Happy one year anniversary to one of the biggest mental breakdowns of my life That made me see i have to start changing my life to better myself and my relationships with others by being responsible for my mental illness upkeep and stop living for others and live for me and now im taking film and theatre classes with a job on the side and have a short movie to my credit

Taste of a Poison Paradise | Chapter 9

Title: Taste of a Poison Paradise Summary: Life at Jackie Cox’s strip club, Poison Paradise, isn’t just lapdances and g-strings. There’s enough drama, lust, and heartache to rival any soap opera. None of the girls know what to expect on any given shift, especially while navigating their torrid, complicated relationships. Word Count: ~2.9k (this chapter) / ~27.2k (total) Relationship(s): Lemyanka (Lemon/Priyanka), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode), Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Jaidie (Jaida Essence Hall/Jackie Cox), BVK (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo/Kameron Michaels), Rosnali (Rosé/Denali Foxx) Rating: E TW: mentions of alcoholism

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Chapter Summary: In the wake of Lemon's outburst at the club, those closest to her process the fallout and realize something needs to be done before she spirals to the point of no return.

-

“Okay, I think that’s the last box,” Juice remarked as she dropped herself down onto the couch. “So, why’d your cousin kick you out again?”

Lemon scoffed and rolled her eyes as she piled up the empty boxes. “She didn’t kick me out, we both decided it was time for me to move.” She decided her college friend-turned-roommate didn’t need to know about the argument she had with Rosé. And she certainly didn’t need to know that she’d rejected her ultimatum of, “if you want to stay here, you can’t keep getting drunk every day.” It had been a week since the incident at the club and she was going to recover from it on her own terms.

“Alright, cool,” she shrugged as she took out her phone and began aimlessly scrolling. “You wanna do something tonight?”

The blonde perched herself on the armrest of the couch, swinging her legs. “We could go to a club and get shitfaced,” she suggested.

Juice shook her head without looking up from her phone. “You can. I mean, I’ll totally go with you and turn shit up, but I don’t drink.”

“More for me.”

Her friend looked her over with a concerned expression, eyes finally pried away from the screen. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot, have you considered talking to someone about it?”

Lemon shook her head. “I’m fine, I don’t have the emotional capacity for therapy.” She got back up and looked around. “Shit, I guess you don’t have any liquor in here then. I’ll be back,” and after putting her shoes on and grabbing her purse, she was out the door, leaving a concerned new roommate in her wake.

------

Rosé sighed as she passed the joint back to Mik. “This doesn’t make me a bad person, right? I mean the last thing I want to do is make Lemon’s issues about me. But god, that really is what made me realize that I have to do this.”

Mik shook her head as she took a hit. “It’s not your fault, you saw a trainwreck and realized you needed to keep your ass on the tracks.” She finished off the joint and put it out. “Listen, the last thing you wanna do is be that girl who pines over the person she’s sleeping with until it’s too late.”

“You’re right, I know. I’m gonna talk to her,” she exhaled deeply as she pushed herself up. “If Lemon comes around, please don’t have sex with her.”

“Oh fuck off,” she huffed, “that delayed her mental breakdown by at least a week.”

Rosé rolled her eyes as she left. She wasn’t mad at Mik for that, if anything maybe it did help Lemon temporarily by giving her a distraction. But she had so much more on her mind, things that have been brewing since the club incident.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on Denali’s door, evening out her breathing while she waited for her.

“Hey Rosie,” Denali smiled warmly as she opened the door, leading her inside and shutting it behind them. “What’s up? You usually text me when you’re on your way over.” They sat down on the couch as she spoke, a tinge of concern in her voice.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “I know I’ve been distant lately with everything that’s been happening with Lemon. But through all the chaos, I realized something, that keeping your feelings bottled up is dangerous.” Another deep breath, this time she forced herself to look into Denali’s eyes, eyes that she found warmth and comfort in every time she gazed into them. “What I’m trying to say is that I have feelings for you. I don’t just wanna be fuck buddies, it’s not enough. I need all of you.”

Denali blinked, taking her time to process Rosé’s confession. At first it was pure surprise, but once she let it sink in, it clicked that she felt the same way, that she had been falling for her all along without realizing it. “You have all of me,” she told her, cupping her face and pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

In that moment, a weight lifted from Rosé’s chest. If only for the duration of a kiss, she could pretend nothing in the world existed outside of Denali’s apartment. She could stop thinking, stop worrying. It was only them, everything else faded to black. “Are we alone?” she asked against her lips.

“Mhm,” she nodded, a slight smirk tugging at her lips, able to fill in the blanks from there. Her hands traveled down Rosé’s body, tugging off her shirt in one swift motion, her own following suit, though they took their time undressing each other, letting their fingers and lips gently caress each other’s skin.

By the time they were both completely undressed, they had gotten each other thoroughly worked up. Rosé had Denali sit up on the couch, then got on her knees in front of her, pushing her thighs apart. She moved in between them, dragging her tongue along her pussy before circling, then sucking on her clit as she eased a finger into her.

Denali’s head lolled back to rest against the back of the couch, a pleased moan escaping. “Mm, Rosie…” she exhaled, her hips pushing up when Rosé slid in a second finger. “Baby, just like that, feels so good.”

She basked in the praise, continuing her movements, occasionally switching her tongue and her fingers, but never leaving her unattended. She was focused and fervent, bringing Denali to an orgasm as quickly as she could, as if she were setting it as a challenge to herself. Once she’d won her game, she pulled back with a smile, gazing up at her. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re sappy,” she teased affectionately, leaning down to kiss her. “Come on,” she got up and pulled Rosé to her feet, “we can cuddle until I gotta get ready for my shift.”

------

Nicky watched Jan with a concerned expression. She wished she knew what to do, how to talk to her and help her. Ever since the incident at the club, she had been quiet, withdrawn, two words she would never think to associate with the bubbly woman she loved so dearly. It killed her to see her girlfriend hurting, enough for her to put her aversion to emotional conversations aside as she sat beside her on the couch, gently taking her hand. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same since what happened with Lemon and I’m worried about you.”

Jan chewed on her lip, her gaze downcast. Logically, she knew she couldn’t avoid this conversation forever, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Lemon is like a sister to me and I’m worried about her. I know what alcoholism looks like… and I know what it can do to someone, it’s not pretty.”

She furrowed her brows, shifting closer to the younger woman. “What do you mean?”

“Well, um…” she swallowed thickly, “my dad’s five years sober now, but it hit a nasty low before it got better. I-I don’t know what that low would be for Lemon, I’m afraid she’s hit it, but I’m even more afraid she hasn’t.”

Nicky nodded as she listened. She had suspected Lemon might have developed a bit of a drinking habit, but not the severity, and certainly not the effect it would have on Jan. “I am so sorry about your father, and about Lemon. Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My dad went to rehab while I was away at college, but I imagine my mom laid down some ultimatums, but I don’t know if Lemon thinks she has anything left to lose.”

“There has to be some way, and I'm going to help you find it,” she promised.

------

“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Juice said as she looked around the two pushed-together tables in the diner. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Julia - Juice - and Lemon moved in with me about four days ago.”

“What happened?” Rosé immediately asked. “Is she okay?”

The blonde hesitated and looked down at the table. “Technically yes, she’s nursing a hangover at home right now but otherwise fine, unless she’s started day drinking. But there’s a bigger issue, and I’m sure you guys have started to suspect as much. What I’m trying to say is she’s developing an alcohol problem, and if we don’t do something about it now, it could get much worse.”

Everyone else had similar expressions - sadness, concern, anxiety. But none of them were surprised. “What do we do, then?” Rosé asked, breaking a tense moment of silence.

“Listen, I’m not claiming to be an expert. I’m twenty-two, sober for eight months now, so I can relate to how she’s feeling. What she’s going to need is everyone to rally around her, because it won’t be easy to convince her to get help.”

“So can we stage an intervention?” Jaida asked. “Do you have someone we can talk to?”

Juice nodded. “I can talk to my sponsor and have her put us in touch with someone who can get her into a detox, put the whole thing together. It goes so far beyond just telling her to stop drinking, especially in a club environment.”

“Speaking of the club environment,” Gigi chimed in, “we have to address the elephant in the room. What are we gonna do about the Priyanka situation? She told Crystal she’s taking a day job until things cool off, but if Lemon gets help… maybe that’ll expedite the process.”

Jackie sighed, but agreed. “I can open auditions to take on another dancer temporarily, I don’t know how long she’s gonna need, but assuming she chooses to get help, I want her to know she has a place to come back to.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m going to reach out to Priyanka too, I know she hasn’t been answering most of our calls or texts, but I think I might be able to get through to her.”

“My god, we’ve been so caught up with Lemon, we’ve barely kept up with Pri. Are we bad friends?” Jan asked, feeling a mix of guilt and sadness.

Juice shook her head. “No, of course not. Everyone here is doing their best. You guys reach out to Priyanka and figure out a way to get Lemon to the intervention when the time comes, I’ll do what I can on my part.” From there, they all just had to hope for the best.

------

Jackie took a deep breath, making sure she was calm and collected before knocking on the door. When a woman with black hair and tattoos opened the door, she greeted her politely. “Hi, you must be Scarlett. Um, can you tell Priyanka that Jackie’s here to see her?”

Scarlett nodded, disappearing back into her apartment. There was a solid few minutes of waiting, but Priyanka eventually came to the door. “Hey,” she greeted meekly and led Jackie inside.

Jackie sat at the edge of the bed in the guest room Priyanka had been staying in. “How have you been? You know we’re all worried about you.”

Priyanka’s gaze never left the floor. She picked pieces of lint off of her shorts as she sat down as well, swinging her legs aimlessly. How could she even begin to tackle that question when everything she had ever known had changed overnight? How can anyone process that sort of thing? “Scarlett convinced me to try therapy. I’ve had a couple sessions so far… It helped, I think, but it’s just scratching the surface, you know?”

She listened attentively, nodding along. “I’m proud of you for that. How did your family react when you and Mark broke up?”

“It’s funny, as angry as he was, he didn’t out me. He said it’s clear I have my own problems to work through. My mom was furious that the wedding was called off, so I threw in the ‘I like girls’ news because, well, it couldn’t get any worse,” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet. She asked me if it was an excuse to get out of the wedding. I haven’t heard back since I told her it was the truth, and I haven’t heard from my dad at all.” She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I couldn’t even say that I’m gay. It’s too much, I can’t just be gay,” she sat back up and grabbed a tissue, quickly dabbing the corners of her eyes. “How do you get past it, Jackie? How do you stop being afraid of yourself?”

Jackie pressed her lips together as she tried to articulate an answer. “There’s no easy solution, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. I don’t think I was ever ready to be gay, one day I just came to terms with the fact that I was miserable trying to avoid my own truth and that the only way I was ever going to be happy was by loving even the scariest parts of myself.”

Priyanka went quiet again, crumpling the tissue in her hand and staring at it as if the answers were there. “So you don’t think I’ll be able to be fully happy until I embrace being gay?”

“That’s for you to decide. But think of it this way; when you think about your future, best case scenario, what is it in your life that’s making you happy?”

The answer for that wasn’t in her hand, it was in her heart. It made its way into her throat, choking her from the inside and making her pulse race. After everything, it nearly made her angry that it felt inevitable. “Lemon.”

------

“Juice just texted me that they’re on the way,” Rosé read off her phone, her free hand squeezing Denali’s tight, her leg bouncing anxiously.

The woman they’d brought in to help Lemon, Widow, nodded calmly. “Remember, at the end of the day we are here to help her. We’re not punishing or lecturing her, but we have to be firm.”

After another review of the plan, they heard the door open and looked up to see the two girls walk in, Lemon’s expression immediately becoming confused as she looked around. “Are you guys fucking intervention-ing me?” she asked as she took the empty seat to the right of Rosé.

“Lemon, your friends and family are here because they care about you and are worried about your health,” Widow explained. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘this bitch wants to send me to some random rehab until I come back sober for good’, but this isn’t like that. We get that you’re twenty-one, fresh out of college, no history of addiction.”

“So why am I here?” Lemon interjected.

Rosé arched her brow. “Well, for starters, you haven’t been sober a full twenty-four hours in nearly three weeks, you’ve been acting completely unhinged every time you get trashed. You’re actively trying to alienate yourself from everyone who cares about you, you-” She stopped short when Denali squeezed her hand, her cue to reel it in. “You’re going down a dangerous path and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“This isn’t one of those ninety-day programs either,” Jackie chimed in. “It’s only three weeks, and the first five days are just for detoxing. We’re not saying you have to be sober for good, this isn’t AA, it’s a program that’s going to give you the support and help you need to still enjoy things in moderation instead of relying on alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

Lemon nodded and listened as the rest of the group said their pieces to try to convince her to go. And she took it in, but she was also looking around and at the door. After a while, it became clear that she was waiting for - hoping for - another person.

“Priyanka wanted to come,” Jackie told her. “But we weren’t sure how you would react and decided it would be better if she waited at least until after you detox to contact you. You have to know, though, she really does care about you.”

She sunk further into her chair, not angry, but embarrassed. It shouldn’t have had to come to this, she knew that, knew better. And she hated that everything they said was right, that she did need help. “Fine,” she mumbled, “I’ll go.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissipated throughout the room. “Rosé and Juice will go back with you to your apartment so you can pack, we’re going to get you checked in tonight,” Widow explained. “The facility is in Westchester, you won’t be more than an hour away and visitation is every Saturday.”

Rosé looked at her younger cousin and could tell she was doing her best to cover her fear and anxiety. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly. “You’re going to be okay, baby,” she promised, “they’re gonna take good care of you, and you’re gonna be better than ever once you’re done.”

Lemon nodded quietly, wiping her eyes. “I just wanna get this over with,” she mumbled, still unwilling to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of everyone, though the group anticipated that from her and let it be. All any of them could do now was trust the process.

Taste of a Poison Paradise, Chapter 9 (Multi) - Joley

Chapter Summary: In the wake of Lemon’s outburst at the club, those closest to her process the fallout and realize something needs to be done before she spirals to the point of no return.

ao3 link

“Okay, I think that’s the last box,” Juice remarked as she dropped herself down onto the couch. “So, why’d your cousin kick you out again?”

Lemon scoffed and rolled her eyes as she piled up the empty boxes. “She didn’t kick me out, we both decided it was time for me to move.” She decided her college friend-turned-roommate didn’t need to know about the argument she had with Rosé. And she certainly didn’t need to know that she’d rejected her ultimatum of, “if you want to stay here, you can’t keep getting drunk every day.” It had been a week since the incident at the club and she was going to recover from it on her own terms.

“Alright, cool,” she shrugged as she took out her phone and began aimlessly scrolling. “You wanna do something tonight?”

The blonde perched herself on the armrest of the couch, swinging her legs. “We could go to a club and get shitfaced,” she suggested.

Juice shook her head without looking up from her phone. “You can. I mean, I’ll totally go with you and turn shit up, but I don’t drink.”

“More for me.”

Her friend looked her over with a concerned expression, eyes finally pried away from the screen. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “I mean, I know you’ve been through a lot, have you considered talking to someone about it?”

Lemon shook her head. “I’m fine, I don’t have the emotional capacity for therapy.” She got back up and looked around. “Shit, I guess you don’t have any liquor in here then. I’ll be back,” and after putting her shoes on and grabbing her purse, she was out the door, leaving a concerned new roommate in her wake.

——

Rosé sighed as she passed the joint back to Mik. “This doesn’t make me a bad person, right? I mean the last thing I want to do is make Lemon’s issues about me. But god, that really is what made me realize that I have to do this.”

Mik shook her head as she took a hit. “It’s not your fault, you saw a trainwreck and realized you needed to keep your ass on the tracks.” She finished off the joint and put it out. “Listen, the last thing you wanna do is be that girl who pines over the person she’s sleeping with until it’s too late.”

“You’re right, I know. I’m gonna talk to her,” she exhaled deeply as she pushed herself up. “If Lemon comes around, please don’t have sex with her.”

“Oh fuck off,” she huffed, “that delayed her mental breakdown by at least a week.”

Rosé rolled her eyes as she left. She wasn’t mad at Mik for that, if anything maybe it did help Lemon temporarily by giving her a distraction. But she had so much more on her mind, things that have been brewing since the club incident.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she knocked on Denali’s door, evening out her breathing while she waited for her.

“Hey Rosie,” Denali smiled warmly as she opened the door, leading her inside and shutting it behind them. “What’s up? You usually text me when you’re on your way over.” They sat down on the couch as she spoke, a tinge of concern in her voice.

She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “I know I’ve been distant lately with everything that’s been happening with Lemon. But through all the chaos, I realized something, that keeping your feelings bottled up is dangerous.” Another deep breath, this time she forced herself to look into Denali’s eyes, eyes that she found warmth and comfort in every time she gazed into them. “What I’m trying to say is that I have feelings for you. I don’t just wanna be fuck buddies, it’s not enough. I need all of you.”

Denali blinked, taking her time to process Rosé’s confession. At first it was pure surprise, but once she let it sink in, it clicked that she felt the same way, that she had been falling for her all along without realizing it. “You have all of me,” she told her, cupping her face and pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

In that moment, a weight lifted from Rosé’s chest. If only for the duration of a kiss, she could pretend nothing in the world existed outside of Denali’s apartment. She could stop thinking, stop worrying. It was only them, everything else faded to black. “Are we alone?” she asked against her lips.

“Mhm,” she nodded, a slight smirk tugging at her lips, able to fill in the blanks from there. Her hands traveled down Rosé’s body, tugging off her shirt in one swift motion, her own following suit, though they took their time undressing each other, letting their fingers and lips gently caress each other’s skin.

By the time they were both completely undressed, they had gotten each other thoroughly worked up. Rosé had Denali sit up on the couch, then got on her knees in front of her, pushing her thighs apart. She moved in between them, dragging her tongue along her pussy before circling, then sucking on her clit as she eased a finger into her.

Denali’s head lolled back to rest against the back of the couch, a pleased moan escaping. “Mm, Rosie…” she exhaled, her hips pushing up when Rosé slid in a second finger. “Baby, just like that, feels so good.”

She basked in the praise, continuing her movements, occasionally switching her tongue and her fingers, but never leaving her unattended. She was focused and fervent, bringing Denali to an orgasm as quickly as she could, as if she were setting it as a challenge to herself. Once she’d won her game, she pulled back with a smile, gazing up at her. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re sappy,” she teased affectionately, leaning down to kiss her. “Come on,” she got up and pulled Rosé to her feet, “we can cuddle until I gotta get ready for my shift.”

——

Nicky watched Jan with a concerned expression. She wished she knew what to do, how to talk to her and help her. Ever since the incident at the club, she had been quiet, withdrawn, two words she would never think to associate with the bubbly woman she loved so dearly. It killed her to see her girlfriend hurting, enough for her to put her aversion to emotional conversations aside as she sat beside her on the couch, gently taking her hand. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same since what happened with Lemon and I’m worried about you.”

Jan chewed on her lip, her gaze downcast. Logically, she knew she couldn’t avoid this conversation forever, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Lemon is like a sister to me and I’m worried about her. I know what alcoholism looks like… and I know what it can do to someone, it’s not pretty.”

She furrowed her brows, shifting closer to the younger woman. “What do you mean?”

“Well, um…” she swallowed thickly, “my dad’s five years sober now, but it hit a nasty low before it got better. I-I don’t know what that low would be for Lemon, I’m afraid she’s hit it, but I’m even more afraid she hasn’t.”

Nicky nodded as she listened. She had suspected Lemon might have developed a bit of a drinking habit, but not the severity, and certainly not the effect it would have on Jan. “I am so sorry about your father, and about Lemon. Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My dad went to rehab while I was away at college, but I imagine my mom laid down some ultimatums, but I don’t know if Lemon thinks she has anything left to lose.”

“There has to be some way, and I’m going to help you find it,” she promised.

——

“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Juice said as she looked around the two pushed-together tables in the diner. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Julia - Juice - and Lemon moved in with me about four days ago.”

“What happened?” Rosé immediately asked. “Is she okay?”

The blonde hesitated and looked down at the table. “Technically yes, she’s nursing a hangover at home right now but otherwise fine, unless she’s started day drinking. But there’s a bigger issue, and I’m sure you guys have started to suspect as much. What I’m trying to say is she’s developing an alcohol problem, and if we don’t do something about it now, it could get much worse.”

Everyone else had similar expressions - sadness, concern, anxiety. But none of them were surprised. “What do we do, then?” Rosé asked, breaking a tense moment of silence.

“Listen, I’m not claiming to be an expert. I’m twenty-two, sober for eight months now, so I can relate to how she’s feeling. What she’s going to need is everyone to rally around her, because it won’t be easy to convince her to get help.”

“So can we stage an intervention?” Jaida asked. “Do you have someone we can talk to?”

Juice nodded. “I can talk to my sponsor and have her put us in touch with someone who can get her into a detox, put the whole thing together. It goes so far beyond just telling her to stop drinking, especially in a club environment.”

“Speaking of the club environment,” Gigi chimed in, “we have to address the elephant in the room. What are we gonna do about the Priyanka situation? She told Crystal she’s taking a day job until things cool off, but if Lemon gets help… maybe that’ll expedite the process.”

Jackie sighed, but agreed. “I can open auditions to take on another dancer temporarily, I don’t know how long she’s gonna need, but assuming she chooses to get help, I want her to know she has a place to come back to.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m going to reach out to Priyanka too, I know she hasn’t been answering most of our calls or texts, but I think I might be able to get through to her.”

“My god, we’ve been so caught up with Lemon, we’ve barely kept up with Pri. Are we bad friends?” Jan asked, feeling a mix of guilt and sadness.

Juice shook her head. “No, of course not. Everyone here is doing their best. You guys reach out to Priyanka and figure out a way to get Lemon to the intervention when the time comes, I’ll do what I can on my part.” From there, they all just had to hope for the best.

——

Jackie took a deep breath, making sure she was calm and collected before knocking on the door. When a woman with black hair and tattoos opened the door, she greeted her politely. “Hi, you must be Scarlett. Um, can you tell Priyanka that Jackie’s here to see her?”

Scarlett nodded, disappearing back into her apartment. There was a solid few minutes of waiting, but Priyanka eventually came to the door. “Hey,” she greeted meekly and led Jackie inside.

Jackie sat at the edge of the bed in the guest room Priyanka had been staying in. “How have you been? You know we’re all worried about you.”

Priyanka’s gaze never left the floor. She picked pieces of lint off of her shorts as she sat down as well, swinging her legs aimlessly. How could she even begin to tackle that question when everything she had ever known had changed overnight? How can anyone process that sort of thing? “Scarlett convinced me to try therapy. I’ve had a couple sessions so far… It helped, I think, but it’s just scratching the surface, you know?”

She listened attentively, nodding along. “I’m proud of you for that. How did your family react when you and Mark broke up?”

“It’s funny, as angry as he was, he didn’t out me. He said it’s clear I have my own problems to work through. My mom was furious that the wedding was called off, so I threw in the ‘I like girls’ news because, well, it couldn’t get any worse,” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s fully hit her yet. She asked me if it was an excuse to get out of the wedding. I haven’t heard back since I told her it was the truth, and I haven’t heard from my dad at all.” She laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I couldn’t even say that I’m gay. It’s too much, I can’t just be gay,” she sat back up and grabbed a tissue, quickly dabbing the corners of her eyes. “How do you get past it, Jackie? How do you stop being afraid of yourself?”

Jackie pressed her lips together as she tried to articulate an answer. “There’s no easy solution, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. I don’t think I was ever ready to be gay, one day I just came to terms with the fact that I was miserable trying to avoid my own truth and that the only way I was ever going to be happy was by loving even the scariest parts of myself.”

Priyanka went quiet again, crumpling the tissue in her hand and staring at it as if the answers were there. “So you don’t think I’ll be able to be fully happy until I embrace being gay?”

“That’s for you to decide. But think of it this way; when you think about your future, best case scenario, what is it in your life that’s making you happy?”

The answer for that wasn’t in her hand, it was in her heart. It made its way into her throat, choking her from the inside and making her pulse race. After everything, it nearly made her angry that it felt inevitable. “Lemon.”

——

“Juice just texted me that they’re on the way,” Rosé read off her phone, her free hand squeezing Denali’s tight, her leg bouncing anxiously.

The woman they’d brought in to help Lemon, Widow, nodded calmly. “Remember, at the end of the day we are here to help her. We’re not punishing or lecturing her, but we have to be firm.”

After another review of the plan, they heard the door open and looked up to see the two girls walk in, Lemon’s expression immediately becoming confused as she looked around. “Are you guys fucking intervention-ing me?” she asked as she took the empty seat to the right of Rosé.

“Lemon, your friends and family are here because they care about you and are worried about your health,” Widow explained. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, ‘this bitch wants to send me to some random rehab until I come back sober for good’, but this isn’t like that. We get that you’re twenty-one, fresh out of college, no history of addiction.”

“So why am I here?” Lemon interjected.

Rosé arched her brow. “Well, for starters, you haven’t been sober a full twenty-four hours in nearly three weeks, you’ve been acting completely unhinged every time you get trashed. You’re actively trying to alienate yourself from everyone who cares about you, you-” She stopped short when Denali squeezed her hand, her cue to reel it in. “You’re going down a dangerous path and we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“This isn’t one of those ninety-day programs either,” Jackie chimed in. “It’s only three weeks, and the first five days are just for detoxing. We’re not saying you have to be sober for good, this isn’t AA, it’s a program that’s going to give you the support and help you need to still enjoy things in moderation instead of relying on alcohol as a coping mechanism.”

Lemon nodded and listened as the rest of the group said their pieces to try to convince her to go. And she took it in, but she was also looking around and at the door. After a while, it became clear that she was waiting for - hoping for - another person.

“Priyanka wanted to come,” Jackie told her. “But we weren’t sure how you would react and decided it would be better if she waited at least until after you detox to contact you. You have to know, though, she really does care about you.”

She sunk further into her chair, not angry, but embarrassed. It shouldn’t have had to come to this, she knew that, knew better. And she hated that everything they said was right, that she did need help. “Fine,” she mumbled, “I’ll go.”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissipated throughout the room. “Rosé and Juice will go back with you to your apartment so you can pack, we’re going to get you checked in tonight,” Widow explained. “The facility is in Westchester, you won’t be more than an hour away and visitation is every Saturday.”

Rosé looked at her younger cousin and could tell she was doing her best to cover her fear and anxiety. She wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly. “You’re going to be okay, baby,” she promised, “they’re gonna take good care of you, and you’re gonna be better than ever once you’re done.”

Lemon nodded quietly, wiping her eyes. “I just wanna get this over with,” she mumbled, still unwilling to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of everyone, though the group anticipated that from her and let it be. All any of them could do now was trust the process.

25.21%

I've been sober for 3 months today. 92 days. 25.21% of 2021.

I could've posted more updates, more milestones (it took a LOT not to post on Day 69) but I wanted to kind of save it up for a Big Day. It was also a decent way to continue to incentivize my continued sobriety: a full pass to do a shameless, hardcore bragging sesh.

Anyway, this post comes in 2 parts: the TL;DR for those who only want the gist, then more in depth on my ability to stay sober, the lasting effects of rehab, etc.

I tried my damnedest to pare this absolute novel down, but it's long, so feel free to dip out if you just get bored. Onward!

TL;DR: I went to rehab the beginning of July for 3 weeks and haven't had a drop of alcohol since. I've lost weight, I'm more healthy, my daily anxiety level went from 8 to 2, I haven't had an anxiety attack in 3 months, and everything generally just seems... easier. My memory and concentration have improved. I've been productive and I've been meditating every day. I'm saving money, and while I sometimes fantasize about getting drunk, that's usually all it is.

Honestly, it's been much easier than I expected, but I think a lot of that is because for the first 3 weeks, the time in which I would usually break down and start drinking again when trying to get sober myself, was spent behind a locked door. So far I haven't had any days where I was close to giving in. I haven't had many days where I've been depressed about it, missing it or really tempted. Maybe 3-4. I've basically just gotten on with my life as if alcohol doesn't exist.

To wrap up the short version for those ready to peace out, I'll leave it with a bit of advice.

I don't feel qualified to give any specific advice, because my story feels very unique to me, and I honestly don't think what worked for me will work for MOST people. Sometimes people spend a year in rehab and still drive straight to the liquor store on their way home.

That said, there's one thing that I've found pretty universally true: you have to really want it. For a while, I floated about without much of a "reason" to stay sober. I don't have a spouse, kids or a job I've been fired from, so I didn't see the point.

It's taken me a while, but after not being "convinced" by a few superficial "reasons" like weight loss and saving money, I thought I needed something more... permanent? Consequential? I now realize that my "reason" for getting sober at a young age after only a few years of alcoholism is that I don't want it to get to a point where I'm hurting other people, drinking myself into multiple lasting health problems... I don't want it to become permanent or consequential.

Anyway, that's my two cents. If you do have something like kids or trouble keeping a job, definitely use that as your reason. But for anyone who's a pretty "functional" alcoholic like I was, "not letting it go on long enough to become disfunctional" is a good enough reason.

This is going to get stupid long, so feel free to walk away now, just glad you read this much and it really does mean the world when people listen to what I have to say.

Now some more things in depth. I'll go in chronological order: what made me get sober, what I took from rehab (and what I left), and how it's been the past few months.

I started drinking when I got kicked out, manic out of my mind and homeless unable to sleep. It took a while until I was able to sleep without alcohol, but by then the addict brain had taken over. I'd tried a few times to get sober myself, but I never made it more than a week without, and always got back to daily drinking after a few months maximum.

Some people need a "wake up call", a "last straw" or a "rock bottom". Something external to make them realize they can't go on as they are. For me, the catalyst was my health, which is more of an internal reason I suppose. I didn't have a heart attack or liver failure, but my anxiety was getting uncontrollable and I knew it was directly tied to my drinking.

My life had been starting to feel tolerable, and I was more financially secure than ever before. Things were looking up... except for the alcoholism. This is a weird analogy but the only one that makes sense to express why, if I was doing so well on paper, I decided to go to rehab: you have to sweep before you mop. If I hadn't been in the place I was, I don't think I would've been successful at rehab. I had to sweep up the cat turds from the floor of my life before I was able to mop up the shit stains with sobriety. I know, I'm a true wordsmith.

When I finally called the hotline that hooked me up with a bunch of different rehabs, I knew I was in for a wait. It was about 5 months from that call to checking in, which isn't too bad considering I've been on the waitlist for a neuropsychiatrist in ALL OF CANADA for 4 years.

That brings us to July 12th, Rehab Day One. I've gone in depth in multiple other posts but to touch on it briefly, if I had to describe my experience in a sentence I'd say "the place I went to got very lucky with me".

What this means is that, of the 5 people in my group, I think this exact program was only ever going to help me. At the same time, I didn't even know what I would need, but this exact program was 90% of it. I didn't think 3 weeks would be long enough, but for me it was. The hours-long, repetitive, basic-ass CBT groups held 5 times a day 7 days a week was absolute torture for everyone but myself. While it was a drag to spend an hour on defining what a cognitive distortion is, the routine and repetition, something I've never gotten out of any outpatient program, helped me to really absorb the information and let it rewire my brain.

I've always said that I'm someone who should be spending an hour a day with a therapist for the rest of my life, and while that's not even remotely feasible, this was as close as it's ever gotten, and it proved me right, because it worked. I've done biweekly therapy for a short time but even that didn't come close to the way my brain changed in those 3 short weeks.

This program required absolute commitment and open-mindedness. This isn't because it was hard work or difficult concepts, but quite the opposite. While I hate the entire concept of art therapy being used as a cure-all for mental illness, I willingly got out of my bed, went downstairs and tried doing a dot mandala for an hour because I'm willing to try anything to get better. A lot of people might think they are, but really aren't. To use the mandala as an example, one guy was really into it, I wasn't, but we both finished. The other 3 tried, messed up a few times, and then scrolled through their phones. When I say this program necessitates complete engagement, that's not a compliment. It shouldn't be a chore to engage with the program. It shouldn't take me actively saying "I know I've known this basic concept since 4th grade, but maybe hearing it again will help" to get something out of a rehab program. So again, in every way, I got lucky, and so did they.

Before I finish with the rehab section, having had a few months to reflect on the whole thing, I now have an endless list of things wrong with it. I arrived, greeted by the most jaded and disillusioned of staff, and quickly became disturbed and at points concerned with just how negligent the staff are.

Maybe it's because I've been on the psych ward where they won't even let you have shoelaces and shine a flashlight on your face every half hour through the night, but it could've been so incredibly easy to sneak in alcohol. I brought 2 full water bottles, fully expecting to have to dump them out upon arrival, but they said "nah it's fine". Is it though?

Then there were actual counsellors there who were... okay. I recall one, the one I thought was the smartest, reading a handout aloud and coming across the word "delve" as in "let's delve into..." and stumbled, then said she doesn't know that word. The room was silent. As she pulled up Google on the screen I said, "it means to dive into it". She Googled it anyway. Synonyms include "dive in". If that was the only example I wouldn't mention it, but this was the first of at least 10 words she had do Google, none past a 10th grade level, from HER OWN MATERIAL. From that point on it became clear that they had no fucking idea what they were doing.

We had one last one-on-one counselling session before we left and the counsellor just filled in boxes to questions on her computer, rephrasing everything I said to fit into the buzzwords and "lessons" we'd "learned". Example. Me: I do think I'm better able to catch myself thinking 'oh I can just have one drink' and say 'no I can't'." Her: "Okay, so would you say that you can recognize negative cognitive distortions like permission-giving thoughts and counter them with a more rational and less emotional mind?" Like girl, blink twice if your boss is holding your family hostage. She gave me some papers, detailing all the online courses they were signing me up for and options for more treatment they'd be sending me, a phone number to call and a phone appointment for the next Monday. I never got that call, the phone number is a hotline, I never got a single email from them, and given how shitty they really are at their jobs, I didn't feel the inclination to try and get those resources. If they even exist in the first place.

In summation, it was a place where it was physically impossible to get alcohol. That's really all I can say in its favor. Oh, and they let you have your cell phone.

Now on our timeline I'm back home. I want to kind of analyze why it's been easy for me.

I often said that my main goal of going to rehab was to lock me away from alcohol long enough for it to reset my brain. Most people thought that was naïve, but that's exactly what happened. But I'm well aware that my experience of "instantly became sober and literally hasn't had a single hard day in 3 months" is absurdly unusual.

I put this down to a few things. Firstly, I'm on seven different meds for my mental health. Almost all of them have their effects dulled or even eliminated when you drink. So when I noticed my mood, fatigue, memory, concentration etc all getting better at once - right about as I left rehab, I don't think it would be a stretch to say that all those meds started working properly.

Secondly, I've been keeping myself busy, but that's something I've always been good at. Now I specifically choose to undertake projects that will eat up a lot my time and put me in a state of flow. I recently made an entire card game from scratch, and let me tell you, I didn't think of alcohol for a week.

Thirdly, my other goals now get in the way of alcohol. I'm getting old and my body is deteriorating. But I've always wanted to do just one last season of gymnastics. Well, I need to lose weight for that to happen. I've already lost 35 pounds, and after another 20 I'll be ready to go. Also, I used to spend more on alcohol per month than rent. Even though I've done a few shopping sprees lately, I haven't come remotely close to how much I was spending before.

I want it more than anything. I want to be sober more than I want one night of "fun" that will more likely than not lead me back to where I was a year ago. I never want to need anything as much as I needed alcohol.

Lastly, just a few more random thoughts.

A lot of people, myself included, worried about the fact that I work at a bar as a cook, but honestly the entire time I'm there I'm thinking about food, not alcohol. If I'm hanging out with some regulars before/after, I can watch them drink and be perfectly fine with my coffee, because the coffee is $2, and I used to spend $20 after every work shift.

I also decided in rehab to start taking better care of myself as best I could. This started with getting my second vax which I'd been putting off, then an eye appointment, then new glasses, then a dentist appointment where I was informed I need to do $3000 worth of work on my implant that's erroding my bone matter, so that sucks, but I caught it early. I've also been meditating every day. In just 3 months, I've made pretty big improvements to my self-care and my daily routine.

One of my fears about sobriety was "missing out" on "having fun". A few days ago, all my housemates got together to play Mario Party, and it was kind of my first night doing something social while sober. It was a breath of fresh air - I wasn't constantly running to piss, I didn't worry about running out of alcohol, I didn't get sloppy and obnoxious as I can sometimes do. I even came very very close to winning my first game of MP. When I reflected on the night, I realized that, if I'd been getting drunk the whole time, I would've sucked at the minigames, been a hindrance to anyone unfortunate enough to be teamed with me, and likely would've stopped caring about the game itself after the first few turns.

Yesterday I was making my 4th pot of coffee of the day when I realized there was a full glass of wine just sitting on the counter. I had absolutely no idea where the hell it came from - nobody in my house drinks wine. I shrugged and poured that sweet sweet bean juice. It was only when I sat down and took a sip of coffee did I find myself thinking automatically, "this tastes so much better than wine". I only realized then that it had been rose wine, the only kind I've ever been able to tolerate. It was the ultimate moment of possible temptation, and the thought of just chugging that glass - as I may've done in the past - didn't even cross my mind.

I'm so glad to be where I am. I'm about to undergo some serious financial changes - i.e. going absolutely broke - but drinking isn't gonna help that, so I'm cautiously optimistic.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

Josh,

Sometimes it's really fucking difficult to not believe that the universe is personally biased against me. And I know that's kind of rich coming from the one of us that didn't get driven to suicide. But I just, I know you of all people would understand. I wish I had you to really talk to right now.

I'm gonna ramble because I just need someone to listen. But where to fucking start? Life right now is just spinning plates. On one day this week I found out a critical hospital referral I was relying on had never been made; I was rejected by yet another landlord for a house next year that I'd really been betting on; my supervisor met with and bullied me for a solid two hours and my one social event of the week got cancelled. So, that's about when it all started to get too much.

The doctor I've been seeing has been incompetent from the start and made so much work for me in the 6 months I've been in her care. Despite diagnosing my Potentially Life Threatening connective tissue disease, she never even named it in our appointments, leaving me to discover the true horrors of my body through playing detective with my blood results. Long story short, to be confident that I can go on a treatment for it without bleeding out, I need to see a geneticist. But despite agreeing that I should see one, she's refusing to refer me to one directly. Instead, she's referring me to a pain rehab clinic at a separate hospital and saying they can internally refer me to genetics. The wait on the pain rehab clinic? At least two years. Plus, of course none of this information was forthcoming and required weeks of emailing back and forth. So now I'm angry, anxious and stressed about my health. I want to make a formal complaint but I don't know when I'll find the time.

That wasn't even the worst thing, though. The worst thing was uni reminding me just one last time that it truly doesn't give a shit about its students and why I hate it to its very core. The final piece of work I have left to hand in is a research project that I've been working on all year. However, my supervisor is an utter cunt, and I don't say that lightly. He's incredibly narcissistic and rude for a start. For a presentation I had to do, he forced me to use his own slides without ever looking at mine. He once ended an online meeting because I misspoke when explaining a figure, telling me to call him back when I knew what I was on about because he "never forgets what he sees and doesn't want his brain soiled with incorrect information." Given he never remembers what we've spoken about from one meeting to the next, I call bullshit. Oh and this week? He asked me to explain a figure to him and when he said he didn't understand I asked him if he was looking at my screen share. He said no. I just despair!

To make matters worse, he's never fucking happy with me. He's made me start my work from scratch 3 times now and had a different problem each time. We're rapidly approaching the deadline now, so to get all the work done for the 3rd time I've been working 9am-5pm 6 days a week. Not that he cares. The results don't fit his hypothesis, so I must simply be incompetent. He even once had the audacity to suggest that I "didn't want to do the work" while looking through a 70 page document of my results, because I couldn't explain the findings of a figure I'd made a month ago off the top of my head.

In this weeks meeting, he again gave me an extortionate list of new tasks to do, while berating me at every turn. With a month left submit my thesis and my write up not started, I tried to explain to him that I wouldn't have time to complete the list. He just shrugged and said, "Well I think you should do it." And yes, this man is aware that I have been struggling physically and mentally recently.

I didn't know what else to do to make him listen, so I contacted the course supervisor (who I'd already briefly made aware of my issues with him). She told me to "quit" and "just get on with writing my thesis"... until four hours later after she had spoken to my supervisor and completely changed her mind. She video called me to tell me to do the work and I just broke down. I don't make a habit of ugly sobbing in front of people I've only ever met twice over Microsoft Teams, but this was a particularly bad day.

"Trying to do this work is going to destroy my physical and mental health."

"I can't do this anymore."

"He never listens to me."

"I've been working 6 days a week and it's killing me."

She didn't care. She told me that since my supervisor is an experienced professional, he must know how much he's asking of me and since he insists it's quick and easy stuff, it must be. This man has never done this analysis himself. He doesn't even know how; half the stuff one of his lab workers taught me and the rest I taught myself.

"Chill out" and "calm down" she told me, "do the work and if you have any problems ask John (the lab worker)"

By the time I pressed the leave button, I could barely breathe, let alone talk. I was just choking and sobbing and had snot pouring down my face. I was just so tired. So stressed. So... ignored. I didn't know where I would find the hours in the day, but I started by cancelling the trip to see my parents this weekend. To them I am not a student, and a student with health problems at that. I am simply a machine to use for free research.

I just wanted the stress to give me a break. I just wanted a break. I was genuinely afraid that my heart was going to stop from the stress alone. I didn't know where else to turn. The counseling service put me on a waiting list. My tutor told me to "just keep trying my best". My mentor told me to talk to my course supervisor. My course supervisor told me to work. A was busy revising for an exam the next day and I didn't want to bother him. So, I turned to my unhealthy coping mechanisms instead.

I didn't mean to do it as badly as I did. I just wanted to scratch my skin enough to feel it burn and give me something else to feel instead of the huge mass in my chest. But the scissors were sharper than I thought and when I looked down there were four long cuts that had gone through the skin and fat. I knew immediately I'd fucked up. There was no way those edges were coming together on their own. Honestly, I was just mad I'd given myself something else to do. So, I covered them with gauze and tape and kept on working. Because I needed to work. I needed to get it done. I would deal with going to the hospital later but I couldn't lose these working hours.

Once the blood was dripping from the gauze I finally, begrudgingly, went to the hospital. Honestly? They were surprisingly nice. They were understanding and they listened. I was so worried that they'd think I was some cringy emo kid looking for attention. I honestly felt like a total knob going there, but I didn't have a choice. I never felt judged or like they thought I was wasting their time or that it was all my fault. Of course, I know that it was my fault and I felt like a fool. But I also don't blame myself for becoming so desperate. At one point a doctor came in with a medical student who was visibly shy and embarrassed when examining me. I told her I had a place at medical school, so not to worry as I'd be in her place soon. And again, I was shocked because they didn't once tell me not to go. I thought they were going to say "if you can't cope right now, starting medical school isn't for you!" But they never said anything like that. Instead they were shocked I'd gotten in to such a good uni and seemed incredibly genuine when they wished me well.

Oh, and the wounds? Thankfully I didn't need stitches so I got them pulled together again with steri-strips. And in case you didn't believe me that I didn't intend them to be so bad, I nearly passed out three times after looking at them. So, I truly am a fucking idiot, Josh. Lesson learnt, I suppose. Though I'm still afraid what will happen next time I run out of options.

It's finally the end of the week now, but the universe still hasn't given me a break. My mum called earlier and told me my rabbit will be crossing the rainbow bridge tomorrow as he seems to have had a stroke. I mean, it's a small mercy that he's an old bunny and he's been unwell for a long time, so it's not a shock. But it's still so sad and I'll miss him so much. What really tops it all off is that I was going to see him this weekend until I had to cancel my trip home due to the workload.

Man, I just. Why does shit stuff seem to come so easily to me? It's difficult not to feel personally victimized when shit news after shit news lines up so well. I wish good things came as thick and fast. I hope to fuck my luck changes soon because honestly I'm terrified that it's taking years off my life.

Thanks for listening, Josh,

C

holden barrett • oliver sykes • 33 • he/him • pansexual • tattoo artist 

introduction

tw: drugs, addiction, overdose, physical abuse

Holden Barrett hadn’t always been the kind of person he is today. Sure he’d always been crude, he’d always been a smart ass, but he never once in his life thought he’d be a recovering addict. He grew up in an unpleasant household, his dad was a real estate agent, his mom the trophy wife that sat at home and tried to please her husband but nothing ever seemed to be enough for him. Holden had two siblings, so he didn’t have to endure all of this alone. Devin, his younger brother and Penelope his older sister. Holden’s dad wasn’t the most pleasant man to be around, he suffered from bipolar disorder and any little thing could make him tick, so his entire childhood consisted of walking on eggshells just to please the man and to keep him happy. What kind of childhood was that? As they all grew older, Penelope went on her way to college and never looked back, not that Holden could really blame her but it put a lot of responsibility on him.

As the years passed and his father got older his mental disease became more apparent and his outbursts came more often than none. And when Holden got older that meant his dad went after him. Often, due to Holden’s smart mouth throughout his teen years he and his father got physical and it left Holden bruised and beat up more than he should have been. Holden didn’t care though, he thought it’d make him tough and teach him how to deal with the shitty people and parts of life that most people wouldn’t even want to deal with. But Holden wanted that, he wanted to be able to take up for himself and to protect himself. In his early twenties, Holden began exploring his sexuality, going to clubs and bars to find hook ups and he did so with both men and women (sometimes at the same time). Was it odd for him? Yes. At first he didn’t want to accept that he liked men because he never thought he’d be that kind of person, but one guy really changed him and his outlook on things. His name was Noah, he was some pretty boy with pale skin and the prettiest and bluest of eyes and Holden was attracted to him because of that damn bad boy attitude he had. Little did he know that bad attitude came with a price.

Noah and Holden hit it off pretty well and they moved things at a rather fast pace. Within a month of the two of them dating Holden was moving into Noah’s rundown apartment that had little to nothing inside of it, all except a mattress in the floor and a small tv that sat on some crates, but it was home and Holden was happy. As the time passed Holden and Noah started living like wild twenty year olds, clubbing every weekend, working shit jobs just to make the rent, living off of Top Ramen and just trying to make it by. Eventually the two of them were on a good path, they weren’t scraping by as much and had time to be themselves. Hell, Holden even got into a stupid garage band in hopes it go somewhere. But as they started earning money, Noah turned Holden onto drugs. At first it was pot, not that he hadn’t smoked it before or anything. And then it was pills, Noah told him it’d make him forget about everything and make him feel happy and fuck if he weren’t right. Each day started off the same, they’d wake up and argue about something stupid, they’d realize it was stupid and make up, and by making up that meant swapping pills into one another’s mouth with a make up kiss. Then they’d go about the day - if they didn’t pass out from the high. And this went on for months.

Times began to get hard and Noah was ready to give up, they were on the verge of losing their apartment, they were constantly fighting, both physically and audibly. And eventually, Noah left Holden. He left him one night when the two were sleeping and Holden woke up to a note saying Noah was gone and to not try to find him. That’s when Holden went off the deep end, his first real relationship and what he considered his first ‘love’ had ended with a fucking note. Holden began popping pills on the daily, sometimes more than he should have and luckily he hadn’t killed himself doing it, he slept around with any and everyone just to get the memory of Noah being there out of his head. His addiction began to spiral out of control, he was almost what one would consider a junkie. He’d promise one dealer he’d pay him one day if he fronted him a sack of pills, or a gram of coke, and eventually it all caught up to him and Holden was getting his ass kicked each time he was late to paying. So, he got into the business himself and paid back what he owed. It wasn’t easy and the more money he got just led him to buying more drugs for himself until one night he overdid it and overdosed.

Luckily the person he had planned on hooking up with were there and called the ambulance. He spent months on rehab and eventually found a coping mechanism, it was drawing. He liked sketching out big things, portraits, skulls, etc. and once he got himself cleaned he began focusing on learning how to tattoo. At twenty-four, Holden became a tattoo artist and a damn good one at that and has been practicing the art since. He hopes that he can keep his sobriety straight and that he doesn’t become tempted by the devil’s dance.

holden barrett • oliver sykes • 31 • he/him • pansexual • tattoo artist • riverside view

introduction

tw: drugs, addiction, overdose, physical abuse

Holden Barrett hadn’t always been the kind of person he is today. Sure he’d always been crude, he’d always been a smart ass, but he never once in his life thought he’d be a recovering addict. He grew up in an unpleasant household, his dad was a real estate agent, his mom the trophy wife that sat at home and tried to please her husband but nothing ever seemed to be enough for him. Holden had two siblings, so he didn’t have to endure all of this alone. Devin, his younger brother and Penelope his older sister. Holden’s dad wasn’t the most pleasant man to be around, he suffered from bipolar disorder and any little thing could make him tick, so his entire childhood consisted of walking on eggshells just to please the man and to keep him happy. What kind of childhood was that? As they all grew older, Penelope went on her way to college and never looked back, not that Holden could really blame her but it put a lot of responsibility on him.

As the years passed and his father got older his mental disease became more apparent and his outbursts came more often than none. And when Holden got older that meant his dad went after him. Often, due to Holden’s smart mouth throughout his teen years he and his father got physical and it left Holden bruised and beat up more than he should have been. Holden didn’t care though, he thought it’d make him tough and teach him how to deal with the shitty people and parts of life that most people wouldn’t even want to deal with. But Holden wanted that, he wanted to be able to take up for himself and to protect himself. In his early twenties, Holden began exploring his sexuality, going to clubs and bars to find hook ups and he did so with both men and women (sometimes at the same time). Was it odd for him? Yes. At first he didn’t want to accept that he liked men because he never thought he’d be that kind of person, but one guy really changed him and his outlook on things. His name was Noah, he was some pretty boy with pale skin and the prettiest and bluest of eyes and Holden was attracted to him because of that damn bad boy attitude he had. Little did he know that bad attitude came with a price.

Noah and Holden hit it off pretty well and they moved things at a rather fast pace. Within a month of the two of them dating Holden was moving into Noah’s rundown apartment that had little to nothing inside of it, all except a mattress in the floor and a small tv that sat on some crates, but it was home and Holden was happy. As the time passed Holden and Noah started living like wild twenty year olds, clubbing every weekend, working shit jobs just to make the rent, living off of Top Ramen and just trying to make it by. Eventually the two of them were on a good path, they weren’t scraping by as much and had time to be themselves. Hell, Holden even got into a stupid garage band in hopes it go somewhere. But as they started earning money, Noah turned Holden onto drugs. At first it was pot, not that he hadn’t smoked it before or anything. And then it was pills, Noah told him it’d make him forget about everything and make him feel happy and fuck if he weren’t right. Each day started off the same, they’d wake up and argue about something stupid, they’d realize it was stupid and make up, and by making up that meant swapping pills into one another’s mouth with a make up kiss. Then they’d go about the day - if they didn’t pass out from the high. And this went on for months.

Times began to get hard and Noah was ready to give up, they were on the verge of losing their apartment, they were constantly fighting, both physically and audibly. And eventually, Noah left Holden. He left him one night when the two were sleeping and Holden woke up to a note saying Noah was gone and to not try to find him. That’s when Holden went off the deep end, his first real relationship and what he considered his first ‘love’ had ended with a fucking note. Holden began popping pills on the daily, sometimes more than he should have and luckily he hadn’t killed himself doing it, he slept around with any and everyone just to get the memory of Noah being there out of his head. His addiction began to spiral out of control, he was almost what one would consider a junkie. He’d promise one dealer he’d pay him one day if he fronted him a sack of pills, or a gram of coke, and eventually it all caught up to him and Holden was getting his ass kicked each time he was late to paying. So, he got into the business himself and paid back what he owed. It wasn’t easy and the more money he got just led him to buying more drugs for himself until one night he overdid it and overdosed.

Luckily the person he had planned on hooking up with were there and called the ambulance. He spent months on rehab and eventually found a coping mechanism, it was drawing. He liked sketching out big things, portraits, skulls, etc. and once he got himself cleaned he began focusing on learning how to tattoo. At twenty-four, Holden became a tattoo artist and a damn good one at that and has been practicing the art since. He hopes that he can keep his sobriety straight and that he doesn’t become tempted by the devil’s dance.

connections

HOLDEN BARRETT is searching for A BEST FRIEND with the following suggestions of UTP.

HOLDEN BARRETT is searching for A SPONSOR with the following suggestions of UTP. You DO have to contact the player prior at ( HCLDENBITCH ).

HOLDEN BARRETT is searching for A FWB with the following suggestions of UTP.

‹ TARON EGERTON, HE/HIM, CISMALE, BISEXUAL.  ›  ELLIOT GALLAGHER is the TWENTY SIX year old from SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said,  ❝ MIGHT AS FUCKIN’ WELL, RIGHT? GONNA HATE MY LIFE EITHER WAY, MIGHT AS WELL DO IT WITH SOME SCENERY. ❞ they claim FUNNY GAMES is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would TAUNT THE KILLER AND GET WHACKED FOR IT. their fears include DRIVING A CAR, WRITHING SNAKES and PUPPETS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE’S PAID OFF MULTIPLE WOMEN WHO HAVE HAD HIS CHILDREN. hope they enjoy their stay.  ‹  MUSE A from HOLLYWOOD’S BLEEDING penned by, Z, 25+, CST.  ›

- - - - - - - BASICS.

Name: Elliot Rian Gallagher. Pronouns: He, him. Nicknames: n/a Age: Twenty-six. Birthdate: April 18th. Zodiac: Aries sun, taurus moon, gemini rising. Ethnicity: white, his father's grandparents were second generation irish and his mother always stated that her parents came from Sandusky, and didn't know more than that. Nationality: American. Birthplace: Santa Monica, CA Gender: Cis Male. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

- - - - - - - BACKGROUND.

Parents: Craig Robert Gallagher; 58 years old, alive. Teresa Dawn Shwitzer-Gallagher ; 52 years old, alive Siblings: 2 older siblings, a boy and a girl, and two younger sisters. Spouse: n/a. Children: 3 by different mothers, whom he sends monthly allowances to. He makes it his business not to know any more. Current Job: out of work musician. Dream Career: to be back on top of his game, winning grammies like he used to. Schooling: Attended Crossroads in Santa Monica on and off, eventually graduated with lots of monetary assistance. Income: Receives pay from royalties from the band he was in as a teenager that kicked him out.

- - - - - - - PHYSICAL.

Height: 5'8". Weight: 160 lb. Eye Color: Blue. Hair Color: Dark brown. Hair Length: Fairly short. Hair Type: On the thinner side, with some wave. Body Type: Fairly skinny, with small hips and waist. A little thicker around the midsection with his short stint of sobriety. Clothing Size: Medium to large. Shoe Size: Size 11 Complexion: Very pale, freckles fairly easy, burns very easy. Scars: scars and calluses on his hands, a puckered scar on his temple half hidden by his hair, and a scar on his right hip from a bad car accident, his knees are assessed as much older than himself because of how poorly he treats them combined with genetics, and a long scar on the left side of his back.

- - - - - - - PERSONALITY.

Positive Traits: adventurous, charming, direct, passionate, sociable, competitive, creative, lively, versatile. Negative Traits: volatile, extravagant, defensive, envious, juvenile, wasteful, unreliable, vulgar, pessimistic. Mental Condition: Currently drinking again and using cocaine along with a few prescription pills after attempting out-patient rehab and tapering down his drinking, which he's been addicted to since age fourteen. No officially assessed disorders or conditions besides his alcoholism. Struggles with intimacy while sober. Emotional Condition: Fragile, filled with guilt and self loathing after relapse. Sees trust as more important than love and is very guarded with what he considers his innermost self. Likes: All black outfits, sunglasses, a tall glass of boulevard when he's drinking to taste it, people that make him laugh out loud, old school SNL, the fine tuning of behind the camera work, treating the people he cares about to nice things, arguing about oscars prospects for any given film, penny slot machines, jokes that make people groan loudly. Dislikes: lazy jokes about addiction, late night talk shows, people who look at him and see his misdeeds and not who he is as a person, "lizard people" conspiracy theories, elevator music, plastic covers on mattresses, the concept of an all seeing, all knowing god, TMZ, the smell of industrial cleaner. Strengths: intelligent, ambitious, sincere, passionate, generous, philosophical. Weaknesses: reckless, impatient, cowardly, detached, foolhardy, irresponsible. Fears/phobias: sobriety, letting someone see every single part of him, allowing himself to be vulnerable when sober, having hallucinations, driving a car. Hobbies: little to none as his primary hobby has always been drinking, mostly reading and watching movies. Quirks: fiddling with his glasses, biting the inside of his cheek, humming any song that comes through his mind out loud when he's distracted or concentrating hard on something.

- - - - - - - HISTORY.

!!! possible triggers in the following biography: drug use, alcohol abuse and alcoholism, driving while intoxicated, car accidents, parental neglect of children !!! You are two and a half when you land your first commercial. Your younger sisters managed their first roles before you, but it was a little easier for them as they were infant twins; far more in demand than just a tiny toddler boy. This is how your family eats and keeps themselves in an apartment in Santa Monica that's meant to house three when your family eventually grows to hold seven in total. A lot of mouths to feed. Thankfully you don't remember a lot of this, as the small time work you and your siblings do is enough to keep your family afloat. You make your way into middle school; pissed and stand offish and looking like a cherub; which insures that no one takes you seriously. The friends you make, you hold tightly to, and you kick around in your best friend Boston’s basement, just fooling around on his parents drum kit, their guitars that aren’t actually supposed to be touched. It’s all just for fun, the band and the EP you slap together; just trying to impress each other, until one of Bos’ parents finds someone who wants to sign the band. Everyone tells you over and over again, that this is the deal of a life time. That this will make sure you work in Hollywood for the rest of your life. This is both true, and untrue. The EP is an unmitigated success, and every review has something to say about you, the kid on bass with backup vocals who’s face looks barely legal but plays like he’s planning a murder. Almost everyone remarks on how much older than your few years you seem. Which at first makes you feel special, important. Makes you seek out big words to use when you're sitting on the couch as a guest. The audience really loves that. Of course, this also spawns those times when you end up at wrap parties and after parties, your mother schmoozing whatever producers and execs she can find, your father nowhere to be found, and a sea of adults getting high and wasted around you. None of the vices of Hollywood have ever been all that strange to you, though. Your parents have always had a very blase approach to the innocence of childhood, and didn't much care to shield you from anything. It’s still all fun and games, really. The five of you have too much fun, and everyone wants to treat you to everything, so. Somehow the option you end up choosing most often is the bottle in your hand. The bottles that are so readily available, everywhere, that get pressed into your hands and put into the end of the night goodie bags your mother always takes three of. You think that waking up in an unfamiliar bed every single night of a week is something the rest of your bandmates are doing. It’s all a laugh, we all drink and we all smoke and it’s kid shit, right Boston? You learn that it very much is just a ‘you’ thing when you come to rehearsal (late, as usual) one Thursday afternoon and they’re all somberly waiting for you, hands in their lap and silent. You are being released from your contract with Cthulhu Rising...but the band has elected to move on and create their debut album. Unfortunately at this point you are eighteen and very, very deeply entrenched in alcoholism. The press has been playing you as a party boy who enjoys simple teenage excess for a very long time, but it's starting to wear thin. TMZ is growing a lot less glowing in their articles. You try not to pay attention even as you get yourself thrown out of clubs and tossed into drunk tanks and bailed back out again by whichever assistant your mother has hired this week. As long as you can find a way to make music, you can keep breathing. But with your growing notoriety, offers start to dry up. Those late night shows that loved your precociousness take pot shots at you in their opening monologues. Kimmel's pre-taped Lonely Island style sketch about 'you' endorsing a brand of gin in the style of I Love Lucy gets over a million views on youtube. All of Hollywood, and by extension all the world is laughing at you. It get a little less funny when you ram your matte black Lamborghini Aventador into the median taking the exit for Interstate 10, pinball off of it and into the car in the lane next to you, back into the median hard enough to flip your car into a roll, tumbling side over side across the lanes into the ditch. Your blood test results at the hospital show your blood alcohol content was nearly triple the legal limit. The accident doesn't kill you, though it's a close thing. You're convinced the recovery is worse. The total at the end adds up to a fractured pelvis, six broken ribs, safety glass embedded in your left temple, lacerations all over your arms and face, bleeding in your lungs and swelling in the brain that leaves you in a coma for the better part of two weeks. The most pathetic part of it all? All of that, the things you don't remember from that day coupled with the bursts and flashes of what you do remember, the year and a half you spend in recovery still isn't enough to make you put the bottle down forever. And doesn't that just make you fucking hate yourself?

The Scary Asylum Trope (From Somebody Who’s Been Committed)

I can’t help but feel that the very loud and righteous voices of people with the best of intentions....who also have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about often overshadow those with a more nuanced and realistic view of the world because they’ve been through the shit. Especially on this site. In the real world, of course, both are drowned out by the man who both has bad intentions AND no idea what he’s talking about, but either way, the fact remains: people with first-hand experience of the ugliness of society saying shit nobody wants to hear, especially shit that makes the world a bit more morally grey and a bit more frightening than anyone would like to deal with are never listened to. 

 Although it’s often overlooked, I think we can all agree that the mentally ill and substance-addicted are among the most cast-off and overlooked members of society. Junkheads and crazies are already struggling to survive and nobody wants to give them a job, get too close to them, give them money, have them wandering the streets or coming into their businesses. Unlike other forms of oppression, one of the most insidious things about this is it’s opposed by almost nobody. “Don’t give that guy money, he’s a crackhead”, “stay away from that bum, she’s not right in the head, she’s dangerous”, “we can’t give you a job because of your history with substance abuse”, none of these statements are remotely controversial with the vast majority of people. A lot of people get angry when you say they should be or even suggest the mentally ill (not disabled, mind you, just ill) or addicted are even oppressed by society at all. Addicts, particularly. The general consensus is they ARE dangerous, they DO do illegal shit, they ARE unpredictable and unable to work reliably or have an interpersonal relationship with you, and most importantly...they brought this on themselves. This, of course, brings us to that great garbage bin of society’s dregs, the mental hospital.

Okay, so a bit of background. In Senior Year of college, I was alcoholic, cartoonishly depressed, and trying to deal with vague, unspecified shit that may have been trauma or a personality disorder or something I do not know, all I have ever been officially been diagnosed with is depression, but that doesn’t cover everything. I don’t know to this day exactly what’s wrong with me and I’ve gotten too old and used to it to really care enough to speculate. But long story short, one night I got too mouthy about a suicide attempt as I often do...to be honest, I think my crippling fear of the oblivion i believe follows death tends to manifest as loudly telegraphing my intentions to commit so that I have a chance to wake up even if I don’t chicken out at the last second...but anyway. My friend Vanessa came by my door and helped me down out of the home-made belt noose in my closet, and the cops were called. Cue being taken away in a cop car in handcuffs and 96 hours in a mental hospital without ANYONE believing any of my attempts to defend myself or even being put before a judge how’s that for due process ladies and gentlemen?

I won’t say what hospital I was in due to all the horrible shit I’m about to say about its character, but I WILL say when i first got there, many a joke was made about a then very topical certain someone who was known as a whistleblower and/or traitor depending on where you fall on the political spectrum who leaked a bunch of CIA and NSA shit. Oh, yeah, completely unrelated, did I mention I went to the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, VA? Just a fun tidbit.

Anyway, I know this is slow in getting to the point, so let’s cut to the meat of the thing. From Outlast (the good one), to Arkham Asylum, to Silence of the Lambs, Session 9, Halloween, to House on Haunted Hill (the bad but enjoyable one), to that story some kid in grade school and/or your older sister wouldn’t shut the fuck up about that had an escaped mental patient who apparently the staff had deemed wise to give a pirate hook for a hand, the common consensus is: mental hospitals are fucking scary. More specifically, crazy people are fucking scary.

In recent years, as we’ve all grown a little more compassionate and people give the mentally ill at least a few months or years before they decide your shit is too much for them to deal with and throw you out like a leper, there’s been very strong pushback against this. Particularly on places like tumblr and other random blogs and op eds around the internet. It’s easy to see why. Dehumanizing the mentally ill is not only offensive to people who CAN actually generally understand and remember what you say about us, thank you very much, it’s just lazy. People like Michael Myers (no not that one the scary one) and Joker, who would NEVER see the inside of a hospital due to their clear intelligence and control over their actions, are thrown in an asylum as a cheap plot device, and classifying a character as crazy lets you ignore pesky little things like “character motivation” and “consistent characterization in general, fuckwit”. People may even praise your character for lacking those things if they’re cuh-RAZY enough. Again, Michael Myers (still not that one) and Joker.

I’m a huge fan of the pushback against the escaped mental patient with a hook trope. Having been a mental patient myself, I can assure you that almost all ANYONE wants to break out of that shit hole to do is get some good fucking food, sleep in a real bed, and pork their significant other. Mr. Pirate Hook, in a realistic version of that story, may have jumped the teen lovers for their car just to drive it to the liquor store and then his girlfriend’s house.

The problem is, and this is the main point of this giant fucking essay, that there is now also considerable related pushback against asylums being scary places. Ironically enough, this is coming not mainly from certifiable and dangerous-to-themselves-or-others type people. This pushback is coming from very well-meaning young adults with anxiety disorders and/or depressive episodes who are very sweet and god bless them I just know for a fact have never EVER seen the inside of one of these fucking places. It is coming from people who don’t want asylums to be seen as scary places because they want the mentally ill to want to go to them. To help them, ostensibly, but a tiny little cynical “fuck everyone” part of me thinks it’s more like to sweep their mess into someone else’s room so they don’t have to fucking handle it.

Now, before I continue, let me stress that the place I was in was a bit renowned for being a terrible shit hole. I’m sure my experience would have been a lot nicer at a suburban 50k a day mansion rehab for celebrities in the hills of Los Angeles. You don’t condemn all hotels in the world because of one particularly traumatic stay at the bumblefuck nowhere clown motel next to the old graveyard (yes that is a real thing), right? And unlike hotels, there’s no such thing as an asylum critic. A lot of people do NEED to be hospitalized for safety, and a lot of people DO, through one method or another, find themselves better off by the end of their stay. And I’m sure the go-to solution for any and all of life’s problems isn’t “tranq them in the ass and throw them in an isolation room” in EVERY hospital. But I get a sneaking suspicion it’s most of them. With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s continue.

Mental hospitals are the most terrifying fucking places in the world. Every time one of my well-meaning friends who’s never been committed says they think a brief hospital stint would do me good, I want to throw a blender at their fucking head. Every one of your relatively well-adjusted but probably on an anti-depressant or anxiety meds guidance counselor and social workers friends will list their good qualities until they’re blue in the face and tell you it’s not at all like the movies and there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s not like the movies, most of the time. Not exactly. But that resort and bond with people who have been through the same thing as you and time to work on yourself and group therapy and art class pitch they sell you on? Yeah, it’s bullshit.

Let’s continue with my story. When I was brought in from the main hospital, they first sent me to acute. I’ve been to county jail, and I’ve been to the acute treatment (read: high risk/high security) wing in an asylum, and I would pick county. Every fucking time. Bless her heart, my patient and long-suffering girlfriend at the time, who had been by my side for the whole process, was sitting next to me and holding my hand as they did the intake survey. They were at least compassionate enough or smart enough to know I would be a lot more placid and manageable with her around to let her stay for the intake process. Outside, the hallway was dark, one guy was on a prison-style wall-mounted phone, some dudes were playing cards, a woman was wandering up and down the hallway....and up and down and up and down and up and down the hallway. And from somewhere, someone was screaming. Not words. Just...screaming. Nobody seemed to do anything about it, see what she was screaming about. I don’t know if it was agony, misery, or fury. Maybe some combination of the three. On and on and on, with breaks seemingly only to get her breath back. I was in the acceptance stage at this point, and was busy shutting down emotional channels one by one and going into survival mode, steeling myself for my stay, but my girlfriend at the time...she looked terrified and broken-hearted. The thought of her leaving a loved one in this windowless pit (this wing, you see, was underground) destroyed her. I could tell. It would me, if I were in her situation. It is a traumatizing situation to be in. There’s no way out, nobody believes anything you say unless you tell them the worst, you can see that woman out in the hall passing back and forth and back in forth in the door window, and someone is screaming like she’s in Hell. Maybe she was.

The screaming was when I first realized an ugly truth and my morals were shaken into a grey zone: people who are mentally ill can be pretty fucking scary. Even if they’re harmless. I never saw that woman or found out why she was screaming. But in that moment, I desperately feared her and hoped I would never find out. It’s easy now for me to look back on her with compassion and pity and feel ashamed for my reaction, wish I could have helped her, but then...I was already in a fragile place. She scared me. And this leads to the next conclusion, even worse. You scare other people, and maybe it’s understandable that they’re scared. 

I deeply repress my anger. I have never in my life been violent or had the urge to be, and I don’t plan on changing that. But my anger is repressed. It can take a lot of battering before it shows itself...but when it comes out, it’s in a sudden, explosive, deep-throat scream worthy of a jump scare in a horror movie showing a protagonist is losing his mind and can’t be trusted any more. I usually only get about half a sentence out in this way before I scare myself, my eyes go wide with horror, I clap my hands over my mouth and run out of the room crying. But by then it’s too late. I got so drunk so often I forgot huge chunks of my past and have no idea what I said or did. I emotionally wounded people. I acted unpredictably. I asked to borrow a friend’s cigarette while she was DRIVING, and casually, with no warning, ground it out on my arm. My girlfriend often found me passed out through booze or asphyxiation or covered in blood. Crazy is undeniably scarier to live with than it is to witness, and I often get frustrated when it feels like people don’t remember or fully understand that. But...that doesn’t mean witnessing it isn’t fucking horrible. People were being perfectly rational to be afraid around me. Never afraid OF me, everyone who knows me knows of my physically gentle nature (with others) and desperate desire to be a good person. But they were afraid: afraid of my behavior when I wasn’t in control, of what reckless and insane shit I might do to self-destruct and/or inadvertently hurt people around me.

Thankfully, my intake survey and a nurse who noticed my relatively normal behavior both indicated I should be in the (above-ground!) high-functioning wing, so I was quickly moved there. I never figured out who that scream belonged to. But even in high-functioning...it wasn’t much reprieve. A woman shit the bed, a man fresh out of acute regaled us with stories of getting tranqed and thrown in isolation because he had barricaded himself in his room with all his furniture and berated the orderlies as they tried to force their way in about “you should really bolt the furniture down it’s a safety risk I could be killing myself in here” because he was bored. My only friend in the wing, who I really did like quite a lot and still do even though we fell out of touch, had a roommate who was always acting like she was just on the edge of doing something fucking stupid. Once, her husband smuggled her a shaving razor, which she whipped out in front of my friend, waving it around and threatening to kill herself. When my friend alerted the orderlies, this woman put it (IN ITS CASE I always feel I should clarify) up her pussy to hide it and feigned ignorance, resulting in my friend going to isolation. No tranq though. This was the high-functioning unit, after all.

Your one-on-ones with the psychiatrist were roughly 3-5 minutes in length and consisted of medication questions and asking if you were literally going to beat your head against a wall until you died in the next 15 minutes, otherwise talk about it in group. The more you insisted to this man that you were fine and shouldn’t be here and inquired about the legal status of your incarceration and when you could be released, the worse he thought you were. 

There were times to gather and talk about feelings. There was art. Some people were very good at it. Visiting hours. But most of the time was just...sitting. Sitting, bored out of your god damned skull, so bored you might just barricade your room with all of its furniture and laugh and laugh and laugh as the orderlies try to force their way in. The patient man doesn’t need to inflict physical torture to break someone. Isolation and boredom do things to the human mind, maybe sooner, maybe later, but...up there, I said hospitals make a lot of people better. They also make a lot of people worse. Then they have to stay for longer. When they’re finally released, they don’t remember how to live in the normal world and soon end up back inside. 

Just like prison. Make no mistake, the asylum is a prison. A prison where nobody believes a god damned word that comes out of your mouth. A prison for people nobody wants to deal with. A prison where they stick you with people whose crazy does NOT fuck with your crazy and you start to think maybe people are right for not wanting to deal with you after all. That’s the worst part of negative emotional reactions to symptoms of mental illness. How god damned much they remind you of yourself. The trauma I mentioned off-hand up there was that my ex from High School may or may not have abused me it’s complicated and fuzzy i don’t remember it’s not important. What is important is a new girl came in once who casually admitted to abusing her boyfriend. I backed away slowly and retreated into a private room, where my one friend had to comfort me. Later, the class clown, Mr. Barricade Tranq-in-the-Ass, made a rape joke in front of her. A rape survivor.

Everyone’s mind breaks in very similar ways, but for very different reasons and with just different enough symptoms and fears and psychotic hatreds that there WILL be people in your unit you fucking hate, whose crazy and yours grind on each other’s gears. There will be people you are afraid of, people you’re stupidly attached to for no reason other than they’re there and nice to you.

Throwing all these people in a hole and throwing away the key does not create an environment conducive to anyone’s mental health. Then, of course, there’s the treatment. Yes, like I said, if you’re willing to petition like 5 people about it and constantly remind them, you may get some good one-on-one time. You may get some good nuggets out of group therapy. You might make nice art. Mostly, though, they cut you off from the outside world and take you away from everything you love and put you with a bunch of potentially terrifying strangers and just fucking leave ya there. To rot. 

The problem with mental hospitals is the problem they’ve always had. No, obviously nobody’s head is in a cage and they don’t electrocute and lobotomize you, but the theory is the same. They want you to stop being crazy. But first, and foremost, they want to keep you there and keep you under control. That is the primary goal. Not treatment. Keeping you there and controlled. I suppose if you consider the history of asylums it’s quite humane, but I wasn’t joking up there about the tranqs in the ass.Everything from death threats to trying to pork another patient to getting too lippy with a nurse is treated with the tried and true ass-tranq isolation room. How long will you be in there? Who knows!! Until they remember they put you in there and/or the shit that you’ve smeared on the walls starts to smell. 

And all of this leads to the most horrible conclusion of all, the kind that makes people truly lose their minds if they think about it too long in that Lovecraftian/Poe kind of way where your hair turns white: maybe there is no right way to handle mentally ill people, and if there is, we sure as fuck haven’t found it yet.

The mentally ill are oppressed and deserve compassion. Love. Support. But we can also be terrifying to the mentally well, to each other, to ourselves...and forcing all of these people into a cage they don’t want to be in with strangers who they’re irritated with and scared of who are irritated and scared right back at them and leaving them in this weird, artificially constructed, regimented society until you deem them fit to leave is....ha. Well, it’s crazy!. And it is scary. And it can and often does make people worse. 

So please, don’t...don’t say mental hospitals shouldn’t be seen as scary or shouldn’t be used in horror. By all means, do it. But do it well. Look to Outlast. See, in Outlast, the set-up is very trite. Big asylum, patients escaped and massacred the staff. But you’re there on a tip that human rights abuses and clandestine experiments were being performed. Most of the inmates are doing vaguely unnerving shit but are harmless, just like a real hospital. Some are just fucking watching TV. And the game is never satisfied with “this guy’s crazy.” Walker, the ‘UGE FUCKIN GOI who everyone’s terrified of has awful PTSD and if you listen to his idle dialogue, is always muttering about containment protocol and stopping the spread of something. And by the end of the game, you realize he might not be as crazy as he seemed, and that the patients massacring the hospital staff was completely understandable and maaaybe even a little bit their own fucking fault. One guy, in an absolutely heart-wrenching and my absolute favorite part of the game, is just sitting broken in a burning kitchen talking about how this place took everything from them because nobody cares about a few abused or dead lunatics, so he’s gonna burn the whole fucking thing down.

You know what it basically comes down to? Most of the crazy people aren’t dangerous. Some are, but the ones that are have clear motivations. Crazy ones, but motivations. Almost like........ooohhh the point emerges REAL FUCKING PEOPLE! Make villains crazy. Well, all right to be honest, it wouldn’t hurt to slow down a bit on that, but I don’t want it to stop entirely. Depict asylums as the Hellish shit holes they are. But for God’s sake, just write mentally ill people like human beings. A human being you can’t understand isn’t the same thing as a non-human. Nobody does things for NO reason at all. If you’re writing a crazy villain, don’t make him evil because he’s crazy and the symptoms of his crazy are being evil; if you’re setting something in an asylum, make sure the horror doesn’t start and end with guys in straightjackets frothing at the mouth and screaming about how they want to fuck whoever’s walking past them in the aorta. 

I don’t want the truth about us, our condition, our capacity for harming those around us, or how fucked up it is how society treats us because it has no idea what the fuck it’s doing sanitized because it’s difficult to deal with and there are no clear good guys.

My Experience with The human Condition

I feel like I should start writing this somewhere so maybe someone sees this and avoids some of the mistakes i've come to make threwout my life. I dont exactly plan on this being a autobiogeph, But things are confusing at the current moment. Let's get Started Let me start of by intreducing myself Hi, Im Roy Otherwise Known as janro a Afrikaans Raised South african 22 year oldAnd Im a Psycopath of sorts Now my Grammer or Spelling wont be a real reflection of my Brain so to speak, or my Character im in general bad with spelling but im good with words I guess. Im not a Psycopath in the general sense of what most people think , No I dont hurt people I have yet to murder someone in case your wondering. But I dont feel things like people should, Happiness IF you could call it that comes for me in the form of anger and immense moments of depression Tho im not sure what those Emotions really mean, Its the closest I come to feeling anything tho, Im not sure what anything is really, I find it impossible to learn anything from anyone, I think it might have to do with the fact that I usually Find myself better the work.Its a bad habbit because of that I learn to hate almost everything I do, Yet i Tend to be good at it, Everything ive ever undertaken ive either excelled at or simply never bothered to even try at it. I have no Motivation for anything It seems Pointless I dont see the purpose of running the hamster wheel of a life we tend to live, Im lonely So lonely yet I have a beautifull girlfriend thats wonderfull really. Shes amazing, A little one the only thing probably keeping me around my Beautifull little child. But that hurts me in the same breath because I want to see the world and expierence everything from every corner of the world in hopes that i find something that brings me Purpose, But now Because of her im forced to run the hamster wheel. And this is has been the hardest undertaking of my life. a year at college to get a Degree thats gotten me Nowhere and Taught me nothing, The person "In Charge" of teaching us" was so incapible him self I actually found it amusing in times so now with no Safety net noone to run to, No more Money to study Further, I sit here everyday Trying to find a job im totally unprepared to do. Maybe I am Ready but You see im intentionally or unintentionally self destructive I dont know, I cant afford to see a Therapist to try and deal with my Problems. If that would even help, So here i Am hoping some Stranger reads this and Borrows me a ear or some advice, Im trying to briefly Summarize my Current Situation So IF you're not interested in the full story Stop here. As a child I use to excell at everything I did at 12 I was already taking care of my Drunk of a dad, And teaching my Mother and sister how to cook, How to teach, How to handle there work and school life's I've always been the helpfull Silent kid that helps everyone els out with a smile but never quite getting anything in return, Well not In the general sense atleast. See I thrive on Others Emotions Im kind of a Morphic Person I adapt my Personaly and Characteristics to the person im talking to, So "Me" as a person my "Personality" Doesnt exsist its totaly Dependant on my current situation Because of that i've found it easy to Manupilate people Especially People who think they have the upper hand. When someones Following my Everywhim I feel this " At home" feeling And I guess because of this My life turned out the way it did. See for me Nothing Ever works out the way its suppose to, Im a Hopeless Optemist at time but its never worked out not even once, I've never had a plan work out before Yet I cant bring my self to "Just go with the flow" Because I tend to feel very little 99% of the time I've always been the calm and Colected person in my Family so everyruns to me if theres trouble or if they have problems. I'd love to run to someone I know for help right now, But I dont think anyone I know has the brain cells to understand the odd situation im in. Basiclly Im stuck in a puddle and ive got no way out. Theres no branch to latch onto no doors to open threres nothing ahead, I'd love to say all I need is for someone to give me a chance but im not sure I can get what they need from me done, Every Dream ive ever had ive had to toss into the wind because of one or another situation Either money family or loved ones. I feel like Im not good enough for anything anymore I've always had this rock solid self confidence lately none of thats left, Im the kind of guy that can write a 4000 Word essay on the spot usually and right now i dont even know what to write anymore, My Life is a Shit show right now, And ive got no outlet So im hoping this provides me some kind of support. I've lived a complicated live uptill now I've dealt With a Drunk for a dad thats sold everything ive almost every owned when i was living with him I turned to drugs to Feel something at some point But I litterly Stopped that Addiction simply by doing so much drugs that i'd be able to go to the hospital if i OD'd or Feel so shit that I can mentally start to restructer the addiction as a "Pain in the ass" "A hassle" It wasnt some Therapy or Rehab that helped me Just me simply Lying to my self and Ya I do get Cravings from time to time , But Eh. after that I spent 3 Years sitting at home trying to find a job And eventually after Interview and Interview failing I ended up Going to study and it this point im sure you know how that ended, And now im a Neutral Rock that cant feel anything but Crushing Self Pitty and Demotivation towards every daily act Its gotten to the point where i'd rather be hungry for 2 days straight then get up and make my self some Instant noodles or a Cheese sandwitch The other day I had such bad Stomach Cramps That i fainted, Probably because of the lack of neutrition but Eh I dont have the money to see a DR and I cant be Bothered trying to Improve my Diet as an Example I use to Weight About 90KGs Athletic Guy with Big "Muscles" I weight 42 KGs atm I Disgust my self when i look in the mirror lately When i see how ive let my self just Rot I honestly looked better on drugs Hell all the photos on this twitter I was high as all shit. I cant Off my self cause what about my kid. And That would be to much of a hassle honestly I mean ive been trying to kill my self slowly for years but still. I cant improve my life because I have no motivation And to improve it I would need a job and at this point I cant even remember what I had for Breakfast. Ooh And ive been Self Medicating with 7 Types of Anti Deppresants None of wich work btw All they do is make me feel "Edgy" when I forget to take them. But yeah I mean Shitts Tuff Im having some real "First World" Problems at the moment but to be honest i'd rather be in a warzone or some apocelyptic fuckery of a area atleast there id have a daily in and out and hell maybe the idea of getting murdered everyday might drive me to do something with my life althought thats doubfull But yeah if you got this far I think I owe you a Alot, and hell maybe you feel the same but I just want someone to fucking help me. I Feel fucking broken And I really just need some Help.

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / OCTOBER 5, 2019 // return of josh

oooookay folks! that's a wrap! below are my comments about tonight's ep + additional expansions on previously stated opinions. i'm not combining s2 ep 1 with this bc s2 is dead to me! so is s3! i only did this to gather up all these loose thoughts i had when this show with its one lonely season became such a comfort to me that i developed a second consciousness about it. but with these posts i am done! the evil is defeated! i will carry on through the 3rd and hopefully final season of nancy drew with less emotion and better spirits. thank god.

-"talk to owen" nancy firstly thinks of talking to owen only to see what happens w the agleaca; saying goodbye comes as sorta an afterthought mirroring tiffany's possession of george. yet nancy was unable to say goodbe to owen just like w kate. knowing this reveal about kate, i wonder if this was foreshadowing that something big will be revealed about him later? unlikely but still

-nancy + the reality of broken things: 'totems' like broken sand glass sculpture (good place) to show you it's not a dream; "owen broke that" ghost trap to ground him to reality, like how she reached for her locket in the good place, lucy's charm, ace's bear ('totems' idea borrowed from inception)

-george has never been an affectionate person, even with other women- so why does pda with nick suddenly become so important?

-lots of comments about ryan + women but what about carson/kate and karen? again with the hypocritical (interestingly, there is an aspect of violence to women connected with ryan (even though that violence is not his fault); but its not like kate or karen fared well either)

-ryan feels useless- relationships with women as stated by nancy- he seeks to redeem himself by showing up where nancy goes to prove he is good to have around/necessary/needed - but now that he is attempting to act as a parent he has to break through nancy's defenses all over again- firstly she didnt really consider him any kind of threat bc he comes off as incompetent- ie bad business deals- i think i mentioned last ep, their hauntings equalize them as they both attempt to gain peace by searching for answers but now ryan has changed the terms of engagement so he's back to square one, with carson. (which is how we find them s2 cowering in ryans car stalking nancy together)

-ryan's relationship to nancy exposes an interesting layer here. so far she doesnt know about nick/george but they still hold the cards (ie george gets one over on nick's ex/"the new girl") with the revelation of ryan being nancys father, nancy gains an interesting trump card in navigating the social fallout of being nick's ex. like george would take the new spot but then nancy comes out with george's ex in a much higher category. this plays out later on in the ep when george confronts ryan. george wants to talk about "them" but ryan shows up completely focused on nancy, thus illustrating the trump

-"i thought it was whitney with another insipid question" to me this sounds like whitney took bess's advice earlier about "asking aunt diana what she wants" (only to learn it actually annoyed the hell out of diana lmaoo)

-"then you need to fight for it" this hearkens nancy earlier by asking "arent you in by virtue of dna?" the test was positive; she is a marvin just like nancy is a hudson. thats not a fact that they can change. however, diana really acts like it can be changed- and in s2 we see it does change. its interesting for bess to be told to fight to be in a family she's already in and also foiled by nancy trying to fight her way out of her own family. would like to see bess stand up to diana and say something. i mean, she exists. as much as she may want to erase bess from the family, diana cannot erase her existence

-hannah's rolled up sleeves 💙

-"previous keepers records" -from s2- were those not her parents??

-mistaken murderers- everyone incorrectly assumes lucy was murdered just as they assume the agleaca killed owen

-even if owen weren't the price, how can they pay the toll without one of the people who called? i mean if it was anything other than owen and he still died they still wouldve been fucked

-"you don't need to check, i'm not even driving!" okay and giving up the goss. cassidy is me. lmfaoooo

-wonder if this locked marvin industries box will ever come back

-UNPOPULAR OPINION: george's confrontation with ryan comes waytoo late to do anything. i think i brought this up in an earlier post. its literally just her screaming at him now. like he is clocked out moved on. you know a good time for this scene? in the claw when he comes by to "check on her". hes vulnerable, fresh from rehab. and she has a chit over him for punching bookcases/the fuckin country club deal. therewould have been a perfect time to confront ryan on what happened- "what you did to me" okay sis. you admitted ep 1 you werent in hs anymore. youre of age now. admit you fucked up. take the L to force him to swallow the bigger L. and imagine how much more powerful the scene would have been- in george's domain, literally her own office, something ryan doesnt even have because HE DOESNT DO SHIT. ryan is SO EASY to trap but nobody notices. instead they have george try to get some kind of apology out of him when hes already done with that, and only for the sake of her establishing a new relaionship to boot. imagine how much more empowered she would feel if she just got that closure for herself- because she needed it, not so she could trot straight back to nick being all proud of calling a grown man to some random estate only to scream at him in a parking lot and have accomplished nothing. 🤦🏼‍♀️

-i get patrice thinking nancy is lucy but yeahhhhh this isnt how dementia works 😬

-i almost cant with nance and josh. how do you save your would-be murderer? (+ lucy's best friend and brother are in jail, her mom is lost to her mentally; all she has left is nancy and ryan)

-tbh i had no idea how to spell agleaca until bess said "theres no i in agleaca!" i thought it was igleaka like 😂

-damn how george just stares at nicks hand and then gets out herself is just so sad (like she immediately rectifies it but still...)

-"curiosity" part II; nancy who comes back to the sea after her mother died in it- agleaca drawn to lucy's trauma/to agleaca, lucy died fir "love"- would nancy be willing to risk the same? // this is also one of nancy's "mirroring mom" moments: winning sea queen, going to the velvet masque, getting caught by celia, having a "chat" with everett, and "falling" off the bluffs

-the collector 🎵👌🏻

-i wonder if there's any significance to the locations/means of their deaths; nancy's is pretty straight forward in terms of where and how, but why george and nick drowning, in the truck specifically? drowning in love? idk. ace's at the claw i get, but he gets himself caught? in what precisely? what does the fish hook mean? and bess's makes the least sense- burning alive? in the marvin estate? maybe the agleaca picked the most painful death for the marvin blood relation? idk. up for debate lmk ya thoughts

and lastly:

-i remember seeing this ending for the first time and i had just been traumatized by avengers endgame and since black widow is also a redhead seeing that shit at the bottom of the cliff it was like 😰😰😰 TOO SOON

-random thoughts-

these are just things i noticed, feel free to grapple with them or take note of them for extrapolation in s3 (lord knows i wont be) they probably belonged in recaps for previous eps but i either didnt find them in my notebook or couldnt fit them in

•nancy and truth/the perception of truth: using facts to suit theories instead of creating theories to suit facts- nancy often plays with the perception of truth and the details that fall between the steps; but she is also a victim to them by people who also know how to play the game (ie Carson) ex lying about the dress (tea cups and knives, trash got picked up, bail paid 1 hr ago) her inferences can be off from what others tell her ("people always lie") but she can also come to the wrong conclusions organically (carsons trial) more willing to believe the best in others/wanting them to be innocent (think nick ep 1) but later finding out the truths hurts more so she chooses to isolate herself and avoid involving others to be spared pain

•maybe i'm dumb, but who is "mr marvin" exactly? owen? the bald guy from the funeral? this comes from the guy who takes sailboats out like ep 4ish and says "ive worked for the marvins 20 years" she compliments the ship, he says "mr marvin and i just took her out this morning" so?? who is that? plus last ep just saying cassidy and isaac are her "late husbands children" dows thet mean sebastian? like did diana marry in? i feel like it would be odd for her to so embrace the "marvin way" if she wasnt a true born marvin

•ik college becomes a more s2 topic but none of the crew have ever been to college 🤔

•nick + the relationships with people whose reputations are tarnished: tiffany with investigating the hudsons/marvins, josh with murder/attempted murder, kate and 'stealing'/lying about nancy (esp compared to her almost preternatural kindness i mentioned before), george and her mom/family's reputations --> this kind of segues into nick + the concept of believing people you love could be capable of horrific things- accidental or on purpose (see- having to tell his family what happened)

•at the beginning, nancy kind of seems to be the "i'm sorry you're upset" kind of apologist and knows it. she also doesnt usually apologize earnestly bc shes never really sorry (she always has to get what she needs first ie coins mess) and she doesnt want to lie; to me it seems she doesnt like to bother with other people bc they require certain cues/niceties that are often lies- they ask "how are you" without meaning it, they dont really want an honest response except "fine", they dont like it when you call them out on fakeness, etc/ they require apologies for their bruised feelings even if youre right (and nancy can be pretty rude/nasty if provoked- a harshness unsoftened by sympathy)

•cont'd from the good place ep- since kate apparently means nothing to nancy anymore according to last ep ("stop calling her my mother") is her policy of "always seek the truth" now null and void? this mantra is now tainted bc the person who gave it to her broke it so much. can nancy disengage w it now? does she fall from grace to be complicit in "mysteries" of her own like everyone else? does she lose some of her "god-like" holier than thou act bc she is now literally born and raised in the "darkness" of sins/ugly truths like everyone else's? (ie truth is ugly but not to nancy, until now)

•did lucy disappear because her "murder" was finally solved? or simply because her trauma was addressed- she never meant to tell anyone about her suicide plans, the twisted trauma of which was too great to contain/unable to move on due to "sin" - or unable to move on because secret of nancy's parentage still remained? "lucy never wanted me to figure out how she died" she only wanted nancy to figure out her parentage without solving the mystery, yet did lucy see/witness nancy's revelation at the claw, or with carson, or even ryan? waiting for karen/josh to know? or just vanished?

•concept of imperfect mom figures- lucy, kate, celia, victoria, even karen- who all struggle with failings

•since karen dispelled one of lucy's attempts at nancy's haunting at the garden party, is that proof she isn't haunting karen?

•the crew + needing adult help: george's possession and victoria, club busted and owen, car accident and mcginnis, thom and cipher, larkspur lane and sal, bones and john, agleaca and hannah

•everett is always sitting- at his home office, at dinner, at yacht club (wonder if that was his actor + had to do with his recasting?)

-dad talk-

•both her dads think negatively on her "girl detective" thing but ryan sees use in it as a means to get answers, carson would never 'use' her in that way

•nancy + carson : suffering

"what about what i wanted?" + carson being imprisoned for weeks but she immediately rejects him (the DAY he gets his freedom no less) with no regard to his suffering (caused by herdiary!!) in regards to her own from this new knowledge (she does suffer a lot- "almost dying is my new normal" but still)/ the "thankless job" of parenting

•nancy + adults - connected to cop thing a few posts earlier : nancy is v precocious and smart for her age- she is "old enough" but also has trouble with the "adults" in her life- fathers, moms, karen, and cops letting her down but depends heavily on "adults" she cantrust- hannah gruen, john sander, lisbeth- highlighting her youth and occasional naiveté; nancy is unafraid to hold adults accountable for their actions (ie karen) but also loses them as allies along the way. both hannah and john are very nonthreatening and also experts in their fields, while her fathers and karen are revealed to be "just another brick in the wall" average, capable of mistakes, and not the people she expects them to be, while characters like john and hannah can only benefit nancy because either they do not mean as much to her or have no reason/nothing to gain by lying; they are purposefully shown to be small, demure, gentle, and nonthreatening as foils/opposed to karen, ryan, and josh whom she previously trusted; carson (+kate) is nonviolent as well but has the biggest betrayal which is perceived as an act of violence to her very personhood/shattering who she thought she was so she cannot be that anymore (admits truths to john "everytime i dig i hurt everyone" and hannah-agleaca) : unclear if redemption is possible for anyone :

•nancy bonds with carson over loss and then ryan over haunting. but actually, nancy rejects carson over loss bc she wanted to say goodbye and wasnt allowed to- so carson was with kate but nancy was not. nancy and ryan are more equals about haunting bc they both start around the same time and conclude together as well [nancy and ryan bond over thinking their parents conspired to kill lucy- think sitting on the floor at velvet masque] nancy is appreciated by ryan for her ability to get answers- he has no qualms about going through her/outside of police bc he wants results/instant gratification and thinks nancy is more so the expert in her field/respects her even through her age- once again acknowledging she is braver than he is (think lucy + claw parking lot) and her portent in the car freaks him out bc shes usually always in control, esp with him

•bc nancy was told "you can't be afraid of the truth" until she was / ironic bc shes braver than him except when the truth is they are related then she's scared to tell him while he actually starts to take some initiative

•nancy picked "the wrong person" to help her through her grief in her dad's eyes like her mom's best friend was somehow a better choice? carson truly "parents" nancy even during grief and haunting (which she rejects) whereas nancy and ryan are really equals in all their situations which is actually better for her and easier for her to maintain- nancy's expectations are low so anything that ryan gives is a bonus. nancy's expectations of carson were shattered by his lies so now she has nothing to connect with him about- they could barely even connect when sharing the same grief- carson actually very hypocritical hence nancy's upset at karen revelation yet carson doesn't agree bc hes the "adult" and shes the "child" not realizing she hadnt been one for a long time (hidden staircase perhaps?) whereas ryan better treats her with lack of controlling parental nature bc he is impressed with her competence before he receives that knowledge; "lucy was smarter than me too" acknowledging her intellect negates his ability to "parent" ie control her to leave him solely with caring about her wellbeing in her situations + aftermath - i honestly dont think carson would ever admit that shes smarter than him* bc he thinks shes not "all grown up" yet ("youve kept me on the bench for years"); ryan is more willing to meet her where she's at which is so important for all her good relationships - ace, owen, etc

*carson asks for nancy to figure out "who to trust" in ep 12, finally admitting that she is useful/ie acknowledging that her skills/abilities do help, are necessary, and can in fact save lives --> this is then s2 follow up by working for him (but it takes him that long)

•ryan/nancy/carson venn diagram - using sex to escape trauma

•if not carson vs ryan then what about celia and everett vs patrice (and josh)? at this point in the narrative, do you think ryan's parents would take his side should the knowledge become public (without their involvement), or deny nancy?

•"we were a family" + the disruption of family dinner- kate was really the one holding that family together and her death makes it unsustainable

okay!! that's all folks! i have exhausted my plethora of nancy drew thoughts + knowledge. you will never have to hear from me again!! TYSSM 😘

Life Goes On

     Rehab felt like a distant memory, I became their community leader. I’d like to say I touched a few people’s lives there, and a few of them definitely touched my life as well. I stepped out of my comfort zone, and shared my life with them, shamelessly. Some of the employees there tried telling me I should become a counselor of some sort. Their line of work could use more people with real life experience, the good and the bad. My big move was a hasty attempt to run away from the memories I thought I killed.

     The father I never had was trying to offer me a new start, with him and his family I never had the privilege of living with. He told me he’d teach me how to conquer the world. He had a beautiful house, a beautiful family, and he seemed really comfortable in life. Just because a house is pretty doesn’t make it a home though, I didn’t think I’d regret moving up here this

     That’s not healthy though, and running will only get you so far. I was sitting in my little grand prix in the back of work. I was writing in my Pikachu print journal about a guy I was seeing. He was an amazing photographer, who was about three weeks younger than myself. He was such an easy going guy, beautiful inside and out. Snow was still a foreign experience to me, I The father I never had was trying to offer me a new start, with him and his family I never had the privilege of living with. He told me he’d teach me how to conquer the world.

     Just because you have a beautiful house, doesn’t mean you have a beautiful home though. I’m not perfect by any means, but I was trying. There’s no trying with my sperm donor though I found out. There’s only success and failure. In his eyes, it was blatantly obvious that he was a failure who turned into a successful man; and I a mere fix-em-up side project. I wouldn’t have moved up there if I knew things were going to be like that. I was fresh out of rehab, fresh on some self-reflecting, fresh out of some traumatic experiences.

     I jumped in a lion’s den only to find a nest of snakes with a sharp tongues. I’d sometimes be invited to go to family events with them. Evidently my choice of words for any occasion was at best embarrassing according to my sperm donor, and I should keep my mouth shut at the dinner party they were having. One day he was grilling, I really just wanted to conform to this group of people. I’m the physical spitting image of this man. He might have been a total dick, but he knew a few things.

     However he only knew black and white, there are fifty shades of grey too; you ignorant self-absorbed fuck. I told more people I knew in real life about the details of how our regular conversations went, and evidently I was minimizing his mental abuse when I lived there. He’d compare me regularly to a kid that was not his own who was my age that he raised. “He’s so responsible, and he has his shit together, *flips a burger on the grill* you on the other hand, need to grow the fuck up. You really weren’t raised right were you?” The only thing that felt like home to me was my guild.

     Sadly I couldn’t spend much time with y’all. I spent so much time with my younger sisters, giving them the same fun loving attention I’d want if I had an older sibling. No matter what I did though it was never really good enough for my sperm donor. Eventually they isolated themselves from me. I felt so alone, I was 800 miles away from anything I knew. The only time he had anything to say to me, it was a snappy lecture on something I evidently fucked up, or something I should’ve done, then ended it with yet another remark on how I wasn’t raised right. You know, the biological father I met once when I was sixteen.

     He definitely didn’t have the right to say such a thing, my depression and anxiety were at an all time high. I went to a doctor about my mental well being. You can only be strong for so long. I felt like I was the only one in the house with problems, they put me on paxil. It kind of zombified me. I was about to start therapy sessions too. So much was changing, and happening so fast. I got certified in childcare up there. I took on a full-time job taking care of 20 wonderful children. I truly loved that experience. My class loved me, and I loved my class.

     My sperm donor continued to treat me like shit when he wasn’t avoiding me. These things meant nothing to me, and I began to realize, why have I spent a year trying to please a man who’s never had anything to do with me until now when it’s convenient to him? You’re kind of late. It hurt thinking about it. I was trying to not relive dead memories, the harder I tried not too the warm extacy like feeling that used to plague my body kept coming in trimmers. The ghosts were coming back to haunt me.

     I relapsed, and he found out. I’m not perfect, this wasn’t my intention. I felt so weak and worthless inside from everything happening. I tried keeping it a secret, but there was no hiding it. I was then interrogated by him in the upstairs kitchen for two hours. All he did was drink and yell. He ended the conversation with “You’re a fuck up, and a piece of shit, and you need to get the fuck out of my house now.” In some way shape or form, I knew in the back of my mind what a relief it was to not have to see that man again until we’re both burning in hell.

     I packed my things so fast, and I probably cried one of the ugliest chest trembling cries of my life for about three hours while I did it and got out of there. I knew my friend Bill wanted to date me, and he could never really absorb that at that very moment I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I brought my things to his house. I then contacted my employer and told them what happened to me.... and how I will be resigning on short notice due to the situation. I went in to go get my paycheck early and all the women that worked with me hugged me and cried. They told me my former family up there will be missing out. I hope they are, it hurt so much thinking about it.

    He was like “just date me, and I’ll take care of you.” I was still on a journey finding myself. I was also in no mental position to be dating anybody. He was just obsessed with not being single. I gave him almost two hundred dollars, to stay there til my bus back to Louisiana arrived in a week. I should’ve kept my money, because I wouldn’t stay in this city of ice and date him. He kicked me out, he used the money I gave him to go pick up his ex boyfriend in Colorado. Off and on I was homeless pillar to post for a week. I had to minimize alot of my stuff. I left half of it up there, even some things I didn’t want to leave behind.

     I was gonna get out of this, I don’t know how I’ll be when I get out of it. Only time will tell. The thirty six hour bus ride back to Louisiana felt unreal to me. Being back in Louisiana felt unreal. I’m so glad I have people down here who care about me, and love me. It took me almost three months to shake back from an experience that I’ll never be the same from. I learned, and I grew. I’ll cherish the beautiful people I met up there. I also completely burnt my bridges with the family I never had, by my choice I blocked them on everything and will not have contact with them again.

     I have a family down here, they may not be perfect. We’ve all had our flaws, and we’ve all grown together to become better people. What a shame, I once had high hopes for this experience. I’m going to blossom into something beautiful one day. I have alot of people to prove wrong, however none of them matter. The only person I plan on pleasing is myself and those who I love, and my guild I guess of course. Learning to love yourself is a process, and I’m working on it. I think from all the experiences I’m more comfortable in my skin now than I ever have been. I am who I am, I don’t need your labels, I just need your love. If you’re reading this, I hope you know things will get better.

   Love will lift you up higher than any drug, and lately my urges to use are diminishing. It’s a natural feeling for once to not want to use again. It’s such a relief too. The grass eventually becomes greener, you learn to let go of certain things. Love yourself, and treat yourself, but don’t get too crazy with it. Stay humble, do no harm but take no shit. Love unconditionally, and listen to great music. Life’s short and you want to spend it loving what’s going on around you, not hating yourself. I hope this means something to someone. It means something to me.