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femmefatalevibe · 9 months

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25 Life Lessons I've Learned In 25 Years

In honor of turning 25 this month, here are some lessons I wish someone could've baked into my brain by 18. Hope this helps xx

Putting yourself first is not selfish, it is an act of self-care. Actively discounting others is not the same as protecting your peace.

Pay attention to who gossips and keeps to themselves amidst an interpersonal conflict. Insecure people or those in the wrong will speak the loudest and go on the longest in a fight to prove their innocence. Individuals who are self-assured and comfortable with the truth know it's better to communicate their feelings appropriately and then move past it. Confidence is assertive, tactful, and relatively silent.

If you want to know who to believe in an argument, pay attention to how both sides speak about the conflict. The perpetrator will often speak about the individuals' character/morality while the victim will explain their personal experience in the context of the relevant situation.

Display empathy and consideration, but don't live to satisfy others' emotional needs and expectations. Say farewell to anyone who dismisses or guilts you for your own needs, emotions, priorities/life goals & aspirations.

Your needs matter. No one needs to approve or validate your desires. If someone feels they have control over you or tries to persuade you to change your mind to ensure you put their emotions and needs first, cut them out of your life. They do not care about you.

Almost no one deserves insider access into your life and mind. Upholding your right to privacy – especially regarding your finances, dating life, health conditions/concerns, and long-term goals – is the simplest way to protect your peace.

A friend to all is a friend to none. Be wary of those who will not stand up for you behind closed doors. These people do not care about you, they care about what your place in their life does for them and their ego.

Be radically honest and accepting of who you are. Don't apologize for your preferences, aspirations, and values. You deserve to live in a way that makes you happy, not to appease others in hopes of their approval or future favors due to your karmic good deeds.

You deserve happiness, love, and nice things, life experiences, relationships, and opportunities in your life regardless of what others may or may not possess/ be able to experience. Dispel this scarcity mindset ASAP. Jealousy and internalized shame are destructive to your self-esteem and all your relationships.

You are worthy and offer many incredible, unique gifts to the world. Don't allow naysayers, critics, or bullies (of any age) to dim your light or sacrifice pursuing your dreams. Decide you're the leader of your own life. Then act accordingly.

Direct communication is always the way. Remain tactful, but at least when dealing with non-manipulative people, always say what you mean and mean what you say. It will save a lot of trouble and petty disagreements that could've been avoided with clearer communication.

You don't owe anyone an explanation for your feelings, emotions, and actions that don't have a direct, inescapable impact on someone else. "No" is a complete sentence.

Approach conversations as a meeting of the minds. Healthy debate or conflict is about seeking to understand the other person, not prove yourself right. Leaving your ego at the door will allow you to expand your mind and avoid many unnecessary conflicts or arguments.

If it's not a hell yes, it's a no. For a job, date, sex, attendance at a time-sucking social event, family gatherings, an informal meeting not essential for you to keep your job, a wedding, birthday party, holiday invitation, etc. Outside of your contracted hours and time necessary to keep yourself/your home clean & well-maintained, you should spend your time exactly as you please. Doing things you don't want to do will only breed resentment down the line toward yourself and others.

Detangle yourself from any who refuses to self-reflect and take accountability. This person is selfish and will never see you as fully human with emotions, needs, and a complete life/internal world of your own. Cut them out (or at least fully emotionally detach and limit contact with them) immediately.

Speak your truth, but always say a little less than you feel necessary. Overexplaning and oversharing do you no favors. At a minimum, this approach allows you to protect your peace. In the worst circumstances, this tactic can also save you from a lot of trouble in your personal or professional life.

Learn to ask for a little more than you're comfortable with, but do so with grace, tact, and confidence. Whether it's a salary/rate negotiation, flight/hotel/restaurant accommodations, get in the habit of making that slightly higher/up-leveled request like you're expecting a "yes." You can't get something you don't ask for, so speak up and show you know your worth. This habit can bring a lot of great opportunity into your life and builds up your confidence.

Everyone is on their own timeline and path. Don't compare yourself to others' credentials, job titles, relationship status, net worths, or jean sizes. Comparison is truly the thief of joy. Remaining envious of others only takes up the energy that could otherwise be used to elevate or enrich your life.

Become clear on your priorities, and remain diligent with your habits & routines. Set SMART goals. Implement healthy habits and rituals into your daily lifestyle. Be consistent with goal-supporting and wellness rituals (generous sleep schedule, healthful eating habits, daily movement/regular exercise, reading, task time-blocking, cleaning, and life/work admin schedule), so they become second nature. Help yourself by creating these default habits to ensure your brain is wired for success whether you're in an easygoing era or a stressful life season.

Stop seeing other people (especially other women) as your competition in your profession/dating life and within your platonic relationships. Use your immediate criticisms as a tool for self-reflection. Actively deconstruct the patriarchy in every aspect of your life. Other women coworkers, dating prospects, and friends are not your rivals nor individuals who should be evaluated based on their assertiveness, sexual history/appeal, relationship status, or desire to perform traditional maternal/domestic roles.

Understanding how to interact with others in a cordial, tactful manner is significantly more important than having everyone like you. Learn how to positively influence people without seeking approval. What other people think of us is none of our business. All we can do is show up as the best version of ourselves, and remain optimistic about a potential connection.

Acceptance, accountability, and consistent discipline are the holy trinity to creating a sustainable change that you can maintain for the long haul. There's no shame in starting from the bottom, but you need to be honest about where you're at, so you can create a realistic game plan/small behavior-changing habits that stack up over time to help you implement the radical change you're craving.

Let go of any internalized shame. Being the "good girl" does you no favors in life. Set a standard and expectation to be respected, not to be perceived as "innocent" or submissive – this is how you get taken advantage of in professional, platonic, and intimate relationships. Remain ravenous for respect. It's the only way to live life to the fullest.

24. Investing in your appearance is a form of self-respect. Wanting to look & feel your best and present yourself in the best light possible to others is not a superficial pursuit. Remain unwavering about your hygiene/beauty/grooming routines, deliberate styling choices, healthy eating & workout habits, and mindfulness of social graces. You're your #1 publicist, so act like it. Life is all about embracing satisfaction with a sprinkle of reputation management.

25. Be unapologetic about your financial ambitions, priorities, investments, savings goals, etc. Financial freedom IS freedom. The only way to change the system is to break it from the inside out. Leverage is everything. Allocate, and assert your (financial) power wisely.

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barelytolerabled · 4 months

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Healing Speed and Soul

daniel ricciardo x fem!physiologistReader

summary: The McLaren team sought the expertise of a skilled physiotherapist, you, to tend to the physical well-being of their drivers. Little did they know, you would soon become more than just a healer, evolving into a vital source of emotional support for the drivers, especially Daniel Ricciardo.

Warnings: body shaming, ed

WC: 2k944

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On your first day at McLaren, you nervously stepped into the bustling atmosphere of the team's headquarters. Team principal Zack Brown warmly welcomed you, introducing you to the dedicated mechanics, engineers, and other essential members of the McLaren family.

As you walked through the high-tech facility, you felt a mix of excitement and anticipation. The air was filled with the hum of activity.

Zack eventually led you to the heart of the team the garage. There, you found yourself face to face with the dynamic duo of McLaren, Lando Norris and Daniel Ricciardo. Lando, with his infectious enthusiasm, greeted you with a friendly smile, while Daniel, known for his trademark grin, extended a warm handshake.

"Hey there! Welcome to the team," Lando exclaimed, his energy contagious.

Daniel, with a twinkle in his eye, added, "Great to have you on board. We've heard you work wonders, hope you're ready for the challenge!"

You, feeling the warmth of their welcome, couldn't help but reciprocate the positive energy. Little did you know that beyond the world of physiotherapy, you were about to embark on a journey that would intertwine your life with the adrenaline-fueled existence of the McLaren drivers.

A few days into your tenure at McLaren, the intense rhythm of Formula One life began to settle around you. As the physiotherapist, you observed the drivers, Lando and Daniel, pushing themselves to the limits during practice sessions and briefings.

Recognizing the importance of maintaining their peak physical condition, you decided it was time for a comprehensive medical checkup. You approached Lando and Daniel with a plan to ensure their bodies were in optimal shape for the upcoming races.

"Lando, Daniel, I'd like to conduct a thorough medical checkup to ensure you're both physically prepared for the challenges ahead. It's crucial to address any potential issues before they escalate," you explained.

Lando, always eager to improve, nodded in agreement, "Sure thing, doc. Anything to stay at the top of our game!"

Daniel, with a playful grin, added, "I trust you've got the magic touch. Let's do it."

The medical examinations unfolded in the state-of-the-art McLaren facilities, with you meticulously assessing their fitness, flexibility, and overall health. As you worked, conversations flowed, revealing not only physical aspects but also providing insights into the drivers' mindset and emotional well-being.

In those moments, you realized the delicate balance between physical prowess and emotional resilience required in their life. Little did you know that your role would extend beyond the realm of physiotherapy, becoming a crucial pillar of support for Lando and Daniel as they faced the relentless challenges of the racing season.

In the quiet confines of your small office, it became evident during Daniel's medical checkup that he was neglecting his nutritional needs. You, observing the signs of under-eating, decided to address the issue directly.

"Daniel, I've noticed you might be skimping on meals. Nutrition is a crucial part of staying at your peak, especially in this demanding sport," you gently pointed out.

Daniel, usually vibrant, seemed quieter than usual. After a moment of contemplation, he simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Sighing, you grabbed your coat. "Come on, Ricciardo. We're going to fix this. I'm taking you for a proper meal, no excuses."

Leading the way, you and Daniel left the confines of the McLaren headquarters, embarking on a journey to ensure the Australian driver's well, being extended beyond the racetrack. Little did you know that this impromptu outing would mark the beginning of a unique bond, intertwining your role as a physiotherapist with a deeper connection to the personal lives of the McLaren driver.

Navigating the streets in the fading daylight, you led Daniel to your apartment. The confusion on his face was evident as he questioned, "Your place? Why are we here?"

Turning to him with a determined look, you explained, "Daniel, it's not just about making you eat; it's about making sure you eat right. I'll be cooking for you. Trust me, it's time for some proper nourishment."

Once inside your cozy apartment, you set about preparing a wholesome meal, the aroma wafting through the air. Daniel, still a bit perplexed, watched as you skillfully moved around the kitchen.

"You're really going all out. I appreciate it," Daniel admitted, a hint of gratitude in his eyes.

As you sat down to eat, you shared a smile. "Sometimes, a good meal can make all the difference, especially when the pressures of racing start taking a toll. Consider it part of my job to keep you fueled and ready for the season ahead."

As you shared the meal in your apartment, a comfortable silence enveloped you. Suddenly, breaking the quietude, you looked at Daniel and asked, "Who?"

Daniel, with a mouthful of food, raised an eyebrow, "Who what?"

Softly, you persisted, "Who made you think you shouldn't eat? There's something deeper here, Daniel. I can see it."

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Daniel hesitated for a moment. A mix of surprise and vulnerability flickered in his eyes before he finally spoke, "Well, it's just... the constant pressure, expectations, you know? Sometimes, it feels like I don't deserve a break, even for a decent meal."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the weight of the expectations that came with Formula One. "It's crucial to remember that taking care of yourself isn't a sign of weakness. If anything, it's a strength. You're not alone in this, Daniel. We're a team, on and off the track."

You, sensing there was more to Daniel's struggle, looked at him with a discerning gaze. "Are you sure you're telling me everything about that? Because Norris doesn't seem to have this issue."

Daniel hesitated for a few moments, glancing away before finally admitting, "Well, some people think I should be careful with food, that my weight isn't the best for racing. But yeah, little norris isn’t a problem like me for them."

A dry chuckle escaped your lips. "What a load of nonsense. Your performance on the track speaks for itself. You don't need to conform to anyone's unrealistic standards. It's about being healthy and fit, not fitting into someone else's idea of what a racer should look like."

Clearing the plates from the table, you took a decisive stance. "From now on, I'll bring you lunch, Daniel."

Daniel, trying to be polite, protested, "No, no, you don't have to do that, really."

You turned to him with a determined look, "Daniel, my role is to take care of you. Of course, I'm doing it, and you have no choice."

Concern crept into Daniel's expression, "But Zack makes me follow a strict regime. He can't know."

A disbelieving shake of the head, you retorted, "Zack agreed to this nonsense? Well, then it'll be our secret. Meet me in my office at lunch tomorrow. We'll eat together."

As the weeks passed, you continued your routine of preparing and bringing lunches for Daniel, meeting him in your office during race weekends. The aroma of home-cooked meals became a familiar presence, and whispers of camaraderie between you and Daniel began to circulate.

People couldn't help but notice the positive changes in Daniel, he seemed healthier, more energized, and perhaps even a bit happier. The bond that had formed between you and him extended beyond professional duties, creating a ripple effect in the team dynamics.

Colleagues started to see the genuine care and support you provided, not just in terms of physical well-being but also as a source of emotional strength for Daniel.

In the bustling atmosphere of the McLaren team lunch area, Daniel found himself with no choice but to join his teammates while eating the lunch you had prepared for him. Sitting across from Lando Norris, one of the team members jokingly teased, "Didn't know you knew how to cook, Daniel."

Daniel, taking a bite, replied honestly, "I'm not the one making it."

The teasing took an unexpected turn when the team member quipped, "What, you got a wife at home or something making you these?"

Daniel chuckled dryly, playing along, "Something like that, actually, yeah."

The laughter subsided when Lando, with a curious expression, raised an eyebrow, "And you think I could ask your 'wife' for one too? I've got a appointment with her this afternoon, pain in my back you know."

Daniel's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realization dawning on him. "How do you know who's making me those lunchboxes?"

Lando leaned in, a knowing smile on his face. "She has the exact same lunchbox, mate. But don't worry, your and your "wifey" secret is safe with me. I'm aware of how tough the team can be on you."

Arriving home late, you were taken aback to find Daniel in your apartment, busy preparing dinner. "Daniel, what are you doing?" you asked, a mix of surprise and gratitude.

He gently helped you off with your shoes and coat, replying with a smile, "You've been doing so much for me, so I wanted to return the favor. Not promising a meal as good as yours, though." He chuckled and guided you to the dining table, ensuring you were comfortably seated.

"Daniel, it's actually my job to take care of you," you reminded him.

He sighed, placing your plates on the table, and took a seat in front of you. "And as your friend, it's my job too. Let's forget work, mmh?"

You smiled at him, grateful for the unexpected gesture. "Thank you, Daniel. This means a lot."

Mid-dinner, Daniel suddenly got up, exclaiming, "I almost forgot." He returned to the table with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"Daniel, we work tomorrow," you reminded him.

He playfully interrupted, "Ah ah ah, what did I say? We forget work tonight, okay?"

You sighed, smiling, "Anything you want, Daniel."

With that, you clicked your glasses. The shared laughter and genuine connection over dinner marked a brief escape from the intense world you navigated together.

Relaxing on the couch after dinner, you and Daniel found yourselves immersed in easy conversation about anything and everything. As the night unfolded, Daniel slyly mentioned, "You know, I may have indirectly told the guys it was my 'wife' who prepared my lunchbox."

You raised an eyebrow with a playful grin. "Oh, is that so, Daniel? Well, get ready. I'll start leaving lovey notes on those lunchboxes of yours. Always dreamt of being a good wife to my husband."

They both burst into laughter, the shared humor lightening the atmosphere. In that moment, amidst the jokes and banter, you and Daniel found solace in each other's company.

Days later, on a day when you couldn't eat with Daniel, you slipped a small note into his lunchbox. It read: "Fuel for the race, but don't forget to savor the moments off the track too. You've got this! - Your wifey."

When Daniel opened his lunchbox and discovered the note, a wide grin spread across his face. During the team's lunch break, Lando noticed Daniel's amused expression and couldn't resist asking, "What's got you all smiles, mate?"

Daniel, holding up the note, chuckled, "Looks like I've got a secret admirer, leaving lovey notes in my lunchbox."

Lando leaned in, feigning surprise. "Oh, a secret admirer, huh? Got any idea who it might be?"

Daniel playfully rolled his eyes, "Come on, Lando, you know exactly who it is. She's making sure I eat well and stay in high spirits."

Lando, joining in the light-hearted banter, teased, "Well, aren't you lucky to have your 'wife' looking out for you? I hope she leaves some notes for me too."

Daniel, with a smirk, responded to Lando's teasing, "Keep dreaming, mate. It's my 'wife' making them laugh." The banter continued, and laughter echoed through the lunch area.

However, as Daniel glanced at your note and the warmth it brought, a subtle longing lingered. A part of him wished the playful joke about a secret admirer and a lunch-making 'wife' could transcend the realm of humor. Little did he realize that within the confines of the jokes, a deeper connection was slowly taking root, sparking emotions that stretched beyond the boundaries of mere camaraderie.

The 'wifey' joke continued to weave itself into the fabric of Daniel and your dynamic. Whenever Daniel passed by your office, he'd playfully inquire, "How's wifey doing?" Lando, ever the instigator, joined in, making insinuations that left the two of them chuckling.

Before crucial races, their banter took a unique turn. Daniel, often discussing strategy with Lando, would hear remarks like, "If I win, your wife better make me that famous lunchbox for me too." The playful commentary even spilled into interviews, with Lando winking at Daniel when asked about their favorite meals.

In one interview, when the interviewer queried about the drivers' preferred dishes, Lando slyly responded, "Well, it depends on who's making it, right, mate?" He wiggled his brows at Daniel, leaving the audience in stitches.

During a casual night in with your friends at your place, you packed two lunchboxes of the same meal you had prepared. Observing your actions, one friend raised an eyebrow, teasing, "Two? Planning to feed a small army or something?"

You chuckled shyly, "It's just for one of my patients."

Another friend, noticing the little notes signed 'wifey,' couldn't resist poking fun. "And those little notes signed 'wifey' are also for your patient?"

Laughing, you playfully scolded, "Hey! Put that down!" The room erupted in laughter, the friends enjoying the playful banter. Your lunchbox antics had become a source of amusement not just within the Mclaren garage but also among your close circle of friends.

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Searching for Daniel in the garage, you found him with Lando. "Wifey," they both cooed simultaneously, earning a punch in the shoulder from Daniel to Lando. "Not you," Daniel clarified, prompting laughter.

"Be gentle, Daniel," you teased, handing him his lunchbox with a little note as usual. "Need to be taking care of an engineer during lunch, sorry." You side-hugged Daniel before turning to Lando, "Pole position, right, little Norris?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lando replied with a smirk.

You chuckled and handed him a lunchbox, saying, "Well earned. Keep going like that, Lando. I'm proud of you." Lando happily hugged you, expressing his gratitude. He then turned to Daniel with a mischievous grin, "Guess I also got a wife now, loser."

"Hell no, you don't, little mosquito," you laughed, playfully shutting down Lando's claim. With a quick exchange, you got back to work, leaving the two drivers with smiles on their faces.

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The usual lunch hour arrived, but Daniel didn't show up at your office. Growing worried, you decided to search for him in the garage. Passing by Zack's office, you overheard Zack's cold reprimand, focusing on Daniel's weight.

Unable to bear it, you entered the office with determination. "It's my fault," Daniel began, looking at you with concern. "No, no, it's not her fault," he continued, addressing Zack, "You're right, Zack. I haven't been careful recently, and I'll change that."

You, however, halted Daniel with a stern gaze. "No, you won't."

Turning to Zack, you asserted, "Zack, as Daniel's physiologist, I took the liberty to ensure he's properly nourished because apparently he hasn't been before my arrival here. His well-being is my responsibility, and I won't let him compromise that for any unrealistic standards."

Zack's anger flared as he confronted you, "You knew about his strict regime, and you went against my orders!"

"Yeah, I did! I did, and if I had to, I'll do it again," you asserted, standing your ground.

Zack, visibly angered, sat up. "You know what you'll do? Pack your things, you're fired."

Daniel, attempting to mediate, approached Zack, "Zack, it's not her fault. She didn't mean to—"

Stopping Daniel with a raised hand, you interjected, "Stop, Daniel. I don't want to work for someone like him anymore anyway."

With those words, you turned away and headed to your office to pack your things. The air in the room hung heavy with tension, marking the end of your tenure at McLaren.

While you were packing, your focus interrupted by the sound of the door, you instinctively responded, "My office is closed, sorry."

"It's me," Daniel's voice cut through, and you turned around to see him standing there.

"Oh," you uttered, and without a word, Daniel opened his arms. You hurriedly approached, burying your head in his chest. "I'm so sorry wifey," he whispered.

"It's not your fault, Daniel," you mumbled into his embrace, finding solace in the midst of the tumultuous situation.

“What am I supposed to do without you at the garage now?" Daniel thought out loud, his worry palpable.

You chuckled sadly, "You could always still come to mine for lunch."

He couldn't believe it. Pushing you away a bit, Daniel questioned, "You just lost your job because of me, but you continue. Who are you?"

"Honestly? Just a girl who grew too close to her patient," you admitted.

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, Daniel looked at you with wide eyes as if connecting the dots. "You're too important for me to let people treat you like shit, especially when it's putting your health in danger," you explained.

His eyes widened, and it seemed like realization struck him. "Do you mean that—"

"Yeah, I love you, Daniel," you confessed.

For a moment, silence hung in the air, and doubt crept into your mind. Yet, before you could dwell on it, Daniel stopped your doubts. "Then it's good you got fired, else I couldn't have been able to do this."

He grabbed your face and kissed you. "Would your dreams be fulfilled with me as your husband?"

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel riccardo x reader #lando norris #mclaren

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ahaura · 1 month

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im sure its been said already but as the election draws near more and more liberals will come out of the woodwork to shame people with a conscience to give away their vote to the democrats for free. i'm already seeing posts saying "why aren't people more concerned about a trump presidency?" you want to know why? it's because people already know he's bad. everyone already knows what he is and what he's done and what he'll do. there's nothing to discuss. he's a racist despotic worm of a man. there's nothing else to say.

biden is currently president. the genocide is happening under his watch. he's the one funding isra*l and arming them; he's sidestepped congress more than once to give them weapons. by oct. 27, the biden administration already knew that "Israel was regularly bombing buildings without solid intelligence that they were legitimate military targets." the state department/biden have engaged in atrocity propaganda, cast doubt on the legitimacy of the death toll recorded by the gaza health ministry, and so on. the united states is currently in the process of trying to pin the "war in gaza" on netanyahu (see sen. schumer's speech) after months of backing blatant genocide as a means to act as if they're "doing something" about the genocide (Instead of, say, threatening to cut off all aid to israel with the condition that all hostilities in gaza, the west bank, and occupied jerusalem are halted immediately and permanently, allowing palestinians freedom to travel, allowing aid into gaza, etc etc etc.)

the long and short of it is that liberals view their own lives as being worth more than palestinians'. that's it. they'll vote for another 4 years of the guy ushering in genocide and supporting apartheid + settler colonialism because he isn't outright attacking them (despite various laws and rulings happening both at the supreme court level and at the local level all over the country that will endanger people). they'll settle for the illusion of safety and security and shame anyone with a conscience and accuse them of "supporting the republicans" when in an actual democracy you would be able to use your vote as leverage to extract concessions from those who want to be elected. that's how it's supposed to fucking work.

democrats are not owed people's vote. if biden loses, it will be biden's fault; it will be his campaign's fault; it will be the democrats' fault. trump is bad; the republicans are bad. we already know this. this is not an endorsement of either. but if democrats are too cowardly and feckless and servile to the motivations of the american empire and never do anything for their constituents then why the fuck should anyone vote for them. you want to get mad at someone, why don't you do something useful and stop worrying about team-sports with a purely selfish basis and start hounding the people in power who are supposed to serve you, the voter.

#i think i already said this and frankly idc #uspol #📁.zip #to me personally it's abhorrent and vile to tell palestinians 'biden is facilitating the murder of your people culture and history but you #still have to vote for him!!1' like how is that not unbelievably callous and ghoulish #frankly speaking. a lot of this 'you should be concerned about trump' is going to turn into #blaming palestinians and arabs and muslims and anyone remotely with a conscience for biden's loss #instead of doing something productive like pushing for people in power to do something they'll nitpick and belittle #and tell palestinians + arabs and muslims + everyone who understands that genocide is bad that they SHOULD #settle for a decrepit genocidal monstrous freak who is CURRENTLY facilitating genocide because #it makes THEM feel better and they aren't personally threatened (yet) by the guy currently in power #any and all 'you're not taking trump seriously' comments should be met with extreme skepticism #because i promise i PROMISE that the vast majority of people unhappy with biden are not going to turn around and vote for trump #and if they do? well guess what THAT'S BIDEN'S FAULT! nevermind the vote uncommitted campaign that was very successful and #will be replicated in the near future. but liberals only care about asthetics and superficial and not #about real material change which is why they'll dress up their callousness and racism in a 'you hate gay people if you dont vote for biden'#like this country is already going to shit we are rapidly descending into fascism and i dont see biden doing anything to even remotely #challenge it do you???? once agian. NOT an endorsement of the republican party but my GOD when the 'lesser evil'#is DOING the evil or normalizing the evil then you cannot settle for 'the lesser'! end of story.

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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months

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Still and All🌿

Miguel O'Hara x Fem reader

Gif credits to @miguelo-hara

Synopsis: You have a lifelong sexually transmitted infection. You've learned to live with it, but you started dating Miguel, and you need to tell him at some point. Word count: 4.7k

TW: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. STIS: HERPES SIMPLEX VIRUS 2, TALK OF UNPROTECTED SEX, RELIGIOUS TRAUMA IMPLIED, INSECURITY, SLUT SHAMING, SELF DEPRECATING THOUGHTS, ANGST, STIGMATIZED THINKING ABOUT STIS, TALK OF SAFE SEX INCLUDING CONDOM USE, SMUT AT THE END( EVENTUAL UNPROTECTED P IN V, SPANKING, ORAL F RECEIVING), IN SHORT THE SUBJECT MATTER IS RATHER HEAVY AND IF ANY OF THE ABOVE IS SENSITIVE FOR YOU, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF AND SKIP THIS ONE. ❤️

A/N: I DREW ON PERSONAL EXPERIENCE TO WRITE THIS. I HOPE WE CAN EVENTUALLY COMMUNICATE OPENLY ABOUT SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED INFECTIONS AND DISEASES WITH NO STIGMAS ATTACHED. BE SAFE AND HEALTHY. I GOT MY INFORMATION FROM THESE SOURCES, ALTHOUGH THE INFO IS IN LINE WITH THE SOURCES, PLEASE DO NOT USE THIS WRITING PIECE AS A SUBSTITUTE FOR MEDICAL ADVICE. TALK TO YOUR PHYSICIAN.

World Health Organization

Hopkins Medicine

Herpes.org NZ

-----

You weren't sure how you'd tell him. Or exactly when you'd tell him. You had told others before, but this time was different. You really really liked him. If you had the ability to envision someone you wanted to do the rest of your life with, he would be it.

And what you needed to tell him could cause you to lose him forever. And that news was that you had a sexually transmitted infection. Herpes Simplex Virus 2. Or HSV-2 for short. And you lived with it for years. It wasn't a big deal, really. But it took you a long time to get to this point.

You wondered if your strict religious upbringing and being repressed for most, if not all of your adolescence and young adulthood were contributing factors. It all came to a head when you were finally an adult and could move out of your parents' hypervigilant gaze. You started feeling excited at this new found freedom but went a little crazy with it. You started dating casually. It was exhilarating and felt empowering to be desired. To know that men wanted you, craved you, and desired to know the deepest, most intimate parts of your body.

So, you had some fun.

It was clear most of the guys you dated weren't as educated on safe sex either, or the passion of moment just threw those safety precautions out the window. It was careless, yes. And absolutely risky. But you didn't know how to ask for these things and weren't taught how to. You were afraid to speak up, that they wouldn't want you anymore if you put your foot down.

Several months into your promiscuity, you had a sinking feeling in your stomach you should go get tested when you felt an odd tingly sensation in your genital region. You prayed that nothing was wrong.

The doctor could not have called you at a worse time. Right in the middle of your shift. You stood in the stairwell of your job, waiting for a sigh of relief or your entire world to come shattering down.

"Your blood work looks good, except..."

There it is. Except.

"You tested positive for HSV-2. You have genital herpes. It is a very treatable condition, but there is no cure."

Just like that, a life sentence. You were super young when this happened, so to you this was earth shattering. Your mind didn't even pick up the rest of what he was telling you as you hung up your phone.

The world outside seemed to grow fuzzy as though someone bludgeoned you in the back of your head. Colors rapidly disappearing, causing your retinas to only see gray. Claws of despair sinking into you. Not able to speak, not able to think, gasping for air while the tide crashed and beat against you again and again, keeping you under, forcing you to drown.

Your mind did what it does best and became your worst enemy.

"Nobody's going to want someone like me."

"I'm dirty."

"If you weren't such a careless slut maybe this wouldn't have happened to you."

"Quit crying, this is just a consequence of your actions, deal with it."

"You're being punished. Maybe if you weren't so weak and didn't lose your faith, God wouldn't have had to teach you this lesson. You wouldn't need to learn it if you were actually good."

"Typical for a pathetic girl like you with daddy issues who can't go a month without a guy telling her she's pretty. See what happens when all you're good at is spreading your legs?"

Your internal monologue flogged you like this for months. You had to take some time to just cry, just lay in your bed and wait, praying to the God that abandoned you. The winds and rains of self-doubt and misery mercilessly beating against you while you hid in a hole, waiting for the storm to pass. A numb expression on your face as you watched everyone outside live their lives while you just stayed frozen in place with a dark cloud over your head.

Just holding on for better days that hopefully laid ahead, hoping you'd make peace with this permanent new part of you that seemed to latch itself onto you overnight.

And... slowly, you did.

You started taking antiviral medication. And it improved your symptoms drastically. Having an outbreak could be quite painful and uncomfortable. Gritting your teeth and your eyes squinting in pain when you had to use the restroom with open sores, the sting causing you to suck air between your teeth.

Once you got the hang of taking your medication on a daily basis, any outbreaks you experienced were only a couple of times a year, usually popping up only if you were under extreme stress or if you had missed a few doses.

Outside of your physical health, dating was tricky. You pretty much began to avoid it altogether, despite the raging loneliness within you. You just wanted to know what it was like to recieve the love you were so ready to give someone else. To have someone hold you at night and stand across from you at the altar as you pledged to spend your lives together, a conscious decision to not let this condition stand in the way of you two being together.

Most people were understanding, but eventually they'd stop talking to you. The unmistakable shift in your dynamic as soon as you told them when things started to get good. You respected their right to not put themselves at risk while you simultaneously grieved for just once, to hear someone say,

"It doesn't bother me that you have this. I still want to be with you. Let's figure this out together."

You came across someone who also had it. But the relationship never grew into something serious for other reasons.

You took a long break. Just to find yourself and be comfortable with being your own person. Not letting yourself settle for less than what you deserved.

Eventually you found Miguel, who was a welcome change to all of that. After college, you were Spider Society's fresh new accountant, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst your STEM and Spider-Colleagues.

Miguel noticed you while he was walking to the break room for another pot of coffee. This wasn't even the usual way he'd go, but after a casual glance in your direction at the way your eyes were narrowed at your computer screen, lips slightly parted in concentration, he switched his route to include an accidental brush past your open office door from then on, intrigued with this new face around the place.

You noticed him the second time he passed by, and you had to do a double take. He was gorgeous. Strong cheekbones that led into a chiseled jaw and wide neck. Warm umber skin surrounding scarlet seas of his eyes and full, pouting lips. A majestic, tall frame that embodied strength in every sense of the word. The evidence lay in the fit muscles that crowned his entire body from his arms, to his legs and whew, that stunning back.

The third time, you noticed him approaching and gave a little nod of your head with a closed lip smile, the generic, passively kind, but also slightly aloof way that acquaintances passing would give to each other. He returned the gesture, and you felt your stomach do a little flip as he walked away.

Next time, you actually flashed a smile, and he raised an eyebrow but gave that lukewarm expression of acknowledgement again. Not quite a smile yet.

Oh, but the first time he smiled at you. That sealed the deal. At first, you felt that maybe you were in danger of just being in lust with the guy, his physical features the first thing to pull you in. But when he flashed that dazzling smile at you, you knew immediately that your heart was in actual danger of being absolutely wrecked by this guy at some point. The bottom row of his teeth were ever so slightly crooked. His bushy, sculpted brows so expressive despite the stoic disposition that always painted his face. He was sooo...so...

Perfect.

His laugh and his voice was a whole other issue entirely. His voice wasn't exactly deep, but it was gentle. A sweet caress against your eardrums. It dripped like honey. That small, whispery chuckle of his he'd let out when you finally made small talk with him had you wanting to bash your head against the wall.

"Top o' the mowwwrning to ya! " you said in a silly voice as he walked up to your desk.

He cracked a smile. "What's got you in such a big mood this morning?"

You smiled like you were keeping a secret. "Oh, just the fact that it's Friday, it's payday, I have a 32 ounce iced coffee, and I have theeee best job in the world!" (A little bit sarcastic about the last item you listed)

Miguel scoffed. "Well, I'm glad someone is happy around here. I can't seem to get any peace and quiet or work done with all these shocking anomalies we've been dealing with lately."

"You wanna know a secret?" You ask, raising an eyebrow, feigning mystery.

Miguel rolls his eyes but is unable to suppress a smile. "Dime." (Tell me)

"The bench at the bottom of the hill in the courtyard is actually the best place to go to get some work done. But don't tell anyone else about it because that's where I go on my lunch breaks."

Miguel's eyebrows raise. "Is that so? Well, you don't mind if I were to try it out this afternoon?"

You grin and swish your iced coffee. "Nope! All yours. You gotta text me about it and let me know how it went, though. Tell me I'm right."

Miguel scoffed. "You're on. But, I don't have your number."

Your cheeks burn a little bit but you scribble your number down on a sticky note and hand it to him. He shoots one more stunning smile at you and walks away.

Later, he did text you that you were absolutely right. Peace and quiet for a whole two hours outside managed to get him to complete 3 weeks worth of paperwork he was behind on. You felt like you were on top of the world, but it escalated to a whole new level when you were straddling his lap in the backseat of his car after your first date just a week later, making out with him in a quiet parking lot at the head of the trail where you two went on a hike together.

You were getting lost in how tasty his lips were, soft and full with just a hint of his sweat from the exertion. You feel the heat of the moment about to overtake you when he starts to grind his hips, feeling him starting to harden underneath you. Oh God, the way this man moaned was purely sinful.

You groan and whimper, realizing you can't take this further, no matter how much your pussy is begging for him right now. You pull away with a teasing smile.

"Let's wait..." you say softly, passion still dotting your voice.

Miguel shows the slightest bit of disappointment but nods in agreement. "Of course." He sighs and gives your thighs a squeeze of reassurance.

"I'm starving." you say, tracing his neck with a finger.

He smiles. "Well, let's go fix that right now."

You two shared grilled cheese sandwiches from your favorite food truck and as you walked into your apartment, you admitted to yourself that you were falling.

On your second date, you casually mentioned a little white lie that you were on your period to hopefully keep sex off the table so you wouldn't have to have the tough conversation.

"Oh, are you sure you're feeling up to getting dinner right now?" Miguel asked as you walked side by side towards the small Mexican restaurant.

"Mhmm!" You replied cheerfully.

Miguel gave you a skeptical look but followed you into the restaurant.

It was one of those express food places where you ordered your food at the counter. When the cashier asked if you were eating here or taking it to go, Miguel abruptly interrupted,

"We'll take it to go."

You looked up at him, puzzled.

"You're not feeling well, we should let you rest at home where you're comfortable." He replied, taking your hand in his.

"Oh, right!" You smiled and nodded enthusiastically. You totally forgot you were lying. Your heart starting to pump quicker in anticipation when you realize he's coming over. Give me the strength, please, God.

----

After you two went back to your apartment and ate, you talked for nearly two hours about literally everything. Your childhoods, your complicated relationship with family, favorite foods, places you've always wanted to travel to, politics, even.

As soon as you cuddled next to him on your couch and got a whiff of his cologne, soon your tongue was in his mouth and he was on top of you, kissing you with so much tenderness you were actually contemplating marriage in your head.

He sighed a little into your mouth, letting his hands wander down to your ass. Your eyes went wide, but you continued anyway, continuing to lock yourself against his yummy lips.

Miguel groaned and moved to kissing your neck, your vision flashing as your eyes fluttered at the tempting sensation he was giving you.

"Not going to lie...I want you right now..." He whispered against your skin.

You whimpered. "I want you too....so much....but I'm on my period, remember?" Hoping he'd buy it.

He inhaled sharply at your words, increasing the intensity of his kisses.

"I don't mind..."

Dammit.

You feel your eyes water and before you know it, you're crying. Miguel pulls back, concern in his eyes.

"Did I hurt you...? What's wrong...?"

He presses the back of his hand against your cheek as one tear after another and another streaks off to the side of your eyes and into your hair, gravity causing them to run downwards as you're still pinned underneath him.

"I can't..." You choke out. "It's just something I need to tell you."

Miguel swallows and allows you to sit up. His eyes remain locked on you and scan your face for any inkling of what you're about to tell him.

Just drop the bomb now.

"I'm not actually on my period right now. I can't have sex with you right away because I need to tell you that I have an STI. It's Herpes Simplex Virus 2. I'll have it the rest of my life. I get occasional outbreaks in my genital region due to stress or if I miss a couple doses of my antiviral medication. I've had it for over 5 years now and it's quite manageable."

Miguel nods, his face in an unreadable expression. His eyes leave yours for just a moment as though he's starting to think quietly in his head.

You exhale shakily, the worst part is over, but continue with the facts which you've rehearsed many times.

"It's very common. As many as 1 in 6 adults may have it in the US, but many who do show no symptoms, as a result they might not even know they have it. But, I understand that you need to do what's best for you and come to your own conclusion about what I just told you. So if you choose to not continue seeing me, I understand." At the last sentence, your voice cracks a bit. "I like you a lot. I'm sorry for getting emotional..."

Miguel sits in silence for just a moment longer and he puts a hand on your thigh. "Thank you for telling me.... To be honest, I was expecting worse news than that. Like, you have a secret boyfriend I don't know about or... " He gives a little scoff, then looks at you, not moving his hand from your thigh.

"It's not the best of news, but it's not the end of the world. And it certainly doesn't define who you are. You're still you, and I've enjoyed getting to know you quite a bit and find myself liking you a lot too..." Miguel swallows. It's been a while since he's been this expressive with his feelings, but he feels he can venture a little outside his comfort zone since you're putting yourself in such a vulnerable position right now.

"I don't know much about Herpes myself. I'd like to educate myself more on this and then we can talk more about what we can do from here. Is that okay with you?" He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, eagerly. The weight of the world had just been taken off your chest, you could breathe at last. He asks you a few more questions, like how often you take your medication, when you got diagnosed, how you manage your condition and so on. You answer honestly and firmly, pausing to gauge his reaction and make sure you explained yourself clearly enough. After talking for another hour or so, it's about 10:30 pm. You've definitely reached quitting time, and you're fighting to keep your eyes open.

You two share a long embrace before he walks out the door.

"Thank you, for a wonderful night and for dinner and being so understanding. I haven't always had the best response when telling people about this." You say into his chest, trying to hold him long enough his scent will stick to you after he leaves.

He smiles, still holding you. "You're welcome. Thank you for being honest and vulnerable with me. I'm kind of amazed at how much we have in common. I'll talk to one of my medical contacts some more about this. Don't be worried if I don't text you right away tomorrow. Then, we can talk more about what we'll do."

You nod, and after giving him one last kiss on the cheek, he leaves out the door and into the night. You watch him walk down the stairs and close your door with a soft click.

----

The next day, Miguel's at HQ speaking with one of the physicians in the lab.

"What are the different types of Herpes Viruses?"

The doctor leans against the counter and answers,

"There are two types of herpes simplex virus: HSV 1 and HSV 2. HSV 1 commonly causes oral herpes, or cold sores. It can show up as an upper respiratory tract infection during early childhood, whereas HSV 2 is the cause of most cases of genital herpes. However, it is possible for HSV 1 to cause genital herpes and HSV 2 to cause oral herpes."

Miguel nods and asks more questions.

"I ask because I started seeing a woman recently who has HSV-2. To my knowledge, I don't have it. What would that mean for us in terms of intimacy?"

The doctor nods and she answers,

"HSV-2 is mainly transmitted during sex through contact with genital or anal surfaces, skin, sores or fluids of someone infected with the virus. It can still be transmitted in the absence of symptoms. If you plan on being intimate, I recommend the use of condoms to decrease the risk of transmission. If your partner is also taking antiviral medication to suppress outbreaks, that helps decrease the risk of transmission as well. But, if your partner is having an outbreak or symptoms, I recommend abstaining from sexual activity until they resolve."

Miguel nods and takes in all the information the doctor is providing him, thanking her for her time.

He calls you, and you answer eagerly.

"Miguel?"

"Hey," he answers. You can hear the soft smile in his voice as he greets you. "Want to meet at Central Park in an hour? I figured we could go for a walk and talk in person. You don't need to be worried. I want to see where this goes with us, and now that the doctor gave me more information, I want to talk about it with you."

You feel your chest rise with hope. "Yeah, absolutely. I'll meet you in an hour. Thank you for taking the time to learn about it. You have no idea how much that means."

Miguel smiles. "Of course. You've been so patient with me, it's the least I could do. See you soon, get there safe."

"See you soon!" You hang up, and go get dressed.

---

The rain has started to come down a little bit, sprinkling and peppering the pavement in little dots, the earthy petrichor permeating the late spring air as the sky melts into a faded grey overcast with a thick layer of cloud cover.

You tuck your hair in your jacket hood, starting to jog a little faster to escape the falling raindrops as you approach Central Park. You see Miguel sitting on a park bench, across from the pond, totally unphased by the precipitation. You stroll awkwardly up to him, not sure where to look as you get closer to him. He hears footfalls approaching and turns, searching for the source and finally notices you, becoming slightly amused at your displeased reaction to the rain.

"Sorry, perhaps meeting in the park wasn't the best idea considering the weather," he says as he stands up, causing you to move your chin up a little to meet his tall gaze.

"Yeah, perhaps not." You huff.

Miguel grins and gestures towards some trees that will provide a little bit of shelter from the budding rain shower and you follow him there.

He leans against the tree, hands on his hips. "I talked to the physician. All in all, it sounds like a very manageable condition, which you've already covered with me. You're already taking antiviral medication daily." He clears his throat.

"But, when it comes to sex, we should use condoms. At least in the beginning to decrease the chances of transmission, and make sure you're feeling well and have no symptoms before we do anything. You've had the condition for long enough, I trust you that you're aware of your body and can pick up on whether or not you're about to have an outbreak. Do you have any thoughts on that?" He looks at you.

You nod. "I think that's completely reasonable. Thank you for trusting me, really." You lay your hand on his shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

He gives you a small side smile in return. "Just so you know, I'm not expecting sex right away. I just bring it up now, in case we find ourselves in a heated entanglement like we did last night..." He kisses your hand. "We'll have already covered it and know what to expect."

You nod. "I definitely want to, at some point. But I'm in no rush either. We'll wait for the moment to present itself I guess?"

He grins and stands up from where he was leaning, letting both of his hands cup your face now, nothing but soft affection for you lining his pupils.

"Sounds perfect to me."

You two traded warm, lingering kisses as the rain poured a little harder around you, saturating the city of Nueva York, turning the trees in Central Park a vibrant, otherworldly green, the thunder shaking the sky in a deep rumble.

----

2 years later on a cruise ship gently coasting the Caribbean

The blinds were drawn around your ocean suite, giggles escaped you and Miguel as you gave him a playful shove back onto your freshly made bed after dinner, courtesy of housekeeping, both of you about four wine glasses deep.

His breath hitches as he watches you slowly hike your strapless maxi dress down your body, biting his lip when your tits bob out of your dress, practically drooling as though it's the first time he's laid eyes on you when the fabric slinks off the rest of your body, kissing your curves on the way down until it's laying in a heap on the floor, leaving you naked in front of him.

"Ven aquí..." (Come here) He whispers, pulling you closer as he sits on the bed, the noticeable glint of a silver wedding band with a small diamond embedded in the middle on his left hand.

He leans down and licks hungrily between the folds of your pussy. You sigh and close your eyes, using those beautiful broad shoulders of his to steady yourself, the twinkle of your own sizeable rock on the wedding band on your left hand catching in the dim light of the honeymoon suite.

The sound of his licks get more sloppy and wet as you drip more and more into his mouth, his tongue fueling the fire. "God, baby...."he groans, landing a sharp spank on your ass.

You gasp and buck your hips into him, pleasure sizzling in your core when your clit brushes against his nose. He pulls you in tighter to his face and you lift your leg, putting one foot on the bed to spread your pussy wider for him.

He scoots back instead, pulling you on top of him and directly over his beautiful face, his chest hairs poking out of his half buttoned dress shirt. He has one hand gripping your thigh and one squeezing your ass cheek as he continues to eat you out. "Lower, baby.." he whispers, tugging you downwards so you're sitting right on his face.

You feel your cheeks burn as you look at yourself in the mirror hanging above your bed on the wall. Completely naked and legs spread, riding your new husband's gorgeous face, his powerful large body pinned underneath yours.

One orgasm later, you're panting and sweating on the bed, looking up at the ceiling when Miguel gets back on top of you, planting a sweet kiss into both ankles as he brings them to rest on his shoulders. You look at him through half-lidded eyes that rake over his majestic form, his arm muscles rippling slightly as he gets into position.

He brings his cock to the entrance of your pussy, your ankles still perched on his shoulders, swirling the tip around the outside to collect any remaining arousal as lube. Both of you gasp at the same time as he slowly eases his cock inside you. That first thrust sends you straight to heaven and you release a satisfied moan. He sets a steady pace, fucking you in splendid, deep, strokes.

Your lips fall open and he traces them with his thumb while still rutting into you. You close your mouth around it, sucking and swirling your tongue around his thumb while you gaze into his eyes.

His own mouth falls open a little, lust blown pupils of his showing he's dangerously close to cumming as he lets out a deep moan.

"Fffuck, baby, you look so beautiful like this. Sucking my finger while your pussy takes my cock..." He purrs.

You let out a filthy moan in response, still sucking his finger while he drives his cock deep into your pussy with both ankles on his shoulders. He leans down to kiss you, letting your ankles fall to the side and back onto the bed, opening your thighs a little bit as you welcome his body in missionary. He tilts his head to the side a little bit, scarlet irises pulling you in, then kisses you gently as his body continues to make love to yours.

You savor the kiss, letting your tongue explore his mouth, the taste of your pussy lingering in it and bringing both hands to tangle themselves in his hair. He pulls away for just a moment for air, and you coo softly to him

"I love you so much..."

He exhales slowly, slowing down his strokes just a little but making them more deep and dramatic, causing a twinge of pain and pleasure to course throughout your veins.

"I love you, my wife. Forever."

You kept fucking deep into the night, tropical colors painting the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon, nothing but ocean air and the thrill of adventure awaiting at your destination.

Your diagnosis and any other obstacles remained long forgotten as you and Miguel entered forever with hands intertwined, still and all.

-----

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o hara angst #miguel ohara angst #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader

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chronicallyillandcoping · 2 months

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I think something that doesnt get talked about enough due to shame is poor dental hygiene due to disability. Years of mobility issues and mental health problems have led me to not be able to take care of my teeth and now theyre in quite poor condition that i dont think I'll ever be able to afford to get them fixed in a way I'd be happy with.

In December I visited a dentist for the first time since i was 16 (partially due to them not sending me reminders and partially due to me purposefully not chasing up those lack of reminders) and i was so so scared of being judged. It feels shameful to admit but i needed 4 fillings. Im having my last one in 2 weeks and I will probably need more further down the line.

I think my point is that be disabled can make things abled bodied people see as basics really really difficult and there shouldnt be so much shame surrounding things that are out of our control.

#disabled #chronically ill #chronic fatigue #chronic pain #disability #actually disabled #chronic disability #disabled community #spoonie problems #disablity

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wtfuglydemon · 6 months

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pro-recovery this anti-recovery that

have you ever thought that people cant recover unless theyre willing to? unless they feel comfortable to? unless they feel like they are ready to?

not only that, ever thought that some things just arent able to be "cured" or recovered from? that our entire psyche system cant handle anything more complicated than a simple anxiety/depression? that if you have complicated disorders they will either shame you, make you feel like a monster and never help you directly but ask you to internalize your symptoms to not be a nuisance to others for the detriment of yourself? that, if they dont straight up drug you numb they will hospitalize you for something you have no fault on? Sometimes seeking for recovery can hurt you more than you already were and its why you can't unless youre willing and prepared to.

Being better with yourself isn't simple, sometimes recovery is having accomodations made to your problems that society simply does not give to others, it's different to all of us, mental health is not easy and straightforward and many make it up to be, this is extremely damaging and can make people hurt themselves, mentally and physically.

I've been abandoned, judged and seen as problematic for not seeking a doctor for myself and also being very open about my distaste for therapy, because i study it, i know how the system is flawed and systematically judgmental, classist, racist and misogynistic and the people in the field can be even worse, i warn people so they know if they are ready for a lot of trial and error, not to discourage them but to know that this is also a challenge you need to be mentally prepared for because otherwise it will leave you more hurt.

every journey to better your mental health is different, complicated, ugly and sometimes filled with hardships, boiling it down to "pro recovery and anti recovery" is to forget others who can't exactly recover, people's who recovery need systematic societal change, people like me with psychopathy who are seem as nothing but monsters who need to be purged from society, regardless if we have our own struggles and difficulties to deal with, its forgetting people in countries who don't have good mental health awareness, it is forgetting people who don't have financial conditions to afford help. No one is against others seeking help for your struggles but sometimes issues are not as simple as you deem them to be and the need to antagonize and "reclaim" their spaces is to negate hurting people of a space where they can be themselves and proud of who they are.

in the end what made me write this is how i am myself even with all my bad, self destructive and harmful behaviors and people like me exist and need a space safe for them to be themselves, it is why i found myself so drawn to the Jirai community, people "reclaiming" and trying to separate it from its roots is just bringing harm to a group of people who simply want to not feel alone with their struggles and be proud of who they are. You are not better than anyone from depriving those of a space for them, all you're doing is showing ignorance and disrespect for an entire group of suffering people.

#ame64txt #jiraiblogging #jirai kei #idk if this makes sense i just felt like venting my whole frustration with how people view mental health #and also how people love taking spaces away from others they dont like when they can just not be involved in it #long text #mental health

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eatmangoesnekkid · 4 months

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FLOW, CIRCULATION, AND THE LOVER

A Venusian Temple Arts Channeling Most problems related to the female (or male) body are due to a lack of circulation in that area where the ailment is occurring. Also, a lack of circulation will negatively impact your bag and coins. Said differently: in this system, unless you were born into "old money," you must own that the condition of your body is directly related to your quality of life. Circulation is related to your heart, blood, sensuality, sex, passion, deep feeling, creativity, and overall life force energy. And there is no coincidence that there is a large amount of shame and mysticism around the female body and its resourceful capacity for epic circulation i.e. creation and regeneration--not only for ourselves but for the cells of our loved ones and for the collective cells of our village/community. How beautiful, right?! This is what I was channeling in my first book when I wrote "A sensually activated woman is a wealthy natural resource for any community. Pleasure is power." If you are desiring to strengthen your skills as a lover Goddess which is your flow state capacity to create.... anything including tactile abundance like money and better health, without exhausting yourself, the circulatory system has to become your favorite system of the body. It has to be your friend, your loved one. Because the prime quality of a lover is that she knows how to inspire and stimulate circulation or flow states in others as well--a type of muse consciousness. It could be with her compassion, heart, use of language, use of hands, breasts projections, face/mouth/quality of conversation, dance, beauty, singing, etc. Artists, men, women, children, and animals are attracted to muse consciousness in different ways. Improving your circulation helps to not only open your heart (releasing current and ancestral heartache/heartbreak) , but also increases your lubrication and libido, repairs your skin into a suppleness, and keeps your systems healthier. You will not only look better, but you will feel better in a more authentic way. When you smile, it will be truthful and emanate from deep within. Keep your feet and belly warm during winter month. Once your circulation improves, the blockages start to move and issues start to repair. It is the heat and warmth from your energy FLOWING that creates new body narratives. A lover knows the beauty of stimulating good circulation in self and in another. Anytime there is pain or stagnancy in the body, it is an indication of lack of FLOW--meaning--a need for lover energy! A lover has to strengthen her connection to her hands as well. Hand-heart connection is all lover energy. Also the constant necessity of self-massage and self-touch is important for the body of a lover. Also, the skill and service of having your well-placed, prayed-over loving hands massaging the pain points or blockages of another is just as important. A lover also has to be able to relax and fully receive touch by another, whether a professional massage therapist or your lover. Other considerations: Drink water with a pinch of celtic sea salt/green juice. Keep ginger oil or powdered ginger in your apothecary. Use ginger paste (ginger powder/oil mixed with warm water) rubbed into pain or troubled sight or energetic stagnation including bald spots plus reducing sugar intake including *too much* fruit sugar and starchy carbs and dense meats -which slows down your blood flow while increasing some combination of movement, deep breathing, hot+cold water therapy, sauna/spa, sunbathing, walking, and the like are acts incorporated in a life of a lover and those who we care for. Train your mind to focus and stay calm--to be able to drop into deep presence and feel. Do to one thing at time like wash dishes without stopping to do anything else. Presence, an unscattered mind, is a high-skill and quality of a lover. Recalibrating the mindset and belief systems you've been holding onto for 20 years into more lighthearted, open-hearted frequencies are critical.

*I used "she/her" but lover energy is available to any gender in any shape or texture. *

-India Ame'ye, Author

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bowserwife · 10 months

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The term "anti-depressant" is incredibly insidious to me.

It implies that depression is some solid, identifiable thing, a disease in the brain that can be specifically targeted and directly counteracted by the right formulation of medicine. That is not what anti-depressants do. Anti-depressants are a mind-altering drug that induce a certain mental state. Their status as medicine is one of social construction: they are not any more or less inherently medicinal than alcohol or LSD. And certain people have decided that this mental state is preferable to the symptoms of depression--or at least that it will make a depressed patient more able to "function in society" (i.e. go to work.)

"Depression", of course, does not refer to a specific condition: it is rather a term that groups together a nebulous set of symptoms, not the thing that causes those symptoms. This is true of most psychiatric designations. And though the serotonin and chemical-imbalance theories of depression have been largely discredited, the drugs developed on these theories (mainly SSRIs) are still prescribed en masse and are referred to as simply anti-depressants. One big problem with studying the efficacy of these drugs is that it must be done almost entirely through self-reporting; through asking patients if they believe the drugs they're taking are helping.

For my part, I was prescribed ADHD medication when I was 8 years old. When I was 14 I told my parents I was thinking about killing myself, and I was started on anti-depressants: for around the next decade I would cycle through several different SSRIs, other anti-depressants, mood stabilizers, and anti-psychotics. All of these made me feel terrible in different ways. After a suicide attempt at 23 landed me a stay in the psych ward, I threw all of my meds in the garbage at once and blocked my psychiatrist's number.

And thru all those years of taking the meds, every time, every single time they asked me, "Do you think the medication is helping?"...I would say yes!!! Even as I was getting worse! Even as I was at the absolute lowest point of my life, which I only just barely survived! And I said yes because I really, really wanted the medicaiton to work. Of course I did. I needed it to: I was dying. And I thought that some group of smart doctors had come up with this pill to counteract my exact condition, so I reasoned, "well, I feel different, so I guess that must be the medicine killing the depression."

Well, I was lied to. I fell for the propaganda machine designed by faceless pharmaceutical companies who would gladly see me dead if it meant they had profited off my prescription. If you are on any kind of mental health medication, and you feel it's helping, I am not telling you to stop. But I am asking you to ask yourself: do I actually like the way these things make me feel? If you do, then that's fine. I'm a big proponent of taking drugs that make you feel good. But remember that that is all they are. A drug that makes you feel a certain way. Not a cure.

I know making the choice to go unmedicated carries a massive social stigma: many times when I tried in the past I was shamed back into the drugs very quickly by doctors, family and friends alike. But I can tell you that I am 5 years clean of any and all psychiatric drugs and I have never felt happier or more in control of my mental health.

#long posts #suffer thoughts

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d3nt4l-d4m4g3 · 7 months

Text

The issue is not with people who believe themselves to be transgender. Who are given the choices that they believe will free them from various constant, chronic miseries.

The issue is that some choices should not exist. This has been demonstrated again and again in our history. Once the decision to lobotomize one’s free-spirited daughter was a sensible and accessible one; once it was sensible to dose a colicky baby with whiskey; once it was common to take heroin for a cough, laudanum for a high-strung temperament, cocaine for depression.

At least two patients not long ago, afflicted only by the mighty conviction they should have been born without a limb, were graciously permitted to have these heathy appendages surgically removed.

And let me remind you that these patients were grateful, and may go to their graves grateful for the disabilities they asked for and received.

Such choices summon an ill-humored genie, grab greedy fingers round the monkey’s paw. Such choices disguise the cost of a reckless wish, often forever to the wisher in their lifetime. Such choices come with a binding understanding on the condition that one be willfully opaque to, a fact which if one were to choose to accept and humble oneself before it, would bring the most awful of consequences.

To admit you were wrong would ruin you.

The people who believe they are transgender have every stake in this fight. If they accept that their choices were wrong, immoral, unjust, psychologically and mentally damaging, at cost of truth, genuity, sense, self, health, and life, their proceeding state would naturally be one of great shame and despair. At the harm they have caused and the lies they have told to themselves and others. Of the crushing farce of their lives, now shortened by unnecessary, gruesome, barbaric surgical and chemical altercations. Of the enormous sum of their own poisonous self-hatred, and the hatred of whatever differences they may possess by the world.

Those who perform these altercations: the genies, the sharp-toothed yellow-nailed monkeys, who offer the choices grandly and gluttonously, sleep well at night with bodies strong enough and hands deft enough to ruin all the bodies they touch. The victims smile, believing themselves saved. The monkeys smile, large sums on paper glowing in their rancid heads. Many of these doctors, surgeons, so-called scientists believe themselves to be doing good in the world (Though some certainly only have a taste for power, money, and mutilation. The do-gooder has a secondhand sour unspoken knowledge, which is that if he is wrong he is a modern Mengele. What else do you call someone who meddles with the bodies of children, with the mentally compromised, with the most utterly desperate, who says goodnight to a whole person and good morning to a mutilated one with a smile? With a smile, with a smile.

Victims are annoying. They are. You don't want to look at them. They are self-involved, destructive, unreasonable as a long-caged animal. They are unnattractively pitiable because they cling to their sickness with the grip of someone hanging off a cliff. They are fickle, flaky, flagrantly inconsiderate of the families, friends and lovers they have alienated with the choices they have made. It is all too tempting to kick such a pathetic creature while it’s down, mocking it shivering in a cage of its own creation.

But their choices should not have existed, their self-imposed cage should never have been imposed concretely by simpering false sympathizers. It is cruel and unproductive to blame a person who has been alienated, marked and mutilated by the esteemed healers of this savage society. A victim, victimized, naturally appears gnarled and unattractive, unpersonable because she has not been treated like a person; the perpetrator, clean-handed, immaculately white-coated, appears godlike. But don’t let that distract you from the true enemy. The enemy is not the choice maker, but the choice giver.

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ed-recovery-affirmations · 1 year

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Can being overweight be healthy?

This is a complicated question, anon. My go-to question is: over what weight? We know now that the BMI scale is largely inaccurate and does not take into account height differences, muscle training, breast size and other factors. I also know that many people have different ideals of what's a normal or "ideal" size.

I'm not a doctor. I do know personally know many people whose natural weight - as in no dieting, but no overfeeding - set them as being considered fat. I also know that a lot of those people ended up feeling shame for this, and spent lots of time putting themselves through restriction, various crash diets, and a traumatic level of hatred toward the bodies they lived in. Many of them did lose weight doing this, but at great cost to other aspects of their health, such as their hearts, gallbladders, brains, stomachs, and GI tracts. Would it have been healthier to leave well enough alone and stay fatter? I think so.

But I also think that health can be really complicated and a lot of people end up having to make choices as to what aspect of health they must prioritize. So, for example: say you need a medication that has a side effect of weight gain. Do you accept the weight gain, or do you deny yourself medication that you might need? Say that you used to be a runner, but then you got a permanent knee injury and gained weight from being less active than usual. Do you prioritize treating your knee, or do you keep running on your injury to maintain the same weight? Or do you give up something else, like restricting a favorite food, for no other reason than because you feel you must retain that body shape at any cost? Say you have recently given birth to a baby, and the pregnancy caused you to gain weight. You want to breastfeed, but you're struggling to produce enough milk when you diet. Do you focus on the diet? Or do you focus on your journey with your new baby? Now say you are diagnosed with an invisible disability. Your doctor advises you against heavy exercise because it would be dangerous, but your natural weight is bigger. Do you choose to exercise anyway and risk the consequences of further disabling your body? Or do you think that you should have to restrict your food intake simply because you have a disability? Now what if you also have a comorbid diagnosis that impacts your GI tract, limiting what you can eat already? (Yes, some people are in the situation of having multiple disabilities.)

Do you think that people with these conditions should have to disclose all of their personal health history in order to be accepted for being fat?

(How many people disclose these personal things, do you think, and are not believed anyway?)

If you live with these conditions, and are making the best decisions you can for your own health in every given moment, do you think that it's a healthy choice to accept a co-occurring hatred for your own body at that given time? Do you think it's always the healthiest thing to pursue thinness?

Life is not simple. Managing one's body needs will not always come down to a series of simple choices. It's always going to be a balancing act where each individual needs the liberty to choose what THEY are going to prioritize to live well. And it won't be easy for everyone else to tell, at a glance, what those carefully-selected choices looked like for that individual.

I'm someone who is not fat, but who does have a chronic health disorder. Am I more healthy than a fat person who does not have the same disorder?

All you can do, anon, is focus on the choices that are right for you. That might mean giving up restricting if your body feels better when you don't, even if that comes with significant weight gain, just as an example. It might mean you've spent so much time hating your body that preserving your mental health means avoiding dieting or diet culture. I can't tell you what the right choices are for you as an individual; I can only tell you to listen to your body's cues and use the information you have available to you in order to set your balance of choices as close to "correct" as you possibly can. Nobody else could understand your process for this, nor could you understand theirs if you don't live their life. And that means nobody else gets to judge you, or your body, at a glance. Loving it properly means taking care of it to the very best of your ability, and yes, sometimes that might mean letting it be naturally fat. And I think there'd be a lot fewer EDs in the world if we weren't always so afraid of that.

I hope this helps!

#fatphobia #diet culture #body neutrality #body neutral #restriction cw #ed cw

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sophieinwonderland · 7 months

Note

1) unless you're a Tibetan Buddhist monk, you are not/do not have a tulpa. Tulpamancy is a specific closed practice that belongs to and isn't shared outside of a very specific ethnic and religious group. You are racist for using that term, and you factually don't know how to create a tulpa because the only way to learn is at a Buddhist temple in Tibet. The ways taught online are fake and are made up by little racist white girls like yourself, because you don't have a real life or culture.

2) there's no scientific evidence that someone can willingly create a dissociative identity. Most scientists recognize what you're doing as a factitious disorder, aka you're lying about having a mental health condition for attention and sympathy. This is extremely ableist against people with real dissociative disorders. So you're racist and ableist.

3) comparing your actions to transgender people coming out is offensive on multiple levels. People don't decide to be trans for fun, they don't do it for attention, it's not a game. You are extremely transphobic for pulling that shit. So that's racist, ableist, and transphobic.

4) You're just an intrusive, disingenuous, mean, pathetic little creep and you need help. Eventually you'll pull this with the wrong trans, mentally ill, Tibetan Buddhist like myself and we'll show you what happens to disgusting racist little foreigners who like to mock our culture because you're too boring to get a real hobby, culture, or personality.

STOP FUCKING MOCKING CULTURES YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT BECKY!!!!

Let's go!

1. "Tulpamancy"

"Tulpamancy" was coined in 2009. While sharing an etymology with the Tibetan Buddhist sprul-pa, there is no Tibetan or Buddhist practice that has EVER EXISTED called "tulpamancy".

And even for the sprul-pa, I've never heard a valid source claim the practice can only be done by "monks."

Also not fake. At least according to the psychologists who are investigating the practice, and believe it to be a real psychological phenomenon. But surely you know more than psychiatry professors. 🙄

2. No Evidence You Can Create a Dissociative Identity

I have NEVER seen a scientist claim you can't create a "dissociative identity" or any synonym thereof without a dissociative disorder. The closest any doctor has come to accusing endogenic systems of a factitious disorder was in the McLean Hospital video, which was infamously so shameful that the hospital took it down!

Here is what I have seen...

The ICD-11, created by the World Health Organization, states you can have multiple "distinct personality states" without a dissociative disorder.

Transgender Mental Health, published by the American Psychiatric Association, states that you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.

The creators of the Theory of Structural Dissociation have mentioned that mediumship and hypnosis may result in "self-conscious" "dissociative parts of the personality."

The science is overwhelmingly in favor of endogenic systems to the point where it's not even a contest.

3. Comparisons

While no comparison is exact, endogenic systems are discriminated against whether intentionally created or not. And even as a tulpa, I was only somewhat intentionally created.

The discrimination and pluralphobia systems face is very real. And there are huge overlaps in pluralphobia and transphobia.

Both face misgendering and people intentionally calling them by names they don't identify with. Both experiences are falsely regarded as things that can only be mental illnesses, and have medicalist branches within those communities who engage in sending hate to those who don't identify their experiences as a disorder.

4. "Get help"

Always worth reminding people that this phrase is just another way of calling people crazy, insane, lunatics, etc. It's an inherently ableist term designed to silence people for perceived neurodivergencies.

This is still you, right?

Dear, you don't even have the guts to come off of anon.

You're a coward.

...

You know, at times like these, I think it's important for you to collect yourself. Think of things that bring you joy and comfort. Friends. Family. Your favorite fandoms. Whatever communities you're a part of that you love.

And I want you to know that those are the things we're going to take from you.

Piece by piece, as the world becomes more aware of and accepting of plurality, people like you will be ostracized and cast out of every space you feel safe.

The research will be a huge boon. Every study that comes out makes it that much easier to brand anti-endos as science-deniers. If neurological studies show different brain activity in tulpa systems, it will be confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt for most people. After you lose that last thread of deniability, it won't be long until the hate group label sticks too. After all, what else would you describe people bound together solely by hate for a marginalized community?

I want you to know that I am not merely seeking to turn system spaces against you, but every space, every support network you have. I want you to know that everyone in your life will realize what a terrible person you are and they'll abandon you just like you fear deep down they will.

I want you to know that this is where the tide is going, and that despite all your best efforts, you'll be powerless to stop it.

So please, enjoy your fandoms and your support networks and your time with your loved ones while you still can.

Have the day you deserve.

#syscourse #pro endo #pro endogenic #system discourse #pro tulpa #sysblr #systems #actually plural #actually a system #tw threats #tw violence #tw assault #sanism #ableism #discrimination #bigotry #hate groups #hate group

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thefangirlfever · 15 days

Text

DBF! Miguel O'hara x reader (part 5)

Tags: angst, fluff, slow burn, F/M, age gape (reader is 28 and Miguel is 48), taboo relationship, mention of death, grief and depression, reader is a woman of color

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. See the end for notes.

Words Count: 5130

“You look positively awful.”

You sighed while hearing the voice of your fellow colleague and friend, Sarah. It was only ten in the morning but she was still as sharp as you remembered her. Not that you would complain, there was something comforting into finding back your usual banter. On the other side of the screen, Sarah was sitting at her desk in your office, already dressed-up and ready for an other day of work at the Smith and co Publishing house. Even if you had to go back to your hometown, you couldn’t let all your projects and upcoming work like that. While Sarah kept an eye on most projects, you were still working on them, sending feedback and correcting most drafts.

“Thanks, Sarah, I like hearing positive words like this when I just woke up.”

To be fair, waking up would imply that you had slept at some point, which was not your case. It has been an other sleepless night filled with feverish nightmares, existential dread and the crushing weight of anxiety sitting on top of your stomach.

She was not wrong, you looked awful this morning. The dark circles under your eyes were now more pronounced after almost two weeks at your father’s place. You were still wearing your robe and your skin looked tarnish. Some fresh air wouldn’t hurt you, but you had your reason for keeping yourself at home. First of all, you were sure you got sick that day spent gardening. Second of all, you had no intention on running into some people or old acquaintances; especially one man in particular…

“I’m serious, Y/N. You look terrible. Why didn’t you ask for a sickness leave? You know, Megan would have given it to you.”

You mumbled something under your breath.

“I don’t like giving up all my work.”

The woman on the other side of the screen rolled her eyes:

“You’re not giving up your work. You’re just taking a break…”

This was your time rolling your eyes. It was not the first time the two of you had this conversation. What was taking a break if not an other excuse for you to bask in those long and endless hours of uncertainty? The longer you stayed without doing anything, the more you were convinced you wouldn’t be able to do anything else again. You needed to move, to act upon something, or else you would slowly decay yourself away. Been there, done that. The last thing you wanted was to do it again. You still remembered the shame, the self-loathe that came with the inactivity, after all these hours spend in bed doing nothing, not even crying.

Hopefully, Sarah didn’t seem to want to push further. Instead she crossed her arms over her desk and looked at you with the gaze she usually reserved for when you were alone, out of the office and drinking at a bar in town.

“So...your father, how is he doing?”

You happily welcomed the change of subject from your poor life habits to your father’s health. At least there was some progress on this side.

“He is doing better. I think his cast will be removed mid-December.”

“Oh, that’s good.” You couldn’t help but feel grateful for her tone. Even if she had never met your father, she always asked about him and she genuinely looked concerned and sounded relieved for him. “This means the two of you will spend the Holidays together?”, she asked with the same enthusiasm.

You nodded without saying a word. She didn’t need to know that you weren’t planning on staying for the holidays. The last thing you wanted was to get trapped in this house with your father alone while the ghost of your mother would haunt the two of you. The mere fact of imagining the table for the dinner with only two plates and not her gave you nausea.

You kept talking about your father’s condition and when you mentioned getting help from one of his friends, you instantly regretted this. The memory of Miguel’s face only increased your nauseous feeling.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

How could you have said this to him when he had helped your family so much? You must have sounded like such an ungrateful jerk… but for some reason, you couldn’t stand the idea of him talking about your mother. Not that he would say anything wrong or hurtful, but if there was one moment when you wanted to not feel like this grieving daughter everyone knew, it was when you were with him…

Sarah cocked one of her eyebrows in a curious way: “A friend of your father? That’s nice of him to help you.”

Again, guilt hit you in the guts and you tried your best to keep a still demeanor. “Yeah...he is very nice… Maybe a little too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like asking too much from him…”

Sarah’s eyes opened a little wider in surprise and she looked at you as if you were crazy.

“I’m sure if it was too much for him, he wouldn’t help you this much. You know, there’s nothing wrong in asking for some help.”

It was the exact same words Miguel had said to you and just like when he was the one saying them, you couldn’t help but silently disagree. It has never been in your nature to ask for help, not ask, beg. You’d rather find a solution alone; no need to worry anyone.

“Yeah, I’ll think about that.”, you replied before coughing loudly. Your friend’s brows furrowed and she sighed.

“You’re not sick by any chance? That would explain why you look...like this.” Her words sounded a little more gentle this time as if she was trying her best to not offend you. You’d rather have her being honest with you. The truth was that you were a mess ever since you had woken up. You were feeling dizzy, hot and cold at the same time and your throat was itching. But there was no use to alarm anyone, right?

“It’s nothing, don’t worry. I think I just caught a small cold while staying in the garden for too long…”

“You should go see a doctor.”

“Mhh...I’ll think about that.” You did know a doctor but you weren’t sure you wanted to ask for his help, again. Your friend rolled her eyes again but she chose to not say anything more about this except for: “If you need anything, please, call me.”

“Thanks…”, you replied after a few seconds.

There was no way you would ask anyone for help. How bad could it be?

You spend the rest of the day in a haze. Sarah had sent you a manuscript to correct. Usually this was a task you would easily complete and you were not slow when it came to work. But today, reading even a single sentence made your head pound loudly. You couldn’t read a single sentence in its entirety and you found yourself reading three times the same words over and over again.

The itching sensation in the back of your throat felt like a claw was scratching against your skin and you were practically sure you had a fever; not that you wanted to check.

“I don’t want to sound rude, but you look awful…”, your father quietly said while the two of you had dinner.

“It’s nothing, I just caught a cold.” The last thing you wanted was to worry him. He didn’t need to know that you were feeling nauseous. He didn’t need to know that under that robe, your clothes clung to your damp-sweat skin or that you spend hours tossing in your bed that night looking for sleep.

You tried to conjure a dream, a fantasy, anything to escape from the state you were in. Lying down your bed while looking at the ceiling, you were feeling the exact same way than when you were a teenager. You remember those long nights filled with this feeling you couldn’t identify; anxiety. People were anxious all the time. But you always knew what you were feeling was different. It was like a heavy cloak was resting on your shoulders and you couldn’t get rid of him. Best you could do was pretend. But there would be a day when it wouldn’t be enough. All you needed was something unexpected and too big for you to comprehend to happen and you knew the dikes would break. And it happened…

***

You’re lying on your bed, buried under the blankets while looking at your phone screen. 30 unread messages. Half from your father. You’ll respond to that later. It’s not like anything matters anymore right now. People can wait. You put your phone back on the nightstand and close your eyes. You know you won’t be able to fall asleep. Not without her.

There was a time when your mother would come and hug you, rock you to bed so you could easily fall asleep. What was the name of the song she would sing?

The door of the room opened slowly. The new incomer was greeted with the vision of your silhouette under the sheets, the mess on the floor and the curtains closed. There’s a smell in the room like dust, closeness...not that you don’t mind; you’ve grown used to it by now. But not him.

“You’re going to sleep all day again?”

The only response he gets is the sound of the sheets ruffling around your body. An awkward silence then settled between the two of you. You know he is still there, looking at you from the door with this gaze you don’t want to face again. Finally he sighs and closes the door, leaving you alone with the ghosts from your past.

***

Your body is all sore when you wake up the next day and you stifle a whimper when you tilt your neck to the side. Your throat feels dry and you struggle breathing with your stuffy nose. Even your eyelids feel heavier than usual. How could this day be worse?

You have your answer the moment you step into the kitchen and find Miguel leaning against the counter with a cup of fresh coffee in his hand, reminding you of the last morning you two shared. His eyes land on you the moment you enter the room, studying you from head to toe while he tries his best to stay calm and collected. He doesn’t know why but there’s something in your disheveled appearance that makes his insides tighten and his mouth go dry. Your cheeks are flushed and red and there’s a heat around your body that draws him in. He has to stay still, not let his emotions show on his face but you’re not making it easy. But his eyes also notice the dark circles under your eyes, your puffy, red eyes and the way you look lost, almost haggard… Again, something strong and that he had buried deep inside of him surged to the surface. It’s an instinct that he thought had disappeared long ago.

“Hi…”

“Hey…”, you reply in a small voice while making your way in his direction.

He doesn’t give you the time to reach the coffee machine that he had already turned it on and put your favorite mug underneath. Just when you thought he would resent you for what you said the last day, it seemed like he had forgotten or at least isn’t angry. The two of you watched the cup filling up with coffee in a peaceful silence. Now that you are closer, you can feel the weight of his gaze on you and smell his perfume, which reminds you of the scarf he gave you the last time.

“Hum...I still got your scarf by the way. Maybe you want it back?”

He looks back at you with his usual soft gaze. He doesn’t look angry when you remind him of that day.

“You can keep it if you want.” The two of you almost whisper as if you were afraid of something, something hiding near you. You simply smile back. There’s no way you will keep it, even if that thought doesn’t sound so bad. But maybe you could indulge a bit for now and still keep this small piece of fabric.

A rough cough shakes your body and his gaze narrows.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I think I just caught a small cold…”, you reply while shrugging your shoulders. But he doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer as his fingers reach for yours, making you slowly turn in his direction.

“May I?”

Your body doesn’t move, you don’t try to look away as he slowly puts his hand over your forehead. Your skin feels scorching hot and from closer he can see a thin sheen of sweat covering your body. You have to fight to keep your eyes open. His large palm covers your forehead easily and it feels...nice. His skin is warm from the coffee he had drunk but his fingertips are still cool from the outside, which soothes you a bit.

His eyes watch over your face like any medical professional would do. He notices every sign that you are dealing with a fever, that you’re sick. This is more than a cold, maybe a flu. He can’t help but notice how exhausted you look. Your lips are dry, your cheeks flushed red and a few strands of your hair stick to your dampened skin. Slowly his gaze is not as professional as it should be, not when he spends so many time admiring the slope of your slender neck or the way your dark eyes look like endless wells, deeper and darker than the night.

All he needed was a short touch like this to feel like he was the one under a fever.

The thought of letting his fingers run along your face and then wandering over your body sounds very tempting...but also very dangerous.

Miguel finally removes his hand from your forehead and the slight quivering of your body doesn’t escape to him.

“You have a fever…”, he finally says, trying his best to control the beating of his heart at the same time. “Did you notice any other symptoms?” He tries to sound as professional as he usually does at the clinic he works at, but his voice sounds deeper, a bit more hoarse when he talks to you.

“I feel...itchy there.”, you say pointing at your throat.

“There?”, he asks after a moment of silence while his fingertips reach for you throat. The rough pads of his thumbs draw small circles over your skin and press while he holds the sides of your nape. Your skin feels so hot, he can’t deny how concerned he is. But an other sensation takes over his body as his eyes drift up toward your parted lips. And he immediately hates himself for the image this creates inside his brain…

He finally clears his throat and declares in a solemn voice: “I’ve had a few cases of flu recently and I think you’re not immune to this. You need to rest.”

His fingers finally let go of you and he puts some distance between you. You slowly nod but the small pout of your lips as he tells you to rest doesn’t go unnoticed on his sides. He can’t help thinking that he shouldn’t look this much at your lips, but it seems he can’t help it. He passes a hand through his hair, as if he was tired, and that’s when you notice that despite his put-together look, he seems tired, as tired as you.

“Maybe you could use some rest too…” You could say that but you don’t. It would sound too petty. Instead you grab your cup of coffee and ask: “You’ve been working late?”

The corner of his lips tug upside and he scoffs: “I don’t think I’m the one you should worry about. You already have enough on your plate.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a cold, right? It’ll get away in a few days, like it always does.” You nonchalantly shrug, earning a circumspect look from Miguel. He finally shakes his head.

“If you say so. But please, take some medicine and at least try to rest.”

You stay silent but he can easily read what you’re thinking. He hadn’t known you for long but he feels like you’re not that hard to read into after a few discussions. You’re stubborn and you’re one of these people who can’t sit down for their life and take a break. He used to be like that too, kinda is to this day. And quite ironically, he cares more about your well-being that he would about his. That’s why he knows he shouldn’t push too far with this, so he simply adds:

“At least try, okay? I’ll bring you some antibiotics later.”

“That’s too nice of you.”, you stutter between coughs and he feels like his chest hurts the way yours does when you cough. A simple smile of his settles the conversation.

He didn’t lie when he said he would come back. Miguel did bring you the antibiotics this evening and he even proposed to stay and cook some diner for you and your father. He even cared to make some chicken broth for you, a sweet attention that makes you feel worse. He looks pretty tired and yet, he puts so much energy into this… When he asks you if you need any help to eat, you quickly dismiss him. You’re sick, not impotent.

No one likes being sick, of course but in your case it’s close to a phobia. The taste of the bitter pills, the scent of a doctor’s cabinet, the apathetic way you lie down the couch… You hate all of this and it brings back some memories you didn’t want to face.

***

Her skin that used to be the same shade as yours, a rich and shiny complexion, is now bland, almost too thin like paper… Her luscious hair has disappeared and even if she tries to hide her skin under a scarf, she can’t fool anyone. Not you especially. You know the way her curls travel down the length of her back, rich and bouncy, with this sweet scent; that conditioner that she pretends to ignore the fact you stole some of it.

The woman in front of you is not your mother. It’s someone else, her shadow maybe. But this is not your mother. This is not the woman who could spend hours in the garden working, cutting or simply reading a book, lying on the grass while you would put daisies in her hair. This is not the woman who used to comfort you when you had a nightmare; now that she looks like one. And this is not the elegant and beautiful woman who would always stands out while she was waiting for you in front your school.

You’re old enough to understand what is happening. More than old enough. You’re an adult, you should act like one. It’s what the doctors are saying, what your father’s look says… Ironically the only one who seems to show some empathy to you is your mother. She keeps hugging you, telling you everything is gonna be alright…

But now even this is impossible. Her arms are too thin, like chopsticks and they don’t give off that comforting aura they used to have.

And this is happening in one of those ugly white rooms with the scent of detergent, of cleanliness and that scent is the one of loss to you.

***

You emerge from an other one of these foggy nights. It’s quite hard remembering in detail your dreams, even more with your fever, but you still remember the cold and sanitized look of the room when you wake up this morning.

The scent of fried eggs flow toward your nostrils as you try to prop yourself on your elbow. You’ve been sleeping on the couch, it’s easier to go to the bathroom, and this morning someone is cooking breakfast. It’s not hard to guess who it is…

Miguel must have heard your body shifting under the blankets because he leaves the kitchen with a tray of food, and the dread medications, to make his way to you. He puts down the tray down the coffee table and kneels in front of you, a concerned look on his face. You wonder if you had talked in your dreams. Would it even make sense given your current state?

“How do you feel this morning?”, he asks and you can’t help but reply with a small smile:

“Wonderful.” This doesn’t sound very convincing and his pout makes you chuckle.

Oh, the self-control this moment asks for him. There’s this small curl that hangs on your forehead and that he wants to brush away; those dimples that got him weak in the knees...And yet, he simply shakes his head again before handing you the glass of water and your pills. Your expression shifts to one of disgust, your nose wrinkling slightly.

“You have to take this.”, he says in a slightly amused smile. You reluctantly grab the pill and swallows it. The bitter taste makes you wince and he can’t help but chuckle as he brings the glass to your lips.

His hand instinctively holds the back of your head, propping you up slightly from your pillows. He watches your throat bobbing up and down as you drink, visibly thirsty after that night. Water wets your lips and he finds himself looking at them again. It’s his throat that feels dry now.

“Perfect.”, he whispers in a voice that is a bit raspier than usually before taking the glass away. His fingers still apply a gentle pressure on the back of your head. It’s a comforting sensation, just the way your mother would do when you were sick.

“Do you still take the medications I brought you?”, he asks and you slowly nod. Even if those things are disgusting, you still manage to take them. A small smile flashes upon his lips and he finally helps you lying back the couch.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”, he replies with his eyebrows raised.

“How do you feel this morning?”, it’s too early for him to be there. And yet, here he is, already dressed up and ready to help like some guardian angel. He only replies with a small smile:

“I’m feeling better.”

Days go by slowly since you are stuck in bed (or rather the couch), doing nothing but sleeping. It’s not that you didn’t try working, but your eyes simply close after a few sentences as you are dragged into sleep. The only thing that rhythms your days are Miguel’s visits. He is always there in the morning, making breakfast and making sure you take your pills. And in the evening, he comes back home after his day to help you making dinner, also checking on your father.

Home. You have the feeling that he treats your place like his second home, and for some reason it doesn’t bother you. There’s something comforting into knowing that you will always end up seeing him at the end of the day. You’ve stopped living with someone since your last break up and you always thought it wasn’t for you, sharing a domestic space, relying on someone else to do the chores… But Miguel is quite convincing in the role of a caretaker. No wonder the town is grateful for him to be their local doctor.

You finally assumed that he must be living alone since he spends so much time with you and your father. There’s no way someone is waiting for him at home when he is always outside. And you don’t know how you should feel about this.

But one morning, Miguel isn’t here. This fact makes you feel like someone has dropped a heavy rock down your stomach. The house feels...empty. After contemplating the silence for multiple minutes, you finally wake up. Your legs are a bit wobbly but you can tell the medications he has been providing you have an effect on your health. If only they could have on on your sleep schedule…

It’s almost noon when Miguel finally arrives and to your surprise, he looks like he has been in a rush all morning. For the first time since you know him, he looks less like the proper perfect son-in-law look he is always opting for, and more like what he is. An overworked man. He is not wearing one of his usual suits but a simple black outfit, with sweatpants and an oversize flannel. He has traded his lenses for thick frame glasses and he barely had the time to shave, leaving his face covered in a scruff.

He huffs the moment he sees you’re awake and up. But he doesn’t comment; you’re stubborn for sure. Instead he simply slops down the nearest chair, in silence. He just nods to thank you when you put a cup of coffee in front of him. You resume what you were doing, -ie cooking a decent meal, trying to ignore his gaze on you.

“It smells nice.”, he finally says while you stir something in the pan. Your movements are slow since you still seem tired but he can’t tear his gaze away.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just a quick dish I used to make when I was in college.”

He doesn’t reply immediately. College… It’s been so long since he thought about his own years in college. Like it all belongs in an other life. Sometimes he can’t help but thin that there was a before and an after in his life.

“Can I help you?”, he finally asks and just like he expected, you shake your head.

“You should rest a bit. Seems like you had a rough night…”

“I had a night shift at the clinic.” You can’t believe he still works this late at night at his age. No wonder he looks so tired. Miguel passes a hand over his face in a tired gesture before sighing:

“We had an emergency this morning, around 4, that’s why I couldn’t come earlier…”

“Are you trying to apologize?”, you ask with your hands on your hips. “There’s no need to, Miguel.”

The corner of his lips tug into a small grin and he leans back into his chair, as if the weight of something heavy had rested too long on his shoulders: “I promised you I’d be here every morning…”

“Miguel…”, you start with a quiet voice, “I know what it’s like, having a demanding job and all. In fact your job is even more demanding than mine. So, I’m not going to blame you for fulfilling your duty.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, a small grin still lingering on his lips as he listens to your small rant.

“And as I told you, I’m perfectly capable of doing all of this by my own.” You didn’t mean to sound this harsh but it seems like he doesn’t take any offense in this. However, you feel a bit awkward bringing this up again. It’s been a few days since you talked about this and you were planning to apologize for your behavior, not making things worse…

“Sounds like you got your spirit back.”, he simply says, still amused.

“I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better enough to put me back in my place.”

You gruff and his grin only widens. He can hear you mumble something under your breath, something like “I wasn’t trying to put you back in your place…”. And for some reason, this little banter makes him forget every agonizing minute of his night. He gets up and walks toward you, leans against the counter and watches you cooking.

“I mean it, you know. If I ever overstep your boundaries, you need to tell me. I’ve already been told I can be too...paternalistic. Trust me, I won’t take it poorly coming from you.”

The sound of the food frying in the pan is the only thing that can be heard for a few seconds as you try to make the best out of what he said. You wouldn’t call him paternalistic. In fact, he makes you think more of a mother figure than a father. A very protective mother. You finally sigh:

“I just don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”

This was unexpected for him and he replies in a soft voice:

“You’re not taking advantage of anything.”

“You must think I’m incompetent.” This confession took him even more by surprise. And when you look away, his hand gently grabs yours, making you look back in his direction:

“That’s the last thing I’ve been thinking about you.”

He wishes he could take a picture of this moment of grace. Your dainty hand rests in his larger palm while the soft morning light makes your skin glow in a way he could only qualify of ethereal… Against his better judgment his grip on your fingers tightens and he adds in a quiet voice:

“I’ve heard a lot about you. And I can’t believe that there is a more accomplished, talented and hard-working woman out there.”

You really wanted to believe him; it sounded so tempting and nice. But a small part of you still thought he must be mistaking you for someone else. There’s no way he heard all these sweet things from your father. You have been nothing but a disappointment these last five years, struggling, stuck in what he considered a mediocre job, single and childless… You didn’t accomplish anything that would grant you this type of compliments. And yet, Miguel’s words sounded so sincere.

“You’re just flattering me at this point.”, you reply with a small smile.

“I’m not.” His voice was laced with solemnity. A lump had formed in his throat and he found it harder to say anything else. But he knew he would have loved showing you what true flattering, real praise was like…

Miguel finally let go of your hands and you caught his fingers flexing slightly, all stretched out as he brought them back to his side. The silence that followed this moment, moment that you didn’t dare to put a name on, was heavier it seems; charged with many untold words. Finally you were the one breaking the silence:

“You can set the table if you want.”

A bright smile curled up his lips as he replied: “I’m always glad to help.”

=============================================

Notes: Today's chapter is a bit slower but I can guarantee you things will move forward soon for our two protagonists...

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