you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.
(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)
but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.
(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)
there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.
(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)
you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.
(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)
you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.
in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.
but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.
they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.
it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.
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Durge and Gortash progressively playing a game of chicken as their relationship progresses where they continuously do vaguely threatening yet innocent gestures to test each other’s (dis)trust. It starts with something simple like Gortash placing his hand on Durge’s shoulder near their neck. He just wants to see the Bhaalspawn squirm, he justifies. Of course, Durge plays along- they won’t show weakness. So, it becomes a game. They do things like playing with a dagger while they talk, cutting the loose thread off each others’ shirt collar, bringing each other food or drinks with no guarantee it’s not poisoned, Durge insisting on shaving Gortash’s quickly growing beard for him after too many long nights planning. In the end, it just becomes habit, and they’ve just tricked themselves into allowing this intense domestic affection, allowing vulnerability and showing unquestioned trust. Oops. They still think it’s edgy though. Anyone else who sees it thinks they’re just married.
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there’s not enough lizzie ldshadowlady appreciation in this fandom and frankly I think we need to rectify this
she acts terrified of absolutely everyone except her husband, whom she is increasingly exasperated by. she and ren were rivalling dogwarts with their interactions. she was boogeyman twice in two different seasons and essentially did the exact same trap, that failed in essentially the exact same way, and somehow she still managed to get the kill because the person was too confused to process the fact they were being stabbed. she’s a fairy. she’s the shadow queen. she’s totally definitely pearl, she just has an amnesia cold. she spends half her time complaining about her husband, and the other half flirting with him in front of people. her dogs were named dragon, ogre and taxes so they’d be intimidating. ‘and so I left this world how I entered it: confused.’ she griefed the server. jimmy killed her.
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july side quests:
- buy a peach from a stand by the side of the road. (isn’t it sweeter than anything? i love you.)
- sit in a cool creek on a hot day. let it run over and around and through you.
- grieve.
- say “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity that’ll get you.”
- get too damn drunk off of something sticky-sweet made for 17 year-olds to swipe at the barbecue, giggling. cry.
- sit out on the porch and watch the thunderstorms as they roll through every day before dinner. (we needed the rain, didn’t we?)
- grieve. it hangs in the air with the steam rising off of the pavement. breathe it in.
- disregard what your mother told you about electricity to stand tallest in an empty field and watch the heat lightning on the horizon. (i’m sorry. i know i shouldn’t. i love you.)
- stare into the night sky until something stares back. (there’s dipper, that’s the only one i could ever find. say hello)
- teach someone you love how to pull apart honeysuckle, petal-pistil-stamen-nectar-tongue.
- grieve. catch a firefly. let it go. (there are fewer of them than there used to be, when we were kids. i love you.)
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