#sometimes i fear ill end up stuck in this frustrating period & that this is it from now on..but thats silly & this isnt my first rodeo :0 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Text

selfish

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: allusions drug abuse, arguments, cursing, smut, angst, talk of depression

word count: 4.3k

synopsis: the aftermath of a break up

authors note: hello! okay, so, i just want to put a disclaimer about the way that i describe harry in this. i want to go on record, stating that this is purely a work of fiction. i don’t think this is how harry truly is as a person, nor does it reflect his views and actions toward mental illness. i am in no way romantisizing any behavior like this. also, this fic is kind of heavy, with depictions of depression (which are based on personal experiences; everyone deals with it differently) and angst so keep that in mind... i think that’s all! i hope you enjoy! thanks xx

—

The one thing Y/N is worried about is sleeping alone.

Coming back, after staying with her mother for two weeks, to find their once shared home completely stripped of anything to remind her of him is one thing, but the fact that she has to sleep in their bed, knowing full well he isn’t going to be coming in late after a long day at the studio, knowing that he isn’t going to be there to kiss that spot between her shoulder blades before he falls asleep, knowing that he isn’t going to be mumbling sweet nothings to her in the dead of night, knowing that he isn’t going to be there when she wakes up. He’s never going to be there again, not to hold, to kiss, or to make love to.

The thought of sleeping alone brings her close to breaking down and calling him.

But she can’t.

Isn’t it odd how, when you’re in the reflection period of the break up you focus mostly on the good parts of the relationship? Maybe it’s because you’re unconsciously trying to lift your spirits; perhaps it’s because your heart has been through a lot with a separation, and thinking of all the good memories is a coping mechanism, or maybe you’re trying to convince yourself that you made a mistake, even though you’re sure you didn’t.

Y/N doesn’t dwell too much on the months of loneliness she felt. She can’t seem to recall that she basically slept alone during the months leading up to their separation, with Harry staying out late, and even when they were in bed together, they slept on opposite sides, backs facing each other.

Instead, she remembers the nights where he was needy, desperate for any sort of contact with her, whining when she would move away in the slightest. She easily remembers the mornings where he snuggled close to her chest, his nose dangerously close to her cleavage and hands drifting across her skin. She remembers the beaming grin on his face when they woke up in a beach cabana in Jamaica, the sunlight seeping through the rippling blinds, the breeze warm and calm. She remembers the day she came back from a hard day at work, and he was there, with his arms open. That night, he wiped her stress-tears with his thumbs, and he told her that everything would be alright. She thinks about their first date, their first kiss, and so on.

Her heart wants to blame Harry for the downfall of their relationship. Surely, they would still be together if only he communicated more with her, if only he noticed anything. She could make millions of excuses. Her heart wants to blame him, but her head knows that they were both at fault.

They started distancing themselves after their three-year anniversary. It just sort of happened. They had been living together for a year. They had been way past the honeymoon stage, and they were comfortable with each other. They didn’t need to constantly talk or be close to one another anymore. This was normal for a three-year relationship; it was just a little slump, but as the months drew on, it got worse. They rarely talked; it was like living with family rather than a lover. He was distant, secretive almost. She knew that he wasn’t really hiding anything from her, he’d been cheated too many times to do the same to her, but it was as if he wasn’t comfortable being open with her anymore.

Slowly, Y/N felt herself falling into a hole that she didn’t know she could crawl out of. When she noticed herself withdrawing, it was with simple things, like not wanting to go out anymore, whereas that’s all he ever wanted to do, and then she barely had the energy to go to work, let alone out in public to socialize. She could always see the frustration in his eyes whenever she would tell him she would rather just stay in when he offered to take her out with him.

Soon, he just stopped asking.

He would come home late to find that she didn’t move at all, and he would crawl in bed, silence heavy between the two of them. Sometimes he would ask if she had eaten anything, and she would lie. He would be gone by the time she woke, busy with his high-demanding job before the sun even came up. She would find the bed empty and cold, and the day would start all over again.

The thing about Harry is that he doesn’t really understand what it feels like. He’s never had trouble with negative thoughts. He would never understand how much guilt she felt for not being the same person as she was when they met. He doesn’t know the sinking feeling in her stomach when he forgets to kiss her forehead in the morning, and how her mind runs wild with self-doubt. He’s never known how it feels to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong.

He doesn’t know how much of a burden she feels like because she couldn’t seem to make him happy anymore or how much it breaks her heart to feel him slipping through her fingers, and she’s just stuck, frozen with fear and anxiety and dread, wondering what she’s doing wrong, but that’s the thing. She knows exactly why things aren’t as good as they used to be. She’s fully aware that if she just put in a little more effort, they could be happy again, but when it comes down to it, she can never find the energy to do it. It’s a vicious cycle, and it’s so difficult to get past it.

Y/N went to her doctor before it got to the point of no return. She started taking her old medication, and she slowly felt like her old self again, getting out and appreciating things more and more. However, as she was starting to get back to her normal self, she noticed how much of a strain their relationship was in. She thought that if she got back to normal, everything would be fine. She tried her hardest to spend more time with him and get back to the way things were before, but he just pulled further and further away.

This was happening for months, but neither had the courage to say anything. Perhaps it was because they didn’t want to be alone. They didn’t want to go through the pain of a break up. They didn’t want to learn how to live without each other because they were together for three years. They were both so used to just having each other there that they didn’t want to consider the possibility of the other not being there.

When she finally admitted to herself that their relationship needed to end, it felt like a weight was put on her shoulders.

Despite everything, despite all the good memories, the time they spent together, and the warm love they once shared, the break up was for the best, really. At least, that’s what Y/N thought. Even though it was a long time coming, the break up was still less than amicable. Harry, on the other hand, was in denial, insisting they were fine. It was just a rough patch, and they could move past it; they had survived a lot worse.

She almost believed him.

But when she asked him to give her a reason to stay, to tell her to not give up on the past three years, he just looked at her with teary eyes, at a loss for words.

She wanted to hear him say, “I love you.”

If only he said those simple words, she would have stayed, and now, instead of being alone, wallowing in self-pity, and dreaming of what could have been, she would be with him, talking through their problems. He would promise to make more time for her, and she would tell him all about her poor state of mental health. He would apologize for putting her through any pain, for turning a blind eye when she was in need. She would beg him to forgive her for being less understanding, for jumping to conclusions and making decisions without communicating with him first. They would cry together, mourning the first chapter of their lives that was filled with domestic bliss and innocence, but they would also be filled with hope for the future and stronger than ever.

And maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

If only he said, “I love you.”

But he didn’t; his silence was answer enough. He couldn’t give her a reason to stay, so she didn’t. She nodded, tears finally spilling out.

“I’m—” Harry choked on his words, reaching helplessly for her. She hugged him one last time, cupping his cheek, and he dipped down, pressing their foreheads together. At this point, they were both exhausted. They fought, yelled, cursed each other, but when the dust finally settled, they were left devastated, left with absolutely nothing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, broken and defeated. He let out a breath, lips quivering.

She knew what he was going to say.

I’m sorry.

She understood; she really did. She knew how painful it was to face your problems and to find yourself just stuck, unable to do anything or say anything to right your wrong, but she can’t really blame him. When you fall out of love, there is just no changing that, and it was selfish of her to expect his feelings to go back to what they used to be. He isn’t accustomed to change, so she understood how difficult it was for him to let go, to just discard their relationship, and move on like nothing ever happened.

Even though she understood, she had to walk away.

What’s the point of loving someone who doesn’t love you back?

Before she left, he kissed her, maybe it was for old time’s sake or maybe it was his last ditch effort to convince her to stay, and she almost did. She almost broke down and collapsed into his arms, relieved to feel safe and loved once again.

But she couldn’t.

She left that night with the bags that she had packed over a month ago, and told him that she would be back in two weeks to, hopefully, find an empty house.

—

Harry doesn't quite remember how he ended up in the dingy bathroom of an underground bar in downtown L.A. with a girl between his legs.

Then again, he can’t remember much of anything nowadays.

The night, hell, the past two weeks, has been blurred with tears, flashing lights, and lots of drugs and tequila.

He doesn't know the girl’s name, how they met, or even what she looks like, but he can’t bring himself to care. He lazily pulls her hair up into his fist, the strands stringy and dull. His grip is loose, just enough to hold it together so it didn’t get in her eyes. He leans his head against the brick wall, his knees weak.

He loses himself, his drug addled mind wandering. The buzzing of the lights above the sink pairs well with the bass coming from outside. The brick walls of the bathroom are graffitied with luminescent paint, which glows painfully bright in the black light. The faces and letters melt off the walls, dripping onto the floor and leaving a puddle, but the original shapes still remain. The tattoos on his arms move and shift; some fall to the floor, slithering toward the puddle from the paint on the walls. He grins, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the cloud of euphoria grows stronger, numbing his fingers. He flexes them, nearly laughing aloud at the tickling feeling that spreads through them.

He hasn’t binged this much in years, and he can feel it.

When he and Y/N first started dating, he stopped. Not necessarily because she forced him or even told him to, but he just didn’t want to anymore. Then, they broke up, and Harry has never been good with coping.

Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing at all.

"Harry," the girl moans, pressing her lips to his hip bone. The unfamiliar voice knocks him out of his stupor, eyes flickering open to see the girl staring up at him, alluring and dazed. He swallows, blinking slowly to come back to reality. Y/N never called him that. It was always H or Haz, never Harry. He can’t seem to quell the dismay that settles in his stomach, wishing he could get lost in his head again.

Maybe this time, he’ll be able to see Y/N.

He blinks slowly, focusing on her touch on his abdomen. It tingles, like when your leg falls asleep, and spreads down to his feet. It’s almost painful.

Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing at all.

“C’mere, baby,” he slurs, tucking his thumb beneath her chin. She smiles, biting her lip gently. She hooks her fingers in the belt loops of his pants, and she stumbles when she stands, tripping over her high heels. He barely catches her before she could fall, fingers digging into her waist. She’s thin; he can feel the divots of her ribs as she breathes deeply. Y/N always felt soft and warm. He would kiss and massage the little pooch hanging off her stomach and hips. It was always something she felt insecure about, but he always tried his best to make sure she knew that he loved it. The girl nestles into his neck, kissing and biting at the skin.

“Such a nice cock,” she moans, stroking him slowly. “What can you do with it?” He grins, tracing his fingers over the side of her neck. She has a tattoo of a butterfly there, with fancy script looping all the way up to her ear. He can’t make out what it says. He licks his lips, baring his teeth as the tips of his fingers dig into her skin. Her heart races. He leans in close to her ear.

“Bend over f’me, lovie, by the sink.” The pet name slips out before he can stop it, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She smiles, smooth cheeks lifting with life beneath hollow eyes. Her makeup is flaking off. He thinks her eyes are bleeding for a second.

She leans against the sink, her back facing him, arching, compliant and vulnerable for him. Harry pulls one of her knees up onto the counter, the dark red dress bunching up to her hips. He traces the stitching of her leather dress, pulling her panties to the side. He traces the head of his cock over her slit.

“Fuck me, please,” she moans, her hips bucking against him. When he bottoms out, he closes his eyes, savoring the warmth swallowing him. He breathes out deeply as the room spins and closes his eyes, trying to focus on her tight walls, squeezing and milking him. When he feels stable again, he opens his eyes, bright colors flooding his vision. He thrusts his hips roughly against hers, and a groan bubbles in his chest.

The girl rests her cheek on her arms, glancing up at him with big eyes. They’re Y/N’s eyes, he realizes, filled with warmth and love and security. Y/N smiles from beneath him, teeth nibbling on her swollen lips, teasing him. Her nose crinkles suddenly as he hits that spot inside, and a gasp of pleasure slips through her lips, shallow and weak, breaking slightly at the end, but her serene features, content grin, and glimmering eyes show him nothing less than bliss.

It makes him falter, seeing Y/N for the first time in weeks. He’s barely been able to even think about her without breaking down, let alone look at pictures of her, so seeing her beneath him, panting and moaning like all those other times they made love, makes a sob grow in his chest. He leans closer, making her whine, and nestles his nose into her hair, grinding himself deeper into her. Her free hand moves to the back of his neck, fingers carding through his wet hair. He inhales her scent, an odd mix of vanilla and salt.

Her hand moves, trailing down to his on her hips, desperately clutching onto his fingers, their pinkies interlocking. That was something Y/N always did; somehow, she would always find a way to hold his hand. She told him that it kept her grounded, kept her from going off into a headspace, and reminded her that he was real.

That’s how he knows it’s her.

Tears burn his eyes, and his arm circles her middle, clutching onto any skin he can, eager to feel her. His fingers dig into her stomach, pressing until he can feel himself through her skin. A wave of relief washes through him, and he thinks he’s going to collapse, knees feeble. He rests his forehead against the crown of her head, and she turns slightly to kiss the curve of his jaw.

“Missed you so much, babylove,” he murmurs into her hair, the heat from his breath making her shiver.

“Faster,” she whimpers, backing into him. His fingers trace the skin of her neck, thumb and forefinger massaging just beneath her jawline. He can feel her heartbeat pick up.

“Feels so good, Y/N,” he moans, grinding his hips deeper into her. “D’ya like that, lovie? Such a dirty girl f’me.”

“Yes,” the girl whines, voice broken and weak. “Harry, ‘m gonna come.”

He blinks, once, twice, three times. There’s a ringing in his ears, muffling the sounds of her moans and the music thundering in the bar. He pushes himself from her and looks up, hands resting on the counter.

The mirror above him is grimy; despite that, he can still barely recognize the person staring back at him. Red blotchy rings paint the outside of his eyelids and beneath them are dark purple circles, stretching down to the tops of his cheekbones, making him look gaunt and hollow. His hair, greasy and tousled, slips down onto his forehead. Stubble coats his jaw and trails all the way down to the better part of his neck, which is marred with deep love bites.

Looking at the sorry state he’s in makes him nearly stumble back, but he feels his world stop for a second when he remembers that this girl isn’t Y/N.

That’s all it takes for his world to come crashing down.

”This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.”

Harry never really understood how easy it is to break something down after building it up so far. It takes just one drop of water to break a weak dam.

Like the dam, Harry’s walls came tumbling down.

The weight of the situation finally settles on him, and he feels like he can’t breathe. His chest tightens painfully as visions of the woman he loves pass before him. He remembers the first time he ever saw her, how she pulled him in with her smile, and when she spoke and laughed with him, he was a goner.

A coldness fills his veins, dread passing through him. He took her for granted, and he has to pay the price. He will never be with her ever again. He will never be able to hold her one last time. He isn’t going to marry her or grow old with her.

He lost the love of his life.

He just let her walk away.

“No, no, no,” he whispers, stumbling back to the opposite wall. His knees give out, and his back harshly hits the brick. He struggles to button his pants in front of this stranger, who is trying to also cover her modesty, tugging at her dress shakily. A sob wracks through him before he can stop. Clutching onto his mouth, he finally breaks. Guilt and pain sink into his stomach. His heart beats faster as he struggles to catch his breath, lips trembling. His nails dig into his arms as he cradles himself, knees tucked close to his chest. Blood drips through his fingers.

Feeling anything is better than feeling nothing at all.

“Are you okay?” The girl asks, kneeling in front of him. Her dress is pulled back down, but he can see remnants of himself on her skin, her thighs quivering and the skin of her neck wet from his kisses. Sweat on her hairline makes flyaways cling to her forehead. She wipes them away and reaches for his arm, eyes filled with concern.

He shakes his head and inches away from her, his shoulders digging deeper into the painted wall, all while pitifully wiping the wetness from his cheeks; his skin is dry though, no tears actually escaped. His heart races, feeling the pressure in his head build. All he wants to do is cry, but nothing will come out.

“I’m—” He begins, but the words get caught in his throat.

I’m sorry.

Memories of that night come crawling back, festering and pushing deeper into his mind until it feels like his head is going to burst. Y/N looked so sad, so weak, so empty. Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes, once radiant and optimistic, were hollow, void of any light.

When Y/N asked him to give her a reason to stay, he had millions of them, but when he looked at her, beaten down and tired, he couldn’t say any of those things. He couldn’t say any of them. He couldn’t say how much he loved her, how he knew that she was going to be the woman he married, how much she meant to him, even if he hadn’t shown it as often. He wanted to tell her to not give up on them because he didn’t know what to do without her; she was his rock and his safety net.

He couldn’t say any reasons because he was just being selfish. When she was so clearly broken, nearly deteriorating before his very eyes, he couldn’t make her stay.

So he let her go. He let her walk away, and when he kissed her for the last time, he felt all the pain she did over the past few months. He hated the fact that he was the cause of it.

It was for the best, for her.

Then, why does it hurt so much?

—

By two in the morning, Y/N is no closer to falling asleep than she was hours ago.

She started in their bedroom, sinking into the down comforter that Harry insisted they get, even though it got too hot for her liking. Now, it’s always cold, no matter what she does.

What makes it worse is the fact that it doesn’t smell like him anymore. There was no warmth or comfort left in that bare room. She tosses and turns for hours, trying not to think of the memories the two shared in that room, trying not to think of the paintings that were no longer there, trying not to think of the fact that he’s not going to be there. It’s not just one thing that makes her miss him. It’s a bunch of little things, like how his shoes aren’t thrown about at the door, piling up until she trips on a pair. Hell, she almost started crying when she saw that there was only one toothbrush in the holder instead of two.

It was for the best.

Y/N moved to the couch at around midnight, but it didn't help either.

She has honestly given up on trying to sleep. With a mug of coffee in hand, she settles onto the couch, sinking deep into the cushions. She contemplates getting a cat. It’s an impulsive act, really, but anything is better than the loneliness. She knows that she won’t end up getting one, but it’s nice to think about coming home to someone who missed you. She knows that the heartache will pass, but for right now, she’s left with doubt and sorrow.

An infomercial plays in the background, lighting the room. It’s bright, but the burning behind her eyes is from exhaustion. Sleep refuses to take her, mind filled with thoughts of Harry.

It’ll get easier, she tells herself. Sure, it’s tough, now, but soon, she’ll be able to sleep on the couch without thinking of the times they spent bingeing shows. Then, she’ll be able to sleep in their bed and not think of him snuggling into her, nose pressed into her neck, or waking in the morning to find him between her legs, or even how Harry had the terrible habit of talking in his sleep. She’ll be able to shower without thinking of the times when Harry would accidentally turn the lights off. She’ll be able to cook in the kitchen and clean the house on Saturday mornings and lay in the hammock on the back porch without thinking of him.

It’ll get easier, but for now, it’s just painful.

Y/N sighs, resting her chin on the pillow, which she has gathered in her arms, bundled and clutched tightly to her chest. Her thumb mindlessly caresses the velvet as fatigue gets the better of her. Just as she’s nodding off, her phone rings.

—

part two

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes angst #ellie writes smut #not my gif #credit to owner

378 notes · View notes

thesickpanda · 4 years

Text

Honey, there's isolation and then there's isolation.

I've seen many chronically ill, neurodivergent, poor and disabled people discussing their bemusement at the cries of lament from the well-off able-bodied people who now have to self-isolate, cancel their plans, postpone holidays and miss out on fun events. It's quite something to behold. It’s fascinating (in a horrible way) to witness these people who are used to getting what they want now finding that they can't have it; that that instant gratification has been removed for them. Now they're staring down the prospect of being lonely for a few months, unable to see friends, sometimes even family, unable to go out to the movies or the festivals. And we're sitting here like, yo - welcome to our world.

It's hard to put into words how frustrating it is to see governments putting in measures for tele-health services, working from home practices and teaching through Skype to students et cetera. For decades, disabled/sick/neurodivergent folks were told that these accommodations couldn’t be made for us, but now suddenly they can. Now suddenly there's money for it. Funny that.

When we've talked about how lonely and isolated we feel as people with disabilities, we've been dismissed, victim-blamed or infantilized. But now the ableds are feeling it, a flood of “community compassion” initiatives and “mental health advice for dealing with isolation” is being made freely available to them.

And yet previously, we used to hear things like: “You're so lucky you get to stay at home: I wish I could just be on Netflix all day!” Or, “You don't have to deal with people. That sounds like utopia to me!”

Not so much fun in reality, is it?

The latest banger I heard was from my sibling. I told her that after a long winter, months of bushfires, unprecedented floods and now this virus, I had essentially been self-isolating for six months and another six months was going to make me lose my mind. Her response was, “well, at least you've had practice. This is all so new for the rest of us!”

Yes, I have had practice. I have developed strategies for dealing with crippling loneliness. I have had to find ways to entertain myself whilst experiencing horrific symptoms of pain, nausea, digestive issues and more. I've had to learn not to take it too personally when friends cancel on seeing me or sensing their disappointment/bemusement when I cancel on seeing them. Yes, I have had lots of practice. It doesn't make it any less awful though.

Australia has had a particularly bad run. The bushfires broke out in spring and for almost all of November and December we literally could not go outside because the air was toxic. The smoke blocked out the sun, rained apocalyptic ash and embers on us which sparked more fires. I have a compromised immune system and so I really felt the effects of the smoke. Red eyes, runny nose, sore throat - the works. That crushing, extended period of terror took a huge toll on me mentally, as well. Then, just as the smoke started to clear a little, the heat waves came. I'm talking about 48°C (113°F) days. You cannot go out in that. More people die from heat waves than most other natural disasters combined, and people were dying in Australia. People died from the smoke and the heat and that doesn't even include deaths from the fires themselves. Then the fires were put out not just by some heavy rain but by actual torrential flooding. So for a few weeks in February we were cooped up indoors unable to go out because the train lines had literally washed away and it was too dangerous to drive.

And then the coronavirus hit Australia.

Now everyone is being told to lock themselves in their homes. For many of us, particularly the chronically ill and most vulnerable, we've already had months and months of that. And bear in mind: I had to pretty much self-isolate all winter. Because such cretins like anti-vaxxers exist, it's really difficult for those with compromised immune systems to go out in winter and not get sick with the flu, which can be crippling or even deadly for us. Secondly, winter is extremely hard on my body. My pain gets infinitely worse in the cold weather. Last year I spent most of winter inside. I barely saw the sun. The only way I can get through those 3 to 5 months of cold is keeping in mind the prospect of spring and summer, when I can go out more often. But I couldn't go out in the spring and summer of 2019. My long stretch of being stuck indoors went on and on and on, and now I'm being told it could be another six months before I can go out again - just in time for the start of the next bushfire season.

After all the hardships we endured last year and after finally giving up running my not-for-profit due to worsening health, we really needed something to look forward to in 2020. I had no less than 14 medical appointments in the first eight weeks of this year. We spent thousands of dollars on seeing specialists and therapists to try to fix my broken body. The only time I would be out of the house was to see another medical professional. And then I broke up with my friend of 14 years (and his family), which led to me feeling more alone and more depressed. And then my elderly friend died at the end of February. Everything looked bleak.

Strapped for cash, my partner tried to think of affordable ways we could still have fun this year. We finally had our own home, so maybe we could invite people over. Our social lives really suffered while running the non-profit, especially with all the drama of last year, so this year we pledged would be different.

We spent half a day in February in front of our wall planner and planned boardgame nights, our birthday parties, dinners with friends and excursions at local festivals and markets. I felt my spirits pick up a little and hope stir in my heart.

All that has been cancelled now.

For someone who is chronically ill and alone most of the time, we live for these outings. We live for the moments of socialization and human bonding that we are otherwise deprived of so much of the time. These things are the light at the end of the tunnel of pain and nausea and sickness. So to have that taken away from us? There are no words to describe how eviscerating that emotional pain is.

To add insult to injury, we’re currently watching able-bodied people behaving even more despicably than usual. They descend like locusts on stores and rob the vulnerable, including our poorest regional communities (STILL RECOVERING FROM BUSHFIRES), of their food and resources. We’re witnessing them stepping over the disabled, sick and impoverished to panic buy all basic necessities. We hear them complaining about how hard it's going to be to give up seeing the football and to stay home with the kids these next few months. It's fucking galling. Now they are starting to taste what we have to experience, and yet there is still no consideration for what we’re going through.

Instead, we hear shit like: "The self-isolation thing is so annoying. I mean, it's only the sick and elderly who will die from it so I don't see why I can't go out to a concert!"

Only the sick and the elderly: this implies our lives have no inherent value. But I guess, under a capitalist system, that's how people see things.

I am just so goddamn tired. I’m tired of trying to be positive all the time when things are just terrible right now. I’m tired of being dismissed, ignored, or made to feel like a whiny burden. I’m tired of the hypocrisy. I am tired of the fear and selfishness and ugliness all around me. I’m tired of being sick and I’m tired of being punished for it.

This coronavirus has highlighted so many deep flaws with our culture and our economic system. It’s shown up humans for the self-centered, individualistic bigots we are. It’s illuminated how pathetic our treatment is of the world’s most vulnerable. It’s really underscored how incompetent our leaders are. Not that this will motivate anyone to change anything. Keep selfish, carry on.

And so it goes. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…

#spoonie rants #chronic illness #chronic pain #the ableds are at it again #abledsareweird #fuck ableism #coronavirus #covid19 #Fibromyalgia #seriously Australia #get a grip #disability and isolation

144 notes · View notes

kathleen-meyer-lyme-survivor · 4 years

Text

DISCLAIMER: I have signed a waiver and become a contributor to an upcoming book by a fellow, healed Lyme patient. Some or all of this story may be published in the coming months. I have added and updated some of this information 9.12.2020, so hopefully I will not violate any copyright laws.

NOTE: Do not assume everything I write here or on my Facebook Lyme page will help. Everyone heals differently. Working with a knowledgeable, sincere doctor and finding the right combination of medication, herbs, personal lifestyle and diet changes will help. One size doesn’t fit all for Lyme disease treatments. Don’t be afraid to research and consult with your doctor. Get a notebook and write down EVERYTHING; diet, exercise, symptoms, dates, times, and ANY physical or emotional stress-causing events. Stress seems to be the biggest culprit of all diseases. Hypocrites stated, “All disease begins in the gut”. HE WAS RIGHT!!

NAME: Kathleen Meyer

I live in Northern VA. I am a retired, 60+ year old Grandmother. I am widowed, and I was living alone when Lyme hit. Symptoms began between September 12-14, 2012.

BACKSTORY: September 12, 2012. I felt something prick my lower back. When I reached around to check, the area was very hot to touch. This was in my car in Reston, Virginia, on a 90+ degree day. I had left the car windows open slightly during the work day.

The previous two weeks, I had been on vacation to the Pacific Northwest, to visit my Sister. While there, I visited a national park, which is highly populated by deer and other furry animals; large and small. There was hiking and a few photo ops while sitting on a rock wall. Deer roam around freely in the town where my Sister lives.

After going to my family doctor almost daily between 9/14-10/12 to complain of strange symptoms, I was finally tested for Lyme, West Nile virus and Rocky Mountain Spotted fever. My doctor was skeptical at first, but I kept insisting the symptoms weren’t normal for any flu I had ever had. When I mentioned living by woods and recently spending time in a national park, I was taken more seriously.

I was diagnosed with Lyme on October 12,2012, (clinically by relating symptoms) and blood work. Side note: Because I had Mono at age 18, I was also diagnosed with Mono “exposed”. I was instructed to go home, stay on bedrest and get clearance from an infectious disease doctor, before returning to work. I was on sick leave and coworker’s leave donations between 10/15-11/13/2012. I was also instructed NOT to work or look at work email while out sick; which I now understand completely. The philosophy seems to be, “Being out on sick leave means you’re too sick to be at work, so don’t try to do any work at home”. Never mind that after two weeks of bedrest, going stir crazy and wanting to do something, is very normal.

TREATMENTS: I was immediately placed on Doxycycline 200 mg, by the family doctor, for 20 days. That didn’t work. Then Doxycycline 200 mg for 10 days. When that didn’t work, there was 30 days additional. When I ran out, I waited between prescriptions about a week or two, to see if symptoms would come back. Symptoms kept coming back. I was on/off Doxycycline for a total of 60 days. My insurance company wouldn’t authorize more than 60 days, so I was given Cefuroxime 500 mg for 30 days.

NOTE: At the beginning of the Cefuroxime prescription I doubled the dose for the first 4 days, just to see what would happen. I realize that wasn’t a very smart thing to do, but I wanted to kill what was making me so sick. After the 4 days, I used the prescription correctly. At the end of the 30 days, no symptoms returned.

NOTE: I always eat yogurt in between any oral antibiotic dose. The reason is because all antibiotics kill all bacteria, including the beneficial bacteria we need in our gut, where the main part of the immune system is located. The other part of the immune system is our brain. The brain and gut communicate with each other UNLESS we have an illness like Lyme. The brain is affected and doesn't communicate correctly with the gut during Lyme, and probably during other autoimmune illnesses.

MYSTERIOUS SYMPTOMS BEFORE TREATMENT: High blood pressure, cardiomegaly, chronic bronchitis, prolapsed mitre heart valve, GERD, Barretts esophagus, large hiatal hernia. Other symptoms; short term memory issues, difficulty with vision, floaters, reading, sensitive to bright light and sunshine. Difficulty walking, bumping into walls, problems with grip and dropping things. Insomnia, sometimes several nights in a row. Constant buzzing, tingling, pain throughout my entire body. Chest pain, head and neck pain, difficulty with bowels, difficulty swallowing and anxiety from feeling so ill for no known reason, except Lyme. I was able to swallow correctly again, after an endoscopy and scraping of webbed growth (non-cancerous).

WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW: ALL doctors, nurses including E.R. personnel need to be made aware of how many hundreds of symptoms Lyme can have. It is known to mimic at least 400 other illnesses and syndromes. Millions of people worldwide are being mis-diagnosed or given catch-all diagnosis out of frustration. Doctors have about 15 minutes per patient and don’t have time to research and address everyone’s symptoms. More research is needed and the patient’s symptoms need to be taken more seriously. The phrase “The customer is always right”, needs to apply to patients as well. Haphazard treatment of symptoms and covering up symptoms DOESN’T WORK FOR LYME!!

NOTE: Most medical schools are funded by big pharma. They do not provide enough education to upcoming doctors about Lyme and similar illnesses. They don’t stress enough on nutrition or healthy eating as a benefit to patients. I have asked my doctors and chiropractor about this, and they said the same thing.

Do NOT listen to any doctor who tells you your child has “Growing Pains”. Find a doctor who is knowledgeable about Lyme, preferably a young doctor with a growing family of his/her own. My family doctor diagnosed and treated me correctly, was THAT doctor, not a specialist, a general practitioner.

HOW HAS LYME CHANGED MY LIFE; GOOD AND BAD: Lyme caused me to be bedridden for over 3 weeks, afraid to drive for fear of getting lost, and feeling like I had early onset Alzheimer’s. I now feel that it was an eye-opening experience, which awakened me to how poorly I had been managing my diet and exercise on a daily basis. I also believe the 2012 influenza shot might have been flawed, because I never felt healthy after that, and it possibly weakened my immune system so Lyme and Mono could sneak in.

I went from quick and easy meals and very little exercise to self-improvement. I learned from the Lyme pages on Facebook from reading other people’s stories. It was almost like putting a really large jigsaw puzzle together, very slowly and not having all the pieces in front of me.

SOMETHING I DO NOW THAT I NEVER DID BEFORE LYME: I now pay closer attention to my physical and emotional health, what foods I eat and the amount of daily exercise I get. I also developed pre-diabetes type 2 during the Lyme period. I am now eating real food and watching my weight in order to keep the pre-diabetes under control, without medication.

NOTE: Doctor’s won’t tell you unless you press them, that medication for everything is NOT the best way to control anything, because you’re stuck on the medication for the rest of your life. Our bodies are capable of healing, with help by US.

THE MOST FRUSTRATING PART OF LYME DISEASE: I would have to say, lack of compassion for what patients are going through on the part of medical professionals, insurance companies, news media, and the general public. “Take these pills and you’ll feel better”. This doesn’t work with Lyme disease; trust me. However, I know many people who believe everything their doctor says and I hear, “My doctor says it’s__________. More research is needed and the actual CAUSE should be researched and treated instead of pills to cover up underlying symptoms.

MY BIGGEST SUPPORTER(S): I have a private Facebook page called “Where is Lyme Disease”, which has 249 members. I consider all of them to be my supporters; we support each other. I have been posting there since March, 2015, before any of us realized Lyme is EVERYWHERE!! I HAVE POSTED HOW I TREATED, HEALED AND WHAT I AM DOING NOW TO STAY HEALTHY. Those answers were not readily found using an internet search in 2012. Everything I post on the page is from what I went through. I am trying to help others with Lyme get through it and not give up.

I give all credit to healing to authors of books about Lyme struggles. There are too many to mention, but “Cure Unknown” by Pamela Weintraub was the best one. I read it several times, because the first time I tried to read, the words ran together and blurred because of Lyme. I am now able to read again, and have re-read several books I couldn’t comprehend before. If there’s a diagnosis of ADD or ADHD, suspect Lyme!!

BIGGEST DAILY STRUGGLE: Praying it never comes back and thanking God for every day which I am granted. Experimenting with different diet plans and keeping healthy. Getting away from white sugar, white flour and other overly processed, easy to fix foods and getting real food into my body is a daily challenge.

Continuing to learn about and helping others deal with Lyme. I have helped quite a few people NOT give up. I wish I could help everyone or was a millionaire so I could donate money for a cure.

3 notes · View notes

gracelight87 · 5 years

Text

Sins I Can’t Mention

Happy Jonerys Week everyone! Here is my Day 1 contribution.

Sins I Can’t Mention - A collection of post-war Jonerys drabbles.

Read on Ao3.

***

Rhaella and Robb Targaryen were the spitting images of their parents. Rhaella looked every bit a Targaryen with her thick, silver-blonde hair and violet eyes. It sometimes gave Jon pause to look at her, his eyes tricking him into seeing a childlike version of his wife. Robb inherited the Stark traits of black hair and grey eyes. Daenerys could only differentiate between Robb and his father when they were standing facing her, otherwise it was like her husband had a twin.

The children had been born at Dragonstone not too long after the end of the Great War. As luck would have it, a brood of dragons were hatched soon after Robb’s seventh nameday. Jon and Daenerys spoke extensively in their bedchambers about the possibility of having their children become dragon riders just like them. Daenerys, ever the Targaryen, argued strongly for her children to bond with the dragons and ride them. Jon, on the other hand, returned that they had no reason to ride the dragons as Westeros was experiencing a period of peace like none before.

Eventually, Daenerys won out; Jon had trouble resisting her when she batted her eyes and showed him just how much fun riding a dragon could be.

Rhaella bonded with the dragon she named Vhagar right away. After all, she lived for her Aunt Arya’s visits that often brought hushed bedtime stories about the warrior Queen Visenya and her dragon. Robb had a little more hesitation when approaching the dragons, however. He finally decided on the name Snowfyre when he learned of his father’s original bastard status.

As the dragons grew bigger and stronger, so did Jon’s apprehension. Daenerys had every confidence that her children would succeed, but Jon knew how volatile dragons could be. He still got a terrified feeling in the pit of his stomach when he rode Rhaegal, and it had been over ten years since his first mount.

The day finally came for Rhaella and Robb to attempt to ride their dragons. Daenerys had been instructing them for weeks on how to ride, and as children they had taken turns riding on Drogon and Rhaegal with their parents. The children had taught their dragons the same Valyrian commands that their mother had taught her dragons before, so Jon knew at the very least that the dragons would listen to his children.

“Remember, it’s probably going to be uncomfortable at first, but the feeling of flying is like none other in the world.” Daenerys smiled at their children as she quickly re-fastened Rhaella’s coat. “Your father and I will be in the air with you the whole time. Shout if you have any problems,” she said with a wry smile, no doubt remembering what she had said to Jon the first time he rode Rhaegal.

Jon mounted his dragon with practiced ease; the awkward positioning of his legs had become second nature at this point. The plan was for Daenerys to fly first and for Jon to bring up the rear so he could keep an eye on them from behind.

He watched his children approach their dragons with confidence, holding their hands out to touch their snouts affectionately. Daenerys smiled encouragingly at them as she mounted Drogon. Rhaella stuck her chin out confidently and slowly made her way to Vhagar’s side. The dragon sat low to the ground as if in preparation for what was about to happen. The breath caught in Jon’s throat as he watched his daughter climb onto Vhagar’s back. Seeing how effortless she made it look reminded him of how fascinated he was when he first saw Dany atop Drogon.

Rhaella was sporting a huge grin by the time she mounted her dragon. Robb, on the other hand, had yet to make a move towards Snowfyre’s wing. He looked back at Jon with furrowed brows and a frown. Jon did what he could to give him an encouraging smile despite the churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. Robb smiled weakly back at him and began to move stiffly towards Snowfyre’s left side.

Jon knew that Robb was under a lot of pressure to be a good dragon rider. He had come up under his older sister who was seemingly never nervous about anything. Jon remembered many late night talks with Robb about his frustration with being bested by his older sister during training, as well as the many reassurances he had given his son that he was doing just fine.

Jon looked on with nerves as his youngest child slowly mounted the dragon. It took him a little longer than Rhaella to find his seat, but eventually he settled in and grabbed on to whatever he could. Jon smiled to himself as he looked onto both of his children.

Without warning, Daenerys shot her family a smile and commanded Drogon forward. They took off over the cliff and below, out of Jon’s sight, before rising up in front of them. Rhaella followed as quickly as she could manage, and the image of her and Vhagar disappearing over the cliff’s edge left him choking back fear. It was only when he saw her soar up towards her mother that the feeling eased. Robb followed his mother and sister carefully, putting on a brave face to mask what was likely pure terror. Slowly, he and Snowfyre dipped below the cliff and soared off into the morning sun. Jon followed quickly after, not wanting to be left behind by his speedy wife.

Daenerys was right; the feeling of flying was the best thing he had ever felt. Every time he mounted the Rhaegal and sped into the sky, he felt as if he were lighter than air. The wind whipped across his face and clothes, but the burning feeling was definitely worth it. There was no place that he would rather be than astride the dragon named for his father as they rose through the sky.

The only feeling that would ever rival this was the absolute pride that he felt at watching his children follow in his and Daenerys’ footsteps.

No doubt because of their Targaryen blood, Rhaella and Robb were complete naturals. Despite his initial apprehension, Jon could see that Robb had a huge smile on his face as Snowfyre flew him over the ocean. Rhaella’s resounding hollers were contagious and he found himself whooping along with her. He could see Daenerys far ahead of him, circling back around to look onto her children with pride. It was later that night that he found out that the usual tears that pooled in her eyes from the wind were caused by something else that day.

Their children were dragons through and through, and there was nothing that could take away how proud Jon and Daenerys were of that fact.

***

Daenerys rarely spent much time in the kitchen, preferring to eat the delicious food prepared by the chef than to watch it be made. However, she did enjoy making lemon cakes when the occasion arose. As soon as they settled into their family home at Dragonstone, Daenerys planted lemon trees in the back garden. It connected her to the one place she felt at home while she was a child and it provided her with plenty of lemons to add to her diet.

It was a warm summer day when she found herself bent over a bowl, mixing furiously. The cook often knew to leave her during her baking time because baking typically meant that the queen wanted to be alone. Of course, she would not mind some company in the form of her handsome husband. He often liked to sneak in while she was baking and lick the bowl.

“You are going to get ill!” she would scold him as he stole the bowl away and ran around the corridor. He often left her rolling her eyes and chuckling with how childish he could be. She expected that this day would be no different.

She was putting the tray in the oven as she heard Jon’s heavy footsteps round the corner. “The bowl is on the table,” she informed him when he entered the room. He flashed her a sheepish grin and rounded the counter to pick it up.

“How do you always manage to know when I am finished?” she asked him.

“Because I know you better than you think,” he replied with a grin.

She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Jon Snow.”

He smirked at his name, knowing that she only used the full version when she was on defense. He put the bowl down and walked towards her. “Really? Then how do I know that you secretly love it when I call you Dany?”

He was walking around her slowly, but she made no movement, reserving to stare straight ahead. She could hear him chuckle lightly at her stubbornness.

“I know that you miss the free cities of Essos more than you’re willing to admit.” She swallowed the lump in her throat that rose at the mention of Essos. He was right; she missed the warmth and rich culture that was found in the place she grew up. Not that she would ever admit it to him, of course.

“I know that you love it when I touch you,” he said in a low voice. She jumped at the feel of him behind her, his breath on her neck making her feel weak. Her body leaned into him on its own, betraying her mind and its resolution to stay still.

“And I know that you love it when I do this,” he said slowly, and before she knew it she felt his mouth at the little spot behind her ear. He had learned early on that she loved it when he kissed her there, and never shied away from it when they were behind closed doors.

Daenerys let out a small whine at the feeling of his hands around her waist and his mouth behind her ear. She swayed slightly, overcome with feeling, allowing Jon to support her weight. He turned her around in his arms and moved on to her neck, lavishing it with kisses as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

She happened to glance over at the hourglass and saw that the sand had almost run out, signaling that it was time to take the cakes out of the oven. “Jon,” she whispered. “The cakes.”

He hummed in agreement, not looking up from her chest. “Jon,” she pleaded. “Don’t be greedy.”

“You’re my wife, I’m allowed to be greedy,” he replied, and moved to kiss her on the mouth. The feel of his lips against hers sent her into overdrive. She momentarily forgot about the cakes as she leaned into Jon, deepening the kiss.

“Mmm, greed is good,” she said softly as he returned to kissing her neck.

The lemon cakes came out blackened, but Daenerys could not force herself to care.

***

There wasn’t much that Daenerys preferred to riding Drogon. The feeling of flying through the sky, wind whipping her hair around, and her stomach moving to her chest left her feeling euphoric for hours after it ended. She didn’t think that anything would ever compare.

Until she met Jon Snow, that is.

The first night he came to her room, the butterflies that had occupied her chest for the weeks previous exploded and left her feeling breathless. His intense gaze held hers for what felt like hours before he made the move to kiss her. That night, every intimate experience she had ever had was eclipsed by the mere running of his hands over her hips. Every place he touched made her skin feel like it was on fire, which is saying something because she knew what it felt like to be engulfed in flames.

It had been years since that first night, and the passion had definitely not diminished. Now that they shared their bedchambers there wasn’t much stopping them from being together whenever the moment felt right.

The moment often felt right.

It was a crisp morning at Dragonstone that saw the unfortunate necessity of Jon riding Rhaegal to north of the Wall. There had been some dissent amongst the Freefolk that Jon was especially equipped to handle, and they had two young children to take care of, so it was decided that he would ride alone. He also had plans to check in on his siblings at Winterfell, especially since Sansa had given birth to a daughter not long before.

Daenerys was sad to see him go, but that was not the only emotion that she was feeling upon watching him retreat towards the north. Ever since that fated day all those years ago, Daenerys had loved watching Jon ride Rhaegal. It warmed her heart to see her husband mount the dragon named for the brother she never knew and the father he learned of so late in his life.

Most importantly, the sight of him on a dragon filled her with a desperate, needy want that hit her like a gust of wind. The fact that she had to watch Jon ride a dragon coupled with the fact that he would be gone for some time was making her increasingly frustrated.

The walk back into the castle was tense. She had to walk carefully so as to hide how hard her legs were clenching together in her husband’s absence. She spent the rest of the day longing for night when she could retreat to her chambers and take care of her metaphorical itch. When the time finally came, she found herself only somewhat satisfied, missing Jon’s touch more than she thought she could.

The days following drug on and on. Daenerys bided her time by playing with her children and responding to ravens from various kingdoms requesting aid. Every night behind closed doors she would try in vain to dull the ache that had taken up residence between her legs.

It was almost a full moon later when he finally returned. Rhaegal touched down just before the sun disappeared behind the castle. Daenerys could barely contain her excitement as she watched Jon slide down Rheagal’s side. Was it just her or did he look even better than he did when he left?

He walked purposefully towards her with a small smile on his face. She felt like he could tell how needy she was for him, but as soon as he reached her he kissed her on the forehead, grabbed her hand, and begun walking towards the castle.

Daenerys walked along with him and listened as he described his trip. He told her of how Tormund was having trouble negotiating with one of the other clans over some land. They were able to get it figured out, thankfully, and he was able to spend some time with his new niece at Winterfell.

“She’s beautiful, Dany. It reminded me of when Rhaella was born and I didn’t want to leave her side for months,” he gushed.

Daenerys smiled at the memory. “We’ll have to take a family trip up north sometime soon. I think the children would love to meet her.”

Jon smiled at her. They had reached their chambers at this point, the throbbing between Daenerys’ legs had grown stronger with every step. They entered the room and Jon let go of her hand to begin removing his cloak.

“That ride is rough,” he mused as he worked on the buckle of his cloak. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to do that again for a while.”

Lust was coursing so quickly through Daenerys’ veins at the sight of her husband undressing that she lost all restraint. “Oh really?” she asked coyly. She began unbuttoning her dress slowly, maintaining eye contact with Jon once he looked up from removing his belt. “I thought you might want to ride another dragon tonight.”

He gulped, eyes widening as he took in the meaning of her words. She smirked at him and beckoned him closer.

“Am I going to have to remove this dress all by myself?”

***

The journey to Winterfell was a long one, and Daenerys resented the fact that she could not make short work of it on Drogon’s back. This was a family trip and her children were still too young to make the journey in the air, so she, Jon, Rhaella, and Robb were left to journey on a ship to White Harbor. From there, they rode on horseback to Jon’s family home.

“Mama how much farther?” asked Rhaella, tucked on Daenerys’ horse in front of her.

“About a day’s journey, my child. We are going to stop to rest sometime soon.” They had been riding all day, and Daenerys felt her child’s discomfort. Though she had become used to the soreness that followed horse riding, Rhaella had not spent nearly as much time on horseback as she had.

After the sun began to disappear behind the trees, Jon and Daenerys decided to stop in a little village for the night. Jon tended to the horses while Daenerys took Rhaella and Robb over to the inn to ask for a room for the night. The innkeeper looked a little shocked to see them, but maintained his composure long enough to guide them to their room. Jon joined them soon after, and they ate a small meal before turning in for the night.

The next morning saw the four of them eating downstairs in the dining hall. People would stop at their table to welcome them to town and make small talk with the official Protectors of the Realm. Jon knew how much Daenerys loved to make conversation with the smallfolk. It reminded him of the stories she had whispered to him about her time in Essos.

They spent the rest of the morning walking around the little village. Rhaella and Robb had found some other children and were playing games with them while Jon and Daenerys bartered with some merchants. As Daenerys looked over to the children playing in the square, Jon couldn’t help but notice a note of sadness in her eyes.

“What is it my Queen?” he asked softly.

She met his eyes. “They live such happy lives,” she mused. “Don’t you ever wish we could live in a small village like this?”

“Aye,” he replied. “But I wouldn’t trade our family for anything.”

“I envy them,” Daenerys responded sadly. “They don’t have to worry about things like feeding armies and threats from the South.”

“That’s true, Dany. But they also don’t have to worry about tyrants anymore, thanks to you.”

She smiled at him. “I suppose you’re right.” She remained silent for a long moment. “Do you think it will ever be possible for us? To live like them?”

He smiled. “How about this? Once Rhaella and Robb are grown and married to other houses and serving as protectors in our stead, we can build a nice little house by the sea. Somewhere where we could be close to the children but also close enough to fly to Essos whenever we like. How does that sound?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think that sound like a great idea, Jon Snow.”

***

The feast was over, but Daenerys was starving. She had spent much of the meal trying to coax her babe to sleep and by the time Rhaella was finally down, the great hall had cleared out.

Jon and Daenerys had invited rulers of the Seven Kingdoms to Dragonstone to discuss the governing system of Westeros. It had resulted in a week of long discussions about the rights of smallfolk and the extent to which they had a say in the governance of their nation. The group of lords and ladies had finally agreed upon keeping the great houses as rulers and protectors, but allowing the smallfolk to vote on important issues that affected them.

Eventually, elections would be held to determine who would rule over the individual kingdoms, but Daenerys did not want to move too quickly. Her and Jon would remain Protectors of the Realm, but it was decided that one ruler over all of Westeros was too big of a job. They would instead turn their focus outwards, using their dragons and armies to help free people from persecution in the known world.

The whole event culminated in a feast to celebrate the beginning of a new nation, but Daenerys missed most of it when her daughter’s wet nurse came to fetch her after the first toast. Rhaella often had trouble sleeping, so Daenerys excused herself to help put her daughter to bed.

Two hours later, she made her way slowly into the great hall to find the maids cleaning up an empty room. She thought of walking to the kitchen and asking the cook to prepare her something light, but thought better of it when she realized what time it must be. Tired and hungry, she made her way to her bedchambers to try to get some rest.

When she arrived, she opened the door to find Jon sitting at the table by the fire. Before him was a large spread of food from the feast that included all of her favorite things. She stared at him for a moment before a smile broke out on her face. “Jon! What’s all this?”

“Supper. I figured you would be hungry so I had my steward bring some food for you.”

His nice gesture warmed her heart. He wasn’t the best with words, but it was his actions that told her how much he loved her. “Thank you. Rhaella just would not go to sleep,” she said as she sat down in the chair next to him.

“I’m sorry. Next time that happens, I’ll take her and you can stay with the lords and ladies,” he responded after handing her the flagon of ale.

“Actually, I think I prefer spending time with Rhaella to spending time with them.” He laughed at her admission. “What?” she asked with a smile. “I don’t mean to sound rude but they can be so daft sometimes. Don’t blame me for wanting to get away from all of that.”

“Aye, they are a handful. I thought Edmure would never shut up when Sansa asked him about the ship he arrived in.”

Daenerys laughed at that. “I am not sorry I missed that conversation.”

She ate in silence for a while, laughing as Jon recapped some of the more humorous aspects of the night. By the time she was ready for dessert, she was practically bursting out of her dress. “I’ve eaten so much, and yet I am still hungry!” she laughed.

“Well, you are a glutton for lemon sweets.” Jon replied, chuckling.

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully. “I’m serious! I’ve been so hungry lately and I feel like everything I eat is going to my chest!”

“I’m definitely not complaining,” Jon replied. “It reminds me of when you were pregnant with Rhae.”

Daenerys’ breath caught in her throat as she had a thought. She dropped her fork on her plate and moved her hands to her stomach. “Jon,” she said quietly.

His eyes widened and moved to her stomach. “Dany? Do you think…” he trailed off.

“I’m not sure. I can’t remember my last moonblood.” She closed her eyes and moved her hand over her stomach. Emotions coursed through her as she considered this new reality. Was she ready? So soon after having Rhaella, too. She hoped that she and Jon were ready for this. “I think I might be with child again.”

She said it so softly that he almost didn’t hear. She opened her eyes and looked at him nervously, trying to gauge his reaction. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

He gulped and took a moment before responding. She began to worry that he was unhappy, but he moved quickly from his chair and knelt in front of her, placing his hands over hers. “I think that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. No matter what happens, you are the most amazing mother to Rhaella.” He paused. “However, I would love for our family to grow even more.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she considered his words. She wanted nothing more than to have a large family with multiple children and it seemed as if her husband felt the same. “I love you,” she responded as she leaned down to kiss him.

***

Jon and Daenerys liked to take walks around Dragonstone every once in a while to clear their heads and catch up. The days were often so busy that they didn’t get a chance to see each other and talk. They started indoors, walking through halls of bedchambers, and often stopping to listen outside their children’s doors.

They passed Robb’s door to find him being read to by his wet nurse, snuggled in his bed for an afternoon nap. Jon and Daenerys smiled to each other fondly and Daenerys rested her head on his shoulder.

“He’s a sweet boy,” Daenerys said with a smile.

“Aye. You’ve rubbed off on him,” he replied with a kiss to her forehead.

Robb had recently had his fourth nameday, and preferred to fill it with a trip down to the beach with his family rather than a large celebration. Jon and Daenerys had been thankful that they didn’t have to bother with inviting guests.

Rhaella, on the other hand, loved big celebrations. She was soon to have her sixth nameday, and she had already specified that she wanted her parents to invite “everyone.” When Daenerys tried to clarify what that meant, she just shrugged and said “everyone.”

They were coming up on her room now, as evidenced by the sound of her playing with her dolls. Rhaella loved her dolls. They were a specially made gift that Jon had made for her about a year ago. There was a young girl with silver hair and violet eyes as well as a large green dragon to match Vhagar.

“My name is Rhaella Targaryen, second of my name, and I command you to bend the knee or feel my wrath!”

Daenerys shot Jon a worried look that he returned. They turned towards their daughter’s door and Daenerys knocked softly before opening it.

“Rhae?” she asked. “Can we come in?”

“Hi mama, papa. I’m playing dragons!” the child said cheerfully.

“I see that,” replied Daenerys. She sat down next to her daughter while Jon stayed posted by the door. “Can you tell me what that means? Feel your wrath?”

“You know, mama. They’re gonna be in trouble if they don’t follow me.”

Daenerys hummed. She was familiar with the type of speech that her daughter was now emulating; she had made a few herself. The difference was that Daenerys had worked hard since then to establish a peaceful nation that wasn’t ruled through fear, and she worried that her children and those who came after would not honor her creation.

“You know, Rhaella, it’s important for our family to protect those who need it. Many are taken from their homes and forced to do things against their will, which is why we use our dragons to free them and give them the ability to choose. But in order to be a good ruler, you also have to be gentle and kind. Do you understand?”

“I think so. So they shouldn’t feel my wrath?”

Daenerys smiled. “It is important to be strong when someone is committing a crime. You have to answer injustice with justice. But for now, when you play with your dolls, why don’t you try to be more gentle?”

“Okay, mama. I’ll try.”

“Who taught you that word, anyway?” asked Jon from the door.

“It was in one of the books Aunt Arya brought me! She read it to me one night before bed,” Rhaella replied with a smile.

“You’re going to have to have a talk with your sister,” Daenerys told Jon as they left the room to continue their walk.

“You don’t want our daughter to know of her ancestors?” Jon asked.

“Of course I do. I just don’t want her to be exposed to the wrong ancestors.”

“I see your point. I’ll send a raven when we return,” Jon replied easily.

***

The sun shone through the window, waking Jon from slumber. He could tell it was midmorning by its position and the shadow it cast over the room. Daenerys slept soundly next to him, no doubt exhausted from the previous weeks.

Their final battle for King’s Landing had taken a lot out of her. That, coupled with the weeks of rebuilding and reparations that had taken place, had Jon in awe of her tenacity. It was no wonder that she dropped to their bed at night and was asleep without so much as a “goodnight.”

She was honestly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He thought he was in love once, but being with Daenerys had shown him what actual love was. She showed it to him in the way that she truly loved her people and wanted to do right by them. She showed it in the way she loved her dragons as children. She showed it to him in the way that she loved him, unselfishly and unconditionally. He didn’t think that a ruler as kind and strong had ever lived.

He was perfectly content to watch her sleep. Her mouth opened slightly when she slept and her face was full of the creases that normally appeared when she was awake. Her hair flowed wildly about the pillows after being freed from her intricate braids. This was one of his favorite ways to look at her, and was all too often interrupted by her stirring slowly.

She moved slowly and opened her eyes, shielding them from the light coming in through the window. “I’ll never get used to that,” she mused.

It was true; King’s Landing was very different from where they had both grown up. They had opted to stay there for a few months while they were getting the Seven Kingdoms back on their feet. Daenerys wanted to be as close to the discussions as possible, which left her missing her family’s ancestral home more and more each day.

“Good morning,” Jon said softly.

She smiled up at him and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Good morning.” She moved to get out of bed, but Jon could tell it was difficult for her. He grabbed her hand quickly and tried to pull her towards him.

“Dany, you’re exhausted. It’s been weeks of non-stop talking and riding and you need a break.”

“Jon, they need me. There’s still so much to do and I can’t leave Tyrion alone with them because he-”

“Dany.” he cut her off mid-sentence. He began to pull her arm slowly until she fell down onto the bed next to him. “I think,” he said, kissing her cheek. “They can handle one day without you.” He began peppering small kisses around her face. Her forehead, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her mouth. He felt her smile slightly and give in to his touch.

“Perhaps everyone could do with a day off,” she conceded. “But what will we do instead?”

“I can think of some ideas,” he said devilishly as he began to kiss down her throat. He felt her breath catch underneath him as she lifted her chin to give him more access.

“Hmm? And what would those be?” Her eyes were half-closed at this point, hands coming up Jon’s back to rest in his hair.

“I think I’m making it pretty obvious,” he replied, chuckling.

She could feel him pressed against her, which sent a jolt down to her core. “And after?”

“He moved up to kiss behind her ear. “I don’t plan on letting you out of this bed at all today,” he whispered against her skin.

“Jon, we can’t stay in bed all day. What do you take me for, a sloth?”

He pulled back from her neck and screwed his face in confusion. “A what?”

“A sloth. They are extremely slow and lazy animals. I read about them once in a book that my brother gave me.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of sloths, but today, that’s exactly what we are.” At that moment, his arms came around her behind and he scooped her up so she was sitting on his lap. She giggled as he moved them to a new position, resolving to make an exception for today.

And possibly, many more days in the future.

#Jonerys #Jonerys fanfiction #JonerysWeek2019 #JonerysWeek #iceandfiresource #Jon x Daenerys #Jon x Daenerys fanfiction

35 notes · View notes

simonxriley · 5 years

Note

Send me a ship and ill tell you.....Liz and Price (or Ghost~)or Skylar and her Russain Daddy(ies). Giving yah the choice. I like em all. Much love to you and yours!

‘Skylar and her Russian Daddy(ies)’ I’m cackling. Thank you for that =D. And I’m gonna do them all, yes all you heard that right Liz with both of her boys and Skylar with all four of hers. Tbh I don’t talk about Skylar with Kapkan and Fuze as much as I do her with Tachanka and Glaz and you gave me a good opportunity to do so. I went into some details, others not so much.

Liz:

Who starts most fights?

Liz x Price - Liz most likely. And half the time she doesn’t even mean too, Price just doesn’t know how to communicate that well and that can cause more problems. Problems they could have avoided if he just talked.

Liz x Ghost - Ghost does. It’s because of his over-protectiveness. Liz understands it and respects it, just sometimes she needs her space and not her boyfriend/husband (depending on the timeline) holding her back when she’s an adult and can do what she wants.

Who surrenders at the end of most fights?

Liz x Price - Price does. He knows things could have been avoided if he was better at communicating. And truthfully he’d rather not have Liz mad at him for a long period of time, it makes things awkward around the house. Especially for their son.

Liz x Ghost - Ghost does again. He knows it’s his fault, he just doesn’t want to lose her and becomes over-protective from his own insecurities. It’s an on going battle for him and Liz doesn’t hold it against him.

Who is more likely to cry during a fight?

Liz x Price - Liz hands down. She may act like things don’t effect her but they do. A lot actually. And to argue with Price someone she loves and trusts over things that could or couldn’t have been avoided hits her deep because she’s afraid of losing him.

Liz x Ghost - Both? These two are pretty emotional and depending on how bad the fight is, they might both cry.

Who is more likely to storm out during a fight?

Liz x Price - Price hands down. He knows it’s better to leave the house to cool down than to stay inside and have his mood affect his son or him accidentally snapping at him which is one of his worst fear.

Liz x Ghost - Ghost. Mostly due to fear. He still remembers how he lashed out at his therapist after his families death and he doesn’t want to do that to Liz. He doesn’t want her to be afraid of him and it’s best he leaves before anything happens that he’ll regret.

Who is louder in fights?

Liz x Price - Price because that’s just how he is. Liz likes to keep her voice low because of their son.

Liz x Ghost - Ghost, because he’s a loud person in general. And when he gets mad his voice raises some more.

Who is more likely to throw things in fights?

Liz x Price - Neither. They may get mad at each other but throwing things is out of the question. They wouldn’t be able to forgive themselves if their son was in the room and saw that.

Liz x Ghost - Only because it’s ‘canon’, I’m gonna say Ghost. But he’s learned a lot of self discipline not too.

Who is more likely to bring up past mistakes?

Liz x Price - They probably both would tbh.

Liz x Ghost - Neither.

Who is more likely to give the silent treatment?

Liz x Price - Liz is. She’s petty like that, especially if it wasn’t her fault to begin with.

Liz x Ghost - Neither would tbh.

Who is more likely to blame the other?

Liz x Price - They both do.

Liz x Ghost - They both do too but it’s mostly over small things like Ghost didn’t take the chicken out of the freezer the night before.

Who is more likely to blame themselves?

Liz x Price - Price and he does quite a lot actually. He’s self aware to know what he’s doing is wrong and tries his best to change, only to go back and do the same old shit he’s done before.

Liz x Ghost - Both would all depending on what it was for.

Who gets jealous more easily?

Liz x Price - Price.

Liz x Ghost - Ghost.

Who is angered more easily?

Liz x Price - Price, ever since Soap’s death he hasn’t truly been the same. He’s more prone to getting angry easier.

Liz x Ghost - Liz.

Who is more likely to break off the relationship?

Liz x Price - Liz and she almost did at one point.

Liz x Ghost - I’m not sure about this one as of yet.

Who is more likely to threaten to leave?

Liz x Price - Price.

Liz x Ghost - Neither?

Who is more likely to actually leave?

Liz x Price - Liz.

Liz x Ghost - Liz. Maybe.

Who is more likely to forget the other first?

Liz x Price - I don’t think either of them would because of all they’ve been through.

Liz x Ghost - Maybe Liz.

Skylar:

Who starts most fights?

Skylar x Tachanka - They’re more likely to bicker than anything.

Skylar x Glaz - They kinda both do.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan because sometimes he gets too philosophical about stuff when they’re fighting and it annoys Skylar more.

Skylar x Fuze - Skylar. Fuze is very reserved and that can sometimes cause problems.

Who surrenders at the end of most fights?

Skylar x Tachanka - Tachanka. He doesn’t like having Skylar mad at him for any reason.

Skylar x Glaz - Both do. These two do not like to fight and would rather be happy together instead of mad.

Skylar x Kapkan - Both do. They both know when one is wrong and will apologize and say so.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze. Mostly due to the fact he doesn’t like Skylar mad at him and he kinda fucked up when she told him about the unplanned pregnancy and he doesn’t want to make that mistake again.

Who is more likely to cry during a fight?

Skylar x Tachanka - Both, all depending on what the fight is about.

Skylar x Glaz - Both.

Skylar x Kapkan - Skylar.

Skylar x Fuze - Neither.

Who is more likely to storm out during a fight?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither, their fights never last that long for someone to do so.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither, again their fights never last long enough.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze. He’s not good at confrontation so his fight or flight reflexes come to life.

Who is louder in fights?

Skylar x Tachanka - Tachanka, that man is loud just talking normally lol.

Skylar x Glaz - Skylar.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan.

Skylar x Fuze - Maybe Skylar. I feel like Fuze’s voice would still be low and calm even during a fight.

Who is more likely to throw things in fights?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither, especially considering Skylar had an abusive ex and the last thing he wants is for her to be afraid of him.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Neither.

Skylar x Fuze - Neither.

Who is more likely to bring up past mistakes?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan.

Skylar x Fuze - Skylar.

Who is more likely to give the silent treatment?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither, both are too mature to do something so childish.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither since they have a child to take care of.

Skylar x Kapkan - Not entirely sure tbh.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze.

Who is more likely to blame the other?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Both are.

Skylar x Fuze - Both are.

Who is more likely to blame themselves?

Skylar x Tachanka - Both are. Skylar would because she knows how reserved she is because of her abusive ex and as understanding as Tachanka is there are some fights where she feels bad about it because she can’t open up as much as she likes. Tachanka would because as understanding as he is he gets frustrated because he wants to help her and he can’t and that boils inside him.

Skylar x Glaz - Both? These two have been through a lot. From getting stuck in an abandoned mine for a month to being parents legit 9 months later. They want to do good for each other and their son but sometimes fights happen and there’s nothing the can do about it.

Skylar x Kapkan - I think Kapkan would because he likes philosophy and I think he would think in a different way than Skylar would and blame himself for somethings.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze. He knows he can be stubborn and not communicate well and if he communicated well, than maybe things would have been different.

Who gets jealous more easily?

Skylar x Tachanka - Tachanka. That’s his kotyonok (kitten) everyone else back off. Unless we’re talking about the poly!ship than that’s different.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze.

Who is angered more easily?

Skylar x Tachanka - Skylar.

Skylar x Glaz - Glaz, but he calms down quite easily too.

Skylar x Kapkan - Maybe Kapkan.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze.

Who is more likely to break off the relationship?

Skylar x Tachanka - Already answered

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan.

Skylar x Fuze - Skylar

Who is more likely to threaten to leave?

Skylar x Tachanka - Already answered.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Neither.

Skylar x Fuze - Skylar.

Who is more likely to actually leave?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither.

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Kapkan

Skylar x Fuze - Skylar.

Who is more likely to forget the other first?

Skylar x Tachanka - Neither

Skylar x Glaz - Neither.

Skylar x Kapkan - Neither? I’m not sure, they’re still being developed.

Skylar x Fuze - Fuze.

#3sleepycats #oc liz walker #oc skylar jackson #long post

8 notes · View notes

fairycosmos · 5 years

Note

was not tryna give a part 3 omg but i feel like my mom is just tired of me. i know she is. she barely comes home anymore n whenever i try to spend time with her she acts like it’s a task, like she’s being forced. & in ways she makes me feel bad for talking or anything but i just miss her. i miss everyone. my mom & i never had a good relationship but she’s what keeps me here & i just feel like i have nothing sometimes. my heart just hurts more than i can say. thank u for listening, ur an angel 🥺

hi bby :(( thank you for being so honest and open w me, it really is something to be proud of and is also proof that you are genuinely more capable of this than you think !! which seems like bullshit but it's not !! honestly the worst thing about treating your mental health is the amount of trial and error involved. you have to find that specifically works for you in exactly the right way. it's annoying, and you have every right to be frustrated. sometimes it can make you feel like giving up completely, because it's just so exhausting, and that's ok. as long as you understand the difference between having an urge and acting on it. the prospect of a new therapist is totally daunting but at the same time, you are allowed to set boundaries and take it at your own pace. if you do your best to explain how mentally tired you are, and that you want to take it slow, they will generally respect that. the thing about therapy is that you just don't know how it's going to go until you're there. sometimes you surprise yourself. sometimes it all just comes spilling out. sometimes you clam up. and all of it, all of it a natural part of the process. i mean this in the least patronising way, you are so strong for picking yourself up every time, for continuing to try. you may feel like your brain is totally fried right now but when push comes to shove, you are so much more than you realize.

as for school, jesus, that just be so nerve wracking and i don't blame you for being a bit scared at at all. the few weeks before you begin is always the worst part because your mind sort of runs wild with possibilities. but always try to remember that anxiety job is literally to take situations and warp them into something they're not based on fear and trepidation. in reality you have no idea what's going to happen and a middle ground, average result is always the most likely outcome anyway. take a breath. i get that logically knowing things doesn't help much with mental illness but it always helps to ground yourself. bottom line is, you will adapt and grow with the new environment even if you don't think you will. it's inevitable. you will find your routine and your mundanity again, and all of it will become second nature. even if there's a few awkward moments, even if you struggle a little at first. most people do. as long as you understand that there is always help available, always other options, and you are never trapped or totally stuck in a situation no matter how much your brain tries to convince you that you are. if your schoolwork gets on top of you, you CAN take a step back for the sake of your mental health, even if adults whine about it. if you don't know how to talk to people, learn by example and keep in mind that they're probably perceiving you better than you perceive yourself. like with therapy, let school integrate into your life at its own pace. half the battle is honestly just showing up. unfortunately all of this fear is where the growth happens. it's very normal to want to go back into hospital, to want to avoid reality, but there is no life waiting for you there. this is something i find very hard to come to terms with myself. you have to get up and touch the tangibility and live in it with everyone else. and you are, you're doing it as we speak, and that genuinely counts for so much dude. i can't stress that enough. these periods of loneliness and isolation are absolutely horrible and i don't really know the answer to them to be honest, but i do know that they are often periods of massive self growth, and they can end just as aprubtly as theuy begin. you are deserving of companionship and love, and just because it's hard to find doesn't mean it's not out there for you. in so many forms, over and over again, you will feel it. it's not as far fetched as your anxiety wants you to believe. where you're at right now isn't where you'll always be, and new beginnings are proof of that.

about your mum, god i'm so sorry she's been making you feel that way?? i can't tell you how much i relate and how much it hurt me when i was younger, and i promise you're absolutely not alone in feeling this way. so many people can and do understand, and that goes for all of this - the mental illness, the therapy stress, the fear and annoyance of starting anew. complexes caused by negative parental relationships are always so hard to heal from because they're so deeply rooted within, but i need you to try to understand that your worth does not lie in your mother and you can not force her to be mature, to to understand if she's so insistent on misunderstanding. it's one of the fuckin hardest lessons to learn and i don't know if the pain ever stops from it (though it definitely settles and becomes more manageable), but there is a point in every kids life where they just realize their parents are wrong. they're ignorant, or they're obtuse, or they're mean - and that is on them. it is a reflection of them and that is it, there's nothing else to it. of course you shouldn't have to deal with it at all, but it is not caused by you no matter how much it feels like it is, angel. your mental illness is harder for you to put up with than it is for her to witness and if she can't accept that, she's fucked. idk the details of your relationship with her, and maybe even if you sit her down and force her to listen, something will click. it's not an impossibility and i sure hope it happens, but if it doesn't i promise there are so so so sooo many other avenues of support out there. and your parents are truly not the beginning and end of the world. one day, sooner than you think, you are going to live a life divorced of her opinions, and even better, you won't feel such a craving to hear them. you will be in control of your own environment and mental well being and it will not be anything like what you're expecting. that's a guarantee, something you can always rely on. i know words are pointless, i know they're empty to you. and i know i can't make you see your situation the way i do, obviously. but i really hope you can take the time to find the ment clarity to examine why you're so averse to accepting the positive, what you can do to help yourself, and whether or not your anxieties are rooted in rationality of not. there's seriously so many ways to battle and to overcome the shit you're going through and it only feels so chaotic at the moment because you're in the midst of finding your feet. think back to when you first went into hospital, and how foreign everything felt, and how you got through it a day at a time. you didn't confront all that for nothing. you are so much more resilient than you realize and i wholeheartedly believe that. i'm assuming you're still very young, and so even the natural growth and development of your life is going to afford you so many answers and so much relief, though of course there will always be new questions and things to fight. but the bottom is you've got time, and if you have to take this one step at a time, or one hour at a time, or even a minute at a time - you can. you are okay. some days are rough but they do not negate your progress. so take a breath and try to identify what it is you need (e.g to talk to your parents, to be honest with the professionals in your life, to incorporate coping mechanisms into your daily routine so you feel less overwhelmed about school etc) and let that be good enough, because it is. i'm infinitely proud of you for being here and i know the hurt and the loneliness is a total tidal wave right now but it will it always be, and that's a certainty, unlike your fears. i really hope you find some peace of mind soon and that your mum heard you out. if you want to talk about this properly or if you need a friend i will be here. sending love and warmth to u dude. message me anytime.

#anon #long post

2 notes · View notes

toosmallinabigworld-blog · 5 years

Text

Just What the Doctor Prescribed, Literally

I’ve been wanting to do something like this for a really long time and it means the world to me that so many of you have read the blog and been supportive. Hearing from everyone that read my last post confirmed for me that starting this blog was a good idea. I received a lot of compliments and anecdotes from people telling me that they appreciated my candor and willingness to talk about issues that they hadn’t heard talked about or weren’t able to talk about themselves. So, thank you for reading. I was struggling for a very long time with writer’s block, I would start something and then immediately criticize it and not know how to continue. It felt like I was running full force into a brick wall. I think that happened because I was trying to write fiction. When I was a kid and in middle school, I could write fiction like nobody’s business. Now, I realized that I struggle with fiction because I can’t relate to it anymore. I don’t want to write about made up characters that deal with real life scenarios. I want to write about real people that deal with real scenarios. So, let’s chat about a real life thing, shall we?

Mental illness. It’s a phrase that people spit out of their mouths like it’s rotten. A phrase that makes people uneasy and nervous, ironically. The real life equivalent of saying Voldemort. This is a topic I’m nervous to discuss because it is incredibly personal to me. And I have reservations about talking about my experience with this due to the controversy surrounding it. But I feel that it is important to talk about, regardless of how weary it makes me. Mental illness is no joke and if talking about this could potentially help someone then feeling anxiety about this is worth it. According to The National Institute of Mental Health, in 2016 it was found that nearly 1 in every 5 adults in the U.S. lives with a mental illness. If you’re bad at math like I am, that’s 44.7 MILLION people. Almost 45 million people in the U.S. have a mental illness and yet we still treat those people that are afflicted like lepers. Like they are lesser human beings than us because of something that they can’t control. Now, not everyone who has a mental illness is treated like shit. Because some are more accepted than others and by accepted, I mean acknowledged. Such as ADD and ADHD. Those are illnesses that are more commonly accepted because they are less scary to think about. I don’t know anyone who has thrown a bitch fit over someone that has a hard time sitting still, concentrating and overlooking things. They’ve gotten frustrated but not immediately assumed that they were unstable and broken. Let’s face it those are the easiest to wrap the mind around. But when things start to get complicated is when people tend to start getting judgmental and scared and hateful. And hate stems from fear. I can’t remember where I heard that but it’s pretty damn accurate. For example, I’ve heard those who have Schizophrenia blatantly referred to as crazy. And why are they called crazy? Because of Schizophrenia’s most popularized symptoms, delusions and hallucinations. We’ve all heard tales of people seeing animals or people, hearing voices that tell them to do horrific things and those are legitimate things that happen. But those are all we hear about. And because we don’t necessarily understand why that happens, we get scared and demonize them. Which is bullshit. If we immediately got scared of everything we didn’t understand nobody would ever leave their houses. I don’t understand how concrete is made but that doesn’t mean that I don’t walk on the sidewalk or get in a car and drive on the street. I would venture to say that Schizophrenia is probably the most controversial of the mental illnesses, but it is not alone in illnesses that make people uncomfortable. Take OCD for example, people just think it’s obsessive organizing and that it is a choice, something they can just stop doing. But it is infinitely more complicated than that. It’s uncontrollable thoughts and actions that they feel they have to repeat over and over again. And in extreme cases, they think something bad is going to happen if they don’t carry out those behaviors. People’s reactions to those illnesses are what facilitate such negative thought processes about hyper common maladies such as depression and anxiety.

Nothing pisses me off more than hearing someone say to a person with depression, just be happy. When you have clinical depression you don’t get to choose to “just be happy” because guess what? It isn’t that easy, it’s out of your control entirely. Clinical depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. The brain isn’t producing enough serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine neurotransmitters. Causing feelings of sadness, hopelessness, lack of interest/motivation, guilt, low energy, etc. I could go on for pages and pages but at the risk of sounding like a commercial for an antidepressant I’ll stop. I think you get the point. I am one of those people who has been told to “just be happy”. I was diagnosed with depression coupled with seasonal affective disorder, anxiety, insomnia, and OCD like repetitive thoughts when I was in 6th grade. As if being 11 and in middle school wasn’t hard enough, let’s throw a mood disorder in the mix, that should be fine. Right? Wrong. Being told you have a mental illness is like waking up one morning and realizing you have a tattoo that you’ve never seen before. You don’t know how you got it, you’re scared that it’s there in the first place, anxious about what other people are going to think about it, it will never go away, and all you can do is take care of it and hope that it doesn’t get infected and fuck up everything else in your life. Depression can be immensely polarizing. I’ve heard a million and one people say that it gets better, but when your brain isn’t doing its job, it inadvertently convinces you that you are utterly and inconceivably alone. And it’s not a constant feeling either. It comes in waves, sometimes I can go for days without feeling like complete ass and sometimes I can go for days feeling like a dead slug. It’s not something you can predict. And it’s a difficult hole to try and dig yourself out of when you find yourself there. Now depression, just like people comes in all shapes and sizes. And most people’s experiences with it don’t mirror each other, and it’s that lack of sameness that breeds the loneliness that is so common in depressed people. I know all too well about that feeling of loneliness. I’m going to take you on a journey through what a bad day looks like for me, which will be really easy to do since I’m having a bad day today. When I wake up I don’t usually know right away that my brain has hit the off switch on functioning. The first indicator is this ever present feeling of heaviness. Like someone dipped my whole body in molasses. Getting out of bed is physically difficult and I don’t even want to. Because even something simple like walking is just fucking hard. My body aches and I feel like a zombie and in reality I probably look like one too. Next on the shit list is the mental fog. And it genuinely feels exactly like it sounds. I can’t think clearly or focus on things that aren’t generally mindless and easy. I isolate myself and even though I’m feeling lonely and sad, I don’t want to be around other people. And I have no desire to eat, I just lose my appetite all together.

Anxiety does the same thing. I’ve been anxious, worried, and habitually stressed out for as long as I can remember. I’ve had teachers, friends, previous therapists, and even my parents call me a worrier. Which couldn’t be more accurate. I have a terrible habit of worrying about other people so much that I start to take on their problems. Stressing about my dad not having a girlfriend and hoping that he doesn’t end up dying alone. Worrying about my mom every time she gets sick, even if it’s just a cold. Taking on issues my friends are having with their families and trying to use my knowledge from many years of therapy to help them overcome their problems. Worrying and stressing that much can lead to panic. I remember the first time I had a panic attack, it was freshman year and I was in my 6th period Spanish class. Describing what a panic attack feels like is akin to trying to explain what the color red looks like. Especially because it’s subjective, no two people have the same experience. But because it’s important I’m going to do my best to explain. It feels like the world is crashing down on me for no particular reason. It’s terrifying. It legitimately feels like my skin is turning inside out. I get shaky, sweat like a whore in church, scared. It feels like I’m trapped in my own body and all I want to do is run away and hide. From myself. Panic attacks are something I still struggle with. They’ve decreased in prevalence since I found a medication regiment that works for me but even that doesn’t eradicate them completely. Most of the time I have no warning as to when one is going to happen. But there are some specific triggers, for example when I hear an unexpected loud bang or noise. I have PTSD and that sound sets off a fire in my brain that causes me to panic. Or when my stress level gets too high and I get overwhelmed. My mind doesn’t know whether to fight or flee so it gets stuck in the middle and I shut down. There is nothing that I know of that compares to that feeling. And when it’s over I’m left exhausted and weak. It fucking sucks. There’s no other way to say it. It fucking sucks.

When I was first diagnosed, I was paralyzed at the thought of telling anyone that I have d&a (depression and anxiety, it’s getting annoying writing out the entire words). I was scared of being judged by my peers, and looked at like a freak, like I was different; even more different than I already felt. I didn’t want to get bitched at by everyone for being the emotionally broken girl, which is what I thought I was. I remember my first appointment with my psychiatrist, I was scared. I was adamant about not wanting to go on medication, but my parents thought otherwise. Which wasn’t a bad thing. In reality going on medication was the best thing that could have happened. Because I don’t know where I would be without it. I’ve had the discussion with multiple people about how I shouldn’t need to be on medication anymore. That I should be able to just learn how to deal with my depression and move on. But it isn’t that simple. Like I said before, depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain. The medication helps rebalance me. But it isn’t an exact science. Since 6th grade I have been on 8 different medications, some of which I still take. Why so many you ask? It comes back to it not being an exact science. Sometimes the medication will work for a while and then just stop. Which, speaking from personal experience, is a bitch and a half. It’s so aggravating when you can feel that something isn’t right but should be. That being said, finding the right medication, or medications in my case can be immensely helpful. I’ve gone from regular panic attacks and depression so bad that you can’t complete simple tasks to what I refer to as, being at ground zero. Ground zero is a great place to be, no extreme highs and the absolute lowest of lows. Just level. There is no joy in the world that can compare to finally feeling normal when you’re used to feeling like your emotions are exploding.

I have been really lucky to have a family who completely supports me and is always there when I need them. And they understand when I’m having a shitty day and what that means. I have been spectacularly lucky to have that. Others have not been so lucky. And that breaks my heart. Nobody deserves to be looked down upon for something that they can’t control. It’s like getting mad at someone for the color of their eyes. They didn’t choose the color, genetics gave them that color. So, who are we to judge them for that? This post is jam packed with facts and personal testimonials and if you gain anything at all from it, I hope you gain some understanding and empathy. That the next time you see someone on the street talking to themselves or one of your friends is really sad or stressed out for no obvious reason. Don’t judge. Try to understand. Try and wrap your mind around the concept that their brain is, for lack of a better phrase, rebelling against them. You don’t choose to have a mental illness, just like you don’t choose to have legs. It’s what life has bestowed upon you. So, I challenge you to try and change your frame of mind, you may find it enlightening.

1 note · View note

smhtaehyung · 6 years

Text

when all daisies disappear🌼 || chapter 1

• masterlist

• Pairing: taehyung x OC (mental hospital au)

• Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, romance

• Word count: 2.6k

• Warning: swearing, will contain themes such as suicidal thoughts, depression and mentions of physical violence. Some of the backstory for Taehyung’s character is taken from the BTS concepts during the hyyh era. if you feel uncomfortable with the topic of mental illness, I advise you not to read further.

•••

chapter 1 ➸ 0 🌼

"It's healthy to reminisce about the past, Jia. It's damaging to live in it." I snapped out of my thoughts to hear my therapist's final sentence after a long speech that analysed my overthinking mentality again.

There I was, sitting right there, right in that chair, thinking to myself for the thousandth time...How did I manage to get myself stuck in here? All these people, therapists, medicine to make me feel 'better'. Sometimes, I feel like I want to be here. But I know that's mainly because I'm too scared to get out, back to people, so I end up acting out of fear, pushing people away. But I could never admit that to someone. Admit it to any therapist or any other patient because that's too weak. People can't feel better with the passage of time, waiting for a change to fall onto their heads from the sky. They can only outgrow their old selves and move on. But that's hard work. And no one really knows how to do that.

Truly getting better and moving on are two different things. They come along with each other, one after the other. So, all this doesn't matter. I could talk about this for hours and it still wouldn't do anything. All I can expect is to get sedated, shut down and forced to have a social interaction when all I want is a true rest. A rest without oversensitive roommates and the forced idea of becoming a "stable person". So why would I play nice?

"I'm not living in the past. I'm resting from it." I said, sighing at the clichè saying he spoke so wisely about. "But when you think about it too much and remember all the hurt, then you do live in it. Regardless of what you say." He spoke as I couldn't really listen anymore. "I want to go to my room." I cut him off before he could say anything and sighed. "We can't avoid the problem like thi-" He tried to speak but I cut him off again. "Please." I spoke, which was something I rarely said, to anyone.

"Alright. I'm going to let you off talk sessions for a few days, only if you need you can come-" He exhaled in a calm tone. "What is it now?" I cut him off, knowing there was something about to happen I'm not going to like so he could analyse me again about it in a few days. He always let me of the hook the easy way when he had his sessions planned for me. I've always thought he was doing that on purpose, regardless of what excuses he would make. He sighed and answered. "You're getting a new roommate today." He said, which made me sigh and roll my eyes. "I want to see if you're going to get along considering your previous roommates." Even though it annoyed me, I realised that was a very acceptable thing to hear from him. At our ward, most people go through one or two roommates during their stay. Not exactly the same with me. I went through 17 roommates since the beginning of the year. When I'm bored next time I should add it all up over the years. Who knows, there might be some sort of a reward for such a high score like that. All of those people wanted to switch to another roommate because of me. I never asked for another roommate. The nurses just kept setting me with them, not wanting me to have a room for myself, thinking that would make me more messed up about human interactions. I scared most of them away by joking quite aggressively, turning those jokes into insults most of the time. I was warned many times but because I’ve been here for a long time, they don't want to switch me to another hospital. That wouldn't help anyone. To say I've been staying here for a while is a big understatement. I've been in here before I even became a teen. I even got my first period in this ward. I lived through the beginning of my teens here, bringing us to now, almost at the end of my teens wondering why do I feel the same I did when I was a kid.

All these roommates spoke the same, describing me as this huge, dramatic bite they couldn't keep up with. Seeing their cried out or frustrated faces somehow made my life fun in here. Only fun for me though. I got up and left the room, without speaking. He knew that I was going to go to the reception desk just to complain about my brand new freshly fucked up roommate, like I always did. I walked down the hallway, pulling down my sleeves of my favourite brown cardigan. Jiyu noticed me on the way and walked with me. "Why me? Why again-" I tried to speak to my favourite nurse but she cut me off. "We talked about that a thousand times, Ji." She spoke, focused on some of the papers she held in her hands. "But-" I tried to speak but she cut me off again, in a busy tone. "The support group is about to start. They're all waiting for you." She said, making me roll my eyes.

"Don't scare him off immediately. He seems very nice." Jiyu said. She is the main nurse in our ward. She was always nice to me, but always told nice things about all my previous roommates so I really couldn't judge her perception to be somewhat realistic. Regardless of that, she's basically always been the only person that could make me smile just by seeing her.

"Ugh, It's a boy this time?" I asked and grunted. "Yes. He's very handsome." She giggled. "Jiyu! Don't make your husband jealous, complementing all these young boys in the pinnacle of their youth-." I joked, overreacting. "Shhh, hurry, they're all gathered together." She chuckled and I quickened my steps. I walked towards the interaction room we had for support groups, musical and art therapy. The chairs and two couches were put in a circle that had sitting 15 people without my presence. That is my group. Group A. Ages 18-21, me being one of the seniors, yet acting worst than the younger ones. 14 patients, all roommates, divided into our light green rooms in that long hallway on the left side. Some roommates get really close, like some two similarly fucked up friends, purely by luck of similarities they might find within each other. 14 fucked up people and of course, Sejun , also kind of fucked up, a psychologist that organized these groups and did art therapies.

"Hi Jia." Sejun and the others said. I saw an empty place on the two seated couch with my new roommate. It was a boy. Like an actual boy. He looked pretty young and had a childlike face because of his big eyes and plump lips. But his body was not of a teenage boy, yet a young man with large hands. I observed him for a second before sitting down. Usually, these roommates would look quite hopeful when seeing a potential "friend" or seem fucked up just because they were fucked up. It would make me pity them even more, such a pathetic sight. But this guy's first time meeting me facial expression was non existant. He looked at me the unusualy casual way, like he's meeting me for the second or third or a billionth time already. He didn't smile, he just glanced at me like that, making me wonder a little bit.

"Jia, meet Taehyung. He chose to be your roommate for the next month." Sejun said with the enthusiastic look on his face. The word chose stuck with me. For a brief second I felt sorry for the poor bastard because he probably doesn't know what he's in for.

"Yeah, a month." I quietly spoke in a sarcastic tone. I awkwardly sat next to him as he looked down, focused on something else. "So, Taehyung, we are glad to have you here and I hope this will help you in your further recovery. You won't get judged here so say anything that's on your mind." Sejun spoke carefully, trying to give off the casual tone. I rolled my eyes at the choice of the approach towards opening up. Sejun noticed but decided to ignore me. "Why don't you say something about yourself?" Sejun spoke. I crossed my arms and looked at Taehyung, slightly judging and analysing his moves and words. "Uhm, my name is Kim Taehyung. I switched from a different mental instituion that was in Seoul too, I'm-" He spoke in his presumably natural deep voice. "Why the switch?" I cut him off.

"Jia, don't interrupt and don't force people to answer questions they wouldn't be comfortable with-" Sejun said in a warning tone but Taehyung immediately spoke back, acting out a playful gesture. The switch of moods made me confused about him. Is he playing a character the entire time or is he actually real? "It's okay. Uhm, I've been there for a full year, but didn't like it because the ward we had was only ages 25 and me being the exception, I didn't really fit in there. They also thought I'd be a good idea to redirect me somewhere with people my age." He spoke, some words stumbling through the air. "I'm here because...uhm.." He tried to speak but he looked down, nervously tapping his foot, furrowing his eyebrows a little bit. "If you don't feel comfortable, you don't have to say it." Sejun spoke with compassion in his eyes.

"I'd rather keep that to myself for now, sorry." Taehyung said and looked back up, making his ears perk through his hair. "That’s perfectly fine for us. Are you into music or art?" He asked him curiously. "Both, actually." He said in a serious tone and licked his lips. “That’s wonderful. I hope you’re going to enjoy our schedule then.” Sejun’s voice screamed enthusiasm but Taehyung only coldly nodded. I stared at him in pure curiosity. Immediately there was something enigmatic about him. He carried a weird aura with him, something that came off quite unexplained. Sejun started talking individually with every patient while everyone carefully listened. It was my turn to speak about if anything new had happened in my life over the last week since our last session.

"Anything interesting happened?" Sejun asked in a suspicious tone, wanting to get a confession from me. "Nope." I brushed it off playfully, aiming for it to be rude. "Nothing? Not even something you regret or feel bad about?" He asked again, judging me with his gaze. "Never." I rudely said, scratching the back of my neck. "What are you looking at?" I asked, looked to my left where Minjee was. She was the incident Sejun was trying to touch upon. "Please Jia, don't be rude." Sejun tried to remain things calm. Minjee looked at me in a scared yet numbing gaze. I caught eye contact with Taehyung a few times, who was just blankly observing the situation. "Are you going to apologize for what you've done?" Sejun asked in a polite tone. "For what?" I asked, not being too bothered. "For stealing her ear muffs. Then letting worms creep upon her bare ears. Then for putting the ear puffs over your head, and making her reach it." He added in a shocked tone.

I chuckled and rolled my eyes in annoyance as other people comforted Minjee who was almost crying. She was known for that. Her ear muffs. She always wore them as a result of a trauma that happened to her a few years back. She passed out in a forest and woke up with worms and bugs crawling on her face and some entering her ears. One of our youngest and most famous PTSD patients, with such a hilariously disgusting experience. "You should hear yourself how ridiculous that sounds." I said in a provoking tone. "Are we children in the 2nd grade to apologize for such things?" I mocked. After a few moments of silence, before Sejun opened his mouth to speak, a voice filled the room. "Are you that childish to do such a thing, then?" Taehyung softly spoke, immediately leaving me in wonder and slight shock. He caught eye contact with me as everyone intensely stared at him, including Sejun.

"Let me ask you something Taekyun." I spoke, provocating the moment to the fullest extent. "It's Taehyung." He quietly corrected. "Huh." I scoffed. "Have you heard anything about me before getting here?" I asked in a cold tone. Sejun started to get nervous. "Some things here and there. They told me your past roommates described you as troubled." He spoke in an playful and unbothered way. "You heard that before or after choosing?" I provocatively asked. "Before." He spoke easily. "You're so fucki-" I tried to insult but Sejun stopped me before I could swear or say anything bad. I responded a few seconds later with a judging look towards Taehyung and Sejun. Taehyung shrugged his shoulders and spoke again. "I mean, how bad can you be?" He asked a retorical question in a positive reassurement. "Well, we're gonna find that out soon, right?" I chuckled in disbelief at how he thought it would be easy with me. I coldly turned around, ignoring his stare. The alarm clock rang as soon as I finished my retorical question.

I immediately stood up and quietly got scolded for not apologizing to Minjee. I annoyingly nodded and went past him, meeting Jiyu in the hallway. "He's cute, right?" She immediately asked. "You know I'm not going to agree on that." I scoffed. "Why?" She asked, this time annoyed too. "He's annoying me." I spoke back, crossing my arms. I saw Jiyu straightening her posture all of a sudden. "Would you like to show Taehyung around?" Jiyu showed her beautiful white smile, raising her voice a bit, switching the tone completely. I sensed Taehyung was near so I turned around and saw him waving at Jiyu. "Ugh." I groaned. He approached us, his hands behind his back. "I'd love it if you could show me around. " He said in a bright tone.

"C'mon." Jiyu winked unnoticabley, walking away. "Let's make it quick." I said and started walking down the hall. I showed him around the parts he hadn't seen yet. I showed the washroom, toilets and receptions for receiving the medicine. I showed him the cafeteria and explained the gross foods they keep on serving. I showed him the remains of the interaction room that had a ping pong table, a TV and canvases and tables on the other corner, where our art therapy is. He kept quiet the entire time, observing all the rooms. "This shithole tour ends here, for any further confused questions, which I'm sure there'll be plenty of, ask Jiyu, I don't care." I spoke and opened the door to our room, where his two bags were brought. He observed the room, looking up and down. My side of the room was the right side, close to the door. The walls on my side had my drawings and paintings stuck on, giving some life to the emotionless light green room.

Who is this foolish boy? Does a man like this even exist? Is this just a character play or is he actually real? How can I man that I know for such a little while, being that foolish, make me so intrigued? I feel frustrated by him already. More frustrated to the fact that hate doesn't feel like this.

part 2

97 notes · View notes

factoronto · 6 years

Text

MEET THE FAC 2018 RESIDENCY ARTISTS: Katrissa Singer

What, from your life or experiences, has influenced your work most? What do you hope to achieve in your art?

I have always used my art as a means of dissecting and analyzing my experience, so whatever is going on in my life at any given moment is bound to be reflected in what I create.

For the past several years I’ve mainly been making art that speaks to navigating life with chronic illness. I’ve explored this subject from many different angles in a wide range of media. A zine poking fun at prescription medication labels, a large photographic series confronting the embodied experience of being at the mercy of medical institutions, assemblage sculptures out of prescription medicine bottles, t-shirt designs referencing the spoonie subculture, a community-based art project aiming to de-stigmatize prescription medication use, street art encouraging self-compassion, and many other smaller projects came out of this period of discovering, denying, exploring and finally accepting my limitations. I don’t think that “accepting limitations” is the same as “giving up”. It is more about finding different ways to do things, adjusting one’s expectations, reassessing priorities, or allowing oneself to grieve and move on.

Lately I’ve been going through many different transitions simultaneously, and I’m often finding myself in liminal spaces. Sometimes I am finding it hard to adapt to always being in flux, and I yearn for certainty. At other times, being-not-quite-here-but-not-there-yet-either feels perfectly natural and even a bit exciting. This is why right now I am inspired by change and growth. I want to reconcile myself with my past and let go of the baggage that’s been dragging me down. I’ve been reading a lot about the effect trauma has on our minds and bodies, and how it restricts one’s ability to think clearly, feel pleasure and bond with others. And now, more than ever, I am looking to find a way to heal and become whole. Part of this process involves exposing things that haunt me to light. There is something extremely validating in sharing a part of yourself that makes you feel alone and realizing that, in fact, many others can relate. Another part of healing, the one that I am still struggling with, is imagining a future where things are different. I am still very tentative when it comes to making plans, but I am slowly becoming more confident. I am, once again, in the in-between stage, not stuck in the past all the time yet not fully free of its burdens, still afraid to face the future, but planting seeds in the present that will hopefully thrive.

As for what I hope to achieve in my art… that’s a pretty complex question. I create for primarily selfish reasons; art makes me happy. It gives me a voice. It consoles me when nothing else can. It excites me. I am hoping that it will continue to do all these things for me, and also for others. I tell stories through my art, and if these stories help someone feel more present and connected, even for a moment, it brings me joy. I want my art to open minds, even if it sometimes means making someone feel a bit uncomfortable. Several of my projects exploit discomfort to deliver the message: Please Be Patient, for example, that will be featured in the Exposed exhibit at Scotiabank Festival involved getting my models out of their everyday clothes and into a thin paper hospital gown, making a statement about the depersonalization that occurs when individuals face institutions. I want my art to continue doing what it is doing right now, but to do it better. But most of all I wish to be able to continue creating art. I am worried that I won’t be able to afford my art practice for much longer. I am trying to “sneak” art into my future career, and I am hoping I succeed. This year, I joined Workman Arts, and they have been an amazing support. I got some training, exhibition opportunities, a few gigs, and my first grant through them, and I am incredibly grateful that this organization exists.

Can you speak to the variety of materials and methods you use in your art and why you have chosen them?

When I first imagined becoming an artist, I thought I would draw and paint. That’s pretty much what an average person asks me when I say I’m an artist: “What do you paint?” It was pretty heartbreaking for me to realize that while I am competent at both drawing and painting, I’m not in any way outstanding. At some point I gave up on art entirely because I’ve been taught that I will never be successful unless I’m absolutely amazing. I had a very limited view of what doing art can look like, and it took me a while to question where these assumptions came from, deconstruct them and shift my perspective.

Seeing art as a means of achievement rather than of expression was part of this toxic set of beliefs. Part of the process of embracing art as a way of life was discovering new media. You can use pretty much anything to make art. I have always looked up to artists who appear to effortlessly combine disparate elements and create something greater than the sum of its parts. I am drawn to contrast and reconciling the opposites.

When I am immersed in exploring new techniques and materials I get to reconnect with a sense of wonder I feared I’d lost. I allow myself to play. I feed my curiosity. I rediscover my zest for life. The downside to working in multiple media is that sometimes the learning curve is too steep and I can get frustrated and lose interest. The advantage is that I discover - often by chance - ways to transcend limitations of various media and make something that is needed. I am a synaestete, meaning that my sensory perceptions are sometimes blended: I can taste color, see sounds, etc., so engaging with new concepts and materials can be like cooking, except sometimes I set out to make a steak and discover a new flavour of ice cream.

I am also an avid collector of oddities. I found Jesus (a baby from a nativity scene) on the sidewalk once. I love beach combing, and going to thrift stores. I see worth in things others consider to be trash, and I am often inspired by things I find littering the sidewalks. I joke that I can relate to discarded objects, because I too am broken and not very useful. Humor makes it easier to cope with the fact that my existence as an artist is directly at odds with capitalist culture, since my art practice has very little commercial value. I tackle subjects that are often quite unpalatable to the general public, and the images I produce are not the kind you’d find displayed in people’s living rooms. The saying about how art should disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed resonated with me deeply, and I often do just that.

In “Message in a Bottle”, you use pill bottles with anecdotes from individuals living with illnesses or disabilities. Is there a significance to the title of this work? Why do you think these stories are important to tell?

Ever since I read about it as a child, I have been fascinated by the idea of putting a message in a sealed container and releasing it into a body of water, hoping that it would someday be found and read. I often daydreamed about being mired on a deserted island, and I would weave elaborate narratives about what I would do to survive and ultimately escape - a pastime many misunderstood loners could probably relate to.

When I was in the final year of my Bachelor of Fine Arts, I found myself feeling increasingly isolated - I was reeling from a cancer scare, a recent breakup, and the death of my cat. The results of the 2016 US Presidential election left me feeling absolutely hopeless: as an immigrant, a non-binary person assigned female at birth, a disabled person - I felt afraid and heartbroken for people south of the border whose lives would be negatively impacted by the change of government. I buried myself in schoolwork to cope, I wanted to feel numb but I just felt sore all over, all the time. One day I was cleaning and I came across a dozen of old medication bottles. They were mostly empty, and many were from medications I wish I hadn’t taken. I wanted to do something with them - make them part of a memorial to misdiagnosis, maybe. I didn’t have enough, so I hit up a few of my friends for empties. Then when someone dropped off an unfinished bottle of the same medication that gave me awful side effects, I wondered if they had experienced similar issues. I reached out to them and sure enough, their experience was similar to mine: the doctor had dismissed their concerns and told them to increase their dosage and come back in a few months. I felt angry. I needed to do something. As much as I felt like it, I couldn’t go yell at my doctor, because it wouldn’t change anything.

I remembered that my friend sounded relieved when I reached out to them and shared my own experience. I asked them if they would be comfortable sharing their experience with others, anonymously, via a handwritten note inside the bottle with a partially peeled off label. They said “yes”, and I put a call for submissions out of social media. I thought I would get maybe ten “bites” and use the bottles and the messages as part of my upcoming exhibit on chronic illness. I had an incredible initial response, however, and received about thirty entries in two months. I ended up scanning the bottles and their contents, and the “Message In a Bottle” series was the main work featured in my first solo exhibit titled “Spoonderland”. Throughout the duration of the exhibit, I had many people contact me, saying that they were profoundly affected by reading the messages. I decided I would continue to accept submissions, hoping to eventually exhibit again. Then I realized that if I were to confine my work to a physical space, many of the people who need to see this material the most would be unable to access it. I started Message in A Bottle Blog online, sharing one entry a week. I was aiming to keep it alive indefinitely; however, it has been difficult to collect submissions in the past six months. I have not shared my own story on the blog yet, because I was hoping to do so on its second anniversary, which is eleven months away. I’ve tried my best to solicit a diverse pool of respondents, but I found that the project had a few “blind spots”: voices of persons of color (especially men), cancer patients, HIV+ individuals and their partners, and people under eighteen and over sixty were conspicuously absent. I realize that there are many reasons for this, but I feel that the project is incomplete and has room to grow. I would like to continue with Message in A Bottle, but I need help. This project was created to break down stigma and give people a safe platform to share their experiences. I truly believe that sharing one’s stories of prescription medication use: the good the bad, and the ugly, can shift the existing power dynamics between doctors and patients by making people better informed about risks and benefits of certain medications and empowering individuals to advocate for themselves when they are in need of medical treatment.

You can find the Message In A Bottle Project Blog here: https://messageinabottleproject.tumblr.com

Message in A Bottle Project is still accepting submissions: https://messageinabottleproject.tumblr.com/guidelines2sub

#fac #facresidency #fac2018 #feministart #feminist art #loveletters #message in a bottle

13 notes · View notes

12-99-30 · 4 years

Text

covid-19: rewriting the narrative

“Coronavirus” was a term I first learned in my Intro to Microbiology class around this same time last year. My only concern with coronaviridae was if I could remember it on my multiple choice exam as the family of viruses associated with the common cold and SARS. Today, it consumes every part of my day; filling up my news feed and timelines, televisions, and conversations as it throws the world into a place of uncertainty and uncharted waters.

“We are in unprecedented times!” - I hear this in every email, newsletter, and post.

This is a pandemic that has instilled fear among nations. The new norm feels like living in a constant state of fear and anxiety. Fear of neighbors, fear of declining health, and fear of change. In Microbiology, you quickly learn how disease is the ultimate equalizer. It does not discriminate against race, age, or socioeconomic class. It’s a weapon that exposes society at its core.

My emotions about the COVID-19 epidemic were admittedly apathetic at first. Aside from the elderly, I did not think it was a huge threat to society. As time revealed its destruction, I was proven terribly wrong about the severity of the situation. Each week seems to bring worse news than the last; more cases, more deaths, more loss. I’m seeing people’s livelihood being put at risk, and my own privilege which seems so undeserving.

A couple of scattered thoughts:

The pandemic did not change our society, but rather revealed the truth of how society was already existing. We’re selfish beings, who in times of crisis, neglect empathy and turn against each other to protect ourselves. I found myself becoming so frustrated at people taking excessive supplies; people taking food from community food distribution sites, despite knowing very well they had enough income to shop at a grocery store. Why are test kits so limited, only given to patients showing severe symptoms, but so easily distributed to a whole NBA team? Why do celebrities' lives seemingly have more “value” than my sister, who was denied a test kit? COVID-19 is peeling the layers of our humanity, and revealing what we value as a society. We hold onto internships, money, that one vacation we’ve been waiting for, and even graduation. Sometimes we hold onto less obvious things. The comfort of routine, working out to look good, and eating out at 5 star Yelp! Restaurants (guilty). I grieve these losses with you. My goal is to not shame the people who worked hard for the things that COVID-19 unfairly took away. For some, graduation would’ve been a monumental moment for first-generation students. People’s careers depend on this internship. Routine helps people with mental illness not feel stuck. I understand these frustrations. I know what it’s like to have something be taken away so unfairly and feel helpless about it. My heart mourns with you. God allows us to lament, and He calls you to draw near to Him to grieve alongside you.

You begin to realize how everything on earth is so temporary (such a granola thought, I know). It’s something we’re told so often in a Christian context, but it’s hardly something we meditate on. COVID-19 reminds me of the temporariness of life - how even our physical bodies can be taken away by death. The privileges I enjoyed everyday, vanished within a week. J-- reminds me of how important it is to understand that our end goal is to not just find a vaccine for COVID-19. To not just move on from this pandemic. To not just find peace in our losses. Our end goal is to be like Jesus - to be sanctified and be made whole. We become so disillusioned that this present world could be a permanent city to satisfy our souls. This is to not romanticize or downplay the loss that families are going through, nor lighten the severity of the issue. I’m still praying for a cure and the health and safety of vulnerable families. I’m doing what I can while I’m here to be an active citizen.

I’m relearning what it means to love your neighbor. It means social distancing, acknowledging your privilege, helping the vulnerable. It’s taking less off the shelf, because you don’t need it, but know somebody else does It’s supporting small and local businesses. It’s extending grace to people that don’t. People are going hungry, losing their jobs, and still being expected to pay rent. Hospital workers are short staffed, and running out of supplies and ventilators. I feel powerless in situations like these. Learning to love is something I’m relearning how to do more and more each day. I don’t want to live through a time where I have to choose the value of an 80 year old’s life with cancer against a 30 year olds life that seemingly has “more potential”.

Despite the fear that seems to be plaguing society, I am carrying out day-to-day actions fearlessly as I trust my all good and all sovereign God. I am taking my civic responsibility and practicing social distancing, washing my hands, and remaining educated during the crisis, but I do it knowing whether or not these measures will keep me safe, my God is the same God through and through. (Hebrews 13:8)

I choose to care about this issue because I care about the people around me. They’re more than statistics, they’re people with souls. I know when it’s all said and done, God cares more about healing souls than cells. What good is it for me to survive this world but lose my soul in the process? The time spent in self-isolation has allowed me to reflect on who I want to be and who I am becoming. I’m slowing down and cultivating the things that matter to me: myself and the relationships surrounding me. I want this time to be remembered as the days I grew closer to God, and loved my brothers and sisters more. I want to remember the lives being touched, and the growing connection of His people despite this dark period of uncertainty. A time of repentance and prayer. When we leave this earth and enter the realm of heaven, what will I leave behind? Even my outward body will waste away, but I will not lose God’s steadfast love. I’m mortal. I’m frail. But I shall still rejoice, for joy is an act of defiance against evil.

Pray, rejoice in the Lord always.

#posts

0 notes

chloepeurey · 4 years

Photo

When I had panic attacks for the first time, I thought that my heart was failing me. I remember experiencing this sensation in my chest that it was missing a beat, or sometimes beating two times for one. When it happened, it was thinking of the name “palpitation” to describe it. I thought I had a disease, some kind of physical problem. The first times I panicked, I thought my heart was responsible for it and that its fast pace was caused by an illness. The strange thing is, I was not worried to be sick. I just wanted to let doctors take care of it and fix me. When the cardiologist told me and my mom that I had no other problem than anxiety, I collapsed and cried. If it was a mental illness, it did not really exist. It wasn’t really there is it was just inside my head. And nobody else could take care of it but me. It could not be cured. I went to a psychologist to be “cured”. But treating your soul is not like a medical treatment where you can report effects or not with a given time period. It’s subtle and you never really know for sure what improvements are being made. Also, it is really expensive, and you won’t get any help for that from the government. It definitely did something to me, but on the long term, and it did not fix everything. We talked about my relationships with my parents, and about my problem with solitude. These are not fixed; they have been left as a work in progress. But it does not feel like improvements are still being made. I think I am stuck now.

My friend Daniel thought he had a throat cancer because of a weird sensation he had. He got convinced of it and pressed the doctors at the clinic to give him a fast appointment and a scanner. He was sweating so much the hour and a half waiting he spent waiting for the results that the leather chair he was sitting in kept the watery marks of his body. When they told him his throat was fine, his brain invented him a tongue problem, and he had to see a dermatologist for her to tell him that there was no problem there either. He thinks the stress and frustration he experienced at work created this paranoia inside his head.

I have a similar story with Jordan too, back in the time where I lived in New Orleans. He drove to me one Friday night, like he was doing almost every weekend. He stopped in the middle of the way and called me in panic because he thought he had colon cancer. He had all the symptoms according to him and he was going to be kicked out of the army and probably die within six months. The fact that he had seen the doctor had not comforted him. I had not enough words to reassure him, and I didn’t know how to tell him that his fear was out of proportion.

In the novel that I read this summer, Mars, Fritz Zorn tells about his childhood between uptight bourgeois parents that consider every strong opinion rude, inappropriate and ridiculous. In the house he grew up in, feelings and ideas that have not, according to a broad consensus, being validated by the good part of society, are looked down upon. As he gets older in this house, he feels more and more incapable of relationships, friendship as well as romantic relations; purposeless, depressed and deprived of any opinion that can be really his own. He is incapable of forming his own meaning and of building relations with others. This goes on until he gets 30 and he gets throat cancer. This disease makes absolute sense to him: it represents everything he has never been able to express and to live and was stuck in his throat. It is logical for him to die from the mental illnesses created by his education. His psychological disease has to find a physical outlet.

I just now learned that his real name was “Angst”. What psychological implications did it have? I saw a psychiatrist at the Psychological Medical Center in Savigny when my panic attacks had just begun. Around the end of the visit, I told him my name, so he could plan a second appointment for me. He told me : “Fear is even inside your name”.

The same way feelings explode when they are contained for too long, psychological pain has to be expressed physically to take meaning and importance. A part of me wanted to be sick because it seemed like it would be the only way others could take care of me. This night where I made my boyfriend took me to the emergency hospital because I was panicking and where doctors had me lay in a bed and proceeded to make me have series of medical tests, my fear went away because I was being taken care of, and that was the only thing that mattered.

0 notes

keyboardmeditation-blog · 7 years

Text

The tribulations of seeking help; and the magic of medication.

I always wondered why it was so easy for me to be supportive and positive about other people’s lives when I am so hard on my own. It’s not like I don’t know how to be grateful and optimistic - so why do I keep getting stuck on thoughts of self-worth and dragged down by the to-do lists I make but don’t finish. This self-awareness has always made it so hard to talk to people about my mental health: friends, family, or professionals. It can make me seem very detached from my feelings, and it is why I believe medical professionals can find it hard to believe just how debilitating these feelings can be.

I used to keep everything a secret. I still have secrets, and I don’t divulge every feeling to everyone in my life, but getting help required telling someone other than my boyfriend about what I was struggling with. I didn’t feel comfortable telling my family or friends that I was struggling without having a definite diagnosis. What if it was all in my head? What if I told them the wrong thing? What do I even tell them? Am I depressed? Do I have bipolar? I wanted an exact diagnosis to give them, to make things clear and easy for them to understand. So I went to see a doctor. I’d spent enough time putting the appointment off and trying to figure it all out online that I knew I probably wanted some form of antidepressant and to see a psychologist. I thought that if I bared my soul then someone could tell me what was wrong and then everything could be fixed.

But mental health doesn’t always work that way. In fact, I believe it probably often doesn’t. It’s not like popping a dislocated shoulder back into place. It’s complex and hard to explain. You’re not always going to know what is a symptom of your mental illness and what is a symptom of just living.

Whenever I feel like I’m dipping back into a depressive episode I’m plagued with uncertain questions. Do I have a headache because maybe I watched Netflix a little longer than I should have? Or is it because of my mental illness? Have I been sleeping less lately or am I just imagining it? Have I been eating less? Have I been eating more? Is this a physical sign of my depression returning? Am I more irritable than normal because of my mental illness or am I just in a bad mood or bad situation or surrounded by people who get on my nerves? Am I crying because of my mental illness or because of something that was just really sad or upsetting? Why does my body ache? Why do I feel lightheaded? Why does my gut feel sick? Why am I so hot and clammy?

One of the most prominent emotions I used to feel before I accepted my mental illness and started sharing it with other people was shame. I felt ashamed of my own feelings and how it was all affecting me. I felt weak and like I was over-exaggerating things. It was damaging not only because of being such a negative feeling, but because it stopped me from telling anyone what was wrong. It was an overwhelming and choking position to be in.

The first doctor I saw solidified all my fears of talking about my mental illness. Which is tragic, fortunately not for me because this isn’t the end of my story, but for everyone living with a mental illness who doesn’t seek help or goes to seek help and is put off by a bad experience.

This doctor grilled me on everything I was feeling, as though she could decipher from my answers whether or not it was all in my head or not. Even though I already felt like maybe it was, spending the vast portion of my time wishing I were dead or crying or feeling exhausted gave me the nagging feeling that took me to the doctors in the first place - I knew I needed help. Yet here I was in the doctors office feeling like I was trial to decide whether I really did. I ended up in tears, the emotion pain I was in exploding wet and hot, while I explained as best I could. Yet I could see her frustration growing. “When had I first started feeling depressed?” “Well that was complicated, but probably in my last year of high school, though there was a period where I felt okay again, but then it got worse.” “And do I feel depressed all the time?” “No, sometimes I’m really happy but I also cry all the time.” She wasn’t impressed. My answers didn’t make sense. I didn’t make sense. My mental illness was a crushing weight that I thought about every day and here she was trying to gauge just how much it was affecting me, and if it was even real. To her I was just an emotional youth. I bared my soul like I had never done before to a complete stranger who just didn’t seem to care. Everything was so matter of fact and “mhmm okay”. I was in shock at the reaction. I felt the shame building up inside me. Maybe it was all in my head? This doctor gave me a referral to a psychologist four weeks from then. Looking back I’m shocked at how trivial she thought it all. I had told her I thought about killing myself on a regular basis and she had just referred me and left it at that. Like it was no big deal. No skin off her back. She had done her job. I didn’t go to the psychologist appointment. I cancelled. I felt absolutely humiliated and emotionally fragile after divulging everything to this cold and matter-of-fact doctor. I couldn’t handle talking to someone again so soon. But I didn’t get better. The reason I had even seen the doctor to begin with was because my mental illness was affecting my relationships. I would end up in tears nearly every time I had a conversation with someone. I was so irritable and mean. I lashed out verbally all the time and felt crappy and regretful afterwards. I’m a loving person but I just couldn’t manage to be loving. I was a whirlwind of emotions and I was drowning in them. I wasn’t sleeping well or at all. I had headaches all the time. My body ached. So I tried again a few months later. But this time I didn’t go to the university doctor, which was free for students. I researched doctors in my city that specialised or were interested in mental health. I tried to stay confident that this would make my experience better. And I’m glad I did. But it’s scary to think of all the people being waved away to a psychologist matter of fact. People in desperate need of help that are scared off professionals by the down-the-nose treatment. People who can barely function being all but ignored because their answers don’t seem convincing enough. We shouldn’t have to convince people that our mental illness is real. It’s exhausting. I found a doctor in the city. I would have to pay and I could barely afford it but I knew it was important. This second doctor listened to me as I once again wrapped myself in shame and bared my soul. But this time, she actually seemed to care. She was concerned. She didn’t try to pretend at being unaffected when I cried. She gave me a referral, booked me in for a check up appointment, and gave me a prescription that changed my life. An antidepressant called Escitalopram.

I felt instantly gratified and it was at this point my shame finally started to lift. After I attended my first psychologist appointment I opened up to my family and I started to feel hope for the first time in a long time. I learnt that you don’t need a diagnosis to open up to people, and maybe you’ll never have an exact label for what you’re going through. But people can’t be there for you if you don’t let them be. However, I’m sorry to say, my disappointment in professionals didn’t stop there. My psychologist was nice. But after 6 appointments he never used the words depressed or anxious, which was all I felt. He told me I was just super sensitive. I cared too much about what people thought and that was why I always felt like dying???? I felt blamed. I was too sensitive, he “diagnosed”. I was getting upset all the time. I was causing these problems myself. I told him I felt better from my antidepressants (which for the most part I thankfully did) and stopped going. I haven’t been back to a psychologist. I haven’t felt like going and getting another referral, and I’ve moved cities so I would have to talk to a different doctor which doesn’t make the list of top things to do in life. But despite this, the prescription that second doctor gave me saved my life. I was lucky to find an antidepressant that worked without side effects the first time around. I went on Escitalopram, commonly called Lexapro. I’m on a high dosage but instead of feeling like a train wreck I feel like I can actually control my emotions for the first time in my adult life. It still took time to practice being mindful of my emotions, and I still getting anxious and depressed because of certain triggers in everyday life, but my medication gives me the mental capacity to actually deal with it. And though I still don’t feel super confident in medical professionals, I’ve found that the few different doctors I’ve seen for a prescription of Lexapro have been more than happy to provide it. And I’ve never been more grateful.

1 note · View note

ortheaux · 6 years

Text

i rly wish i could express myself about important things like a normal person, as opposed to either completely undershooting or overshooting bc i’ve held things in for too long and still don’t understand what to do with them at all. it feels like a constant struggle especially with being disabled on top, where i’m stuck between not wanting to make a fuss, being afraid to make waves or make people upset or exasperated with me and wanting to be expressive and forthcoming, and open to be able to connect properly.

i hate having to speak up about the tough stuff at my core, but if i don’t manage to and something tough is really getting to me, it’s not like i’m harmonious and easy to be around, i just end up feeling pent up and stuck and unheard inwardly and it makes me quiet and grumpy outwardly which makes waves and the whole process makes me feel v guilty anyway bc i know i should try to say something is bothering me but i don’t always know how. i don’t ever yell or say mean things really, it’s just when i don’t speak up i can become quiet and irritable and the people around me know i have something to say but i can’t figure out how to express myself properly and my fears keep me quiet. it makes me very disappointed in myself when i slip up and hold things in bc it feels like it hurts me and everyone around me. i’m getting better at figuring things out slowly, but i get really frustrated with myself when i don’t get it right and end up in a situation where i feel like i’m making anybody uncomfortable. i feel like i always struggle to find the balance between making others comfortable to excess or making myself less uncomfortable. i know that i’m always disproportionately uncomfortable and having ptsd it’s obviously not always rational discomfort (e.g. hyper-vigilance and fears, weird complexes and a generally overactive mind in normal settings sometimes) aside from physical stuff and i accept that, so i try to make others more comfortable to compensate so that they don’t have to feel like they’re bending to suit me but i can’t even really get it right because i can’t find the rational line of where that ends. am i even making sense? i guess i’m just really wistful about coming out of the other side a bit sooner and i’m frustrated with myself.

in terms of me being poorly, i have a bunch of trouble saying like, ‘hey i can’t really do that’. i’m so caught up in trying to fight to be healthy and better, that i intentionally project an image of being more functional than my body can sometimes be between flare-ups and i never talk about all the normal stuff that hurts my body or the stuff i do behind the scenes to try and maintain looking and feeling fairly functional at work, or going to visit friends or have people come to see me and the preparation it takes. i feel like i’m often starring in the functional™ play when i’m in public, and i never talk about the fact that i leave seemingly excessive (for most people) time before and after a shift to accommodate my illness, i never talk about the days after a shift where i’m in crippling pain, in floods of tears and enduring shitty side effects trying to recover from stuff that’s normal for everyone else when i’m at work, what they see is the disabled girl helping patients and getting stuff done and that’s what i want them to see. i never talk about dosing up the night before seeing my loved ones and the morning of, or incontinence pads or sexual sacrifices, choosing my outfits based on my pain score and what activities we’re doing as well as where they’ll be rubbing/squeezing against my body or what joints need to be free for said activities to avoid pain, i never talk about fitting my shower schedules around everyone in my life because showers still burn and itch my whole body because of my nerve/myelin issues, what they see is me with my walking aids, ready to be Normal(ish) Girl™ and i know that my friends love me either way, but it’s as much about me as about them. it’s not their fault, it’s mine. i don’t get to be upset when they ask more of me physically or are spontaneous, because that’s what i carefully construct and put out there that i’m able to manage but it’s really hard to find that balance and admit vulnerability with ptsd in the mix too. can i mention it without worrying loved ones? when am i just being annoying? how many times is it okay to voice discomfort? what tone of voice will construe that i’m still okay, just frustrated? my disabled friends are my very closest, which is just as well because they’re really intuitive about this stuff, and it’s easier for me to speak up because they know the right way to approach me and can coax me into comfort with expression with their own issues and complaints so we rarely have these issues, but i struggle a lot with this issue with the able bodied people in my life and friends outside of my inner circle - not that i don’t love them dearly, i absolutely do!! it’s just an extra layer of confusion for me, and i get really upset with myself for handling it poorly.

this issue’s at the front of my mind just now, because i’m entering a period of increased work load and it’s setting off more flare-ups, and where i’m still in the process of adapting to a place where i’m comfortable healthwise and have counter-measures in place for more activity, i’m struggling a bit with expressing that i’m having a harder time physically than before i was doing so much stuff, and it’s making me feel a bit frustrated. i feel like having a disability in itself is enough of a constant emotional pivot without having ptsd, and honestly sometimes it gets rough trying to figure out where the rational and the irrational end, where the fear, apprehension and guilt end and i start, as well as which thing takes priority for me to address but i do think that somewhere in here is the realisation that i could do with both forgiving myself a little bit, and pushing myself to try harder at the same time. i’ve made some reasonable leaps in my progress and my recovery, and i have to try to acknowledge that. this is not nearly as much of a problem as it used to be, but sometimes i just want allllll the progress right now!! at times, my fear of putting any added stress on my important bonds can make me sabotage them and i work every day to minimise this and avoid shying away from vulnerability and expression, but i’m working on trying not to beat myself up every time i mess up. i can’t expect my loved ones to be psychic at the end of the day though, if i don’t open up about something, i can hardly hold it against them for maybe putting it to the back of their minds sometimes or it not being a priority when evaluating me/approaching me and therefore not instinctively taking care to be mindful straight away. at the end of the day, i just wanna live, love and figure out how to be an actual person after all this and all i can do is surround myself with positivity, and fight to be better. one day i will get all this down, but i just wish i could do a bit better now. i don’t want people that love me to be confused by me as a person when i love them too. i have trouble interacting with the world, but my love is honestly unwavering.

#personal #ptsd journey #long thing rly #hoping this doesn't make me come off as rly crappy but i wanted to just be honest and i feel like i messed up today #so i'm just gonna be real about how i feel about setbacks like this #if you identify don't even worry #we're gonna be okay #setbacks are never the end of the world #we just need to really acknowledge them #ptsd #ptsd recovery #actually ptsd #actuallydisabled #annasequilibrium

0 notes