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guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom · 3 years

Text

No One Lives Forever Not Even God

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader

Peter Parker x villain!reader

Warnings: Language, Insomnia, mentions of antidepressants, mentions of drugs, drug use, mentions of addiction, mentions of nazis, parental neglect, mentions of the dead, cemeteries, mentions of meltdowns, corrupt government, mentions of cancer, low self esteem, self destructive behavior, medical testing, thoughts of murder, mentions of injury, and mentions of knives,

Word Count: 6.1k

Songs: Mother- Pink Floyd, He Can Only Hold Her- Amy Whinehouse, A Pearl- Mitski, Me and My Husband- Mitski, Saint Bernard- Lincon, Why Didn't You Stop Me?- Mistki, Nuestro Planeta- Kali Uchis, You Know I'm No Good-Amy Whinehouse, and Love Is a Losing Game- Amy Whinehouse.

"I’ve been in a very poetic mood lately. I think it’s funny how anything could be considered poetry and something you relate too. Like Twitter or any other social media and the ongoing gag of people feeling the need to announce the fact that they’re making moves in silence. But that’s what I’m doing, making moves in silence. If anyone is in my business now I’m politely asking you to remove yourself from it before I make you.”

A/N: I only did one proofread so sorry if there are typos and this is just more of an infodump to set up other chapters so enjoy ig. I almost gonna start another series a social media AU let me know if you'd want to be tagged in either of these series.

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Nightmares come while I’m asleep but, when I’m awake the nightmares of the day just come for me then, so really I’m just stuck. I would like to say the antidepressants are working, it's just the insomnia that comes with them isn't working for me. I’m honestly starting to think mood stabilizers would do me better.

Mother, do you think they'll drop the bomb?

I’m not sure I could blame this all on the pills though. I’d have to give some of the credit to the massive bombshell that a certain ex Avenger had dropped on me.

It's almost like every five seconds a new giant secret about my mom is unveiled to me. Like sure I saw from the video that she’d left me that she had associations with some bad people like Kingpin but nazis?

SHIELD had apparently collapsed because it was infiltrated by Hydra but it was prevalent while my mom was still alive. Seems like she had worked for or with everyone who was anyone. I’m just gonna give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she didn’t know because up until two weeks ago I didn’t either.

Her and Natasha had been recruited at the same time and worked together but for someone who claims to have been so close to her you’d think she’d know that she was dead. “She went off the grid and that was the last I heard from her,” is all she gave me with a smile that even I could tell was fake and I’d just met the woman.

You know when grown folks come up to you and expect you to remember them because they met you once while you were like in the womb that’s kinda my relationship with Natasha. She knows so much about me and I know absolutely nothing about her save for the fact she's a spy meaning she’d be a great liar.

She used to babysit me sometimes if I could trust what she says that is. Apparently I called her “Auntie Nat”. For some reason no one ever thought it was a good idea to inform me that I had a godmother. Maybe they did and I just forgot.

I thought they were supposed to take care of you when something happened to your parents. And the one who’s alive is about as useless as the other. It might be fun to have another person that was considered family. Just maybe not a spy at least I’d know she’d walk out of my life so I won’t get attached.

Mother, do you think they'll like the song?

“Hey mom,” I sighed sitting down in the light dusting in front of her tombstone. “I know it’s been a while and I’ve got a lot to catch you up on,”

It took a bit of digging before I found what I was looking for in my bag. I ran my fingers along the cold surface of the small jewelry box. There was puffy white glue holding the larger pieces together.

I placed the box in the grass sitting next to the tombstone. I removed a purple coiled bracelet and sat it next to the box.

I tucked my legs under my body admiring the piece of jewelry.

“I brought you a bracelet,” I spoke. “It’s kinda like a friendship bracelet cause I have the other. I don’t know if I should leave it here in case someone steals it,” I laughed. “You’d have to be a real shitty person to steal from a cemetery though,”

I curse so often I didn’t realize I did it until I had already done it.

“Ah sorry! Excuse my French,” I chuckled.

“I met Natasha Romanoff and she said she knew you. She said she knew me too. I don’t remember her though…” I trailed off.

For someone who claimed to have a lot to say I sure was at a loss for words. I just didn’t know how to get any of them out.

“Oh! You’re not gonna believe me if I tell you but I got to meet some of the Avengers. Most of them were new though. You’d know some of them. Like Captain America I wanted his help but he couldn’t provide it,”

I had a bit of an episode when I was told no one knew where Thor was. I think it was justified though.

How the fuck do you lose two Avengers let alone the ones that can’t possibly be hidden. One is green and huge and the other leaves lightning bolts everywhere they go.

Mother, do you think they'll try to break my balls?

“The other is Natasha but I don’t think I really knew that yet. She went by Black Widow. I’m sure you knew that though. You probably know a lot,”

I wonder how many secrets she never told me about. I mean I could only imagine all the secrets working for the government would let you in on. Like she probably knew about big stuff like the Tesseract and aliens maybe she could’ve known about that.

“Okay I have a question. I have a lot actually but I think if you answer them I’m gonna get up and run out of here,” I joked.

“Number one is my middle name Natalia because of your SHIELD buddy? Like it might just be a coincidence but it could also be a godmother typa situation or something,”

It was a running theory. She would’ve known my mom before I was born. And if what I was told is true they’d be pretty close too and Natasha translates back to Natalia and I know she’s Russian. It makes sense.

Ooh

Mother, should I build the wall?

“Uh… there’s this boy,”

When was there not? It seems like there was always someone in my life. Carmen in therapist mode said it’s because I put my self worth into my relationship status.

“He’s really nice. Like really really nice. Nicer than anybody I’ve ever been associated with. It’s just he’s like…” I didn't know how to put the next part into words. “He’s just too nice. Too nice for me at least. Like he’s such a good person and I’m just me,”

“And it’s I feel bad,” I sighed. I was getting myself too worked up over this. “Like I keep playing like a game of tug a war with him where I let him in and kick him out again it’s tiring. I don’t even do it on purpose. I feel like we could be something maybe. But I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. It’s a self defense mechanism. At least I think.”

I do it with everyone. I shut them out before they can get it. The less people you let into your life the less people that can walk out.

It’s a bulletproof tactic. At least I used to think it was. Never realized people could get hurt including myself.

“I saw dad,” I informed myself? I guess I’m not sure how healthy it is to have a conversation with someone you know can’t respond and isn't listening. “Like two days ago actually I didn’t say anything I freaked out and ran away. It made me think though,”

Mother, should I run for president?

Made me think about how I’d done so well on my own. Well I’m not gonna take all the credit, most of it was Carmen keeping my ass in line. I haven’t talked to her in a while. I haven’t talked to anyone in a while.

”I found a small studio apartment in Queens. It was the cheapest one I could find. I’m just renting it like an Airbnb right now. I need to find a permanent place and a job,”

I couldn’t find a permanent place at my age unless I had full autonomy which leads me to my next topic.

“So I was thinking about getting emancipated which everything would’ve been a lot easier if you were here then we could just go to court for custody cause you’d win for sure.”

Mother, should I trust the government?

“I know you never got to know how corrupt SHIELD was but do they like keep tabs on everyone who does anything to them or related to them? Because like I did a little snooping and I know they had files for all the Avengers and other people like Kingpin.”

I knew I was going to have to do more than sit here and ask a dead person what to do but ranting to someone who couldn’t spill my secrets was a start.

“I was just wondering how deep it went or if they had hidden stuff on me,”

Mother, will they put me in the firing line?

It’s probably common knowledge that if you mess with the government they’ll mess back. I’d like to think they were like bees. You leave them alone they’ll leave you alone. Only stinging when provoked.

But every branch of the government is like a wasp. They don’t die if they sting and they’ll sting you for no reason at all. They just like to see people in pain.

And I’m sure the energy research branch of SHIELD would probably be more than interested in a walking fire bomb that can move things without touching them.

I mean I’m not going to stop poking things around until I figure out what’s wrong with me. So might as well not complain.

“So I don’t have many things figured out right now and the whole you and SHIELD thing only confused me more so if you could just like come tell me what to do just this once that’d be great,” I laughed.

At first I was contemplating if this was weird or not but hearing me say that I now know this is pathetic. It always has been.

Ooh

Is it just a waste of time?

But I didn’t know if I should keep searching. Maybe I should just pretend like I’d never gotten introduced to the world of powers or mutations at all. For all I know Peter, Carmen, Felicia, Wade and I are just normal people who do normal people stuff.

Sure I wanted answers but I didn’t want to end up like those people who spend their whole life searching for an answer they won’t find any and end up never living at all.

Like a quote my mom used to say all the time “The brave may not live forever but the cautious do not live at all,”

She really just used it so she didn’t have to listen to being put on bed rest but it obviously had a deeper meaning and she knew that.

I keep finding myself stuck on that phrase. That and the whole when the dust settles poem.

I’ve been in a very poetic mood lately. I think it’s funny how anything could be considered poetry and something you relate too.

Like Twitter or any other social media and the ongoing gag of people feeling the need to announce the fact that they’re making moves in silence.

But that’s what I’m doing, making moves in silence. If anyone is in my business now I’m politely asking you to remove yourself from it before I make you.

“Uh I don’t know if I should even tell you this cause you died before it was even a problem in the first place but…” I blew out a breath digging my feet deeper into the ground.

“I’ve been clean for like two weeks now. Which is actually a thing I’m pretty proud of right now.”

I’d stopped using everything except weed, nicotine because those weren’t drugs and even then I used it way less than before. Oh, and my antidepressants too but that’s obviously okay they’re prescribed.

I hated the word clean made me seem like an addict which I wasn’t. I’m many things but I wasn’t an addict. I just didn’t know of any other words to use.

I wasn’t an addict but I’d say the lines between recreational use and dependency were blurring just a bit. I had gotten it straight though. I’m good now. The antidepressants are helping.

Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry

“You have a superpower of just making people feel better immediately. I don’t know if it was the fact you were my mom or what but if you even just put a bandaid on a stab wound it’d probably stop hurting and disappear,”

I wasn’t even exaggerating there was this one time I got hurt at the zoo and she just kissed it and I forgot about the fact that I even fell.

I’m not sure how true that is though because I couldn’t actually recall the memory I was just told about it by my mom a few years after it happened. So I guess I remember not remembering then being reminded. Weird.

“I wanna see the giraffes!” Aaliyah cried, stomping her feet down on the concrete.

This was one of the only times mom didn’t have to work on the weekends and Liyah had to have her way like always.

“Mom!” I screamed “Tell her you said we could see the lions first,”

She just sighed. “Well since she’s the youngest do you think you could be nice and let her go first please?”

“Fine,” I huffed. I wasn’t doing it for Liyah, I was doing it for mom. Even a blind person could see how tired she’d been lately.

Liyah laughed at me sticking her tongue out. She’s such a brat.

“You’re so dumb.” I rolled my eyes at her.

“I know you are but what am I ?” She teased hitting my shoulder before running away.

I took off after her. She may have been fast but I knew I could catch up to her.

I almost had her when my foot got caught on something. It launched me towards the ground and I put my hands down to catch myself but I still hit my knee.

I slid on the concrete scuffing my leg. I didn’t scream because that would make me weak and it didn't hurt that bad. I just bit my lip and stood up.

I didn’t want to limp but it hurt too much to put pressure on my leg.

Liyah had beat me back to mom and when I reached them she was already apologizing.

Fake.

She was just scared to get in trouble. I wasn’t gonna snitch on her anyways.

“Let me see it,” Mom asked, grabbing my arm, pulling me to sit down on a stonehenge.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a first aid kit. She always had everything in her purse. It was kinda like a super power. The black Marry Poppins.

She wiped the scrape with an alcohol wipe and I just barely hissed. It didn’t even really hurt anymore.

She placed a bandaid on it, smoothing her hands on top of it before placing a kiss there.

“There,” She wiped her hands on her thighs before standing up “All better?”

I nodded my head and we went off to see the giraffes because I’m nice like that.

“In case you were wondering, Aaliyah still always gets her way even now. I’d say she’s got me beat on the manipulation game honestly,”

It’s fine though I taught her everything she knows not everything I know. I could still get one over on her if needed.

Mama's gonna make all of your nightmares come true

“I found your pendant, the SHIELD one. Which I guess makes all of this real no matter how much I want it to be fake. I just want this to be a poorly written book where I wake up and the past five years were all a dream,”

God knows how much I meant that. Well maybe I didn’t mean it too much because some people I’ve met in the past five years are people I don’t think I could survive very long without. Even though I kinda exploded on everyone so maybe I’m gonna have to test my theory on how long I can really survive.

“Hey Doc,” I greeted pushing up the door of the restaurant.

“Hey sweetheart, how ya been?” He queried.

“I’ve been better,”

“I hear ya,” He nodded.

Once we were in the back of the restaurant aka his office. I pulled out the diamond. Doc knew everything about everyone and anything. He could also make a duplicate of anything you gave him.

“Whatcha got for me?” He asked, rubbing his hands together.

“This, I’m not sure what it is,”

I placed the bird pendant on the desk. I found it in a shoe box filled with my mom's stuff.

“I was wondering if you knew,”

He lifted it up to his eye to get a better view, His eyesight so bad that his glasses were practically a magnifying glass.

“It’s a crest, I don’t think I’ve seen this before it’s most likely from a government branch,” He placed it back down on his messy desk. “I can do some more extensive research for you if you’d like,”

“Yes, that’d be great,”

“Stop by again tomorrow and I’ll fill you

I wish I never went back to Doc’s place or found out about flash drive, Vulture, SHIELD, any of it. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get anymore fucked up the devil came out the woodworks and spit in my face.

Mama's gonna put all of her fears into you

“I remember all that testing they did after I agreed to do whatever Stark needed me to do sooo badly. I still don’t really know what he did- or he’s doing with all that DNA and other stuff he’d gotten from me,”

Aren’t the Avengers and by default Tony Stark products of SHIELD so wouldn't that mean whoever’s behind all of that could’ve been the one to tell Tony about the fire thing in the first place.

That had been the main thing about the whole Stark situation that I still couldn’t figure out. Someone needs to tell me how he found out and they better tell me now.

“There are multiple lacerations 1-2 inches lining the upper and lower abdomen,” The doctor lady announced to her assistant. Before moving her cold hand away from my side pushing my shirt back down.

Okay that’s chill nothing I haven’t had before.

“We’re gonna have to do another X-ray is that okay?” Her assistant asked. I wasn’t going to bother to learn their names. I was planning to stay that long anyways.

What’s the point? They’re just going to come back and say the machine is broken and then do another blood test.

“Yeah sure,”

I was led into a much bigger room than the last. There was much more machinery too.

I was strapped down to a cold blue cushioned table by leather straps. Straps weren’t really necessary, not like I was planning on lashing out and mauling anyone.

I closed my eyes when the flashes of the machine went off. Apparently I had fractured three of my ribs and bruised my sternum.

You’d think they’d let me go now but noooo they need more blood and then when they were done drawing blood.

They had to hook me up to a machine to monitor- I don’t even fucking know what they were monitoring.

I just know I had all the pads with wires on my temples and chest and everywhere else. It reminded me of that one time I had to do a sleep study.

Except they didn’t have holographs to read off and fancy probably government funded tech then. They sure as hell didn’t have all this whispering either. Or maybe they did and I was just unconscious.

Still I didn’t even want to actually be here and I was cold for once.

“How much long do we have here?” I groaned.

“Not much longer. We just have and MRI left,”

Yeah right. I was gonna be in here for the rest of my life

“I could probably go back there if I wanted answers,” I spoke quietly.

“But I don’t want the government in my business like that well at least just not more than they probably are already at least and the tests are so invasive,”

Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing

That’s not the only invasive thing in my life. Or should I say was in my life? I don’t fucking care really.

My dad was somehow the strictest and the most lenient person ever. I think he just wanted control.

I used to blame his alcoholism for everything he did but no really he’s just a shitty person. A shitty person who likes to beat on women and take doors off the hinges.

“You are so pathetic!” My mom screamed at my dad.

They had been at this all night. For so long that I’m seriously contemplating jumping out of this small window right now.

Sapphire had no qualms sleeping on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Aaliyah and I however were still wide awake.

I’m not sure exactly what was going on in her head but I’m assuming we're still up for the same reason. To kill our dad if he even touches our mom.

I had a kitchen knife in hand as I sat on the bathroom sink. I always had a knife every time my dad started yelling a little too aggressively just in case but this time felt different. Like I was really prepared to stab him this time.

I didn’t know what it was but something felt off.

“Are they done?” Aaliyah asked, rubbing her eyes. The apartment had fallen silent.

“I don’t know. Stay here,” I hopped down off the sink.

I should’ve known she wasn’t gonna listen to me. The kitchen was empty which means they must’ve moved to their room.

The next moment was the sort straight out of a family sitcom except the family was falling apart and the kids were going crazy but otherwise it could’ve very well been an “oopsie” misunderstanding moment. Where the younger child asks “Are mommy and daddy getting a divorce?”

Then the oldest child pulls them into their body and whispers “I dunno kiddo,” or “No they’re just going through a rough patch,” anything like that.

Except it wasn’t that. That wasn’t what she said and that wasn’t what Aaliyah asked me.

God how I wish that was what she asked me.

I have a bad habit of acting before I think. I opened the door opening my mouth to let out the words in my brain.

“You’re dying? How are you dying?”

They both turned to look at me like they were just noticing they weren’t alone.

My mom sighed moving closer to me grabbing my arm.

“I’m- Im not no ones dying,”

The door creaked as Aaliyah pushed her way into the room.

“But you said ‘I need you to step up you need to know how to handle it when I’m dead’,” She paraphrased cleaning out the cuss words.

“It didn’t mean literally dying right now,”

Now I could see how this could be us just jumping to conclusions from like two sentences but she had been weird lately. Like she’s always traveled a lot and been secretive but lately she’s been extra secretive.

And I could tell the secret wasn’t to protect herself so whos to say it wasn’t the fact she was currently dying. It actually makes perfect sense.

I’m starting to wish I wasn’t always right. Stage 4 Lymphoma. Basically we should go coffin shopping pretty soon.

If only she wasn’t so selfish and would get treatment for it. She couldn’t leave me here by myself. Who’s gonna take care of us if she dies.

I’d thought about it before and I decided I’d take on the role of caregiver for my sisters but then it was only a what if situation.

Wade has cancer and he’s not dead but that’s only because he got pumped with like super drugs shit.

Now I just needed to find some super drugs and figure out how to get her to take them.

Fuck Cancer and fuck my dad. Why couldn’t he have gotten the diagnosis instead of my mom. A life for a life type beat.

I guess that wouldn’t have made for a good tragic backstory would it. And what fun is life without a tragic backstory.

My only question is when does the backstory end and when does the actual plot begin because clearly I’m not there yet. It’s only tragedy after tragedy.

Maybe that is my story, just pain and suffering. Someone has to be the butt of the joke.

She won't let you fly but she might let you sing

“You always told me to surround myself with people who you could block out the rest of the world with. Peter’s like that so was Olivia she was one of those people for me. When we weren’t yelling at each other or crying, I mean. Still wish you could’ve met her though,”

“AH YES!” I exclaimed, pumping my fist. “I found it,” I waved the joint in the air.

“Alright come sit down then,” Olivia laughed, patting the seat on the couch next to her.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Where’s the lighter?”

She just laughed at me again. Before reaching into my pocket and slipping it out. I couldn’t help but smile at how intimate that action felt for no reason at all.

I quickly and lightly pressed my lips to hers muttering a quick “thank you,”

About three minutes had passed and I could feel the weed taking course through my system.

My head was in her lap until I abruptly shot up gasping at the beginning of Super Rich Kids by Frank Ocean.

“Dance with me,” I pleaded it didn’t take much convincing because here we were twirling around. Although it was much more giggling than dancing.

I bumped my leg on the glass coffee table and immediately apologized making Liv and I laugh so hard I almost peed my pants.

I was laid out on the soft white fur rug with Olivia laying her chin on my chest. I ran my hands through her hair.

It was actually very easy there were no knots my fingers just glided smoothly through.

“I mean shit,” I breathed “I know I can’t run from the rest of the world forever but until then? Bitch you can call me Flash cause I’m zoomin’.”

She giggled at that before speaking up.

“You don’t have to run you can just stay here with me forever,”

Her words were so genuine it made me want to cry. She basically just said “I love you” in more or less words.

“You know what? I think I might,”

She gave me a tired smile, turning her head to place a kiss on the top of my breast.

I smiled back at her and how adorable she looked right now. I just want to kiss her for the rest of forever.

When I glanced back down at her I could hear her breathing slow and her eyes had fluttered shut. She was asleep.

I felt all warm and fuzzy and at peace and I couldn’t tell if it was the weed or if it was just being in Olivia’s presence.

I wasn’t ready to say these words to her when she was conscious yet maybe I’d never be ready but I’d say them now. Just to get them off my chest.

“I love you,” I whispered.

I never really felt comfortable saying that to anyone. Probably a result of not hearing it enough as a child or something. My family’s never been affectionate anyway. That’s fine because I wasn’t my family, I was my own person.

Stroking her hair gently before drifting off to the land of dreams myself.

So much for forever huh?

It’s funny to think how I took times like that for granted if only I knew those were some of the only moments of normalcy I’d get for a while. I’d spent too much time thinking about what could’ve been with almost everything.

So much so that I didn’t take much time to actually be. Now I feel like I’ve made it to the point of no return. Not mentally but like with everyone else around me. I think I pushed people too far away this time. Not so sure I could get them back.

“Uh I can't really remember what I’ve already told you so I’ll run through it all. This vigilante or superhero Spiderman started doing his thing then I got caught up in his mess.” That was most definitely an oversimplification but what do I look like telling my mom I was a well known thief. “Then his relation to Tony Stark got extended to me so now I kinda do stuff for him but I don’t work for him.”

I don't work for him he might think I do, but in reality he works for me. I had almost everyone at the compound wrapped around my finger.

“I don’t think I really wanna work for anyone. I was offered to be an Avenger in training but that isn’t really my style. I will use his gym though.” I rambled on.

It was kinda weird how easy it was to rant to my mom like this because not like she could voice her opinions about anything. I guess I hadn’t visited in so long that I forgot what it was like.

Mama's gonna keep baby cosy and warm

“Oh!” I exclaimed remembering a very important factor that I left out. “Then we have the whole Staten Island fiasco that I told you about. I remember telling you that. I’m still searching for answers on how I did that too,”

Like some real answers not that radiation BS.

“Your phone’s broken,” I pointed out the cracked screen sitting on the wood.

“Oh shit!” Peter cried “May’s gonna kill me this is the second phone I’ve broken this month,”

I came off way calmer than I was feeling. I’m surprised I wasn’t running around screaming right about now. I was probably just paralyzed in fear.

How do you react in a situation like this in the first place.

“Okay how long are we going to be sitting here? What are we waiting on?” We’d be up here looking down at the fire crackling underneath the pier for like 15 minutes now.

“I don’t know actually,” He sighed.

“Uh…”

How was I supposed to respond to that? That was the driest response to anything in the history of the world.

“Well since I’ve already pinky promised I won’t spill your secret can I ask some questions while we wait for you to figure it out?”

“Sure, go ahead,” He nodded, shaking his arms.

“Okay number one did you think I had died or something because if someone burst into flames in front of me I’d probably think Satan was coming for me. I’d cry too,” I laughed but had to stop myself as the stabbing in my ribs ran through me.

“No, I didn’t think you were dead, you had a pulse,” He pointed out “Maybe I could’ve thought you were dying though. And I wasn’t crying,”

Liar. He so was crying.

“Aw you don’t have to lie I think it’s cute,” I teased if I didn’t feel like my body was falling apart I might’ve poked his side.

“Alright, second question: do the webs like come out of you? Cause that’s kinda disgusting,”

“No, I make them with chemicals ‘n stuff. I’d explain the science to you but I’m not sure how much you’d care.”

I let out a small laugh knowing what feeling would come if I laughed too hard.

“I mean you could explain it ‘m just not sure how much of it I’d understand,”

We both laughed at that.

“On the topic of the webs what’s there integrity like how well do they hold up or like how long,”

“Uh…” He blew out a breath running his hands over his face “As far as I know they last up to two hours. That is unless someone cuts them or something,”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Thorn was one of those someone’s to cut the webs maybe I was the only someone. I didn’t really need to ask the question. Aaron had already answered the question for me when he told me about the deal at the ferry. I just wanted to see what Peter would tell me honestly.

I spent the rest of the night asking questions and cracking jokes. I was talking for so long I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.

It should be a world record how fast I managed to fuck up 5 friendships. Well it’s my personal best at least. Only took like 4 minutes.

I feel like that’s all I do is just fuck up everything. I used to believe there was a difference between being fucked up and being a fuckup but the older I get the more I realize that there isn’t.

It’s like someone built a self destruct button in my head and every time something good happens to me I feel the need to run away.

Like Peter he’s literally perfect he's smart, respectful, adorable, and selfless. He’s literally a fucking superhero for godsake.

I was trying so hard not to fall asleep. I really was but all the Trigonometry chapter was doing was mixing with the sound of rain outside and triggering the urge to fall into a deep sleep.

“Okay,” Peter tapped his textbook with his pen. I wish I could be confident enough to do math with a pen.

“So sin is equal to the opposite of whatever angle you’re trying to find so first you have too…”

He droned on, I knew he was talking about the math problem lying on the bed in front of me but I wasn’t listening. Maybe if I sat at the desk I could actually be paying attention right now.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” I sat up on my elbows yawning.

“Are you tired?”

I just hummed again. Until I realized what the question was. I reached for my phone and it was already 9:03 that woke me up for sure.

“Oh shit! I gotta get back,”

Not like I’d get in trouble or anything but Carmen would get on my ass about the fact I didn’t come back when I said I would then she’d make something out of nothing.

I scrambled around trying to find all my things to put them back in my bag.

“Wait it’s raining though,” Peter pointed out.

“Yeah,” I chuckled “It’s New York it’s always raining,”

“Yeah but it’s cold and wet and dark so if you tried to skate you’d probably get hurt,”

I knew what he was doing and it was working because frankly all his excuses were shit because one I don’t get cold and two I could just walk and there are lights everywhere but I was gonna stay anyway. I was too tired to argue right now.

“May!” Peter shouted.

“Yes?” She called back.

“Can Y/N stay for the night?”

“Yeah if her parents are okay with it,”

That’s how I ended up wearing some shirt with some dumb science pun sitting on the couch watching Aladdin for like the millionth time ever. I was singing along to One jump ahead when I felt eyes on me.

I turned my head but before I could make eye contact with Peter he acted as if he was watching the movie the whole time.

“What?” I giggled. Fuck, I hadn’t like genuinely giggled in the longest time.

“Nothing,” He replied, turning back towards the TV again.

This time I was the one to stare at him wondering what was going on in his head. Not even the fourth song in and I was already yawning struggling to keep my head up.

This goes to show how much willpower I had because I couldn’t even stop my eyelids from falling shut. I deserved to sleep though I’d been exhausted lately.

There’s only like 6 people on this planet that I trust enough to fall asleep around and surprisingly Peter had become one with like 5 months of knowing me.

I would still trust him if given the chance I’m just not sure how much he trusts me right now. I understand though. I don’t deserve anyone’s trust.

Taglist:

@tomdiddlyumptious

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spectrumed · 3 years

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3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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laws-yellow-submarine · 3 years

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Forgive me a moment but I need to vent so uhhh scroll on if you'd like or read my ramblings, I don't care either way lol

So like, I posted last week about how I was FINALLY having the appointment to get ADHD meds prescribed, and I was nervous but I was also super excited, and then the appointment just...never happened. Totally wiped from the system, not a word from anyone.

Well I called the office the next day at like 11:30 am and got their voicemail, figured ok no big deal probably on lunch this is easier anyway cause I can just say everything I need to (I have major phone anxiety so I honestly prefer leaving voicemails cause I can't be interrupted and lose track of my thoughts, and it puts it back in their court to contact me). I figured I'd get a call back that afternoon, or maybe the next day.

It's been a week. I haven't heard from anyone.

Now granted I haven't tried calling a second time, mostly because I'm so goddamned frustrated by this entire situation, after months of already trying to get in to see someone about medication (and if you've been here a while you KNOW I've talked in the past about how many hoops I've already had to go through for no reason). Plus there's no reason if they were being professional that they shouldn't have called me back! I was more than willing to give the benefit of the doubt that it was a weird fluke, but now? Not so much.

But that's not even the worst part! The anxiety meds that my current NP pushed for, that I don't personally think I need (or even WANT because anxiety meds have never worked for me) have completely run out, and my automatic refills aren't working! The pharmacy said "we'll contact them for you!" and then nothing! I'm currently in lala land because I had to go off these meds I didn't want a month and a half after starting them!

AND my boyfriend is now getting pissed off at me for not "just making one phone call" because he's under the impression that'll fix everything, not even taking into account that I'm stressed, frustrated, overwhelmed, and going through antidepressant withdrawal, and I've expressed that I don't feel capable of "just making one phone call" right now, and considering all the other goddamn issues I've had with this place, I'm not convinced just calling again will do anything other than make me EVEN MORE FRUSTRATED!

He wants me to just keep pushing through and trying to reach them, at this point I'd prefer to just walk away from it and wait until I'm on different insurance (cause I HAVE to switch by June 18th) and finding a competent therapist, especially since it sure seems like I'd have to start all over anyway...

Oh and to top it all off, I was complaining to my mom about the appointment and she flat out told me she went to this place as a teenager and had similar issues, and the patient records she has to look through for her job that come from them haven't improved her opinion on how they operate, so it's not even like this place has a good reputation and I'm just having bad luck, this is the NORM! Like, yes I want/need to medicate my ADHD, but you can't tell me that at this point I'd get them to do it before my insurance ran out anyway...

Anyway this is probably not coherent and I apologize but my boyfriend made some passive aggressive bullshit comment to me about it all and I just had to scream because otherwise I would lose it. Thanks y'all

#leyna speaks #vent post #tw medication #just in case #I'm going through it y'all lol

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trifoliate-undergrowth · 4 years

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“Can you stand it?”

I visited my doctor the other day, to discuss how I’m responding to a changed dosage of antidepressants. She asked about side effects, I said I hadn’t noticed any this time but that it was hard to tell--for example, I was having worse anxiety, but that had been the case before we changed the dosage and was probably due to Current Events.

She said well what about your family, what do they think? Have they noticed any changes in you?

The question stunned me for a moment, though not because I had to think about my response.

No. Why would they? We don’t talk about our emotions, until my mom reaches the breaking point, has a meltdown and yells at us.

I keep quiet. I’m sure my sufferings don’t compare to hers, so why should I complain?

I haven’t learned how to communicate in a healthy way, I’ve learned that emotions are hidden, hidden, hidden to fester, and to then appear in a flash of fire and pain. I’ve learned to hide and be quiet and to pride myself on not passing on my suffering to others in the way I feel has been done to me.

No, I say to my doctor. So she asks about my friends. Have any of them noticed a change?

I think about that one. I do have friends that I talk to. But anyone in the past couple weeks, since the changed dosage? Anyone I’ve been consistently talking about my meds with, or who would have been with me enough to notice a change?

No, I say. And she tells me we’ll stick with the new dosage at least until the pandemic is over, and to go down a dose if it doesn’t seem to be making a difference, because less is better if I can get the benefits I need from a lower dose.

I switched today, feel the same so far, tired and anxious and spaced out. Certain that I’m not doing enough, or not doing the right thing, but uncertain of where to go next and terrified of trying to take the next step if I could even figure out what it was. It’s been taking longer and longer to fall asleep. In many ways I’m lucky. I have somewhere safe to stay in these uncertain times. I try to be grateful for what I have--am grateful--but then sometimes it’s too much. It doesn’t feel quite as safe as it should.

And I’ve noticed a pattern. I think I’m fine, I think I’ll just wait a little longer and see what happens, but these feelings fester and fester until suddenly (it seems) they’re overwhelming me and I have to address them, and I have to wonder, how much can I take?

One story my mom tells about her childhood is how her parents, my grandparents, would respond when they were sick. For example, there’s a story about my grandmother bursting into my aunt’s room when she was half-dead with the flu and spaced out with a high fever. My grandmother assumed she was on drugs and began shaking her and screaming at her, while my mother raced to pull her away and explain that no she was really sick. She had a fever.

When they were younger, when my mother was sick and uncomfortable enough for her desire for help to overcome her training to not bother her parents, she would go to my grandmother and tell her that she was in pain. My grandmother, she said, would look at her very seriously and say “Can you stand it?” and my mother, probably autistic before the diagnosis existed and a very literal child, would ponder this.

Well she’d been standing it for hours already as it got worse and worse. She was standing it right now, since she wasn’t dying, or passing out, or anything. So yes. She could stand it.

Good, my grandmother would say. Perhaps she’d tell her to go lie down for a while.

Now, as an adult, my mother holds this as an example of how badly her parents raised them. She brings it up sometimes when I take issue with her parenting, sobbing that she wasn’t taught anything better. It must have been horrible.

I went out today to run some errands. My head was a haze, registering primarily anxiety, everything else vague and muted. I forgot my mask and went back to the house for it. Halfway to town I pulled over to spin a pokestop, although playing the game brought me no pleasure and I couldn’t focus on it well enough to really distract myself.

Can I stand it, I wondered? If I can, does that mean that I should? How do you know when you can’t stand it anymore? When it kills you?

When I acknowledge my pain, and my desire to get away from this place, the pain relaxes a little, for a while. But I know I’ll stay and wait and worry and do nothing and it will grow again. I can stand it. I can always stand it.

I can stand it, while I force myself to keep driving in a tense haze, and I leave my mother’s debit card in the slot at the bank atm and only realize down the street at the gas station, where I try to back my car up before realizing it isn’t even running. I can stand it, going back and asking if some honest person has turned a card in, and finding that they have, and driving through to collect it. I can stand the drive up to the antique mall, I even get into re-stocking her booth, but when it comes to searching for the specific pieces that need to be shipped, my brain shuts down and I have to take a break because even that is too much all of sudden. But I’m standing it, obviously, because I eventually get it done. I get out before closing time.

I think “can you stand it” is a bad question. Here’s another: “What’s the cost?” and, “can you lessen the impact?” “should you stand it?”

#personal #long post #rant #I'm not sure how much sense this makes #tags for:#uhhhhhhhhhh?#depression #anxiety #child emotional neglect/abuse #cw #anyways true story today was . Interestijng #in a a not good way #think I dropped my final brain cell along the way somewhere #anyway all this rambling to say. I am getting better at dealing. and I am planning to get out of here #just like.... not right now in the middle of a worldwide pandemic..............

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invertedeidolon · 4 years

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The Longest Library #3: Griffin & Sabine by Nick Bantock (Or, Eidolon again talks way too much about previous relationships, also, pretty art!)

(This is a series in which I attempt to read and review all (or most of) my library of 297 books.)

Rundown: Postcard artist Griffin Moss gets a weird letter from a weird lady who can apparently see what he's drawing telepathically. They form an ill concieved bond over it. The story is told in colorful postcards and envelopes you can open and then read the mysterious things inside. 4.5/5 for calling me THE FUCK OUT and having some BOMB ASS ART.

I can't give it a full 5 because not everyone is going to have that experience when they read this. It's just going to look very strange and floaty and things won't make very much sense. This book hits close to home with me because it heavily echoes (more like yells about) my first long distance relationship. I'm not really able to see this book through any other lens, so that's what my commentary is mostly about.

So for the part that ISN'T about that stuff though: The art is amazing. Even though it's made by one person technically, both fictional artists have their own, distinct style. Let's be real: The art and the interactivity is the main draw of this book. There are envelopes inside with letters carrying a myriad of little details: Griffin uses a typewriter for his long-form letters, and bits where he's crossed out typos or added in letters with pen, or that Sabine's correspondence is something I now recognize as someone who uses quills or manual dip pens. The inconsistency in the color of her writings suggests she's using a homemade ink, brownish in color, slightly too watery. Maybe it's even watered down watercolor and not even ink at all. They've also made the background of her letters and cards a rich dark gray, while Griffin's is a clean, sterile white.

"Will you explain to me about those geometric paintings you did at Art college? I want to understand their hidden language of color and shape. It's so alien to me."

So this is about the fourth time I'm reading this book since I first got it, and now that I have to write about it, I'm noticing so many more details. Here the line "It's so alien to me."is written in smaller, slightly more rounded letters. The ink is much darker here too, suggesting she wrote this slowly, thoughtfully. What a detail!

Anyway that's it for the objective bits of the book, the rest is entirely subjective from here on out.

"The phenomenon that links us has taught me much about you, yet I am ignorant of your history."

My years and years of suffering emotional abuse set me up to be able to read and predict what was going on in your head perfectly, as well as respond in the most helpful ways with eerie precision, yet I am ignorant of your history, and who you really are (because you use such obtuse floaty language and metaphor. Who were you really? Suffering, but that's about all I could tell.)

"Why doesn't this alarm me as much as it should?"

Because we're already "in". And I "feel safe" to you because I've been trained to be the least offensive, most placating being in the universe. If I could build a business model on conversational comfort, if I could sell my goddamn empathy like the capitalist machine really wants me to, *I'd be so rich*. It would be like, a step down from therapist. Anybody want a virtual friend for like an hour? Gimme 20 and we can watch stupid videos or I can calmly talk you through bread making. It's okay, you can cry. GOD PLEASE LET ME JUST SELL MYSELF SAFELY, I WAS MADE FOR THIS GODDAMNIT.

"I want to hear everything. Write in detail. Tell me all about yourself. I demand to know - please."

This is like fucking CRACK to those with a suppressed self. An unwitnessed self. "Someone who's interested in ME, and won't yell at, ignore, or dismiss me for talking! Holy fuck I love you!"

"Finally I knew who you were. I counselled myself to be cautious and find out what you were like before revealing myself fully."

Sabine at this point is to the reader who I was to Him. A weird mythical creature, the non-human monster of your lonely adolescent imaginings, who is intimately aware of your secrets, "I've been watching you" it says before introducing you to a wondrous world free of the pains of living, where you actually feel loved and all is well forever and ever. Except I wasn't as inhuman as I wished to be.

"Occasionally I'd come home to a re-enactment of The Battle of Britain in the front room. [...] My entrance would make no difference to their dogfight, but when one of them accidentally (and inevitably) knocked over a pile of books, they'd stop instantly and unite to examine the extent of the damage."

The whole 'making light of a not-great home life because it was your normal for so long that you still haven't learned that you need to be horrified about it' thing. As well as passing it off as something funny. Thankfully this character's parents (SPOILER?) get literally run over by a truck and he gets sent to live with his mom's step sister who is really good and lets him ditch school to become a potter's apprentice and eventually go to art college. He never really deals with the grief when the step sister dies, OBVIOUSLY.

"And hearing that my existence eased your pain made my heart race. We have found one another, and I give thanks."

Hearing that my existence wasn't going to be punished but instead, made someone happy? Fucking HEROIN. Downplay it a little with grateful gentleness, I don't want to be punished for being presumptuous or for seeming like I like it too much. If I like things too much they get destroyed, hard.

"My kinsmen are responsive to me - but there is no one to reach my heart, and you who are so far away, have been closer to me than any man on the Islands."

This is something I remember. So far all they've done is shared eachother's life stories and gushed about how close they feel now. She (like my past self), has confused the feeling of 'finally, a witness! they're witnessing me! I've been Seen!' with the feeling of attachment. Of course she would feel infinitely more attached to this man. She's witnessed his most private moments as a creator for a good portion of her life. It's been a mainstay throughout her adolescence through adulthood, so of course an unwarranted sense of intimacy is going to be attached to this mysterious figure. The whole thing wrapped up in a dream like sense of mysticism.

"I remember your first erotic drawing; I was trembling from head to foot by the time you'd finished. Was that Sarah? No don't answer; I'm only teasing."

...Unless? (Man the implications hurt to think about. I REMEMBER THIS FEELING. This author has unintentionally called me out. I wonder how much of Sabine’s writing is actually calm, or if she’s reigning herself in almost constantly?)

"I was finding it hard to get over the idea of there being other men in your life when I reached the part in your letter about my erotic drawings. I stopped being jealous. We were lovers and I hadn't realized it. The drawings weren't of Sarah; they were of you."

ow ow ow ow ow ow JUST SAY IT ow ow ow ow, Also, I REALLY wanted her to be like 'bitch that looks nothing like me, what the fuck', but instead she's all like "So you've been making love to me ten thousand miles away - how tantalizing." URGH. TOO CLOSE, TOO FAST. DISENTANGLE YOURSELVES NOW. GRIFFIN GET HELP.

"I had failed to understand how unhappy you are. You cover up with jokes and a front of being self-contained. I'm worried for you."

EVEN SHE SEES IT, GET HELP.

"When you found me, I thought my loneliness had gone for good. I was kidding myself. I desperately desire your company. I haven't talked to anyone in three days. I was sure I was going to start seeing your pictures like you see mine. I've tried so hard. [...] How can I miss you this badly when we've never met?"

BECAUSE YOU MISS HUMAN CONTACT AND YOU DON'T HAVE ANY FAMILY LEFT YOU NERD, GET HELP. DON'T HANG IT ON ONE PERSON WHO IS TOO FAR AWAY TO HELP YOU IN THE WAY YOU NEED.

"Island magic works on island souls. You and I will heal eachother."

ANTIDEPRESSANTS MAYBE UUUUGGGGHHHHH

"I've started to hate this city, this country, all these stupid fucking people [...] I finally snapped. [...] I want to know what you look like."

*HEAVILY RECOILS*

"Why, my kindred spirit, are you prepared to settle for a postcard of my face? If you wish to see me, why not come here? What is there to stop you - you're clearly unhappy where you are. Come."

Yes. I offered and I offered and I offered. What's to stop you from just fucking TALKING TO ME instead of DISAPPEARING OVER AND OVER AGAIN. and then COMPLAINING THAT YOU'RE SO HURT AND LONELY. I'M LONELY TOO. WHEN I HAD THE MONEY YOU DIDN’T TAKE MY OFFER FOR ME TO COME SEE YOU, SO WHAT THE FUCK IS UP KYLE?

"Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened."

This kind of sentiment is what lead to the breakup. This feeling of being large, and dark, and slighted. Being real and supernatural. Make your choice. Say REAL words instead of just flagellating yourself. Do I exist to you?

"If you will not join me, then I will come to you."

Unfortunately, Sabine has what I definitely did not: Mobility, the ability to make things real. She had a job and money and her own life and the ability to travel. I had a shitty little shared room in my parent's house where I spent most of the time partially starved and dodging devils in one form or another. Many many times I wanted to spontaneously show up and give him the closeness that he needed. But I couldn't. And he wouldn't take my words. He wouldn’t take me.

3 down, 294 to go.

#thelongestlibrary #griffin and sabine #nick bantock #origin1 #wri1

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

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Can we have a fanfic in which Ben OD’s? I think that’s how he died (“when you’re dead there’s no where to go, no where to change”) and I think the monsters were giving him physical/mental pain. So klaus gave him something. Ben got depressed because they didn’t work, so he took more. Nobody knew, Reg gave him antidepressants, he OD’d, nobody knew about his addiction but Klaus, the siblings all moved out because they couldn’t stand to be in the same house as Regetable, the man who killed Ben.

holy shit, anon! Ben’s death makes me so sad, are you trying to make me cry? But anyway, I hope you like this one1

This is bad, Klaus thinks, watching Ben pop off the cap of the orange bottle and swallow three white pills dry.

When you start taking them dry, you know it’s bad.

“You were supposed to only take one, you know,” he says, frowning down at his hands because it’s better than seeing Ben reenact Klaus’ early teen years.

They’re seventeen now. Klaus is supposed to be the fucked up one, not Ben.

Ben is supposed to be better than Klaus, to be above this shit.

“And they were supposed to make me not feel like shit,” Ben snaps, closing the drawer with more force than necessary and flopping down on the bed. His face is starting to relax, slow and syrupy in a way that is painfully familiar to Klaus and sends his stomach into painful knots.

He’s got a bad feeling about this.

“Ben,” he begins. What’s he supposed to say? He doesn’t exactly have the moral high ground here. “Have you– is it that bad?”

A thundercloud storms over Ben’s face, alien and foreign, but settling uncomfortably easily. “I don’t know, Klaus,” he shoots back, icily and distantly, “there are literal monsters trying to break out of my skin every second of every day. I can feel them writhing inside, pushing and lashing out. So you tell me, is it that bad?”

This is bad, Klaus thinks again but says nothing for the rest of the night.

Luther is being an asshole again but what else is new?

Well, the fourth and fifth pill on Ben’s hand is probably an escalation, but hey, Klaus is floating nicely in a cloud of something colorful and sweet he had chase with Dad’s vodka, so it’s kinda hard to worry about anything right now.

He smiles, lazy and absent, and watches with a distant sort of gaze as Ben self-medicates for the second time this afternoon. Can he blame him though? Luther’s being an asshole, that calls for some pretty happy pills, right?

It’s all good, though, it’s all fine.

Klaus eyes the new orange bottle in Ben’s nightstand.

It’s the real deal, like, from a pharmacy and shit. There was a prescription and everything, and Klaus hopes they’ll make Ben look less like he’s a ghost haunting this house, wandering the halls with an empty look on his eyes.

It’s been a while since his eyes have looked anywhere near alive and Klaus doesn’t like looking too much into them. Sometimes, especially in the bad trips, he has nightmares that he peers into them and he can see the tentacles flopping around, trying to break out of Ben like a hatching egg, like that movie with the aliens and the spaceship.

He also wonders if he should have told their father about Ben’s less legitimate pills, the ones he gets from Klaus’ dealer. That’s– that’s the kind of thing doctors should know before prescribing shit, isn’t it?

But Ben had sworn him into secrecy and he’s right, Klaus is one to talk, it’s his dealer, after all.

The know of worry stays there, clawing at his stomach, even as he tells himself it’ll be fine.

Ben will be fine.

Hey, they’re the good guys, they’re superheroes, right?

And heroes never die, they’re always fine.

The rain is falling steadily and Mom’s shoes are splattered with mud, and so is Allison’s and Vanya’s. Allison isn’t complaining, though. How weird is that?

She’s supposed to be throwing a fit and demanding to go home, that’s her MO.

Can they? Go home already, that is.

Dreadfully depressing, this place. It’s bringing Klaus’ high down and that’s– that’s no good. Klaus’ gotta stay high, up, up, up very far from here, from all of this shit.

Funerals have never been his thing, don’t let the aesthetic fool you.

“Klaus,” Allison says, laying a hand on his arm. She eyes his cigarette with interest, sniffing, and she has to know it’s weed. Everyone here does, he’s sure. They just don’t care, not today. “It’s– it’s going to be–”

She can’t finish the sentence, so she trails off instead, shrugging awkwardly in the end. They all know it’s not gonna be okay. Ben’s dead. He overdosed like they all though Klaus was gonna a long time ago and how unfair is that? Fuck you, Ben, he scowls, taking a drag in spite, that was gonna be me.

He blows smoke in the air and it hangs heavy, dissipating quickly in the rain; he passes the joint to Allison, watches her smoke without flinching.

“Too fucked up for me,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets and makes a point not to hear the priest talking incessantly in front of the gap in the dirt. It’s ridiculous, really, to preach about gods and angels to the bunch of kids with superpowers. Klaus can literally see ghosts, asshole, he knows hell is very much real. Heaven, though, jury’s still up on that one.

“I can’t do this,” Allison says between a drag and the other, and she sounds bitter enough that the grass under their feet curls into dead yellow shades even without her catchphrase. “I’m out. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” Klaus mutters, but it’s not bad. He means that, in fact. They should all leave this place before it kills them too. “Good riddance to this shit.”

“You should come with,” she offers, passing him back the cigarette, and Klaus sighs, inhaling the smoke and letting it grow stale on his lungs before letting it out. “We could find a place in LA.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he shakes his head. Allison doesn’t know what she’s saying, that’s a stupid idea. She’s meant for the spotlight, Hollywood and all that crap. There’s a reason she’s going for LA and not whatever the hell city out there. “I’ve got my own thing going.”

“Klaus– fine. Just. I don’t want to attend another funeral, okay?”

“Don’t worry, sister dearest,” he smiles, but it’s not a nice smile, he knows, “everything’s going to be alright.”

The frown on her face doesn’t let up, stays put as Diego and Luther lower the casket down six feet under the earth and their father throws the first handful of dirt. Klaus snorts. That was a good pony show, good ol’ Reggie truly has an eye for the showbiz.

Diego, though, looks angrier than usual. Klaus gives him another week before he packs his bags too.

That being said, he believes this is his cue.

He feels Allison’s eyes on him all the while he walks out of the cemetery, putting out his cigarette in a nearby grave. So long, fuckers, he shouts in his head as he crosses the iron gates.

Though, when he pauses to cross the street, between a car and the next, Klaus could swear he saw Ben watching him from the other side of the road.

#the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #allison hargreeves #tua #tua fic #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfic #look an ask #klaus and ben brotp tag #klaus and allison brotp #tua fic tag

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fabfemmeboy · 5 years

Text

Things about the Season 3 Finale of Handmaid's Tale that Don't Make Sense

I will say first that I preferred this episode to much of the season, even if there were parts I thought were unrealistic to the point of absurdity while I was watching it. But after a day and a half, the list of nonsense keeps growing.

June was walking with an armed escort since her walking partner is dead. While some of the girls were sneaky about their soap, it was a lot of them - and some were downright Not.Subtle. I'm not just talking about Janine, either, but let's start with her. Why didn't the guardian - whose whole job is to make sure the handmaid in his charge can't get up to something - not even notice? it wasn't like she just grinned, either, she was giddy and spoke and talked about how she couldn't wait. If my job is to make sure the person I'm guarding doesn't get up to something, in particular if I'm used to seeing myself as above the person I'm guarding, then I'm asking questions. I'm demanding answers. I'm checking the bag. This guy stands next to her and stares into space. Did she just get the guy who's really bad at his job? (How convenient!) Is he so used to assuming that "those silly women chattering on about nonsense" can't be plotting anything serious? (Really bad outlook for a guard to have) Given some of the other guardians we've seen and how they handle far less communication between handmaids, why doesn't this guy seem to give a shit? Is he secretly in the resistance, too? Is literally everyone except Fred, Serena, and Aunt Lydia?

For reference, Rebecca and her martha traveled about 12 miles by modern roads, likely much more than that when you factor darting through woods and back yards. How the hell big is the martha network that one in Lexington knew about this plot? How does a martha from central Boston, whose duties generally aren't going to let her go too much outside the city, get information all the way out there?

Oh, and how the hell did the martha get rohypnol? You can make it impossible to get antidepressants, but date-rape drugs are still floating around? Was the use of that particular substance deliberate, given the assault in Gilead, rather than simply making it sleeping pills or whatever Mrs. Lawrence took?

Speaking of whom - so Lawrence is just going to let it go that June either let his wife die or actively killed her? The look at the end of the funeral last week seemed to indicate he knew or at least suspected. But this guy, who clearly adored his wife and tried to protect her for *years*...doesn't even take his anger out on June? She's mouthing off to him and he just shrugs and lets her do it?

Rebecca looks to be about 8-10 and doesn't really remember before. She's one of the oldest kids in the bunch. The younger ones have literally never known a pre-Gilead time. Why are none of them upset at being taken somewhere? Why is not one of them crying for mommy and daddy? Why aren't any of them whining that they want to go home? Hell, it's been several hours and a lot of walking - none of them are complaining that they're bored or tired or itchy or hungry or bored. Has Gilead managed to break children of complaining? Because *that* is quite a feat! But seriously, if at age 6 my neighbor (whom I knew and trusted) had told me "we have to go now, be very quiet" and made me leave my home without my parents, I would have tried to be quiet for awhile but would have had a LOT of questions. Like why aren't Mom and Dad here? Where are they? Are they ok? What's happening? Why do we have to be quiet? Why are we going through the woods and not on the street? To avoid being seen - but why? Why can't the guards see us? They see us all the time. And if the answer came that she was taking me out of the country, I would have a lot more questions about why and why couldn't mom and dad come and what would it be like there.

And by the way, "you can be anything you want to be" doesn't really work in a world where there don't seem to be professions other than "martha" or "commander" or "lady of leisure" or "sex slave." Getting to wear whatever you want doesn't really make sense if everyone wears the same thing, either. It's not like the kid is going to think "oh, good, I can wear red because I like that colour but here only those women wear it." Like...that's not helpful. And I get that nothing she could say would be helpful to these kids because how do you explain a completely different world to someone who has no concept of what that world includes? But these are not helpful answers. So let's go with what the kids might have a concept of - what refugee children talk about when they leave: violence. Guys with guns on every corner (yay canada!). People who disappear without warning. Though maybe the kids won't have any concept of that, either, because the commanders' families are kept so isolated and protected.

Were all the kids from commanders' families? They made it sound like Rebecca was an anomaly in that regard, but technically all the guys in suits with wives and handmaids are commanders. And those are also the only homes that have marthas. Everyone else has econowives, and everyone dresses in grey - even the kids. So these children, in their pale pink and blue, they all have to be the children of commanders/wives/handmaids, right? Why were only Rebecca's parents looking for her? Sure, she'd been gone longer, but if it's getting dark and my child isn't home, I'm going to be pretty freaked out and calling the guys with guns to find her, especially given the community turmoil lately - Nicole was "kidnapped," Serena and Fred and the guy from DC were all "taken" by Canada...considering how protective everyone is of their children, particularly in this world, they don't seem to pay very close attention to the kids' whereabouts.

This has bothered me since Emily at the beginning of the season but came up again: When you're trying to avoid being seen by helicopters overhead, TAKE OFF YOUR WHITE HAT! It's bad enough you're in red...though I suppose given how few handmaids were on this adventure at least a few of them could have changed into spare martha dresses so they blend into the woods a little better. (June has several dresses, you can't tell me marthas - who cook and clean - only have one. You're telling me that the woman who thought to soap the back gate so it wouldn't squeak, who has gone undercover before, couldn't think to change into less visible clothing?) But at the very least, the white thing on top of your head is going to be incredibly visible at night, even without flashlights. Take it off ffs!

Was Janine always going to be going? Why are no other handmaids trying to get out? We have a handful of marthas who see this opportunity and are getting on a plane, but only Janine - crazy, traumatized, batshit-screwy Janine - has the wherewithall to think "...if a plane's leaving, it could take me with it too"? Has she finally stopped trying to get back to baby Angela? And if so, can she give June lessons in that because this whole "I'm staying behind to find my daughter" thing is getting to be a really old plot device.

Were we supposed to be surprised that June was wiling to forego her seat on the plane? Because from the reactions of the other characters, I think we were supposed to be, but I was never under the impression she was leaving with the kids, I assumed she was going to stay and try to do another of these hair-brained schemes in a way that got more people of colour killed because that's what she does at this point.

Why the hell did you think there wouldn't be guardians at the tarmac? Even if Rebecca weren't in the group, even if no one were looking for these kids (and they should be, btw), but just in general: it's a plane that brings things into Gilead. They're not checking for contraband? Because if they're not, then the guardian are a) stupid and b) missing out on fantastic bribery/extortion opportunities.

Did June tell Lawrence about giving away his art collection? Because poor Billy is in enough trouble already, but he thought at least he's be able to go raid that house. But now that Lawrence stayed behind, I'm just picturing the bartender showing up in a truck to take out paintings and being greeted by a very angry commander.

Not one child pops up or down from the group at the wrong time. Clearly these writers/directors have never seen an elementary school concert.

Back to the tarmac. They made a big deal about June bringing her gun. Why the fuck is she throwing rocks? Is it because she's worried she's not a good enough shot? If so, why bring it? And even then, since your goal clearly isn't to kill him - just distract him - given that you're throwing rocks which aren't going to hit him unless he's a blind moron...why not shoot his car? Shoot, as long as you hit *something* he's going to turn to look for the source, you duck, repeat, same as the rocks only at least that way poor Janine gets the fuck out of Gilead. And all the other marthas.

BTW, when June takes off running to draw the gun away from the tarmac...did everyone else go board the plane? They could have, but somehow Janine was still in Gilead. Were the rest of the rock-throwers? Because most of them are going to end up dead otherwise. But the plane only seemed to have a small handful of adults, and the only one we saw enough of to recognize was Rita.

Ok, so we get to Canada, and I have to ask: Do they just have a hanger ready for refugee planes at all times? Because this operation was very well-stocked for a plane that just departed 40 minutes ago, and given that they had no idea kids were on-board, I suspect there wasn't a whole lot of communication beforehand about the plane coming, so how did the refugee assistance people even know to go wait at a hanger? That's also a really nice hanger for a random cargo plane. Was all of that arranged in advance? Because otherwise I imagine a sudden flurry of calls to Moira and co from the head of the RAFC going "holy shit, a plane full of refugees just arrived at the airfield where the fedex planes leave from, get people down here to help!" But they've clearly been there awhile setting up and knew to expect people...but not to expect kids.

Unlike Hannah, who kind of remembers June but doesn't really feel connected to her anymore, Rebecca not only recognizes her dad but runs to him and throws her arms around him, as happy to see him as he is to see her. So she doesn't remember before, but remembers her dad clearly enough to have actively missed him. That...doesn't make a ton of sense given what we've seen so far. Like, she's happier to see her dad than Oliver was to see Emily, and Oliver has had his memories of his mom actively reinforced by Syl this whole time.

(On a separate note, the most wrenching moment of the whole episode was Luke hoping for Hannah. I love when shows use "the audience knows something the characters don't" to heighten emotions like that.)

Why, when Fred picked things to tell Tuello, did he go with pimping June out and NOT with the fact that they raped her to induce labor? Is it because Fred still thinks that was totally fine, but June/Nick was a betrayal somehow? Because given the fight they had at the house, it was clear Serena had decided after the fact that it was wrong and tried to throw it in his face when he was adamant he did it because she told him to and because he was trying to "fix [her] mess."

(Also was I the only one who thought it was going to be that she had done something way worse? Been the one left holding the bag on the terrorist act that started the civil war? Had secretly poisoned some prominent people? Hell, it wouldn't surprise me if she were the one who came up with the Ceremony in the first place, and architects of war crimes are still war criminals - hence Lawrence, remember?)

The morning after 52 children and a handful of adults escape Gilead, 6 women in bright red robes can walk through the woods near the tarmac from which the kids went missing to search for, rescue, and carry back another woman all in red...without anyone noticing. Sure, that sounds like the guardians we all know and love for convenient plot purposes.

#handmaidsonhulu #Handmaids Tale #spoilers #handmaidstaleseason3

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newt--x · 5 years

Text

I now have a bigger dose of antidepressants.

We moved while I was at the hospital

Our neighbors' cat loves our home. Since he's malnourrished and neglected, we give him food and love. He's our cat now, mom named him Mourchik. That means "the one who rrrr", because he does that sound everytime he eats.

We know we will have internet before the 23th July, but we're not sure when exactly. For now we use my stepfather's internet but that's not cheap so meh

We kinda have money problems for now, mom should have been paid the 6th, and on the 15th they still haven't looked at her documents to pay her. We don't know how we will do until she gets paid.

I'm not allowed to smoke as much as before, and I can only smoke in the toilets. (It starts next week) I will have a pack by week (the Monday), and I can only ask for one (1) cigarette more. It's my job to see how I want to smoke them: 3 everyday? I smoke all the pack during the two first days? I'll see. I'll be allowed to smoke like before when I'll be 16, like for alcohol.

We'll probably have a new computer when money and internet will be okay.

Mom probably doesn't trust me anymore with money, since I always bought the meds.

Our new appartment is beautiful. It doesn't seem real.

I happily don't have to go back at the psychiatric hospital. Even if it was a good place, no place is better than home.

I love my new room. It's smaller than the one I had before, but it's better.

I'm going to stay more out of discourse now. I know it was really bad for my mental health and after a second suicide attempt in a month, it's not possible to do it more.

I'm glad to know that, unlike the last time, I came back to see worried and lovely people, not people complaining about my lack of taken showers.

I'm going to a new school.

I will get a tutor to help with German and Maths, and my childhood friend, who's now in the same grade as me (before I skipped a grade he was higher than me of a grade), will give me his notes so I can see what I missed.

I will have less time on Tumblr now. I can use Netflix, YouTube and others all the day, but "actual" social medias (Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Amino) will be limited at 2 hours by day.

I finished reading the first Harry Potter book at the hospital and I'm going to start the second (when I'll get in a library that has it because apparently the biggest/closest library of the city doesn't???).

I have nothing to had else than: I'm really sorry for making people worry about my health. Don't worry, everything is okay. I swear. I'm fine.

#newt's stuff #long post #suicide attempt tw #smoking tw

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thewriterxo · 5 years

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Prologue to one of my stories “Keep Dreamin’”

The day started like any other. I was rushing around my kitchen with my homework dangling from my teeth and my pants falling off my hips due to the fact I hadn’t found my belt yet. The toast popped up from the toaster which startled me enough to spill the coffee in my hand all over my shirt. I complained about how hot the substance was against my skin and bounced around the room like an ape on crack. When my little sister Bella found me I had caught my balance and ripped the top from my body, throwing it towards the basement door where my mom would know it was dirty. Bella was shaking her head with a smirk, happily pouring herself a cup of coffee and not even flinching to help me.

“Great, all my shirts are dirty,” I complained and gripped the counter, hoping I could break it.

“Just take one of mine,” Bella told me. “You need to dress more girly anyways. Band shirts and oversized hoodies is tomboy attire.”

“Shut up,” I groaned and pushed her shoulder playfully while I ran for her bedroom.

Digging through the messy pile of clothes on her closet floor, I finally found a black shirt hiding in the many colorful ones. It was cropped and cut to a V at the top, and it was probably her only black shirt. I slipped into it and finally met her back in the kitchen where I was able to butter my toast and get a new cup of coffee.

“We’re going to be late again,” Bella rolled her eyes from where she stood by the front door.

“I’m coming!” I groaned and shoved both pieces of toast into my mouth so I could grab my coffee and backpack. We both fell into my moms old beat up Honda she had passed down to me.

Our mother worked as an assistant for a very successful business man and she made pretty decent pay as he was very old and she worked for him for ten years. She worked long hours and was usually gone on business trips with her boss as she needed to be with him most of the time. She made a home in a suburban neighborhood where she raised Bella and I mostly alone. My father passed away five years after my baby sister was born.

The memories I had with my father were always nice to look back on. He was my absolute best friend. I had a special bond with my father, one much different than I had with my mother. Him and I did so much together. He would always take me fishing or camping which made my love for the outdoors grow. He was always there for me at such a young age and I could never picture my life without my father. By the time I was seven he was ripped from my arms all together and I was heartbroken. Doctors had to put me on antidepressants at the age of eight because I became mute. I wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even my mother. But once I was a teen and attended junior high, I found a group of friends to break me out of my shell and show me how to have more fun. The first time I had ever been to a party was with them, and it showed me there was still things to enjoy in life.

When we had been invited to a high school party we were beyond ecstatic. Sapphire, Paige, Asia and I had planned our outfits days in advance, and made sure we looked our best for that party. I could remember walking into the crowded house, lights dim, music blasting, and smoke everywhere. The smell of alcohol would burn my nostrils and as my friends raced for the kitchen to get drinks, I wandered towards the smell of marijuana. It was so intoxicating to me that my nose dragged me into the living room where a couple of boys wearing beanies and hoodies sat dozing away on the couch. They passed around the blunt as I watched, intrigued as they inhaled and exhaled the smoke.

“You want a hit?” one boy with bloodshot eyes had asked me and I couldn’t deny his offer.

The first time I smoked weed was one of the best days that I never wanted to forget. For years I was miserable and completely unhappy what with my father gone and my mother rarely home. All I had was my sister but she couldn’t understand my pain for our father. She didn’t have the same relationship I shared with him.

After smoking that plant though I finally felt like I could smile. The feeling of my body going numb had me relaxing, all the tense muscles easing up. I danced with my friends all night and enjoyed myself. For once, I was completely in a trance of happiness and I loved it so much that everyday since that night, I’ve smoked. I wasn’t going to say I was ashamed of myself for being a pot head. Almost everyone in my school was smoking weed. Some more than others…but as long as I could be off the damn antidepressant pills then I was fine.

Arriving at school was where Bella and I parted ways. She would wander off with her friends while I’d head to the back of the school where I’d meet up with Paige and Asia.

The three of us have stayed close throughout high school, but Sapphire grew distant our freshmen year. She started to become friends with the more popular group of girls. Heather ran the group. Being the daughter of the mayor made her the most popular girl in school. If evil took a human form, it’d be those girls, much different than Sapphire, but as long as they didn’t bother me then what do I care. They’re your typical high school bullies.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Paige smiled, already stoned.

I took a seat with them on top of the rocks hidden behind trees and got passed the thing I craved the most. When I took in my first drag, I couldn’t help but feel much more relaxed.

“Look at you in a crop top,” Asia beamed with her pearly white teeth. “Borrowed your sisters clothing?”

I rolled my eyes and took another hit. The girls were like my sister, always harping on me because I rarely dressed like a girl. It didn’t matter to me what I wore. Who was I trying to impress? I wasn’t going to wake up earlier just to look cute.

Asia and Paige were the opposite. They made sure their hair looked nice, always applied makeup, and dressed cute.

“I spilled coffee on myself again,” I laughed. “All my clothes were dirty.”

I passed to Asia and rummaged through my backpack to make sure I had my homework. I then pulled out my usual dark green oversized jacket and flung it around myself. Paige shook her head and laughed.

“This history test has me stressed,” Paige groaned and indulged herself with a conversation about school work. Asia focused in on her ramble while I leaned back and enjoyed the numbness my body consumed.

Every time I got high I would think of my mother for a split second. She knew what I was doing and she didn’t like it. It took me forever to convince her this was better for me than popping pills to make myself happy. I’ve gotten so used to the antidepressants that they weren’t even working anymore. Weed was different, it would always work.

By the time I was in third period I was already falling asleep. I wasn’t able to smoke last night considering I ran out of my supply, so I got a shitty night of sleep. I tapped my pen frantically on top of my books as I watched my classmates pile in, trying desperately to keep my eyes open. I watched Sapphire walk in with her long blonde hair burned straight and her plaid mini skirt nearly riding up. She didn’t even pass me a glance and sat all the way across the room where she normally sat. It appalled me how a person could let so many years of friendship fall apart just to be popular. I knew Sapphire the longest out of my friends. In kindergarten she was the new girl and no one really wanted to be friends with the new kid. I was the only one who sat with her, who’d play with her, and who’d be her friend. Now look at us. She walks past as if she had no idea who I was. I guess that’s what happens when you let your ego get the better of you.

When school was finally finished I dropped Bella off at a friends house and headed downtown where my dealer lived. The apartment building was plain and blended in with the rest. Worn down and ready to collapse. I was always worried walking up the long flight of stairs as they squeaked and shook every time I walked on them.

James pulled open his door when I knocked and I stepped inside, making myself comfortable on his shitty couch. Prescription bottles covered his crusty coffee table as usual and there was a line of white dust already set up. After James snorted the line he sat next to me and cleared his scratchy throat.

“I ran out of weed,” I told the boy and he nodded.

“I know. Why else would you be here?”

James was dangerous. Tattoos covered nearly his entire body and his muscles told anyone that he was the wrong one to mess with. But I knew he had a soft spot for me. I was the only client he’d even allow in his home. His brother and him sold more than just weed, and considering they were the only dealers in town they made bank.

“The thing is, I don’t have the cash right now,” I told him and bit my bottom lip.

James looked my way and sighed heavily. “Kelsey,” he began. “You already owe me three-hundred-“

“I know, I know,” I stopped him. “I told you I’m going to get it to you. I just got to ask my mom for some cash. I haven’t seen her.”

“You’re telling me that you haven’t seen your mom in two months?”

I bit my lip even harder and moved awkwardly where I sat. The truth was it was always hard getting money from my mom. She knew what it was for and she’d always tell me to find my own way to get the cash.

“James please. You know I need it.”

James took the blunt he had from his ear and began to smoke it, not answering me and instead staring off into space. He would eventually cave and give me what I wanted, and I would tell him I’ll pay him back and be on my way. So I just sat there and waited.

“I’m giving you half than what you normally take,” he finally told me and I smiled, reaching over to kiss his cheek.

James passed me the blunt and I couldn’t deny it. I stared down at the prescription bottles filled with pills and wondered what the big deal was. If weed made me feel this good, then how good could those make me feel? I’ve never tried it and never really thought of it. But gazing at the pills now had my brain souring with questions.

“Think you could sell me something stronger?” I asked him, motioning towards the table.

“No way. I’m not going to let you get hooked on that shit. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh c’mon,” I scoffed. “Just to try?”

“You don’t just ‘try’ hard drugs. You get hooked. And considering the shit that goes on in your head, I already see you becoming a feen.”

“You’re no fun,” I groaned and leaned back comfortably.

When I became determined to do something, I’d find a way to do it. And I began to grow even more curious as to how these pills could make me feel.

#writer #story #author #drug #teen #fiction

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arielleyoga-blog1 · 5 years

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Positivity

When I first decided I wanted to write a blog, I asked my instagram buddies what topic’s they’d like to hear about. And one that I got more than once was “How are you always so positive?”

Which was surprising to read more than once, as well as flattering. One of my friends, who I think is the bubbliest sweetest angel on earth specifically said “Even when you’re having a hard day or going through a tough time you’re so positive and joyful. How?!”

And it got me thinking...am I actually that positive of a person? And if so, just like they asked...how? I think the first part has to do with my natural disposition: I have always been a super sweet kid. I always cared about other people, and animals (animals more duh), and have ever since I was little really seen the good in everyone and wanted the best. That’s definitely just part of who I am, I think. However, it’s not all of who I am.

I mentioned in my last blog that I suffered from clinical depression in college. Before that, when I was young I had some body image issues and eating issues. I’ve always had issues feeling confident: in fact, this blog is really REALLY hard and scary for me. I just don’t feel like anyone cares. My mind instantly goes to “Why would anyone care? Who am I? I’m not special.” While it’s natural for me to see the good in others, it is also natural for me to see the not-good in myself. So the jump from that to depression took one thing: the death of my friend Scott Preston.

Scott and I met freshman year in high school and we just clicked. We were definitely an odd pair of friends, but I saw the good in him and loved him very much. He ended up leaving our school, but we stayed in touch and I’d go hang out with him sometimes at lunch or after school on the days I had my mom’s car.

Scott smoked pot a lot: but so did a lot of my friends. I didn’t...yet. So it wasn’t a big deal or alarm for me. Scott also, like me, got migraines. So, one day when we were hanging out after I had surgery on my hand, he asked for my extra vicodin. Again, being the sweet-seeing the best in people-young girl that I was, I didn’t even think about it. Plus he said it was for his migraines. I gave him the vicodin.

A week later, his dad came in and yelled at him about his grandmother’s medication being missing. After his dad walked out, he admitted he was taking her meds from her. All I could muster up was “Scott, you shouldn’t do that. You should be careful.” And about a month later, he crashed his Dodge Ram into a tree almost killing himself and his friend. He went into rehab and I just kept waiting to call. Feeling responsible somehow. My feelings of guilt for not saying more kept me from calling. And my need to be liked and not upset people is what kept me from saying more that afternoon when I had the chance.

I talked about him to my new college friends, and really was planning on calling him soon. And then, I got a phone call that Scott was dead. And I took it all on as my fault. I became incredibly depressed and was in danger of seriously hurting myself. I got help, saw a therapist who sent me to a psychiatrist and got put on medication. Then more medication. Which made me numb. But not depressed. When I smoked pot it brought me up enough that I was my old self. But I didn’t want to be taking antidepressants and smoking pot to feel normal. So, I made the decision when I ran out of meds to just not renew my prescription knowing that the chances of my depression coming back was pretty much 100%.

And guess what? I was right, I relapsed. And something else happened in my life that was pretty terrible. But I remember that when that second event occurred I said “Losing Scott took me to a dark place, and I will not give this other person the honor to mean as much to me as Scott did and pull me back. I’ll get through this.” I talked A LOT about my feelings. I journaled. I did yoga. And I let myself cry when I wanted to. Eventually, I came up for air. I personally give yoga all the credit: But I think my willpower had a lot to do with it too.

Ever since then, it truly has been a “It’s not worth it to go back there” mentality to me. I know what it’s like to want to end it, I know what it’s like to hurt yourself, I know what it’s like to live in this dark cloud where you feel nothing but sad and empty. And life is too short to live that way.

So how do I stay positive? Well, I constantly focus on the things I HAVE!

We live in a culture that thrives off of us being in a “lack” mentality. Like sheep. “I don’t have time” is usually the thought when we wake up. I don’t have energy, I don’t have enough money, I’m not skinny enough...when I make this much money or have this phone or this car...blah blah bullshit. YOU HAVE SO MUCH.

I always focus on the gifts of my life: which truly are plentiful. I’m healthy. I have use of my limbs. I can breathe without machines. I live in a country that for the most part allows me as a woman to LIVE (right now some horrible stuff is happening in the South and Midwest) but: I was able to get an education. I went to the top public college in the country UCLA, thanks to loans that I’m still paying off, grants, and work study. I work hard and I am grateful I get to work. I get to vote. I can wear whatever I want. I have a strong amazing mom that supports me even when she doesn’t agree with me. My list goes on!

And when things have gotten bad: like when my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer and my whole world came crumbling down, I found a way through. I cried, I was scared. I journaled and I prayed and I thanked God for finding it early and for giving us the opportunity to get her healthy. I focused not on my fear or her cancer, but on her recovery even before we knew if that was a thing. I was thankful I had friends that I could call when she told me so they could rally around me for support. That bought groceries and meals for us, that helped ME get through it: because as an only child of a single parent it was a lot to handle. It’s a lot to handle no matter what: it’s cancer. I was thankful that I had the ability to work through my fear and sadness at my job. Teaching yoga helped me, and even more so being able to talk with my students about it: in fact, one class two of my student’s asked me straight up what was going on: Mellisa and Heather. And they both had dealt with very similar things and were there for me. What a blessing! Now, every time...okay, not EVERY, but almost every time I get frustrated or annoyed with my mom, I remind myself that I’d rather her be here alive and healthy to drive me nuts than for her to be gone. I’m so grateful she’s cancer-free now! Oh moms!

I focus on the good. It’s a HABIT you have to cultivate, like working out and eating well. BUT it makes it so when you get in a car accident: you’re grateful it wasn’t worse. So when you’re in traffic: you’re grateful you have a vehicle and a place to go. When somebody is a dick: you’re grateful you aren’t them and don’t treat people like that.

Things can ALWAYS be worse. And for me, they have been. So what a gift it is to have this moment, and to choose to focus on how fortunate I am and how much I have.

I make a conscious decision to live life through a lens of gratitude and abundance, not of lacking. You can do that, too! I know the best way to start, is to every single day think of 5 things you’re thankful for. You can do it in the morning in bed, or before bed in a gratitude journal, OR BOTH! Also: tell your friend’s you appreciate them out of the blue. When you put that good out there, it comes back to you!

And that doesn’t mean I don’t get sad or mad. But when I do, I just let that happen. I feel it, because that’s important. I’ll usually vent to my husband or one of my best friends. And then eventually, I breathe and let it go and focus on the good. It’s not always easy. There are times where my mind is like “yes I know this could be worse...” but my heart is still upset. But eventually, you get there.

Also, sometimes, I think of a friend I’ve lost-like the amazing Laura Allio. And if I’m about to complain about something, I remember how much I wish she were alive to be able to bitch about it...and also that she wouldn’t. And that it’s a gift to even be able to complain, or move my body when I’m tired, to have a job to have to go to...yada yada. And that will get me right back on track.

My mom always used to say to me growing up (because she had quite an emotional daughter that cried a lot) “Is this going to bother you in 3 days? In 3 weeks? In 3 months? THEN LET IT GO!’ lol And she's right. As mom’s tend to be. Most of the things we get SO bogged down by, don't affect us a few days later. So why let it taint the day you’re living now? Another thing I did that was SO helpful with journaling are mantra meditations. So I pick a few mantra’s I like and I play some binaural beats from youtube. I sit with my eyes closed. I inhale, and on my exhale I say the mantra. Sometimes out loud. Sometimes in my head. Certain mantras will INSTANTLY create a smile. Here are some of my favorites:

“I deserve love.”

“I am the light.”

“My income is constantly increasing.”

“I allow my life to move with ease and joy.”

If you haven't heard of Louise Hay, I HIGHLY SUGGEST looking her up. One of her go-to’s is to say “I love you (enter your name here)” while looking in the mirror. She has an amazing little book called “Heal your body” where she gives you mantras for actual ailments your body! It’s AMAZING! I’m thankful for you. For your support. For your time. For reading this. For being here in the world. Remember to choose to look at how abundant you are! I mean, you’re reading a blog on the internet right now! WHAT IS THAT?! There are people in this world that don’t even have clean water, not to mention the ability to sit somewhere (because so help me god if you are driving I will come after you) and read a blog post about positivity!

Thank you thank you!

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justasmalltowngeek · 5 years

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So let's talk about bullying

It isn't like it is in the movies. Everyone experiences it differently and either survive it... or they don't.

For me, bullying was more of this insidious entity, small things that at the time were not particularly unique or could be written off as 'kids being kids.' But like all things that are 'no big deal,' over time it became one.

I was this weird little girl who snuck books to recess and got scolded by teachers for it. I was reading poetry anthologies for fun when I was eight. I wrote my 5th grade creative writing assessment about pokemon and got an A. I read Jurassic Park when I was eleven and understood everything.

I was friends with the librarian, guidance counselors, and the school nurse throughout my public school career. Because otherwise I had no friends until my sophomore year of high school. My twin sister was put in different classes (to promote "independence") and wouldn't talk to me at school even when we were together because she got made fun for daring to talk to her own fucking sister.

I had my own strand of cooties that the other kids would call "Sabrina Germs." They would run away screaming when they saw me coming and would pretend to be spreading Sabrina Germs to the other kids if I touched someone. This started when I seven and there were kids still doing it ten years later in our senior year.

Once, I brought a stuffed animal to play with during recess and left it to the side while I played on the jungle gym. By the time I returned, my classmates had taken it and buried it underneath a tree. When I complained to a teacher, she told me it was my fault for bringing a toy to recess. She didn't so much as tell the others to not do it again.

When I was eleven, a classmate kicked in my bathroom stall door, chipping my tooth and giving me a busted lip and black eye. My parents filed assault charges on all three girls thought to be responsible, despite the principal practically begging my father not to because it would go their record until they turned 16. My dad's only response was to yell "Good!" and frogmarch me out the door and to the police station. The only reason a parent had been called at all was because I spent over ten minutes wailing about wanting my mom and dad. I spent 6 months at risk of my front tooth dying because neither the school or the girls' parents were willing to help cover the cost of the surgery needed to fix it. To my knowledge, those girls were not punished any further and one of them moved to a new school not a month after the incident.

I once mentioned in passing the possibility of me moving up to Ohio with my mom should she and her boyfriend at the time get married. General consensus was "Thank god; I can't wait." I also mistakenly believed at the time that my family had lived in florida until my sister and I had turned 2, and had moved to Tennessee then. Several classmates said they wished I had stayed in florida.

When I was 13, a so called friend told me to my face that I was going to hell for not believing in God and so were my parents for daring to raise me to make my own choices about religion. She then acted like nothing happened and was confused as to why I stopped talking to her for a year. To the day we graduated, she never understood why I was so offended and insulted. No matter how many times I tried to explain how hurtful it was to hear that from someone I called a friend.

It was that year, at 13, that my Persistent Depressive Disorder (also known as dysthymia) reached a point where it could have been easily diagnosed, though I had been showing symptoms since I was about 10 years old. Unfortunately, at the same time, my sister was diagnosed with leukemia, and my depression was swept under the rug as a reaction to her diagnosis. They thought my dropping grades were a cry for attention instead of the depression, despite the fact I'd never gotten anything less than an A+ in english and was suddenly failing.

My classmates interactions with sister improved as a result of their sympathy for her, but did not extend to me. The summer before our first year in high school, I decided to shave my head for charity and as a show of support for my sister. I was repeatedly mistaken for a boy by teachers and called a dyke and/or a lesbian. My sister once had to defend me when she overheard girls in her class mocking my shaved head, asked them if that meant they had a problem with her own lack of hair. They of course said "no it's just that Sabrina looks so awful", to which she told them to shut up, because if they had a problem with a sister showing her support for a sick sibling, they obviously had one with her. My sister and I had such different appearances that most of the school had no idea we were even related, let alone twins.

It took until my senior year of high school before my parents even thought to put me on medication, let alone send me to therapy. It was only when I began skipping my university classes to the point where I ended up dropping out that things were really brought into focus. When I revealed to my therapist my thoughts about how I wished I could just stop existing, that I wouldn't be too upset if a truck ran me over while I was crossing the street. How I would never kill myself because I didn't want to do that to my family, but it would be okay if I died in an accident.

People say that 'kids being kids' have no lasting effects. That its just them having a bit of fun. No one ever wonders what the subject of the ridicule might think.

I have a form of long lasting depression, I have to force myself to look others in the face, let alone the eyes; I spent over a year attending weekly therapy sessions while also taking antidepressants. I'm finally up to biweekly sessions but my dosage has been increased to better handle my anxiety. I will be needing my meds for years, long after most people with depression would, possibly for the rest of my life.

Everyone's experience with bullying is different. Some people don't survive the wounds it gives them. There is no such thing as temporary pain, only the scars it leaves behind.

#depression #anti bullying #bullying #mentions of violence #smalltowngeek #geek central #geek problems

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a-woman-apart · 6 years

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Gratitude

The “season of gratitude” is upon us. I understand that the holiday Thanksgiving has terrible roots, and I am not trying to excuse any of that when I participate with it. For most of us- but especially for me- the holiday has another meaning entirely. We aren’t thanking God for the slaughter of our “enemies”, but we’re thankful for things like home, family, and friends. In my strict religious household, Thanksgiving was the only holiday that we really celebrated, and it was something that I could look forward to each year. The 2017 Thanksgiving to Christmas holiday season was the last holiday season that I got to spend with my dad before he died. Some of his siblings were able to visit around that time, as well as one friend of his that he had known since college.

Even though this will be my first Thanksgiving without my dad, it isn’t hard for me to find things to be grateful for. I am close with my immediate family, even if I feel the need to tread carefully with them sometimes regarding religious and political issues. We’ve not only been celebrating Christmas and Thanksgiving together, but we’ve also been sharing food and fun for all our birthdays (thanks to my wonderful sister-in-law). I have an associate degree under my belt, and I’m looking forward to continuing my education next year. My boyfriend is a constant source of emotional support for me. Thanks to my mom helping me financially, I don’t have to be burdened with finding new or additional work until 2019.

Despite all these wonderful things, I would be lying if I said that I haven’t struggled with my motivation and mood. I texted my sister-in-law and told her I wasn’t feeling well. I complained that I had slept for 14 hours last night, but still felt tired, and laid out a laundry list of things that were bothering me. I had overspent a little bit and was worried about money (yes, this is even with my mom having helped me out). I tried so hard to be happy but continued “slipping up”.

She first probed me on what might be wrong and suggested going to a movie or spending time with friends. Then she kindly chided me by saying that I should focus on gratitude, and stop worrying about things that I couldn’t control, things to which God says, “Let it go.” I don’t necessarily believe in divine intervention, but I could appreciate the spirit and wisdom of her words. She said to just believe that my needs would be met. It’s true that I cannot control the fact that my bank accounts are looking a little light these days, but I can have simple faith that I will be able to cut back and/or find a solution.

Her words reminded me of something said by Chris Boutte, of The Rewired Soul channel on YouTube. He said that the extent of his theology is that he simply “believes that things are going to work out.” He didn’t even say that his belief is grounded in the law of attraction, as it is for many people, but he did seem to imply that he believes in “karma”, or the idea that if you do good, good things will happen, and if you do bad then you can expect bad things. Either way, just having a simple hope in the future is so vital, whether you feel that it’s accurate scientifically or statistically, or not. There is so much that is out of our control, that it is just as easy to focus the mind on the good outcome as the bad one.

Of course, it is very frustrating to continuously war with the pessimistic side of my nature, so much so that I sometimes want to give up entirely. It’s worth noting that calling my depression merely a side effect of pessimism is inaccurate. This doesn’t change the fact that it feels like my own brain is working against me. I had been doing so well with my new medication (Effexor) but today I found myself dealing with suicidal thoughts again. They weren’t “strong”- if that’s an accurate descriptor- but they were sort of rumbling under the surface. There were thoughts like:

“If it’s this much work to be happy, is it really worth it?”

“You’ve been volunteering, using your coping skills, taking walks in the sunshine, and taking new medication, and you still aren’t ‘over’ this yet. Will you ever be?”

“Just look at yourself- still can’t get over your depression. Is life worth living if it isn’t the life you want?”

“Look how tired you are. You’ll never make it through next week.”

I could keep going. It just feels like I’ve been coming up against a brick wall.

I tried to refer to Johann Hari’s book, “Lost Connections.” In the book, he talks about taking antidepressants for over 13 years. During that time, he would experience relief from his depression, but it wouldn’t last. His symptoms would return, and they would increase his dose, and each time the cycle would repeat. In the meantime, he kept gaining weight, he was sweating more and more, and his heart would race. If his depression was just a result of a chemical imbalance in his brain, then why weren’t the drugs working? He finally decided that he would devote himself to investigating the “real” causes of depression.

Johann came up with 9 causes of depression, and all the causes except 8 and 9 had to do with the environment, not solely with the brain or biology. He cited things like lack of meaningful work, lack of meaningful values, poor expectations for the future, unresolved childhood trauma, and lack of connection with other people and nature as some of the causes. It is true that when we experience these things, our brains react in response, but the source is outside, not inside. Even when we do have a genetic predisposition to addiction, depression, or anxiety, those genes are often not activated unless something in the environment triggers them.

These reasons explain why so many- though not all- people respond to antidepressants like Johann Hari did if they are treated only with antidepressants and nothing in their lives changes. They either must continuously increase their dose like he did, or like me, must change medications periodically because the original meds stop working. Note, he did not explore the efficacy of antipsychotics or mood stabilizers, so as far as I know those drugs may have better benefits. I know that I have not had mania or major depression since being on lithium, but my anxiety and dysthymia have persisted for years. Chronic low energy and mood have been an unending struggle.

So, if my problem isn’t just chemicals in my brain being too low or out of sync, then what is the problem? As I went through the list, “Lack of meaningful work” and “Disconnection from a Hopeful Future” kept jumping out at me. I love my job, and it is the most convenient job for me to have while trying to go to school, but I have been there almost 4 years and am dying to do something different. I even wouldn’t mind working at another library. I just want a change of scenery or pace. I am thinking of applying for a new job within the same library that pays a little bit more, but honestly, I would rather just go somewhere new.

It isn’t even that the work isn’t challenging enough or that mere boredom is stopping me. I have plenty of tasks to do most of the time. I just designed new brochures, I do some of the displays every month, and I’m still learning new things. Somehow, though, it’s gotten monotonous, and maybe I should stop trying to apologize for feeling that way about it.

The “Disconnection from a Hopeful Future” thing is also rolled into it, but it also doesn’t make sense to me. I have a hopeful future. I am going back to school in the spring, and that will set me on my way to start getting my bachelor’s degree. Ideally, once I have that I’ll be able to get a better job, start making more money, and finally move in with my boyfriend (if we’re still together then). We could even get a nice place together.

Somehow though, my current situation drains me of hope. I feel stuck when I think of 2+ years of working at this same library and commuting to and from classes every day. Even when I zoom in a little bit closer to now, I think of still having to depend on my mom for the next 2.5 months until I can go back to school and get my financial aid refund, and it fills me with dread. I don’t know why I feel so bad about leaning on her, but I do. Even with her help- and the raise I got from my job- I still won’t have a whole lot of money for extra expenditures. That means I can’t get gifts for everyone like I got them last year. My sister-in-law did point out that it’s not about the gifts, and my family never really celebrated Christmas, so I don’t think they’ll really miss them. It just felt nice to do that for them, so not being able to now feels sad.

Even as I write this, I find myself being drawn to the negative. I want to instead pull the post back in the positive direction. Sure, I don’t have a lot of money for gifts, but my older brother and my sister-in-law have invited me to come over to their house for Christmas. It is our tradition to stay up into the early morning putting together toys for the children. It started with my nephew but now that my niece is 1 year old, I believe that toys for her will be included. That already is something to look forward to. Sooner than that still, my mom’s sister is coming in to town and we will all be spending Thanksgiving together. My own sisters cook various tasty dishes, including a delicious mushroom stuffing that my youngest sister makes. The last thing I want to do is take what should be a beautiful family holiday and turn it into a crisis, and that is exactly what I would be doing if I let these dark thoughts take over my life.

Maybe it feels like I am trapped in a routine, but I’m not. Maybe when I need to take days off work because of my health, it seems like a failure, but it isn’t. I can only control how I am today. I can’t guarantee that I will feel good tomorrow. I can’t guarantee that I will even have a tomorrow. All I can do is be mindful and focus on the present.

Because of The Rewired Soul, and a chapter in Johann Hari’s book, I do want to practice mindfulness and meditation a little bit more. Mindfulness is about just learning to bring your mind back to the present, to really be aware of your surroundings and to exist in the moment. Meditation has been proven to genuinely change your brain chemistry and the way that you think, shifting your focus from negative emotions like jealousy, anger and self-pity and putting you into a more open, compassionate, and joyful state of mind. As everything else that he listed, this is only part of a bigger practice of health and wellness.

I do not know where you’re at this holiday season. Maybe the holidays are a source of pain for you, and I can understand why that might be. Maybe you feel like a hopeful future feels far-off and impossible to get to. Maybe you feel discouraged and alone. I can’t really offer a whole lot of assurance for you, because I’m often in the same boat. All I know is that you must keep breathing, and you must treat every day like it is a new day filled with opportunity. This is hard to do when you’re living paycheck to paycheck, or if you or someone you love is sick, you are struggling to make it through school, and/or you’re working at a job that has little meaning for you. Saying to “hang in there” seems like an empty platitude, but if you think about the alternative, it isn’t great. I say this as much for me as for anybody else- giving up will get you nowhere. There’s always something to be thankful for, however small, and it is the small joys in life- not this big impossible feeling of “having arrived”- that are dependable and can help to pull us through.

#thanksgiving #holidays #loved ones #grief #depression #anxiety #schizoaffective disorder #bipolar disorder #gratitude #giving thanks #struggling #therewiredsoul #chris boutte #johann hari #lost connections #lost connections book

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your-dietician · 3 years

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Women Say There Are Too Many Barriers To Accessing Postpartum Depression Drug : Shots

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/women-say-there-are-too-many-barriers-to-accessing-postpartum-depression-drug-shots/

Women Say There Are Too Many Barriers To Accessing Postpartum Depression Drug : Shots

Miriam McDonald developed postpartum depression after giving birth to her third son, Nicholas. She says she felt sad, disconnected, and indifferent.

Keith McDonald

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Keith McDonald

Miriam McDonald developed postpartum depression after giving birth to her third son, Nicholas. She says she felt sad, disconnected, and indifferent.

Keith McDonald

When Miriam McDonald decided she wanted to have another baby at age 44, her doctor told her she had a better chance of winning the lottery. So when she got pregnant right away, she and her husband were thrilled. But within three days of giving birth to their son, in September 2019, everything turned.

“I was thinking, ‘Oh my God, what did I do?’ I just brought this baby into this world and I can barely take care of myself right now,” she says. “I feel exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days. I haven’t really eaten in three days.”

As the weeks went by, her depression got worse. She felt sad, but also indifferent. She didn’t want to hold her baby, she didn’t want to change him. She says she felt no connection with him at all.

This confused her – she never felt anything like this after her first two kids – and she worried her mood might hurt her son. Untreated postpartum depression can affect babies’ cognitive and social development. For the mother, it can be life or death. Suicide accounts for 20% of maternal deaths.

“Every day, I was crying. Every day, I felt like I just wanted to die. Every day, I thought about ending my life,” says McDonald, who lives in Vacaville, Calif. and works as an IT professional at the University of California, Davis.

She went to Kaiser Permanente, her healthcare provider, for help. She says doctors there put her on a merry-go-round of medication trial and error. The first drug her doctor prescribed made her anxious. Upping the dose of a second drug gave her horrific nightmares. A third drug gave her auditory and visual hallucinations that took seven weeks to go away after she stopped taking it.

Then, her psychiatrist retired. And when McDonald complained to her new psychiatrist that she was still depressed, four months after giving birth, the physician suggested more medications.

“I was desperate,” McDonald said. “I was like, ‘I’m trying to help myself, but things are just getting worse.’ So what am I left with?”

She started doing her own research and learned about a new treatment, called brexanolone. It’s the first and only drug approved by the FDA specifically to treat postpartum depression, which affects 1 out of 8 new mothers in the U.S. Instead of targeting the serotonin system in the brain, like many antidepressants, brexanolone replenishes a hormone metabolite that gets depleted after childbirth — allopregnanolone. Some doctors call allopregnanolone, which is produced by progesterone, “nature’s Valium” because it helps regulate neurotransmitters that affect mood. After giving birth, natural levels of estrogen, progesterone and allopregnanolone all plummet rapidly, making some women vulnerable to postpartum depression. Brexanolone is a synthetic version of allopregnanolone, delivered through an IV infusion over the course of 60 hours. It costs $34,000.

In clinical trials, 75% of women who got brexanolone started to feel better immediately after the 3-day treatment. Half the women went into remission. In the placebo group, 56% of women responded and a quarter went into remission. In practice, doctors are seeing the effectiveness of the drug in the field that mirror the results of the trials.

“People walk out of the hospital, wanting to be with their child, wanting to return home,” said Dr. Riah Patterson, who has been treating women with brexanolone at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill since it became available in the summer of 2019. “There is a hopefulness, a brightness. You can really see that transformation in the hospital room over those 60 hours. It’s pretty miraculous.”

For the first year of her son’s life, Miriam McDonald says all her smiles were fake or strained. She struggled to find effective treatment for severe postpartum depression.

Keith McDonald

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Keith McDonald

McDonald wanted to try it.

But when she asked her doctor for brexanolone, she was told no. In an email, the doctor wrote that the existing studies were “not very impressive.” She added that McDonald did not meet Kaiser Permanente’s criteria for the drug: she would first have to try — and fail to improve with — four medications and electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) before she could try brexanolone. And she had to be six months or less postpartum to try it at all. For Miriam, the clock had run out. She wondered, How could anyone qualify?

“This is crazy. By the time you even try one drug, that’s like four weeks out,” she says. “Another drug is four weeks out, another drug is four weeks out. There’s just no way.”

Kaiser Permanente’s guidance is an outlier. An analysis of guidelines from a dozen health plans revealed that three of them require women to fail treatment with at least one other medication before trying brexanolone. One plan, California’s Medicaid program for low-income women, requires two fails. But Kaiser is the only system NPR found that recommends women first fail four drugs, as well as ECT.

“That’s absurd. So I’m assuming no woman will ever have the opportunity to try brexanolone?” says UNC’s Patterson, one of several experts in postpartum depression who questioned Kaiser’s guidance.

“That is abusive,” says Bethany Sasaki, who runs the Midtown Birth Center in Sacramento and is licensed to administer brexanolone. “Asking someone to fail four oral antidepressants is an unacceptable burden that will undoubtedly create more harm than good.“

Psychiatrist Shannon Clark, who’s been administering brexanolone at UC Davis Medical Center for the last two years, seeing positive results, says there are a lot of reasons new moms may not be candidates for one medication, let alone four: taking pills while breastfeeding could be too anxiety-provoking; some women may not be able to adhere to a daily pill regimen; or they may have a liver condition that contraindicates those medications. Clark called Kaiser’s guidance “terrible” and “insane.”

It could also be illegal, according to some California lawmakers and mental health advocates. Under a California state law that took effect this January, health plans must conform to generally accepted standards of care, including scientific literature and expert consensus, when making decisions about mental health treatment.

“If Kaiser is making it effectively impossible to get a particular, important mental health treatment, that could definitely be a violation of our parity law,” says State Senator Scott Wiener, the bill’s author.

Kaiser officials responded by saying they always follow the law. They also say its integrated structure — as both the health insurer and the health provider — makes it different from traditional insurers. At Kaiser, a patient’s doctor determines whether a medication is appropriate, not the health plan, and the criteria doctors use are recommendations, not requirements or pre-requisites that patients need to “exhaust,” says Dr. Maria Koshy, Kaiser’s chair of psychiatry for Northern California.

“At the end of the day, this is an individual clinical decision by both the provider – the physician – and the patient,” she says.

But inside Kaiser, the workplace culture is such that doctors are expected to follow these recommendations, according to former Kaiser clinicians who spoke on background — as well as legislative experts familiar with Kaiser’s model. They say that when Kaiser doctors deviate from the recommendations, they can get questioned or even face consequences.

“These physicians know that if they start routinely ignoring these bad recommendations, that that could have impacts on them professionally,” says Wiener, who has worked on several bills aimed at regulating Kaiser and other insurers in California. “Whether it’s couched as a recommendation or a requirement is almost irrelevant. It has the same effect.”

To McDonald, her physician seemed to follow the recommended criteria as if they were requirements when she declined to prescribe brexanolone. Another patient, Yesenia Munoz, got a similar response when she sought brexanolone treatment. Kaiser’s grievance department sent her a letter denying the request because she had not failed enough medications.

“When I talked to the caseworker at Kaiser that had denied the medication, he said that Zulresso was very expensive,” said Muñoz, referring to brexanolone’s brand name.

In addition to the $34,000 cost for brexanolone, the three-day hospital stay can tack on another $30,000, at least. Another complicating factor is the FDA requirement that health centers obtain a special certification to infuse brexanolone, because of the risks of excessive sedation or fainting from the drug. Kaiser Permanente doesn’t have the certifications yet to administer the treatment at its own hospitals, so it must pay outside hospitals to provide it for Kaiser patients. Kaiser officials say they have plans to eventually open three of their own certified centers in Northern California.

Muñoz, 35, was devastated by the denial. She was overwhelmed by postpartum depression and anxiety shortly after her daughter was born in August 2020. But none of the medications or therapies Kaiser offered her worked. Four months after giving birth, she still felt suicidal.

“I could get out the door sometimes and take the stroller and go walk, and my mind kept on saying, ‘If you just step in front of the car, it’s all going to go away,” she remembers.

After Yesenia Muñoz appealed to state regulators and received brexanolone, she says she felt calm and “happy enough to want to live.”

Rafael Munoz

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Rafael Munoz

After Yesenia Muñoz appealed to state regulators and received brexanolone, she says she felt calm and “happy enough to want to live.”

Rafael Munoz

Muñoz got help from family members and co-workers to appeal Kaiser’s decision to the state, and after reviewing her medical records, regulators ordered Kaiser to pay for the brexanolone treatment.

Muñoz received the treatment at UC Davis Medical Center, and she started feeling better within the first day.

“The nurse came in and she said something funny and I laughed,” Muñoz says. “It was the first time I had laughed in so long.”

She started looking through photos and videos of her daughter on her phone and she says it was like she was experiencing those moments for the first time. She started making plans for the future.

“It was like a switch flicked and it made me happy enough to want to live,” she says. “It saved my life.”

Sage Therapeutics, the makers of brexanolone, says Kaiser’s approach to the new drug reflects a “a lack of a sense of urgency for treating mental health.” Dr. Steve Kanes, Sage’s chief medical officer, says the company is working on making the treatment more accessible. Its biggest challenge has been getting enough health centers certified, across a wide enough geography, to reach women who need it. The company is studying a pill form of allopregnanolone that could eliminate the need for a hospital stay, but Kanes says that is still not close to being commercially available.

In 2008, Congress passed a landmark federal law aimed at correcting disparities between how insurers pay for mental health treatments compared to physical health. The Mental Health Parity and Addiction Equity Act was later reinforced by provisions in the Affordable Care Act in 2010. But insurers found loopholes, creating overly restrictive or self-serving criteria that made it easy to deny services for mental health care, and as a result, save money.

California’s new law, SB 855, aimed to tighten those loopholes, and has been hailed by advocates as a national model for mental health reform. It requires health plans to use clinically-based, expert-recognized criteria and guidelines in making medical decisions, with the goal of limiting arbitrary or cost-driven denials for treatments of mental health or substance use disorders.

Kaiser operates in 8 states and Washington, DC. In California, it is the largest insurer, holding a 40% share of the market, covering 9.2 million patients. Kaiser officials have questioned how the new state law applies to the Kaiser system, given its unique integrated structure as both health insurer and medical provider. For example, Dr. Maria Koshy, the Kaiser psychiatrist, told NPR that SB 855’s requirement to comply with generally accepted standards of care “does not apply” to its brexanolone recommendations because they were developed and are used by the doctors, not the health plan administrators. When NPR asked Kaiser to provide the brexanolone policy its health plan uses for grievances or appeals, it said it didn’t have one.

“We 100% intended this law to apply to the care people get at Kaiser,” says Julie Snyder, government affairs director at the Steinberg Institute, which co-sponsored the law. “There is no place where we say Kaiser is exempt” because of its integrated structure.

Doctors at Kaiser have historically been “gatekeepers” for services in the system, more so than doctors who work with traditional insurers, says Meiram Bendat, an attorney and licensed psychotherapist who also advised legislators as the law was being drafted. It doesn’t matter if practice recommendations for brexanolone were written by doctors or administrators, or whether the recommendations are mandatory or optional, Bendat says, they must be in compliance with the law.

“If it’s inconsistent with generally accepted standards of care, then it has no place in California,” he says.

Some of Kaiser’s recommended criteria for brexanolone are aligned with generally accepted standards of care; for example, reserving the drug for women who are six months or less postpartum, which was a criterion used in the clinical trials the FDA relied on when it approved the drug.

But the recommendation that patients first try four or five alternative depression treatments before considering brexanolone conflicts with the judgment of half a dozen women’s health experts interviewed for this story. They say there just isn’t enough time to do that in the postpartum period — and too much is at stake.

Not only are babies at risk of developmental and emotional problems if their mother is depressed, husbands and partners are also at higher risk for depression and anxiety. And because new moms are learning to breastfeed, and figuring out what’s part of the new normal and what’s not, it can take months just to realize there’s a problem, explains UNC’s Dr. Riah Patterson.

“It takes so long for this illness to come to recognition and for someone to actually get into an appointment and actually be seen by a provider,” she says.

Dr. Riah Patterson, a specialist in perinatal psychiatry, discusses patients and treatment plans with her trainee, a 3rd year psychiatry resident at the Center for Women’s Mood Disorders at UNC-Chapel Hill.

Madison Piotrowski/UNC Health

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Madison Piotrowski/UNC Health

Indeed, the FDA fast tracked the approval of brexanolone in part because of how well and how quickly it worked, allowing women to feel better and get back to their families in three days.

“It’s new, it’s promising,” says Kaiser’s Dr. Koshy, but adds that “it’s not a benign medication.” Six women in the clinical trials felt faint or fainted, which is why the FDA requires women to be continuously monitored in certified health centers when getting the medication.

Also, the safety and efficacy data is limited, Koshy says. The clinical trials only compared brexanolone to placebo, not to alternative treatments. So while the data show brexanolone works better than nothing, there’s no data on whether it works better than drugs like Zoloft, or better than electroconvulsive therapy.

Women who received the placebo in the trials also showed improvement in depressive symptoms — which is common in studies of depression treatments — but more women who received brexanolone showed improvement, and their improvement was more substantial and lasted longer, especially if their depression was more severe before treatment. Women with moderate depression who received the placebo did just as well, 30 days after treatment, as those who received brexanolone, which could be because they felt better on their own, or because other antidepressants they were allowed to take during the trial finally kicked in.

Koshy says Kaiser is always reviewing practice recommendations as new evidence becomes available, but also acknowledged that Kaiser’s recommendations for brexanolone have not been updated since they were first developed two years ago, in July 2019.

Two weeks after this story first aired in Northern California, Koshy informed NPR that Kaiser Permanente is now reviewing the recommendations. She also added that Kaiser had recently communicated with its physicians that the recommendation to try four medications and ECT before considering brexanolone actually applied to a woman’s entire lifetime, not just treatments attempted in the postpartum period. Kaiser confirmed that it did not write this into the recommendations themselves, and declined to offer details about how this information was shared with physicians.

It is unclear what role California’s Department of Managed Health Care, the state agency that regulates Kaiser, might play in resolving issues of access to the infusion. In a statement, department officials said they will review any criteria or guidelines the Kaiser health plan uses for brexanolone, but the department does not have jurisdiction over physician decisions.

The department also monitors patient complaints when new medications or treatments begin to be used, in order to identify problems with access to care. So far, the Department has received two complaints about brexanolone – both were filed by Kaiser patients.

One was Yesenia Munoz. The other was Miriam McDonald.

Before going to the state, McDonald called Kaiser’s grievance department to complain about her treatment and the denial of brexanolone. Kaiser responded by sending the cops to her house for a welfare check.

The officers were calm and nice, McDonald said, but when she closed the door, she cried her eyes out.

“It just brought me to a whole new low,” she said. “Why didn’t my doctor call me and talk to me first? I mean, this is how you treat postpartum mental health? How dare you.”

Kaiser told NPR it cannot comment on any individual cases because of privacy laws, but that generally, “We feel deep compassion for any patient experiencing the difficult and serious effects of postpartum depression, and our goal is always to support every patient’s safe return to a healthy mental state.”

McDonald then appealed Kaiser’s denial of brexanolone to state regulators, but by that time, she was past the six-month postpartum cutoff.

She never got brexanolone.

Still, she continued to fight for relief and eventually got Kaiser to cover a different treatment for severe depression, transcranial magnetic stimulation, which uses an electromagnetic coil to stimulate nerve cells in the brain that control mood. That typically costs about $300 per session, and McDonald went in for the treatment five days a week, for three months. Now she is finally feeling like herself again.

After her efforts to get brexanolone failed, Miriam McDonald received transcranial magnetic stimulation at Kaiser Permanente to treat her postpartum depression. She says her mood started to really improve when her son was about 18 months old.

Miriam McDonald

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Miriam McDonald

“I can remember I woke up one day and I was excited. I had actual joy,” she says. “I got up and I walked into his room and I was like, ‘Hey, Nico! Hi! Hey, baby!’ And he jumped up from his crib and giggled and put his arms out. And I just swooped him up in my arms and cried. Because I was like, ‘I am so proud to be your mom.'”

Now when her son smiles at her, she genuinely smiles back. But it took more than 18 months to get here. She can’t help but grieve all the smiles she didn’t return in that time, and how she felt like she was barely present at crucial times, like when her son took his first steps.

“I felt like I’ve been robbed of all those moments,” she says, “of those little milestones, that I’m never going to get back.”

This story comes from NPR’s health reporting partnership with KQED and Kaiser Health News (KHN).

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