#therapy is very busy and from an outside perspective it seems like i’m just wasting away in my room BUT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cavewretch · 1 year

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misdiagnoses fucking SUCK and are TRAUMATIC and i have nowhere else to TALK ABOUT IT as i process this Major Shift i’m experiencing so i’m going to put it here <3

in 2020 i was diagnosed w cirs (chronic inflammatory response syndrome) by a total shithead of a doctor who didn’t believe in covid. OBVIOUSLY i stopped going to him and i started seeing this other cirs specialist (telehealth only). she verified the cirs diagnosis and then we did the whole getting out of exposure thing. that took me a really long time to complete (DUH) bc being told you have to completely uproot your life, get rid of your belongings or at least stay away from them, and either move/do extensive renovation/live in a tent etc to escape exposure is IMPOSSIBLE to complete quickly. i have an old google doc laying out abandoned plans for living in a shed in my backyard. it took a year of a lot of my own research and advocacy til my parents renovated a part of our house for me to live closed off in. i still live there.

living in spaces where you know the air is potentially making you sick but you can’t do anything about it is traumatic and i don’t know when i’ll be able to actually fully process it bc i still don’t feel safe .

anyway. cut to like summer 2022 im still sick, i’ve gotten a Smidge better on these intensive medications and supplements for cirs and living out of this Room, but i still feel like shit and can’t drive or work and get debilitating migraines Very Often. my cirs doctor’s response is i gotta move out of my house or move to arizona or keep eliminating toxins (what toxins. she was telling me the naturally occurring things that our bodies shed were making me sick. ur insane. i’ve been in pure survival animal mode for years now) SO! in november i was like maybe i don’t even fucking have this . shoutout to my friend pointing me towards thebibliosphere on here and my physical therapist who’s an advocate for eds and was able to fr change my life lmao

fast forwarding thru finding new doctors and getting appointments now im diagnosed with eds pots & mcas (getting a bunch of blood work done but yeah mcas) and i’m like ok what do i do now? can i go open the boxes of my books and artwork and other belongings that i packed up in 2020? can i go in the rest of my house? do i have to avoid the majority of buildings bc of potential water damage? can i stop thoroughly cleaning my room of any semblance of dust every 1-2 weeks? do i have to monitor my room’s humidity levels to such a specific range?

i’m doing this like massive reframing of everything i know about myself and the world and my health all at the same time and when i’m not sitting here fully disassociated i’m going fucking CRAZY !!!!!! good GOD !!!!!!! IM SO MAD !!!!!!!!!!!

AND ! to make it all WORSE ! i get booted off my parents insurance in t minus 1 year and 3 months so i have to figure out medicaid and probably apply for disability benefits AGAIN which sucks cuz that’s such a fucking dehumanizing process

at least i have the brain space to make all these fucking ocs (i reach into my pocket and deposit a dozen pinterest boards and scribbled notes into ur hand)

#not to mention all the trauma before even getting chronically ill that i’m also processing #therapy is very busy and from an outside perspective it seems like i’m just wasting away in my room BUT #in reality i am working incredibly hard constantly and don’t even get good sleep or have a concept of time #just this nightmare limbo state of desperate loneliness and frantic self love and indignance and dedication #at my core i believe in myself and it’s keeping me alive #i hope dear reader u have shorten long posts on cuz i can’t find how to insert a read more on mobile #long post #cirs #heds #mcas #pots #chronic illness #sickie notes

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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"Don’t do that. don’t shut me out” and / or “We can talk through the door” - from the trauma sentence starters :)

Okay so this started as a one-off but, as usual, it spiraled outwards! The actual line will be in the next chapter. (That’s right, this bitch has two chapters! AND A PERSPECTIVE SHIFT)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201191/chapters/69105681

It had been hard for Martin to adjust, after the Lonely, after the months of spiraling into the quiet, cold dark, imprisoned in an ever-expanding labyrinth of his own isolation. A therapist he had years ago told him it takes three weeks to manifest a habit, and in the months without his mum, without Jon, Sasha, Tim, god without even Elias to irritate his last fraying nerve, he had time to form hundreds of new habits, his habits of loneliness.

When Peter had given him Elias’ old office, under the guise of space, focus, and mental health (Martin could spit at that looking back, the cruel irony), the room had been rearranged. The desk, which had previously sat in the center of the room, with two slightly uncomfortable chairs positioned in front of it, chairs Martin had been eager to burn in celebration of his new space, had been rearranged. The room was starkly empty, the chairs removed on his behalf, and the desk had been moved to the side of the room, out of view of the door and in fact behind the hinges, so the door swung open in front of his desk, blocking anyone who may sneak a peek in his office a view of him at work. After a while, it was natural to be in the corner of a room closest to the hinges; where the coatrack or a rubbish bin would typically be, there instead was Martin Blackwood, comfortable, solitary. Alone.

The habits expanded outside of the office. Soon enough he was shopping at markets in the quietest hours: during the airings of football matches, at the early-morning markets, at two in the morning because he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get warm under his duvet. His warm conversations with cashiers and barkers turned to solemn nods and gruff thank-yous, the refreshing smiles they associated with the sweater-clad figure reduced to slow blinks and nods of acknowledgement, and then not even that. They didn’t even wonder what had happened to that nice auburn-haired man who worked “down the street at the old spooky building, did-you-hear-about-those-worms?” Even takeout was too much to bear. The nights where leaving his flat was unconscionable, his delivery requests would always add, “leave outside the flat, tip is under the doormat.”

His neighbors didn’t remember him after a while. Mabel, the kind woman who lived across from him, introduced herself to him, asked when he moved in. Eventually she stopped noticing this new auburn man she hadn’t seen before. Hadn’t seen at all, actually. No one lived across the hall from her, not in her memory. And she had an excellent memory, didn’t-you-know? It was all those crosswords.

Martin started locking his doors. That had been after Jon had returned. He knew that distinctly. Most of these habits loomed over his life slowly, like an ever-expanding fog, until he didn’t realize where they had begun, but the doors? That was a choice.

He wasn’t one for locks overall; his childhood home had forbidden them, save for the exterior doors. It hadn’t bothered him back then, though, and as he grew up and out of the shadow of his mother it never occurred to him that he could just shut people out like that. So easy, so simple, but so unnecessary for so long. Martin was the one breaking down those barriers, especially at the Institute. Getting Sasha to talk about her anger when they first moved into the Archives, her quiet confession that she had wanted that job for so long, had been told by Gertrude she was a promising candidate. That had been fixed with a cup of tea and the promise that he would support her if she wanted to quit, but that it seemed like Tim needed her, Jon too. Getting Tim to open up about Danny, his sorrow that had been simmering so long under the surface, a grief Martin didn’t quite know how to fathom. But he tried, with comforting touches and warm voice, trying to ease Tim back from the precipice over which he had been hovering. Not enough. Never enough. Even Jon had begun to be kinder to him, after Prentiss, after Martin had proven he wasn’t a waste of space in the Archives, begun to be honest and open about his take on the weird things they experienced here. He had even texted him rather frequently, towards the end, updating him on his trip to America and of the occasional sights that caught his eye (‘In Pittsburgh they put chips on sandwiches and salads, Martin, look at this! Image_0102 attached’ Even in text, his grammar was impeccable.) But after Jon recovered from his coma, lapse with death, whatever it had been, Martin had been too far gone. He couldn’t risk Jon bursting in, bothering him, worrying and fussing. So he’d called in a locksmith to install the simple bolt, enough to stop a distracted, harried Archivist (who had never quite learned it was polite to knock) from bursting into his office at all hours.

But after all that, after the Lonely and Peter Lukas and “look at me and tell me what you see,” it was hard to break the achingly comfortable habits. For the first few days in Scotland, Martin didn’t really remember what had happened. While out of the domain itself, he was still trapped in its cloying embrace, and everything felt too real, too looming, too much; it had been easy to slip into silence for hours in Daisy’s safehouse. Too easy to pull the fog around him and watch himself sit, drawn up behind the door, as he watched and listened and waited for Jon to forget about him. It had never happened though. No matter how many hiding places he found, cold and dark and solitary, Jon always found him, blanket and tea in tow (always a little too sweet for Martin’s liking), and his scalding embrace was enough to drag him back to reality, shivering and sweating, whispering apologies.

They needed supplies. Daisy had left behind plenty of MREs in her pantry, stuff they could theoretically rely on, but it was all very basic nutritionary needs and both Martin and Jon were vegetarians, (more or less, Martin had stopped eating red meat as a teenager and Jon entirely after working in the Archives) and the dehydrated pasta alfredo was gone, seemingly the only vegetarian item in Daisy’s stock. Martin hadn’t even tried to touch the canned fruit, the orange-yellow of the peaches haunting him.

Martin suspected it was also a desperate attempt for the pair to practice feeling normal again. To be just two friends? Companions? Coworkers? Boyfriends? people stocking up their fridge and going on with a normal, non-horror filled life. A secluded, bare safehouse was certainly not helping them adjust any quicker, though neither man had dared leave quite yet, be it the risk of losing what little security they had accrued here or the inability to leave the other alone quite yet.

“Is-Do you know if it’s busy today?” Martin had asked, trying desperately to shape his voice into calm curiosity.

Jon considered the question for a minute, expression soft, and dear lord Martin wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the way Jon’s shadows seemed to darken and solidify when he Learned, his whole form shifting in and out of focus imperceptibly like the background was blending into him and not the other way round, the way Martin was accustomed.

“Mm, not bad. No one interesting. A couple families shopping for the week, twelve customers, four employees, total-oh, fourteen, mum and son just walked in…” Martin’s eyebrow was raised. “Ah,” Jon cleared his throat. “Sorry. Fourteen people. If that’s too many, I can go by myself, you know. I’m not going to force you.”

“N-no, no. I should go. Exposure therapy, right?”

Jon had smiled warmly and tentatively rested a hand on Martin’s shoulder, before sliding the hand, scarred and calloused, to squeeze Martin’s own cold one.

The grocery was small, a locally run place playing tinny jazz through the speakers. As Martin stepped through the doors with Jon, he was struck by how warm it was in the store. He could feel the prickle of anxiety burning under his skin, bringing a flush to his cheeks. He could hear the whine of the electric lights piercing his skull and settling behind his eyes. He gripped the trolley’s handle tight, firmly keeping his eyes forward. He was fine, he could do this.

Martin was not fine. They had worked their way through the aisles quickly, Jon using his Knowledge to figure out where every item they needed had been located. Martin was on autopilot, quietly steering the cart and flinching when anyone came to close to him. The heat of life was radiating off everyone in the store, even Jon, and it was scalding, blinding, debilitating. He hadn’t noticed Jon asking him a question until, Jon carefully, gingerly, brought his hand to hover near Martin’s cheek, not touching, just waiting for a response.

“Martin?” he heard distantly, calling him back to reality, where fog didn’t drift over the aisles and the soft rush of waves didn’t echo in his ears.

“-mm?” The hand was gone, his skin tingled with the rush of cold returning to his face. He wished it would come back, to hold his face and promise it would be alright.

“I was wondering what tea you wanted to buy? I’m no expert and I know you have your preferences. I miss-” Jon cleared his throat. “I’ve missed your tea in the Archives. All the staff drank coffee after you left. Disgusting.”

Tea. This was something Martin could do. He took a step away from the trolley, his life raft, and studied the aisles, trying to will his mind to focus.

Tea, tea, tea. Rooibos and chamomile for sleepless nights. Herbal for variety. Jon likes caffeinated teas. Maybe some chai? That’ll be good when it gets really cold…god how long will we be here? Through winter? Forever? He could stay here forever if it meant Jon was there too.

He grabbed a couple of boxes of familiar brands, throwing them in the trolley, as well as whatever felt familiar, what he’d usually pick up.

“I thought you didn’t like oolong.”

Martin frowned, glancing down at the box in his hand. “I don’t. Uh, force of habit I guess.” He set the box back quickly, as if it was burning his hand. “M’mum liked it so I would pick it up for her. Guess its been a while…” he trailed off, uncertain of what he was about to say. He’s bought tea since she died, hasn’t he?

He thinks back, through all his months in Elias’s office and at home.

Oh. Guess not.

Had he really not drunk tea at all? God, he had really changed more than he thought under the influence of Peter. Tea had been such a staple of his life, his personality, he was the one dragging Jon and Sasha and Tim to teahouses for his birthday and insisting he make a cuppa for everyone on the days that felt too dark. The last time he could remember holding a warm cup of tea in his hands was when he was sitting at Jon’s bedside in the hospital, reading him Keats in the desperate hope he would hate it so much he would wake up, even if just to scold his assistant.

Martin knew serving The Lonely had changed him. But here, in the aisle of a Scottish grocery, he was realizing how entirely debased he had become. Was he even Martin Blackwood anymore?

Martin blinked to see the grocery around him cloaked in fog. No, that wasn’t right. He was cloaked in fog. The world was a pale blue-grayscale, slightly translucent. He hadn’t been here in a while but the cool balm over his anxiety settled like cool cloth and he felt distantly quiet. Calm. He left the store in a haze and began the slow trudge up to the safehouse. Jon wasn’t here in this place, which was probably for the best. Martin couldn’t hurt him here, couldn’t burden him with whatever pesky emotions he had felt in the grocery, whatever they had been. They were a distant memory now, oolong and guilt.

By the time Martin had hiked up the hill to the safehouse, he felt safe enough to leave the Lonely, and felt the cool numbness drift off him like steam as the world sharpened around him. With the world came the sharp sting of his realization came with it; the understanding that he wasn’t the same person he had been when he had said goodbye to Tim, Melanie, and Jon, and certainly not the same person he had been when he had backed through the doors to the Institute and let that dog in, what felt like decades ago now.

Martin Blackwood let the door swing shut behind him as he made his way inside, hearing the rumble of Jon’s car rolling up the gravel driveway. He moved quickly through the house, looking desperately for a place to escape as he heard the faint call of his name outside. He couldn’t-he just couldn’t talk to Jon right now; he didn’t know how to explain how betrayed he felt and by on fault but his own. The closest room was the bathroom, dark and clean, and pressed back against the door as he clicked the door shut, turning the latch on the door.

Click.

The bolt slid into the mechanism of the door frame, and that sound was what sent Martin spiraling.

he was alone he was alone he was alone.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #the lonely #prompt fic

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Free Falling, Chapter 10: Working as a Unit (Branjie) - writworm42

A/N: Last chapter, Brooke and Vanessa’s feud got to a ridiculously bad level, so their coworkers locked them in the Snoezelen room together until they kissed & made up. This chapter, the unit gets to work on planning the fundraiser.

This took a WHILE whew but I’m really happy with how it turned out. That being said, it wouldn’t have turned out the way it did without Holtzmanns kicking my ass and being the best beta, cheerleader, and brainstorm-buddy I could ask for <3

Also, writing A'keria take on entitled old white men is my new favourite pastime

As early as the next morning, the vibe around the unit had become unrecognizable from the way it had been for what seemed like forever. It wasn’t just that things had returned to normal— because well, they hadn’t.

They’d gotten even better.

The minute that Brooke and Vanessa had been released from the Snoezelen room by their colleagues, the team hit the ground running - and there had been no stopping them since. Brooke had to admit, in a way, that she was taken by surprise by how quickly, efficiently, and effectively everyone worked.

Sure, Ra’jah was an amazing team lead who wrangled patients and fellow nurses alike without so much as blinking, but who knew that she’d be just as fearless on the phone haggling with vendors? And Vanessa knew that Shuga spent most of her time with parents, but who knew that she’d be able to generate so many RSVPs and reach out to so many community members and partners so quickly? Or that Soju had connections with almost every major public event and performance venue in the city, making it easy for Brooke to book a space? Even A’Keria and Ariel pitched in, somehow convincing 1712’s family to cater the event with a wide menu full of nutritionally-balanced, gluten-free, allergen-free, vegetarian, vegan, halaal, and kosher options.

In fact, Brooke actually had very little to do except sign forms, balance the budget, and get administrative clearance for the event.

It was nice, knowing everyone had her back. Plus, it left her plenty of time for what was fast becoming her favourite hobby: watching Vanessa work.

Maybe it was the honeymoon phase, or maybe Brooke just got excited when others did. Maybe it was that Vanessa’s passion for her work really was infectious. Either way, the more Vanessa became involved with the fundraiser, the more Brooke found herself wishing that she’d known about occupational therapy sooner.

“I finished the floor plans for the booths, everything should be up to code and completely wheelchair accessible.” Vanessa beamed as she slammed a roll of blueprints down on Brooke’s desk, so giddy with excitement that she didn’t even notice that Brooke was taking a phone call. “Ain’t this great?”

It was, and Brooke had never been so eager to get off the phone to tell her so.

“I’m trying to build an adaptive dunk-tank,” Vanessa bounded up to Brooke with an excited flush across her face when she entered the office the next day, the smaller woman’s hair disheveled as if she’d been actively wrestling with prototype materials. “Can I liaise with the building maintenance and engineering staff to steal wood from them or what?”

Brooke said yes, and not even a day later, Vanessa gave her no reason to be disappointed, a fully functional tank ready to be painted and moved out to the venue, its builder ready to accept her thanks in the form of more than one enthusiastic kiss.

In fact, the more Vanessa let Brooke into her world, the prouder Brooke became of her. After all, how many people could say that their girlfriend’s job was encouraging kids like Kam to work on reaching by practicing reaching for prize stuffed animals, or helping a kid like Monet’s fine motor skills by practicing face-painting and readying her to be Soju’s face-painting assistant?

The best part, though, was that it gave Brooke an entirely new perspective not just on Vanessa’s job, but on Vanessa herself.

Vanessa wasn’t just compassionate–empathy came off of her in waves, her heart constantly worn on her sleeve for everyone to see from the moment she walked into the therapy gym. And she wasn’t just creative–she was resourceful, her mind fierce in its ability to look at nothing and make it into something in a few seconds flat. And even though Vanessa could be stubborn, even though she could be a bulldozing pain in the ass when an idea came into her head that she just couldn’t let go of, Brooke came to realize that Vanessa only ever brought her claws out to protect the people she loved.

Brooke really could see why everyone so dearly loved Vanessa right back. She could only hope that others would love her like that one day, too.

As the day of the fundraiser crawled closer, Brooke couldn’t help but feel like the unit was growing stronger and stronger every day with every task that got checked off their to-do list. The adrenaline was starting to get to her and Vanessa too, making them get even bolder, even closer than ever. It was as if their brains had become synced over late-night planning sessions with more than a few kisses shared between pages of blueprints.

“Brooke, that’s it.” Vanessa collapsed back into Brooke’s desk chair two days before the fundraiser, her whole body going slack as she relaxed into the obus-forme backrest she had insisted Brooke add onto its surface ( “trust me, baby, it’ll prevent lower back pain in the long run” ). “That was the last form. We ain’t got nothing left to do. We’re finished.”

Brooke looked over to the papers on her desk, scanning for any plan left unexamined, any to-do list item left unchecked, any i left undotted or t left uncrossed. Vanessa was right - she couldn’t find anything of the sort.

They were done. The event planning was finally finished.

“I can’t believe it.” Brooke laughed, sighing with relief. “One day ahead of schedule, too. Oh my God.”

Vanessa moved out of Brooke’s chair and gestured for Brooke to take her place. “I’m proud of you, baby.” She climbed up onto Brooke’s lap, running her fingers through Brooke’s hair. Brooke hummed as she melted back into the chair’s cushioned surface, melted into the smooth, gentle feeling of Vanessa’s hands against her scalp.

“All we have to do now is keep everything running smoothly.” she sighed contentedly. It was interesting–a few months ago, she was confident that everything had come together, that she’d finally fit as a piece in the unit’s puzzle.

Now, though, watching everyone work together so eagerly, so seamlessly , it was like a whole different vibe. They weren’t pieces making a picture anymore; they were the picture right off the box, the picture everyone else tried to make.

And the most satisfying part was, none of it was Brooke’s doing, not really. Not individually, at least.

It was everyone who made that possible. And they did it without even trying.

“What do you say I drive you home, baby?” Vanessa’s voice roused Brooke from the dozing state she had begun to slip into, the smaller woman’s hands still keeping time as they stroked through Brooke’s hair, “I think you’ve earned a good night’s sleep.”

Brooke yawned, a slow, milky sense of fatigue finally overtaking her as her face smoothed over into a peaceful smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

–

The shift in energy around the unit the next day was unmistakable. The air was giddy with excitement, and one could barely turn a corner in the hallway without hearing fundraiser or carnival fall from someone’s lips.

Volunteers asked each other if they were going to go, trading stories of what they were most excited about and whether or not they were manning a booth. Parents chatted excitedly about how they couldn’t wait and how it would be a nice break. Kids called their friends to make plans for getting together, many of them practically bursting with happiness at the thought of doing something that didn’t have the word therapy attached, something they could invite everyone outside the hospital to do with them.

The vibe was also leaking to other parts of the hospital. Volunteers passed out tickets to early-bird RSVPs and sold last-minute pre-entry in the lobby, and inpatients and outpatients alike spotted the flyers and caught wind of the talk, resolving to go to themselves in support of the kids.

The most palpable change, though, was in the staff. When Brooke walked into the unit that morning, everyone was crowded around Plastique’s desk with a large tray of cupcakes, already celebrating their success. When Brooke had started at Charles-Visage, she probably would have popped a lung yelling for their waste of time, resources, and disrespect for hospital policy. Now, though, she took a cupcake from the tray, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure when the rich taste of dark chocolate frosting melted onto her tongue.

They hadn’t even done it yet, technically, but they’d done it.

No matter how tomorrow worked out, Brooke was sure that in many other ways, they’d already won.

“Am I interrupting something, ladies?” A sneering voice suddenly burst the team out of their happy bubble, all of them turning to see a tall, older man in a neatly-pressed business suit standing behind them with his arms crossed, a half-crushed fundraiser flyer in his hand.

“Gary.” Brooke nodded curtly, a hush falling over the group as tension set in.

“No, no, please, continue, don’t let me stop this, hm, fun you all seem to love up here.” He sniffed derisively. “Enjoy it while it lasts, since apparently, it’s not going to last long.”

“Now, hold on, Geoffrey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Ra’jah challenged from behind Brooke, hand already on her hip. “You’re holding one of our flyers, you’ve clearly seen it.”

Gary, for his part, seemed nonplussed, though the twitch in his eye at being called Geoffrey was unmistakable. “I don’t know, girls, it just seems a bit, you know, desperate. ”

This time, Brooke didn’t have to bristle at the condescension–everyone behind her was already doing so.

“What do you mean, desperate?” She rolled her eyes as she said it.

“Well, I mean, we at high intensity outpatient never have to do this. Besides, it’ll never work.” he scoffed.

“Never work? What kinda nonsense you talkin’, Garfield?” Silky snorted, barely stifling her smile as Gary’s eye twitched again.

“A lump sum like a donation can only go so far. Eventually, the funds you raise will dry up, and by then, all you’ll have done is raised funds for a service that’s going under anyway. A waste of time and resources.” He shrugged.

If Brooke hadn’t been so seethingly mad, she would have been impressed at his ability to be staring fifteen grown women in the face and speaking to them all like children instead of like the educated professionals that treated them. But before Brooke could so much as think of something to spit back at him, he turned to her with an almost completely contemptful smile.

“Really, Miss Hytes, I would have thought you would understand finances a little better, given your position. Although, I suppose a bunch of kids wouldn’t notice inexperience, would they?”

That was it. Brooke felt something else take over her; her head began to spin and rage rose in her throat, indignation bubbling on her tongue. Her team?Inexperienced?

Not Yvie, who had been hired straight out of her placement because she’d achieved top marks and had made such a good impression on all the staff there. Not Plastique, who had everything Brooke needed done before Brooke even realized it was a task that was still outstanding. Certainly not Shuga, who had over twenty years to generate a mile-long resume that she kept as a record of all the different experiences she’d had, all the lessons she’d learned and brought to the unit in her present practice. How dare he, how fucking dare he.

She was just about to tear Gary a new one, when she noticed his gaze. He was only looking at Brooke, his eyes full of contempt and something dangerously near some kind of put-on pity.

He wasn’t talking about the team.

He was talking specifically about her.

This wasn’t the first time Brooke had been underestimated. It wasn’t the first time her efforts or her achievements had been discounted. It more than likely wouldn’t be the last, either. She was used to it–used to rising above it, used to showing rather than telling, used to proving her adversaries wrong and making them eat their own words. To watching them squirm and letting their discomfort be her victory prize.

But apparently the team took a different approach.

“Sorry, Gabriel, who the flipper do you think you’re flipping talking to?” Scarlet shouldered her way to the front of the group, standing practically right in Gary’s face. “There’s no one inexperienced here.”

“That’s right,” Honey spoke up, coming to stand right behind Scarlet, “Brooke is the best manager we’ve ever had, and I dare you to say anything different.”

“Well, in that case, I feel sorry for–” but Gary didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence before A’keria was in his face, her short stature suddenly stretched to about six feet just by virtue of the threat in her posture and edge to her words.

“You ain’t feel sorry for nothing or nobody. You think you’re oh-so-mighty, well let me tell you somethin’, Mr Gregory, at least here, we ain’t gotta rely on our daddy’s name to get our positions. Brooke ain’t no exception to that.” She began to walk forwards, effectively forcing Gary back a step with each word.

“Brooke works harder than anyone else in this hospital, and ever since she been here, we been doing better than ever. Now I know we ain’t no rich people’s playground, but what do you wanna bet that if we pulled up the numbers, we’d see an exponential growth here, while you sittin’ pretty at half a billion but been in a plateau there for ten years?” She takes a step closer. “‘Cause we got your number, Gordon, and it ain’t a good one. Brooke is a better manager than you’ll ever be, and if you want to see it for yourself, tickets to the fundraiser are ten dollars each. Now get the flunk out of our unit.”

“Reginald.” Gary growled in correction, but before he could say anything else, there were the sounds of wheels rolling fast on the ground, followed by the tell-tale squealing of a five-year-old having the time of her life and the loud protests of a grown occupational therapist who wasn’t supposed to be running a scooterboard race in the inpatient hallway.

This time, when Gary went down, Ra’jah had nothing to say about it.

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #hospital au #free falling #writworm42

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thrasher297542-blog · 5 years

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thisishowyouletgoandfindyou-blog · 7 years

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People change

I was about 22 when I got married. At that age, my personality was just about crystalized. It would take a couple more years, until the age of about 24, for my pre-frontal cortex to fully develop. I was a child when I got married, and even more of a child when I got engaged. I didn’t know what I wanted, or even who I was. I didn’t have the ability to be aware of my emotions, or to know what I felt about my thoughts.

As we get older, our personality fixations hopefully soften, and we develop more dexterity in our ability to cope with things emotionally. We develop increasing choice and self-awareness. At least this is what happens when we are open to growth, integration, and feedback. This kind of change occurs particularly rapidly if we increase self-awareness through meditation and therapy or coaching.

I started meditating at around the age of 27, and I started to change a lot. I became less accommodating. I was less willing to just do whatever my wife wanted without taking into account what I wanted. That was a big change in our dynamic. I had been the provider, the problem solver, the planner, and the one who made everything work smoothly. Now I started to let go of that. I wasn’t interested in making everything go smoothly anymore. I wanted to chill out a little and do nothing. I wanted to put my feet up and relax when I got home from work.

In any relationship, the partners mesh together like a pair of cogs, with teeth interleaved. When one of the people starts to change, it can wreak havoc on the relationship. In that marriage it did. The breaking point was when my son was not returned to me (I’ll explain later). That’s when I started intensive psychotherapy, which of course led to more change, which made our marriage even worse. In hindsight, I probably should have visited an international lawyer instead of spending the next few years fighting for a marriage that was inevitably falling apart.

Don’t get me wrong, change is not bad. In fact, change is good. Increasing self-awareness is very good, very important. It’s what’s necessary to live a fulfilling and healthy life. I recommend meditation, therapy, and coaching to everyone. The thing is, we all change, and we change a heck of a lot in our twenties, especially if we’re meditating and getting therapy or coaching.

I recommend not getting married, which is, by definition, a life-long commitment, until you’ve done a lot of inner work.

Only do what you want

As much as possible, take action based on what you truly want, not based on what you think is “right” or “acceptable.” Every decision I ever made that went against what I truly wanted came back to bite me in the ass. Each of those decisions, which may have looked “right” to outside parties, or on paper, or to my conscience, ended up leading to outcomes that I wanted even less.

When my wife would not return from vacation in our country of birth with my baby son, I dropped everything to keep our family together. I reverted to my role as the problem solver. I bought and sold houses at great financial loss, compromised my career, left my community, relinquished my green card, and spent years entangled in complex and expensive international tax scenarios. I wanted to keep my family together, but I didn’t want all of that. I took action that I thought was “right.” I thought I was being a “good” husband. I thought I “should” put my family first.

With hindsight, I see that if I had not taken action, if I had stood my ground, if I had spent time feeling what I wanted, validating it, and enjoying the empowered feelings associated with that, I would have made very different decisions. The outcomes would have been very different, and probably much more in alignment with what I truly wanted. Perhaps the outcomes would have been less destructive for everyone, including my son, and including myself.

I’m not writing this to bitch about my ex-wife. I don’t even have anything negative to say about her. I’m also not writing this to dwell on mistakes and feel bad about them. I’m examining this part of my life with you, right now, in order to both gain and impart as much value from it as possible.

When I look back, I know that it was very clear to me what I wanted, and I chose to go strongly against that, to not trust that, to not honor that. I believe that everything I wanted, regardless of what was “right,” could have been available to me if I had stood firm in my authority and my power, the power of honoring what I wanted.

“Right” is just a dead mental concept. What you truly want is living and powerful, and your clear intuition, your drive and motivation, can be trusted. What you truly want is all you can really know for sure. whereas what’s “right” is usually wrong.

Every relationship is a success

All relationships are successes. We gain so much experience from being in relationship, especially a “bad” relationship. All of life is about relationship, and we get to practice relationship particularly intensely in intimacy with our partner. All of our transference comes up as we begin to see the positive and negative traits of our parents in our partner. We get to heal, or deepen, the wounds of our childhoods with our partner. And then we get to reflect on that, and to integrate and grow.

All relationships have a natural end. For some relationships the end comes with death. For others the end comes with separation or divorce. It might seem that some relationships would have been even more successful had they ended sooner, with less suffering and hurt. However, relationships always end when they do, and when they do turns out to be when one or both people understand that they should.

My wife divorced me. Even though it destroyed my life as I knew it, I don’t take it personally. It was her right. In hindsight, I would have been happier had she done it much sooner.

Cultivate quality friendships

For a long period before we divorced, and though I was back in my country of birth, I felt isolated. We lived in a relatively remote region with few local friends, and I was busy working from home. Nearly all of my human contact was with my toddler son, and my wife. When she asked me to leave our family home, I reluctantly complied, and desperately began to seek her favor, trying to persuade her to change her mind. I was desperate to achieve my goal of keeping our family together. My identities as a husband and a father were also under threat.

During this time, I started to make friends. I made some really close friends through doing The Hoffman Process, which I strongly recommend to everyone. It’s available in many different countries. I spent time with people who cared about me, who loved me, who had compassion for me. These people treated me kindly.

I experienced long periods of being away from my wife, periods with people who treated me kindly. Then I would visit her, and try to persuade her to not divorce me. My experience of her during those time was a great contrast with that of being with my friends. I began to realize that I didn’t want to be with her either. It was like I was waking up from a deep sleep. I hadn’t realized how unpleasant it had been for me to be with her. It had been constantly painful for years.

Since divorce, I have cultivated and maintained many friendships. I have also made sure to take frequent breaks from my intimate relationships. I did this so that I could get a clear perspective on what it’s actually like to be with that person. If you’re not enjoying and benefitting from being in a relationship, and things cannot be resolved, then you have an opportunity to grow even more by ending the relationship.

The world is full of people who are waiting to give you love and compassion. Seek them out, enjoy them, and celebrate them. Don’t waste your life being stuck with people with whom you’re not compatible, with whom you don’t mesh.

Commit appropriately

When my wife did not return from abroad with my son, without my consent and without consulting me, I now understand that the implicit message she was sending to me might have been, “I’m not working with you. I’m acting unilaterally and autonomously from you.” Instead of listening to that implicit but clear message, and matching the level of commitment in my actions, I dived in and doubled-down on my commitment to her. I sacrificed my own foundational position of strength, over-reached my center of balance, and committed to someone who was not supporting me.

I have a tendency to overcommit. I had to learn to pay attention to the signs of willingness to commit from the other person and then match that.

In more than one subsequent relationship, my partner has complained about me to my face, or to others, “You’re too anxious,” or “You’re too jealous.” This last one was projection: I suffer from many weaknesses, but romantic jealousy is definitely not one of them. I have learned to match the sentiment. I now take the position of, “I understand that you think I’m too anxious for you. I love you, and I want you to be happy. I wonder if it makes sense for you to be with me.” I have also learned that sometimes my partner just needs a hug.

In a broader sense, I have learned to not chase after people who are pushing me away. On the flip side, I have learned to not run away from people who are pulling me in. Note that some people, and I’m not referring to my ex-wife, like to pull us in so that they can then push us away, or push us away so that they can then pull us in. Handle such people with caution.

We’re attracted to dysfunction

You know when you see that person who seems magical and you just want to be with them no matter what? That’s called limerence. What’s happening is that your unconscious, disowned parts see an opportunity to get into a protracted battle with their unconscious, disowned parts.

Beware of limerence. Have lots of relationships so that you can learn that we’re all just humans, sacks of blood and bones and guts. We’re all saddled with endless psychological tics and insecurities. Inside, we’re all ugly as fuck, and yet super-lovable at the same time.

One of the main things I have learned from starting and ending many relationships is this fundamental truth: this one is not “the one” (there is no “the one”). No matter how special they might seem, no matter how much I put them on a pedestal, sooner or later I’m going to learn the truth that they’re just another human. They’re struggling through life too, and I’m going to be challenged to love them warts-and-all. I’m going to be challenged to love the parts of myself that I have disowned. I’m going to have to learn to love the parts of myself that I have projected onto this other person.

With enough experience, when you find yourself attracted to someone, and you get that sense that they’re somehow special, you begin to recall the truth. You know how this goes. You know how this story plays out. It always plays out the same way. Boy meets girl, they put each other on pedestals, then they learn the truth about each other (really about themselves), then they struggle, finally they either accept reality and go deep, or they experience a painful and growthful break up.

Conclusion

What I want you to take from this article is a sense of the importance of getting to know yourself deeply first. Spend your twenties getting to know who you are and what you want. If your twenties are in the past, then start now. Meditate and get coaching or therapy. Learn to validate what you want and go for it. Prioritize taking care of yourself. At the same time, get lots of experience by starting and ending many relationships. By doing this, you will find out what you like and want, and you will be able to develop a contrast between the different relationships. At the same time, by developing deep friendships, you will have a reference point of what if feels like to be cherished. Good luck.

https://psiloveyou.xyz/i-married-the-first-person-i-had-sex-with-heres-what-i-learned-221351e30886#.l9t6f1itd

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