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argylemnwrites · 3 years

Text

Some Definition

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield)

Book: Open Heart (post book 2)

Word Count: ~2000

Rating: PG

Summary: Cassie is done being the “cool girl.”

Author’s Note: Well, I know a ton of the fandom is looking forward to OH3 coming out later this week, but I’m just... not. I hated the majority of OH2, and I just don’t have faith in PB to write OH3 in ways that I don’t find wildly frustrating. So, I’ve decided not to read it. I think I’ll be a lot happier not having to rationalize why Bryce and my MC haven’t defined their relationship, why my MC is consistently asked to care about Ramsey’s personal problems, and why Bryce’s residency is only four years when in should be five (or seven, if he takes research years, hahaha).

So, from here on out, I’m just going to be writing fic that is canon-compliant through the end of OH2. I had assumed that Bryce and Cassie would be in a committed relationship at this point, and I really don’t have interest in their dynamic if they aren’t committed to each other after two years (and a near death experience, smh at you, PB). So, everything I write that is set after the end of OH2 will just ignore whatever nonsense PB gives us, and this little fic serves as my personal break point.

Written partially out of frustration with the direction PB took this series, but also for Day 16 of the @choicesfebchallenge - Confession.

Cassie sat on the edge of Bryce’s bed, twisting her fingers around in her lap. She was supposed to be getting undressed. At least that’s what Bryce had hinted she should do when they got back to his place while he grabbed them both glasses of water. But she couldn’t. Her conversation with Elijah from Ines’ housewarming party earlier was stuck in her mind.

“Needless to say, my parents were pretty thrilled when I said I was looking at U of Chicago and Northwestern for fellowship. What about you, considering heading back to the Midwest?”

“Oh! Umm, I don’t know,” Cassie said, her eyes jumping to Bryce over by the keg before she could stop herself.

Elijah followed her gaze and let out a little sigh. “Well, you’ll have to make some choices pretty soon.”

His words haunted her for the rest of the party, worming their way into her thoughts over and over again. He was totally right. Not just career choices, but personal choices. Because after two years, she and Bryce still weren’t anything defined or official.

She’d tried to be cool about it. She’d tried to just enjoy what they had. But she was going to be applying for fellowship very soon. And she knew that if she made decisions about where in the country she was applying because of a guy who she couldn’t even legitimately call her boyfriend, that would make her so foolish.

The door swung open, revealing the man in question, taking a swig of water from one glass and carrying another. He did a little double take when he saw her just sitting there, placing both glasses on his dresser once he finished his drink.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, crouching down in front of her.

“Bryce, what are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Cassie closed her eyes. “I need to know...” she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before opening her eyes and continuing, “I need to know what we are.”

Bryce frowned, coming to sit next to her on the edge of the bed. “Cassie, you’re so important to me,” he said, grabbing her hand, tracing his thumb over her knuckles. “You mean so much to me.” He leaned over, tracing his thumb across her cheek, leaning in and briefly pressing his lips to hers before pulling back. “I care about you so much.”

It would be so easy to give in, to let it stand at that. But the fact was that those words, as heartwarming and flattering as they were, didn’t really answer her question. So instead of getting swept away, she scooted further down the bed, shaking her head as she pulled her hand from his.

“I know you do, Bryce. But that wasn’t what I asked.”

“Where is this coming from? I thought we had a good time tonight?”

“We did.”

He stared at her, obviously trying to read her, trying to figure out what he was missing. “I don’t get it, Cassie. What’s wrong?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stay steady and calm. She didn’t want to come across as some pathetic, needy girl whose happiness was dependent on some guy. But she also was coming to the realization that if Bryce didn’t want an actual relationship, it was probably time to end whatever they had. Spend her last year at Edenbrook just focusing on her career, getting some papers published, going to conferences, that sort of thing.

“I guess I just need to make some decisions, with my fellowship application coming up soon.”

Bryce nodded, “Yeah, I get that. But trust me, you’ll have your pick. Every diagnostics program in the country is going to want you.”

She smiled at that, but she knew it was a hollow one. Sure, she had her fears about the whole process, but fellowship match was so much less stressful than residency match, at least in diagnostics. Her worries were so much more personal. “And what if it’s a program in Georgia or Texas or Washington where I end up?”

“If you want ‘em, you’ll match there. I’m sure of it, Cass. You are brilliant, and your CV is a perfect one for diagnostics. All the other applicants are going to hate you.”

Cassie had to close her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears starting to pool there. He looked so eager and hopeful and joyous and pretty, sitting there, a giant grin on his face. He was so supportive, but it was clear that her being close to him wasn’t a priority for him at all. And after two years, after everything they’d been through, it stung. Badly.

“I think I’m going to get going,” she choked out, pushing herself off the bed, not chancing opening her eyes until she was facing away from him. Tears were already starting to track down her cheeks, and she needed to get out of there before she had a total meltdown.

“Cassie!” he called out. She heard rustling behind her and felt his fingers grasp her wrist, but she kept going, knowing he wouldn’t actually physically stop her. Sure enough, those same fingers peeled away the next instant as she didn’t slow down. She swiped her hand under her eyes as she bolted through the living room towards the front door of his apartment. How she was going to explain this later she had no idea, but she needed to get out of there, get a grip, and start to move on with her life.

Suddenly, Bryce appeared in front of her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders. “Cassie, what’s wrong? We can fix it; I promise.”

His eyes were so wide and earnest, he looked so determined and sure, but all it did was break her heart more. She just shook her head, even more tears flowing. “I don’t think-” her voice cracked, so she took a breath before she continued, “Please just let me go home, Bryce.”

Bryce stared at her for a tense second. “Is that what you really want?”

She shook her head as she swiped away more tears with the back of her hand. “It’s what I need, Bryce.”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and ran one through his hair as he stepped back. He looked so lost and confused. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Obviously, I upset you. I’m not sure how, but clearly I did. So, I’m sorry.”

Cassie shook her head. “You don’t need to be sorry. You’ve never led me on or anything. I guess I just hoped that maybe… But, it’s fine. You did nothing wrong. You aren’t obligated to care where I end up for fellowship or anything.”

“Cassie, of course I care where you end up!”

“Right. As a friend. But you don’t care if I end up near you.”

“I shouldn’t be-” he took a breath and started again, “What matters is your career, Cassie. That’s what you should consider. Not me. I’m not a factor here.”

“I know,” she shook her head, wiping her eyes yet again, wishing she could stop crying, wishing she’d been able to hold it together a little better. “I just wish you wanted to be.” She gave him a little watery smile and shrug before heading to the door. There was nothing left to say.

“Cassie, wait!” Bryce cried out, brushing past her and standing in front of the door. “I promise, I’ll let you go,” he said, holding his hands up in front of his chest. “But you need to know it’s not that I don’t want to be a factor. I’m just not gonna be so selfish that I ask you to make me a factor.”

She paused for a moment, trying to figure out if what he was telling her mattered at all or not. “Bryce, I… Even if that’s true, I can’t keep doing this. Just rolling along, being a cool girl, pretending like I don’t need to label anything.”

Bryce was quiet for a second, so Cassie moved to step past him, but he shook his head, stopping her in her tracks. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice was quiet, subdued. He didn’t sound like himself.

“Bryce, I confessed that this meant something to me over a year ago. I wasn’t going to drag you into a relationship you clearly didn’t want.”

“Didn’t want? Cassie, I didn’t want to burden you.”

“What are you-”

“I’m a mess, Cassie. You know that. I just figured you would have the good sense to not want to get involved with my drama beyond some fun.”

“How are you a mess?”

“Well, my parents-”

“-You aren’t them. You distanced yourself from them.”

“And my sister-”

“-Is a teenager you took in and did your best to help raise and support and love. Your relationship with Keiki is wonderful, not a downside at all.”

Bryce smiled briefly, glancing down at his feet, but kept going. “I’m a workaholic.”

“I don’t think there is a way to be a resident and not be a workaholic, Bryce.”

“I couldn’t even make pasta, for god’s sake!”

Cassie couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a few more tears spilling out even if she had largely stopped crying by this point. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But you learned, Bryce. You learned and grew, and that’s enough.”

He shook his head, his eyes still locked on the ground. “Last time I was someone’s boyfriend, I was pretty bad at it. And I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but I don’t do well when I’m not excelling at something. I don’t like being mediocre at things.”

Cassie stepped forward, linking her pinkie around Bryce’s. He glanced at their hands before making eye contact. “I don’t need perfect, Bryce. I just need… more. For you to at least try. And for the record, I think you were probably better at being a boyfriend than you give yourself credit for.”

He shook his head. “Nah, you know me. I’m not exactly shy about my strengths. It was bad, Cassie.”

She shrugged. “Well, then work on it. Get better. You learned how to cook. You figured out how to provide stability for your sister. And although you might try to deny it, I am pretty sure you weren’t born a surgeon. You learned how to do those things. This doesn’t have to be any different.”

He stood there, but he didn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity. Cassie felt her cheeks growing warm as embarrassment settled in. He was probably just being polite, and she had to go and corner him, make things awkward. “Of course, if you don’t want to, I understand. I just-”

Her words died as Bryce turned his hand and fully interlocked their fingers, tugging her close and kissing her. After a few seconds, he pulled back, sliding his free hand to her cheek. “Only an idiot wouldn’t want to be your boyfriend, Cassie.”

A strange little chuckle bubbled out of her at that. “So, are you saying…”

“That I want to be your boyfriend? Yeah, I want that. Do you still want that? I’m not exactly off to an auspicious start here, what with making you cry and then after that making you console me and give me a pep talk and-”

It was her turn to cut him off, kissing him soundly, placing her hand behind his neck and holding him close. After what could have been seconds or minutes or hours, she pulled back, her eyes flickering up to his face, please to see a wide grin and pure joy in his eyes.

“Do you still want to go home? Because I would love to show off my relatively new-found breakfast making skills for my girlfriend in the morning.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm as she was able to genuinely smile for the first time since her conversation with Elijah. “I’d like that,” she said, looping her arms around his waist and relishing the feeling of him pulling her into a hug. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good,” said Bryce. “Me too.”

Permatag: @choicesficwriterscreations @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

Open Heart: @mskaneko @omgjasminesimone @debramcg1106

Bryce x MC: @weaving-in-words @anotherbeingsworld @chaotichuman0090 @fortunatelywaywardsandwich @dreaming-of-movies @choicesarehard @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl @sunnyxdazed

#choicesfebruarychallenge2021 #choicesfebchallengeday16 #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction

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thedisturbeddad · 3 years

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The Tooth Fairy Got Coronavirus

I just wanted to share something that I think a lot of people are taking for granted. And that’s how to use the Pandemic to your advantage. I recently messed up big time in my job as dad, but I realized that I could blame my mistake (or the mistake of the Tooth Fairy) on covid. I gotta tell you: this is some untapped potential here for parents. This could solve a lot of problems, but I think it works best in the case of mythical creatures. In reality, it’s my fuck ups. So I’d do anything to shuck the blame. You understand. But this is really a great hack!

I really should just admit that I’m a bad dad though. I can’t believe that after years of flawless execution, I screwed up on something so simple. In my defense, my son has been losing a lot of baby teeth lately. Okay, it’s only been two teeth in the last month, but I forgot to put money under his pillow last night. Woops! No problem though. I told him the Tooth Fairy must have gotten coronavirus. Shit like this happens now. You know?

And this isn’t the first time the pandemic has fucked up holidays around my house either. With social distancing and my recent unemployment, I had to take my kids shopping with me for the things that the Easter Bunny usually provided them in secret. But times are tough in the pandemic. When Easter approached recently, I had to let my sons in on a little secret. No. It wasn’t that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. It was that the pandemic had fucked shit up, and the Easter Bunny had sent me a message saying he needed help this year.

You should know that Easter egg hunts are pretty insane at my house too. I go mega-hunt mode! There’s not just eggs, there’s toys and little cans of soda. Plastic eggs full of money and balloons filled with chocolates. Just to name a few. Up till now, the boys had only painted boiled eggs to then leave out for the Easter Bunny the night before. The Easter Bunny would come and add more prizes and candy to the mix! I never took any credit too. It’s all from some mythical creature. Some kind of legend. I try to preserve my kids’ belief in magic. Not ruin it.

This year, I explained to my young sons that the Easter Bunny had asked me to go shopping for all the things he usually brought. He could send me messages. To my boys it made sense. For me, I just didn’t have anyone to help babysit, and I didn’t feel like paying current rates for child care, just to keep the whole make-believe world going for my kids. Besides, kids are quite good at adapting. I’ve seen that with covid and all the restrictions that came with it. Our kids are better at accepting the changes than adults. It’s pretty cool.

Now, if you are going to try this out you’ll want to ask yourself: Have I even thought about all the things my kids might ask? Kids are pretty observant and adept at pointing out the flaws in our clever stories about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. In case one of my rugrats decided to wake up early Sunday morning, I decided to tell them the Easter Bunny had asked me to hide everything too! He needed to quarantine. My oldest son is too smart for my story to not be consistent.

And before we go any further, just know that I’m not going to discuss the validity of lying to my kids about Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. My mom told me at a very young age that it was all a hoax! She was a New Age Boomer, and had decided to go with an honest approach to parenting. In contrast, I like to go full tilt into the illusion. I mean, why not? You only have kids once. They only have childhoods once. And what’s the harm in a little mythology? Some superstition? It only enhances a sense of wonder and magic in kids’ lives. Is that so wrong?

I don’t care what people think in general, but I especially don’t look for approval from outside sources when raising my kids. If you’re a parent, and you haven’t figured out that all kids are different, and that you can’t treat them all the same way, then there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind. Being a parent is one of those things that everyone tries to do the same but never realizes that it’s one of their greatest chances to be truly unique. To strike off from the herd. So to speak. Getting and giving tips to other parents is all well and good, but sometimes you’ve just got to come up with something new. Right there on the spot.

That’s why, when we were going to bed tonight, I decided to give the Tooth Fairy an infectious disease. You see. Last night, my son had put a tooth under his pillow. He’d forgotten about it after that. Me too. When I tucked him into bed tonight, his hand snaked underneath his pillow and a look of puzzlement struck his face. He pulled out his tooth. No money!

“The Tooth Fairy forgot my tooth!” he yelled in startlement. I was slowly realizing that I’m starting to slip in my old age. I had to think fast, but luckily I’d already started a precedent back in April. Bunnies could pass covid to fairies. Right?

“Tooth Fairy must have gotten coronavirus.” I was amazed how easily I said it. With such a straight face!

“Yeah.” Both my kids agreed. It wasn’t just the Easter Bunny. They’ve had tons of things change in this pandemic.

“I’m sorry buddy.” I apologized for the Tooth Fairy. “She’ll probably come get it tonight. Coronavirus has messed everything up.”

“I hate the coronavirus!” My son exclaimed.

“Me too.” I agreed. Hoping he’d still believe in magic. Even though magic can apparently get the flu now. And yeah. I know it’s not like the flu. I just thought it was a cute turn of phrase. Anyway.

It worked. For now. Only trick is I got to make sure to remember to put the money under his pillow after I post this. If he wakes up and catches me, I have plenty of covid credibility to fake him out. I can spin the legends that I grew up with together with the strict policies of today. Even Santa has to get the vaccine. Right? Or else he can’t show up for Christmas this year. Too many houses he’d show up to and cause a surge in cases. Wouldn’t want him spreading anything else besides the Christmas Spirit. That’d be gross.

Maybe it’s time to end the game. Be honest with my kids about the myths I’ve been passing on. Get rid of the lies that had been handed down to me: but I like the game. I like the initiations that keep getting handed down, from one generation to the next. Our own legends. It’s one way that kids today can connect with the way children felt a hundred years ago. Or maybe more. It’s a continuation of culture and identity. But it’s all also new, now. Because of covid. You never knew it before the pandemic, but even fairies can get sick. Don’t worry though. Dads can clean it up. Just got to be full of shit. Like a lot of it.

#stay at home dad #stay at home #pandemic parenting #covid #tooth fairy #easter bunny #vaccine #kids #corona update

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imforrestgumping-blog · 7 years

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conversations with a mirrored me

We seriously don’t need to make this a lengthy conversation?

- Yeah yeah but listen what’s the point of trying to attach a time frame when you’ve waited your whole life to have a conversation with yourself. Yourself?! I mean isn’t that at some point of every thinker’s mind a sort of mission? In the figurative…

I think it is. And well you’re here. And I’m here and somehow you thought it was an artist idea to put it out there. Figure that I didn’t say it was good or bad idea.

- Pssht but you perpetually know how to bring a brother down Fam. But listen, do you think we think in the same voice? I can sort of figure out our thinking voice but you know that thing you do when you try character something but some fraction of your brain always has it covered and you are waiting to get that answer but you somehow get lost in solving it yourself and you end up like a dumbass because you somehow get it twisted?

What?! Nah fam. That’s just you. I mean sure I do think about what voice I think in. Like I think it changes with your emotion. But you can sort of recognize that overtone of you, the echo. The subconscious echo. Or am I bullshitting you? Because I think for real, they’ll always be a constant trait of you in everything you do. For everyone one of us. Like how the moon will be the moon even in daylight when it’s not needed. And that’s how unexplained shit like eclipses appear. Because rationally speaking the moon isn’t suppose to be there. But science messes up the beauty of it through justification.

- Ag guy it’s as though you were birthed by science. You’re fuck curious. Always trying to make sense of shit that sometimes needs no logic. Till today I have not meet anyone who wants to know some of shit you want to know. What do you think about this writing project you’re doing?

I think it’s expressive. One dimensionally though. And I dig how I’m able to recognize the parts of my brain I channeled and how it’ll always remain reflective of shit people will never truly know. Sort of reminds me of Frank’s music; it’s tapping into his conscious but you can never know how. And of course I’m no Frank bro but I rate it’s pretty cool I can see his art in my art. Or at least I’d like to convince you and me so. Are you convinced man?

- Sure I think anyone who knows you, especially me. That’s cool right? Feels good actually saying that. But its dope how much of an inspiration he is. It’s like seeing Gambino inspire himself on Atlanta. That’s an epic series. Too bad Season 2 had to be postponed. But there’s Game of Thrones to look forward to.

Yeah but July…

- Hey, I think it’s worth the wait. And each episode will be like an hour and a half. More movie like if you ask me. Not that you should be complaining. But talk to me about this project of ours.

Where was I. Umm.. Yeah I was saying bro. I think it’s pretty cool how as I re-read the shit is wrote I could also pick out the elements that are consistent in my scripting. It’s an entirely different experience on its own and how I let flow of my conscious. I mean they’d be times where writing in the weirdest of places would feel normal. I still reckon I’ll be nervous when I put it together and it’s ready for publishing, if I can call it that. Sure there’s always that underlying fear of hate critique you know. I think, I think I wrote a love story. I know what’s like to fall in love and I think what I did here was create a love story. With what I don’t know but it feels good looking back unto what I’m making here and going through so many feels. Its dope. It’s explosive. And I get to fiddle with a reader’s emotions. That connection I hope to create is something beyond what I can control. And isn’t that love? Isn’t that wanting more for someone more than they want for themselves?

Why we’re both here trying to let them read and feel something?

Love hey. Speaking about women and cuddles, do you remember that Ab-soul interview you read where he spoke about how women are everything? The good, the bad, the root of all? And how a real OG knows that most wars have been fought over women? That piece was something you’ve never been able to forget. Especially because you made her read it.

- Yah neh, her. Do you miss her bruh?

Fuck yeah I miss her. I mean, I miss her it sort of irritates me man. I hope she gets to read this too. She barely understood what writing meant to me but when she wrapped her mind around it, she eventually encouraged me to write. And I think I’ve been able to channel more of her into me than when we were together. Okay maybe I just miss her. She was misunderstood and I think she’ll remain that way for a very long time. So will I of course but I appreciate how that’ll always be the connection we had - lost and in love. A beautiful mess. It’s the part where we began misunderstanding one another that will forever hurt to the core... What else are we supposed to be speaking about?

- Wow, that’s an ancient load, a very expansive question I’ve been meaning to ask us. Questions likes do you think we’re attractive, why didn’t we began writing earlier, confidence levels, a ton of questions about the world, your teenage life and the life prior this life. I mean there’s so much to actually ask that I don’t even have a starting point. Why you prefer certain metaphors and a stream of conscious, dirty realism, Coldplay, your depth understanding of a being like Lil Wayne or Allister Crowley. I mean dude, I can only manage to attempt an holistic answer to that question but it steams down to one complex principle and I think it’s how you want to understand yourself beyond the idea of a mirror, writing or introspection after most, if not all, events. So what do we speak about, yeah that’s a lifetime worthy conversation mate because growth, that shit happens every single day and it’s how most of us have this imbalance of piling up questions for God when we forget one simple ideology; it’s in us… So what do we speak about, for now we speak about letting them know only a fraction then we write about the rest and hopefully they pick that up whilst we grow.

You’ve been too attached to this Boys Don’t Cry magazine, and that interview with Lil B about the sexiness of money. Let me do the honours, do you think money is sexy?

- Of course man. I think it’s dirty. But the sexy sort of dirty. Like a female. A bad bad. That’s sexy. The kind that deserves an entire species title in her honour. Because it has this destructive thing about her. And isn’t that sort of power just darn attractive. Hey, we can dwell on the chemistry of how it fits into this world and actually how physically dirty it is to touch it but money, money is sexy Fam. Sexy doesn’t always have to be good though. Or relevant. And you know how you actually feel about money. That’s my point.

I agree with you. It makes you do some pretty messed up things, like how a mentally explosive female would make you do things that test your self-control without many words. Money is like the dangerous sort of female and all of us are the testosterone filled boys. There are just as many songs about that one girl as they are about money. Ask Abel.

- Growth. That words sums up everything we need to speak about, I think?

Funny you mentioned that, I was just thinking about how I’ll release something new if this one reaches anything over ten souls. In the right way of course. So here I am debating with myself how I need to grow. We both know that entails more music, more hers, more travel and more of new. More situations in life, more milieus, addressing more world problems and a growth of conscious. And because I’ve started writing some crazy material since I relapsed. Not too dark, not too much personal me but something I deem fit for the world to grow. And hopefully I’ll get there. I mean, I started it right? With a different vocal chord in my brain back then but like I said to dad, “I can do more writing out there than in four corners” who knows maybe I’ll meet a team that’s all arty and shit and prepared to make things happen in the right way. Yeah well.. that’s the segment of growth I’ll comment on. A musician, a writer, a photographer. Choose one.

- Well the rapping scene is too fast and misguided for me, I think I’d script fire lyrics though. Although we did play the guitar at a stage for another genre. The photography scene is too literal for me. And I’d position myself more to the writing prospect but my feeling is it that it’s too narrow. Let’s talk music bro.

Music man? Do you want us to be here till our death? There’s so much to say about music. But let me summarize this; there’s a song for your every emotion and I feel so sorry for people who haven’t urged themselves to step out of their comfort zones with their music taste. But music is.. Music man. Music is infinity and whether it’s someone like Lil Wayne, some Soundcloud singer, a trap artist, a live session, a Little Dragon concert, Amy Winehouse tribute or even a random cover of White Ferrari. Music is simply and complexly infinite bro.

- We’re not done right?

Of course not.

- Fam? Bro? Anima? Anima…

END OF EPISODE ONE

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saganml · 6 years

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So....maybe I’ll do a novel of what recovery really feels like for some...ie me.

Standing in the dressing room - women’s plus size 28 —that’s based on the 0, 2, 4, etc scale. Trying to pull the jeans up above my thick, roll thighs—tears streaming down my face because I couldn’t fit in the biggest size available.

Sitting at the bench —8th grade lunch. Boys are cruel, especially the ones you crush on. And their friends —don’t even get me started. Sitting at that bench—the boys would sit down and pretend to be lunged off the seat because my weight was so much. Old AIM and the messages and being told”that boy” liked me...oh no, not me, but all 50 of me.

Right after Thanksgiving - I was blessed and cursed at the same time. Diagnosis: mononucleosis. Who would have thought this would have led me to the world of weight loss. But not any weight loss —the one where you’re walking up the steps and your pants are falling down. You neglect to realize you’re shedding pounds before everyone else’s eyes.

So one day, you put the TV on and —how cliche—LIFETIME Movie Network: it was “that woman” who played on a lot of those 90s sitcoms. Well, she was starving herself, then making herself throw up...on purpose...and losing weight! Genius, said by this 15 year old - it can’t stick and I can “stop any day.” Well, that was said 17 years ago.

Years of medicines—antidepressants, anxiolytics, agonists, supplements, weight loss pills, laxatives, secrets, hostile behavior, lies, denial—well, I think you get the point. It is pretty sad when you goto a “renowned” Eating Disorder Clinic and they tell you:

1-Your physical ailments do not exist - it’s all in your head. Fact: Gastroparesis. It’s a real condition which causes discomfort and delayed gastric emptying. Thank you, renowned Eating Disorder clinic.

2-The number one Recovery Center-known nationwide- tells you that they “cannot help you” and you “need to go to someone else” to get help. And oh yeah-forcing a bulimic to eat -sorry-wrong treatment modalities!

3-We do our way and it’s worked in the past. Okay—so the relapse and recovery rates Of Eating disorders prevails around...well look at the longitudinal studies...it’s HIGH.

So, that was the start of my realization that I was bottoming out. Oh yeah, my nursing school wanted to kick me out if the program for seeking treatment. Heaven forbid their name is dampened by someone who has a “mental illness”—yet there are epileptics, immunosuppressive disorders, panic disorders, etc allowed in the program. Is it sad to say that it wasn’t until that point that I realized:

1-Sticking your finger down your throat isn’t healthy.

2-Eating excessive amounts of food is BAD.

3-Starving yourself is sickly.

Yeah...pretty messed up-NO SHIT!

Okay...so let’s fast forward. You’re established in your career, you’re paying off student loans, and your family is so proud of you. You’re taking care of people—being a shoulder to lean on and a support system while their loved one is ill. You are making a difference in the lives of everyone around you. You should feel on top of the world. But...you don’t.

There’s what everyone doesn’t see...

You are laying in bed, fetal position. You’re crying yourself to sleep and praying for things to get better. Hours prior, you checked to make sure no one would be home for...at least three hours? After confirmation, you run out to the store and pick up the following —e.g. your favorite binge foods—a gallon of ice cream, some donuts, potato chips, general tso and sesame chicken. Then the decision...do you want root beer, cola, or doctor pepper to help purge it all?

So, you establish a routine. You put your phone to the he side and check Facebook to ensure no one will be around or home. Or if they are—you rapidly clean up everything and double, triple, quadruple bag it and run to the shower. Put on running water, pick up the toilet lid, and kneel over that porcelain throne.

At this point, you have more tears and mascara streaming down your face. You feel at your max discomfort and nauseated pain. You pray to god...”Please, please let this be the last time. Please don’t kill me. Don’t let me throw up blood. Don’t let my heart stop. But most of all...don’t let anyone walk in and see me at my worst.”

I have ruined relationships with best friends whom I’ve known since childhood. My secretive and regiment of behavior drove them away. This initially tore me apart and made me feel more empty and alone. After all, some of them were cutters or anorexic, or simply...mentally unstable themselves.

You meet guy after guy after guy. You never knew how to love a guy. When you were younger-after the weight loss-you got attention. You felt pretty, attractive, and —they wanted you. So what do you do? You get attention from an older guy —you know—he’s a friend of a friend. You think he’s into you, BUT you don’t need to tell him your big secret.

So after about x months, you slip out. He accuses you of throwing up in his toilet. But..you actually didn’t this time!!! He doesn’t listen and instead you feel relenting shame and damned with mistakes. I was 18 at this point in time - and I put myself in the hospital. My first admittance that I might have something wrong. My first heartbreak. I’m dead inside. I’m empty and feeling worthless.

So, relationship after relationship seems great. Then...it ends. Maybe it is you. You’re “fucked up” or “not thin enough” or “not good enough” or “the family disapproves.” So at that point in time, your heart and mind can only take so much. It hurts -that’s all -hurts. You are numb. You are depressed. You are alone. You feel lost.

People are telling you that your situation is not as bad as you make it. They tell you that you can be happy and you can change your path. They don’t seem to realize that situation is subjective and everyone bears a pain which some can either transcend or that defeats them and beats them down. Yet —they still judge you, give you the ultimatum, and tell you that you’re giving up too easy. Try harder- take meds-get therapy. My favorite, “Maybe you just never saw the right person in the past and maybe you need to take meds. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough.” I LOVE it —that’s sarcasm, by the way.

The thoughts of this - by far - are not in order or consistent. But hey, to describe what it feels like to have a “mental” stigma...is just as that. All over the place, confusing, past and present collision, and painful. You start your journey in one direction -but there’s a dead end sign-you turn your car. You hit a deer: SLAM! Huge bill and disappointment. You are going in a ton of directions. And your “engine” shuts down or doesn’t “recharge.” Stigma. Fear. Pain. Shame. That’s just a start to describe—but there’s also a high which comes along filled with euphoria, esteem, and power.

Power is control. Control is drive. Drive is power. Power pushes and also destroys. Get the point? It’s a circle. Oh...and by the way...you chose this route. You are accountable. What you are not at fault for...you didn’t know it would hurt you and everyone and thing around you. You did not know - so to the people who say it’s easy to get over...tell that to someone who has cancer or kidney failure. Oh yeah...their life decisions may or may not have led them there, they are “paying” for their illness....but it is NOT easy to get over or get through.

My next favorite statement, “You need therapy. You need help. You need meds. You’re not stable. You’re not right. You have issues. You aren’t going to change unless...dot. Dot. Dot.” You get the point. Sorry-I am working on trying to overcome my demons and honestly, I can only handle one step, one issue, one thing at a time.

Maybe – just maybe – what I need is for acceptance and for you to understand that I will get the help that I need when I’m ready. But damn… You tell me, “you’re not going to get any better you’re just going to get worse. “Again one of my favorite things to say… No shit, I know! But if you push me… That’s not how somebody in recovery wants to hear or deal. They will push back and they will become relentless and push away.

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