#its hard to push myself to seek validation or reassurance | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starsuh · 3 years

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do re mi | myg

featuring. min yoongi x reader | 3.2k

summary. while teaching you how to play piano, min yoongi realizes that his dumbass might have feelings for you after all.

genre. fluff | f2l | roommate!au | mutual pining

warnings. a quarter-life crisis and a soft make-out scene at the end

Amongst Min Yoongi's many talents, his sixth sense of knowing when something was bothering you was the one that most oft caught you off guard. Whether it was the intensity in which you slammed a door shut, or the way in which you didn't choose to annoy the fuck out him like you did every other day of the week; he would notice each time. It was only clockwork that he tentatively wrapped his arm around your shoulders when you had collapsed against the couch with perceptible chagrin.

"What's up?" he asked, a simple question that often entailed a more than complicated answer. Peering down at your tightened features, he awkwardly patted your shoulder as if to make known that silence would be just as valid of a reply.

You ran your hands through your face. "I don't know,” you said. If you did, you would've told him, just as you told him everything. Though the pair of you had began as merely two people who happened to be roommates because there were no other affordable options, spending months watching Netflix with another person tends to lead to friendship — even best-friendship, though neither of you had established such a title. It was the kind of friendship that needn't clarification, rather it was just another unequivocal fact amongst many.

After kicking off your shoes (Yoongi would scold you for that in a less emotionally-turbulent time), you pulled your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in a ball-like manner. "It's really fucking lame but I’m just realizing some things,” he nodded, prompting you to continue. "I'm scared of the future, I think. I mean, everyone is, but when our prof was talking about internships and shit earlier I kind of freaked out then decided that hiding in the bathroom was the best option.”

In his gaze was a reassurance so intent that you had to look away lest you become ensnared in it. He oft had that effect, increasingly so throughout the past few weeks. "What about it?"

Your eyes fluttered closed as you took a deep breath. “I think I know what I want to do, but then I see other people, people like you, who are so passionate about their place on Earth that to not do that thing would be a fate worse than death. Like, I love the path that I’m on but there’s always a voice that’s telling me I’m gonna fuck something up and regret everything.” You played with the loose threads of your top, pulling at the offending stitching. You laughed. “This is so stupid. I guess I’m just realizing that I might not be cut out for it.”

His sudden silence filled the room so heavily that you began to wonder if you shouldn’t have said anything at all. Gears turned behind the messy black mop atop his head that hung over his eyes; a face similar to the one he makes when contemplating a new track he had produced, seeking for each of its flaws and corresponding solutions.

It was so sudden when he reached down to grab your hand that you almost jumped. An inch away from falling onto his chest with the sudden upwards tug, you steeled yourself. "I'll show you something," he said to which you replied with a questioning stare. "It'll just be a sec, c'mon."

You allowed him to drag you to his bedroom, though not without glaring at the back of his head and whining. "Your room smells like Cheetos and day-old boxers."

He rolled his eyes. "I cleaned it this morning, so shut up."

He pushed the door closed with his hip, never once letting go of your hand until he unceremoniously shoved you towards the left end of the keyboard bench. You wiped the accumulated hand sweat against the rough fabric of your jeans, both thankful yet forlorn that he had let go. His was a comfort rarely given and you craved his affection the way one did with a cat that ignored those around it.

He reached down to plug the extension into the socket. "Can I play you something?"

You blinked, unsure if the nervous tone laced in the question was figment or reality. “What?”

He gave you a blank stare though it didn’t distract you from the way his hands fidgeted in his lap. “I said, can I play you something? Something I wrote?”

Impatient, he didn’t give you a second glance or a moment to reply before his hands flew across the board, pulling melodies out of the nooks and crannies of its black and white keys. Through every note, he told you of emotion, of love, of heartbreak and melancholy. You don't think you had ever understood what music was until then. It was more than his expertise, though he was quite the expert; it was the way his eyes closed at certain shrills and the way his shoulders hunched at others, the way he slammed harder into the keys and at other parts softer. He played like a poet. A writer. And you refused to be someone who didn't appreciate it for what it was: a story told to you.

The slight smirk gracing his soft features told you that he found amusing the way your mouth gaped open in shock. You’d only ever heard the distant echoes of his sound from behind closed doors as you walked past.

Yoongi had never played for you before, was even shocked that he was able to now, knowing that your mere presence in close proximity provided quite the distraction.

When he stopped, the air almost rang in its silence, as if you had forgotten what the world sounded like without his music in it. The hush blanket laid across the room felt bare and vulnerable. You understood now more than ever why he locked himself within the confines of his space in all hours of the day. If you could live in his symphonies, you would.

"Wow.” Because what else could be said? "That was... Yoongi, you're amazing."

His smirk remained, though as more of a mask to hide softer feelings behind. "Must've been if you're complimenting me for once.”

"Because you already have a ginormous ego."

He began playing once more. This time, a slow and deceptively simple melody. The chords were arrows tightly strung that flew through the air in wisps of smoke. To you, its warmth was paralleled to the feeling of his own beside you, his arm occasionally brushing yours as he reached to play a few lower keys.

"I think you're taking it too seriously," he said. "The future, I mean."

Your brows furrowed. "I kind of have to, dude."

He rolled his eyes but kept playing, occasionally glancing at you as he did so. "What I mean is," he pressed softly against the keys in the left end of the piano, their tenor notes filling your ears. "You need to calm down. Like this," the already soft melody slowed. "You know what you want, don't you? Why are you hesitating?"

You stilled, the feeling of being both caught and scolded grounding you in time. Your eyes focused on his hands to avoid the feeling of his analyzing gaze on the side of your face. “There are things I want to accomplish but there’s also things I want to have,” you groaned in exasperation. “I don’t know if I should choose the former or the latter but they’re so entangled that I can’t even tell which is which anymore.”

"Some things are only difficult if you think they're difficult." He looked down at the keys. "Like playing the piano, everyone knows that learning it is hard but something like this-" he played three chords in succession. "-sounds simple, right?" He continued to play those same chords until they blended together in a single melodious breeze. "But when I was a kid, learning piano was the bane of my twelve year old existence. I hated it so much because my impatient ass wanted to be good without trying. So, in true dumbass fashion, I quit taking lessons after two weeks."

You tilted your head towards him. “How did you learn then?"

“Well, I realized I was being a huge pussy and went back." Shaking his head before the glaze of the memory could wash over, he nodded towards you. Grabbing your hand, he placed them over the keys. “Can I teach you a chord?”

Your heart spiked in one fell swoop. “What? And embarrass myself in front of the music god himself?"

He laughed and it lit up his eyes brighter than the screen of his laptop that he had forgotten to shut off, still on the League of Legends home screen. “I told you, it's only hard if you think it is."

Too flustered to argue, you could only watch as he directed your fingers towards the correct keys until three were stretched towards their respective positions. C Major. You wondered if he could hear the rapid pace of your heart through the vibrations on your skin from where his larger hand rested atop your own. You could only pray to any god who would listen that he didn’t.

Among the numerous feelings that bubbled beneath your chest, the sudden pinch of ice that struck your nerves as he lifted his palm away from yours was one that you were the most unsure of. Filing that thought away for later, you focused on the most important task at hand: avoiding looking like an idiot in front of Min Yoongi.

Before you could retreat, your hands pressed down.

A sudden burst of sound filled the silence that you hadn't realized had grown so deafening. Your eyes widened as if you hadn't expected the chord to occur despite Yoongi's administrations, like trying to guess a passcode and getting it correct in a miraculous feat of luck. The now fading sound was not like anything you were expecting, though you knew even monkeys could do what you had just done. It was an actual piece of the puzzle that was music rather than the CD case or paper bag that had come with it.

Likened to an excited pup, you looked towards him for praise or assurance that you had done it right only to catch his already grinning countenance at your widened eyes.

For the next half hour he taught you two other basic chords, never failing to correct you in such a patient manner that your heart rose and fell with each glance and soft appraisal.

"But sometimes," he grinned. "Sometimes you need to stop thinking."

Your brows furrowed, though you didn’t need more than a few seconds to understand his cryptic wording before you yelped, almost flying off your seat at the abrupt disruption of the peace.

He began smashing his hands against the piano, creating the worst orchestra your ears had ever had the pleasure to hear. Overcoming the shock, both of yours laughs bubbled out, drowned by the keyboard speakers. Without a second thought, you joined, key smashing against the lower end. Together, you created an ear-grating masterpiece of cacophonous noise and piercing melody, yet it was still one of the most beautiful things you’d ever heard.

Yoongi began cheering your name like the greatest hypeman in existence as you gave the most effortful performance of your life, hands pressing against the first keys you saw to the last. You didn't know what you were doing but it didn't matter, not when he was smiling with his gums on full display as you went with your gut for the first time in years. Yoongi, the boy whose hands crafted magic, whose words changed you, whose music moved you. Yoongi, who looked at you and saw past your forced pretensions and society-enforced perceptions.

You laughed until your lungs ached for air, having not even realized that your whole body leant against his as you tried to catch your breath.

"Oh my god, I think my ears are broken," you covered them, finally dragging your hands away from the keys.

His grin widened. “You're a quick learner."

“Is this the part where I say that it's because you're a good teacher?"

“Only if you're polite, which we know you aren't." He hadn't stopped smiling and you had never felt prouder of any accomplishment in your entire life. “Was I able to distract you?"

You laughed, bringing your hands back to your lap to fiddle with them. He's seen you wear the same ramen-stained hoodie three days in a row with hair just as ratty yet you had never more felt exposed. “I’d say yes but I think I’ve exceeded my Yoongi compliment limit for the day."

"And here I was thinking that that compliment limit was zero."

"Hey," you playfully knocked against his shoulder. "I always say your breakfast is good."

He knocked against you back, his eyes turnt to half-moons. "That's because you want to brainwash me into cooking for you everyday with half-assed compliments."

"Or maybe," you lightly leaned against his hoodie-covered shoulder. "It's because I like eating breakfast with you."

He paused, and a grin that could only be described as shy graced his features. He tapped against the keyboard but didn't press hard enough to allow a sound to be let out.

"I trust you," he said in the silence. "That you can follow your heart. Even if that sounds corny as fuck, I really believe it."

You smiled, something you've been doing more and more often with him around. "I'll try," you said, watching as he contemplated his next words with a bite of his bottom lip. Giving him time, you glanced back at the piano. "Is it really that simple?" You pressed on a key.

He finally looked up. "I think so," he played the key beside the one you had just pressed, the side of it touching yours. "Even if it doesn't sound right to other people, who's to say that random key smashing isn't music? When you think you're supposed to play a certain way, that's when you hesitate. Even when you fuck up a piece," he pressed another key. "Regretting it doesn't stop the echo."

He began to play another soft melody, leaving you just as entranced as you were the first time he did.

“I’m a hypocrite, though,” he closed his eyes, lightly scoffing. “Giving you advice that I can’t even take.”

Your voice came out in a whisper. “Why?”

“Because...” He took a deep breath, hands leaving the keyboard as he fully turned to you. “I like you," he said it like it were a fact you should've already known. “I... I like you. A lot. I can't remember when you stopped being my annoying roommate who'd hog the fridge space and became the annoying roommate who I couldn't stop writing songs about. Before I could even realize and stop myself, today’s me kept looking forward to tomorrow’s you. I’d be a hypocrite to tell you to stop hesitating about the things in your life while I spent every second of every day wondering whether I should tell you my feelings and ruin our friendship.”

For if there was anything Yoongi knew more than most was that love was fucking stupid. It caused people to be irrational, selfless, and weak-hearted, yet why did he want to forget the stupidity that came with it whenever you walked into the kitchen for breakfast, hair messy and shirt tousled?

Love was fucking stupid. But maybe he could be an idiot if it meant that you'd be stupid for him too.

“I know you don't feel the same way but I just needed to tell-" you kissed him before he could finish what was sure to be a sentence so ridiculous that even the most astute of linguists would be left baffled. He was Min Yoongi. The boy who spent all day locked in his room making music and playing games with his friends. The roommate who'd wake up early just to cook you breakfast. The friend who knew you better than you knew yourself. The man who you'd found yourself falling for with every gummy smile. Yoongi. It had always been Yoongi.

And he was kissing you back.

His lips were as warm as the hands that carefully wrapped around your hips, gently pulling you closer to him. He kissed the way he played, soft and thoughtful.

Pulling away, he whispered your name slowly, prolonging each letter as if to savor them. Never before had your name ever felt so wonderful a one. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours in disbelief. The hand around your waist tightened as if in fear that at any moment you might say that you hadn't meant to give him what had to be the best moment of his life -- that you had actually accidentally fallen on him and he had simply been mistaken.

"You're an idiot," you laughed. "I've liked you since the first time you've cooked me breakfast if the heart eyes I gave you each time weren't already a dead giveaway."

He shuffled in his seat. "You have low standards then," he said. "Or are in desperate search for a house-husband."

You smiled, your nose brushing against his. "Maybe, a bit of both."

He leaned away from you, eyes lit up in a euphoria that didn't hinder from his nervous cadence. "Actually, that song I played for you? Earlier?” You’d never seen him blush before. “I, maybe, composed it thinking of you.”

"A personal chef, jester, and composer? I think I'm winning."

His nose crinkled. "You know you can still back out, right?"

"You're acting as if I'd even want to."

"Stupid songs like that... I suck at love yet I still want to give you everything," he whispered, voice hoarse. "But my everything will still only amount to that."

"If that's your everything,” your hands interlocked with his. “Then your everything is more than enough."

"I like you," he murmured the confession between your lips as if it were clandestine, the urge to say it a million times more bubbling up from his chest. Though stronger than his urge to say it was his urge to hear you say it back.

Your lips met his completely. Perfectly. "I like you, too."

Pulling away once more you couldn't help but laugh at the reddened color of his cheeks and ears. Cutting away at the awkward and still unsure tension, he inched backwards with a startlingly loud clap of his hands. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to making out? This corny shit is so awkward."

"I can't believe I like you," you groaned but kissed him back anyway.

While there was nothing in your life that you could be sure of, you knew that the man whose smile could light up the entire city of Seoul would be there for you for every step, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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ravenclawgirrl · 3 years

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My anxiety hit me most this 2020 and here's how I dealt with it.

I could describe my anxiety as that friend who checks me at night if I did enough for the day. She's either a question or a decision. Sometimes an energy that pulls me down to procrastinate. It's insecurity in disguise. It keeps my focus away, a pressure that runs through my heart - pounding my chest leaving me thirsting for some air. Most of the time, I can't breathe. It's an upset stomach, nausea, a random outburst. It's a reaction to your unresolved traumas. A force that sadly negates your mind. It's typing a dramatically long message with hopes of finding the right words out. It's crying over something stupid and ugly crying again for wasting your littlest energy over that. It's a constant seeking of reassurance. An unreasonable demand for attention and validation after you blur your own worth. It's excessive thinking - doubting, wondering and all else that falls under uncertainty.

But the funny thing is... it could also be another friend that cheers me up to finish my tasks last minute. It's the same pressure that tells me to chin up whilst filling my confidence high. It's the power that allows me to walk through all the uncertainties with a pocket full of pride. It could also come in a form of *that goal* that stays unreachable yet, keeps you on fire. Sometimes, it's also a reminder - you did it all the way up here, what else could stop you now? It's all in my mind. But it comes in different forms.

There had been a lot of solid turning points all throughout this year. For the longest time, I've learned to just accept and live with my anxiety. Armored with my usual coping mechanisms, I embrace the process:

"When it gets heavy, let it out, call a friend, turn to a new activity that mostly ends up unfinished, spend all my remaining energy until I regain my sanity. I couldn't function until my tanks were emptied for me to start anew. My recovery time varies one after another but it really does take a lot."

For all I know, it's surviving. Exhaustion became my friend which I thought… was all I ever could. But this year, surprisingly, brought me a totally new perception. Several walls have crashed on my way to finishing this hell of a year but the message remains clear - RESIST & POWER THROUGH.

This year has pushed me back to my limits that coerced me to view things differently. A stronger and tougher approach which did inflict me pain. It didn't care about how deep my wounds are or how shallow the situation is. My vulnerability wasn't a thing to consider. its eyes were set on the greater good. It taught me to stop caressing the pain - that pausing is necessary but not every road has enough stopping points. That resting, perhaps is certainly a need but also questions its length. It further pushed my strength by being unkind. It made me discover other things about myself and my capabilities. It did teach me to fight.

My heart faced unforeseen rejections despite doubling hard work. But at the end of this year, literally, I could say, I am no longer who I was when 2020 began. 2021, I can't wait for what's ahead.

#anxiety #mentalhealth #2020 #stayhealthy #therapy

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thejunkelemental · 4 years

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Nightmare

Last night the dreams came again. Most of the time they do not leave an imprint on my mind. They slip away as shadows fleeing the light of dawn as it steals across my pillow. Tonight I remember. I was walking in Broadripple, a place drowning in memories. I passed a coffee shop and noticed you. You were laughing, talking with your hands. The guy who sat opposite of you I did not recognize, but he smiled and reached out to grasp your hand. Entwined his fingers. You smiled and kissed him. Icy water ran down my back, the dream turned sideways and I fell through the sidewalk. I was swimming in a dark and sunless sea. Shapes moved in the distance and I was alone. I swam in every direction but continued to sink. Darker, darker, the light that came with me leeched away bit by bit. I don’t remember more than that. I woke up with my heart twisting and insecure questions resounding in my head. Would you tell me when you started looking? When you found someone? Questions I’ve asked before and you’ve addressed before but they marched out in their profusion. Part of the process in peace of mind is doing this tiresome battle with my insecurities in the morning or the night. They either come to me when the loneliness is thick before I sleep or in the morning in the wake of dreams. Sometimes all I want in the world is to see little glimmers of hope. You. Suddenly calling or showing up just to see me, to spend time with me. The way you would rest your hand on my chest and cuddle so close when you started coming over. The way you woke me up so gently, caressing my face or running your fingers through my hair. You would say that you loved me, that you missed me. You missed time at the lake together, you missed spending time with me and talking and laughing. On days I didn’t say much you reached out a few times hoping I was ok. Small things. Some of my peace lived in those small things. Fitful, weak. But it lived there. When I spiraled you were there to tell me how important I was to you. How much you wanted me in your life. Do you remember when Jade almost convinced me to abandon it all? You said to please not do it because she said, because of what she tried to convince me of...that if I had to go for me, you would understand but you wanted me to stay in your life. I felt so loved and wanted so much. I have learned to ask for what I need from you and you have become so much better at providing it. In turn I have become better at giving you what you need when things are sad...supporting from afar. It has been a long time since I went into a self hatred spiral where I kicked myself around or talked about the world without me. Sometimes I still feel like a moron, pining after someone who doesn’t want me like that, but you always tell me I’m ok and you still want me there. You aren’t upset at me. Those reassurances always help. Seven months is a long time to be without you and I have treasured all our interactions and texts and words and interactions since then. I have noticed we text a little more and sometimes I see or hear from you more than I expected. These mean so much to me. I do not rush or push to increase the connections as much as I used to...beg you for your time in the ways I once did. I have gotten better at setting barriers for myself so I am less pathetic and more stable. I look forward to talking about communication goals, healing broken trust. I am not writing this seeking validation or being wanted or hope...nor do I write it seeking for the insecure questions in my head to be answered. While I would love nothing more than to put those fears to bed again, they’re a manifestation of my own fear of being left behind and abandoned...of becoming obsolete in the relationship that meant so enormously much to me.

We have had many struggles and, for my part, I hope I have demonstrated that I do not want to fight or argue. I want to understand, process and uplift. I am writing this for myself, to get the thoughts out of my head. But if you see them I do not want you to feel you have done anything wrong. My brain tries to trip me, hurt me, upend me...it feeds me lies and it tells me not to hope. That my story will be like the story of so many who have lost their person and direction in life. But once upon a time in your home you told me that just because it was a story did not mean it had to be our story. I am still learning our story. From separation to friendship, reclaiming ways we have touched each other’s lives, enjoyed each other and trusted each other. I know things take time. Some nights I keenly miss you. Some nights the thoughts rampage through my brain and I try to distract in any way possible. I wonder if you have begun to want someone else to share your life. I imagine all our firsts being repeated with another and...honestly it is painful to imagine. Not that you would be so happy in that moment but that I cannot have those moments again. I cannot curl up with you to sleep, wrap around you while we eat dinner and watch shows together. I cannot kiss you on your lips softly and then hard, listening to you giggle helplessly after. I cannot bring you treats when you’re sick or feeling sad, take your hand and go to get ice cream. I can’t always listen to your mind sprint through topics and interests so quickly, wrestle with you on the bed or always make the stuffed friends or cats talk for you.

Sometimes I look into your eyes and I search for the ways you used to look at me. The love and desire there. The joy. Sometimes I don’t feel like I find it in the same way and its absence...that you may not miss us as much as I do, that can hurt...even if I understand. I miss the way you would look at me with adoration and wonder if your eyes...like you could never imagine being with someone like me. No one had ever looked at me like that and for me that was...it was like coming home without knowing I had been so long away. There is an enormity of what I miss and an enormity of what I would still like to do with you. It must sound silly to you that I always want to see you or hear your voice...that I want to be there for you in the hard times and celebrate the good times with you. That I want to meet your zany pet friends. That I wish some mornings you would just appear. Without me asking. Just because you wanted to spend time near to me. These wishes do not diminish the enormity of what you have already done for me. That you are there when I need you and when I ask you say sweet things...you make an effort to be there. It must be hard sometimes. Sometimes it must feel like you cannot be enough. But you are enough. Just as you are and you always have been. I love you so much Snapdragon. The voices in my head are not stronger than how much I care for and love you. Sometimes they just shout so loud all I can do is wait for them to quiet. And those are hard days.

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lanashellrey-blog · 6 years

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Home

Being home is bad nostalgia. I hate driving by the places we’d go, the places we’d share laughs, the places we’d eat. I hate missing my friends. I hate feeling lonely in my own hometown.

On Thursday, I woke up to a message from him saying he was upset. He’d had a bad day. He cried in the dining hall. I called him immediately. He was laughing again. We were telling jokes. After that, he and I talked all day long. We talked on the phone. I felt happy. I didn’t eat a single thing. My stomach felt like it could explode all day. I laid in bed. I slept, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep talking.

Mom came home that night and she came directly to my bedroom. She found me laying on my side in the same position that I had been all day. She told me to eat. Told me that I needed to give this up. That it was bad for me. I was cheating myself of happiness. He was deceiving me. I shouldn’t trust him anymore. I couldn’t live my life in fear of the next time. I sobbed. She left my room without giving me a hug.

I felt numb. My eyes were swollen. He was having a good day. He had taught. Gone to class. Shaved himself. He told me he’d had a breakdown but he’d felt better. He asked about me and I didn’t lie. I told him I’d been in bed all day, that I couldn’t move. I started throwing questions at him. I asked if he was lying to me, if he’d had a decision. I asked if he’d lied at all. I asked him how I should trust that he won’t change his mind on me again. I asked him what he thought of me. I asked him what will happen to us.

He told me he wasn’t lying. He told me he was still unsure. He said he’d never lied outside of this. He said he wants to be sure of his decision so he never has to be unsure again. He said he thought I was strong, resilient. He wanted me to be happy and healthy. He said he loved me more than the whole world. He wanted to keep me forever. He said that we can fix this.

For the first time, I felt like I was being honest with him, truly, fully. I said I didn’t know what would happen to us. I want to support him until the day I die. He went to sleep before he could reply.

Dad told me that I needed to advocate for myself, to not let people walk all over me. I had to get what I needed, not let people just tell me what I was going to do. You’re tired, he had said, get some sleep. Sleep came to me late, it was fleeting, and it almost made me more tired.

In the morning, Mom took me to the doctor. I filled out paperwork in a waiting room that was too big and smelled too clean. I was the first person there. Mom sat two seats away from me, like she was afraid my depression was contagious and didn’t want to catch it from me.

When it was my turn, I followed a woman to the back room and answered general questions about myself. Mom gave me a hug and left for work. Then a different woman in a different back room told me about my finances and insurance and all the things I didn’t understand. Finally, a social worker took me into a different back room and I told her everything.

I told her about my sleep and how I wasn’t getting any. I told her about my appetite and how I didn’t have one. I told her about how I had been feeling this way for seven years. The feeling never stopped for more than a few days. I was restless, had no motivation, no concentration, little to no hobbies. No passions. No, I wasn’t addicted to alcohol, but we shared a laugh over the concussion I got while I was drunk spring semester. I told her about him. She complimented the sticker on my water bottle from It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia. She asked me about my friends and my schoolwork. In the strangest way, I felt connected to this woman. It was like she was already my friend and neither of us had known it until now.

The full consultation took over an hour, with me spending the most time in the social worker’s office answering general questions about myself. Sometimes crying. The social worker strongly recommended counseling as well as medication. Medication. The word rang in my ear like a fire alarm. I told her I would think about it. She took down my name to pair me with a counselor. Told me to seek counseling at my university. She gave me a folder and sent me on my way.

The walk home felt like it happened in an instant. My phone buzzed with more messages from him that I decided to ignore until I got home. I felt the cool breeze on my face, I squinted into the mid-morning sun kissing my face. There were no clouds. The weather felt different at home. I passed by Walmart, where my good friend Zach worked. I craned my neck and peered into the parking lot, looking for his bright blue car in its usual parking space. I remember how in summer, we’d go and visit him at work at night when it was busy. Harass him while he was stocking juices or wheeling around big carts with boxes. Help him push shopping carts in the parking lot. I wished that he were working right there, his face was always friendly, always happy to see you, always giving hugs and smiling. He could pick up my mood any day. But on this day, he wasn’t there.

When I got home, I opened up his messages to a multitude of different things. He said that he was hurt to hear me say that I wasn’t sure if our relationship would last. He wants to be there for me always. The future is scary. He’s angry at the universe for making him feel like this.

I tell him I’m angry, too. Neither of us deserve this. We deserved a normal life. I tell him I can’t live in uncertainty for my entire life, never knowing when we’ll do this again. I didn’t know what would happen to us if he went on. I wanted to trust him but I couldn’t. I tell him my heart is broken because I love him so much, more than anything in the world. I wanted to be with him forever. I’m angry. I’m guilty. I tell him I wish he would tell me he hates me and wants me to die.

Everything is in a fog. I head upstairs. Lay down. Try not to cry. Instead, I sleep for three hours.

I woke up as I fell asleep, in a fog, dazed, disoriented.

Eight hours later, he replies. He says this makes him sad. He’s sorry that I’m so hurt. He says he likes who he is, but not who he is. He agrees that the universe played us in the wrong way. He urges me to trust him, to get all of my doubts out of my head and trust him. He is adamant that he will figure this out and that he will be sure and I should just trust him. He hopes he doesn’t have to change. He wishes he felt normal. He wishes that I didn’t feel like he should hate me.

I can tell he is pained by what I said. Blindly trusting him seems like the naive thing to do. I want to do it so, so badly. I’ve spent four whole years taking his hand and letting him show me the way to do whatever we would do. I know that ignoring feelings and misguided trust and going on our merry way is going to be the solution that makes me the happiest. But I know that it won’t be what makes him the happiest. And in the end, we’ll both suffer.

Dad takes me to eat. I get soup and bread. I eat it and feel like I ate a whole Thanksgiving dinner. I wish my eating habits could be normal again.

I tell him he needed to keep exploring his options. He agreed and said that other options put him at ease and took pressure off but he didn’t want to confuse people. I assured him that nobody needs an explanation. He agreed, and he agreed that he should do what he wants without owing anybody shit.

This seems like a good time to call him, so I do. We talk nothing of my day. We talk about him, how his day was. We don’t even get through talking about his whole day without getting sidetracked by other things. We’re laughing, talking about mutual friends, his roommate even jumps in to tell me a story that we both laugh about. He hangs up only when he’s outside of a concert that he has to go into.

For the first time in six whole days, the lump of anxiety and fear in my chest has gone away. I shower without crying. I talk to my mom and I feel emotion in my voice again. I breathe. Things seem like they’re looking up for some reason. I have no idea why.

He doesn’t answer me back for three and a half hours. When he does, I ask him more questions that I have. They’re about sex and his thoughts and feelings. His reply about sex isn’t surprising. His identity is. He thinks of his legs and nails, and his hair and clothes. I begin to feel dizzy again. I tell him to go to bed, but neither of us do.

He tells me he’s glad that he can talk about his feelings but he’s afraid of what I will think. I say I’m trying to be as honest with him as possible. This is hard, I say, because I’m trying to understand how he’s feeling and also reassure myself even though I know deep down that things will not be okay. He says they will be, they’ll just be hard for a while. I still can’t bring myself to blindly trust him.

I tell him what Mom said. I can tell he’s frustrated with me for telling her about our secret, and that I shouldn’t be sympathetic to her feelings, she doesn’t trust anybody. I’m torn. I tell him that I’ll try to trust him. Am I lying to him? I can’t tell.

His philosophy has always been to put feelings on the shelves, think later. Feel happy and forget your feelings. Blind optimism. I know that he is questioning if things will be okay between us too. But he will never say. He wants me to not question it too. He needs validation from me that things will be okay. But that validation is something that I can not give him right now. So he’s probably faking it.

I lift my head up from the pillow. I had been crying for a while. I know that I look absolutely terrible. My eyes are bloodshot. My face is blotchy and red. I look him dead in the face, my voice unwavering for the first time since this conversation began.

“So,” I say, my voice harsher than I intended. “Is this one of those times when it’s okay to lie to people to protect their feelings?”

His face doesn’t change. He swallows hard. “Yes.”

In the morning, I wake up and check his Reddit page for the millionth time. Today, there’s an update. Another comment on another post. That lump in my chest returns.

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healthandfitnessrecipes-blog · 6 years

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Massy Arias: Rise Above

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/?p=9183

Authentic, ambitious and altruistic, cover girl Massy Arias — aka Mankofit — is on a mission to change the world, one social post at a time.

An estimated 350 million people worldwide suffer from depression, according to the World Health Organization. But despite its pervasiveness, there is still an unambiguous stigma attached to depression that makes it an unmentionable subject of conversation, no matter your race, creed, country or age. In fact, more than 50 percent of Americans don’t seek treatment for the condition, and even fewer admit to having a mental health issue at all for fear of judgment, shame and discrimination.

“Mental health is taboo everywhere, and in my country, we never talk about these things — people just get labeled as crazy, even if they are only depressed,” says the Dominican-born Massy Arias. “But I think we should be open about it, and depression should be treated the same as any other health condition.”

Exercise as Medicine

Arias is the voice of experience. She suffered from severe depression for years, hiding away in her room, sleeping for avoidance and even losing her hair. She tried everything short of prescription medication to assuage her condition, including meditation, hypnosis, herbs and cognitive therapy. Nothing worked until a friend suggested exercise. Arias had never played sports or been to a gym, but she was willing to give anything a try. Within six months, she was a new person.

“When I say fitness saved my life, I mean it,” she avows. “Movement puts you in a very positive hormonal state, changing the chemistry within your body and your brain. I was also occupying my mind with new challenges and was meeting people who were holding me accountable and making me feel good about myself. I had something to look forward to, and my life completely transformed.”

However, feeling those feels was a temporary condition, and within hours of leaving the gym, Arias would come back to earth — hard. “I ended up overtraining because I started craving that feeling of happiness — a feeling which I only felt during exercise or right afterward,” she says. “But once I started building a routine and collected a team of people and friends who helped me over that hump, things got easier. I got certified as a trainer and started teaching group classes, and everything fell into place.”

Sharing and Caring

Wanting to share her experience, Arias opened an Instagram account — a new platform at the time — and regularly posted raw and personal accounts of her struggles, failures and successes in her journey toward wellness.

“When I started exercising, I couldn’t do a lot of things, and people saw that process on Instagram and watched me go from not being able to do a push-up to doing clapping push-ups, not being able to run a full block to running a 5K,” she says. “My social media is not a bunch of curated pictures that look pretty; I don’t sell dreams — I sell reality — and you will find inspiration to keep on moving forward in everything I do.”

Providing a refreshing break from the typical narcissistic and vapid content of social media, Arias’ vulnerable authenticity garnered her rapid popularity, and she soon amassed a global following of millions, helped in no small part by her bilingual posts.

But depression was still lurking within, and after having her daughter, Indie, in 2017, Arias experienced postpartum depression, which renewed her advocacy of exercise as a defensible and valid prescription. “It was tough, but I used the same approach to help treat it as I did before — using movement and healthy food as medicine,” she says. “As long as I continue moving and eating well, I will continue to rise above my depression.”

Using this all-natural prescription, Arias once again prevailed, and a year later, she is beyond thrilled to be a mother. “Being a mom is tiring and it’s hard, but it has also made me an overall better person — a little more regimented, a little softer, more compassionate,” she says. “It also made me a better trainer and a better motivator because I can relate to so many more women who have kids. Now I have an understanding as to what women all around the world have experienced and what struggles they face with health and exercise and family.”

Exercise Rx

There are hundreds of studies supporting exercise as a valid prescription for depression. Here are just a few notable findings:

According to Harvard Medical School, exercise causes a series of internal changes that reverse the symptoms of depression, such as the release of endorphins, which actually help block physical and emotional pain.

Continued practice of exercise triggers the release of specific proteins that cause nerve cells to grow and make new connections, most notably in the hippocampus — the region of the brain that dictates mood — ultimately improving mental health and well-being.

A study published in ACSM’s Health & Fitness Journal determined that even modest amounts of exercise alleviate depressive symptoms on a level comparable to pharmacological drugs, and another study showed that exercise reduced depressive symptoms in patients who failed to respond to antidepressant medication. How much is a modest amount? Just one hour per week, according to research published in The American Journal of Psychiatry.

Postpartum women who participated in exercise programs showed a significantly lower incidence of depression, and those at high probability for the condition had a reduced risk of 50 percent! This is especially good news for breast-feeding mothers who are worried about the effects medication can have on their newborn.

On the Horizon

Today, Arias juggles several sponsorships, and she is kept busy making appearances for companies such as Target, C9 Champion and CoverGirl. In fact, at the time of this writing, Arias was en route to Dallas to do an engagement in the inner city hosting workshops, an exercise class and a meet-and-greet. This sort of athletic philanthropy is her current MO, and Arias is ardent about reaching out to those with little access to exercise and healthy living.

“I never played any sports growing up, but I strongly believe that if I would have started at a young age doing what I am doing now, I probably would have been a great athlete,” she says. “That is why I am passionate about a project I am working on in the Dominican Republic: I am teaming up with a retired Olympic hurdler — a gold medalist — to build an athletic academy for performance training and nutrition. Hopefully, we can also integrate the Olympic committee and the government to be part of this initiative to help inner-city kids who don’t have the resources they need to play sports.”

She also continues to be an Instagram inspiration by living her fitness truth for the world to see, continuing to set and break goals. “Right now, I am working more on building strength and endurance, trying to be a beast!” Arias says. “I want to be able to jump higher, lift more, be more explosive and beat all the guys I train with. Be a ninja. I want to live my life in a way that changes lives positively every day. If my story can give people the confidence and reassurance that they can reach whatever goal they have or overcome any obstacle in front of them, then I’m fulfilling my purpose in this journey.”

Circuit 1

Kettlebell Pickup (30 seconds each side) Banded Football Squat Banded Jumping Jack

Kettlebell Pickup

Stand behind a kettlebell with your feet shoulder-width apart. Keep your back straight and your core engaged as you hinge from your hips and fold forward, reaching down with your right hand as you simultaneously lift your left leg behind you. When your torso and leg are parallel to the floor, grab the kettlebell handle and stand back up. Reverse the move to lower the kettlebell back down to the floor, release it and stand back up to complete one rep. Do all reps on one side, then switch.

Banded Football Squat

Secure a band loop around your thighs just above your knees and stand with your feet hip-width apart so there is tension in the band. Jump your feet apart and squat down quickly with a flat back to touch your left fingertips to the floor. Explode upward, jump your feet together underneath you, then jump them apart again, touching your right hand to the floor. Continue, alternating sides.

Banded Jumping Jack

Secure a band loop around your legs just above your ankles and stand with your feet hip-width apart so there is tension in the band. Jump your feet apart and raise your arms overhead, then jump your arms and legs back together as with a normal jumping jack.

Circuit 2

Kettlebell Stiff-Legged Deadlift to Kettlebell Squat Banded Side Shuffle Banded Square Bear Crawl

Kettlebell Stiff-Legged Deadlift to Kettlebell Squat

Hold a kettlebell with both hands in front of you, arms straight, and stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Keeping your back straight, your knees soft and your head neutral, push your glutes back as you hinge forward, lowering the kettlebell toward the floor as low as you can, or until your back begins to round. Return to the start, then explosively pull the kettlebell upward in an upright row motion, catch it on the sides of the handle, and hold it at your chest as you kick your hips back and lower into a deep squat. Continue, alternating moves.

Banded Side Shuffle

Secure a resistance-band loop around your thighs just above your knees and stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Kick your hips back and lower into an athletic “ready” position, core tight, posterior chain activated. Hold here as you quickly drive your right leg to the side, swinging your left arm forward and across your body. Step your feet together and repeat. Continue, taking five steps one way, then five steps the other way for the duration of your time.

Banded Square Bear Crawl

Secure a band loop around your thighs just above your knees and get onto all fours with your hands underneath your shoulders and your knees underneath your hips, back straight and head neutral. Turn your toes under and lift your knees off the floor to get into the bear position, then using opposing limbs, take four slow steps forward. Then use your same-side arm and leg to take four steps to the right. Use your opposing arm and leg to take four steps backward, then same-side arm and leg to move laterally to the left and complete the square. Repeat in the opposite direction.

Circuit 3

Kettlebell Step-Out With Knee Drive Squat With Opposite Arm and Leg Crunch Banded Plank Step-Out and Leg Lift

Kettlebell Step-Out With Knee Drive

Hold a kettlebell with both hands at your chest, elbows down, feet shoulder-width apart. Lift your knee to hip height, then squat down on your left leg as low as you can. Stay in this low squat position as you slowly step to the right, shifting your weight to your right foot. Balance on your right foot as you lift your left foot off the floor, then extend your right leg to stand, lifting your left knee to hip height. Continue, alternating directions.

Squat With Opposite Arm and Leg Crunch

Secure a resistance-band loop around both arches of both shoes and place your hands lightly behind your head, elbows flared. Keep your chest lifted as you kick your hips back and squat down, then stand and simultaneously lift your right knee as you twist to the right, aiming to touch your left elbow to your right knee. Replace your foot, perform another squat and continue, alternating sides.

Banded Plank Step-Out and Leg Lift

Secure a resistance band around both legs just above your ankles and get into a forearm plank with your elbows underneath your shoulders and your head, hips and heels aligned. Hold your upper body in position as you open your right leg out to the side, touching your toes down briefly to the floor, then return to plank. Then keep your right leg straight as you lift it upward as high as you can. Continue, alternating legs.

The Short Circuit Workout

“This program is something I would do myself,” says Arias, who created this workout exclusively for Oxygen. “Because I hate all cardio except doing stairs or sprinting, I like to do circuit training for my strength work, which allows me to get in both my aerobic and anaerobic training at the same time.”

This workout contains three circuits of three moves apiece. Do the moves in order for 30 seconds each with no rest in between, and rest up to a minute in between circuits. Do three to four rounds of each circuit, depending on how much time you have.

“Use a resistance loop or weight that challenges you for each move, and try to hit your max reps with each set,” Arias advises, noting that you should use a lighter weight band loop when placing it around your ankles and a heavier one around your thighs. “And make sure you can move that weight effectively in a controlled manner.”

Why a band loop? “It’s for the booty,” says Arias, laughing, who admits she has a hard time engaging her glutes. “I had muscular imbalances and my glutes didn’t activate properly. The muscles that were tight would turn on right away, preventing the glutes from engaging. But these bands ensure those glutes will fire!”

Full name: Massy Arias Birth date: November 23, 1988 Hometown: Dominican Republic Current residence: Glendale, California Height: 5’8” Sponsors: Target, C9 Champion, CoverGirl Instagram: massy.arias Facebook and Twitter: mankofit Favorite saying: “But did you die?”

Follow along with Massy as she demos her workout here.

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/Massy-Arias-Rise-Above.jpg Credits: Original Content Source

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pinkleatherjournal-blog · 6 years

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10 Things a Slave Needs From a Master

I was browsing through BDSM-related articles in search of a new and interesting journal prompt to write about. While searching, I kept seeing articles that suggested what Dominants'/Masters' need from a Submissive/Slave. But there is almost no information suggesting what Sub missives' and Slaves actually need from a Dominant or Master-so I decided to take on the topic myself. Here it goes...

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•·.·´`·.·•10 Things a Slave Needs From A Master•·.·´`·.·•

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1. Time. I think time is the most important because of how vital it is for the overall health of the relationship. There are MANY different types of slaves and they are all different, but I think that every slave desires time from their Master. And its essential for a Master to provide the proper amount of time for their slave, otherwise, I don't believe you're really looking for a slave. A slave requires love and mentor-ship while a Master requires obedience and trust. <----All of these things take time to develop.

2. Goals. Almost the entire point of being a slave is being goal-oriented. Slaves need goals in order to measure their progress while following their Master's guidance. Masters should clearly explain their goals so that slaves have a way to comprehend the plans that the Master has for their growth and development. A slave without goals has no direction to go in and will become lost and uncertain of their purpose. I mean, how can a Master lead a slave without any goals?

3. Correction. This probably goes without saying it, but it is essential that Masters correct their slaves when they make mistakes! Without the correction from a Master, slaves could start to develop bad habits. Some habits can be hard to break and/or could do great damage to any M/s relationship. Being corrected makes a slave feel secure in knowing that their Master will never be afraid to take the necessary steps needed in keeping them focused on their goals. Without the correction from a Master, slaves may never known that they had even made a mistake, will continue doing that mistake, which will ultimately lead to their failure as a slave.

4. Clearly defined limits.

I think that every Master should have some kind of clear limits in order for their slave to know what is expected of them. Even Masters that prefer to have absolutely no limits with their slaves need to have some sort of limits or parameters to guide the relationship. Masters also need to reinforce their limits by correcting their slaves when they try to overstep them without approval. "In some ways I am like a child that needs a fence around my play area so I know how far I can go and feel secure inside those limits."-KinkyLittleGirl

5. Consistence/Stability. A slave needs a consistent Master-a Master who consistently communicates, nurtures, and corrects them. "Slaves would like to know that their Masters rules for today will apply to tomorrow's behavior." -KinkyLittleGirl Nothing is more confusing than giving mixed signals by allowing rules to be broken that were specifically given for a reason. From time to time slaves may test their Masters to see if they are capable of full control. Slaves may also test their Masters to see if they are able to continuously lead them back to the path that their Master had chosen for them.

6. Limit-testing. Slaves are slaves-they need to be controlled. They need to be pushed in order to go beyond the places they've ever been. Masters need to challenge their slaves so that they can grow. Slaves that are left alone will become bored and the entire M/s relationship could crumble from the slave becoming bored of the boundaries that they agreed to in the first place, causing them to go beyond these boundaries set for them, and thus, ending the ownership of full control.

7. Acceptance. Every Master should accept their slave for who they are and who/what they want to be. Slaves deeply desire their Master's acceptance. A Master can give their slave a real feeling of their acceptance by providing their slave with hope, reassurance, and encouragement, thus establishing a M/s relationship based on the slave's willful surrender of control to their Master. A Master that accepts a slave as their property also accepts the responsibility of training them. If the Master if unable or unwilling to accept their slave on a 24/7 basis, then they have no reason to even start ownership. That Master would then do more harm than good to the slave.

8. Approval/Reassurance. Slaves need their Masters to approve of them or the things they have done in order for them to feel that they truly belong to their Master. Slaves will constantly seek their Master's approval when they are unsure of themselves. Slaves also deeply rely on their Master's support and reassurance when they are confused about a situation or apprehensive about a new challenge. A slave hates disappointing their Master and always fears rejection. Masters can help their slaves by reassuring them that all of their feelings are valid.

9. Mentorship. A Master's experienced guidance is essential in gaining full control of their slave and reinforces the strength of their ownership. Slaves should be able to get advice, receive suggestions, learn from, and feel close to their Masters. A Master can be a great mentor to their slave by teaching them to learn things for themselves and guiding them into the Master's own experiences so that they can be a mentor later on if they choose to be.

10. Aftercare. Even though it is last on this list, aftercare is extremely important in a M/s relationship. Aftercare is generally understood as a set of actions that the Master should do for their slave after a session. There are a lot of emotions involved in submitting to someone, handing over total control. Masters need to baby their slaves.Slaves aren’t just there to do the housework, tend to their Master's needs, and hand out sexual favors. There may be a lot of times when slaves want to be used, made to feel like a prized possession, be controlled, and dominated, but slaves also want to feel like their Master respects them. Slaves need to know that their Masters will take care of them, both emotionally and physically, because how else can slaves trust their Masters enough to just hand over the reigns and ‘do as they are told’?

References:

KinkyLittleGirl - On Abuse and BDSM. (2017). A Submissive’s Needs. [online] Available at: https://kinkylittlegirl.wordpress.com/2010/11/02/a-… [Accessed 28 Dec. 2017].

Pett, P., Pett, P. and profile, V. (2017). 5 Things a submissive wants from her Dominant. [online] Thoughtsandponderingsofasubmissive.blogspot.com. Available at: http://thoughtsandponderingsofasubmissive.blogspot.… [Accessed 28 Dec. 2017].

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soovaryit · 6 years

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So it’s the second anniversary of my endo diagnosis (woooo), and I thought I’d share my experience of the diagnostic laparoscopy. Obviously, this is (usually) straightforward day surgery and nothing to be concerned about at all, but undoubtedly you have your reservations about what the experience and end result will be like. This will differ drastically for everyone, for some it will be a short and simple procedure and others there may be complications or the need for surgeons to make bigger incisions. I speak to a lot of people who think they may have endo but are worried about the lap and diagnostic process and my god I don’t blame you. But regardless of the struggle, I’m glad I pushed for a diagnosis and am (hopefully) on the path to healing. I know that people are worried about scarring, anaesthesia, pain and the recovery period and unfortunately, I can’t predict what it will be like but I can tell you it will be worth it in the end and that it is a (slightly scary) step forward.

In the scheme of things, I am a total endo amateur, having had only one lap and chosen to stick with the less drastic options of multiple hormonal contraceptives as I am lucky that it is not too severe. I can’t fathom the strength of those who have to go through multiple laps a year, as well as much more serious surgeries to reconstruct and remove organs that have been affected by endo. You are true warriors and I hope so much that you continue healing <3 I was initially very excited for my lap, although probably naïve to feel that way. I didn’t know much about the disease yet and assumed that they’d be able to remove it all, leaving me pain-free, with a Mirena coil to prevent further growth (as propositioned by my equally naïve GP). Obviously, it is rarely that simple. Getting to the point of the lap was emotionally draining, to say the least, but once I’d convinced multiple doctors that I could barely function because of the pain, I was booked in with 2 months wait. This is when I started to read stories like this, personal experiences of the operation and diagnosis process and it helped a lot. Some were reassuring, some worried me but ultimately I felt a sense of solidarity no matter what the outcome and still felt positive about the procedure. Unfortunately, my consultant, a gynaecologist with no special interest or education in endo was absolute shite*. In my two appointments before the procedure, he was fairly dismissive and not convinced that it would be endometriosis. This did not exactly fill me with confidence but changing doctors would be a long and arduous process and I decided this was the best thing at the time. The anaesthesia, which I was anxious about having not been put under since I was much younger, was absolutely fine. Anaesthesiologists are amazing at keeping you calm and I can barely recall being in the room at any point, let alone falling asleep. When I woke up I felt EXTREMELY emotional and ultimately pissed off. Everyone will have different reactions to anaesthesia and mine have always been volatile so it wasn’t really a surprise but basically everyone will be super nice to you.

The consultant came to see and his first words were ‘I have some bad news’. I instantly burst into tears (OBVIOUSLY) and he started laughing, revealing that he had had to remove my belly button piercing before making the incision. This was not a funny joke and my parents called him out on it which I am eternally grateful for. He then went on to tell me that he was SURPRISED that I did, in fact, have endometriosis (I think I get angrier every time I think about how he handled this scenario). He told me that it had been active for around 6 years and he could see that the mega dose of hormones I was given in the months leading up to the op had healed the majority of it (he said a good thing! Yay!). He told me I still had one active patch that had grown on a blood vessel and could not be removed, ever. My heart sunk even though overall it had given me the validation that I wasn’t making up the 7 years of pain I experienced. Knowing that I had a patch that may not heal meant I would still be living with the pain and that was shitty to hear. He immediately told me his action plan which included ‘shutting down’ my ovaries for up to a year – inducing menopause. He did not give me any further information or a different choice. Ultimately, my choice treatment came from brilliant sources on the internet **and not a qualified doctor, which speaks volumes for how much knowledge many general gyanes actually have about diseases such as endo.

The next few days were very difficult emotionally and physically. I had the best possible support network around me but I felt extremely isolated couldn’t stop replaying the last 7 years of pain in my head and questioning why I never acted on getting a diagnosis sooner. I wondered how much pain I could have saved myself. I wondered if previous relationships would have worked out if I hadn’t been struggling with the burden of this disease and all the emotional shit that goes along with it. The pain, ironically, was similar to a super awful endo episode but stitches etc and the insertion of the coil made it more uncomfortable (I bought myself a latex skirt with the intention of wearing a week later to cheer me up – wrong decision. Ow.). There was also weird crampy shoulder pain that I read about due to the gas inserted into your abdomen during the surgery, that passed within a couple of days. The physical side was easy enough to bear. I had put up with varying levels of pain for 16 years which gives you a pretty high pain threshold. The emotional side of it was completely unexpected and really knocked me back. This is the part that they are seriously lacking in in medical situations. I was discharged that day with a follow-up appointment in a month’s time, the doctors words of ‘shutting my ovaries down’ ringing in my ears and I felt completely unsatisfied and terrified for the future. I knew I couldn’t live with that much pain anymore and so worried that it would never get better. When you have a lifelong condition like endo it is so hard to feel certainty and optimism about the future when you don’t know what your body might do next. It took over a year for the Mirena coil to have an impact on the pain which is pretty shitty and I’m not sure it ever would have worked for me alone despite doctors claiming its a ‘cure’. Luckily, I then found a wonderful doctor who prescribed me Cerelle, a progesterone only pill to boost my progesterone levels in an attempt to ease the pain. I also began therapy and a year’s course of Sertraline as my mood was (understandably) in the gutter.

It was at this point I started to unpick the negative and self-damaging thought processes I was having around the disease. I thought that it was my fault. I thought that I should have tried to get it diagnosed sooner. I felt like a burden to everyone. I felt like a lesser human because sometimes I couldn’t do ‘normal’ things like go to work or cook for myself or get out of bed. As I’m sure you’ve realised these are profoundly wrong, and if you feel yourself agreeing with those statements, it’s vital you seek some support and deconstruct the way you relate to your endo. To anyone facing the uncertainty of an diagnosis, my advice to you is to try and prepare emotionally. Refer yourself for counselling because anyone with a chronic condition NEEDS to talk about it, regularly, openly and without shame. It is essential for your mental health. If this isn’t an option for you, you can also speak to online counsellors or even get support from the wonderful people at Endometriosis UK (via helplines and support groups). Basically, it’s ok to admit that you’re scared, its ok to not feel positive and it’s understandable that those feelings are hard to come to terms with.

The actual diagnosis is hard to swallow but once it is on your medical records some things get easier. You have proof to show your employers, schools and universities, access to more/stronger pain meds and at least some explanation for the pain you’ve experienced. It’s beyond ridiculous that we live in a world where pain isn’t taking seriously until the point of diagnosis but that’s something that won’t change quickly and once your diagnosis has been confirmed you can look at the ways in which you can be supported. Two years on my pain has improved to the point where sometimes I can’t remember what a bad day feels like. That in itself is an incredible feat to me and somewhere I never thought I would be. Flare-ups are still hard and take it out of me but they are less frequent. I still talk about endo and my feelings about it as much as possible to cope with the bad days and to remind myself that that it’s still something I’ll have to deal with for life and constanly develop new coping mechanisms for. Remember that there is no shame in anything that you feel around your body or your condition and your emotions are powerful and completely valid.

*UK people – for doctors who are not complete shite make sure you have a look at your nearest accredited endometriosis centre here

**Brilliant sources = mainly Endometriosis UK who are absolutely amazingly informative and supportive but also The Mighty (catch one of my articles on the most read page oOoOoOoh)

#endometriosis #endometriosisawareness #diagnosis #chronicillness #chronicpain #support #counselling #wellbeing #samaritans #endometriosisuk #bsge

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