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penwieldingdreamer · 4 years

Note

Hello, could I request Henry x plus size reader? Plot wise she's nervous about them dating because he's him, she plus size and still gets nervous when he touches certain spots or tries to turn the lights on during sexy times. Just a little fluff.

Thank you for the request, so I hope this was what you had in mind for the request and that you all like it. Let me know what you think and as always have fun and happy reading.

Warnings: fluff, body shaming

Words: 1587

Henry Cavill deserves someone beautiful.

He needs someone that is in the business and looks a thousand times better than her.

The fat ugly cow will only just pull him down, he should be with an actress or a model, someone to get him better roles.

You felt the tears roll down your cheeks when you read the hurtful words in the comment section of the latest article featuring Henry and you. He was very private, not often letting people see you with him, but sometimes it was impossible to not be photographed.

Just like the time you were grocery shopping and Henry was gone to get some meat for dinner while you browsed the ice cream aisle for that dessert you had wanted to try for some time now.

"Look at her." You turned to watch two women deeply interested in the low fat milk, yet still whispering about you. "She shouldn't be even there, she's going to get more fat from that. Maybe some training would work wonders."

The other one snickered behind her hand. "I don't think training alone will work on that, she'd have to be treated to water and bread to get that weight off. I can't believe he's still dating her after those months. The women he had before were more beautiful than her, I heard he's been looking elsewhere, with the actress from his new show, his co-star."

You felt your stomach churn and your heart constrict as the tears gathered in your eyes. There was no rhyme or reason why people were cruel to others they didn't even know, just because you had a few pounds more than those beanstalks it didn't mean you were any less of a human. You knew that and everyone, including Henry tried to tell you the same, but there still was that voice in the back of your head nagging that you would never be beautiful enough, never be good enough, never be better enough for someone like Henry. When he came to your side, the two chicks just sent you a dark look and being everything else but satisfied that he hadn't left you yet.

How you got so lucky to date him you didn't even know.

"Darling?" he called and you could hear Kal's claws clicked on the hardwood floor and you hastily closed your laptop and brushed at your wet cheeks, not wanting Henry to see what you had been up to while he was gone for a walk with the Akita and got his suit for the Witcher premiere in London the following week. "I got you something."

He came into the living room, seeing you comfortable sitting on the couch with a book in your lap. It only took him one good look and a raised eyebrow before he came to sit beside you, asking what was wrong when he noticed your red rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks.

You shook your head. Trying to force the corners of your lips into a reassuring smile. "Nothing baby, I just-uhm-this passage was so sad and, well, you know me I always cry at something like this."

"Sure, but I think it's easier to read when you turn the book upright." Henry held it out for you and you couldn't stop the tears from falling again. Instantly, he pulled you into his chest, slinging his strong arms around you and laid soft kisses onto your hair.

"I got you, baby, it's okay."

The sobs wracked your body and you heard Kal's whine coming from his owner's side, not knowing what was happening but feeling your distress. Henry's hand calmly brushed over your shoulder as you slung your arms around his waist, somehow hoping to disappear inside his body and never to be bothered again.

It took you awhile, but when you finally had calmed down and had given the Akita enough pats and ear scratches to reassure him that you were okay, you took a deep breath, brushing under your nose which was stuffy and sticky from all the crying you did before.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you nodded your head, your cheek rubbing against the wet patch on your boyfriends Krypton Lifting Team shirt. "I saw that article online, about us walking with Kal and well I-I saw the comments and I just, just needed to know what they think."

"Y/N, please darling, don't listen to anything they are saying about you." He gently pulled your head of his chest, his big warm hands cupping your cheeks so you could look at him. "I told you before, they don't mean shit to us, all we need"

"But it's true, Henry." you insisted, pushing his hands away from you and standing up. "You could be with someone else, someone that doesn't shy away when you try to touch them or-or is confident enough to have sex while the lights are on." You paced around the living room, your rant only just starting when he tried to stop you. "You should be looking out for career, be seen with someone like Freya or Anya, they are right for you, not the fat cow living in a fairy tale until it's 12pm and the glass slippers fall off."

Standing up, Henry joined you, clasping the hand that was nervously picking at the dry patches of skin on your lips. "Y/N, you should see what I see everyday that I'm looking at you. Kal loves you, you're his dog-mum, my brothers and parents adore you. I love you, every day since I met you there was nothing else on my mind but running my hands over your curves, smelling that divine scent of the shampoo you use, it's amazing by the way," you couldn't help the watery chuckle that left your mouths as you listened to his rant. "The business is tough, I should know that, more so than you ever should know it. I'm sorry I haven't protected you since, I wanted to keep you safe by trying to hide you, which was a dumb thought honestly." Henry shrugged his big shoulders, but sent you a toothy grin. "But maybe we should start doing what everyone does and make it official. You're amazing and you love cooking, rugby and gaming just as much as I do. I don't care if you still get nervous and fidgety when I touch you, we can work through that. And sex with the lights of is great, don't you know that other senses are heightened when you can't see, makes it even better."

Closing your eyes, you felt the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Moving closer, you leaned into his embrace, breathing in his after shave and listening to his steady heartbeat. Henry's arms tightened around your body and he laid a sweet kiss onto your forehead mumbling something. "What did you say?" you asked when you looked up at him.

"I said 'the only thing that's more incredible than your smile is, when you smile at me'." Brushing your hands along his stubbled jaw you smiled up at him. "Ah, see, there it is. I love you Y/N, never doubt that and never let anyone else tell you that you're not worthy just because you're not as unhealthy thin as them."

Cocking your head to the side with Kal copying you, you looked at the actor, your fingers gliding through his dark locks. "Are you Henry now or are you Geralt? I mean your voice got deeper and I just...you know I can't resist you when you do that."

"Oh is that so?"

You nodded your head and a second later loud laugh left you when Henry lifted you and spun you around, soundly kissing your lips.

***

"You don't need to be nervous, just stay with me and everything is okay." Nodding your head, your hand tightly clasped Henry's, the other laid on his arm, feeling the smooth fabric of his black suit under your skin. "I love you, darling, and you know Anya and Freya adore you like a sister."

"I do, it's just different from walking down the street in your shirt and my baggy sweats." you laughed, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend.

He grinned down at you and released your hand, moving it behind your back to draw you into his side, your hands finding their way to his broad chest and back. "It is different because you look so fucking hot in this dress and I can't wait to get you home to show you how much it turns me on."

Judging by his reaction you were glad you had opted for the light crystallized dress Henry's stylist had told you to wear because it really went well with your curvy figure. When you finally moved up on the red carpet the actor waved at the photographers before he leaned down and kissed you soundly on the lips, claiming you openly as his girlfriend. The reporters went wild, the clicking of the camera shutters and your own heartbeat rushed in your ears and you could faintly hear the delighted squeals of Freya, Anya and even Joey from beside you. Henry had done what he promised, he made it official and clear that you were his and he would do so until you would feel confident enough to be comfortable enough in your own wonderful body that he loved even more now.

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#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill fluff #fluff drabble #requested #synheaven

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

Text

Being 10 in 1999.

So, on a lark I started typing out my life story. I am about 10 at this point of the tale. If you are curious about anything previous to this part of my life, here is

So Rachelle was gone. This left a very big void in my life. For the first time since I was four years old, I was generally alone all the time. My school friends were just that, they never wanted to see me after school. They thought my house was haunted, and Samantha’s father and my father didn’t like each other. She was also forced to do hard labor and rarely got to leave her house to begin with. And she lived six miles away. And she really didn’t like me anymore so much as she tolerated me so there really wasn’t even enough to go on for me to even ask her to come over once in awhile. Catherine wasn’t actually a friend to me at all, and I more or less just tolerated her and ignored her most of the time since she seemed more interested in making animal noises than she did saying things. I had always resented her for taking Samantha away in second grade, and she was incredibly dishonest. I caught her lying once a day, and she stole from everyone who stayed at her house. And when there was an opportunity to do something mean to someone she would. I just didn’t like her. I have no resentments for her now of course. She had a rougher home life than I did and there was no way for me to understand that and have the much needed empathy to move past that. But it didn’t make her pleasant to me and I certainly never accepted her as a friend.

And Sarah-Mae I didn’t know very well. She seemed like royalty, we didn’t seem close at all. We rarely shared the same conversation. Her and Samantha were becoming more and more inseparable. They had a crush on the same boy named Kevin – and for some reason they both enjoyed obsessing over him, stealing his pencils and chewed gum as memorabilia. They liked the same Spice Girls and Ricky Martin albums. They really liked Lion King II. I didn’t listen to those things, though I do admit that I was quite a fan of Aqua’s ‘Barbie Girl’. They left little room in the group for me. I will just go out on a limb here and say that Samantha was trying to actively get rid of me. They were getting more and more exclusive. Sarah-Mae was even offered to eat lunch with the popular girls once or twice, and Samantha was hoping to tag along. Nobody wanted to be unpopular if they could help it. Except me.

Being alone again, having nothing in the real world to keep me entertained, I withdrew very deep back into my mind. I was so entrenched in my own imagination that I sort of stopped paying attention to anything. I started drawing again. I had kind of stopped for the years that I had been running around breaking and entering and tipping over garbage cans. Rachelle didn’t like drawing. I tried several times to get her into art, but it wasn’t active enough for her, and she would look at my art and mostly feel jealous, which created a dichotomy that I didn’t feel right about, so I avoided drawing around her. Her older sister was a really good painter from what I remember as well. It is never fun to try something new and not only not be naturally good at it – needing more practice than other people, but also being surrounded by people who have perfected the craft. That’s sort of how I feel about music and singing in particular. I have always wanted to be good at music. I love music, a lot more than your average person. But I don’t try making my own anymore. I probably should, but when you surround yourself with musicians, and you just aren’t a natural, it’s hard to find that initial false sense of confidence needed to project you forward. And I imagine that is how Rachelle felt about art.

In my fantasy world, I began collecting pictures in seventeen magazines, mixed with alien pictures that were popular at the time. These scraps of paper were precious to me, and with the, I used them as inspiration to invent these stickish girls that were half alien. I called them Alien Girls – probably not the most inventive, but fairly straight forward. It was kind of my own franchise to an extent. I drew hundreds of them, each having a name that reflected their personal taste in fashion and personality. They were like Betty Spaghetti, Bratz, and actual Greys mixed together. They had big heads, and alien eyes that were kind of cute, but very spaced apart on the sides of their face, tiny noses, little mouths, and long skinny bodies, usually dressed in some ‘cool’ nineties reinvention of sixties fashion that was kind of popular in 1999. There is no way on looking back that their bodies functioned. I never drew them in action, or even posing. I just drew them standing looking straight forward. For the three years that I kept on drawing these girls, It was beyond me what their profiles must have looked like. I never even gave them cheekbones. I created them as a way to make up clothes that either didn’t exist or that I could never wear. They were sort of invented to address my obsession with UFO’s. And they were sort of invented to address the unrealistic beauty standards that were beginning to seep into my impressionable mind. I drew them on all of the assignment papers I got in school. They told me to stop, and I would not. I would get sent to the office, given detentions. I just saw this as more time to draw. It got to where when someone would hand me my homework, I would not even do the homework at all. I would just immediately look for the blank spots on the page and begin drawing compulsively. I became known all through town for these Alien Girls. I think people who weren’t even in school knew about me.

I also started watching a lot of Shirley Temple movies. At one point or another, I have seen every Shirley Temple movie she did as a child, but my favorites for sure were either Bright Eyes or Heidi. I think I got into this because Allison got so much attention for her curls, that were a lot like Shirley Temples. I, on the other hand had thick unmanageable fuzzy hair. I didn’t so much feel resentful. I just wished that my hair would get curly. Strangely enough, it did start to curl. For this reason, as well as others, I have felt that we can sort of project onto ourselves the faces and looks of people we admire. Particularly when we are young. Not to say that you can look like anything you want, but if you stare admiringly at a certain kind of face, your face will start to morph more into that kind of face to the extent that your face can do that. Anyway, I digress.

Thirdly, aside from Alien Girls and Shirley Temple, I kept myself busy with food. Having the misfortune of being born to be genetically predisposed to gain weight for anything I eat ever was unfortunate for me, on top of misfortune of being born into a life where the accumulation of hardship left me to using food as a coping mechanism to begin with. I was unfortunate in this way, and it will always have a stamp on me psychologically. I have PCOS, and this is usually the age when PCOS begins to affect girls. It caused me to gain weight to an extent for no reason at all. I was eating very little for all the time my mom and dad had moved out of the house, and I rode my bicycle about five hours a day. There is no reason an eight year old should be getting fatter as active and starved as I was. But it was happening, slowly at first, and then all at once. Rachelle left, and all the neglect from my family, and anxiety at school and loneliness hit me at once. PCOS affects your appetite as well. You will be full, but your brain just keeps that to itself, like an asshole. So being a child, especially one like me who’s head was in the clouds when it came to matters that were practical, I just felt like eating all the time and so I did. It was one of the few comforts I had really. I didn’t get enormous exactly, but my friends were all tiny so I personally felt huge, and compared to them I kind of was. I seem to always have tiny friends. They were still 85 lbs. I was 130. I was another half of them. And we were all getting to the age where we had to start seeing things like identity, size and shape as mattering a whole lot.

One day, for reasons that I have no memory of, I was watching some boys in my class playing football, and I ran out there and attempted to punch one of them in the face. I think someone might have told me that the boy was attacking them, and I felt the need to defend them. However, this kid, James was his name, really could not have done any of the things he had been accused of because he was playing football all recess, and he wasn’t really the type to bother girls – so I suspect I chose to take a completely fabricated statement to heart and use it as an excuse to do something exciting. So I guess I got super defensive of 'my group’ (the one that would not even hang out with me after school0, and I ran out into the field, while a game was going on. I attempted to attack this James kid (I must have looked completely foolish), with everyone watching me. He put his elbow up in defense, and I ran right into it and it gave me a fat lip. Everyone was confused. I was confused. I think I decided in my mind that James punched me, but that’s not what happened. He was just trying to fend off some random person who decided to attack him during a football game.

This did not help my case at being outcast even further from the social order of my school system and peers. It had started when Roxanne got pregnant, and then I had lost my stellar grades when I stopped doing homework when I had no adults in the house. Then I started getting chubby and filling out a little bit before the other girls in my class. Then I started drawing all the time. And my friends all became boy crazy and wanted to be popular, and I didn’t. And it seemed that I related to my environment differently than everyone else. And there was something else. Since I have been about six years old, I started getting extremely depressed. I stopped being that depressed for a few years, but when I was alone by myself or felt misunderstood – which was often, I would get this stabbing sense of meaninglessness, a sense of self worthlessness, and I wanted to kill myself. I started writing secret suicide letters when I was seven years old. I would hide them under my bed because if my family found out I would get punished. Between the ages of seven and fourteen, I had hundreds of suicide letters that I never did anything with. I would have to periodically throw them out, but they would always fill up again under my bed. This was really difficult for me in a way I cannot explain. When I am down now, I know that it is a mood that will pass. I know that having a sense that I am hated is a bit of a mirage my brain makes up. I had no idea then. Everything that happened to me seriously wrecked me.

When I separate my mind and body now – as I think most people can do if they close there eyes and clear their thoughts, I can feel this underlying humanness that is ugly and terrifying. There have been a few times that I have been drunk or once on hallucinogens where I felt like I could almost see the inner workings of reality, like it was a blanket I could rip off the wall. What becomes more clear than anything, is that I am not who I think I am, and the world is definitely not as I think it is. This underlying reason behind everything that happens is not built from godly goodness, or from great evil. It’s this cosmic chaos that I can barely comprehend, and it brings out all that is needy and desperate in me. And underneath that, I try to understand what motivates this inner animal that is the core of who I am, and what I can place and understand of what lies under my motives, feelings, sense of everything around me is something vast and dark and not fully meant for the human mind to understand. I am not at peace with it. This is the human condition, and I don’t know that anyone really is. It’s wisdom, but it’s also death. And from a very early age, while my friends all played on the monkey bars, It just started creeping up on me early. It made me self aware – and different. It left a mark on me. From this point onward in my life, I suffered with this great crack in the facade of the world that made me feel unloved and empty. That was my way of comprehending the world. As an adult, I consider this subtle aching pain a friend of mine. I fight it to a degree, and try to live on my own terms, but I also know that it’s not going anywhere and eventually I will grow weak and die and what comes next is either nothing or a great big mystery I cannot even begin to understand. And I realize that most of the greatest works of art, the things that really reach into me and make the magic in my head work, all of that inspiration comes from that bleak dark underlying sea of cosmic chaos, and to a degree, the world we live in is not real the way we believe it is. It’s better to embrace it than to pretend it isn’t there. And sometimes I even think it’s helpful.

Something in me at this point was derailing, or emerging out of me. I started talking to myself at the bus stop waiting for the bus to take us to school. I just sat down on a rock about twenty feet away from everyone else and began having a conversation. With myself. This caused the other kids to talk about me, or make fun of me. I didn’t notice too much. People just didn’t seem that real to me anymore. The activities in school didn’t seem very enjoyable. I think teachers tried to tell my parents. I don’t remember how I talked exactly, or even what the back and forth of the dialogue even was, though I do remember having some genuine conversations with myself that stuck with me all day, and none of it was for attention. I felt a lot better after I had had a good heart to heart to myself.

I also began having nose bleeds that the school counselor felt were stress induced. I usually would start having a nose bleed at least four times a week. I remember once in fourth grade I was sitting at my desk, and I had my head on the table in my arms as I was blocking out the school environment to daydream. The teacher called my name strictly to get me to pay attention to the class, and when she did, a massive pool of blood was on the desk. It was pouring down my face and onto my shirt. Everyone was shocked. I hadn’t even known I was bleeding. I hadn’t picked my nose or anything. I was just something that happened a lot.

My parents broke up for good this time. People might disagree, but I really don’t feel like this was the cause of my nosebleeds or my self worth. That stuff was just something I had always had in me personally, and had merely decided to show it’s face to the world around the same time as my parent’s divorce. I think that my parent’s relationship has certainly left it’s mark on me to an extent, but I don’t think my problems stem from this element of my parents. Individually, I have had problems with them, but together they really were more annoying to me than anything. I did not thrive in their undying love they did/or did not have with each other. I remember feeling somewhat relieved that they had finally thrown in the towel. My mother I guess was secretly still on again off again with Huleo on the side, and her friend Germaine (who I will discuss later) had advised that she hook up with my father to see if she could get more money from him. She even faked a burglary to get away with keeping some of the valuables.

My sisters had gotten my mother into meth. It was strange, but Maria and Roxanne had decided that their own drug addictions could be fed more easily if they could get my mother personally invested. My mother has always been very spongelike. She takes in whatever the people around her are doing. Her core identity is childish confusion. Due to my mother’s own bad upbringing with a cruel father, she never really grew up. A part of her is still an eight year old girl. So it was very easy for my older sisters to fool her into taking drugs with them.

Roxanne’s grandmother on her father’s side died around this time. She had been very old. It was a day I remember oddly well. I remember the way the clouds looked, and the way everyone was dressed. It was the first funeral I ever attended. I had not known her well. I was dressed up and I sat through the sermon. Everyone was crying. It made me teary eyed. But mostly I was fixated on the fact that Roxanne’s grandma Abel was laying out for everyone to see. I just stared at that dead body the whole time.

I was eating a lot, but there were also short periods of time where I would phase out and forget to eat for a few days. There was one time where I distinctly remember forgetting to eat for three days without realizing it. I found a bag of those little saltines you put in your tomato soup and I ate the whole bag. Then I threw up the whole bag because my stomach was shocked by the food. This happened the first week at the new weekend home in Clarkston WA. I had chosen to stay primarily with my father for obvious reasons. My mother had moved in with her friend Germaine, and I was to stay with her on the weekends.

Germaine lived in a very large unfinished home with five bedrooms. The set up of the house is very hard to explain. It’s like a very rich couple moved in and then started remodeling but then stopped. There were two separate upstairs that were supposed to be connected but were not. One side of the upstairs you could only get to with a ladder. Germaine never had food in her fridge. She generally began drinking as soon as she woke up in the morning. She didn’t pay for garbage services. Instead she would take the bags of trash and throw them into an unfinished cement swimming pool in the back yard. It was such a disturbing sight. There were old computers, washing machines, countless bags of moldy food waste. I am pretty sure it was illegal. She was very loud, and she had a scratchy voice that sounded like the wicked witch of the west. She was really into Stevie Nicks, Dr. Hook and Steve Miller. Everything tacky about the seventies Germaine loved. She watched the movie Beaches every weekend with Bette Midler. I have seen that movie over 100 times, I am sure of it because of her. The house always smelled like mothballs, and there was always a skunk underneath the house somewhere that often smelled the place up.

Her son Brice would show up for the weekends. He was very hyperactive. I wouldn’t say he was a bad kid exactly, but he was a bit of an asshole if my memory serves me well. He tried to come onto me the first weekend, which disturbed me. He asked me for sex, and we were eventually in a situation where I kicked him hard between the legs. It was a game, and I wasn’t really aware that it really hurt boys that much. But he didn’t like me very much after that. He did however always invite me to help him create the ultimate go-cart. He was obsessed with making go-carts. And Brice had a brilliant mind for a fifth grader. He actually did make an electronic go-cart using scraps from the pool. He would climb into that jungle of filth and come out with scraps from random appliances. This bored me to no end so I stopped participating sooner or later. He also had this monkeyish looking friend named Justin who would not stop asking me out. I was very rude to him, but he didn’t get it at all.

Germaine would sometimes fight with Brice. Often he was being a little brat, but there was a time I remember where she took his head into the cupboards and began slamming his head with the door as hard as she could. Their fights were disturbing and abusive.

I had some very rough nights there. At first, everyone was too drunk and high to give me a place to sleep. There were not enough blankets for everyone. I ended up sleeping on cold concrete. I had cried, but my mom would do nothing about it. Allison found a pile of clothes to sleep in. She was still somewhat of a toddler and I don’t think this bothered her as much. David always slept in the bed with my mother. There was a shortage of food initially. My mother showed no interest in feeding us. She always got food for David, however. They would go to McDonald’s, and Allison and I would just have to figure it out. Maria came to live with my mother and Germaine as well. And she would take the food and blankets. She was pregnant with Earl’s baby, but she had broken it off with Earl. Earl initially was supposed to move in as well, but they had fought and broken up. For the time that he had been there, he kept this disgusting cup of old chew that he spit. It filled up to the top full of tarlike goo. One day, Allison came up to me as a toddler, and she had black all around her little mouth. She kept saying she wanted more yummies. I could not figure out for a moment what it was she had gotten into. And then I found out. She had drank all of Earl’s tobacco spit in the cup. It was probably the grossest thing I have ever witnessed. It makes me want to gag now. She had no idea since she was just a baby.

Eventually they gave me the loft, which was one of parts of the upstairs only accessible with a ladder. I don’t remember why I was so fortunate. It was a nice place for me to get away from everyone. It was a very strange room perched 20 ft above the rest of the house. It was in this dank little room where I began appreciating music. There was a dumb little alarm clock radio in there. At first I didn’t know how to use it, so I was stuck listening to country. But then I learned how to listen to different stations. I quickly became obsessed with the radio. I would sit up there for hours, drawing and filling up notepads. The music I was listening to wasn’t that great to me now, but at the time it was the best. I remember being up there listening to that Aerosmith song that was done for the movie Armageddon. There was also a grand piano where I would play You Are My Sunshine over and over. Usually Maria would make me stop since it was interfering with her soaps. So then I would always move over and play on the Windows 92’. Which I was extremely impressed with.

Maria would eat all the food at first and there was never anything to eat. Germaine had one of those big wooden television sets. We only got one channel. It was the channel that all the soap operas played on, and Friends. Maria would watch television all day and eat all the food. My mother was always either working or at a bar called Smitty’s Barrel. She came home to see my little brother, who was beginning to be kind of a spoiled tyrant in his own right. Maria would often yell at me. She became very abusive to me in general and difficult to live with. She blamed me for everything she felt my father had ever wronged her for. One time she locked me out of the house when it was 105 degrees for nine hours without food or water. I had no shoes, and the town of Clarkston is completely overrun by devils-weed since the area was very arid and dry. To find shade, I had to walk across a field of this stuff, and my feet were bloody by the time I got to the shed to hide. Every weekend I would dread Maria’s pregnant wrath.

Roxanne, her baby Sagen, and her new boyfriend Jody had moved in as well. It was a very full house. Jody and my sister Maria eventually got jobs at the local KFC. After that, they always brought bad KFC food home. My mom had found a new boyfriend. Huleo left her shortly after she broke it off with my father, and then she dated a guy named Shane for awhile. But he could not stand sharing my mother with my little brother either. My mom got involved with this guy named James. People called him Jimbo. He was about 4'5. He had hair down to his knees. He was a drummer in a do nothing concept band that aspired to be the ultimate eighties christian heavy metal band. James was generally unemployed. He always smelled like sweat and hot sauce. And he was always completely stoned. My mother got involved in his band. She started having these corny visions that the band was going to bring about biblical apocalypse. And all these dumb corny eighties guys took her seriously. In her mind, the four horsemen were coming. And when they did, their band – which never had a name would be playing as demonic storms rose against them on a mountainside, and God’s hand would come down and shelter them from the devil’s malice. She felt that the band’s existence, that her own personal existence, had been prophesied in the bible somehow. My mother wrote these semi horrible lyrics. They weren’t actually horrible. They were just what they should be. But the whole thing was so awful. It became this big thing that everyone in the house had to take seriously. It would not have been as bad had they actually practiced, which they didn’t. And the whole thing was a way for them to pretend to be devil worshipers but pretend that they were doin’ it for Christ.

Eventually the singer, Chris moved into the place too and started dating Maria. He was this big caveman. He smelled horrible. He changed his underwear once every two months and he was proud of this. And when he wasn’t sleeping or eating, or trying to sing like Dio, he would take this stuffed animal Barney the Dinosaur that belonged to my little brother and pretend to fight with it on the living room floor. It was disturbing. I would walk into the living room, and there would be this full grown man in his late twenties on the floor screaming at this stuffed animal, wrestling it wildly like it was fighting back or something. His pants would be falling off he was so entangled with this dumb fake fight, and his hairy butt would alarm me.

My mom got about 40,000 of my father’s savings from the divorce. From that, she wasted most all of it. She bought a lot of tasteless items that she never used. I think most of it went to drugs. She bought the band a bunch of speakers. James trashed them and carved upside-down crosses all over them. She bought herself this white Camaro that she ended up having for quite awhile. We eventually named it The White Bitch later on when Allison, David and I were older. Most all of it went to complete waste though.

My mom and Germaine had these horrible parties with thirty or so people. This really bothered me. It was hard to sleep over all the screaming and noise. I know parties can be fun for people, but I had to deal with so many of these parties as a child that I kind of grew resentful of loud parties in general, even to this day. I try very hard not to be critical based on my own personal experience, but the people were completely tasteless. I would wake up in the morning, and everyone was passed out all over the floor. There were piles of vomit everywhere. Later on, overtime, I learned to pickpocket loose change from these drunkards spread about. But at first it was extremely disappointing and shocking to me.

I think these parties did hurt my relationship with my mother what little was left to salvage. I was not nearly as callous then as I am now. Eventually, as the parties became more and more extreme, I would get really upset, because I wanted some stability. I never saw my mom at all, and nobody liked me at school or at home. These seven or so adults were all sitting around the table getting hammered, and I came in and begged my mother to stop drinking. She laughed at me and told me I was not her daughter. Her friends started calling me fat and ugly. I started crying. I tried to get away from them but they followed me, my mother being one of them. I was sobbing uncontrollably at this point. Between sobs I told them all that I didn’t want to be alive anymore and that I was going to kill myself, and they all laughed very hard, my mother being one of these mindless idiots. They told me I should do it. That it would make the world a better place. This traumatized me. I think I cried for eight hours straight very hard till I eventually passed out. After that, I just felt numb. I felt like my thoughts were stuffed with cotton, and there was a certain ringing in my ears everywhere I went. I wasn’t really the same after that experience. I don’t think I was able to process the situation correctly being nine or ten at the time. I truly believe that synapses happened in my brain that night that altered me forever.

On the bright side, Maria got a puppy. James used to watch Conan the Barbarian all the time in his stuffy little room and there is a character in the movie named Crom. He thought it would be really edgy and cool to name the puppy Crom. Crom became my puppy eventually since Maria didn’t want him anymore. And like most things I like, Crom became a fixation. Eventually, I got the dumb idea to take the puppy up the ladder with me so he could be up in the loft with me. I managed to push him up the ladder. But he was not happy up there, in fact, I think it made him become panicked and disoriented. I think it confused poor little Crom. He ended up jumping off of this place where there were no railings. He fell and broke a bunch of bones in his body. I watched the whole thing happen in shock. Maria came in and was screaming at me that I was a murderer. The whole scene was too awful. I thought I had killed another pet dog, for the second time. He ended up going to the vet, and getting fixed up.

When things became too much in the house. Sometimes I would go outside, and I would begin digging up massive ant homes under the dirt. I would sometimes spend endless hours out there studying ants. I decided that I didn’t want to be an artist, a ballerina, a comedian, a playwright or a cartoonist. I just wanted to tear societies apart. As I studied these ants, I really got the feeling that society itself was like ant colonies. And it fascinated me. I had no control over my real life or the people in it at all. I connected with nobody. But I had these ants. They were mine. I could learn to control them and manipulate their simple little lives. Or i could bring food for them and help them rebuild. I was their version of God, or the Devil, whatever i felt like being. I liked inspecting what motivated the ants. I created all sorts of social experiences to see how the ants would respond. I transported some ants from one place to another, to see if they would make their own hives. In this weird way, I think in my mind I felt like I was doing this with people. It gave me perspective.

These were bad, gross, ugly, embarrassing, empty meaningless, cold hard times for me. And sadly ,they were just the beginning.

If you would like to read the first three parts to my life here are these links -

Part 1

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160186590059/about-me-life-story-part-1

Part 2

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160333575899/life-story-part-2

Part 3

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/160399693214/about-me-the-third-part-i-did-it-after-all

So without further ado..

#text #life story

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simplymorganunedited-blog · 7 years

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A Double Whammy: Strawberries, Yogurt and Alphabet Soup

A double whammy of appointments today.

I feel very refreshed. Meeting with my team always leaves me feeling positive, feeling brave, feeling like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Update: Mondays have officially become my favourite day.

Here is what this particular Monday brought me.

Dietician Talk:

Blind Weight:

Third one folks.

I don't know what it is. I don't really want to.

I just wanted you to know it happened.

Morgan Gets Shut Down Part One:

“Gym?”

“No.”

Sh*t.

Hunger and Me:

I’ve been feeling hungry recently.

Surprise right?!

Actually, yes.

I’ve been feeling hungry lately, right after I’ve eaten a “well-balanced, well-portioned meal.” (My dietician’s words; this isn't even Morgan’s Brian talking folks.)

Thus, anxiety. Anxiety, anxiety, anxiety.

So, what is going on?

Apparently, this is normal. Apparently, “some recovering ED patients can eat a large number of calories, up to 5,000....”

*Jaw Drops. Morgan’s Brain preps her temper tantrum..

Ummmm excuse me??????? What??

“....and barely gain any weight.”

Double what???

Bodies are weird.

Bean Talk:

I received a lovely lesson in carbs and protein today, so I thought I’d pass the information along.

Beans: Both carbs and protein.

Quinoa: Mostly carbs.

Cool right??

Menopause:

I feel like I’m going through menopause.

Like hot flashes. Serious hot flashes.

Side Note: I would like to formally apologize to Karen Jenkin. Mom, I’m sorry for every single time I laughed at you for stripping down in the kitchen when you were sweating your face off. I understand now. Like seriously, I’m so sorry.

Just kidding. Not menopause.

Basically, my body’s metabolism has a heyday every time I nourish it.

Hence, a speeding up of my metabolic rate.

Hence, the hot flashes.

Cue sweating.

Strawberries and Yogurt:

New snack.

10:30 am: Strawberries and yogurt.

I’m actually pretty okay with this, much to the dismay of Morgan’s Brain. (More food equals more calories which equal more fat which equals imperfection), but let’s just forget about her opinion for a while (like forever), cause honestly it doesn't matter.

I have really been enjoying my snacks. They are mostly fruit, and yogurt, and granola, which are safe foods for me, and foods that I really enjoy. Moreover, I think this will help the intense hunger/anxiety I feel around lunchtime, which causes me to panic during my lunch prep, which can equal an unplanned purge if the panic-meter gets too high.

So yeah, strawberries and yogurt.

I’ll keep you updated.

A Positive Reminder:

“Look at where you are now versus one month ago.”

One month ago I wasn't eating. One month ago I was dying.

I ate soup today. And liked it.

Enough said.

Wizard Talk:

Continued Homework:

Watch Brene Brown’s video at least once a week. Glean something new from it each time.

(Not) Pathological Lying:

Real Talk: I thought I was a pathological liar.

Honestly, I did. (No pun intended).

All my life I have lied. It started when I was a child.

“Morgan, why did you lie about that?”

“Honesty is the best policy.”

It only got worse as I grew up. It happens all the time. I don't even mean to do it. I just do. It just slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I spend the next however long (days, weeks, months, years) trying to cover it up.

Real Talk: I feel so much shame about this. Like, At-The-Core-of-My-Self-Hatred kind of shame.

Realest Talk: It is the biggest strain on my relationship with my Dad.

My father operates on truth. Honestly, he is the most honest person I know. (Pun intended). Yet, I lie. I lie to him constantly. But here’s the thing. I don't do it on purpose. I don't do it to be malicious, or mean, or unkind. I do it to make myself look better. I do it because I don't want to let him down, because I want him to be proud of me.

I do it because I want to look perfect.

“Morgan, you are not a compulsive liar. You are a compulsive people pleaser.”

Yet again, the Wizard has outsmarted me. I crave approval. I crave approval in every aspect of my life. I crave authenticity, and just want people to think more of me. So I fabricate more. Or I avoid what I can’t perfect, what makes me look bad; the things that scare me. I look at myself, and see that I am not enough, and create more to cover it up.

“Compulsive People Pleaser.”

That sounds a hell of a lot better than “Compulsive Liar.”

Real Talk: That doesn't mean it’s okay.

New Homework Part One: Realize what situations I feel anxiety about. (This usually triggers bulimic urges, but I’ll get to that in a minute) Make a deliberate effort to tell the truth, or correct myself if I do lie.

“Be a flawed human being like everyone else and you’ll feel a hell of a lot better.”

Okay Wizard.

Alphabet Soup:

“I don't want to give you alphabet soup, but you’re on the OCD Spectrum.”

Side Note: On top of being a genius, the Wizard is also funny as hell.

But anyway. I digress.

I’m not surprised. Like, not one ounce of me is surprised.

I know I’m OCD. I am perfectly aware of how perfectionism rules my life, right down to the tiniest detail. If I notice something is out of place, I HAVE to get up and fix it. Everything in my life has to be in its place. Everything has to be just so.

Side Note: It’s honestly so exhausting. I feel like I’m on a hamster wheel, constantly trying to make things perfect, constantly searching for control.

I beat myself up if I don't go to the gym, if I don't clean my room on the day I decided I would, if I don't finish everything on my to-do list. Basically I beat myself up a LOT, cause let’s be real, we’re all human and stuff doesn't get always done.

Except, I don't allow myself to think that.

Except, I think its my fault; that I am a failure, that I am imperfect.

Hence, bulimic urges.

I had a moment this week. I had a moment this week, where I was working on my bullet journal, and I hit a road block. A book. I couldn't draw a book.

I should go throw up.

I’m not joking.

It’s usually like that. I think most people assume that when I need to purge, I’m thinking about my Mom, or school, or life, or him.

Nope.

Stupid sh*t like cartoon books.

I wish I was joking.

So what do I do?

“Control avoidance, rather than let it control you.”

Fun Fact: Bulimia equals avoidance. Throwing up is a release, a way to escape a problem (however small), rather than face the thing that’s actually bothering you. Or, in other words, a coping mechanism. A sh*tty one, but a coping mechanism just the same. Unfortunately for me, it’s the one I’ve been relying on for the past 3 years, whenever there’s a bump in the road, or things don’t seem to be going my way.

Time to find a new one Morgs.

New Homework Part Two:

Watch Reed Wilson’s series, “Tolerating the Discomfort”.

This will serve to build what the Wizard calls an “active toolkit”; strategies that I can use to deal with anxiety, rather than going to toss my cookies.

Watch “Living Brave” with Brene Brown and Oprah Winfrey.

Oprah for homework?

Yes please.

Morgan Gets Shut Down Part Two:

“Gym?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sh*t.

BUT.

Strength training is okay. Kind of. Well, not the kind of strength training Morgan’s Brain thinks is okay, but the kind of strength training that is okay for Morgan right now.

Cue the 8 lb weights.

I’ve also been cleared to maybe join a therapeutic yoga class. This may be something fun to do with friends.

A social event that doesn't involve food?

Double win.

I really hope this helps with my anxiety. I also just really don't want to lose muscle tone. I think (and I hope I’m right) that focusing on getting stronger will make the prospect (reality) of gaining weight less daunting. By focusing on my body’s strength and abilities, I can focus less on the aspects of my body I don't like, or flaws that I (Morgan’s Brain) will inevitably find with weight gain.

It’s funny. He brought it up months ago. He’s going to say “I told you so.”

He should.

He was right.

For once.

Weight Talk:

A goal weight.

120 lbs.

Real Talk: I am completely, utterly terrified.

I know its necessary, but still, the word TERROR lights up my brain, in blinking red, with fire and lights and lasers.

Neural pyrotechnics.

F*ck.

“You still have a LOT of weight to gain,” says the Wizard.

Real Talk: I’m happy about this. Not the gaining weight part, but the fact that I’m so thin.

I don't really know how to feel about these thoughts. I know they’re ED thoughts, but I also know that they are a part of the recovery process.

I just cant let them win.

“No negotiating.”

You hear that Morgs?

Just because you’re feeling better, just because you’re less tired, doesn't mean that you can stop trying.

Just because you feel bloated, just because you’re gaining weight, doesn't mean that you can give up.

Cause you wouldn't be gaining anything.

There is nothing to gain on the scale.

There is nothing to gain in front of the toilet.

There is nothing to gain by dying.

Here’s what you’ll gain by living.

The chance to teach, to touch hearts and minds.

The chance to travel, to expand your horizons.

The chance to laugh, to love and be loved.

The chance to be happy, to love yourself fiercely, to celebrate you and you struggles, each and every day.

Seem worth it?

It is.

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