#How the FUCK did I survive without my meds before how did I even FUNCTION
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I've heard other folks with ADHD, when they're off their meds, they get hyper or distracted and so on. Me, however... I get so fucking tired it's not even funny. I will just proceed to sleep all day, without fail.
So guess who forgot their meds most of this morning and now has to deal with extreme exhaustion until their meds kick in :/
#text_iris#I am an IDIOT y'all#I have an exam to write and yet here I am nearly asleep on my couch-bed despite my mum making a racket with the sanding machine#And yes I did test the 'what happens when I go off my meds' when I forgot my meds when going to my grandparents#Going off my antidepressants for a day leaves no effect - this has happened loads of times and I have no effects with one missed days#But my ADHD meds? Oh going off that for a day leaves me so exhausted and tired that I will just pass out at a moments notice#I was so boring for my cousin since I could barely keep my eyes open#How the FUCK did I survive without my meds before how did I even FUNCTION#And like!! In hindsight! I was WORSE before I got diagnosed!#I would sleep for HOURS during the day because I was constantly exhausted and distracted#I was always tired and always sleepy!#I would often nearly fall asleep in class!!#Now even with early classes I'm awake! I've never fallen asleep on the bus home since!#Like no joke during High School I would more or less ALWAYS fall asleep on the bus and then jerk awake right before my stop#Now though? No matter how tired I am I'll always be awake#No 'my eyes are forced closed I am that exhausted'#Like my ADHD manifests as extreme exhaustion off meds. Because my body simply cannot function. My brain is overworked#It's also why I have a second dose; because my body burns through the Ritalin at extreme speeds#It'a frankly exhausting in and of itself#Which is maybe why I should consider finding something energy giving to consume#But also I'm worried it can spike my anxiety? 'Cos my meds can sometimes do that#I'd buy GamerSupps caffeine version iF THEY HAD BLUE IN STOCK#I am very skeptical to taste but Blue Rasberry is my fav thing#But of course they're sold out 😔#Anyway basically I am now suffering from exhaustion and also rising heart rate and anxiety because I took my meds late 👍#The life of me an idiot and my absolute dumbass forgetting meds and only realising 'cos I'm still absolutely wiped at 10am
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I REALLY don't want to come off as mean because I understand what it's like to struggle financially and the stress that puts you under, but I really really think it'd be for the best if you stopped using curseforge, Ceci.
Please do early access if you must! We get that it's not a matter of greed but rather a matter of survival, but please please use the means less damaging to others while keeping yourself healthy. Sims politics is nothing compared to a genocide. I hope you think about it, and I hope you can meditate on this choice. My thoughts are with you and your family 💜
Thank you for this kind comment, nonny! 💜
Honestly, I have considered it. Having a paywall is the last thing I want to do, but after living under this much financial strain for around a year now... well, it's weighing on me. As is using curseforge in the first place. I'll be honest- this month, I'll get $50 from cf. For the whole month. Sometimes it's more if I have points leftover from the previous month (so like $100 in one month), but usually that's the average. Having to use it for such (relatively) little money and dealing with the guilt of using it and the hate that results is pretty damn tough, I'll tell you that much. Like, curseforge fucking sucks and even beyond the boycott I resent the hell out of it at this point. I literally hate it and want to delete it so bad but it's the reason I was even able to even buy my meds this month. I've been working on making my patreon have better benefits without having an actual paywall, and some amazing people have kindly donated, but the amount per month varies so much it's tough to rely on. I'm really getting to be at a loss of what to do at this point. I've been exploring every other possible avenue of extra money I can that fits with my current job schedule, I do other freelance work online on top of that and cc making, and sell any stuff I have left from my collecting days. But I'm still in the red every month and it fucking sucks man. And then to come on here and have people say you love/support genocide, while researching and finding out even more about how Overwolf fucking sucks and trying to figure out how to help the boycott, then people just straight up lie about what you said so others will gossip about you publicly like middle schoolers- it's seriously awful all around. Sorry to vent at you nonny, but it's honestly depressing.
I'm on the verge of just saying fuck it, but the truth is, I'm scared to. The bottom line is that I can't function without my meds, and no one here on tumblr is gonna be with me irl to help me or pick my ass up, you know what I mean? When I log off here, simblr doesn't matter, I'm the one that deals with my own life and any negatives of that. And no matter what I do online or irl activism wise, I have this shit haunting me in the back of my mind. It feels like selling your damn soul for 50 fucking dollars, man. And how pathetic is that, you know? I guess it probably sounds like a simple choice to everyone else, but it isn't. I'm still deciding what to do and hoping, praying, that a few opportunities I'm trying to get irl yield some results. Cos like, even with CF, I'm kinda screwed either way at this point lol. I don't know. What does it even matter, right? I'll consider the early access option, but it's more probable I just quit CF and not do any paywall/CC making in general before that happens. I think if I did early access all my want to be a cc creator would suck out of my body even more than it is now. And boy has it fucking waned ever since I started posting on CF. I don't know. It's literally midnight and I think I need to sleep on it- I was supposed to already be asleep, but I saw your ask and had to answer it, oops. Sorry to ramble, nonny. Thanks again for the ask and being understanding 💜
#asks#ceci speaks#anonymous#negative#on my part not yours#highkey depressing sorry lol#hopefully ill have a better plan tomorrow/the next few days
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They say your tastes change every 7 years. Reflecting on our relationship, I did indeed change after 7 years. I was in survival mode for the past 3 years because of him. Constantly being in survival mode will change your brain chemistry. I went through a med change at year 7. I was in a major depression episode that last from year 5-7. I could barely function without the thought of death coming across my mind. My anxiety was clinical. I was rapid cycling from major depression to mania. From every few hours or days to even minutes. When it’s minutes that is what they call lethal. There is no rhyme or reason when rapid cycling. I started Viibryd and it was like changing. I had no depression! But as time went on my memory started to go. It grew gradually but the point my short term memory was shot too. I did the research and switched to Effexor and I’m still stable and my memory is back. I am SO happy I got my memory back after the last time E and I got back together. Then I’d remember all of the abuse he caused in detail. I really do not remember much of that few months together. But I still feel like I have PTSD symptoms. I constantly think about him. Not sure if it is because he owes me thousands of dollars or what. His name puts a sour taste in my mouth. I do not wonder how he or Onyx are doing. When I do think of him it’s bad memories. So many songs trigger me into thinking of you. It’s hard to find music that isn’t about love or breakups. Breakup ones sometimes trigger me. Some love songs are usually good but I am not really looking for love so I don’t really want to listen to it. Love songs make me briefly think of E but I haven’t felt “love” like what’s in the songs in 5+ years. So i listen to the song so many times that eventually I don’t think of him. He gaslighted me constantly. He avoid questions. He love bombed me. If he didn’t I probably wouldn’t be with him. He’s a felon for fucks sake. I do NOT know WHY I got into a relationship with a LOW life. He only saw good in me when I helped him with something, I did something right, when I worked out, etc. He couldn’t even see that in the end as he yelled at me to tell him what I did for him. Classic narcissistic move. He verbally, narcissistically, emotionally, and physically abused me. He’d rather pleasure himself than have anything romantic with me. He stopped trying. So I stopped somewhat to see if he’d notice but we just drifted further and further apart. I’m very happy we did. You are not the one I want to spend my life with. Now that you are out of the picture, doors are opening for me, my lucky is amazing, I’m excelling in work. School not so much. First test 65/100. Too much material for 1 test. 2nd test I went through adderall withdrawals for 5ish days. I slept so much. I was literally “high” on methamphetamines. I felt drunk, my stomach hurt so bad, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I was taking it as prescribed. Once per day. But before I was doing 4-5 times a week and I never had toxicity levels. So I’ll be going back to that for my health and safety. I stayed up late tonight and yesterday night. I’m tired but so so so hungry.
Goodnight xoxo
#time changes everything#7 years#survival#survival mode#emotional abuse#narcissistic abuse#ex boyfriend#narcissism#toxic relationship#gaslighting#college#school#moving forward#self improvement#free#life
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The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 13
Hello friends we have come to the end of Cult Girl. Thank you all for hyping me up throughout this story and giving me the confidence to actually post my work. Y/n and Hannibal throw a dinner party.
The sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the entire kitchen in that homey mid-morning glow. You were enjoying your coffee and scrolling through an article on your phone.
"Senator Hatch reportedly coughed up his late wife's toe on the floor of the precinct." You read out loud. "Huh. Wonder how that could have happened."
You side-eyed Hannibal, who was contentedly sharpening his knives. Placing a rather large meat cleaver to the side, he met your gaze. "I have my ways."
You finished off your coffee and brought the mug to the sink. "There was no way Theresa was going to survive that night, was there?"
"Clever girl." Hannibal praised.
"You were going to kill her if I didn't, were you?" You felt a smile coming on. "Did everything turn out as expected?"
"Darling, this all went much better than I could have ever hoped for." He smirked. "See, I had the whole evening mapped out. I was hoping you'd be the one to deliver justice and kill her, but I had to prepare for the possibility that you wouldn't."
You folded your arms and leaned against the island. "Is that why I was so sick that day?"
You could have sworn you saw some hesitation in Hannibal's face. Maybe even a touch of regret. "Yes. You needed an alibi. It was as easy as removing a single birth control pill from your packet. You'd see it was missing and think you'd already taken your medicine-"
"So I'd neglect to take my focus meds." You cut in. "Yeah, I knew something was off."
"By the end of the day, you'd be experiencing full withdrawal symptoms." Hannibal nodded. "I don't take any pleasure in upsetting the delicate balance of your brain chemistry, and for that I am sorry. I did what I had to."
"Yeah, don't ever do that again." You ordered, no disarming smile in sight. "I need those meds to function."
"I promise you, darling," Hannibal said, sincerely. "I would never keep you from being anything but your very best. I was just looking after you."
"I suppose now that all this is out in the open, you won't need to pull any shit like that again." You muttered. "But I'm still going to keep my pills at my apartment."
"That reminds me." He said. "Would you like to invite your roommates for dinner tonight? I've prepared a wonderful Spanish-inspired menu that's perfect for entertaining."
"I'd love for you to meet my friends, but, they all keep such weird hours I doubt they'll all be free tonight." You shrugged. "I'll give them a call though."
"Wonderful." He smiled. "You make arrangements while I prepare the kitchen."
You stepped into the office and called up Pilar. She answered within the minute.
"[F/N]!" She near shouted. "Holy fuck, how are you doing?"
"I'm actually doing..." you looked back into the kitchen, watching your beloved Hannibal in his element. "Really well."
"I heard about your cousin." Pilar cut in. "One down, two to go."
You snorted. "No fucking shit."
"Sorry, was that okay for me to say?" She apologized. "I know you said Theresa was a bitch, but it's your trauma and I-"
"No, you're fine." You laughed. "She was a bitch. Hey, do you have any plans tonight?"
"Uh, no. I don't think so." She answered. "Why?"
"Hannibal wants to invite you all for dinner tonight." You said with an audible smile. "Y'know, to celebrate the bitch's death."
"Yo! Steph!" Pilar shouted across the room. "Wake Randy up! We're having dinner at [F/N]'s rich boyfriend's house!"
You could make out Stephanie's voice in the background. "It's about damn time. We've been waiting for her to redistribute the wealth."
"She means thank you for the invitation." Pilar corrected.
"It's not like I had to twist his arm or anything. It was his idea." You chuckled. "He loves having guests. And excuses to dress up."
"Oh so we're getting fancy, huh?" Pilar's voice turned up in excitement.
"Hey [F/N]!" Randy snatched the phone from Pilar. "Text me the menu for tonight. My girlfriend'll steal a nice bottle of wine to pair. She's a pro, she works over at Cavatappi's wine and spirits."
"Much obliged, Randy." You said. "I'll see you guys at seven."
You returned to the kitchen with a smile. "They're coming."
"Well, we don’t have a moment to lose, then." Hannibal placed something wrapped in butcher paper on the counter. "Come now. Let me show you how to properly prepare a heart.
You and Hannibal spent the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon preparing a bountiful meal. You reveled in the irony of finally finding a space for Theresa in your life. That space just so happened to be on the stove.
Seven came far too quickly, but your friends were always a welcome sight. You greeted them at the door with hugs, Hannibal watching with stoic adoration.
"Guys, this is Hannibal Lecter, my partner." You introduced. "Hannibal, this is Pilar, Stephanie and Miranda."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies." Hannibal greeted. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
"Here you go, Dr. Lecter." Randy handed him a bottle of wine. "Thank you for inviting us."
Hannibal examined the bottle. "Yes, this will pair quite nicely with our meal. Thank you very much. [F/N], could you show our guests to the dining room?"
You nodded and accepted the bottle, given the extra responsibility of pouring. You led your friends to the dining room and wasted no time distributing the alcohol.
"A toast." Stephanie rose her glass. "Too many of history's worst have had the privilege of dying on their own terms. Today, we celebrate the death of one who didn't: Theresa [L/N]."
"She will join her sisters Nancy Reagan and Madame Nhu in hell tonight." You concurred, tapping your glasses together with a series of satisfying clinks.
"Okay, you need to spill." Randy scooted her chair up and leaned towards you. "How the hell did you get away with it?"
"Well, it helped a lot that her husband was already a felon." You teased. "If I didn't kill her, he was going to eventually."
Pilar made a face. "I can't believe it took actual murder to get that latter-day lump thrown in prison."
"Well, the LDS church is a very influential organization with a stronghold on all of Utah." You explained. "There's a long history of legitimizing sex abuse there."
"We know, cult girl." Stephanie laughed. "You remind us every time your pedophile cousin-in-law comes up. Relax and take your victories where you can get them.”
“Ladies,” Hannibal entered. You rushed to his side to help him with the dinner plates. “Have we ever tried organ meat before?”
Everyone’s eyes found Pilar.
“Braised liver is delicious and you guys are just cowards.” Pilar protested. “I will die on this hill.”
Hannibal smiled and presented your friends with their plates. “You are a woman of good tastes, Pilar. Our first course is Riñones al Jerez.”
“Kidneys.” Randy translated. “Who’s kidneys are we eating today, Dr. Lecter?”
He tilted his head. “Theresa’s, of course.”
“I don’t care whose organs you harvested.” Stephanie said, her eyes rolling back into her head. “This is delicious.”
You and Hannibal shared a glance and a smile.
You and your roommates devoured the Riñones al Jerez, then dug into the next serving of heart stewed with chickpeas and olives. You finished off the evening with natillas de leche and a bottle of Sauternes Hannibal just happened to have lying around.
“This is the first time since like, Keith Raniere got sentenced that I’ve seen [F/N] happy-drunk.” Stephanie observed.
“Or even just... happy." Pilar said, looking at Hannibal. "I'll have some of whatever she's having, please."
"My pleasure." Hannibal poured her another glass of wine.
Your phone began to buzz on the table, capturing the attention of your guests. You didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Nobody else in the world had such horrid timing.
"Shit, you've got to answer it here!" Stephanie pleaded. "So we can all give her a piece of our mind!"
You looked over to Hannibal, who you knew was just as curious.
You dragged the answer icon across the screen and put it on speaker. You gestured for your friends to be quiet. "Yeah?"
"Well look who finally decided to pick up." Grandma said. "Thank you for gracing me with your attention. I know you have so much going on right now, you're just too busy to pick up the phone and talk to your grieving grandmother."
"For your information..." you stumbled over your words. "I was interrogated by the police yesterday. I think that counts as having something going on."
"Are you drunk?" Her voice was laced with a disproportionate level of disgust.
"I'm grieving too, Beatrice." You counter. "What, suddenly you're the only one who can drink the pain away? That's not very democratic of you."
"In your state, you shouldn't even be thinking of alcohol!" Grandma scolded. "You of all people should know the effects alcohol has on an unborn baby."
You smacked yourself on the head. Of course Theresa would plant a seed to fuck you over one last time. "Did Theresa actually tell you I was pregnant?"
"It was her last message to me, actually. Anyway, you're coming home." Grandma said, without so much as waiting for a response. "I won't have my great grandchild living in that dangerous city that your cousin was killed in."
You exchanged looks with your friends, who were going through the same combination of emotions as you were. Grandma's words just seemed to fade out as you shared an entire nonverbal conversation with the people around you.
"And you're leaving that terrible, terrible man."
Hannibal raised an eyebrow and looked at you, waiting to see how you'd respond. You knew what you had to do. It was finally time. You did something you should have done a long time ago.
"No." You said, your nerves loosened by the wine.
"What?"
"No. And I mean it." A big smile crossed your lips. "Theresa lied to you. I'm not pregnant. And you have to live with the fact that your granddaughter's last words to you were a blatant lie."
Hannibal looked at you with pride and your friends began to silently gas you up with encouraging gestures. "
"...And that you're the only one to blame for her deception." You continued. "You raised her in your own image."
"This is why I refuse to let you raise my great grandchild with that man!" She wailed. "He's twisted your mind against me! He's made you cruel!"
"Hannibal made me see clearly that you made me cruel." You said with absolute certainty. "You'll never see me again."
"Don't be like your mother, [F/N]." Grandma snarled. "Don't cut people out for trying to help."
"You'll never see me again." You repeated and decided to leave it at that. You ended the call and blocked the number, joined by an eruption of excitement from your friends.
It was finally over. Your life could truly begin.
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it's in the blood // this is tradition
Summary: Children inherit all sorts of traits from their parents. Not all these traits are good.
"My reputation preceded me before I was born."
[ charlotte & lola au ]
A/N: 2292 words. Halsey's new album killed me on the spot. i talk a lot about the next gen being mirrors of their parents, but i'd like to go into detail about that not necessarily being a positive. @misscharlottelee this made me feel things. i love these kids.
Warnings: overdose mention, addiction discussion, mentions of drug abuse.
Penelope Dingley-Lee
Tommy can count the amount of times he'd seen Razzle truly angry on one hand, and here and now he can see it again, written all over his neice's face. He'd thought she would look like Charlie when she's angry, and occasionally she does, the way her lip curls derisively, dismissively, that's very reminiscent of his cousin, but here and now, her blue eyes are hazy, cloudy, and her lips twist with an irate arrogance that is worryingly familiar.
Angry and high and wearing clothes that don't quite match, in this moment she's exactly her father's daughter.
She's been in the papers again. Her tits have been in magazines again. Tommy bites down on his instinctual desire to repremand her; she'd call him a hypocrite, call him an old man, tell him to keep his opinions to himself while she could still buy his sex tape out of a shady car boot down the street.
Charlie was like that too, on occasion, wit too quick for him to keep up with. When she got into a mood like this, Tommy didn't have to worry so much; usually Razzle would egg her on, but knew when to pull her back.
"It's my god given, motherfucking right to go feral -" he'd heard Charlie back in the eighties holler at three in the morning, high on amphetamines and waving a gossip rag above her head. Razzle would be on the sofa, equally fucked up, but gazing at her like she hung the stars in the sky.
"Lola gets photographed at least once a month stark naked along the strip like it's a sport, why is my Playboy shoot a national crisis?! My tits are fantastic!"
"They are, my love," Razzle nods seriously, and Tommy pulls his pillow from beneath his head, trying to either block out their voices through the thin walls, or maybe smother himself. The girl beside him, the groupie whose name he doesn't know, asks blearily why there's so much yelling. Tommy doesn't answer.
A week later, Tommy is the one to bail out Charlie and Razzle for public indecency, and they're both beaming from ear to ear.
Here in the present, Penny is draped out on the sofa, laughing low and pleased as she watches TV.
"TMZ blurred out my tits," she snorts, "cowards."
"Penny..." he can't help the faintly disappointed notes in his voice when he says her name.
"Thomas, I've read The Dirt," Penny fires back venemously. Hypocrite he hears in her tone, you have no power over me.
There's something hollow in her eyes in the photos he sees of her in the papers. She wears her father's inflluence and her heart on her crushed velvet sleeve, on the arm of a shallow, pretty, band boy who plays badly and loudly. But she laughs louder, though tthe sound is low and unconvincing if anyone bothered to listen hard enough, and Tommy wonders if he has enough dark hair dye left for when that boy breaks her heart.
Jupiter Lee
Tommy is proud to watch Jupiter on stage, but he is afraid.
Their anger is something he remembers from Lola, the way they cling to the past with vitriol echoes their mother, but on stage, they drink up the attention, get high off the love the audience gives, and he sees himself in those moments.
A child of addicts, Jupiter had drawn lines in the sand for themselves that they refused to cross; no alcohol, no drugs, and they'd stayed loyal to that. But highs come in all forms; they simply picked a different kind of poison without realising.
On stage, halfway between the gutter and a god complex, Tommy knows the smile they wear all too well.
Rebellion from Jupiter didn't shock the world like it did when it was Penny's name in the papers. Jupiter's trajectory was spot on in the eyes of the public, but rebellion wouldn't be the thing that broke them.
Once, so long ago that it's a miracle the memory survived, Tommy remembers asking Lola what she would be doing if she wasn't with the band. Lola gave him an easy, bleary smile, laughing sweetly when she told him that one way or another, she'd be here. In the moment it overwhelms him with love. In hindsight it breaks his heart.
"Come on, I think this is inevitable," Jupiter smiles on television as an interviewer asks them the same question; if they weren't making music what they'd be doing, "as if I'd do anything other than this."
'Don't you know where I come from?' is left unspoken, but Tommy still hears it.
He tries to picture himself in a life without the world at his feet the way he has now. No image comes to mind. Nothing else makes sense. Even if he wanted to do something else, wanted to grow up to be something else, he couldn't even begin to picture it for himself, tragedy and all.
They play their parts. They let history repeat itself. Jupiter makes mistakes Tommy and Lola had already learned from. Penny plays Jupiter's conciousness until the role grates on her nerves, diving head first into chaos, taking Jupiter with her with little convincing.
Tommy remembers this too.
When the world looks at Penny and Jupiter, they like to remember how Lola was seen as a bad influence on Charlotte, but forget that Tommy would have followed Charlotte in to Hell without hesitation.
Leo "Seo" Sixx
Lola has google alerts set up for her son, Seo, because he disappears for months without warning. Tommy asks how he is, and Lola looks to her phone with a tight smile, telling him that he's competeing in a skateboarding competition in Prague. She learned that from Twitter.
Seo comes and goes without warning, and talks to his siblings more than his parents. He loves them, but he hasn't allowed himself to stop for years. He doesn't know how. Then again, neither did Lola or Nikki.
"Jupiter thinks a lot about legacy, don't they?" He's in Tommy's kitchen, eating a poptart, when Tommy returns home one friday evening. He's waiting for Penny and Jupiter to finish getting ready, the three of them going out.
"Do your parents know you're in town?" Tommy asks with faint amusement, though there's a twinge of guilt in his gut when Leo considers that he should probably let them know. Says he forgot. Tommy's not sure if he believes him; like his parents before him, he tends to leave a lot unsaid. It's part of his charm, the world seems to think, but Tommy knows all to well how deliberate of an act it can be.
"Jup's got all this stuff in their head about legacy and who they should be," he continues his earlier thought, "which I guess makes sense, they tie a lot of themselves up in their identity," he shrugs, then, "I don't know Leo."
Tommy's not sure if he's talking about the grandfather he's named after, or himself.
"You've given this a lot of thought," Tommy says quietly, humouring him.
"I think a lot," Seo responds, "I've been thinking about going back on my meds, its weird being off of them." Of course this concerns Tommy, who knows objectively that Seo isn't his kid, but he's close enough that Tommy feels like he's allowed to be concerned. "I'm worried a doctor's note isn't going to be enough to let me compete at the Olympics on speed," falls too casually from Seo's lips, alarming Tommy in an instant. Though it must clearly show on his face, as Seo breaks out into an apologetic grin, "dextroamphetamine, for my ADHD. I've been trying to wean off it for the Olympics, it's been hard -" but his next words, said so blithe, so casual, have Tommy's heart stopping in his chest as he's thrown back thirty years, "I've been on them since I was like eleven years old; it was great, I could think, like the right amount, but now I... I think everything. I feel everything. Its a lot." He shrugs, like he didn't just become an echo of his father.
Seo's parents both died twice from overdoses, and now their son feels like he can't function without amphetamines.
Objectively Tommy knows that they work for Seo, that he's not abusing them he simply uses them to help him function, but the irony is not lost on him. It's a lot to unpack. He doesn't think to ask about the Olympics; it slips his mind until he sees Seo and a silver medal on his Twitter feed.
Lola calls Tommy in tears. She's proud, but she wishes she'd known, wishes she'd been able to watch it live, or go over and support him in person.
No-one in Seo's life seems to fully know or understand his intentions or actions, no-one can predict his next move. He puts up a bright facade, but like his parents before him, he does not trust the world to know him.
They don't know where he goes in the few months after the Olympics, all they know is that he doesn't come home.
Cerie "CerieThree" Sixx
Since she'd turned sixteen, Tommy has never seen Cerie Sixx without a smile. That is a very deliberate choice that she's made.
She's made a choice to rise above the percieved grime of her origins. She's halfway across the country, smiling for a camera she can control, editing her image before she lets it out into the world. Cerie Three - even the name the world knows reflects this; she's picked apart the context she was born into, disecting it, deciding which was useful to show the world, disposing of the rest.
She speaks warmly to her family, from what Tommy can gather, but the people on the peripheries of their life seem more like associates in the coldest sense of the world. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes half the time when she sees Tommy, and she shakes his hand when her brothers will hug him. The internet is closer to her than he is.
Cerie looks the most like her mother of all her siblings; she's 21, the exact same age Lola was when she met Tommy, but half the time he can barely see the resemblence. Lola had let the world see a villain at that age; Cerie had learned from that, had rejected that, rejected the cold, hard humanity of her mother's fronting. Cerie wanted to be perfect. Cerie had to be perfect, hyper aware of her own image, like her siblings seem to be, but the way she'd so effectively shaped her public identity was kind of terrifying.
Perhaps this was what it was like for people who didn't know Lola, only allowed to know the image she put out into the world, or people who only knew Nikki for his stage presence.
But the more Tommy thinks about it, the more he remembers just how effectively Lola had wrapped the band around her little finger when she set her mind to it, how she talked her way around exectives despite being dressed like she'd woken up in the gutter and fucked up on any number of drugs. Lola understood people, and it seemed Cerie did too.
Cerie Sixx, twenty one, doesn't stop creating content, doesn't stop studying, and doesn't stop smiling. Two of those three things are inhereted traits, inhereted determination, and the third is a choice.
Cyrus Sixx
Though Cyrus had inhereted much of his parent's musical talent, the same way Jupiter had, Cyrus had also inhereted a love of the high life. Even so, he's so full of love, kissing his mother on both cheeks before he goes out to get shitfaced in the bars she was decades before he was even born.
He works hard, at his job, on his music, but his partying matches it just as well. He knows exactly how far he has to fall before he meets the depths his parents' had sunk to, and though he doesn't voice this, his arrogance comes across in his actions.
There'd always be someone to pull him away from swan diving to rock bottom. He takes that for granted, and keeps getting closer and closer.
The only one of Nikki and Lola's children who still lives at home, he's the only one like them in the way they'd feared.
"He's going to have more success than he will ever be able to comprehend," Nikki had told Tommy, the day after Cyrus had been admitted to hospital after staying up for four days while high and obsessing over a song he had been working on. Nikki had found him having a fit after having fallen from his desk chair. Now, sitting on Tommy's patio in the sunset, he looks tired, he looks afraid, "if he doesn't end up killing himself first."
A month ago, the fire department and the police had to pull him, kicking and screaming and bareass naked from a tree in the middle of town. His parents had bailed him out, had felt a familiar sting of guilt as they find themselves reminded of their own youthful exploits. They repremand him, of course, but they both know the only reason they stopped climbing trees was because there had been no-one to pick them up after.
Nikki sees himself in his sons mistakes, but he'd had to learn concequences the hard way.
Tommy loves his family and all it's strange branches, as well as their raucous youth, but his closest friends were some of the most volatile people he'd known, and somehow he'd forgotten that as time as taken people and memories from him.
But these children were made in their image.
#nikki sixx#tommy lee#razzle dingley#nikki sixx x oc#tommy lee x oc#razzle dingley x oc#the dirt#motley crue#the dirt imagine#motley crue imagine#charlotte&lola#lola & charlotte#the angry lizard writes#the pack
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Alright we’re trying this angst thing again
Diamond Brothers Angst because I said so
Both Daiya and Mondo have huge self esteem issues bc of the crash
Both think stuff along the lines of what the fuck I could have prevented that
Neither Daiya nor Mondo can sleep very well because when they hear vehicles driving past and the occasional screeching tires they’re back at the scene of the accident
They hear a semi truck rumbling past? Suddenly neither of the brothers remember how to move or breathe properly
They both survived the crash but they were both injured severely bc fuck dude that was a truck that hit them
The Crazy Diamonds witnessed the whole thing and they were Worried™️
And we all know how the Owadas hate being vulnerable
Neither of the brothers could actively ride their motorcycles for a long time after the crash because they couldn’t handle it emotionally
They played off their mental recovery time as time in the hospital
Daiya made Mondo promise not to get back on his motorcycle, much less the road, until he was 100% sure that he was prepared to handle it because what if there’s another freak accident that neither of them have control over
Mondo made Daiya promise the exact same thing because He Cares™️
Mondo has reoccurring nightmares about the crash and often sees Daiya dead in those nightmares
The gang shows up in the nightmares too and they’ve all been hit and it’s all Mondo’s fault and he couldn’t be a good leader because he wasn’t strong enough and why couldn’t he just be more like his brother god fucking dammit
Sometimes he sees Taka or Chihiro in place of Daiya and the Diamonds and that Absolutely Terrifies Him™️
Daiya has reoccurring thoughts about hijacking a truck to hit the driver who hurt him and his little brother
He wants them to feel all the same pain and more that they put the Diamond Brothers through
Daiya has breakdowns over this because even if he is a gang leader, he would not go that far
cue the Am I A Bad Person Complex™️
Mondo does not let himself stim
He doesn’t think it’s manly and it definitely doesn’t fit the Tough Guy™️ act
This leads to worsened focus and next thing you know he and Daiya are having a yelling match at home because if Mondo’s grades drop any lower he’ll be expelled soon and Daiya just wants the best for his brother but nothing works out the way it was planned
One time Mondo received a popsicle stick and paper heart from Taka
He was extremely happy
When he got back to his dorm he was that happy that he was shaking and then oh shit
Mondo broke it
He snapped the popsicle sticks in half
the note that Taka wrote,, it got ripped in the process
Mondo full on sobbed over this for an hour at the least
Like
Actual
Real
Tears
He broke something that Taka— not just his bf, but his best friend— had worked so hard on to make just for him and he fucking broke it like a shit for brains idiot
Mondo is terrified of hurting his friends
Because what if he forgets to take his adhd meds one day and his emotional dysregulation is all fucked up and he has an outburst again and actually hurts his friends
Or what if he takes 2+ doses by accident and focuses too hard and is left staring at one (1) spot and everyone hates him and what if they think he’s a creep
Mondo hates going out of his dorm at night because what if someone else is out and they have a flashlight and now they’re pointing it at him and it’s bright and those are headlights and that’s
that’s his brother
on the ground
not moving
Mondo will start shaking and he’ll break down hyperventilating or freeze on the spot
Either way, he hates being vulnerable
Whaddaya think? :D was that enough angst?
also can you tell that i kin Daiya on the dl bc i too got hit by a moving vehicle to save my young mer sibling from being hit /lh but also srs lmfo
HEY TINK??? HEY TINK????????
GodDAMN make me cry over this shit oKAY-
also sorry this took ✨forever✨ I had to gather my Thoughts™️ and my brain did not want to work today 😌
also before we get into my things, tw for trauma (obviously), unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking/drug relapse/smoking as a crutch, and suicidal ideation (passive, but still there)
First of all, y e a h oh my god?? There is literally so much internalized guilt for both of them,,,,,like they rlly do have episodes sometimes where they just. Play over the events of what lead up to the crash in their heads and fixate on what they could have done differently,,,,,even though in the moment they both did their best? Like “well, I shouldn’t have taken us down this street” or “if I had acted quicker, maybe it wouldn’t have happened” and.....yeah those thoughts really fuck with them, y’know?
and 100% that unexpected/overwhelming vehicle noises and/or presences are nearly debilitating. Honestly, I imagine that Mondo can’t go hang out with Leon and Taka or whoever else if said people are hanging out in Kaz’s workshop. Owada’s only ever been in there once and immediately had to leave when he heard Kazuichi starting an engine he was working on. Not to mention being surrounded by a shit ton of vehicles, even if they were idle, had kept him on-edge the entire thirty seconds he was able to handle it.
They both deal with a lot of phantom pain, as well. Like something triggers them and suddenly, even if they’re able to remain in the moment and keep conscious of their surroundings, they somehow feel every ache, every twinge of pain, every breaking bone, or bruised patch of skin that they felt on that day. It’s a lot more prominent in Daiya than it is with Mondo, but they do both experience it!
And neither one lets the other know when they’re feeling like shit or having an episode because 😌 Daiya. wants to be strong. for his little brother. and Mondo. sees his brother basically functioning like a typical person. and figures that there’s something wrong with him. because he can’t get over what happened.
Takemichi is absolute shit with Emotions and being vulnerable or getting people to open up to him, but he’s like..........internally these bitches are Not Okay what the fuck am I supposed to do about it???? So he kind of...tries to hint to both of them that he’s worried? Without making it obvious or embarrassing them, but he’s like.......fuck these assholes.......making me be the one to make them realize they need help goddamnit........
And michi exhibiting a change in behavior is pretty 👀 because. it’s michi I mean he’s not just gonna change the way he talks in front of u for nothing, u know? So both Daiya and Mondo are actually able to pick up on it, although their reactions differ pretty greatly.
Like Daiya’s first thought is “wow, he’s worried, that’s really sweet of him. Better convince him everything’s okay.”
Meanwhile Mondo’s is “wow, he’s worried. my stupid emotional turmoil is that obvious. he must think I’m some sorta fuckin idiot for not being able to get over it. or selfish. or both. yeah, probably both.”
Also I think Daiya’s pretty perceptive in general? Like he can Tell™️ that something’s going on with his brother, but........yeah emotional conversations....vulnerability......that’s rlly neither of their strong suits. + he also figures that if it were something mondo were really really really having trouble with, he would come talk to him!
And so Daiya has absolutely no concept of just how Not Good his brother is doing right now hbbvvvv
So he settles for being like “I’m just gonna stay strong and act like the memories and intrusive thoughts aren’t affecting me in any way because I want to be a good role model” (which. is not healthy obv)
oh g o d the nightmares
they are so horrible and vivid and concentrated at times that Mondo simply.....refuses to sleep. He’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and yet he can’t bring himself to close his eyes because he knows what he’ll see if he does.
And of course it affects him to the point that his friends start to become worried. Like Taka notices a stark increase in tardiness or general absences, and, after an initial assumption that it was simply Mondo choosing not to care about his academics again, realized that there was probably a lot more going on than he realized. He really, really wanted to bring it up and let his boyfriend know that he’ll always be there for him no matter what, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to articulate it properly. The farthest he gets is with the question, “is everything okay?”
And as much as Mondo wants to respond to him by saying that no, in fact, everything is not okay, everything sucks and everything hurts and he’s tired and he hates himself and sometimes he wishes that the crash had killed him, but that’s selfish so he should shut up- he just.....can’t bring himself to open himself up like that. Yes, he and Ishi are dating, so logically he should be able to tell him all this, but.....it’s so much. It’s too much. Too much to think, too much to feel, let alone try to explain. So he shuts himself up with a quick, curt, “Yeah.”
And....Taka knows he’s lying. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. And it hurts to see someone he loves so much in such a state of anguish, and basically be unable to do anything about it because....how is he supposed to respond? What is he supposed to say? Navigating everyday interaction is difficult enough without having to improv something that could affect his partner’s mental health indefinitely. So....he does his best. Which isn’t enough, really, but it’s something.
“You can tell me anything.”
Mondo wants to believe him.
—
Another side of that same coin is Mondo skipping class a lot more than is typical for him. It’s almost always with Leon, but he’s also begun slipping away on his own, occasionally, as well, now.
And....y’know, at first, Leon thought it was super rad that Owada and he were skipping more! Like it used to be that Kuwata would offer for them to miss the next class, and Mondo’s usual answer would be ‘not today,’ and then Leon would keep bugging him about it until Mondo either gave in or told him to fuck off.
But....there’s just something about how it went from Leon being constantly shut down, to being told yes around the first few times the idea was brought up, to how, suddenly, Kuwata wasn’t even the one asking, anymore. It’s....depressing? Uncomfortable?
There’s also the fact that hanging out while they’re cutting just....isn’t as fun as it used to be? Leon’ll crack jokes or come up with stupid dares, and Mondo’s responses will be noncommittal at best. And Leon’s had enough experience with sleep deprivation to know it in his friends when he sees it.
He’s never been put in this situation before - usually it’s kuwata having some sort of stupid episode and usually it’s owada who’ll tell him to chill the fuck out and think rationally about things, but....Mondo acts a lot different when he’s upset than Leon does. He smokes more. Cuts himself off from everyone. Doesn’t engage with anything.
It’s different with people like Toko, or Makoto, or Kaz, because Leon knows what they need. He knows whether or not they need vulnerability, or a physical presence, or tough love, or tactile grounding, or a willing ear or shoulder to cry on, but with Mondo......he just isn’t sure.
So Leon doesn’t comment.
——-
Chihiro’s probably the one to get him to open up about it ngl.
ANYWAY-
y e a h Daiya intrusive thoughts?????? fuck yeah???? absolutely??????
god yeah I rlly feel him on that ngl hbhdbdbdbbb
and MONDO DARLING 🥺
god okay it SUCKS because????? he doesn’t judge his friends for stimming????? Like he sees his friends fidgeting or repeating phrases or rocking back and forth and he’s like???? Hell yeah you go u funky kid ilysm
But when it comes to himself????? he’s like if I do anything aside from stay perfectly still, I’m weird and bad and a failure so I simply Will Not
he’s wrong but it doesn’t change the fact that he feels that way ❤️
hhhvhvvdd I’m also a slut for daiya doing his best as a makeshift parental figure,,,,,,,like fuck dude okay,,,,,,as an older sibling who also loves and cares about their younger sibs but often finds emotionally connecting with them to be difficult,,,,,,,,,mood??? And having all of that amplified by rlly being his younger bro's only support in his home life,,,,,,,like ok mr. owada go off
he feels a lot of pressure to get it right and make sure that Mondo's doing okay, so the grades really worry him. but, of course, grades are a touchy subject with mondo regardless, so as u said it devolves into arguments and yelling and a lot of defensiveness!!
and god okay,,,,,,,the heart rlly got me,,,,,,,like that hurt. it rlly hurt man okay damn
honestly??? I think that might be the thing that gets him to break. like that might be his final straw.
because when they meet up again, Ishi asks him about it and whether or not he liked it. And Mondo just.
fucking.
breaks.
down.
He’s shaking and he’s crying and there’s snot running down his nose and this is so ugly and so not manly but he can’t stop. he can’t stop. Because there is this sweet, gentle, kind, sweet, beautiful, darling, sweet man before him who did something so nice for him, something he didn’t deserve, and he destroyed it.
Like he destroys everything.
And so when Taka panics and asks him what’s wrong (yes Ishi gets worried that he did something bad and yes ishi also gets worried that his boyfriend didn’t like the present because hdbdvdvd kin 💛) owada just. spills everything. and he doesn’t even begin with the gift??? he starts with apologies upon apologies, many of them incoherent, and many of them with Mondo not even certain what he’s apologizing for, just that he knows he needs to
and ofc Taka is like o-o because wow ok
but after his initial shock, and after Mondo has thoroughly cried himself out and explained everything he could stand to explain at that point in time, Taka just......holds him. And strokes his face, brushing away the tears that have not yet dried, simply offering his body as a weight, as something for Mondo to ground himself with. And it works.
And Taka insists that Mondo has nothing to apologize for, only that he wishes Mondo would have told him what was going on sooner. Because he wants to help. And hearing that just gets Owada’s waterworks going all over again, but he’s still got Ishi there with him. He hasn’t scared him off.
And it’s more than enough.
—
and UGH yeah????? yes absolutely absolutely okay okay so,,,,,,,,mondo comorbid adhd/depression/anxiety
like sir 🤝
got me fucked up smh
honestly he’s probably not diagnosed with the depression or anxiety, either, until something like the incident with ishi prompts him to realize oh wow I’m not okay actually
so yes he 100% does???
he constantly has all of these what if situations swirling around in his brain about what might happen if he fucks up, or does something that he doesn’t qualify as fucking up in the moment, but leads to something awful or painful or harmful for someone else, and he’s just??????? g o d
#sorry this took forever and i doubt it’s even legible my god#but yes angst 🥺#mondo sweetie......I’d die for u....#also not me getting distracted every fifteen minutes or so by spotify playing a song that reminds me of a headcanon for a different char 😳#took me all day to write this I’m sobbing#danganronpa#ask box#mondo owada#car crash#car crash tw#trauma#trauma tw#angst#dr#ishimondo#daiya owada#the-human-sharpie#non despair au (danganronpa)#crazy diamonds#diamond brothers#kiyotaka ishimaru#trigger happy havoc#danganronpa trigger happy havoc#thh#dr thh#dr headcanon tag
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Hi. I love your blog! I’m in the middle of a second major depressive episode (my first was in my teens) and like you were, I’m unemployed and living with my parents. I’m now on medication and getting help and applying for jobs, but no luck so far. How did you ‘turn your life around’ and how long did it take you – going from depressed to starting a successful career in the non-profit world? Any advice on how I could do the same?
Oh, Anon. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but in no way did I turn my life around, and I definitely didn’t build a career intentionally.
A lot of the below is general advice -- you are already doing great! -- but I figure some people who are where you are but not quite as far along could be helped by it. Thanks for the opportunity :)
So, here’s the thing: depression is the kind of mental illness that can just be with you for the rest of your life even when it’s not impacting your life. Some depression is situational and therefore (theoretically) escapable, but some of us are just never going to forge enough serotonin on a regular enough schedule. So it’s not a matter of beating depression or backing away from it, but of learning good coping mechanisms: how to recognize an episode is coming, how to keep functioning in a depressive episode, when to ask for help.
And unfortunately while I can tell you what works for me, this is going to vary by person. Some people feel sad all the time; some people feel numb; some people feel okay but are overly impacted by minor setbacks or frustrations, or can do normal life stuff but any deviation from routine sends them into a spiral. These are just examples; there are more. My methods of coping are stuff like building lists, making sure that those lists have stuff like “communicate with friends” on them, being on specific platforms that make that communication easy, and inasmuch as I can, avoiding drama and volatile emotions. Doing the bare minimum of housework to keep myself from being MORE depressed. Making sure my work gets done so that I keep my job, even if I feel like other parts of my life might be out of control.
And as I’ve recently mentioned, I write fiction as a stress response. If I’m not writing but I’m doing okay -- keeping my house clean, feeling good, having fun -- that’s fine. Not optimal, I like writing, but it’s fine. If I’m writing, I’m probably a little stressed, but I’m managing it. If I’m not writing AND I’m not functioning well, or I know I’m unhappy, then I know that the depression is probably worse than I think it is, and I need to go into survival mode.
Some people need meds -- taken year round, even when you’re not depressed. There’s no shame in that and if you aren’t currently using medication, I would recommend at least investigating its use to see if it could help. [ETA: Sorry I 100% missed the part where you are on medication, but this is still useful for others so I’m leaving it in.]
So like...”how long did it take me” is a tough question to answer because I’m still in it. I will be, all my life, and once I came to accept that, I could figure out ways to keep it from devastating me. How long it took me to establish good coping mechanisms? Well, I was diagnosed at 17, which is a rough age to be when it starts happening, but I managed to survive college (barely) and I feel like I had a pretty good handle on managing it by the time I was, I guess about 25. The point at which I was unemployed and living with my parents was the absolute low point of my life, when I was 23-24, but that was compounded by external factors. As soon as I got out of my parents’ house, things improved; as soon as I had a job, even a truly shitty one, I felt like life was survivable. (A huge coping mechanism in those days was actually Netflix, back when it was a mail-you-a-DVD service, because I knew at least a few times a week I would get mail addressed to me with a nice surprise in it.)
And the thing about being here now is -- my parents gave me three grand to get out of the house, find a place of my own, and survive 2-3 months until I could find a job. I couldn’t have done any of what I’ve done without three solid thousand dollars, and even then I got lucky. I quit my first, super shitty job (the only time I have EVER quit a job) and got a job with my last place of work literally two week before the 2008 financial crisis hit. That job happened to be a very visible if very ground-floor administrative position, and from there I was able to impress people who wanted to hire me up to the next administrative level, and from there I was promoted into the department because I showed an active and visible interest in the work they did. That was intentional, but literally nothing before it was anything other than “I need a job and this one offers health insurance.”
Once you have a job in which advancement is possible, which again is a matter somewhat of luck, advancing is just a matter of maintaining a good work-life balance while doing good work and showing you’re interested in supporting the mission of the company. Documenting the work you do, asking for raises, asking or applying for advancement -- putting yourself forward. That’s not so hard. But that’s kind of like starting on third base and telling someone you just need to run 90 feet. You’ve got to get to third base first and for me that was a lot of luck.
But here’s the kicker: you can’t win the lottery unless you buy a ticket. So for you, right now, waiting on that opportunity, your job is to keep yourself alive and reasonably looked-after, gather all the energy you have, and start figuring out a game plan. Whether that’s a shitty job that you agree with yourself you’ll only do for a year, or asking your parents for a huge financial leap of faith if they’re able -- three grand was a LOT for my parents but they knew it was probably going to save my life -- or applying to better jobs that could push you up the ladder. And of course we’re in a pandemic so like, fuck the world, all of this is just that much harder. But people are being hired, and people are moving into apartments, and going to therapy, and doing their best. So there’s hope, as long as you start homebrewing it first.
The thing that has helped me the most in the last twenty years, and which I think may be most helpful and simultaneously most frustrating to you, is that I never just said “I don’t like where I am or what I’m feeling”. I started there, absolutely, but then I asked, “What can I change to stop feeling this way?”
You have to rule out “nothing” as an answer. You probably will have to sit with the question for a while, maybe even a few weeks. You may need to google some weird shit to figure it out. And maybe what you do is a stupid stop-gap like buying yourself a $1 blind box toy once a week so you can feel surprise at something again. Maybe you admit that right now you need to pass the baton and you unfollow or blacklist political activism and activists and just fill your social media with people making dumb dad jokes and posting cat pictures. Maybe that gives your brain breathing room to find more permanent solutions.
But once you get in the habit of “how can I change this”, solutions do start to appear.
So, yeah. Truth is I worked super hard but I also got super lucky. But part of being lucky was being there when the luck finally hit. So I’m wishing you, wholeheartedly, the best of luck.
(Also if your parents have money and aren’t assholes I can’t recommend “Make them give you a long-term loan to get on your feet” strongly enough.)
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The story so far
One month after graduating high school in 2015 I was finally able to move away from my family. I was 18 and moved to California for college. Fortunately one of the scholarships I earned was accompanied by a summer program that started in the middle of the summer before fall semester. Shortly after settling in a safe, stable environment for the first time in my life I started to get better. A lot better at first. Then life happened, as it does, and 18 years of repressed trauma and abuse broke me. My nervous breakdown ruined my fall semester, I couldn't go to classes or take exams or function as a student anymore. Until this point, being an exceptional student was all I had and basically how I survived. My safe and stable environment now was dependant on maintaining a certain GPA, among other requirements I could no longer meet. I failed one of my main courses because I had a 0 on 2 exams, including the final. When I went home I was put on antipsychotics. Returning to campus for the 2016 spring semester, I attempted to seek more therapy. I wasn't successful in finding a good therapist (for me, therapy is a personal thing. Just because someone isn't a good therapist for me doesn't necessarily mean they are a bad therapist). I did continue to see my 2 psychiatrists (emergency and regular) often as they attempted to adjust my medication to find something that work. My agoraphobia worsened, I stopped sleeping, I could barely eat, I was manic one moment and dissociative the next, SH and suicidal ideation worsened. I was a burden to my friends and loved ones. I made it through this because I had a beautiful support system that I will forever be grateful for, but I ended up taking a leave of absence academically for my second semester, earning no credits and putting my scholarships at further jeopardy. I was allowed to stay on campus because it was clear I was dangerously unstable with no safe environment to return to and because I had incredible advocates looking out for me. I had realized that I wasn't going to get better in time to salvage my academic career and my life, and was mostly clueless as to how I would survive. I had had an internship in my field since I started college, but I earned basically no money. STEM internships aren't really made to be livable for undergrads, so I had mostly been working for experience in a field I would no longer be able to progress in. Bummer. My physical health had taken a huge dive for all of 2016. I basically always knew I was chronically ill, but I had been abused and gaslit my entire life to believe and act like I was fine, I was just a weak baby, I didn't know what real pain or suffering was, seizures were to be ignored, no I didn't have migraines or pinched nerves (um hello SCOLIOSIS), etc etc. And 2016 was the year my body finally started to break, so I knew "regular" jobs weren't going to be a viable option for me, at least not for long.
And thus I became a survival SW. I stayed in college for a final semester, because I didn't want to miss my friends, I loved my campus and didn't know where else to live, I still needed a lot of campus resources. I also kept my internship as long as I could, because I knew I would miss it for the rest of my life. I didn't really go to classes, again, because as much as a desperately wanted to and as much as my advisors moved heaven and earth to try to make it work for me, I couldn't handle it. I was finally able to find 2 great therapists who I started seeing regularly who actually knew how to diagnose and treat me, one at school and one outside. This is also when I met Daddy (Jace) online. After talking for what is probably a stupidly short time, we fell in love and started dating. This is honestly my first real relationship and time actually catching genuine feelings for someone, something that I hadn't thought I was capable of. Despite being happier than I had ever been in so many ways, my mental and physical health was still steadily declining. My migraines and pain were getting worse, I hadn't been able to eat normally in months and relied entirely on medication to eat or sleep at all. Many people recommended mmj at this point in my life, but I was afraid of how it would interact with my other meds. I only smoked occasionally at parties at this point (because no way was I spending my super duper limited money on weed). I wonder if medicating with something that actually worked well for me, like weed, would have allowed me to finish college. Oh well I guess. Because of my inability to attend classes, I had to take another leave for the fall semester 2016. I worked at a strip club briefly, but my health couldn't handle it for long.
I didn't want to go home for the first winter break in 2015, but campus closed and I had nowhere else to go. It was turbulent. When summer 2016 came, I still didn't go home despite having no place to stay. Until a month or so later, it was revealed to me a relative had terminal cancer. I had to go home again. It was worse than turbulent. When winter 2016 came, my relative was in much worse condition. They only had a few months left, and this was probably my last chance to say goodbye. This visit was by far the most traumatic, and more because of my parents than watching a loved one die. At least Jace was able to come meet me for the first time in person. He also got to meet my relative before they passed 🖤
Freshly fucked up by family, I retuned to California at the beginning of 2017. I was mostly taking a break from SW because of my health and was working vanilla jobs as I could (so not much). I had a pretty decent job that I was really good at and had been promoted, but then my relative passed. I started losing consciousness again ( I had many seizures and fainting spells in my childhood and during high school) and had to quit my job. the funeral was in spring 2017, I flew to Jersey to be with Daddy for a few days and then he drove me several states over for the memorial. That was the last time I saw my family. I wanted to transition to online/content creating, but I had no tech knowledge or equipment (even my phone was a potato). In high school I wasn't allowed to have a smartphone, most social media other than what was heavily monitored (and still had 0 experience with platforms sw is popular on besides Tumblr I guess), I didn't really know much about cameras. Way too sheltered and broken to feel like I could start anything. I was now seeing my outside, or I guess regular and only, therapist twice a week and doing treatments that while working for me were insanely (literally) hard. I had been able to get an apartment with roommates at a super discount in return for taking care of their crazy dog, which was a win win for me (he was a good boi just crazy from a bad past and had the worst separation anxiety). The agreement was that I would live with them until the lease was up in September, and then we would reevaluate the situation. Then they both got promoted at their mega corporation jobs. And after their wedding found a really gorgeous apartment in a much fancier part of the city, and paid to break our lease early in June leaving me homeless. I had been fired from my last 2 jobs (probably for being disabled because California is at will employment but who knows I might have been fired from the nanny job because the husband wanted to fuck me). I had no money or anywhere to go. All of my friends were almost as broke as me, so while I had offers to couchsurf at a few of their places they had other roommates who would have been pissed and in a few months they would be going back to school anyways. Daddy and I had been trying to save up to move in together for months, but he was going to move to California. We didn't have any money for that, so instead he asked me to move in with him in New Jersey. Leaving meant I lost my health insurance and my therapist. It was supposed to be much more temporary and we were supposed to move back to California much sooner than we were able to. I try not to be mad at those roommates because being angry doesn't change anything, but it really sucked.
Moving in with Daddy meant we could start our blog! And I was super happy at first, the happiest I could ever remember. But the years had been too hard and my health started to get worse than ever before. Without treatment and so traumatized, my brain and body were constantly at war. I would wake with splitting migraines, throwing up, my chronic pain became completely unmanageable. I started to need weed all the time because it was the only thing that stopped my cyclical vomiting episodes and kept me out of the hospital. My antipsychotics and other meds had been high-key fucking me up (probably shouldn't have been on them in the first place, thank you doctor who also ignored my seizures even when I had one in front of you) and were almost impossible to come off of because the withdrawals. (Seriously, kicking xanax was easier for me than my antipsychotics.) I'm not anti medication or anything, I just know the ones I was on were not good for me anymore. I'd actually like to be on something again, I just need a doctor who actually understands PTSD and DID.
My health continued to be shit for most of 2018, with several ER visits for severe dehydration from vomiting for days on end. We started to make videos and do snapchat and online sessions to be able to make ends meet. Despite being in the worst situation and thus everything being a trizillion times harder, we really loved (and still love 😇) doing SW and creating content. Our fans and clients have been there in some of our darkest moments, just being lovely or pulling through for us when we needed it most. During 2018 and 2019 I became actively suicidal for the first time since I was 13. I struggled with self harm again. I have gotten worse than I ever thought possible. But I wouldn't have made it at all if it wasn't for SW, this community and our supporters.
At the beginning of 2020 we were finally able to move back to California. Obviously, the pandemic severely disrupted many of our plans, especially regarding my recovery. Despite things being delayed or shifted, we are in a much better place currently. I have what I need to get better and I can build a support system again. I will get better.
Talking about things is hard for me. Being open and honest is hard for me. For 18 years I was trained and abused to not be sad or show negative feelings, or talk about upsetting things, and it has been killing me slowly my entire life. I genuinely don't want pity or to make others feel bad, but I do want to give you the chance to get to know me. I don't always talk about things so much. But I'm trying to get better at it.
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so are we just not going to address that Sue didn’t even TRY to save Carrie
like, this drives my anatomy-nerd self up the wall, so i’m going to evaluate a lot of the different Carrie: The Musical death scenes and see if they would actually be as fatal as they were shown to be and if Sue could have saved Carrie if she hadn’t been a bumbling idiot
(i’m not doing the movies because in 1976 she dies from the house collapsing, in 2002 she’s actually saved, and in 2013 Sue couldn’t really do anything with Carrie using her powers on her)
also i’m not saying any of this is completely accurate. i’m not a med student, i just did a lot of research and am in an anatomy class. i could be wrong BUT here’s my shot at it
Broadway Kids
okay, so, at first glance, this one looks like it could be very much fatal. you can see that Carrie gets stabbed near her spine, on the (if i did my directions correctly) left side, which is where the heart is located. HOWEVER, she is stabbed in the upper part of the back instead of the center, so it would have missed her heart.
in return, the uppermost part of the left trapezius would have sustained the most damage. the trapezius’ main function is to support the weight of the arm and control the movement of the scapulae, so a puncture wound would have most likely caused it to seize up in the reaction to the pain, resulting in the inability to lift the left arm above the shoulder. a stab to the upper part of the back would also most likely puncture the left dorsal scapular nerve, which provides motor innervation to muscles, allowing them to move the scapula.
additionally, underneath all that muscle and tissue, we come to the skeleton.
depending on exact location, Carrie most likely would have been hit around the second to fifth rib. these upper ribs are incredibly tough. to cause actual damage to the organs they protect, you would need to go between the ribs. however, you can see that Margaret stabs vertically, not horizontally, so the knife would not go in all the way. that bone is going to do its job and protect the lungs and heart by blocking it from entry. the most that could have happened is that maybe the tip got through and nicked one of the lungs, but not nearly enough to be fatal. damage would lie mainly in the flesh, muscle, and tissue.
for example:
i don’t think Carrie would be able to prop herself up on her arms like that. all her weight is going onto that injury and causing it to bleed even more, which could have been the thing that actually killed her, but not as quickly as it did.
and then we see here that she shifts all of her weight onto that injured side, which would only deepen her pain. though it is more realistic than her using the left arm to stop Margaret, as she most likely would have not been able to lift it with her injury.
BK Carrie should have survived, but dumbass Sue didn’t think to do ANYTHING, even though Carrie TELLS HER she’s hurt.
like the most she’s doing, MAYBE, is that with the way Carrie is positioned, Sue’s leg may be pressing against the wound, which would help stem the bleeding, but that’s a huge “maybe.”
but yeah, Carrie should have survived this wound.
Seattle!
it’s a little hard to see because it’s so dark, but Carrie is stabbed in the center of her back on what looks like the left side. furthermore, and what makes this version more lethal than BK, is that Margaret stabs Carrie horizontally, meaning the blade would have gone between the ribs and punctured her lung or maybe even her heart. but realistically, it would have been the lung, and this would result in something called a “sucking wound”, which is when holes are opened up in the wall of the lung and cause air to leak into the thoracic cavity instead of the lungs. despite this, they are actually rarely life-threatening. while there may be blood leaking into her lung, Carrie still has another lung to keep her breathing.
unfortunately, it’s most likely her reaction that made the stab so lethal.
i don’t know if it was done on purpose or completely on accident, but the way Carrie doesn’t scream is very much accurate to what it’s like to be stabbed. a lot of times, you aren’t going to feel the knife going in. that rush of adrenaline is going to completely numb your body for several moments. what she is going to feel, however, is her punctured lung beginning to fill with blood and her body grasping for air as breathing is reduced. this causes her to gasp, wheeze, and make strangled noises instead of an actual scream or anything verbal.
whether or not she would be able to prop herself up like that is debatable, as her trapezius was also stabbed and we’ve learned that that restricts arm movement, but it’s that panic that really does a number on her. her heart is going to start beating faster and faster, which is going to increase blood flow. so while her platelets are trying to form a clot over the wound to stop the bleeding as quickly as possible, the blood is just going to keep gushing out and disrupt that process. and to make things worse, she’s breathing very rapidly. that’s going to put a strain on the lung trying to make up for the loss of the other, while also straining that injured lung filling with blood. it’s also just harder to get air when you’re panicking, so she’s not getting nearly as much oxygen as she needs, especially when she direly needs it.
here we see a loss of limb control from the way she lies down, most likely from shock, but also potentially from the crushing pain of her lung collapsing on itself. because while a sucking wound isn’t as lethal as it may seem, panicking is going to increase that level of danger. shock will be actively working against her, but if she kept herself calm, she would be able to stay awake longer. but because she’s panicking, she’s not getting enough air to her brain, thus causing her to begin to lose control of her body.
another big “maybe” if she would be able to life the arm on the side she got stabbed in, but i’ll let it slide.
now, i think Carrie could have survived this wound, even with her panic. the thing that killed her? fucking Sue.
there’s so many things wrong about the way Sue reacted. i mean, they always react badly, but this one especially.
first of all, punctured lung. i know that Sue can’t tell that Carrie’s lung is damaged, but she should have guessed something was wrong with the way Carrie was breathing abnormally. like, the girl could barely even speak without sounding choked up.
and speaking of choking! one of her lungs is bleeding! laying her down is going to make it easier for her to inhale that blood and begin to choke. and just in general, she shouldn’t be laying down. maybe it’s more comfortable for her, but laying down is only going to decrease the room in her chest for her lungs to expand and get air. she should be sitting up.
but most of all, Sue should have APPLIED PRESSURE TO THE FUCKING WOUND. SHE SHOULD HAVE CALLED FOR HELP. she can’t expect the victim of the injury to do all that for her- she should be smart enough to know to stop the bleeding instead of just sitting there like a useless idiot.
you wanna know what i think? i don’t think Carrie died. not in that moment. i think she just passed out from the shock, but Sue thought she had died and left her there to suffocate, even though she could have been saved.
2012 Revival
really shitty quality because the boot sucks and Marin stabs FAST, but Carrie is stabbed in the lower back, close to her waist, on what i believe is her left side because it looks like the knife is pulled out from the area closest to the audience.
so, Carrie is going to get stabbed somewhere in the left latissimus dorsi, specifically in the middle-to-lower area if i’m correct, but it’s kinda hard to tell exactly in the video. the latissimus dorsi controls several different movements for the upper body and the arms, so being stabbed in that area will most likely cause those muscles to seize up in reaction. it’s probably going to be hard for Carrie to sit up, move her arms, and even potentially move her legs.
in terms of lethality, i think this may be the most fatal blow so far if i tracked the projection of the knife correctly because i’m pretty sure it went straight into where her kidney would be. and the kidneys are essentially blood sponges.
have you ever had a kidney stone before? women who have given birth and had kidney stones say that the stones hurt worse. the first time i had one, it put me on the floor, weeping like a little baby until my mom took me to the ER at one in the morning. they’re even worse than period cramps. so if these tiny, grain-of-sand-sized chunks can cause this much pain, imagine what a knife to the kidneys could do.
the kidneys are full of nerve endings and have a lot of blood flow throughout them. they are also highly sensitive to pain. if you’ve ever been punched in the kidney before, it feels like getting the wind knocked out of you, except it’s not your lungs, it’s your whole body. and if Carrie had been stabbed here, she’s not getting up from it. certainly not as easily as she does in the show.
a shot to the kidney is going to put Carrie into immediate shock. i don’t think she would be able to scream they was she does because a blow to such a sensitive place is going to wind her. the pain would completely render her stunned for several moments. nor do i think she would be able to crawl away as she also does in the show. she should have crumpled straight to the ground after taking the hit and her body probably would have seized up for a moment because of how much pain she would be in.
the way she sits up after killing Margaret isn’t very realistic, either. she wouldn’t be able to get up after taking a knife to her kidney- not that quickly. i don’t think she would have even been able to kill Margaret in the first place. the pain had to be excruciating.
even though Sue still should have called 911 and tried to stop the bleeding, really the only thing she could do for Carrie at that point was make her comfortable. Carrie was bleeding out. so i do think this stab was realistic in how fatal it was, they just need to teach Molly how to properly act with a punctured kidney.
Branching Out!
also hard to see because of the angling, but Carrie does grab at the wound
and it looks like she had been stabbed somewhere in the center of her middle back, close to her spine and sort of where her ribs end, which means it probably struck a kidney. but not only that- the average kitchen knife tends to be eight inches in length. so that’s eight inches down to the handle going into this girl’s back, not only piercing her kidney, but also potentially a part of her large intestines and even maybe her small intestines. the result would be extremely painful, so much so that it would probably send her into shock instantly, as it should have done for 2012. but instead she screams and crawls away, which would not have been possible with such a lethal wound. the more realistic thing would be for her to crumple to the floor and open her mouth to scream and cry, but not actually be able to make any noise.
once again, Sue should have done more to save her life, but the wound was really bad. Carrie was rapidly bleeding out. it was nice that Sue soothed her, but she could have at least TRIED. like, CARRIE is the only putting the pressure on the wound. Sue should be doing that, not the victim.
Off-West End
you can’t see the knife because Margaret actually slashes Carrie’s throat instead of stabbing her, but this actually has to be the most realistic version of Carrie’s death, even though you would think neck wounds would be complicated.
so, Carrie gets her throat slit. the simplest damage she’s going to sustain is injury to her platysma, which serves to produce different facial expressions such as surprise, sadness, and horror, and also helps open the mouth from where it’s attached to the mandible. this would most likely make it painful for her to speak.
even further than her platysma, there’s damage to her sternocleidomastoid, which connects the sternum and clavicle to the skull. this is the muscle that allows the head to turn and nod, so when that gets cut through, she’s going to have some problems turning her head, if she is even capable of doing so in the first place.
and then even deeper and more severe than that are all of the organs in her neck. the most at risk are her larynx and trachea. but most importantly are the two major vessels in her throat: the jugular and the cartoid.
upon getting her throat slashed, Carrie immediately begins to sputter and cough as her jugular was most likely cut through and her lungs begin to fill with blood. despite this, she would actually be able to still talk, as there are many stories of people talking even after they got their throat slashed.
props to them for the realism in making Carrie HOLD THE DAMN WOUND SHUT. when it comes to something that is bleeding or just spilling in general, especially a throat wound, your first instinct is to COVER IT UP and STOP THE FLOW.
even further: THEY HAVE SUE HOLD THE WOUND.
FINALLY.
not only is Sue’s hand over it, but Carrie’s is, too, meaning even more pressure on that wound. this is a good thing because not only will the jugular and cartoid bleed a ton, they will also spray blood like a high pressure hose. of course, this isn’t possible onstage, so i’ll let them slide, but MAJOR points on not having Sue be completely useless. she still should have called an ambulance, especially for a slit throat, but i can give her a pass because she is having to hold the wound shut and hold Carrie’s body up.
speaking of: that’s a good position she’s in. Carrie is slouched at an angle with her head downwards, meaning the blood will fall out of her mouth instead of going back in if she were to cough it up. lying her down or cradling her on her back with her head tipped up will only make it easier for her to choke.
as the scene goes on, we hear Carrie start to gasp and wheeze as she drowns in her blood. very realistic. that’s going to cause a panic, but she probably doesn’t have the energy or blood to even do that.
despite all of these injuries, i don’t think Carrie would have died from them if Sue had just done something more to help her.
here’s my running theory: Sue let Carrie die. she knew she could have done something, she just chose not to. there was a chance for Carrie to live, but she didn’t let that happen. perhaps out of revenge for the massacre? maybe Sue was darker than we all thought...
extreme tldr: Miss Gardener should have gone to Carrie’s house instead of Sue because she would have actually done something
#yes i KNOW this is a show about a girl with telekinesis#but that doesn't mean the wounds have to be depicted in inaccurate ways#i took this post way too far but i had Fun#carrie#carrie the musical#broadway kids carrie#seattle carrie#carrie 2012#branching out carrie#off west end carrie#carrie white#sue snell#tw: wounds#tw: blood
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Trigger warning ⚠️ domestic violence.
I've typed this story a million times so I'm just going to summarize as much as I can.
A few days ago I was assaulted by my partner's family members. And as I've mentioned, I've typed this a million times and I'm honestly just exhausted thinking about it, but we could use some help.
My partner has always had a transphobic family. (I don't have anyone but my dad, who's in no position to help anyone.)
Her mom used her disability against her and manipulated her into giving her MOST of her checks. She's abused the system and my girlfriend.
When I met Jackie, she was with a terrible biggot. Jackie had came out, and her mother conspired with an abusive long distance ex, to fly her here, to stage an "intervention" and stop my partner from transitioning.
It worked. For years.
I met Jackie here on tumblr, we became good, SECRET friends because she wasn't allowed to talk to anyone.
I told Jackie openly about my views regarding gender and how I myself, was not cis.
Eventually she told her partner about us playing games together, which she responded to by harassing me.
Jackie ended up spilling the beans to me, about her mom, about the ex, everything. I realized that she had been extremely isolated and controlled her whole life.
So I intervened.
I got the two of them to separate, which wasn't smooth because Jackie was scared. She had been with her abuser for 9 years at this point. She's never known anything else.
The ex moved back to her state, and I started seeing Jackie, although she was stuck at her mom's... who was trying to play innocent at this time.
Eventually, I kinda just came and picked her up, she stayed the night, she didn't want to go back home. And I can't blame her. The house wasn't only disgusting, her family microagressed her all the time and they would tell her to pretty much stay in a dark room all day.
Ofc I didn't bring her back.
During early quarantine, we had a lot of self reflection and she started distancing herself from her mother, coming around to holding her accountable for her horrible actions.
Her mom messaged her things like "Why won't you talk to me? It's like you're trying to punish us!" Ect, just every fucking manipulative thing she could say, without ever apologizing.
Unfortunately the place we were staying fell through when my best friend's ex husband decided he wants a divorce and decided to throw in some transphobic hatespeach towards me.
We were all looking for somewhere to go.
I'm sure you know where this is going but listen, she told us EVERYTHING we wanted to hear. She told us she's not hateful now, told us she would go to trans support groups, pride, said she's realized how much she loves Jackie and it's time to accept her- and look- we had NO WHERE TO GO. We have 2 cats and at the time, a car that has no a/c or functional locks. AND I have a chronic autoimmune condition that I recently started taking chemo meds for. (Methotrexate.)
I'm too sick to be on the street, and survive. I had to think about me, Jackie, Zoe, and Boops.
And Jackie wanted to go..
I told her we'd be cautious and try to get out asap.
Well, looking for places right when the housing market crashed really fucked us up. That- and because I had only just finally got approved for disability, means I was set back in life- and had no credit to my name. No credit= no place to live.
I had almost built enough, but things went down hill very quickly with her family. Which leads us to right now:
After weeks of microagressions, giving us breakthrough covid cases, yelling at us to clean other's messes, and forcing us and our cats to isolate in our room, many broken promises, and straight up transphobic hatespeach (because she promised to get vaccinated but then said nvm as soon as we moved in and she went on vacation and got covid and gave it to us, which nearly killed me--) she said not getting the vaccine "IS A CHOICE, JUST LIKE YOU BEING TRANS AND TAKING *gestures to my testosterone* THOSE DRUGS."
We just were avoiding each other while I desperately try to gather resources for us to get out, NOW.
Of course, that wasn't good enough, so when her step father messaged her in all caps about our cats having to stay in our room and "I WON'T FUCKING TELL YOU AGAIN" my partner had a breakdown..
Her mom had let her step dad talk to her like this her whole life, basically.
Out of desperation, we went to her sister for help, maybe hoping she'd give us a place to stay for two weeks while we sign off on the lease for our new apartment.
She pretended to want to help and even said... something fucking weird? She made the comment that I'm a good person and I'm so much like her own boyfriend, that it's "scary"...
A few hours later she came to the house. She talked nicely to us, to gain access to our bedroom.
Then she attacked me.
I called the police right before, and was on the phone with dispatch when she lunged at me because she was aggressively trying to MAKE Jackie go into a separate room WITHOUT ME and Jackie was saying no, BEGGING her to STOP.
I wasn't going to let her take Jackie into that room. She looked fucking crazy.
All of the family came into our room, her two sisters, her mom, and her cousin- When they heard yelling.
It was actually me telling her mom that she's a terrible mother, that triggered her sister to try and attack me- although I knew she was planning on trying to from the moment she came into our room.
And that was after her mom was screaming in my face that if I have something to say, say it now.
Dispatch heard everything and sent emt as well...
But the police stayed outside, talking to them for a WHILE before even asking for us.
Her cousin is the only one that would have stood up for me, saying her sister never should have tried to hit me. But he was in the room with Jackie, giving her support...
I faced the cops alone.
He already had "that look."
He shined a light into my eye, letting the family stay on the porch, throwing insults and just letting it happen. He asked me where I'm hurt, and before I could even show him the scratches on my arm, he said "how do I know YOU didn't put those there?"
I wanted to fucking die in that moment.
This is a conservative city.
No one has equality stickers here. No one flies gay flags. People here that are lgbt- they LEAVE.
This is EXACTLY WHY.
I said "well is there any reason I should tell you anything when, clearly, you're already bias?"
I looked at the emts. I looked at his partner. I looked at all the lights and people coming out of their houses-
And behind me was her family.
Her sister that assaulted me, was laughing about having work in the morning.
All of them were looking at me, with hate in their eyes.
He tried to feed me bullshit about "well if I'm taking someone to jail, there has to be proof."
He dismissed everything I attempted to say, until I just stared at the ground and he decided he did his job here.
I told him my whole fucking body hurts because I had 4 people fucking toss my 100lbs ass all over the fucking room, which was a mess that he refused to look at.
He said "I don't see bruises."
I SPAT "BRUISES TAKE TIME?"
He retorted IMMEDIATELY- "YOU'RE NOT EVEN RED."
I asked what about the dispatcher- she seemed concerned- to which he said "you see, sometimes when people call us- they scream and be dramatic- for a quicker response."
I asked what we could do while the two weeks go by for our new place, and he fucking said "I DONT KNOW. BARRICADE YOURSELF IN YOUR ROOM OR SOMETHING."
Needless to say, we are now safe, in a hotel and I've gotten in touch with a few lgbt organizations that are attempting to help us get justice.
Unfortunately because it's a holiday weekend, all we can do is wait right now.
Our first order of business is getting a protection order, so that we can retrieve the rest of our things without her sister trying to attack us again. (I say us because she kept jumping towards Jackie, like she was threatening to hit her.)
I've been so gaslit and victim blamed that I was too scared to go to the er, even though this all happened in the midst of a flare, possibly including my liver health.
There's so much more to this story, as I'm sure other trans people can relate.. unfortunately.
The emts reluctantly offered to take me to the er, but I was like "and leave my partner here with them?" And he just fucking shrugged dude.
I hate this city.
I want out so bad but unfortunately I've committed to a year, but at least it'll be *our* apartment.
We could NOT stay there for two more weeks. Her step dad is a violent offender that has attempted to murder a homeless prostitute over some fucking pocket change- and he has a GUN in the house.
This hotel might run us into a hole, despite it being the cheapest, shittiest hotel in town, it's still going to be about 700$ for ONE week.
To ADD INSULT TO INJURY, SOMEONE ATTEMPTED TO STEAL MY VEHICLE WHILE WE'VE BEEN STAYING HERE.
I'm feeling incredibly paranoid and unsafe, but I'm on anxiety meds now at least and its SORTA helping us cope (My partner and I have the same Dr and she gave her permission to have some.)
The organization BRAVO is trying to help us with a hotel voucher, but because of all the natural disasters, it's hard to find room in charity for people like us, which is fair enough. We aren't immediately on the street, and for that I'm incredibly thankful.
However, if you or anyone you know wish to help you can donate to venmo: kittyzibby. Or you could just signal boost this.
If you can't help, I understand. And IF YOU'RE STRUGGLING FINANCIALLY, don't worry about it, for real.
Right now I'm just scared we'll go into debt before getting the apartment settled in.
I will update on things once our case moves along more, and we were already considering turning to OF sexwork before all of this, so if there could be support that way, maybe we'll get that going once we get moved in. That way, I feel good about providing a service in return.
Thank you so much for sticking with us during all of this. And really- we're doing much better today. We've given each other pep talks, but we are still determined to start our lives together.
Her family was merely trying to scare me away from her, but I got my girl's name tatted on me for a reason.
I know I'm not the bad person here.
Every time Jackie is feeling more gender euphoric, and showing me her changes, and seeing her get more confident, the more I know that what I'm doing with and for her, is right.
I love her so much. And I will never abandon her, like they tried to get me to do.
Jackie is taking a break from some socials, but she's given me permission to talk about what's been happening.
She needs justice too.
I will update as much as I can, but seriously, I think we both just have a fire under our asses now.
Mentally, we're stronger than ever.
Thank you for reading. My heart really goes out to the rest of the queer community that have experienced or are going through similar things.
It's really made me realize why we need to stick together and fight this bigotry bullshit! 🏳️⚧️🏳️🌈
#tw abuse#tw#trigger warning#tw domestic violence#tw trauma#tw assault#tw hatecrime#tw transphobia#tw homophobia#alt#emoboy#emo boy#piercings#altboy#alternative#vent#trans#ftm#genderqueer#nonbinary#enby#nb#transmasc#transgirl#transpoc#trans poc#battery#bruises#tw bruises#tw scratches
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Cyber Files AU - Chapter One:
A/N: Okay, here’s Chapter One. I have no idea when other chapters will be coming, but I hope you enjoy and if anyone has any question, feel free to hit me up.
Warnings: Swearing, Death mentions, Medical mentions... I think that’s all for this chapter? But please let me know if anyone wants anything else tagged or if I missed anything.
“In steel as in flesh.
Corpses leave clues.”
Dear You,
The body you are currently wearing used to be mine. The scar on the inner left thigh is there because you fell out of a window and impaled your leg running away from Badges at the age of nine. The four fillings are a result of you avoiding the dentist for most of your life. But the physical past of our shared body isn’t important to you right now.
I’m writing this letter for you to read in the future. Wondering why anyone would do such a thing? The answer is… both simple and complicated. The simple answer is because I knew it would be necessary.
The complicated answer is… rather twisted.
Do you know the name of the body you are in? It’s Remy. Remy Saros. It was my name, but it comes with the body, so I suppose it’s yours now. Changing it would be… unwise. But we’ll get to that later.
Before I tell you the story, there are a few things I need you to be aware of. First, you’re deathly allergic to bee stings. If you get stung and do not take quick action, you will die. I’ve always hoarded all the epi-pens I could find. Check all the glove compartments of cars, backpacks and jacket pockets you now own. If you get stung, flick the lid off, orange to the thigh, blue to the sky, wait for the click, hold for three seconds and remove. You’ll feel like shit, but you’ll survive.
Apart from that, you’re a non-photosensitive epileptic. There should be a sleeve of meds in the front right pocket of your trousers. Repeat scripts are loaded onto your Eye and spare meds will be available later when you need them.
Now, hopefully, you still retain your right hand, and everything it provides.
The fuck? Someone would have stolen my hand!? They thought to themselves, glancing down at their right hand and clenched it in relief before turning their attention back to the words hanging in the rain in front of them.
In your immediate future, the three most important are a Social Identity Card, Bank Chit, Medi-Sys Card, all of them belonging to Remy Saros. Except for four. Those physical cards in your wallet are, right now, the most important. Tucked away in there are a Chit linked to a different bank, a driver’s licence, a Medi-Sys Card and a Social Identity Card belonging to Alexandyr Morgan, a name that will not be linked to you.
The personal identification number for all of them is 160100. That’s my birthday, followed by how old you are. You’re a newborn! Get somewhere dry and safe, find a secure hotel, and check in. The AM accounts will have more than enough to cover.
You are doubtless aware of the next part already, since if you’re reading this you’ve already survived several immediate threats, but you are in danger. Just because you are not me does not make you safe. Along with this body, you have inherited certain problems and responsibilities. Go find a safe place, and the second letter will be waiting for you when you arrive.
Sincerely,
Remy Saros.
They stood shivering in the rain, watching the words on the holographic display dissolve into the downpour. Their hair was dripping, licking their lips under the face mask gave a burst of saltiness, and everything ached. Under the lights of reflected neon, the figure had automatically flicked their right hand out in a muscle-memory gesture to bring up the main menu on their Eyeformer Operation System, looking for some clue as to… anything.
When the Eye booted up a message simply titled To You had been sitting there in the main menu, blinking gently, waiting to be opened.
They shook their head angrily, but the spike in throbbing quickly diffused their anger. They looked up at the sky, watching the rain come down and lightning fork across the sky. Rummaging through the other pockets of their outfit turned up nothing other than a long, thin plastic box with medical instructions, chemical information, and a label printed on it. REMY SAROS.
The Epi-Pen, they thought, staring at it before returning it to the interior jacket pocket it had come from, patting it a couple of times for reassurance. Then they dropped a hand into their front right pocket and pulled out a fresh packet of red and white capsules in a standard plastic and foil medical sleeve. Epilepsy meds, I guess.
So this is who I am, they thought, unsure of how they felt. I don’t get the uncertainty of not knowing what my name is, but I’m not being given control over my own life. Whoever Remy Saros was, they managed to get me in a whole lot of trouble. They sniffed and brushed a dark lump out of their left eye. Wet hair slapped against their skin and Remy cringed slightly.
Ugh, okay, rain first. Get out of the rain, then… get a car, I guess. Yeah, find a car, find a hotel.
Remy looked around, searching for shelter, but since they were standing on a bridge, nothing was immediately available. Just expansive, smoke filled blackness all around, only broken by strings of indistinct neon in all directions and the sounds of sky-borne cargo lifters. Finally spotting an undercover shop doorway at the end of the bridge, Remy stepped out of the slight crater in the middle of the road, and over the ring of bodies that ringed it. They were all motionless, and wearing latex gloves.
They darted from shelter to shelter, staying in the dark wherever they could, contact lenses glowing due to the low-level night vision function built into the Eyes’ Pathfinder app. The only sounds in the smoke-filled night were the gradually fading sounds of main street traffic around the bridge, and the ever-present sounds of cargo lifters and the occasional Fire Bird.
Remy was hugging themself and shivering by the time they got off the main roads, and spent a minute shaking off as best as their throbbing head would allow. Reactivating the Eye, they opened one of the ride call apps and scrolled through. If the accounts contained as much money as the mysterious message said, Remy would gladly pay for the quiet and convenience of an automated cab.
Opening a new tab and selecting the bank account under Alexandyr Morgan’s name, Remy used the login details stored in an in-Eye app to log in, and looked at the account total and withdrawal amount. Both numbers almost short-circuited Remy’s newly born brain. There was… five million in the account. Even given the inflation of various economic crashes, that was a lot of money. Whoever Remy had been in that previous life… they clearly had a lot of cash to splash around.
Recalling the letter’s multiple warnings about finding somewhere safe, Remy kept scanning both ends of the street, as well as all the doorways and windows they could make out while waiting for the summoned car to appear. When it did, they scrambled inside, shut the door, and scanned their hand on the Chit reader built into the back of the “driver’s” seat. Remy then selected “Evasive Mode” from the drop-down menu in the app, clicked the seat belt in and sprawled as much as they could across plush seats that automatically warmed up in response to Remy’s wet frame.
They briefly considered not sprawling like this, since it would give Future!Remy all sorts of aches, but Present!Remy was too comfy, so they just shut their eyes and let the swinging turns and passing neon lull them into a fitful, exhaustion-driven doze.
Remy’s Eye suddenly came to life and started to ping with alerts that they’d arrived at the marked destination, the messages dislodging the slew of automated ads from the earlier apps. They jerked upright then hissed in pain. The journey had been nearly half an hour to the other side and a deeper level of the city, bordering on one of the old mine shafts, turned closed off corporate enclaves when the mine was turned into a city.
Remy’s decision to sprawl all over the back of the car meant that climbing out was a flurry of spasms, aches and pins and needles. Mumbling in irritation as they got out of the car and wishing Past!Remy hadn’t been such a selfish asshole, they stumbled towards the five-star hotel.
The hotel management students who had been unlucky enough to get saddled with door-duty on the graveyard shift stared at Remy’s face without moving a muscle as they opened the doors for Remy, who passed through with an exhausted nod at them both and walked through the gorgeous foyer.
The impeccably dressed and coiffed desk clerk (at three in the morning?! What. The. Fuck. Are you some kind of hideous automaton, man?) politely stifled a yawn and barely widened his eyes at the soaking wet person on the other side of the desk who had just left a wide trail of dirty water across the marble tiles and was now checking in as Alexandyr Morgan.
The hotel porter who appeared did a poor job of appearing awake, but still managed to guide Remy to the appointed room without incident. By now, especially after a heated nap in the taxi, Remy was so sleepy that they’d practically given up on all vigilance, barely remembering to thank and tip the porter before entering the room and searching for the bed. Having found something large and soft, Remy dropped, content to sleep on it until…
Remy was asleep too quickly to even finish the thought.
Notes: That’s all there is for now. I just wanna say a huge thanks to @milomeepit, and @pipapatton for helping me work out ideas and acting as soundboards, and @lucifer-in-my-head for designing artwork for it, which I’ll add next chapter as the art becomes relevant to the story.
#tw: Death mention#tw: Swearing#tw: Medicine mentions#Bkwk Writes#Cyber Files AU#Sanders Shorts fanfic#Sanders Sides fanfic#Remy Sanders#So here's Chapter One#Btw this rate of updates does not in any way inform about a schedule#The fact that it came out within a week of the Teaser#Means NOTHING#Remy's practically a warning all by themself#Swearing sluttiness and sunglasses
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This is going to be a mini vent so skip if you need to, I just need to get this all out of my head.
I’m scared. I don’t really ever allow myself to think about this because it’s so much easier to ignore even though it affects every hour of my life
I have bipolar 2. Been diagnosed by three different doctors. Maybe I should be thankful that it’s just bipolar 2 for now. But I’m not. Maybe I should be thankful that I don’t have full blown delusional paranoid manic episodes like my mom ( who has bipolar 1) but I’m not.
I’m fucking scared. I’m scared because during the depression spells I can barely keep myself alive. Barely keep myself from doing something stupid and impulsive. The world feels like it caving in around me and I can’t breath. And I know that unless I take meds that that’s not gonna change.
The hypo manic episodes make me feel like I can finally get a job and work again, like I can go back to college, get my life together and be actually worth something and that I can be normal. They also make me think that jumping on a moving train is a good idea. They logic disappear and I do stuff like sew my hands together or bite/ cut off apart of my tongue because “ it’s not a part of my body get it off”. It makes me want to sleep around with people I don’t know even though I hate the idea of sex. And I know it’ll just get worse if I don’t get on medication.
And every symptom in between, loss of impulse control and loss of emotional control, being angry over nothing, stuff I know is nothing but I scream all the same. Not being able to sleep for hours and when I finally can, not being able to wake up. Extreme hunger that turns into being repulsed by all food. Feeling helpless and useless especially when comparing myself to how much better I was last year and the year before. Latching on to someone and making your whole world revolve around them for god knows why.
This is something I know I have to deal with for the rest of my life. That the people I care about in my life will have to deal with. And I’m terrified. I look at my mom and see how she is now, she wasn’t always like this but I see her getting worse and I know I will to unless I get on medication. But I’m scared. I’ve tried medication twice and both ended up with me having an episode and ODing. I do not feel safe being in charge of my own meds.
I’m also scared to be dependent on them. That if something happened in the world where suddenly I can’t have them then I know the fall will almost kill me. I’ve felt the fall before and I was stronger back then, or maybe back then I didn’t have that far to fall.
But most of all I’m scared that it ultimately means defeat. That I gave up on trying to be normal and ok. And I just want to spend a few more months or even just days not on them. Maybe I can prove that I can be ok without them and maybe it was all a bad dream. But I know it isn’t and I know that by leaving it untreated it’ll make it worse. But I just want to spend another day pretending that I’m ok.
Because I look at my mom, and remember all the things she has said and done during her manic stages. I remember how she targets my dad because he’s the only person here that she can target. I look at her impulsiveness and lack of care for the money that my dad is forced to give her to keep her happy when we don’t have food for ourselves to eat.
And I’m terrified that I’m going to turn into her in the end. And not be even able to see what it doing is wrong because I’m to far gone. That I will never be able to take care of myself or have a family because it’s not fair to them to have them in that environment.
I’m just so tired of it all, and i miss the days where I was able to use this to fuel me to keep working so I could eventually get out and be better, do better. Where I was able to do so much for myself, like get my ged, get and hold down a job ( although come to think of it if it wasn’t for the pandemic I probably would’ve been fired so fast) and even get into and start college
I did everything right and got out of a bad home situation I was doing so well. Just to have all this hit me harder then it ever has before and now can’t even hold down an easy job, and now can’t even think about going back to college without getting sick. I did everything I was supposed to and was doing so good and now I can’t even stand to take a shower without crying.
I’m just so tired and I want it all to stop. And pretend it all isn’t real and just pretend that I’m normal for another day. But it’s getting to the point where it’s impossible but I’m not ready to have fancy drugs messing with my brain just so I can function, because the way things are looking, it’s more of a “when” I lose access to my medication, and not a “if”
And I’m terrified that I won’t survive the fall. But I know if I don’t then I’ll turn into someone like my mom. And I don’t know which is worse
I’m just scared, I’m tired of it all.
Sorry I just need to rant and I don’t have any other outlets.
#mental illness#actuallymentallyill#bipolar 2#bipolar 1#tw: vent#vent#tw: trauma#tw mental health#tw bipolar#rant#tw rant#tw swearing#tw: medication#tw od#od mention
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Everything feels so quiet again. I hate this about being nocturnal. At least during the day more people are around and online and I might have a little interaction. I wonder if I'll ever get my body clock to function on a 24hr schedule. Even as a child and teenager I've always had sleeping problems though. My body clock has always fought against regular timing. I definitely find it easiest when I'm actually excited to get up for something in particular, but that's not all there is to it. Besides that feels like a tall ask right now.
I've been crying a lot recently. I dont usually cry that much at all but the past month maybe, in increasing frequency, and the majority of the past few days, I'm always on the verge of or in tears. I'm on so much prozac I can sometimes feel it pushing me to just smile through it and do something, but I think my mind wins over it when it sees that my 5 minutes of positivity didnt bring luck like everyone says it will. I'm tempted to lower my dose just so I can at least be consistently sad. Part of me hopes I'd get bad enough to SH and do more noticeable stuff so someone will realise how I feel, but part of me knows that's not how itll work and I'll just do those things and feel even worse because I'm still by myself. Most of me feels guilty because that's the dramatic stereotype and nobody likes an attention seeker, but most of me also knows it's not socially acceptable to directly ask for help and support. The times I've said a thing about how bad I feel, very obviously in need of support, i havent got it. So if i did something more, i still wouldnt get it, but I'd just be bothering people even more by letting them see. But then maybe I'd actually get the balls to just end it properly and get it over with. But I also know I'm not someone who'd do something so final without exhausting all options first, which means I'd also say that more directly, and then the same issue applies.
I'm so sick of feeling like this. I feel like such a waste of space and it's the same problem where I need x to do y but I need y to get z and I need z to get x. Whenever I try to force myself to break that cycle alone, I burn out. I feel worse for the fact that I'm doing it alone. I feel like theres no point in achieving any of it if I'm still alone. I did so much growing up by myself and doing way too much and all it got me was a bit more time alive so I could watch everyone else actually live and realise how cut off i was. Last time i had a major breakdown i came out of it over time but i felt worse afterwards than before because of the fact that I'd had to deal with it alone. I felt resentful of all the people who saw me say outright on my social media 'I feel really terrible and I need support/dont think I can deal with this alone/etc' and either said nothing or just briefly acknowledged it then continued on. I didnt really get over it, I just stopped in the same way a baby learns to stop crying eventually if nobody comes. So i came out of the breakdown with the resentful and anxious feeling that i cant really rely on anyone and am truly alone.
Now I'm so much more sensitive. Of course I'm more sensitive. I'm scared this is more permanent mental shit that I wont be able to get rid of. I cant stay like this forever. I never used to be this bad. But I had some outlets at least, and some hope that it might be different at some point. Now it feels like I'm just so worn out and I need to rest and be protected but the longer I go without it the more I need and the more impossible it gets and then I feel like theres no point in trying because theres no way to fix the cycle. Not without some anime-level miracle.
All I can do is drink and hope I get distracted by something else for a while. Hope I get chatty and confident enough to send the first messages and make the first posts, hope the audience happens to be responsive. Hope I come up with some kind of idea that'll keep me busy and entertained.
There was a day a few months ago where I drank a lot over the course of a day, and I started getting really bad palpitations where my heart was stopping for a few seconds at a time and restarting painfully. It especially stopped whenever I lay down and kept still, ie when I was trying to sleep. I thought I was probably going to die in the night so I wrote out a little note on my phone just in case. But I was kind of happy about it. For whatever reason, a few friends had been online and we'd all talked a lot, and I'd had things to do, and we talked about what we were doing throughout that day, and we all screwed around and shitposted, and it was just nice. It didnt feel so much like quarantine as just long distance friends and I felt like if that was gonna be my last day then so be it.
Of course, I didnt die. It turned out my meds needed adjusting so I did that and the palpitations lessened. I kind of wish I did just die. I guess it's morose. But it would have taken the guesswork and worrying out of all this. I'm just so tired. Its not that I dont want to get better and enjoy life. I just dont know if I can. I dont know if theres too much damage been done. I was already a difficult case before the pandemic but it's really fucked me over a lot and brought up a lot of old and new insecurities and I dont know if I'm really able to make the transition to something normal and okay.
My heart palpitations are bad again right now. Today it's because of restricting food. Theres some kind of weak heart trait in my family so I've always had the occasional palpitation, but they get bad sometimes. It's not painful right now, just weak. If I breathe too deeply it loses rhythm. I keep beginning to hyperventilate from anxiety and my heart gets irregular and weird. Of course as I say that I get some pain.
I dont feel like I can eat more though. I did have a meal for dinner. Low calorie, but a meal. So my calories for today weren't super low. One thing that's always consistent about my thing with food etc is the control element. That when everything is bad, I need something to go my way, and this is all I can do. I dont know.
Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Probably not. But I really want to. I really need to. It only takes small things, small distractions to keep me going. If I can just survive long enough to keep at some things to change my situation, maybe I can get out of this. But if I crack, I drink and binge and do other things that make me feel worse. I dont know. I'm trying to drag myself along but I guess it doesn't look like I'm doing anything at all.
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Can Our Love Survive Ch. 12
Bucky Barnes x Reader, Natasha Romanoff
Words: 1464
Warnings: Mentions of rape, humiliation, bullying, mental abuse
A/N: This is a continuation of Ch. 11. Pay attention to the warnings and don’t read if any of that bothers you. This chapter is told from Bucky’s POV. I swear these two will get together. Enjoy!
**TAG LIST OPEN UNTIL CH. 15 PLEASE SEND AN ASK**
Bucky sat in silence taking in everything you had disclosed, but his blood was boiling inside him. To say he was angry was an understatement. What the fuck gave anyone the right to do that to another human being? Especially you! You were so sweet and kind and beautiful, and Brock had taken advantage and broke you. He took your spirit and sunshine and for that alone he was going to pay.
“Don't…,” he hears, “I can tell what you're thinking and don't.”
“But that fuckwad hurt you!”
“Yes, he did, but you can't. There's more.” He watches as she inhales a deep breath and lets it out. “He filmed the whole thing. Every single second. Not only that… Jack took pictures. They decided to humiliate me and printed some of them and hung them around the school. The video… it made its way around as well. I was the laughing stock of our high school.” Tears began to run down her cheeks and Bucky wanted nothing more than to kiss them away.
“WHAT. THE. FUCK!” Bucky face turns red and he’s getting angrier by the second. “How the fuck did he get away with this?!” He demanded to know. “How could Brock do this to you, film it, and he’s not sitting in a jail cell right now?!”
“Steve…,” she says softly, and he can see just how hard all this is on her, “…he went after Brock. Steve was going to kill him, almost did. Broken nose, broken jaw, fractured skull, four broken ribs, broken hand, concussion. Bye bye football. Steve was going to murder him, consequences be damned. The reason Steve is free is because of that video. Brock denied there was one, but Tony is a tech genius and was able to get ahold of it and he showed it to Brock's parents. They knew what it would do to their son, so an agreement was made that neither party would press charges. I couldn't see Steve go to prison for attempted murder, so I agreed even though Steve protested and said it'd be worth it. His parents lied to the police and said it was a random attack, not uncommon here in Brooklyn so, it was believable.”
Bucky stood and started pacing the floor. Brock had gotten away with this. Bucky couldn't form words and just kept shaking his head while he processed the information. “And Jack?” Wondering If the other boy had suffered any consequences for his part in your assault.
“Natasha.”
Bucky just stares, lost in thought. “What did she do?”
She shrugged her shoulders and smirked. “I'm not supposed to know… but it's entirely possible that she knows a guy that may have somehow pulled a Sons of Anarchy on him and burned a certain word on his back. That word may or may not have been ‘Rapist’, but I can't confirm that.”
Bucky smiled at that. Steve had beat the shit out of Brock and ended his football career, and Natasha had scared Jack for life. To him it wasn't enough, but it would do for now.
“So how does Brittany fit into all this?” Bucky needed to know how all the pieces connected.
“Brittany came to me after the incident and told me how I had been used and she’d been screwing Brock the entire time and how I'd forever be known as Brock's dirty whore. Talk about adding insult to injury. She laughed in my face and there wasn't anything I could do. She takes pleasure in knowing she'll be around every day to remind me of how pathetic I am. Her presence alone is the reminder, however, she's right though. I'll always be known as his dirty whore.”
Bucky walked over to you and knelt in front of you. “I seriously want to kill them! You don't deserve anything that happened to you, not one second of it. There's nothing I can say that can change the past, but if you give me the chance, I’ll treat you like the queen you deserve and give you a better future. Please?” He asked, almost pleading.
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Bucky, I'm so damaged… broken. I literally can't do anything without my anxiety getting in the way, and we haven't even talked about my depression. It wouldn't be fair to you. I'm such a mess!” She gets up from the couch, making her way to the window and stares out at the world.
“You don't know what it's like getting up every day not knowing if your head is going to function right and let you make it through an entire day without freaking out! I take meds to help keep my anxiety and depression under control, and I've blacked out because it becomes too much. All this, because I put my trust in a guy that was a piece of shit! He ruined me! I can never get back to the way I was, and you shouldn't have to deal with my fucked up head and depressive bullshit!” She said, never turning to face him.
Bucky comes up from behind and wraps his arms around your waist pulling you tightly to his body. I'm here, baby…,” he whispers and kisses your temple. “You're absolutely right, I don't know what it's like and can't imagine what you've been through and what you continue to go through daily. What happened changed who you were into who you are now, but it's the person you are now that I want to be with. Whatever it is, well face it together. You'll never have to be alone because I want to be there for you…always.” Bucky finishes with another kiss to your head.
“Bucky... why? Why me?” She turns around to look him in the eyes.
“Why not you? You're beautiful, smart, funny, and I can't stop wanting to be in your presence. You have this amazing smile that warms my heart and I just can’t get enough of it. You're fierce when your angry, and you have a killer right hook! You're perfect for me, and I want to spend every day telling you how amazing you are and showing you how much you deserve to be cherished.”
He saw her mouth curl up in a hesitant smile. “Can you promise not to hurt me?”
Bucky nodded. “I will never intentionally hurt you, ever! This is what I can promise you.” He takes his left hand and places it on your cheek, feeling you lean into his touch
“Can I kiss you, please?” Bucky asks, looking into her eyes for permission.
“Yes.”
It was barely a whisper, but he heard it. He smiles and leans in, his lips making contact and kissing her softly, taking things slow.
“Sorry to interrupt…,” Nat interrupts making Bucky pull away, “Steve’s on his way. Sam just text me asking if I was still here and said Steve just left. We've got about 10 minutes. lover boy.”
“Fucking Steve!” Bucky rested his forehead on hers and laughed at the. “Of course, he would come home now.”
“Yes, he would and if you don't want a matching set of black eyes, we should leave now.” Nat reminds him of the impending doom.
“You should go, it's better if you weren't here.”
Bucky nods, now knowing just how enraged Steve can become to protect someone he loves. “But what about us?” He asks before walking away.
She shrugs. “We'll figure this out. We can text, talk on the phone. We'll see each other at school…”
“What about a date?”
She shakes her head “I'm not sure? But it'll happen.”
That makes Bucky grin widely. “Good! Cause I want to take my girl out like she deserves,” he says with confidence.
“Your girl?” She questions with a smirk.
“Yes, my girl… if you'll have me.”
“Yes, she'll have you, but not if you don't get your ass out that door!” Nat’s voice sounds irritated.
“Go! Now!”
Bucky feels himself being pushed out the door. “What about a goodbye kiss?” He laughs.
“You're insufferable.” Natasha grabs Bucky by his shirt and drags him to the vehicle. “CAR NOW!”
It wasn't a request but a demand. He concedes and hurries to get it. “Bye! I'll text you.” Bucky watches you roll your eyes and wave as he gets in the car and buckles up.
“Remember to make me part of your speech when you get married,” Nat says with a smirk and starts the car.
Bucky chuckles and nods slowly. “I’ll buy you a vacation anywhere you’d like if it gets to that point.”
“And as long as you don’t hurt her you get to live another day.”
“I’ll protect her with my life.” Bucky promises. It’s a promise he intends to keep.
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Like.
I was eleven the first time I made a Plan. I had gotten my period and I was going to run away into the wilderness and maybe catch a bus and start a new life, or maybe die because I couldn't handle what was happening to my body - and maybe that was a sign I was broken and God should take me.
I spent the next few years dreaming of being a martyr. Of looking for signs in the sky that the End Times were here and hoping to God I'd have a chance to prove my faith my giving my life to Him. That's what I thought about, day in and day out. That was my plan for the future. Die a gruesome, public death so that I may somehow find some shred of worth in my last moments.
I started getting really depressed at 14. I didn't think I'd make it past 15. Still, I told no one.
By 16, I was switching between "I have to kill myself to find out the truth about reality because I can't handle what the eldritch gods are telling me anymore and I know the government will imprison me if they find me and the world keeps glitching and I can't handle not knowing anything anymore I can't I can't I can't" and "I'm a worthless piece of shit and I deserve to die before I hurt anyone".
When I told a Christian counsellor I hallucinated sometimes, she acted like she didn't hear me and talked to me about respecting my parents and we prayed a lot.
I had a short stint of happiness for a few months at 17 before it all came crashing down on me tenfold. By that point, I didn't believe in recovery. I just didn't.
The psychotic symptoms came back again, different themes this time, but no less terrifying. I attempted twice at 18, and you know who I told? Absolutely no one. I still think it's some kind of miracle I survived the second time around. I secretly went to two sessions of campus therapy and said I sometimes feel like wanting to die, but don't worry, I don't have a plan and would never actually do it.
At 19, I moved back home and had a long mental health evaluation where I was desperate enough to be kind of honest. I got diagnosed with ADHD and put on medication and for once in my life I felt like my brain worked. I got therapy with a man who self-identified as a fundamentalist Christian - but was mature enough to set his beliefs aside to help me. This was the first time I learned actual CBT skills. The first time I felt a glimmer of hope for my future. I started exercising. I started seeing my grades improve. I got accommodations for my disabilities. For once I started to develop dreams and an identity beyond how abysmal my mental health was and "what's the best way to kill myself?".
I think the times I was most convinced recovery wasn't possible for me was during the relapses of this period. I wish it'd taken me less time to learn that relapses would Happen. I thought I was doomed. I thought the universe had a target on my head and my time was here at long last.
Instead, I moved out at 20 to get some space. I had the faintest glimmer of myself and I knew that glimmer was incompatible with the church-heavy life my folks were having me lead back there. My identity was in shambles, but this time, I liked myself just enough to want to build one.
The flashbacks and dissociation began to take over my life and after about six months of that I thought shit, I need to start seeing a trauma therapist. So I did, in secret, with cash, leaving the phone tracker at home while I drove to hourly sessions and it turned out yep, this was PTSD.
And slowly, I learned how to live again. I was finishing my AA while working almost full time at a minimum wage job and living off of oatmeal and sweet potatoes and beans and rice. I didn't really have goals. Or a social life. Or even decent grades. But I learned to love the parts of myself that wanted to die, and I learned I really, really liked cooking, and I met my best friend, and I fell in love. And suddenly it didn't feel like my mental health and the deeply closeted life I was living affected just me anymore.
There were relapses, of course there were. But then my car broke down completely, and somehow I garnered enough of a self-preservation instinct to ask a friend for help, and I stayed at his place for a few weeks, and kept the phone tracker at work, and I came out to my parents, and that's still the most terrifying thing I've ever done. (Speaking as someome who drove across the country in the middle of a national uprising and a pandemic.)
And now - woah! I have so many goddamn goals and dreams I don't even know what to do with myself or where to start! I'm so fucking scattered and indecisive it's frustrating and sometimes it feels like it'll be impossible to finish any of them but holy shit! I have dreams! I want to be alive! There's so much I want to do and so little time and that's!!! Woah!!!
Despite that, I'm still depressed. Seriously, it takes me hours to get out of bed without a pressing Responsibility. I feel at least somewhat grey and foggy and tired 75% of the time.
But when you look at the fact that I've been actively suicidal for PRETTY MUCH my entire thinking life minus the majority of the past couple years? Bro, I'm on cloud nine. I'm doing great. [insert "do you think a depressed person could make THIS?" screencap from parks and rec here]
I never thought I'd make it to 15, 16, 17, 18, 19. 22 was out of the goddamn question and you know what? I'm on like, teenager-level of Life Plans right now. But I have a LIFE! And I have PLANS! Plans ABOUT that life - not about vanquishing it! And isn't that wonderful?
I sometimes muster the energy to work on my fursuit. I draw a fair amount. I'm making OCs and original stories, again. I go on runs with my boyfriend and we cook together and cuddle a lot and I actually get to go outside and hike around sometimes. I'm looking into getting involved in volunteering somewhere and I'm gonna start weightlifting again. Medical/legal transition is no longer some faraway, impossible dream. And I pet dogs. And watch a whole lot of Avatar: The Last Airbender.
So. Yeah. I'm not cured. My level of functioning now is about at the neurotypical level of "holy shit, what's wrong with me, I need to see a doctor". (And guess what - that's in the plans, too)
But I'm recovering and coping and likely will be the rest of my life. That's how lifelong illnesses are, babey. But I've accepted that. And I've got a good, full life ahead of me - a life I didn't even think I deserved, a few years ago.
Anyways. I hope my story gives someone out there some hope. I see a LOT of mental illness recovery stories like "I had an acute depressive episode for a year, talked to a therapist and got some meds, now I'm back to Normal Happy Life!!", but... nothing for those of us who've been dealing with severe mental illness for so long that we don't even have a before to go back to.
From a young adult who's been fighting with their own brain since they were a kid: As long as you're alive, there's hope.
And for the love of GOD, stop comparing yourself to people who've never have to deal with this level of Brain Fuck before.
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you’re not the poison; it’s me.
... um. titans 2.07 absolutely WRECKED me you guys, and i would like to tell you why in excruciating detail:
SPOILERS ahead
(and before i go ahead, i just want to say this: this episode deals with ptsd and psychosis and suicidal ideation explicitly, in ways that even i found difficult to watch. it’s very intense. please keep that in mind if you decide to watch it.)
1. usually genre tv shows like to pile on the trauma but deal with its fallout either rarely or in oblique ways--shots of the character brooding, a couple of ‘candid’ talks filled with frustrating euphemisms, then it’s on to tackling the next plot point. not titans tho--for this show, the trauma is very much the point. the plot is wafer-thin and takes a backseat as the show takes episode after episode to break down its central characters and hammer it in that there are no easy fix-its for complex trauma, and that Dealing with it is a continuous, sometimes lifelong process. it forces you to keep re-evaluating and re-contextualising the actions of these characters and challenges your assumptions.
1.5. for instance: let’s take donna troy. in s1 she was the put-together big sister to dick, content with living her life outside the superhero community while giving sound advice to dick about how he can get his own life back on track. now? she’s a stressed, paranoid wreck, plagued by horrible memories and taking her insecurities out on dick and jason and whoever else is available. deathstroke’s machinations aside, there’s something deeply dysfunctional about the way the original titans operated, the ways they brought both the best and the worst out of each other. it seems like none of them really understood the seriousness of what they were doing until they did something truly terrible that they couldn’t take back, and it was earth-shattering enough that donna completely abandoned her old life to live as a civilian. trigon’s vision for her in 2.01 reminded her that she was fooling herself; coming back to titans tower and actually having to face what made her run away in the first place has broken down the walls she’s spent five years putting up. it’s not pretty to watch, but... it tracks.
2. after having written post after post about dick cracking under relentless stress and the weight of his own guilt complex, it was startling to see him actually fall apart. halluci!bruce was absolutely brutal and really brought home the fact that Good Lord, Dick Grayson Is So Far From Okay That It’s Not Even Funny Anymore.
because here’s the thing: dick is deeply unwell, and however the show proceeds with his character from here on out, this episode made absolutely no bones about that fact. his single-minded dash to find and kill slade is framed as both irrational and suicidal. he’s visibly on edge, bursting into bouts of uncontrollable rage. he’s shown to carry a guilt complex the size of mount everest, to the point where it actually seems delusional. he’s fucking terrified of abandonment, to the point where he’d rather cut off ties on his own rather than have others leave him. he’s constantly berating himself and this doesn’t give him a moment to sit down and think and try to form a rational plan. halluci!bruce even mentions meds and “uppers and downers” to cope, and i am genuinely concerned that that was what dick actually did to cope in the immediate aftermath of whatever the fuck went down with him and joey and deathstroke. maybe it’s ptsd with a secondary psychosis triggered by nearly losing jason the same way he lost his parents (and massive sleep deprivation, i imagine), or maybe there’s another underlying chronic mental illness. either way, he needs help.
man but halluci!bruce was vicious. if this is what dick has running in his head at all times, no wonder he broods, and no wonder he takes others admonishing his choices with barely any protest!
2.25. looking at this from a different perspective, tho, here’s another way in which bruce wayne functions as a symbol on this show. phantom!bruce is how dick normally externalises everything he hates about himself, and this dynamic plays out very literally in this episode.
interestingly, and somewhat heartbreakingly, it took dick accepting and internalising his low opinion of himself and his veritable ocean of guilt for judgy!bruce wayne to turn into loving, concerned!bruce wayne, who would comfort dick and wipe his tears. (it is entirely heartbreaking that that’s what dick subconsciously craves from bruce.) dick must debase himself for love and acceptance. it’s fucking tragic.
2.55. and what does it mean--for dick and for his friendships with the og titans--that he’s so convinced that they would leave him if he told them the truth about jericho? for one, even back then, it seemed like dick was doing a lot of the emotional labour for the team: as a leader he both funnelled and executed the team’s plans, with responsibility for the fallout falling unevenly and mostly on his shoulders; he acted as the go-between for the team and bruce, for donna and garth, probably for hank and dawn, given he was dawn’s rebound. later, hank and dawn are visibly concerned by how viciously he fights. after re-forming the titans, he continues to shoulder responsibility for the shit-show that deathstroke rains on them, although he didn’t know deathstroke was alive when he re-opened the tower. of course he thinks that the team will think that he’s beyond redemption if they find out the truth; of course he’d want to go and finish off deathstroke on his own--or die in the process--before any of them finds out.
2.75. but guys, here’s the thing: in spite of all of this, dick grayson still went around to check on conner and jason and assure the latter that he didn’t blame him for running off on his own. he saw jason standing there on a precipice right at the end, and decided he was going to be opaque anymore, or fall back on what he learned from bruce. he sits down with jason and finally divulges the secret that he had been willing to die to protect--making himself vulnerable to save jason’s life. he’s trying so goddamn hard even though his brain is rioting against him right now and probably has been for years. it’s just--i can’t imagine a truer, more sensitive portrayal of dick grayson than this.
3. watching jason reach his breaking point was,,, Not Fun. it’s one thing to be seemingly passed on like unwanted baggage from guardian to guardian. to be viewed with contempt and impatience when he just wants to make sure his voice isn’t lost in the constant shuffle. to be looked at as an impostor by the very people he looks upto. to be assigned the role of hot-headed fuck-up despite all his attempts to be useful, to prove himself. but to have all of that fall on him all at once on top of (poorly) dealing with a near-death experience? yikes.
3.25. and the horrible, tragic, human part of it all is that donna and the others probably didn’t even know what they were doing to jason by piling on him like that? he’s a relative outsider to both rachel and the og titans. he’s an arrogant prick that’s easy to hate. without dick and gar to stand up for jason, he’s cornered by people who haven’t even gotten to the point of seeing him as a vulnerable kid that’s struggling, just like the rest of them.
3.5. and so the two robins perch on the ledge, each convinced that they are poison that will either kill or drive their friends away. it’s a fraught moment of connection that stops jason from jumping, but he doesn’t step away. both of them are on a precipice in more ways than one; i can only hope they help each other land on the right side.1
also, bruce wayne? send your sons to therapy MY GOD
4. kory and rachel using their awesome powers in concert to cure conner! kory using her cultural background to connect to and help conner! conner mumbling in kryptonian! krypto fucking shooting across the sky with eve on his back! in such a sad and intense episode, it’s important to remember that some fantastic things happened as well!
5. here’s the thing: i don’t think dick killed jericho in the way that he probably thinks he does. dick is a hugely unreliable narrator--that’s been his Thing since s1. part of me thinks jericho should be dead; whatever happened with him and the titans has been built up to be such an earth-shattering event that it would kinda be cheating if he survived anyway. the other bigger part of me says: fuck that noise. JOEY WILSON LIVES, and that’s that
6. gar was sleeping? are you kidding me??? i’m assuming deathstroke drugged him or something so that he wouldn’t be there to Talk Sense and stop these melodramatic fools from tearing into each other. i can only hope that there’s some Big Plans for him down the line.
#titans#titans spoilers#dick grayson#jason todd#donna troy#bruce wayne#cw suicide#cw mental illness#meta
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