#i hope i get insurance soon i really feel like i need medication or therapy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

debu-neko-kun · 4 years

Text

Brand New Moo

A brand new story, idea courtesy of the ever-excellent commissioner (https://www.deviantart.com/doom7951) I really really liked working on this for ideas that may be obvious! Stay tuned for more flubby boys soon-ish! Contains: male weight gain, ssbhm, male lactation, human to boy-cow, cute fat gay stuff

James slumped down in the seat. It felt so wrong to be waiting here, he thought, thinking about what his boss would say if he saw him sitting here… he tapped his foot on the floor, hoping that would make him feel busy, but it just earned him a dirty look from the receptionist, so he opted to just slump deeper into his chair.

“James Rode?”

He sat up, smoothing out his button-up shirt. “Yes?”

“The doctor is available to see you now. Please enter the door to the left.”

James entered the office, expecting to see a sterile hospital room with gurneys and little jars of tongue depressors… Instead, he found himself in a carpeted room, the walls all wood paneling and decorated with diplomas and woodsy paraphernalia like bundles of herbs and wooden carvings.

Perhaps he knew less about this therapy stuff than he thought.

“Hello, Mr. Rode. I’m pleased to see you’ve made it; have a seat, if you’d like.”

James hesitated by the door. ‘I would *like* to go home…’ he mumbled, but stepped his way to the wide couch situated in front of the desk. He gently lowered himself into it, feeling more than a little small with his slender frame surrounded by so much empty seat.

“A little introduction, if I may.” the therapist smiled, tapping the plaque on his desk. “Dr. Maxwell Sweet. I used to own Sweet Farm Dairy, if you can believe it.”

“Never heard of it.” James spoke.

“Ah, well, can’t impress every time.” he chuckled, continuing on about his schooling, but James was already zoning out, sizing him up in his head. Dr. Sweet was slim, pale, well-dressed… probably didn’t spend too much time outside anymore, if the dairy story was to be believed. He wore glasses, making him seem bookish, and the clean-shaven face and well-kempt part in his smoothly combed brown hair made him seem concerned with appearances… not much to go on yet, but James felt like he’d make a respectable adversary in the boardroom regardless.

“…but I felt genetics wasn’t as fulfilling by itself. Are you okay, Mr. Rode?”

“Hmm?” James snapped out of his focused expression, taking a moment to rub his sharp blue eyes. “Sorry, a little tired. Late meeting yesterday…”

“Do you have a lot of late meetings, Mr. Rode?”

“James,” he corrected, “But yeah, I suppose I do. It’s the only way to stay ahead out there, you know?”

“I understand.” Dr. Sweet smiled, scribbling something on a pad on his desk. “Would you say this is the main source of your stress? The pressure to succeed, that is.”

“I, uh-” James stammered. “Are we starting already? I thought you would say when we were starting.”

“Just building a picture, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let you know when we get into the real stuff, if you’d like.”

“Okay, well… thanks.” James wilted a little. He wasn’t used to this, showing his cards so openly…

“Stress is the main reason you’re here, correct?”

“Yes… I mean, well, I’m here because of my boyfriend… I didn’t notice anything, but my boyfriend Kriss says I’ve been acting stressed.”

“Stressed in what way?”

“Distant… angry, sad, stuff like that. He says I haven’t been eating either, but I mean, when do I have the time? There’s just a lot to do, and nobody gets that. Nobody understands how hard it is to keep doing the same damn thing day after day, never getting a moment to just stop and relax. It’s not my fault I have to stay a few hours over every day, it’s not my fault I miss the train, it’s not my fault I have to stay with this job or else-”

James stopped, noticing the psychologist watching him intently, a furrowed-brow intensity in his expression.

“Sorry.” James sighed, folding his arms over his ribs, his gaze drifting back to the dried lavender on the wall. “Yeah. Just stressed.”

“I see,” Dr. Sweet said, underlining something on the pad with a quick scratch. “Well, I’m very glad you came to see us, James. I think this treatment will be very helpful in getting you into a better state of mind.”

“Yeah… that’s what Kriss said, too. What is this treatment, anyway? Are you just going to ask me about my past and… give advice, or something?”

“Oh, nothing like that, no. You see, I specialize in a sort of blended treatment. It’s quite ahead of its field, really. Good for people with a lot of stress and little time on their hands.”

Dr. Sweet drew a pile of papers out of his desk, dozens of forms and documents all neatly compiled into a novella of legalese. He set it gently on the desk, in front of James, and extended a pen out for him.

“…Provided you’re willing to participate, that is.”

James took the pen and the papers, sitting back to read over the front page. It was mostly filled out with his insurance information and medical history, employment information from his company, current address… everything except his name. He flipped it over, just finding more information about liability and “understanding patient responsibilities.” Just thinking about pouring over fifty sheets of legal information outside of the office, and for free, made him flip back to the front.

“Alright… well, whatever gets me out of here faster, I guess.” he murmured, scribbling his name at the bottom of the paper.

“Excellent! If you don’t mind, I’d like to get started immediately.”

Dr. Sweet’s drawer slid open, and out he pulled a small bottle of milky white fluid and a syringe.

“W-What is that for?” James asked, shocked at the sudden development. The therapy scenes in movies certainly hadn’t mentioned needles.

“Just something to help you become a little more pliable. We need you like putty for the hypnotherapy to take hold; don’t worry, it only lasts for a few minutes, and it’ll keep you relaxed for the rest of the day. That’s not so bad, is it? I promise you won’t have to keep up with any medication from here on out.”

Despite the cold sweat forming on his brow, James rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. Dr. Sweet drew some of the liquid from the bottle with a casual precision, stood up, and slowly approached the nervous patient.

“Hold still, and…” James felt a small pinch, followed by the dull ache of the injection. “That’s it. You’ve done wonderfully already, James.”

“Hmm… thank you, I guess.” he grumbled, letting out a heavy sigh.

“The medication should activate momentarily. While we wait, why don’t we pass the time with a bit of word association?”

The room around them was already starting to feel a bit… warmer. Familiar, even. He adjusted his collar a bit, leaning back against the couch.

“Do you know how this works, James?”

“I just say the first thing that comes to my head?” he asked, stifling a yawn with his palm.

“Correct. Alright now… your first word is “barn.””

“Tractor.”

“Good.” Sweet smiled. “Your second word is ‘pasture.’”

“Uh… grass. No, hay.” He muttered hazily. He felt like laying himself down on a soft patch of land, sunlight warming his pale flesh,,,

“Very good, James. Don’t think too hard about them. Now, your third word… ‘milk’.”

“Moo…” he spoke dreamily, still thinking about the sunlight and the field. A bubble of lucidity popped to the surface suddenly, bringing a blush to his face. “N-No, I, uh, I mean cow. Cow, that’s it.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Sweet continued, scribbling more notes on his pad. “And when you think of cows, what are some words you think of?”

“Big… u-uh, soft? I don’t really know…”

“That’s fine, James. Imagine a cow standing in a field… what do you think it’s thinking about?”

A warm, electric tingle trickled down from the top of his head, flowing into his spine and down his back. He tried to focus on the words… what does a cow really think about?

“Uhm… eating? How nice the sun is on its back?…”

“And how do you think it feels when it’s warm and fed? Do you think that would make a cow happy, James?”

The tingle turned into an odd, pulsing sensation, coming from somewhere in his core… or maybe deeper than that. A warmth in his cells.

“Y-Yeah… doctor, this feels… weird…”

“The medication can be a little strong, especially the first time. But just focus on my words… would that make you happy, James? Softness, warmth, food… nothing to think about but being tended to? I like to think so.”

“Hmf… y-yeah, that’d be nice…”

Soft… warm… hungry…

“Good,” Sweet began, suddenly dropping his pen. James jolted upright, forced free from his mental drift as quickly as the pen hit the desk. “That’ll conclude our session. Remember what we’ve talked about today; it’s always good to stay in touch with that simple, wholesome part of yourself. Try and slow down a little, and indulge it; I think you’ll be feeling a lot better if you do. See you again in a week?”

“Y-Yeah… yes, that’d be fine.”

“I look forward to it. Be well, James.”

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The sun was just beginning to set by the time James arrived home. Warm wafts of sweet and savory air swept around him as he shuffled through the threshold, inviting him straight through the living room and into the kitchen. There, a tall, clean-shaven man with swept back blonde hair stood, whistling to himself. The creak of the floor alerted him to James’s entrance, the apron-clad gentlemen turning to greet him.

“Oh, hey! I thought for sure you’d be running a little late, I’m not totally done with dinner yet. How did your appointment go?”

“Mm, that smells wonderful…” James murmured, slumping into one of the dining chairs. “God, I’m starving….”

“Here,” Kriss, his boyfriend of two years, spoke, setting a dish of buttered buns in front of him. “But don’t fill up before you get to the ham. I worked really hard on it as a nice reward for you finally going to that clinic. Speaking of…”

Kriss sat down in front of him as he stuffed a bun into his mouth, propping his face up on his hand. “You didn’t say how it went.”

“The appointment? Right, sorry… it was okay. Good, actually. It was good. It was kind of weird, and I didn’t think I’d need a shot for psychotherapy, but… it was nice. I feel all calm and… gooey? I can’t really explain it… really hungry, too. Mostly hungry, actually.”

James reached for another bun, nibbling on it gently.

“Well, I guess it’s working already. I haven’t seen you eat like that in… well, ever. It’s nice, honestly.”

The oven alarm beeped as James polished off a third bun, absentmindedly chewing while Kriss got up to retrieve the ham.

Soft… warm… hungry… the words bounced around his brainstem, burying themselves somewhere in the middle of sub and thoughtful consciousness. He remembered saying them, but the meaning was mostly detached… regardless, they just sounded so right.

His ruminations were interrupted by a loaded plate being placed in front of him, also interrupting his roll supply. He breathed in the delicious scents of brown sugar in the ham, cinnamon in sweet potatoes. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before; it was comfort, it was calm. It was… “Mmf, Kriss, this is incredible. Is this a new recipe? I could eat this forever!” he lit up, happily nibbling on the ham slice with gusto.

“Oh, uh… we had it last week, actually. Whatever they gave you sure made you hungry, huh?” he chuckled, looking a little confused, but relieved at the new development. After all, it was healthier than watching him starve himself on coffee and the occasional stick of gum. In only a few moments, James had the entire plate polished off, and returned to munching on bread rolls. “Want some more? I made extra in case you wanted to take some to work, but-” “There’s more?”

Kriss hadn’t seen him this happy since he’d said yes to their first date.

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“A-Ah, Kriss-!”

“Shh, we’re almost there.” Kriss cooed, shouldering the bedroom door open, his boyfriend carried bridal-style in his arms. Normally, this would be like carrying a bag of flour, but after his uncharacteristic gorging, James felt more like a sack of potatoes. Or, perhaps, one large sack filled with one very large, round, painfully full potato in the center.

“I’ve never eaten so much in my life…” James whispered as he laid out on the bed. He immediately curled onto his side, holding his stomach in his hands. “I can tell… are you sure you’re okay, babe? You can tell me anything, you know.” “I-I’m fine, honestly… just ate too much.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A familiar silence crept out of the dark now, cutting into the dim room between them. Finally, James spoke, “Kriss, I just- well, I’m not good at this, I haven’t… been there, like I should have. We’ve been together for a long time now and I still haven’t really… opened up.” Kriss sat down on the bed next to him, looking at the sheets next to James. James reached out, grabbing Kriss by the hand. “I’m sorry. Really. I’ve been too into my job and I want to spend more time with moo-”

He hiccupped, covering his mouth in sudden embarrassment. “You! God, I’ve had cows on the brain lately…”

“You certainly eat like one.” Kriss smiled gently, poking his stomach. “H-Heh… so, uhm,” James said, “Will you give me another chance? To show you the real me… not the work me. Actually me?” Kriss leaned over, brushing the tousled hair out of James’s face. “Of course, sweetpea. You know I’ll give you all the time you need to get back in your own head again. And while you’re still trying…”

Kriss cupped his cheek, and leaned in to plant a little kiss on his soft lips. “Maybe I can do something to keep you motivated.”

“C-Careful, my belly’s still sensitive…!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kriss woke before James-- given his “work early, work late” schedule, this was an uncommon occurrence, but not an unwelcome one. He liked the way James looked peacefully slumbering; it reminded him that he could still stop and relax, that at least he wasn’t hard-wired to run until he dropped. That the hamster wheel didn’t spin forever. He snuggled up closer to his slumbering partner’s back, looping his arm around his side in a gentle embrace. Kriss’s fingers brushed his chest, expecting to feel cool, taut flesh on ribs… instead, his hand touched soft, plush breast.

“H-Huh?” he muttered, startled, his hand recoiling instantly. He knew James, and had never known him to be any more than twiggy at best. Panic rising, he threw off the sheets and flipped on the bedside lamp, exposing the tubby imposter. There, on the bed, was James-- or, at least, he thought it was… same messy black hair, same little blotchy brown birthmark on his shoulder, same pink underwear. This James would have been a perfect replica, if it weren’t for one big thing:

This James was fat.

Well, fat was pushing it, but he definitely had a lot more of it than when he went to bed. His back, once a bony map of shoulder blades and ribs, was now a padded mat of pale pudge, the vaguest hint of love handles forming at his sides. Butt fat pulled his briefs tight, the waistband receding back to squish the tops of his cheeks into two blubbery cupcake tops. His thighs, once slender and toned from his constant jogging around the office building, smooshed together like gently dimpled bags of thick jelly.

“Mmmn?...” he stirred, sitting up. His round face squinted against the harsh light, and he raised a chubby hand to shield himself from it. Kriss’s green eyes darted up to his rounded arm, down to his puffy chest, back up to his cutely dimpled chin, back down to the subtle dome of his belly.

“Kriss?... Oh no, did I oversleep?”

The words clogged in Kriss’s head; what could he say? James was nervous, prone to panic at the slightest change… “You’re… you-” he choked quietly, staring in disbelief. James, following his line of sight to his belly, let out a little yelp of surprise.

“W-What happened to me? I-I didn’t eat that much, did I?...” he stammered, poking the peachy flesh of his abdomen gingerly.

“Impossible…” Kriss whispered, stepping back towards his boyfriend. “Maybe it’s just… water weight? Temporary swelling? Are you allergic to anything?”

Pressing the gentle swell of his arm, it was impossible to think this could just be temporary. “I don’t think so…”

“Well, in any case, I think we should call a doctor.” Kriss said, stepping over to the dresser. “If I can find my phone…”

“Just… use mine.” It took a moment to tear his eyes away from his freshly-plush body long enough to reach for his cell, thumb tapping the home screen. The time-- 5:55 am-- appeared on the screen.

“Oh! No no no, I’m going to be late!”

“James, the doctor-”

“I’ll go after work! I need to get ready; how did I forget the early meeting? I never forget!”

James scrambled to his feet, butt bouncing in his underwear as he bounded into the bathroom, the door shutting quickly behind him. “Kriss, can you find a white shirt for me, please? And my good watch!”

“If they still fit…” Kriss mumbled with a sigh, shuffling to find his clothes. So much for the fast-track relaxation therapy.

‘Give it time,’ he thought, ‘Nobody changes overnight.’

But as he pulled out the obviously too-small button-up from the closet, he suddenly began to doubt these words.

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James rushed into the office, speed-walking his way through the lobby to the elevator. He barely managed to squeeze by in time for the doors to shut, his belly bumping against the metal as he slipped in.

“Ouch…” he murmured, regarding his sensitive new softness with a little rub. It was only with this did he notice how stressed the buttons were on the shirt, or how a thin sliver of belly fat was drooping out of the bottom. He quickly pulled his pants higher to disguise it, tucking in the shirt like he wasn’t covering for a freak medical condition. Not like it helped much… the fabric was still ungodly tight against his chest, outlining his newly-blossomed moobs like half-filled water balloons in cloth, and similarly highlighted the uncharacteristically pudgy belly beneath. At least his pants had always been a little big for him… they, at least, did a little better at preserving his modesty.

He waited impatiently for the ding, and squeezed through the doors before they’d fully opened, managing to narrowly avoid two coworkers on his way to the meeting room. They said something he didn’t quite hear, but he heard the word “wide”, which was enough to make him flush gently. No time for that, he thought, walking as fast as he could muster with what felt like fifty extra pounds bouncing on his frame. Sweating lightly, he finally arrived at the meeting room, slipping in just before the last coworker. They scoffed at his speedy entrance, but upon seeing his unusually rounded face, decided that it wasn’t worth starting a fight over-- he was clearly suffering enough if he looked like *that* after just one day.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen…” James’s boss began, addressing the crowd. And so it was, James thought, letting the voices around him whisper out into the back of his mind. He’d wait until his name was called, he’d give his report, and then he’d be back to hammering out the numbers until home time. The daily routine… though, there was nothing ‘routine’ about today, as the chair was quick to remind him. Where he used to sit at the edge of the seat, he now filled it out plentifully; so much so that the chair arms touched his sides if he fidgeted an inch or so in either direction. It was an alien feeling, being so plump- he couldn’t even bring himself to say it, but the words hung there in his mind.

Round. Chubby. Soft. Thick. *Fat.*

He grabbed his thigh amidst his anxious ruminating, fingers squishing pliable blubber beneath the trouser fabric. The sensation sent warm, pleasing tingles across his flesh, rumbling deep into his core. It felt… nice?

He scanned the room, making sure nobody could read the feelings passing through his mind and body, but everyone else seemed to be knee-deep in their own happy places too; zoning out to cope was half of the job, after all. A sudden, deep gurgle bubbled in his belly, his hand shooting up to grab at his belly. Where his thigh had been plush, his belly was absolutely pillowy… the silky smooth glob of fat oozed around his fingers where he pressed, sending out another wave of delight across his body. As if to respond to his pressing, another gurgle rumbled against his palm, and he could feel his stomach rising like slow baked dough with his breaths. In, out… warm, soft. He couldn’t help but smile, sucked into the world of squishy comfort. Even as his belly rose in the *out* breath. Even as the chair began to press into his sides ever so softly. Even as the buttons stressed and strained, struggling to keep up with his widening form until-

*PING* The first button on his shirt reflected off a steel mug, snapping everybody out of their stupor with a jolt.

“What was that?” the boss asked. Everybody looked around, but thankfully James’s airy belly was covered by the desk.

“Hmm… well, in any case, that’s the long and short of it.” the boss shrugged, shuffling some papers in his hands. “James, you’re up.”

James looked up, half-lidded in a relaxed daze. “Huh?...”

“Your numbers. You *do* have your report, don’t you?”

Like an apple in a cauldron of caramel, the thought of the report slowly bobbed back to the top of his focus.

“O-Oh, right, yes sir, I uh…”

He reached for his briefcase, grasping at air beneath the desk.

“Is everything alright, James?”

Everybody in the room shuffled, slumped, retreated back to the comfort of the sounds and sights of desert islands and snowy cabins. Meanwhile, he was out in the open, and floundering.

“They’re, uh… late. Late client.” he smiled nervously. The boss looked at him, eyes narrowed in confusion, but simply shook it off.

“Just have them on my desk by tomorrow, okay? Now, who’s next?”

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Back at his desk, (and with his pants hiked higher than ever) James let out a deep sigh, wincing as his buckle pinched sensitive belly fat.

“Just keep it together, James....” he whispered to himself. He tried to bounce his leg, but found that it just made the rest of him bounce too, and stopped. He logged into his computer with one hand, the other squeezing the stress ball on his desk, but it only reminded him of how much softer he was…

Throwing the ball in the trash can by his foot, he decided his best bet was to focus on his work. Not on the fat ass threatening to blow out the seat of his pants, not on the small overhang his belly would surely be creating if he wore his pants correctly. And not on the strange warmth rushing to his head… just financial information, market watches, and emails.

Five minutes later, and he was still staring at his home screen, unable to bring himself to start working. There was just something at the back of his mind, something creeping up on him; a deep hunger that swelled up inside of him like a consumptive balloon.

“That’s it… just hungry is all…” he assured himself, pushing away from his desk. All he needed was an early lunch, and it would be back to work as usual. Something light…

Before he knew it, he was sitting down at the cafeteria with three hefty cheeseburgers and a heaping plate of thin fries drowned in cheese.

James took a thick, mouth-filling bite of a burger, losing himself in bliss.

“Mmf, so good…” he moaned to himself, prompting a blushing intern to speedwalk to the exit. One hefty gulp down, he sucked down a glob of sugary vanilla milkshake, chasing it with a handful of fries and another bite of burger. Not only did it chip away at the hunger, but his worry too. Suddenly he felt okay; eating like this felt *right*. He absentmindedly rubbed his belly, the gentle touch enough to rip away another button and rub cheese onto his shirt. He didn’t care; why should he? The belly beneath his hand was soft, fat, and jiggly, and it was fun to pat and wobble. And the more he ate, the more he was able to wobble it. One burger down-- and another button popped-- he felt twice as comfortable. Arm fat billowed out in his shirt, small rips forming that pushed dollops of fat through. Pant fibre finally reached capacity, pulling back from his pudgy calves as his thighs claimed ever more real estate within them. Fingers and toes chubbed into cute little sausages. Wrists, ankles, and neck slowly became less defined. Cheeks chubbed, chin flubbed; his masculinity was smudged by the heaps of fat, androgyny taking the wheel.

But still he munched, a happy grin on his face as he grazed the haystack of fries. The warm feeling in his head turned hot, two points burning the warmest… but two points on his chest gained his attention the most. His chest-- rather, his breasts-- ached terribly, prompting a whine from the freshly cherubic gentleman. Pudgy fingers pawed at the last button left on his shirt, but it was simply too tight to be undone. Instead, he opted to just rub at his moobs beneath the fabric, gulping his shake heartily. Finally, the button popped, and he let out a sigh of relief as his fat breasts plapped onto his belly. The sudden motion forced milk out of the little pink nipples in small rivulets, drops running down the curve of the swollen mounds and dripping onto his belly.

“G-Guh…” he groaned, scooping the last of the food into his maw just as his belt buckle burst off. He was exhausted, but sated… for now. Already, his mind was feeling clearer, and already he was starting to regret the sudden gorging… he was huge! And was that… milk?! “Sir, if you’re going to be in here, you need to put on some clothes-”

The security guard looked taken aback as James turned and unsteadily rose, his pants open and his shirt hanging free. His ass fat rose behind him like two fat pumpkins squeezed into a pair of briefs, rising up with plentiful flesh visible.

“A-Are you okay?...”

James huffed, wobbling on his feet as he attempted to center himself. “I’m- *bruuuarp* o-oh, sorry…”

The guard just stood, watching him slowly lumber out of the cafeteria and off towards the elevator.

“They don’t pay me enough for this…”

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The slow drive was filled with a quiet anxiety, wondering if Kriss was right: what if he had just gone to the doctor in the first place? Why didn’t he just go to a real hospital to see why he was dripping milk all over the upholstery? That was it, though. He knew why he was like this… where else could it have come from?

Doctor Sweet.

Sweat dripped from his apron of a belly as he squeezed in through the front door. The receptionist simply buzzed him through, and he waddled straight into the pastoral office.

“Aha, James! Right on schedule. Please, have a seat.”

James panted heavily, taking the time to rest on the doorway before he entered.

“What… did you do?” he huffed, continuing on towards the desk. “Look at me! This… has to be some kind of reaction… to that medicine!”

The doctor smiled, unfazed by his bloated appearance. “I’ll say. I’d be more than willing to explain it, if you’d just have a seat.”

James stopped, the exhaustion he felt quickly overtaking his urges towards aggression. “F-Fine…”

The massive boy collapsed in the seat like a falling boulder, nearly taking up the whole couch with his bulk.

“Excellent. Now then… you said there was a reaction, yes?”

James gestured to his body.

“So… chills, fever…?”

“I’m fat! I’m huge! I’m… l-leaking!” he burst out, wobbling in anger. Try as he might to seem imposing, he felt like a bowl of pudding.

“Oh. Oh dear, I see the problem… you must’ve skipped the waiver.” Dr. Sweet sighed, shaking his head. “Well, too late for take backs now, I’m afraid.”

James put his hands on his belly in worry. “W-What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’d read the waiver… you’d see that this therapy involves a permanent genetic alteration.”

“G-Genetic?...”

“Yes. We force a mutation-- I won’t get too deep into it now, there’s really no use-- to shave off the rough edges, essentially. I felt it would be important in your case to emphasize the potential for softness, and it seems your body agreed. Surround yourself with soft, and become soft.”

“That… that’s-” James struggled, trailing away quietly.

The doctor continued. “You see, I was like you at a time. Angry, frustrated, stressed, upset at life… but my time as a dairy worker gave me new insight. Being surrounded by gentle docility at all hours of the day taught me to be gentle and caring myself. But this process took years... once I started in medicine, I spent endless hours trying to find how to distill this process into a formula, to turn the experience into a chemical.”

James watched him with confusion, hands gently kneading his fat to keep himself calm.

“Well, I discovered it alright. It’s a bit unwieldy, but with a little guided thinking, it works wonders. Really brings the farm experience home, wouldn't you agree?”

James looked down at his belly, at his nipples streaming milk onto his bellybutton. “Y-You’re saying I’m turning into…”

“A cow, yes. You’re well on your way, in fact. Here, take a look.”

The doctor withdrew a handheld mirror from his desk, and held it up for James to see. He felt like he was staring into a barber mirror, only instead of finding himself with a new haircut, it was fuzzy cow ears and a set of tiny, nubby horns on his head. And somehow, it didn’t feel wrong… in fact, he felt pretty cute.

“Oh… woah…” he murmured, poking the ear gently.

“See? Nothing to worry about! And just as stated in the forms, you’ll be paid a weekly sum for participating in this new therapy. I doubt a cow would be acceptable in an office building, aha.”

James patted his cheeks, a smile forming on his face.

“And if you’ll allow me…”

The doctor set down the mirror, and withdrew a familiar milky white bottle.

“...I’d like to finish what we started.”

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Kriss waited in the kitchen, checking his watch every few minutes, waiting for James to get off of work so he could take him to the hospital. He shouldn’t have even let him go to work… what if he was more sick than he thought? What if it wasn’t just swelling? What if-

*Thud* The front door shut, and Kriss sprang up from his chair, scrambling into the living room.

“James-”

The breath caught in his chest as he took in the full scope of his boyfriend. The 200-and-change chubster who had left that morning had blossomed into a wide, easily 600 lb. wall of blubber. He stared up at his polished, nubby horns, at his furry ears, down at his absolutely shirt-shredding tits… blood rushed into his face so fast he stumbled, nearly falling forward.

“Oh no, are you okay?” James asked, bright blue eyes full of worry. He waddled forward, belly rippling against the front of each knee as he slowly walked like he was wading through waist-high waters. His chest swayed back and forth, barely contained by a tiny stretched-out tee. Despite being more than three inches taller than him, Kriss suddenly found himself pressed face first into warm boy cleavage, peachy flesh enveloping him. James’s flabby, pillowy arms pressed around his back as he cuddled him in an embrace.

“What… happened?” he breathed, head spinning as he tried to process the changes in his boyfriend.

“O-Oh! Right… it’s part of the therapy! Dr. Sweet made me into a big cuddly cow, and I really like it!” he smiled, clasping his chubby hands together. “Though, we may need to get some new clothes… these shorts are kinda tight on my butt.”

For added emphasis, he slowly turned around, revealing the skin-tight shorts had all but retreated into his huge, bare ass, the rolls of his back flab sagging down to nearly meet the top of them.

“A-Aha... “ Kriss said, woozy once more. He clutched the wall to keep from falling over.

“Do… do you not like it?” James asked, timidly pushing his fat thighs together. His ears twitched gently, sending an arrow straight through Kriss’s heart.

“When I read the waiver, I didn’t expect it to be like, well… all of this. Babe… you’re so adorable my head is going to explode. ”

A happy smile brightened his face once more, and James let out a little laugh. “G-Gosh, don’t scare me like that!”

Headrush fleeting, Kriss managed to push off the wall and back into the arms of his lover. He pecked at his blubbery neck, giving him gentle kisses up and across his cheek.

“O-Ooh, these are nice…” Kriss murmured, squeezing his arms around his chest. “You’re like a big stress ball, I love it.”

“H-Hey, careful, they’re still a little full…”

Kriss moved in for a kiss on the lips, pulling away to give his chest another little squeeze. “Full? Like… with milk?”

James nodded. “You’ll have to milk me until the pump arrives, otherwise they’ll get too full and I’ll start to ache… that is, if you want to. I can still just go to the clinic-”

Kriss tugged at his shirt, freeing one of his blubbery boobs. His thumb traced the nipple gently, practically melting James into a puddle.

“A-Ah, god, have you done this before?...”

“No…” Kriss said, bringing the breast to his mouth. Sweet, creamy milk flowed onto his tongue, which he swallowed down. “But I can learn.”

#male weight gain #fat male #male lactation #ssbhm #boycow #moo

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neverendingparable · 3 years

Text

Returning Home

mentions of self harm, suicide, mental illness, drugs, medication, scars

Someone was knocking at the door, loud and urgent, interrupting his reading.

Ezra picked up the bookmark and slid it in between the pages, then checked his phone in case he had overlooked a message before he got up to answer.

Probably someone from the downstairs apartments was asking for help again. He wasn't quite sure when he became the man to go to whenever the trash collectors oversaw their cans or when scammy ads were on their way to frightening people into buying insurance with shady companies, but it seemed like every time something odd happened around here, at least one person would turn to him for help.

He unlocked the door and opened it, ready to assure a worried elder about doubting the legitimacy of the latest marketing scam. Instead of his downstairs neighbors, he found Stanley, sweater and hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot.

Ah.

Ezra didn't expect him to come knocking so soon and an unexpected flutter of panic unfolded in his chest. It was only two days ago when they had the fight, or rather it was Ezra chastising him, telling him that he had to choose between living and dying once and for all.

'I'm not going to be with someone who is constantly on the edge, Spencer,' he had said, trying his hardest not to yell. 'You need to figure out what you want. I can't stop you from hurting but I can be there with you every step of the way if you want to recover. I want to be there for you. But I can't watch you sabotage yourself, much less stand by idly while you dig your own grave.'

He had poured in years of frustration with his ex boyfriend, all those times he was Stanley's rock, the reason why he was still alive, the one to treat his injuries. But it had never gotten better and Ezra decided that perhaps if he gave him an ultimatum, Stanley would finally realize he was being serious. He wasn't going to stand around and watch the most important person of his life kill himself slowly.

That was the last time he had talked with him. He wanted to give him space to think about his words, to let Stanley feel the absence so he knew the gravity of his choices. Ezra had felt a tiny bit guilty about it all, but he knew it was important. Nothing else had worked before.

He had expected a week or so of silence until Spencer eventually crawled back and reluctantly agreed to try out something. He hadn't prepared to be confronted so quickly.

Despite the nervousness creeping up his throat, Ezra relaxed into a friendlier stance and attempted to smile.

"You look awful," He said lightly. "Did you stay up all night?"

Stanley stared at him. There was something wild in his eyes. Fear? Desperation?

"....did you have a nightmare, Stanley?" Something felt off. Even if he did simply pull an all nighter or - possibly - hadn't slept since their argument two nights ago, it didn't make sense for him to look this worn down. Stanley was the type of guy that could take three all nighters in a row without flinching even at age twenty five, while Ezra who was only slightly older felt groggy if he didn't go to bed before midnight.

Perhaps Ezra had managed to get through to him after all and Stanley felt so guilty he spent the last two days beating himself up over it before working up the nerve to come here. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better.

"Wha...what date is it?" Stanley finally croaked out in a hoarse whisper.

Ezra blinked. "Sorry?"

"The date."

"It's Tuesday." Ezra stepped forward to coax him in, but stopped when Stanley made a noise of frustration.

"Year??" He demanded.

Maybe he was drunk. Or high. Or both. Ezra was certain you weren't supposed to mix drugs and alcohol but if something was forbidden and potentially dangerous it would make sense for Spencer of all people to try it.

"Why don't you come in and I'll get you a glass of water," He attempted again, keeping his voice gentle. "You're confused—"

"For fuck's sake! Just tell me the damn date-" Stanley's voice cracked and became strangled. He looked like he was about to cry.

Ezra had no clue what was going on. It scared him though, even after all these years of witnessing breakdowns and fits of rage, he had never seen his friend like this. It was like he changed into a different person overnight. The Spencer two days ago barely seemed remorseful after their relationship abruptly ended.

"It's October the 15th, 2013," Ezra said carefully.

Spencer's face fell instantly. It was the oddest expression he had ever seen on someone, full of sadness and understanding, hope and rage and a tinge of happiness. Like all of his worst fears were just confirmed and amidst it all, so was his greatest wish. He swayed for a second, lost in a million mile stare and then steadied himself enough to step into Ezra's apartment.

He stood there, looking around while Ezra closed the door behind him. His eyes rested on every piece of furniture as if making sure they were all still there where he remembered them to be.

Then he turned towards the couch and for a split moment, Ezra could've sworn he saw a pale thin scar stretch across the back of Spencer's neck, like someone had attempted a decapitation. He shuddered and looked again and found it gone.

"So-....uh..." Spencer took a seat on the couch awkwardly. He searched his thoughts for a second then attempted to appear a bit more relaxed, like he was stepping back into his role as the nonchalant jokester.

"How are you, um, Ezra?"

Ezra stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, you come stumbling in here like a zombie on drugs and now you want to make small talk? What happened to you?"

Spencer shrugged. Normally it would make his blood boil but Ezra just felt helpless. This didn't seem an attempt to dismiss his concerns. Spencer was guarded, sitting like a caged animal ready to jump and run at the first sign of danger.

"I'm not on any drugs."

"Alcohol?"

"No."

"Did you take any meds?" He had to ask just in case Spencer was cleverly avoiding confessing to be drugged up with medication instead of drugs he bought off a friend.

"No." Spencer paused. "I'm...I'm just a bit confused, that's all. Had a rough-...rough time."

Ezra sat across from him, hesitated, and took his hands into his own. He could feel them shaking slightly and when he looked up, he could tell Stanley was trying hard not to cry.

"Stanley...please. Just be honest. What happened to you?"

"It's- nothing." You wouldn't believe me hung heavy in the air between them.

"Was it the argument? Was I too harsh?" Ezra didn't want to hear the confirmation that he might've been the cause for this. He hadn't thought he pushed him too hard with his words. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Stanley had abandonment issues and maybe the break up left him more shaken up than Ezra had realized-

"No." The tremble in Stanley's voice disappeared. "No, it wasn't you, Ezra, don't think that. If anything, it was my fault. I was a shit boyfriend and an even shittier friend."

"Stanley-"

"No, let me talk." Stanley pulled his hands away. "You were right, you've always been. I was unfair to you, I was selfish and immature and only thought about my wants. I took advantage of your second chances again and again and you were right to tell me to stop my bullshit."

"Well..."

"I'm sorry, too." His voice grew softer. "I never thought I'd get this chance to say this but I'm sorry. Ezra, I love you. As a friend, as a soulmate, as whatever you want to call it. I know we're not boyfriends right now but please believe me I'm so sorry and I don't want to leave you."

"What...do you mean you never thought you'd get the chance to say it?" All he got as an answer was two armfuls of Stanley, holding onto him for dear life.

He returned the hug carefully, lost in the absurdity of the situation. It felt like a dream he wasn't aware he stumbled into. It felt like he had just narrowly avoided a horrible fate and the weight of the 'almost' was looming over them like storm clouds.

Stanley was still talking about how sorry he was and how he was going to get better, therapy, life coaches, mental hospitals, whatever you want I'll do it just don't kick me out tonight and he sounded so desperate Ezra almost believed that whatever happened to him was a type of horror he’ll never understand.

Logic told him it was just a very extreme case of depression. Perhaps he had been drinking. Perhaps he beaten himself up so much over these past two days that he had somehow driven himself to hysterics and if he really did mean it then he would have to prove himself.

But that night Stanley clung to him until he passed out in exhaustion and even in his sleep his grip was tight enough to suffocate.

He did stay true to his words. He threw out everything remotely harmful, even donated his rather impressive knife collection to a local thrift shop. He went to every doctor Ezra recommended to him and soon he was on meds again, getting weekly counsel sessions.

The doctors told him that Stanley was suffering from a type of extreme PTSD, one that couldn't be easily explained from his childhood. His parents had been neglectful, not violent and once they both graduated, their lives have been fairly normal.

Spencer was eventually put on anxiety medications. He was unbearably clingy, to the point where Ezra found him staring at the door when he came back from getting groceries or the mail.

He had nightmares too, ones he only vaguely described as feeling 'trapped' in. Nightmares that involve him losing Ezra in endless hallways, meeting monsters who wanted to tear him apart, watching himself die in various ways.

The source of these newfound problems remained unknown as Stanley stayed tight lipped, changing the subject whenever Ezra pried too hard. But despite the new wave of horror now haunting him, he didn't refuse treatment even once. And it was through their combined efforts he eventually got better. He stopped being scared of entering new buildings, stopped waking up in the middle of the night screaming, stopped going into a nervous fit whenever Ezra was out of his sight.

He found new hobbies, building little machines in his spare time and on the weekends they would spend hours hiking nearby trails.

They started dating again. Stanley's previous shyness about intimacy had all but disappeared and been replaced by neediness. He bared himself shamelessly, asking to be loved for every flaw and Ezra obliged.

Whatever happened was beyond his comprehension. He didn't know how someone could change so drastically and for the longest time he blamed himself for not seeing the signs earlier. That perhaps Stanley had always been like that and he had never noticed.

But there were little things that confused him. Every so often, when they were untangling in bed or just in the shower, he caught glimpses of unexplainable scars on Spencer's body. Scars that were deep and ugly, scars that told of violent deaths. Decapitation, disemboweling, torture, burn marks. A second look and they were gone.

Sometimes he felt an odd sort of calling when he was walking down the hallways of the hospital or his work office. A longing to open a door and step inside, see what could be on the other side. The one time he did, he found a broom closet where he was sure that hadn't been before and the energy radiating from it was so hungry he had closed it quickly and left.

Several times he caught glimpses of someone watching them while they were out in public. An impossibly tall figure in a suit, a smiling woman in an exceptionally colorful dress who looked a little too much like Stanley used to look when he still had long hair, a man in an overcoat and a top hat. None of them ever approached and Ezra was strangely relieved.

As the treatments carried on, Stanley found his lively spark again. He insisted on being called Bradley, ('Brat-ley' he explained proudly) and tried his hardest to live up to the name.

It didn't bother Ezra, however. They were happy. Alive, well and happy.

And that's all that mattered.

#drabble #backwards au #one of the bradleys who came home #ezra jaxden #the good ending #this is very self indulgent but i hope its not too rambly nonetheless

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stilesgivesmefeels · 4 years

Text

My Buddie family feels for quarantine

I’ve seen a several posts going around where Christopher stays with Abuela during quarantine because of the concerns about CP and COVID complications, and Eddie stays with Buck.

And I love those head canons!

But I have a slightly different take. I think that Eddie is absolutely terrified of what could happen if he brings home COVID to Chris but he knows that having Chris full-time would be too much for Abuela, even if Pepa stayed with them. Pepa has to work from home and couldn’t help that much and would need quiet for the dreaded zoom calls.

Eddie even contemplates asking his parents to come to LA or sending Chris to them. But he is absolutely terrified that he would never get Chris back. What if he sends Chris away and they sue? Would a judge give his special needs son back to a single father with a dangerous job who sent his son away??? He’s really spinning with these thoughts.

He can’t afford Carla full-time and she has other clients that she works with anyway. Clients that are elderly and in nursing homes. Eddie’s worried. Just all around worried. And he doesn’t see a way out with anyone else.

So he starts looking in to family medical leave (FMLA). But even with that he wouldn’t make enough money to cover tuition (even with the scholarship he still has to pay some) and all of Chris’s therapies. (Even though those therapies are mostly moving to online now it’s still expensive. Carla seriously helped A LOT with figuring out payments and funding. But this is America. That shit ain’t free.). Not to mention his rent. He’s hoping that rent help will come form the state but at the beginning he can’t be sure.

Buck comes over one day to find Eddie practically tearing his hair out. He knows that he has to make a decision in the next 24 hours before it becomes too late. Northern California has already moved to shelter-in-place and he knows that LA County will be following suit soon. That’s when Eddie tells Buck that he’s going to have to take FMLA *and* move with Chris back to El Paso, at least temporarily while all this is happening. He won’t be getting paid because he doesn’t have furlough/sick leave built up. But Chris will still have health insurance benefits.

Buck is freaking out. Eddie’s basically quitting and moving away with Christopher? WHAT THE FUCK? He can’t let that happen.

Now, see I fully head canon that Buck and Maddie come from money. Their parents are rich enough to have their kids whims met but cold enough that no emotional needs were ever met. Hence, Maddie’s shitty marriage and Buck’s desperation for validation. AND it would explain their sweet-ass apartments in fucking LA on civil servant salaries. (I’m a teacher in CA, I know of what I speak.).

So Buck has a trust fund that he basically never touches beyond a little for a nice apartment and when he bought his car. And secretly pays part of Carla’s salary. And when he bought and built the skateboard. But anyway! Buck is willing to do anything to keep Eddie and Chris with him. So his first inclination is to just throw money at Eddie.

But Eddie doesn’t want his money! And anyway that won’t work because if the COVID crisis lasts too long then Eddie might need to quit. And the unemployment insurance isn’t the same as what he currently has. And [I don’t know something about grants and funds for Chris’s therapies and tuition because he’s a county/city employee and if he goes on leave then he won’t get it. I’m just making all this shit up here but roll with it]. Even if Eddie went on leave and moved to El Paso it won’t alleviate the problems OR his fear that his parents will take Christopher away.

That’s when Buck has his brilliant idea! HE CAN TAKE LEAVE! He can take unpaid leave and will be fine. Buck will stay with Christopher at Eddie’s place and Eddie can stay at Buck’s place.

Just picture Eddie’s face as it goes from angry at his lack of options to confused at What the hell is Buck talking about to the heart eyes at this mother fucking savior who loves his kid that much!

So that’s how Buck ends up taking care of Christopher. They FaceTime Eddie every single night without fail. And will even have Sunday pancakes together. Buck sets up a card table at the end of the driveway and Eddie’s eats there while Buck and Chris eat on the front porch. Don’t worry! Buck uses gloves and lots of bleach on the table every time he touches it. Chris loves LOVES loves being with his Buck but he misses his dad every day. But Buck is good at giving him hugs and letting him cry it out. Because tears are okay and so is feeling sad. We just have to acknowledge our feelings and make room for the good feelings with the bad ones.

Eddie and Buck talk on the phone every night after Chris’s FaceTime call with Eddie. And there’s other plot feelings that will happen here. [Insert blah blah blah]

Maybe Eddie accidentally finds Buck’s dildo. Whoops! And maybe, just maybe this leads to a sexy, flirty conversation about being bi (both of them). And then perhaps we get some phone sex.

But nothing else changes at first! Buck thinks maybe this is just another part of this whole quarantine thing. He can’t go out and find anyone. Eddie can’t go out and find anyone. And he loves their talks at the end of each day. Now they come with bonus orgasms. Woot! EVEN BETTER!

Then maybe they move from phone sex to FaceTime sex. And that’s even better! Because now Buck can see how Eddie bites his lip right before he comes. And Eddie loves the way Buck flushes all down his neck and chest.

Eventually some feelings talk starts to slip in. Buck isn’t just good at listening and comforting Chris when he cries. But Eddie breaks too. He just misses his son so much and wants to hug him and feel his soft curls. He wants to hug Buck. This is just so lonely. He’s still working and with the 118 but it isn’t the same without Buck, without Christopher’s smile at the beginning of every day.

And then, eventually, the shelter-in-place is lifted and Eddie can come home! But maybe Buck should stay a few more nights for Christopher’s sake. Yeah, of course. For Christopher. And he’s just so used to sleeping in Eddie’s bed. So he should stay there, right?

Insert sexy-times here.

YAY relationship and love confessions!

And then the second wave hits. And Buck doesn’t even hesitate to take a leave of absence to care for Chris again. Only this time he’s out of leave. He doesn’t care about getting paid (because of trust fund). But he’ll lose his benefits (because of America). So Eddie proposes! Buck says no at first because he doesn’t want to get married for convenience purposes. So Eddie has to find his words which is still not easy for Eddie. Luckily, Chris is adorable and helps them both out!

So MARRIAGE! Benefits for all! Buck officially has rights to Christopher if anything happens to Eddie! Eddie has his husband and his son and they love each other! Happy ending for all, especially once a vaccine is invented and it works and anti-vaxxers don’t exist so yay! Everything works out.

And this is my not-fic that maybe I will fully write one day. But really I like to just thought-spew my fic ideas.

#Buddie #not fic #Buck #Eddie Diaz #Christopher Diaz #buddie family feels

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 3 years

Text

just once, just fucking once I would like to have a reasonably productive long weekend instead of spending most of it too stuck in decision paralysis to actually do much of anything until I reach a point where I feel like I could very well break down crying because I’m too overwhelmed with everything I need to do but I still don’t actually do most of it because the decision paralysis is a huge part of what makes me so fucking overwhelmed in the first place

like. right now probably the most urgent thing is a semi-complicated Etsy commission that the buyer would ideally receive by Dec. 10, which probably means sending it Dec. 7 at the absolute latest. so I should be working on that, right? but it’s going to take a while so it’s a time commitment, especially because it seems kind of pointless to get out a lot of messy supplies to only work on it for a few minutes. and I need to order parts for a different order--well, at least that’s quick. I also really need to reapply thermal paste to my CPU as soon as I can because I think the fan’s getting louder and that can’t be good for anything in there, and theoretically it won’t be that hard, but realistically I’m sure it’s going to take a while and I have to look up a little info on how to do it, first--and it involves my PC being out of commission while I’m working on it, so that’s not something I can do halfway. and while my PC’s open I really need to replace my dead hard drive, which wouldn’t be that hard except I want to install the new one alongside the old one so I can try to clone the dead one onto the new one, which will definitely take time on both the hardware and software sides of things, but it needs to happen sooner rather than later because, again, there’s a lot of stuff I can’t do until I get that done. and I need to send the recent invoices for Hazy’s dental appointment to pet insurance to see if they’ll pay anything, and that should be quick, but nothing ever stays simple. and, shit, I should really do some actual work this weekend because I didn’t get enough done before...and I still need to decide what to do about the vision therapy thing now that it’s clear the best they can do for me is a payment plan for like 36 expensive appointments, ugh. and ah shit I signed up for Yuletide and I’ve done almost nothing, and that’s due...Dec. 17? fuck, that reminds me, I gotta go get a new notebook from my room because I just finished this one, I mean that’s quick and easy but it also means I now have two notebooks that mostly aren’t typed up, which is bad because I can’t do anything with the contents until they’re typed up and of course they’re not backed up (unless I put them in my fireproof safe, and then I’d never get them typed), and typing those is going to take forever, and yeah I’ve been meaning to make it easier on myself by just doing like 15 minutes a day but I haven’t done that at all and they really need to get typed--and, well, I could just do a 15-minute stint, sure, but that seems silly when there’s so much that needs to be done--and, ugh, I’ve sorta been ignoring my email for the last three days and I need to go through that because otherwise I’m guaranteed to miss something I won’t want to miss, but that takes time and it’s going to mean opening up more tabs when there are already too many tabs open (there are always too many tabs open) and I need to deal with those too, and a good share of the emails are probably about Black Friday sales that I’ll probably want to do but that means more tabs and more decisions and shit there’s all that stuff in my Etsy cart that I should really buy sooner rather than later because sometimes Etsy stuff disappears or sells out and then I’ll be sad and frustrated with myself and also some of the things I want to buy are for gifts, which reminds me that I have almost no Christmas gifts yet for anybody, and my birthday is soon so I should probably make some kind of list myself but actually why am I focusing on that at all when the Georgia runoff elections that determine Senate control are in barely more than a month and I need to be writing letters/postcards to voters since I don’t want to phonebank and time zones actually make it really impractical anyway? I was going to do that in a reasonable way this time too, just a few letters a day like I meant to before, use up a lot of these stamps and stuff I still have--and ah fuck it’s been a while since I’ve called my own legislators about anything, I need to do that, that’s theoretically quick because voicemails cut me off at two minutes, although to be able to do that I also have to do at least a little research so I know what’s the most important thing to call about and what to say so that’s more tabs and more time, and I still haven’t fucking reposted the tiny little Endgame fix-it fic I wrote at the end of August, let alone finished anything since then

and I would, on some level, like to work on one of the many, many writing projects that is theoretically close to being done, or one of the recent ones I started because I foolishly and incorrectly thought it was something I could bang out quickly

and on some level I would also like to work on more stuff for Etsy that could be pre-made so it’s not another stress point when I get orders, especially because several things are holiday-specific and some wouldn’t even take that long, but I’d still be choosing to do those instead of more urgent things

and none of that even begins to touch other stuff, like my room that continues to be a disaster and I need to sort through my shit so I know whether I can relist my most popular Etsy item (if I even want to, which I don’t right now because stress), not to mention all the stuff I need to clear out by listing on eBay, and I could do at least one part of that (flatten the boxes I’ve saved for shipping) without committing to a week-long project but even that part would take a solid chunk of time that I should be spending on something more urgent

and we can’t even put up the fucking tree until I move some of my shit away from the spot where the tree goes, which is tough because a lot of it is from work or otherwise theoretically temporary stuff that doesn’t have an actual home, so that’s going to take a while, and then putting up the tree is also going to take a while, and my room is already a disaster so I’d need to clean in there to make room, which would take forever, and for that matter my areas of the living room are generally a disaster too, as always

and while I’m thinking about stuff I brought from work, let’s go back to how I need to do some work stuff because I’m lucky enough to have a decent job with good insurance that can be done from home and I’m still just like...kiiiiiiinda endangering that by not being a functional adult in general? which is at least partly because my brain is a dumpster fire that doesn’t seem to be improving (which is something else to worry about) but regardless of the cause I still have to do something about it? oh yes and speaking of the good insurance I’m kinda endangering by being a fuckup, haha sure hope this knot under my jaw doesn’t turn out to be...you know, the type of bad thing that a knot under the jaw could turn out to be! which is another very good reason I need to stop being a fuckup so I’m not maybe endangering the job that would pay for that, along with all my other medical issues! and also the entirety of our rent because my mom’s really high-risk and the only available jobs she’s qualified for aren’t safe for her to do!

and my knee hurts! and my elbow hurts! and my neck fucking hurts, my head and neck always hurt and I think I’ve been sleeping even worse than usual lately, partly because neck pain and partly just my body fucking hates me, it’s always a problem and I don’t know what to do about it anymore

and now it’s after 8:30 pm and obviously I’ve done none of this, and I’m still tired, and my head and neck still hurt, and there are still so many things I need to do but I can’t choose because the time-consuming things are the urgent ones but I don’t have the time or energy for them and choosing a specific thing (an urgent time-consuming thing, or a less urgent but much quicker thing) means actively choosing not to do one of the other things, and it’s all important, and I can’t fucking choose, and I’m pretty much at a point where I can continue running ever more painful and crazy-making circles in my brain trying to make myself decide something or I can say “fuck it” and do something that would be fun but not urgent or important at all, which I shouldn’t do, so for fuck’s sake I should just pick even one productive thing to do and then maybe let myself do something fun and then get to bed at a good time for fucking once but I still can’t fucking choose and I want to either cry, scream, or possibly hurt myself, and none of this is healthy or productive

and I think possibly my therapist is getting impatient with me for not making much progress and not really having specific goals for our sessions aside from “I hate that my brain is Like This and I want it to not be Like This and no I haven’t done most of the things you’ve suggested and no I don’t have a good reason why, I just want the meds to work so everything won’t be so fucking hard and yes I know that wouldn’t be something you could control even if it was in your wheelhouse, which it isn’t, but I get overwhelmed so fast and I know I need to do better and be better but I don’t know how”

and I wrote this instead of actually doing anything, apparently, because there was at least some chance that dumping it all out would make me feel better or help me see more clearly what I actually need to do, but I think I actually made myself feel worse by articulating just how overwhelmed I am, mostly by things that objectively aren’t actually that difficult or important.

and I still can’t fucking choose.

#brains behaving badly #adhd #I am just...so fucking sick of my brain being...this

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emeto-things · 3 years

Text

I really need to vent :(

I just wanna vent to you guys. I’d love to hear what you have to say, I’m in a really dark place right now :(

Right now, I just feel almost every negative emotion you can think of. And that’s not even an exaggeration. I don’t remember the last time I genuinely felt content with my life. To be 100% honest, I feel anxious, depressed, confused, empty, lost, mentally and physically fatigued, drained and I feel like I’m losing myself as a whole.

I know this year hasn’t been easy on anyone, but last year was just as horrible for me. And when every day feels like this, it gets harder and harder. And it’s been for 2 years straight. I’m always listening and even try to help my friends and family’s problems and then those problems go away for them in a short amount of time. But for me, it seems like I have the same, consistent problems that never end. Ever.

All of the exact same problems and concerns I have at this very moment are the exact same ones I had in the beginning on 2019. The only thing different is that I have even more problems now than I did then.

I literally THINK in anxiety and OCD. I can’t think normally, except for it IS normal for me because I’ve dealt with this all so long. I subconsciously count every step, count seconds, repeat phrases in my head, subconsciously give myself “if I don’t do/say *insert here* then someone will die or be s*”, Which all of that is my OCD. I always have scary “gut feelings” about everything I do (my anxiety gives me that), I always feel s* because of my anxiety/emet, I always feel on edge, and whenever something disappoints me, my mind resorts to wanting to die. And I don’t literally want to die, but that’s where my depression kicks in. I’m so miserable all the time that the smallest inconvenience makes me want to just metaphorically “end” everything. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t actually want to die and I’m not suicidal, I just hate my life and I hate living the way I have been for 2+ years now.

Over the last 2 years, I’ve gone though some very mentally traumatic experiences. I’m very intuitive which is the worst possible trait you can have as someone with anxiety. If I have an intuition about something that I don’t want, I will have endless anxiety until the intuition either shows itself as right or wrong. And sometimes, it never does. Sometimes I just have that “intuition” - which might even be considered paranoia, I don’t even know at this point - that never goes away. It comes from when my scary intuition has been right in the past, and now I’m literally scared of my own mind and feelings. I’m scared that every feeling or thought I have is 100% accurate and predicting the future. And I know that sounds ridiculous, but so many of these feelings I’ve had have turned out to be right. So I’m always living in fear about my own feelings/intuition and if they turn out to be true.

I’m always comparing myself to other girls which I know is unfortunately natural for us to do, but it’s gotten unbelievably bad. It’s like I want to be anyone but myself. And I’ve been trying to “better myself” but in the most unhealthy ways. Like creating Pinterest boards of girls that I want to look/be like as inspiration, and it instead it just hurts me more because I will never be anyone but myself. I will never have different facial features. I will never be in a different body. And I just hate who I am so much, that it drives me crazy I will never get to be someone else.

That aspect is even showing itself, from how I change the way I look/act randomly around people. No one has said anything, but I’m sure people notice my sudden changes all the time. Because I’m always “trying out” new personalities and looks, and then changing back and it’s just embarrassing that I can’t be myself and stay myself. But truly these days, I don’t even know who I am anymore. And that sounds cliche, but that’s genuinely what it feels like.

I’m about to turn 18 in a couple of weeks, and I feel like I’ve missed out on so many things due to my mental health and just the lifestyle I was born into. My family has never had the most money, so I’ve always been very limited with what I can do/have, and I’m still so grateful for everything I do have and I never complain to my parents because I know they give their lives to support me and my siblings. But I’m just saying, for me as a person, I feel I’ve been very cut back on experiences I could’ve had/be having. And also due to my mental health.

I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have my license, I only have a couple virtual friends, but no one in person. I don’t have a job. I don’t have a routine. I don’t have a schedule. I’m homeschooled which is both good and bad.

I’m also Christian and have always been very into my faith, and I still am. But lately it feels like God isn’t listening to me anymore, and I know that’s not true, but that’s a very scary feeling for a Christian to feel.

And last month, I had a traumatic experience at the hospital, and I still haven’t mentally recovered.

It’s almost Christmas, and I just want to be happy. I just want to WANT to get out of bed in the morning. I want to enjoy eating. But it feels physically impossible to be happy right now. And it’s been that way for so long, and I don’t see a change anytime soon. I don’t know what to do.

I haven’t told my parents how horrible I’ve been feeling lately because I just feel embarrassed by all of it.

And I want to improve myself, but I don’t know how to because I just end up comparing myself to people even more. I hate my personality, I hate my appearance. But my mental conditions basically form my personality, as horribly sad as that is. So I can’t change it.

My personality is basically just mental antics. Asking for reassurance, laughing super super loud and obnoxiously because I’m trying to hide my pain behind it. Being clingy because I feel like I have to know what’s going on 24/7 because of anxiety. Ruining peoples fun because I’m anxious about whatever the “fun” is.

And for appearance, I can’t change that very much being that most of my insecurities are things you can’t change. And I don’t have the money to spend on new clothes, hair salons and nail salons.

I’m the most unhealthy now than I ever have been. I’m about 15 pounds underweight. I never eat enough or consistently because of my emet. I don’t sleep enough because of my anxiety, and if I try to get enough hours, I end up waking up at 3pm. I feel like all of my friends secretly hate me because I have too many problems. I don’t remember the last time I was happy or had a good day.

I’m so sorry for how long this is. But I just don’t know what to do anymore.

Hey Abby. I’m so sorry I’m just getting to this now. I hope things are starting to improve for you. If you have any health insurance that may cover it, please look into therapy. I will tell you, it may not seem like it now but it DOES get better. I was in a similar spot when I was your age. I was having panic attacks almost every day in high school because I was terrified of v* in class. I was constantly worrying about v* after I ate. I couldn’t sleep unless my stomach was empty and I felt hungry. Overtime, after therapy and medications, and FINALLY v*ing a few times and getting through it, it got better. It’s not something I obsess over anymore. And if I can get to this point, you can too! Good luck!!! -Kaitlyn

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canttelliotte-blog · 3 years

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Incredibly long, overly detailed post I spent too much time on.

Tl:dr AITA for telling someone they were coming off as an ungrateful, privileged asshole who didn't seem to recognize or truly appreciate what they have? I blew up after a series of encounters, they seemed oblivious to their lifestyle and support and how truly different life could have turned out without it. I called them out after weeks of trying to be empathetic but couldn't take how helpless they were acting when I would kill for the kind the support they were complaining about and taking for granted.

I should use a throwaway because I know this person will probably see this but I don't have the energy. I'll try to keep this short (actually super long sorry) I feel like I already know I was sort of harsh and out of line. This whole thing has just been sticking with me and I feel really messed up about it.

Alright, so context, back story. I had a breakdown in February and tried to kill myself. By some miracle, I got a bed at one of the best mental hospitals on this side of the east coast. After a long history of chronic mental illness, being on disability for years with medicare, getting an opportunity like this was amazing. I had been on waiting lists for months before my attempt, but fate, acuity, and availability all lined up. A true miracle. Unless you have a family with money or amazing health insurance, getting a bed is just extremely difficult at this particular facility.

The reason being, they provide real treatment. Comprehensive, attentive, life-saving treatment. They actually provide real care with empathy, actual therapy, psychiatry, and groups, with educated staff, real food to eat, world-renowned providers, and treatment teams that listen and work with you to come up with effective long-term solutions/aftercare plans that set you up for long term success.

Out of pocket, this place is unfathomably expensive. The more exclusive programs on-campus are for the ultra-elite/ ultra-wealthy, taking celebrities like Selena Gomez. The institution itself is known for its education and research. It is not funded by the state like almost everywhere else. Most state-run facilities are atrocious. a disgusting holding cell, where you're stripped of your clothes, dignity, and rights, fed prison food, overmedicated, physically and chemically restrained, only to be thrown back on the street in 3-5 days with no aftercare, med refills, or plan. Been there, done that, many times, not the point. The point was, I got some really helpful expensive ass treatment by the luck of the draw.

While I was there, I met someone lovely. We instantly connected and expressed interest in one another. They seemed really cool, we talked at length about income inequality and how unfair it was that this kind of treatment wasn't the norm or easily accessible and how unfair that was. They seemed passionate and bright and we got along great. They were set to discharge only a few days after I got there, so we exchanged info before they left. We talked a bunch while I was still there (my discharge was a couple of weeks later) and decided to go on a few dates after I got out.

A few days after I got out, I unintendedly overdosed, confused about my meds, and was incoherent by the time I got to the ER. I was restrained and chemically sedated. I was confused and fought so was deemed severely acute, and got sent to a state-run facility similar to what I described above. It was all very traumatic and I shut down once I got home. I was lucky I made it out semi-okay, that they let me out at all.

I wasn't replying to anyone's messages but the person I had met kept reaching out wanting to hear from me and make sure I was okay. I was embarrassed but it was really sweet and soon we starting talking a lot again and really connecting.

As I got to know them, I definitely thought they were very cool, we seemed to have a lot in common, they made me laugh and we got along really well. I was really digging them and saw us potentially becoming a thing. After talking for some time, we decided to anxiously have our first date. It went okay but something was off.

I didn't really pick up on it at first but the more we talked, the more privileged they offhandedly revealed they were. I know it's judge-y and lame, but that kind of put me off. I've been poor my whole life and struggled hard for everything, it's a whole different world living in poverty, so it made me a bit uncomfortable. I still live in poverty, on disability, with food stamps, and can barely hold it together enough to have a part-time job, but I have no choice. It's rough. I've been homeless, lived in institutions, went through foster care, and have no familial support. I have one of the most serious debilitating mental illnesses. It's been very very hard.

I am biased but I haven't met anyone well off who gets it. Some people don't realize how hard things can be when you've really had nothing, and had to work hard for everything. Even simple things are taken for granted, not understood, or there are miscommunications or assumptions made due to the lack of understanding. That's just my personal experience, it's hard trying to explain things and it's invalidating sometimes, it can be hard to relate or connect due to the lack of understanding.

Honestly, though, it took me by surprise. We had both talked passionately about the struggles of being on disability, the importance of income inequality, how unfair the system is set up, the barriers against the poor receiving adequate mental health treatment. They explained how they advocated for social justice and regularly went to protests. I felt dumb because I did meet them at higher-end facility, but I assumed they ended up there by dumb luck as I did with how they presented and initially came across.

They made it seem like we were in the same boat, poor af, chronically mentally ill, and 4 ever struggling. It was just a surprise because that was very much was not the case.

They moved up here from Florida, (where admittedly their life was much harder and different), but since moving, they were being supported by their aunt and uncle, who were very, very well off. They had a very expensive private practice psychiatrist, multiple treatment providers, and an apartment in a very well-off area, that their aunt owned, so they paid no rent. Their car/insurance/phone everything was paid for.

They seemed to have money to burn, dancing around being well taken care of and not really having to worry. They were on disability though receiving payments and food stamps in addition, not reporting the assistance from their family. When I lightly inquired, they said their grandmother mostly controlled their finances and they didn't deal with bills etc. They spent freely, getting take out almost every night, etc. enjoying all the pleasure of life without a second thought.

I was uncomfortable with this like I said, but they did seem cool and understanding, we did get along and I wanted to give them a chance. I put my biased experience aside and tried to give it a go.

First example that really blew me away was their dog. They had several animals, including a cat and two dogs. Even for someone working, three animals is a huge expense. I only have one cat and while she's my world, it gets hard sometimes. The vet is expensive, litter, food, treats, it adds up. And she's only one animal!!! I provide for her and take care of her, but a $350 vet bill still packs a punch. Of course, I pay it, she's my baby, but it might mean only eating sandwiches for a few weeks. I love her, so I sacrifice, she is worth it in every way, but animals are expensive and a lot of work/responsibility.

When this person and I first started seriously talking, they mentioned the dog they were closest to was very sick with a rare condition. I don't know the full details, but I guess it took a while for the vet to figure out what was wrong, he was on a lot of medications, needed loads of tests and scans. There were weeks of extensive treatments/ blood transfusions, all in a long, painful, and strenuous attempt to save him. They tried for a long time in the hopes he would get better.

He, unfortunately, passed away a few weeks after we started talking. It was devastating to them and I tried my best to be supportive and help them grieve. They were understandably at a huge loss. Their mental health tanked. Their dog meant the world to them, I understand that completely. Pets are family.

A few weeks after he passed. They were talking a little about the course of treatment and how hard it had been and what a long, painful road it was. They kind of casually remarked that his treatment cost over $20,000.

I honestly thought I had misheard. I had to ask twice because I thought they meant $2,000. No. $20,000. $20,000.Holy shit.

I just...$20,000 is what I make in a year. A year. Dogs are family, I totally, totally get that. People will do anything to save their loved ones. A pet is like an uninsured child, even with pet insurance, it can be expensive. I get that. If you have that kind of money, you pay it, without a thought, no problem.

I just... wow. I still couldn't even wrap my mind around it. My cat is my world but it breaks my heart to say, if anything happened to her like that, it would kill me, but I would be forced to put her down. I just couldn't believe, $20,000. And they said it like, no big deal, of course, like anyone would/could afford that, it was obvious, a no-brainer. I just...wow.

Next, kicker. I  came over to hang out one night and watch movies. I had never been to their apartment before. They claimed it had been super messy and they made a big deal about how they had cleaned for me. Sweet, but unnecessary, I get mental illness is tough. It was two bedrooms, all to themselves, decent space and light, but definitely scattered and cluttered. They had a huge king-sized bed, a bidet in the bathroom, and a super nice living room set up. Big comfy couch, loads of nice blankets, and honestly the biggest tv I had ever seen. They joking bragged about having all the streaming options. No kidding. Hulu, Disney plus, Netflix, Amazon, HBO, Paramount, and at least half a dozen more I hadn't even heard of. It just seemed crazy and excessive paying for that many streaming services every month.  But to each their own I guess.

We were both huge fans of anime, and they sort of decided to venture to studio ghibli. They asked if I had seen a particular favorite of theirs. I hadn't. They searched and it was only available to rent. $17. I nearly had a heart attack. I was like no way, we could definitely find it streaming for free somewhere if we look, or watch something else, shortage of options. They were like no it's no biggie that's what I want to watch and clicked rent. Like no problem *sweats intensely* Anytime I spend money, I have a heart attack and second guess it, it takes me like 10 minutes to click buy and my heart always drops when I do. I overthink, whether I really need/deserve it/whether there's a cheaper option, or if it's truly necessary. I know that's a poverty thing. It's just like we could have easily found it somewhere for free with a little effort!

We go to order food, we both have celiac so finding takeout is a chore. They knew the area better so I was trusting them. They were very adamant about ordering expensive sushi. It was $36 for just one of the things they wanted. Not including delivery or tips or fees or anything else, which included appetizers and drinks, the whole nine. I wasn't feeling sushi. They were like fine, we'll order from two separate places then. Double the delivery fee, not something I ever do, it would be cheaper finding a place together, I could get something small and affordable but they wouldn't budge. I didn't really have money to order a big thing on my own, I wanted something small, but I felt pressured. I figured anything I got would be cheaper than having to split a big sushi order I didn't want. I was like okay fine.

They kind of seemed annoyed that I didn't just give in and get sushi. They were a little short with me, didn't give me many options of other places, and were weirdly controlling, not letting me look at their phone to find something. I kind of gave up and said like just a burger is fine. I figured it would be cheap and filling, probably $20 max. I didn't take into consideration that they live in an extremely expensive area. It ended up being almost $30, plus tip. For a burger. I almost wanted to cry. I would have picked somewhere else cheaper given the option. They didn't even tell me the price until after they ordered it. I was like oh how much like $15 and they were so casual like oh no, $30 with tip. When it arrived, it was cold and disgusting, really inedible. I picked at the fries, which gave me a stomach ache as they were not gluten-free friendly and had been cross-contaminated in the fryer. I assumed they picked a place that they knew was safe.

When I wasn't eating, they asked if it was bad. I said yeah and they were like oh well just order something else. Like no, I can't afford anything else, it doesn't work like that. I was like no it's fine I'm not really that hungry. I wanted to say, I trusted you, and you kinda fucked me. I guess they picked that place because there was a gluten-free brownie sundae (prepackaged and not cross-contaminated) on the menu that they really wanted. Obviously more important.

My stomach ached all night. They ate their food happily. No big deal to them, $30 wasted on food I didn't really want, that I couldn't end up eating and got me sick. If it were them, they would have just ordered something else. No big deal to them. It was more important they got their brownie sundae and expensive sushi than making sure I was able to get something edible. Didn't matter that was half my grocery money for the week. Bologna sandwiches it'll have to be then. Awesome.

We spent the night talking, I didn't let on to how sick I was or that I was upset about not being able to choose food. They picked all the movies. I wanted to go home, but it just got later and later, one more movie I just *needed* to see. I asked them several times as the clock was ticking if it was getting too late to drive me home. No, no they were fine. Let's just watch another one. Then casually, they went to their room and brought out their night meds, threw 'em back, and settled into the couch. I started to panic. I asked again, you're taking me home, right? I guess they decided they weren't. I was miles away from home, no public transit running or close by. They were like oh I'm so tired, it got so late. Just order a car. I pulled up uber, $25. That would definitely overdraft my account.

Thankfully, after they saw me sweating and looking panicked, they were like, oh, I feel so bad, I'll order the uber for you. (If they hadn’t, I would have had to explain like, getting home on my own wasn't the plan nor was staying the night. If they thought I would be cool with just staying, they should have said something, if they wanted me to stay, it should have been a discussion, not a surprise.)

I just felt really disrespected. I was simultaneously hungry and sick from dinner, broke and unprepared to stay over with no prior discussion. I didn't have meds, my cat didn't have food out, I was blindsided and essentially stranded/put in an awkward position. They didn't consider that it might be stressful or beyond my limitations to get home. Being able to just roll with punches isn't financially feasible for everyone. It just felt like they were self-centered and inconsiderate. The whole night was what they wanted, what they wanted to eat, where they wanted to order from, what they wanted to watch, changing plans to what was convenient for them without any regard toward how it might impact me. Just inconsiderate and self-centered behavior.

We did keep talking though, I just sort of chalked it up to miscommunication and sort of beat myself up for not speaking up. It was weird though, kept just casually mentioning shit that was so privileged and complaining about shit that made them sound so ungrateful. I don't think they realized how it came across, just completely oblivious to their access to resources and not appreciating their position or supports.

They started talking about starting ketamine treatments to combat their ongoing depression. They had received them in the past and went on about how life-changing and helpful it was, and that everyone should try it. Now, being on disability (and even with most insurances) the treatments are not covered. The clinics that administer them are all out of pocket, bougie as fuck, and extremely expensive.

They talked about having several rounds in the past like it was nothing. It's easily $250-400 a pop and they were going 1-2x a week for a long time. They kept talking about all their options like what a painstaking burden. Should they start with lozenges and work up to IV clinic or ask for patches, and start that way. They wanted to work up to twice a week again but their family was giving pushback. They wanted me to agree with them, saying it was so unfair and lame and unreasonable/closeminded of their family for not immediately agreeing. The same family that would be footing the bill. No, not unfair or unreasonable at all. You sound privileged as fuck.

I was super bothered they were endlessly going on about it and complaining about pushback and asking me to agree with them. My treatment-resistant depression hasn't responded to anything, I've been on every waiting list for MDMA-assisted treatment whenever they pop up but never been selected due to demand and availability. Even ECT is too expensive and not covered. I'd kill for an opportunity like that! And it wasn't even like their family was saying no, they were discussing it in family therapy and seriously considering it.

They talked about it so nonchalantly and kept going on and on about how amazing it was. Like great, tell me all about something else I'll never be able to afford. I'm sure Paris is great, and backpacking across Europe is awesome, like please do tell me more.

I finally mentioned like okay that sounds great, will never able to afford it, glad it's so helpful They told me that I could just buy it off the street. That's what they used to do occasionally. It's only a couple hundred dollars and you get way more. Like oh okay. Let me just not pay a third of my rent in the hopes that this jam band kids ketamine isn't fentanyl or some shit and maybe have a shot at not wanting to kill myself for a week, you know on the off chance it works. Sounds great, super safe, much more affordable. And like as ridiculous as it was to offer that as an alternative, that still wouldn't be something I could afford! They just came off so clueless and privileged and oblivious.

What really got me was how they eventually talked about their family. They did weekly family therapy with their aunt and uncle and occasionally their dad since moving up here. They stayed with their aunt and uncle (lived down the street) more often than not so they weren't alone. This was encouraged/appreciated/welcomed. They did activities together regularly to help with depression and loneliness/ managing symptoms. They had their grandma and brother, whom they saw often and cherished greatly. They portrayed the relationships as really solid and important. I thought wow, truly wholesome and wonderful. They seemed so loved, close, connected, cared for, and supported. Across the board, they had support.

But then tables would turn. They complained often their family was too close, too conservative, and not understanding. They didn't want them so involved in their life, their treatment, decision-making, and recovery process. They resented the support, complained they weren't a kid and were capable/in sound mind to make decisions/have control of their life. I tried to listen and be understanding but I didn't get it. They came off almost like a spoiled, ungrateful teenager.

You're getting help, love, and support all around, everyone wants to support you and see you do well and will give whatever that takes. Like legitimately whatever ?!? You don't have to work, pay for anything, and it is made sure you don't have to struggle for anything. Anything you need, you've got.

I get the concept that having family so close/involved could be crippling or invasive or just downright unproductive. But it was such a slap in the face they would complain to me of all people about having that kind of support.

Family/support is such a foreign concept to me personally. Like I said, I grew up in foster care. I've never had family involved, healthy relationships, or any sort of support like that. The concept of calling your aunt when you're sad and she offers kind words, support, and tells you to come over to do something fun? Like, can't relate. I could only take so much of them complaining about being taken care of.

Living with extreme mental illness, not being able to work for periods of time, living solely on disability paychecks and food stamps is damn is impossible to survive, especially where we live. Without the help they were being given, they wouldn't be able to survive. The cost of living is out of control, you can't even rent a room with a single disability payment. I know, I'm doing it. It takes everything for me to keep a part-time job, barely making enough to make ends meet. But if I don't. I'm homeless again. No matter what, no matter how bad symptoms get. And I have one of the hardest, most debilitating mental illnesses. I don't have any other choice.

Their aunt would pay for them to go to school or learn a trade or anything they wanted. They have a world-renowned private practice doctor that prescribes them literally anything they could want or need to help and they have a great bond/ working relationship. I have a psych who can barely remember my name and sees me for 5-15 minutes maybe once or twice a month. I was asking for medications recently to get through a hard time, nothing serious, but my state-assigned psych does not prescribe benzos. Period. Neither does my PCP. It's state rehab or psych facility for me or bust. Another thing they take for granted. They almost bragged to me about immediately getting two heavy-duty benzos and another maintenance medication, just by saying their panic attacks were slighting increasing. Meanwhile. I was at risk for DT's after relapsing and begging for basic Librium to maybe not die and was denied.

The real reality of being on disability is the bare minimum or bad treatment. My psychologist is thankfully amazing but it took 10 years and hitting absolute rock bottom and being homeless to find her. She's a diamond in the rough but only works with the sickest of the sick. I would be in a state institution right now if it weren't for her and I avoided it by the skin of my teeth.

So here's where I'm probably the asshole. After weeks, I broke. We were texting as usual and they started to sort of mope and complain. They were venting about having a hard time again and how symptoms were bad and there was just nothing they could do and it was so hard. They started going on about how helpless they were and how there was no opportunity to get better and everything was just super hard and impossible for them and how rough they had it. Their family was checking in on them too much and they were annoyed at them for being concerned and that they had no options and no chance and everything was just so hard and impossible.

I understand, that's depression. I'm pretty empathetic and understanding and have been up to this point but it just felt like the rich person complaining to the homeless guy sleeping on the street, how awful it was they forgot their umbrella that day, and how unfortunate it was to be getting wet. I just wanted to scream. If you're anxious take your benzos, take your other meds! Call your aunt. Text your on call therapist. Call your fancy psych who answers night and day. Utilize any of the resources you have and all the support you are given!

I was just tired of it. Things in my life have been super difficult, especially lately, and I have to figure it out alone. The voices were getting loud again which lead to a bad relapse that went off the rails, which I had to pull out of completely unassisted. I am in between jobs, my housing isn't stable, my bank accounts are low, my mental health is chronic and very severe, my treatment team was threatening to section me if I didn't reel it in. Things were bad. But I deal with it, alone.

I know it was wrong of me, but I couldn't take it. They have everything to help themselves!!! They could go to a fancy hospital, they could ask all their supports for help! They would receive the best care. All the medicines, the best treatment. Anything.

I basically kind of spelled it out for them. You have privilege, you have support, you have money, resources, a great treatment team, family, everything... please for the love of God, USE IT! You wouldn't have to worry about losing your job going into treatment, you wouldn't lose your housing. You wouldn't have to worry about falling behind on bills. You'd be fine.

How can you not see or appreciate all you have and or see how oblivious and privileged you come across and how hurtful that is? You're complaining to the wrong person.

I went on a bit too long. I was definitely coming from a place of hurt, mental illness, and jealousy. I wasn't trying to make them feel bad, I just wanted them to understand. That kind of support would make all the difference for so many that are struggling. They are sitting with gallons of water around them, complaining to be inconsolably parched and that don't know what to do, all while sort of offhandedly bragging about how much water they have and how they can easily get more. I've been carefully conserving a 16 oz Poland spring bottle, rationing for weeks not knowing if/when I will be able to refill. They aren't alone, expected to make it on just disability. They weren't recognizing their position, how they were coming across, how hurtful that was. I didn't get anyone to catch me, love me, support me. This is the real reality of living with extreme mental illness on disability looks like without that opportunity or support. This is hard fucking work. We are not the same. You got lucky. Now do something with it.

They ended up calling me a dick, saying I didn't understand, that I was being cruel and mean for no reason. We haven't talked since. I do feel bad, I just couldn't take it anymore.

So if you made it this far, lay it on me, AITA?

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thatbipolargirl · 2 years

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6-14-2022

We finally have a buyer for our house in Brookfield! Our real estate agent said we should be able to close in 7-10 days. I am beyond relieved. Although we didn't get as much money for it that I originally wanted, I don't fucking care anymore. I just want to get rid of it and wash my hands of the whole damn thing. I will be a lot less stressed when we sign the final papers. Hallefuckinglujah!

I have therapy today, and I'm struggling with this new therapist. She mostly likes to talk about past clients she's had or what's going on in her life. Isn't that backwards? As soon as I see the nurse practitioner on July 19th for a referral to a psychiatrist, I'm going to ask for a referral for a new therapist as well. I just have to hold on until then. I'm still debating on whether to go to the Mayo Clinic or not. I have been so-so mentally the past few days, although I've had several minor panic attacks and my OCD has been interfering with my daily life significantly. Reminder -- recount the steps at my therapist's office today if the elevator is still broken.

After therapy, Jeremy and I are going to eat at Golden Corral. I have a free buffet for my birthday (which is next Tuesday). Then I have to go to the library, get a library card, and then print off some documents for the realtor. I have a few other papers to print off too. I also need to pay my Kohl's bill and pick up my prescriptions at Walmart. I want to go to Genesis Health Club to sign up for a membership through my insurance, but I doubt I do that today. I'll have to go tomorrow after my thyroid ultrasound or after therapy on Thursday. I can't do too much in one day or I get anxious and panicky because I get so overwhelmed. My brain is such a cunt.

They are having the January 6th committee hearings on television this week. So far, they have been very jaw-dropping, even though some of the information was already out in the public eye. I fucking hope Trump goes to prison. He deserves to live the rest of his fucking miserable life behind bars. Fucking asshole.

Jess called me Sunday and was wanting to talk through her mania. I was not feeling well physically due to my Ozempic. It is a really good medication for my diabetes, but it makes me throw up sometimes. I took it Friday, and I threw up both Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday, I threw up about 20 minutes after I took my morning medication, so I felt awful that whole day. I texted her and told her I had a "stomach bug," because it was so much easier than explaining about my Ozempic. I texted her again yesterday, just wanting to check in with her, and she said her boyfriend was coming to stay with her for the week. So I'm glad she isn't alone now. I need to text her later to see how she is feeling.

I seriously cannot believe I will be 47 next Tuesday. My life has been wasted on having mental illnesses. My brain has stolen so many opportunities, so much hope, so much faith. I am resigned to the fact that I will commit suicide within the next 10 years, unless I am stricken with some physical ailment that takes me sooner. I was talking to Jenny about this, and she said she is also ready to commit suicide as soon as she can no longer take care of herself or live alone. It makes me upset to know she feels the exact same way I feel because I wouldn't wish these feelings on anyone. However, it is also nice to know I'm not alone.

Until then...

#therapy #bipolar disorder #ocd #suicide

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xseildnasterces · 3 years

Text

resentment.

Another week, another nap, another day I wish was over and I could be in bed sleeping. That, I think, it my current weekly cycle. Right now, the weather is beautiful, and I am really hoping I can pull together the motivation to actually go out this weekend and do something. Yesterday I went to see a dermatologist for the very first time ever, and it felt good! As much as it should not be the case, private healthcare does seem to be much more thorough than public healthcare. I do not believe it should be this way, and I am also certainly not advocating for healthcare in the UK to be sold off to private companies. All I am saying, is when budget is not an issue, like it is for the NHS, healthcare can be very different. I acknowledge that I am very lucky to work for an institution that provides us with incredibly good health insurance, which of course we pay for out of our salaries, but all the same, it is very good health insurance and includes a lot. I honestly do not understand how people cope living here without health insurance – well I guess I answered my own question there, they don’t.

Anyway, as soon as the dermatologist realised that I was English the first thing she asked me was whether I watched the Harry and Meghan palaver. Of course, I had, so we chatted a little about that before actually moving onto what I was there for. She took one look at my skin, which I must admit looked better than it had in ages (typical), and she said she knew what I needed and that she could definitely help and improve my skin. I felt so relieved. I have tried so many things, both prescribed and other topical skincare and nothing has helped even a little, so I felt incredibly relived. We discussed my skin care routine, and the possible side effects of taking the medication I have been prescribed. I will go back in three months to check how things are going and she also said it could take that long to noticeably work. We talked about my other medical issues and as I expected we addressed how PCOS certainly made hormonal cystic acne worse. I have been provided with medication that is only for women and is specifically for hormonal cystic acne, which is why she said it should definitely work for me. Whilst I was there she asked what I was taking for my PCOS and I said I had never been prescribed anything before other than birth control when I was in the UK (which was not good for me). She urged me to set up an appointment with a gynaecologist to address my PCOS because she said it would be very beneficial for me to have that checked on and dealt with on a regular basis. Of course, I was diagnosed with PCOS almost ten years ago, so it’s perhaps a little late in the day to prevent any damage, but it will certainly be good to have it monitored. My insurance also allows me to set up appointments with specialists without referrals from my GP which is wonderful! I now have a dermatologist, an OBGYN, my usual GP and a gastroenterologist. Who knew I would have my own entourage of doctors and specialists? At least I feel like I am being well looked after. I have annual checks on everything and so far, all is good. I feel glad to have this amount of care. I now just need to get myself a dentist, optician, and orthodontist and then that’s the health stuff all out of the way! Along with the medication, I have also been given a medicated topical cream which I am super scared to use. I am so nervous with anything like this considering the ridiculous allergic reactions that I have had in the past. Tonight, is my first night starting both… so lets see how it goes.

I got upset last night. Yesterday I had my usual weekly meeting with my boss and without going into all the details of it, she made a comment about how she doesn’t want me going home any time soon and how she needs me in the office. I wasn’t even suggesting going home any time soon, nor did I intend to, but as soon as she said I couldn’t, all I wanted to do was run and get on a plane. I felt really upset and sad about it and ended up crying later on once I was in bed. I expressed that my sister would be home in a week and I had not seen her in two years so I fully intend on heading home for a while during summer. As soon as I said that her mood changed and she was super pissed off with me. It’s so frustrating. I have quite a lot of leave to take yet my boss is basically telling me that I cannot take it because she knows I will have to quarantine when I get back. It’s incredibly annoying and upsetting. My intention was to head home for a short while perhaps in May or June, most likely June, but now I feel like I will not have my leave approved. If that is the case I will certainly end up having another breakdown and end up crying down the phone. By June it will be six months that I have not seen anyone, so I cannot cope with not seeing any of my family and friends for longer than that, and personally I don’t think my boss should expect me to. It’s annoying that I am literally the only person at work who lives alone and is living here without any family members, so when other people are allowed to go wherever they want and I can’t its very stressful. I took is badly last night and was very upset, but I woke up this morning feeling a little better about it. I will be going home at some point this summer whether my boss likes it or not. I’m just not quite sure how I will be able to wing it.

I had therapy today and I had a really good session. We discussed my recent realisation and some of the regrets in my life. We talked about the progress that I had made over my time in therapy so far and how much I have developed. It made me feel good. I think I am starting to recognise and accept things about myself that I hadn’t before and although there is still work to do I feel better for it. I feel that I am no longer undergoing a fight in my head on a daily basis, nor am I constantly terrorising myself over things that I cannot change or do anything about. I know this is not permanent and I am not silly enough to think I will always feel this way. My struggles will come back, of course they will, but right now I feel more content with what is going on in my head, and that is certainly a bonus. We also discussed ‘someone I used to know’. We talked about feelings. We talked about the ‘magnetic pull’ I have always felt from them and how no matter what has happened I still feel that pull. We talked about what it was about this person that created that pulling effect and how to address and deal with that. We also talked a lot of about my feelings towards that person, both the good and bad and how things had changed for me since certain things occurred that I never believed would, and I learnt more about the person that I felt I knew pretty much everything about. It was a good session though and I felt that I was growing even during it. These are topics I have avoided a lot and it was the first time that I really opened up about my real and honest feelings towards this person in detail, and it felt like walls were really beginning to fall for me surrounding that topic in regards to discussing it.

I also sliced my thumb open at work. Do not let anyone tell you that there are no risks associated with being an archivist. I promise you, there are many. Today I was working with a super old file that had a small metal closure. As I was trying to release the papers from the metal closure, it slipped from my hand and ran all the way along my thumb cutting right down into it. Now, I hate blood, and my god, there was blood. I was dripping all over the floor and I couldn’t find any tissues or anything to stop the blood so I just grabbed an old cardigan and wrapped my hand in it whilst I ran through to another of the girls in the office to see if she had a plaster. She didn’t, and we spent the next ten minutes running through all the offices to find a plaster or first aid kit. When we did find a first aid kit it was empty… fabulous. We eventually found a plaster in someone’s drawer and I cleaned my thumb and put it on. Before I had even made it back to my office the plaster was completing sodden with blood and it was dripping again. It’s a wonder I didn’t faint. I pulled the plaster back off, with my blood splattering all over some documents on my desk – thankfully not the old records! And I made a makeshift bandage out of tissue and tape. Thankfully it lasted until I got home where I could properly wash and dress the cut properly. It is still incredibly painful, but it has finally stopped bleeding – so that’s something.

I am currently IN LOVE with the new ADTR album. I cannot stop listening to it, all day, at work, at home, whilst cooking, whilst walking. It is absolutely amazing. I think it’s just what I needed right now. I’ve really been into listening to Kerrang! radio again recently and after a weekend of female fronted metal bands and emo playlists, I am just loving this album. I would even go as far as saying it might actually be my favourite album from ADTR. I just adore every single song. ADTR really do make me think of Download. They are such a good festival band and so many songs of theirs are major crowd sing-a-longs. I’m so unreliable sad that I have to wait over a year to be in a field with a bunch of people singing our hearts out and dancing to our hearts content, but god damn, Download 2022 is going to be SOMETHING. And I cannot bloody wait.

#adtr #a day to remember #life #update #me #personal #diary #journal #thoughts #feelings #feeling #thought #memory #memories #therapy #love #relationship #resentment #regret

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anon-e-miss · 5 years

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Broken Vows 3

“I’m calling security!” The nurse said, sharply. Jazz did not know who the nurse was threatening, him or Froid but he agreed with the bot’s call.

“Call Ratch in too,” he said. “He’s gonna wanna make sure this creep didn’t make scrap outta Prowl’s processor.”

Froid looked like a thief caught in the act. His gold optic were glowing several watts too bright as he looked about for some way out. Jazz stood in the doorway, insuring he could not escape. There was no question Prowl would not have approved of his presence. The Praxian’s feelings towards mnemosurgery was mixed. As a metaforensics aid, he saw and had used the tool to further investigations. But as a medical treatment, he considered it archaic, and ripe to be abused. Having emerged with his glitch, Prowl had spent his formative vorns in the care of a dozen or more different specialists, poked and prodded, even vivisected as they tried to resolve his defect eaving him suspicious of the medical field at the best of time. Jazz had not be so suspicious. He had seen this mnemosurgeon several times after problematic missions. It had been Spec Ops procedure. After spending time in Meltdown’s care, Jazz had learned that removing a traumatic memory did not remove the trauma but made it harder to process and move past. He had not considered the ramifications of having memory after memory spliced out of his memory banks until learning how poke pocked his processor was. Meltdown had even raised the question of if Froid had really limited himself to removing troubling memories.

“Jazz?” Ironhide asked as he stepped up behind him, at the head of a security team.

“Caught this fragger tryin’ to Shadowplay Prowl,”Jazz explained. “Had the door locked. Makes me think Ratch didn’t approve his “treatment”.”

“I did not,” Ratchet snarled. “Ironhide, get him out of my medbay.”

“Step aside Jazz, I can’t let ya scrap him,” the gunner ordered. With an ugly curse, Jazz did as he was told.

The fear in Froid’s optics when Ironhide lumbered in and wrenched him from Prowl’s room. Jazz stared at him, imagining what he might do to Froid if only he had a bream alone with him. No one needed to tell Jazz that he would not be leading any interrogation. The Security Division would take care of that. He did not have to like it, but Jazz let Ironhide dragged the mnemosurgeon off. As soon as they had gone though, and Ratchet had raised to Prowl’s berthside, Jazz realized he preferred to remain where he was. It would not have been possible to detachment himself for the interrogation, and slaughtering an Autobot, even a treacherous creep would not go over well. Murdering Froid would be a mistake anyways, at least until they found out what the frag he had hoped to accomplish. As Ratchet examined Prowl, Jazz hung back in the doorway and watched. When the medic sighed and sagged his shoulder, Jazz finally relaxed.

“Looks like your timing was perfect. What in the Pit could that slagsucker have been after.”

“Don’t know. Ratchet never liked ‘m. Never stayed in the same room. He didn’t want me seein’ Froid even though it was Spec Ops policy.”

“Do you think he was wrong?”

“Nah. I figure Prowl was on to something. Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t just crack on my own, or if I got nudged there. But maybe ‘m just lookin’ for someone to blame.”

“Maybe you should look in to that. There was a lot of questionable slag goin’ on in your department, and Cybertron in general under Sentinel.”

“Can’t say ‘m interested in lettin’ anyone else’s needles near my helm.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

From his cot next his his origin’s berth, the newling stirred. He made no sound, but his bedding rustled as he kicked his peds and fluttered his doorwings. When Jazz lived him up, the bitlet made a face. There was no doubt, in Jazz’s processor, that this little one just wanted his origin. They had managed to get him to drink from a sippy cube, but the process was long, and miserable for all involved. It came as no surprise that Prowl had fuelled his newling from his frame. It was beneficial to procreator and creation, both for immunity and for the bond. Either procreator could care for their creation this way. But triggering the code that controlled energon production in the frame could be tricky if you had not carried, so it was generally left to the originator to provide their newling with the fuel from the their frame. Sometimes even origins could not produce sufficient, nutritious energon for their creation, and that was where the refined sparkling grade was so important. A fuelled newling was what matter. Too bad this bitlet did not agree with that last point.

“Sit down,” Ratchet said. “He’s going to be ravenous, and it might take you four joors to get him to take his fill.”

“He just wants Prowl.”

“I decided to start his surgeries this ‘cycle,” the medic declared as he prepared the newling’s fuel.

“I thought ya wanted his self-repairs up.”

“They are up. They could be better. If I continue with his infusions, there shouldn’t be any complications. Your mechling’s processor activity jumped up over the dark-cycle. I think he’s going to come online in the next mega-cycle or two. It’ll be better for both of them if their origin was online to help care for them, sooner rather than later.”

“I dig it.”

Jazz was not going to argue with Ratchet. He longed to see Prowl’s optics light up, and to hear him speak. Even if that speech might end up being an icy rebuke. It would be better for the newling, he thought, to be in his origin’s arms. Fixit had explained in succinctly. Pre-language the bitlet’s trauma could not be addressed through counselling. The best therapies, were not therapies. They were familiarity, comfort, protection, and patience. No one but Prowl would be able to fulfill this role for the bitlet. Smokescreen... Jazz had no real clue how his mechling would respond after onlining. The odds were against him coming out of all of this unharmed. He would want in origin too. Jazz was, after all just a stranger with whom he shared code.

“I know Bitty, this ain’t ya favourite but ain’t it better than an empty tank?” Jazz cooed as he tried to get the newling to take the fuel. The bitlet absolutely refused. “Ya want y’re origin. Don’t ya bitty? I don’t blame ya. Why don’t we try somethin’ a little different.”

Turning the newling away from him, and taking care not to pinch the bitlet’s doorwings, Jazz positioned the little one so that he was looking out, and could see his originator. He felt the newling’s little engine slow its rumbling. When Jazz offered the bitlet the fuel now, he latched to the nozzle, and drank. It was not a stroke of brilliance but a memory. Despite their unconventional business, Punch, Sprocket and Rumbler had raised their twin creations in a warm and loving home. At the dinner table they had told stories, not just of lucky escapes and clever tricks, but of the antics of their creations from their earliest of vorns. According to their procreators, Jazz had been a sweet and mellow newling, Ricochet on the other servo had curated a temper and stubborn streak. Ricochet was happy to fuel from their originator but when Punch had to be gone for work, he had made their progenitors’ lives a living Pit. During one restless and frustrating dark-cycle, Ricochet had wriggled around in Sprocket’s arms and taken his cube and drunk while staring out at the room. Jazz smiled, remembering the story, and he thanked his progenitor for the inspiration.

“There ya go. Y’re a sweetspark ain’t ya? Yeah, ya are.”

“That’s different,” Fixit said as he entered the treatment room. He glanced at the bisected lock. Jazz shrugged.

“Ratch fill ya in?”

“He did. ‘M gonna take a look at the mechlings’ ‘n make sure he didn’t try slag on’em.”

“I didn’t even think o’ it,” Jazz swallowed a curse.

“Just a precaution,” the medic replied. “The bitlet looks happy. That’s a clever trick.”

“Somethin’ my ‘Tor did wit my twin when Origin wasn’t home. I was the easy one. Up ‘til I got older ‘n got my adventurous streak.”

“‘Bout the same wit me ‘n Red Hot. They didn’t know what to do wit me. Red Hot’s took after’em, joined the enforcers. I went to med school in Iacon ‘n didn’t go back. Didn’t want to pay my debt to our patron that paid my tuition.”

“They still in Polihex?”

“Red Hot got out. He’s on the security beat here now. They got ‘caught up in the turf wars ‘round the time Straxus made good.”

“Like mine.”

“Y’re twin make it?”

“He’s somewhere. That’s enough.”

“I hear ya... Smokescreen’s good. Processor activity’s up again. ‘M thinkin’ it’s gonna be this ‘cycle, joors maybe. Can’t know what help he’s gonna need ‘til he’s around.”

“Whate’er he needs. They need. That’ll be good. How ‘bout the bitlet?”

“Let’s see.” Fixit took the newling, whose expression changed from peaceful to startled as the medic examined him, gentle and thorough. “Yep, y’re lookin’ good too. Makin’ that face just ‘cause I gave ya a shot yester-cycle. That’s cold. Back to Jazz then lil one.”

“Prowl’ll be relieved. Eh, Bitty?”

“I got’m something. A squishie ball. Hard as Pit to find a toy for his age that don’t squeak or shriek or some scrap. I wanna avoid overstimulatin’m.”

Fixit gave the ball to the bitlet. The little one cocked his helm and rolled it over in his servos. He squished it, gnawed on it, and turned it in his servos. As he played with it, the newling smiled. Jazz and Fixit both grinned, and bitlet played on, oblivious to the joy the two grown mechs felt at the sight. Traumatic mutism, and separation anxiety aside, the newling was acting like a normal newling, and that was something to be grateful for. With patients to see in the medicentre in Iacon proper, Fixit left his juvenile patients to the care of Ratchet and his team. Jazz remained with the newling, played with him, until the little one showed signs of tiring. Even once he put the bitlet into the containment berth, Jazz remained in the room. He sat with Smokescreen, and watched and waited. The mechling did not stir. Before mid-cycle Ratchet appeared with orderlies and a gurney, and Jazz stepped aside as they transferred Prowl to the gurney for the first surgery. His spark pulsed rapidly. Prowl would be out of stasis lock in mega-cycles, even less. What was he going to say?

“Take the bitlet for a walk if he wakes up while I’m working on his origin,” Ratchet said. “As long as he can handle it. Being distracted could be good for him.”

“I can do that,” Jazz replied. “Some sun might be good for ‘m. Mind if I walk wit ya?”

“Sure.” The gruff mech shrugged and himself pushed the gurney from the treatment room and down the hall towards the O.R. “I’ll be welding his broken struts in his back this round. If it goes better than I’m expecting I may start on his servo.”

“What do ya want me to do if the bitlet freaks out?”

“If you can’t get him to settle, send someone in to tell me. I can rework my plan if I have to.”

Prowl was in good servos, the best there were in fact. His spark was strong and stable. There was no reason to fear for him. With any luck, his frame would integrate the repairs quickly, and spare him too much discomfort once he came around. He would not want to rest. Jazz doubted his former lover had changed that much, even in so many vorns. It had always been difficult to get him to stop and rest. After every crash he had wanted to get back to work. Though there was no clear work for Prowl here now, Jazz did not believe he would be content to peaceably lay in his sickberth as his frame continued to mend. The grief he would certain wake to would only inspire him to hide himself in some task. Emotion was his greatest weakness, not so much feeling it, but facing it. His fear of crashing due to his emotional cortex become overclock led him him to trying to bury whatever was troubling him. It would generally work for a while, but eventual it would erupt. He would crash. And he would spend an orn feeling like a defect because he could not help but crash. There was no way Prowl would not be overwhelmed by grief. How did Jazz help him? Was there anything that really could help?

Time. Prowl would not be able to bury that grief, it was no heavy a blow to deny. Time. It was the only medicine for so extreme a blow. Jazz turned back for the treatment room. He had messages to respond to, a department to lead, and he would do it at the mechlings’ berthside. When he saw the broken lock and latch, Jazz reminded himself that someone would need to come and replace it. Maybe Prowl and company would need to continue their recovery in a different treatment room. With the flick of his servo, the door slid open without resistance. Jazz stepped into the doorway. The containment berth was empty. No! How? He turned. Smokescreen’s medberth was empty to. How? Where could they have gone? Who could have taken them? Looking up to the cameras that kept constant vigilance, Jazz alerted security.

#broken vows 3 #broken vows 2 #broken vows #maccadams #ficlet #long post #tf jazz #tf prowl #cliffhanger #writers block

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