#addiction cw

[incognitopolls]

If multiple apply, choose whichever option you thought of first.

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #addiction #addiction cw #drug cw #drugs cw #submitted oct 29 #polls about the body #polls about relationships

[dog-teeth]

something to recognize that choosing recovery again and again is difficult work, and you are not weak for faltering

#comics #hey proud of myself for completing a multi page comic even if its not that long #i realized i tend to operate under made up rules about the art in a comic being super consistent and it limits me #so i tried letting myself be looser with it :> #i hope this makes sense let me know what u think i feel so incoherent lately #hope everyone is doing well !!! havent been v active but i just got a flatbed scanner so i should be able to post some drawings soon :O #been UNWELL super unemployed i am in the slime i am seeing the skull #digital art #autobio comics #ask to tag #self harm cw #self harm tw #addiction cw #addiction tw

[transjudas]

One of the hardest things about watching LOTMS is seeing Gerard in crisis and seeing those around him who love him doing their best to look out for him. And the past year we’ve gotten to see that same love and support while they seem to be doing so much better coping with things even through the pandemic. Because no matter how you’re coping, having friends by your side there for you is everything. (x, x)

#i don't really gif those moments cause they're legit awful but this specific few seconds like... i think about it a lot #cause brushing the gravel and dirt off gerard's shirt is... in the grand scheme of things with what was happening... so little and inconsequ #ential #but it's something he could do at the time and it's gentle and he's there #and now 20 years later he's still there #and gerard is STILL HERE #and he can comfort him and support him and love him and he can see how he's recovered and grown and lived #ANYWAY THIS POST IS AN EXORCISM FOR ME #gerard way #frank iero #addiction cw #alcoholism cw #mcr #mcredit #lotms #my chemical romance

[queermania]

Youve said in the past you don't think Dean would do well with AA. Could you expand on what you mean by that?

well. the first problem with AA is that it has an all or nothing approach. either you're fully sober or you've gone off the deep end. and that's not realistic or helpful for everybody. i don't think dean needs full sobriety to be okay. what he needs is to not fall back on alcohol as a coping mechanism when he's deep in the pits of despair. the AA program doesn't allow for that kind of nuance.

equally important is the fact that AA is geared towards a very specific type of person: a cishet, white, man who isn't living in the world of a fantasy genre show. have you ever looked at the twelve steps? i'm assuming the average person hasn't, or if they have, their eyes just sort of glaze over when reading them because they're vague and repetitive and sound like nonsense. but what they essentially boil down to is this:

accepting a higher power (aka god) and handing over control to them

admitting every awful thing you believe about yourself and accepting that those things are the truth

admitting that you are the architect of all of your problems

admitting that you are the one who has done harm to the world and those around you (and no harm done to you is an excuse for anything ever)

making yourself as vulnerable as possible

this sounds like a cheat sheet for exacerbating every problem dean winchester has. this is a person who has been fighting for control his entire life, who already hates himself and thinks he's to blame for things that he couldn't possibly be responsible for, etc.

these steps make my skin crawl and i've never been singled out by god or his army. there's just no way dean winchester sits through a single meeting and comes out better for it.

#replies #anonymous #dw #addiction cw #alcoholism cw

[orchidbreezefc]

i wanna talk about haymitch abernathy.

well, first i wanna talk about the treatment of chemical addiction in the hunger games trilogy. because it's good. a lot of characters, including katniss, struggle with it. it gets explored in considerable depth, and not once is any character looked down on for it (well, aside from some eye-rolling with haymitch and perhaps pity for the 'morphlings' in book 2).

no one is infantilized, dehumanized, or considered weak for their dependency, even when they're incoherent from inebriation or withrawal. addicts are treated with dignity,  and there is only ever respect, understanding, and sympathy for their struggle and for the trauma that led them to this position. the story has no interest in scrutinizing how they got there or whether their behavior is sufficiently justified, only in meeting them where they are.

everyone has suffered at the hands of the capitol, and some people have resorted to substances to cope--even and especially smart, competent people. it's unfortunate and painful for them (and the focus is always on the addict's suffering, not anyone else's) but it's always understood as doing what they had to do. survival is a crucial theme in these books, and this is just another form of it.

this understanding extends to the point that katniss and peeta independently hoard liquor in case haymitch runs out. he's fucking annoying and rude and at that point they have no reason to believe they stand to gain anything from helping him, but they do it anyway because abandoning him would be cruel. it's not ever a question of enabling an alcoholic, it's a question of not letting a man fucking die of withdrawal.

see, rough around the edges is an insufficient description for haymitch; he's rough all the way to the middle. he is a messy, sloppy drunk. he is rude, obnoxious, and venomously cynical. he is also the smartest character in a series full of extremely smart characters.

in the first book all that is said about haymitch's victory is speculation from katniss and peeta. they note that he isnt a standout physical talent and doesnt have any specialized abilities, and deduce that he must have won by outsmarting the others. this is innocuous enough and supported by the shrewdness of haymitch's sponsor gifts and his coaching outside the games.

the recontextualization comes in book 2 when we learn haymitch was the victor of the 50th hunger games, the last quarter quell--which had twice as many tributes as usual. haymitch didn't outsmart 23 other people, up to a third of them having trained for this exact purpose until age 17. haymitch outsmarted 47.

haymitch abernathy? is a big fucking deal. that man waltzed in from The underdog district, unmentored and presumably earning approximately zero sponsor gifts with his winning personality, and won the hardest hunger games there has ever been. haymitch is the most impressive bitch in panem. between this and our increasing insight into how the victors are treated, the alcoholism gets recontextualized too.

imagine how frothingly fucking pissed the capitol is that haymitch is impossible to leverage for any PR purpose whatsoever. like, this is The victor, but what are they gonna do? show off the victor of the hardest hunger games of all time and he's fucking haymitch?

he shows up to every public appearance fall-down drunk and pukes on someone's shoes. every time he's on screen he embarrasses everyone. he makes the hunger games look like a joke and undermines the whole premise. he's supposed to be the capitol's biggest asset and he's pissed all over it. he's useless to them. the best thing they can do is leave him alone.

that's when you think, wait. that's kind of a rebellion in itself, huh? he defies the capitol's efforts to use him as 'a piece in their game' better than anyone else outside district 13, maybe them too, when he should be their favored pawn. he's about as free of their influence as anyone can be. that seems... smart. haymitch-typical smart.

haymitch's alcoholism is real and no doubt a legitimate result of his trauma, but it's also a weapon. he probably plays it up. gets extra trashed for every public appearance, the earlier in the day the better. asks himself what he could do that would horrify effie trinket the most and then does that.

at the same time, haymitch seems to get it together more as the series goes on. from the sound of it he was content to drink himself to death and blow off every tribute in his district before katniss and peeta came along and he recognized in them the potential for revolutionaries and, more importantly, the potential for victors. for the first time he had a real chance to achieve a goal, and the real necessity to be sharp for it.

my guess is that haymitch started making actual efforts to manage his alcoholism from then on. getting sober is pretty much impossible to do on your own, and indeed he has a relapse for every time he improves. but haymitch would have known he'd need any scrap of competence he could snatch. and i think, away from our heroine's perspective, he did. you can play drunk for a camera; you can't play sober for a planning session.

the one thing that really helps with addiction is a support network, and that's the one thing haymitch can never have. it is made blisteringly clear that your loved ones are so much ammunition for the capitol to use against you, and they desperately need some for haymitch. he says his loved ones are all dead, but one wonders if there were more that he made damn sure were no longer loved ones before that happened. maybe haymitch saved some lives by driving people as far away as he could, and doomed himself to succumb to the alcoholism in the process.

on a sillier note, i imagine during katniss and peeta's games haymitch would have needed someone to manage his intake and keep him sober enough to strategize the sponsorships without sending him into withdrawal. and i like to think it was effie trinket.

she'd disapprove at first but dosages and scheduling would be her JAM. plus haymitch would always cave in to her sanctimonious lectures before she caved in to his demands for more. it would be really motivating, actually--"i can endure this. anything's better than hearing one more fucking word from effie goddamn trinket about my health." truly the dream team.

tl;dr i fucking love haymitch abernathy. he's one of the characters of all time. thank you, suzanne collins, for this smart, competent, callous, mean, complex alcoholic who is vital to the revolution. thank you for writing addicts and addiction with the depth, seriousness, complexity, and respect they deserve as human beings.

#the hunger games #haymitch abernathy #just finished the books let's goooooo #addiction cw #alcoholism cw #alcohol cw #substance cw #meta #sage speaks #sage original post #long post #thanks to wyn and hazel especially for helping me hammer out these thoughts. and for the effie headcanon it is actually genius #thg #spoilers through the end of catching fire i guess #hunger games #i do meta now maybe #greatest hits

[newdejavuu]

im trying my best not to think too deeply about some of the things I see on here but. they irritate me so.

can I ask why, less than ten shows from the end of the american leg of the tour, we are STILL making comments about joe and pete’s “lack of energy.” or about how they both look “bored” — or, my favorite being, “wilted flowers without any sunlight.” im not black, so I don’t really feel comfortable unpacking the racial microaggression that lies within that statement, but as someone who has struggled with substance abuse, I feel much more comfortable talking about that.

so let’s talk about pre-hiatus show “energy” for a moment.

those beloved pre-hiatus shows where both of them are wizzing around the stage, spinning around, and throwing themselves on the floor — I would bet money that a majority of those shows that joe & pete were high or drunk or some combination in between. joe was an addict (something he openly admitted to being in his book) and while I’m unsure of pete ever used the word outright, he had his own struggles with substance abuse as well.

the “energy” you so desperately crave from the boys, the kind you so desperately want back, was a result of that addiction. joe admitted that he turned to drugs and alcohol before shows as a way to deal with his crippling anxiety and imposter syndrome. and pete has openly admitted to forgetting entire shows bc he was drunk or high or something else.

while yes, the boys don’t thrash around or writhe on the floor like they used to for a variety of reasons: they’re older, joe has had multiple back surgeries for his chronic back condition — but also. they aren’t performing in a drunken, drugged haze anymore. they’re giving us all the energy and happiness that they can, while 100% SOBER.

for me, i’d happily take their sobriety over some “pre-hiatus” energy.

#think before you open your mouth people. #how can you say that they aren’t up there having the time of their life? when they are grinning from ear to ear & swinging from the dog #and doing silly little dances to make each other laugh???? #I don’t WANT that energy back. I want their energy NOW healthy and happy as they are #substance abuse cw #addiction cw #bandom bullshit #kayce’s corner.txt

[wistfulwatcher]

#spending two entire seasons focusing on natalie's self-destructive behaviors and pain #making her suicidal thoughts a main aspect of her story line #then letting her want to try and address her trauma and heal a DAY before she's killed #is actually fucking disgusting

#yellowjackets #yellowjacketsedit #natalie scatorccio #nataliescatorccioedit #mine #edit #* #anti yellowjackets #yellowjackets critical #suicide cw #addiction cw

[lifeinpoetry]

remember, getting clean is a form of grief so let go of your own ghost: a wake, every day.

— Scott-Patrick Mitchell, from "binding spell," Clean: Faith, Abuse and George Pell

#quote #Scott-Patrick Mitchell #poetry #Clean: Faith Abuse and George Pell #out of my collection #binding spell #addiction cw

[kjack89]

Off the Wagon

Massively self-indulgent.

E/R, modern AU, developing relationship. CW: Drug addiction.

“Can we talk?”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire warily. “That’s never an auspicious beginning to a conversation.”

Grantaire half-smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What can I say, it’s not necessarily an auspicious conversation.”

Enjolras frowned with genuine concern, taking in the dark shadows that ringed Grantaire’s eyes, as well as the way he crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest. “Is everything ok?” he asked cautiously.

“Yeah, it is,” Grantaire said quickly – too quickly. “I just, uh, I’m not going to be able to come to Thursday night meetings anymore.”

Enjolras blinked. That certainly hadn’t been what he’d expected. “Why not?”

He hadn’t meant for it to sound accusatory, but judging by the look on Grantaire’s face, it did. “My schedule changed,” Grantaire said shortly.

Enjolras hesitated, not wanting to make things worse by prying, but it wasn’t just that Grantaire would be missing Les Amis meetings. Thursday nights had become something of a routine for them, their night to stay at the Musain until early in the morning, bickering or talking or even just sharing the backroom in silence, Enjolras working on whatever he needed to do that day, Grantaire sketching.

And Enjolras felt a small pang at the realization that this routine was about to be disrupted.

“How long do you think you’ll be missing the meetings for?” he asked.

Grantaire shrugged. “The foreseeable future, at least,” he said, worrying his lower lip between his teeth before adding, “Possibly indefinitely.”

“Oh.” Enjolras nodded slowly, trying to come up with something, anything to say. “Well, obviously there’s not much you or anyone else can do about your schedule, so, uh…”

He trailed off, not sure what else he wanted to say, and Grantaire managed a weak sort of smile. “At least I’ll still be at the Sunday meetings,” he assured Enjolras, who just nodded.

“Right,” he said, even though it wasn’t the same thing by any stretch.

Grantaire nodded, shifting awkwardly. “Anyway, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you when I see you,” he said awkwardly.

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Enjolras echoed, watching as Grantaire made his way back to where Joly and Bossuet were waiting, trying to determine why exactly he felt like something between him and Grantaire had shifted, and not for the better.

— — — — —

Three weeks later, the feeling had only intensified, not helping by missing Grantaire on Thursdays.

“Did you have a fight?” Courfeyrac asked, for what was probably the eighteenth time.

Enjolras shook his head. “No more than usual,” he said gloomily.

“The fact that you two even have a ‘usual’ amount of fighting probably speaks volumes in and of itself,” Combeferre remarked, not looking up from his phone.

“Do you plan on actually being helpful?” Courfeyrac asked, scowling at him.

Combeferre finally looked up, tucking his phone in his pocket. “With Enjolras and Grantaire? No. Because the only foolproof way to figure out what’s going on with Grantaire is to ask Grantaire. Or, I guess, if you were truly crazy, you could just follow him because stalking’s always the answer.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Combeferre stared at him. “In case you were confused, the stalking part was sarcasm—”

“No, I know,” Enjolras said impatiently. “But he was somewhat cagey about his schedule changing, whatever that means, and maybe if I knew a little bit more about what was going on with him, I wouldn’t feel like this.”

“Right, because historically speaking, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong always works out,” Courfeyrac said with a snort.

“This time it will,” Enjolras said stubbornly.

Combeferre just shook his head. “Famous last words.”

— — — — —

That Thursday was the first that Enjolras could recall where his feet did not lead him down the well-trod path to the Musain. Instead, he lingered outside of Grantaire’s apartment, partially hidden inside the entryway to a vacant store.

Maybe Courfeyrac had a little bit of a point about the stalking.

But Enjolras’s mind was made up, and he was determined to get to the bottom of this one way or another. So when he saw Grantaire exit the building, pausing on the stoop to fumble for a cigarette, Enjolras knew he had really left himself no other choice but to follow him.

So he did, across several city blocks, almost losing him when a Tesla decided that red lights clearly didn’t apply to them, but eventually, they arrived at what Enjolras assumed was their quarry.

To his absolute bafflement, it was a church.

Grantaire headed inside like he did this every day, and Enjolras hesitated before following. He hadn’t been in a church since the last time his mother made him go, which had been in high school, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust when he stepped inside. 

He hesitated, glancing around. Grantaire was nowhere to be seen, and Enjolras was loath to just wander into the sanctuary.

But then the door behind him opened and Enjolras jumped guiltily. “Sorry about that,” a friendly voice said behind him, and Enjolras glanced over at the kind-looking woman who had just come in. “Are you looking for the meeting?” Enjolras almost asked what meeting, but figured he’d invite more questions than it was worth if he did, so he settled for nodding. “It’s downstairs,” she told him, pointing helpfully in the direction of the staircase.

Enjolras nodded his thanks and headed down the stairs in question. The basement of the church was much more brightly-lit, and finding the meeting room was relatively easy. The room was crowded, enough that Enjolras was able to slip inside without notice, taking a seat in the back of the room.

He glanced around at the rows of metal folding chairs, wondering what exactly was going on here. But his question was answered all too quickly by the same kindly woman from before standing up at the front of the room and smiling at everyone. “Good evening,” she said. “My name is Fantine, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Fantine,” the room murmured in response, but Enjolras was too stunned to speak, a strange sort of ringing sound in his ears.

So this meant – Grantaire was a—

“If this is your first time joining us as Narcotics Anonymous, welcome,” the woman continued, but Enjolras could barely listen to whatever else she was saying, especially since the sound of his own heartbeat was so loud.

He glanced around, wondering if he could possibly slip out without being noticed or without being noticed when he heard Grantaire’s name, and he froze.

“We have some chips to give out tonight, so Grantaire, if you want to join me up here.”

Enjolras shrank down in his chair, wishing that the entire floor would just swallow him up before Grantaire could notice him. But almost immediately after accepting his chip and a hug from the woman, Grantaire glanced out at the audience, and almost just as quickly locked eyes with Enjolras.

For a moment, Grantaire’s eyes widened, just slightly, before his expression evened out and he took a step forward to address the group. “My name is Grantaire, and I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Grantaire,” the room murmured back towards him, though Enjolras remained silent, not trusting himself to speak, and he kept his gaze firmly on the floor.

“I, uh, I’ve been clean for two years,” Grantaire continued, and Enjolras did glance up at that, surprised, because he never would have guessed— “I was clean for almost ten years before that but I, well, I fell off the wagon– Right, sorry, no euphemisms. I relapsed two years and a week ago.”

His eyes flickered over to Enjolras. “I had been clean for so long that most of the people in my life didn’t even know I was a drug addict. That I still am a drug addict.”

Grantaire paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “When the pandemic was just beginning, before the shutdown but we started to hear that a shutdown might happen, I mentioned to a coworker that I hoped my doctor’s appointment wouldn’t get canceled. I had hurt my shoulder at a protest and I needed to get it checked out. And my coworker, who didn’t know any better, told me he had almost an entire bottle of oxy that he got prescribed after a surgery he had.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression. “And he asked if I wanted them.”

He swallowed, his voice barely a whisper as he added, “And I said yes.”

Something twisted in Enjolras’s chest, but Grantaire just took another deep breath before barrelling onward. “I didn’t take them right away. I hid them under my bed. And for a while, for a good long while, that was enough. I was fine, because I had a bottle of oxy under my bed, just in case. I was fine, because I had so much control, or at least, that’s what I told myself.”

His usual self-deprecation slipped into his tone, but Enjolras heard the bitterness for what it was, knew that behind every joke at his own expense, Grantaire had always intended a little bit of truth. And for some reason, knowing that made Enjolras’s chest ache. “Then I got laid off in June of 2021, and in July, I got in a really stupid fight with a friend, and we both said some things we shouldn’t have, and—”

Enjolras’s heart sank even further. He knew the fight in question.

He had been the other party of the fight in question.

“And I’m a drug addict,” Grantaire said. “And I had a bottle of oxy under my bed. So it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what I did next.”

He shrugged, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. “I wanted to try and stretch it out, just take a little at a time because it’s not like I had a dealer who could get me more, y’know? And if I was just taking one pill at a time, surely that’s different than when I used to snort it or smoke it or whatever.”

He barked a bitter laugh and drew a hand across his face. “The bottle was gone by the end of the week.”

There were a few murmurs of understanding from the audience, and Grantaire paused while he waited for it to subside. “When I got sober enough to leave my apartment, I went straight to the park. I’d always seen some junkies hanging around there and I figured I could get a hookup from them. Only, uh, there was this protest…”

Again, Enjolras knew exactly what protest it had been. It was strange, hearing these details surrounding events he had known, had lived, but in a way he never could’ve suspected. “I was supposed to be at that protest. I had forgotten about it or maybe I didn’t even care enough to remember it in the first place, but seeing it, seeing my friends—”

For the first time, Grantaire’s voice broke. “That probably saved my life.”

Enjolras looked up sharply, meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “I think I knew that if I went in that park, and I scored whatever, I would be dead within six months.” He jerked a shrug. “And I just– I didn’t want to die anymore.”

This time, the brief silence that followed was broken by the sound of someone clapping, and then more people started clapping, and then the whole room joined in. Grantaire looked startled by the response, managing a small, somewhat embarrassed smile, and he gave a small wave before returning to his seat.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, and Enjolras was torn between making a run for it as soon as the meeting was over, or offering Grantaire some kind of explanation, or at least an assurance that he wasn’t going to say anything.

It wasn’t his secret to tell. Then again, it also hadn’t been his secret to learn in the first place.

In the end, the decision was made for him, as the meeting broke up and Grantaire made a beeline over to him, his expression dark. “I don’t know what Joly’s been telling you, but caffeine isn’t a narcotic.”

“I know that,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “And I know I owe you and explanation—”

“Not here,” Grantaire interrupted, his voice tight. He jerked his head toward the staircase and Enjolras followed him in silence as they left the church and headed to a 24-hour diner just down the street.

They both settled into a booth in the back of the diner, and when the waitress came over to take their order, Grantaire gave her a tight smile. “Just two coffees, thanks.”

It was only after she had returned with their coffees that Grantaire finally met Enjolras’s eyes. “Well,” he said, cradling his coffee cup between both hands. “I knew someone was going to get curious, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect it to be you.”

“I shouldn’t have followed you,” Enjolras told him. “If I had known this was where you were going—”

“But you didn’t,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “And I could have been slightly more forthcoming of why I was going to be absent on Thursdays.” He took a sip of coffee before telling Enjolras, “They changed meeting times. They used to meet on Wednesdays, but now it’s Thursdays. I’ve been, uh, working on finding a different meeting, but I’ve been going to this group for years so it’s not, like, easy.”

“I would assume not,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire cocked his head. “Would you?” he asked, almost amused. “I’d’ve guessed you wouldn’t have any experience with this sort of thing.”

Enjolras flushed, just slightly. “I don’t,” he said.

Grantaire nodded slowly. “In that case, what do you want to know?”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Enjolras blurted, and Grantaire just arched an eyebrow as he took another sip of coffee.

“I’m well aware,” he said. “But you already know the worst of it, so I figure, in for a penny, in for a pound.”

Enjolras swallowed and glanced down at his own coffee before looking up at Grantaire again. “Fine, then there’s really only one question that I have: are you ok?”

Grantaire looked surprised. “That’s your only question?”

It wasn’t, not by a long shot, but— “It’s the only one that matters.”

Something softened in Grantaire’s expression. “Then yes,” he said, with honesty. “I’m ok.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok.”

“But I know you have other questions besides that.”

“I do,” Enjolras admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “Including one that’s, um, potentially insensitive, I guess.”

Grantaire didn’t look surprised, and he settled back in his seat. “Fire away.”

“You’re a drug addict,” Enjolras said, and saying the words out loud for the first time made them somehow seem more real. “And you said you’re clean now. But you still drink, and smoke pot.”

“I take more edibles than smoking these days but yes, that is correct,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras hesitated. “How does that work?”

Grantaire barked a dry laugh. “Under the supervision of a psychiatrist, mostly. Abstinence, or being completely clean, works for some people – is the only thing that works for some people.” He shrugged. “For me, I almost exclusively drink and smoke to help my anxiety, and my psychiatrist and I are on the same page that while not the preferred treatment plan, it’s probably a better option than putting me on a pill regimen, given my history.”

Enjolras had never even considered that, and he nodded slowly before asking, “Can I ask another insensitive question?”

“You really don’t need my permission,” Grantaire told him, amused.

But Enjolras didn’t smile. “The fight you had with a friend – that was me, right?”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared, and he looked away. “Was that the insensitive question?” he asked, a little roughly.

Enjolras ignored him. “Did I cause this?” he asked, his voice low. “Cause you to– to fall off the wagon?”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself if he had. Especially since the fight in question had been so stupid, one of those idiotic fights that had seemed so important at the time but in retrospect was just both of them having their heads too far up their own asses to concede that the other was at least half-right. 

And he remembered the words he’d shouted at Grantaire all too well—

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He hadn’t meant it, had regretted it as soon as he had said it, though not nearly as much as he regretted it now.

“To relapse,” Grantaire corrected quietly. “It’s important not to use euphemisms, because that masks the reality of what happened.” His expression twisted. “Besides, I didn’t fall off the wagon as much as jump.”

Enjolras jerked a nod as if he understood. “Right.”

“And no,” Grantaire added, “you didn’t cause this.”

“But—”

“I’m a drug addict,” Grantaire interrupted. “Something happened in my life that wasn’t pleasant. People with healthy coping mechanisms find a way to deal with that. I chose a different coping mechanism, because I’m a drug addict.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t had that bottle of oxy under my bed, would I have chosen differently? Maybe. Hopefully. But that has nothing to do with you, or our fight.”

Enjolras’s expression darkened as he remembered who had given Grantaire the pills in the first place. “Who was your coworker who gave them to you?”

Grantaire looked flatly at him. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not his fault either and I don’t want you firebombing his apartment building for something that isn’t his fault.”

Enjolras scowled. “He shouldn’t have—”

“Maybe not,” Grantaire said. “But I’m the one who said yes when he offered. I’m the only one at fault here, the only one to blame.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I think there’s probably something to be said about society also being at fault—”

Grantaire gave him a look. “Enjolras.”

“Sorry.”

Grantaire sighed, running a hand through his dark curls. “There are a million and one very valid reasons that I use drugs, that anyone uses drugs, from poverty to mental illness to, yes, a very broken society,” he said, a little impatiently. “And those are all important things to try to fix, but it doesn’t change the fact that no one held a gun to my head and made me take drugs. Least of all you.”

“Then why do I still feel like it’s my fault?”

Enjolras hadn’t meant to actually vocalize that, and he regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. But Grantaire just laughed lightly. “I’d guess it has something to do with your martyr complex, but what do I know.”

“I don’t have a martyr complex,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire just snorted derisively. “Sure you don’t.”

Enjolras frowned, just slightly. “Death, including, potentially, my own, can sometimes be a necessary tool to bring about change, but I’d much rather live to see the world I’m trying to create if I can.” He paused before adding, with as much sincerity as he ever had, “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you decided you’d rather live, to.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression and he looked away. “It’s my turn to ask if I can ask you something,” he said.

“Of course,” Enjolras said immediately. “Anything.”

“Do you – does this change what you think about me?”

Grantaire’s voice was soft, so soft that Enjolras almost couldn’t hear him, and his heart clenched painfully, knowing that this, of all things, was what Grantaire was worried about. He bit back his initial, gut reaction, which was an emphatic no, because it wasn’t true. 

And he would be doing Grantaire a disservice by lying to him now.

“It doesn’t make me think lesser of you,” he said instead, choosing his words carefully.

“To be fair, that bar’s so low it’s practically underground,” Grantaire interjected.

But Enjolras refused to fall back on their usual banter, to couch this conversation in anything other than the honesty he owed Grantaire. “But it does change what I think of you. I don’t see how it possibly couldn’t. You – to know that you were going through this over the past two years, that you’ve gone through this before, and yet you still show up, every single week, for a Cause that you don’t even believe in? To know that you could’ve given up so many times, and never did? Of course it changes what I think of you.”

Something flickered in Grantaire’s expression. “I’m not some kind of hero or something for being a drug addict.”

“Maybe not,” Enjolras said. “But it does make me think I may have misjudged your ability for commitment.”

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed at that, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “This is what makes you think you’ve misjudged my commitment,” he repeated, almost incredulous. “Not the fact that I’ve shown up to every meeting and rally and protest over the past however many years.”

“That’s different,” Enjolras said.

“How?”

“Because that was commitment offered for someone else,” Enjolras told him quietly. “This was commitment to yourself.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Well, I guess you’re not fully wrong,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “And, uh, let me get your coffee. It’s the least I can do.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “To repay me for lightly stalking you?”

“To repay you for the fact that I should have told you all of this a long time ago,” Grantaire said. “Thus saving you from having to lightly stalk me.”

He tossed a twenty on the table and stood, clearly ready to leave, but Enjolras just looked up at him, his heart suddenly beating painfully in his chest. “Can I just say one more thing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “May as well.”

Enjolras stood, setting his hand lightly on the table next to Grantaire’s. “This changes what I think of you,” he said, his voice low, “but it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Grantaire’s expression tightened. “Enjolras—”

“If anything, it just makes it even clearer,” Enjolras said, ignoring him. “And I’m not – now isn’t the time, especially since the last thing I want is for you to think that this is somehow because of what I learned tonight. But if tonight changed my mind on anything, it’s on thinking that somehow, we’d find a time for this. For us.” He hesitated before shifting his hand to rest it lightly on top of Grantaire’s, just for a moment. “ But maybe we have to make time.”

Grantaire stared down at their hands. “I—”

Enjolras squeezed his hand, just once, before pulling away. “When you’re ready, anyway.”

He turned to go but Grantaire caught his hand. “And if I’m ready now?”

“Are you?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “Not – not yet. I want to be—”

“I know,” Enjolras told him. He did – of all the revelations he had learned that night, his knowledge of how Grantaire felt was never in question. “But when you are, I’ll be here.”

Grantaire ducked his head. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Together, they left the diner, walking slowly in the direction of the Musain without even needing to say that’s where they were going. After a long silence, Grantaire glanced sideways at Enjolras. “What did you tell everyone about why you wouldn’t be at tonight’s meeting, anyway?”

“Oh,” Enjolras said. “Well, I told Combeferre and Courfeyrac the truth, that I was going to follow you.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “You mean stalk me.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

Grantaired nodded slowly. “So if Courfeyrac knows, that means everyone knows that you were following and/or stalking me tonight.”

Enjolras winced. “Probably.” He looked over at Grantaire. “I’m not going to tell anyone what I saw.”

“I never thought you would,” Grantaire told him, his voice low, and he glanced away before adding, “But, uh, I’m beginning to think that maybe I should.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras said.

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it’s about time.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras agreed, glancing down at his hand, still in Grantaire’s. Grantaire’s skin was rough against his, a testament to the life he’d lived, a life Enjolras had never appreciated before that night. Every callous was a reminder of what Grantaire had lived through, of everything that had brought them here, to this moment.

And rough or otherwise, it felt like where Enjolras’s hand had always belonged. 

“Maybe it is.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #developing relationship #drug addiction cw #drugs cw #addiction cw #narcotics anonymous #relapse #self-indulgent #written for an audience of one aka me

[braixen]

mmm idk. just my two cents but i think it’s kind of lame to make jokes about snoop dogg quitting weed b/c you can get psychologically addicted to anything and with how well known he is for smoking weed and how seriously he talked about it it’s like idk. feels fucked up to joke about addiction.

#shed petals #human rights #like i know it’s all funny haha jokes but. yk. #addiction cw

[broodwolf221]

thinking abt. things.

things like solas not joining the inky for a given mission and discovering smth in his books that might help track the red templars so he brings the info to cullen only to find him shaky and sweaty and obv cullen tries to brush it off but look me in the eye and tell me solas wouldn't recognize withdrawal for what it is

mini fic bc I can:

He hasn't actually been to the Commander's room before, but he found something useful. He would normally bring it to the Inquisitor's attention, but they were out on the field and it seemed redundant to hand it off to someone else, especially since there were few he trusted to properly convey the intricacies of the information. Besides, there was no reason for him to fear Cullen. There had been countless opportunities for him to push back against Solas or the other mages, but he seemed truly dedicated to setting aside his past as a Templar. The role, if not the abilities.

Because of this, Solas entered the office lightly. What he found was... surprising.

Cullen looked haggard, worn, with deep circles under his eyes. He also looked absolutely shocked by Solas' presence, straightening up and trying to compose himself. Trying... and failing. A better posture couldn't hide the sweat shining on his face - inappropriate, considering they were high in the mountains, surrounded by snow and ice - nor the trembling of his hands, even though he tried to still then by laying them flat on his desk. "Solas," came his delayed, stiff greeting. He inclined his head slightly to the Commander in response, then moved nearer and set the book down on the desk. Cullen looked at it with obvious curiosity, but Solas no longer intended to discuss it. Not at the moment, anyway.

"Look at me," he said instead, voice far firmer than he ever would have thought to use with Cullen. The human seemed quite as surprised, gaze snapping up. "Focus on me. Breathe."

"What are you-"

"I said breathe," he insisted. Cullen continued to stare for a moment before doing as he said, although it was more a huff or sigh than a true breath. Solas arched a brow. "Breathe deeply."

Cullen frowned but obeyed, taking a deep, genuine breath and exhaling slowly. "Good," Solas said gently. "Feel the desk under your hands. The air against your skin." He watched a furrow grow between Cullen's brows. "Do not concern yourself with these things, just feel them." The Commander let his eyes slip shut as he focused, face relaxing slightly. "Keep breathing. Do you feel the cold air? Concentrate on how it feels in your nose, your throat, your lungs."

Slowly his trembling eased, although Solas knew it wouldn't disappear. He'd seen people go through this: in the flesh and in the Fade both. He knew deep breathing wouldn't counteract the physical effects of withdrawal - he had to assume from lyrium, distantly impressed by Cullen's willingness to undergo such a risk, to break the chains the Chantry and the Templar Order bound him in - but it would help with the feelings of panic. With the sense of being unable to possibly withstand such horrible feelings and urges.

"Good," he said again. Cullen had continued taking deep breaths, eyes still closed as he concentrated on his immediate surroundings instead of his panic. "This is normal. It hurts, I know, and your body is fighting you. But you still have control. You are stronger than this."

"Am I?" Cullen's eyes opened at last, meeting his with a strange desperation. Solas nodded.

"You are. To have gotten this far is evidence enough." Cullen snorted, then shook his head.

"So, who told you?" Cullen asked, Solas arching a brow.

"No one." Now the human frowned again.

"Then how..."

"I recognized your condition." Cullen stared for a time, searching Solas' face before eventually shaking his head and standing upright.

"You are... thoroughly unexpected, Solas." A pause, as if he was debating whether to say more. "Thank you." He inclined his head slightly.

"My pleasure, Commander."

#broodwrites #solas #cullen rutherford #addiction cw #withdrawal cw #i wrote most of this right before falling asleep last night lmao be gentle with me

[justafriendofxanders]

can't stop thinking about how willow's addiction arc was fumbled. not even in the 'magic is a bad metaphor for drugs' way and even further from the 'willow would never be an addict!' take. like there are a lot of reasons why someone might get addicted to something, but often it's because it targets someone's weaknesses/needs - a desire to no longer feel pain, to feel competent, worthy of love, etc. - the point being that it's different for everyone. and imo willow's character was never about feeling like she needed power or convenience or escape. i think the most in-character dubious-use-of-magic episodes are when she does it because she thinks she's doing something good to return to a peaceful status quo, like bringing back buffy or wiping tara's memory. i wish her arc had explored that part of her character more, how she used magic to make choices for other people, to avoid interpersonal conflict and feeling like a 'bad' person, and the consequences of that rather than the fingerwagging 'drugs feel good, but that's bad!!!'

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #willow rosenberg #buffyposting #addiction cw

[pomegranate]

I think I’m terrified because I’m not remotely as successful, charming and funny as Harris was when he died. When he died, he was mourned by thousands. He was so loved. There’s a charity in his honour. To this day, his comedy still brings people joy, makes people laugh until they cry. It’s done that for me. I’ve been enduring some of the darkest depressive moments over the past couple of days and I still found myself laughing at podcast moments I’ve heard countless times.

But interest wanes over time. It’s been nine years and people don’t really memorialize him the same way because there are more recent tragedies, more massive global tragedies impacting so many more people. It makes sense! We can’t possibly hold space for all of the horrible things that are happening on a daily basis. I work in news, it’s nonstop - death, destruction, hatred, greed, violence, and the unending drone of going to work every day, doing your job, going home and using your brief moments of spare time to escape from the terror of being an aware & compassionate human being.

My heart hurts every day, metaphorically and physically. I’m not healthy. I’m an addict who engages in self-medicating to ease the burden of awareness. But I’m also nobody - a single person living alone doing a mediocre job in local news. I am no one special. If, or when, my addiction gets the better of me, I’ve not left much of a positive impact on this world. I have friends and family who will mourn me but that’s about it. At best, I’m a cautionary tale. I should make a will. I’m so scared of what will happen to my family if I go first. I need to get better. I don’t know how to get better. I’ve spent years saying I need to get better. I want to be there for my nephews. They don’t need me, but I’d like to be there all the same.

I need help, I guess. I don’t know how to get it. I’ve tried and every attempt falls flat. I know I need to try harder. I don’t have the energy to try harder. How can I do it if people like Harris can’t do it?

Open to suggestions and ideas btw. Not a rhetorical question.

#personal #addiction cw

[blinkpen]

brief discussion of another reason demersa is Like That

#oc babble #demersa #[contain the most recently posted drawing of dem looking all Scary at the end as a heads up] #self harm cw #addiction cw #all has only been the mantledwellers abridged versions of everything #you're not ready for The Depths #breaching into psychedelic horror now

[space-station-collective]

some of the less pretty parts of plurality

we talk a lot on this blog about the funny or nice parts of being plural, but there's also a lot of bad shit that can come with it. it's not all good, just like it's not all bad. it just is! sometimes, seeing posts like this makes us feel a little better, knowing we aren't alone in these struggles and seeing other people who have come through it, so, here's this

this is going to require a lot of me being vulnerable on the internet lmao

everything is going under a cut, and i'm marking applicable TW and CWs here as well as in the tags. i tried to keep it as light as possible (if there's any tags i missed, PLEASE do let me know and i'll add them ASAP /gen)

(this is also quite a long post, under the cut the word count is: 437)

WARNINGS: addiction mentions, physical illness, exotrauma mentions

-) developing an addiction/dependency that everyone has to manage, due to one headmate's actions

-) trying to collectively recover from addiction when not everyone wants to, and some headmates actively working against the progress and goals

-) more specifically, having to maintain a clean streak for everyone, not just one individual. not just yourself. we have an agreement- we stick together with this stuff

-) headmates who actively dislike people we know, and generally collectively like, and having to manage and ignore secondhand emotions towards those people when the headmates in question are around (not to say, ignoring how those headmates feel about people, but moreso not letting the emotions bleed through into our own interactions)

-) panicking because your job directly relates to helping other headmates, and despite your best efforts, things keep getting worse (not directly applicable to me who is writing this -host)

-) having to agree with headmates, who have done nothing wrong, that they can't be around front, because they're symptom holders, and the body is ill enough all the time that we physically can't handle them fronting

-) fighting. constant fighting. i can't think of a day since our syscovery that there hasn't been some sort of fight, argument, breakdown, violence, some sort of incident internally

-) so many headmates with so much exotrauma. some of their triggers have bled into our collective triggers, and holy shit is it hard to explain thost to people who don't understand exomemories, or even who don't know about the system

-) having to watch littles who are far too young for any of this experience this whole ordeal

-) "Atlantis" by Seafret. it's about an extremely different topic, but the lyrics hit home. "i can't save us, my atlantis, we fall. we built this town on shaky ground." because holy fuck, it feels that way sometimes

several of these things are now managed, several are not. being human is a weird, messy, fucked up experience, and when you shove a bunch of consciousnesses into one human body, it gets even more convoluted

whoever you are, whatever reason you might have for reading this: i love you. you are not alone in your struggles. you have support from so many places, and you will get through whatever you're currently experiencing, be it so simple as your favourite pencil breaking, all the way to personal tragedy. you are loved

-the host (he/they), expressing thoughts of the collective

(scheduling this to post outside of the queue because our content is usually much more lighthearted than this and i don't want to take up a spot for that)

#spacestationcollective #sysblr #system #plurality #plural #plural system #osddid #plural community #dissociative system #serious post #addiction mention #addiction #cw addiction mention #cw addiction #tw addiction #tw addiction mention #addiction cw #addiction tw #<- i know thats a lot but i want to be SO thorough for this

[queermania]

There's one AA fic I really like (the things you cannot change by marbleflan) that I think avoids most (maybe not all) the pitfalls you've described and doesnt just take the steps as inherent perfect lessons imo and after reading it was recommended a different fic that also involved AA and I was so turned off by just how...mean? it came off towards Dean. Like it really did seem to go along with the religious repentance angle of the whole thing while the characters explicitly hate God it was just strange to read. Idk maybe it's the ex catholic speaking but I get very uncomfortable when fics are trying to have two characters (usually Dean and Cas or Dean and Jack) reconcile and it very quickly turns into basically groveling. To me that's 1) very reductive of their situations and 2) not really a healthy way of moving on. And I feel like when all this is mixed together with recovery or sobriety or whatever else it tends to lean towards basically apologizing for having an addiction in the first place rather than any specific actions which is just gross. I also think it's interesting in AUs where Sam has some kind of drug addiction (instead of the demon blood) I haven't seen this attitude as much. Like usually Dean isn't demanding apologies or anything it's much more nuanced and sympathetic. Not always but in most of the ones I've come across.

yeah this is basically it. dean's addiction is a moral failing and something he needs to be punished for and atone for (and there is no end to either of those things) while sam's addiction is a horrible thing that happened (almost always past tense) to him and that he deserves love and support and understanding for and it almost always involves him saying some version of "i'm done apologizing for this. i just want to move on with my life" (regardless of whether or not he's actually apologized and/or changed his behavior). it's all just so telling about how fandom views addiction in general and more specifically how the view the brothers.

#replies #anonymous #addiction cw