#might delete later i am just so anxious my heart feels like it’s been pounding for hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

voidmadison · 5 years

Text

Okay

Summary: Y/n and Grayson welcome their new baby girl into the world and begin their journey into parenthood, but will Y/n be able to handle her new role as a mother?

Warnings: Kinda angsty?? Anxiety briefly mentioned

A/n: I’ve had this account for ages and I never thought I’d actually post on it but this is the first fic I’ve written that I actually wanted to post so here we go. I was super inspired by @wordsonearth @dolandrabbles @rockstardolan and @castledolan . They’re pretty much the reason why I started writing.This is also lowkey trash so i’ll probs delete it .

This was never her plan. She wasn’t one of those girls who played with baby dolls when she was of five, she never wanted to play moms and dads with her friends, she didn’t even hold a baby until she was seventeen. This was the last thing she thought she’d be doing on the day she turned twenty. She had assumed she’d be getting drunk with her friends or having a nice dinner with her family and loving boyfriend, yet here she was at 4 am on her birthday pushing a human out of her. Her pregnancy had been a shock to everyone of course, but no one was more shocked then y/n herself. Despite her parents being supportive and her boyfriend being thrilled (even though he threw up a bit when she first told him through her sobs), y/n had yet to come to terms with the fact that she was going to be a mom. It just didn’t feel real, the whole nine months felt like a dream.

But the pain she was feeling right now was definitely real. As the midwives were encouraging her to continue pushing, all she was listening to was Grayson’s encouraging words. Grayson was a natural born father and that made y/n feel even more insecure. Y/n believed Grayson deserved to raise his child with someone who was just as good at parenting as him. Even during the pregnancy Grayson always seemed to know everything. Every question she had, he seemed to know the answer. He never worried about being a dad, even at the young age of twenty one. He didn’t even freak out when y/n went into labour a week early because he trusted that the universe had a plan, when y/n just added this to her list of worries. Y/n was consumed by thoughts and worries that she almost forgot where she was and what she was doing, almost.

But then suddenly the pain was over and cries filled the room. The next thing she knew a tiny little human, cleared of the blood and goop (that she really didn’t care to know what is was), was placed on her chest and all she could think to do was sob. It had finally hit her that she had to protect this little person for the rest of their lives.

“Hi sweet girl” she whispered through her sobs “I’m your momma, I love you so much”.

Y/n was so entranced by the big, hazel eyes staring up at her in wonder that she forgot that there was other people around her. One person in particular, whose eyes matched those of the tiny girl in the love of his life's arms, felt like his whole world was spinning. Grayson had never seen something so pure and angelic in his life and he knew he would protect this girl and her mother until the day he died.

When y/n broke out of her trance she looked up to find Grayson with tears rolling down his cheeks and staring at the baby just like he stares at her, his look was full of love.

“Hey” her voice cracking as she spoke, “d’you wanna hold her?”

Grayson nodded his head slowly, but still not looking away from the little girl. Y/n scooted in the bed to make room for Grayson to sit down. Grayson sat cautiously and once he was comfortable, he took the baby in his arms. It was Graysons turn to feel like he was dreaming, it all felt so surreal. He’s a sophomore in college, his biggest worry should be his finals or the football game he has on Saturday but here he was worrying about supporting his new, little family and keeping his girls safe.

When he met y/n in his junior year of highschool he knew that he was going to love her forever. From the beginning of their relationship, Grayson was constantly talking about their future together and kids were always a part of that future. Sure, it might have happened a bit earlier than planned, but it still happened and that’s what was important to Grayson. The little girl is smaller than he expected, weighing only around five and a half pounds. She has a head full of dark and big, doe eyes that very much resemble his own, but there was something about her that reminded him so much of her mother. He wasn’t quite sure what it was but he knew she would be her mother's twin.

This was their life now, whether they were ready or not.

“God, we’re such idiots”, Y/n spoke, chuckling softly, ”how’re we gonna do this, huh?”

She tried to sound relaxed, but deep down she couldn’t help but feel like this wouldn’t work out.

“We’ll be okay”

Two weeks later…

It definitely felt real for y/n now. She hasn’t slept since they left the hospital, to return to their tiny apartment and really begin their new life as parents. It was safe to say that Grayson was handling the change better than y/n. The constant crying and screaming rattling through the cramped apartment made y/n feel like she was sophicating. She hasn’t spoken to anyone other than Grayson since their family and friends had visited them in the hospital. She has a constant headache and has felt unbelievable anxious 24/7.

Grayson was trying his best to help her. He could see she was almost at a breaking point and it hurt him to see her in such an anxious and distressed state. But there was only so much he could do. He hates having to wake her during the night whenever Lilia was hungry, but unfortunately feeding her was the one thing he couldn’t do. He knew she was trying to stay strong but one day she just couldn’t take it anymore.

Grayson came home from his last class of the day, tired and dreaming of cuddling up with his two girls in bed and watching old friends reruns on tv. He opened the door expecting to see his love sitting on the couch or tidying the kitchen, however, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t there.

“Babe?” He called as he placed his keys on the table, looking around the kitchen and tv area, “baby, you there?”

As he walked towards their shared room, he could hear sniffling and y/n’s quiet whispers along with Lilia’s cries. When he opened the door he was met with a sight that broke his heart. There was y/n, a screaming Lilia tucked against her chest, as she sobbed quietly whispering to Lilia.

“Y/n, honey, are you okay?”, Grayson asked quietly as he entered their room, where all this began a little over nine months ago. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and the tears began flowing at a more rapid pace.

“I don’t know what to do Gray”, she blubbered,” I don’t know how to make her stop, why won’t she stop?”

Grayson rushed over to her and took Lilia in his arms. He held her tightly against his chest and softly shushed her as he rocked slightly. Her wails immediately quieten and soon she was fast asleep on his chest. Y/n watched in awe at how easy it was for Grayson in comparison to her. Grayson slipped out of the room to place Lili in her crib and he returned to find y/n crying silently with her knees tucked into her chest. Grayson sat down next to her and pulled her onto his lap, holding her securely. They sat there for a long time until he heard y/n begin to talk.

“I don’t think I can do this Gray”, she sniffled, ”I don’t know what she needs when she cries, I can’t even calm her down on my own. You're so good at this, meanwhile I’m slowly drowning. I don’t think I was meant to be a mother, Gray”

“Hey hey hey, don’t say that”, Grayson felt his heart shatter into a million pieces hearing y/n talk like this, ”No new parent knows what they’re doing, everyone is just making it up as they go along. It’s gonna be fine. We’ll do this together, hand in hand, okay?”

Y/n looked up at him, in disbelief that she had such an angel in her life. She was forever grateful that he had run smack into her on her first day of junior year. She smiled softly as he wiped away her tears. She took his face in her hands and kissed him delicately, still feeling the fireworks that she felt the first time he had kissed her, as they sat on the roof of his jersey home.

“Okay”

Six months later…

The last six months had been tough but they have been the best six months of y/n’s life. She finally felt like a mother and baby Lilia was her entire world. Y/n and Grayson are more in love than ever and it finally felt real. Neither of them felt like they were dreaming because thèy knew this was their reality and they couldn’t be happier.

Grayson came home from a quick trip to the grocery store to the sweet sound of baby giggles coming from the bathroom. He peeked his head in the door and the sight before him made him feel like his heart was going to explode. Y/n was sitting next to the tub, where a shrieking Lilia was sat covered in suds. Y/n was chuckling along with Lilia and Grayson could see the love that she had for the young girl. He was so proud of y/n for overcoming her worries and being the best mother to his little girl. He knew that this was the perfect time to ask y/n the question he’d been dying to ask her for years. When y/n beckoned him to come sit next to her, he happily obliged.

“Hey babe?” he asked, as he watched Lilia play with his fingers, “d’you wanna get married?”

He had said the words so casually that it took a minute for them to register in her head but when they did Y/n felt as if she had been hit by a wrecking ball. Her eyes welled up with tears and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Grayson, are you serious”, she spoke as loudly as her choked up throat would allow her. She watched in disbelief as Grayson pulled a velvet box out of his pocket and popped it open to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

“We’re already a family, let’s just make it official” he breathed. He didn’t know why he was nervous, he knew she was going to say yes. But everything y/n did made him nervous, it’s just the effect she has on him

“okay”

#grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fic #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fic #voiddgrayson #dad!grayson #grayson dolan one shot #dolan twins fanfic #grayson dolan fanfic #dolan twins one shot

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jcmorrigan · 4 years

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Me(n)tal Fatigue

The F/O? XR from Buzz Lightyear of Star Command. The S/I? Rachel Sparks - fifth ranger of Team Lightyear with a big heart for justice (and no glasses in this ‘verse because I suppose Nebula would surgically augment my eyes to make sure Zurg couldn’t rip the glasses off and stomp on them, which is a Zurg tactic). This one goes as an epilogue to the ep “Head Case,” and watch me project neurodivergent headcanons upon a ROBOT. Listen, I have evidence as to why he has OCD, GAD, or both and I can produce receipts.

***

She crossed his path later that night, just after hours, in the hallways connecting the barracks. Not an infrequent occurrence, given the proximity of her barrack to his storage unit. As always, they greeted each other as friends.

She put up her hand; “Hey.”

He made finger guns at her and clicked his tongue, winking.

This was the part where they would just breeze by each other and keep on going, usually. But tonight –

“Hey. XR.”

They’d already passed each other by a couple paces in her case and cycles in his, and XR heard Rachel’s call to him when his back was already turned to her. He turned a quick 180 to see her regarding him with an air of concern that was, frankly, surprising. Shouldn’t she be used to this by now?

“You know, I didn’t come THAT close to dying this time,” he said, cavalier as ever, a flippant shrug punctuating it. “YOU were the one who almost exploded.”

Oh, that realization didn’t sit well with him.

“I know,” Rachel replied.

The words were so hard to dig up. She knew what she wanted – had – to ask him. But was it out of obligation as a friend, or some twisted excuse to get more attention from him? She wrestled with herself in her mind over the topic. This was why having feelings for someone was horrible. You could never trust your own intentions.

She ended up just staring at XR blankly for a minute and a half, at which point he remarked, “Ooooookay, Rachel’s finally glitched out. And here, I thought that didn’t happen to organics.” In a blink, he was up in her face, escalated to her height so he could wave a hand in her face; “HEL-LOOOOO! STAR COMMAND TO RACHEL SPARKS! IS THERE A SIGN OF INTELLIGENT LIFE IN THERE?”

She snorted, then broke down giggling.

“I’m not sure whether to take that as a good sign or one that you’ve just completely lost it,” XR commented.

“I’m fine,” Rachel said, calming down. “I just…wanted to ask you something. It might not be something you wanna talk about.”

“You grossly underestimate my desire to talk about anything for long periods of time, especially if that ‘anything’ is related to myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Rachel replied. “But seriously, if you don’t wanna answer the question, you don’t have to.”

He reverted to his usual height. “You’re gonna kill me from curiosity, Rach. If your goal here was to finish the job XL started, you’re doing a bang-up job.”

“I was the one he almost blew up, remember?”

XR really, really didn’t like considering the actual implications there. “No, seriously, what’s the big, scary question?”

“Well…”

She had to ask. Even if it was just an excuse to get him to talk to her. Either way, she knew he needed to talk about it. If his case was anything like hers, anyway. And she knew it was.

On impulse, Rachel repositioned, dropping to the floor to sit with legs folded in a pretzel-reminiscent configuration, making her actually have to look up to meet XR’s line of sight. “So. Everybody thought you had ‘mental fatigue.’”

“We’re getting comfortable for this. That should be a red flag.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I at least need to know where you’re going with this.”

“It’s just…” Rachel faltered on the wording, then decided to simply be blunt: “DO you?”

XR flinched. “What, you think I’m some kind of nutcase? Granted, that would fall in line with your brand of affectionate insult – “

“Just hear me out, okay?” Rachel interrupted. “It’s all these things I’ve been noticing. How you straight-up ditched the team after having an air freshener ripped out. That was the first clue. You KNOW I’ve been there. It really looks like if you think you’re not perfect, you might as well not try. And then there’s the whole NOS-4-A2 thing. You’ve been taking him…REALLY hard. And then there was that attack that kicked this whole evaluation off, and…”

“You are reading way, WAY too much into things,” XR replied, waving a hand as though to brush off Rachel’s speculation entirely. “Everyone has problems facing down a legitimate archnemesis. The rest of that is just my lovable quirks.”

“And that’s…fine,” Rachel said unsurely. “It’s just that…I’ve…been a lot of these places. Not all of them, but…sometimes it really looks like you’re dealing with some heavy shit. Like you’re scared. Like you feel you’re losing control. Like you’re anxious.”

“Robots don’t get anxiety disorder,” XR said dismissively. “I am literally programmed not to have anything your armchair diagnosis has led you to believe I have.”

“And I’m totally ready to bring out the apology train for assuming,” Rachel went on. “I just had to ask if…” She swallowed hard. “If you were okay. That’s really all I want to know. Because if you’re not, then I figured you might wa – need to talk about it. And if you do, then…I’m here. But if I’m wrong, then just tell me straight, I’ll shut the fuck up, and I’ll go directly to bed without passing Go or collecting two hundred unibucks.”

XR regarded Rachel with mild suspicion. “And after I answer, you intend to do WHAT with that information, exactly?”

“Nothing,” Rachel told him. “This isn’t like taping me stupid dancing. I’m not gonna broadcast it or use it as blackmail. Like I know you wouldn’t do for anything ACTUALLY important.”

His immediate instinct was to make a wisecrack about that, but that was perhaps the one sacred covenant between them, and he knew better. She was right about that much.

“I’m just…” Her voice was barely able to eke out the next words due to the pounding of her heart. “Worried about you.”

The silence only lasted a few seconds, but they could both feel how heavy it was and what it carried with it.

“Well,” XR said at last. “Don’t be, because there is nothing to worry about.”

Rachel looked up to him, giving him a nod in response. Maybe she’d been wrong. It was entirely likely she’d been projecting.

His smile was broad, his body language solid. “You think it’s gonna take a few near-death experiences to break XR, Robot Ranger? Well, think again, my grammatically correct friend. I’ve been on the force longer than you have, you know.”

By a couple months, she thought, but she didn’t voice this, instead nodding.

“And I’ve seen things,” XR went on confidently. “Things that would reduce your average civilian to tears. But me? I am resilient in all conditions! Mental fatigue? Please. At the end of the day, nothing REALLY gets to me. Only the satisfaction of bad guys stopped, a job well done, and, if the day has gone according to plan, side cash earned from a moonlight venture. Granted, it’s a fifty-fifty shot that that part ever goes according to plan.”

Seventy-thirty, Rachel corrected internally, and not in your favor.

“In conclusion,” XR stated, “you don’t need to get your pretty little head worried about me, because I am completely, totally, one HUNDRED percent – NO I’M NOOOOOOOT!”

The shift had been completely unpredictable; suddenly he was shaking like a leaf, fluid welling up at the bases of his eye-lights. Rachel flinched; it was like he’d been replaced again, like an entirely different robot stood before her, but she knew it was him. And she knew it was exactly as she’d suspected.

“I DON’T WANNA KEEP DEALING WITH THIS!” XR went on, his voice cracking. “I DON’T WANNA LEAVE DUTY, EITHER! I CAN’T HAVE ANYONE THINKING I’M NUTS! BUT EVERY TIME THAT ENERGY-SUCKING VAMPIRE REARS HIS HEAD, OR XL RIPS ME TO PIECES, I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF I’M GONNA MAKE IT OUT THIS TIME! AND I REMEMBER THAT! I THINK ABOUT THAT!”

Rachel didn’t reply. She simply listened. He had to say his piece. He’d had to say it for some time now. Though she had to admit she wasn’t as prepared for this reaction as she’d thought she had been. She had asked for candor, but hadn’t expected things to get quite this candid.

Nor was she expecting it when he leaned right into her, his arms suddenly extending to wrap tightly around her in a desperate search for comfort, for understanding. She froze, her heart the only part of her in motion, and that dangerously so, throbbing so fast it might just explode. Feelings. She cursed them. If she didn’t have those feelings for him, this wouldn’t be so difficult to navigate, and she could just be there for him without pausing or stuttering. She could just –

Well, realizing what a rational Rachel without a crush would do indicated what the real Rachel had to.

She wrapped her own arms around his cylindrical body, pulling him a bit closer. Thinking about how there might not even be any benefit he’d get from that, being unable to sense tactile stimulation and all. Knowing that didn’t matter.

“And you know – YOU KNOW – I’m only the way I am because of an accident!” XR babbled. “I got smashed to smithereens, and when they put me back together, I was me! Nobody knows how that even happened! And every time since then, when I’ve been pounded to bits, I come back as me! But what if I DON’T come back as me next time? What if I actually get deleted? Erased? Eighty-sixed?”

Rachel had never even thought about that before, and she had to admit even she was horrified. No. She couldn’t tell him she was worried about that now on top of his mental state. She had to be the strong one here. It’s what she would want if it were her doing the crying.

“ – and that energy-sucker’s obedience code is STILL in my data banks, and I’ve erased it THREE times since then, but it keeps reprogramming itself, and I can’t get rid of it, I CAN’T GET RID OF IT – “

Her hand gently slid up and down his back. Now, that gesture probably was absolutely useless, but still, any way to let him know, without verbally interrupting, that she was listening, that she was understanding as best she could.

“ – and THIS time, it was almost YOU that bit the dust, and that would’ve been on me! Forever! Knowing I let you get blown up!”

A cold flush ran over Rachel. He’d really been that afraid for her?

“And what kind of ranger lets all of his friends go down like THAT? Listen, I know I’m not the galaxy’s most morally upstanding guy, but – “

Oh. He’d meant the collective “you.” That made more sense.

This went on for a while. What he poured out, she absorbed, and soon she was the one shaking, having to hold all of this knowledge, even if it was only confirmation of what she’d theorized. Then there was silence, the pair of them locked together in the middle of a public hallway, surprisingly not having attracted any outside attention or gotten in the way of passersby. The benefits of waiting until after hours to have a breakdown.

At last, very quietly, XR said, “I needed that,” and Rachel knew it was over. They let go of each other, slowly, and when XR met Rachel’s gaze again, his tears had dried, and he was putting on his best game face.

“And you KNEW I needed that,” he said in an even tone.

“I guessed,” Rachel said. The first words she’d spoken in a while.

“And you’re NEVER going to tell anyone.”

“No,” Rachel affirmed. “This stays between us. Unless you want to take it to anyone else.”

“I don’t need them kicking me out for this,” XR said firmly.

“I don’t want them kicking you out for this,” Rachel agreed. “You’re still doing GREAT. Being a little…um…”

“Insane? Loco? Bananas?” “…I don’t have a more polite word right now. The best I have is ‘messed up.’ But being a little bit that-stuff hasn’t really held you back that much. People get stress like that.”

XR fixed Rachel with a particularly corrective look; “People?”

“And robots,” Rachel said with a nod. “And you do a great job of working around it. I just know that sometimes, when it gets like that…if you don’t find a place to let it out, you’ll just collapse.”

“Well, in that case…” XR suddenly lost a bit more confidence, tapping his index finger points together sheepishly. “I probably owe you one for being the – “

“No. You don’t.” She was stern on that point. “Never. And I don’t wanna hear it brought up again.”

“Right.” A double take, as though he was only just now realizing where he was, and what time it was. “Basically, this never happened.”

“What never happened?”

“Exactly.”

Though Rachel couldn’t be completely selfless. “A thank-you WOULD be nice, though. That’s literally all I want.”

“Well, thank you,” XR said, sounding completely offhand.

Even though Rachel knew he was anything but.

She set about getting to her feet. “Anyway, we both need to get to bed. I’m gonna hate myself in the morning if I don’t go to sleep – “ She checked her watch. “ – thirty minutes ago.”

“As opposed to how you USUALLY are in the mornings?”

“It gets so much worse than you know.”

“Well, that’s not reassuring,” XR told her, completely casual now. “Meanwhile, you know the drill. Don’t need sleep; still love it.”

She nodded. Then said “Goodnight” as though that were in any way sufficient to close out the situation that had just taken place.

Rachel turned to walk away when she heard it:

“Hey. Rach.”

She turned back to see XR regarding her with a look of concern this time; a mirror image of the incident that had begun the conversation.

“It hit me that you figured all this stuff out about ME because you were reminded of YOU,” he pointed out. “How messed up are YOU? For lack of a better term, of course.”

She bristled. “Enough.”

“And who do YOU talk to about it?”

“No one,” she admitted. “But it’s fine. I’m an old pro at this.”

“Oh, reeeeaaaaally.” The skepticism dripped.

“Who am I even gonna talk to?” Rachel asked, half hoping against hope –

“Well, they do say turnabout is fair play,” XR told her. “You COULD unload all your sorrows on your local sympathetic robot.”

As absolutely wonderful as that sounded, Rachel had to call it out for the pipe dream it was. “You don’t really wanna talk about my issues. I know you’re just trying to be a good friend, and probably get me to talk you up about being such a good friend, but you don’t want to. Not really. And that’s fine. You don’t have to. You’re a good friend for other reasons. I’m the hear-you-out-on-your-vents friend. You’re the pull-elaborate-stunt-to-get-me-un-fired friend. It’s fine.”

“Oh, yeah?” XR retorted. “You think I can’t handle your problems? Try me.”

Well, now Rachel realized she’d challenged him to prove his worth, and he wasn’t going to back down. “Another time,” she told him, vowing to herself to never let him know when she was having such troubles. “It’s late o’clock right now, and I just want to go to sleep.” By which she meant push her curfew another hour and a half reading fanfictions and critical analyses.

“Just know I’m here when you need me,” XR stated, all too boastfully. He couldn’t be honest about this, Rachel worried.

“And I’m here when you need me,” she replied, meaning it deeply. “Whenever.”

I’d probably do way too much for you, she added internally. I like you so much. I need you to be okay.

“Now GOODNIGHT,” she asserted as she turned on a heel and briskly strode off to her barrack.

XR watched her practically speeding away, still not really able to move on from what had just happened. He was trusting her with a lot now, but he knew she was exactly the right person for that, regardless of venom swapped between them in the past. He was perhaps just a little more fond of her now – not romantically, not in the way she’d have wanted, but he still had no clue of that.

It was just a very, very good thing XL hadn’t blown her up.

XR now made direct tracks for his storage unit, resolving to forget about all he’d said and all she’d listened to but immediately replaying the conversation in his mind, word-for-word, ten times at least.

#selfship #electric love #xrach

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i-writeandread-blog · 6 years

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Wonderland - Chapter 6

Jared, thank you for an incredible night. You were right, living this fantasy was worth it. I'll never forget how it felt to be in your arms. I'm sorry that it has to be this way. Maybe we will cross paths again, perhaps in another life.

-Ali

I read and reread the note a dozen times. She left sometime in the middle of the night after I was so sure she was mine to keep. Waking up alone wasn't unusual for me, but it didn't lessen the pain that I felt in my chest. I've always had good intuition, but Ali muddled my vision, made me weak and unable to see what was right in front of me.

I crumble the note up and try to forget her. I proceed to go through the motions of a typical day. I shower, brush my teeth, throw on whatever is clean, eat a bowl of Muesli, then go into the studio. We are desperately trying to finish our latest album that I just recently decided should be called America, and our label is pressuring us into an early spring release. I've pushed the date as much as I can and we finally agreed on April.

As soon as I sit down my phone begins ringing. Most of the calls today will be about securing venues in Europe. With the album deadline looming over our head, we are now working out upcoming tour dates to support the release. I look at the phone and decide it is a call that I can skip taking. I think to myself that it is probably a good thing that Ali left. I am much too busy to even think about a relationship. This is the reason I've stayed single for so long.

The phone rings again, this call I have to take and I push my thoughts away. After an hour on the phone tying up loose ends, Tomo walks in ready to work. Shannon won't be coming in today as he has been dealing with severe anxiety and depression lately. Something I have been keeping under wraps and closely watching. We don't need another Chris or Chester. I can't think about that though. Shannon is my best friend, my confidant, and the only person in this world that truly understands me. He'll get through this. He always has.

After awhile Jamie and Stevie show up together laughing. I'm not in the mood to joke around or carry on with them. I ignore their banter and try to keep working on this one lyric that doesn't seem quite right. I do five takes, fucking it up each time.

"Jesus, Jay what's gotten into you?" Jamie asks.

"Nothing!"

"Somethings wrong. What is it man? You can tell us." Stevie adds.

"If you two would stop fucking around and acting like god damned three year olds, maybe we could get this line right and I wouldn't be making an ass of myself!" I yell and then storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

I walk outside and try to gain some semblance of normal when I spot the bottle of water that Ali left on the chair. Damnit, I can't catch a break. I storm back into the house and head upstairs to my bedroom. I lay down on the bed not exactly knowing what the plan is. I need to be working, but I also feel the need to see Ali. I reach for my phone so I can call her, but I can't bring myself to click on the contacts to ring the number. Instead I hover over the message icon.

I click it and shudder. Immediately, I am faced with the picture I took of her last night. There she is as beautiful as ever. Her strawberry blonde hair appearing golden in the candlelight, her flawless skin, her full and amazing breasts. I had deleted the photo. I needed her to see what I saw, so I sent it. But I needed her to trust me, so I deleted it. I completely forgot that it was still sitting in the text messages to her.

I am instantly hard. How could I not be? She is so stunning. The fact is she looked nothing like most of the women I had been with. She wasn't overly thin, her height and weight prohibited her from ever being a model. She was by all accounts just a really beautiful, yet ordinary girl. And that made her all the more sexy. I wanted her. I needed her. I wanted to feel myself inside of her.

Before I even register what I am doing, my hand is on my dick rubbing and stroking it. I stare at her picture and pull my cock out of my pants. I imagine my hand as her hand. Running it up and down the length of my fully engorged cock.

It feels wrong to be masturbating to her picture, but it's all I have left of her. Her note made it clear that it would never happen again. I push that out of my mind, and continue to work my dick in my hand.

I glide effortlessly up and down my shaft, then turn the focus on massaging the head. I tug hard and rub my thumb over it again and again. The sensation has me breathing deep. I stroke myself a few more times and cum all over my hand. I regain my composure realizing that it isn't enough. It isn't what I desire.

Work is going to have to wait. If I can just see Ali, I know I can reason with her. I know I can convince her to give me a chance. I get off the bed and go into the bathroom to clean up. I wash my hands and take my pants off. I throw them in the dirty clothes pile and change.

I run quickly downstairs and enter the studio. Gone is the laughter and joking from earlier. Everyone is busying themselves on one thing or another. I should apologize, but the perfectionist in me tells me I was justified in my outburst from before. No one stops or even looks at me.

"I uhhh." The apology is stuck in my throat.

"I'm... umm, I'm going out. I'll be back later."

I turn on my heels and head out to the garage. I take a look at the truck and I decide on discretion. I call for a car service and patiently wait. 15 minutes later, a black Cadillac with tinted windows pulls up to the gate and I walk to it, hopping in.

"Hey man, I need you to take me to 3400 Cahuenga Blvd."

He nods. He's an older man and he looks like he's been driving people for many years.

"That's the old Hanna Barbara Studios." He says matter of fact.

"What?"

"The address. It was the Hanna Barbara studios. If you're trying to get to Universal Pictures, that's not the right address."

"No, I'm not working on a film. Just take me there."

I'm not interested in small talk. I remember that the studios he is talking of was converted into apartments a few years back. It's exactly where I want to be headed. It's where Ali will be.

We pull up and I see immediately that it is a gated apartment community. The driver rolls the window down and states his purpose of dropping off a client. Thank God the security at the gate is lacks because we are buzzed in. I get out and realize that I don't know what her apartment number is. I don't even know her last name. I pull my phone out and dial.

"Hey, I need you to do me a favor. Go back into the database from camp and pull up the info for anyone there named Alice."

I know my staff is not going to question my request and I wait patiently for them to answer me.

"There was a Mary Alice Carpenter, Alicia Ericsson, Allen Pinelli. That's all I'm seeing."

None of these sound right, albeit the Mary Alice seemed the closest. I sigh.

"Check again. Look at anyone who maybe changed their package." A few moments pass.

"Ohh here ya go, Mr. Leto. It's Alice Foster. She had signed up initially without the extra day. She was on the updated list. I'm so sorry."

I tell her it's fine and hang up. I walk into the lobby and am greeted by a receptionist. She looks up, blushes, and blurts out a fast "oh my God, Jared Leto. What can we do for you?"

I turn on the charm that is needed. "Yes, I have someone who works for me that lives here. I need to pick up some confidential materials that she has for me. I don't know her apartment number, her name is Alice Foster."

I don't like lying but this could easily become gossip fodder otherwise. I'm sure I could actually find something for Alice to do at the Lab if she did ever need a job. Anyway, it isn't outside the realm of possibility, except I've never went to any of my employees houses for documents. They always come to me. Upon thinking, I realize this white lie is more and more unfeasible and I start to question myself. If I backtrack now it could be worse so I just smile and wait.

"Oh, normally I wouldn't give that information out, but I mean... you're Jared Leto, I guess you wouldn't be here to cause trouble. She lives in apartment 34. I can show you where it's at?"

"No that's okay, thanks so much."

I walk away glad to have my celebrity status if only for these types of instances. I find my heart is pounding fast and am unsure of what will happen when she does open the door. I find 34 easily enough and calm myself down. I shake my head and think about how easy it is for me to stand in front of thousands of people with no hint of nerves but yet this one girl has me anxious.

I decide there is no time like the present and knock loudly on the door. I don't hear anything and there is no indication that anyone is inside. I knock again. And again. Just as I was about to give up I hear her say "I'm coming."

As soon as the door opens her eyes are wide and her mouth drops. She clearly is not expecting to see me and her surprise is evident on her face. I don't even think about my next move. I reach my hands to her cheeks and cradle them.

"Jared, what are you..."

I kiss her with all the passion I can might in that moment and she relaxes into it. I push her back out of the threshold and close the door with my foot. It bangs loudly making her jump. I guide her further into the apartment, not breaking the kiss. My tongue is dancing wildly with hers and I can tell she wants me to continue. We reach something that stops our movement. A wall? A couch? I have no idea, it doesn't matter. I lift my shirt over my head and she does the same with hers.

There's no words spoken, we are both seeking the same thing. I press against her which makes her sway. I pull my pants off along with my underwear and then I grab her ass and pick her up. She's naked except for her skirt and panties. With one arm holding her up and the other hand moving her underwear aside I am able to ease my cock into her. With her help she is bouncing up and down at a decent pace, but I tire more rapidly than I want to admit. I back her up against the nearest wall and continue to pound into her.

Her moans mixed with the delicious feeling of having her wrapped around my cock means I won't last long. I slide out of her and lower her down.

"Bend over." She does what I say.

I spread her ass and admire my view before running my fingers over her clit. She cums right away. I slam my cock into her and hear her shriek. I set a fast pace, assaulting her pussy. Within seconds I cum. I pull out of her and find my clothes. I dress while she stands there in shock. I stop and look into her eyes.

I smile widely, shrug, then say "you lived your fantasy, now I want to live mine."

@nikkitasevoli @msroxyblog @lolainblue @lady-grinning-soul-k @burritoverload @branded-with-a-j @snewsome756

#jared leto #jared leto smut #jared leto fic #jared leto fiction #jared leto fan fiction #jared leto fanfics #jared leto fanfic #wonderland chapter 6

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championismyname · 2 years

Text

i don’t cry much now. i’m just so numbed to how things are, which makes sense since i’ve been posting to myself on here for over four years. If anyone were to read all these posts, excluding the very first one they’re all in the same vein. I have many issues, poor coping skills, and no help. I don’t expect help anymore though. i never thought i’d live to this age, was so certain i’d be long dead at this point. maybe i am. last night my six foster kittens all snuggled up to me at once for a nap and i was ecstatic. It was just a temporary high though, and now it’s over i only feel emptier for having enjoyed it. You know, i technically have three cats of my own? I love each of them dearly, and they truly do help keep me more stable, but a stable low is still low. i don’t know how to get my baseline up, and sometimes i regret having my cats at all because someone better could have them, and if i didn’t have them it would be easier to die. i don’t know what comes after life, and the thought of not being able to make sure they’re well loved and happy after i’m gone is terrifying. one of them likes to play fetch, but he only brings things to play with me. would he ever play again? too many questions, too much worry, so i’ll keep slogging a while longer. it is just that i am so very tired, and i feel my back breaking under the weight of sheer existence and expectations and all my failures and dead dreams. i don’t talk to people anymore. can’t force my way through the anxiety to reach out when i know everyones lives are better without me in them. keep thinking about running away to somewhere nobody knows me and hiding for the rest of my hopefully short life. my eyes are drooping but my heart is pounding. should i start prefacing these with dear diary? i guess it doesn’t really matter anyways. i need to go sleep, but it hurts, and i want to paint but i haven’t in so long i don’t even want to touch a brush. i don’t want to stop typing. i want to be in water. sometimes i get so anxious i can’t speak, my throat chokes on the simplest of words and smallest of sentences. I have a lot i’d like to say though. “Thank you!” “I love your hair!” and more small things to strangers, as well as the deeper held in “Do you remember me? I’m still grateful to you for being my friend then.” “You are the root cause of several of my issues, and i will never forgive you for that.” “I’m sorry for disappointing you.” when i was a child, i was a social butterfly. now i’m a moth. I’m alone and the light just makes me dizzy. i heard a noise, i dont want to deal with it. i don’t want to post this, because then someone might see, but obviously i also don’t think anyone will since i typed this all out. i guess that’s why i haven’t stopped writing, cause once i do i’ll have to decide. Post or delete? this is much less vague than most of my other posts. Post or delete? I haven’t vented in so long. Post or delete? i hate making decisions. Post or delete? I shouldn’t have written so much if i want to delete, but i also shouldn’t have written so much if i wanted to post. i’ll regret this later

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theres-no-paradise · 7 years

Text

Sorry not Sorry

Chapter 7

Summary: A random number wakes you up early on a Saturday morning. But it doesn't stop there. The stranger keeps on sending messages, and you have no idea what is happening, when you start to develop feelings for the unknown person.

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader [submit your name: How it works]

Y/N your Name

Y/F your friends name

Word Count: 1726

Chapter 8

Warnings: There will be swearing for sure, lots of sarcasm

A/N: And here we have Chapter 7! Sorry for the delay though, I needed to change some things and wasn't happy with the outcome yesterday. I hope you enjoy this and let me know what you think :)

You both sat in silence for a moment, trying to understand what the words exactly meant which you just said a few minutes ago. ‘He is here’, you repeated these three words in your mind over and over like a mantra, searching through the crowds of people for a face that seemed to be familiar but you knew, that wouldn't happen. You had no idea who Tom was, what his face looked like, nor what colour his hair had. You didn't know anything and it turned you mad as you were looking at each person in the room. While you searched for him, Y/F wanted to know more about it.

“Are you serious? Where? How? Why?”, were the words she threw at you, nearly as hysterical as you felt.

“I don’t know! He texted me that he’s in his favourite Pub which apparently is this one!”, you answered a little fierce, your eyes glaring through the pub in hope to recognize him somehow.

“Oh God. But how do we know who he is?”, Y/F asked the question, you've been trying to answer to yourself for the past few minutes. Maybe a huge blinking light would appear over his head or he’d just stare back at you and you’d know automatically that it was him. You know, just as in all this Soulmate Stories. But honestly, none of that would happen. You didn't know how he looked and he had no idea who you were. So how were you supposed to find out, who of these dozens of men was Tom.

“His friend’s at the restroom … so maybe-”, you remembered from his Text and Y/F continued: “If we see who comes out we can actually check where he’s going!”

It was a good idea, but you started to feel bad about this whole thing. You weren't ready yet to meet the guy you texted with for the past weeks. Not even a bit.

“Urgh, I feel sick. Can we leave?”

“No way! I actually wanna see the guy who’s been stealing your time for so long”, your best friend insisted and gave you a serious look.

“But Y/F … I don't think it's a good idea to stay. This is so … unplanned”, you tried to convince her but she shrugged it off. “And that's the best way to get to know each other. Oh look! Cute guy alert coming from the restroom. You think this is the friend? What's his name again? Haz?”, the name dropped a little too loud and the guy with the light hair and bright blue eyes turned around, catching a glimpse of the girl that was none other than Y/F. Your face was as red as a tomato and you slapped Y/Fs arm lightly. “Stop it!!”, you whisper shouted.

“Sorry”.

Your phone buzzed and caught your attention again. “I can't read it, I’m too anxious. You do it; I really can't because I might throw up”, you said, shoving the device in your best friends direction, so she could take it.

Then Y/F read the message, only loud enough for you to hear.

Not Tom Hardy :(: Cat got your tongue? Where you at? Home?

Y/F waited for your reaction but there was none. You sat there, silent and looking quickly at your hands that were holding the glass of beer in front of you. Then, as you sat there, your face started to change colours from deep red to white as your gaze got stuck on the guy who reacted to the name ‘Haz’. He just sat down on the bench in the far back corner of the Pub, another guy sitting opposite of him, typing something into his phone while the blue-eyed friend said something. He turned in his seat and looked around until he found your table, saying something to his friend, that still stared at his mobile. You gulped as realization started to hit slowly.

Not Tom Hardy :(: Haz is back. I’ll text you later since you seem to be busy.

As Y/F read the second text, she caught your stare and followed suit but what you didn’t expect was for the guy to look up from his phone and stare back at you immediately. Y/F’s eyes widened as she looked over to the table and then she said something, that made you feel even more nauseous: “Hey, isn't that actually the new Spiderman guy?”

“I think I have to vomit.”

“What?”

You stood up and walked quickly to the restrooms. Closing the door behind you, you breathed in and out. It couldn't be. He couldn't be the guy you've been texting for the past month, right? This was not the Tom, was it? Tom Holland? Really?

No, you were overreacting once again and your brain was making up things. You were so stressed out, that you even forgot your phone on the table. How silly.

After refreshing yourself with some water, you walked back to your table where Y/F waiting for you with a confused look on her face. As you were about to sit down, a voice from behind startled you. “Can we talk?” Y/F mouth dropped and her eyes went wide and so did yours, once you turned your face to see to whom the voice that spoke, belonged to.

Since you couldn't get a word out, you just nodded and followed the guy, that you recognized from earlier, outside.

“Hi”

Awkward silence.

“I always imagined to meet you under different circumstances but here we are I guess …”, he said after a few minutes of standing next to you. You didn't know what to answer and you definitely didn't know how to react. Stare at him or the streetlamp that was surrounded by a dozen of moths and other insects, that were drawn to the light? Maybe just observe the people that were walking by? Oh and this advert on the wall looked suddenly very interesting. At some point the silence made you feel very awkward and you saw Tom looking at you, waiting for a return probably.

“I … You … Uh … So- you really are Tom Holland, huh? Who would've guessed …?”, you stuttered and moved around awkwardly. Moments like this made you very nervous, so you had to shift a little around with your feet. “Are you surprised?” “Surprised? Tom, I am shocked. I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack because I feel so … so …” “Exposed?”, he finished your sentence as you were at a loss for words.

“Yes!”

“Yeah that's how I kinda feel, too”, he admitted, still looking at you.

“This is so weird”

“I know right. But hey, at least I know you’re real! And I gotta be honest, you don't look like you're 25”, he laughed. It seemed that the whole situation was a lot easier for him than you. Maybe joking around made him less nervous, who knew.

“Yeah and you look like you're still in High School”, you countered, earning a loud and heartily laugh from the boy next to you.

“Hey, that hurts! But I guess it is really you since you haven't lost your humour”, smiling, he nudged you a little. “I'm still freaked out about this situation though.”

“No need to be. We can just pretend that we’ve known each other for a while.”he came forward with the proposal, but you only laughed nervously.

“Good Joke. You do realize that I'm still about to lose my shit since I'm talking to fucking Spider Man, right?”

“Then just talk to Tom”, was his simple answer.

You stared at him once again, taking everything in you could. His hair, eyes, nose and lips. The shape of his jaw, height and overall stature. You had to admit, he was even cuter in real life than all the movies you've seen him in before. And he seemed to be definitely the nice guy you got to know while texting. Would you give it a shot and keep the conversation going or would you leave him be since he was out of your league? It was Tom Holland after all.

After what felt like a hundred years, Tom’s voice sounded once again: “Wanna go back inside? Its getting a little crowded.” “Yeah, I think I’ll head home anyway. This was a lot to take in tonight”, you admitted and followed Tom back inside with a sunken head. You felt horrible, self - conscious and absolutely not in the mood for more surprises. Tom nodded and headed straight back to the booth were his friend, Haz, was waiting for him. You sat down at the table you’ve occupied earlier together with Y/F. “So? What did you guys talk about?”, she asked curiously. The shock she seemed to have earlier was obviously gone but your heart still beating at a fast rate. “Nothing really. I’m still to overwhelmed right now”, you admitted and finished off your drink. “Do you think, we should join their table?”, your best friend asked, her eyes shiny as brilliants. “I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“I just don't want to bother him any longer tonight and I also feel sick”

“I bet you aren't bothering him”

You didn't say anything for a few more minutes which made Y/F fretful, as she twitched around in her seat, waiting for a reaction on your side. “I'm going home” “Oh cmon, I thought we were going out, clubbing and getting wasted? It's been so long” “No, really, I need some time for myself now. I’m really sorry”, and with that you left a twenty Pound bill on the table and left the Pub without looking one last time to the back. You felt them, though. The stares. The brown eyes that belonged to Tom were watching every move you made, as you walked out of the building.

Not Tom Hardy :(: I hope we don't stop talking

You: Did I ever stop answering you?

Not Tom Hardy :(: Gladly you didn't

You: Does that answer your question?

Not Tom Hardy :(: :)

As you read the last message, you figured it was time to change Tom’s Contact Name. You deleted ‘Not Tom Hardy :(‘ and smiled as the new name appeared on the screen of the chat after changing it.

The Spiderman

TAGLIST: I hope everyone’s appearing here. If your link doesn’t work, let me know and I do my best to keep this updated :) @hollandorks @beardedsteveslut @ilivefortomholland @casualprincess77 @agirlwithpointlessideas @isabellamozarella03 @MENDES-HOLLAND @thiswildfire @wastedheartnat @hollandbaby @moonofmy-life @smileylaurens @random-fandom-lady @heartoftheadventure @blackazkaban @augurydemon @homecomjng @punkass-potato @unfoldingdaydreams @thefriendlyneighborhoodspidey

#sorry not sorry #sns #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #haz osterfield #haz osterfield fanfiction

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soupforthequeen · 7 years

Text

80 Days

I’m going to post this so I can finally delete it from my files and be done with it. I’m going to post it and let my heart be over you for good. Thank you for teaching me just how capable of love I really was. A gift that I will always be thankful for, even if it came in the most painful of wrappings.

Day 1

I woke up today, the fan was going, and the room was dimly lit. Things felt off, but still my body rested with a kind of normalcy. As I wipe the dirt from my eyes I reach over for my phone. Push my finger against the round button and the screen lights up. 8am. It’s only the clock staring back at me. No message notifications. The’ve gotten less and less this week. No usual morning text, like our routine of the past 6 months. A 5 second wave of disappointment washes over me. The demon in my mind whispers to me “It’s happened. He’s finally stopped caring about you”. I shoo it away with the click of my phone. The screen goes black. I close my eyes and roll back over. I try to go back to sleep but my body won’t let me. I make my way to the bathroom. Pee. Flush. And turn on the water to wash my face. Its cold. The hot water doesn’t always work these past few days.

I look up at my tired face in the mirror. A blank stare and messy hair looks back at me. For a moment I’m aware of my own loneliness. Like a familiar book on the nightstand that I forgot was there. I walk out of the bathroom and open the blinds in the bedroom. Aiming to take in any of the brightness the sun might offer. I sit back down on the bed. Whatever I had thought about seems so irrelevant now. I decide to look at social media, scroll past the mindless status’s and highlights of others lives. As most people do. Then I move to music. My normal weekend routine. A few hours pass. 9am. 10am. 11am. My phone lights up. It’s you. I open the notification- hurting for it to finally be a text like the ones you used to send me. “hey” No, good morning. No, hey boo. No, Are you awake babe? My heart sinks into my stomach. Your texts have gotten shorter and shorter. My grip on your love suddenly feels maintained by fingertips. Letting my ego rush to shield me, I reply. “hey” Our conversation is quick and short. Like a transaction devoid of any gain. I could be talking to an acquaintance. “just wake up?” “no. been up” “oh ok” “yea” Each word like a prick on the back of my neck. I can feel it building up in me, like a cough I’ve been trying to stifle. A week of feeling like a nuisance. Words of pure indifference. Finally I ask if you feel like talking today. Trying to give you your space while my mind races. The 3 dots appear. Rolling. Rolling. An enternity builds in only a few seconds. A paragraph comes through. I don’t breathe the entire time reading it. You tell me that you honestly don’t. That you’re unhappy. That you have been feeling like you want to be alone lately. My mind tells me “ok just leave him be, let him have his space” So I tell you I’ll leave you alone. I have to, to keep myself steady. A few moments pass. I don’t expect anything back. Suddenly - “Are you happy with me?” A million questions run through my mind. Why is he asking me this? What does he mean? Does he think I’m angry with him? I’m not angry. I ask “what do you mean?” Again. “Are you happy being with me?” Confusion sweeps over me. Why would he ask me this? What do you want from me? I am trying to do what you’re asking of me. I don’t understand. I fire off sentence after sentence. Trying to explain that I am only doing what you want. That I am not unhappy with us. My mind keeps interrupting. Why is he asking me this? Why is he asking me this? Why? My inner voice tells you that I feel like a nuisance lately. That I’m just trying to do what you’re telling me you want. That I’m just trying to help. What do I do? What did I do? You say you you don’t know what to say. You continue to tell me you are unhappy and you can’t explain why. “I feel like I just want to be alone” My heart drops as I slowly start realize what you mean by “alone” Still I can’t wrap my head around it. I fire off a few more questions until I finally ask - “Are you trying to break up with me on deployment?” Ravens circle in the pit of my stomach. I ask what the switch is that flipped in these past two weeks. My mind rushes to the flowers sent, still alive on my desk. The “I love you’s” that you sent me. The card that read “I miss you” What happened? What’s happening? A lifetime spans until your reply comes through. “I’ve been unhappy for awhile.” “The last two weeks have been the worst.” “I need to be by myself” My brain still refuses to see what you’re saying. And you won’t say it. My heart pounds. My hands shake as I fumble to find the FaceTime button. It rings. It rings. It rings. Finally you answer. Your face appears on the screen. I haven’t seen it in days. I’ve forgotten I look a mess. Your stare is cold and vacant. “Hello?” You sound annoyed. I am anxious, nervous, and tired- “what are you saying?” You’re tone reeks of indifference and irritability. You spout off your unhappiness reasons, your recent doctors visit, but none of them are answers. They only create more questions. I ask again. “so what are you saying?” The signal cuts out. My heart feels like a drum in my chest. I redial. You answer annoyed. I ask again. “call signal lost” I feel like I’m on a ledge barely holding on. I call again. Forgetting to breathe. You answer. The signal steadies. “Hello?” “Hello” “Are you trying to break up with me while you’re on deployment?” “I guess I am” I fall. For what seems like forever. Plummeting into a pit of anger, disbelief, and hollow pain. Pain. Such pain. Cut so deep in places I didn’t even know I had. I try to hold it together. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I feel humiliated for having waited for your return all year. After calling myself yours for almost 3. Like some loyal hound. The stifled cough starts to burst through.

Only its not a cough.

It feels like a wild herd of rhinos, running through my throat. Suddenly I’m sobbing. I can’t stop it. I want to stop it. For that split moment I feel like nothing. Less than nothing. No one has ever made me feel like that. “Is - Is there someone else? You can just tell me the truth.” Fed up with me. Angry. “I fucking work here with 5 other guys all the time.” Only you aren’t just with 5 guys all the time. You’re on a new base with new faces you’ve made a point to never mention. My gut churns like there is so much you’re not telling me. So much you will never tell me. I’m trying to control the sobs. You sit there. Unresponsive, and uncomfortable. You don’t even care. I try to speak in-between the tears but nothing but my ache sounds audible. You cut in sharply. “I have to go.” My heart shatters and a black hole forms where my trust used to live. I immediately hang up as my loneliness blankets the air. All I can do is slump down on the bed and cry. I cry until my eyes hurt. Until my head hurts. Until my throat is horse. Until all thats left is the settling dust from the ravens making their exit. Until all that my body has the energy to do is close my eyes and sleep. How I want to sleep for an eternity. Until this pain inside me turns to stone.

Day 2

14 hours later… I open my eyes. And for a moment I have forgotten. Like maybe it was just a bad dream. Like maybe it’s not real. Then like a tidal wave, it crashes in on me. All I want is to be back asleep. All I want is to not think. To not remember. To never feel again. I dare to look at my phone. Nothing but the clock stares back at me. I want to never speak again. I want to see no one and hear nothing. I pull myself out of bed like a coroner peeling a body from the pavement. Everything feels numb. I turn on the shower at the hottest setting it will go. Strip my clothes away, and step into the heat. The water burns my back and I stand there. And stand there. and stand there. It’s all I can manage to do. Resting my head against the cold tile. I feel sick. The tears come in quick waves. Like the tide coming in. The foam small knives, digging into my sands each time. The water begins to slowly turn cold. I quickly wash my hair and face, and brush my teeth. The faucet squeaks as it turns off. The water stops. The only sound left is the incessant bathroom fan whirring. Somehow I manage to get dressed and brush my hair. I keep arguing with myself to stop. Get it together. I have shit to do. Laundry, bills, work. What am I going to do? I shove my laundry in a basket and bring it out to my car. I had plans to go to my moms to wash it. Plans before any of this. Now I have to tell her. How do I tell her? I drive the hour to her house. The humming of the car soothes me into a numbness. Finally I pull into the driveway. She’s happy to see me. I get out of the car and she asks me whats wrong. Tells me I look tired. I’m trying to hide it. I have a million conversations with myself in a moment. Tell her. Don’t tell her. Tell her. Don’t tell her.

Finally I tell her. And surprisingly it comes out like nothing. She’s confused, doesn’t understand. I don’t know what to tell her. I try to explain. It only makes her ask more questions. I immediately regret leaving my apartment. I think she senses my discomfort and tries to brush it off. “He wasn’t right for you anyway” “You’ll be ok. You’re strong. Much stronger than me.” It doesn’t take more than a few minutes before she’s back to questions. I try to explain to her that I don’t really know. All that’s left is that what’s done is done. I walk inside and put in a load of laundry. For some reason the sound of the washer is comforting. I sit down at the counter as she stands across from me in the kitchen. More questions. My stomach turns.

Day 3

I go to work. Numb like white noise the entire drive in. I manage to tell my dad and my sister. Both are shocked and confused at the news. I don’t know what to say to them. How I wish I knew what to say to them I sit down and reply to a few emails. My mind thinks of you and I cry at my desk. Wiping my tears as soon as they fall. Making sure to keep my head down. No one see’s. More emails.

Lunch comes. But my stomach feels like a vast desert. The thought of eating makes me sick. Instead I talk to my dad, sitting in my car. I cry on the phone with him for the entire hour. I wipe my tears with a crumpled napkin and go back into work. And sit down like nothing is wrong.

5:30 comes. I leave as soon as the clock hits. Tears cascade down my face the entire drive home. Falling to the hum of the tires on the pavement. Finally, home. I open the apartment door. Darkness and silence. I turn on the lights. Still no appetite. All I can do is listen to music. It’s the only thing keeping me from bursting into a million shards. I cry to the lyrics. I cry to the notes played. I cry for hours. Until my sadness suddenly molds itself into anger. Like wet clay on a spinning wheel. An anger that will consume me in flames if I don’t release it. I purge it from my veins. With the catharsis of pen on paper. Once the truth of my pain is made solid in blue ink I begin to pack up your things. Slowly but precisely burying all the reminders of you. For a moment I feel a sense of relief. It only lasts so long. But it’s enough to let me sleep.

Day 4

Sleep stopped being my solace. I jolt awake, heart pounding. The clock reads 3 am. I dreamt about you. Why does my mind do this to me? My body is anxious and hot like I’ve had a nightmare. Why do I have to dream about you? I feel sick to my stomach. I run to the bathroom afraid I might throw up. Except there’s nothing for my stomach to reject. I take a sip of water from the faucet and crawl back to bed. I lay there on my back, eyes peeled open. Staring into the darkness wishing for it to swallow me. I don’t fall back asleep for hours.

Day 5 My dad got angry at you at 3:40am. I woke up heart pounding at 4. I texted you at 4:30. You finally talked to me at 4:38. You became untrustworthy of my dad because of his reactions. I apologized for him. I told you it hurts. I told you I didn’t understand. I told you that it felt like you stopped loving me. Then I wished you the best. You said you didn’t. You said you were sorry. Said you have to figure your life out. That you just can’t handle it. My heart accepted at 5am. My eyes closed at 5:05. And I slept. Day 6 I didnt cry when I woke up today. I didn’t cry in the shower. I didn’t cry on the way to work. I didn’t cry when I sat down at my desk. I ate a piece of toast. You texted me at 9:38am. And again at 9:45. Then 9:48. 9:51. I finally responded. You asked if we could talk. The ravens started to swirl in my stomach. I told you I would let you know. Told you I was just trying to make it through the work week. You said you knew. You said “i’m sorry”. I fought tears welling in my eyes. Only a few got through. I went back to work. I texted you back an hour and 20 minutes later. And told you I could talk when I got out of work. You said you would call me. The ravens swirled in my stomach. I ate at lunch today. Mostly drank water. But I ate a real meal. Halfway through I felt sick. I drank more water. I went back to work. I played the same album 3 times through my headphones. I didnt cry. I was productive. I even laughed at a joke. It was about Trump. You would have found it funny. The ravens slept. I came home from work exhausted. I didnt even bother to turn on the lights in the apartment. I crawled into bed. Fighting sleep. Not knowing when you would call. Sleep. I woke to the phone ringing. “Quatar” I answered. My heart pounding in my ears. “Hello?” “Hello” You asked me how work was. You asked me how I was doing. I didn’t know how to answer you. My heart pounding like an anvil. We talked. 2 hours later, we came to an impasse. Niether one of us knowing what to do or what to say. I said we could let things be for now. Feeling some sense of relief and acceptance. That we will either get through this. Or we will parts ways. My heart is tired, so incredibly tired. You say we will talk again. Then you say that you love me. My heart jumps at the words, but my mind is confused and scoffs at them. My heart replies. “I love you too”. We hang up.

I finally sleep a deep sleep. Day 6 I wake up feeling ok. Still struggling if the truth is the truth. Still struggling with why I have to be a part of your confusion. Why I have to be a part of your separation. Still struggling with the idea that your Facebook says single. Yet you said you loved me last night. Still feeling a deep nudge in my gut like something is left out. But I feel ok. I feel like I have the strength to let you go if I have to. Deep down I’m hoping this will eventually make us stronger instead. Still I sense I can prepare myself to face it. But I’m scared that your choices have ruined me. That I wont be able to stop wondering. That I wont be able to just believe you. That I wont be able to get past how you could just drop me like a worn out coat. I havent cried once today. I got through the work day. I ate breakfast and lunch. I lived life without you today. and I was ok. Day 43 It’s Christmas. We haven’t spoken a word since I found out about her. Since I saw your “wowed reactions” to all her photos. Or her Air Force uniform. I still wonder if you ever truly knew me. Thinking I’d be so stupid. Thinking I could be so easily manipulated. You blocked me and all my family the minute I asked who she was. As if they had anything to do with this. You completely erased every future whisper of me the second I begged for honesty. When I stated she was the true reason for your sudden change. Since I decided I deserved better than this. That I gave you better than this. Your deafening silence said all that needed to be heard. I had stopped writing about you until today. Christmas night I was alone. And I was happy.

Day 80 We never made it through this. Even though you promised me we would. The last words I ever spoke aloud to you “I love you”.

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nancygduarteus · 5 years

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Grieving the Future I Imagined for My Daughter

Just after midnight, I felt the first unmistakable contraction. I still had two days until my due date, but I knew it was time to get to the hospital. A bulldozer inside my uterus revved its engine, shifted into high gear, and rammed a baby out into the world less than two hours later. Her name would be Isobel, Izzy for short.

She weighed five pounds, three ounces, below the threshold for “normal.” This was surprising—I’d had an uneventful pregnancy, and in one of my last prenatal checkups, my obstetrician predicted that she’d weigh about seven pounds.

Did the doctor miscalculate my due date? I wondered. Should I have taken more prenatal vitamins? Eaten better, worked less?

There would be no explanation, at least not then. We moved upstairs into a recovery room with a view of the summer sun rising behind the Oakland, California, hills. In those early-morning hours, I cradled Izzy’s warm, powdery body and nestled into a feeling that everything was fine.

Five weeks later my father, a retired pediatrician, put a stethoscope to Izzy’s chest and heard a hissing noise. An echocardiogram two days after that revealed a small hole in the membrane dividing the lower chambers of her heart, causing oxygenated blood to leak back into her lungs. The cardiologist explained that her heart was working harder than it needed to, burning extra calories and keeping her small.

Odds were that over the next few months, new tissue would grow and the hole would “spontaneously” close. Considering how much of human development happens on its own, for a heart to correct itself in this way seemed perfectly plausible. I told myself that’s what would happen. At Christmas and New Year’s Eve gatherings with family and friends, that’s what I told them, too.

But my hope was no match for the eventual and unanimous recommendation from a panel of two dozen cardiologists: open-heart surgery, and soon. A force I could not see was starting to take over.

As Izzy’s surgery date neared, I could feel the panic slowly and steadily growing inside me. I retreated into what could be known: A cardiopulmonary-bypass machine would bring her body to a sub-hypothermic temperature, allowing the heart to stop beating. The surgeon would saw through the sternum, shave a tiny piece of tissue off the heart’s outer membrane, and use it to patch the hole. A resident would sew her back up.

Two conversations helped convince me that after the surgery, Izzy would grow up healthy and things for our family would return to normal. The first was with a couple whose son had the same procedure with the same surgeon. They apologized for having to mute the phone for short stretches to temper their 5-year-old’s rambunctiousness, something I found reassuring.

The second was an email exchange with a woman who underwent a valve replacement in the 1970s, when open-heart surgery on babies was still relatively uncommon. “I was a three-season athlete in high school,” she wrote, “and did all the partying that everyone else did. The only impact on me was a scar that healed well and frankly, made me feel like a bit of a badass.”

Less than 24 hours after doctors had wheeled Izzy into the operating room for surgery, she was guzzling down bottles of high-calorie formula. In 72 hours, her rosiness returned; eight days later, we left the hospital and arrived home to find the first buds on our magnolia tree. Within a few weeks, Izzy had gained enough weight to make her growth-chart debut at the 0.2 percentile. Witnessing her scar heal was like watching a time-lapse movie, only in real time.

I started the process of reeling our ship back to shore—we’d be there soon, I thought. My parents booked their flight back to the East Coast, and my husband started a new job earlier than planned. Disillusioned by my last tech job, I was determined to make a fresh start somewhere else. I could envision the end of Izzy’s recovery period, the loving nanny I’d finally hire, a more deliberate career.

But, no. Just as we’d caught sight of land, we were again suddenly unmoored, pushed by unforgiving hands back out into the dark, open sea.

The cardiologist called on an unseasonably warm afternoon, a Tuesday last April.

Sure, I have a few minutes.

I glanced at Izzy, eight months old, wearing only a diaper. The edges of the five-inch incision line down the middle of her chest were still red and puckered from the suture removal a few days earlier. Her scar served as a visual cue that, surely, the worst was behind us.

The call itself was not a shock. One week before surgery, a neurologist had examined Izzy and noticed abnormalities in her facial features so subtle that I, her mother, could barely see them myself—slightly wide-set eyes, straight eyebrows, a thin upper lip, a tiny hole on the upper ridge of her ear that I’d mistaken for a mole. Genetic testing would be the sensible next step, the neurologist had said. He’d ordered seven vials of Izzy’s blood to be drawn in the OR.

The cardiologist began with a “Well …” followed by a sigh. Then his voice assumed the objectivity of a radio traffic reporter describing a seven-car wreck, and he rattled off the details he knew.

I absorbed only the keywords—“abnormal result … syndrome … genetic material missing …”—and scribbled “1p36” on the back of a stray Home Depot receipt. Anxious for more information, I ended the call and grabbed my laptop.

I steadied my fingers and clicked through to an online forum where parents had celebrated their child’s first step at 3, 4, or 8 years old. They compared devices to help nonverbal children communicate and shared work-arounds to Keppra, an anti-seizure medication that can cause kids to bite themselves or hallucinate.

As I skimmed their posts, my heart pounded and I started to hyperventilate. Air was stuck in my throat; I screamed to let it out, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter so I could scream louder. I felt as if I was suffocating in a room filled with invisible pillows, and the only thing that could cut through it was noise in the form of very loud, guttural, incomprehensible screaming. I slammed a door leading into the bedroom and pounded the walls. I remember thinking, I don’t give a shit if the neighbors hear.

The internet confirmed a truth that up until that moment lay beyond the boundaries of what I’d ever imagined possible for my child’s life or my own. As a mental warm-up before her birth, I’d imagined Izzy in painful situations that were both better (a broken arm, pneumonia, being bullied) and far worse (my death, or hers). I hadn’t imagined a scenario in which she might not walk or talk, or where she’d live with debilitating seizures. I hadn’t imagined that I might be uncertain whether she recognizes me. I hadn’t imagined caring for her for the rest of my life. I now had two children, but was only just beginning to understand what it means to be a parent.

The next day, my husband left early for his third day of work at his new job. In an orientation session about employee volunteering, while the presenter rolled a video about the Make-A-Wish Foundation, he sat in the back row and wept. Meanwhile, after a long, sleepless night, my son watched cartoons as I crawled through Izzy’s morning routine, taking breaks to ice my swollen eyelids. I finally got everyone dressed and dropped him off at preschool a few hours late without the words to explain why.

The day after that, Izzy and I had a geneticist appointment at the medical campus five blocks away. I’d been here before. Almost one year earlier, in my second trimester, I’d sat through the routine prenatal screening for birth defects and Down syndrome. The results had been normal.

The geneticist came in to greet me and Izzy. As I took in her easy, welcoming smile, a wave of relief washed over me. The test was wrong, and this is all a terrible mistake!

This was a delusion. She led us into an examination room, where we were joined by a younger, more clinical assistant. I called my husband and put him on speakerphone—we’d agreed before the appointment that he didn’t need to be there in person, a sign that at some level we had not yet fully grasped the magnitude of Izzy’s diagnosis.

The geneticist told us that my daughter has “the most common of rare syndromes diagnosed after birth.” Her tone remained gentle, but unequivocal.

“The size of her genetic deletion is clinically significant.”

Go on.

“It’s hard to say what that means in terms of how the syndrome will present.”

I recounted some of what the internet had told me. Will she walk? Talk? Hear? Seize? See?

“We just have to wait and see.”

We reviewed three single-spaced pages of test results that looked as though they had come out of a dot-matrix printer. The geneticist was quick to clarify that “terminal deletion” referred to the physical location of Izzy’s 133 missing genes (that is, the terminus of the “p” arm of chromosome 1) and did not suggest that the syndrome itself leads to death, although its complications sometimes can. A second, more user-friendly handout summarized the syndrome’s most common “features” in a tidy, bullet-pointed list: seizures, deafness, blindness, low muscle tone, feeding issues, digestive disorders, heart disease, heart defects, kidney disease, intellectual disability, and behavior problems.

I fixated on the likelihood that Izzy would be nonverbal, feeling gutted by the possibility that she might not talk or even develop the coordination to sign. How would she express herself? How would I know her?

My husband left the appointment by hanging up. The geneticist briefly examined Izzy’s “curly” toes, noting it as a common and typically benign congenital anomaly—connected to her syndrome, perhaps, but no one could know for sure.

I packed up our things and made our way home. The only certainty I left with was that I had a lot more to worry about than a couple of curly toes.

Books, the internet, and friends said I would go through a grieving period. But I am still not entirely sure what I am grieving.

I didn’t lose a child; now a year post-op, Izzy is here and very much alive. She shakes her head vigorously when she’s happy, and grunts indignantly when she’s not. She has gobs of voluminous hair that looks as if it’s been blown out at a salon—a common trait for “1pers,” who bear a strong physical resemblance to one another; many don’t look like their parents. But unlike most “typical” 21-month-old toddlers, she cannot yet sit up by herself (let alone toddle), grab a spoon, or use any words to communicate. A few weeks ago, she started to regularly say “aaaah,” one of the vowel sounds that are the first forms of speech—a milestone that most babies hit at four to five months old.

I spent the months following Izzy’s diagnosis deeply confused about how I should feel. Her heart defect had been an isolated biological issue, and the surgery was a relatively common procedure. The hole is gone. A genetic syndrome is different—uncontained and unfixable. Every cell in Izzy’s body lacks some data, and there’s no way those data can be recovered.

During sleepless nights, I anchored my grief in the heft of Far From the Tree, Andrew Solomon’s profound, 1,000-page book about the challenges parents face in accepting differences in their children. “We depend on the guarantee in our children’s faces that we will not die,” Solomon writes. “Children whose defining quality annihilates that fantasy of immortality are a particular insult; we must love them for themselves, and not for the best of ourselves in them, and that is a great deal harder to do.” The book offered me a crucial mooring. Powerless to change my circumstances, I could at least change my psychology.

I am learning that grief can be complicated and ambiguous—that we hold ideas and expectations of ourselves and loved ones so tightly that we have difficulty seeing them from any distance, and that it’s even harder to let them go.

I can describe what’s gone. I’ve lost the buoyancy I gained from the conversation with the parents of the rambunctious 5-year-old boy. I no longer feel the relief, even joy, of envisioning Izzy as an athletic, partying, badass teenager.

I lost any lightheartedness I had left as the 40-year-old mother of two young children. I lost my faith in statistics. A 99.98 percent chance of something not happening is also a .02 percent chance that it will.

I lost the ability to enjoy the scene of my two kids together without feeling guilty that I’d sold my son short. Instead, it’s a reminder of the responsibility I feel to gently acculturate him to the strange, politicized world of disability rights and rare diseases, and to breed empathy and a respect of difference in him above all else.

I lost the identity, earnings, and lifestyle that came with having an upward career trajectory and being an equal breadwinner to my husband. We now have the sort of traditional arrangement I never thought I’d be in: He makes all the money, and I do most of the emotional, logistical, and physical labor of child-rearing. For Izzy, this includes frequent doctor appointments, three therapy sessions a week, and a lot of open-ended research and worrying.

This laundry list of dreams lost has positive value, Solomon maintains. “While optimism can propel day-to-day life forward, realism allows parents to regain a feeling of control over what is happening and to come to see their trauma as smaller than it first seemed.”

Without crumbly, unreliable hope, what else is there? There’s my child, no less alive or human than any other, and with abilities and inabilities much different than I imagined. And realism, which I’ll use to reassemble a positive, long-term picture of what her life could be. Izzy’s diagnosis wiped my canvas clean. But while the expanse of whiteness is unsettling, it is also temporary. Soon there will be lines, contours, shading—a new and beautiful composition. I will not accept less.

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2019/04/1p36-genetic-disorder-reshaping-my-family/586717/?utm_source=feed

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ionecoffman · 5 years

Text

Grieving the Future I Imagined for My Daughter

Did the doctor miscalculate my due date? I wondered. Should I have taken more prenatal vitamins? Eaten better, worked less?

But my hope was no match for the eventual and unanimous recommendation from a panel of two dozen cardiologists: open-heart surgery, and soon. A force I could not see was starting to take over.

But, no. Just as we’d caught sight of land, we were again suddenly unmoored, pushed by unforgiving hands back out into the dark, open sea.

The cardiologist called on an unseasonably warm afternoon, a Tuesday last April.

Sure, I have a few minutes.

The geneticist came in to greet me and Izzy. As I took in her easy, welcoming smile, a wave of relief washed over me. The test was wrong, and this is all a terrible mistake!

The geneticist told us that my daughter has “the most common of rare syndromes diagnosed after birth.” Her tone remained gentle, but unequivocal.

“The size of her genetic deletion is clinically significant.”

Go on.

“It’s hard to say what that means in terms of how the syndrome will present.”

I recounted some of what the internet had told me. Will she walk? Talk? Hear? Seize? See?

“We just have to wait and see.”

I packed up our things and made our way home. The only certainty I left with was that I had a lot more to worry about than a couple of curly toes.

Books, the internet, and friends said I would go through a grieving period. But I am still not entirely sure what I am grieving.

Article source here:The Atlantic

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dreams-of-something-bigger · 7 years

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Long time

I don’t post on here like ever anymore, so I have about 3 years of shit to write about on here, you’re welcome. So sit down, buckle up, because this is about to be one hell of a ride. (I’m putting the cut because I don’t want to have a 5 page essay just sitting for you to try to scroll through.)

So, nearly 3 years ago to the day I started talking to someone who I hadn’t spoken to in a couple years. He asked me out and thus began a very tumultuous relationship.

Things started out good, as every relationship does. He was going through a hard time when we first started seeing each other, some things that I’d been through and some that I hadn’t. I’m naturally a fixer so I wanted to help him through it all. We were basically inseparable, and at 17 and 18 we were both kids. I saw him at school, we hung out all the time after school, we basically became one person. I thought it was so romantic to be losing myself in him.

We moved fast. I was a virgin, but we didn’t take it slow at all. Two days into dating I gave my first blow job. Two weeks into dating I lost it to him. I thought it was the right time, because who knew when we would have the opportunity again, I mean my whole family was out of town. It wasn’t the right time, I still remember vividly how bad it hurt and saying that I wasn’t sure I was really ready and him insisting that I just needed to deal with the pain for a little and it would be better.... That was the first red flag I ignored.

Time went on, month by month I was spending more and more money on him. He didn’t have a job, though, so it was fine. He definitely needed me to buy him all those knives and everything else, right?

He finally got a job when I lost mine, in fact it was great because we were working at the same place. We were pretty much together all the time aside from sleeping and maybe one day a week. In my mind at the time it was sweet, romantic, even. I never thought twice about how I didn’t see my friends anymore, and pretty much everything was monopolized by him. When we went out I still paid, even though he had money. Because he drove to my house or whatever the excuse of the day was, I needed to pay for the date.

He also was very, very against me talking to or being around any boys. I mean to an extreme level. I made friends with a Youtuber in Illinois and my ex was so uncomfortable with me following him on twitter that I had to block him. He had all the passwords to my social media so that he could check if I was talking to any other guys. I had to delete numbers. He accused my of cheating on him with my boss who was in his 40s and hitting on me. I’d told him hoping he’d make me feel protected, instead I was begging for forgiveness over someone else’s disgusting actions. I had to send him Snapchats of where ever I was so he could see who I was with and where I was. I had location on on my phone so he could see where I was at all times. I had to be on the spot about communication, text back fast. I was always on the damn phone.

About a year and a half into our relationship I managed to confront him about feeling emotionally abused. I’d had enough of getting accused of seeing other guys and told him I was done, I couldn’t do it anymore. He, in turn, drove all the way to my college town and we sat in the car for I can’t even remember how long talking about it. It came to the conclusion that he was going to change a couple things, but I was still the one apologizing. (spoiler alert: nothing changed).

I became incredibly emotionally unstable. My depression was out of control. I was isolated from everyone. I was lying all the time to my family. I gained probably 60 pounds from emotionally eating. I didn’t go to my college classes. When we were together I had no sex drive, and my ‘no’ just caused a fight. I wasn’t allowed to be myself.

The summer between my freshman year and sophomore year of college I was still seeing him all the time. Tension was high, though, my parents hated him, my mom especially because she could see through the bullshit. He asked me to take the blows, though, and make it my fault. That helped him none, his commitment was still lacking and that made my parents angrier.

He followed me up to school, moving in with friends. I never asked him to, I told him not to, even, but he wanted to. When we fought this was his biggest stab at me, that he completely uprooted his life for me.

In May 2017 I moved back home for the Summer. Our communication petered out, we became awkward when we saw each other, and finally in mid-June shit hit the fan. I told him that I would only be able to go on the camping trip we were planning for a couple days as opposed to the whole week, because my work needed me. He was furious, his response was ‘it’s me or the job’ and I told him it was the job. He hung up. And called back. And cried and yelled and fought. But that was it for me. I agreed to a break for the week. At the end of the week he decided that he couldn’t forgive me, we needed to be done.

I had developed a fast and fleeting crush on one of my co-counselors. my ex saw the texts between one of my best friends and I about him. That was what changed it for him. I mean I certainly wasn’t necessarily in the right with a lot of what was said about how I felt, and a lot of that was highly exaggerated, but I was never unfaithful. I can say that.

After all that ended I started rebuilding friendships. I was lucky enough to have supportive co workers as friends to lean on at first, as well as friends who understood everything I had been going through and were willing to be there for me. I also had my family there to support me through it, and I feel incredibly lucky for that.

I started online dating the day we officially ended and had a moment that I’m definitely not proud of, but I wouldn’t change. I met up that same night with a guy who was passing through town on his way to school in another state. We got coffee and talked for hours. Drove around and talked more. He kissed me, I kissed back, we went to his hotel. I ended up spending the night. He was wonderful, very different from my ex, and incredibly sweet. The next morning I went home, he left for school. I had another guy over to my house (my family was on vacation), he was nice enough, very quiet. He said he would text me and he never did. I wasn't sure how I felt about it, it kind of hurt. I’d had a connection with the first guy I hooked up with, in fact we still talk. I think he’s wonderful. The second I had no connection with, it was decent sex, but it was disappointing to be hit and quit like that.

That is what I credit with the start of my sleeping with too many guys. In the two and a half months between my ex and I breaking up I have slept with 13 different men. I have been taken advantage of when I was drunk. I’ve made some mistakes. I’ve had my heart broken by guys I thought wanted to be serious but turned out to mostly want sex. But in a way it has kind of helped me learn to love myself more. I’ve learned to take care of myself, I’m not drinking any more, and I figured out that I’m not the girl that wants to sleep around like that. I have absolutely no issues with sleeping around and I don’t regret it. Everything in the past is what has lead me to where I am now.

July 11th I messaged a guy on OK Cupid, he was super cute, older than me, his bio was really nice, and I really wanted to get to know him. He also had a child. But I mean when you’re talking in terms of guys 10 years older than you, a lot of them have children. (Just as a note, 10 years older isn’t normally my go to age, I usually stick with 5/6 but he was obviously an outlier) He messaged back later that night and thus began us talking daily. He was so wonderful, so different, and so easy to talk to. He asked me on a date for the 16th, dinner and a movie. He narrowed it down to 2 movies and had me choose from there and made the dinner plans, which was incredible to me because I’m so indecisive and hate making all the choices.

Our date went pretty perfectly, aside from him accidentally leaving his phone at the restaurant (he figured that out halfway through the movie, at that point the restaurant was closed) he held my hand through the whole movie. When we got out it was raining, we walked to his car and he drove me to the garage I parked mine at. He followed me out and that’s when we kissed. He put his hand on my waist and there were fireworks. I still get butterflies thinking about it. I’ve never kissed anyone like that before.

We saw each other again that Thursday, we met at a hookah/pool lounge and I completely embarrassed myself with how bad I was at pool and had hookah for the first time. It was a great date, just getting to hang out and talk with him.

That weekend his daughter came back from visiting her mom, so we didn’t see each other. The next weekend, though, was a big one. I met his daughter. She’s 8 about to be 9 and the sweetest thing ever. We spent the whole day at the water park, it was really lovely.

The next weekend was another one where we were unable to meet up. But my parents were out of town this weekend, so Thursday I invited him for a sleepover on Friday. Friday morning his daughter asked if she could come, and I couldn’t say no, so I had both of them over Friday. We watched a movie, sent her to bed, stayed up late and eventually went to bed ourselves. And he was amazing, chemistry definitely carried over. That being said, I was a huge ball of anxiety and kept both of us up all night talking because when I’m anxious I can’t seem to shut up. He understood, thankfully. We got about 3 hours of sleep, woke up early, and hung out in bed. His daughter came and hung out with us a bit later, she showed me how she redesigned her doll’s clothes, then we all started getting up and around. We went to breakfast, walked around the mall, then headed home for a nap. They left around 8:30 that night.

One might think I’d be more cautious with my heart after being in an abusive relationship for over two and a half years. Yet, here I am falling heart first at the speed of light into this man. He is so incredible, he makes me so happy, and he’s made it clear his intentions the whole time. He respect my body, my time, my mind, and my heart. He doesn’t mind that I live 2 hours away for most of the year. He likes me in a completely new way. We’ve taken it slow. All of this is incredible.

TLDR; I spent 2.5+ years in an emotionally abusive relationship that was hell. I got out of it. Now I’ve found a wonderful man that treats me right. I’m healthier, my friendships and family relationships are great now, and I’m so genuinely happy with life in a way I haven’t been in my entire life until now. It gets better.

#tmi #tw emotional abuse #tw emotional manipulation #tw sex #relationships #life #personal #update #cute boys #heavy shit #break up #dating

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