I've been thinking and I got pretty lucky with my family

Why Ramen

Finally have some time in this new year to write this, after so long. I guess that’s one thing to be thankful while you’re isolating at home with the covid virus in you. This post will be a lot less historical, or even “intellectual”, but really rounds up most of the deeper, more personal reasons why I got so interested in ramen. 

Warning: sad, cheesy moments ahead.  

PART THREE of three When Life Kicks You in the Groin and Gives You Yuzu

I remember crying again in my seat, just as the plane was departing Buenos Aires to Atlanta, GA. This was to be the first leg of a 29-hour flight between Buenos Aires and Tokyo. We had broken up, after some four years together (which in fairness as I looked back was probably just us dragging our cold feet for too long). And I was headed to Tokyo that summer to mend my brokenness. I cried for what was lost; but I cried also in gratitude that I could rely on my family being there for me. 

29 hours later, after two transits across the US, I was at Haneda airport, grateful that my brother was there to pick me up to his place in Ogikubo. The next few days were pretty much a blur. I remember going on half-dazed walks around the Sensoji temple in Asakusa, as if I was retracing steps from a former life. I remember joining my brother and some friends celebrating outdoors somewhere wtihin Yoyogi Park. I remember nights aimlessly following the lights of Akihabara, unsure if this was where I should be. 

But the night I remember most vividly somehow was a spontaneous dinner appointment with my brother. Meet at Ebisu station, 7:30PM. I went there on time, walked amongst the crowd before he finally came over, about fifteen minutes later, apologising deeply that he was held up at work. 

“Eh it’s ok, dont worry ...”

Before I knew it, we were at Afuri, and he was explaining to me how this was one of his favourite spots. “They do a really good yuzu shio ramen here.”

While my brother went on to explain how this style of ramen is a lot lighter (assari) with the yuzu providing a refreshing accent to the bowl, I see a staff grilling the chashu over a big flame, behind the counter glass. I remember thinking about the smokiness of the chashu complementing this lighter yuzu accent, but somehow I wasn’t able to understand it since most of the ramen bowls I’ve eaten up to this point tended to be just variations of tonkotsu paitan bowls. 

(credit: The Best Japan; Tripadvisor)

I didn’t know it at that time, but this bowl (note: I ordered the yuzu shoyu just to be different lol) would leave such a powerful memory in me. May be it was the heartbreak after all. But I think what it did to me was to give me a really good reminder that ramen -- much like life itself -- still had much to offer. There are many ways you can approach a bowl of ramen, just as you could with life. And after all that heaviness, I could really use this assari bowl of yuzu shoyu ramen. 

And in many ways, today even as I’m trying to create different bowls that are interesting to me personally, I think I still find myself chasing this feeling. Not so much the taste, but this moment of clarity that I had when I got my first bowl at Afuri. 

To take the metaphors a little further, I feel like my general approach to life has changed as well. I’m not longer looking for a life with “shots” after “shots” of heavy-hitting bowls or stimuli -- the way that I regard this global consumption of tonkotsu ramen: living life fast and strong in this adrenaline rush. What if, instead, we took to life as a slow, gentle boil, simmering away and developing deep complexities if we care enough to wait for it.   

Roommates – Part Sixteen

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words:1,876

Warning: Fluff, Smut

Note: This plays in 2020. It’s all fiction and not based on Cillian’s real life and family.

A week had passed since you told Cillian that you loved him and, whilst you were strongly under the influence of pain medication, you remembered it.

You had, in fact, developed strong feelings for him and whilst the words left your lips accidentally when you were drowsy and half asleep, you were somewhat disappointed by the fact that he didn’t say anything.

Of course, he didn’t share the same feelings for you, you knew that much. You’ve been friends for so many years that you could hardly be surprised that he liked you as a friend and for sex, but nothing else. But, what you had expected was that he would say something, anything at all, even if it was simply confirming what you already knew.

***

You did tell your sister about it and, whilst you were surprised by the feelings you had so suddenly developed for your long-time friend, she wasn’t surprised at all.

She saw it coming as soon as she found out that you were sleeping with each other and she believed that you always had some sort of feelings for him.

In the same vein, she was sure that he felt the same about you and was probably reluctant to tell you and, with that in mind, you continued on as usual and acted as if nothing had happened.

You weren’t willing to give up your friendship and the amazing sex you have for maybes and thought that, if your sister was right, he would come around eventually, at least so you hoped.

***

Then, another week had passed and nothing had changed. At least so you thought.

Cillian asked you whether you wanted to travel to Cork with him to see his parents now that Ireland, once again, came out of lockdown and visits to family were permitted provided that you had a permit.

‘I don’t think I can Cillian. Only spouses’ you said, pointing to the pamphlet he had printed out from the Irish Covid Information website.

‘Well, we are living together, you can pretend to be my girlfriend if the police pulls us over’ he chuckled, before pleading with you.

‘You just want me to drive, don’t you’ you then said and he nodded. He hated driving long distances and it didn’t help that he had only gotten his drivers licence five years ago and failed his driving test three times when he moved back to Dublin.

‘I suppose it’s safer if I drive…so yes, I am coming’ you said somewhat amused.

‘Should I ask Ma to prepare two or one room for us?’ Cillian then asked and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

‘Your mother is strictly catholic and I suppose that the answer to your question depends on what you are willing to reveal to her about our little arrangement’ you joked and, of course, Cillian hadn’t even thought that far.

‘Two bedrooms’ he then confirmed before picking up the phone to let his mother know that you would be coming with him.

***

Three days later, you hit the road for the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Cork after you both had received a negative COVID test result which you took as a precaution.

As usual, Cillian’s mother was excited about the visit and you were excited too. You hadn’t seen her for about 18 months and the last time you saw her she had cooked you and your fiancé a lovely a meal.

Things were different then and you talked about your wedding and all the plans you were having in the future.

There was no pandemic to worry about and you weren’t aware of your fiancé’s indiscretions at the time while Cillian was still happily dating your somewhat crazy friend.

Now, your engagement had ended but your friendship with Cillian had evolved into something else entirely.

***

After a smooth three-and-a-half-hour drive, you pulled up in front of Cillian’s parents’ house.

They both greeted you with excitement and told you to come in quickly as it was raining.

Cillian’s father quickly carried your small suitcase to one of the guestrooms while Cillian placed his into the other. There wasn’t much space in the house and, whilst the house had four bedrooms, the corridors were rather narrow and the living area was small.

‘It’s so good to see you Y/N’ Cillian’s mum said before offering you a cup of tea which you gladly accepted.

‘The last time you visited Cork was under better circumstances, but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless’ she then said and you thanked her for her hospitality.

You had always gotten along well with Cillian’s mother and Cillian was simply happy to see his parents again after such a long time, even if it meant that his siblings couldn’t visit them at the same time as him due to the visitation limits imposed.

As you were sitting on the sofa with Cillian’s mother you soon noticed that Cillian was gone and so did his mother.

‘He better not be stealing food’ she then huffed out sternly and, sure enough, Cillian had found the freshly baked scones in the kitchen and couldn’t resist.

‘But they are so good Ma’ you heard him argue as his mum told him to get out of the kitchen and leave the scones alone, which made you laugh.

‘He will never change’ you chuckled and his mother nodded in agreement.

‘No, he won’t’ she then said before informing you that she had made a roast for dinner.

***

After dinner and a few glasses of wine with Cillian’s parents, they headed to bed at around 8.30pm as usual, leaving you and Cillian to watch TV in the living room.

You were quick to spread your legs out over Cillian’s laps, getting yourself more comfortable but being vary that his parents might walk in on you.

But, Cillian seemed to think that, once they went to bed, they would pretty much go to sleep right away and proceeded to pull you onto his lap.

‘I missed this today’ he said before he caressed your face and kissed you gently.

‘Me too’ you then giggled before returning the kiss rather quickly.

‘Do you want to go to my bedroom or yours?’ he then winked and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

‘Your parents are in the house Cillian’ you then said and, just as you did, you heard some footsteps in the hallway behind you.

You quickly jumped off Cillian’s lap and sat on the lounge like a well-behaved schoolgirl as his mother walked by to get a glass of water while Cillian covered up his erection, poking against the denim of his jeans, with a cushion.

‘Night Ma’ he then said and she couldn’t help but laugh before saying ‘good night’ again.

‘I am not going to have sex at your parents house’ you then huffed out quietly when his mother had left.

‘Alright, let’s go for drive then’ he suggested.

‘A drive? And how will you explain this to your mother tomorrow?’ you laughed and Cillian suggested to tell her that you forgot some toiletries and he drove to the shop to get them.

‘Supermarket closes in 30 minutes, let’s go’ he said and you couldn’t really say no to him.

***

Ten minutes later you arrived at a secluded area near the beach and you could just tell that Cillian had been there before.

‘Is this where you used to take your girlfriends when you were at high school and snatched your parents’ combi even though you didn’t have a driver’s licence?’ you asked, having heard about these stories from his brother before.

‘Yeah, it’s a good spot, nice and quiet’ Cillian winked as he reclined his seat and you quickly stripped down to your bra and panties.

‘Oh my god Cillian I feel like an 18-year-old again, sneaking out of the house to make out’ you laughed and, just before you could protest, Cillian reached inside your panties and slowly stroked your mound.

‘Just that, this time, it will actually be worth your while’ Cillian smirked as he ran his forefinger between the crease of your pussy and noticed the moistness which had already built there.

‘Hmm yes, it will be Cillian’ you moaned as he was rubbing your clit with his left hand and with his right hand was caressing your breasts.

You were quick to release his hard cock from his jeans as well and began jerking him in time with his clitoral stimulation and the heat inside the car was palpable.

‘So naughty…what if we get caught?’ you huffed out, knowing that Cillian had a kink for semi-public sex.

‘It’s worth the risk’ he groaned and, before long, you were gazing up from the seat with that wanton look in your eyes, pulling Cillian closer and uttering cues while he fingered your pussy and mouthed your firm nipples with his welcoming mouth.

‘I need you inside me Cillian’ you moaned as you were welcoming two fingers into your waiting slit and could not be distracted, even by the crackling sounds outside and the sound of the radio.

‘Come on then’ Cillian groaned as you continued to stroke him and, just as he invited you to take what you needed so badly, you let go off his cock and climbed on top of him.

He pressed the head of his cock against your awaiting pussy and you slowly sank down on him.

‘Oh god yes fuck’ you moaned as his cock disappeared into your tight vagina, expanding your love tunnel while he met your lips with his. Your mouths parted and your tongues communicated the instant of union as Cillian’s cock drove slowly into your warm pussy. You were lost in their unity while your reality transformed around them.

‘You feel so fucking good’ Cillian groaned as you were moving in perfect motion with Cillian’s penetration and your thighs were even perforated with the moisture that was coming out of your pussy.

Your rocking continued and you were now joining orally with diatribes as Cillian’s cock bottomed out again and again inside you. ‘Fuck’ you uttered as his big balls pressed against your bottom.

Your warm tunnel was wide for his cock and your eyes were fixed on the mechanistic ramming of Cillian’s body in its hedonistic role.

‘I am cumming…fuck’ you moaned with the ever fastening in and out rhythms that Cillian was delivering to your womanhood. Cillian too was groaning and you put a hand underneath his balls while he pounded you and the car shook.

With your screams and loss of control inside erotic orgasm, Cillian too lost control and filled your cavity with his warm seed.

‘Fuck, Y/N, I love…’ Cillian began to say but, just as he did, there was a nock on the window of the car on the driver’s side next to Cillian, interrupting what he was about to say.

‘Please lower your window…’ a man said from outside and you could see some flashing lights behind where the car was parked.

 Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian @queenyshelby ​

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Aaron Dessner Talks Taylor Swift’s New Album folklore

By: Sam Sodomsky for Pitchfork Date: July 24th 2020

Like millions of people across the world, Taylor Swift spent the past few months in isolation, stuck at home, changing plans, reflecting on the past, and imagining new connections. One of those new connections was with Aaron Dessner, the multi-instrumentalist and producer from the National.

On release day, he called us from his home in the Hudson Valley to speak about their entirely virtual but highly collaborative process, sounding just as surprised as anyone. “Nobody needs to tell Taylor Swift how to write a song - and I certainly didn’t,” he says with a laugh. “But it did feel like we were going toe-to-toe pushing each other.”

What is your personal relationship with Taylor Swift’s music? I’ve always admired her craftsmanship and talent. But 1989 was the first one I was really listening to as a fan. My brother [Bryce Dessner, guitarist in the National] and I were in Iceland with [performance artist] Ragnar Kjartansson, and he’s a total Swiftie. It was the summer of 1989, and we’d be hanging out listening to it loud. Ragnar is an art historian, so he was just contextualizing every moment. It was a lot of fun. That’s when we became bigger fans.

When did you actually meet her for the first time? We met her at Saturday Night Live in 2014 when Lena Dunham was hosting. And then she came to see us play last summer in Prospect Park during this crazy torrential downpour. She was there with Antoni [Porowski] from Queer Eye. She talked a lot with my brother and me. That’s when we realized how much of a fan she was, and how lovely and down to earth. I don’t know that many people who have that sort of success, so it’s a nice feeling to realize they’re cool. That left a good impression.

She got in touch again at the end of April. I got a text and it said, “Hey it’s Taylor. Would you ever be up for writing songs with me?” I said, “Wow. Of course.” It was a product of this time. Everything we had planned got cancelled. Everything she had planned got cancelled. It was a time when the ideas in the back of your head came to the front. That’s how it started.

You ended up with a credit on 11 of the 16 songs. How did the collaboration get going? At the very beginning of March, Justin Vernon and I had gone to Texas to work on the new Big Red Machine album. I had been living with my family in France as COVID was starting to spiral out of control in Europe. I said to my wife that maybe they should come back to the States with me because I was worried about getting separated. So we got tickets, and my kids and wife flew to [the family’s home in] Upstate New York and I flew to Texas. I was there for a week, and by the time I got back Upstate, the borders were being shut and we got stuck. I have the Long Pond studio here, so in a way it was lucky.

I hunkered down here and started to write a ton of music - more than I ever have. I thought maybe they were National or Big Red Machine ideas or maybe something totally different. Things were happening.

So when [Taylor] reached out, I had this large folder of ideas that were pretty well on their way. She was very clear that she didn’t want me to edit any of my ideas; she wanted to hear everything that was interesting to me at this moment, including really odd, experimental noise. So I made a folder of stuff, including some pretty out-there sketches. A few hours later, she sent “Cardigan,” fully written in a voice memo. That’s when I realized that this was unusual—just the focus and clarity of her ideas. It was pretty astonishing. Over the next couple months, this would just happen; all of a sudden, I’d get a voice memo. And then another. Eventually, it was so inspiring that I wrote more ideas that were specifically in response to what she was writing.

When did it occur to you that an album was forming? There were moments when we started to reflect on what we were doing. The first three songs we wrote were “Cardigan,” “Seven,” and “Peace.” “Cardigan” is probably the closest to a pop song on the record—it’s this epic narrative. And then “Seven” was this nostalgic, wistful, emotional folk song. And then when she wrote “Peace,” I realized she can do anything! She is so versatile. It’s just a harmonized bassline with a pulse and a drone, and she basically wrote a Joni Mitchell love song to it. She only did one vocal take, and that’s what’s on the record.

Were you communicating through the whole process? Yeah. We were pretty much in touch daily for three or four months by text and phone calls. Some of it was about production and restructuring things but a lot of it was just excitement. We both felt that this was some of the best work we have done. That was a strange and surreal thing to have happen, especially at this time.

At one point I was randomly doxxed by right-wing conspiracy theorists who misidentified me as an Antifa organizer in Ohio, long story, but it was in the middle of all this work. I didn’t want to stress her out so I didn’t tell her. But at some point she laughed and said, “So you’re a notorious anarchist?” And I’m like, “Yeah, I was gonna mention that."

How did the collaboration with Bon Iver on “Exile” come about? Taylor wrote that one with the singer-songwriter William Bowery. When Taylor sent it to me as a voice memo, she sang both the male and female parts - as much as she could fit in without losing her breath. We talked about who she was imagining joining her, and she loves Justin [Vernon]’s voice in Bon Iver and Big Red Machine. She was like, “Oh my god, I would die if he would do it. It would be so perfect.” I didn’t want to put pressure on Justin as his friend, so I said, “Well, it depends on if he’s inspired by the song but I know he thinks you’re rad.” Which he does.

So I sent him the song and he was really into it. He tweaked some parts and added parts as well - the bridge where he says, “Step right out.” The end too, and his choral parts. It was fun because Justin and I work on a lot of stuff together, so it was very easy and natural. At some point I felt like a superfan, hearing two of my favorite singers. This was all being done remotely, but it was one of those moments where your head hits the back of the wall and you’re like, “Fuck. Okay.”

There is some fan debate over William Bowery’s identity - I’m not familiar with him. I’m not either. I haven’t actually met him because of social distancing, which is kind of funny. I think he’s a friend.

Did you feel the pressure of working with an artist at Taylor Swift’s level? I tried hard not to think about the scope or scale of making a record that would be heard by millions and millions of people. I did a pretty good job of tuning that out. Music for me is an emotional necessity. It’s therapy. It’s what I live and breathe. All these songs are things I was working on already, and we both felt there was some serendipity in the fact that we ended up in this situation together. I just stayed focused on that, on making this as good as we can.

As the release got closer, I almost thought it wouldn’t happen. Or maybe I just told myself that! The National guys will tell you the same thing - I tend to work until the last possible minute. I didn’t really have a moment to be like, “Holy shit! People are gonna hear this.” We were joking about it last night. I said, “So this actually happened?” And she goes, “Yep!”

What was it like working under total secrecy? There was no outside influence at all. In fact, nobody knew, including her label, until hours before it was launched. For someone who’s been in this glaring spotlight for 15 years, it’s really liberating to have some privacy and work on her own terms. She deserves that. At times, if I wanted friends to play on the record, it was a little difficult because you can’t send a file with her vocals. But everyone was cool. At the end, I reached out to some wizards just to add bits, and that was nice. It was kind of fun: “What? Why can’t you tell me, Aaron?” Then they start guessing. Everyone made a game out of it.

Is there any music that was left on the cutting room floor? There are things I feel could still be songs. It does feel like an ongoing collaboration. Now Taylor is starting to help with other things. We’re bouncing other ideas off each other, whether it’s Big Red Machine or other things. There’s a community aspect. I think that’s how music should be.

Sugar Sweet Smiles

So, this was more of writing warm-up the past couple of weeks after I hadn't written in over a month, so I'll be honest, it's not really up to my standards lol. I also didn't edit it because I knew I would just never post it, if I did. I also have only just started writing for BNHA so I'm still feeling out the characters. It's likely that this could be pretty OOC, but that's up to y'all to decide lol. Also, this fic feels a lot more bitter now that my brother-in-law ruined Christmas by bringing home COVID, but I hope you all get some joy out of it!

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Ships: EraserMic

Summary: It's Christmastime, and Shouta and Hizashi have a very important tradition to introduce to Eri and Hitoshi.

Word Count: 2526 words

[ao3 link]

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Shouta sighed as Hizashi got distracted by yet another shiny decoration in the store. They were supposed to be shopping for ingredients, and their house was already decorated to a point that was nearly sickening. Did they really need a fourth wreath? Where would it even go?

Next to him, Hitoshi looked on in amusement, periodically glancing down to type something on his phone. He was probably texting Midioriya or Kaminara, based on what Shouta had seen of the budding friendships before UA had let out for Christmas break. 

Eri, meanwhile, sat in the children’s seat in the cart and seemed mesmerized with the entirety of the grocery store in general. They hadn’t had many chances to take her out since she came into his and Hizashi’s care, and she was still fascinated every time she experienced the world.

“Hizashi,” Shouta said sternly.

Hizashi froze where he’d been trying to place some gaudy outdoor ornaments into their cart. He gave Shouta a nervous grin.

“Yes, dear?”

“Baking supplies, Hizashi. Not decorations. We don’t have any more room.”

Hizashi pouted. “We have room.”

Shouta raised an eyebrow and Hizashi's pout intensified. He did, however, place the ornaments back onto the shelf as Hitoshi snorted in quiet laughter. Shouta started the cart moving before Hizashi could get distracted again.

“Compromise,” Hizashi said as Shouta directed them to the correct aisle. “You let me get the cats Christmas sweaters, and I’ll stop buying decorations. Well, this year, at least.”

Shouta snorted. “I think Tigress, Kermit, and Blanket would sooner kill you than allow you to put sweaters on them.”

Hizashi stuck his tongue out at Shouta, making Eri giggle and Hitoshi roll his eyes with a grin. Shouta decided not to react and simply point to the flour on the shelf behind Hizashi, a silent request to get what they actually came to the store for.

The rest of the shopping trip went similarly, with Hizashi acting more like a child than either of their actual children and Shouta denying the begrudging fondness that filled him at Hizashi’s actions.

They did wind up getting Christmas sweaters for the cats.

The recipe they were using was one they’d gotten from Hizashi’s mothers. It was an old Yamada family recipe, but they constantly joked that a grandparent had probably gotten it out of a dime-a-dozen cookbook ages ago and passed the recipe off as their own. Either way, Shouta had been obsessed with the things since he and Hizashi were 15 and he tried them for the first time, and he refused to let the butter cookie tradition die even after Hizashi moved out of his mothers’ house.

Hizashi said it was cute and teased him about being nostalgic. Really, Shouta would just kill a man to have more of those cookies.

And now they had more people to bring into the tradition.

Hizashi washed his hands as Shouta lined up their ingredients and supplies. Hitoshi leaned up against the opposite counter and watched him with lazy eyes. Eri slowly approached the counter Shouta was setting up on and grabbed the edge, pulling herself up onto her tiptoes to see the surface.

“I’ve never made cookies before,” she said quietly.

“Well,” Hizashi said, loud enough that Hitoshi jumped, “it’s a good thing we’re here to teach you how!”

A smile tugged at Shouta’s lips as Hizashi carefully lifted Eri up to sit on the counter, out of the way of the baking supplies Shouta had set up. Instead of giving Hizashi the satisfaction, Shouta turned toward the sink.

“She still has to wash her hands,” he said. “And now you have to rewash yours.”

Hizashi groaned dramatically. “We’re a family, we all share the same germs! It’s not that big of a deal!”

Shouta, carefully telegraphing his movements, lifted Eri off the counter and kicked the nearby step stool into place in front of the sink. He turned on the sink and set Eri down, leaving her to wash her hands herself.

“Well, I agree with Aiz--Shouta,” Hitoshi said, finally walking forward to stand next to Eri and wash his hands. “I don’t want your weird loud germs in my cookies.”

This time, Shouta allowed the grin to pass over his face, even as Hizashi gasped in a way that was far too dramatic to be real. Hizashi thrust his finger in their direction.

“Watch it,” he said. “I’ll start a flour war.”

“You will not,” Shouta said, shooting him a glare. “Wash your hands.”

And then, in a move that surprised even Shouta himself, he swiped his hand through the sink’s stream and splashed it at Hizashi. Hitoshi burst out laughing and stumbled away, probably to get himself out of the crossfire. Eri just glanced up at him, giving a little confused giggle.

“Are you looking to start a war, Aizawa Shouta?” Hizashi asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Are you looking to lose, Yamada Hizashi?”

Hizashi narrowed his eyes. Shouta saw him tense and leapt back, carefully not to jump so far that he would hit the counter across the room. Hizashi lunged after him, hands already covered in flour (and when had that happened?), and Shouta let out a startled laugh as he dodged. Hitoshi cackled and out of the corner of his eye Shouta saw him pull Eri to the edge of the room and out of the crossfire.

That moment of distraction cost him, and Hizashi’s hands grabbed his cheeks, rubbing the flour into his skin. Shouta gasped and darted away, making a break for the sink and pulling out the hose from the faucet, spraying it in Hizashi’s direction. Hizashi screeched, barely keeping his quirk in check.

“And to think you two are considered responsible adults and students are afraid of you,” Hitoshi quipped.

At that, Shouta straightened back up and cleared his through, turning the sink off. Hizashi laughed, whether it was at the situation or the embarrassed look on Shouta’s face was unknown, and walked over to whisk Eri back into his arms.

“Right, now that we’re all clean,” Shouta started, and Hitoshi snorted, the sound cutting him off.

“But Aizawa-san, you’re not clean,” Eri said as Hizashi put her back on the counter. “Your face is all dirty.”

Hizashi and Hitoshi laughed, and Shouta gently waved her off. 

“Baking can get a little messy, anyway, so it’s okay if I’m dirty with flour. We just don’t want to be dirty with germs and grime.”

“Germs and grime,” Eri repeated quietly, examining her hands.

Hizashi clapped his hands together. “And now for the main event!”

“Where’s the recipe?” Hitoshi asked.

Hizashi laid a hand over his heart. “Right in here, little listener!”

Eri squinted and Hitoshi raised an eyebrow. Shouta flicked Hizashi in the forehead.

“I have it memorized. ‘Zashi couldn’t remember it to save his life, and he always loses it when we write it down.”

“Yeah, that adds up,” Hitoshi said.

Hizashi pouted, so Shouta placated him with a kiss on the cheek. Hitoshi made a gagging noise.

“Start with the wet ingredients,” Shouta said, pushing Hizashi and Hitoshi toward the mixer. “Cream the butter and sugar first, before adding the egg, vanilla, or milk. Please don’t make that mistake again. Eri and I will work on the rest of the dry ingredients.”

Shouta grabbed a bowl and the dry ingredients and moved toward where Eri was seated.

“Why do you mix the ingredients separately?” Eri asked, leaning over the bowl as she watched Shouta measure out cups of flour.

Shouta paused. “I’m not really sure. I suppose to make sure they’re mixed evenly, but I’ve never really thought about it.”

Eri nodded seriously and Shouta couldn’t help but smile at the concentrated look on her face. He measured out the salt and baking powder and handed her one of the utensils. She grinned as they poured them together.

“Do you want to mix it?” Shouta asked.

Eri bit her lip.

“I can show you how, first, if you want.”

She nodded and Shouta grabbed a fork, not willing to dirty a whisk when they were such hell to clean afterwards. He carefully whisked the dry ingredients around with the fork, making sure not to spill any over the edges of the bowl. After a few stirs, he handed the fork over to Eri.

“I’ll hold the bowl still,” he said. “You just stir, and try not to spill any if you can. It’s okay if you do, though.”

Eri nodded, that look of concentration crossing her face again. She stuck the fork into the bowl and carefully moved it around, mimicking what Shouta had shown her to the best of her abilities. Shouta smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Just like that, but try to get the fork a little deeper. You’re only mixing the top, you want to try and get it all--good, just like that.”

Eri brightened at his praise and direction, her stirring getting more confident. Shouta looked up and met eyes with Hizashi over her head, the two of them sharing a smile before Hitoshi grabbed Hizashi’s attention again.

“We’re ready for the dry ingredients if you are,” Hizashi called a few moments later.

Shouta looked down at Eri. “What do you think, do you think it’s mixed up enough?”

Eri hummed and eyed the bowl with a critical eye. She gave the mixture a few more strong stirs before giving Shouta a self-assured nod. He nodded back and lifted the bowl in one hand and Eri in the other, walking over toward the mixer. He handed the bowl to Hitoshi.

“I figure you’re far less likely to drop this than Hizashi.”

Hizashi made an affronted noise and Shouta chuckled. Eri hid a smile in his shoulder as she watched Hitoshi pour a portion of the dry mixture into the mixing bowl. Then Shouta’s smile faltered when Hizashi got a devious look in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” Shouta said, buying Hitoshi enough time to place the bowl with the rest of the dry mixture back on the counter.

Hitoshi frowned, looking back and forth between them. “Don’t what?”

Shouta narrowed his eyes. “He was going to prove that you were clumsy enough to drop it, too. By making you drop it.”

Hizashi put his hand against his heart. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing! On a completely unrelated note, Hitoshi do you happen to be ticklish?”

Hitoshi edged away from Hizashi, and Hizashi laughed.

“Good to know,” he said. “That’s important information for a parent to have.”

“I suddenly regret being adopted,” Hitoshi said, quickly moving behind Shouta, using him as a human shield.

Shouta let out an exasperated sigh, but he was smiling again. “Let’s just make the dough, come on. It still needs to chill before we can bake it.”

“Why do we chill the dough?” Eri asked.

Hizashi hummed. “I think it helps the cookies from spreading so much when you bake them? Or maybe that’s just with chocolate chip cookies…” Hizashi trailed off in thought.

Either way, Eri nodded, accepting the answer. Hitoshi moved back to finish mixing the dough.

Once the dough was wrapped up in wax paper and stuck in the refrigerator to chill, they washed their hands and retreated to the living room. Hitoshi and Eri were elected to choose a Christmas movie while Shouta and Hizashi collapsed onto the couch. Hizashi quickly cuddled up to Shouta, burying a hand into his hair.

“Someone’s affectionate,” Shouta chuckled.

“Gotta claim my spot before one of the cats does,” Hizashi replied, only curling in closer.

As if on cue, Blanket and Kermit came racing in from the office and launched onto the couch. They immediately curled up as close to Shouta as they could get, and it only made Shouta laugh harder.

The kids put on some cartoon that Shouta had probably seen before, and as soon as Eri plopped onto the floor, Tigress slinked out of wherever she’d been hiding and curled up in Eri’s lap. Shouta snapped a sneaky picture while Hizashi cooed quietly. 

And then Hizashi’s hand started scratching at Shouta’s scalp and he was out like a light.

He was shaken awake an indeterminate amount of time later and opened his eyes to movie credits rolling over the TV screen.

“Time to get baking!” Hizashi sang in his ear, clearly uncaring about the fact that Shouta just woke up.

He waved Hizashi and the kids on without him, taking a few more moments to gather himself and wake up. When Shouta finally made his way into the kitchen, Hizashi was helping Eri pick out which cookie cutters to use while Hitoshi was hesitantly sprinkling flour over the counter. Shouta nodded at him, going to fetch the dough.

“Good,” he told Hitoshi. “But keep the flour out, we’re going to need to put more down at some point.”

“Sho?” Hizashi called. “Would you mind helping Eri wash the cookie cutters? Who knows how long they’ve been in that drawer.”

Instead of answering, Shouta gently plucked Eri from her step stool and perched her on his hip, gathering the cookie cutters in one hand. He placed her down on the counter next to the sink and began washing the shapes she’s chosen, muttering all the while about being mindful of the sharp edges.

From there, Hizashi and Shouta made the silent decision to let the kids take over. Hitoshi swiftly, if a bit awkwardly, slipped into his role of older brother, showing Eri how to best use the cookie cutters. Hizashi and Shouta did, however, handle the oven portion of the baking, carefully taking the cut dough from their hands and placing them on baking sheets.

Hizashi gently chided them as Hitoshi tried to sneak a bite of the dough, and Shouta promptly distracted him. He sent a subtle wink in Hitoshi and Eri’s direction and saw them immediately began stuffing their mouths full of dough over Hizashi’s shoulder.

Shouta couldn’t help but sneak a few bites of his own when Hizashi turned back around to watch the kids. He was much more successful than they had been.

Soon enough, they were whipping up the frosting (or, rather, Shouta was while the rest of them completed the baking portion of the day) and digging their collection of sprinkles and food dye out of the pantry.

This was Hizashi’s favorite part, and it quickly became clear that it was Eri’s, too. The two of them had a knack for decoration. Even with Eri’s difficulty controlling where her frosting went, their cookies turned out decently better than Hitoshi’s or Shouta’s. Not that Shouta minded, he was more there to steal tastes of frosting over anything else.

Hitoshi quickly picked up on this habit.

After all the excitement, Shouta and Hizashi only let the kids have a couple of cookies after dinner before sending them to bed. Tomorrow was a big day, after all. Their first Christmas as a family was nothing to blink at, and Santa had a few things to get done before then.

Especially if the two of them kept getting distracted kissing frosting off each other’s faces.

Sorry I've been missing in action.

Long story short I got very injured at the labs, but I've been making a fast recovery. For the more detailed, graphic version, you can read below. Warning: Mention of hospital, blood, car accident.

As I mentioned, I got really injured at work beginning on February 21 at around 9 PM. It was during a routine check at some of the sites, one in particular needed our higher clearance because there had been a breach at a fence that past week, so I, and two other guards went to check out any tampering of the fence again. They say it might be vandals but a lot of them say it was some kind of large animal. The road to those sites are a single path through the woods, lit with a few lights, no curves, just a flat road with a hill on one side. It hadn't snowed that week either, so no fear of ice or anything. It was just a routine jeep trek.

It happened so fast. Our vehicle was knocked over, I'm not even sure how, but we were rolling in the dark down a hill, hitting trees. I remember the shouting, holding fast, and the glass. I remember crawling toward a tree and trying to sit up against it or maybe I was put there by the other guard, Dolores, I remember her telling me to stay awake. I asked her if I was dreaming. It didn't feel real. I asked what was happening to me because I couldn't move right, everything felt so slow and muffled. I passed out by the time they got us into the medical ward. I don't remember them putting me in a gown or putting in an IV. I woke up later, I buzzed the call button out of fear and pain. My whole left side was throbbing. A nurse was relieved I finally came to. She gave me pain meds and called the doctor in.

I was told there had been an accident, that much I already knew, but no one was killed, just injured. I lost a lot of blood, my uniform was soaked in it and they had to cut it off me. Part of the metal from the door frame folded in and pieced my left shoulder and I had minor cuts on my hands and arms from the glass. My blood pressure dropped so low they were scared my heart might've stopped. I was given blood, hooked up to a lot of things and I would have to stay under watch for a few days. There was a lot of tests they needed to do to figure out just how bad my injuries were.

For the next few days I was just sleeping, I couldn't sit up without feeling dizzy. I had to lay semi flat, my blood pressure was still very low. My left side was still throbbing and the stitches itched. A lot of bruises developed from being tossed around like I was, mostly on my arms because I was shielding my face and head. My minor glass cuts stung while batheing. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, help me use the restroom, shower, help me eat, ect. I got so tired from the smallest things. I couldn't call anyone, my phone was in my locker. I finally got someone to help me call my brother to tell him what happened. My brother was naturally scared, he thought something happened to me and he was sad to know he was right. He wanted to see me, but he couldn't, I was in the medical ward on lab property. He wanted to call our mom to tell her but I told him to wait, there was a possibility that I might be transferred to a local hospital where they can visit me, and I didn't want her panicking and trying to drive up here in bad weather. It's best she waited til things cleared up.

After the first week I was transferred to a local hospital after getting a bunch of tests done. No brain trauma, no broken bones, no blood sugar issues or thyroid problems. I could sit up in bed by then and eat on my own. I still couldn't walk very well without feeling really dizzy, again, low blood pressure. A lot of minor bruises were fading away. I never had my anemia officially confirmed, but they confirmed it and had me take daily iron and placed on a blood building diet in the new hospital. I was tested for covid, I came out clear.

My brother and mom visited me daily, and the other doctor said I was recovering really quickly, that gave us a lot of hope. I could be out of there by a few days, though my blood pressure was worrying her. Seems it wasn't so much the blood loss, but that it might have been an underlying condition already linked to my untreated anemia. She would get the in-house dietitian to include a bit more natural sea salt to my iron rich diet, as well as tell me what I should eat at home and that I need to drink a lot more water than I normally did. This is a problem I've had for awhile, I forget to drink enough water. The doctor warned me I better remedy that immediately especially with low BP. My mom was already taking notes. She really wanted to just take me home already. I really liked her being there, I'm not that shy about my body, but I honestly felt better having my mom bathe me and comb my hair instead of strangers doing that. She was also a lot more gentle around my stitches and bruises.

Eventually I did come home, I still needed a lot of rest and help getting out of bed. I had to fight the urge to clean house, help with groceries, ect. I'm so used to being self sufficient. I felt so frustrated that just walking around the room would tire me out, when I'd hike for miles just a few months ago. I was tired of sleeping and sitting down. But there wasn't much else I could do. I did a lot of origami, my bro got me a coloring book, I watched a lot of movies, took my iron -which is nasty btw-, ate meals that were saltier than I normally would prepare but my taste buds would have to adjust. I was happy my new diet included a lot of fish though.

I did have some close calls. I really thought I could stand up in the shower instead of sitting, and wound up calling for my mom to help me up after collapsing. I collapsed again when I was trying to cook dinner for myself. My face, according to my mom, was drained of color and my breathing was shallow. I felt so dizzy and nauseated. She nearly wanted to call the hospital again. My bro said I was pushing myself too hard and I always had a problem with not asking for help. That I needed to learn to stop being so damn stubborn and rest. To anyone else, that sounds harsh, but he knows me way too well, probably better than our mom. I do have that problem, I do push myself too much. After that, I decided to be more patient with myself. I was sick and might be sick for awhile.

This week I'm doing a lot better. I can do my daily things now, I even went to get groceries and take a little walk to the river. But I can't over do it, I can't stand up or walk for too long, and I can't lift anything heavy, otherwise I get bouts of dizziness and need to sit down. The pain isn't as bad on my back anymore though it's still very sore, my arms, especially my left side, have a dull pain. I can't sleep on my back and left side, only my right and on my stomach. A lot of the cuts on the back of my arms and hands have scabbed over, minor bruises are gone but major ones on my shoulder and neck are still pretty dark and tender. I'm still finding glue spots on my chest and stomach from the medical tape and the EKG patches they put on me, but a bit of lotion is taking it off. My stitching, according to my mom, is definitely going to leave a pretty bad scar above my shoulder blade, but it's fine. My body has a lot of scars here and there from close calls, but I consider them ' Marks of Life'. They're proof I survived and thrived.

It'll take time for me to really feel like I'm back to normal. My mom refuses to go back home until I make a full recovery. She hasn't tended to me like this for a long time, mainly because I rarely get sick. I trait from my dad's side. We don't get colds or flus for years, no history of cancer, heart issues or diabetes, and his family usually remain active to their elderly years, not to mention our graceful aging. My dad used to say it was our native blood, we're just built tougher. The only thing that could kill us is getting injured like this. God, he'd be so worried about me though. I remember how he'd fuss over me when I skinned my knee as a child or got my allergies. If he was alive, he'd probably refuse to let me do anything out of bed, but then that's exactly what I should be doing anyway.

I got a report on the other guards health yesterday. Dolores and Elijah. She was the least hurt out of all of us, just a dislocated arm, mild whiplash, and some really bad glass cuts on her chest and arms, she's home recovering with her husband and kids. Elijah was the driver and got knocked unconscious with a bad concussion, his entire left arm was sliced by glass and metal, he lost a lot of blood like me and is recovering just as slow as I am. He opted to stay in the lab medical ward because he doubts his roommate can care for him at home, he's on a lot of pain meds, so he sounded distant on the phone. I think out of all of us, he's going to take the most time to recover. I told him I'd pray for him and if he wants, I can visit. He appreciated that a lot. I thanked Dolores for helping us that night, she was the one trying her best to keep us alive and sent the distress signal on our ARK devices so they could find us in the dark. Without her, I think we would've bled to death.

God, it feels like a distant nightmare. I still can't figure out how we were knocked off the road like that. Something hit us out there and it was strong. I felt the impact in the backseat, but I didn't see it. Dolores says it looked like a bear, but bears aren't that strong. Eli says he saw horns, so maybe a bison. Bison are that strong, especially against a little jeep. The incident is still under investigation. The lab is also very concerned about how this happened. It's possible the same thing that hit us, has been tampering with the fence.

One less thing to worry about is the hospital bill, the accident happened on lab grounds, everything is taken care of through them, probably because they don't want to get sued. They are giving us another two weeks before we report back in to the doctor for another round of tests and physical tests, as well as check to see if my stitches were still secure. Our return to work solely depends on our results, we may not be able to come back until late April. They really want to be sure we're okay. Because I'm an 'Ophanim' aka Tier 3 guard, I'll also be given a mental test before being hooked back into Selene. They just want to be sure there's no cognition issues and I can sync properly to her. I may have to do a refresher since I've been away for so long, but I'll worry about that when it comes.

Well, if you read this far, thanks. I hope I didn't scare you all too much. I am doing a lot a better though, I promise. I'm getting stronger everyday, though activity on this blog will be slow. Send me some prayers, good vibes, whatever. I'd really appreciate anything. Hope you've had a good month, better than mine hopefully.

Watching the Supernatural finale hours after almost dying is, well. Different.

I cannot stress this enough: MAJOR triggers for frank discussion of a recent suicide attempt (no, not because SPN ended). Steer clear if this might hit too close to home. I'm no longer at risk, this happened a while ago and is over, and my care manager is aware.

Right, and spoilers for the series finale.

_____ _____ _____

I'm old enough to have been a fan of SPN since 2005. And considering the fact that childhood abuse had me suicidal at around age 12, probably earlier, it's safe to say that I have never watched the show without that constant battle going on in the background, unrelated.

When Dean said he was tired, that he was done, I got it. When Sam asked in that abandoned chapel what the upside was to him being alive, or when he confided in his brother in a hotel hallway that he had always felt unclean somehow, I could relate. There was more to the show than that, of course -- the love, the loyalty, the humor -- but the struggle was another point of connection.

As both the show and I grew long in the tooth, and my life circumstances were progressive getting worse (as they sometimes do when you carry untreated trauma), I used SPN and the fandom as a comfort. And increasingly, living to see how the Winchester story ends became one of those grappling hooks you latch on to when you look for reasons to keep going just a little longer.

Naturally, that didn't (and couldn't) arm me against the waves of acute, hope-obliterating, soul-sucking despair that can routinely crash on your head when you're dealing with poverty, chronic physical illness and disability -- and in a harsh country, too -- as well as being severely post traumatic and dissociative. Saving me was never the show's job, nor should it have been. I used it as much as I could, though.

The more I felt like I had to die, the more I tried. Dying hardly ever comes naturally, not even when you feel like there's no other way. Painfully isolated and increasingly bedridden, I watched convention panels and smiled so hard my face hurt. Other times I cried. And I made online friends, often through the fandom, who made life less empty. Who loved and laughed and cried with me from afar. It's hard to overstate the effect that can have when you're trapped in a body that's pretty much your cage, with a mind that's wounded and struggling.

I kept fighting. But I also kept finding myself, over and over again, faced with the reality that most people who are deeply traumatized, certainly those who are also severely dissociative, get to know early on: the world excels at letting many of us know that there's no place for us. Fighting hard to survive with about 10% of what I need to live, I sometimes find it hard not to listen to that toxic message that many survivors and disabled folks hear and feel coming at them over and over: you're too broken to justify the cost and effort of keeping you alive.

It's been an especially hard couple of years in that sense. And as the finale was months, then weeks, then days away, I kept telling myself to wait. Wait for that. Decide later. "Deciding later" is a survival technique I've been using for decades now whenever I get actively suicidal. It's not a bad one.

So that very last Thursday evening (or very late night, where I live) came around. And it so happens that I was at the very end of my rope. Again, for unrelated reasons to the show ending, obviously. And I couldn't go on.

The finale was hours away, and off I went on that same journey. Wait. Wait just long enough to see how it ends. It's been 15 years. You've survived so far, and that bit of closure, at least, is within reach. Just fucking wait to watch that last episode; see how they go before you do. Let that be the one last kind thing you do for yourself.

I kept telling myself that even as I numbly went through my final checklist.

I know it hurts so much. I know this damn body is tortured beyond what you can stand, I know we've been told it's about to get even worse. And hours more of this seem like an eternity. Watching anything seems impossible. I know the PTSD is intolerable, I know you can't sleep, you live in constant fear and rage and exhaustion; I know you're alone in this.

I know you live in a place that has made its peace with people like you dying of Covid, and finds it a small price to pay for refusing to wear masks. I know how that makes you feel, to be told that your life is worth that little because you're disabled. I know 9 months of what amounts to house arrest, while living alone, have made everything so much worse. I know you just want to go.

But wait to watch how it ends. And decide later. You can go later. You can.

And I almost made it. I mean, I'm obviously still here, so I eventually survived. But I tried not to. I couldn't wait.

Sometimes, when you get to the lowest low point, when you are in all-encompassing agony, when your circumstances leave no room for hope even though you desperately want to live -- and I do, I so want to live -- no show, no fandom, no unfinished story can keep you from taking that step over the edge. Many times it can, but there are places where nothing has any meaning. Thursday night became one of those. Watching the finale was a faded notion in the background of all that agony, and then it was nothing at all.

I only managed to write one goodbye letter. Hard to be as organized as you imagined you would be, hard not to leave unforgivable loose ends. I have no memory of what the letter said, and I can't look at it, not yet. It's tucked away now, just out of view.

And then I went about doing the only thing that I felt could be done.

I didn't get to go away. Both because I couldn't stand the torment of the only method I had handy, though I sure gave it my best efforts -- two more minutes would have sealed the deal -- and because I was fucking afraid to die. All the way through, until I gave up and stopped what I was doing.

Fear of dying when you're your own executioner is an odd thing. Your body wants out of this plan you've made for you both. It responds like you'd expect when someone's life in under threat. It makes you have to run to the bathroom over and over, it makes your heart hammer in your chest and your ears ring.

There was no crying. Not at that point. I don't think there was crying when I gave up and accepted that I was staying alive, either. But I can't remember.

I don't know what I did during the few hours after that. The physical consequences of what I did were gone within half an hour or so -- being so ill, I knew not to try something that would land me in the ER during COVID, should I not complete the plan. I'd also be on my own there, and most likely dissociated to such a degree that I wouldn't be able to move or speak. That's not something I ever wanted to experience again, and a fucking horrible starting point if I survived.

Anyway, I was okay physically soon enough, which is not how it usually goes. I just remember being fuzzy and distant and alone. There was no one to call, and I also thought about how it would feel to get a call like that. I considered a crisis hotline, but didn't have the energy to explain my messy, complicated circumstances. I probably just lay there.

A few hours later, I was present enough to watch the finale. Still don't know how. Dissociation has it occasional advantages, one of which is being disconnected from certain things when it's all too much. And so I watched the final episode in bed, with the aftermath of that suicide attempt still all around me.

I watched Dean die the way he did. I watched Sam die. I watched them both being given the pained, tearful reassurance that it was okay to go. Watched them being held, watched those two strong, kindhearted, emotional, loyal men crying as they breathed their last. Dean's death, especially, broke my heart. He so clearly did not want to die. Was afraid, more than ever before.

I did cry then. I sobbed. I could cry for them. Hell, I could cry for that dog, wandering with Sam through the empty halls of the bunker. I cried as that dog looked up, with all that trust and love, at the only human he had left. I cried for Sam, sitting drained and aching in the dark library. Saying "I know, me too" on the unmade bed in Dean's cold, empty room.

Before that, back in the barn, I watched Dean not want to go. Sam begging him not to go, then forcing himself to tell his older brother what he needed, what he begged to hear. That he wasn't abandoning the one person he had spent his life looking out for. That Sam would survive him going, now that he had to go.

I never saved the world, and there's nothing heroic about me. But so much of what went on around those characters' deaths echoed what I had felt hours earlier, what I still was feeling. It gave me a safe way to cry for that, too.

I will always be grateful to the show for that small mercy. And grateful to Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, whom I've never met and never will, and have given such phenomenal performances here that they reached through all that distance, to unknowingly touch an ache that I could not cry for. They'll never know that. I imagine there are so many people like me who feel the same gratefulness, too, for their own similar moments of human connection.

The show is over now, and I try not to be sad about that, and I'm sure I will be. It would be sadder if I didn't feel a loss. Meanwhile, life doesn't stall just because you tried to stop your own. It's around two weeks later now, bright and loud outside my window in a world that's not safe for me to go out in, and I am lying in bed in a half-lit room trying to manage my pain. I didn't die. I'm still here.

I can't pretend I'm glad that I am, but I also know that I'm not ready to go yet. I'm just not. I have no good reason for that; sometimes you're just too afraid to die. And so I can't see myself trying to go away again any time soon. My health might take care of that for me anyway, but otherwise, looks like I'm stuck on this ride.

I'm very grateful that I've had SPN and its people for so long through this battle, to give me and the rest of the fandom so much more than meets the eye. And I'm grateful for that last, good cry, too.

Well, not the last cry, for sure. There's always rewatch #475783. 

Evanescence’s Amy Lee Gets Back to Life

She’s speaking out like never before — and burning through a new Evanescence album, pandemic or no pandemic

Amy Lee misses Brooklyn. She lived there for 12 years with her husband (and later their son, born in 2015), before they left their apartment for Nashville a year ago.

“The perfect year,” she says with an eye roll over Zoom. Lee had hoped to be closer to her family in Arkansas and friends in Nashville when she moved, only to find herself stuck at home with the rest of the world. “We haven’t gotten [to see people] as much as we would have liked to because of Covid, but now we are here, and we will be set up for a better next year,” she adds optimistically.

That’s not the only plan she’s had to readjust: Earlier this year, her alt-metal band, Evanescence, returned to the studio with producer Nick Raskulinecz, writing and recording songs for what will be their first album of new material since 2011’s Evanescence. While the pandemic slowed them down, the group has forged onward, working remotely at first and later, after getting negative Covid tests, at a Nashville studio. In April, they released the sobering power ballad “Wasted on You” as the lead single from their very much in-progress LP, The Bitter Truth, which is due to be released in early 2021.

“I’m not going to rush,” says Lee, 38. “I’m just trying to live in the moment, feeding my soul with the music.”

When the band began making a concerted effort to work on new material last year, their one rule was that there would be no rules. They began with a wealth of material and inspiration, along with a couple decade-old songs that finally feel ripe for release. Since August, when her U.S.-based bandmates took tour buses to join her in Nashville (guitarist Jen Majura has remained in Germany), they’ve been powering through the rest of the album.

“The energy was just amped,” Lee says. “We were in there on fire. Now, the guys are back at their homes, and I am wading through the aftermath of all the music, piecing it together and finalizing the record.” In some ways, she says, lockdown has been a blessing: “The upside of this time is that I’ve had to buckle down and focus. Even on the days that I don’t want to, I come out here and I go, ‘Let’s do this. Let’s finish the album.’ ”

The near-decade leading up to The Bitter Truth has been both eye-opening and invigorating for Lee. After the release of Evanescence, the group went on hiatus to deal with a legal dispute with their former label. Lee took some time to work on solo projects, including a children’s album. When the band got back in the studio, it was to reimagine their past hits with orchestral arrangements for the 2017 LP Synthesis.

Those changes, among others, mean that The Bitter Truth will be their first album with the current lineup of Evanescence. The band has changed significantly since Lee formed Evanescence as a duo with guitarist Ben Moody in 1995, the year after they met at a Christian youth camp in Little Rock at age 13. Lee, whose father worked in the radio business, had grown up loving Motown before seeing the film Amadeus and falling for classical music. “I wanted to be like Mozart,” she says. “I begged for piano lessons. I got to take piano lessons. Then grunge hit.”

Soon, she was deep into the radio rock of the day, like teens across America, listening to Nirvana, Soundgarden, Tori Amos, and Beck. At the same time, she was writing poetry and thinking about the connections between her favorite sounds. “It just all fell together,” she says. “The heavier the music — the more it was in the Metallica, Pantera world — the more similarities I could draw with Bach and Beethoven.”

Evanescence signed their first record deal in the late Nineties, when Lee was 19 and starting to study theory composition at Middle Tennessee State University. It took a few independent EPs and a jump to a major label for the duo to become a full band, enlisting a few friends for their first full-length album, 2003’s Fallen. The LP became one of the year’s hugest commercial success stories, going platinum seven times over and making them instant peers to Beyoncé, Christina Aguilera, Norah Jones, and Avril Lavigne. “Bring Me to Life,” its thrashing thunderstorm of a lead single, became an enduring goth-pop anthem, with follow-up “My Immortal” not far behind. At the 2004 Grammys, Evanescence took home the Best New Artist trophy, beating out 50 Cent and Sean Paul, and Fallen was nominated for Album of the Year (it lost to Outkast’s unstoppable Speakerboxxx/The Love Below).

Behind the scenes, though, success proved difficult for Evanescence to handle. “It was weird,” Lee says now. “I grew up in public.” She was surprised that an album so informed by real-life darkness, including the tragic death of her sister when they were both young kids, could yield Top 40 hits. “[We were] rock-band kids at the Grammys or the American Music Awards or whatever, rubbing elbows with the pop stars of the day,” she adds. “When we won, it felt like somebody was going to jump out from behind and surprise us and go, ‘Just kidding. Losers. You don’t belong here at all.’ ”

Lee spent the band’s first major tour worrying about an ailing brother, and tensions in the band boiled over with Moody’s dramatic departure halfway through a 2003 trek across Europe; he has never returned to the band. “I remember lots of times just wanting to go home,” Lee says. “I was the only female for miles, and I felt alone in my band and on the road.”

Every rock era has been defined by how few women have been able to break through to the mainstream, and Lee felt isolated even as her operatic mezzo-soprano became one of rock’s definitive voices. At one radio show, a DJ introduced the band by admitting that he had “jacked off” to the Fallen album cover, a close-up of Lee’s face. After the first song and a few minutes of simmering rage, Lee called him out. At another show, she interrupted her performance to confront a few members of the mostly male audience who were chanting “Show your tits.”

It took until this year for Lee to feel comfortable expressing her opinion on politics, speaking out in interviews against Donald Trump and the police killing of George Floyd. On “Use My Voice,” released as a single this summer, she makes it clear she’s no longer willing to stay quiet: “Drown every truth in an ocean of lies,” she sings. “Label me bitch because I dare to draw my own line/Burn every bridge and build a wall in my way/But I will use my voice.”

Evanescence recorded the song with backing vocalists including Halestorm’s Lzzy Hale and the Pretty Reckless’ Taylor Momsen — two leading voices in today’s hard rock who told Lee she’s been a major influence on their careers. “That started giving me life,” Lee says. “It made me pour myself into it with a new sense of understanding and purpose and confidence that what I was saying was worth hearing.”

So I Made A Tumblr...

Hi! I’m KoreanOreo from Ao3, Wattpad and Fanfiction.net. If you’re here than you probably know that, if not then Hi! I write fanfiction to improve my writing so I can eventually, hopefully, publish a real book.

If you’re here then you’re probably wondering what’s going on with my on-going stories.

It’s been a while since I’ve updated any of my stories besides Hinata!!! on Ice and I left a some pretty cryptic posts on my Instagram about what’s going on. Unfortunately, Instagram isn’t really useful for long-winded explanations which is what lead me to creating this account.

The short version is that last week (March 31, 2021), my uncle unexpectedly passed away and I need time to deal with that (mostly by avoiding my very family/relationship centric fanfictions and fanfictions that deal with very sad character deaths). I’ve mostly been dealing with it through drawing.

The long version is a bit heavier.

Despite that, this account isn’t to talk about my mental health or vent to cope or post depressing content all the time. It’s to keep you guys up to date on where new chapters are and their progress.

For sure I won’t be writing anything for at least the month but I will be drawing more so I implore you to check out my side-blog for my art @artsaura and if you wish to support me further, please consider purchasing something from my redbubble

Before proceeding, I’m offering a bit of a content warning: The explanation below is extremely long and talks about heart attacks, depression, eating disorders, anxiety, family death, and mentions of self-harm. It gets fairly graphic and detailed. If you are triggered by any of this please don’t read on any further. If I sound a bit detached, it’s because it’s easier for me to deal with all this.

On the evening of Wednesday March 31, 2021, my uncle suffered a massive heart attack while he was alone at home. His wife, that he recently married in August of 2019, was at work and she came home to find him on their couch not breathing with only a faint pulse. She had him rushed to the hospital and my dad (my uncle’s younger brother) and my aunt (their younger sister) rushed to meet them at the hospital. 

At the time no one really knew what was going on or if he was going to survive but I didn’t actually think he’d pass away. I was worried about it but it was mostly just my anxiety. At worst I was expecting him to slip into a temporary coma or suffer some minor cognitive impairment.

About an hour and a half later we got the call. I was in my room and my sister came in sobbing saying “We lost him.”

At first I was numb, I didn’t cry, I didn’t really feel anything. None of it felt real and I a big part of me didn’t believe it. When I finally started cry even that felt fake. I felt like I simultaneously couldn’t stop and could stop easily if I needed to. It was strange. I had a hard time smiling and even things that would normally crack me up couldn’t make me laugh for a while that night. At the time, we still didn’t know what was going on or why he’d passed away.

When my father got home from the hospital we finally got an explanation.

At one point, either in the hospital or in the ambulance, his heart and stopped and they managed to resuscitate him. When they did he was completely unresponsive and had no brain activity. Based on some quick research I assume it was caused by going too long in cardiac arrest before getting help. He wasn’t breathing when his wife found him and we have no idea how long he’d been in that state. The hospital kept my uncle alive long enough for the family going to the hospital to say goodbye. My dad, my aunt and my grandmother decided that keeping him a vegetable for the rest of his life isn’t what he would want and decided to pull the plug.

I made the mistake of doing some research on brain death which ended in me becoming more depressed because everything was basically saying that he might’ve gotten better if he was given a bit of time. All of this happened within hours and everything I read said that people supposedly brain dead should generally be given a few days.

Over the last few days it got a bit easier to talk about, planning the funeral and all that and at the moment I feel okay. But I know as soon as I walk through the doors of the funeral parlor I’m going to break down again.

About 15 months ago, just before Christmas is 2019 my paternal grandfather passed away. It wasn’t necessarily unexpected, he’d been sick for years and had only been getting worse so it wasn’t really a surprise--although the timing was especially terrible. It felt a bit different than this. We had been waiting for it, even expecting it--it didn’t really make it easier but it felt less wrong. 

This was completely unexpected. There was no warning. About 10 days earlier I’d seen him at my cousin’s 21st birthday celebration. We were joking and everything was fine. In the days leading up to his heart attack his stomach had been bothering him and the day before he’d said he was feeling better. Aside from that he was a mostly healthy man, a bit overweight but otherwise he took care of himself--especially since we’re all aware that heart problems run in the family. He ate healthy, he was semi-active, he took care of himself. We really have no idea what caused it or if it could’ve been prevented.

Going a little further back, in January my dad and I caught Covid and were pretty sick for about 2 weeks. My dad’s sister called us just after New Years saying her and her husband tested positive and since we’d celebrated Christmas Eve with them, we all planned to get tested too. The next day I was hit with symptoms. In the days leading up to it I’d had some minor headaches, but the day after learning my aunt had covid it got especially bad. My sinuses felt like they were the size of grapefruits, I had full body aches I couldn’t really breath, at one point I had a minor fever (never exceeding 100℉/37.7℃) and I couldn’t taste anything. I couldn’t focus on writing because of the headaches and it was just overall a bad time. Even now, months later, I still have breathing problems from it which only makes my insomnia worse (along with the anxiety of suddenly not being able to breath in my sleep).

On top of that, back in November I relapsed in my eating disorder (if you want to get technical, I was just dealing with BED in between bouts of anorexia but that doesn’t make a difference) and for the past year or so I’ve been fighting the urge to start cutting again. The emotional drain my uncle’s passing is putting me through is only making it worse and my only semi-healthy release (weed) isn’t readily available atm (and my parents don’t really support it so I can’t do it at home anyway).

That’s pretty much everything important. If you made it through my emotional rant then thank you for listening. Thank you for all the support you’ve given me over the years. I’ll be back in a month or two.

Again, if you wish to support me and my work further, please consider buying from my redbubble.

~KoreanOreo

Alice Springs & preparing for our Camel Trek

Thursday, 22 April

We drove the last 150 km into Marla on the Stuart Highway, the first sealed road for almost 700 clicks. We refuelled, although we probably still had enough to get us to Alice Springs. And we had lowered our tyre pressure on the gravel roads so this was the time to bring them up to pressure again because we would now be on bitumen right through to Alice Springs. We also ate our lunch there before setting off on the final section of our trip to the Alice.

We had expected to be stopped at the Northern Territory border for quarantine and Covid documentation checks, but there was absolutely nothing so we just kept driving through to Kulgera and thence on to Erldunda where we stopped for the night. There were a few more birds around the caravan park than at our previous stops, including a pair of Major Mitchells, a few vivid Australian Ringnecks and some Mulga Parrots.

We had another superb dinner at night, using our double-sided frying pan to cook a hearty roast chicken and vegetables meal to celebrate our arrival in the Northern Territory. Interestingly, we still haven’t turned on our TV to watch any DVDs since we left home. We have just read or done puzzles and turned in quite early each night. That will probably change once we are back in ‘civilisation’ again.

Friday, 23 April

We saw a couple of camels over the fence from our caravan after breakfast so took a few photos of them and told them that we would be walking in the desert with some of their brothers within the week – but that didn’t seem to impress them much. And then it was on the road again for the final 199 kilometres to Alice Springs.

We arrived at the G’Day Mate Caravan Park where we have stayed a couple of times before at about 12.45pm – a mere 3065 kilometres from home. We set ourselves up quite comfortably here and despite our resolve to leave all the cleaning and reorganising until after our Camel Trek, we did quite a bit of it during the afternoon. We have plenty still to do, but at least the main surfaces are now clean and most of our gear is accessible and usable if and when we want it. We noted a few more very minor damages to the van, but one important thing I saw when I disconnected the car from the van was that one of the two bolts in the trailer hitch had come loose and fallen out during the trip, leaving only a single bolt holding the van and the (fairly loose) towball hanging at an angle of about 45 degrees from where it should be.

We cooked another excellent meal for dinner and washed it down with a bottle of bubbles to celebrate our arrival at our first formal destination of this trip.

Saturday, 24 April

We had a huge fry-up for breakfast, using up lots of delicious leftovers before we started work for the day.

We had heaps of cleaning and rearranging to do as well as two giant loads of accumulated dust to wash out of our bedding and clothing. Everything was/is smothered in dust. I tried to get some out of our carpets and Heather did a lot of cleaning too, but it even coated everything in the fridge - how it infiltrated the fridge-seals beats me, but every cupboard, every drawer, every surface was reddish grey from its thick coating of dust. We had sealed boxes inside a closed cupboard under the bed and even they were full of dust. We will live with most of it until after our camel trek and do a more comprehensive clean after that. Of course, we will be travelling on lots more dusty roads over the next few months so I am quite sure it is all going to happen again, probably several times.

While the washing was on the line drying, we caught up with the scores of emails that had arrived while we were off the grid, with bills to pay and transactions to post, etc. There is no rest for the wicked and I had quite a bit of reading to do and correspondence to finalise for our next Owners Corporation Committee meeting the day after we get back from our Camel Expedition.

We also needed to restock some of our cupboards so went to the Supermarket during the afternoon too. It was a busy day even if we didn’t seem to have a lot to show for it. But we made a delicious paella for dinner - absolutely delightful! Man, can we do paella!

Sunday, 25 April

ANZAC Day, but apart from recognising it on Facebook, we didn’t make much of it this year. We both had things to do and I am still finding it exhausting to do much without gasping for breath with the lingering dregs of my cold - and a further 10 days later, I still haven't shaken it completely.

I wanted to check out under both car and van for any previously undetected damages and spent an hour or so crawling around inspecting the respective undercarriages. There is no indication of even the smallest damage under the car - what a mighty wagon we have! And perhaps surprisingly, the van is pretty good too. We have invested in a good deal of protective shielding over the years and although the metal guards are bent and ripped in places, it is still doing a pretty good job. It is just the odd stone that misses the shielding and hits something vulnerable (like a plastic water tap or unprotected hose) that does the occasional damage. But I guess a few million stones have hit the protection and it is not all that surprising that the occasional one gets through.

I had to tighten the towball that had become a little loose and retrieve the remaining bolt from the unit so I can buy an identical one and both tasks proved challenging, but I eventually succeeded with both. And we had to cut the padlock off the other gas cylinder so we replaced both cylinders with identically keyed locks. Accessing tools from both car and van and repacking the caravan boot also took time so with several rests to gird my loins again, it was almost lunchtime before that was all completed.

While I was doing this, Heather was reworking a draft I had prepared to nominate one of our Clubs for an award. We actually nominated them for two somewhat similar awards and it would be great if they got one. They really deserve it after their fantastic work supporting their members and growing the Club through the darkest days of the Covid lockdown.

We spent a good deal of the afternoon looking at our photos and writing stuff for our blogs but we went out for a 3-4 km walk in the arvo, just around the local area - basically along both sides of the very dry Todd River.

Monday/Tuesday, 26-27 April

In anticipation of our upcoming trek, we didn’t do a lot on these days. We had a couple of long walks in the area around the caravan park (one with our back-packs on to satisfy ourselves that we could carry the weight) and mainly just did more cleaning and maintenance around the van. We took quite some time packing for our Camel Trek to ensure we had everything we might need, that everything was fully charged and we were ready to take on the challenge ahead of us.

Well, hello!

I really just wanted to check out this app because I don’t know anyone really who blogs here... maybe I could meet new people make friends I can chat with. I don’t work anymore and I have very little company. My ex husbands wife has come to visit and let our youngest boys play together and my family has come in and out to help keep things up in the house. I broke my leg in a car accident in October. I still can’t walk.

I laugh about it now because my two other siblings here have both been in worse car accidents and walked away with scratches. My brother was knocked unconsious and woke up and walked 2 miles home. I hit a tree to avoid hitting the back end of a truck that was stopped in a work zone and when I hit the break popped back and broke my ankle tib and fib... I knew I had broken it but was not aware of how bad it was. My EMT was wonderful in keeping me calm. I heard comments when I got to the hospital about it being really bad but I didn’t want to see the damage. They knocked me out and put me into surgery. I woke up with a fixater on my leg. The next night after I asked for pain meds 3 or 4 times in a row because the Dilaudid didn’t work, my assigned surgeon came in and examined my leg. I had compartment syndrome and needed a fasciotomy asap. so the next time I woke up I still had the fix and then my leg was completely wrapped. Every time I tried to do physical therapy I would. Bleed everywhere. I found out I had two huge gaping cuts in the side of my leg and 2 equally gaping cuts in the top of my foot. In the hospital I tried my best to keep up hope that this would all be over soon. My friends at work (I’m a CNA) got ahold of me and cheered me on the get better and come back to work soon. But here I am. It’s February and I’m still wheelchair bound and not walking. The way my surgeon fixed my leg set it to where my toes almost faced the ground and my ankle is now fixed as if its ready for a stiletto. I have worked hard to get to rotate my ankle and lift my toes a little bit and as my physical therapy has me working on the they are working on lifting this deep scar on top of my foot.

It sucks to have to depend on everyone else to get help. I can do some things on my own. But I can’t cook my own food by myself. I can do dishes actually but it’s really hard. I can move from place to place with my walker. But since I’m on one leg it’s hard and I wear out fast. I can’t go anywhere unless someone takes me. Sitting in a car is hell because I lose circulation in my leg easily. If I get annoyed with my husband or my kids get on my nerves I can’t just go outside.

I spent the first month crying. Every day. I’m not kidding. I cried even harder Every appointment because my surgeon is a straight forward kinda guy. My home health nurse came in and saw that I was cracking and she suggested I act for a low dose antidepressant and I just gave and said yea. I’m tired of crying. Well it’s worked so far. I still get mad and throw fits and cry but I think that’s just me being human and besides that anyone in the medical profession is bound be make a horrible patient.

I am a lot better now. In fact despite the fact that my leg still doesn’t work, I’m in ok spirits. I miss my job, my residents, and most of my coworkers. I worked through what I feel is the worst part of COVID in my area and I worked while I had it. I was so proud of my self for not giving up in that mess. I miss the hard work. I wanna go back but I know I will never get to run around like I did before. It just sucks.

But in the midst of this whole crap show my husband and I got married in December! It was a beautiful low cost home wedding and my family couldn’t come because they were quarantined but we had our other loved ones there. I won’t lie I looked amazing in my wedding dress and my hair and makeup was gorgeous. Nothing has changed since we got married. We are still bickering at each other but at the end of the day I love him and he loves me. We have been through it all in these 6 years and I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s lazy. He frustrates me but he is a good man and a good dad to our son. My daughters love him. My oldest calls him dad. And he has pretty much jumped trough hoops for them since he met them. We are all a happy family and I love my life. I just don’t like where I’m at in my life.

I have 3 kids. My oldest is 14 and she’s a type 1 diabetic. Shes a hormonal teen with diabetes. We have blood sugar issues every day. Hormones raging. She recently got grounded for not doing her chores and lying about her blood checks and she lost it over not being on the phone for a few days. But damn she is smart. She wants to be a mortician when she graduates college. She passes state testing like it’s nothing. And she’s a complete music lover. She was the 18th chair in junior all region choir last year. She was the youngest in her group to get in. So I brag on her a lot. My middle child is a lot of energy and she frustrates me. She’s 10 and she’s been stuck in this stage where she acts like she doesn’t have common sense. We’ve taught her how to use the washer and dryer several times and this kid still says she don’t know how to use it. She’s the one who argues even if she knows she’s wrong she will still try to make you think she’s right. She will agree to something one minute and then get mad about it later. She will not brush her hair and she does this on purpose because she claims is a part of her personality. She also recently told me she’s bisexual. She’s a good kid though. Teachers and kids at school love her she don’t get in trouble ever. And she’s also a smart kid! She excelled in school to the highest. I’m very proud of my girls.

My son is 4 and he is a big ball of adhd. He bounces off walls and he’s very violent. We have been trying to get him evaluated so we can get him on proper meds before kindergarten but It hasn’t happened yet. But he’s also a sweet kid. He is very smart too. He knows all of his colors and can count to 10. He knows his name. But he tells you he’s 400 years old instead of 4 lol.

My mom and sister are both life savers to me. They have taken care of me through this. When I need them they are there. My brother prefers to live his own life and visit at moms with me from time to time. But I love him. I miss him.

My dad left my mom when I was 13. He caught up with my half sister. Fell in love with his ex wife and moved away. I have seen him 4 times since he left and the last time I saw him was when I was 19 and pregnant with my oldest child. He’s never met my kids in person and he’s only spoken to my oldest on the phone once. 2 years ago he disappeared after planning to come stay on my moms property to get back on his feet and get proper medical treatment. He asked our side of the family for money (like $1000) and none of us had that. So he tried to make us feel bad and then never contacted us again. I’ve heard fromy step sisters that he’s been spotted here and there but we honestly Don’t know where he is, what he’s doing and if he’s even alive. I hate to say it but it doesn’t bother me anymore. I used to break down thinking about him dying and not knowing. Now I feel different. He’s been gone most of my life now.

I also have this best friend who is more than my best friend. She’s my soul. This girl has helped me through some of the worst parts of my life. She and I don’t get to see each other very often but we are always family to each other. She and I talk almost daily. I just love her.

That’s my family though. It’s a hot mess but it’s mine and I love it. At the end of every day I am blessed because I’m loved and cared for.

ADHD and Me

I’m a British guy,  37 years old and I found out in April that I have innatentive adhd. I also have dyslexia, dyspraxia and suspected high functioning autism. I’ve seen a lot of things over the years about how people with adhd are always hyperactive and can never sit still. I’m neither of those things, I was always the “quiet, smart kid with his head in a book” It was only in October last year that it dawned on me that after years of struggling with my grades (always “acceptably bad” just enough to scrape by in school, college and later university, where they thought “Oh maybe he has dyslexia, let’s get him tested” I was seen and tested by one of the leading experts in the country to get my statement organised, and I utterly baffled them, as one of my test results came back as the highest test score she had ever seen, and this was a woman who had been doing this for close to fourty years solid at this point. So, I had my dyslexia statement and everything was figured out and I was pigeon holed quite nicely, next person please. I had gone to university, primarily to spite my school teachers (aside from one, who passed away a few years after i finished primary school and had always tried to find ways to help me, I miss her even now) My attempt at a foundation degree was, to be frank quite bad, as the college it was run through was labled as an  “Arts College” But was anything but that, they would give you 6 weeks to do a project, where everything was to be done in a set way, you were expected to spend two and a half weeks researching and exhaustively analysing your research before going out to shoot and comng back and doing the same to your work and going out again to do more. I would go out and shoot for four weeks and come back with two weeks to spare to work on my analysis and just about made the cut for submissions. It wasn’t until four years on various courses with the same tutor that he thought I was “different” They spoke to the other tutors and staff, who knew me quite well at this point and decided I was an “intuative photographer” which I guess helped a little, but i still struggled. I somehow managed to scrape enough brainpower and grades together to go to the University For The Creative Arts (UCA) at Rochester in Kent. The difference in education styles was, to be frank, shocking and alarming. I didn’t have to produce a lick of written analysis or a single contact sheet and I had up to three months to produce a project! The quality of my work improved immensely, as did my grades when it came to my written work, I was a C average student, which is far more than I ever thought possible. I graduated with a third class honours degree in 2014. It’s now 2020 and I still can’t read or write for pleasure like I used to pre university. As for the employment situation, it’s been pretty bad for me, the Job Centre don’t know what to do with me, I’ve been on every single scheme they can get money to send me to, and i’m still no better off. I even tried to go self employed through a scheme they put me on, I chose to be a pet photographer after a lot of market research. The scheme provider and HMRC give you two years to turn a profit before they make you shut down if you’ve not earned anything. The Job Centre demanded I pull the plug after six months. I’m still continuing my photography, at present it’s a “profesional hobby” and i’m  starting to alright with it. Fast forward to this year when I was diagnosed in April via a Zoom call (god how I loathe and hate video conferencing) by a wonderful consultant named Marco Cattani, who I believe is one of the leading ADHD experts. He told me after a conference between me and my older brother who had arranged everything that he suspects i have innatentive ADHD and possibly high functioning autism. I was in a daze for about two weeks after that, though i do remember at a followup conversation we spoke about medication, he told me all the options available to me and I asked to be prescribed medication from the weak side of the scale, my older brother also has ADHD and is on amphetamine based medication and it has benefited him immensely. He runs a web design agency in brighton with a sizeable staff and has a small art gallery too. Even before his diagnosis, he was, in any conventional sense successful, his agency has won numerous awards, he (pre covid) went on holiday a couple of times a year, owns his own house and has a flat he rents out in Brighton, he’s also married to his long term girlfriend and has a chubby ginger cat who adopted him out of the blue one day. Marco (the adhd consultant) prescribed me Concerta XL at 18 mg dose to start with, I now take 36mg once a day) What follows next is what taking Concerta XL was like (and still is) for me. Day 1, i take the tablet early in the day as I was told to, so that it would have time to kick in, which takes about 30 minutes to absorb it. 30 minutes later, my heart starts to race (which is something I was told would happen) I had to leave the house right there and then and I went for an extremely long walk (this was also during the opening stages of the Covid-19 pandemic here) Three hours later, I come back home and was still pretty wired from the tablet, so I spent the rest of the day alone in my room, not wanting to inflict myself on anyone. The next day, I felt utterly sick to my stomach and had a headache, I tried to actually be sick in the bathroom, but where i hadn’t eaten the previous day, there was nothing to get rid of. I sat dazed and under three huge blankets in the middle of an early summer, feeling like crap. My brother checked in on my later that day, having been told by my parents (who I live with) what had happened. He told me: “Oh, I should have warned you about that, I forgot”. That’s great, thanks for that. Over the next month, the palpitations gradualy subside as the tablets start to work. An “added bonus” is appetite control, pre meds, i was almost 22 stone as I would be eating and snacking all day long to try and control my anxieties (food and social mainly) These days, I don’t actually want to eat unless i’m going out on a (socially distanced) photoshoot. My weight has dropped off slowly since then and is almost stable, which has pretty much never happened before in my life. The most difficult thing I’m dealing with is that the meds are making me re-examine large parts of my life, to the point where I tell people that I feel like i’m owed the past 20 years of my life back. To me i’m somewhere between serious and it being a bit of a dark joke, to anyone on the outside they either don’t respond or say “well, we all wish that” It has also lead to me questioning my gender identity, which until this hit me in the face like a ton of bricks I didn’t know was even possible. I can’t talk to my family about this as they’re somewhat “traditional” and won’t understand, with the exception of my sister, who I belive identifies as asexual. I have a long way to go before I figure out the “normal” for me, which I guess is true for a lot of people during the current pandemic. I myself used to believe the adhd stereotypes before I found out i have it and am now on medication, now though I see things very differently. While the tablets do help me to focus on things (such as this) It’s taken me about 4 hours to type out and I feel like this is the most useful thing I can do today, even though I have photoshoots to organise for the next month. Medication is extremely useful, but it’s also life changing, It’s basically like having your brain removed, spun around, put back in and then rewired on the fly. I’ll have to stay on these things for the rest of my life, which is fine. Thank you for reading.

This post is basically going to be me writing out a thought I've had recently, which then turned into a vent post. In case you didnt see the tags, I'll be mentioning self harm, covid 19, quarentine, and eating disorders, including my personal experience with all four. This post gets really dark, but gets a bit more optimistic towards the end (theres also a metaphor that compares mental health to a cliff or something like that). This post also goes into detail about what it's like going through this. If this bothers you, feel free to skip this post. If you have the same feelings I describe in this post, please seek help.

Of course, spreading awareness and educating people about things like self harm, and eating disorders is great. But, theres one major problem with spreading awareness about these problems. It shows people that it's a thing. Now, that may seem like a good thing. People should know that it's an issue, something that happens and could happen to someone they care about.

But it's not so great when a depressed 11 year old who has no idea how to cope with his depression comes across people talking about people cutting themselves. Now, all these posts mention that it's not a good thing to do. And that you should seek help if you have the urge to do this. And the 11 year old understands that, so he doesn't even think to try it.

But then, when that boy isnt doing as well as he was when he found those posts, the thought comes up again. He remembers that cutting himself is a thing people do, and they say it relives the emotional pain and the numbness for at least a little bit. So the boy gets up and grabs a pair of scissors, and drags it across his wrist. He does it once or twice more, before he stops. Because only a little but worth hurt, as long as he doesn't take it too far, right?

So now the boy is in a bit of a better place, he wouldnt have picked up those scissors for the first time in this state. But, now that hes done it before, he wants to do it again. He wants that brief escape that the blade of that pair of scissors gives him. So he does it again.

Skip to a few days later when the boy's doing the dishes. Theres a few sharp knives in the mix. The boy wouldn't have had any problem with this normally, hes been washing these knives for a year or two now. But, now that hes felt a blade go across his skin, he wonders what it would be like to use something sharper than a pair of scissors. What would it feel like to use a kitchen knife? So the boy tries to come up with a way to sneak a kitchen knife back to his room. Thankfully, the boy gets too scared to act on his plans, so he just sticks to the scissors.

But the boy began to like feeling the pain of those cuts. So when he would wash dishes, the boy would make sure to fully submerge his wrist in the hot water, which was as hot as the sink could get the water. Just to feel the sting.

Skip to a few months later. The boy gets an old hunting knife that belonged to his grandma. His parents didnt know of the cuts, and the boy was very responsible, so they didnt see a problem giving him a knife, as long as he promised to only use it with adult supervision. The boy agreed, but soon broke his promise.

Remember a few months ago, when the boy wanted to steal a kitchen knife to see watch it would feel like to use a knife instead of a pair of scissors. Well, the boy still had these thoughts. The only difference from a few months ago and now, is that the boy now has easy access to a knife.

So, the boy opens the knife, and puts the blade to his skin, and slices. This is the first time the boy managed to make his wrist bleed. The knife hurts a lot more than the scissors, so the boy does this a few more times, before he stops, and goes to the bathroom to clean off any dried blood. The boy doesn't use the knife often, only when things get really bad. He uses the scissors most often.

A few months later, the boy tells his parents that he thinks he has depression. His parents are supportive, and the boys dad isnt surprised. His parents suggest he starts going to therapy. The boy agrees, knowing that its not healthy to be feeling the way he is, and he wants to feel better.

So the boy goes to therapy, and the first appointment is just his therapist getting to know the boy, and his parents and brother are in the room for this appointment. The therapist asks the boy and his parents questions, and the boy answers honestly. Well, mostly honestly.

When the therapist asks the boy if he has ever harmed himself, the boy says no. The therapist accepts his answer, and moves on. At the end of the appointment, the therapist asks if there anything else the boy or his parents want to add. The boy, knowing that he has to tell his therapist about his cuts, says there is one thing, but he needs his brother to leave the room when he says it.

The boy is protective of his little brother, and doesn't want to be how his little brother finds out about self harm. He doesn't want to be the one who plants the idea in his brothers head that that's a thing. So the boy insists that his brother leaves the room.

Once the boys brother is in the hall, the boy rolls up his sweatshirt sleeve and says "I lied about not harming myself" and showed his mom, dad, and therapist the lines on his wrist. The boys mother is almost crying, and that makes the boy feel like it was a mistake to say anything. But theres no turning back now.

Nothing changes at home. The boys parents didnt take the knife away from him. They never checked on him when he locked himself in his room for hours at a time. The boys dad even gave him a multipurpose tool with two knives in it for Christmas that year.

Luckily, the boy quickly got out of his depression with the therapy and being able to see his friends again. But even now, two years later, when the boy is in a bad place, and looks back at how his parents didnt change anything for him when he was self harming, and he wonders if they really cared that he was dragging scissors across his wrists once a week.

Skip to two years later, and the boy is sitting in health class. The boy had always been insecure about his weight, so when the teacher said that they would be learning about eating disorders, the boy fell into a similar hole to the one he was in 2 years ago.

Now, they boy has heard of anorexia and bulimia before. But now hes learning all about it. Now hes learning how quickly people loose a few pounds, just by skipping a few meals.

Now, the boy sees an option to loose the weight that hes had all is life, that he can't seem to drop. So, the boy begins to wonder if he could get away with just not eating.

Thankfully, the boys mother is up when the boy leaves for school, and always makes sure the boy eats a good breakfast. So hell get at least one meal a day. And his friends arent going to let him skip lunch. So that's 2 meals a day. And then, his mother always makes dinner, and the boy has no choice but to eat it. It would be easier to convince his friends that he didnt need lunch for a month than to get away with skipping dinner.

So the boy couldn't starve himself. So he thought about just throwing up afterwords. But he quickly realised that wouldnt work either. He wouldnt have time in the morning to get ready for school, eat, throw it up, and then hide it from his mom. So he couldn't throw up breakfast. Then at lunch it wouldnt work because his friends would notice if he was always running to the bathroom after lunch. And then at dinner, his mom would hear him.

Once he realised that he couldn't starve himself, and he couldn't throw his food up, he gave up on the idea all together pretty quickly. And he got better. He got out of the dark place he was in and was doing good, if not great, for a few months.

But then Covid 19 hit. The thin ground that the boy had just managed to get himself up on a few months before, started crumbling. Suddenly, his friends weren't there to calm him down when he had a random breakdown. Suddenly, his friends weren't there to stop him from skipping lunch. Suddenly, his mom wasn't making him breakfast anymore. Or dinner really. Suddenly, the boy lost his appetite Suddenly, the boy lost all the things that kept him from getting an eating disorder.

Luckily, the boy had a few ledges that he could grasp onto to keep himself from falling into a deep, dark pit. He and his friends video called a lot. He was able to meet up with his boyfriend a bit. He began listening to MCR, and P!ATD, which gave him songs that he could scream to when he wanted to cry. He started watching more youtube, and he found some youtubers that he really liked, that made him smile and laugh when he felt like crying. He found youtubers that were a part of the LGBT+ community. He found youtubers that had anxiety. He found youtubers that had depression. He found fandoms that accepted anyone and everyone.

Thanks to these ledges, the boy was able to keep himself out of the deep dark pit he had fallen into when he was 11. Thanks to these ledges, the boy valued his own health, and made sure to eat at reasonable times. He made sure to get enough sleep. He made sure that he kept himself from falling into the pit. He tried to keep finding ledges, and he did. He slowly kept finding more. Hes still holding on to these ledges, but it's getting easier. He no longer has to cling to each ledge, he can sit and relax for a minute. He can keep going up. Every now and then a ledge crumbles a bit beneath his feet, but he has more that he can catch himself on.

Hi, just want to say, I love your blog so much!! Can I just like everything in one g? Anyway, my question is: have you ever considered a Teddy Q/Red Harvest scenario where Red will go wandering and/or hunting for a few days at a time, always returning to Rose Creek, and when he does come home, Teddy is just so happy to see him? Like, they spend the next few days (or however long) being fluffy and cute, and Emma is always calling them out for PDA? Luv ya

A/N: Hi! Thank you for loving my blog I know I’m always away and barely post anything besides reblogs so now that I’m staying safe through COVID-19 and self-isolating, I promise I will do more! As for your scenario... well, NOW I’m definitely considering it so thank you so much for cursing me with the feelz! <3

So this ended up being longer than intended, and sometimes I accidentally drive away from the original idea, but I always come back to it. Most of it is in Emma’s POV as she is clearly the ship’s number one fan.

~~~

Every so often, Sam and his crew will come back to Rose Creek for some much needed time away from the spotlight. And for those who are getting much older, -can’t say who or Billy might stab me- sometimes a nice bed and a place to call home is not such a bad thing. 

So every time their heroes return, the townspeople of Rose Creek always greet them with open arms and a freshly made meal. Sheriff Emma Cullen is always the first one to greet them and always brushes off her relief and excitement to see them by rolling her eyes. Next comes Teddy Q. And after the first half a dozen times it’s happened, Faraday now knows better than to say anything whenever Red Harvest’s mood suddenly brightens. 

The celebrations take place that night, as per usual. Chisolm and the rest of his companions get to sit down, have a smoke, and feel safe around people they trust with their lives and vice versa. Over the years, Emma had finally lost it every time she saw her dead husband’s avengers take up the hotel as their place of rest and was able to build houses around the town for each of them. At first, they didn’t want to accept these gifts knowing that Emma could easily use the homes to house any new townsfolk who deem Rose Creek a decent place to live. But not many people can say no to Emma Cullen and live to tell the tale, so before the night was up, Sam already found himself in his very own house for the first time in decades. And it’s safe to say the same for the rest of his traveling companions as well. 

But it didn’t take very long for things to start rearranging again. Emma immediately noticed how both Faraday and Goodnight’s houses were rarely ever used. And then, she noticed that Teddy hasn’t been living in his own house that he’s been gifted by his dead parents when he was barely old enough to be considered a man. Over the many times Sam and his men came back to Rose Creek from their travels and took shelter in their respective houses, slowly, Faraday’s house became what they would use for a barn and then Horne would use Goodnight’s house to store and skin any meat he and Red Harvest would catch. Eventually, Rose Creek had just transformed and claimed the house as the town’s main butcher shop and so Horne and Red Harvest made a little extra money they would be able to save and use on their travels with the others. 

Emma didn’t mind that a couple of the houses she had built weren’t being used with the original intention, she just wasn’t sure if she minded the fact that Teddy didn’t feel the need to tell her that something was going on between him and the young Comanche warrior Sam had dragged into their group. She already knew about Goodnight and Billy and then later on Faraday and Vasquez. Those needles were too easy to pick out of a haystack. But it wasn’t until their group of seven came back home more and more recently did she realize that Teddy was definitely a different young man compared to what he was like before Matthew was murdered. 

This time around, she watched more closely and listened more intently. After about a couple days of her town’s heroes relaxing and enjoying their time away from their traveling passion, Red Harvest begins to wander off. That’s nothing new, as the young Indian has always gone off on his own to hunt and camp out in the wilderness whenever they return to Rose Creek. Every once in awhile, Horne would go with him as the old tracker is always content in sporting a nice hunt. They, or sometimes just Red, would disappear for a couple of days but always come back without any worry of if Sam and the others have moved on. They wouldn’t, anyway. Sam and the others always wait until their entire group is whole again and ready to move on before taking off on their next adventure.

It did seem curious to Emma that Teddy has never offered to tag along on these hunts since he seems so keen on being around Red. Whenever the Indian left, she noticed that Teddy doesn’t look sad or heartbroken, but maybe that’s because he knows Red Harvest will always come back. And it’s not like she could casually bring it up in a conversation since it was clear to her that Teddy Q didn’t want her to know about his love life. It bothered her that Teddy didn’t trust her. They were like family after all. They’ve been through a lot together. Before his marriage to Emma, Matthew Cullen actually worked for Teddy’s parents in carpentry and always took the gentleman caller under his wing either for a late-night drink or fishing. It was safe to say Matthew was the closest thing Teddy had to a brother, and then later on Emma became his sister. After Matthew’s death, Teddy didn’t ever want to part from his brother’s widow and because of that, he traveled with her to recruit Sam Chisolm and the others. Because of Matthew, Teddy Q met Red Harvest.

So, with that thought in mind, Emma confronted Teddy about it, but in a more calming matter than she originally intended, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Teddy Q looked up from a small wood carving he was fiddling around with a small knife and smiled curiously, one eyebrow raised, “Okay? It’s just a wood carving, Emma. I do it all the time.”

“No, I meant you’re happy with someone,” Emma sighed at her friend’s gullible nature and waited for Teddy to piece the puzzles together. He watched her with confusion for a few moments before his face started to fall and turn pale. Emma couldn’t help but grin in delight to see him suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze. He should feel that way, considering he didn’t trust her with the truth, to begin with. And if that isn’t such a brotherly-sisterly thing to do, Emma wasn’t sure what was. 

“I’m glad you’re happy,” she repeats, reaching over to pinch his shoulder, “But the next time you try to hide something from me, I won’t be.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After that, Emma realized some sort of ice wall she didn’t realize was there was suddenly broken. When Red Harvest came back from his hunt, Teddy Q openly ran up to his horse and waited for the Indian to jump down to embrace him. Red’s face had never so much closely resembled the emotion of surprise before, but it came close today as Teddy hugged him in front of several watching eyes. 

“Ugh, I thought they were out of the honeymoon phase?” Faraday grumbles from the rocking chair beside Emma, and she doesn't need to turn around to know that Vasquez had hit the gambler upside the head, “Ow!”

Vas curses something low to him in Spanish and Faraday has learned enough of the language to know when to shut up. But sometimes he challenges the outlaw and takes whatever happens in stride, “I know they’re not married, V, ya don’t have to go defending Red’s honor,” that statement doesn’t shock Emma, since she’s seen Vas and Red Harvest together, and it always reminded her of Matthew and Teddy.

“Are you saying that Red’s honor would break if he were married?” Emma raises a dangerous eyebrow to both Faraday and Vasquez with her arms crossed in front of her, and suddenly both men shut up and are suddenly interested in Joshua’s deck of cards. Goodnight just howls in laughter.

Now that Emma’s aware of the relationship, she sees most things that she hadn’t noticed before. Like how sometimes Red comes back from wandering off with small gifts for Teddy. None of the gifts are expensive-looking or pretty in Faraday’s eyes, but most of the gifts were something Red Harvest made or found, like a shiny rock smoothed over by a relentless waterfall or a simple necklace he had made with twine and one of his arrowheads. That gift, in particular, is one Emma is familiar with since she never sees Teddy take it off.

She doesn’t ask, but she always wonders why Teddy doesn’t go with Red whenever Sam deems it’s time for the group to move on. He clearly wants to go, and Red clearly wants him to come with, but he never does. Emma selfconsciously wonders if she’s holding Teddy Q back from truly being happy, and she even tells him so once by saying that she can take care of Rose Creek by herself if he wanted to leave.

“I know that,” he answers without hesitation, and boy does that ever boost Emma’s confidence, “But about you? Can you take care of yourself?”

It didn’t sound like an insult. Nothing ever does coming out of Teddy’s mouth. And Emma knows she can stubbornly deny it if she wants to, but deep down she knew she wouldn’t. She made Teddy promise to never keep secrets from her, and she intended on keeping the same promise to him. Deep down, she knows she needs Teddy, and Teddy always reassures that he needs her, too. So she stopped asking, knowing that Teddy was a grown man and if he ever wants to leave Rose Creek and travel with Red and his companions, then he can make that decision for himself.

But they’re never away for long. Red Harvest always comes back along with the rest of their crew. At the very least, they only come back once a year, but mostly they come back more often than that. They need a place to always consider home and Emma will live out the rest of her life gifting them that. But now she’s even more determined to live even longer if it means that Red Harvest can come home to Teddy Q.  

09/30/2021 DAB Transcript

Isaiah 60:1-62:5, Philippians 1:27-2:18, Psalm 72:1-20, Proverbs 24:11-12

Today is the 30th day of September, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It's great to be here with you today. We made it this far. All the way to the last day of the ninth month of the year. Crazy as it sounds. We made it this far together day-by-day, step-by-step, and so, let's step in to our reading today. We’re in the book of Isaiah. Today we will read chapter 60 verse 1 through 62 verse 5. And we’re reading from the Christian Standard Bible this week.

Commentary:

Okay, in Paul's letter to the Philippians, we encounter some pretty lofty statements today and we’ll go through it. But if we were like, kinda boiling things down we would come to this understanding: Jesus is Lord. And I doubt that you've never heard that one before. I doubt that even you’ve never said it before; we say these kinds of things all the time. But for policy, Jesus is Lord. It's not like saying Jesus is like the supreme master over things. It's him saying Jesus is God, which is what the early church was confessing and what Paul was preaching and what was problematic and very controversial because well, we…we understand that the Jewish people would not say, would not say God's name. So, oftentimes there’d be like a replacement, like for example Adonai, which is not a name of God, that is a Hebrew word that means, Lord. So, when they began to say Jesus is Lord, well, you see, you see the situation and yet that is indeed what we believe as Christians, and that is indeed what the early church was confessing and we do indeed still confess that until this day and that is central to what Paul was preaching. And, you can see why Paul appealed to Caesar instead of going back to Jerusalem, where they would most likely assassinate him. So, now you sitting in prison waiting for the emperor to decide whether he's going to live or die, essentially over this, as well as his activity among the Gentiles. He's a blasphemer in their mind; blasphemy is to elevate something to the level of God. Jesus is Lord, elevates Jesus to the place of God. We as Christians, 2000 years later who believe this and are going to get killed for believing this, we don’t always grasp how tenuous and how problematic and how what a struggle that they went through in their declaration of faith. And so, Paul uses language in this letter, essentially to unpack that and there's plenty biblical scholars would think this particular thing this statement, this statement, that Paul makes might've been something that was spoken, like creedal, was something that was recited or memorize or spoken in the churches, which wouldn't be all that unusual. We still in many, many tens and tens and tens of thousands of churches around the world do express some kind of declaration, some sort of, whether it be creed, a creed that we recite or some sort of confession that we make, it's never been foreign, a foreign concept to the church. But what we get from what Paul is saying is a pretty clear picture of his Christology, not to get all theological but his view of who Jesus really is. And so, I wanna repeat those six verses so that we can immerse ourselves in that, this is what the early believers believed about Jesus. This is what we believe. Who, existing in the form of God, did not consider equality with God as something to be exploited. Instead He emptied himself by assuming the form of a servant, taking on the likeness of humanity. And when He had come as a man, He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death - even to death on a cross. For this reason, God highly exalted Him and gave Him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee will bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. This is what we believe as Christians. This is what brought Paul ultimately to his execution. So, it's reasonably safe for us to say that he believed this, he suffered for this, and he died for this and so when we say Jesus is Lord, lets understand that it's not a bumper sticker. It's a declaration that Jesus is one with the Father. Jesus is God.

Prayer:

So, Holy Spirit, we invite You into that. We invite You to make us more and more aware of this reality, lead us deeper into the heart of Jesus, our Savior, who is Lord. Help us, help us to do what this letter says to do everything without grumbling and arguing, so that we may be blameless and pure children of God who are faultless in a crooked and perverse generation, among whom we are supposed to shine like stars in the world as we hold firm to the word of life. Holy Spirit, lead us deeper into Jesus, that we might continue to be transformed into his likeness so that we can be like him in this world. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

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And as always, we’re a community that loves on one another, especially through praying for one another. Being involved in each other’s stories and if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, that's the little Hotline button looking thing up at the top in the app screen or you can dial, well there are a number of numbers that you could dial: if you're in the Americas 877-942-4253 is the number to call, if you're in the UK or Europe 44 2036 088078 is the number to dial, and if you are in Australia 61 3 8820 5459 is the number to call.

And that's it for today I’m Brian. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Prayer and Encouragements:

Mark Street here from Australia. Haven’t called for a while. I have a real desperate prayer request, my brother-in-law, he’s gone missing in the Northern Territory. It’s been a couple of months now, he does suffer from a mental illness as well, we’re quite worried and concerned. He’s been through a lot, he’s lost his son, it’s real tough. Please pray for him. He’s way up in the Outback, he could be up in the Outback Bush, he’s a bit like a Crocodile Dundee, actually. But, we’re not sure and we’re really worried. If you could please really pray for revelation and closure and for him to be found and wherever he is that he’s safe with the Lord. Yeah, okay thanks a lot everyone. Bye.

Hello Daily Audio Bible, this is Alyssa calling from Colorado. I’ve been listening since the beginning of the year, I did live in Montana, I called once before. I love this community so much and I’m just reaching out today because I got COVID a few weeks ago and I have lost my taste and smell and I don’t have COVID anymore but the symptom has not gone away and I’m actually totally blind, I was born that way, and so for me losing taste and smell is really, really difficult and it leaves me depressed almost every day and I cry about it every day and I know God can heal, I know he's able to do it. But I'm fearful that it won't go away or that it won’t come back because I’ve heard people who don't get it back for a long time so I just need your prayers against fear and that I'll trust God in what He’s trying to teach me through this. But that if it’s His will I’ll get my senses back so that life will be a little bit easier for me. So, thank you so much for your prayers in advance. And I love each and every one of you. And God bless you, have a wonderful day.

Just wanted to say how much I am blessed by the Daily Audio Bible Scripture reading and how moved I am by the prayers. Thank all of you for calling in. I do want just lift up the prayers for parents. I am a parent of four and I just parents who really grab a hold of the prayer that you, that the Lord would bless our children and enlarge their territory, they He would keep their hand of safety upon them, that He would keep them far from evil, that He would even keep evil people away from our children and that every single day our children would learn to love Him with all their heart, soul, strength, and mind. Thank you. We pray all this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

This is Bonnie from Virginia. And today is September 27th. I was listening to the message, thank you so much Pastor Brian, for the message today. I had been living in the abusive marriage relation for about 14 years. But, I think, because of my culture that in Nepal, even though I was a teacher I was not able to escape from that relation because back in our culture if any marry relation will be broken it’s mostly it will be the wife, they will think it’s her fault. And so, maybe because of that scare thought I was living in the abusive relation. I had physical, mental, sexual, verbal abuse every day from my husband. But once I came to America with him, I was able to learn everything about not coping with the abusive attitude of my husband. And I prayed and got advice from other people and I was able to escape from that relation. After 14 years I was able to understand this message from the bible. And thank you very much. I hope this message will …

Hi, I’m a first-time caller from Wyoming. And I was listening to the September 24th cast and I heard a woman who asked for prayer for her 18-year-old son who was going to discipleship training school in Hawaii and I am struggling with the same issue with my daughter. She got accepted to a discipleship training school in New Zealand in January. And of course, New Zealand is closed and it doesn’t look like it’s going to open any time soon and I want my daughter to apply to a different one and she’s accusing me of not having enough faith and that God will make a way for her to go. So, I could just really use some prayer. And I am praying for your son who is going, it’s a huge step and it’s exciting and I would just appreciate prayer. Thank you.  

Alturas

Derived From, And An Offshoot Of “The Weekend In The Country” Writing Prompt, Given By Adam Gnade. 

A Preface: This story is awful. I have tried to work through this experience for years. This is a work of semi-fiction I suppose, but most of this really did happen, and you can guess which character is based on me pretty easily. I do not condone ANY of the actions depicted here. Please, care for your animal friends, and your elderly family, and if you cannot, find help for them. Good fucking god find some help and fucking save them. Do everything in your power. I did not sleep a full night’s sleep for months after what I saw that weekend.

CW: animal abuse, animal neglect, self neglect, dementia, guns, gunfire, themes of transphobia/homophobia, domestic abuse, toxic family dynamics, misogyny, vivid sensory descriptions of these things.

Part 1: Knuckle Bones

The drive itself was not bad. There was felt a certain nostalgia for many trips down south to San Diego to visit my great aunt with the family when we were children, or to the north to see the snow in the winter. Dad got lost for a little while, but he refused to admit it, he just angrily grumbled to himself and yelled to the backseat if anyone made a noise that broke his concentration. We rode through miles of outstretched quiet roads interrupted by the occasional rest area, and only stopped briefly at points for food and gas, and to rotate who got to sit in the front seat. On freeways and then off of them and up into the endless hills, long winding roads that almost felt like going in circles we drove, all of us anticipating the destination. We were going to visit grandma and grandpa, my Dad’s stepmom and father. They lived on a little farm out in Alturas.

Alturas is a small town nestled up in the rightmost corner of California, bordered both by Nevada to the east and Oregon to the north.  When we finally arrived there, the first thing I noticed were the hot air balloons. I had never seen them in person before. Floating out toward the horizon and above us and all around were hundreds of these drifting along, wicker baskets and all. Being mostly a city kid, I had almost forgotten they even existed. Peacefully scattered near and far in an expanse of clear blue sky I saw them; big beautiful ones with complex designs in an array of bright colors; mostly red and yellow with splotches of cyan and green, bits of neon pink. They reminded me of printer cartridges or SMPTE bars on a TV screen. I fixated on them as we rode up onto the main street of the town.

We stopped at a diner for breakfast, and the realization hit me that I was with my family and in a moderately conservative area. I would have no choice but to act as a woman here, I would not be given another option. I’d have to try my best to blend at least. Dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans, and a baseball cap backwards like some 90′s mall bro troupe, one could say that alone was a dead giveaway. But to these people, and to my family at the time, I was a dyke at best. At worst... lets not get into it.

We ate breakfast at this little place, dusty and kind of worn down, white walls yellowed over the years with tacky décor displayed upon them. The Don’t-Tread-On-Me flag hung up in the corner made me very nervous. Dad and my brother didn’t notice, but the old folks at the table next to us, and the truckers on the other side of the room, and the CHP officers grouped together at the bar shot daggers in my general direction, some of them holding their glare on me like snipers aiming for my head from the top of a building. I tried to eat quickly and eat well, especially since I hadn’t had anything that day except for gas station coffee and a pack of hostess mini donuts several hours before. I ate like I eat, which can be stereotyped as like how a man eats. At one point my brother said I wasn’t being polite, even though his table manners were about as bad, and the reason why he felt it different for me need not be spoken. Loud and clear.

My brother had a really hard time accepting my transition. Same with Dad. Neither will admit to it now but they both were cruel to me often, and for a while hoped they could just disregard this aspect of me and force me back into the box of womanhood until I gave up. When I first came out my brother he offered me a pair of jeans he didn’t wear anymore and asked me if I needed any advice on good cologne to wear, needed any razors, etc. This enthusiasm wouldn’t last. The next time he wanted money from me, or my weed, or something of mine he could sell, or someone he could point his anger toward, he would weaponize my former femininity against me and revert back to the same misogynistic behavior I had always known him to engage in. I was a woman again when he wanted me to be one, and I had no choice in this matter. This would go on for years. He still to this day has a deep subconscious hate for women, but thankfully and in despite of how sickening these implications are I have escaped this form of mistreatment after starting testosterone.

My Dad was a bit more open, he just didn’t know how to navigate it. He wanted to allow my brother to “have his own opinion” and opted to avoid discussion of it as much as possible. He would later learn that when it comes to something like this, there are no SIDES, there is either upholding the human need to live authentically or deny that need no matter how negatively this affected me and others like me. These days, he proudly supports me and is kind to the trans people in his neighborhood, and would like very much to take his kids to pride once covid is contained and its safe to attend large events again. He got better. Thank fucking god he got better.

We checked into an Inn down the road, got out and stretched our legs. My brother and I immediately went to go smoke a joint. We hid around the back of the building hoping Dad wouldn’t notice, but apparently we stank up the whole area and came back to him seething with anger. He sparked a cigarette, tried to calm down, and we unloaded our belongings from the car in silence. Then it was time to head to the farm. 

A few miles out from town we drove through the acres of desolate farmland down a dirt and gravel road that seemed to go on forever. I didn’t recognize the area until we started pulling into the driveway to their little house. Dad was swearing and smacking his steering wheel, cursing no one in particular but frustrated at how the gravel would scratch the paint on his car. We were, though we did try to blend in, hilariously obvious city people.

I recognized the shapes first, the house, the big looming tree on the right side, the wire fences surrounding the property, the rusty old truck. I had only been here as a kindergartener so my exact recollection of this place was fuzzy, but I had fond memories of the animals and how happy grandma and grandpa were to see me. I felt some excitement to return to this place that I always felt to be so welcoming, warm and filled with love. Then we got closer.

The first thing I noticed were the dogs. Two gigantic rabid pitbulls, one chained to the tree in the yard and one chained to a fence post just to the side of the house behind him. They were both aggressively barking and pulling on their chains trying to get to our car, foaming at the mouths and vicious as hell. I am cautious to describe this because I am aware of a certain stigma around pitbulls and their commonly misunderstood demeanor, and I will add that I have never known any dog of this breed to be cruel in any way by nature. But these dogs, they were not aggressive out of any sort of inherent violence and hatred, they were scared. They wanted to escape. The felt us to be a threat. Their paws were caked in shit and mud, mucus leaking from their eyes and matts in their fur. There were big festering wounds on the side of the dog nearest the truck as though he was bitten by something. Before him, the remains of a cat who had been caught and torn to shreds lay splayed open and rotting in the summer heat, the carcass filled with maggots. Bits of the poor things insides were scattered around the yard.

I turned my eyes over toward the house. The building itself had deteriorated significantly. The paint was peeling and chipped. Rotting wood was visible underneath all covered in a thick, black mold. The entire yard was littered with trash; rusty old cans and plastic bags, rotting apple cores, some unidentifiable mounds of what I can only assume had once been food waste. Weeds overgrew dusty and dry, and the front porch itself was falling away barely keeping its shape. To the left of it, the garage was wide open and I could see the stacks upon stacks of busted furniture, rusted metal piping, lengths of barbed wire wrapped in bundles and all manner of poorly kept junk haphazardly packed against the inner side wall.

My father’s eyes went wide as we all sat in silence, shocked at the appearance of what was apparently the home his mom and dad had been living in for the last few decades, and just how much the state of this place had declined since our last visit. He held his fist to his mouth, clenched so tight you could see his knuckle bones through his skin. Pushing back tears, he tried his best to shake the face of disgust and horror from himself before cautiously opening the door. Under his breath, my brother uttered the phrase “what the fuck,” which immediately resulted in dad turning toward the back seat angrily and slamming his fist on the middle console, growling at him to shut the fuck up through clenched teeth. The spray of his spit fell on our faces. His expression had shifted to be dramatically similar to the dogs. Anger and defensiveness as a secondary reaction to an underlying feeling of danger, and a desire to escape the inevitable. I have nightmares of this face. 

Just then grandpa came hobbling out from the garage clutching a 12 gauge shotgun, screaming for grandma that they had burglars on the premises and commanding us to leave. He pointed it upward and haphazardly fired a warning shot which went straight through the roof of the garage and aimed the smoking barrel directly at us. All three of us had our hands up instantly. Grandma came hobbling out of the house pulling through the dirt in her walker as quickly as she could, yelling for him to stop.

“Garland, that’s your fucking SON. And the grandchildren! They’ve come to visit, we just discussed this earlier this morning FOR FUCKS SAKE GARLAND PUT IT DOWN!” She grabbed his arm and he froze, the tension in his shoulders dropped. He lowered his weapon, staring at us puzzled as he processed the situation.

“ANDREW?” He yelled. “ANDREW IS THAT YOU SON?”

“Yes, Dad. Its us. Me and the kids.” he returned. He was shaking so much in the front seat I could feel it from the back. He slowly lowered his hands to his lap, my brother and I frozen in shock. 

(part 2 coming soon)