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roxxelll · 4 years

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Good day all. Since today is my 26th birthday, I’ve been doing a bit of reflecting & I thought it’d be fitting to share a part of myself I seldom talk about. A little over a week ago, it was the ninth anniversary of my admittance to rehab. I haven’t thought about my time there for a long while but for some reason this year I’ve been a little overwhelmed with emotion. I thought I’d write it all down and share a bit of it in hopes that it might help someone, whether it’s to shift their thinking or give them a little hope.

I wrote the piece below almost 6 years ago but after reading over it I still find it one of the most eloquent things I might’ve tried to express. The reason I chose to share it is to say to anyone- if you are struggling and this time is testing your mental health and your strength, you are stronger than you think. A bad day doesn’t mean you are losing, it means you are coping and working hard at beating your own demons.

I don’t talk about this side of my life a whole lot but it would be nice if you could share it if you resonate with it in some way or if you feel like you know someone who might.

>>It gets a little long and there are TRIGGERS for eating disorders so please proceed with caution !!! <<

I do this thing where I often brush over my anorexia in conversation, and as expected, this might be the first time many of you are hearing of it. I just never felt the need to tell my story to the people in my life, I never wanted it to be the thing that everyone rolls their eyes about.

However, I think it is time for me to tell my story. In full. What prompted me was that I have seen how my story became an inspiration for someone else; a reason for them to feel that they are not alone in the world. I was in awe that something so terrible in my life could be used for something so good.

This is the story of my eating disorder and I.

19 January, 2015

My mind was my body’s worst enemy. It was a weapon of mass destruction, ticking away in my head. Misconceptions invaded my mind and multiplied into thoughts and soon after their images were all I saw in the mirror.

I can’t give my mind all the credit; I didn’t create all the misconceptions in my own mind, even if they were all allowed to grow there. My mind only mimicked what it was being fed at just about every turn. One of the things I remember so vividly is seeing an underwear model. She was sexy and beautiful and I could think of nothing I wanted more in the world than her body. So started the worst train of thought I have ever had: the aspiration for perfection.

The media can be a scary thing. As a teenager, it was pretty much most of what everyone was talking about and consuming on a day to day basis. By the time I was in grade 10 in high school, all my time had been consumed by trying to getting the best grades and only producing my best work in my visual arts class. My time in the sports field ceased all together and in my mind the only way for me to achieve my standards of perfection was to go down the dark, sinister route that I had not even realised I'd taken.

On 26 October 2011, I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa. There is no easy way to explain the feeling of your own head telling you that you are not good enough, that you are disgusting, that you are too fat, that you may not eat.

2011 was not a good year for me, I remember so well that a bad day would grow into a bad week and eventually evolve into bad months. My family seemed as dysfunctional as ever, I picked up the nasty habit of smoking and the stress of school had only weakened my state of mind. I hated what I was and I had somehow convinced myself that everyone else around me felt the same way, when in fact I was the one pushing them away. Sometime in mid October, armed robbers had broken into my house. No one in my family was hurt, but I had gotten away with a broken arm and a few bruises.

It was then in hospital that doctors had noticed there was something off about me. It must have been brain shattering for my parents to see what had been eating away at me for months only at that moment. How could they when all I did was hide from the world?

I was admitted into rehab after that and I did not sit for my November exams. In six months I had lost 14kgs. I have been in remission since.

My life was consumed by loss. First it was the weight, then my strength, and eventually demons began to nibble away at my personality. I watched my life crumble away as fast as my body did. My hair started to fall out and my nails stopped growing. I lost my period all together. My bones stuck out of my body like they were unwanted intruders, I became as frail, dead and dull as an old building.

Misconceptions are the hardest scars to heal. They forced my body apart from my mind. I have learned that it's called body disconnection, the feeling of being absolutely cut off from your body. No experience was good enough in my body because my mind wanted to be as far from this body as possible. I don't know how you can even explain it... Imagine wanting to be so far out of a room you would give anything to leave it. Now imagine that was your own body and you can start to understand body disconnection. You can leave an uncomfortable room. You can’t evacuate your own body. Excruciating, isn’t it? Looking in the mirror, I never saw a body that was perfect, only the disgusting images of what my mind had made me believe I looked like: the image of imperfection. It was shattering, painful and exhausting..

It's been three years now.

I'm quite proud to admit that my annoying need to overachieve at everything has been my biggest weakness and my greatest strength. I never wanted to do something halfway, and this was no different: I got an eating disorder as bad as they go. But I sure as hell got a recovery as good as they go. I have not relapsed or regressed. I have just grown in confidence and in strength. I haven’t done that on my own: the support I have had from just about every corner of my life has been my lifeline. Even on Tumblr where people are so confident just to share selfies and feel good about how great they look. Nothing makes me happier to see people love who they are. The people in my life have fought with me in my corner with so much strength they could collectively save the world. I am not sure I could ever find the words to describe the impact they have made.

People tell me every day how far I have come in three years. They see me eat and think it is all over. There is little truth in an assumption so bold. Here’s the thing no one told me about when I first thought an eating disorder is a good idea: it never leaves you. It just becomes less overwhelming. I still have the scars to face every day. I say remission because I never really heal. Then again I am only human and people often forget that when I have a bad day. The truth is I face my worst fear every time I sit down to eat no matter how much it seems like I love food.

I'm not perfect, no one is. And in time I've learned this fact and to love myself. I don't burst at the seams with confidence, but I definitely have more now than what I did three years ago. There are days where a relapse sits on the horizon but you just have to hold your head high and fight it. I don't write this in hopes of becoming a role model but I do hope it inspires people, not just those who face what I did, but with any curve ball life decides to throw at them. There's always a way out if you're willing to look for it.

_______________

I wrote this five years ago. This passed year has probably been the biggest test of my recovery in a long time. Staying at home with constant worries about access to the gym, my safe foods and social distancing are prime triggers for a relapse for me. It’s true that you never fully recover, but you do get better with time. Every day is a constant fight against my ED, depression and anxiety, and there are many days where it seems like climbing this never-ending mountain is impossible. But I’ve come to realise that any step we take in pushing against it (even just acknowledging our emotions and thoughts) is one in the right direction.

In the past week I have thought quite a lot about my anorexia and impact it has had on my life, my family and my body. And the truth is, I still choose to wake up and fight the “mad bitch” everyday. Some days are definitely harder than others, sometimes it’s easy. But I win everytime because I choose to fight it. So I really hope that anyone fighting their demons (whatever they may be) will reflect on how strong they are and the journey they have walked. ♡

#roxy txt #sorry this is really emotional but i rly wanted to share it #tw eating disorder #tw anorexia #tw rehab mention #i hope this spreads some postivity despite the sad story #if anyone even takes the time to read it lmfao #ok to rb btw!#also i am always here for you guys #lets celebrate ourselves today <3

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x-lulu · 3 years

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hi, so i’m back again with another rant about mental health

tw - self harm, mental illness, my experience, just me ranting for a bit, not washing your hair for a week? mention of being suicidal, mention of therapy, if there are others let me know x

also i just want to say that i was just ranting for a bit and getting thoughts out of my head so this might be filled with incorrect sentences and errors, also maybe i didn’t use the right words in that case i’m sorry if i hurt someone’s feelings and you can always educate me

and yes some of this was hard for me to say, but i’m not gonna hide, i’m not gonna pretend that mental illness is like they show in tv shows, movies, commercials, books. yes some might experience their illness as in one of these above, but there are so many things nobody talks about, so i told myself: i’m not gonna be one of those people, while i am a small blog, i’m pretty sure there are a few people following me who are struggling with these kind of things and if i can help in any way, i will

on different social media platforms we can see positivity and people talking about mental health and things that can helps or experiences, while I’m all about sending positivity, i also think we should be realistic. now you might think oh she is gonna talk some negative shit, no i am not, while ofcourse i have my negative moments i try to be positive and definitely when i talk to others. the only thing i want to reach with talking about my situation is helping people, make them feel like they’re not alone, that their feelings are valid, all those things, so that’s why i decided to post something about myself when i’m not feeling that great. i’ve posted things about having energy for the first time to put on make up or being clean for a month. well the situation atm is not that good, so i thought why not talk about it, i am not the only person feeling like this and i want people to see mental health and illness for what it is, not what for example tv shows or movies make us think it is.

my mental health issues started when i was around nine years old, of course it didn’t come out of nowhere and i’ve had traumatic situations before it, but that’s the age when i started really noticing how bad my mental state was. i’ve been suicidal ever since, i’ve been to 10 different therapists, psychologist, psychiatrist and basically a lot of different treatments. about six of those I’ve been to in the last year. you see I got help when I was younger but after that I pretended to be fine for years till I got my breaking point in November 2019. I think it’s been about five months since i finally got the treatment that fitted with my situation and helped a bit, two months since I got the medication I needed, my doctor didn’t want to give me any because I was a minor, but eventually she agreed because all my psychologists and psychiatrists said it was necessary, i’ve had up and downs ever since i started this treatment five months ago. that’s the deal with mental illness, you don’t recover in one line, sometimes you have relapses and those aren’t a sign of failure!!!!

there are so many things about mental illness that people don’t talk about. for example taking a shower or washing your hair can be so diffecult. i take a quick bath every day but it takes me a week to build up the energy and the courage to take a shower and wash my hair and yes this is something i can feel embarrassed about but it shouldn’t be, it’s normal! i don’t have the energy to put on make up, i don’t have the energy to keep a smile on my face every second of the day, i don’t have the energy to go to shops even though i really need clothes or food, i don’t have the energy to shave or do my eyebrows. this might gross some of you, i do take care of my hygiene, im pretty big on that, (also some people don’t have the energy for that either and that is also totally fine) but these things are real issues and we should normalise it. things can be hard while other people don’t understand it and that’s okay, we should treat each other with respect. all these things are normal and valid, you don’t have to feel bad about it or hate yourself for it. i can’t be a hypocrite here because yes i despise myself and punish myself for these things, but i know that that is wrong and it’s okay to feel this way and not have the energy. this is also just an example and just something that i’m thinking about at the moment but there are so many other situations, so believe me when i say this. it’s not weird, you don’t have to feel bad about it or embarrassed, you’re not alone, you’re strong, this is normal and you will get through it. not right now, not in a week, but eventually you will get the life you deserve filled with love and joy.

another thing... like i said recovery isn’t something that happens in one line, there are gonna be relapses. selfharm is something i have really mixed feelings about, for me it started out as to feel something different than the pain i was feeling, it started as numbing the voice in my head, it became an addiction, sometimes i can’t leave a matter alone before i cut myself, it can feel like closure to me, it also can feel like i need the punishment, there are so many reasons and feelings when or why i do it, it can be hard to explain. so i’ve been trying to stop for three months i think? at first i went three days without, then i cut myself again, so i tried again, i went two weeks without, tried again, a month, tried again, a month and a half, tried again, two weeks, tried again, four days and now i’ve been clean for three days and i’m still trying. like i said there are relapses. my scars were recovering and now i’ve cut all over them. this isn’t something i’m proud of and yes i felt like i was weak and too scared to tell anyone and disappoint them because everyone thinks it’s going better. but the things is, it isn’t something to feel weak about, it’s a coping system and while it isn’t the best coping system it’s my/our way to get through the pain, it’s a sign of strength, for still being there even though you’ve been through so much. so i will be trying again and again and again, i will be trying as long as i have to, not only for the people who care about me, but also for myself, because yes life can suck, it can suck big time, but life can also be beautiful and i and every single one of you, deserves to feel loved, happy and peaceful. there are so many great things in the world and they will come to you too. we just have to fight and while you may not believe it, you are strong enough and you are not alone. i’m here and i will fight with you.

#mental health #mental illness #tw self harm #lu talks to herself

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growingingreenwood · 4 years

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Hey! Just wanted to pop by and ask how you where doing! Its been a while since one of my favorite writers has posted anything so I just wanted to check in. 💙

Awe thank you!!! That’s so sweet of you! Tbh I think I’m gonna hella personal with the answer to this question cause I’ve been wanting to explain what's been going on the last few months in more detail to y’all since you’ve been so kind and supportive of me!!

So check out the read more if you’re interested! I will warn you guys there will be some dark topics like depression and death of loved one’s so if that's triggering to you, please be careful with yourself if you read it!!

Hello everybody who’s decided to come take a look and read over here, I appreciate you greatly! I’m just going to dive right on in because I’m not sure how to ease into this topic lol this is going to be kind of a mess because it's like 6 am and I’ve been awake for nearing 32 hours now.

But the past, like, 10 - 11 months have probably been the worst time of my entire life, not gonna lie. It's just been one thing after another and ya girl is so tired.

Since November: I put my 12 year old dog Suzy to sleep on the same day I had to write 2 finals, lost my Grandpa to an aneurysm (my last grandparent), had to live with/got guilted into staying with my suicidal aunt after his death for 2 months, kept my family from falling apart over dumb drama about the will, worked fulltime in a workplace with a manager that hated me and tried to make being there as miserable as possible WHILE I continued to go to school full time, quite that job and got a new one only to find out we were closing that location at the end of January (specifically on my birthday), had to move into a new place with my best friend because living at home wasn’t good for me anymore cause my dad gets mean when he’s depressed, got falsely accused of plagiarism in a situation that completly violated like 4 of my basic rights, got into a car accident, basically got bullied into accepting the conviction of plagiarism after fighting it for 2 months because I was doing my practicum and needed the class I was fighting the plagiarism against in order to legally do the practicum, COVID started and I’m severely immunocompromised and taking immunosuppressants similar to the one’s people get for organ transplants with lungs that are already the DEFINITION of trash, my internet friends 5 years got Covid and committed suicide, another friend I met on tumblr 8 years ago got Covid and passed away, her funeral was 3 days before my graduation, my best friend and only person I could celebrate with straight up vanished for a the entire week of my grad and then lied to my face for several days about where she had been (she drove 8 hours to go have a Tinder hookup and stay there for like 4-5 days (Which literally put my life in serious danger), then when I got upset about that she basically gaslit me and told me I was an awful person she never wanted to talk to again, I relapsed in self harm for the first time in seven years, then I had to move back home with my parents because my ‘best friend’ continued to act irresponsibly with Covid and lie to me about it, then Lilah got really sick which was thousands of dollars I didn’t have, and now I'm trying to finish my damn degree while doing everything online, AND I can’t get a job or basically got anywhere until there's some sort of vaccine for Covid because if I get it there like a 80-85% chance that I’ll die so that fun.

I’m sure I missed some things but that's pretty much the gist of my life this past bit.

So right now i'm really struggling with my creativity and actually getting myself to act on creative ideas. I used to write literally everyday before bed but now I’m lucky if I can get myself to write twice or three times a month and it's INFURIATING.

I used to be constantly creative. I used to color, write, journal, paint and post on the blog. But right now my brain is like “YOU ONLY GET ONE” and its coloring and I can’t make it let me be creative in other ways other than that & I don’t know how to fix it.

My brain is just like 9 whirlpool’s of different disasters right now and it isn’t listening to me.

#answered asks.#answered asks #haleigh speaks #haleighs personal life

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fly-underground · 4 years

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six hundred and seventy five: 2019

The annual year in review entry. I’ve written this post nine times, one for every year of this decade. I reread the very first one, from 2010, aloud to my mother the other night. My writer’s voice is so chipper in it, so young. I had just started college. In so many ways, I had barely lived. I was about to list off all the things I hadn’t yet done, as an explanation. But the truth is, even now, having done at least a few of those things, I still have barely lived. I want to remember that, to bottle up that feeling of wistfulness for a younger self, that protective inclination to wait for things to get better and worse, because I know I still need it. There is still so much I haven’t done, so much I want to do. Ways to spend the next few decades, if I’m lucky enough to have them.

Last year at this time, I think I was home alone with Cory. I can’t remember it perfectly. The past few years have blurred together in that regard. Was this the year that Mariah Carey sang badly during Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve? I’ll look it up after I write this. The point is, I welcomed in the new year alone, but not really, and then received a flurry of text messages from my mother and brother and so many friends. January passed in New York for the most part. I went to my favorite bar every week, first with Liz and then with Vivian. I got bad news one night about a fellowship and the next night, I found out that my fellowship paper was selected for an academic conference. I felt like Even Steven, losing one thing, gaining another. By the time I made it back to Boston, for the spring semester, it was the end of the month. That last week became so important, especially in retrospect. I met a man from the past in one of my classes, someone I knew vaguely from my time at Swarthmore. February was about him. And so was March and April and May.

I used to keep details off my blog, because I was afraid of people reading and piecing together the truth. I wanted to be polite and coy. Now, I guess I don’t really know who is still reading this. And maybe I also don’t care. If you know me, really know me, you know what happened. If you don’t, well: in February, this blast from the past man sent me an email about coffee. I said yes and we spent hours together, walking around Cambridge, the pink sky of the new moon above our heads. Then he asked me to go to the Arnold Arboretum. We never went. Instead, we talked for hours in another coffee shop. Uncharacteristically, I asked to see his place and after I met his roommates, in-between bites of fig newtons, he leaned over and whispered: Can I kiss you? His tongue slipped into my mouth in the darkness of his living room. He kissed me again on his doorstep and my head spun on the lyft ride home. I threw up hours two hours later, from the hunger induced migraine. I didn’t eat at all that day, except for the cookies in his house and the lettuce wrapped in turkey at midnight in my bed. Of course I threw up. The next week, we went out again. Later, in my bed, wrapped up in his wiry, tattooed arms, I was just happy. That was when he told me, that he’s an alcoholic and an addict. It should have changed something for me, it should have set off an alarm. It didn’t.

Four days later, he relapsed. He had cancelled and then un-cancelled our date. I met him at a Starbucks and on the T back to his place, our legs touched. I felt bad, terrible in a way that I couldn’t name. We watched some Netflix original reality show and then, in his bed, we had sex. We kissed. He told me about his history of self harm and severe mental illness. I talked about my own trauma. It was not a good date. I couldn’t sleep after. In the morning, after he made me eggs and I realized he would not be going to his next AA meeting, I asked, trying not to cry, Will I see you again? He said of course, and then he backed me into a wall and kissed me with a boyish glee. I felt relieved and stupid. Three days later, he told me he couldn’t make it to my place for dinner. He said that he felt like he had encountered me in the wrong moment of his life, that he couldn’t stop drinking, that he was checking himself into a facility, that I meant something to him. I cried that whole weekend. I barely ate. No one could help me.

It was like this for months. Every interaction between us charmed and hurt me. When he was doing well, I was joyous. Otherwise, I was miserable. I skipped meals. I had nightmares. I cried alone in my room, on walks around campus. I lost weight and inches. I felt like I was dying. Somehow, in that strange internal darkness, I realized I was not okay. I wanted to be okay, more than anything. I felt bad all the time and I was tired of feeling bad. In April, I started seeing a therapist. In May, I started seeing a nutritionist. I went to a support group meeting and read literature about codependency. I felt like it was my fault, my emotions, my own shit. I called my mother and Vivian and Michael. I was defensive about this guy. Addiction is a disease, an addict is not a Bad Person, but he can be a deeply troubled person.

And then, after all of that, one day in May, he told me that he had gotten involved with someone. It was the way he said it. Two weeks before, in his bed, he had asked if he could undress me. I told him then, sitting outside the Harvard Square T stop, that he was a coward. He flinched, like I hit him. I said, I thought I loved you, but you aren’t who I thought you were. I guess, I didn’t really love you then. I also said, I’m sorry if that hurt you, I don’t mean to hurt you. And he told me, his eyes glassy, that I meant something to him. Of course, I knew that. Of course, it didn’t matter.

I skipped some stuff, or I made it seem small. In May, when I went to that support group meeting, I actually spoke in the group. I said, Every day I feel this intense pressure to try my best. I want to be kind and generous and patient and brave and good. But it’s so much work, being that way. Sometimes, I can’t do it. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. On those days, I want to give myself permission, to simply try. On those days, “best” is not the goal. The goal is to keep at it, whatever it is. So, I went to classes and socialized and asked for help. I told my therapist in April, that coming to therapy meant that I wasn’t hopeless, that I hadn’t given up on myself. In March, I presented my paper at an academic conference, as a single author. I was also on a poetry panel with Trista, Amanda, Cyrus, and Iain. How insane to be there with them, to be included in a family of poets.

In June, the man disappeared, moved away without a real goodbye. At the time, I was devastated. I can’t describe the feeling of abandonment, but I thought: love is not for me. I thought it through June and July. I went out with a series of inconsequential men. There’s a photo I saved on my phone, after one of those dates. He wasn’t a bad guy, just boring, just rude. I came home and cried until my mascara had spread across my face. I went back to New York in July, and in between visiting with friends and volunteering at camp, I had a hilarious summer fling, not a story just something for friends to gossip about. Even then, I was lonely. I didn’t run away from it, though. I recognized it. I thought, I should keep trying. Maybe I would find a good thing.

August had me dog-sitting and transliterating Sanskrit books and gearing up for the final year of my master’s degree and looking into various doctoral programs. It was also when I went on a first date with this handsome, funny, smart, and unbelievably kind man, who would eventually become my boyfriend— how weird that word looks here, how funny that it means something to me after all these years. It has felt like emotional whiplash, this year, loving two men. Looking back, it should be easy to say oh that wasn’t really love. But that’s not true. I loved two people this year, just so differently. If the first love made me nervous, the second makes me calm. I was on a bus back to Boston after Thanksgiving and the traffic was terrible and I felt an ugly irritation bubble inside me because of my seat neighbor. I thought about my boyfriend then, his easy smile, how he rubs my back when I cough. What a small thing, but I felt lighter just thinking about it. It sounds silly and cheesy, I know. But I don’t want to belittle it, not here. I don’t think I have ever really felt so good to be with someone before. It is so new to me, this joy, this stability. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I wrote in my journal a few days ago, that I’m not sure if this relationship is good because he is so good, or because I have done the work of trying to lead a healthier life. Is this just a byproduct of one or the other? Or, as Liz says, is this what happens when two Virgos come together? I don’t know, I loved a Virgo once before, and I don’t remember ever feeling this light. This is different. He is different.

In September, I went to Denmark for my ten year reunion camp reunion. I started this blog right after that iconic summer, 16 and strangely tan from all that northern sun. From October through December, I applied to doctoral programs. Yes, again. We’ll see what happens. For the first time, I don’t really know what I want in my future, but I’m trying to trust in the universe to guide me there. I know I want love. It’s hard for me to admit that. I used to scorn women who named that in their list of goals, but it’s important, as important as everything else. I want to feel close to someone. I want a life of meaning, even if it just means something to me. I want to write. I hate that I ever stopped doing that. I feel sometimes like I have wasted my potential there, in writing professionally. I hope that’s not true. I am not ready to give this up, this dream that could still turn into something.

Something that I said a lot this year: whatever happens, I’ll be okay. During a depressive episode a few weeks ago, I thought I was losing everyone in my life, that everyone secretly hated me. What I told myself then, was not that I was crazy or wrong, but that I could deal with it. It’s true. If that happened, I could deal with it. But I hate that response. I wish I fought more. I wish I didn’t turn over so easily. Not that I think I could change someone’s mind. But I wish I didn’t just accept the worst case scenario. Anyway, maybe it’s strange even to debate this. The truth is so far from the worst case scenario. In fact, right now the truth is I am so fucking lucky. Ten years ago, I was just a high school student whining on the internet. Today, I am a Harvard graduate student; I am an author; I have a publication list that makes professors raise their eyebrows; people care about what I write and think; there are people who love me, really love me; I am healthier and happier than I ever thought I deserved to be. I worked for this. I earned it. I didn’t give up on me.

I can’t predict anything about the future. I’m always so hilariously wrong. Mostly I hope I never stop trying. 2020 still sounds like a fiction, but it’s real, it’s happening, it’s here. It’s funny, I only ever feel that surprised by joy. I hope that never changes.

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mytearsrricochet · 5 years

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Tw suicide—do not read if you are easily triggered by mentions of suicide.

This isn’t for anything in particular, but I feel comfortable sharing my story after a really long time of being silent. Yesterday was suicide prevention/awareness day so I feel like i should speak about my own life.

The first two pictures are from 2014-15. I was 15/16 years old at the time. During this time period, I attempted suicide twice.

These weren’t my first attempts. In 2011, I attempted suicide. I was 12 years old. I swallowed a lot of pills because I was in a horrifying situation. My father was slipping into alcoholism and was dating an abusive woman who would be the reason I was later diagnosed with PTSD. I have a very scary childhood that we don’t have time to unpack, but I was a severely depressed child. I told everyone it was an accident, but it was a very Meredith Grey moment. It wasn’t that I was necessarily trying to die, but I was gonna see if I could maybe experiment with how many pills I could take.

Around the times the first two pics were taken, I was in a severely abusive relationship that would ultimately last 4 years and still has a strong hold on me and my self esteem even though it ended 3 years ago. This person was a pathological liar with a vile need to control and manipulate me. I was only 13 years old when we started dating; I had no idea it would lead to what it became. I don’t even know if it started off that way. I’ve repressed a lot of moments from my relationship because they’re truly too traumatizing. Because of this relationship, I was emotionally unstable enough that it became a catalyst for two more suicide attempts. I was suffering from anorexia and undiagnosed mental illnesses. My father was relapsing (he is an alcoholic who continues to relapse even today). My mother had cut me out of her life. My two friends at the time were manipulative and would threaten suicide if I didn’t do certain things like drink with them, which at the time was a trigger for me that set off panic attacks. I was so lonely. It was destroying me. Every single day was the hardest one I had experienced. I thought dying was the only way to go. I stashed sleeping pills and painkillers in my closet in between my attempts just in case I wanted to try again. And for both attempts, no one knew. I just vomited or dealt with severe abdominal pain for days and said I had caught a bug. My grandma eventually got me to go to therapy in a very healthy way, and I encourage everyone to allow people to seek help in their own ways on their own time. It helped immensely that I wasn’t forced but rather talked to about it.

Thankfully when I was 17, my relationship ended. It was heartbreaking at the time, but I handled it pretty well. Unfortunately a few months later, I fell back into a depressive episode that I didn’t know would happen. I overdosed on painkillers. But for some reason, my body went into survival mode and I panicked. I tried to wake up my dad and tell him that I had overdosed and needed to go to the hospital, but he didn’t listen. He said I was fine. And I was after a couple days, but that was one of my grand awakenings. My future started looking up as I committed to a great university. I found many great new friends.

Unfortunately during my freshman year of college, I was at a building on campus when a student jumped from the parking garage attached to the building. Knowing that I was so close to a suicide attempt sent me into another episode. Within 3 days, there were two more suicide attempts from jumping from a parking garage on campus. It was a MASSIVE deal, and I go to a school with over 50,000 students. At the same time, I got some of the worst news of my life that i still don’t feel comfortable sharing. I became extremely close to attempting suicide yet again, but my friends were there for me in ways no one ever had been. They stayed with me while I grieved and made sure I left my dorm room when they noticed I hadn’t.

My friends became my family, and I am proud that it has been almost three years since my last attempt (almost two years since my almost attempt). I am still suffering from depression, anxiety, and PTSD. But I am so much happier. I’m more than halfway done with getting my degree and am only about a year away from getting my licensure. I am starting a new position as an intern for a reproductive justice group that will allow me to work with the community around my university to pass pro-choice legislation. I have been on better terms with most of my family and have even come around to forgiving certain people for the things they did to me. I live in a new city and share a house with 5 of my best friends. I relapse sometimes and sink into episodes or allow my eating disorder to take control. I’ve had a hard time lately. But I am so so so happy that my hard times are now met with support from my friends rather than pills from my closet. I included the last two pictures because this is who I am now, laughing in gardens with my sorority sisters and smiling whenever I can. I won’t tell you it gets better because you’ve heard that before and some days are still difficult. But I don’t feel like it’s my duty to die and end my suffering. I now feel like it’s manageable. That didn’t happen overnight or with no help. I went to therapy for years, got on antidepressants and anxiety meds, and formed a strong support system. It’s not an easy road to take but it’s the only one.

Thank you for reading and letting me share my story even though it was hard and emotionally taxing for me to type out. I really hope if you’re reading this you take something away from it. Love you all 💕

#whew this was hard #tw suicide #text

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fallout4holmes · 5 years

Text

Journal 56

We decided to head for Jamaica Plain, planning to reach it late in the evening to rest and move north from there. The party was quiet as we walked for most of the way. Cait was in a state of awe at the sensations assaulting her senses at first, unhindered by a haze of chems and/or withdrawal for the first time in years, but she adapted quickly. Eventually, her curiosity caught up to her.

“Holmes? I’ve got a… personal question.”

“Yes?”

“When you showed me your arm, back when ye tried to get me to go clean? I was wonderin’ what the chem was. I mean, you’re supposed to be pre-War, yeah? Can’t imagine a family man shootin’ up with psycho everyday.”

“I’ve tried a variety of substances, but I never had any desire to take anything that might make me exceedingly violent. And I didn’t become ‘a family man’ until much later.”

“Betcha were the type to eat mentats like candy.”

“Ha! Guilty as charged.”

“So, what’re the scars from, then?”

I sighed, “In my young and rebellious days it was a simple cocaine solution. As prescription drugs became easier to obtain with a variety of useful effects, I took to using Calmex, among others.”

She whistled low, “I heard of that stuff. Why?”

“It kept me from going insane, or so I told myself. Kept my mind from running itself ragged, the constant need for stimulation, kept black moods at bay.”

“Hell, a bottle of whiskey not enough?”

I smiled, “Depressants have their place, but stimulants were more… satisfying.” I noticed Valentine had changed his pace to match mine, walking close but trying not to hover. I reached for his hand. “Addiction nearly cost me my career, and my life. It took the efforts of my very determined and compassionate wife to clean me up,” my hand tightened around Valentine’s, “and my equally compassionate partner after my relapse two hundred years later.”

Cait thought about this for a moment. “Lucky guy.”

“Extremely,” I nodded. "I'm glad you were lucky enough to have Hancock and Piper looking out for you."

She scoffed, blushing. "Hancock was lookin' after an investment," she muttered.

"You don't truly believe that."

She shrugged, "Don't see any other reason he'd help."

"One way to find out," Valentine said.

Cait made a noncommittal noise, and the subject was closed.

We reached Jamaica Plain well after sunset, and were met by a Minuteman on guard. "Evening," he said, casting a confused look across our odd group. "What brings you to Jamaica Plain?"

"Tracking down the Mechanist." I held out a hand, "General Holmes. I haven't had the pleasure?"

"Name's Stills… General?" He was surprised, and a bit skeptical.

"Don't your own fuckin' soldiers know you?" Cait teased.

"I haven't met every single Minuteman," I sighed, "especially most of the 'old guard' who have returned."

"Ignore the Silver Shroud costume," Valentine drawled with a chuckle. "The Lockheeds still in residence?"

"Jane and Joan?" Stills asked, still wondering if I was truly who I said I was, "They're still here. Are you Nick Valentine?"

"In the synthetic flesh. Have we met?"

"No, but the Lockheeds mentioned you, and my patrolmates said…" his attention returned to me, dread in his voice, "oh hell you really are, aren't you?"

I laughed, "I am. Don't worry, it's my own fault for not being more present among the Minutemen. It seems Jamaica Plain is thriving, even after that Gunner attack a month ago?"

"Bounced back real quick, sir," Stills nodded. "Wainwright and her crew at the checkpoint were a huge help."

"Were you and your, ah, patrolmates sent from the Castle?"

"Yessir. Nash, Crosby, and I were sent down after the Gunner attack to help, and then stayed on as a guard against killer robots and potential Brotherhood conflict."

"I see. I've met Nash and Crosby, they're Danse trainees."

"Yes, sir," Stills smiled, "a fine pair. The Lt. Colonel can sure train 'em. We've some spare rooms you and your friends can use toward the center of the settlement."

We thanked him and found a place to stay for the night. Ada volunteered to assist with guard duties, as did Valentine. I was delighted to see Jane and Joan Lockheed both in good health, and Jane instantly engaged Cait in conversation regarding preferred methods of killing Gunners. Joan confided that Jane has been a bit on edge after her injuries during the Gunner attack. Cait was happy to compare techniques.

I sat outside by a low fire with my pipe as the night grew dark, Radio Freedom playing softly from within the house.

I felt a thin hand on my shoulder, "Might want to put some more fuel on that fire if you're planning on staying out here," Valentine said.

I reached up to lace my fingers in his, “I’ll come in, soon.”

“Good, wouldn’t want you to freeze. Might wake up another couple centuries later.”

“What a terrifying thought,” I scoffed. “Would you be waiting?”

“Well past my warranty,” he chuckled, and bent down to lightly kiss the side of my face, “but if I was still around, I’d be the first thing you saw when you woke up.”

I smiled, “My dear Valentine, you are the one fixed point in a changing age.”

“Hm. Are you saying I'm stubborn, or just too damn old?”

“I was praising your constancy of character.”

He was amused, “I'll take your word for it. What’s got you in a meditative mood tonight?”

I drew deeply on my pipe, savoring the sensation before watching the smoke on the chill air as I considered my answer. "There's still so much I haven't prepared for, Nick. So many possibilities I know I haven't considered. I feel like I have run out of time and I've only just begun."

"Despite what you seem to think," he said softly, "you’re only human. No one expects you to pull off a miracle, Sherlock, except maybe yourself. And I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the people fighting in your corner."

I sighed, and nodded. He was right. I didn't like it, but I knew he was right. "My wife often said the same thing," I muttered. "'There are limits, even for you, Holmes.'"

"The more I hear about this woman, the more I like her."

I smiled, "You would have adored each other."

As I stood with a stretch, the Voice of the Minutemen came over the radio.

"Good evening. This is Radio Freedom, the Voice of the Minutemen. We have just received word that Mechanist robots attacked County Crossing, but were defeated by Minutemen forces, with the help of the mercenary friendly to the cause, Mr. MacCready. Mechanist robots have also attacked Mass Fusion repeatedly, according to sources in Goodneighbor, but were defeated each time. A few robots made it to Goodneighbor's door, but we're taken down by Mayor Hancock's Neighborhood Watch. In other news, vertibird patrols continue—"

Valentine stepped inside to turn off the radio. "If we're going to get all the way to Goodneighbor tomorrow, then one of us needs a night of rest without worrying about vertibird air patterns," he said from the doorway.

I tried not to be annoyed. "Valentine, I recognize your intent, but please trust me. I will rest at some point, but I can't right now. I would love nothing more than to sit on a nest of pillows smoking all night in thought and meet tomorrow settled in mind."

He considered me a long moment. "You'd do that on a tough case, huh?"

"Particularly challenging matters were 'three pipe problems.'"

He smirked at that, but returned his thoughtful gaze. "Alright. Just do me a favor and get in here? Too damn cold out tonight, and we don't have any pillows."

I laughed a little in spite of myself, some small relief at his reaction as I joined him, "I'll make do without pillows."

"If you say so." He lit a cigarette, but it was more an action to fill time than any need, "Holmes, if I get too, uh… overbearing, let me know."

I was surprised. "I'd hardly call you overbearing."

"You know what I mean. Everything happening lately… I'm worried about you, that you're pushing yourself too hard and being too hard on yourself. But I also know you need space and your usual methods of staying sane don't always look like everyone else's. I'm not gonna stop worrying and trying to look out for you, but I don't want to lecture you on what you already know works best for you, either."

I was stunned, my answer quiet, "I'll do my best to listen, and to try to explain what I need. Thank you, Nick."

He shrugged, "Well, I'll try my best not to assume you're being a drama queen."

I rolled my eyes as we went inside, "Honestly."

"You're right, that's too much. I'll just keep telling myself you aren't going to freeze to death."

"... Are you implying the idea I might not be dramatic is ridiculous?"

"Said the man in a Shroud costume?"

"You are infuriating, Mr. Valentine."

"And yet you love me, Mr. Holmes."

I did not respond apart from a huff and holding his hand through the night. He laughed, and stayed by my side, content to let me spend the night in quiet thought and eventual deeper rest.

#fallout 4 #fan fiction #nick valentine #cait #sherlock holmes #crossover #should have let him listen to that nick

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valentinebrux · 5 years

Text

Two Headshots for Two Cranes.

lucky renter

I just moved here a couple of months ago and it was right out the blue. Someone or something was calling me to this place and I said “ok, enough. I get it. If I see one more Palm Tree it’s gonna have the be the real thing.” so I literally almost vomited all of the shit out of my apartment, curbed it, whatever, gave it to friends and then all I had was me, my car and my camera that I was still paying off.

Once I got here I felt peace for the first time in twelve years. I could stretch out my arms in public and I wouldn’t hit a single person. I could even do it in the grocery story, Publix, and I still wouldn’t hit anyone.

I didn’t think you could love a place until now. I don’t have to talk to my neighbors. I don’t have to do anything involving neighbors. I went from renting a one bedroom in a stuffy city to renting an entire house for the same price from this guy who wanted to trade places. He’s the sucker in this situation. He even left his car behind, which he said I could use in case of emergency, until I get my own.

The place is situated on one of three man-made lakes in the community. Three lakes. They should have called it that, but instead they named it Valencia Shores II. I still haven’t found the first one, but boy am I grateful to Valencia. Our neighborhood has a gym, a small nature preserve, two parks and three pools of varying sizes.

All of this for a rental? Again, I’m sorry but you don’t even know how impossible that sounds to me. I went from paying $1,200 a month. Boy America’s a freak. Money is a freak too! But I am the luckiest freak of all.

There are these huge cranes that live in the lake too, along with various other birds I’ve never seen before. Even the ducks are tropical. Tropical Ducks. That’s the Mighty Ducks movie that forgot to make, that’s for sure. I like to sit out in the screened patio smoking a jay and drinking some white wine. There’s a market next to my place that sells white wine for two dollars a bottle and like I said, never been this peaceful in twelve years.

I feel like the lord above guided me to this sweet spot and after all I’ve been through I know I deserve it. Even now I’m going through something.

You see, I was so excited about all of this space, all of these places to go to be alone, that the first time a neighbor actually did say hi to me, I tried to say goodbye so quickly that I fell backward over the step in the garage and broke my foot. I know you’re thinking, how the hell did you break your foot doing nothing? Well I really really wanted to get away. That’s what this is suppsoed to be for me, a relapse from the faces peering in on me. It’s not that I’m unfriendly, I was just trying to get in some one on one time you see? I was daydreaming so hard that my new neighbor startled me into a panic.

The night before I was sound asleep and I guess some guy or gal drunk as a hefer came tearing down the street with a vengence for the U.S Postal Service and they gave all of the mailboxes a good wacking to. My neighbor’s mailbox was connected to my mailbox like two siamese twins and ours deinitely got the worst of it. They were looking more like one mailbox than two. But I didn;t notice this in the nighttime, and I didn’t even notice it in the day time, since I had yet to forward anyone my address or to be honest, I hadn’t even told my family where I was.

I was just into this zone. I was daydreaming about trees. Just picturing them in my minds eye. Their leaves would come in and out like silhouettes from the darkness and all I could hear were the birds chirping and the distant sound of smooth traffic. I was in bliss and my neighbor just didn’t understand or know or maybe even care. He came up into the garage where I was sitting on a red and white fold out chair and said “you gonna get yours fixed?”

“My what fixed?”

You see I am a bit anxious and I knew right then and there, or I thought right then and there that he meant my brain. Was I going to get my brain fixed?

“Looks like somebody took a bat to that thing”

My brain? My face?

He must have been talking about my face. I am, to be perfectly frank, not a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t call myself a beautiful girl either. Maybe inside if you looked at the trees I saw but on the outside...

“You gonna get yours replaced?”

I opened my eyes and looked at him as if he had just insulted me because honestly to me he had insulted me deeply.

But then I looked up for real, and after the shock of seeing a large man towering over my in my own garage I realized what he was talking about.

“I’m just renting but I can tell my landlord. Maybe but he might think it was my fault”

We enhanced introductions and he said he was sorry to startle me and I said that’s OK and that maybe we would see each other again soon. He laughed and said “we’re neighbors now lady, of course we will” and I prayed that not be true.

Then I looked down and felt embarrassed that I was wearing crew cut socks with a puppy jumping on a woman doing yoga under my three inch platforms shoes.

I waited for him to turn around and clear the garage. Then, under the pressure of feeling extreme startling surprise I darted to the button to close the automatic garage.

But, being completely new to this home of mine, I didn’t realize there was an entire extra level of cement between myself and safety. So when I lunged, I just rushed my feet straight into ledge. The platform shoe spun around my foot like some sort of choker and pushed up against the cement in such a way that it shattered my entire right pinky toe.

I let out this terrible yelp while the garage was half way down and my neighbor stopped the door and lifted the entire this back up with one hand like it was nothing.

He ended up rushing me to the hospital. On the way I found out he is actually a very nice man and his name really is Steven.

snapshot for sale.

Being in a new place all alone with a broken foot is one of the most unfun, unpleasureable things you can do.

Crutches are good for someone who has a lot of friends. They’re good for someone who has money to eat out or better yet money for take out. But they’re not good for me who didn’t have a job or any cooking utensils in her kitchen.

You see, I moved here and had paid about two months rent with the intention of getting a job in that time before the third month. I knew it was risky but I also knew that if I stayed in the city I’d explode on some poor person on the train on the way to work and then I would feel even more bad.

So I quit my entire job cold turkey.

The doctor told me it would take about two months for my foot to heal and that I was lucky to be young because if I’d done this five years from now, it would have been a doozy. She said doozy, not me.

So I could basically nurse myself back to health before I was out on the street. The streets in my new neighborhood didn’t seem quite to terrible to be honest. I thought about trying to live in the community club house or just setting up camp near the pool at the far edge of the neighborhood that no one seemed to use much, but the reality was I would still need to eat and use the internet.

There was a starbucks within walking distance which was nice, but I couldn’t walk.

So I thought about jobs that were minimal and then I remembered that I still had that camera that I was supposed to be paying off.

It took a while for me to think about what kind of job I could do with a camera now that I was in Palm Beach. Were there advertising agencies in Palm Beach? Maybe, but I didn’t really have a portfolio. I was amateur at best but I knew i had a flare for seeing the magic in the lens.

I asked Steven about jobs and he told me that he was a real estate agent. I said “I don’t think I’d make a very good agent” and he said “But I bet you could photograph them”

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 6 years

Text

Some Truths Are Stubborn As Gravity, Ch 2: Six Billion Pieces Waiting To Be Fixed

Her soulmate mark left Penelope just enough room to choose the wrong man the first time.

Elena wants to make sure she’s with the right person right now.

Schneider doesn’t think he deserves a soulmate, or that one is still waiting for him.

Syd is certain they found theirs. They just don’t want to lose her.

Why can’t destiny be simple?

Penelope x Schneider | Elena x Syd, One Day At A Time. Also on AO3.

(Ch 1)

“Mom,” Elena declared that morning, while Penelope was getting ready for work, “you have to promise you’re not going to embarrass me.”

“Me? Embarrassing? I don’t know know what you’re talking about.” Penelope turned back to the mirror and finished applying mascara. “I’m one of the cool moms, remember?”

“And I love you very much,” Elena replied, spacing her words out with care. “But today is important.”

“I know, I know, you’re meeting your internet people for the very first time. I want it to go well for you, too, baby. Besides a quick hello, and maybe a couple of middle school photo albums, I promise to stay out of your way.”

Elena waited until she had Penelope’s full attention. “It’s not just that.”

“Okay. Then what is it?”

“I didn’t realize it until I woke up this morning--it never occurred to me when we set up the meeting, I just wasn’t thinking about it. But, well…”

Elena lifted up her shirt just enough to show the small black date written across the left side of her stomach.

“Oh that’s right, it’s July 19th.” Penelope shook her head. “Sorry, I feel like I’ve been a day behind this whole month.”

She realized Elena was staring at her impatiently and sighed. “Elena, if the great love of your life is going to find you today, I highly doubt anything I--or you--say could ruin that. Try not to worry so much.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You and Papi fell in love right away. What if I meet my soulmate and they don’t even like me?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Penelope countered gently. “That’s why they’re called soulmates. And anyway, you need to keep in mind that this is only one July 19th. Don’t pin all your hopes on today, all right? I don’t want to see you get hurt if this turns out to be an ordinary Saturday.”

Elena exhaled loudly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

But despite her easy agreement, she knew something good was going to happen. She could just feel it.

****

Elena really, really loved being right.

It was part of what made her so good at debating; winning an argument meant public validation for being smart and knowing things. She was allowed and even encouraged to celebrate just how right she was--so she learned how to win even more arguments.

When her friends arrived and she was finally meeting them all in person, she couldn’t stop her nerves from coming out in stammering geekspeak, but she was also thrilled, because despite her mom’s warning, she met her soulmate right on schedule.

Dani was gorgeous, and smart, and funny. They cared about the same causes, and liked some of the same music, and as soon as she reached for Elena’s hand to say hello, Elena knew that they were totally meant to be.

Or at least, they would be, as soon as Elena managed to say more than two words to her.

And if Dani was gay.

And if Dani liked her back.

The more time she had to think about it, the more she realized she was probably being ridiculous. Elena had no idea when Dani’s day even was, let alone if they might have a connection.

She smelled really good, though.

Lots of girls tried really hard to make the best first impression possible, each year when their day came around, but Elena had never cared much about soulmates growing up. Maybe she even tended to be a little bit mean to anybody she met on that day each year.

Well, to the boys. A part of her knew, though it would take her years to understand why, that she didn’t want some boy she would be stuck with forever.

But once she figured out that she liked girls, that liking girls was something she could do...something that was possible and okay and right...July 19th made her nervous.

Her parents had been so in love, she’d seen it every day. She felt it. And things between them had still imploded. Their marriage was a slow-motion car crash; she and Alex were left with whiplash and in Elena’s case, the understanding that love was not automatically enough.

She wanted to find her soulmate. She wanted to fall in love.

But she didn’t want to ruin it before she got the chance.

So when the first July 19th after she came out led her to a gorgeous activist with confidence to spare, Elena held her breath and hoped.

She didn’t do anything else, especially nothing as logical as mentioning her mark to Dani or asking her out.

What if she tripped over her words and said the worst possible thing and scared her soulmate away? With her luck, it could happen. Her mom insisted otherwise, but she didn’t understand--she had never been as awkward as Elena.

Plus she met her soulmate ages ago. And her soulmate was a boy.

It was just different.

****

“Do you ever wonder about your soulmate?” Penelope asked Schneider, standing just outside his door.

He took one look at her face, sighed, and stepped back. “Come in, Pen. This feels like a longer conversation than we should be having in the hall.”

As she sat on his couch, he shut the door behind her and tied his robe a little tighter. “Now, what’s on your mind? Soulmates?”

“Yeah. Elena has been asking a lot of questions lately, because of Syd…”

“Understandable,” he interjected, nodding.

“And it got me thinking, if at our age it even makes sense to think about soulmates anymore. If we haven’t met our person by now, what’s the likelihood that we’re going to?”

“I don’t know,” he said, joining her on the couch. “I guess this means Victor wasn’t yours?”

She looked down at her lap. “No.”

“I kind of wondered, after everything, but I didn’t want to ask. I’m sorry, Penelope. That sucks.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, shaking her head. “We didn’t know any better. Our days matched, and I wouldn’t change any of it--my kids are the best part of my life.”

“I know.” He reached out to hug her from the side. “Still. To answer your question, I don’t think about it, no. I haven’t in a long time.”

“Really?” Schneider had always been casual about relationships and sex, but he was also so sweet, so full of love for the people around him, that Penelope definitely would have guessed he was a believer in fate.

“Yeah.”

“If you did find your soulmate now...do you think there would be a chance for it to work?”

“If you found your soulmate now, I one hundred percent believe that it would work,” he told her seriously. “Absolutely. It’s crazy to think that just because you’re forty, you can’t find love.”

“You’re only a little older than me,” she reminded him. “If I can have a happy ending, so can you.”

“Eh.” Schneider waved her words away.

“Hey, you could. Why don’t you think so?”

“Have you met me?”

“Yes. Three times, as a matter of fact, since you kept reintroducing yourself before you got clean.” Penelope caught something in his expression as she spoke, and narrowed her eyes. “Is that what this is about?”

“You of all people should get it,” he said. “You can’t tell me that Victor’s drinking wasn’t part of what broke your marriage. Who would want to live with that? And my relapses, my addictions, are so much more complicated than the drinking. It’s my whole life.”

There was such a hopeless, helpless quality to his words, it hurt Penelope to hear, but she didn’t try to argue with him. She just listened.

“I stopped thinking about my soulmate when I started drinking. Because who needed to pin their hopes on fate when drugs and alcohol were right there, instant happiness? And I haven’t wondered about her since, because I refuse to. There’s no requirement that you love your soulmate, you know? You can walk away.”

Penelope heard what he wasn’t saying, and grabbed his hand. It was an impulse; she was rarely the one who reached out first.

“Schneider, listen. You’re right, about Victor, I know what that life is like. Which means I know what I’m talking about. You hear me?”

He nodded.

“You are more than your addictions. You prove that, every day you stay sober. Victor and I didn’t work out for a lot of reasons; in the end, we just weren’t meant. But for those years, I’m glad we had each other. Even during the worst of it, because it helped shape who I am, and I’m pretty awesome.”

He smiled. “You are.”

“So are you. Whether you meet your soulmate tomorrow, or you never find her, you have as much potential for happiness as I do. And if it doesn’t work, it could be because of your horrible taste in music or the fact that you cook nettles...it could be because she collects those creepy old dolls white women like, and they stare at you while you sleep, and when you want to move them out of the bedroom she cries and says they’re her children and talks to them by name. It could happen for all kinds of reasons!” Penelope insisted.

“But if it ends because you’re in recovery, and she can’t handle that, then she was never your soulmate to begin with. Because you’re easy to love, Schneider. You’re so easy to love, and you’ve worked really hard to stay sober, and anyone who cares about you can see that and is proud of you for it.”

He stared at her for a full minute, swallowing hard before he spoke. ”Hey, wasn’t this supposed to be your pep talk?”

“We can do me later,” she said, flashing him a smile. “Right now, I got you.”

“Yeah.” Schneider smiled back, squeezing her hand. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Pen.”

****

It was pretty bizarre that her little brother and her Abuelita, of all people, had helped Elena start dating...but she couldn't deny that without them, she probably never would have found herself getting ice cream with Syd.

Now that it was just them, she could feel her nerves coming back, times a hundred. Considering how they met, she lunged for the easiest conversation starter that came to mind.

"So, have you always been into gaming?" Elena asked, dipping her spoon into a cup of vanilla with crumbled cookie pieces on top.

Syd nodded. "Pretty much. I had to save up for my own equipment, because my parents aren't big into non-educational entertainment. They were fine with it once it was clear I wasn't going to let it interfere with my homework, though."

"What was your first console?"

Swallowing a mouthful of rocky road, Syd paused. "It's going to make me sound like such a nerd."

"Hey, you're talking to the queen of the nerds right here," Elena replied. "I recycle for fun."

"Well, I was impatient and saving up money was taking a long time, so I got my first console from one of my cousins when I was seven--and it was already a hand-me-down for him when he got it."

Elena smiled. "Now I'm intrigued."

"My first console was an Atari."

"No way. Like, the real thing? Retro Atari?"

"With Frogger and Pong and all of that, yeah." Syd grinned. "I wanted an Xbox, but allowance and extra chores could only go so far."

"I can't believe you bought your own gaming system at seven," Elena mused. "You're right, you really are a nerd."

"Hey, it takes one to...get ice cream with one."

"True." Elena smiled back, and they ate their dessert in slightly-more-comfortable silence after that.

It was at the end of the evening, when Syd held the door open on their way out of the shop, that the possibilities between them became so much scarier. Elena caught the date written on the inside of their wrist and stopped walking. She was frozen where she stood.

"Elena? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she told Syd faintly. The paralyzing terror was unexpected.

Hadn't she hoped this would happen? Wasn't it what she wanted?

"I'm fine," she added, as though saying the words would make it true. "Just a...a little dizzy."

At least that part wasn't a lie. It felt like the whole world had sped up around them, a whirlwind of possibilities, all tied to the meaning of July 19.

She knew the right thing to do would be to tell Syd the truth. They had the right to know what Elena had just figured out. But it was so soon--it was too soon. If Syd was going to let her down gently after their single date, it would hurt much worse now.

People's days were private, Elena thought, not sure if she really believed that or was trying to convince herself. She didn't have to reveal hers, just because Syd happened to have the same one, in an unavoidably visible area.

Love was a leap, that was what her mom had told her once. A decision, not just the unavoidable whims of fate.

As Syd waited with concern, Elena offered them a reassuring smile, and kept her mouth shut. She didn't know if this was fate or not, but she was sure of one thing: she wasn't ready to leap.

****

Getting confirmation from the universe that Syd could be her soulmate left Elena even more determined not to scare them off. It also seemed to directly increase the amount of stupid things she said when she was trying to flirt, and she couldn't make it stop.

It didn't help that she had a little brother who made it look easy. She wished she had half of Alex's cool, instead of being the sibling who couldn't string together a coherent sentence around her crush.

Kissing Syd was an act of desperation, some sports metaphor for her final chance, the moment when Elena decided it was better to risk everything than let Syd think the worst.

And then, kissing them was a revelation.

They liked her back. Even though she couldn't stop babbling, even though she spent most of their time together acting crazy, Syd liked Elena as much as she liked them. Enough to make out on a balcony in the middle of a manhunt.

Sent back inside by circling helicopters, they went to Elena's room, holding hands next to each other on her bed.

"I have to show you something," Elena said, before she could lose her nerve. With her free hand, she lifted up the long-sleeved shirt and vest that she was wearing, baring her stomach.

Syd's confusion turned to surprise, and then joy. They held up their wrist, asking the question with raised eyebrows rather than words.

Elena nodded. "I noticed it after ice cream."

"Why didn't you say something? I thought maybe you were lactose intolerant and just didn't want to mention it. Or that you had a terrible time."

"No, I had a great time. I just got scared, when I saw it."

"Of me?"

"Not you." Elena squeezed the hand she was still gripping between them. "Of the future, I guess? I thought I was ready to find the person I was meant to be with, and our first date was going really well, and then I saw your mark and I realized I am so not ready. Not for my whole life to be decided right now."

"Nobody said it has to be," they pointed out.

"Yes, and I realized that a few minutes ago, when happiness finally drowned out the panic in my head. I like you. And hey, maybe we're meant to be. That's pretty cool."

"That's very cool," Syd agreed.

"So for now, I'm going to focus on that. Getting to know each other better and having fun."

"Saving destiny for later."

"Exactly."

"Sounds perfect." Syd looked down at their joined hands. "Should we go join your family?"

"It's been weird out there. I kinda got the feeling we'd be better off staying in here."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Syd let go of Elena's hand. She turned toward them to make sure everything was okay, but never got the chance to ask.

Syd leaned in slowly to kiss her, giving her time to protest, melting her nerves away with every brush of their lips and the feeling of their fingertips against her face.

When they finally emerged from her room, Elena was certain even Dr. Berkowitz could see the flashing sign above their heads that said 'just got done making out until we were flushed and breathless.' Nobody said anything, though.

It was a miracle that she didn't revert to her former, babbling self after that, but once the soulmate connection was out the open, Elena didn't feel nervous around Syd anymore. She didn't feel scared, either. She just felt happy.

Until Homecoming.

****

Before Syd showed up in that jacket and tie and made a liar out of Elena and her disdain for high school rites of passage, she wasn't sure how anybody knew when they were in love.

She loved her family and her closest friends, and she had thought about it a lot, but it was a mystery to her. How did 'like' evolve into 'love' and when did you notice the difference? It had to be really obvious, right? Like getting hit by lightning, one of those metaphors for love that sounded violent and terrifying but, Elena thought, must be worth the damage. Otherwise, why would everyone be so obsessed with romance and happily-ever-afters?

Maybe people liked to exaggerate. Or maybe she was just weird, because it was nothing like a lightning bolt. It wasn't even like her heart skipped a beat.

Elena watched Syd totally embarrass themself in front of her family--except they weren't embarrassed at all, not like Elena would be with everyone looking at her while she sang and danced. Syd was so secure in who they were...they liked her that much...they were one of the most amazing people Elena had ever met. They were smart, and funny, and sweet, and so talented, and oh my god she was in love with them.

She expected her stomach to lurch, her heart to race, and it did as the significance of her feelings sunk in. But the actual fall into love was so easy, it didn't hurt it all. It was more like static electricity in the dark, over an empty patch of carpet. A brilliant spark she never expected that could light her up.

And wow, did it ever. She went to a dance. She danced without caring what anybody else thought. She was happy, and in love, and once she told Syd the truth about her lack of popularity, she felt even more sure that they belonged together.

Their days matched, after all. According to the lore that was the first step to forever.

If she were a different kind of person, an easier person, less prone to picking everything apart and looking for danger, that would have been enough. But she was Elena Alvarez, and she had two divorced parents who could barely hold a conversation about the weather without arguing.

Parents with matching days, who loved each other right up until they didn't.

After the dance she couldn't help thinking about it, worrying over it. She and Syd were so happy that she could lock the fear away most of the time, but it would come back whenever she got too comfortable. Anytime Elena thought they really must be soulmates, an obnoxious part of her brain asked why it mattered. If soulmates couldn't guarantee a relationship was forever, what was the point?

By the end of the school year she she could tell her distant moods were worrying Syd, but she couldn't stop feeling torn between happiness and fear. If they knew she had doubts, it would worry them even more, so Elena avoided the questions and the confused looks.

It finally occurred to her on a random Tuesday night at home that she might be missing a piece of the puzzle. If she was, Elena realized, laying her domino down next to the last one Alex had played, she could never expect to figure this out.

Elena didn't want to hurt her mom by opening old wounds, but she had to know. Was the moral of her parents' story that soulmate bonds couldn't guarantee happiness?

Or had her mom just mistaken her Papi for fate?

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moreadventurous2004 · 5 years

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There’s an app on my phone that times how long it’s been since the last time I ate anything. In theory, I downloaded it to help me remember to eat every six hours. Lately, I’ve been using it for a more insidious purpose; pushing myself to let that number get as high as possible without dying. I guess that’s only been half successful, since I can feel my bones deteriorating, I can feel my heart struggling to get through the day. I know that my vision is always blurry, and I can’t quite stand up anymore without needing to hold onto something to steady myself. It’s national eating disorder awareness week, and I promise I’m aware of them every day of my life.

Every time someone tells their eating disorder story, they start by saying that they were a happy child. And I was, to some degree. But I have never had a normal relationship with food. The first time that I skipped a meal to lose weight was when I was three years old. I had come back from my friend’s birthday party, and one of the kids had called me fat because of the size of the piece of cake I was eating. No one had told me that skipping meals would make me look the way that I wanted to. For me, it was instinctual. It was just what I had to do.

I didn’t do that constantly through my childhood, but I did do it often enough to make it my version of normal. Pretend to be sick, skip dinner. Pretend I forgot my lunchbox at home, skip that too. Once I hit middle school though, it was different. It turns out that food is actually kind of great. This is what I jokingly call my bulimia phase. It was a year long, and I still don’t know what snapped in me and made me change my distorted relationship with food to something else that was just as distorted. But it made me feel like I had made strides in self-improvement. I realize now in retrospect that all this achieved was solidifying that I would never know what it means to live without a disordered relationship with food.

I went to three different high schools. I don’t know why I did that. I didn’t move around or anything, and I’ve actually only lived in four different places in my life. But it was so easy for me to hide my habits from everyone. Like everyone else, I started out by skipping breakfast to save time in the morning. Then came skipping lunch, and then came the problems. Then came the first time that I fainted from malnutrition. Then came the part where my internal organs started shutting down. For three years, I kept my habits a secret and no one really noticed. I’ve never been dangerously underweight, so no one was ever concerned enough to ask. It never occurred to me then that I was doing anything out of the ordinary. This had always been my normal, though never to this degree, and I just accepted that my habits were mine, and for a long time nothing changed. I didn’t even make a conscious decision to get better. I still didn’t think I had any kind of problem. But one day, I had lunch. And then the next week, I had lunch three times.

It wasn’t until years later that I would fully realize that what had been going on wasn’t normal. Sure, I knew my other friends ate more than I did. But because of the stereotypes on TV of anorexics who never ate and exercised all the time to get thinner, I didn’t recognize a problem. I didn’t act like them, and I certainly didn’t look like them. I wasn’t the best little girl in the world. I wasn’t Cassie. I wasn’t doing it consciously. I was just living in the way that I knew how.

I stayed in this state of better for about three years. It was then that I realized, in retrospect, the extremity of my behaviour. After a while, better started being boring. About a year ago, I started faltering in my resolve. A missed breakfast here or a missed lunch there did not seem like a big deal to me at the time. About eight months ago, my resolve vanished. I am currently dealing with a full-blown relapse. It’s hard to accept that I’m a grown adult struggling with something that’s seen so often as being limited to teenage girls. But when I start letting that timer on my phone reach the hundreds of hours, it’s hard not to recognize that something isn’t right. I don’t have a plan, but I have a support system. I’m not trying for recovery anymore, but I’m trying for inner peace.

It’s eating disorder awareness week, and so many people are not aware that they have one. I was one of those people. My mom is one of those people. I know a lot of people who are one of those people. Most of them don’t ever get to that point where they’re dangerously underweight and have to go to the hospital. That doesn’t mean that they’re not in danger, and it certainly doesn’t mean that they’re healthy. Eating disorders don’t look the same for everyone, and they don’t even stay unchanging in one person’s life. You can be self-aware and you can know that the beauty standards you’ve been fed are bullshit, but it doesn’t save you. It’s eating disorder awareness week, and I hope what we can take away from this is the knowledge that they wear many masks.

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sage-nebula · 6 years

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(do NOT reblog or I’ll delete the post and block you)

This past week I’ve really felt like I might be relapsing. I’ve been back on my nocturnal (i.e. normal for this hemisphere) sleep schedule for a while now, which leaves me constantly tired; I haven’t felt in the mood to eat anything, though I’ve been forcing myself to do so anyway at least; I’ve been finding it harder to think of myself as pretty or cute when I look in the mirror; my depression and anxiety have felt like they’re kicking up again despite the Lexapro, and the negative intrusive self-talk has gotten worse, to the point where I just blurted out, “I’m so stupid” one night for a simple mistake, and it took a moment before I corrected myself with, “No, I’m not stupid, I’m actually quite smart and intelligent, it just slipped my mind because I’m tired.”

This morning it was bad enough that I was actually fretting on my way to work about, what if the Lexapro is losing its effectiveness? I’m on a 10mg dosage now. We can still increase to 20mg, but I’m pretty sure that’s the limit. And even if it wasn’t, can it lose its effectiveness over a mere two months? Where does that leave me, if so? I don’t want it to lose its effectiveness. I want it to keep helping me. I need it to keep helping me.

All of that said, this evening I got a clue that my shark week is I think just starting (like this is the very very first day of it, not even the first full day), and when I realized that, my reaction was just, “Ah.” If that is the case, that . . . probably explains things, and also means that the Lexapro is likely not losing its effectiveness. That’s a relief.

But I still also have to remember that even if I relapse some, that doesn’t mean I’ve failed, or that it’s a permanent failure. If you’re climbing up a mountain, and you slip and fall back down part of the way, you can still climb back up. It will be painful, and hard, but so long as you’re alive---so long as I’m alive---I can do it. Relapses are a normal part of the recovery process, and recovery like what I have to go through is an ongoing journey without an end. I just have to keep climbing, and try not to feel too badly about myself during the periods when I slip and fall. I can climb back up, and get back to where I was, and I deserve to. I deserve to make and have that progress, and I don’t deserve to be hurt or treated badly, least of all by myself. I need to be in my own corner first and foremost, so my brain needs to start giving me consistent positive self-talk instead of negative. I need to keep working on that. I need to keep climbing.

Though I will say that certain recent events have had me thinking about my childhood and adolescence again, and the abuse I went through back then that left me with the C-PTSD I’m constantly trying to recover from now. And it’s little things from back then, too, like---there were really, really bad incidents, and some really, severely fucked up times I went through, and stories that are too personal or painful for me to share here (both because I don’t like thinking about them, but also because I don’t like to hand them over to others to use against me, as has happened in the past). But it’s also little things, like---I like to get physical copies of video games so that I can have the game cases lined up on my media shelf. I have the actual game cards in my Switch carrying case, so I can have them with me wherever I have my Switch, but I like having the cases on the shelf, and seeing them all lined up there. Counting them off, you know. And I was thinking about why I like this. I don’t think I’m a materialistic person, generally; I do want my house to look cool, but I’m not one of those people who, if I won the lottery, I’d by a sixty room mansion and fill it with pointless, but expensive, garbage. I’d keep my same place, my same car, all that. I don’t really want a life of luxury, I just want to live comfortably.

So I’m not overly materialistic, and I don’t value collecting things for the sake of collecting them . . . but I like seeing my cases lined up on the game shelf, and I’m just as excited to add more cases to that shelf as I am to play the new games as they come out. (Also, I wish that games like Celeste and Night in the Woods would get physical releases so I could add those cases to my shelf as well.) I was thinking about why this is, and I realized that it’s because I never had a lot of games in my youth. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve owned a lot of video game consoles in my life time, but for every console or handheld I had, I usually only had a handful of games. Like, I had six games for my N64 growing up. I think that back when the Gamecube was actually relevant, I had about seven games, and even then, over my lifetime I only got that number up to about twelve. And this isn’t a Dudley Dursley kind of temper tantrum competition game, wherein I whine about just not having enough games, because I did like and appreciate the games I had. But like, with the N64, I had those six games, and meanwhile my brother had over thirty to choose from. This was because I lived with my biological mother, whereas he lived with my dad and (step)mom, and our economic situations were very, very different. (Read: My biological mother was dirt poor and spent any money we did have, including the child support, on herself, whereas my brother had the middle class lifestyle with three parents and tons of extended relatives who doted on him and gave him anything he wanted.) And I never complained about this back then, but I remember feeling so impressed when I opened up his N64 cartridge case whenever I was at my dad’s house and saw all those games to choose from, whereas when I opened my own cartridge case (identical to his), it was . . . much emptier.

And then with the Gamecube (which I got later than everyone else because even though my dad sent me money to get one as a Christmas present, my biological mom took that money and spent it on herself), there was an extra level of messed up because my biological mom decided to run a scam with Wal-Mart for a while. Basically what she would do is she would buy things with a credit card, and then return them later to get cash money that she could then spend on necessities. (Why she didn’t just buy the necessities with the credit card instead of racking up credit card debt I don’t know. I stopped trying to figure out her thought processes a long time ago.) The reason why this is relevant to the story is because she decided the best way to do this was with video games. So when I was about thirteen, she told me to go to the games section and pick out a few games. I very excitedly ran over and picked some out, so happy I was getting to add some new ones to my library, and I remember specifically that Mario Kart: Double Dash was one of them, because I had wanted that for a very long time. We bought the games and went home. And when I went to go put Double Dash in to play it, she told me I couldn’t do that because we were going to return them. I was hurt and confused. I didn’t understand. And when I questioned her, she grew furious that I was back talking and arguing. I guess the one benefit is that I knew to choose games I wasn’t actually interested in the next time she used me to run the scam.

Anyway, this is all relevant because I wanted a bigger games library growing up, and I just didn’t have the opportunity to have it. Even after I moved out of her house, I never wanted to ask my parents for too much, not only because I felt the answer was likely to be “no,” but also because I was just grateful that Shiloh and I were away from my biological mother. And even after I started working, and especially after I moved out of my parents’ house and into my own apartment, I still didn’t have a lot of disposable income to spend on video games. Not only that, but I usually got new systems a couple years behind everyone else (with the 3DS being the first exception, but even then, I didn’t have a lot of disposable income at first so I couldn’t keep up with the library the way I wanted to), so trying to figure out which games to buy was a nightmare. The result of which being, although I helped form my university’s video game club back in my sophomore year (I was nineteen), I felt like the weak link of the officer squad. I loved video games, and I was pretty good at a lot of them, but I also was so inexperience compared with everyone else, who had way more games than I did.

But with the Switch, it’s different now. I got the Switch on launch day thanks to Christmas money allowing me to preorder it, and although I’m still supporting myself and still struggle bussing every month, the games I want are usually either a bit cheaper (such as Hollow Knight being only $15), or they’re spaced out enough so that I can afford them (+ I have credit cards I can use). Since I’ve had it since launch and I’ve been in this position since launch, I’ve been able to keep up with new releases. My library still isn’t huge (I have nine physical games, plus three digital that I love---and one of those digital games is getting a physical release in spring), but it’s growing, and I know I’ll add more games to it in the coming months. And I guess it’s important to me not because of materialism or anything like that, but because it’s symbolic that I’m at a place in my life now where I can grow this library, where I can do what I always wanted to, but never could as a kid. When I buy games myself, I know they’re mine, and no one can take them from me. And I’m here, in my own house, with my own media shelf (that I wallpapered with special starry paper I bought at Nijo Castle in Japan), and all of this---the house, the media shelf, the games---represent how far I’ve come, and how far I continue to go. And I know that’s weird, that I’m using a growing video game collection as a symbol of recovery because of rather small parts of my abusive childhood and adolescence (and again, I’m not saying those things were the worst I suffered, because they by far were not, but I’m not sharing the details of the worst things for personal reasons), but I’ve been thinking about it nonetheless and I think that’s how my brain has processed all this as I move through recovery.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for tonight. Reminder to NOT reblog this, or I’ll delete the post and block you, thanks.

#recovery is a weird and complicated thing #c-ptsd is a knotted mess to deal with #and anxiety disorders and depression don't help #but i'm trying and i know to keep trying and that's what matters most

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princess-of-purgatory-and-bass · 6 years

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There’s something I gotta say (TW)

You don’t have to read this. Especially if you are triggered by posts covering abuse. This is a cathartic scream into the void for me, not me trying to hurt someone. That’s why I am putting a warning on this because I absolutely don’t want my venting to hurt you in any way.

The reason I am so passionate about abuse cases are because I was an abuser.

I frequently think of myself as a monster and say I’m going to Hell and never really explained why, so people newer to my life always tell me I’ve changed and I’m not the monster I once was, or even that I never was a monster. And in a way I can see how they are right. I have changed. I wanted to change and so I forced myself to change until I had gone from an abuser to someone who could help victims.

It started with my friends. I would playfully “hit” them and taunt them. Then I would get angry and it would escalate. It was my way or the highway and anyone who disagreed with me would end up hit, grabbed to the point of bleeding from my nails, and many other things. No one could stop me. People were afraid of me. There are some people who stood by me then who stand by me now. They say I wasn’t a monster, that I was just trying to cope with my own mental illness and what my parents taught by example. These people are some of my closest friends, and I agree about the coping part, but this is where we will always disagree. No matter what I was going through, there is never a good reason to hurt other people, let alone the people that care about you and you call your friends.

Then I got into a relationship. He was obsessed with me, knew me since elementary school and was one of my best friends. I didn’t think I could find a better set up. We talked to each other every day, he would always call me beautiful and tell me I was smart, although looking back I now realize his compliments were also ways he would insult himself. I thought I was happy, but still felt a repressive cloud over me on top of that.

So I did what I did best back then. I lashed out and hit him. Screamed at him. Hurt him. And it was while I did this that I realized just what I was doing. I finally woke up and saw my own abusive behaviours for what they were. And I also realized he was already fragile before I had started dating him, and I couldn’t stand to imagine where I would drive him if I stayed with him. I knew I needed to change, not drag others down with me, so I tried to leave him.

The day I did, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. I was upset and angry with myself, but eventually I just couldn’t avoid him any more. He was blowing up my phone and finally I just snapped. I can’t even remember the exact words anymore, but I remember fighting with him as I tried to tell him I needed to get away from him, to stay away from him for both of our well beings, and he tried and tried and tried to keep us together. And then we just stopped talking to each other.

After I left him, I cut off all connections to the people I hurt and had hurt me. I told them if they really wanted to still have me, if they wanted me around and still believed in the way I wanted to change, and that they still cared about me, then they would have to know I wanted to start over and that I only wanted them to come back to me as friends if they truly believed I could get better. Only three people tried to keep tabs on me after that, two of which I still have by my side five years later, and one person talked things out with me after we both had time to cool off and think over who we wanted to be. I don’t see that one person very often any more, and we don’t really talk, but we still are on good terms and care for each other as friends.

I did try relationships again almost a year later, but it didn’t work. I still needed time to change, so those would almost immediately end because I was scared I may go back to who I once was even though I never did.

Almost two years after I had left the guy I had left because I had woken up to what I was, we started dating again. And while I felt like I was happy, it still wasn’t working out. The happiness faded, he still saw me as the damaged girl I had been before rather than someone who had spent so much time fixing themselves and changing from the toxic person I was before, and I had to leave him again. I wasn’t happy, and staying with him was not making me happy since I had woken up to who I had been.

After that he went behind my back to my friends, telling them he would kill himself without me. Came to me and my friends saying he was useless without me and trying to manipulate me into coming back, and the person who had been my best friend once I now was trying to cut out of my life completely.

Then I tried dating again, and actually finally had healthy relationships. Well, I had relationships anyway. One was where he was afraid to tell his family about me and tried to keep me a secret, then when we split his best friend started twisting the story and trying to get my friends to leave me for it. However, these were the friends that had known me since before the previous boyfriend, so they knew to come to me for the real story. It was the relationship after that, with a girl that for now I will just leave as K, that I was happy in and actually showed me what a healthy relationship could be like for me. Even if we disagreed, we still loved each other and cared for each other. This was also my longest relationship, although it ended peacefully a year and a half ago. It showed me happiness I needed to see, K and I, who I made posts about on here, just grew apart and found we were meant to go our own way.

A few months after that, I was feeling alone and was brought back in again by the guy I had originally been with. For those keeping score, this was the third time we tried. And the first couple days I thought I was happy. We were back to messaging every day and he was affectionate, something he knew I craved. But there still was that dark cloud over me when I was with him. He was still the same as when I left him the first time, hell even still the same as when I met him in elementary school if I’m being honest, but I was so different. He saw me as the same still, and I felt so restrained by it. And then I would hear the stories from his relationships he was in when he wasn’t with me, and how they always warned me of the same thing while he would just dismiss those and tell me all of his exes were crazy and that’s why he left. And I finally realized he was toxic for me as I had once been for him. I finally realized he was the one bringing me down, and I left him a third time after he had ditched me at a rather important event. And this time I never went back to him.

Months later, a mutual friend would tell me how he was still obsessed with me and still saying he cared for me. And this friend asked me why I wouldn’t give someone who had once been so important for me another chance. But I wasn’t ready to tell the full story yet, and I didn’t have the time to tell it either since she needed to be getting somewhere, so I only told her how I had changed and he was still the same person he had been eight years previous when I met him. I don’t think she really understood, and she soon stopped talking to me some months after that, but it was the truth

I’ve never been able to feel like I could explain this before, but yes I was once an abuser. I, a woman, was the abuser in a relationship but chose to grow out of it and become a new person who was healthier and happier. And this will probably be something that always haunts me, even now I’m a little scared of relationships because I fear relapse and becoming that monster again, but I can now say I know abusers can change if they really want to. This is what makes me so passionate about abuse cases, and this is what makes me reach out to help victims of abuse. I was an abuser, and seeing that once I actually woke up and decided to help myself, was able to be happy and become better, I have no sympathy for those who decide to just continue to hurt others than see themselves for what they are.

I am passionate about abuse cases because I was once an abuser.

#abuse #emotional abuse #healing #self-improvement #self reflection

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tequilaandtouchingtragedies · 3 years

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9/12/18.

I’m going to get so much backlash from this post, but it will only be from people i’ve never told the full story to.......the people who have seen me bash said person all over the internet because I was too much of a coward to confront him. I will regret this.

First things first: These are all my own thoughts, feelings, and things i’ve composed within the last two weeks after long nights, drugging myself so I could sleep and trying to move on and recover all on my own. Nobody knows the entire story of this night, and nobody ever will. Some people know pieces, but not the whole thing. I can’t even form words to speak to someone about this, every time I try i’m at a loss. I always will be.

It’s my word against a dead guy’s word now.

If you’ve read this far, you’ve probably followed me on social media for quite some time. You’ve seen me act up, get depressed, get suicidal, fuck up. Relapse. Hate myself. Read everything in the morning then delete it later when i’m sober.

I want to hang myself.

I posted a blog post a while back somewhat detailing the things that I could bring myself to tell the world, but there’s a lot of things I miss that I have a guilty conscience about now. And i’m ready to share them. I’m ready to share my story.

You came to me when I needed you. You’ve always been there. I shot you on Warped a few years ago, and you responded to my photos of you with love and acceptance. Nothing else involved. Just those photos and our conversations. It was so simple, so accepting and so loving. You valued the life you led, and it was very clear. You lived it ALL no matter what you did.

I promised myself this post wouldn’t be a post bashing you, as i’ve done these past 8 months. That’s all it took.

I just remember I was standing at the bar closest to the stage in Vegas watching my boys in ETF, drinking doubles because my social anxiety told me I needed them......even though I knew no one in the crowd in Vegas. I have issues and you knew that, everyone did. I remember the guys finished, Craig texted me and told me it would be a while and so I improvised. I hung out at the bar until your band played. I snagged another double (my third) and sat in the crowd while you played. I remember being impressed, it was the first time I had seen you guys since Warped however long ago. I knew a few songs then, not too many but enough to keep me entertained until someone came to get me.

I thought you guys were awesome, and so talented. And you all were.

I remember you guys finishing, and I was still waiting for some friends prior to load out. I decided to go sit in the bar by the merch tables which was across the room. I hungout with this girl who was here for I Prevail, and we had a good time. We talked with the bartender, I told her who I was here with. It was funny, we all were having a great time while I was by myself with this stranger in a bar until these three guys came over and bought us drinks. At this point, I was done.

I just remember grabbing my phone, asking anyone I knew in Vegas for help.

Anyone.

You were the third person I hit up, after Tj and Craig who were stuck loading out to a bus that was blocks away, I discovered later in the night.

I was so uncomfortable. I was so drunk. And I kept drinking. I just remembered the “don’t worry, i’m coming straight to the bar as soon as i’m doing loading out, i’ll be there soon” and somehow, I felt at ease. It only took you ten minutes. I’m not sure if it was the sense of panic you felt in my messages or what, but you were there. You appeared.

When I needed you most.

I just remember there were three guys bothering me at the bar. They kept buying my drinks, trying to get me to play pool with them and trying to get me to leave with them. I was so wasted and I knew that while I was SITTING DOWN, but standing up was a whole other story. I remember telling them, “Oh thank you, the guy i’m here with just came to get me” and I pointed at you and got out of my seat. They had no idea who you were, they were there for I Prevail, thank fuck. I just remember standing up and almost hitting the floor. I could see you watching from a distance, while you were taking pictures with a couple who were huge fans of you.

I had to focus to stand. I remember that much before I started to black out. Everything was hazy. I made it to the merch table and as soon as you were done taking photos, you grabbed my arm and you grabbed it hard because I couldn’t stand. I remember you gave me a hug. The next thing I knew, we were trying to figure out what to do and for whatever reason, we decided it was best to leave the venue. I remember you holding my hand, and letting me connect arms with you as we walked down these long ass steps that seemed to take forever.

I needed you to stand and you were there.

We eventually made it outside, still holding hands and eventually my phone died. I had one last video of you and Zach gambling before I decided to go back to my hotel. I didn’t even get in the uber the girl who was also with us ordered for me because my phone was dead. I just disappeared and got into an Uber with strangers that night. I didn’t care.

I made it back to the Luxor, plugged my phone in, took out my extensions and blacked the fuck out for 2 hours. Within that two hours, I woke up to a million missed texts, phone calls and instagram messages from you. All of them wondering if I was alive, where I was at, where was I staying. Why I disappeared.

EDIT:

Everything about you was so beautiful. Lots of people have stood out to me in this lifetime, and you were one of them. I’ll never forget you gently kissing my neck. I’ll never forget you holding my hand. I’ll never forget your touch. I’ll never forget you, ever.

I am so sorry.

I am truly so fucking sorry.

We met up around 3:30am and I was still hammered (you clearly knew that as you told me to quit yelling, typical me) I just remember.

I just remember.

You were beautiful, you always have been. I’ve had a mini fangirl crush on you since I was 14 so this was cool to me. But you’d never know that, I never told you. Well, not to that extent. I always told you how beautiful you were. Always.

Little had I known.

The rest is history. I promised I wouldn’t focus on anything bad between us in this post.

I have cried almost every single day since you’ve been gone. I still have a hard time talking about you. I still wish I wouldn’t see headlines about you, about drugs, etc. They haunt me every single day and they always will. I feel like people think i’m being dramatic about this whole thing but they don’t realize that the people who have damaged you live on within you for eternity.

Rumor has it, that it’ll take seven years for your DNA to leave me and it’ll be like you never touched me ever again.

My friends don’t realize how much this has hurt me. I don’t have answers, explanations. I know it was an accident but when will I recover from the ever-lasting scars you’ve left on me? 7 years? Probably not.

I have painted you as a monster for these past 8 months, knowing your addictions issues as well as more in the past. Addiction doesn’t excuse what i’ve experienced between us, absolutely not, but it makes more sense to me now. I wish I had never said anything bad about you.

Sometimes I wish you were never a part of my life.

I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.

Nobody deserves to die with their demons.

Nobody.

Had I have known this was a factor in what i’ve experienced with you, I would’ve been a helping hand instead of some psycho bitch who used your name to trash you on the internet in the hopes of having someone speak up regarding their issues. I knew it was a factor in this, I even posted about you months prior to your death and predicted this.

I am so sorry.

Addiction doesn’t excuse shitty behavior. But neither does internet slander when you’re in a rough place.

You’d think i’d feel free now but i’ll always feel guilty.

I just wish I would’ve known. Looking back, all the signs were there. I just wish I wouldn’t have painted you out to be such a monster. What you did to me that night in Vegas hurt me and always will, but you weren’t you. You haven’t been you in a year, i’ll always remember those messages.

You came to me in a dream last night which is why i’m drunk-posting this. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I found out the news. I woke up to an article and immediately got sick. There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about you, good or bad.

Before it went bad, it was really, really good. Which is why I feel the need to defend you.

I just remember how sweet you were. How soft your kisses were, how soft you were in general. I still think my necklace is on that bandwagon somewhere, it meant alot to me. I just remember being so drunk and running my fingers through your hair, across your face. Your sides. You were so beautiful, you always will be.

I can’t believe I got to kiss you.

I am so sorry. I never wanted to paint you as a monster. We all have our demons, I promise. And I know you know that now. There is never a right time for anything.

You were just lost, like most of us are.

I hope you’ve found peace. Honestly, thank you for setting me up with your best friend before you passed. He’s hilarious, and I think about him often. Nothing serious, but good fun. You picked a good choice for me.

I can only hope you’ve found the peace you deserve. I think about you every day. I even messaged you two months prior to your passing to get answers, but never got a response. I expected that, it’s not an easy thing to talk about. I hope you’re happy wherever you’re at.

I am so sorry things had to end this way. Leave it to fate to do this to us, fate has never failed us before so why start now?

I wish you the best, and i’ve forgiven you. I can only hope you’ve forgiven me too. I’ll be in Detroit when it gets announced here in October. No matter what any of my friends say, this is personal and their opinions don’t matter. They never will.

I am so sorry. I always will be. You didn’t deserve this and nobody every does, or ever will. You did good in this world, and you will live on.

Nobody deserves to die with their demons at their side.

RIP. I love you. <3

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sickandvomiting · 6 years

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2017 summary

No one particularly tagged me to do it, though I was mentioned a few times in the different posts and a lot of them were like “do this is you want my guy”. So here I am, bc I am terrible.

January: moved into a new dorm, tried to split my time between three different friend groups. Lost one of them, the other ended up questioning why I was living on their hall. The last one I stayed really close to and it was great. Was very depressed. Hated my body and started only eating one meal a day.

February: Had a birthday. Was originally disappointed bc everyone forgot, but as it turns out they were avoiding the topic bc they wanted to throw me a party. I cried. It was amazing. Slow month, lots of snow. Lots of drunk people. Took care of a few. Was very depressed.

March: Friends visited for spring break. Got snowed in. Had a very stressful drive in a shitty car in a blizzard w/o good headlights. Crocheted a lot. Maybe had a crush on a girl. Maybe didn’t. Had lots of problems sleeping. Stayed away for 80 hours and started hallucinating. Brought my snake to school as a therapy animal. Changed meds. Got really depressed. Found out I’d lost 30 lbs over the course of the year.

April: Dropped classes bc I was struggling to keep my head above water. Had a relapse for the first time in a year. Got mildly dependent on Xanax, and switched to something else. Had trouble sleeping. My friends were always there for me. They are amazing. Felt like my y’all hated me, so spent most of my time away in my friends’ dorm.

May: Didn’t have finals, so I left early. Started summer Calc II to catch up. Teacher was great. Was still depressed. Got my motorcycle license, so that was lit.

June: More Calc II. Holed myself up in the basement, and didn’t really talk to anyone. Started a factory job. They told me I quit a week later after I twisted my ankle. Mom was very angry. I needed the money. I was very angry because I didn’t quit. Did okay on my Calc exams. Wrote a letter to an old piano teacher of mine thanking him for talking to me when I was in 7th grade and lonely and suicidal at summer camp, and for introducing me to the place I currently attend college.

July: MORE Calc II. Did better on my exams. Got a 98% on one. More staying in the basement. Didn’t hear from many friends. Felt as though they’d all forgotten about me. Got suicidal. Didn’t tell anyone.

August: Finished Calc II, with a good grade. Had a sleep study and was officially diagnosed with DSPD and sleep apnea. Found out I’d gained back all the weight I lost. Hated myself. Went through sleep chronotherapy to fix my sleep schedule. It worked. For a bit. Moved back to Uni, found out all my friends were living in separate places. Talked to a few the first week, lost contact with most after that.

September: Started classes. Enjoyed my single room, got to play piano. Relapsed. Relapsed again. Felt like everyone hated me. Hated myself. Started battling the school for an emotional support cat. Sexual assault case blew up at school, went national. Terrible graffiti written everywhere. Classes were harder than anticipated.

October: Hard classes got harder. Went to a frat party, and hated it. Reconnected with some friends from last year, and started hanging out at their place. Relapsed again. And again. And again. Not even relapses anymore. Just back to the regular pattern. Started taking Xanax again, in moderation. No dependency formed. Gained more weight. Had a period that lasted all month. Halloween was fun. Got to go home for a short break. Didn’t want to go back. Started DBT. Had a bad panic attack. Begged for help, saw that people saw and no one came. Felt very alone.

November: Had Friendsgiving. Found out I was failing some classes. Had to drop two again. Got suicidal. Couldn’t really get out of bed for almost two weeks. Sleep schedule got fucked again. Went home for thanksgiving and had fun with friends from high school. I missed them. Went back to school and tried to crack down on work. Not effective. Tried to break the relapse habit. Worked for a bit. Then it didn’t. Almost killed myself. Continued DBT. Won the battle with the school and got my cat.

December: Didn’t do well in my classes. Tried my best, but couldn’t catch up. Exams almost killed me. Lost interest in almost everything. Found some interest in piano again, after exams were over. Had Christmas. It went well, then extended family Christmas did not go so well. Got a new tablet. Still trying to get it to work. Tried to do commissions, but everything looked terrible and I didn’t have the heart to make people pay money for the shit I was putting out. My apologies. I’m sorry that I suck. Received a lovely message back from the teacher from years ago. I have it saved. Watched Guy Fieri for most of New Years. Missed the secret Santa deadline. Hated myself. Found out I’m allergic to penicillin family and sulfa antibiotics on the very last day. Fun stuff.

It was a very down year. There were a few ups, but it was mostly downs. The worst year I’ve had in a long time. Here’s to the new year. May it be a damn sight better than the last one.

Feel free to do this if you want. Most people seem to have been tagged already.

#depression tw #suicide tw #self harm tw #anxiety tw #panic attack tw #g talks #irrelevant #yeah its been one for the record books in terms of stress failure and self loathing #what a fun year

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sushiirice · 6 years

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Relapse.

I’m pretty sure it’s happening again. I’ve always been good at faking it: happiness, love, caring, all of it. I found Tumblr when I was trying to find who I was. I met him (let’s call him Doug). I thought Doug was the one. He was my first kiss, took my virginity and I took his, I “loved” him. You know how people say girls date guys that are like their dads? Well I’ve got two, one who abandoned me (my sperm donor) and one who was there and took me in when he really didn’t have to (my actual dad). My sperm donor “wanted a relationship with me” (his then wife was forcing him to). He put on this mask and made me think he was amazing, I felt guilty enjoying it at his house. My step sister, his adopted daughter, hated me. She would cut me, bruise me, she made me pass out because she wanted to see how long I could hold my breath...I hated her being there and she hated me being there. After my sperm donor and his then wife got divorced he stopped talking to me. He left me. The idea of my father (sperm donor) not wanting me tore me apart. I would try to talk to my “friends” about it but they couldn't relate and couldn't care less, then I met Doug. He listened to me, comforted me, he was there for me. I thought he cared about me, I thought he loved me. He cheated on me and mentally abused me. He made me delete Tumblr, give him my passwords to everything, even put his last name on all of my social media so people knew I belonged to him. He told me to kill myself, he told me no one cared about me and would miss me...I believed him. We dated for a year and a half, it ended with me having a bruise on my wrist and arm, a couple scars on my arms, and being more lonely than before. I wanted to kill myself. There was so much pain and emptiness I wanted it all to go away, nobody knew though. Everyone who saw me thought I was that bubbly cheerleader who was nice to everyone. I hated myself. I thought pills but if I lived I didn’t want to hear it from everyone. I knew about the blow drier in the bathtub thing but I wasn’t sure. I even looked up how to do it and then I saw someone post something that really got me thinking. They were asking if it was worth it, they said that if you don’t have any pets or younger siblings go ahead and do it. They explained how committing suicide is a very selfish thing to do. Then I pictured my parents trying to explain to my sisters and brother what happened to me and how I wouldn’t ever come back home. I thought about my horse and what would happen to him if I was gone. Then I thought about my best friend and how she pushed me to leave Doug’s sorry ass and how upset she would be if I just ended it, she would actually be pissed off now that I think about it. All of that drove me just enough to actually remember that I have some purpose on this Earth. It all pushed me just enough to want to continue living another day, month, year, whatever.

Fast forward three years. I have an amazing boyfriend who is just like my dad, I have my lovely German Shepherd, everything’s been great. I walk out of my very first class a few weeks ago and I see Doug. Everything comes rushing back, it’s like I have PTSD from him. I get in my car and have a full on panic attack. Since then I’ve been noticing some things and I’m 90% sure that I have depression again (idk if relapse is the right word). It’s not as bad as it was but it’s enough to freak my boyfriend out. I don’t want to get sucked back up into that black hole. I’m honestly not sure if any of this will make sense to someone, I just got this mood and wanted to go into my room and turn off the lights but instead I came on here and searched “depression.” To my surprise, Tumblr has this little page that pops up wanting to help. I absolutely loved it.

I’m trying to do something different this time. Instead of being quiet about it all and trying to fix myself, I’m being open. Hell I’m going to try to post this on Tumblr. Honestly, idk if anyone’s going to read this but if anyone does I didn’t tell you my story because I want you to fell sorry for me. I’m saying all of this because if there is anyone who is thinking about committing suicide or feels like they’re alone like I did, you’re not. Loneliness may feel right at times but it’s not. If someone reads this and doesn’t hurt themselves and others around you then I will feel like I accomplished something in my life (I’m 19 might accomplish more buuuuut I’m just saying). There’s more to this story but I didn’t want to make it drag on. Please, feel free to message me any time you want, I am more than willing to talk to anyone about anything. Literally, anything...like your fav TV show or something. Whatever makes you happy, let me know. Everyone has a purpose, don’t let anyone tell you you don’t...

P.S. I’m sorry if that seemed super cheesy, it seemed right

P.S.S. I’m not trying to get follows or whatever I’m just thinking about tags someone maaaay look up

#depression #you're not alone #you're good enough #you're more than good enough

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somberillusions · 4 years

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Hi Guys! I recently found something that really fits this blog. Apparently there are 36 questions designed to make someone fall in love with you, so I’ll be answering them today!

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest? I would want Tom Felton as a dinner guest, I feel like we would get on well and who doesn’t want to cook dinner for a loveable little musician?

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way? I think if I ever became famous, I would want to be famous for doing something good in the world, like donating money to charity or standing on a redwood tree for three years to prevent it from being cut down, y’know? But given the choice I wouldn’t want to be famous, I value my privacy.

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why? Oh definitely, I get really scared calling people for something important, so I always want to know what I’m going to say so I don’t mess up.

4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you? For me a perfect day would be if in the same day, I went to a BTS fansign and met my idols, and then got to spend time with my closest friends, watching my favorite movies, and eating my favorite foods. God that sounds amazing.

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else? I last sang to myself around fifteen minutes ago, I last sung to someone else last night. I really like singing.

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want? I would want the mind of a 30 year old because then I would have all my memories and be able to tell all my grandkids stories from my past without forgetting small details.

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die? I don’t actually, I used to think I was gonna go by my own hands, but now I don’t care how I’ll die, and I’m not scared of it either.

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common. Well this is hard considering so many individual people could be reading this, but based off of you reading this I would say we both like tumblr, we both find the topic of love interesting, and we like getting to know people.

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful? I am very grateful for my mom, she is incredibly strong of a person and I would be dead without her strength. She gives me hope of better days and not a day goes by where I don’t remind her how much I care for her.

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be? That’s a hard question, I would have to say I wish my dad hadn’t told me stories of what he saw while he served military duty in Iraq, at least not when I was so young.

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible. I’m timing this, I was born in a military fort in Texas, my dad was in Iraq until I was 3 and when he came back, he came with alcoholism, this essentially ruined my life, when I was five my mom and I moved to Alabama, two years later my dad said he would change so we moved with him, and surprise! He didn’t change. He went to rehab and came out, but sixth months later he relapsed and I attempted suicide from the pain. I had a lot of mental issues and still am recovering. I met my best friend who helped me through all that and I am lucky to have her in my life. I fell in love while my dad was in rehab, and three years later I still am. I currently have three friends who I care about but I don’t like talking to them online much because I prefer face to face. I now spend my weekdays watching movies with my mom and my weekends trying to protect my baby brother from witnessing my drunk dad get angry.

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? I would like to be fluent in Korean, it would get me more job opportunities and I would love to add bilingual to my job resume.

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know? I would want to know if I will ever fall in love and be loved back in return.

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it? I have always dreamed of living in a van, but I haven’t because I don’t have enough money or even a driver’s license.

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life? Recovering from Anorexia Nervosa

16. What do you value most in a friendship? Honesty, I want people to give me the real deal instead of acknowledging my feelings, I’d rather rip of the band-aid than leave it on the rot into my skin.

17. What is your most treasured memory? A Halloween party in 2017, that whole October was the most amazing days of my life, but that party changed me in so many ways.

18. What is your most terrible memory? So back in 2015 my dad drunk drove and got caught so for a year he had to have a breathalizer in our car and in order for the car to turn on you had to blow into the breathalizer for 30 seconds and wait 60 seconds for it to calibrate and the car to start. Keep that in mind. So my parents were arguing one day inside and I was outside removing nails from a plank of wood because woodwork was my coping mechanism, when my mom walks out of the house (we lived with my grandparents at the time) she grabs my arm and we run to the car and get in. My dad is walking after us with a face twisted in pure rage. My mom is trying desperately to get the breathalizer to calibrate and my dad is getting closer. At this point there are tears falling down my face. My dad sees my mom frantically trying to start the car and his face gets impossibly more enraged. He then swings his fist at the window and it cracks, but it doesn’t break. I scream. The car is finally starting and my dad screams, “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU BITCH” and goes to swing at the window again, but my mom quickly backs up. If my dad had made that punch my mom would have been dead. My dad goes to the back of the car to stop her but she keeps going until he moves. We immediately leave. I don’t remember where we went but I remember that after that my dad was kicked out of my grandparents house. We stayed but he left. While we were driving I cried so hard my voice went away. I didn’t speak for three months after that.

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why? No, I wouldn’t. I think I am living my life as best I can right now, I act like myself and don’t hold back. I am confident, and I don’t let other people get me down, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.

20. What does friendship mean to you? Friendship means the world to me, I could live my whole life without a romantic interest if I had friends who understood me and were fun to be around.

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life? Honestly I could live without it, that’s not to say I’m opposed to love, but I have mad commitment issues and that’s something not many people want to deal with when it comes to romance, so I don’t need it to live.

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items. I like that you listen, I like that you care enough to read this far. I like that you have enough energy in you to even keep reading this far. I like that you don’t give up even when things get unpleasant, and I like how considerate you are of other people.

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s? I would say in my family I am only close with my mom and my cousin. I don’t think my life was happier than most people’s but it definitely could’ve been worse.

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother? I’ve talked about her a lot in the post, but great.

25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling ... “We are both struggling in different ways” “Our emotions are valid no matter how strong they are, or how trivial they are” “Just because someone is having it worse than us, doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to be upset”

26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... “My taste in movies, nowadays people only watch YouTube, and I don’t hold them against that because sometimes I do too, but I wish they would care enough to watch the movies I like.”

27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know. I have a lot of trauma like everyone else, and I try to hide that through smiling, don’t fall for it, the wider my smile is, the more I’m breaking down inside.

28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met. I am proud of you for picking up whatever device you’re reading this on, and spending this long reading a post from a complete stranger, and I really appreciate the amount of time and consideration you put into doing so.

29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life. This is really horrible of me but please keep in mind I was four at the time. I was at a Mexican Restaurant in New Mexico and I saw a Mexican person for the first time (I was an isolated child) and I pointed at them and said “Look Mommy! It’s a real Mexican person from Mexico”, I to this day am really embarrassed by this and wish I could see this person again and apologize.

30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself? I last cried in front of my mom two days ago, we were watching a sad movie. And I last cried by myself at midnight. I swear I don’t usually cry this much it’s just bad timing.

31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already. They like asking this question a lot don’t they? I also really like how dedicated you are to making sure other people feel cared for.

32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about? Sexual Assault, in no situation is it okay to joke about people being forced into sexual acts.

33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet? I would regret never apologizing to my family for not talking to them, I haven’t done it yet because they think I am this perfect little girl and I’m scared that they won’t love me anymore when they find out I’m not.

34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why? My memory box, it’s full of all the most cherished items in my life and I wouldn’t be able to live knowing I let them burn.

35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why? My mom’s, I would cease to function if she passed away, I know it’ll happen someday but the thought terrifies me. I think I would shut down mentally.

36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen. My dad is a raging alcoholic, and I am scared to be around him on the weekends. I don’t want to pressure my mom into leaving but at the same time my mental health is deteriorating every Saturday. What would you do in my situation?

Welp, there you go! I’m honestly surprised you made it this far, thank you for caring enough to stick around. Until next time!

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