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firepiplup · 3 years

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How do i say no to people

You know that analogy about people with adhd having spoons for energy management or whatever? My spoons are on backorder from like 2 months ago and more got on that list now

The problem is that all of the things I'm being asked to do are Very Important Things

I have to feed my diabetic cat. This in itself is not a problem, however she's needs to eat at a specific time (12 hour spacing) and my current sleeping situation along with work do not allow this to happen consistently. Currently trying for 7:30, we'll see how it goes

My apartment has bedbugs, and there's no way in fucking hell I'm sleeping on my living room floor until my scumlord landlord actually gets the guy to come back to spray because he did spray but I'm still seeing adults and i "need to give the spray time to work" it's been fucking 2 weeks i don't know how is supposed to work but i feel like after 2 weeks whatever spray you did isn't going to get any stronger i just want to sleep in my own bed it's been like this since fucking March

With that part explained, I'm sleeping at my mom's house on the other side of town. This in itself isn't much of a problem, however as "payment" i have to take care of her dog in the morning, to practice because she's going on a week long vacation in October and none of her dogs can just be taken care of like normal dogs. He needs to wear a diaper to leave the room while i pick up his shit and soiled weewee pad and mop the floor, give him some time to be out of his room, and then feed him his special food mix. The other dog has allergies and probably will get into something he shouldn't, then not use the bathroom outside even though he literally has a doggy door that has constant access to the backyard. Neither dog get along with each other, which is why they are separated. Thank fuck the cat is just normal, this is why i prefer them

Now with THAT explained, it's difficult to take care of my own cat on time in the morning. But as the legendary Billy Mays says: But wait, there's more!

I just got rehired at my job working in a local understaffed pizzeria. My friend, ego also works there, is on vacation (good for her, she deserves it, absolutely no negativity towards her) so i have acquired her hours. So i now work 6 days a week, kinda sorta clopen but i guess it's more of opelose. Or a combination of both? Idk. The point here is, I'm then dealing with essentially running half a restaurant alone 6 days a week, with it not being 7 purely because the owner himself ALSO has the same work schedule as far as I'm aware, and wanted to give himself a day off, and since we are so understaffed it would be impossible unless we literally closed. My tasks include answering the phone, washing dishes, making sandwiches, making dinners, folding pizza boxes, and cleaning the tables/equipment on that side of the restaurant. So essentially everything except making pizzas, cleaning the pizza area, mopping in general, and driving. We generally close at 9, 10 on Friday and Saturday. Guess who was explicitly rehired to close those days? Guess how that's going to work with me having to be home around 7:30 to take care of my own cat? I have no idea either. It's only for about 3 weeks, but my mom, whom i have not asked for any additional help with anything, won't feed the cat while i have work, even though there isn't a guarantee that i can leave on time to THEN RETURN to close, because again I'm the only one on that side of the building. I understand the fear of the bedbugs, so that's probably it, but it still fucking sucks because the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment from the bedroom and there is literally no reason to go there to feed her. But i get it

Did we get to where i can do my own ADLs? Of course not. My neighbor is in the hospital, and her husband is blind. This is a new development that was only discovered an hour before starting this post (about 3:30 am for me). She's ok, it's for mental health reasons, and that's her own business about that. Her husband being blind is not a new development however. And he needs help taking care of the pets, specifically the birds. Which is fine, they just also need to eat on their own schedule. 8am, around lunchtime, and 8pm. Guess who's still at work? One of the birds is special needs because her beak got injured and needs to be essentially spoon fed. Which the blind husband can't do at all. Fairly simple task, but just adding to my obligations that are Very Important because they involve making sure things don't starve to death while my neighbor is in Crisis

Ok let's see, that's 4 Very Important Tasks/Obligations, and only one was originally my own voluntary one. Still not at taking care of myself yet, but i have my shelter, i have my job ("part time" minimum wage, hurray. Part time because even with me being there 6 fucking days a week open to close it still isn't technically enough hours for the state to recognize it as full time), and I'm taking care of *counting* about 8 pets for the next week. Will unemployment give me my money that I've been claiming since March? No? Will they let me claim with my new working hours that makes that while process even harder? Technically but it'll take over an hour for it to process and it doesn't even do that in the end? Well fuck, guess i have to wait to get paid on the books in cash and beg for a hand written paystub and have my hours worked written down. Glad i earned $100 this week, i hope now that my hours have increased i get some more

Next on the list, appointments. Because I'm a dumbass who can't remember shit if it isn't consistently recurring, i overbooked myself for next week. My much needed therapy appointment with my therapist that I've only met once and is the replacement for my much better therapist that i actually had a relationship with is supposed to have a session with me on Tuesday. Will i remember to do it this time? Possibly since i actually remembered it's on Tuesday. Will she send me the reminder text with the zoom link? Probably not. Wednesday, my one day off, thank fuck for that, is the main problem with the scheduling. My med appointment is for 11:30. Cool, can do. Driving lesson at 12. Oh, that's a little close, but i can manage that probably. I only average 1 lesson per year and a half, so it's fine, it's "healthy" to be nervous about operating a death machine powered by explosions. Have to go to social services to pick up, or attempt to, a new food stamps card. They probably close at 5, and add a Non Driver, i need to rely on someone to take me. The sooner the better, but it can't be during the lesson. Don't forget to take care of the creatures before and during all of this.

Ok. Great. There's an hour before work. Time to shower, because it's so fucking hot I'll be sweating like crazy by the time i get around the corner to the pizzeria, with me literally getting out and dressed and then walking out the door. Glad i finally did still to take care of myself. Eating? I might have something i can heat up quickly while the cat eats and so i can take my own meds. Dishes? Those are going to have to wait, i hope the heat wave doesn't get too bad, but it's been like this for a while, still slowly chipping away at them. Sleep? Severe insomnia. I partially blame the bed, my mattress is so comfortable, i hope the bedbugs like it because i can't fucking use it right now. I'd be sleeping so fucking soundly if i were in my own bed, and yet here i am. Maybe i should take the Trazodone now. I just hope I'll wake up on time. Oh look I'm exhausted, can't afford to buy comparatively better prepared coffee from Dunkin, so i guess my shitty at home coffee is going to have to do. Black because i don't have any creamer or milk or lactose free milk in my house. Just the way i hate it. Gonna have to deal with that i guess, maybe I'll learn to like it

The coffee pot lives in my fridge now. I'm worried to put it with the other dishes because if it sits there, not being washed like everything else, then i won't even have the option of coffee. It's just water and ground up beans, I'm sure it's fine

Maybe i can find some kind of coping skill/hobby to help me through my limited me time. Let's see.... I like to crochet, and that helps me get through the dishes by letting me alternate between them and a row/round on one of my many started projects. What? It's in a giant garbage bag with a bedbug treatment stick because of the damn ass bedbugs? Can't open it for at least another week and even then there isn't a place to put the yarn safely? Well fuck. I found that really helpful with keeping me grounded. Umm, well looking online, i should *checks notes* buy new yarn in the meantime and keep it somewhere safe. Uh, well, i can't afford more yarn now and i have nowhere to put it. Videogames it is maybe? Oh fuck now I've hyper focused too long on pokemon, rhythm heaven, and whatever daily games i do, i think i have 5 of those of varying lengths of time spent on them

Did i remember to brush my teeth? No. Do i remember that i should and then when i get out of the shower so i forget to actually execute? Yes. Have i gone insane? Probably

How many spoons is a person supposed to have per day? It takes more for me just to get through the day in general. Why does everyone need me to do their Very Important Tasks? Why is there never anyone else? Can my neighbor just not buy more birds when she gets home from Crisis?

I just want to have good mental health, why is this so hard

#adhd #autistic adult #bedbugs #pizza #cats #birds #diabetes #anxiety #rant #exhaustion #dogs #work #spoons

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secretsandwriting · 3 years

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Hey guys, this is really just a rant/prayer request for my great grandma so if your not in a great mental place I wouldn't recommend reading it.

She has dementia and really needs to go to some sort of assisted living.

She just accidentally started a fire and lives in a trailer aka: fast easy burning. Thankfully it was small and the most damage was smoke. She was trying to cook or forgot to turn off the stove and melted a peanut butter jar, she can't safely drive and says she doesn't but we're pretty sure she forgets. It's dangerous at this point for her to be alone.

For a while my uncle was dragging his feet doing anything because my grandma's other sons (my other uncle and grandpa) refused to make a decision because they live in florida and we're in Michigan. But he's looking now and made calls but because of covid no one is taking people. My uncle who is the one taking care of this is moving because his wife found a job in south (?) Carolina so that leaves everything physical to my mom and cousin.

The biggest problem is, she needs 24 hour care but my cousin is married so they can't take her. We couldn't because my grandma has always been negative and blut (she used to tell me I was eating too much and would get fat like her when I was 10 and other things including things we couldn't control) and that's only gotten worse since the dementia.

We used to live with her when we moved back into the area like 3-4 years ago back in the earlier stages of it and she blamed me for things she did and refused to accept it wasn't me when everyone else told her it really wasn't. She also expected my mom to do everything and complains about everything aka a very negative person. Don't get me wrong we absolutely love her, but for the sake of both my mom's and my own mental health we can't take her.

Honestly at this point we can't do much and it's getting really bad fast, it's clear she either take too much or doesn't take any of her meds and with Her dementia and diabetes she really needs too but then people would have to go out everyday because she doesn't always hear or charge her phone.

Also we're pretty sure she forgets to eat too.

So if you don't mind, please pray for my grandma to stop declining so fast and that we can get her in somewhere soon.

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fizzingwizard · 4 years

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very long very personal

of course it’s okay, I wouldn’t have left this public if it were a big deal, but I’d still prefer no comments on this.

So my mom messaged me the other day asking if we could chat because she “had some questions.” So I already figured something was up, because usually she doesn’t give a reason for wanting to chat, just wanting to talk is enough. I was trying to guess if “some questions” meant something very serious was going on or if she had questions about whether I’ll be able to go back to the US for Christmas this year, since last time we talked I said probably not because of covid-19.

So I felt like I didn’t want to put this off, but also did? lol. So I couldn’t make myself call last night, so I called this morning when it’s night for them. ” It seemed casual, but I could see a stack of boxes behind her. My first thought was “are my parents moving?” And at first my mom’s like, “Yeah, we decided to sell the house, so I wanted to ask you about some things of yours I found. I’m like oh, okay, probably anything left there is trash because I haven’t looked at it in 10 years (uh, though there were a couple things I wanted to keep >_>; also a mountain of books >_____>;)

and then she goes, “So yeah, the reason we’re selling is because your dad and I are splitting up.”

and I’m like, THERE IT IS.

she said it soooo casual-like and several minutes into chatting. I’m sure because it’s an awkward thing to suddenly bring up. The thing is, before I called, I was planning to tell her that if there ever was some big news to share, I’d rather she warn me in a text message first. Like, “I’ve got some news that may be difficult to hear,” some such, doesn’t need to explain anything, just tip me off to be prepared, because that’s what I’m like. At work I never fully accept compliments because the feeling of reassurance that I’m doing well leads to me being blindsided when something goes wrong. So I try to always keep a mental balance, like “I’m glad X went well but that doesn’t mean everything is good” or “Too bad Y didn’t work out, but that doesn’t meant everything is shitty.” This is what helps me not go crazy and feel a bit in control. I wish I were a happy go lucky person for whom bad stuff rolls right off, but it doesn’t, at all, so I try to manage it the best way I can. I never feel truly happy but I never feel truly sad.

And the reason I felt like I needed to say something to my mom is, this isn’t the first time something like this happened. When I was in college, both of my parents got into a car accident - the same accident, but separate cars. They were both okay, but the cars were ruined. They didn’t tell me until weeks later. Same thing happened when my brother got sick and had to be hospitalized. He was there for weeks dealing with some pretty tough treatments and my parents were very stressed. And they didn’t tell me anything until it was all over with. I get that they didn’t want me to worry, I was in college and far away and couldn’t have done anything, and I also get that they were busy themselves, but I still want to know. For me, worry is not half as bad as being shocked afterward. Maybe my parents would prefer it the other way, but not me. I have told them this before but I guess it doesn’t stick. Every family is dysfunctional and I guess being bad at sharing bad news is my family’s dysfunction. Among many lol.

so I had basically just decided there was no real bad news to worry about and was preparing to let my mom know how I’d prefer she tell me if and when there is, when she drops this bomb on me. Like it’s no bomb at all. “Oh, you’re surprised? Your brother wasn’t surprised at all,” she said. Both my parents say the reason my bro’s not surprised is because he lives close by (and lived with them for many years until just recently) and I do not. While I’m sure there’s some truth to that, the real reason is totally that my brother Knows Everything and is Surprised By Nothing. And how I know that, is that I’m not surprised for the reason my parents think I am. They think I’m surprised because I didn’t know how far apart they’ve grown. But LOL. I know. I’ve known for a VERY long time.

The reason I’m surprised is BECAUSE I’ve known for a long time. I figured it out when I saw how other kids’ parents interact and compared it to mine. I figured it out when my mom started telling me things about her and my dad that probably she shouldn’t have told me, but I can’t be bothered to worry about it because my dad’s really provoked it, I mean REALLY provoked it. And my dad doesn’t dish dirt on my mom, but that’s because there isn’t any :P It’s a lopsided relationship in that way. What my dad has done is tell me how he really feels. How he’s so grateful that he has my mom and would be alone if not for her, and how he’s sorry for how he behaves when he’s upset and doesn’t want to lose what he’s got.

So, YEAH, I knew that my mom was not happy in her relationship, but any time she talked about it she always seemed anti-change. She wouldn’t lay down the law with my dad when he said things, she always followed him as the “head of the house,” and I couldn’t even blame her, I’ve seen both of the men in my family treat her pretty horribly for sticking up to herself so small wonder she doesn’t do it more. What I thought was, if she’s going to leave my dad, she’d have done it ten years ago, as soon as we kids were out of the house. She didn’t. So I’m mostly just surprised it’s finally happened!

And she says it’s all amicable, they’re staying friends, they’ll still see each other at holidays, etc. She said it all with a smile. In my head I was thinking, “I’m sure that’s true for mom, but what about dad?” Because Idk how much of the things my dad tells me he also tells my mom. I always got the feeling that dad felt I was his confidante in the family. Because I’m a good listener and I don’t tell secrets. There are things my mom dad and bro have all done that I have never told anyone in fifteen years.

And my dad has made it clear many many times that he does NOT want to live alone, does NOT want to be without my mom, etc. And I always complain about his super negative, “world is ending” politics which has just been getting worse - apparently he’s also been saying things like “I’m going to die and the world will end” etc stuff like that, and the talk about him dying is new. For me it’s an alarm bell, but no one else seems concerned. Not that I think my dad’s planning anything, but I mean more, he’s always been the depressive type, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better, and now having no one but himself for company... I think it’s going to make it even worse. Right now their reasoning is, they barely see each other anyway even while living in the same house, so what’s gonna change? But it’s completely different sharing a house with someone and not seeing them often and living completely alone. It doesn’t seem that different but it really is.

So my mom finishes telling me that everything’s fine and they both want this separation, and a little later my dad walks in and he says “Yeah, we’re splitting. I’m the type of person who should live alone. I don’t want it that way, but that’s how it is.” He said it casually too. My mom just went quiet. But the casualness was different from my mom’s. She seemed like “okay, I’m doing this now,” while he seems resigned. So yeah, basically I’m not worried about my mom, but I don’t think my dad totally realizes what this is gonna be like for him, and I’m really nervous about it. It gives me all sorts of bad feelings.

But to be clear, I don’t blame my mom for ANY of this. Not for wanting to separate, not for my dad’s depressive personality... none of it. Like I said, I thought she’d separate from him ten years ago. I love my dad, and he does have many good qualities, but he is difficult to live with. As a kid I overheard lots of arguments. Used to wonder if they’d divorce. Only reason I didn’t take it more seriously was because both of my parents come from bad homes, my mom’s parents divorced, my dad’s didn’t but he always said he wished they had because it was so toxic having them together. My parents seemed to value their relationship because of how shitty their own parents’ relationships were, so I thought that was what was keeping them afloat.

But on top of all that, my dad did some bad stuff with money. A few bad things. I don’t know all of it, mom says it’s between her and my dad, but my hope is that whenever I go home to visit at her new place, she’ll tell me. Of course I won’t push for it, but it’d be nice to have the whole story, because knowing what I do is already enough to be weird and confusing. Also my student loans appear involved (my parents are co-signers). Anyway, what I do know is that some bad money decisions were made and then my dad did a lot of lying and disrespectful stuff when my mom found out, and won’t apologize or admit he did anything wrong. My mom’s known about this for at least a month and he wouldn’t apologize the entire time. This seems to be the final straw for my mom. She seized control of the finances and though she didn’t say so, there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s the one who decided on the separation. She says she doesn’t get paying for a house she feels like she’s living alone in, when she doesn’t need such a big place just for herself, so she might as well sell and move somewhere cheaper.

Again my mom is not responsible for my dad’s metal health. She’s spent pretty much her whole adult life supporting him and not gotten all that much in return. For her, I think this is the right move and she’s going to be happier. For my dad, it’s a huge change and not a good one. Still nothing like my mom’s fault - if anything he brought it on himself - but I just feel like I’m looking into a crystal ball and it’s just my dad sitting alone in his trailer watching right wing political videos and eating junk food. Maybe forgetting to take his diabetes medicine, etc. He doesn’t even have a job so I’m not sure how that’s gonna work out. In your old age you hope you have someone who cares about you and helps look after you. At the very least you hope you have someone to talk to when you come home. I’m glad he’s supposedly going to be close to his best friend, and his best friend is a really nice guy who... may need to prepare for seeing my dad every day now? idk. But I’m grateful for that at least.

My mom will be a free bird, but it’s hard to imagine this being anything like freeing for my dad. Maybe I will turn out to be wrong. Idk. My dad’s sister is also a divorcee and has been living by herself for decades. She has a lot of loner type quirks because of that, but that’s alright. So maybe it will be okay, it will turn out my dad is really comfortable living alone after all... I wouldn’t have doubted that because he does like to be alone, it’s just the other stuff - the money, the jobs, the food, the medicine, etc - that kind of stuff I’m worried about. My aunt also fills her home with animal companions. Oh, just realized I forgot who’s going to keep the dog. Probably my dad... though of the two of them, the dog’s def better off with my mom, who actually takes her for actual walks. But my mom’s never really wanted a dog and only had one because my dad wanted it.

I mean story of my life right??? My mom doesn’t want a thing, but does it because it’s what my dad wants, he doesn’t take care of it, so she does! Rinse and repeat. For years and years and years.

When my mom told me about all this I said “Okay, I don’t want to talk about it right now but I’m glad you’re both happy.” And she was like why don’t you want to talk about it? Well for all these reasons that I could never say to their faces.

for them it’s been their marriage, for me it’s been my lifetime. There are so many things we did together. Even when my dad made his stupid music CD with the god awful cover he designed himself, and wouldn’t accept my mom’s input even though she’s a graphic designer, ya know, she does it for a living... Those kinds of memories. I know I’m sentimental as fuck. I just told my mom to throw out all my old drawings and notebooks that I was keeping from when I was a kid because it doesn’t mean a thing to me anymore. Life changes, things change, and as much as we want to carry it on with us, we just run out of space.

haha now im crying, how stupid

there’s another reason as well but I just deleted it because I’m secretive lol.

time changes and we change, and we can survive any change... but we may not like it. it may not feel worth it. idk. i don’t know if my existence is worth it. I know my parents love me and I’m personally happy on a daily basis, I’ve been lucky that while I’m hardly a peppy cheerful type, I don’t seem prone to depressive episodes like my dad and brother. So it’s not about “I shouldn’t have been born!” or nonsense. But maybe in a wiser world, my parents would not have married each other. Maybe they could have been happier. Idk.

this would all be a breath of fresh air if I could feel like it’ll be as good for my dad as it will be for my mom.

anyway I really needed to get this off my chest. again I don’t really want “aw dont worry my parents are separated too” comments. I respect what everyone’s been through and I know I’m hardly suffering here relatively speaking. but I’ve always been a melodramatic journaling type so I just had to write it down.

#personal

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venting402 · 3 years

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So let’s just say I’m disgusted with my family now. TW// self harm, mention of suicide

Well like two weeks ago my cousin and my mom were on the sofa. Nothing wrong. I was putting away my grandpa’s old clothes into a vacuum sealed bag because he’s dead and his clothes would get dust sitting in the closet. My cousin goes over with her friends quite often, which I tell my mom that she should put an end to because it’s not safe. My mother NEVER listens to me on anything. When I brought up that they need to take the pandemic more seriously my cousin had the rebuttal of “well u went to ur friend’s house”. Less than a month into lockdown bc it didn’t reach my city yet, yeah. My mom was willing to risk it to go to a party, which I had to stop her from doing.

So my cousin went to her friend’s house over this past week. One of her friends already has a family member who lives with them test positive. On Saturday we went to get coats and in the car she was wearing her mask which I pointed out. Well later we stopped in a parking lot to eat so she took it off in the car so wtf. The next day she was watching music videos in the living room. Yesterday she found out the friend’s house she went to tested positive and she thought since her friend was not showing symptoms it was not a concern.

Of course my mom got mad. Told her she had to stay in her room for the next 10 days. Had yet to sanitize what’s in the house. Well today my uncle who went on a rant on Facebook saying how the fuck can the virus be real showed up at my house. Text my mom he’s here because he showed up with 3 of my younger cousins, not his, let him know. I have to go inform him because that’s the responsible thing to do. HE TELLS ME HES IMMUNE AND ONLY OLD PEOPLE GET IT. THAT KIDS HAVE YET TO DIE FROM IT.

I tell my mom how it played out because she blamed his rant on him being drunk so I tell her “it was not bc he’s drunk or high”. Her response? “Why would u tell him that. Him coming over is a risk they have to take!” ALL I TOLD HIM IS HE CANT COME OVER FOR A WHILE!!!!!!

She constantly gets mad over the news and how people don’t take it seriously yet told me, her only living child, that shit.

Around 9/10 ish I started to cut myself. I started to get more frustrated with my family then the world and one day before I even put a blade to my arm I told my mom, hyperventilating, that I wanted to die. Told me some “other people have it worse than you” bullshit. Among other reasons but that’s why I cut myself, I get so angry and I’m not a violent person. She took my blade away, didn’t stop me. Recently I’ve had it too much with her where the idea is tempting to say fuck it.

My mother is willing to risk my uncle getting covid, the twins he babysits getting covid, their younger brother, my diabetic tia and her diabetic husband, her two sons, grandchildren, that tia’s daughters and their families since they go over quite a bit, my other tia’s kids since my uncle stays over there, that tia’s grandchildren and her boyfriend. ALL SO MY UNCLE CAN HAVE A PLACE TO CALL IN MY HOUSE DESPITE THE FACT HE WAS SUPPOSED TO LIVE WITH US BUT HE DESIDED NOT TO BECAUSE HE WAS OK WITH GETTING HIGH RATHER THAN PROTECT HIS OWN DISABLED FSTHER FROM HIS DRUG ADDICTED BROTHER WHO VERBALY ABUSED MY GRANDPA. She doesn’t want to throw out his dresser full of clothes he doesn’t wear and hasn’t for years because it’s his even tho it creates space in her office room.

I swear I hate this. If I could I would try to be somewhere else but now I’m waiting for her to get home later and 100% fight with me. I’m sure we won’t speak to each other for a good 3 weeks maybe. I’ve been clean for so long I think today might break me.

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xx-autmnlvr-xx · 5 years

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In this mountain town chapter 1 (reupload)

I posted this on @willthenewkid but I finally got an idea for the name and aldo-crangle confirmed the name for me :) so I decided to reupload it onto here!

Fandom: South park

Genre: drama/romance

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Life never had much for me. I had that feeling for 7 years. Why I haven't committed suicide, I really don't know. I would like to think it's a sign that someone cares. That a force in the sky has a plan for me; but I know better. He's there, but he doesn't care. Why would he? With despicable wants and violent tendencies.

Then there's me. I always chase something to forget my past, to forget everything. It works most of the time, but when the high is lost I hurt worse than before. So, I keep searching.

As soon as my back hit the couch cushion I looked at my cell and cursed.

"What's up?" A chick asked, taking a hit on her edible.

"I gotta get going, school begins in 4 hours."

"Dude, I thought you was on summer vaca." A lanky guy asked, wiping his nose and sniffing.

I groaned, closing my baggy and putting it in my pocket.

"It was, it ended yesterday."

Pete took a drag of his cigarette.

"I actually forgot about that. Damn, I guess that means I have to go too."

"When you two coming back?" The woman asked.

"Hell if I know, you gotta go to work tonight anyway so why does it matter?" I scoffed, putting on my jacket.

"FUCK!" She screamed, scampering to her phone.

I took the distraction to slip out of the abandoned house we hung out in. I sighed and cleaned off some of the coke from under my nose and began walking toward my house. As I walked I heard Pete walk out of the building and to his house.

"See you later, conformist." He called, joking.

"Bye, goth." I replied, smiling a little.

I felt myself tense as I approached my house. I didn't want to go inside but I needed to change. I opened the door and closed it softly, turning around to find my father sprawled out on the carpet with containers and papers everywhere. I let out a breath of frustration and went to my room. I picked out some clothes for the day and put them on. A pair of skin-tight grey jeans and a black hoodie. I grabbed the coke baggy that was in my pocket and placed it in my nightstand drawer.

My door opened and my father came in, "H-hey, scamp. Where have you been all night? I w-was worried sick!"

"Why do you care?" I rolled my eyes and zipped up my backpack.

"Because I'm your dad? Why shouldn't I worry when my son doesn't come home?"

I feigned innocence, "oh, I thought you wouldn't notice because you was busy puffing your life away."

I saw him get upset, "don't you talk to your dad like that! You're the child, I'm the adult! You're supposed to show me respect!"

My eye twitched, "why should I respect someone that doesn't respect me?"

"You're just like your mother. Judging me but not judging yourself! Just fly away, your highness!" He yelled.

"Don't you EVER talk about mom like that!" I argued back, putting my backpack on and pushing past him,

"She was a hundred times the person you would ever be!"

"Then why did you kill her?" He snapped. The sentence pinched a nerve in my chest. I ran, making my way down the stairs and out the door. With my back on the door I looked at a blade of grass and fought back tears. I sighed and looked to my left when I heard a door open.

I caught sight of butters leaving his house, I noticed a bruise on his cheek.

"Hey, will! How are you this morning?" He called out, smiling like he always does.

"I'm fine." I answered, waving. Kenny came up to butters and started talking to him. I used the opportunity to start walking to school.

It has been six years since I came to this town. A lot of us are in tenth grade now. Some have been held back because of the horrible teachers. Some have moved away from the toxicity of the town. I don't blame them. I would move away too, if it wasn't for....

"Hey! Wait up!" A voice called out to me, I stopped, feeling myself shiver from his voice. The voice that held so much meaning to me. I took in a breath before turning around.

"Scott, how are you?"

He smiled, coming up to me, "I'm fine! I didn't see you any this summer, where were you?"

"Well I've been working." I said, putting my hands in my pocket, playing with the seams.

"That's weird, I've been to every shop and I haven't seen you."

"It's a night shift." I quickly informed him.

"Oh lucky! I still can't go out at night, because my parents think I'll end up getting mugged."

I smiled softly, "yeah, that can happen. They're just keeping you safe."

He huffed, "but I'm 15, I should be able to go out whenever I want!"

I looked at him and turned around, beginning to walk again, "maybe I'll talk to your parents to let you spend the night and we can sneak out."

"You would? Oh thank you, Will!" He got excited, smiling, following me.

When we got to the school, everyone was crowded around the schools bulletin board.

"What's going on?" Scott asked Nelly.

She was beaming with excitement, "we're going to have a fall dance!!!"

I tilted my head, "but isn't it the first day?"

"Yeah!!! The principal said that the best way for us to stay focused is if we let all our socialization and excitement out on a dance floor!" Bebe said, turning to us.

Scott and I sighed at the sound of a dance. But I know we sighed for different reasons. After the doorway cleared, Scott walked to his locker. I followed him.

He looked at me when he got to his locker, "my locker's 156, which ones yours?"

I looked at the slip of paper, "65"

His smile faded, "what?! We're not next to each other?!" He said, distressed.

"Hold on." I calmly assured, I looked at the locker on the other side of him and saw a guy with red hair open it, I walked around Scott and tapped the guys shoulder.

"Hey, here, take my locker." I commanded, holding my number out.

"Why should I do that?" He asked, looking at me firmly.

I made a step toward him, "it's by the teachers lounge so you can stay safe from the assholes. You can either take my locker or have a trash can be your locker." I stated. He made a noise and took the number, taking his books with him. I threw my bag in my new locker and closed it.

"Dang, Will. You didn't have to be so mean to him." Scott said, staring at me, concerned for the guy.

"Well he shouldn't have asked questions." I shrugged but I felt bad. Not because of the ginger, but because Scott didn't like it.

"So, what are your classes?" I quickly changed the subject.

He looked at his schedule he taped to his door, "geography homeroom, gym, trigonometry, English 10, earth and space, and french. You?"

I looked at my phone and let out a puff of air.

"We only have one class together. English."

"Aw that sucks" he said, sighing.

After we talked some more, the bell rang and a wave of teens ran to their classes.

"Well see you later, Will." Scott said, smiling.

I did finger guns, "see you in English, captain diabetes."

He laughed before walking away. I smiled and breathed deeply. I would never admit out loud that I loved him, but I repeat it in my head a lot. Every fiber of my being wants to be with him, but it's hard when I know he's straight. I sighed and walked to first period.

"Good morning, class. My name is Dave and welcome to algebra 2. I will not accept jokes and tardies. So if you're late you'll be sent to the office and if you try any wisecracks, you'll be removed from my class. Understood?"

None of us answered.

He continued, "now let's go around the room and introduce ourselves."

I groaned at that sentence and put my head on my desk at the back of the room.

"Let's start with you." He said. I heard a kid on my right clear his throat.

"My name is Mark and-" he began talking, I couldn't really hear him though, my mind was on the dance and how I could possibly talk Scott into going with me.

After school I went to the back of the school to have a smoke.

"Hey, will." Pete greeted me, sitting beside Michael.

"Hey, Pete. Guys." I acknowledge, nodding to the others as I reached in my backpack for a cigarette. They greeted me back.

"You seriously still attending class?" Henrietta scoffed, looking at my papers and notebooks that's in my bag.

"Well I want to graduate so I can leave this fucking town. Don't you?" I huffed. I was having trouble finding my lighter.

"You got me there. But I could always get my GED over at one of the big cities." She took a drag from her cigarette.

"Here." Firkle said, throwing me his matches. I thanked him and lit my cigarette, passing him his matches back.

"I'll tell you what, these conformists are plaguing this place more and more." Michael brooded, flicking some ashes.

"It makes me wanna implode into meat chunks." Firkle agreed.

I rolled my eyes. They always got to mention something about conformists, "so, you still wanting to be a coroner, Michael?"

He smiled at the thought, "Yeah. Took an internship over the summer. You still selling yourself?"

I flicked my ashes "I gotta earn money somehow. My father sure isn't gonna feed me."

"How does it feel having sex with strangers?" Henrietta asked, smirking.

I shrugged, "it's fine. Most of them just focus on their own need but they pay me good." They nodded

"Well at least they do that." Pete added.

There was silence for a moment. I praised the silence. The subject wasn't on me anymore. I wouldn't tell them if they were anyone else. That's one thing about the goths, they keep quiet about subjects their friends talk about. I respect that.

Firkle received a text and put out his cigarette.

"I have to go. Ike wants me at the second-hand shop."

"Have fun." Henrietta answered. Firkle stood up and walked off, his chained boots clinking with every step.

"I have to go too. Scott wants to discuss plans for the dance." I said, trying to smoke the last of my cigarette in one puff.

"Who are you going with?" Pete asked.

"Hell of I know." I shrugged.

Walking off I thought about Scott walking in the dance with me. Then I would find the nerve to ask him to dance. He'd be embarrassed and mess with his shirt. We would dance and my eyes would lock with his. I daydreamed about it until I got to his door.

I took a couple breaths and rung the doorbell. Scott answered and smiled.

"Will! Come in, mom made snacks do you want any?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though." I replied, smiling.

We went upstairs to his room and he began showing me outfits.

"I was thinking of wearing my purple button up and black dress pants but I don't have a tie that matches."

"Well do you have to wear a tie?" I asked.

"Well I was thinking that maybe a girl will come up and pull me by the tie and I really would like for that to happen." I felt my body tinge with the word 'girl' and feigned a smile.

"Well then does your dad have a tie that matches?"

"I don't know. I'll check. So you think I should wear this?"

"I think it would look great on you." I nodded.

"So who are you gonna ask?" He said, sitting beside me.

"uuh don't know," I replied quickly, shrugging, "you?"

"I don't know, maybe red but I doubt she'll accept. Then there's Nelly. I have no idea. I guess whoever agrees." He thought, looking at his ceiling. I nodded.

"Hey, want to play video games?" He asked suddenly. I smiled.

"Does a dog shit?" I replied. He laughed and went to his video games. We spent the rest of the day playing super smash Bros.

We was on twelve out of sixteen when we heard a female voice.

"Scott, honey! It's time for dinner!" Mrs. Scott said. He looked at the clock; 6:00

"Oh, I didn't realize it was that late," he looked at me, "sorry, will but mother has a problem with people eating dinner with us since Cartman."

I smiled, "it's okay. You enjoy dinner. See you tomorrow?"

He smiled back, "of course! See you at school."

I stood up and went down the stairs, saying goodbye to his parents and leaving the house. It felt like I was filled with hot sauce, I was shaking with the need to tell Scott how I feel. I did some calming breaths and checked my phone.

#south park new kid #south park oc #south park #sp new kid #sp oc #original character #original story

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icequeen-shiva · 6 years

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what i need to say to you, as a fat girl.

i’m going to put it under a cut, not because i’m embarrassed but because i know i’m going to get longwinded and i know some people won’t appreciate a gigantic, lengthy post clogging up their dash. and i get that! that’s me sometimes too. it’s cool, fam. it’s... it’s a damn novel. i’m not going to lie. i’m sorry it got so long. there’s a lot of history. but i don’t know how else to make it so clear and understandable without going deep. everything in here is exactly what i want known. so... yeah, it’s long.

i just had my yearly gynecological appoint a week ago. she stressed to me that she couldn't be happier with me, even with my weight. my blood work was, she called it, wonderful. my levels are good! i’m not even close enough to pre-diabetic that she felt a need to caution me. i’m healthy, according to my blood, she said. keep doing what i’m doing, she said, based on science and my blood, not my stomach, where all my weight seems to go. i am blessed that my doctor is kind. she knows that i, and others like me, am doing the best i can to find more healthy and nutritional things that work for me (and while i won’t go into it here, i will say that i have a fucked up home life that doesn’t make it easy). she knows pcos is fighting me every step of the way on losing weight. but she is proud of me and supports me and when she wants to talk about my weight, that is how she addresses it: with positive suggestions, not shaming me, not guilting me into feeling like i’ve done this wrong and disappointed everyone.

yes, i could exercise more. i’m not in shape, but the tests come back that, overall, i’m healthy, but that doesn’t seem to matter, because i’m still fat.

it shouldn’t be this hard to write. i shouldn’t be crying while i write this, but it’s been beaten into me (not literally) since i was a child that i’m not worth it if i’m fat. i went from kindergarten through eighth grade to a very small school (at its largest while i went there, my class had 36 people total) and i lived on the very edge of the district. if a friend wanted to do anything, we had to coordinate with our parents who was going where, whose parents were driving and what time would we get together, what time would someone need picked up, etc. and i was fat. i’ve been overweight since the day i was born, coming out at 10 pounds. i wasn’t into sports, which was absolutely what this school put almost all of its focus on. i was into art, which was the last thing this school put its focus on. i was quiet, i didn’t live in town, i didn’t want to play kickball or basketball at recess, i wanted to sit on the swings and draw. i was the weird kid, and i also happened to be the fat kid in my grade. the only fat kid. so i was an undesirable, and i just... got used to it. i will never forget how sick i felt in seventh grade, in the girls’ locker room after gym one day, when one of the thinnest girls was almost crying about her reflection and how fat she looked. i felt terrible for her, because if she really believed that then that girl needed help, but i also felt absolutely sick and knew i wanted to be annnywhere else but that school with these girls. i was lucky enough that my mom finally agreed to let me go to the school just a hop over the district line for high school. i met the best friend i’ve ever had in my whole life. i met other fat kids. i won the art club scholarship when i was a senior. my entire social existence was not predicated on “she doesn’t live here, she’s an oddball, and she’s fat” for the first fucking time.

but i was still fat in high school, and still pretty weird, i won’t lie, so i was still not the girl asked to any dances. i was never invited to any parties. i’m lucky that i wasn’t bullied for my fatness. a couple underclassmen punks behind me in the hallway tried one time, but at this point, i had perfected my glare and intimidation voice, so when i stopped, turned around, glared, and dared them to say that one more time, they didn’t. i was picked on for my goth aesthetic more than i was my weight, and that was fine. it wasn’t my weight, so i could live with it. i had my friends, i had my art classes, i had english and history where the teachers loved me and how good i was at these subjects. but i never had a date. i never had a first kiss. i never had any of this. i was fat, and i was weird. i’m not blaming it all on my physical appearance. everyone is embarrassingly weird as a teenager, i think, and if you weren’t then you’re lying.

for varying reasons, i didn’t get to go away for college. i went where my parents demanded i go, to a community branch of ohio state, with looming promises of “oh, you can transfer to columbus in a year or two, it’ll be fine” that ended up never happening. it was just like high school all over again. it was so small, and so limited, and so full of the same kind of people i’d been with the last four years already. i was still the fat weird girl. i grew into both of these. i learned to carry them each much better, i started taking theatre classes and auditioning for the plays, i even got the fucking lead in a one season. i was antigone, and i was, for the first time, excited about myself.

it didn’t last, though. the theater kids were, contrary to how they’re depicted so often and what other people’s stories have been, mean. so i left it. i never acted on that campus again. and it hurt like a motherfucker when i reminded myself that i gave up like that. but it was easier to do that. it was easier to take myself out of the spotlight than it was to constantly fight and defend my right to have it just like anyone else. now... there’s a lot of other issues in my life, that i’m not willing to address right now. all of my friends moved a few hours away from me. i’m not exaggerating, though i wish i was. i never ended up leaving. i dropped out of college when my depression was spiraling out of control and i wasn’t reeeeally functioning at all. i still live at home, in this close-minded, rural, midwestern place, because i’m terrified of leaving my mother with her depression that’s much worse than mine has ever been and i have no one in this area at all that i trust enough to be roommates with, and i can’t afford living on my own without that crutch. that’s as far as i’m willing to go. but this-- leaving acting, that i had loved so much-- was really a tipping point into the depression i have struggled with for almost my entire adult life.

and that depression and continued social rejection has really drummed in further i am fat. i have no hope of anyone ever thinking i’m beautiful. no one will ever really be attracted to me. i can fix my face with makeup but i cannot hide my gut, and that will repulse them.

i’m 28 years old and still-- fucking still-- the only time i’ve ever been shown romantic interest, was a joke. the only time someone has ever given me their phone number was a goddamn joke. it was at a restaurant, where i wasn’t afraid to order what i wanted and enjoy eating it, and i probably looked like a pig. i like food. we kind of need it to survive, and if i’m going to a restaurant with my friends, i’m going to get what i want, what sounds good, and enjoy myself with my friends, not get only a small salad because i have to watch my weight and i have to look like the meek, ashamed fat girl who’s trying to do better. i don’t have to look like anything, for anyone. but for a long time after i realized that number was a joke, i stopped doing all of that. i’d barely eat when we went out. i’d cry about it in the bathroom. i’d cry about it in bed. i cried a lot. and i hated myself. i’ve somehow managed to mostly overcome that. but it’s been hard, and let me repeat: i can only say mostly.

so what i really, really need you to know, and this is directed to the tickle community more than it is anyone else right now... this is why, if/when i get suddenly upset about belly tickles; if/when i get very quiet and withdrawn, when my dash is flooded with “ideal” bodies with their cute bellies getting tickled; if/when i get very feet-centric again because, after over a decade of navigating through my kink preferences and finding a place in this community, i’ve convinced myself over and over again that “if you keep it focused on your feet, they won’t notice that you’re fat.” which is ridiculous because in online play, nobody has to know that if i don’t say anything. but i will know. i will always know, when i present myself in rp as some small, cute, only a little bit chubby girl, that i’m lying.

it’s so hard being fat in such a physical kink. so fucking hard. even the plus size girls in the videos don’t look like me. it’s incredibly appreciated, don’t get me wrong, and it’s... it’s not even that i’m ~so big. i don’t look as heavy as i am. i’ve been accused of looking for attention and saying i’m heavier than i really am, when i try to be honest about how much the scale says (which honestly just makes me incredibly paranoid that maybe i have some giant cyst(s) on my ovaries that’s distending everything and heavy af with a bunch of fluid and crap, as is the hallmark symptom of polycystic ovarian syndrome, but that’s another essay). but it’s heavy enough to bother me. and that just gets problematic, because it’s not right of me to think “well, at least i’m not that size,” because the girl that size is having the same struggles as i am, probably.

there’s literally one person i’ve ever spoken to that has told me, and i believe truthfully, they think i’m cute and that i’m worth it. and they live in england, thousands of miles away. and he wasn’t a “chubby chaser,” and i truly believe he wasn’t saying it out of pity. he meant it. but he’s the definition of unattainable.

i need you to understand that you need to be patient with me, if we’re really going to play, because the hardest thing i can do is accept that you don’t think i’m disgusting. because at the end of the day, i can be as confident in my personality and my intelligence and my skills as possible, but i will still look down at my stomach, hanging over the waistband of my pj shorts, and i will still think this is disgusting and it’s no wonder i’m alone.

#this has been a post #holy shit #body positivity #i guess it's positivity???#not really #me #i'm not gonna tag tickling or anything because i don't really need the whole of tumblr to see it? just followers

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scianne · 3 years

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Lola’s Passing

a memoir

My grandmother’s death caught us by surprise in March 2021 after 75 years of fine well-being. Although she had Diabetes and took daily doses of Insulin, she was seemingly strong for her age and condition. So when she bid her permanent goodbye, it left our family with a violent scar.

I was never close to my lola. I think it was because I never really had the chance to spend more than two days with her, or maybe because I still hated how she lorded over my mother’s career decisions. Even so, I always thought her story belonged to stars.

My mother’s family’s fortune have kept me in the past from realizing how hard their life was before they became a town dynasty. My lolo left them for bottomless booze and a thousand other women when they were very young, leaving my lola to raise nine children by herself. At a time when women were no more than wives and child baskets, she was quite a revolution. Her tenacity and sharp strategies have allowed her to establish a strong business foundation in their town market. Today, six of her children continue to enjoy the market empire my lola has built. The other three have different lives, including my mother.

She became a registered nurse, after my lola refused to allow her to study Dance in UP Diliman, and again when she wanted to pursue Medicine because my lola was so “certain” she wouldn’t finish out of marriage. When my mother was telling the story of her hell-bent career, I could not hide my dismay. And my mom? Well she could not hide her baffling lack of resentment for my lola. It was quite poignant, yet quite clear why for a significant portion of my life, my mother expected me to possess such obedience. To be exactly like her.

She loved her with so much value and concern, and I see how she cares for my lola a little more than how my aunts and uncles do. A few hours before my lola passed away, my mother contacted her physician friend and few hospitals in the hopes of sealing my lola’s continuity. See around four days before she died, she kept on falling to the ground. When my tita asks her if she’s okay, she would always say she is. My mother drove from our house to my lola’s, which is about an hour away since we live on a different town. Neverthless, she made it there within 15 minutes after turning her car into a rocketship.

When she finally got to my lola’s bedside, my lola seemed to be holding on. Until she didn’t anymore. All nine of her children including some of my cousins surrounded the scene with episodic wails—except for my mom.

She started reviving my lola and went on to perform three sets of CPR while her physician friend stayed behind the tiny screen of her phone, directing her from time to time. For a good thirty minutes, my mom pressed her tears back underneath her eyes, as if she was trying to operate a non-relative patient. But the fact is that she was not. It was my lola. It was her mom, who was dying before her eyes and whose life was completely in her hands.

Medically speaking, after a third CPR, the person performing it could pass out anytime because of lung exhaustion. This situation never crossed my mother’s mind as she decided not to stop at the third. The doctor, however, told her not to continue, and my mother knew for a fact that if she were in the hospital, she’d have to stop. My aunts and uncles said the same thing, for they knew that a lasting rest was what their mother already wanted. She wanted to let go but most of all, they all had to. Especially my mom.

I received a call from her at around 10 PM of the same day, breaking the unfortunate news. I really did not know what to tell my mom. I could hear the scratches in her heart, sounding like a remix of sorrow and self-blame. Eventually, I told her to just stay at my lola’s house because it might not be safe for her to drive in the dark.

The next morning, my lola’s wake was already prepared. I told my little brothers to get dressed before our cousin picks us up. When we reached the memorial place, my mother was conversing with a few people. As soon as she found some time alone, I approached her and wrapped my arms around her. I did not say anything. I did not have to.

My lola’s wake lasted for four days, which was actually not allowed by the precautionary rules of the municipality due to the pandemic. But I was not surprised by the length of her wake because the town laws always curved for their family—something I have never been the biggest fan of. I just had to brush the thought off and focus on my lola’s wake.

Before the memorial service men took her coffin, they gave us about an hour to bid our last goodbyes. Each of my lola’s nine children had the chance to stand by her coffin as some sort of a “last time.” The room was flooded with audible tears, most of which came from my aunts, my uncles, and my mom. As much as I try to pour my attention into the scene, I can’t help but remember what my dad always tells me about the death of a loved one; or what I’ve always referred to as his “reconciliation tactics.” Whenever I begin to ignore him after an argument, he would often knock on my bedroom door and tell me “kapag ako namatay bigla, hindi ko na maririnig yung ‘i love you’ or yung apology mo” (if I suddenly die, I won’t be able to hear your ‘i love you’ or your apology anymore). I realized how he truly abused this tactic but I don’t remember a time that it didn’t work. He was right, and when I saw my aunts and my uncles, who have thrown the worst grudges against my lola in the past, wail in front of her coffin, I was simply conflicted. Still, I convinced myself to let the moment pass with a peaceful sensibility.

Eventually, we packed our bags and went home. My mom barely stayed at our house the entire week because they had to watch over the wake for 24 full hours a day. I was quite relieved that she can finally get some sleep already, but behind my mind I knew that she’ll be carrying her grief for a long time. My lola’s passing was marked by anguish and closeted expressions of caring for a living person—except for my mom. She knew she spent my lola’s existence with extreme care and vocality, leaving her with far lesser regrets than her siblings. It was a time, frankly the first actual time, that I wanted to be exactly like her.

©️ S. Q. // 2021

#memoir #nonfiction #creative nonfiction #anecdote #death #mother #grandmother #parents #grandparents #family #life

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attackunicron · 3 years

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World 2021 - 1 Complete

My stats for Level 1 of 2021

Removed 10 lb of fat from my body

Completed 12 hours on my spin bike

Spent 31 days sober (I did to one shot because a friend got the vaccine) So here’s how it all started. At the end of 2020, I went through some rough mental patch. My mother died in March, that’s not a huge deal. While she did her best she was not a good human or a force in my life. However, they were this baggage that I tucked way far away and it didn’t hit him till it was the anniversary of my friend's death. This friend decided it would be best for him to take his own life. I totally get it, I am happy he is no longer suffering becuase I know that he was. The kicker here is that way before this person made this choice my mom had also made this choice in front of me.

Saying that she was going to kill herself and then listed a bunch of reasons blaming other people.....the details that stick out in my mind are you and your father never listen to me. The icing on the cake you toss your needles in the trash can and we can go to jail for that. Look I am a type 1 diabetic and I was under 18 living at home, giving my family so of my income so that they could pay bills. You can buy me to use a sharps container fucking purchase one for me. Or better yet ask me, they make this took that allows you to cut the needle part off, and then it’s locked in the tool. Since I was working at a children's diabetic camp in the summer I was just saving the tools and taking them there. Whatever that’s not the point, the point is my mother was not ever going to kill herself in front of me and she was a total narcissist.

Back on track with the story. Friend's death anniversary, for whatever reason I woke up and thought why could I save my mother and not him. Logically I know all of the answers to this however heart did not. The floor fell out of my life. That day I drank so much that I didn’t remember when I lived, that’s not healthy kids. However, I was able to wake up the next day and go to work. I had thanksgiving plans I almost backed out of becuase I was feeling like such a piece of trash human. I didn’t, I did get drunk still however did some nice things for me. Such as letting me use their truck to get a Christmas Tree. After speaking to my medical team I increased my drugs because couldn’t get these feels away from me. Logically I know there was little to no truth in them but I couldn’t stop feeling them.

I have taken part in sober January for I think the last 5 years. It’s nothing big I just stop drinking, normally. 2020 I think I set new records with my drinking. So to prep for 2021 I got the book The Naked Mind. I was reading it while still drinking and you know what, it made a difference. The knowledge for the book along with my workout attack plan of 2021 I didn’t want to drink. I don’t even think I drank on new years eve. Is sobriety a new thing for me, well probably not. I have whiskey in my house and I will most likely enjoy some this Friday night.

My work out plan for world 2021 - 1 at least 147 mins on my spin bike a week. That worked out to be 21 mins a day. I crushed that goal. As far as eating I turned to noom. I have done Keto before but it wasn’t my jam. Being a type 1 I still don’t eat that many carbs and focus more on eating less processed stuff. Diet and exercise go hand in hand. When I work out I want to eat better and when I eat better I want to work out.

That's a lot I know, if you are still here thank you. If no one in here that's okay too. I doing this for me because I am worth it and I want to have a record of what I have accomplished this year and not get lost on the way.

#2021 goals #weightloss #noom #peloton #fat to fit #fat to fab

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cometkins · 6 years

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idk how to make readmores on mobile so i logged back on desktop bc i need to vent this or it will traumatize me and my bpd is making me think ‘oh it’s fine now you got it out of your system’ when lmao it’s def not bc my body is shutting down so jokes on you shitbrain

it was two hours. two hours to finding out that mikey was sick to putting him down. it felt like weeks in that waiting room. he was running around happy the day before. i was out with friends and the day was fine. and then suddenly he goes into cardiac arrest. my mom’s been sick and kept waking up and that’s the only reason mikey even got to the hospital, because she heardhim struggling. we could have woken up to him being dead, suffocated.

mikey has apparently had a bad valve in his heart all his life, and there was no fixing that. the other problem is that he also had an enlarged heart, and it was 50% larger that it should be. his organs didn’t have room, and his lungs started to fill up with fluid. i’d noticed mikey wheezing even when he was laying down doing nothing for weeks and i mentioned it to both my parents and they dismissed me.

mikey also had diabetes, something his sister margie has been dealing with for a while. we didn’t know, and it seems like his blood sugar spiked enough only recently to b considered diabetic. i’d been trying to feed him less high calorie foods and treats but my mom kept giving him shit, including her fucking cereal milk apparently. the dogs having diabetes is something i 100% blame her for, and not something i will ever forgive.

but basically. to fix his heart problems and his lungs being flooded, he needed to be dried out with medication. the problem with this is that it would make his blood sugar spike, and you need fluids to dilute it. so. he was at an impasse.

apparently even without the diabetes though, his heart problems were just that bad. he might’ve had more of a chance, but it wasn’t good.

he couldn’t live outside of an oxygen tank. he was hot and uncomfortable. he was laying down when i came into the room he was being kept in, but he sat up when i showed up because he was happy to see me. he liked being pet and seeing us, but he was putting in so much effort just ot breathe and stay alive he couldn’t do anything else. he’s the kind of dog that if you let him, he’d lick your arm for hours, just because. there was no licking. he didn’t have the energy. he was so hot and thirsty and he was suffering.

so. he couldn’t live outside of the hospital, so we had to put him down. he was able to be in the room with us for a while, but he started having trouble breathing really fast. he was wheezing super loud and trying so hard just to breathe. his tongue got so purple and his eyes were so hazy and foggy and he looked so miserable.

i had brought my water bottle with me. the last thing i did for him was let him drink from it. it didn’t matter anymore, because he’d be gone soon. he drank half of it before the doctor came in to finish everything, and he looked up at me and he seemed happy. i’m glad i could do one last thing for him.

i couldn’t stop petting him through all of it. it was fifteen minutes before any of us worked up the will to leave.

my brother had no reaction or care. he’s told us he doesn’t like small dogs, and he felt nothing for mikey. he’s kicked and hit him before. i fucking hate him. he didn’t sit with him when he was being put down, and he didn’t pet him after he was gone. he’s a fucking monster and he’s evil and selfish and i fucking hate him. mikey was his dog for over 10 years and he didn’t give a shit.

my dad spent the whole day laying in bed and crying. i don’t think my dad cried this much when my grandpa died. he told m mikey was his favorite dog he’s ever had.

before we left to see mikey in the hospital my mom wasted so much time in the shower and blow drying her hair and doing her makeup. her dog was dying and she didn’t give a shit. my dad and i eventually said fuck it and left her behind because we couldn’t wait anymore.

just. his tongue was so purple. he sounded so bad. he looked so bad. he tried to be happy but he couldn’t do it anymore. and i have a really hard time dealing with death, i have fucking panic attacks thinking about death too much and thinking about having to suddenly die like that is hard. having to go from two dogs to one is so hard. i’m so worried about margie. i don’t think she knows that mikey isn’t coming back. i’m so worried that when she figures it out that she’ll start shutting down. i hear all the time about bonded pairs where if one dies the other goes shortly after from heartbreak. i really can’t handle that.

i’m so sorry mikey. that we failed to help you sooner. maybe you could’ve had a little longer. maybe we could’ve prepared for it. maybe you could’ve been more comfortable than suffocating on a cold tile floor in an unfamiliar place.

it’s not fair. it’s not fair that he had to go like this. my last dog died of cancer but we knew. she was able to be euthanized in our home. i hate that he had to go like this. i hate it. i’m so sorry. i’m sorry.

#animal death mention under cut so #im angry and upset #and this didn't have to fucking happen #not yet

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wubble · 6 years

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I’ve always wanted to die. When I was 2 years old I used to kick my feet out from under myself and land on my head in an attempt to end the pain. My mom called these “temper tantrums”. I know better than that now but at the time I thought I was an insufferable brat. I probably am. At 3 I would pray at night to this strange god my mom told me not to believe in but everyone else seemed really into. The Greek Orthodox churches I’d been to were full of old icons, decorations, and smells that scared me but reminded me how old this belief was. I prayed to die. My prayers were never answered and I knew by 4 or 5 years old that this god was nonsense they told children to get them to listen. I couldn’t understand why the adults seemed so into it but they were also totally into Santa. I never stopped smashing my head into things in an attempt to die but around 10 years old I felt this same anxiety stronger than ever. I was constantly in trouble for losing things or forgetting things at home or bus stops or friends houses. I was grounded for years on end. I raised my baby sister at this point. Mom worked and had a social life so every day revolved around me cooking and cleaning for us to survive and not get killed when the beast came home drunk and angry that something was out of place or not clean enough or one of our Dads called or something we had no control over whatsoever. I kept my sister safe. I started to be as big as my tiny mom but I never hit her back, just took the shit. By 14 I was living with my dad. We were kicked out for “messy rooms” (my sister was 5). My hormones started to effect me at this point and I knew it was probably too late to lead a normal life. I still tried. I was bullied so bad at this school that they played pranks on me at my own house and made a website (in 1999...) making fun of me. I was 90 lbs, recently 5′9, cut my hair off to spite my mom and enjoy the freedom of short hair I was never allowed to have. I also dyed it black and had bangs. I looked awful. Everyone called me Olive Oil and would make puke faces at me as I walked by. They said they could hear me puking in the bathroom during class. I was skipping in fear of being around more horrible people. They said I thought I was cool because I was from Orlando and recording a demo with my best friend. I was doing exactly that, though. I never said I was cool, that’s for sure. Around this point I got heavily into sugar. I ate it so much that I became this hyper nut job with “no cares in the world” (a very bad mask). I was voted most outgoing in my band class. Interesting for a severe introvert, but that’s 9th grade and sugar addiction I guess. My social life kept me alive. I drank a lot, secretly, with my friends. I still wanted to die but I had this belief that if I could stay away from my mom and worked really hard that I’d get a good job and support myself and never have to be controlled again. I’d lead my own life and make it happy myself. This living with my Dad led to a huge legal battle for child support and custody. My mom won, no one ever asked me a damn thing so of course she did. I had to go back to her and both of my parents hated me at this point for being such a disgusting and triggering burden to them. I didn’t see my dad for a couple years - he got married, adopted two step children and had a son. This is when things got really bad. Luckily for me, I was in band, chorus, and theater and I had a 20+ hour a week job where I made good money. I stayed at school, work and friend’s houses as much as I was allowed. My mom continued to go through my things and break all my stuff but it was ok, I’d be out of there soon. She actually kicked me out for wanting to sleep over a friend’s house before I graduated at 17, a blessing I thought at the time. I stayed with friends, got my diploma and a band scholarship to college. I started working full time and got an apartment with my friends. Every financial decision after this was a way for my friends or roommates to steal from me. They all did. I suffered, they did not. This has continued throughout my entire life. My health declined. I was diagnosed with PCOS and pre-diabetes at 21 from my sugar addiction, malnutrition and stress. I’ve never been able to get proper help because I have never had consistent health care in my life even though I had a “fantastic job” for 5 years doing graphic design and production for a publishing company. I haven’t had a steady job since I quit that one... I wanted a raise and instead they kept taking things away and blaming it on Obama so I walked out. This bad decision led to me losing my house, my car, my boyfriend, my friends, my family, and my last bit of a will to live. Six years later, I still want to die. Every single day. It feels normal for me to feel this way. There is not a soul in the world who sees me for who I really am nor anyone I can put an ounce of trust in. My own fiance of 11 years barely knows me. It’s not like I’m secretive or mysterious about my feelings. I talk and talk and talk and try to explain and all it does is make everyone hate me more and understand me less. I give up. I pray for death. I cannot wait. I’m not saying I would or could possibly do it to myself but it doesn’t mean I do not wish for its swift arrival.

#this story barely includes the necessary information but fuck you my w key is broken and no one cares anyway

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shamondmilk-blog · 7 years

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The Backstory

Where did it start?

The first time I remember binge eating was when I was 7 years old. There was a bag of Halloween candy atop a shelf in the guest room at my house in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey. I imagine my mom never intended us to find it. Candy was never really allowed in the house. If we were lucky, there'd be an occasional Skinny Cow in the freezer, which my sister and I relentlessly tried to get a hold of first. I can't remember ever enjoying vegetables as a child. It was always a struggle to finish my carrots that came with every dinner. I'd sneak them to my Golden Retriever when my mom's back was turned. Vegetables were always an incentive in the house, so the precedent was set: vegetables are an adversary to be vanquished to get to the ivory tower containing whatever savory goodness was on the plate. I'm sure this was never my mom's intention, to foster this adversarial relationship with healthy eating. She wasn't much for cooking when I was growing up, and never thought to present healthy food in a way that was appealing or creative to me or my siblings. Can you blame her, coming from a dysfunctional family background of nine in an Irish-Italian household? My grandma is probably delusional and self-centered enough to believe that the lectures she gave her children were proper nourishment, and the fried salami ends bought from the local butcher shop were an additional treat. What a prize.

Anyway, the incident with the Halloween candy was isolated, at least it seemed that way at the time. I remember thinking after that binge session that what I had done wasn't normal. All the adages of spoiling your dinner and getting a tummy ache and the countless euphemisms that people use instead of saying "hey kid, making that pattern of eating a habit will spike your insulin and fast track you to Type 2 Diabetes and a foot amputation" ran through my head. I had done a bad thing. But at the same time, it felt like a great thing, too. So much chocolate and sugar, what 7-year-old is self-aware enough to assess short-term reward against long-term consequences? Not I. But it seemed inconsequential at the time. The metabolism of a fairly physically active 7-year-old is not going to shit the bed after one candy binge. I’d be fine, until the move happened.

After 3rd grade, my parents informed my siblings that we would be moving again, this time to Naperville, Illinois. In my 8 year stint on this planet, it would be my 6th move. I don’t remember being particularly upset about it. Making friends after every move never seemed terribly difficult during the other moves, so why would this time be any different? I was fairly popular in New Jersey. I remember walking around the soccer field during recess by myself, by choice. I remember a lunch supervisor coming up to me frequently asking me in a thick Polish accent “Olivia, where are your friends?” They were on the playground doing whatever it was that 8-year-olds in the early 2000’s did together, and no one was kicking me off the playground. I had spent all day in the classroom with them, and ate with them at lunch. I was good to be 20 minutes without them and spend some quality daydreaming time. Bitch, I have friends, I should’ve noted to the supervisor. It would’ve gone over great, I’m certain.

Enter 9-year-old Olivia, fresh meat at Elmwood Elementary School. The classroom was set up in clusters of 4 connected desks, which was different from the conversational rows I was used to at my old school. Everyone in Naperville knew each other by then. They had broken off into their respective friend groups, for the most part. As far as these 9-year-olds were concerned, they were who they were going to be for the rest of their lives, quarter life crisis be damned. Hopefully some of them got the chance to backpack around Europe before settling into their mediocre corporate lives and Spongebob themed 3-piece suits. If I got stuck in one of those clusters with kids who had no interest in expanding their friend circle, I’d resign to drawing forest animals and Pokemon and daydreaming that dragons were real. So, needless to say, I was not quite the chameleon that I needed to be to merge into the blonde, N’Sync listening, Lip Smackers wearing fembots-in-training that made up the majority of Naperville girls.

Nothing about this account so far could possibly imply that I was bullied (spoiler alert: I was). First, I was bullied for being different. Being bullied for being fat would come later. I needed to be alienated first. I didn’t watch Spongebob, which in case you didn’t know, was the gold standard for Naperville kids in the early 2000’s. I preferred Backstreet Boys, but N’Sync was the preferred boy band of my classmates. I was a Crip in a Blood world. I liked fantasy and science fiction. My sister introduced me to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and all bets were off. I was set down the path of nerdom, but as any nerd knows, the adventure is much harder if you’re solo questing. To translate that last sentence for the non-nerds: I had no real friends. I had playdates with other kids, but nothing really stuck. But the names stuck, “weirdo, freak, lesbo, gross, fat, ugly bitch,” to name a few of the commonplace ones (oh, but by 8th grade I developed really big tits, so at least I had that going for me. I remember my guy friend reporting to me that even though I was the notorious goth weirdo, the wrestling team loved my boobs. Aw, thanks guys, self-worth attribute +1).

By the end of 4th grade, I had descended far down the social totem pole, but not so far that I had lost the desperate ambition to climb back up. After all, walking around alone at recess loses its luster when it’s involuntary. So I let the popular girls continue to make their digs, and I would take it. We’re all friends, right? Well, those friends didn’t call to my house for play dates, and they sure as hell never referenced to me as “friend.” So, I sat at home, lost in my computer games or buried in my books. The satisfied feeling you get from laughing and talking with friends wasn’t there. Something needed to fill the void. But what? Somewhere in my developing brain, with so few long-term memories and subconscious cues to choose from, the answer revealed itself: sugar, chocolate, potato chips, potato-and-chocolate chip cookies (thank God Pinterest wasn’t a thing yet).

And so it started. There was just one small problem. My mom is an Iron Lady, Margaret Thatcher style (no offense to Robert Downey Jr.). By Iron Lady, I mean she is a seasoned Ironman Triathlon participant. The picture of health, from what I remember, save the Chardonnay obsession. That meant no unhealthy food in the house. Only low-fat, low-sugar sweets. So how does a 10-year-old looking for a salt and sugar fix compensate if there’s not a potato chip or candy bar in sight? Why, she eats 10 lower-sugar snacks in one sitting, hoping to get the same resolve of course. I started eating everything and anything remotely sweet. If there were no Kudos bars or Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches to be found, balls of white bread dipped Hershey’s in chocolate syrup would suffice (I wish I were joking). Oh, also, a few chocolatey Cliff Bars would do in a pinch (you know, the ones that are supposed to replace an entire fucking meal).

But that short-term comfort only lasted so long, and I happened to be the only one who ignorantly saw the temporary benefit of it. My mom and I played a years-long game of hide-and-seek, but my mom and I used objects as our playing pieces. My mom’s pieces were the hidden snacks, and my pieces were the hidden wrappers. We’d find our usual hiding places for both, and yelling would ensue once we found each other. I must’ve felt like I was fighting a battle on both fronts. On one end, I used by binge eating Guerilla tactics to combat the feelings of isolation from my peers, and stealth tactics to hide food from my mom. I don’t think it would be crazy to interpret this as a pretty shitty setup for my relationship with food as a whole, no?

So, I guess that’s where my binge-eating story begins. But where does it end? I guess the more important question is “how does it end,” or even “does it end?” I guess you can’t start a solid story without a solid beginning, so that’s what this will be. It’s time to start this journey with a reference point, which is what I suppose this long and psychoanalytic account will serve as. But I’m not crazy about the idea of doing this alone. And as every seasoned nerd knows, solo questing is harder than going at it with a party.

#wellness #binge eating #binge eating disorder #health #welcome #support #gamer #nerd

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brajeshupadhyay · 4 years

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Florida dad who was hospitalized with COVID-19 after his son, 21, tested positive is discharged

A father who spent several weeks battling COVID-19 after contracting it from his oldest son, who ignored his parents’ advice to stay home and met with friends, has been discharged from a Florida hospital.

Community members, medical staff and loved ones gathered outside of Westside Regional Center in Plantation, to celebrate John Place’s recovery after six weeks under medical supervision.

The entire family tested positive for COVID-19 in June after Place’s 21-year-old son fell ill and later learned that a friend he hung out with was infected.

Place, who suffers from diabetes, was hit with the most severe symptoms and was hospitalized soon after. He spent more than two weeks on a ventilator.

Their story made headlines after Place’s wife, Michelle Zymet, posted a Facebook Live video in July that pleaded with younger adults to take COVID-19 seriously.

Scroll down for video

John Place (center) of Plantation, Florida, was discharged from the hospital on Thursday after spending six weeks battling COVID-19

Place, who is overweight and diabetic, required hospitalization after four days of fever and nonstop coughing

In a new Facebook Live video shared by Zymet on Thursday, Pharrell Williams’ ‘Happy’ blasts from a music speaker as a number of people eagerly wait outside the hospital entrance.

The group, all wearing face masks per a Broward County mandate, carry welcome home signs, Superman-themed face masks with Place’s initials and t-shirts that say ‘I’m Alive.’

In the video the 42-year-old father is wheeled out of the hospital and greeted with loud, emotional cheers from the waiting group.

Michelle and their children are seen rushing through the crowd and enveloping Place in a tight embrace.

Then, Place proves he’s on the road to a successful recovery by gingerly standing up from the wheelchair and pumping his hands into the air in celebration.

Place manages to take a few steps forward before getting back into the wheelchair as the overjoyed crowd claps.

At one point, Place appears overwhelmed by emotions and is gladly comforted by his family.

In an interview with NBC Miami shortly after, Place summed up his feeling with just two words: ‘I’m Alive!’

‘That’s what I am. I feel amazing. I can’t even tell you how I feel,’ Place said.

‘I’ve been in the hospital for over 40 days, I was on a ventilator for 20 days. This is the most amazing thing. I want to thank all the doctors, nurses, and healthcare professionals here at Westside Regional Medical Center. They saved my life.’

While speaking with reporters, John Place (center) thanked medical personnel and nurses who took care of him during his hospital stay

Place (and his family all tested positive two months ago after his 21-year-old son unknowingly brought the virus back to their home after going out with friends

He added that his nurses played a big role in his recovery by going above and beyond with their care.

‘You know, I was very lonely because there’s nobody. I just wanted to hold her hand, said Place, referring to a nurse.

‘And she held my hand the whole time…and that really means a lot. They saved my life. I love them,’ he added, breaking down into tears.

‘This is a true miracle,’ Zymet said. ‘100 percent I believe in the power of prayer.’

Zymet wrote in a Facebook post Thyrsday: ‘Wow JJ you really captured every moment perfectly and brought me to tears all over again!! We are so blessed and grateful for this day and to have Place home with us finally after 6 long weeks!! What an amazing feeling!’

John Place (center): ‘I’ve been in the hospital for over 40 days, I was on a ventilator for 20 days. This is the most amazing thing’

John Place (center) and family members posed before a large sign that read ‘I’m Alive’ while celebrating his release from the hospital

Zymet added two hashtags that read ‘wear the damn mask’ and ‘covid sucks’.

Place revealed on Facebook that he was back at his Plantation house with an in-home nurse.

The nurse was going over ‘the 10 pills and insulin and whatever else I need to [take],’ he wrote.

Meanwhile, cases of COVID-19 have continued to spike across The Sunshine State with particularly concerning statistic in the southern half.

In Broward County, which contains Plantation, nearly 60,000 cases and 782 deaths have been recorded as of Thursday.

There were 3,595 hospitalizations, with the infected population’s median age 39 and more white residents testing positive.

Word of the John Place’s illness made national headlines after Zymet (pictured) made Facebook Live video that urged young adults to take the COVID-19 pandemic seriously

The ordeal began in June when the entire Place family fell ill with COVID-19 after Place’s son after hanging out with friends despite his parents’ advice to avoid gatherings.

‘He always assured me, “Don’t worry, mom. I’m doing everything right, relax, chill.” You know how these kids are, so I trusted in him,’ Zymet told 7 News Miami.

She said she begged him to think about his dad, who is at a higher risk of severe COVID-19 illness because he is overweight and diabetic.

But despite her pleas, he went out against her wishes one night in June, when he gathered with friends at a bar and removed his mask while eating and drinking.

Days later, he felt cold symptoms and a friend at the get-together told him she had tested positive for coronavirus. By then, it already had taken hold in the young man’s household.

Pictured: John Place (left) posing with his six-year-old daughter after he was discharged from a Florida hospital on Thursday

Wife Michelle Zymet (left) said she had begged her stepson to be cautious for his father, but he still went out against her wishes

John Place, 42, from Plantation, Florida has been in the intensive care unit at Westside Regional Medical Center for nearly three weeks after falling seriously ill with COVID-19

‘You let your guard down just one time, it’s all it takes,’ Zymet added. ‘You come home, and you infect the entire house.’

The illness’s spread among members of the family highlights the outcome dreaded by authorities who feared the recent surge of cases hitting younger Floridians would spread to older, more vulnerable people.

‘They don’t necessarily listen. It could be peer pressure,’ Zymet said.

‘Maybe they think, “None of us are sick. We are fine.” They don’t understand many of us are asymptomatic and are positive carriers of the virus.’

The young man, who did not want to talk to the media, had told his father and stepmother that he initially thought he had a common cold and took over-the-counter medication.

When he heard about his friend testing positive for coronavirus, he still didn’t think he had it.

But members of the family started to fall ill one by one, starting with his 14-year-old brother, who is also overweight and was wheezing, coughing and lethargic.

His six-year-old sister had only a runny nose and stepmother was achy, with a fever and chills.

Zymet said she has been called an ‘awful mother,’ and an ‘evil witch’ for placing the blame on the stepson, but she said she thought it was important to share her family’s story amid a surge of infections first detected among young people.

The post Florida dad who was hospitalized with COVID-19 after his son, 21, tested positive is discharged appeared first on Shri Times News.

via Blogger https://ift.tt/33Aq90R

#Blogger #21 #Coronavirus #dailymail #Florida dad who was hospitalized with COVID-19 after his son #n

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starlettemagnechalastor · 5 years

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Mun’s history

I grew up in good ol’ Texas, despite being born in Virginia. My mom divorced my biological dad and move to Texas when I was 2, so I really have no memory or connection with my biological dad.

She married my stepdad when I was 5. We moved into his house, and for many years, I always thought I had a normal childhood...

Until I started therapy MANY years later.

Being coerced into thinking back made me realize how fucked the marriage was.

The fighting, the emotional and verbal abuse, the religious indoctrination..

The bullshit gender norms my stepdad tried to force on me.

Example: Women cannot wear hats.

So my mom and I wore caps and whatever hats we liked cause fuck him.

She was miserable in the relationship, they ALWAYS fought. Once, my mom told me he wanted a divorce because I was “too smart.”

I was 6.

And unconsciously, all the abuse of my dad (He often called my younger brother and I names, and would make us paranoid by scaring the shit out of us whenever he could. Once or twice? Fine. But don’t hide behind the walls all the time and jump out at us.), the worthlessness I felt because my religion taught me I was broken and filthy without Jesus (thanks grandma).

I admit, I attempted to take my life when I was 7. I tried to swallow a bottle of pills. We had a whole medicine cabinet and I was easily able to access the medicine. My brother caught on when I gave him my prized snow globe music box and told him I didn’t need it anymore.

My mom burst into my room as I opened the bottle.

She hid all medications and all sharp objects for months. But I wasn’t taken to a therapist.

No professional to help me.

10 years of age: One day, my mom snapped and attempted suicide by shooting herself with my dad’s gun. He tried to grab the gun, and a bullet fired. It hit her side and broke their bathroom sink. Police woke me up in the middle of the night, and my grandmother was there in tears.

Middle school: I was forced into a christian school, my mom was paranoid over gossip of the public middle school. And of course, when the ENTIRE class was questioned about their faith...I hesitated. Which made me an instant target for severe bullying. From people pretending to have romantic interest in me, to physically assaulting me. I kept it to myself for my entire middle school life, until the day they busted my bike, which was how I got home. And despite the school saying the damages would be covered and I’d get an apology letter, that never happened.

My mom moved me to a charter school.

The only significant memories I have of THAT gem was that they tried to get me to CHEAT on a TAKS test and that I was bullied for being a virgin.

I told my parents about the TAKS, they confronted the school staff...and they held me back.

So, repeating 10th grade in a public high school.

My mom, over the years, has been in and out of the hospital. Which meant my brother and I were in a house with a man who was emotionally constipated and constantly harassed, berated, and insulted his children.

But constantly reminded us about how he’s so great for marrying a woman with two children.

My mom, when she was home, had a lot of medical problems. She had a small spine, so they had to remove a part of her hip to normalize the length, she couldn’t breathe properly on her own, she had to have a nurse coming over to check on her often, she had a pacemaker, she ended up with diabetes, she had seizures that were mostly triggered by flashing lights, and she had to have certain medications injected.

This woman, my mother, was the one who got me into art, who ALWAYS supported me. I think she knew I was transgender before I did, she gave me my first short haircut that had my FAMILY, all except her brother, call me a dyke. She was always there for my lows, knew I had self-esteem issues, she bred my artistic side where I could be FREE.

12 years old, my uncle (the only other light of my life) got engaged to a pediatric nurse. Her name was Stephanie. They had a kid together already, his name was Aiden. Stephanie asked us to come to a family reunion to meet her family.

I didn’t see any red flags when I got there, but things started being weird when I met a few of the would-be cousins.

One man, who looked like he was in his 20s, was REALLY handsy with me. He even lifted my leg and SPANKED me while we were hanging out outside. REMINDER: I WAS 12 YEARS OLD AT THE TIME.

Then I met this kid named Matthew.

A monster in the making.

He wasn’t handsy, he was a chill guy. He was even invited to our house and we sat at the dining room table to watch videos.

THEN

And ONLY THEN

did he start groping me.

He went as far as shoving his hand down my pants.

And I was so confused, so disturbed and horrified, that I could only quietly cry and plead for him to stop.

I never told my parents, my grandparents, never told an adult.

I only told my brother when he brought Matthew over one day, many years later. I told him he was NEVER allowed in our house again, and my brother wholeheartedly agreed, thankfully.

And thank fuck I never had to see that jerk because someone blew the whistle on him to my parents. Someone caught him groping girl’s butts at the next family reunion.

Fast forward to 14 years of age

At the time, I didn’t know she had a drug abuse problem.

She was crushing medications she was to be taking orally, mixing them with water, and injecting them.

And I helped her do it, because I thought I was helping her get better.

I wanted her SO BADLY to get better.

I prayed so hard, being a devout christian.

I begged and PLEADED for her to get better so I could have my mom back, so we could be TOGETHER again. To have her bright smile and shitty ass jokes (After my mom came home from the attempted suicide, she would always joke about how she should’ve shot herself while holding a toy gun. Or called gangsters wimps for limping after getting shot. She was weird :) And I loved that about her), I just wanted my mom.

I was only a young teen, and I was starting to figure out my gender identity. I couldn’t go to my dad, I didn’t trust him like I trusted her.

I visited her constantly, she tried to teach me more about coloring and encouraged me to practice singing. She was my teacher ^^ And because of her, I clung to teachers and befriended them. My art teachers LOVED me, they did all they could to protect me from bullies that would throw erasers at me, ruin my projects, and draw on my posters. I loved all my teachers, they were kind and understanding and helped me get through the years while my mom was unable to.

My mom gave me all the love and support I could ever wish for. She never required me to be one way, but told me no matter if I was an atheist, satanist, if I was gay or straight, NO MATTER THE CHANGE, she would ALWAYS love me.

And it scared me when she ended up with a staph infection in her heart.

The surgery went well, she managed to recover. Doctors removed the infected valve with a pig’s valve. She came home, and I stuck by her side.

I’d sneak in cigarettes when she asked.

And..my dad tried to turn me against my own mom with texts that I had no context to go by.

I can’t really remember the texts, but I remember feeling devastated. But I still did ANYTHING she asked.

...I lost her when I was 16.

The staph infection was back. She only had a 10% chance of surviving another surgery.

My dad had to explain that to me, so I skipped school that day, December 8 of 2011, to be with her on her last day.

She wasn’t conscious.

I remember sitting there numbly, not really paying attention to the tv in the room. My dad was in and out, as well as some nurses.

One by one, my great aunts, my second cousins, and my grandmother came to say their goodbyes.

I overheard the nurse tell my dad that once they unplugged the machines, she would be dead.

But I think she was dead long before that. Brain dead. Her heart was pumping, but she wasn’t there.

I broke down once my grandma told her sister that, after the nurse had unplugged the machine and left us alone, that she was gone.

I could hear my second cousin break down too. He only got support from my mom, turns out he was disowned for being gay and my mom still treated him like a human being when nobody else would. It made me realize how much of a positive impact she was on the family, and we lost it.

My school offered therapy, which I accepted. My therapist was sweet, she brought me snacks and she reminded me a lot of my mom with her tone and attitude. She helped me realize it wasn’t my fault my mom died, because I completely blamed myself.

I know now that it was due to her drug abuse, that the needles she used caused the infection.

But I didn’t know fully at the time. So when I did, I figured it was my fault. I helped her inject medicine she wasn’t supposed to, helped her with her abuse.

My dad pulled me out of therapy because he said I didn’t need it.

And in that SAME MONTH, when he found out I was considering cutting myself, he said, “If you’re gunna cut, do it right.”

Father of the year anyone?

Fast forward to her funeral.

Open casket. The last time I ever saw my mom in person.

My uncle, my mother’s only brother, sang a song in her honor. He was 27, a musician, and already had a son. Unfortunately, he too was a drug abuser.

I don’t blame him or my mom for their abuse, they hardly had a good foundation. My grandmother didn’t raise them. She was a horrible, vindictive, and petty person. She ignored her children in favor of strange men. My mom had to raise her little baby brother, and my mom had to deal with a woman who burned her clothes, broke her rock cds, and slashed her tires. Because Jesus.

I grew more attached to my uncle after my mom passed, he was the only other positive influence in my life. He was an amazing artist, he was like my mom in a lot of ways. He called me Nikki Six and laughed at my shitty jokes, he cried to me when my grandmother berated and insulted him or treated him like crap.

We were open with each other. He wanted to join the military, be a role model for his one year old son, Aiden. I still have the video where he sang an original song, Thumb Sucking Blues, while my little cousin tried to play along with him :) He was a small little guy, but literally had his thumb in his mouth the whole time :P

Aiden LOVED his dad.

But because of his fiance’s drug use, he was taken from them. My mom was still alive when that happened, and we had supervised visitation with my cousin.

My uncle went to rehab to get clean, yet my grandmother continued to berate and degrade him.I supported him. I wanted him to be back home with US. My brother and I.

During this time...I got a phone call that terrified me.

My biological dad called me.

And I panicked; I didn’t KNOW him, he was NEVER in my life, and after a few months of talking and TRYING to get to know him, he vanished.

Turns out he’s been hiding for years to avoid paying child support.

But I wasn’t too hurt he abandoned me again. All we did was talk about anime we liked. I probably got my love of anime from him to be honest :P

My uncle eventually returned home, and all seemed great. He was a good father to his son, he got him back after his rehab (which I later found out it did fuck all for him because it was just another fucking church)

July 4th, 2012. I got a call from my grandmother because I was too tired to do fireworks that night.

Police had found my uncle’s body in an alley way.

He died of overdose, according to autopsy.

SIX MONTHS after losing one person who supported me, I lost the other.

He was cremated and my grandmother kept his ashes.

I was deist at the time, but I kept his bible, guitar picks, and the crappy religious coins he got from the “rehab.”

I have both my mom’s and my uncle’s bibles.

I..fell into a hard ass depression. I kept reliving the moment my mom died, the moment I heard about my uncle, I...saw his body after the autopsy. Of course, they covered it mostly, but it still hurt SO much to see him lifeless.

I graduated high school and immediately went to college, just trying to get through the shit. I just...didn’t care anymore. I lost the only two people that supported me. Both lights, my artistic inspirations, my TRUE FAMILY, gone.

My brother moved in with our grandmother, he was fed up with dad’s abuse. I..was too blind to see how abusive he was.

I took computer classes, he told me I should because it pays well. I personally found it fascinating on learning how to troubleshoot desktops, but programming was NOT my thing. I hated it.

I actually wanted to go into art, be an artist like my mom.

My dad?

“It’s not a REAL JOB.”

He shot down my passion for YEARS. I started college in 2014.

After nearly a year of computer classes, I was convinced to switch my major to education because I’m good with kids.

Because to my dad, good with kids = I want to be a teacher.

Kids just like me, I’m not sure why. My cousin loved me, and my cousin on my DAD’S side of the family loved me. I had patience and kindness to kids, they’re little beans that just need guidance. I don’t snap, I DEFINITELY don’t lay a HAND on a child as discipline.

So, I went into education like he said. I was just...a robot. Too scared to pursue what I wanted to do.

But there was a shining light; the Coalition club on my campus. A Gay/Straight alliance club! I ended up as their secretary, designed stickers, kept schedules, and I met SO many amazing people in that club. I felt welcomed, I felt SAFE, I could be OPEN about my gender with them, since I was too scared to say anything to my dad.

When he found out I was involved with the group, he got pissed. He’d constantly pick fights with me about how I’m focusing too much on the group and failing my classes.

Funny thing; I had As and Bs on ALL my courses.

Pretty sure that’s passing.

But..he kinda bred me to be unable to handle confrontation well. Whenever someone yells at me or talks in a strict tone, I start to cry.

So he’d always make me a sobbing mess nearly every day.

I locked myself in my room constantly.

I had to quit asking him to take me to HEB for me to buy groceries because I couldn’t STAND him. I was too scared to be alone with him for ANY reason. I felt like he’d find something to make me cry and ruin my day, so..I would walk to a corner store to buy easy mac, eggs, bacon, maybe some frozen pizza if I could afford it. Most of my meals were pasta-related, it was cheaper than most items. Corner store pricing and all that ^^;

I got a job in the work-study program as an AVID Tutor. Which helps students with their work from other classes. The students instantly clung to me, being the youngest teacher.

That job didn’t last long ;v; Apparently a button up shirt and a long black skirt wasn’t teacher apparel??? I wore dress pants too, I fit the “female gender role.” But I was fired for not dressing professionally.

I ended up working at a subway in a flea market, and everyone was SO SWEET! They were fine with my gender, and I was even defended by a rides worker when a customer complained about me using the restroom.

I was deadass exhausted though.

My dad forced me to do MAX college hours

While I also balanced a job.

The stress was KILLING me, but locking myself in my room where I could draw?

Being in a group that loved and accepted me?

It made life bearable.

But my dad eventually started getting after me about my job, that he DIDN’T consider a job because it was only on the weekends that it was open.

He started getting more aggressive with his fights. I would literally just WALK IN THE DOOR from work, exhausted because I have panic attacks (I had no idea I had panic disorder at the time), and he’d start fights about something.

Be it because I was atheist or that he was pissed I was STILL in college (He’s a college dropout so I just think “.________________________. boi.”)

A few months into 2016, I came out to my grandmother and my dad about being transgender.

My grandmother’s response? “You’re not transgender, you’re just fat!”

My dad? He didn’t really get it. He had to learn from his girlfriend because he sure as fuck didn’t listen to me when I explained it.

And he’d constantly ask about it, which didn’t bother me too much because I figured he was still confused.

Then he started to dead name me.

MY ENTIRE LIFE, I was ALWAYS referred to with a gender neutral nickname. NEVER my first because I never liked my name. I hated it. I used to be called Nikki, now I just go by Nick or Nicholas :) Cause I love that name.

HE.

In front of his LGBTQ+ friendly girlfriend.

referred to me with my FULL NAME.

And he did this TWICE.

I was too afraid to confront him, but his gf sure as fuck wasn’t. She was PISSED.

She put an end to that.

But things got worse after I sought out therapy to see if I qualified for HRT, Hormone Replacement Therapy.

And I did.

My dad only got more angry when he saw the letter from my therapist saying I had Gender Dysphoria and that he recommend I take HRT.

He would, from then on,, badger me about my clothes, claiming it’s what 12 year old boys wear.

Despite I paid the internet bill AND his cable bill, he’d get after me for unwinding by playing games.

He spent a fuck ton of money on a new mustang to tinker with to make a drag race car, but not a new air conditioning system for a 50+ year old house with no insulation. So while he was away, and the temperatures rose (It’s texas, it’s ALWAYS hot), I was sweating and trying to keep cool with ice packs and frozen towels. But none of THAT mattered, because I’m irresponsible for playing video games after all my work was completed.

I didn’t tell him I was starting a youtube channel in an attempt to bring in extra money, because I was only paid a little over 120 a week.

But he’s bitch about pretty much EVERY aspect of me.

But I kept quiet, kept food in my room because I was too scared to leave my safe space in fear of him insulting me further.

I literally asked for help on hiding food online.

After 2 more years of college, I got my associate’s in education and moved onto university for my bachelor’s.

I still didn’t want the major. But I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.

But this class I took, Child/Adolescent development, helped me realize how HORRIBLE and ABUSIVE my dad is.

I learned in that class about emotional and verbal abuse, and the effects it had on children and adults.

I began to stand up for myself, I’d argue back with my dad instead of letting him verbally abuse me with no repercussions.

Anything I said?

“Liberal Propaganda”

“Well, I put my religion first”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I thank my government teacher to this day for giving me the backbone I needed. She is a headstrong woman, refuses to be referred to as Miss, but prefers “Professor.” She had a PHD and she was passionate about her job and about human rights.

It became a much more hostile home after I started fighting back.

He would challenge my moral compass, “An atheist should have no problem lying.”

He’d pick on my gender identity and choice of fashion, “You’re trying too hard to be transgender.”

And anytime I went to houston to see my brother and cousin? My grandmother made it worse. She’d pick on my hair, call me a devil worshiper, insult my weight (This woman forced me to eat more when I was on a diet, but I never called her out on it), she was as bad as my dad to where my brother took me to the mall to avoid any further argument.

In late 2017, my dad tried to pick on me in front of his friend, Bobby. Bobby was a long-time family friend, I grew up with his kids. He knew me since I was a child.

And his friend was NOT impressed with my dad, and HE accepted my gender and even tried to explain what he was doing was being a dickhead.

He didn’t listen.

It went on like that until early 2018.

He called me out of my room and, once again, picked a fight with me because I’m part of an LGBTQ+ group, still in college, same bullshit.

But this time, he told me to pack up and leave, that I had two weeks to move.

I panicked.

I didn’t have the funds to move into an apartment with my current job.

I thought I was going to be homeless.

I called one of my friends in tears, and he asked his mother if I could take refuge there.

For a bit of context: I used to date him and I’ve met his family. His family had me over for the holidays, and kept me there for christmas eve and christmas day after I told my friend my dad BANNED me from celebrating the holidays with him because I’m an atheist.

And BOY was she PISSED. And his mom? Veteran Including his dad. BOTH are hard veterans that firmly believe in families sticking together.

So the kicking me out?

It REALLY blew their gaskets.

They told me to pack all I needed and that they’d be there in two weeks.

Later that week, my dad apologized and said it was cruel to do that, but...

I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

I was tired of living in FEAR, you shouldn’t be hiding food in your room to eat because you’re too scared to come out.

I told him I was leaving.

And what pissed me off? He tried to play VICTIM.

I moved out, and unfortunately had to quit my job because transportation issues. Ubers didn’t reach out this far and even if they did, it’d be like 30 bucks a trip.

With my wage? WHEEZE. Nope.

But a lady at the flea market gave me boxes and duct tape when I was packing to leave, just so I had places to put my stuff in. :)

I started counseling at A&M not too long after I moved into my new temporary home (I say as I’ve been here for nearly a YEAR ;-; and I feel bad but they’ve not kicked me out soooo....yay?)

And after a few session, my counselor told me to seek long term treatment, and she was helping me break free of my fear of asking for help and it’s thanks to her that I got to pursue the major of my dreams! I’m so thankful that I went to see her, because I went as SOON as I could to a medical clinic to talk to a psychiatrist.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, Bipolar disorder, and Panic disorder.

I was prescribed medication.

And little by little, I was getting better.

I had already had my Bendice tumblr for a while and the more I drew, the better I felt.

And the artist community?

It’s been AMAZING!

I’ve meet so many AMAZING people, from great friends to my art senpais. I’ve been getting better and better at honing my skills, and I feel like I really can be an animator someday.

Now, people are probably wondering why I dumped all this out.

Well...I know I’m not alone, but others might feel how I used to.

Isolated

So very Hurt

Alone

And miserable.

I don’t want pity, I don’t want “there there”, I want to show people that might be feeling alone that they aren’t. That someone suffered just like them.

Be it for being gay

Transgender

Depressed

An artist

No matter the “why,’ all pain here is equal.

It’s not insignificant.

YOU aren’t Insignificant.

All the pain and suffering we’ve all endured?

Is valid.

And we’re not pussies or wimps for feeling hurt.

And we’re not alone.

Thank you to those who read my entire shit storm ^^; I’ll admit I cried while writing this, but I feel good now!

I hope my words and my story inspire someone out there to take the steps they need to better themselves, to escape toxic environments.

Because that shit SUCKS.

#Personal shit #(OOC) 𝑂𝑓𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐴𝑖𝑟 #tw negative thoughts #cw negativity #cw abuse #tw:death #tw drug abuse #tw suicide #LONG ASS POST #Sorry #Read at your own risk

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