.

Tag vent, needed to get it out. TW suicide/SH/mental health/inaccessible care

can i request an angsty sbi fic where sibling reader lost two lives saving others (maybe tubbo at the festival?) and they see everything falling apart (techno and phil destroying everything, wilbur dead and tommy focused on the disks) and they pretend to be ok while their mental health gets worse and worse until they decide to end it, and people only realise they weren't okay after the death message pops up and their reactions to seeing it? if not thats completely fine, ik its pretty heavy

Broken

GN

Pairings: none

Characters included: Wilbur, Tommy, Philza, Tubbo, Technoblade

Warnings: depression, suicide (falling, non descriptive), angst

Series: a request!

Summary: Y/N just wanted their home back. They just wanted to live a peaceful life but instead all their hopes and dreams got ripped apart by the people they loved the most.

Words count: 3647

Authors Note: Honestly I could have shortened it quite a bit but here we are, it’s way longer than I wanted but I hope you guys enjoy this. I’m sorry if this went kind off of rails to what you might have envisioned. Also I hope that you guys know that you are loved and appreciated. I appreciate you for taking the time to read my stuff :] Here is m favorite video to cheer me up some times, hope it can cheer you up as well!

I’m also curious what your guys thoughts and opinion are on this or my writing in general! Can’t get better without feedback :]

Y/N loved their family.

They were all pretty chaotic but so was Y/N, following their siblings into trouble ignoring any possible consequences.

So when Wilbur proclaimed he would create an independent Nation inside the SMP that was owned by Dream himself, you bet that Y/N was standing right beside him.

When Wilbur would struggle with his tasks or was weighed down by doubts they would swoop right in and do their best to support him. Every time Wilbur would say “I don’t know what I would do without you sometimes.” While Y/N didn’t do it for praise but out of love for him it was still nice knowing that he appreciated them and that he took note of their work.

Tommy wasn’t really for heartfelt words but he too expressed in his own way how much he appreciated them being around. Most of his schemes wouldn’t have even happened without Y/N’s help after all. As a way to say thanks he would let them just take stuff fout his chets or when he heard they needed a specific resource he would wander out and get it for them. Of course saying something on the lines of “I was out there anyhow, so I brought some with me. It was on the way.” Y/N could read between the lines though. They grew up with him after all.

Y/N put so much energy into L’Manberg they couldn’t help but be in love with this little nation. They would do everything to protect their home.

When Y/N lost their first life it was together with their siblings protecting their nephew Fundy.

The Dream Team suddenly retreated after another battle against L’Manberg. While the group was celebrating what they thought was their first victory in ages, Eret appeared. She told the group of a small bunker with more resources.

Still celebrating Wilbur, Y/N, Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy made their way towards the bunker. The bunker that would later go down into history as “The Final Control Room.”

Inside they all looked at the labeled chests only to notice that they were empty. Eret then pressed a button which opened up secret walls with the Dream Team standing behind. She herself got into safety as Dream and his friends merciless attacked the L’Manberg faction.

As soon as Y/N understood what was happening they did their best to form a wall between the attackers and Fundy. Slowly pushing him out of the room while they made sure to block the exit, giving the Fox Hybrid enough time to run away.

When they woke up again it was inside their home. In L’Manberg. Sore from the respawning.

Once they did respawn though it didn’t take long for Fundy to barge into their room and throw himself against them, thanking them. Wilbur was close by, looking worse for wear as well but incredible thankful nonetheless.

After that and a few battles more Tommy challenged Dream to a duel in order to secure independence. He lost so instead he bartered his music discs for freedom.

After Tommy respawned a second time Y/N made sure to spent most of their time hovering around him. Making sure he was doing alright.

But with that L’Manberg was independent and it was Y/N’s time to shine. Sure, they worked hard on strengthening the infrastructure of the nation but now, maybe even because of that, they basically coordinated all the new builds.

Shops, homes and other things were being build with them overseeing it. Meanwhile Wilbur and Tommy took care of the political part only to come to the conclusion that they had to have a proper election.

At first it started innocently enough as well. New political parties were made that begun advertising themselves. Funny enough they would always come to Y/N asking them where they could hang up their posters. It was then that Y/N realized that the people saw them as some sort of authority, even asking them if they wanted to start their own campaign. They politely declined, saying they worked best as a support role.

Then Schlatt entered the stage and everything got thrown upside down.

In the end he managed to become the next president via a coalition and his first declaration as the president, or emperor as he called himself, was to exile Tommy and Wilbur.

As they ran for their life Y/N didn’t hesitate to follow. It hurt them so much to leave L’Manberg, their fruit and labor, behind. This only got worse once they realized that Tubbo was basically left alone back at the city under Schlatt’s rule.

Then Pogtopia got established.

Tommy, Wilbur and Y/N did their best to get a proper foothold again. Gathering resources and planning for ways to get their home back. And to accomplish this they soon called in the oldest sibling of the group, Technoblade.

Techno has been away for the longest time now. He moved out early to travel the world and apparently train himself. Somehow Tommy found a way to get a message to him, so he made his way towards Pogtopia.

He wasn’t big on words or emotions but as soon as he arrived he let Y/N hug him.

“This is a onetime deal, Y/N.”

With Techno they finally felt like they had a chance. Y/N could maybe return home someday. Back when they were children Techno always looked out for them so to have him back Y/N felt infinitely safer.

All the while Wilbur showed more and more signs that his mental health was rapidly declining. Y/N did their best trying to cheer him up but there was only so much they could do. Especially since they themself were struggling.

L’Manberg was their everything and now it was under the iron rule of Schlatt. They had to watch as Schlatt walked through the nation, ripping apart builds that they commissioned or even built themself. Every time he did something like that it felt like another stab wound directly into their heart.

Then the festival happened where Y/N lost their second life protecting Tubbo.

Schlatt wanted to apparently celebrate democracy and his amazing rule. Tommy and Wilbur weren’t allowed to join while Techno and Y/N received an invitation.

Y/N was very wary of that. They learned from Tubbo that Schlatt apparently was pretty interested in bringing them over to Manberg since a lot of the residents trusted them and saw them more as an authority than Schlatt himself, so bringing them over would probably also bring a lot of the residents around to his rule.

On the day of the festival Y/N made sure to stay close to Techno. Holding on to his arm and basically hiding behind him, not feeling up to talk with all the people in Manberg.

The people were happy to see them but Y/N was tired. They haven’t slept properly ever since the exile, too many thoughts that kept them awake.

Then the speeches started.

Honestly Y/N wasn’t really listening, their attention purely on a broken old building. It used to be the place where Y/N and the other residents would meet up and map out their plans for new builds. Discussing and even sometimes arguing on what materials should be used and where to get them. Now it was empty.

Their attention got pulled back towards what was actually happening once Tubbo begun speaking. It was a nice little speech Y/N had to admit.

Just as Tubbo was about to leave, Schlatt moved back in. Holding him in place and pushing him in something that Y/N had to describe as a cage with the help of Quackity.

“Techno, buddy. Come up here for a sec.”

Technoblade tensed up but still moved towards the stage. There Schlatt uttered the words that pulled the rug out from beneath Y/N once again.

“Kill him Techno. He is a traitor.”

“Don’t you dare!” Y/N yelled out, making their way towards the stage as well.

Y/N knew Techno couldn’t deal well with social pressure, especially when there were about ten people or more behind him that could attack him at any point.

Tubbo looked so scared as he pressed himself against the wall. There was no escape for him.

When Techno moved his crossbow up, aiming directly at Tubbo, Y/N let out another scream. Urging him to stop.

Explosions. Colorful explosions filled the place.

“Y/N!” it was Tubbo screaming their name out.

Just as Techno pressed the trigger Y/N managed to jump in front, the rockets hitting them instead of Tubbo.

Their older brother looked absolutely mortified “Y/N? Wha- What? Why? How?” staring at Y/N’s lifeless body that slowly dissolved. They were slowly respawning but seeing his siblings body was enough to send him in some sort of frenzy.

Filled with bloodlust he aimed his crossbow towards Schlatt and Quackity. Killing them with one press of the trigger only to turn around and aim his crossbow towards the people.

As this happened Tommy enderpearled over, screaming at Techno.

He helped Tubbo out of the cage who was still in a state of shock. He only saw Y/N for a second and the next they were laying on the ground in their own blood.

Y/N heard the details later after they respawned. Tommy had apparently been incredibly angry at Techno, even attacking him. Wilbur then offered that the two deal with their argument via a fistfight inside a pit.

Normally Y/N would have yelled at Wilbur for that. Would have told him that this was his dumbest idea yet but they were too shook from what had happened to them.

Technoblade always spelled safety to them but he killed them. Sure, he meant to kill Tubbo but that didn’t really make it any better. They gave him an out, they would have helped fighting off all these people so they could flee.

The next time they saw Techno they flinched every time he got too close to them and yet they still put on a smile “Never, do this again.”

Techno only nodded.

After this downward slope the momentum didn’t seem to stop for them. Wilbur dropped even more and more off. Falling victim to his paranoia. Y/N tried their best convincing him to not blow up Manberg, that they will fight to gain it back. At this point trying to gain back their L’Manberg was the only thing they could hold on to.

Though all that work was for nothing.

The war to take back L’Manberg went way differently than they all had imagined. Y/N fought with a viciousness most didn’t think they had it in them. This was the day for them to finally regain what they had wished for, for the longest time now.

Everything came to a halt once Dream surrendered. He showed them Schlatt who was sitting in the Carmavan. Drunk off his mind he yelled and screamed at people only to die of a heart attack which meant that the Pogtopia faction won.

The people begun cheering, they had their home back! They were free! Y/N was probably the loudest by far. It felt like a huge weight was lifted from their shoulders. All this hardship and they could finally return to working with the others and rebuild L’Manberg. Return it to its former glory.

Tubbo got appointed President and Y/N was happy with it. Tubbo had an eye for building and was a good person, with him they were sure they could do some amazing things.

Apparently Techno thought otherwise. Instead he pulled Soulsand out, holding onto the Wither skulls as a visible threat.

Y/N had somewhat forgiven Techno for what had happened. It was a stressful situation and they acknowledged it but seeing him there, threatening to kill all of them? That they knew they couldn’t forgive quite so easy. Especially since he made some sound points but it was their L’Manberg. The people didn’t like living under Schlatt’s rule, this wasn’t something that could be described simply as a coup. Technically he was right but only technically. There were so many things that came into play that could let you argue over that but Techno would have none of it. Yelling something about Tommy only wanting to be a hero.

When the first explosions rang Y/N thought it came from a Wither but Techno was still in the middle of putting the heads onto the structure.

When more explosions rang and the ground beneath their feet broke away, Y/N understood what had happened.

At some point Wilbur ran off and must have pressed the button. The button that set the TNT beneath the city ablaze, effectively destroying everything.

Y/N was too busy with finding hard ground again and then dealing with the Withers and Techno that they only noticed after the fighting ended, how broken the nation was now.

They had won. Why would Wilbur do this? He knew how much the nation meant to them and again, they had won, so there was no reason for blowing the place up!

And if that wasn’t enough to see how both their older brothers destroyed everything Y/N worked for, they also had to see how Philza, their father, stood next to the corpse of Wilbur. It felt like they lost everything.

They lost their trust in Technoblade.

They lost their hopes and dreams via Wilbur blowing up the freshly liberated L’Manberg.

They lost their trust in their own father who had slain his own son.

Y/N felt absolutely crushed. Family was so important to them and it was their own family that destroyed their hopes and dreams. They did everything for them and this is how they repaid them?

Once everything calmed down and Tubbo begun making plans on how to rebuild the nation, he immediately came to Y/N for help but they hesitated which worried him.

“Is everything okay? Usually you would have jumped on that offer, Y/N.”

Y/N put on a smile that didn’t seem to reach their eyes “Don’t worry Tubbo, of course I’ll help you. I’m just tired from what we have been through. I finally have time to take a breather and I think it all just crashed down on me.”

“Well if you ever need help you can talk to me.” It was an earnest offer that Y/N would never take advantage of.

Y/N mostly ignored Philza. He talked with them a few times and even explained what has happened but Y/N still made a wide berth around him. Seeing him just hammered back down the feeling of distrust and hurt. Their familial relationship took a hard hit from that point on.

With Ghostbur it was a weird situation as well. They enjoyed spending time with him but were also always incredibly sad around him. Ghostbur took notice of this and would always offer them to take some of his blue but Y/N declined every time.

“Don’t worry Ghostbur. Everything is still just fresh in my mind. I’ll be back to my old self in no time. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

“Of course Y/N! You have always looked out for me, thank you.”

L’Manberg slowly took on a proper form again but it wasn’t the L’Manberg Y/N knew. It felt to them like they were standing on top of a grave. A grave for their dreams and it was getting hard, real hard, to walk through it every day seeing places where they know specific buildings should be standing. Buildings they build on their own only to be destroyed by their brothers doing.

Then Tubbo exiled Tommy and Y/N felt conflicted. They felt obligated to stay in L’Manberg since they were the main person people came to for builds but that was their brother. Their only brother they still trusted and felt a need to protect.

Instead of following him into exile they stayed in the city. Visiting Tommy whenever they could, noticing pretty fast that he was struggling hard with his situation and for once they didn’t feel strong enough to properly support him. Y/N tried their best but once they noticed they couldn’t reach him completely they gave up a tiny bit.

It reminded them too much of Wilbur.

So while they visited him and helped them where they could, they spent more and more time alone in their home only coming out for work and other necessary things like food. Soon it was normal to see them with ever present dark circles beneath their eyes.

Before Philza disappeared to join Techno, he would stop by Y/N’s home all the time.

“Have you eaten, yet?”

“Yes, dad. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“I just haven’t seen you much lately and I got worried.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Hey, if you go out, please, can you tell Ghostbur to stop coming around to throw Blue inside my mailbox? He won’t listen to me but perhaps he will to you.” And they would always carry the same big smile on their face accompanied by empty eyes.

The only time their happiness reached their eyes again was when Tommy returned from his exile. They crashed into their younger sibling holding him close to them and muttering apologies. He pried them off, embarrassed by all of this.

This short bout of happiness was destroyed by Doomsday. Dream, Technoblade and Philza once again made sure to set L’Manberg ablaze.

The second time Y/N’s fruits and labor got completely annihilated by their family but still they had some hopes this time. They still had Tommy on their side they could just finally build a home somewhere else and live in peace but Tommy had other ideas. He had it in his mind to get his discs back and he would do anything for it.

So while Y/N tried to ground themself with new hopes and ideas, holding onto the only constant of what was important to them, that being Tommy, Tommy ignored them. He was too busy with his own things and the worst part was that Y/N couldn’t even fault him for it.

They understood how much these discs meant to him and that this was something that had to come to an end but with this they lost another, and possibly their last, anchor point.

Yet you could still see them running around with a smile, tending to every one and trying to help out the best they could.

Then suddenly they were gone. They just disappeared one day. The few people who took note of that took some time to look around but there was no sign as to where they left. Y/N didn’t take their armor with them nor any weapons or food.

< Y/N succumbed to despair and fell of a high place>

When every ones communicators rung out with this message the SMP fell quiet.

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was reading. This didn’t make any sense. Y/N was fine! They would talk with them and everything looked fine! This must have been a cruel joke from Dream somehow, right? This couldn’t be real. Why would Dream do this? This didn’t seem to make sense.

Exactly there was no sense in Dream doing this.

While Tommy was battling with his thoughts Tubbo came running over to him. Tears streamed down his face.

“What happened? Why did this happen? Where are they?”

Tommy was visibly shaking “I- I have no idea. I don’t know. They looked fine. I’m- I’m not sure. Tubbo-“

Tubbo just slammed into him, giving him a proper hug, trying his best to help Tommy through his rising panic. He lost another sibling and by Ender that hurt.

Meanwhile in the snowy Tundra both Philza and Techno were staring at their communicators as well.

Philza was pale. So pale it almost rivaled the snow around him.

Techno had his brows furrowed. For anyone who didn’t know him well enough he looked at best displeased with this situation but Philza could see the small details that told a different story. Him sucking his breath in as he read the message, hiding his quivering lip in his cloak. He was heartbroken.

Sure the two weren’t on good speaking terms but Y/N was still his younger sibling. He still loved them.

Philza felt similar. He acknowledged that he screwed up and honored their wish to be left alone by him but he never imagined this could lead to their death. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground. Two of his children died, one directly by his hand and the other due to his inaction.

His eyes glossed over, the world became a blur and yet he continued rereading this message over and over. Y/N just lost their last life.

Philza could hear Techno walk closer to him and sat down on the ground as well.

“Y/N is-“ Philza begun but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. State the obvious to his eldest son?

“I have more fault in this than you, dad. Don’t feel guilty.” His voice was uncharacteristically weak. Wavering as he spoke. He wanted to cheer Philza up but it was a weak attempt.

“What have we done.”

Ghostbur was at first confused when he read the message. It was like he couldn’t connect the dots but it slowly dawned on him what this meant.

“Oh my.” His usual happy demeanor was suddenly gone.

He touched his face and as he put his hands back down he saw how they were smeared with blue.

“Y/N is dead?”

His usual ghost behavior seemed to break a bit. It was like through the warped version of Wilbur that was called Ghostbur for a moment the true version of him came through again. And he was hurt. Devastated.

“I think I need to find the others.” He mumbled to himself, making his way towards his family. All the while he held onto the blue wool of Friend like a lifeline. Combing through it nervously. Blue continuing to spill from his eyes.

gray always reminding his gf to take her meds and getting worried when he gets back from a trip and finds out she’s been in a bad place while he was gone and stopped taking them

{tw- mental health & medication}

“sweetheart, did you take your meds this morning?” your boyfriend approached you with caution after finishing up his early morning workout session. one you promised to attend with him but when the time came, he couldn’t bare the thought of disturbing your peaceful slumper after a night of tears. a night he never wanted to repeat and made a promise to himself to prevent anyway he could.

grayson had been away for just over a month. taking a trip of australia with his brother and team, in order to film some content for their up and coming projects they had worked so hard for. you, however were left behind due to saddening work commitments. not able to take the necessary time off to be there and support your boyfriend like you would have hoped. ultimately making you feel worthless.

the painful 4 weeks apart left you in the worst state possible. your mental health had declined rapidly, you stopped looking after yourself; showering, completing day to day tasks and having a positive outlook on life. begrudgingly not taking your meds and all the progress you had made with grayson’s help, was wasted.

grayson made sure to call you everyday, multiple times a day. although the time difference was difficult to work around, he made sure he always got to hear your voice the minute he woke up, to the very minute he went to sleep. although he was on such a high in australia, he could gradually see you losing yourself over time and that’s why he made the executive decision to ditch his holiday and come back early. you needed him more than he needed australia.

when he finally arrived home, without warning or notice before hand, what he came home too broke his heart more than he could have imagine. he found a shell of his girlfriend. slumped in the darkness of their shared room, the same clothes of his he had seen you wearing of the past week.. and worst of all- an full pill bottle discarding on the side.

he could tell your medication hadn’t been touched due to the fact it was left in the exact same position grayson had left it in before he flew to aus. the lid was stilll screwed shut and you made no attempt in hiding the fact you simply refused to take them. a downhill spiral as you not only lied to grayson about taking them, but broke the promise that you would.

you were emotionless. when grayson arrived home late last night, you cried.. and cried and cried. was it tears of joy after finally being reunited with the one person who brought you genuine happiness? or was it tears of sadness. of sorrow and guilt that grayson was stuck with you. you felt like you were holding him back, stopping him from reaching his fall potential and flourishing in the world of romance.

he deserved to be loved how he loved you- if not more. and right now, you weren’t sure you were well enough to give him that.

“angel, hey hey, look at me,” grayson crouched down to the side of the bed where you were currently laying, staring ahead into nothingness. your felt nothing. grayson held your cold shaky hands tightly in his own, scared if for one second he were to let go, you’d disappear into thin air.

“why didn’t you take your pills, baby?” grayson’s voice was gental. a soft tone he knew you needed instead of going into full protective, overpowering mode he so desperately was trying to contain.

you said nothing. avoiding grayson’s gaze and staring right through his body as if he wasn’t there. this caused him to sigh in frustration, delicately reaching up to lift your chin and force you to stare him in the face. your eyes blank. the same pair of eyes that once held the brightest spark, held the moon and stars, held grayson’s heart, were empty.

“i love you,” short and simple but it had your finally joining his gaze. your heart warming, you felt his love. it was blinding and the one thing that kept you going.

“im nothing without you, ok. this last month was the worst month of my life, i couldn’t stop thinking about you; worrying about you, wishing you were back in my arms, safe and sound where you belonged.”

grayson brings his thumb up to gently caress at your cheeks. wiping away a few tears that had slipped out as you took in every word. you knew he was sincere in what he was saying, and for that, you felt like the luckiest, yet most selfish person alive. you were slowly wearing him down- or so you thought.

“i hate seeing you this way, precious. it breaks my heart and i feel so helpless. i would never forgive myself if something were to happ-“

you cut grayson off abruptly by pulling him down to meet your lips. you were scared of where his mind was heading and wanted to put it as ease before he worried himself sick. a short and sweet kiss, that was more than enough for grayson in that moment. he knew you understood, knew you had come to your senses and wanted to better yourself, not only for you- but him.

“will you take your meds for me, baby, please?”

you nod slowly, pulling grayson down for a quick kiss before he handed you the pills and a bottle of water. he waited for you to swallow, watching intensely with pride bursting through every vein in his body. you were braver than you gave yourself credit for.

“that’s my girl.”

Hiiii I Found Your Blog In The Tags And I Never Thought I Would Enjoy Ace Attorney Imagines Before. I've Been Into It For Years And I Think This Idea Is So Adorable. I Hope Requests Are Open, And If I Can Ask For Relationship Headcanons For Hobo Phoenix Where There Is An Established Relationship Between You Two, And How It Continues Once He Gets Disbarred? I Always Wonder How Those Eight Years Would Have Been When He Had Some Light In His Life Besides Trucy. Btw I Love Your Aizawa Writing!

Aaaa ! A new anon that actually likes my AA stuff ! I’m so blessed :,) I’m truly flattered my writing is what got you interested aha, you’re too sweet ! Also, thank you!

I got SUPER CARRIED AWAY WITH THIS I AM SO SORRY

Fun fact: I actually cried while writing it 🥺🥺

Some warnings: this is female coded! Some angst, some fluff, family cuteness, family struggles, agh-! It has a happy ending though!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

You had known Phoenix for at least a year or so before you started dating. You were a witness to a crime he took, which is what brought you two together in the first place. If it’s important, yes, your testimony did help a good bit for solving the case!

While working on it, Phoenix found himself feeling a bit... fuzzy, around you. It wasn’t ever something he intended to happen, he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be in a relationship. But he couldn’t just deny the immense amount of chemistry going on between the both of you.

Oddly enough, the two of you didn’t lose contact after the case was over. Phoenix took it upon himself to go and see you sometimes when he wasn’t working on anything. This fuzzy feeling was starting to get worse, and the chemistry was slowly turning into tension...

... and within a year or so of knowing you, he took it upon himself to ask if you would be interested in something more. You happily accepted.

With you now at his side, Phoenix felt a bit more confident. You meant a lot to him, and he made sure to express it as much as he could to you. He really was a sweetheart, he made it his goal to let you know how much he loved and appreciate all you did for him. Whether it be helping him figure out a case or just making him dinner after a long day in the office, he never took any of it for granted.

The incident happened a few years later, and it wasn’t something you could have seen coming from a million miles away.

Your boyfriend, an attorney, came home without his beloved badge... and a few days later, was asked to care for a child.

Phoenix was reasonably shaken about losing his badge due to his fatal mistake, but he was more worried about someone else.

“[Y/N], she’s got no where to go...” He said as he held your hands, tears brimming his eyes. The little girl I’m question, Trucy, sat in your living room as the two of you spoke quietly in your bedroom. You felt Phoenix give your hands a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t we give it a try...?”

Truth be told, you and Phoenix had been trying for a baby for a good while now, but nothing seemed to be working. It had started to take a toll on you mentally, making you fear you would never have children at all. Trucy had appeared at a time when you were sure you were going to give up entirely. Perhaps... this could be what you needed all along...?

With tears in your eyes, you agreed happily to raising Trucy with Phoenix. He brought you into a tight embrace as you began to feel yourself cry. He quietly whispered about how good of a mother you were going to be to her, and how he’s going to do everything he could with you to give her a normal life.

Raising Trucy wasn’t a struggle at all. Though mischievous at times, she was a delight to deal with. Your stresses of how you were raising her was fading, because despite everything... she held on tight and was strong. She seemed just as determined to live a normal life as you were to give her one. That is, as normal as raising a little magician can be!

Phoenix, in the beginning, was also great with her. You had never felt so close to him until now. You felt like you had that family you always dreamed of. Granted, it wasn’t perfect, Phoenix was still struggling with coping over his lost badge. You did what you could to assure him that life would untangle itself with time, and that no matter what, you were sure things were going to end up okay. You were there on the countless nights he felt himself fall to apart, you always helped him put back the pieces.

For awhile, you were sure things were getting better. Trucy was doing great, and it seemed like Phoenix was...

Unfortunately, your beloved wasn’t always honest with his feelings. He had suppressed so much... and before you could help him, it’s as if he fell into disrepair.

The struggles came with Phoenix’s sudden and rapidly declining mental health. He had gained a habit to isolate, and you began to go days without seeing him. When he’d show up again, he was vague as to where he was, if he told you at all. It began to take a toll on you, you were beginning to practically raise Trucy alone at this point. Sometimes he’d disappear with Trucy, and that tortured your poor heart more than anything. You could only handle so much paranoia about where they were.

It got to a point in which you basically begged for Phoenix to get professional help. He seemed stubborn when it came to the topic, as if he didn’t want to better himself. You couldn’t even be mad at him, you were too busy sorting out your feelings of dispair and hopelessness. You just wanted a normal life, you wanted a lover, a child, a stable family... you were so close, why did everyone have to fall apart...?

You had ended up taking yourself to therapy to sort out your feelings. Your family and friends gave you conflicting answers as to what to do. Some said to leave him and take Trucy, some said to stay and try and talk to him more, some said to take legal action...

You couldn’t tell what was right at this point. With so many people saying so many things, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to believe. Part of you downplayed the situation, this was how all dads were supposed to be, right? Part of you felt hypersensitive to everything, part of your conscious screaming that you should have ran away the second the red flags began to appear. You didn’t know what to do... so you chose to endure. For Trucy.

It didn’t help that Phoenix picked up a habit for drinking.

The only thing you could ever thank him for was that he stayed away from Trucy when intoxicated. She didn’t need to see him like that. Besides that, he was insufferable to deal with when intoxicated. He was the “I’m not that drunk!!” type, even if he couldn’t stand up. If you had a dime for all the times you had to drag him to bed, you’d never have to worry about the bills ever again. When drunk, he wasn’t physically violent or anything, but he had a habit of saying things that really hurt. It was common for you to put him to bed and spend the rest of the night crying and wonder what went wrong between you two. It was awful that occasionally, Trucy had to come and console you. You felt safer with your daughter than you did you own boyfriend... was it truly supposed to be this way...?

When Apollo came into the picture, you were delighted to meet him. He reminded you of how Phoenix once was when he was a lawyer. Apollo often questioned the family life of the three of you, but you always responded with vague answers. Things like “it’s certainly not perfect, but when is life ever supposed to be perfect?” We’re common time hear from you. It satisfied him for awhile. You’d always hear a ton about Apollo through Trucy, and it was for the most part positive things. Whenever he and Trucy visited the house, you’d quietly thank him for looking over Trucy when Phoenix wasn’t around. He always said it was no issue or whatnot, but you knew deep down he wasn’t expecting to be lowkey babysitting as a lawyer.

As far as you were concerned, Apollo was an addition to the family. Trucy always spoke of him as if he was a big brother, and it warmed your heart to know Trucy had a positive male figure in her life now.

When Phoenix had gone away for longer than usual for his “secret mission”, you had only expected for him to be away to go get messed up in a town over or something. But when he came back, he... brang news.

It was so much to take in at once. Trucy participated in her fathers “disappearance”, her mother was still alive, and Apollo was her half sibling.... what were you to do with yourself? What was it all supposed to mean? Was Trucy going to stay with you? And Apollo, was he now... your son?

You saw Apollo a bit less for the next week or so, you knew that case took a toll on him mentally and you were sure he was up to his eyes in paperwork. You made sure to call him at least once a day to make sure he wasn’t overworking himself.

Trucy was home a bit more now. You were happy to see here in the midst of the storm passing over the whole lot of you. You could tell she was torn up inside, but she still beamed at you with that beautiful smile you adored the second she came into your life. She was so strong, you couldn’t help but tear up a little when you saw her smile in the face of it all.

And Phoenix...

He was still gone for a bit after the fact, but one night he had come home late without you realizing. You were about to go to bed when you heard him call your name from the porch.

You felt your heart drop hearing him, worrying he might be drunk again. You padded your way to the back door, opening it and walking out onto the porch. Phoenix stood from his previous position of leaning on the railing, gesturing to some of the chairs on the deck. “Come sit. I... I wanna talk.”

You sat in one of the chairs, Phoenix pulling up one right in front of you. He inhaled deeply, then letting out a sigh. You were about to ask what this was all about when he gently took both of your hands.

“I... I’m sorry I dumped a bunch of information and left for a few days.” He apologized softly. “... I’ve been getting help.”

You let out a soft gasp. Phoenix looked up at you, and you felt yourself get lost in those beautiful steal blue eyes the same way you did all those years ago. You knew he was being sincere when he said it, but part of you didn’t believe it, what was this supposed to mean...?

“N-Nick, what is this about...?” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as you felt yourself getting choked up.

“[Y/N], this is about us. I lost sight of everything all those years ago- this isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t what I want and I know it’s not what you want.” Phoenix said, his gentle gaze never leaving you. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity but it just wasn’t there.

“Nick...” you croaked, tears beginning to roll down your face. You watched the tears begin to well up in his own eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.

“[Y/N]... I want to be a family again. A real family, [Y/N], I don’t want to be a stranger in this house anymore. I don’t want you to be afraid of where I am anymore, or be afraid of how Trucy is gonna grow up. I want a real family. I want you, me, Trucy and even Apollo to function like a real family...” He said, bringing your hands to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to them.

“... I���m so sorry [Y/N].” He spoke against your fingers. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, but I regret these past years so much... I need you to know that I’m sorry [Y/N]....”

You tried to hold back so you could speak, but your frantic sniffling caught Phoenix’s attention immediately.

“Nick, I-I-!”

He wrapped his arms tightly around you as you fell to pieces in his arms. You sobbed harder than you probably ever had for those past seven years or so. You clutched onto him for dear life, terrified he might disappear again if you let go.

“N-Nick- I-Ive waited s-seven years to hear you say you’ll come back!!! I-I-I’ve waited so long for you to c-come back home again, I-I-!” You wailed, your sobs getting the better of you as you gasped for air between your tears. He whispered gentle apologies to you as he ran his fingers through your hair.

The two of you stayed like that for a good bit. You sooner or later leveled out, your sobs dying down to gentle sniffles. Phoenix gently released you from his embrace, taking your hands in his again.

“[Y/N]?”

“Y-Yeah?” You responded shakily. He looked you in the eyes again, a gentle smile on his face.

“I... I want you to be my wife.” He said gently, earning another gasp from you. “Y-You don’t have to say yes now, I understand, b-but I don’t want to just be a lover to you anymore, I-I want to be your husband, [Y/N].” He spoke gently. You felt the tears sting your eyes again. He watched your face for a second, waiting for any sign of an answer to his proposal. You brought a hand to your face as you wiped the fresh tears rolling down your face.

“Oh Nick, I... I’d love to be your wife, Nick. I-I truly thought you would never ask...” You said, smiling as you watched his eyes light up. He let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Y-You mean it? After everything I’ve done you... you still love me..?” He asked. You nodded. “Of course I do.” Letting out another laugh in disbelief, he cupped your face and brought you into a deep kiss.

You were basically smothered with kisses, the two of you giggling like idiots, as giddy as teenagers getting their first tastes of love.

“I’m gonna get better just for you, and I’m gonna go retake the bar exam and I’m gonna fix all of this [Y/N]. I’m gonna give you the life you want and the life you deserve. I’m never going to lose sight of you again. Not you, not Trucy, not even Apollo, we’re gonna be a family and I’m not gonna let anything ever destroy that again. Maybe we can try again for another kid, maybe we can adopt another, I’ll give you anything to make our life perfect again...”

“I love you so much [Y/N].”

happy early birthday!!! i just wanna say that online friends are just as cool as irl friends. i would argue that sometimes they’re even better!! You’re not alone on your special day or ever! i always love seeing your posts and hearing little updates about your life. keep being you, you’re the best!!

hey bud. i've been thinking about this message a lot since i received it last night, and i've been trying to find a way to reply that doesn't make me come off as rude, because i definitely don't mean it to be, so i am sorry in advance if it sounds like that, i'm just really struggling with words at the moment.

first of, i wanna say that i understand where you're coming from, and i get what you're trying to do with sending me this ask, and i genuinely really appreciate that.

but it also made me feel even worse than i already am feeling.

i am in no way invalidating online friends; i love online friends, and i think the way the internet has made it possible for people to connect regardless of distance and borders is truly amazing. i have been able to meet and make friends with some really incredible people in the time that the internet has been a thing. some of these people are even still in my life, and they are intelligent, and fun, and beautiful, and inspiring, and i love them deeply.

but i have not had a friend outside of the internet for about five years now. that friendship last for about a year. before that, i hadn't had a friendship for five years before that. before that i hadn't had friends ever. this means that i have no had human interaction with someone that wasn't my family, or wasn't paid to talk to me for five years. and before that five years again.

i don't have school, i don't have a job. i only talk to my family when i reach out to them, because for some reason i just cease to exist when i am not right in their face. so these days when i don't have a support person (paid to talk to me), or a social worker (paid to talk to me), or song lessons (paid to see me) it can be literal months between i talk to another human being. i can go whole days without using my voice, so i have had to make an actual strategy of talking to my cat, singing around my apartment, talking to the tv, or read out loud in order to keep my voice and talking center of my brain functioning.

that shit takes a toll on the human psyche. not having people who actively choose you because they have made a decision that they want you in their life, is incredibly damaging for a human being. not to mention the endless studies that shows how important physical human contact is. skin to skin contact between humans is important for not only mental health, but also for physical health. and i am not talking about sex (even though that also has a huge impact on overall health). everything from the heavy duty contact like cuddling and hugs, romantic kisses and platonic forehead kisses, to holding hands and sitting close. just being in the same room with a person that you are interacting with can improve mental health. even if it means sitting on opposite ends of the couch reading your own book, or it's classmates in the library studying together in silence.

human interaction is important. it is crucial to both our mental and our physical health. i know you meant well, but for someone in my position this kind of reaction actually invalidates the very real, and very dangerous, loneliness that we are living with every single day.

i can honestly say that because of my loneliness, if i didn't have my cat, i would have killed myself a long time ago. i tried. several times. so many times that i stopped counting. even in times where i had people that i talked to online all day, every day. because online friends are very real, and they are important, but in the grand scheme, they are a bandaid on loneliness in the real world.

when i have to go to the emergency room i have to call a cab and sit there alone in the middle of the night. when something good happens i have no one to tell about it. when something bad happens i have no one i can ask to come over and hug me and let me fall apart to. i have no one to share any tiny part of my life with. aside from sending a short message here or there.

for a year now i have been seeing people on the news and social media and blogs and whatever talk about how terrible it is for teenagers and students and old people and whoever to only be able to talk to their people via the internet. the mental health has declined rapidly over this past year, because of the lack of physical human interaction. even with people who are social with their friends etc. online.

well, this is my entire life. and it is literally killing me. yes, we have to take the stigma off of people having online friends, because friends on the internet are not less friends than irl friends - but they are no the same either. there's a place in human beings for real life connections, and online friends cannot fill that space.

i know that you mean well, but this is the truth.

Junie Meets Melody

(posting for Annika while she’s in the car...this is her space to say something...this fic made me cry and I love it and I love her. The end)

-----

“Now, baby, what are the rules again?” Persephone prepped, carrying her four year old through the white halls, the sterile smell unsettling at the least. Her grip on her shifted as she held Junie even closer to her. It had been thirteen years since she last stepped foot in a hospital setting, and even so grief wrapped around her heart and squeezed as she took the elevator up a few floors. Even after over a decade, it was a muscle memory, to the labor and delivery floor. This time, of course, was remarkably different. She had always left empty handed, nothing to show for the pain, the suffering, and the heartbreak. There was something empowering in knowing that the first time she stepped floor on this floor in thirteen years, she had her daughter. The daughter, who against all odds, existed. And then, of course, there was the reason they were here: Orpheus, Eurydice, and their new, healthy daughter. 

Junie lifted her head from Persephone’s shoulder, nodding excitedly. “Don’t be too loud and don’t try to grab the baby.” She blinked innocently at her mother, identical brown eyes catching each other’s. “I thought we were bringing presents?”

“Good girl.” Persephone kisses her daughter’s curls, managing to avoid eye contact with nurses who knew Persephone personally, pushing her anxieties further into her chest. “Presents? Oh, well, baby, I wanted to bring Eurydice something to eat but it’s too early for anything to open.” 

Persephone arrived to the room Orpheus had instructed her to, and gave Junie a little bounce. “You ready?” She smiles at her, leaning her forehead against her own as she knocked on the heavy wooden door and waited for Orpheus to open it. 

The door opened within seconds, Orpheus standing there, tear marks still streaming down his face. HIs eyes were puffy from crying, but he had a smile brighter than Persephone had ever seen etched almost permanently into his face. He wasted no time before wrapping his arms around Junie and Persephone both, a new round of tears falling into her hair. 

“She’s perfect, she’s so perfect and Eurydice is incredible and-” He rambles a little, pulling from the hug as Persephone extends a hand to wipe his tears, a warm smile on her own face. “I’ve never been this happy in my life.” 

“Ophie!” Junie giggles, holding her arms up to him, a silent request to be held by him instead. “Ophie I missed you swimmin’!”

He holds his hands out to Junie, who’s lunging at him, and holds her on his hip. He notes mentally what a difference it is, to hold his toddler semi sister, semi niece, now that he’s held a newborn. “I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.” 

“It’s okay Ophie, mama said you had to be with ‘Rydice. ‘Rydice is important.” Junie pats his face in understanding, before wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. 

“Rydice is very important.” Orpheus agrees, flashing another smile at Persephone. “Buggy, you wanna come see my baby?”

Junie nods, clapping her hands excitedly. “Come on mama!” 

Persephone laughs lightly, but nods. “Lets see that baby of yours.”

Persephone is not sure what she was expecting when she followed Orpheus the extra steps into the little hospital room. 

Eurydice, laying back on the pillows, with a tiny baby flat on her chest, her hands both holding her little clothes-less baby to her skin should have been it. 

Eurydice is not looking up, her thumb rhythmically tracing the baby’s cheek as she stares at her, entranced with her girl. Even under the striped hospital hat, Persephone can see the little peaks of dark brown hair peeking out. 

“Hey little mamas, how are you feelin?” Persephone whispers, a soothing edge in her voice that is reserved for her children in their most vulnerable moments. 

She has tears in her eyes when she looks up at Persephone, her voice catching in her throat. “I did it.” Is all she can get out, before the heavy hiccup of a cry bubbles through her voice. “I did it.”

“Of course you did, baby, of course you did. I never doubted that you could.” Persephone’s hand cups Eurydice’s cheek, her thumb rubbing away the tears spilling from her eyes. She leans down and kisses her forehead gingerly, whispering again to her. “I am so so proud of you, Eurydice.”

Persephone leans back smiling at Eurydice and trying to blink back tears of her own. “Does she have a name yet?”

“Not yet.” Orpheus chimes in, bringing Junie from the window where he had been pointing out his apartment in the distance, to hover on the other side of the bed. He kneels, bringing Junie to eye height with Eurydice. Eurydice nods, her hand still firmly planted on the bare skin of her daughter’s back. 

“This is our baby, Junie.” Orpheus whispers, an awe in his voice unlike anything Persephone had heard before. She suspected that awe inspiring love would be all consuming for the foreseeable future of Orpheus’ life.  

Junie’s eyes almost immediately go wide, and she reaches out a little hand. It is impossibly gentle, the way this four year old hovers her hand over the baby’s. Eurydice nods, a gentle encouragement, as Junie reaches a little closer and Melody’s fist reflexively wraps around Junie’s pointer finger.  

“Hi, best friend.” Junie whispers, her other hand ever so gently touching Melody’s hat covered head, eyes going even wider when the baby moves at her touch. She scrunches her nose when she sees Melody’s face, and innocently whispers across the bed to her mother. “Mama..why does she look like that?”

“Like what, honey?” Persephone muses, her hands pushing back Eurydice’s bangs absently as she watches her daughter interact with the baby. 

“I thought she’d look like a baby doll, but she isn’t very cute, mama.”

“Juniper!” Persephone lectures, her voice raising just a little in disapproval. “That's not very nice.” 

“Her face is all squishy!” Junie defends, gesturing at Melody for emphasis. “Rydice is so pretty, why isn’t her baby pretty? Rydice i’m so sorry! You should have a pretty baby.”

“Juniper Beatrice that is enough-”

Eurydice though, is laughing. Laughing in a way that makes her shoulders shake, laughing in a way that has her eyes squeezed shut as she wheezes. “No, no, it’s okay. Junie’s right. I know she isn’t very cute yet, Junebug, but she’ll get there. It doesn’t make us love her any less, just because she looks kind of funny right now.” Eurydice promises, reaching a hand up to hold Junie’s. “She’ll get there.”

“I think she’s beautiful.” Orpheus murmurs, trying not to show offense at Junie’s harsh criticism of his newborn. 

“She’s my best friend, even if she isn’t very cute.” Junie assures, tilting her head to the side so she could be face to face with the baby. 

Eurydice sits up, and looks at Orpheus with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you want to hold her, Bug?”

Junie nods rapidly, holding her arms both out expectantly. This causes the adults to laugh, as Orpheus stands. 

“Orpheus is gonna hold you if thats okay..” Eurydice explained, as Orpheus settled in the chair beside the bed, holding Junie on his thigh. “Seph, can you take her over there..” She gestures towards Melody, as she peels her from her chest and cradles her in the crook of her arm, “walking isn’t my friend right now.” 

Persephone only laughs, before gently taking the infant from her mother. She looks at her for a few seconds, already able to see Eurydice in the shape of her mouth or in her nose, something she left out after Eurydice acknowledging her appearance. She revels in the feeling of a new baby in her arms, something she had long since forgotten the feeling of. 

Persephone stands infront of Orpheus and her daughter, watching as Orpheus settles his arms and Junie reaches hers out. He is gentle in the way he instructs Junie to keep her arms down, nodding at Persephone as she starts to lower Melody into his, and therefore Junie’s awaiting arms. 

Junie is enraptured almost immediately, her tiny finger tracing the baby’s nose. “My best friend.” She cooes, leaning down almost immediately to kiss her nose. “I love you, best friend.” 

There is something natural in the way Orpheus immediately responds to fatherhood, in his knowing ability to coach Junie through holding his daughter. It came from the practice of Junie herself, as well as inherent instinct within him. 

“She loves you too, bug, look how quiet she is for you.” Orpheus assures, kissing Junie’s hair gently. “She loves you.”

Persephone has the thought to take a picture on her phone, one of both Junie and Orpheus beaming at her, but another which is more candid, of both of them looking down at the baby with nothing but adoration on their faces. 

She settles on the edge of Eurydice’s bed, running her hand over her arm. “I brought shots, but now is not the time is it?”

Eurydice snorts as she shakes her head. “Not the time. I don’t think the baby needs shots on the first day of her life, do you?”

“I can agree. Maybe next weekend.” Persephone teases, kissing Eurydice’s forehead again before grabbing the throw blanket at the end of the bed from her home and tucking it around her. 

Time passes with idle chat, Persephone inquiring more after Eurydice’s health than anything, even declining the offer to hold the baby herself. “We’ll be back later, Hades, my mama, and Hermes will want to come.” She promises, coaxing Junie to give up the baby. “Come on, we’ll be back soon… lets go back to sleep at home, your daddy should be gone for work.” 

Junie relinquished the baby, and eventually agreed to leave after many rounds of hugs to Orpheus and Eurydice. 

Persephone is carrying her out, heart fuller and happier than it had ever been as she left a hospital. 

“I know what her name is, mama.” Junie announced as they walked out of the building and into a local coffee shop. “But amma says they have to pick it!”

“Amma didn’t let me pick your name.” Persephone muses, but indulges Junie anyway. “And what is her name, baby?”

“Her name is Melody, mama.”

Introduction

I am not The Flash, and definitely not Supergirl or Wonder Woman (although it would nice to be). I have no super healing, super strength, super speed, super brain, etc. Super height, I guess I do kind of have for a woman my age, but for coming from a mostly German and Norwegian family, I am often one of the shorter people at family gatherings. This doesn't really get me much other than a few extra bruises and bumps from having to keep track of so much body. It also means I'm not super rich because I have to buy special clothes to fit my 6'1" frame. So generally, I am not super.

I am, however, a fairly typical millennial. I am anxious and depressed, will probably never own a home, and I am exhausted about 90% of the time from having to constantly manage the emotions of the older generation because they're too stubborn to just get a therapist like the rest of us. I grew up in a small house in Wisconsin with a middle class family. We worked, we played, and for the most part we still love each other. I honestly didn't even realize how basic my life really was until I moved to Florida for grad school and really started connecting with people. "Oh you also grew up in a middle class family with one sibling and you miss them but not enough to move closer than 2 hours away? Me too!" We like to think we are special and unique, but there comes a time in life when we all realize that we are all more or less the same person doing the same things as everyone else. Hell, even me just starting this blog about running and how much COVID-19 sucks is basic. It has been done before and it made whoever did it feel special and unique, and now it's my turn to pretend like I have something new and special to contribute to the running blog world (spoiler alert: I don't but I'm going to do it anyway).

Part of the fun of having been born in the early 1990's has been watching the world slowly go to shit over the span of my life. Had I been born any earlier or later, growing up in this rapidly evolving world may have been a bit easier. I know what floppy disks and hit clips are, but I also tend to stay fairly up to date on social media (just not TikTok because I have a tiny bit of a life). Watching the gradual decline of humanity over the past few years has lead me to wonder if maybe the world was always this shitty and the decline is a perceived effect as a result of my aging, or maybe the world really is falling apart. It is hard for me to truly judge the world since every single one of my data points is biased in a completely different way. Really this is more of something to ponder once I get a bit older. We still have to get through 2020.

This brings me to why I really am writing this (no, not just to feel special). In June 2020, I fell victim to the novel coronavirus, COVID-19. It was honestly one of the worst months of my life. I have run a half marathon with an upper respiratory infection and this was somehow worse. It started as just extreme nausea with a fever and aches so bad my skin hurt. Then one day that mysteriously went away. The next day I woke up unable to breathe. For some reason lying on my face made breathing slightly easier so I spent a week just lying there focusing on breathing. Since I am a massive nerd, I also took notes on all my symptoms and read papers on everything we know so far about COVID-19. Turns out life is pretty boring when you can't breathe. I did eventually recover although it took about a month before I could walk upstairs without needing to sit down for a bit at the top.

Since my appetite came back all at once, I ended up gaining back a bunch of weight since I was FAMISHED after weeks of barely eating anything. This was very much an issue as I have struggled with eating disorders and body dysmorphia (more on this later) since before middle school. I am still struggling with my feelings towards my body today after having survived a disease that has killed over half a million people in less than a year.

This blog is the story of my path towards increased self appreciation and love through exercise, mental and physical health tricks I've picked up through the years, and comic books. I hope my journey to a healthy mind and body helps to inspire you and your community to care a bit more for each other and most importantly yourselves.

A PSA ON MY PERSONAL JULES VAUGHN OPINION:

Since everyone in the euphoria fandom seems to have differing sometimes extreme views on Jules (particularly her affect on Rue’s mental health, as well as her messy feelings around both Rue and Anna). I thought I’d make a bb thread on my take of what we’ve seen of Jules this season. Keep reading for some spoliers.

Jules & The War With Conquering Femininity

since episode one jules entered as a very dynamic character, everything from her distinguished wardrobe gives her an almost commanding presence despite the innate softness she carries. Nate himself deciding to corner her publicly at a party explicitly saying “nobody that looks like you is minding their own fucking business” while getting up in her face. Jules grabs a kitchen knife before threatening Nate asking “do you want to fucking hurt me?” before she cuts her arm and holds it up almost like a flag? and declares “she’s fucking invincible.” with Nates fathers tapes at home, Nate has grown up with all the values of toxic masculinity engraved in him since birth, which definitely showed itself when he threatened to have her done for child pornography not long after cat fishing her all because she rejected him (MADDY S2 GIRL PLEASE)

Jules was initially falling for Nate as he catfished her, and one night getting particularly intoxicated she hallucinates Nate and her having violent sex with him in which she is in charge. This counters all of her assumed very concerning risqué hookups with older men, in which she is usually more submissive. In one episode she states “it’s like if I can conquer men I can conquer feminity.” Being sent to mental hospital temporarily at a young age for self harm and severe depression likely linked to her experiences of gender dysphoria before and after transitioning, it makes sense that through these unsafe hookups Jules is getting affirmation about her place in the world and in her own body when you take this into account. This also seems to put a hurdle in the road when it comes to her exploring her own queerness, which she begins to do at later episodes particularly one sexual experience with Anna in which she hallucinates Rue a fair portion of the time even saying “you remind me of my best friend” before they hooked up.

Rules relationship/mental health

Rue and Jules met after the initial party at you guessed it (another party, y’all I swear euphoria teens get out way more often then actual humans right? maybe I’m just sad-). Rue patched up Jules’ wound and they got high together , their faces covered in glitter and they dreamily gaze at each other in a tent. They are every arm linked never one without the other best friend pair in a matter of days, Rue herself becoming noticeably jealous when Jules was still invested in ‘Tyler’ the false persona Nate crafted in order to attract Jules online who to him is the ideal example of feminity according to his psychotic lengthy checklist (see below).

After nearly seeing Rue overdose on fentanyl Jules is noticeably distraught and just manages to croak out that she’s “experienced enough traumatic shit in her life.” and “isn’t trying to be best friends with someone who’s trying to kill themself”. she tells Rue she doesn’t want to be around her unless she stops using, and Rue agrees too quickly for an addict. Too desperately, so much so that her attachment to Jules is even compared to her addiction Rue saying “nothing on planet earth comes close to fentanyl, except Jules.” who is apparently a ‘close second’. and then they’re everywhere in smudged liquid liner on bikes, tucking each other’s hair behind their ears and coyly smiling while gays everywhere crow and wonder if they’re truly just friends.

poor mental health in general can make even small tasks or everyday life things feel like an overstimulation, Jules and Rue separately have and still do bear the weight of repressed sexuality/gender expression, addiction issues, manic and depressive episodes, self harm and more. when you add things like catfishing, toxic masculinity, teenage insecurity and puppy dog eye teen love feelings often get heightened and any negative experience can be rapidly blown out of proportion. It’s no secret euphoria is a show of extremes, as are all teenagers especially those struggling outside of growing up already. when rue gets caught up in a moment and kisses Jules who seems unsure how to respond, she finds herself moments later pounding her dealers door begging for anything to take her mind off of the present moment. Jules also finds herself getting uncharacteristically drunk on the Halloween episode at a party, just after dodging rues second attempt of a kiss. While intoxicated she kisses rue underwater, leaving rue confused and feeling completely used. It’s entirely possible Jules needed liquid courage to actually take the plunge, remember she isn’t used to any kind of equal relationship.

they finally mutually kiss sober in collapse of sliding memories of the early friendship, most of which they are intertwined in bed. they both frequently tell each other that they look “fucking amazing” and even get matching lip tattoos of enneagram of their names ‘rules’. To me Rue seems like every textbook teenager smitten, on edge and bashful around Jules seen when she asks her for dinner per her mums requests. They are everything we feel and see and experience in school hallways and night streets and body odour reeking school cafeterias, the innocent lack of subtlety and pure comfort. however they come with a side mix of intoxication, mental illness, personal identity issues and themes of codependency (per the rues sobriety ultimatum and rues repition of affirming “Jules is the best thing that’s happened to her in so long”.

with Lexi and others frequently commenting and or that alluding that Jules is responsible for Rue’s sobriety, Jules starts to visibly panic. her eyeliner becomes harsher and more ethereal yet at the same time more cutting around the time she starts to push herself away from Rue (a decision said to be deliberate by the makeup artist). Rue asks to go home with her one night to which Jules hesitantly agrees instead of declining, from Jules’ perspective it’s abundantly clear she’s feeling the pressure of keeping her ¿girlfriend'¿ alive. that impending guilt she’s feeling because she knows inevitably she will likely hurt rue somehow whether they drift apart, etc to me it’s clear she’s ready to run away from her unsaid role of caregiver.

rue asks Jules if she wants to just pack up and leave and live in the city with her soon after she confesses to being in love with both Anna and her. Whether this was an impulsive attempt at getting ins first by rue or just a testament of how much Jules’ could dictate her life. Rue begins having second thoughts and Jules ends up tearfully leaving on the train without her. so why the fuck did she leave then? the pressure? the crazy ass town? the love she didn’t want to fuck up? or did she just want someone who would get on the train for her? many questions, probably more than one answer. this scene aside jules remains my favourite, and I’m still needing a hug from her 🥺

Conclusion of S1 Jules Vaughn =

I personally believe Rue gets more understanding for her complex character as opposed to Jules, who actively struggled with her gender expression and navogating her own likes and needs while trying to engage in an intense level relationship with somebody who has self destructive tendencies has made some mistakes in said relationship. Similarly so has rue, because it’s too fucking easy to accidentally cross toxic borders in relationships. I believe that if pray hope Jules returns from the city it’s in an extended time, when both her and rue have had the hours and minutes they need to grow and understand their own afflictions more. Ultimately Jules is just trying to decipher her own feelings for rue still, the hookup with Anna was all part of addressing that. Ultimately Jules is still trying to decipher her feelings, but for me she’s the most relatable three dimensional character to be shown on television. perfectly capturing the beautiful messiness in maturing, and the naivety in love and heartbreak.

My story: depths of mental illness to hopeful about future

I was born unusual. I suffered extreme night terrors, only sleeping when brought into my parents’ room. I couldn’t be left alone, my parents’ had to carry me everywhere. My mother also describes a strange look in my eyes as a infant, like I knew something I shouldn’t .

As an older child I never got along with the other kids. I was bullied severely and could never keep friends. When I tried to play with other kids they would push me away and run from me on the playground, telling me I was a “weird” or a “freak”. I had complex imaginary worlds and owned hundreds of dolls, and read profusely. As for psychosis, some of my earliest memories are of hallucinations and being told to do things by voices.

Middle school arrived, and mood symptoms started. Severe depression, anorexia, internal voices for all waking hours, more social isolation. A suicide attempt. Spiral down and down. Then I find Jesus at thirteen, and begin my first manic episode. Now this faith in Christ is not a passing phase—it will last me the rest of my life.

I am insane. I try converting everyone at my high school (started in eighth grade) to Jesus. This makes me fairly unpopular but somehow I’ve made friends. I cackle loudly for a laugh and skip in the halls. I hallucinate unicorns. It’s a trip.

At fourtneen, my life falls apart, depression and suicidal ideation, and visual hallucinations of things that go bump in the night.

From 16-18 it’s PTSD and voices and mixed episodes and depression and suicidal ideation and delusions. I graduate high school with honors and tattered faith. My physical health has drastically declined and I walk with a cane now. Where is God?

I get to university, and everything’s going to change! I join a small church group of lovely people led by a woman priest and I’m going to fix my relationship with God. I sign myself up for counseling and the counseling center after getting on my knees and begging them to take me, and I’m going to get better!

The year progress, I cry for three days when a houseplant dies. I continue to have mainly visual hallucinations, and my behavior becomes more disorganized. I get better at life skills because of therapy but I am building up for a psychotic break.

Sophomore year comes around. The year has a rough beginnings and I’m on the edge mentally. One of my only friends at school and I have a falling out and I snap. Another friend takes my psychotic babbling self to the ER and seven hours later I discharged into the care of my terrified parents, who drove down two hours while my dad had pneumonia, they were so scared.

I trudge through three semesters of barely going to class, crying my eyes out and having psychotic fits regularly, meds don’t seems to work and the psychiatrists don’t seem to understand. I get label after label but most don’t seem right. I have symptoms beyond psychosis, like regular fits of paralysis, that seem almost impossible to explain though do eventually get correctly diagnosed as conversion disorder. I’m losing my faith and hating my life and extremely suicidal. Finally, I just drop out of school.

I go back to my psychologist back home, when suddenly a new symptom appears: I have alters. I have dissociative identity disorder. She can’t get rid of me fast enough. She tries sending me to residential treatment but no one will take me, I’m too difficult. I’m starting to give but but that’s when I find Ms. T and Ms. B.

Ms. T and Ms. B are two African-American women who run a therapy office a little ways from my house. When I calle then with my 7-diagnoses, they invited me for intake appointment. I did the intake, and a following art assessment with Ms. B, and began art therapy. I truly believe that God placed these two women in my life because without them I have no idea what I would have done.

Me. B and I clicked right away. We did art therapy and CBT to work on trauma and coping skills. I got a new psychiatrist closed to home and he ordered a total psychiatric evaluation, and my diagnoses were: schizoaffective disorder bipolar type, PTSD, dissociative identity disorder, and conversion disorder with weakness or paralysis. Hardly the seven diagnoses the doctors’ at school had given me. Ms. B worked with the correct diagnoses and treatment went fantastically! I improved rapidly!

Back at school, my church group was praying for me every Sunday, and multiple individuals were praying for me every day. I truly believe their lifting me up to the Most High aided in my recovery.

I integrated with my alters. I stopped having paralysis attacks. I don’t have PTSD symptoms anymore. I have almost no positive symptoms of schizophrenia anymore, and am making huge inroads on the cognitive and negative. As I got better, I started looking towards God again. I had never let Him go but I directed my anger towards Him, when He didn’t deserve it. I started rebuilding my relationship with Christ, and now feel spiritually fulfilled. I am an asexual lesbian but have taken a vow of holy celibacy because I felt that was my calling. I am back to school and going to be a non-profit counselor and help those with mental illness and little means to access to treatment. I finally feeel bright about the future.

This was a very short version of the story, I left a lot out haha. I just felt like sharing my story with you all.

i’m thinking about you tonight, like i do on january 24th every year. i’m thinking about how this year, twelve years later, seems so much harder than before. i feel like i’ve lost so much. i’ve lost myself. i’ve lost potential love. i’ve lost friendships. i’ve lost.... if i’m being honest i’ve lost faith. in god, in the world, in myself. i’ve lost faith in people.

i rely so heavily on substance abuse and have fallen back into self harm tendencies when is comes to my body. not eating at all or eating so much i make myself sick. i buy things i don’t need and spend money when i shouldn’t. all so i can drown out how much i’ve lost.

everything i want seems so far away from me. the people i love are so far away. this year, twelve years later, feels so much harder, because i’ve never felt so alone. so empty. so scared.

i’d like to say i don’t know this girl i’ve become. but i know her too well. i know her flaws and her habits. i know her wretched addictions and i’ve battled them all my life. i know her. i can’t escape her. and i’m terrified of the reality this is the only version of me there is. the broken monstrosity of a thing.

i miss you charlie. i miss when even when i felt alone and small and terrified, i had somewhere to go. someone to be with. to run away with. i miss the freedom of running through open space. i miss your grumpy charm and your absolute trust.

i miss when riding made everything right. because you were mine and i was yours. some how two pieces, two broken, jagged pieces of two lonely, angry souls fit together to make a whole. you made me feel seen and wanted in a way i’ve never felt again.

i feel so alone tonight. there’s so much pain. i’m sober for the first time in awhile. i want to be strong for you. i know this isn’t how you’d want me to live. i’m struggling, but i know you’d tell me to keep moving. keep fighting til the end. never let them break your spirit. because they never broke yours. you stared down anyone that tried to mold your flame into something tameable and laughed in their face, chasing them off and standing your ground.

i haven’t done a very good job of following the example you set. i’ve let the world break me charlie. my spirit is so empty. i opened myself up to people, so desperate to be loved and wanted and needed, and they let me down. not everyone. but enough. too much for any one person to bear.

people used to call me brave. i don’t feel brave. i’m not sure i ever did, but i certainly don’t now. i feel like a coward hiding in my disfunction because i don’t know how to live anymore. or at least, lost the will to try. i feel lonely, and empty, and burying myself in a lack of real identity with booze and material things and bad jokes about my rapidly declining mental health.

i’m so tired of being rejected. i want to believe that i can be loved, by someone good and kind. but all evidence points to something else. i feel isolated by the idea that, since you’ve been gone, i’m back to being everyone’s second choice. invisible. just a fleeting shadow. like i hold no permanence in anyone’s life. i just exist for a time and then.... i’m gone. and no one cares.

i forged my entire personality into armor, forcing people to see me while keeping them at arms length, but inevitably my desire to be vulnerable and soft betrays me and i wind up in the embrace of people who view me as temporary. i get hurt. i pick myself up. and i get hurt again.

i don’t know how to pick myself up from this charlie. i don’t know if i can. i feel like i can’t breathe. i’m falling apart, but i can’t afford to fall apart. i can’t afford to break. the second i do.... i have no where to go. i’m so scared. what happens to me when i have no where to go.

of course, i have people who want to help. but they are in no position to help. i feel guilty that i’ve put them in an impossible position of wanting to do something but can’t. of causing them unnecessary pain. i’m not worth it.

god i want to be so badly though. i want to view myself of being worth the trouble. of accepting love and help and affection.

i miss you charlie. it’s been twelve years. i still remember the last time i saw you. you were so tired. you deserved so much more. i hope you know how much i love you. that if i could go back, if i could bend time to my will just to say goodbye. to be with you when you went. god i’d give anything. anything. it’s the only real regret i have and it’s so intense and painful it’s hard to have regrets for other things, because they just don’t measure up.

if heaven is real, you were it for me brother. maybe i can’t ever have that again because you were it. i’m just grateful for that time with you. i wish i could say that you’d be proud of me. it kills me that i... i really don’t think i can. i don’t think you’d like who i’ve become. this messy, broken, loud mouthed alcoholic who got so lost after you died she spent the next twelve years shutting down a little more each day to become this... half person. this empty thing.

i don’t know where to go from here. i just miss you. i don’t know how to be okay. i feel like i just.... for once need someone to take care of me. the problem is, i’ve never had anyone like that. not my parents, not my siblings, my friends try their best, but god we all have our traumas. in a world built to break my generation down, there’s only so much we can do. and you’re gone. the only one to ever see the real me. before i became this. you’re the only one in the whole world who just saw.... me. and you’re gone.

i feel like an imposter in my own skin. i miss you so much charlie. twelve years feels like a lifetime, but so short. like time is punishing me for my grief, making it feel like losing you only happened yesterday, but a hundred years of yesterdays.

it’s too simple of a thing to say, but i miss you.

Since you asked to send you a ship and an au, how about royai with your daemon au? If you're in the mood for it. =)

(You can consider this a missing scene from the original daemon AU fic that started it all, rummaging in our souls.)

Neither one of them anticipate how awkward it will be when Roy moves in for the time it will take him to decode the alchemy transmutation circle on her back. It’s not like they can just fall right back into the routine they were in before he left for the Academy, after all. His leaving hurt them all in their own ways and it’s clear that no one in the house wants to talk about it or what it might mean.

Shula is eager at first, bounding inside like she’s a young cub. She sticks at Roy’s side long enough for him to put his things back in his old room before roaming around the house. By the time she comes back though, she’s a lot more subdued and slow-moving, her tail almost totally still and her eyes no longer bright and not saying anything.

Riza can tell right away that the lion daemon is disappointed. Things have changed in the Hawkeye house, but definitely not for the better. It started to fall apart right as her father’s health, both physical and mental, began to rapidly decline, like the two were tied together intrinsically. She struggles to look at the daemon, feeling a stab of shame – she could have done so much more – but then Wojciech nips at her fingers.

You did the best you could, he practically scolds her. You did more than you should have.

Most of her knows that. It was almost impossible to manage the upkeep of both the house and her father, along with working in the town in order to scramble together some sort of money to support them. And she was also healing and in pain from the tattoo the entire time too. Every time Wojciech catches a glimpse of her back, she feels a burn of resentment rising in him. Near the end, he wouldn’t even be in the same room as her father and he ignored her father’s Vidya outright. The two daemons were never close, truth be told, but she never saw such a level of disrespect or such coldness on Wojciech’s side before.

But then, Wojciech has always been incredibly protective of her, like it’s his duty to watch over her when no one else has. It’s why Roy and Shula’s leaving hurt him so terribly. He grew to trust them – not with himself, but with her. She thinks he feels guilty at times for pushing the two of them together back when Roy was her father’s apprentice, as if it was his fault for her getting hurt in the end. It’s not, of course, but Wojciech is obstinate.

It’s difficult to gain the wolf’s trust, but even more so to gain it back. Riza cannot miss the wariness in Roy’s body and eyes whenever he’s in the same room as Wojciech. One upon a time, Wojciech would come to him willingly, happily, but now her daemon prowls in the dark corners of the house, his eyes glaring in the night light, and even Roy can tell that he’s not exactly welcome here despite Riza opening up her home and heart to him again. Maybe she’s softer than her daemon – maybe she just misses Roy that much that it’s easier to forgive him for what she knows wasn’t meant to be cruel – but the past few years has hardened Wojciech in a way that neither of them anticipated.

He was all she had when he thought that there might be something more. In his mind, Roy and Shula didn’t just leave them to join the military; they left the two of them alone to suffer.

“So, ah, how do you want to go about doing this?” Roy asks nervously over breakfast. It’s nothing much, just the last scraps of food. She hasn’t had the chance to go grocery shopping and is low on money besides. Roy might’ve paid for the funeral, but she’ll be damned if he thinks that he’s going to pay for everything else during his stay as well. Maybe Wojciech isn’t the only stubborn one here.

“It’s simple, isn’t it?” Riza replies while picking up their plates. He immediately goes to stand up to help, but she waves him down. She was doing this on her own before he came into her and Wojciech’s lives and she continued to do it without any help after he left. She can feel the sting of her dismiss without looking at him and a burst of pride from Wojciech. “You study the alchemy notes and figure out the key to my father’s research.”

“Yes, but you–” Roy swallows.

Riza turns from the sink to face him and gives him a flat look. “It’s just my back, Mr. Mustang.”

Roy’s face turns red, but he sits up straighter in the chair. “It’s Roy. You don’t have to call me that.”

The word “anymore” is implied, but not said out loud. Her father is dead. There is no one holding them accountable for being proper. She could touch him if she wanted to – she could touch Shula, if she wanted to (and she does, despite everything, despite them leaving, she does) – but she holds herself back regardless. Wojciech’s distant nature is bleeding into her, she thinks. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Roy – she wouldn’t have told him about her father’s flame alchemy research if she didn’t – it’s that she’s, well…

She’s afraid.

Wojciech lets out a huff from his spot in the doorway. Shula’s tail flicks irritably, her eyes locked on the wolf, but neither one of them say anything. Riza wonders how long it will take before whatever damaged befell them will be repaired. Her daemon is prone to holding grudges and Shula is so prideful.

Once everything is cleaned and put away, they retire to the study. Both she and Roy decided the night before that they would get started on decoding the notes as soon as possible. She’s both worried that the time it takes will be too brief and that it will be too long. She doesn’t want him to go again, but she’s not sure how long she can handle him being here either, especially with the way she catches Shula looking at her longingly. Riza missed them.

Even though he’ll have to look at her eventually, Roy turns away as Riza takes off her shirt and bra, choosing to murmur something to Shula. She lays belly down on the couch that they pushed in here last night, resting her head on a pillow and clutching a blanket underneath her chest to cover herself up as best as she can. Wojciech lays down on the ground so that she can reach down to rest her hand on his head if need be. It’s the closest he’s allowed Roy to come to him since the night her father died.

(There’s an image that Riza can’t forget: Roy turning to face them, a stunned and panicked look on his pale face, his eyes wide, dust from her father’s hawk daemon sliding through his fingers, and then reaching out to Wojciech on instinct – and Wojciech, taking one step forward without thinking, then rearing back and leaving the room as quickly as possible and Shula hiding her face in her front paws, the hurt so palpable in the room that it physically pained Riza…)

Roy eases himself on the ground next to the couch with a notebook and pencil in his hand. Shula sits at his back, her body pressed against his so that he could lean against her if he wanted, and it’s like the two daemons form a protective barrier around them, both keeping Roy and Riza apart and yet together somehow.

The second Roy’s fingers touch her back again, she takes a sharp intake of breath and he jerks his hand back and mumbles, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Riza sighs, closing her eyes. A mixture of distrust and concern sparks in Wojciech’s mind, but he doesn’t move. “Your hand was just colder than I expected.”

“Not for long, hopefully,” Roy says, a clumsy attempt at joking. It shouldn’t make her smile, not in the least bit, but it does. He’s trying. It might not seem like it, but she can tell that he’s trying as best as he can. It’s just terribly difficult to appease a wolf.

She hears him blow on his hands and then feels his fingers on her skin again. In all honesty, he probably doesn’t need to touch her, but it makes her feel better. It’s like he’s acknowledging that she isn’t just a piece of information to look at and study. She’s a human being; she’s real. This will mark her forever as it will mark him once he cracks the code – as surely as he marked her the night he first touched her daemon on accident and Wojciech settled.

“Did it hurt?” Roy asks quietly, though both of them know that the answer is an obvious one. He’s trying to fill the void of the silence.

“Yes,” Riza tells him, not even trying to be gentle. “It took many long sessions.”

She can feel the tension in him through his touch on her back as his fingertips glide over the transmutation circle. It burns her again, like he’s painting over it with his touch, and she tries not to shiver. She wants to look at him. She wants to roll over and face him. It’s so stupid and silly of her, but she wants to kiss him. Even now, even after everything, after the all the loss and pain. She just wants him back home. Instead, she stays stock still.

“I can believe it,” Roy says. “This is the most complex array that I have ever seen in my life.”

“How long do you think it will take you to unravel it?”

“I don’t know,” Roy admits. “Weeks?”

There’s a lull of silence between them as they all contemplate what that might mean. Weeks of Roy and Shula being in the house. Will it still feel lonely? Can they even come close to falling back in their old routine or has too much changed? Will any of them be able to stand it? There’s so much tension lying in the room between them now. It feels like both Wojciech and Shula are ready to tear into each other.

“Riza,” Roy breathes and he’s so close and his touch is so feather light that it makes her want to cry. She hasn’t cried in a long time. Warmth from Wojciech swells up inside of her, but he can only do so much and knows it too. “I should never have left you.”

“You did what you thought was best,” Riza tells him, opening her eyes and turning her head to look at him. “I don’t resent you and I’m not angry either.”

It’s not an empty or cold tone; her voice is filled with understanding that she truly believes in. It took a lot of time for her to get over his leaving and the sparsity of his letters, but she did it in the end. She knows that he didn’t mean to hurt her. It was time for him to leave. Maybe she should have left too.

“I knew that your father wasn’t exactly stable, but I left anyways because I was greedy and I wanted more,” Roy says, stilling his hand and lying his palm flat on her lower back.

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed for wanting to do more with your life,” Riza points out. She knows that Wojciech doesn’t necessarily agree, but he’s a hypocrite in this area. How many times did he tell her the same thing when things were so rough and hard in this house? “Your time here was done.”

Roy bites his lip. “But I didn’t want it to be done with you too.”

It hits her hard, but she does her best not to react. She can tell that she doesn’t do a great job, going tense under his hand and glancing away from the intensity of his gaze. “We all make decisions that have ups and downs. You chose to leave and I chose to stay. They both had their consequences in the end.” That was something hard for her to acknowledge. Roy and Shula left, but she stayed. She refused to pass that off and take away her own choice. “Besides, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Roy replies, nodding his head. “We’re here.”

“Good.” Riza smiles at him. “Now no more slacking. We’re not kids anymore.”

Roy chuckles and returns his own weak lop-sided grin, but then does as he was told. Riza turns her head and closes her eyes again, but reaches down to rub Wojciech’s head and scratch him behind the ears. His restlessness is beginning to bleed into her and she needs to sit still if Roy is going to get any work done. He’d never admit it and she would never ask him to, but Riza knows: her daemon is scared too. But they will always have each other.

Some people go through their lives without ever experiencing the death of a loved one. My husband was one of those people. The grandparents he liked died when he was a young boy. He only vaguely remembered them. His other grandfather died before he was born. The surviving grandmother was a person he actively disliked, a woman who was initially uninterested in him and then actually hostile toward him as he grew up. For the most part, his relatives lived for a long time. His father died at 98 and his mother outlived him, dying at 96. Death made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like thinking about it. He hated funerals and memorials. When he got sick with his deadly Merkel cell cancer which was already metastatic, he looked at me in wonder and said, “the first person I mourn will be myself.” I felt tremendous sympathy for him. He was an innocent. I was not.

Death was familiar territory to me. It was always part of my family’s conversation, along with illness and disease. Michael and I always likened our differences to that movie scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen’s family was shouting about diabetes and Diane Keaton’s was talking about rummage sales. Worlds apart.

The deaths which affected me most started when I was thirteen and my baby cousin died on the day I graduated from 8th grade. My parents went off to be with hers.

I struggled with emotions ranging from a deep sadness to guilt that I was upset that my mom and dad wouldn’t see my walk down the aisle, with my blue and white ribbons pinned to my dress and my gold honor roll pin with blue writing in its center.

That was just the beginning. As I went through my teens, the only grandfather I knew died. That was sort of normal. Then as I entered my twenties, the suicides started.

The first was one of my cousins, Dennis, who shot himself. Next my grandmother died, a normal death from old age.  In my 30’s, it was my other cousin, Eliot who committed suicide. Eliot was like a little brother to me. He leapt from a building in Chicago. I attended his funeral with my baby son under my arm. The year after he died, my friend Fern committed suicide. I have yet to recover from that death. She was a victim whose mental health was destroyed by others. I’d call hers a wrongful death. Despite trying everything I could think of to stop her, it happened anyway.

The year after that, my parents both got cancer. My mother survived but my dad died at 67. At the time, I thought he’d had a long life. My, how getting older changes one’s view of longevity. His death was my first bedside vigil. I cared for many of his physical needs as my mom was still recovering from her own illness. I crossed all kinds of boundaries between a daughter and a father. I knew I was changing from those three deaths in a row but I wasn’t sure how. I reeled from their absences. But there was nothing to do but go forward and recognize that being mindful of what was important in life needed to be something I could figure out. Fast. I think I could call that “afterward” period, just a few years before I turned 40, the time when I honed my best critical thinking skills.

I was very intellectually conscious of who I wanted to be, as a daughter, a wife, a mother and friend. I knew that I wanted to be present. I wanted to be available for people who experienced traumas similar to mine. I guess that’s because the process of grief and loss can be painfully isolating. You often wind up feeling like you have a contagious illness that everyone wants to avoid. So on I went.

As I passed through my 40’s and 50’s, people continued to die. There were the uncles and aunts. There were young teens who were friends of my daughter’s, kids she’d known from as early on as day care and grammar school. I wept at the unfairness of life and their wrenching funeral services. There were parents of my kids’ friends. I organized food trains and visited the patients and listened to them and their spouses. I stood in line by myself at their visitations as Michael never went with me. He couldn’t stand those things. My friends’ parents started dying. I went to as many of those events as I could. Dying is part of life, I would tell myself. Of course it is.

Then in 2012, just before my 61st birthday, Michael was diagnosed with his cancer. I couldn’t believe it. Not Michael, the strong, athletic beast, as my kids called him. Not the progeny of all those people in his family who were so long-lived. But there it was. And my grooming in the world of illness and death made me ready for what turned into our 5 year ride on the cancer rollercoaster, up and down, up and down. So many treatments, moments of hope and health, moments of despair and teetering on the edge of death. We talked about everything during his illness. Both of us felt that as devastating as it was, that we hadn’t reached the worst of the worst. That would be if one of our kids got terribly sick. Both of us questioned whether we could survive that. During the few years before his disease exacted the ultimate price, Michael hovered at the edge of life in 2015. My blows kept on coming.

My brother died that April. Michael was weak but pulled back from the brink in June with a new treatment. He was still trying to gain strength when my mother died in July. Her death was followed later that week by the death of our beloved collie, Flash.

I was learning about all types of grief, the sudden, the acute, the drawn out. The surprise grief that bursts out unexpectedly, just when you think you have your act together. And then after a brief respite, it turned out that Michael would never have to face the question of whether he could stand anything awful happening to our kids. After a heroic effort to stave it off, his sneaky cancer returned with a vengeance and took him out, after a grim struggle for life that lasted from January, 2017 to May 28th of that year. I spent myself down to tatters in those months. I stayed with him in the hospital for 32 days and nights. I was able to get him home where through herculean efforts, he survived for close to three months in a blur of home health visits, treatments and eventual cognitive decline. But he died where we’d lived our life, with me holding his hand and our children beside us.

After that, I was whatever is beyond exhausted. My son departed to his postdoc across the world in Guam and my daughter and her family began to resume their normal life. So I could recover and my son could participate, we delayed an event to honor Michael until December of 2017. That’s when I began to understand that this sadness about Michael had a life of its own. I was going through my days with the spirit of Michael on one side of me and this active pain, almost physical in nature, on the other side of me.

Then, about a week and a half after Michael’s death, a dreadful crime was committed in our community. A foreign national graduate student who’d just recently entered the country to begin her work was kidnapped and quickly assumed murdered. The case got a lot of press. An all-out search began, but within a very few days, the FBI had identified the person who they alleged had committed the crime. He was arrested at the end of June. Public outcry was enormous. The student was Chinese and the university in our community has a large Chinese population.

My daughter is a federal public defender, locally based. When I heard about the case, my first thoughts were, please, please don’t let this case fall in my kid’s lap. Our whole family was reeling with fatigue and grief over Michael’s death. Something this enormous was terrifying to me for her, just having lost her dad, at a time when we were so stunned with sadness. Then came the welcome news that a local law firm had been retained for the case. I breathed more easily and slipped back into focusing on trying to comprehend Michael’s death at the now early-to-me age of 67, the same age as my dad was when he died, that I’d once considered old. I was working hard to cope as was everyone in our family.

Our little unit of four was always a tight, intimate group. Such a huge piece was now missing and we were trying to negotiate that big hole. Who thought that a new pressing issue could push its way into our void? But that’s exactly what happened.

Despite the fact that Illinois abolished the death penalty in our state years ago, the federal attorney general, Jeff Sessions, attached the death penalty to this local case in one of his last parting shots in his position. Twenty states have abolished the death penalty. Nine others have a formal moratorium on it in place. That this could happen in a state that clearly banned capital punishment was astonishing. Although most progressive countries have quit this practice, our country remains among the ones where it is still allowed. For me, I have always considered the death penalty to be institutionalized murder. I’ve never understood how family members of a crime victim can derive any solace from the execution of the perpetrator. Their loved one is still gone and will never come back. A personal opinion, yes. But to me, murder is murder no matter who is doing it.

In early September of 2017, the private firm that had been handling this sensational and ultimately gruesomely detailed case, withdrew from the defense, thereby handing it over to my daughter’s office. Suddenly, barely three months after Michael’s death, my daughter was going to be a primary attorney in a case where the client’s life was at stake. I don’t think she ever thought she would be on a capital case. Why would she, in a state that had eliminated the practice? Suddenly a new heavy weight was thrust onto our family’s shoulders. In addition to carrying our pain about Michael, we now had the burden of wondering what this case would do to my kid, who had to rapidly learn the management of a murder trial with death as a possible sentence.

As time went by, the demands on her time increased in many ways. She needed to travel to conferences and to receive training. That meant absences from her husband and children in addition to me. All jobs mean that time must be taken away from family life. But this was different. The stakes were high. I knew my daughter was laboring under the onus of feeling that she was now responsible for a life or death verdict for her client. She had other attorneys and investigators on her team but as time moved along, it was apparent that she would be in a primary role in the case. I could feel the pressure on her, pressure that was coming from within. My daughter takes her job and its constitutional definition very seriously. Throughout her life, she has always given everything to the tasks before her. As a serious athlete through much of her life, at the end of a competition, she wanted the ball in her hands, to try to attain a victory. And I knew that she would, as the athletic expression goes, leave everything on the floor. But this case appeared to be a slam dunk for the prosecutors. What would happen to my daughter’s psyche? The grief I was, and still am, experiencing over Michael’s death was like no other. But I recognized that my daughter would really need me to be her mother during this unexpected situation. Not just the sad, lonely mother missing my husband and her dad, but the mother who I’d been in “the before,” in the time when worries were considerably less than in this new combination of nightmares.

How in the world would I negotiate this situation?  I never felt that I lost any part of myself when Michael died. He and I were both strong and independent. Being strong all the time gets old, though, and I was now in a position where letting down could affect my daughter at a time when I felt like she needed me. Her own family needed her. Struggling to be the best attorney, a good wife and a good mom was huge. The last thing she needed was for me to be in some pathetic state. We went through all of 2018 and the first five months of this year, barreling closer to the time when the trial would begin. Because the public opinion in our community was so visible, there’d been a change of venue and while my daughter hoped to come home every weekend, the workload for a trial like this didn’t allow for that. So she moved away for the duration of the proceedings. What a nightmare for all of us. Could there be anything harder than being separated from your loved ones in the most intense time in your life?

That’s what my kid faced as well as those of us who love her. During the guilt phase of the trial which began in early June, the defense admitted guilt on the part of their client due to powerful evidence that the prosecution had assembled. It was ugly. There was an endless stream of negative social commentary from who I call the uninformed haters, the people who don’t understand what the law says and who were vengeance-driven and angry at my daughter for doing her job. There was also support but it took awhile for that to become evident as many people didn’t actually know what was happening. Perhaps they might have been more vocal earlier along if they had. The admission of guilt meant that everything would come down to the penalty phase when the jury would have to decide whether the defendant would receive the death penalty or life in prison without parole. This case was like the proverbial dark cloud, hanging over us all and encasing us in it at the same time that we were mourning. Now it was a question of life or death. My daughter who had for almost the duration of this case had been missing her dad, who’d slid into death before her eyes, now held a life in her hands and seemingly in her power. We talked about whether she was prepared for a death sentence and I know she was trying. Last Wednesday, a week after my knee replacement surgery, I limped into our local federal courthouse which provided a live feed of the proceedings to the local community.

The prosecutors presented their case first and at the end of their statement m, said death was the only correct penalty for the case. Then my daughter stood to present the closing statement for the defense. I was mesmerized by her. She spoke with no notes and away from the lectern in the room. She spoke from her heart for 64 minutes and when she finished, I wept. She spoke for life and I sat there remembering all the deaths and the struggles for life I’ve seen and the complexity of what it all means.  For the first time I thought there was a glimmer of possibility for saving a life. The jury deliberated a day and a half and finally told the judge they couldn’t be unanimous in their verdict.

That meant an automatic life sentence for the client. My valiant daughter had pulled off a miracle with her genuine and sincere closing statement. I feel terrible sadness for the family of the victim. But I still believe that the client death would never assuage their pain. I am incredibly proud of my daughter for her strength and conviction. She came home Friday and I saw her a little bit then and a little bit yesterday. She is exhausted and needs rest for a long time after this intense haul.

I will always wonder if I might have felt any differently during my process of grieving Michael, absent the extra load of this nightmare. For my daughter too. I’ll never know. What I do know is that today, I feel the relief of this case having ended. To avoid the blistering heat, I sat in my house relaxing, doing busywork and listening to music. My music stream, which plays many artists’ stations at random, managed to play, one right after another, virtually every meaningful evocative song that makes Michael’s face appear in front of my eyes, although I was heaving and sobbing so much, seeing him was difficult.

I finally unplugged and fled to my garden where I watered and pulled weeds from a seated position and pondered if I’m going back to that place I might have sealed off right after Michael died. The writhing in agony place. There wasn’t enough room for it as I practiced my mothering skills. Maybe I won’t go back there. We’ll see. But in the death and life moments, emotions and grief are mutable and unpredictable. That is one thing I’m sure I know.

Death and/or Life? Some people go through their lives without ever experiencing the death of a loved one. My husband was one of those people.

First Answers

Answers to a long list of questions for self reflection.

Am I using my time wisely?

In general, no; at this moment, yes.

Am I taking anything for granted?

Yes

Am I employing a healthy perspective?

No

Am I living true to myself?

I don't think so, but I'm not sure exactly what this means.

Am I waking up in the morning ready to take on the day?

No

Am I thinking negative thoughts before I fall asleep?

Yes

Am I putting enough effort into my relationships?

No

Am I taking care of myself physically?

No

Am I letting matters that are out of control stress me out?

Yes

Am I achieving the goals that I’ve set for myself?

No

Who am I really?

I don't know

What worries me most about the future?

Finding lasting joy too late

Realizing that suicide at an early age would have been the better choice

Discovering I failed at my purpose for living

If this were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?

Yes and No

What am I really scared of?

My health will continue to decline rapidly

Am I holding on to something I need to let go of?

Yes

If not now, then when?

I don't know

What matters most in my life?

I don't know

What am I doing about the things that matter most in my life?

I don't know

What do I matter?

I don't know

Have I done anything lately worth remembering?

I don't know

Have I made someone smile today?

No

What have I given up on?

Photography

Drawing

Graphic Design

Blogging

Writing well crafted reviews for movies and audio books

Recording my critiques of user interfaces

Owning and training a puppy for obedience and agility trails

Improving my web publishing skills

Push hands

Rock climbing

Rugby

Finding a long term healthy intimate relationship

When did I last push the boundaries of my comfort zone?

Can't remember

If I had to instill one piece of advice in a newborn baby’s mind, what advice would I give?

Listen to your intuition

What small act of kindness was I once shown that I will never forget?

Can't remember

How shall I live, knowing I will die?

What do I need to change about myself?

Too much

Is it more important to love or be loved?

To love. Because there will be at least one person to be loved by.

How many of my friends would I trust with my life?

Not sure

Who has had the greatest impact on my life?

I don't know

Would I break the law to save a loved one?

Absolutely

Would I steal to feed a starving child?

Absolutely

What do I want most in life?

To fall in love with someone who loved me first

What is life calling of me?

Not sure. Most recent thought was about quitting my job and relocating somewhere to do something important.

Which is worse: failing or never trying?

I guess the right answer is never trying

If I try to fail, and succeed, what have I done?

Become an example of fate and destiny shaping events, regardless of my own actions

What’s the one thing I’d like others to remember about me at the end of my life?

I don't know

Does it really matter what others think about me?

Yes

To what degree have I actually controlled the course my life has taken?

Many impulsive decisions have had great ripple effects. There are numerous touch points of inaction or poor action caused missed opportunities

When it’s all said and done, what will I have said more than I’ve done?

I want to be happy

My favorite way to spend the day is…

I don't know. Watching movies.

If I could talk to my teenage self, the one thing I would say is…

Your intuition that something is wrong, is absolutely correct. You are being emotionally and physically abused. Seek help.

The two moments I’ll never forget in my life are… Describe them in great detail, and what makes them so unforgettable.

Can't think what they are

Make a list of 30 things that make you smile.

watching baby animals -- especially puppies and wild rabbits

Write about a moment experienced through your body. Making love, making breakfast, going to a party, having a fight, an experience you’ve had or you imagine for your character. Leave out thought and emotion, and let all information be conveyed through the body and senses.

Crossing the wood beam during the ropes course: totally in touch with heart beat, the feel of fear throughout my body, and the experiencing the process of tuning out all the verbal encouragements and instead mastered what I needed to do in order to balance and walk with confidence.

...

The words I’d like to live by are…

I don't know

I couldn’t imagine living without…

job, healthcare, apartment, truck

When I’m in pain — physical or emotional — the kindest thing I can do for myself is…

Stop thinking and wait for the -- worst of the -- funk to pass.

Make a list of the people in your life who genuinely support you, and who you can genuinely trust. (Then make time to hang out with them.)

[skip]

What does unconditional love look like for you?

Something so powerful, that being able to feel it, stops fear, insecurity, and negative thoughts and feelings when they creep out.

What would you do if you loved yourself unconditionally? How can you act on these things whether you do or don’t?

Question is way too fluffy and optimistic ... just get irritated and angry thinking of a true answer.

I really wish others knew this about me…

Pretending to be ok is exhausting.

Name what is enough for you.

I don't know.

If my body could talk, it would say…

A shit load of negative realities truths

Name a compassionate way you’ve supported a friend recently. Then write down how you can do the same for yourself.

I don't know

What do you love about life?

I don't know

What always brings tears to your eyes?

Emotionally touching parts of movies and audio books

Write about a time when work felt real to you, necessary and satisfying. Paid or unpaid, professional or domestic, physical or mental.

I don't know. Maybe, Rescue: Trimming hooves for the dairy goat herd. Using the clippers to create milkers cleanliness.

Write about your first love — whether a person, place or thing.

Teddy Bear. Joel. Oak trees. My baby goats, especially Bo Peep when she helped me win first place in novice showmanship. Bottle feeding Apple Sauce, runt pig. Dusty. Rascal. Sam, the St. Bernard / Shepard mix puppy. David. Farrier's rounding hammer. The Carhart jacket I stole from Larry. Learning to code my first web page. Chase. South face of Devil's Lake. Philip. Jeff.

Using 10 words, describe yourself.

intense

bipolar

tenacious

What’s surprised you the most about your life or life in general?

I don't know

What can you learn from your biggest mistakes?

I feel most energized when…

doing meaningful work side by side with others

Write a list of questions to which you urgently need answers. (Abercrombie)

Is it ok to die now?

Have I accomplished my purpose?

Make a list of everything that inspires you — from books to websites to quotes to people to paintings to stores to the stars.

long ago, watching Swim Coach do the form

What’s one topic you need to learn more about to help you live a more fulfilling life? (Then learn about it.)

I don't know

I feel happiest in my skin when…

When having physically exhausted myself doing something meaningful, such that my mind is quiet and peaceful.

Make a list of everything you’d like to say no to.

I don't know

Make a list of everything you’d like to say yes to.

I don't know

Write the words you need to hear.

It was not your fault.

Just a first pass. The beginning, Self-Reflective Questions

Reply to an Old Friend after Some Years

Dear Anthony,  It's good to hear from you after all this time. No matter how much time has passed or how many miles separate, I will always feel warmth and affection for you and have a prayer in my heart for your well-being. And remembering birthdays is just what I do. Fortunately, I do not remember the event you describe, with your replying with such brevity… I only simply recall a general history of uneven communications. But let all that be water under the bridge. I simply am grateful for your reaching out at this moment. Thank you for all your inquiries into my own personal history of these last few years-and especially for your very last question, about what I have become. I like that question. It's so Afton appropriate, and you will hear why towards the end. But let me go back. I will tell you my story in chronological detail. I warn you-since you have asked, I must be completely honest in all regards, but you may become very uncomfortable with things that I share. There is no way around sounding pathetic and sad to certain ears in telling parts of my story. I hope you will understand that it is only in the interest of honesty. When I last saw you, I was on my way to Boston to begin my masters program and acupuncture and Oriental medicine. I did complete one year at that school before moving back to Los Angeles and transferring to a school here. Four years later, five years and offer the program. I completed my Masters and sat for state and national board exams, passing all with flying colors. It was a proud moment. But it was not without shadows that had been masking all the while. Over those years of school my health had gradually you going to decline, various issues that had been presenting themselves earlier progressing ever more rapidly. The demanding pace of my program, combined with treating patients in the school clinic and working while in school put such a strain on my body and mind that could not be overcome and exacerbated what was already very difficult. But I did not let anything stop me. I achieved my goals, and I set out to find a job, Believing that earning income would allow me to pay for the healing modalities that I needed to get back on track. In September 2014 I moved to Madison Wisconsin. I had thought that I had found a good job at a clinic there. So I pulled up stakes and headed out Midwest. I loved Wisconsin-the friendliness and honesty if the people, they're down to earth intelligence and sense of humorand no nonsense values, The natural beauty of this of the surrounding countryside, and the state capital college town that was educated and culturally interesting while remaining safe and friendly and peaceful and wholesome. However, things were not working out for me. I had missed judged the job offer a solid, and the clinic on her head no interest in providing me with steady employment. I had found a living situation that I thought was workable, caring for an elderly woman with advanced Alzheimer's in exchange for a room; However, the other caretakers and the woman's family proved quite a toxic and unfriendly Milyer, heaping further stress upon the situation. And my brilliant solution? To move again, this time to the Carolinas. I have done it again, imagining that a job offer was both for sure and to be lucrative. But the clinic on her here in Greenville, South Carolina, was not actually promising me the number of hours that I believed were on offer and so I went north after a month in Greenville, to Asheville, North Carolina. Asheville is the Portland, Oregon, of the eastern US-progressive and quirky, cultured and alternative; I figured I could definitely find work practicing acupuncture there. Also, my girlfriend was there… At this point, it would be appropriate to go backwards to interrupt storyline a within interpolation of storyline be, which is no less earthshaking; you're probably A little confused by my closing sentence of the previous paragraph, perhaps even hoping that it could not mean but it sounds like. You see, a number of years ago-really, going back to a year after I was diagnosed HIV positive,  I entered an and unsolicited, Long and grueling path of spiritual transformation.I began to feel an a instinctive pull back towards the Catholic faith of my upbringing, which I had never truly left behind, keeping it in my heart, though I was not practicing actively. As this pull started tugging on my soul harder and harder, on the first day of Advent of 2011, I returned to regular weekly Mass attendance, And I was ecstatic to be back in my mother's arms again. I was the prodigal son, and I was received with nothing but gladness and rejoicing, and my soul again began to eat the feast at my father's table.  I was receiving the spiritual sustenance I had craved. But now that I had had a taste, I only hundred for more. My interest heard from reading metaphysical texts towards Catholic theological once, and I consumed them in fixable. I launch to be a priest and to live my life outright and expressly for not only my faith but that of others, giving my life in service and ministering to the two other spiritual needs, being a conduit of their healing and spiritual progression and strengthening. But because of my health. Specifically my being HIV-positive. This location is off the table; the church is very clear about that. While I was disappointed, I did understand, as well then, while the Vatican has billions of dollars that is orderly corrupt, on the street level, the church hasLittle money or mismanages what it has, and cannot take on at the beginning the serious health care needs of the priest. So perhaps will be a deacon instead someday… But,while I was growing in faith and devotion, something else was happening under the covers, that I ignored for all the years that I saw it swelling, Until it was undeniable. Nine years ago,my interest in men romanticallyand sexually again to Wayne. And for all those years I denied it and played it off, telling myself that I was nearly depressed, and, ironically, losing faith. I told myself repeatedly to stay in the game, to keep the faith. So I tried dating over and over. I can never meet anyone that I can truly connect with and be emotionally fulfilled. In 2014, there was a shift. I began to attract a new class of men. They were emotionally stable, gainfully employed, charming, respectful, and, very importantly, had deep spiritual lives.when was even very active in his synagogue. He may have been a rabbi, though I can't remember.my point is that they were all wonderful partner material-and I could not of cared less. Each of them left me cold. Try though I forced myself, I cannot work up any erotic interest in them, and I had to face the fact that what interest I did have in them, which was significant, was platonic. The feelings that I was having for them where those of desiring their love and companionship-but I did not want to partner or have sex with them. It was clear to me. And then, to make everyone's head spin the rest of the 360°, was that I fell deeply infatuated with a woman.she was a friend of mine at school, and we had connected deeply. She was intelligent,charming, funny, with a strong warrior spirit, and she understood me-And I understood her. She was also a knockout beauty, and I had heart palpitations every time I saw her. Finally I was able to identify all these feelings that I was having for her-which I wasn't having for those men. I said to myself, that's it, this is what life's about, this is what I want. I want… To marry her. I nearly fell over. But here I was. My soul had transformed.  She was in a bad relationship and not available, so nothing came of it. But knowing her had finalized my transformation once and for all. I'm a heterosexual man.   I'm still celebrate color and art and dressing creatively and creative self-expression and I still somehow know what's going on in pop culture and I still have a sparkling sense of humor and sense of irony-but, I would feel so blessed to meet a wonderful woman now and Live a life of harmony with her. Again, though, given my HIV status, it may not be in the cards for me. That's alright; I accept it. I'd rather be in solitude and simply have the love of my family and friends than live an untruth. I may be meant to give my life completely to God and the healthcare of others.   That is, if I can get my own health together… This brings us back to the present. Things are not Rose. My body continues to fall apart. At this time, I am dealing with a very mysterious and troublesome neuromuscular condition of simultaneous weakness and extreme tension. Muscles just aren't firing properly, and, to compensate, they lock up and become extremely tight. There's no pain, and, while it's annoying, I could deal with it. It makes walking and carrying things and other chores tricky. But on the worst of all. It hassome G.I. complications that make life A struggle. If any, the muscles of your legs,hips, buttocks, and back are all required for having a bell movement, providing support for your viscera to fire and for peristalsis to happen. It is incredibly difficult for me to have a bell movement. My: fills up, and there's intense pressure, fullness, clapping, pain, and the release. I've learned to 10 certain muscles and relax others in order to have a movement, but it takes immense concentration. And sometimes hours to achieve. Sometimes The pressure starts building up and my nerves start racing and everything starts blazing and I start to feel crazy and weak and start sobbing and crying out and I can hardly contain it all.  Added to all this, I depend on my mentally and emotionally abusive mother for shelter. She has what I think is borderline personality disorder or combined with the early stages of Alzheimer's. there's manipulation, demands for attention, accusations, insults, insinuations, things forgotten from both the short term and the long term, and things fabricated. It's all the help.cry every day, which makes me feel feel pathetic for being a 36-year-old man, and I have to fight hard to stave off thoughts of self harm and wishing for death. My faith is the only thing that sustains me. This is the heaven that keeps me alive. Every day I go to heaven, which is Mass.I began daily mass attendance last May, and it only several more levels of ecstasy and busted down a new door opening to the progress of my spiritual development.  Every morning I reflect on the time this messages carried in the scripture for us in the present, and I celebrate the whole Eucharist. After Nas I pray the rosary and the chaplet of divine Mercy. And I have discovered the whole worldof deep socialization there at church like I never had before. I've made so many friends with him I can both share my faith answer my sorrows undersea fellowship and support and understanding and compassion of humor. Friendship is good-but friendship in faith is glorious and special and rare indeed. At this point, I'm waiting on a couple things. I'm turning a blind corner, and I can only wait faithfully to see exactly what God has in store for me. I have a number of applications to clinics in process. Though I'd rather not work. I can manage practicing Chinese medicine open… Sort of.   But also,I am waiting on the decision for my claim for long-term disability. I do not plan to be like this for the rest of my life; but as when I moved to Wisconsin two years ago, I just want the money. I have a whole wish list of healing modalities that gets ever more concrete and defined and  longer. I know that I can heal: at least enough to function properly and work and help people. I just pray for the resources to do it. There's a very good prayer that a priest gave me once that is one of my favorite prayers in life, "May God open the doors that I meant to walk through-and shut the ones that I am not." So here I am. That's where I am.  that's what I am. I hope this answers all your questions and satisfies all your interest. Whether or not you are interested in knowing me further, I simply hope that my story has inspired you in some way.  I have lost many friends over the years through my progress, So I will be not offended if you find that you wish to let things go at this point. But I simply hope that there will be peace between us. I cannot ask for more than this. I wish you health and peace and love in your life, Anthony. All my love back to you, Michael P. S. I realize I forgot to describe further the bit about mygoing to Asheville partly to be near my "girlfriend." When I had found that I was moving to Greenville, I went on OkCupid and started looking for girls  that I might meet in the greater Greenville area.Asheville is an hour north of Greenville. I found her in Asheville. She's a lovely girl, but we weren't quite compatible. We're still good friends. She actually has moved to Las Vegas and works at a children's museum there. That's the  very long story short…

Some people go through their lives without ever experiencing the death of a loved one. My husband was one of those people. The grandparents he liked died when he was a young boy. He only vaguely remembered them. His other grandfather died before he was born. The surviving grandmother was a person he actively disliked, a woman who was initially uninterested in him and then actually hostile toward him as he grew up. For the most part, his relatives lived for a long time. His father died at 98 and his mother outlived him, dying at 96. Death made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like thinking about it. He hated funerals and memorials. When he got sick with his deadly Merkel cell cancer which was already metastatic, he looked at me in wonder and said, “the first person I mourn will be myself.” I felt tremendous sympathy for him. He was an innocent. I was not.

Death was familiar territory to me. It was always part of my family’s conversation, along with illness and disease. Michael and I always likened our differences to that movie scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen’s family was shouting about diabetes and Diane Keaton’s was talking about rummage sales. Worlds apart.

The deaths which affected me most started when I was thirteen and my baby cousin died on the day I graduated from 8th grade. My parents went off to be with hers.

I struggled with emotions ranging from a deep sadness to guilt that I was upset that my mom and dad wouldn’t see my walk down the aisle, with my blue and white ribbons pinned to my dress and my gold honor roll pin with blue writing in its center.

That was just the beginning. As I went through my teens, the only grandfather I knew died. That was sort of normal. Then as I entered my twenties, the suicides started.

The first was one of my cousins, Dennis, who shot himself. Next my grandmother died, a normal death from old age.  In my 30’s, it was my other cousin, Eliot who committed suicide. Eliot was like a little brother to me. He leapt from a building in Chicago. I attended his funeral with my baby son under my arm. The year after he died, my friend Fern committed suicide. I have yet to recover from that death. She was a victim whose mental health was destroyed by others. I’d call hers a wrongful death. Despite trying everything I could think of to stop her, it happened anyway.

The year after that, my parents both got cancer. My mother survived but my dad died at 67. At the time, I thought he’d had a long life. My, how getting older changes one’s view of longevity. His death was my first bedside vigil. I cared for many of his physical needs as my mom was still recovering from her own illness. I crossed all kinds of boundaries between a daughter and a father. I knew I was changing from those three deaths in a row but I wasn’t sure how. I reeled from their absences. But there was nothing to do but go forward and recognize that being mindful of what was important in life needed to be something I could figure out. Fast. I think I could call that “afterward” period, just a few years before I turned 40, the time when I honed my best critical thinking skills.

I was very intellectually conscious of who I wanted to be, as a daughter, a wife, a mother and friend. I knew that I wanted to be present. I wanted to be available for people who experienced traumas similar to mine. I guess that’s because the process of grief and loss can be painfully isolating. You often wind up feeling like you have a contagious illness that everyone wants to avoid. So on I went.

As I passed through my 40’s and 50’s, people continued to die. There were the uncles and aunts. There were young teens who were friends of my daughter’s, kids she’d known from as early on as day care and grammar school. I wept at the unfairness of life and their wrenching funeral services. There were parents of my kids’ friends. I organized food trains and visited the patients and listened to them and their spouses. I stood in line by myself at their visitations as Michael never went with me. He couldn’t stand those things. My friends’ parents started dying. I went to as many of those events as I could. Dying is part of life, I would tell myself. Of course it is.

Then in 2012, just before my 61st birthday, Michael was diagnosed with his cancer. I couldn’t believe it. Not Michael, the strong, athletic beast, as my kids called him. Not the progeny of all those people in his family who were so long-lived. But there it was. And my grooming in the world of illness and death made me ready for what turned into our 5 year ride on the cancer rollercoaster, up and down, up and down. So many treatments, moments of hope and health, moments of despair and teetering on the edge of death. We talked about everything during his illness. Both of us felt that as devastating as it was, that we hadn’t reached the worst of the worst. That would be if one of our kids got terribly sick. Both of us questioned whether we could survive that. During the few years before his disease exacted the ultimate price, Michael hovered at the edge of life in 2015. My blows kept on coming.

My brother died that April. Michael was weak but pulled back from the brink in June with a new treatment. He was still trying to gain strength when my mother died in July. Her death was followed later that week by the death of our beloved collie, Flash.

I was learning about all types of grief, the sudden, the acute, the drawn out. The surprise grief that bursts out unexpectedly, just when you think you have your act together. And then after a brief respite, it turned out that Michael would never have to face the question of whether he could stand anything awful happening to our kids. After a heroic effort to stave it off, his sneaky cancer returned with a vengeance and took him out, after a grim struggle for life that lasted from January, 2017 to May 28th of that year. I spent myself down to tatters in those months. I stayed with him in the hospital for 32 days and nights. I was able to get him home where through herculean efforts, he survived for close to three months in a blur of home health visits, treatments and eventual cognitive decline. But he died where we’d lived our life, with me holding his hand and our children beside us.

After that, I was whatever is beyond exhausted. My son departed to his postdoc across the world in Guam and my daughter and her family began to resume their normal life. So I could recover and my son could participate, we delayed an event to honor Michael until December of 2017. That’s when I began to understand that this sadness about Michael had a life of its own. I was going through my days with the spirit of Michael on one side of me and this active pain, almost physical in nature, on the other side of me.

Then, about a week and a half after Michael’s death, a dreadful crime was committed in our community. A foreign national graduate student who’d just recently entered the country to begin her work was kidnapped and quickly assumed murdered. The case got a lot of press. An all-out search began, but within a very few days, the FBI had identified the person who they alleged had committed the crime. He was arrested at the end of June. Public outcry was enormous. The student was Chinese and the university in our community has a large Chinese population.

My daughter is a federal public defender, locally based. When I heard about the case, my first thoughts were, please, please don’t let this case fall in my kid’s lap. Our whole family was reeling with fatigue and grief over Michael’s death. Something this enormous was terrifying to me for her, just having lost her dad, at a time when we were so stunned with sadness. Then came the welcome news that a local law firm had been retained for the case. I breathed more easily and slipped back into focusing on trying to comprehend Michael’s death at the now early-to-me age of 67, the same age as my dad was when he died, that I’d once considered old. I was working hard to cope as was everyone in our family.

Our little unit of four was always a tight, intimate group. Such a huge piece was now missing and we were trying to negotiate that big hole. Who thought that a new pressing issue could push its way into our void? But that’s exactly what happened.

Despite the fact that Illinois abolished the death penalty in our state years ago, the federal attorney general, Jeff Sessions, attached the death penalty to this local case in one of his last parting shots in his position. Twenty states have abolished the death penalty. Nine others have a formal moratorium on it in place. That this could happen in a state that clearly banned capital punishment was astonishing. Although most progressive countries have quit this practice, our country remains among the ones where it is still allowed. For me, I have always considered the death penalty to be institutionalized murder. I’ve never understood how family members of a crime victim can derive any solace from the execution of the perpetrator. Their loved one is still gone and will never come back. A personal opinion, yes. But to me, murder is murder no matter who is doing it.

In early September of 2017, the private firm that had been handling this sensational and ultimately gruesomely detailed case, withdrew from the defense, thereby handing it over to my daughter’s office. Suddenly, barely three months after Michael’s death, my daughter was going to be a primary attorney in a case where the client’s life was at stake. I don’t think she ever thought she would be on a capital case. Why would she, in a state that had eliminated the practice? Suddenly a new heavy weight was thrust onto our family’s shoulders. In addition to carrying our pain about Michael, we now had the burden of wondering what this case would do to my kid, who had to rapidly learn the management of a murder trial with death as a possible sentence.

As time went by, the demands on her time increased in many ways. She needed to travel to conferences and to receive training. That meant absences from her husband and children in addition to me. All jobs mean that time must be taken away from family life. But this was different. The stakes were high. I knew my daughter was laboring under the onus of feeling that she was now responsible for a life or death verdict for her client. She had other attorneys and investigators on her team but as time moved along, it was apparent that she would be in a primary role in the case. I could feel the pressure on her, pressure that was coming from within. My daughter takes her job and its constitutional definition very seriously. Throughout her life, she has always given everything to the tasks before her. As a serious athlete through much of her life, at the end of a competition, she wanted the ball in her hands, to try to attain a victory. And I knew that she would, as the athletic expression goes, leave everything on the floor. But this case appeared to be a slam dunk for the prosecutors. What would happen to my daughter’s psyche? The grief I was, and still am, experiencing over Michael’s death was like no other. But I recognized that my daughter would really need me to be her mother during this unexpected situation. Not just the sad, lonely mother missing my husband and her dad, but the mother who I’d been in “the before,” in the time when worries were considerably less than in this new combination of nightmares.

How in the world would I negotiate this situation?  I never felt that I lost any part of myself when Michael died. He and I were both strong and independent. Being strong all the time gets old, though, and I was now in a position where letting down could affect my daughter at a time when I felt like she needed me. Her own family needed her. Struggling to be the best attorney, a good wife and a good mom was huge. The last thing she needed was for me to be in some pathetic state. We went through all of 2018 and the first five months of this year, barreling closer to the time when the trial would begin. Because the public opinion in our community was so visible, there’d been a change of venue and while my daughter hoped to come home every weekend, the workload for a trial like this didn’t allow for that. So she moved away for the duration of the proceedings. What a nightmare for all of us. Could there be anything harder than being separated from your loved ones in the most intense time in your life?

That’s what my kid faced as well as those of us who love her. During the guilt phase of the trial which began in early June, the defense admitted guilt on the part of their client due to powerful evidence that the prosecution had assembled. It was ugly. There was an endless stream of negative social commentary from who I call the uninformed haters, the people who don’t understand what the law says and who were vengeance-driven and angry at my daughter for doing her job. There was also support but it took awhile for that to become evident as many people didn’t actually know what was happening. Perhaps they might have been more vocal earlier along if they had. The admission of guilt meant that everything would come down to the penalty phase when the jury would have to decide whether the defendant would receive the death penalty or life in prison without parole. This case was like the proverbial dark cloud, hanging over us all and encasing us in it at the same time that we were mourning. Now it was a question of life or death. My daughter who had for almost the duration of this case had been missing her dad, who’d slid into death before her eyes, now held a life in her hands and seemingly in her power. We talked about whether she was prepared for a death sentence and I know she was trying. Last Wednesday, a week after my knee replacement surgery, I limped into our local federal courthouse which provided a live feed of the proceedings to the local community.

The prosecutors presented their case first and at the end of their statement m, said death was the only correct penalty for the case. Then my daughter stood to present the closing statement for the defense. I was mesmerized by her. She spoke with no notes and away from the lectern in the room. She spoke from her heart for 64 minutes and when she finished, I wept. She spoke for life and I sat there remembering all the deaths and the struggles for life I’ve seen and the complexity of what it all means.  For the first time I thought there was a glimmer of possibility for saving a life. The jury deliberated a day and a half and finally told the judge they couldn’t be unanimous in their verdict.

That meant an automatic life sentence for the client. My valiant daughter had pulled off a miracle with her genuine and sincere closing statement. I feel terrible sadness for the family of the victim. But I still believe that the client death would never assuage their pain. I am incredibly proud of my daughter for her strength and conviction. She came home Friday and I saw her a little bit then and a little bit yesterday. She is exhausted and needs rest for a long time after this intense haul.

I will always wonder if I might have felt any differently during my process of grieving Michael, absent the extra load of this nightmare. For my daughter too. I’ll never know. What I do know is that today, I feel the relief of this case having ended. To avoid the blistering heat, I sat in my house relaxing, doing busywork and listening to music. My music stream, which plays many artists’ stations at random, managed to play, one right after another, virtually every meaningful evocative song that makes Michael’s face appear in front of my eyes, although I was heaving and sobbing so much, seeing him was difficult.

I finally unplugged and fled to my garden where I watered and pulled weeds from a seated position and pondered if I’m going back to that place I might have sealed off right after Michael died. The writhing in agony place. There wasn’t enough room for it as I practiced my mothering skills. Maybe I won’t go back there. We’ll see. But in the death and life moments, emotions and grief are mutable and unpredictable. That is one thing I’m sure I know.

Death and/or Life? Some people go through their lives without ever experiencing the death of a loved one. My husband was one of those people.