#overwhelming anxiety that consumes u for a week straight? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

poisonedapples · 4 years

Text

The Dark Side of Christmas

Summary: Christmas is known as the happiest, most welcoming time of year. But when you’re Roman, that’s not always the case.

TRIGGERS: Roman has PTSD but it’s not stated by name in the fic, fighting, swearing, mentions of past shootings, mention of a car accident/explosion, blood. panic, past death and grieving, mental health problems, anxiety, dissociation and flashbacks, Christmas, tell me if you notice any more, cause this one has a lot

Note: HAPPY LATE HOLIDAY! This was supposed to be done by Christmas, but this month has Sucked so I’m using that as my excuse. My friend @theultimatemomfriend was my secret santa for something I did in the Powerless server, so here is your gift mixed with my own self indulgence! Hope you like it <3

But also , thank you to @romansleftshoulderpad and @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for saving me some time and editing it for me. I appreciate you two

He was driving in a car.

She was screaming at him at the top of her lungs, all about how he was a failure, couldn’t do simple things, is only a disappointment to everyone that’s ever known him. The screaming was like a concert speaker right next to his ear; loud, loud, loud.

He couldn’t steer in these conditions. Not with a rocky road that bent in so many directions, a skinny single lane on a cliff with traffic cones instead of a protective railing. His foot was all the way on the brake, yet the car was speeding down the road faster than he’s ever driven before. The tires were screeching. She was still yelling.

It’s so loud.

She jumped on top of him suddenly, grabbing a hold of his neck with her long nails digging into his throat. Everything burned, he couldn’t breathe, and no one was steering the car anymore.

It’s so loud.

High pitched screeching echoed from nowhere. She was still screaming in his ear while his neck fell asleep, desperately trying to pull away her hand in order to breathe.

You’re going to die.

The car fell down the cliff. Completely on its side, such a smooth yet loud fall, the car came crashing into the woods under it, fire consuming his sight and all of his brain, the loud crash coming to a complete, deafening silence after an overwhelming boom.

Roman’s body jerked awake.

He scrunched up his shoulders to immediately cover the tingling part of his neck where he was being strangled in his dream. His mind was foggy while his body felt ready to run a marathon, heart beating fast and every inch of his skin shaking violently. Roman curled into a ball trying to calm down in the pitch black room, to no avail.

Phone. Phone. Phone has light, where’s my phone-

Roman’s Rapunzel figure on his bedside table crashed to the floor from his lack of coordination, pretty stones meant for healing and love moving out of their places and into undusted territory. Roman dropped his phone on his chest once he grabbed it but was only grateful it didn’t hit the floor this time, turning on the bright screen and blinding his eyes.

It was better than the darkness.

5:48 AM, his clock said, the lock screen blurry-looking because of Roman’s unfocused eyes and the tears pricking out certainly not helping. But he could tell there were no notifications over the night.

It’s always weird when he has to delete the Instagram app. His phone doesn’t buzz nearly as much without it.

He unlocked his phone and opened up one of his word puzzle game apps. Although it pained him to admit that Logan was right, lighthearted thinking games helped him on nights like these. Where all he needed was to calm down, but no people were around to help him with that.

As the game loaded and he was wondering what words to make with the letters F, I, G, U, E, and R, Roman clung tightly to his giant stuffed animal Magic Bitch the Queen, a rainbow pegacorn that was perfect for squishing. The name only made it better. Weirdly more calming.

Things were calming down. He definitely won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight, but given the date it was a miracle he felt as calm as he did—

“Virgil, quiet down-”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Virgil!”

...Nevermind.

Roman curled in on himself at the sound of the yelling. He hated fighting. He hated it with a burning passion, loud noises made him jump out of his skin and it was only worse when it was them yelling. They’re usually a lot more calm when Roman is around, but sometimes things just...got out of hand.

This was one of those times.

“This bitch thinks he can just walk in here and act like he owns the damn place! Well newsflash fucker, you’re not the only person who cares about Roman! Stop acting like you can fucking control him!”

“I’m not controlling him! Is it a crime for me to want to care about my own brother!? Last time I checked, you’re not family!”

“Remus-“

“Oh cram it, calculator watch!”

“Go fuck yourself, you walking STD!”

“Virgil Foster! If you end up waking Roman, I swear-”

Patton paused mid sentence when he saw the figure standing in the middle of the steps. Everyone looked over at Roman, his hand fiddling with the end of his sleeve and way too tired eyes. His posture a little too straight, smile so dead it was hardly a smile at all. “It’s alright, Pat. I was awake anyway.”

“I assume another nightmare?” Logan asked.

Roman went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with milk until it was overflowing, Roman smiled. “You know me so well.”

Patton’s face grew concerned while he chugged some of the milk, Remus crossing his arms and glaring at Virgil. “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you’d stayed at my place instead of this dump.”

“This dump is our home, trash panda. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Ironic.” Remus towered over Virgil with his hands on his hips when he stepped closer, Virgil hissing when he got too close. “All I’m saying is that isn’t it better for Roman to be with family who can help, instead of stuck in the same place that caused all this in the first place? With people who don’t even understand?”

“You know that I’m here, right? That I can hear you talking about me? Cause I can hear you talking about me.”

“Or maybe he needs to be around family that actually cares instead of being around the same deadbeat bastard who only comes visit to be the same pile of dog shit he makes everyone step in!”

Patton sighed. “Virgil, please stop. Can we please just go back to bed? Without all the fighting?”

The looks on Remus’ face was too taunting. Blood boiled in Virgil’s veins from three weeks of dirty glares at each other while he watched his best friend curl around him for comfort instead of anyone else. The cockiness of him trying to take Roman off to Florida for the holiday, like he was the only one who cared. He hated his stupid gross smile and how Roman snickered at his dirty jokes, he hated how he was genuinely helping and how useless their help was.

How threatening this bitch actually made him feel. But Virgil refused to lose.

“I’ll go to bed when this bitch stops acting like he can walk into my fucking house and act like he owns the fucking place! Eat my food, use my water, and steal my fucking friend because apparently this human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you fucking projectile vomit is the reincarnation of Christ!”

“Virgil!”

“And I’ll go to bed when this ‘Roman’s my best friend’ wannabe stops getting in between my family because his self esteem’s so low in the ground that sharks can have sex on it!”

“Fuck you!”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Everyone paused when Roman screamed, his hand too weak to hold onto his glass and his hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the end of his sleeve anymore. His eyes were glassy and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself, with evil butterflies chewing apart his ribs and leaving hollow discomfort. Patton’s eyes went soft as he slowly approached Roman, keeping a loose grip on his hand and saying something to him that Roman wasn’t listening to in order to calm him down. But he was just tired. So tired. Tired of the yelling and the fear and the everything that he just wanted to get away.

So he did.

“Roman?” It was all he’d heard from Pat even after all his talking, but Roman still decided to ignore it. He quickly slipped on some shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet, opening the front door without another word.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “Roman, wait-“

But just like that, the door had slammed behind him and he was making his way down the street.

He could already see his therapist’s “I don’t get paid enough for the shit you put me through” face when he eventually talks about this, but that was future Roman’s problem.

...He still had no clue where he was going.

That was always the worst part about Roman’s “run away from your problems” habit. He never had any plan. He could end up three towns over, he could end up across the street. In one of the first incidents, he ended up at a McDonald’s right on the outskirts of the state and fell asleep in the bathroom stall. When he called Logan and told him where he was, it was an hour drive to come get him since they didn’t trust him to drive back in his state. That’s why they first started looking for a therapist for him.

He wished he had his car this time. Walking around in freezing weather with pajama pants is cold.

Roman made his way down the hill where the house was to head downtown, where a good handful of stores were open at every time of day. He needed the heat.

“Eileen, you will pay for making me lose my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll be okay. It wasn’t working for you anyway.”

“...Hey!”

...And the distraction.

It was at 11:30 when Ellie woke him up. Dragging him out of bed and making him help her “sneak” out—if you could call going through the front door sneaking—, they ended up in a supermarket at around midnight on Christmas Eve.

“I got Remus this giant ass octopus stuffed animal that was literally like ninety dollars, but I need a gag gift for him. Something completely and utterly stupid, and I need you to help me look for it. So I can go home sooner.”

“A giant octopus isn’t a gag gift to you?”

“He’ll love it and you know it.”

“...Touche. Maybe just get him toilet paper?”

“Too enjoyable. Too useful. He’ll set the rolls on fire in the backyard or something.”

“...Nevermind then!”

The first store Roman found with its lights still on was a small convenience store next to a gas station. His legs were starting to get slow from the cold, teeth chattering slightly with his arms tucked close to his body like a penguin.

Roman went inside.

“Oh my God, Roman, it’s perfect.”

“What is it?”

“‘Maybe you touched your balls’ hand sanitizer. I’m getting five.”

Roman tried not to laugh too hard, especially when the store was so quiet at this hour, but he couldn’t help it. With slight sleep deprivation and the look on his sister’s face, Roman burst out a laugh and gave Ellie a lazy push. Ellie took five of the hand sanitizers and piled them in her hands, making their way toward the checkout.

Alone in a store on the night of Christmas Eve.

Roman didn’t want to think about it, but then again, he never did. And every time he focused on one thing, half of his brain was still on his sister.

His throat felt weird.

“I’m dreaming of a white...christmas…”

Ellie was basically skipping on her way to the checkout. She loved old Christmas songs, and not being able to resist the temptation to perform must be another “Sanders Siblings” thing.

Roman was staring at the chip aisle when his chest started to expand, his hands growing weak and absolute fear taking over. Why was breathing so hard? What is it now?

His eyes became glassy again, his vision becoming more distant and distorted until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But his ears seemed to focus on something else. Something so distant but close at the same time, ringing in his ears while he felt like he was looking through a TV screen.

“And since we’ve no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Fuck. Shit. Roman started fumbling in his pockets for earbuds, but in his haste to leave the house, they were forgotten in his room. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He could hear the silence of the store, but in the back of his brain he could feel the sound of gunshots.

“He’s alive, but he’s been hit around five times. Get him in the ambulance.”

He knew there wasn’t hands on him. He knew there wasn’t any blood, his or otherwise, on the floor. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Duck!”

There was no figure that caught Roman’s eye as they made their way to checkout. There was no moment of adrenaline as he tried to cover his sister, ducking for cover while people walking down the street also screamed. There was no glass breaking. There was no shots of pain as he realized the blood on the floor was his. There was no noise. No screaming. No sirens or commands being shouted or deafening silence that made Roman want to scream. It didn’t exist.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t know how to work his limbs, his body felt fake and his vision was just a TV screen looking at a world that felt anything but real. His ribs felt like they should be in pain for more than just his shaky breaths and his back should be cold from the hard floor instead of being supported by a cooler door.

What was the pattern again? Three things you can hear—wait, no, fuck, what was it? What was it?

There was blood going through his jacket and blood on his fingers. His thumb was cut from a piece of glass and he couldn’t move off the floor. As tight as he could, he kept a grip on his older sister. The hand sanitizers had sprawled out across the floor, the hands that were holding them now lied lifeless in Roman’s grip.

Roman heard something. More than the music, that stupid fucking music, but he could focus. He wanted to cough until he could breathe again, he wanted to be here, without a single doubt that history can't repeat itself. But trauma doesn’t work that way.

Shooting down on Taft Avenue. Four injured, one dead.

“Roman, hey, it’s just me, it’s just Virgil—shit, hey, it’s alright, focus on me. Let me get you out of here, okay? God you’re heavy, okay-”

It’s Virgil. It’s just Virgil. No Ellie, Ellie’s dead, Ellie’s been dead, it’s just Virgil, he’s here.

Thank God.

“Here, just listen to this for a bit. You’re the reason I have a Disney playlist, I hope you know that.”

They were in a car now. Roman could feel the pressure of Virgil’s bulky headphones on his ears, as well as the start up to Tiana’s “Almost There”, even if his hands he was staring at still didn’t feel like his own. The explosion in his chest lessened some, even if his breaths were still short and it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing yet.

Virgil moved one of the ends of the headphones to the side. “Feeling a little better?”

Talking took so much energy, way too much energy, but he’d worried Virgil enough for one day. “...Yeah…”

“Do you need the volume turned down?”

“...Maybe.”

The music got a little quieter, and Roman felt his body relax a little more. He didn’t even realize it was overwhelming him.

“Alright...now, five things you can see?”

“Virge-“

“Five things you can see, fucker, let me help you.”

Roman let out a huff of a laugh, but looked around anyway. “Uh...you, carseat, wheel...um...the thing…”

“Thing?” Virgil looked around. “...You mean glove compartment?”

“...Yeah, that.”

“Okay, one more.”

“...Coat?”

“Alright, four things you can hear?”

“Music, heater, uh...I don’t know…”

“Can you hear me?”

“...Now I can.”

Virgil laughed. “That’s good enough, I’ll take three. Three things you can touch?”

“...Headphones, coat, seat.”

“Alright, good...two things to smell?”

Blood. “Pat’s air freshener, and the fact that you haven’t showered.”

Virgil lightly punched him in the arm, Roman letting out a small laugh through a shaky smile. “And I bet what you’re tasting is the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“...I did not come here to get roasted.”

Virgil shook his head in amused disappointment at him, but started the car and put it in reverse. Roman sighed, looking out the window at the soft snowflakes and lights on houses that made his stomach curl. He hated this holiday. All it did was bring back bad memories, every corner surrounded in his triggers and nightmares increasing tenfold with the stress. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know where home was.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Roman looked over at Virgil, with his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he tapped nervously. Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to? I heard you and Remus.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s fine.”

“You’re my best friend and he’s my brother. It involves me too.”

Virgil didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the road intently, and Roman wondered if he should just put the headphones back on his ear and let that be that. But he really didn’t want them to keep fighting, so it’s better to at least make an attempt, right?

Roman put the headphones around his neck. “We were buying his gift.”

“What?”

“The night Ellie died. Her and Remus had a little tradition of getting each other a gift and a gag gift. The older we got, the more inappropriate they became, which was very ‘them’, in all honesty. She had forgotten to get it earlier though, so she took me to the store at midnight on Christmas Eve so we could pick something out. And that’s when the shooting happened.

Virgil didn’t react, but Roman gave him a tired smile. “I’m fairly certain that’s why he gets so protective. He feels like he caused it somehow, so he tries to solve all my problems on his own. It’s sweet in its own way.”

Virgil hit the break roughly at a stop sign. “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

“...You were a little bit of a bitch. But I don’t blame you, since so was he.”

“I just wanna help you too, you know? I get it, he’s your brother and all that shit, but he’s not the only person who cares about you, so he can back the fuck off. Especially when he’s spending time in my fucking house.”

“You say that like three other people don’t pay rent.”

“It’s my house when it’s convienent to my argument, fuck off.”

Roman laughed, Virgil taking a turn to a stoplight and waiting. “I just want you two to work things out. We can talk once I go home, take my meds, and at least sleep for two hours.”

“Only two hours? You’re starting to become me, Princey.”

“It’s an anxiety disorder buddies thing.”

“Fuck yeah, anxiety disorder buddies. Who can’t wait for therapy to start up again.”

Roman pumped a fist up lazily. “Next thursday!”

“Next thursday mother fucker!”

They both started to laugh, the soft glow of the read light and the headlights of passing cars being strangely calming. Roman’s eyes felt so heavy, the glassy tears he still had sealing his eyelids together like glue. “Wake me up when we get there.” He mumbled.

“And if you have another nightmare?”

“We get there when we get there.”

Roman heard one last soft laugh before his body went still. He wasn’t completely peaceful, but at least he was sleeping. It would be enough for now.

Virgil didn’t wake him up when they got home. It took both him and Remus to be able to carry him inside, but they managed to do it without waking him up permanently. He moved, but at least he managed to sleep some.

When he wakes up, they’ll fuss at him for running away and Patton will hug him close for Roman’s comfort and his own. He’ll make Remus and Virgil talk peacefully about each other without too much complaining until they can at least stand to be in the same room as each other. Then when things are calm, the brothers will cry when they remember the date, and Patton will give them blankets and hugs while the other two stand around a little awkwardly until it’s lunch time. Neither of them will eat much, but leftovers exist for a reason. They’ll be taken care of.

But for now, Roman will sleep.

174 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

(I Can Still Recall) Our Last Summer - Chapter Six (Group Fic) - pureCAMP

A/N - so here we go! as u might remember, a phrase coined from mean queens several aeons ago…. welcome to the fuckening. from here on out, it will be disastrous because thats just how we do things these days

im going on holiday for a week now so here’s ur update!! will be back soon with more and potentially some shillam and shalaska <3

“Mommy! Mommy, look!”

The little girl, her hair in messy pigtails around her face, was playing with her younger brother. She couldn’t have been any more than five years old. Sharon smiled, nodding intently to show her daughter that she was paying attention. It was one of those lazy summer days, most of which had been spent lying on a towel, watching her beautiful children play as she soaked up the sun. Next to her, Justin was watching too, his gaze filled with adoration.

“We’re so lucky,” Justin breathed, his voice low. His hands ghosted over Sharon’s sun-warmed skin, a tender display of affection.

The little girl attempted a somersault, and they both clapped. When she righted herself, she was beaming.

“Yeah. We are.” She agreed, burying her face in his shoulder. She allowed herself a moment of clarity, to just take in his scent as he watched the kids. Everything was perfect.

The warm sensation soon faded, and as Sharon lifted her head, she was filled with an icy shock. Her face was no longer buried in Justin’s shoulders. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He was no longer watching the kids, and they were screaming - crying out desperately as an unseen force dragged them into the sea. Their tiny fingers left lines in the sand as they tried to anchor themselves to the shore.

Soon she found herself running, ignoring how the beach had transitioned from idyllic and peaceful to grey and violent. The wind whipped at her as she tried to run at her children, biting at her skin and forcing her back. The last she saw of her children, their screams were being swallowed by the monstrous waves that were cannibalizing the beach.

Sharon sat bolt upright, panting. She was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, having awoken in a sheer panic from her nightmare.

They had been happening for five nights in a row now, and she didn’t know what to make of them.

It wasn’t always children. Sometimes she was on stage, performing as usual, and one energetic jump would lead to the stage collapsing, and she would fall into an abyss, screaming. Other times, she was arguing with her mother, who would then pull out a knife and carve a grisly crucifixion onto her stomach. Whatever the dream, it was always harrowing, and she awoke the same way - in the peak of her terror, sweating and shaking.

She leant back, breathing heavily as she tried to relax. If this dream was textbook - following the pattern of all her others - then soon enough, she would be suffering with the more physical effects of her tormented mind.

Sure enough, like clockwork, the nausea within her rose quickly. It was a race against time, and Sharon was briefly grateful to be in the house she hated so much, as the bathroom was just a few feet from her bedroom door. Thankfully, she made it in good time, and ended up crouched over the toilet bowl, retching and spewing what little she had consumed.

Sharon had done everything she could think of to find the root of her weird dreams and sickness. Cutting out alcohol had been the first and most obvious one, but it seemed that a string of terrible hangovers hadn’t been causing her morning misery. She tried to eat better and move more, but nothing helped. After that, she’d been pretty stumped for causes.

The whole ordeal usually lasted about an hour, although she spent at least half of the day feeling sick and wobbly. She assumed, grimly, that that would be the case for as long as the illness lasted. In the meantime, she wasn’t going to let that stop her. With not so long left until her friends headed off into Europe to pursue their further education, Sharon wanted to spend every moment of her time with Jinkx and Raja.

Once she was sure that everything she had eaten had come back up, she cleaned herself up and got dressed, leaving as quickly as she could. There was a narrow window of time during which her mother would be out, pottering to do errands for the church, so she needed to take it to avoid a confrontation. It was the safest option to just avoid her as much as possible.

The state of her family life was depressing. Sharon closed the front door behind her and tried not to think about it.

Before heading to Raja’s, Sharon made a quick trip to the store near her house. It was her go-to - maybe because she could buy anything she wanted without fear of it being traced back to her mother. Despite Jinkx always claiming she was paranoid, Sharon knew her mother had eyes everywhere. Once, she had attempted to buy a magazine that had been deemed ‘inappropriate’ by her mother’s standards, and three different people had reported back to her mother. She knew most of them through church, and there was no shortage of religious fanatics working in and around the local shops. Sharon much preferred the safety of the shops near Raja, where no one she knew would frequent.

Her goodbye gifts already picked out, Sharon decided to just wander a little, mostly searching for the cider Raja had been begging her to get and hoping her nausea would calm down. She was just reaching for the third can when somebody bumped into her.

“Ooh, sorry!” A soft voice said. Sharon looked up, making eye contact with a gentle-looking woman. She was blushing with embarrassment, and gesturing apologetically towards her swollen stomach.

“I’m still figuring out how to manoeuver myself with this one! Sorry, sweetheart.” The woman continued. She patted Sharon’s shoulder before continuing on her way, the mishap already forgotten in her mind.

In complete contrast to the kindly woman, Sharon felt as though a cold fist had squeezed her heart into a vice grip. It was as if sense had slapped her straight in the face, and she was reeling from the sting of the revelation.

Feeling sicker than ever, she tossed the drinks into her bag and walked to the opposite corner of the store. A burning shame permeated her whole body as she scanned the aisle, overwhelmed with choice. It made her beyond angry that her supposed faith, something she didn’t believe in and never would, could still condition her to feel so disgusting.

The innocent white boxes lined the aisle from top to bottom, wall to wall. Some of them had smiling babies on, with big blue eyes and no teeth. Some had large, rounded bumps, as though the idiot models really needed that purchase just to make sure. Some of them were just plain and simple. Some of them showed couples embracing together, their loving expressions mocking her. We’re married, financially-stable adults planning a family. You’re a slut.

She snatched the closest one from the shelf and left, her cheeks flaming.

The cashier, of course, said nothing. He had no reason to care about the anxieties of a seventeen year old, despite Sharon’s worry that everyone was judging her. He didn’t even blink when she snatched up the offending box and buried it underneath the rest of her purchases, trying to pretend it wasn’t there.

At Raja’s house, it was all she could think about. The three cans of cider - which were, admittedly, amazing - had been poured into glasses, but she felt too nauseous to have much more than a sip of her own. It took all that she had to try and look normal, to mask the sickness and the anxiety that wrestled in the pit of her potentially-pregnant stomach.

It was terrifying.

Whenever she spaced out, becoming entrapped in her own thoughts, she laughed herself out of it, pretending to Raja and Jinkx that she was just feeling a little dreamy.

“It’s probably sex-withdrawal.” Raja laughed. “I get all spacey when I haven’t fucked in too long. It’s been forever since we ran into asshole Justin for the first time. You haven’t been fucked in at least a month. It’s so bad when you get the bug for it. Go and find a man, it’ll drive you crazy if you don’t.”

Jinkx clinked their glasses together, clearly in agreement. “Or I’ll do it. Girls know what girls like.”

Sharon forced out a laugh. “Ha, maybe. I’m just gonna use the bathroom, I’ll be right back.”

Her mind was fixated on that evil box, still sitting at the bottom of her bag. If she didn’t do it now, she would never have the courage to find out. Her bubbling apprehension wouldn’t be able to stay simmering long enough to play the waiting game. She had to find out, if only to put her mind at rest.

She practically tore through the box, gulping as the little stick fell into her hands. It was a clean slate, waiting to predict her future. Reading the instructions on how to make the plastic fortune-teller work, she sat and wished the damn thing would just stay blank. She needed to know, but knew she couldn’t face it.

“If sufficient levels of HCG are present then…” Sharon mumbled under her breath, reading the label. She almost tossed it onto the floor when she reached the end.

How obnoxious. If she was pregnant, two lines would appear, and the little smiley face already at the end of the stick would smile at her, reflecting the happiness that all new mothers should feel. To most people who bought it, it was a sweet memory to look back on. To Sharon, it would be a garish joker, taunting her of her stupidity.

In order to avoid arousing suspicion, she activated the test and then shoved it deep into her pocket. As a decoy, she flushed the toilet, washed her hands and headed out, making a show of looking calm and casual. Her cider glass was empty, and the mischievous grins of her friends told her exactly where the drink had gone.

“You snooze, you lose.” Jinkx told her triumphantly. “Sorry. Did you buy any more?”

“No. I didn’t buy anything else.” Sharon said, a little too quickly. “It’s okay, anyway. You guys like it more than I do.”

Any conversation she tried to make was pointless, and every fibre of her being just wanted to burst into tears. It would be a while until she saw Raja and Jinkx again, after they’d left, and she didn’t want them to remember her as depressed and dull, a shell of the lively girl they knew her as. That was how she’d been ever since Justin left, even with her distractions on the side, but now it was worse than ever. The worry was killing her.

All she needed was to see one line, and the smiley face would look kindly, reminding her that even though her luck was terrible, somebody up there was on her side. Surely, someone up there had seen how her heart had been broken three times by lovers, about to be broken a fourth by her friends, and would cut her some slack. There was no way she was that unlucky.

Whilst Raja and Jinkx started discussing their plans for the future, Sharon held her breath and started to count.

“I wonder how many hot French boys there’ll be in Paris.”

One, two, three, four, five, six… What happens if there’s a positive? What if it’s a false?

“Apparently the place is like, rife with lesbians. There’s an infestation. Sounds like my kinda place.”

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen… Could I really be pregnant?

“My dad paid for the nicest accommodation ever, I’m so excited. You two have to visit me there!”

Twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty, thirty one, thirty two, thirty three… How will I pay for a baby? I’ll need to get a job and find somewhere to live…

“My halls have this huge auditorium! We could put on a concert there!”

Forty two, forty three, forty four, forty five, forty six, forty seven… Would I be a good mom? What do you even do?

“I’m gonna miss you so much, Sharon. You gotta come and visit.”

Fifty five.

“Yeah! Same here. I wish you could come too.”

Fifty six. I’ll be fine. It’s gonna be fine.

“I can’t believe our last show is next weekend. It’s all happening so fast.”

Fifty seven. Fuck, it’s not going fast enough.

“This summer has been the best one ever. I’ll never forget it.”

Fifty eight. This has been the longest minute of my life.

“Me neither. I feel like everything has changed this summer. It’s completely unforgettable.”

Fifty nine. Oh god, I can’t look.

“God, I love you girls so much.”

Sixty.

She looked.

“Are you crying?”

Sharon wiped her eyes with her sleeve, chuckling weakly. “Oh, ignore me, seventeen and crying over my friends. I’m just thinking about how much I’m gonna miss us! I’m nothing without you two, my best friends.”

Raja softened. “Aww, sweetheart! You’re a strong, fiercely independent woman, whether we’re here or not. I’m gonna miss you every day!”

“I think we need a hug, no more tears.” Jinkx insisted. “Hugs fix everything.”

Sharon laughed once again, sniffing as she buried herself into her friend’s embrace. Hugs fix everything, except for when you have an unfixable problem growing inside you.

Two little lines stared back at her.

Justin had cheated; Jaremi had run away; Willam had gone home. Her two best friends - her only friends - were leaving: Raja for Paris and Jinkx for Amsterdam.

And Sharon was pregnant.

It wasn’t going away. Normally, if she tried hard enough, she could simply ignore the problem and it would go away. It would disappear and float away into the ether, and she would wonder why she had ever worried about something so obsolete.

It wasn’t working this time.

For one, it never left her mind. Her dreams were cursed with visions of shrieking babies and boyfriends who would flit in and out, breaking up with her in various ways. During the day, her mind was haunted in the same way - the vision of that positive swirling in the back of all of her thoughts. She had an aversion to the fish in the marketplace and thought, absentmindedly, it was probably to do with that. She saw babies being carried by their sweet, caring mothers and wondered if she really had it in her to be a mom, or whether she had to take some kind of action to end it.

Secondly, her sickness only worsened. In order to avoid her mother noticing, she had been leaving the house early; she rose before five just so she could go out and be sick somewhere else. The nausea didn’t seem to want to leave her, either. It hung around all day, jolting her stomach at the slightest scent it didn’t agree with. Two nights ago, at the taverna, the heady scent of beer had set her off, leading to Raja and Jinkx performing without her as she retched in the dressing room toilet. All she had to do was say she had a bug, and they left it at that. Even when she seemed fine, they didn’t ask. Sharon was glad for that. When she flat-out refused to perform the next night, they shrugged and assumed she was still wobbly.

And last - but worst of all - it wasn’t physically going away. The damned thing was slowly becoming more visible, and she had begun to notice it.

The final Supermodels show had come upon them, and Sharon decided she couldn’t miss it for the world. It was a Saturday; in just four short days, her friends would be jetting off to begin the next chapter of their lives, leaving her to figure out how she would handle the next chapter of her own. Despite her anxiety and nausea, Sharon was resolute. She was going to do the show.

A full length mirror stood before her. They had decided, for their grand ‘going away’ performance, they would break out the showy little number they reserved for special occasions. Each of them had a specific colour dress - Sharon in blue, Raja in orange and Jinkx in green - which reached about mid-thigh and clung tight. There was a zip at the back and sequins bedazzling the entire outfit. It was beautiful.

It was also too small.

Sharon had always been slim. Growing up with her strict mother, who was always the type to belittle her for eating too much, she had been spindly and wiry for most of her childhood. As she’d gotten older, she’d grown a little curvier - not as curvy as Jinkx, but not as skinny as Raja. Either way, she had always been a slim girl. But now she was changing, and rapidly.

“Damn, girl! You could take somebody’s eyes out with those!” Jinkx had joked earlier that evening, gesturing at Sharon’s chest. That was worrying enough, but it only increased when she tried the fucking dress on.

It would not zip. The tiny zip went over her thighs, just towards her hips, and then stopped. No amount of force could tug it upwards, no matter how hard she tried. The little tell-tale tummy she’d acquired was making sure of that. Against her better judgement, she tried to suck it in, but to no avail. The curve of her tummy remained, the zip stayed stuck.

Examining herself in the mirror, Sharon frowned. Her chest felt tight. Her own body felt alien, as though it didn’t belong to her. Instead it belonged to that thing, the thing taking up residence inside her.

Sharon mustered as much courage as she could simply to open her mouth. It took a few seconds for the words to follow.

“Hey I… I don’t think I’m gonna do the show tonight. You girls go ahead without me.”

It was pathetic, how shaky and unsure she sounded. Raja and Jinkx’s fluid conversation about whether they should ever switch up the colour scheme silenced immediately, and Sharon cursed herself. It was the last show the girls might ever get to do in their current states, their final goodbye to this part of their lives. They couldn’t just do it without her.

Jinkx sounded hurt. “We’re a trio! We can’t be The Supermodels if we’re a duo!”

“Just do it!” Sharon snapped, her voice shrill. Reality was falling onto her shoulders, crushing her beneath its weight, and the fear of change had encapsulated her heart. If they carried on asking questions, she would have to tell them, and if she had to tell them then she had to acknowledge that it was happening, and she really really really was not ready to acknowledge what was happening.

At her tone, Raja’s voice softened. “Still not feeling good, darling?” She asked. She sounded almost motherly, tinged with the care and love Sharon knew she wouldn’t get from her own mother. “It’ll pass, I promise.”

Sharon sighed. “Yeah. B-But it’s not just that.”

“What else is stopping you?” She pressed, gently.

All at once, everything that was stopping her seemed to form an avalanche of emotion, crushing her chest and squeezing her ribcage until she could do nothing but break. Tears began brimming in Sharon’s eyes, slowly enough that it gave Jinkx and Raja time to edge forwards until they were just behind her screen.

“My… my dress. It doesn’t… fit, anymore.” Sharon sniffed, trying to hold back the steadily increasing stream of her tears with little success. Every fibre of her being didn’t want to tell them, didn’t want to have to acknowledge it, but there was no avoiding it now.

Sharon covered her face as they joined her, all three staring into the same mirror. Her vision was blurred from the tears, and she felt Raja’s hand on her exposed back, where the dress should’ve been zipped. Each of them just stared, not sure what to say, not wanting to assume the obvious.

“Take it off, sweetie,” Jinkx instructed softly, moving to assist Raja in unzipping the dress and letting Sharon step out of it. “That’s it, you’re okay.”

In just her underwear, Sharon felt more exposed than ever. There was no hiding her secret from her friends anymore, no convenient bags or flowy shirts to obscure it from sight. The tears slowed a little, allowing her a shaky view of herself in the mirror. Jinkx and Raja clung to her as if trying to keep her in one piece, seeming to sense how close she was to collapsing.

“Fucking Justin.” Raja cursed, quietly. “He did this to you.”

Sharon pushed down the doubts in her mind, the subtle suggestion that maybe this wasn’t him. She knew it was likely, but she knew there were two other candidates who she could never mention.

“I know,” She breathed. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jinkx bit her lip. “You can either keep it or… not.”

“I’m not ready to make that choice.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” Raja butted in, her tone fierce and her eyes flaming. “He should’ve been more careful, he shouldn’t have let this fucking happen to you!”

“It takes two, Raj!” Sharon found herself almost shouting. “It wasn’t just him! This isn’t his fault.”

In a moment of confusing, blind anger, Sharon stormed away from her friends to gather her regular clothes, tired of feeling vulnerable and naked. The tension in the dressing room had quickly become thick enough to cut, as it became clear that neither of the three girls knew how to react to the situation they were confronted with.

“Why are you defending him? You should be furious. This is huge.” Raja changed her tone, suddenly solemn and serious.

Sharon sighed. “Don’t you see? I have nothing to be furious at. Justin’s gone, he doesn’t know anything about this. I can’t get mad at him for something he knows nothing about.” She paused. “And… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem fair to get mad at…”

Her throat closed up. Jinkx, her eyes welling up with tears, rushed over and nearly toppled her with the force of her bear hug.

“The baby.” She supplied, tearfully saying what Sharon didn’t seem to be able to do. “You can’t be furious at a baby.”

Immediately after, the mood of the room seemed to shift. Everything was out in the open now. Jinkx had delivered the bomb they were all waiting for, and now they had to discuss the fallout.

“The baby,” Raja repeated, seemingly awestruck. “Oh my god, there’s a baby.”

Sharon wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if to hide it. “There’s a baby.”

She told them as much as she could bear; the nights with Justin, the bouts of sickness and the strange dreams, how she had taken the test in Raja’s house and kept up the smiles as her world crashed down at her feet. Now that she was confessing it all to her friends, she felt bad for being so secretive. Part of her knew she should tell them about the other potential fathers, but for the sake of her own dignity she decided against it. They, of course, would never shame her, but she saw no sense in naming the two men that her friends would never meet. It was best not to overcomplicate things. After all, it was difficult enough with a baby.

“It’s okay, though,” Raja was saying, back to business as usual. “I’ll book you in with my doctor, darling, she’s fantastic. She does confidentiality like it’s nobody’s business, literally. Never told a soul when I had that STI test. Which, by the way, was negative because I’m clean.”

Her intelligent, abrupt nature was already doing wonders for Sharon’s peace of mind. Raja was always good at sorting through the bullshit - sometimes lacking in tact, but with a kind heart determined to fix each and every problem she encountered.

“I can’t afford your doctor, Raj.” Sharon told her. “I don’t have any money of my own. And there’s no way my mom can pay without asking what it’s for and then finding out.”

Raja rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, Needles. I’m paying for the doctor, shut up.”

“You don’t ha-”

“Bitch, I said shut up. I’m paying for it. It’s not an offer or an obligation, I’m just doing it.”

She blew a kiss and stepped out of the dressing room as Sharon giggled weakly. Jinkx kissed her temple.

“Whatever decision you make, we’re with you the whole way.” She promised. “And we would be great aunties.”

Sharon nodded. “I don’t know what I’ll choose yet. Maybe I should just… give the thing up for adoption. I’d be a terrible mother. I don’t exactly have the best role model.”

Jinkx scoffed. “Be your own role model.” She shrugged. “If you decide to keep the baby, who’s to say you’d be a bad mom? I think you’d be amazing. It’s about love, not being perfect. And I know you have a lot of love in you.”

In some ways, Sharon appreciated Jinkx’s gentle, caring instincts more than her sly sense of humour. It was a relief to have a friend that she could laugh with and cry with, who would hold her tightly and work through her emotions until she could stand on her own two feet again. She had a feeling that, depending on the choice she made, their support would be all that she had to keep herself going.

Raja reappeared. “I cancelled the show. Let’s get you out of here.”

Two major changes had taken over Sharon’s life, and she finally felt prepared to face them. The morning, as she knew, would be difficult - she would be seeing off her friends in their brand new beginning and then getting ready to face her own. None of her decisions had been easy, but she felt that they were the best ones she could make.

Surprisingly, as she lingered at the top of the staircase, trying to fill herself with the confidence to walk past her mom and out of the door, she found that the old fear that used to gnaw at her was ebbing away. The heavily-adorned crosses all over the walls judged her and she judged them back, wondering how a woman who believed so deeply in a man dying for their sins could be so against love and acceptance. The so-called mother she had grown up with was nothing more than a bully using the cover of religion as a defense, and Sharon wasn’t going to be afraid of her anymore.

She headed downstairs.

“I’m going out,” She called into the kitchen. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to dash from the kitchen to the front door, and her mom soon confronted her.

“No you’re not, young lady.” She admonished. Her hands were covered in flour, leaving white marks all over her sensible floral dress. “The church bake sale is today and I told them we would be there to help sell everything. You’ve been slacking again, Sharon, and I won’t have it.”

All of her confidence gathered from moments ago deflated like a sad balloon. Still, Sharon stood fast. “Well, you’re gonna have to tell them they’re down a member, because I’m not going.”

Her mom narrowed her eyes. “Don’t argue with me. You know what I can do.”

“You can’t do shit to me.” Sharon bit back. “I’m going to see off Raja and Jinkx, they’re leaving today. That’s that.”

“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Her mom replied, taking a step closer. Instinctively, Sharon took one back. “I slave away to make sure you have a home, food, a good Christian upbringing and a decent education, and what do I get in return? I get your rudeness, your attitude.”

Sharon tried to interject, but there was no stopping her.

“I give you a home, you’re never here. I feed you, you don’t eat it. I diligently take you to church and you swear and sin like a heathen, purposely embarrassing me when all I do is try and do my best for you. You didn’t try at school, and now you’re wasting your time on sin and recreation even when I try to offer alternatives. So I have to discipline you, and then you think I’m evil. I’m not evil, I’m not disgraceful. You are. You’re a selfish daughter.”

Already, Sharon could tell things were going to go from bad to worse. The morning had barely started and they were already getting into a heavy argument that she knew would end in disaster.

“I’m selfish? Because you like to hit me?” She asked, in disbelief. “Do you think I enjoyed telling my teachers that my bruises were from me being some kind of fucking idiot, because you told me you’d do it again if I told them the truth? Because I didn’t fucking enjoy that, mother.”

“Don’t use that vile language, Sharon. It’s unbecoming of a young lady, as far from one as you might be.” Her mom hissed. “I don’t enjoy hitting you. I do what’s necessary to keep you in line. Our Lord told us to discipline our children. All I ever try to do is his bidding. All you care about are disgusting words and disgusting sins.”

All at once, a surge of white-hot anger lacerated Sharon’s body, releasing the boldness that Raja and Jinkx had always urged her to use. “Oh, fuck you and your shitty religion. Fuck you, fuck God, fuck Dad for never being here. His shitty missionary activism means nothing. All you care about is that everyone follows your fucking Bible and you focus so much on the lives of innocent strangers that you don’t even notice the shit happening right in front of your own eyes!”

She was pacing now, trying to rid herself of the all-consuming frenetic energy. “Fuck you. I’m not the selfish one, you are.”

Her outburst would not go unpunished. As she had seen many times before, her mom’s eyes flashed dangerously. It was as if all at once, her kindly Christian mother facade had melted away, flickering back to reveal her twisted reality. Though physically, nothing changed besides the clenched jaw and closed fist, Sharon suddenly saw her through the lens of her childhood fears. She was eight feet tall, laughing maliciously, her hands slowly raising upwards as she prepared to deliver a menacing blow. It would leave bruises that she should be ashamed of, for the abusive monster had won again and again.

Not again.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch me!” Sharon yelled. Her eyes were filled with furious tears. “I will never let you treat me like a doormat ever again. I will never let you abuse me in the name of your fucking God. This isn’t just about me anymore, which you would know if you fucking paid attention to the child you pretend to love.”

Without even realising, Sharon cupped her hands over her stomach. Somewhere in there, tucked away in the small bump she could feel beneath her fingers, she knew her baby was rooting for her.

“You disgust me.”

Her mom’s tone was much quieter, the fiery, destructive anger replaced with the slow black smoke that lingered afterwards. It was tinged with loathing, telling of her honest reaction to the news. Somewhat calmed - unbelievably - by the feeling of the bump in her hands, Sharon closed her eyes.

“Mom, please.”

Anything else she wanted to say to defend herself dissipated. Her mom’s sheer hatred silenced her before she could even process her own thoughts.

“Seventeen?!” She exclaimed, incensed, and threw her hands up in the air. “And I did everything right, too. I was a good Catholic mother. Lord, what did I do to deserve a slut for a daughter?!”

Despite everything, it still felt like a punch in the gut to hear such scathing words from the only person who was supposed to love her unconditionally. Sharon had known she would react explosively, but it hurt more than she wanted to admit.

“Mom, I-”

The woman stood before her pursed her lips, perfectly still. Her gaze was livid, her body stiff with rage. She looked at Sharon as though she were scum, a piece of dirt, a blight on her picture perfect life.

“I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

“You didn’t raise me at all!” Sharon bit back. “You were never here for me. You’re a shitty mother!”

“I’m not your mother.” She delivered the final blow in a low voice. “No daughter of mine would turn out to be a whore. A slut. You’re on your own.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Sharon raised her chin as high as she could. “Good riddance. This is the last time you’ll ever see me.”

“Get out of my house.”

Carrying only an old diary and an album full of photos with her, Sharon crossed the threshold of her front door for the last time, and heard it slam behind her. There was no going back now.

“We’re gonna be okay, you and me,” She whispered, her head hung low. “We’ll build a life together. I’ll be a good mom, I swear. I’ll show you just how much I love you, every day.”

#rpdr fanfiction #purecamp #our last summer #sharon needles #raja gemini #jinkx monsoon #alaska thunderfuck #submission #m/f au #mamma mia au

16 notes · View notes

theqr8r · 6 years

Video

youtube

Man. The last few months have been so gruellingly tough.

Mentally - TERRIFYING. Physically - EXHAUSTING.

I’ve had to go back to therapy and gear up for what most certainly feels like my second tryst with bipolar II disorder. When I got it the first time around I was straight up stumped (stunned, overwhelmed, bewildered, dumbfounded, confounded) at how ACTUAL mental illnesses were nothing like I romanticized them to be as a teenager. Back then, it was so easy to throw around phrases like ‘I’m depressed’ or words like bipolar and schizo to convey what I was feeling. But ACTUALLY clinically having it? Ummm. Nope. Not happening. ENTIRELY. DIFFERENT. ORDEAL.

It first surfaced like a shark fin when I was around 26. Whatever I was going through and feeling then was so discombobulating and disturbing I somehow had the presence of mind, and luckily, the means to get into therapy. I say luckily because I have no idea how people who suffer from the same (or worse) illnesses or inflictions and don’t have access to that kind of help instantly, get through it. And trust me, help in these cases sometimes, has to be INSTANT. With the help of a fantastic therapist (the brilliant Dr. Kersi Chavda, since so many of you have inquired about where to get help), the right medicines and (clichéd) CBT techniques I fundamentally realized that there was literally no point being stuck in this cyclic quagmire of the same anxieties, worries and stress triggers that kept repeating over and over and over again. I realized that no good came out of any of it and it was being nothing but counterproductive. Whatever it was, that had consumed my mind and life for those four years, abruptly tapered off by the time I was 30. Like that one friend at a party who sneakily leaves without telling anyone they’re leaving and you only find out wayyy later that they’ve left. Those four years are a blur. I remember where I was working. I have a general idea of what I was doing in life. But mentally? Just one big haze. A giant blotch on what would have otherwise been a linear life. Those 4 years are long gone. And even though I fully lived them, I’ll always feel like I just took a step back and suddenly viewed my life in third person and watched my life go by me in some sort of nightmarish amnesic daze.

This time around, all the symptoms are exactly the same. But this time around the flame burns brighter. I’m using brighter, instead of its superlative - brightest, because I’m coming to terms with the fact that even if I fight this all over again and emerge from it, it will always be something that will intermittently keep coming back at assorted points in my life at different intensities. But NOW is not the time to think or worry about that.

The last few months have been harrowing. I’ve had some of the strongest panic attacks. Most, when I was alone. Some, while I was actually happy or in a situation where I wasn’t expecting to be suddenly crippled by whatever the fuck panic attacks are. There have been bouts of unwarranted crying and a few dangerous episodes of manic depression. These downers were sometimes followed by confusing bursts of ecstatic happiness and sudden spikes in energy. These could strongly veer into some random emotion like nostalgia about how simple and uncomplicated life used to be as a child. And then quickly shift gears to extreme panic about what the future holds. Then maybe a drastic U-turn into how my past could’ve been different. Any of these episodes could sometimes last for a few weeks and if life’s forgiving – just a few days. In psychological terms, I believe this is something called a bipolar rapid cycle. These cycles are so abrupt and leave me so delusional and drained, they can entirely fuck up the way I function as a human being. Menial tasks like showering, getting out of bed, sleeping on time, keeping my room clean can seem so incredibly difficult. I’m not even going to talk about how difficult it can be to work optimally, write copy, meet deadlines, make it for and sit through pointless meetings. And if you live in a city like Bombay, you know you can't afford the luxury to just drop everything and wallow and cry for 4 days straight. (I sometimes do wish it was socially acceptable for humans to look at the moon and howl though. I genuinely think it would help and would do it all the time.) In real life, you basically just suck it up and do what you’ve got to do to pay the bills. You feed your cat. You feed your fucking child. You dream of taking care of your family the way they took care of you. Maybe that’s what people who can’t afford or don't have therapy as an option, do. They soldier on. Maybe they don’t even acknowledge or label their disorders and problems to begin with. Or they just don’t have the time to fucking feel any of it. Maybe that works. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe that’s how they get blood pressure or strokes or one day their heart just gives up. Maybe I feel too much. Maybe I feel too little. I’m rambling.

Ideally, this post is the perfect example of the kind of thing I would spend the time to write and entirely delete it or not post it at all because I genuinely don’t think anybody cares any more. I know I don’t. I know people love to say they do. And some genuinely really do. But this is not about you. Or me. It is about that person who feels so cornered and alone in their room that for a flash of a second they entirely forget to keep fighting. They entirely forget that there are people who care about them. They forget they are loved. They forget their existence alone adds so much value to people and things around them. But in that one 'second' it gets so murky and unbearably excruciating to just exist, that it is easy to forget these things. And that’s the ‘second’ to look out for. If you relate to or feel what I’m saying, always keep an eye on that ‘second’. And when you see it, gather support and love from wherever you can scavenge it. If you're really lucky you'll reach a point where you won't have to look for it externally. I vaguely remember reading about this survey where a huge group of people who survived a suicide attempt were asked what kind of thoughts they had in their last moments as they were falling mid-air or bleeding profusely and some 90% of them answered that they all felt they had made a big mistake in that ‘second’. The remaining 10% just had it bad. Really bad.

I started writing this because I am living the polar opposite of that ‘second’ right now. After months of extreme internal turmoil and agitation, I have somehow found myself on the other end of this spectrum.

I am sitting on a beautiful porch in Goa. The rain is heavy, relentless and the drops are not only my favourite size but also falling in perfect time. (#GapDream) . A million greens and trees and plants and vines are all I can see in every direction I look. An adorable dog I’ve recently befriended is sitting beside me and has joined me in staring aimlessly into this space. And magically, this song, that was a favourite not so long ago, starts playing and I realize I just need to type something. Anything. I’ve been whining to my shrink a lot in therapy about how this is the worst writer’s block I’ve had in years. I’ve been finding it extremely difficult to put the intangible (because pretty much everything we truly feel and wish to convey is) and even tangible things into words. Hell, I’m even having a tough time crafting basic replies to texts and emails recently. And he, like the every other Google result, or great quotes on writer’s blocks by great writers, told me the most clichéd (but real) advice there is to give in this case:

Just sit in front of a piece of paper and write.

Or type.

So here I am. This is me. Writing. This is an exercise. An exercise in writing. And like every kind of exercise I attempt, I am going to half-ass this one too. I’m partially going to leave it to this song and video below to convey everything else that I’m trying to say but not being able to. Please spend 7 minutes and 22 seconds of your life to resonate with this piece of art. When it randomly played on shuffle right now, it immediately made me appreciate all this overwhelming peace I was feeling. Can peace by overwhelming? If it can, does it become happiness? In this moment, this song and video was everything I needed. It somehow made sure that it seamlessly brought rhythm and gave semblance to everything unfolding in front of me right now. This moment is all that I needed. And I got it. Even if it is fleeting I’m glad and thankful to have felt it. I also want to thank myself for allowing myself to feel it. I guess sometimes happiness is about knowing what you want, having it and most importantly, being grateful for the moment that you have it.

4 notes · View notes