as good people as they pretended to be and should haven’t kids. Thankfully, this type. of thing is pretty rare. I’ve never met anyone who it’s happened to. Most of the time, kids are put into good homes with people who love them and help them heal from the things their birth families put them through.

TL;DR There aren’t any orphanages in the US. Adoption is very complicated and emotionally messy, but it’s great! I’m sorry not sorry I wrote an essay.

*I give Meet the Robinsons a pass. Lots of kids who are up for adoption or who have been adopted struggle with it a lot. For some, they feel worthless because their foundational belief about themselves is that not even their own mother wanted them. For others, they feel guilty about betraying their birth family when they start to love the adoptive family. Some are rejected repeatedly. Almost all of them have been deeply hurt in the past. Meet the Robinsons acknowledges issues like these and told the story of a boy who dealt with them in a healthy way, and showed kids that it’s okay for them to be happy, and made a very cute and imaginative movie out of it, and I love it for existing.

#adoption #foster care

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years

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Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

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that-good-trash · 4 years

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I’m Not Okay- Chapter one Midoriya x Reader/Bakugou x Reader

Izuku Midoriya x reader/ Katsuki Bakugou x reader

Summary: You have struggled with mental health your whole life so why can’t you seem to get it under control. Will you be able to keep the same mask even though two of your classmates have seen under it?

Warnings: Depression, Angst, Anxiety.

Words Count: 3,786

Comment: This isn’t my first time writing fanfic but it is my first time posting it. I hope you enjoy.

Had breathing always been this hard? Were you always this tired? When did your legs start refusing to move you any further? You knew the answers to these questions. Of course, you knew since you’d been dealing with these issues for so long. Your chest has been tight for years, the kind of suffocating one endures under immense pressure or while drowning; metaphorically and figuratively. Breathing shouldn’t be considered a chore and yet to you it was one of the hardest things to do, an inconvenience. The exhaustion of your face didn’t even begin to show exactly how tired you were, physically and mentally. Did anyone notice the way your shoulders were no longer squared, like you had no fight left even though you were always ready to face any challenge before. Before what? What exactly had changed so much for you to feel this way.

You had always dealt with depression. The mental illness had been a part of your life since you were little. When you had first started to attend counseling, they tried to tell you that maybe you were stressed from school, maybe your parents didn’t love you enough, maybe you lacked friendship and isolation was causing this. No matter what the counselors said it never seemed to add up to you. Your family life wasn’t horrible, your schooling wasn’t so hard, and you had plenty of friends and yet you still felt like you shouldn’t exist. Your family had nothing to do with this but you could reference a few experiences where they proved that you meant little to them. The same could be said for your schooling. Now that you attended UA you weren’t bothered as much but prior to graduating middle school you had received your fair share of bullying.

Currently your friendships seemed strong. Your fellow classmates always invited you to join them for activities outside of school and during school you never lacked someone to talk to or hang out with. Yet, despite how included you were, there was a large gap between you and the rest of the class. You didn’t realize but you had separated yourself from them over the span of the last few months. They noticed your isolation but all took it in different ways. Some of your friends decided that you must need space and graciously gave it to you. Others were worried but didn’t know how to approach you. There was a sliver of people in class that hadn’t even noticed a change in your behavior since they were focused on their own issues and lives.

At the moment your legs had stopped moving. Your chest was tightening and you knew that you needed to grab onto something to prevent an episode. An unsteady shaking hand reaches frantically for anything to grab ahold of. Your luck would be grabbing onto the arm of the most difficult angry person you’d ever met. A gasp escapes your lips as your hand is viciously removed from none other than Katsuki Bakugou himself. His crimson eyes burn daggers into your sad and fearful (e/c) ones.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING TOUCHING ME, FUCKING EXTRA!”

His words have nothing but anger and hatred to them. The yelled question was laced with disgust as his eyes went from glaring to disgusted, Bakugou’s lip twitching into a snarl. Had this happened a few weeks ago you would have yelled back. You would have defended yourself because that’s the person you were. A girl who didn’t let the world treat her like shit since you did a good enough job doing that all on you own. That previous version of you is gone in this moment. You can’t fight back right now. A slight choked sob breaks the tense silence between the two of you as Bakugou waited for a response. He was expecting you to yell back, for you to defend yourself but instead he sees something he had never wanted to witness in his life. Your eyes were glossy from the tears that threatened to fall, the fabric of your shirt rose and fell frantically with your breathing. Shaking, your body was shaking and you had lost the ability to speak. However, you did not lose the ability to run despite your legs wanting to give up.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t stand around to see what he would say next. Your legs thrusted you forward pushing passed his shoulder and down the empty corridor. The two of you should have been in class right now but you were late. Bakugou stared at the spot you had just been occupying, his mind racing trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He hadn’t realized that his face had gone from angry to shocked. His eyebrows were knit together with concern instead of malice. Had he acted faster he would have reached out to stop you. Never had he ever witnessed you react like that to his threats. Not once had it seemed to bother you when he threatened or insulted you. You always had that same dumb smile on your face or even giggled at his shitty behavior.

“Tsk.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue before his hands dipped into his pockets. He wasn’t going to run after you. He may have decided to let you go but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried which pissed him off.

As Bakugou left to class you had kept running. Taking the stairs down two at a time you hoped to get away faster but instead tripped and fell. The pain of hitting the concrete steps jolted through your legs. The tears that had fallen before seemed to double as you were now in physical pain as well as mental. After positioning yourself into a sitting position on one of the steps you realize you’ve scrapped up your knee. Blood was already trickling down your reddened leg. The scrape stung and it was painful to walk when you finally attempted to leave again. Your hands had to hold into the railing in order to prevent more pressure on your injured appendage.

“Y/N!”

You had been trying to leave the building when your name was shouted from behind you. Someone clearly out of breath from the heavy sighs that came after your name was yelled. You had almost expected Bakugou and were slightly disappointed when it wasn’t. Instead Midoriya stood in front of you. His hands on his knees, leaned forward catching his breath. When he looks up, he sees the blood and instantly rushes forward again. His hands gently brush your knee as he squats down. A light blush crosses your cheek since he is at eye level with your skirt and his fingers are gently brushing the sides of the wound without touching it directly.

“What happened?! Kacchan came into class late, he didn’t do this to you did he!?”

Midoriya was frantically speaking, his words coming out slightly muttered. You understood what he had said and would have answered his question but you had a question of your own that needed to be answered. You rub your eyes looking down at the forest haired boy.

“What are you doing out of class?”

You knew it wasn’t right to answer his question with a question but his presence didn’t make any sense to you. Midoriya blinks up at you before he stands back up. He reaches his hand forward to brush a few stray tears. Your eyes closed on instinct when something came that close to your face. The touch was so light that you were convinced he hadn’t even touched you at all. Your eyes crack open when he speaks.

“I was concerned about you so I asked Mr. Aizawa if I could try to find you. He allowed me to check if you were still in the building. I’m glad I found you, though I wish it was under better circumstance. Now, Y/n are you going to answer my questions.”

You nod looking down at your feet out of embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to break down in front of Bakugou and now you had to figure out a way to explain your sorry state to the class baby. The nicest person in your class wanted to know what was bothering you and part of you wanted to break down and tell him about how you felt. To tell him how you lacked air and how the world was beginning to get heavier and you felt stuck under it. There was so much you wanted to tell him, yet nothing came up. Instead you let silent tears roll down your cheeks. Before you could reach your own hand up to wipe the tears Midoriya’s fingers brush them away. You look at him and expect judgment even though you know that’s not the kind of person he is. His eyes hold endearment and concern. He thinks of you as a close friend and cares so much about how you feel. Currently he is trying to figure how you have this much sadness in your expression and how he hadn’t realized it before. The both of you are stuck in this silence staring into the others eyes.

“Katsu- Bakugou didn’t do anything to me. Well, he did but it was my fault. I spaced out for a moment and touched him without permission. He, um got mad and started yelling at me but I deserved it.”

You had moved your hand up to your opposite arm and started nervously rubbing it, a slight chuckle breaks free from your quickly drying lips. You don’t want to cause drama with any of your classmates especially with all that they already had on their plates and you with your own crumbling mental state. You finally focus your attention from the ground to Midoriya who is biting his thumb nail and muttering to himself. His expression is serious but also holds the slightest bit of, anger? You must be reading to into his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. Midoriya was always the one to find good in everything and find a way to be on both sides of an opposing conflict.

“Midoriya.”

You tried to get his attention since standing here was starting to get uncomfortable and class would end eventually.

“Let me take you to recovery girls office. You skinned your knee pretty bad. I’ll leave you alone after that if you want me too.”

As much as you wanted to go back to your dorm and curl into yourself you knew Midoriya wouldn’t let this go and would keep pushing till you agreed. Though a slight part of you wasn’t opposed to having company other than the intrusive thoughts screaming in the background of your mind. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak again without breaking down with the newest wave of anxiety crashing down. Instead you slowly lifted your hand toward your classmate offering it to him. The relief and kindness that flashed across his eyes made your chest tighten. It was so opposite of how Bakugou reacted to your earlier but you were already aware of the differences in the two boys’ personalities and knew you couldn’t take Bakugou’s reaction to heart.

“Y/n… Please try to pay attention. I’d feel bad if you got hurt under my watch.” A slight chuckle escaped the green haired boy as he held your hand and lead you away from the exit. The doors leading to your freedom faded from site as the hero in training brought you back down the empty hallways. Your chest was tightening again and despite your cracking lips you felt like water was filling your lungs. Despite your quiet and closed off demeanor Midoriya continued to try and smile for you. He spoke when you couldn’t and his legs moving in front of you reminded you to move yours along. It was like a baby deer watching its mother before shaking legs stand up and it takes its leap of faith. Expect you weren’t a baby deer; you are a teenager wanting to be a hero and how were you going to do that when you couldn’t even save yourself from… yourself.

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The nurse’s office was quiet which is usually a good sign but right now it was agonizing silence. You sat on the edge of an empty bed while two pairs of eyes stared at you assessing, analyzing, waiting for you to say something. Your knee was no longer the subject, now it was the dark circles under your eyes and the way you avoided eye contact. You could feel judgement even if it wasn’t there. Recovery girl fixed physical wounds and internal damage but you weren’t bleeding anymore and the internal damage wouldn’t show up on an x-ray.

“L/n.” You looked up at the soft yet stern voice of Recovery Girl. “Are you having trouble sleeping? Are you eating properly and keeping yourself hydrated? Your eyes are sunken in which tells me you aren’t sleeping and are lacking the right amount of water. A hero in training needs to take care of their bodies. You should be getting at least 8 hours of sleep and drinking around 3 liters of water a day. If you can’t stomach eating right now, I can pull you out of physical training to prevent any harm to you.”

“NO!” You could lie about promising to get sleep and drink more water but you couldn’t get around a referral dismissing you from physical training. You already felt like you were falling behind the rest of your classmates. If you had to take a break now then you truly would be left alone with your thoughts and that would be even worse for your health than lacking proper nutrition and hydration.

“Please don’t worry about me. I’m just having a bad day. Everyone has bad days once in a while, right? I’ve been studying late so I haven’t been sleeping and I sometimes forget to drink water cause I’m a little ditzy.” You felt like you weren’t even lying but you were and it was so much easier than telling the truth even though the words you wanted to say were on your tongue waiting for their chance to slip out. Your lies were so believable that even yourself fell into their calming deceit. A smile appeared as you wet your lips with the cup of water you had been handed when you had first arrived. Your eye lashes tickled your checks when you blinked away any tears that might have wanted to join the party. A deep breath and you felt normal. Recovery Girl and Midoriya still stared with skepticism but you wore a stunning mask that prevented them from getting to you. “I promise that I’ll try and study earlier so I can sleep. I’ll drink water every chance I get and eat every meal. Just don’t make me stop, Please.”

“Well… I would have had trouble benching one of Mr. Aizawa’s prized students anyway. You have promised me that you will do these three essential things and I expect you to follow up with that promise. Which is why I shall be appointing Midoriya here to watch you.”

“Wha-No. That isn’t fair to him. You can’t just make someone baby sit me.” You felt bad when you stood up and swung your hand in Midoriya’s direction. He flinched slightly but not because he was afraid, you would hit him. He was slightly off put by your shouting in protest.

“I can and I will. I am also going to give you a log where you will write every time you drink and eat so I can look it over next week to make sure I don’t have to follow up on my threat. If you are having trouble studying may I suggest a tutor.” Wow a suggesting after all the coercion. You had to do everything she said or face repercussion. You could have easily said you had done these things but with Midoriya watching you it was going to be hard to not follow through. There was no argument left in you. Defeated you let your shoulders sag and a tiny nod is sent in Recovery Girls direction.

“Okay.” With that you had been given your logs, a bottle of water, and Midoriya’s support. A pat of your back was the last thing you received before leaving the office. You had been suffering earlier and now you wanted to destroy the walls in front of you and scream until your throat bled. As you walked down the slightly crowed halls Midoriya followed like your faithful guard dog, or more like a baby sitter trying to prevent a baby from opening pill bottles. You had stopped and grunted when he ran into your back, the grip you had on your bag strap tighter than the bandaging on your leg. You could hear the green hair boy, whom an hour ago was your savior and now was your worst enemy with no fault other than your own, apologizing for running into you.

“I-I’m so sorry Y/n.”

“Leave me alone.” The words came out between gritted teeth. You hated the taste anger left in your mouth; it was worse than vomit. You were going to say something you’d regret so you had to escape him now to prevent that from happening. He meant well when he took you to the nurse’s office. He meant well and yet you were angry because you just wanted to go to your dorm and drown in tears and scream into the empty building while you had the chance. Now that classes were over you couldn’t do that and now you had to follow some stupid regiment.

“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!” The words hadn’t meant to be yelled but they came out loud. Some people turned and looked in time to see the shock and hurt wash over Midoriya’s face and to watch the anger on your own dissipate into pain and regret before you ran. Midoriya couldn’t reach you this time. You had run away with no intention to be caught again. You ran faster even though your knee throbbed begging you to stop. The metaphoric water in your lungs was also trying to restrain you, trying to keep you from escaping. Hallways flew by along with familiar and unfamiliar faces. You looked insane as your hair wildly danced behind you and your skirt tried to fly up when you leaped from the top of the stairs. This was your ‘leap of faith’ but really it was a rush of cowardice. You landed with a hiss and stumble before rushing past the people watching with fear and curiosity. When the midafternoon sun kissed your skin, you knew you were almost free to breakdown. The throbbing faded with the increased adrenaline as you finally made in to the dorm building. You made sure not to look at anyone as you rushed inside and straight to the elevator. You could feel the eyes and hear the unspoken questions but didn’t want to look or hear. You just wanted to go to your room and sleep for the next millennium. Life had other plans for you. When the elevator door opened Bakugou walked out. Your felt ice in your veins despite the heat that spread across the rest of your body since you were embarrassed, he had to watch your pathetic display earlier. Your body went stiff and you looked directly at the floor before swiftly rushing into the waiting elevator. You were almost free but that’s when a hand pushed against the door causing it to retract. Bakugou’s piercing red eyes stared into your broken ones before slowly moving down to the bandaging on your knee which was now slightly pink from blood resurfacing after your running and jumping. You waited for some harsh comment about how you were an idiot or pathetic but the words never came. Instead his voice came out low and non-threatening.

“If you need that rebandaged later come by my room. I have some experience with bandaging.” He didn’t see the confusion on your face when he pulled his hand away allowing the door to close and take you to your floor. You sighed falling against the wall with your hand pushing into your chest willing it to stop hurting. Bakugou wasn’t a nice guy but you knew he had soft moments but never had you personally experienced one. You could only assume it was his own way of trying to ease regret from yelling at you. You didn’t have the energy to think about what Bakugou’s new behavior could mean. You were tired and finally in your own room. A safe place that no one could force you to leave, well no one has tried. With a heavy sigh you fall backward onto your bed finally letting everything out as a sob pushes your lips apart followed by more and more till the only sound that could be heard was your pained whimpers and chocked out screams. Your brain throbs against your cranium and you wish you could puncture a hole to relieve the pressure like they did in asylums in the past. This was how you lived most of your days and nights when it became to much. Sobbing and breaking down while the world moved around you. The words spoken as whispers in your ears telling you how useless and pathetic you are. How the world spins and your classmates still laugh and play regardless of your absence.

However, no matter what your thoughts told you. No matter what you own personal demons whisper, someone cared. Someone noticed. Midoriya entered the dorm building wishing you were curled up against Mina on the couch like you did on good days. He wanted you to be fine but he knew you weren’t and even if Recovery Girl hadn’t asked him, he would have still tried to help you because he wanted you to be better. He was going to help you. He wasn’t the only one. Bakugou leaned against the counters not listening to the conversations around him. Instead he thought about the pain you were in. He wondered how much you suffered alone and he was determined, despite his pride, to destroy that suffering. He knew your battle was one that lacked villains and instead had to be fought slowly and methodically with patience and words. He would be there for you or at least promised himself that he would try which to Bakugou held a lot of meaning.

These boys want to save you, the only thing is they haven’t quite figured out you need to be saved from yourself.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #midorya x reader #izuku x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha midoriya #mha imagines

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adventuresofmonique · 3 years

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How I learnt to form boundaries.

God says in Proverbs 4:24; “Protect your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life”.

I’ve had my fair share of toxic relationships and some of my friends always remind me of this verse. Some relationships constantly made me think I was the issue and this lead to some serious mental health triggers.

After many failed relationships, I am finally happy to be single and just be free. To have a strong relationship with God and the biggest gift I think God is trying to teach me now is boundaries.

Ironically, the firmer the boundaries, the more flexible and generous we can be.

My first every relationship I had was full of trust and the fulfilment of a void inside of me that someone actually liked me. My first boyfriend, I trusted so much but little did I know that he cheated on me repetitively. I was so innocent, so blindsided for the fact I trusted him so much, I didn’t need to look through his phone. Until one day at university, I was getting some lunch and wondering why he never messaged me for nearly an entire day, I was cool with it though - he could just be busy. Then the heart-dropping text of one sentence, that made me feel my heart drop to the ground and just shatter. “It’s not going to work out, we need to break up”. No reasoning, just a random break up. It wasn’t until later I found out about the dating applications, texts etc. I was hurt.

Fast forward to today. Many failed relationships later and I can’t trust any guy, I also think I am not good enough for anyone, who would want to be with me?

I once had a friend in high school who said I would never get a boyfriend, because who could possibly love me (Certainly, wasn’t a friend). But, the opinion of this one person, has followed me since I was 17. The demon of “You’re not good enough”, “you’re not pretty enough”, ‘You’re boring” etc. It took a toll and what was my way of dealing with it?

The most UNHEALTHIEST way ever!! I would start up relationships when I wasn’t ready and then end up breaking up over silly, small things or beat them to the chase and break up with them before they had the chance to even try to bruise my heart. I would nit pick the things I didn’t like and blow it up in my head and just leave. But, hurt people, hurt people. I was hurting people left, right and centre and it was toxic trait of mine. However, this lead me to relationships that were so toxic, it damaged me. I was in relationships where what I thought was normal, when it really wasn’t. I didn’t realize this until one friend said - “this isn’t normal”. I had one ex-boyfriend hide my keys and wouldn’t let me go, punch holes in the wall when he didn’t get his way. I would get told “Apologise to me for being ugly”, “You’re nothing but a whore”, “You belong on the streets” and it went on for about 5 years I dealt with this.

UNTIL, I found God again. They say he left the 99 to find the 1 and the night I was going to end it all, he showed up and saved me. I felt like the was the 1 he found in the middle of all this mess, he picked me up. (That story is for another time). But, it lead me to escaping toxic relationships and lead me to seek help, to become healed and identify a toxic relationship before even getting into one again.

Through all of this i learnt, when you don’t establish boundaries, toxic people will continue to push. You can’t just assume that they will think and love like you do and will stop when they have pushed too far. With these types, they will never draw a line to protect/respect you -- YOU MUST draw and YOU MUST enforce these yourself.

Establishing boundaries isn’t just second nature and it isn’t always easy. If you are doing certain things that ‘people please’ your friends, parents, partner, colleagues or even your own boss, sorry to be so blunt but then your boundaries are weak as anything.

I once had a friend who had literally had everything in her car. Her boot was like Mary Poppins bag, you just stick your hand in and you come out with whatever you need. She did this because if something came up that someone needed, she had it. She even admitted to me one day that she hated carrying her Mary Poppins bag around in her boot but she felt as if she was expected to have something when someone needed it.

Having a ‘Mary Poppins’ bag/life for the world, putting up with cheating, abuse, bullying, disrespect or going out to a lunch when you would rather not is perhaps not a huge deal at the moment, but overtime the erosion of personal boundaries has various number of effects.

When you say ‘yes’ to things that you don’t want to do, you increase your risk of growing more exhausted and resentful -- this will end up taking a toll on your mental health and then that’s when the enemy comes to steal your happiness. PROTECT YOUR HEART!

If you go into a relationship trying to fit in with society or please everyone, you’re going to loose even more. Caving into marriage or relationships because you feel behind or you’re getting old tends to be the zero-sum game. In order to assert your needs you needs, it will be expected to come across anger or even disappointment of how situations turned out or even your ex at times. No matter how amicable the situation -- that’s okay.

They are you ex, their happiness is not your problem.

This saying above, we have all heard so much - no doubt. But, apply this saying to your friends and family too. Some want you to reconcile and others want you to bury this dude 10 feet deep. However, this is your break up/divorce/loss of friendship not theirs. If they are helping you and making you feel better -- GREAT! If not, distance yourself a little -- get help and move forward. It doesn’t end here. Trust me, I’ve had friends that never helped, but i prayed to God for friends that are real and that’s what he gave me. REAL and Authentic friends - that tell you how it is but will never not help you. My God is so good all the time and all the time God is good.

I like to call it ‘Pruning’, Gods going to remove some people out of your life and it’s going to hurt and be a little rough, but it’s okay to put yourself first.

Will some people get mad? yep. Will some people just leave you high and try? also yes. Were they real friends though? no.

Some people will hate your boundaries. You not having boundaries have probably served some of your ‘friends’ well, they will be irritated that you no longer bought your ‘Mary Poppins’ bag for whatever they needed. Again, not your problem. And if they withdraw from your life the moment you stop allowing them from using you, do you then really care? I found out I was way better off.

So, I had two options. I could keep living my life for other people and on a one way street. Or I could live life on my own terms. This was a big battle, but i started to live life on my own terms and when I made this decision, God set me free. The bars of the prison were open. I was free.

I don’t know if you heard of Maya Angelo (Look her up, I love her). But, she said: “you teach people how to treat you, and I prefer they treat you really well”.

I actually recently read this book called “The Art of extreme self-care” by Cheryl Richardson (link at the bottom of this blog). She, basically goes through exercises she went through to help her break the chain of her people-pleasing habits. She decided for 30 days, she was going to disappoint one person a day and this would help her enforce her boundaries. Although, she says that this massively increased her anxiety, she goes on to tell that she learnt to stop caring about what other people think and to start caring about what she thought about herself. It’s really helpful actually, I’ve picked up a few lessons myself. I honestly, recommend this read.

I’ve tired this a few ways myself. Examples are when asking if I would like to donate some money towards a charity at the check out you can simply say “no, thanks”, without explaining why without explaining how you normally give heaps to charity already.

Just let go.

Doing little things like this, I have started to notice my boundaries are slowly expanding. I said no to certain gatherings without having mad anxiety about it for about two days Change it up though, even with some of my good friends - when they ask if I want to go out for lunch and I know I don’t feel the best anxiety wise, I say ‘no’.

Slowly, God starts to reveal to you that the people who actually love you, love you no matter what, They understand. Their love is not conditional on me always saying ‘yes’.

I am still fairly new to practicing boundaries and sometimes I find it is easy to miss the mark by being too forceful. I relate back to Proverbs 4:24 when starting a chinwag and being friendly etc. Usually, when I do this, it is generally enough. But, when I deal with bullies, disrespect, that can trigger my past and lead to anxiety I have a shield and this shield protects my heart and this shield maybe praying to God and leaving it at the cross (Which I normally always do), asking God to bless them, open to forgiveness and then there’s also these -- warnings, blocking texts or people, walking away -- this demonstrates that I plan to enforce my boundaries - to protect my heart because what comes into my heart also comes out.

Lately, when I make mistakes, doing uni assignments and learning a new skill (at the moment I am learning guitar lessons -- music has it’s way of helping me defuse my anxiety) I try and not fault myself for missing the mark where I wanted to be at and i learnt by establishing my boundaries, this comes to no difference,

I make mistakes all the time, I’m human. I come to realise that it’s okay to make mistakes and i practice self-compassion. I let people who support me know that I am trying a new thing. They know I am working on my boundaries and that if I overshoot the mark, I know they tell me with love.

What I wrote has helped me and I hope what I’ve expressed can also encourage and help you.

Praying for you always,

Love mo. x

BOOK: https://www.booktopia.com.au/the-art-of-extreme-self-care-cheryl-richardson/book/9781401952488.html?source=pla&gclid=CjwKCAiA4rGCBhAQEiwAelVti9rw-Kp4XvZINbu3G4lNJeqtVE_zDUxkHmZfc8d3AuQfPUHjblwDfBoCWfEQAvD_BwE

#mental health #blogging #toxic relationship #self love #faith #jesusitrustinyou #strong woman #boundaries

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thelioncourts · 4 years

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life update for anyone who is. interested or anything :)

so. to say the last few months have been stressful would be an understatement. and they’ve been so stressful for everyone. i dealt with a lot of the same, or similar, problems as people during the beginning of the pandemic: loss of income, school stresses, mental health deterioration, etc. but i pushed through, also like so so many strong people.

these last few weeks though have been the cherry on top of an already bizarre year.

my grandmother - who i hate - is dying of liver failure, kidney failure, and congestive heart failure. she was intended to be the primary caretaker for her father, my great-grandfather who is 91, but, to be honest, he’s in far better shape than she is. he just can’t walk around so easily. my mother, in turn, has quit her job to take care of them because they refuse to pay for in-home health care (refuse is an important word here; they have the money, they just. won’t). my mother has a heart of gold and despite all of our issues with her (and my mother has so many issues with my grandmother too (she’s my mother’s mother-in-law)) she can’t stand for them to be miserable and alone during this. my mother’s work was not kind to her during the pandemic and even less kind when she quit. and now our house is down a second income which means we are back to counting coupons and stuff. and it’s not end of the world by any means, but we haven’t been here in a while.

i’m back at work at the coffeeshop. i hate that place. it’s not the worst job, but like all food-service-esque jobs, dealing with a raging public and are severely understaffed, adding to the public’s rage. i make minimum wage. i deserve so much more, we all do.

as a human being and as a future educator as well, the black lives matter movement has been life changing to witness and to be part of in however i can (which, for me in this exact moment, involves signing all the petitions i can and sharing info. i have made a list of organizations i want to donate to when i have the money, but i don’t have that right now at all). i’ve been arguing and shutting down to the best of my ability racist family members and people i’ve had the displeasure of having to know in real-life via schooling and whatnot. it’s enraging. it’s a lot. and it’s opened my eyes even more to things i should have been more aware of.

my sister is having surgery this friday. she’s in anatomy II for school and was learning about different systems and learned about this thing called a thyroglossal cyst. she has one. the surgery to remove it is friday. anytime anyone goes into surgery is just. terrifying, and especially when it’s someone so important to me. and i can’t be there. they’re barely allowing my parents to be there with everything going on. they’re cutting into her neck. she was crying tonight, worrying about the scar. her birthday is next thursday too.

dad’s birthday is tuesday and father’s day is sunday. i have no idea what to do, besides cook. i know that’s all he actually wants (food is his heart) but. i feel like he deserves so much more and i don’t know where to go for anything or what to do.

i start classes tomorrow. i have two classes to take this summer then i student teach in the fall, if everything works out. i haven’t had time to check really anything the last few weeks given all of this going on and i feel like i’ve probably missed something i hope it’s nothing or nothing important but. my university, as i’ve said before, shut down permanently after the pandemic. it’s just. a lot. and these two classes seem utterly useless tbh. one is ‘technology in the classroom’ and it’s being taught by a professor that barely knows how zoom works.

i have a lump in my left breast that is extremely tender and my breast feels incredibly full. it might be nothing. i noticed it about six days ago, finally had my mom feel it today to tell me if i was being crazy or if it was real. she told me i need to make an appointment. it might be nothing, but the idea that it might be something has me so stressed and selfishly worried. and i really wish this could wait until i have my own health insurance so i don’t add anything to my parents’ or something.

all i want to do is workout, bike ride, cook, read books, and write, and i feel like if i do any of that i’m so far behind on everything. it’s been a lot. i’m trying to push through but i’m really tired. idk.

sorry this is so long for anyone that does read it. i appreciate you all so much, but if i’m not online a lot the next little bit. this is why. thank you for reading if you did. <3 sending all the good luck i can to everyone, i know we all need it.

#don't mind me #sorry. long post

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average-jor · 4 years

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say goodbye

i haven’t posted anything in a while. i’ve been going through a lot. i have substituted writing about it for painting but today i need to write. today i said goodbye to someone i considered my best friend for 6 years. she didn’t die, but she’s dead to me. and not *quite* in the way that phrase is usually meant. i mean it that way partly, but also i’m pretty sad. i am still grieving the loss of a friend. i wanted to end our friendship. i had been struggling for the past month with how to bring up certain things to her. i’ll give you some backstory:

6 years ago, S moved into the apartment across the hall from me. i didn’t like that she played her music so fucking loud and she didn’t like my boyfriend screaming at me. thus, a friendship was born. it was desperation for an “out” in my relationship with dan, who i’ve talked about in a previous post. it was loneliness. it was someone giving me attention that wasn’t dan. it was an escape, or so i thought, from the abuse. S had a huge problem with using drinking to cope with childhood trauma. i drank with her a lot, but she always went the extra mile. it was like that for much of our friendship. there wasn’t much else there. it wasn’t that deep. but somehow we were so close. somehow she was my best friend.

fast forward a couple years, i met and moved in with my now husband. first thing she said when she met him, was that it wasn’t going to last. i was gonna leave in a month. she just *knew* it. cool, but WHY the FUCK would you say that OUT LOUD??!! it was a moment where i needed her support and encouragement to explore this new relationship away from the abusive one i was accustomed to, and she seemed so dismissive of my attempting to find some happiness and healthiness in my life.

fast forward another couple years, my husband and i move closer to S. i’m actually happy i’ll have a friend to hang out with. even though she’s notoriously flaky. even though she notoriously lies about medical issues when she blows off our plans. even though she guilt trips and emotionally manipulates me. i didn’t see this clearly yet, but i was starting to.

fast forward to a month ago. as i’ve been sharing for over a month, i’ve really been going through a lot of things emotionally. i am in therapy because i have repressed childhood trauma and actively suffer from PTSD/anxiety/depression. i got on medication, i started doing things like writing and painting and actually taking care of my self, and my mental health. i told S that i needed some space to process my shit. she said she understood. and then she bugged me to hang out every single day until i finally caved. i offered a day and she was excited. day of, i message her and she didn’t message me back for 2 full hours before finally telling me she’d been - and this is a direct quote - “pukey mcpukerson’’.

GIRL. you are 33 yrs old. i’ve been your friend for 6 years. i know when you’re lying to me. i didn’t say anything. i didn’t call her out. how do i call her out on a lie about being sick? even if she IS lying, she’s not going to admit that, and then i look like a dickhole because i accused her. so i say nothing. i always say nothing.

here’s a synopsis of how i feel she’s treated me poorly during our 6 year friendship and any ONE of these things are a reason alone to end a friendship but today she told me things that i never could have seen coming and things that just reaffirmed how i felt about this friendship and where it was going - nowhere good:

- i feel that she is incredibly dismissive of my feelings

- i feel that she gaslights me

- i feel as though she is selfish + narcissistic and quite literally cannot care about anyone else besides herself

- i feel like she guilt trips and emotionally manipulates me

- i feel like she bullies me

- i feel like she is jealous and possessive of me

- i feel like she is a bad friend. period.

today she told me that it was not her responsibility to validate my feelings, and i’m not even joking when i tell you she said that i should not be so consumed in my own problems that i can’t still be there for my friends. she told me that i need to stop playing a victim. she told me everyone has to be soOOooOOoO careful about what they say around me, and that i need to “let go of” my past. she genuinely asked “HOW MUCH THERAPY DO YOU EVEN NEED?” what kind of friend is not supportive of them getting help they need? how is that sentence not haunting her as the exact reason why i had such issues with her??

i asked her repeatedly to please put aside her anger a little so she could listen to me. she kept gaslighting me, telling me i’m wrong in my feelings. telling me it’s ridiculous. calling me names. calling me to scream at me just to hang up the second i try to say anything.

after all of this, i still apologized for not coming forward and being honest with her sooner. i explained that i was proven right in why i felt so hesitant. i said that i was sorry she was miserable, and incapable of personal growth, or letting someone else experience that. i told her that i was a good friend to her for 6 years and i expected the same back. i told her i’m in therapy because i’m TRYING to be a better, more well-rounded adult. i asked what she was doing to try to accomplish that, told her i hope she finds happiness. she blocked me.

i’m not saying i’m unhappy that the friendship is over, i think it needed to happen. i especially feel confident in my decision because i’ve been going to therapy and can actually recognize toxic shitty behavior. and because of my husband, who has been supportive of my decisions about my friendship with S, and gently shared his opinion about how he thought the friendship was negatively affecting me. he applauded me for still putting myself in harm’s way emotionally to be there for her but reminded me that i need to take care of myself, too. which is exactly what i’m doing. i’m taking care of myself.

i may have one friend, one therapist, and one husband, but i am full of so much support right now and so much love from the people who actually DO care about me.

i realize now, S was never gonna let me live my life. she needed me to be in the same boat as her. now that i’ve become a healthier person, dealt with some of my shit. changed some behaviors, she can’t handle it. and i cannot sit here and let her tell me that its my fault. because it’s not. i should have been more honest sooner with her, i’ll own that. for 6 years, though, i was a very good friend. i feel hurt. i feel betrayed. i feel sad. i feel anxious. i feel better, though, too. i know i’ll get through this. it’s just hard.

please don’t let yourself be blinded like i was to the fact that friendships can also be abusive.

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riarklegirl · 5 years

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hey so what happened with that article you mentioned I'm from the UK and it doesn't grant access to EU citizens could you please put up screenshots I don't have a Tumblr or social media btw but please at least tell me what it said I'm so confused rn

It was an article posted by Salt Lake Tribune and it was pretty spoiler heavy regarding the plot for One in a Minyan. So if you wanna read it, you’ve been warned! (I literally just copied and pasted the whole article so if there are mistakes I’m sorry lol)

In the 2½ seasons “Andi Mack” has been on the air, it has dealt with family secrets, bullying, guns, love, betrayal, multiculturalism, religion, sexism, privacy, lies, military deployments, standing up to authority, jealousy, mental health and more than a little teenage angst.

This week’s episode (Friday, 6 p.m., Disney Channel) of the made-in-Utah show deals with death. And it’s funny. Really.

Cyrus (Joshua Rush) is mourning the loss of his grandmother. He and his family are sitting shiva, the weeklong mourning period that’s unfamiliar to Cyrus’ non-Jewish friends.

But, supportive friends that they are, Andi (Peyton Elizabeth Lee), Buffy (Sofia Wylie) and Jonah (Asher Angel) are there for Cyrus.

Jonah — unaware that Jewish custom is to have the burial as quickly as possible — asks to see the body of Cyrus’ bubbe to pay his respects. He’s surprised when he learns she’s already been buried.

“She’s not laid out somewhere?” he asks.

“This is a shiva,” Cyrus says. “The only thing that gets laid out are the deli platters.”

There are a lot of jokes like that in the episode, written by Jonathan Hurwitz. There’s a plot line in which Cyrus’ relatives are shocked and dismayed that Andi’s father, Bowie (Trent Garrett), has brought a kugel (a noodle casserole) devoid of raisins to the shiva.

Later in the episode, Cyrus tells his friends, “You know the story behind every major Jewish holiday — they tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat!”

You don’t often see religious traditions portrayed like this. And it’s more rare still to see Jewish traditions play such a central, sympathetic role.

“Shiva’s about friends and family being together to comfort one another and share stories,” Cyrus says.

“That sounds like a really nice thing to do when you’ve just lost someone,” Andi says.

“It is,” Cyrus replies. “Except … it lasts seven days. We take a long time to say goodbye.”

This being “Andi Mack,” that’s not the only thing going on. Andi and her grandmother Celia (Lauren Tom) are at odds over details of Andi’s parents’ upcoming wedding. Jonah has another panic attack — a strong storyline that lets young viewers know that we all deal with issues.

Speaking of modeling good behavior, Cyrus finally comes out to Jonah, a development that’s not a big deal — which makes a statement by not being a Major Event.

I know I’m repeating myself, but “Andi Mack” is an exceptional series that kids can learn a lot from while they’re being entertained. And, unlike so many shows aimed at kids and tweens, this one is watchable for parents and grandparents, too.

The question hanging over the show is not answered in this episode, however. There’s been no mention of Andi’s grandfather Ham since the actor who plays him, Stoney Westmoreland, was arrested in Salt Lake City on charges he tried to set up a sexual encounter with a person he believed to be a 13-year-old boy.

To repeat myself again, Westmoreland was not a regular on “Andi Mack.” He was a supporting character when he did appear. And kids who don’t know what happened wouldn’t have noticed his absence in the four new episodes that have aired since he was arrested and fired.

But, assuming Bowie and Bex (Lilan Bowden) actually do get married, it will be tough to have the wedding without somehow explaining how the father of the bride isn’t there.

#andi mack #am spoilers

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eallisnwndrlnd · 5 years

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Moving On From 2018

One thing I can say that I love about New Years is that it’s like life feels like it gave you a bit of a reset button. Not erasing anything but at least working towards improving what you did or didn’t do the past year. I definitely need that reset for this past year 2018.

Most of the year was in a bit of a stressful blur. I’m not going to bother reflecting on my previous New Years post since most of what I had hoped to come into fruition didn’t. All I can say is despite my battle with my depression and anxiety being the major factor in my stressed out year, I managed to accomplish some things. May not have been most of what I had planned but hey, that’s life sometimes.

This past 2018 I completed my 3rd year, completed my internship hours and my first semester of my last school year in college.

Even if I didn’t get in any of the companies I may have wished for my internship, I was lucky to find a company where I had a chance to utilize my skills and creativity in my writing and photography. It was pretty stressful initially when I was not getting any response from any of the fifteen companies I applied to. Thankfully it all worked out in the end. I even had fun and made it feel like a vacation with a classmate that became roommate and friend. I was feeling less claustrophobic when I was in our shared apartment in BGC, Taguig, away from the many reasons for my stress and anxiety. I was able to let myself forget about it at least during those short two months during break.

Going straight into the start of 4th year with unresolved issues and things that needed to be done, my stress and anxiety kicked into overdrive as schoolwork and personal issues at home gradually stacked up against me. By the end of the semester I was completely wound tight and sensitive as hell where I felt at any moment I could break. There were some close calls close to the end that’s for sure. Especially with some family drama that nearly buried me in an emotional quicksand. I ended up breaking down in front of my teacher for thesis because I thoroughly let myself down on that one. I was in no shape to complete it in time for the scheduled defense that was a few weeks ago. When it all comes down to it, no one is harder on me than myself. I put the high expectations on me and when I don’t meet them or make a mistake or complete it short of perfection, I dwell on it to no end. Then there was the matter of film and theatre class, where if I were back home, I may have enjoyed and been extremely enthusiastic about but alas due to my poor fluency in Tagalog I wasn’t able to truly be a part of the major projects we had to complete. I ended up taking roles that were so far away from what I really wanted to contribute but as the stories were in a language and culture that I still didn’t fully understand, I was in no way able to contribute in the way I would have wanted to anyway.(One of the brighter spots of film was being able to share some of my favorite films of all time and also participate in our groups documentary on a Badjao community despite being in pain and sick more than half the time. Seeing and meeting some of the people with their strength and courage and determination despite their hardships, really helps one put things in perspective.) With the organizations I am a part of, even if I had a minor role in all three, I still didn’t feel up to the task. I really kind of played dead dog for most of my responsibilities in ISO.

Honestly, this semester and even last semester, I felt myself ever so slightly detach from everything and kind of just mechanically go through the motions just managing to barrel through out of sheer need to complete my four years in college, do well and graduate. This semester is the first time in over four years where I found myself nearly having an anxiety attack. Not once, but three times. Once during debate when my brain refused to memorize my speech and then I fucked up completely during the recitation for my midterms. (I’m just thankful that my written speech helped me pick my grade up for that. Writer I may be, but speaker I sorely am not) It didn’t help that I still get a bit of stage fright every once in a while. Then the second was when my cousin messaged me about my mother having a schizophrenic episode and that it was causing drama and issues. The third one was during one of our theatre rehearsals and that one had no initial trigger except my stupid bronchitis that refused to go away that came out of a cold that has lasted frakking forever. Toss in several emotional breakdowns and smoking a ciggy after three years ciggy free and I could say I was down for the count. These past holidays of Thanksgiving and then Christmas were kind of meh considering I was sick for the first one and ma and I both were sick for the latter. But I pretty much had been sick on and off all this past semester and throw in my fibromyalgia kicking in worse than its been in the past four years, bringing spasms of pain that brought me to tears and bouts of insomnia this entire past year, 2018 brought more pain in more ways than one than anything else. I’m just thankful my ma, pop and family and friends (and my possessed cat, Gandalf) are still healthy and those that aren’t so much are on the road to being so, hopefully soon.

This new year 2019 is hopefully the year where I finally meet one of my lifetime goals of graduating and getting a college degree. After so much work and sacrifice not only from me but my parents, I need to reach that goal. I will be starting my fourth year second semester at the end of this month but before that hopefully will have completed our final film and theatre projects as well as getting some traction in completing my thesis that is now not a solo one as I included three classmates to be a part of it. At the end of the day, even if I had wanted my thesis, that I started with on my own, to be solely mine, I had to consider my health both mentally and physically which became the deciding factor in no longer trying to push myself in such a way that would’ve hurt me rather than help. As I near graduation, I will set out in determining what I want to do afterwards. Whether I stay here (that’s only if I get an opportunity down the road) or go back to the States or go to another country has yet to be determined. If I were to go back to the States, I’d then have to decide which state I’d be moving to. Or rather, WE would be moving to. We as in me and mother. Yes, my mom is a big factor in my decision. She has to be, there’s no point deluding myself that I would be comfortable with any other scenario. I’ve watched over that woman pretty much all my life and have been a sort of parent-like person for her since I was a kid. As she grows older and goes deeper into her schizophrenia and becomes more fragile, I cannot in my heart think of any other alternative other than keeping her with me. It’s not some martyrdom complex or anything like that, it’s just how I am wired. Even with all my issues and the mental, emotional and physical toll it has taken on me, I love my mom and she brought me up the best way she knew how or could do. I can’t fault her for her illness and I can’t ignore the fact that she needs me as much as I need to know she is ok...as ok as she is capable of being. I may gripe and such but let’s face it, these are the cards I was dealt and I’ve managed all this time somehow and I’m pretty sure as I get older and wiser I’ll get better and better at doing so. But for the most part I can say I’m at peace with my decision (even when a tiny voice inside my head screams at me WTF are you thinking!!! HEEELP MEEE!) Now I’m just torn between should I stay or should I go (now. ....sorry had to. As I was typing those words I was singing it dammit!!!) And if I go, go where exactly? What do I do with my cat? How tf am I getting the beloved furry pain in my butt to come with me? What best fits not only my needs but my mothers and (if my furbaby is coming) Gandalf? New York? (That’s expensive AF) San Francisco? (SAME! but but SWEATER WEATHER LOVE!!!) L.A. (I’m not gonna lie, my home city is the last choice on my short list) Seattle? (perhaps but can my ma stand the so called gloomy weather which I am partial to?) S.A. (STOP! HAULT! DO NOT GO THERE! Though I have many fond memories and do love the city in many ways including my family and friends..and cheaper rent per square foot...and delicious bbq...I just can’t...cuz politics, namely its states’ politics. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want my tree hugging, In-N-Out loving ass either anyhow.) I guess I can only say We’ll see. As I get closer to the end of my fourth year I’ll be more sure of which direction I’d want to go but so many things can still happen from now to then so I just want to leave myself open to any possibility that I may not have even thought of.

So besides all that ‘off to the future I go’ crap, lets see...what do I want to see myself accomplish this year. I...

Must read more books (last year was depressing af for my bookwormish self as I only read three books, actually technically two were only completed in 2018 but I started in 2017. Now that’s sad for someone who used to down one to two books a day and read as she walked)

Must get rid of more of my shit (I actually have been slowly accomplishing this little by little but seeing as it is nearing the end of my time at UB I must do this in its entirety by the middle of the year.)

Must write at least one script of my own and complete it. (I have a few synopsis ideas written down, I just need to sit my butt down and make it a full story)

Hope to go to Tokyo, Australia, New Zealand, Thailand and again to South Korea. (At least Tokyo I hope for this year)

Must lose the weight I gained only during this past semester. (I can only fit my rollies into two of my jeans and both have holes, one was bought that way and the other lost the battle with a tricycle and a school chair)

Must cook more (I actually have been little by little doing just that, thanks to Instagram people who post recipes that motivate my lazy ass into wanting to cook what’s in the picture.)

Must regularly volunteer again(Unfortunately I haven’t taken much time to do any since I’ve been here. Hopefully once my workload at school eases I can finally take the time to do this. It’s one of the things I love doing with my time because it’s the time when I can do something that isn’t for me but for someone else which I guess in a way is also for me in the sense that it just makes me feel good.)

Must explore more of the Philippines (hopefully after I graduate we can do this)

Hope to get to Guru level on Gurushots (only need to mark off four more of the criteria to get there)

Hope to learn a third language (I’m thinking either Spanish or Korean since I at least know some vocabulary and short phrases already. The fact that I would love to be able to watch my kdramas without subtitles definitely gives me the incentive to lean toward the latter.)

Hope to get more than four hours of sleep on average. (I would love that, only if my neighbors (front, both sides and back) dogs and Gandolf agree to keep it quiet during the wee hours in the morning)

Must follow my daily, weekly, monthly goal checklist for more than just one month (yup that’s pretty much all that it lasted give or take a few weeks then days, last year)

If I can manage to even complete a fourth of that which is mentioned above, I will have done this long ass blog entry justice. So if y’all managed to reach the end of all this ridiculousness, I wish to say to you HAPPY NEW YEAR and may this year and the many years to come bring you all you hope for and more. Let’s 2019 the shit out of this frakking year and make it our bitch!!!

(At least I can say with this yearly blog entry that I’ve managed to keep this one and only friggin tradition during New Years)

#new year #new years resolution #new years eve #life #goals

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amandatuck · 7 years

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Apology Accepted - The Importance of vulnerable communication when dealing with mental illness within a relationship

On behalf of everyone battling mental illness, Issa Rae, I accept your apology.

Apologies are life-altering. The good ones, the bad ones, and especially the ones you never receive. (But that’s a word for another post)

In the season 2 finale of Insecure, Issa and Lawrence exchange two very good apologies that give Hella Perspective into the importance of communication when battling mental illness in relationships. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, I need you to stop playing and get into the #blackexcellence that is Insecure. After the two seasons leading up to this episode, Issa and Lawrence find themselves still sorting through the wreckage of what was their long term relationship. As far as blame goes, #TeamLawrence will argue that Issa cheated, while #TeamIssa defends her with the fact that Lawrence was unemployed and depressed for the bulk of the time leading up to her infidelity. Regardless of what bandwagon you support, the season finale leaves both squads with a lot to process. This particular scene was huge for obvious reasons, (see Issa’s tear jerker daydream of what could’ve been) but for someone like myself, who battles mental illness, the apology exchange sequence is what stuck with me the most.

My name is Amanda and I battle with bipolar depression and anxiety. (There, I said it.) Having dealt with these issues my entire adult life, I have more than a few instances that demonstrate the negative impact that mental illness can have on relationships. For anyone who deals with mental illness or loves someone who does, I am sure that you too can tell stories of broken lines of communication, and the distance, insecurities, mistrust, etc. that can come as a result.

Through A LOT of tears, journaling, therapy sessions, etc. I can say that I have grown in my ability to communicate through my lowest moments. I am also blessed with an incredible woman committed to loving me into my best self. With this support system in place, I now understand how important communication is and how a heartfelt apology can go a long way in mending a relationship damaged by mental illness.

Let’s break this scene down...

Lawrence’s apology gives people like myself a good framework on how to open the lines of communication with their partners. He does two key things that can open/mend the lines of communication in almost any relationship. First, he identifies how his mental illness has impacted the relationship. - Lawrence: “Look, I’m sorry. I set these expectations for myself, and I just, shut down, if they don’t go how I...I just uh...I'm sorry.”

In that statement, Lawrence gave Issa a look into how his mind worked. This is priceless information for people trying to help their loved one battle mental illness. Of all the things that someone should be expected to do for their loved one, reading minds is not one of them.

It’s not Issa’s fault that Lawrence sets expectations for himself. It’s not her fault when they don’t go as planned. But she bears the brunt of him shutting down; a direct result of his expectations not going his way. Imagine if Issa knew about the internal expectations and pressure that Lawrence put on himself. She could have spoken to them; reassured him that his self worth wasn’t tied to his plans. She would have been able to avoid taking it personally when he refused to talk to her and shut her out. If these apologies had happened sooner in the series, Issa’s daydream of forever could have been a reality.

The second part of Lawrence’s apology that we can all learn from is where he acknowledged how his actions hurt his partner. - Lawrence: “For not being who you expected me to be. For who i expected me to be.” In this statement, Lawrence acknowledges that who he was in a depressed state is not who Issa was used to. It may have very well been her first time ever seeing him that way. And without communication from Lawrence to help her see what was going on, Issa had no way of knowing why her loving, caring boyfriend was all of sudden so distant and cold. How then could she have been expected to be there for Lawrence when he needed her the most?

To all of my fellow mental health warriors, I urge you to speak up. Give words to what’s going on inside at all times. Make a habit of expressing how you feel and what you think. In good times and bad, learn to find your voice. Once you find that voice, use it to ask for help. Let your loved ones, love you. Tell them what you are feeling and thinking. Tell them what you need. The people who are meant to be in your corner will be grateful you opened up to them and those who aren’t will show you how to let them go and make space for the ones who are in it for the long haul. There is no instant fix when a relationship is damaged, but communication is the best way to start and stay on the path to a better relationship.

Now, I want to turn my attention to those amazing souls who love someone with a mental illness. You are attempting to love someone battling something that may be as foreign to you as a language you’ve never heard. As complicated as that can be, Issa’s apology epitomizes what I believe is the single most important way to connect with your loved one. Ready for the secret to loving someone with a mental illness? Here goes:

Be honest.

Sounds way too simple to be effective, right? Let’s look at the end of Lawrence and Issa’s apology exchange. - Issa: ...And, when you were going through what you were going through...i just didn’t know how to handle it. Simply admitting that she didn’t know what to do for Lawrence when he needed her the most shows that it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It validates Lawrence by telling him that she saw what he was going through. It also sends the message that she wanted to help (because she loves him)

So much meaning in such a small statement.

And if that’s not enough, the healing communication continues...

Lawrence: I mean, what could you have done, tho?

Issa: More. That’s when you needed me to be better for the both of us, and i didn’t even know how to do that for myself.

Lawrence: That makes two of us

At this point, both Issa and Lawrence have put their guards completely down. Their apologies addressed so much angst that had been building since season one. You could hear the sigh of relief as Issa heard Lawrence speak like the man that she fell in love with. Lawrence’s face softened while listening to Issa speak to him with love instead of annoyance. Healing is hard, but that exchange gives a blueprint for how to keep the process moving along.

The silence, hug, and even more silence as Lawrence left the apartment was bursting with all of the communication (and subsequent happily ever after) that could have been. For ever honest and kind word that was shared between Issa and Lawrence, there was so more yet to be addressed. My fingers are crossed that the two characters get back together, (in your face, #TeamDaniel), but that remains to be seen. As we watch to see what happens in the next season of Insecure, let the lessons learned in Season 2’s finale not be soon forgotten.

Be honest

Be vulnerable

Be kind.

I challenge you, whether you battle mental illness or you love someone who does to not allow your happily ever after to be derailed by lack of communication.

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fatphobiabusters · 7 years

Note

Mod Ade can you please share your experiences of being fat and intersex? Any challenges with family, healthcare, academia, peers, work etc...

If you loves are okay with me making long posts, absolutely. I don’t know if you already saw my previous answer, but I touched on the topic a bit here: http://fatphobiabusters.tumblr.com/post/162494359738/question-for-mod-ade-you-said-you-are-intersex It’s more about my experience in general being intersex, so I’ll try and correlate also being fat in this answer.

**TRIGGER WARNINGS- child abuse, fatphobia, fat shaming, trauma, menstruation, self-harm, homophobia, intersex erasure

I’ll start with family since it’s the biggest topic for me. I’ll try and keep this short as possible because I could write an entire novel here, but I’ll focus on the major points. Having my intersex birth covered up and force raised as cisgender female was already hell and has left me with a lot of emotional damage. Being fat on top of it only added to the mess. My father did not want another child, but my mom did (he had children with another woman, so I have a half brother and sister both 15 years older than me who he thought were perfect since they’re both cisgender and skinny). Much less did he want one that was so “imperfect”, the complete opposite of my older siblings. I come from a white, southern, Christian family, so you can fill in the gaps there of the standards that were expected of me if you know anything about the disturbing culture of the deep south. Long story short, I had one parent who told me I was everything, and one parent who made me believe I was nothing. My father would harass and shame me to the point that I was too afraid to eat much or anything in front of him. Sometimes he would threaten to do things to my mother and even physically abuse her if I didn’t do what he wanted. My mother felt sorry for me, but wouldn’t go against him because of it, and would feed me extra portions in secret. Basically, it messed my metabolism all to shit and I could never keep my weight down, no matter how much I was made to exercise, starved, or put on diets. Growing up I was constantly put on crash diet after crash dietbecause my father was never satisfied with my weight (or my appearance in general). I was never good enough for him, even though I look just like him. To this day, even though he says he loves me and misses me over the phone, he still harps on me about my weight/appearance and refuses to accept me as his son. My mom loves and supports me though and if it wasn’t for her I would just completely cut ties with my entire blood family. Most of my immediate family refuses to also accept that I’m intersex, much less a man, and are disgusted about my weight. And they wonder why I never come home to visit anymore. It contributed a lot to my development of DID and later self harm.

Healthcare has been a nightmare. I’ve had a bit better experience since I’ve been in California, but even then it’s still not been the best. At age 9, I had my first puberty, and with it my first period. I don’t remember much (I have a lot of amnesia among my childhood memories from my DID that I'm currently working through in therapy) but I do remember crying and just feeling wrong. As I got older, it got worse and worse. But because I was labeled cisgender female on all my papers and my family constantly reinforced that I was, I was simply told to “suck it up” and that it was “normal”. I never had a regular cycle, it came and went whenever. Sometimes 2 weeks, sometimes 4-5 and every now and then up to 6 or more. Every time it registered 8-10 on those pain scale charts you see at the doctors, but I had to endure and ignore it because I only got reprimanded when I complained. I dealt with this all the way until nearly turning 30, which at that point I was bleeding black and had large clots that were full of decayed tissue more than blood. Last year I was finally able to get everything checked out and it turns out I had an abnormally formed uterus. Because of my second puberty, it was almost working against itself and practically a “dying” organ. I was able to be evaluated and approved for a hysterectomy, and I’ve never felt better. Back to weight though, in NC whenever I was taken to the doctor they always recommended to my mom anything to make me lose weight because I was “too obese” for a child (especially a “girl”), even though I had no problem carrying my weight. As I got older the same story. I’ve been seen about the sciatica on my right side, and my messed up back in general from carrying heavy art portfolios and working warehouse/builder jobs for many years. Every time my weight has been brought up, especially when I popped out my knee cap due to twisting the wrong way because someone parked like an asshole and I couldn’t get in. I’ve found some healthcare in the past year that has been more fat friendly, but every time I have to go somewhere new or for something new I get nervous that they’re just solely going to make it about my weight and not address the actual problem, or give me a proper diagnosis because they’re too hung up on my size. Perfect health record as far as blood pressure, diseases, tests, etc. go, but let’s ignore all that and point out I’m fat and “do something about it.”

Academic wise was no better. Children can be cruel, especially to those seen as abnormal or different than them. Sex Ed was a joke and I didn’t get a proper lesson on it till college, where I leaned that it was okay not to “fit the box” and that gender and sexuality were not black and white. Until then I felt very out of place and not belonging to either gender because neither of them really fit what all I was experiencing. Because I was forced to identify as cisgender female, being fat and “unattractive” got me a lot of unwanted attention. My size kept me out of most physical fights though, as I’ve always been big at a young age. And when I hit my second puberty, started putting on even more muscle mass along with the fat. I was constantly teased and ousted though for being so “weird” looking. My fellow classmates absolutely could not accept the fact that I didn’t look like (according to backward standards) one specific gender or the other. It just got worse as I got older and my body physically started shifting more masculine. I was seen as a freak, showered in my clothes when we had to take group showers for band trips or gym class (which eventually caused such a ruckus they had to separate me entirely), and taunted constantly to see how far they could push a rise out of me. Cisgender boys were curious about, but also downright cruel to me. Cisgender girls were disgusted by and afraid of me. It eventually got to a point where everyone just wanted to know what was in my pants or what was wrong with me. Homophobic remarks started going hand in hand with insults about my weight and appearance. I became more and more numb and reclusive and my mental illness worsened. Still, I maintained good school work at least, spending a lot of time alone. Graduated Valedictorian in middle school, Salutatorian in high school, and completed a Bachelor’s degree at a 4 year liberal arts college.

Among my peers now, I feel that I’m seen most often in a positive light as I’ve changed a lot from my days spent back home and have built an entirely new life out here in California. I still sometimes get confusion upon meeting new people and at times have a negative experience in public with strangers who don’t know me regarding my weight and looks. But overall the experience is good and I am often well received when I come out as intersex or share parts of my expansive history. I believe mostly due to surrounding myself with safe and understanding people, while cutting out a lot of toxicity (as well as unlearning that same toxicity) from my life.

Work has been about the same as academics, except not quite as explicit since I was a young adult when I started working. At college and coming back home I had issues with gender, especially when I had to use the bathroom. I always had to go into the women’s, and it was never a pleasant experience. I was also made fun of a lot for being the youngest (and one of the biggest) on shift. When I went to work for Amazon in TN, it was the first time I consistently went to the men’s bathroom (I had done so out in public places where I knew no one knew me, but not frequently). When I got promoted and transferred out to Cali, I continued the tradition. I would be lying though if said that there weren’t times I was very nervous about going in there alone because I did get some rude remarks at times, but thankfully no one was willing to lose their job over starting a fight because they didn’t like me being in there. As an assistant manager, most of my associates liked me as a supervisor and were favorable in working with me because I was a fair and helpful, but no nonsense leader. I got misgendered often due to my androgynous appearance and the high turnover in the line of work, but I enforced the idea that I was very much a man and would not tolerate any phobic remarks otherwise. I did have some who did not like the idea of having a younger, fat, questionable gendered person running the department and managing them. But at the end of the day, what I said went so they either had to deal with it or go find their bigoted ass another job.

Thank you loves for reading up to this point if you have, and I’ll end on this. If no one else has ever told you or made you feel that way, you are beautiful and so important. You are valid, you are loved, you are somebody, and someone cares very much about you. Never let anyone take your self worth away and deny your existence.

Apologies again for the lengthy post. Thank you for the ask!

-Mod Ade

#ade squawks #anonymous ask #long post #intersex #fat #fatphobia #intersex erasure #abuse #trauma #Ask

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apowersyavg-blog · 5 years

Text

I’m overwhelmed.

There is a lot that’s going to go into this post--so please bare with me. I deal with a great deal of issues with my anxiety, however I’m going to keep this as general when discussing everything as I can in terms of symptoms and degree of everything. First things first:

I’m currently five months sober, that’s the longest I’ve had sober since about 14 years old. I’m 24. I’ve dealt with anxiety my entire life, however I didn’t know what it was back then. I thought it was a normal part of the human existence and that it only came when life was stressful. The symptoms weren’t as they are now and back then it wasn’t as regular. I’d run things past my mom and be okay.

While I was active in my disease I began having serious panic attacks which evolved into a gnarly panic disorder and every day anxiety. Around the clock.

I made the decision to get clean last July 2018. I relapsed a few times from July 2018-February 2019. My sober date in Valentine’s Day.

I’ve been five months sober, I had five months on Monday. The first three months were good! I was motivated, things felt as if they were in check, everything seemed manageable. Once I hit three months, I got engaged. It was unexpected and I began to deal with my high levels of anxiety again. The day after I got engaged I was in the hospital due to chest pain I thought was a heart attack, got screened with a bunch of tests and I was completely fine and healthy. I could hardly enjoy my celebration dinner that evening.

Now, since then I haven’t been able to get back to base level. My grandmother got sick, I began having flashbacks to when I was active (all the trauma and pain that was part of it), I’d start to come down and level out and then bam something else would happen.

In the first three months, I was motivated as stated before. I had a personal trainer, I was attending meetings every single day, I was having fun with my fiance’ and family because I was actually at a state of peace where I’d be able to reason with my anxiety and anxious thoughts.

Since May I’ve been keeping very much basic. I haven’t been with my personal trainer, I haven’t worked, I’ve been keeping with the meetings, sharing my feelings, the pain and hurt. I’ve just been so highly aware and on end with my everything.

I have a therapist. I started with her in March. She’s the perfect fit for me, I’ve never been good with therapists. It’s so hard to find someone whose a perfect match and that you can completely trust and connect with. Someone who actually listens to you. Only issue is that she can only meet biweekly, and usually it’s more like three weeks or three 1.2 weeks.

I’m not a fan of medication, I have deep rooted issues with medication so I’ve not been on any. It’s nice that she doesn’t push medication on me and respect my thoughts and decision.

However, about a month ago things were so draining and overwhelming I wanted to meet with a psychiatrist to weigh options. She’s amazing as well. Very thorough and wasn’t quick to throw medications at me as other’s I’ve met with. She suggested IOP. I met with her yesterday and I have three weeks to decide if I want to do the IOP which will be weekly and I’ll really be able to get to the root of everything, or to continue with a new therapist that will be biweekly come August.

My therapist told me our last session that she’s leaving the beginning of August. My next session with her is the end of July just about, next week. I was set up with a 30 day wellness program during time until I see my therapist next (24th). The woman in wellness suggests IOP too. No one wants me to relapse.

I honestly don’t feel I will relapse. I don’t find myself thinking about alcohol often, however everyone agrees that my mental health is suffering and that I’m not in the clear yet, 5 months isn’t that long. I’m still fragile and vulnerable.

My mental health is shot. I’m starting to put things together in a sense of past trauma and triggers but it’s still just a lot. My anxiety is around the clock usually, I hardly have a good day or a break. As I’m writing this my chest is extremely heavy. Hell, the reason I began writing this was because I was on the verge of a panic attack. My chest is heavy heavy, I feel like there’s a ball of anxiety or tension in it and I cannot seem to get comfortable. I’m very much on alert.

I got my psych diagnosis yesterday. I’ve had them a few times but yesterday made a lot of sense--I was diagnosed:

Health anxiety

Panic disorder

GAD

Phobia disorder

Insomnia

Depression (she heard a bit when I was explaining things to her)

OCD

Alcoholism

Childhood trauma

PTSD

She told me that my mental health and alcoholism are interlinked and feed off of each other and that all things listed above interlink and have a common theme as well, being I’m constantly seeing things as threats and never feel safe.

That’s a long fucking list. When she told me though, there was a wave of ease. It makes a lot of sense to me and is calming knowing that what I’m going through and experiencing are actual things others go through.

I’m tired. I’m afraid of death. I want to live. I’m young, I have a bright future. Life is just scary, all the time. I’m sorry if someone read this and was not thrilled by the read, I really just needed to type it out and get things in order to visually see opposed to compartmentalizing in my mind. My chest is still heavy but it will pass. I’m just waiting for my fiance’ to get home, it’s hard being alone sometimes.

If anyone has any experiences with IOP for mental health/substance abuse please reach out, I would greatly appreciate it. I have a hard time succumbing to the idea that I need IOP, I’m realizing that my ego though. I think it may be good.

Last thing and I’ll shut up--I explained this to my fiance’ the other day. I feel as if my life is like if I were to break my ankle. I break my ankle, snap it in half. I have a cast on for some weeks and eventually get it taken off. Upon getting it taken off and walking on it again, something doesn’t feel correct. I carry on and continue walking. After some time I get bored and start to feel as though I should amp my walk up to a soft jog, something feels off again but I can’t put my finger on it--I assure those around me that all is well, after all I did have a cast on my ankle for some weeks. Finally, I start to run. I start to run and I can hardly make it a minute my first shot. I figure, it was the weather affecting my ankle. Everybody knows that weather has a role in broken bones. I try again and again, I cannot last more than a minute--shit, this time I can only do 30 seconds. I continue back to a jog, when I should really be continuing back to a walk, bringing that back to my doctor and putting my ankle back in a cast again because my ankle just isn’t properly healed yet and until it’s healed, I will not be able to get that consistent run in which will last more than thirty seconds or a minute.

I feel that is my life right now. I can’t keep continuing on the path I’m on because I’m trying to do everything I can to feel better. I need more more more. I need to start a new job, I need to start a new way of living (literally the four agreements is an amazing book but just not the time man), I need to work out harder, I need to develop a better network and once I do that ... EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.

However, that is but an illusion. Don’t get me wrong, all of those things are wonderful healthy positive things ... but they’re things I can achieve in time, in the future. I was advised by my therapist to keep life as simple and basic as I can right now. Literally, all I have to do is make sure I’m getting enough sleep, eating enough, drinking enough water, staying sober/getting to meetings and working out at a reasonable level, just to help expel excess energy which fuels my anxiety. Workout as basic as going for an evening walk, no strength training, etc.

I’m not properly healed and until I properly get the help I need to begin to heal and develop within that, I will be unable to progress properly. Everything will be yielded bringing it back to poor mental health.

I’m just tired. I love life so much, I want every second I can get from it to continue on, however, I want it to continue on clearer, fuller and easier.

Thanks for reading--

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booksandcleverness92 · 7 years

Text

Walls

A Bughead Fic

When Betty lets her hair down out of her signature ponytail and Jughead removes his beanie, the metaphorical walls come down for some middle-of-the-night conversations, and eventual snuggles. Some angst, some fluff.

Betty’s phone buzzed on her nightstand. The light from her screen lit up her normally pink bedroom. She glanced at her alarm clock and read 12:49 AM and she was flooded with panic. Who was calling her this late?

“Hello?”

“Betty… it’s me…” Betty could hear the despair in his voice and she immediately knew something was off.

“Jughead...? It’s the middle of the night! Are you okay?”

“It’s a long story. I’m in your front yard. Can I come up?”

“Yeah Juggie, of course you can, the ladder is still outside my window.”

Betty hung up her phone and went to her window. The yard was pretty dark, but she could see movement below. Jughead finally made it to the second floor and betty pushed the glass up for Jughead to climb in. Once the window was quietly shut to avoid waking her parents, Betty turned around to survey her late-night visitor.

“Jug, what’s going on”, Betty whispered to her beanie-clad boyfriend.

Jughead was gnawing on his bottom lip and avoiding Betty’s eyes. After a deep sigh, he sank onto the edge of her bed and looked up at her. Despite the thousands of things running through his mind at that moment, he couldn’t help but notice that Betty still wore her signature ponytail even while sleeping. Realizing he had been staring at her while she awaited an answer for more than a minute, he finally said, “everything is falling apart”. He noticed Betty tilt her head sympathetically and he immediately averted his eyes back to his shoes. He began chewing his lip again, trying to decide if he should continue. He never shared his feelings or opened himself up like this, but Betty just had an effect on him. Jughead had been hiding behind his perfectly constructed walls for most of his life, and it kept him from looking like the town charity case that he was. He had to develop a tough exterior growing up with FP and the instability that was his childhood.

He looked back up at Betty and he realized he could never keep anything from her. He was head-over-heels for his childhood friend turned girlfriend, and they had already been through so much together. He took another deep breath, and pulled her down to sit next to him. He reached up absentmindedly and crushed his beanie in his hands to bring it down to his lap to keep his hands busy while he continued on.

“I feel like I’m wearing a giant target that gets hit any time I try to stand still. My dad is off the wagon again and I don’t know if my mom and sister will ever come back home. Archie and his dad have taken me in, but it feels temporary just like all the other places I’ve crashed, and I feel guilty for not being able to take care of myself like I thought I could. I still have three more years of high school, but I feel like we’ve dealt with enough shit at Riverdale High to last us a lifetime. I feel like I’ve got no home and no family and I just can’t handle off of this on my own anymore. I know you’re currently dealing with your own tsunami of crap too and I’m sorry for complaining about my life like an asshole when I should be focused on helping you through everything.”

Before Jughead could stop himself, his worries and fears came tumbling out of him at an alarming pace. He finally took a breath when Betty put her hands on his forearms to stop him from twisting his hat furiously.

He looked up at her and noticed a tear sliding down her cheek. “Betty, please don’t pity me, it’s my least favorite flavor”, Jughead sighed.

“I don’t pity you Juggie. I care about you and this is compassion, and anger and frustration that you have to go through all of this. You don’t have to do it alone though, Jug. I am here for you and so are Archie and his dad. You have a family, and a home as long as you’ll let us into your life. You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, but it’s okay to let the world know that you’re hurting sometimes. You have every reason to be a little broken. The universe has dealt you a pretty shitty hand Jug, and I don’t know how you get up and put that crown on your head every day, but I am so, so thankful that you do, because it gives me a reason to straighten my ponytail and face the world too. We have each other and while life is pretty bad right now, I know you can get through anything.”

Jughead releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. Damn, he was lucky to have Betty as his best friend and girlfriend. He knew he didn’t deserve her in the slightest, but he also knew he would hold on to her for dear life until he couldn’t anymore.

He reached up and wiped her tears off with his thumbs before intertwining his fingers with hers on her bed.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say ‘shit’, Betty Cooper”.

Betty chuckled and play swatted him on the shoulder with her free hand. “That’s your takeaway from what I said?!”

“Shhhh keep it down, I would hate to wake up momma Cooper. And, I appreciate what you said Betty, I do. You always know what to say to bring me back from the brink. You make me feel like I’m home.” Jughead blushed as he quietly added the last sentiment.

Betty squeezed his hand and replied, “Juggie I feel the same way. You’re the only reason I haven’t had like a thousand panic attacks over the last few months. I would be residing in Polly’s old room at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy if you weren’t here to keep my craziness at bay.” Betty began tugging at her ponytail as the conversation turned to her fear of mental health issues. She stared at her rug to avoid seeing Jughead’s realization that he was dating an unstable ticking time bomb of insanity. She knew now that Polly wasn’t sent away for being crazy, but the town-wide comments about her family’s genetic madness were constantly gnawing at her in the back of her mind. She knew she wasn’t crazy, but she also recognized that she sometimes didn’t have control over the darkness inside of her. She wanted so badly to be the perfect person her parents conditioned her to be, but any time someone mentioned the word “perfect” in reference to her, she felt her fingernails sink into the worn scars on her palms and something sinister stir inside of her.

Betty realized she had been playing with her hair without realizing it for so long that her elastic had broken and her waves had found a new home framing her face. She felt Jughead’s hands on her jaw and her eyes snapped back up to his.

“Betty, I know what you’re thinking, and I need you to listen to me. No one is perfect. Perfection is objective and impossible to achieve. Stop trying to please your parents’ antiquated ideals and be yourself. You aren’t possessed by anything; what you’re feeling is your suppressed emotions bottling up to the forefront. You will start feeling much better once you stop trying to force your feelings down in order to keep up the girl-next-door façade. I see you Betty Cooper, and I am not going anywhere, no matter how many imperfect things you share with me.” Jughead finished and leaned in to give Betty a soft kiss and felt her breathe out into his lips.

Betty broke the kiss to wrap her arms around her boyfriend for a tight embrace. She buried her face into Jughead’s neck and whispered “Thank you Juggie.”

Jughead blew out a breath to move some of Betty’s uncharacteristically free hair from under his nose. Betty giggled and moved back to look at him. A lot of unspoken things were said in that moment; promises of stability and unconditional love were mutually communicated by one look shared by the teenagers.

Finally, Betty broke the silence and asked, “does Archie or Mr. Andrews know you’re over here in the middle of the night?”

Jughead shook his head and said “No”.

Betty reached out to hold his hand once more before asking, “do you want to stay with me for a while? I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Jughead gave Betty his signature smirk, and she got up to walk to the other side of her bed. She climbed in and lifted the covers for Jughead to join her. He arched an eyebrow before kicking off his shoes and removing the denim jacket he had thrown on over his flannel pajama pants and one of his “S” t-shirts. He slid in next to her and lifted his right arm for her to move in closer. She placed her head on Jughead’s shoulder and wrapped her arm around his abdomen. She looked up at him and smiled.

Jughead ran his fingers through Betty’s blonde curls and said, “I like your hair like this”.

Betty snorted and whispered, “I can’t remember the last time anyone saw me without my signature ponytail. Don’t get used to it Juggie; I have a reputation to uphold, you know. I could say the same about you and your beanie, which is currently laying forgotten at the end of my bed.”

Jughead smiled down at Betty and said, “when I’m with you, keeping up the front doesn’t seem as important. I can let my walls down and be myself with you Betty”.

“I feel honored, Jug. If you can let down your walls, then I guess I can let down my hair too.”

Jughead planted a kiss on Betty’s forehead. “Thanks for letting me climb up to your window again, Juliet.”

“Thanks for being willing to scale my walls, Romeo.”

Betty leaned up and pushed her hands through Jughead’s hair and placed her lips on his. He deepened the kiss and she parted her lips to allow his tongue access. They explored each other with something akin to desperation. Two people hanging by a thread, clinging to each other above all else.

When they came up for air, Betty snuggled into Jughead’s chest and sighed contentedly. Jughead smiled, because he finally felt like he was home, and Betty felt comfortable in her own skin. All of their problems might not be fixed, but they were together, and willing to fight to the death for what they believed in; they just hope it wouldn’t come to that.

The two stayed molded to one another, dosing in and out of sleep for hours, sharing kisses and whispers. When the sun made its first appearance, they untangled and Jughead prepared to sneak back into the Andrews’ house before anyone woke up and realized he was gone. Betty pulled her hair back into a ponytail and Jughead donned his beanie. The walls had gone back up, but only for the rest of the world. While they may leave them up for everyone else, Betty and Jughead could always see through them and would always be able to get through to the other. No walls, physical or metaphorical, would keep them from seeing the rawest forms of each other.

#Riverdale #bughead #jughead jones #betty x jughead #betty cooper #fanfic #fluff #angst

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sophygurl · 7 years

Text

Beyond the Fix or How do I Live This F***ing Life? - WisCon 41 panel write-up

These tend to be long and only of interest to specific segments of folk so click the clicky to read.

Disclaimers:

I hand write these notes and am prone to missing things, skipping things, writing things down wrong, misreading my own handwriting, and making other mistakes. So this is by no means a full transcript.

Corrections, additions, and clarifications are most welcome. I’ve done my best to get people’s pronouns and other identifiers correct, but please do let me know if I’ve messed any up. Corrections and such can be made publicly or privately on any of the sites I’m sharing these write-ups on(tumblr and dreamwidth for full writings, facebook and twitter for links), and I will correct ASAP.

My policy is to identify panelists by the names written in the programming book since that’s what they’ve chosen to be publicly known as. If you’re one of the panelists and would prefer something else - let me know and I’ll change it right away.

For audience comments, I will only say general “audience member” kind of identifier unless the individual requests to be named.

Any personal notes or comments I make will be added in like this [I disagree because blah] - showing this was not part of the panel vs. something like “and then I spoke up and said blah” to show I actually added to the panel at the time.

Beyond the Fix or How do I Live This F***ing Life?

Moderator: R. Elena Tabachnick. Panelists: Kate Carey, Shayla D, Jesse the K, Lenore Jean Jones

#BeyondTheFix - for some good livetweets and resources

The panel started out with some good-natured joking about the moderator being late for reasons having to do with the panel topic and how they’d just get started.

Jesse introduced herself by saying “I’m a loud mouth”, as well as talking about how she’s been coming to WisCon for a long time and worked with others on improving access at the con and has watched how WisCon has improved and embraced better understandings around disability over the years.

Kate introduced herself by saying this was her 4th WisCon and that the membership assistance fund is what allowed her to get to her 1st one. She’s a champion of talking about invisible disabilities, and as a larger woman she gets especially tired of people who say “well if you exercises more...” [hear hear Kate!]

Lenore introduced herself by telling us this was her 20th WisCon, that she is Hard of Hearing but passes as hearing, and also that she is depressed. She touched on how depression is often co-morbid with other disabilities, or is often exacerbated by other disabilities.

Shayla introduced herself as someone who is both disabled and taking care of her mom who is disabled. Shayla talked about how she is just blind enough that she can’t drive but not blind enough that anyone gives her any money for it. When her pain symptoms were growing, she had doctors tell her it was all in her head, and once it was diagnosed, she was like “why yes, the cause was in my pituitary gland which is in my head thanks!”

Elena came in during the intros so was able to give hers at the end of this - she has a rare genetic disease, but insurance won’t pay for the genetic testing to confirm this. She never thought of herself as disabled, as she’s had this since she was a kid. She didn’t have a diagnosis, so everyone just thought she was weird. She kept getting more disabled, and had to keep giving up more things.

Right now she can’t leave her house for long, she can’t wear shoes or socks. It took her a long time to call herself disabled, but now she loves the identity - it helps to be able to say this about herself.

Jesse talked about having had mental health issues “since jump”, but that she didn’t know it was something that could be dealt with. In her 20′s, she started having pain everywhere and was diagnosed with fibro and cfs. Eventually, she stopped working and got to have the Disabled label.

She has also worked with Blind and Deaf communities and realized how much assistive technology and community can help. She applied that to herself, and realized how much using a wheelchair could help her. She was waiting for some authority figure to give her the Disabled label, but finally just took it and claimed it for herself.

A big change came when Jesse realized she didn’t have to be independent but could be interdependent. [I have a buncha stars and underlines in my notes right here - thanks Jesse!]

Kate talked about struggles she’s had because when she was “just fat”, she didn’t want that identity to define her life or limit her. Then she became sick and wanted to feel the same way about that but her symptoms included being unable to breathe and she had doctors telling her to lose weight. She felt like fatness was seen as a moral failing. She felt ashamed and at fault for her own sickness.

She realized she was willing to go to bat for friends, for example, who smoked and had COPD - but when it came to defending herself, it was another issue. At first she took on the label of “sick” but not “disabled” because sickness was something you could get better from. WisCon has been helpful to Kate in accepting disability.

Shayla talked about how her first neurological disorder was something that happened primarily to fat people. She found her family blamed one another for making her fat, and therefore causing her blindness. Her stance was - who cares how I got this way, this is now, let’s deal with it.

Shayla likes to pop out her white cane because her other disabilities are invisible, but when she uses the white cane, she’s more visible as disabled. When people tell her “you don’t look blind”, she replies “you didn’t look like an asshole...” (general laughing from the audience).

She talked about wanting something like a “crip card” to be able to show to people to prove she’s really disabled. Much laughter and discussion ensues on this topic.

Lenore talked about having impostor syndrome around disability; being “not disabled enough” or “not Deaf enough”.

At this point, a funny conversation happens around the live captioning of the panel and how other panelists are reading over Lenore’s shoulder in fascination as their own words scroll by.

Lenore continued with a story about talking with Jesse and apologizing for not being able to hear her and Jesse telling her not to say sorry about that and how much it meant to her. She didn’t know she was Deaf until she was 15, so she had subconsciously learned to lip read.

Shayla said - instead of apologizing, say “thank you for being patient with me” and referenced a comic online on the topic (check the hashtag - it’s linked to a couple of times).

An audience member brought up that all of this apologizing in regards to our disabilities has to do with the social model of disability.

Elena talked about having to say no to things and how adopting the Disabled label helped to give her permission to do that. Before that, she was broken and felt at fault.

Kate talked about how our self-worth is based on our ability to work and contribute something to society. She stated that she could work under some very specific circumstances, but even then she would lose much needed benefits. She gets told “if you just had more gumption!” We apologize because our disabilities are seen as a moral failing.

[Kate then made some comments comparing abelism to racism which felt a lil oppression olympic-ey to me in regards to wishing people could see disabilities as just a part of who we are the way race is. My personal thought on this is that there absolutely are people who see poc as having a moral failing due to their race, as well, so I get where Kate was trying to take this analogy but I feel like most analogies of this kind tend to fall apart on further inspection. Another comment was about how she strives to do colorblind reading so she isn’t taking the author’s race into account when choosing a book or while reading it, which again, I think is a very well-meant intention but that taken in practice as a whole would end up with many poc authors not being read because publishing and marketing practices are already set up against them so if we don’t specifically make attempts to read more books written by poc - we won’t be finding as many of them to read.

I discussed this with Kate afterwards and she agrees that the analogy falls apart and wishes she’d phrased things differently, just FYI.]

Somewhere in there, Shayla made her patented case against kale-pushers and I jumped in to add “well if you Deep Fry the kale...”

(Either Elena or Lenore, my handwriting is not clear here) said that if people blame us for our disabilities, it allows them to believe that it won’t happen to them.

Jesse brought up the role capitalism plays in all of this, and how it’s not a good system. Also the failure of the medical system - it doesn’t work for people like us, so we annoy them. Additionally, some spiritual traditions have the idea of health as being a gift from God, so what does that mean for those of us who don’t have it?

Shayla talked about social issues involved when you have to cancel on friends so many times that they give up on you.

Elena talked about her dislike of the Paralympics - not the people who do it, but the cultural stuff around it as “inspirational.” This allows people to think that even if they do become disabled, they can be one of those ones who can do all this other stuff.

Often, even if fiction, you only know a character is disabled due to the occasional mention of their wheelchair - otherwise they’re described exactly like the other characters. They never get tired, need downtime, require help with transfers or bathing, etc. It’s not a realistic portrayal of disability.

She added on to what Shayla had said above saying that she has difficulty socializing because she can’t leave her house.

Kate talked about how online gaming helps her - she can interact with people on her own terms. She talks about “painsomnia” [ha! yes! great word!] and how she is often up at random times and being able to socialize online at those times helps.

Kate and Lenore both agree that the word “should” is toxic.

Kate said another helpful aspect of the gaming was that she found games she was good at. She was good at her job and losing that was hard, so finding something else she could feel proud of herself about has helped a lot. The fact that this is something that isn’t valued by society is frustrating.

She revisited the topic beforehand about inspiration porn and said it’s not even about the disabled person really, but about the abled people around them.

Kate talked about giving herself a gold star some days just for getting out of bed, or getting dressed, etc. She talked about her “standing skills” as another thing society doesn’t value enough.

Jesse discussed how she has coped over the years by waving her hand up and down. She defined herself as a brain in a jar who could learn things - and then that was the last thing that she lost. She has coped in part by splitting herself somewhat mentally from past selves and can look back and say that she is so glad to know that person that could do those things without that being a judgement on who she is today. [my notes at this point read “me: crying” because I was sobbing my eyes out at the wisdom of this that I desperately needed]

Lenore said she is still working on that whole gold star thing. She is trying to reframe things from “I ought to be able to...” to “this is what I can do now.” [phew! yea.]

Elena talked about still doing the grief thing and how depression is connected to not being able to do things. [my notes: the grief never fully stops]

She talked about being in an online writing community but how she isn’t writing now, and re: Kate’s gaming thing - she is still seeking that thing that she’s good at and can do.

Kate said it’s okay to grieve it the same way you would the loss of a family member. Grief continues on but it’s not always as hard as it is at first all of the time.

An audience member talked about how all they can currently do is work and sleep and how to survive if they can’t get disability. They are worried because they need insurance but can’t work full time - when do they reach a point where they can apply for disability? The panelists all answer pretty much together that it sounds like they already ARE at that point - it’s time to start applying. Fill out the forms for your worst days, not your best - that’s a common mistake.

The audience member said their doctor tells them “well you’ve managed so far...” I and other audience members and the panelists all agree - then they need a new doctor!

Jesse emphasized that the system has failed us, not the other way around.

Kate brought up the ticket to work program and told the audience member to start the disability process now so they don’t get stranded. [v. good advice]

Elena talked about getting a geriatric doctor if you can because they’re less concerned with issues around weight loss and about fixing you - they know you’re going to die anyway so shrug. (big laugh)

There’s a moment where everyone sings Jesse’s praises as someone who is both a good resource on how to manage this stuff on a personal level and as someone who has good resources for others. I nodded emphatically through all of this and here’s another great thing about Jesse - instead of deflecting, she just smiled and took the compliments. What a good role model!

Shayla talked about her struggles with being able to work for awhile, then crashing, being homeless, being able to work for awhile, rinse repeat and having people say “well you can work...”

(Edited to add at Shayla’s request that she also said “I COULD work... If it was at a job I could do in the dark, on my back, *legally*. (Hell, illegally has crossed my mind many a time.)”)

Kate talked about how applying for disability is work.

Shayla talked about the difficulty in not knowing how she’s going to feel day to day, even minute to minute.

Lenore stressed the importance of asking for things that we need.

I added from the audience that to add to the list of toxic words - “burden”. Thinking of ourselves that way makes it hard to ask for what we need.

Jesse talked about how giving is a help too. So asking for help allows other people to give in that way.

Kate said that love is asking for help, because it shows that we’re putting our trust in them.

An audience member talked about The Ultimate Guide to Sex and Disability as being a beneficial resource to reclaiming their sexuality.

Another audience member talked about a youtuber - ability powered - a disabled gamer who likes to help other disabled folk in gaming.

Someone else from the audience talked about having a sister who is disabled who she lives far away from and wants to know how to help.

Kate stressed listening and acknowledging. Ask what she is doing not how she is doing. Sometimes the best thing is getting to vent to someone who isn’t the same three people she talks to everyday [yes, this!]. It can be really helpful to be asked if you want to vent or need help problem solving - or even do you just want me to do the talking for awhile.

An audience member offered that arranging for things like prepared meal deliveries and cleaning can be of use.

Kate said framing things like the above as “I want to do this for you” so they feel better about accepting it. She also added that she enjoys skyping with people she doesn’t get to visit with so she can actually see them.

Kate talked about having to skype to her mother’s funeral and how at least she was able to be part of it in that way. She also brought up FB live as ways to take disabled people to things they couldn’t otherwise go to.

An audience member also stressed the importance of knowing the people in their lives WILL say no if they can’t, which makes it easier to ask them. They can trust them to be honest about their limits.

Lenore emphasized offering to just hang out with someone and not talk if they don’t have the energy to talk - just be there with them.

We hit overtime for the panel and Kate said “I just have a few more things” - at which point I lol’ed (having paneled with Kate before) and closed my notebook so I don’t recall what those few more things were - sorry!

But do check the hashtag for this one, as folks did add many of the resources that were brought up during the panel.

#beyondthefix #beyond the fix #wiscon #wiscon 41 #disability #wiscon41 #wc41 #life with chronic illness

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airoasis · 5 years

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My son was a Columbine shooter. This is my story | Sue Klebold

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/my-son-was-a-columbine-shooter-this-is-my-story-sue-klebold-8/

My son was a Columbine shooter. This is my story | Sue Klebold

The final time I heard my son’s voice was when he walked out the front door on his technique to tuition. He referred to as out one phrase within the darkness: "Bye." It used to be April 20, 1999. Later that morning, at Columbine high university, my son Dylan and his buddy Eric killed 12 students and a instructor and wounded more than 20 others before taking their own lives. Thirteen harmless men and women have been killed, leaving their adored ones in a state of grief and trauma. Others sustained accidents, some leading to disfigurement and everlasting disability. However the enormity of the tragedy can’t be measured simplest by means of the number of deaths and injuries that took location. There isn’t a approach to quantify the psychological harm of folks that were within the university, or who took phase in rescue or cleanup efforts. There isn’t a solution to determine the magnitude of a tragedy like Columbine, certainly when it may be a blueprint for different shooters who go on to commit atrocities of their own. Columbine used to be a tidal wave, and when the crash ended, it might take years for the community and for society to realise its have an impact on. It has taken me years to try to accept my son’s legacy.The merciless habits that defined the end of his life confirmed me that he was a completely one of a kind character from the one I knew. Afterwards persons asked, "How could you not be aware of? What kind of a mom have been you?" I nonetheless ask myself those same questions. Before the shootings, I idea of myself as a good mother. Helping my kids grow to be caring, healthy, accountable adults was once the main role of my lifestyles. But the tragedy satisfied me that I failed as a guardian, and it can be partly this sense of failure that brings me right here at present. Except his father, I used to be the one person who knew and adored Dylan probably the most. If any individual would have known what was taking place, it should have been me, proper? But I did not know.At present, i’m right here to share the expertise of what it’s prefer to be the mum of someone who kills and hurts. For years after the tragedy, I combed by way of reminiscences, making an attempt to determine exactly where I failed as a parent. However there are no simple answers. I can not provide you with any solutions. All i will do is share what i have discovered. Once I talk to persons who failed to understand me before the shootings, i have three challenges to satisfy. First, when I stroll right into a room like this, I never know if any person there has skilled loss considering of what my son did. I consider a ought to acknowledge the struggling brought on via a member of my family who isn’t here to do it for himself.So first, with all of my coronary heart, i’m sorry if my son has brought about you anguish. The 2nd task i have is that I must ask for figuring out and even compassion after I talk about my son’s loss of life as a suicide. Two years before he died, he wrote on a piece of paper in a pocket book that he used to be slicing himself. He mentioned that he used to be in anguish and desired to get a gun so he could finish his lifestyles. I failed to find out about any of this until months after his death. Once I speak about his demise as a suicide, i’m not looking to downplay the viciousness he showed at the end of his life.I’m looking to recognize how his suicidal considering ended in homicide. After plenty of studying and speakme with specialists, i’ve come to believe that his involvement in the shootings was rooted not in his wish to kill however in his wish to die. The 0.33 project i have once I speak about my son’s homicide-suicide is that i am speaking about mental health — excuse me — is that i am talking about mental wellbeing, or mind wellness, as I decide on to name it, considering it’s extra concrete. And in the equal breath, i’m talking about violence. The final factor I wish to do is to contribute to the misunderstanding that already exists around mental health problem. Only an extraordinarily small percent of folks that have a intellectual ailment are violent towards different folks, but of those who die by way of suicide, it can be estimated that about 75 to probably more than ninety percent have a diagnosable mental wellbeing of some sort. As you all recognize very good, our mental health care procedure will not be prepared to help every person, and no longer all people with harmful thoughts matches the factors for a certain analysis. Many who have ongoing feelings of worry or anger or hopelessness are certainly not assessed or treated.Too most of the time, they get our concentration provided that they reach a behavioral crisis. If estimates are proper that about one to two percent of all suicides involves the homicide of an additional man or woman, when suicide charges upward push, as they are rising for some populations, the homicide-suicide premiums will upward thrust as good. I wanted to realise what used to be occurring in Dylan’s mind prior to his death, so I appeared for solutions from other survivors of suicide loss. I did study and volunteered to support with fund-raising hobbies, and at any time when I could, I talked with folks that had survived their possess suicidal drawback or try. One of the crucial important conversations I had was with a coworker who overheard me talking to anyone else in my workplace cubicle. She heard me say that Dylan would no longer have loved me if he would do something as horrible as he did. Later, when she observed me alone, she apologized for overhearing that dialog, but instructed me that I was once mistaken. She stated that after she was a young, single mom with three young children, she grew to be severely depressed and was once hospitalized to preserve her dependable.At the time, she was once detailed that her children would be at an advantage if she died, so she had made a plan to finish her lifestyles. She certain me that a mother’s love was once the strongest bond in the world, and that she loved her youngsters more than whatever in the world, however seeing that of her ailment, she was once sure that they’d be at an advantage with out her. What she stated and what I’ve discovered from others is that we are not making the so-called selection or alternative to die with the aid of suicide in the identical way that we pick what auto to drive or the place to go on a Saturday night time.When any person is in an enormously suicidal state, they are in a stage 4 clinical wellness emergency. Their pondering is impaired and so they’ve lost entry to instruments of self-governance. Although they can make a plan and act with common sense, their sense of truth is distorted by means of a filter of anguish by way of which they interpret their fact. Some persons can be very good at hiding this state, and they almost always have good reasons for doing that. Many of us have suicidal thoughts at some factor, but persistent, ongoing thoughts of suicide and devising a means to die are signs of pathology, and like many illnesses, the situation needs to be famous and dealt with before a life is misplaced. But my son’s dying was now not simply a suicide. It concerned mass murder. I wanted to grasp how his suicidal considering grew to become homicidal. But research is sparse and there aren’t any simple answers. Yes, he by and large had ongoing depression. He had a persona that was once perfectionistic and self-reliant, and that made him less more likely to seek aid from others.He had skilled triggering hobbies on the college that left him feeling debased and humiliated and mad. And he had a tricky friendship with a boy who shared his feelings of rage and alienation, and who used to be critically disturbed, controlling and homicidal. And on high of this interval in his life of extreme vulnerability and fragility, Dylan observed access to weapons although we would never owned any in our home. It was once appallingly convenient for a 17-yr-historic boy to purchase weapons, each legally and illegally, with out my permission or skills. And somehow, 17 years and plenty of school shootings later, it is still appallingly effortless. What Dylan did that day broke my heart, and as trauma so normally does, it took a toll on my body and on my intellect. Two years after the shootings, I obtained breast cancer, and two years after that, i began to have intellectual health issues. On top of the consistent, perpetual grief I was once terrified that i would run into a family member of any individual Dylan had killed, or be accosted by way of the press or with the aid of an angry citizen. I used to be afraid to activate the news, afraid to hear myself being known as a terrible dad or mum or a disgusting person.I began having panic attacks. The first bout began 4 years after the shootings, after I was getting ready for the depositions and would must meet the victims’ families head to head. The 2nd round started six years after the shootings, once I was making ready to communicate publicly about murder-suicide for the primary time at a conference. Both episodes lasted a number of weeks. The assaults occurred all over the place: within the ironmongery store, in my workplace, or even at the same time reading a publication in bed. My mind would instantly lock into this spinning cycle of terror and regardless of how I hard i tried to calm myself down or reason my approach out of it, i couldn’t do it. It felt as if my mind used to be looking to kill me, and then, being afraid of being afraid consumed all of my thoughts. That’s after I realized firsthand what it feels like to have a malfunctioning mind, and that is after I real grew to be a mind wellness advocate. With remedy and medicine and self-care, existence eventually again to some thing could be notion of as average underneath the circumstances.When I regarded back on all that had happened, I would see that my son’s spiral into dysfunction most commonly befell over a period of about two years, a lot of time to get him help, if best anybody had recognized that he needed support and recognized what to do. Whenever any one asks me, "How might you not have identified?", it seems like a punch in the intestine. It incorporates accusation and taps into my feelings of guilt that no matter how much treatment I’ve had i’ll under no circumstances thoroughly eradicate. But here is whatever I’ve learned: if love have been sufficient to stop any individual who is suicidal from hurting themselves, suicides would hardly ever occur. However love isn’t ample, and suicide is commonplace. It is the 2nd leading intent of demise for folks age 10 to 34, and 15 percentage of yank adolescence document having made a suicide plan within the last yr.I’ve discovered that irrespective of how so much we wish to suppose we are able to, we are not able to recognize or control the whole lot our loved ones feel and believe, and the cussed notion that we are someway exceptional, that any person we love would under no circumstances feel of wounding themselves or anyone else, can purpose us to miss what’s hidden in simple sight. And if worst case eventualities do come to cross, we are going to ought to learn to forgive ourselves for no longer figuring out or for no longer asking the correct questions or not discovering the proper cure. We should always expect that any one we like could also be suffering, regardless of what they are saying or how they act.We must listen with our whole being, without judgments, and with out offering options. I know that i will live with this tragedy, with these multiple tragedies, for the leisure of my existence. I do know that within the minds of many, what I lost can’t examine to what the opposite families lost. I know my battle doesn’t make theirs any less difficult. I do know there are even some who believe I should not have the proper to any ache, but handiest to a lifetime of everlasting penance. In the end what i do know comes all the way down to this: the tragic reality is that even essentially the most vigilant and responsible of us might not be in a position to aid, however for love’s sake, we must on no account discontinue trying to understand the unknowable.Thanks. (Applause) .

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