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#continue the cycle of abuse that my p*rents put me through
concussed-to-pieces · 4 years
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To Tell You The Truth Part One
Fandom: Prospect [2018]
Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader
Rating: Holy shit M.
AN: Hello everyone, and welcome! I present a new indulgence, as I am a simple man subject to the whim of my hyperfixations. I hope that you all will enjoy this tale, though I warn it will be a tad less carefree. Darker subject matter will be tread in this series. But! My indulgences will shine through regardless, and my trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each installment. If you're interested in reading more of my attempted writing involving a space Pedro, I will direct you to Stay Safe, my completed Mandalorian fic. Enjoy!
Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst
[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]
You ran.
The thrower knocked against your leg as you fled, almost tripping you numerous times. You couldn't bring yourself to fix it, though.
You didn't stop, even when your ribs started to ache and your vision went patchy. The pod is just in the next clearing, you kept telling yourself, the next clearing for certain. Once you were inside it, you could…
It had no lock. Damon hadn't deemed it necessary. Maybe...maybe that other man just wouldn't find you. The one that Damon had shot and tried to thieve everything from. How could he have believed that his greed would go unchecked?! Those two men had clearly been slaving in the Bakhroma Green for ages. Months at a bare minimum. Now one of them was dead, and the other had been wounded by Damon before your oh-so-illustrious companion had succumbed to the injuries inflicted by that railgun. 
You had been involved in dig disputes before, of course, but you were hard-pressed to think of a time where one had been settled with such...messy finality. 
You entered the pod with a gasp of relief, jerking your helmet off to breathe the comfortingly stale air. You dropped the thrower by the door, unable to bring yourself to even think about using it. 
Damon was dead. 
You pressed your hands to your temples and sank to the floor. The man who had bullied, browbeat and press-ganged you into this remote locale, was dead. And you…
You had no idea how to urge this pod back up past the thick canopy. You were a digger. Digging was what you were good at. It was what you knew. You were not a pilot.
Despair took hold then, as you realized you were truly trapped. Precious seconds ticked by while you laid there on the floor, a curled-up ball of miserable floater. There were three cycles left before there would be no escape, before the freighter slingback would be entirely inaccessible.
You dragged yourself out of your funk eventually, doing your best to wipe your face clean of all your tears. You could figure this out. All Damon had been good for was flying, right? You would inventory the supplies and see how many days you could eke out. Maybe you could reach someone on the long range. 
...
The sorting and cataloging work kept you busy. Which was good. You liked busy. Busy limited headspace. Busy kept people alive on digs. 
It was a little warm inside the pod once the sunlight started beating down on it. You wiped your sweat off with your forearm for the millionth time, flipping through your notes. If you were cautious about certain resources and supplements, you might be able to last two months down on the Green moon. But that was only if your filters continued to hold recharges. Uncharitably, you wished you had taken Damon's before you bolted. 
There was nothing for it. You would just have to make it back to the freighter in time. Two stands of miserable living would do you no good if you were still on this moon. Judging from the thickness of the pollen in the air, the plant life would be noxious. You wouldn't survive without your filters.
You leafed through the radio manual, flipping the power switch and grimacing at the burst of static that greeted your ears through the Arcsoko long range headset. "To anyone listening, this is Dasha Landcraft Rental, parcel-class, pod number-" you paused, fumbling through to the back of the manual for the number scrawled there by the company. "Number...eight-eight-three-nine-seven-five dash-zero-zero--" you stopped to inhale, "-two-seven-four-two. We have landed off course. I repeat, we are off target in the Green. Pilot lost." Your voice started to shake. "P-Pilot lost. If a-anyone is within range, please respond."
You flipped the switch on the signal amp and then pushed the looper, setting the message to repeat broadcasting for an hour. It would be a varying amount of expenditure on your chit for every additional hour you wanted to keep your transmission on the air, and you didn't exactly have money to throw around, so all you could hope was that someone would hear your distress message within the first free hour. 
You kept the headset on, rocking back and forth in your chair as the minutes ticked down. A few times there were bursts of static that sounded like someone was about to come on air, but they peaked as fast as they arrived. 
Hope faded the longer you sat there, sorting and stacking the brightly-colored Calori-pouches of Pastors Henry slurry. You staunchly ignored the way your lower lip was quivering. Damon hated it when you cried.
Within the last few precious minutes of your free broadcast, a noise outside sent your heart into your throat. You yanked off the headphones, scrambling for the nav console. The wall of bulky, jutting screens was the first thing you could seriously consider cover, but it was only once you'd tucked yourself beneath it that you remembered you had left the thrower by the door. 
You started forward to grab it, but ended up just lowering your body closer to the floor as the noises advanced, footsteps you realized. So he had found you. He would certainly kill you if only for what your partner had done. It had been careless of you to start your broadcast so soon after returning to the pod. You had essentially beamed out a homing signal to your exact location. 
For an hour.
This was it. Cowering in a rented pod, weapon feet away, clutching an itemized list of all the things to eat and drink. A fitting end, for a timid dust-scratcher like yourself.
I will not cry or beg, you told yourself sternly. It would do no good here. It was better to face your demise with some shred of dignity, and Damon had just gotten more angry when you cried. 
The hatch hissed loudly and you somehow made yourself even smaller while that man, the talkative one, lurched up into the pod. He stumbled, fighting with the latches on his helmet for a good ten seconds before finally managing to get the thing off, thus affording you a clear view at his face.
He didn't look particularly cruel, or Brism-busted like Damon had. Mainly, he just looked tired and dirty. He had a head of shaggy brown hair, olive skin and deep-set brown eyes. His nose was hawklike, prominent even alongside that heavy brow and the square jut of his scruffy jaw. When he turned his head, you spotted a curious chunk of blond hair that grew determinedly out at a different angle from the right side of his hairline, Mallen streak, your brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. An old scar, silver with age, meandered along his left cheekbone, and a halfway-maintained mustache shielded his upper lip.
His eyes roamed the pod curiously for a moment, taking in all the notes you had tacked to the walls in your inventory sweep. He absolutely noticed the thrower abandoned by the door. 
"This is a vexsome position that your friend Damon has put you into, I'm afraid." He drawled, his pistol loose at his side while he slowly rotated. "I will not apologize for my hand in his death, as he wounded myself, razed my associate and was planning to abscond with several stands worth of my hard work. His greed outplayed his hand."
Dark eyes landed on you, curled up against the wall beneath the console screens, and the smile that bloomed under his mustache was decidedly predatory. 
"I'm...I have food." You began to bargain shakily. 
"You certainly do, don't you?" He crooned in a patronizing tone, the thrower pistol humming as he primed it. 
"I'm a good digger. Th-That's the only reason Damon dragged me here." You cringed when he took a step towards you. "P-Please, I didn't-"
"I have no doubt that whatever it was, you surely didn't. You could have picked me off easily out there had you wanted to, plenty of range on that thrower. What is a gentle soul like you doing with a character that had such a predisposition for marauderous pilferin', I wonder?" The man mused, his expression cheery to an unsettling degree. The grip he had on the pistol didn't waver an inch.
"He promised I-I would be able to finally quit with the points this planet would make." Why bother lying? This man would just kill you anyway. "B-But the pod, it...something happened during the landing. A malfunction, I'm not sure."
"Ah, so your friend Damon was the Ahab of this vessel as well. No surprise there, that steadfast moral compass of his must have seen you two just flawlessly across the vacuous expanse." 
Your lower lip began to quiver again and you dug around in your suit pockets for the lone gem that you had uncovered on your trek earlier. "I don't...I don't have anything to offer aside from the supplies and this. But...p-please, I just…" 
Your sketchbook tumbled out of your pocket as you removed the gem. The barrel of his gun grazed the side of your head in obvious response to the action and you froze in terror. "You keep those hands where I can see them, gentle soul. I am not in a gaming mood at the mo…" His words trailed off when he caught sight of the massive pearl cradled in your palms. "Well well, it seems you've got a bit of bargaining power yet." 
"I don't need much food, I p-promise." You had told yourself you wouldn't beg, but this seemed...very close to begging. "J-Just water and a pilot." You extended the aurelac, knowing full well that you were surrendering your ability to go home. That miserable rock would have paid for the lease on the pod and passage back to the Pug at the bare minimum. Which you had pointed out to Damon, but he insisted on trekking further. You found yourself agreeing wholeheartedly with this other man's earlier observation, his greed outplayed his hand.
"I am not overly inclined to rid this world of you, gentle soul. If I am reading the situation correct, you are not here because you wish to be." The man said after several breathless moments. He didn't seem concerned about taking the gem from you at the moment. "However, we are at a bit of a stalemate when it comes to locomotion." 
His gun dropped from the side of your head and you flinched again when he stretched out his hand towards you. "H-Here, here! Just p-please, don't-" You shoved the rock against his fingers, your eyes shut tight with anticipation. Why couldn't he just shoot you and get it over with?!
"I'm offering you a hand up, gentle soul. Squirrel away your bargaining chip for the time being." The man said, gently easing the gem aside. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's get you up off that floor and we shall discuss terms as civilized folk do." 
"You...you're not going to kill me?" You asked weakly, daring to open your eyes.
"At this juncture? No." The man tilted his head. "Are you planning on doin' anything nefarious that may encourage my own expedient shuffle off of my mortal coil?"
You had to take a minute just to try and figure out what he'd actually said. It had been ages since you'd interacted with anyone aside from Damon, and your late 'partner' hadn't had the most expansive vocabulary. "I've never killed anyone before." You replied, your voice a whisper.
"A prudent answer, to be certain, for one never knows what the tides of fate have in store for them." He pondered for a breath, his eyes almost impossibly dark. "I'll take your word all the same, face value. You seem an honest sort, gentle soul. Makes me inclined to wonder how you got tangled up in this sorry soirée, though." His boot bumped against your sketchbook and he toed it a little closer to you, obligingly keeping his distance.
"That's not...it's not important right now." You snatched the book up and crammed it back into your pocket. Then, you floundered into one of the flight chairs, sitting sideways so you were able to maintain the barest pretense of eye contact. You clasped your trembling hands in front of you, trying to remember to keep them where he could see them.
"The terms will be as follows: we work together to get this craft airworthy once again. By my late partner's calculations, Kevva rest his soul, we've only got a few turns of twenty-four left until we're well and truly cut adrift on this forsaken Nessus." The way that he was using the term 'we' had your chest strangely tight. "I am loathe to be restricted here for the rest of my days, especially with a royal's ransom stashed in my trophy case. I doubt you wish to suffer that same perdition." 
He leaned forward and you shifted back on reflex, quickly dropping your gaze from the scar on his cheek to the floor. "I understand." You said softly. "What do you want me to do? I'm not...I don't know anything about the nav systems or engines or-"
"Gentle soul, how long had you wandered this world with that disreputable thief?" 
To your horror, you couldn't actually remember how long it had been. It was a haze of silent travel, punctuated by violent outbursts as you tried to make yourself seem even smaller than you already were-
"I did not mean to wound you, gentle soul. I offer my most sincere reparations." He apologized quietly.
"What?"
He gestured with his hand, a little slower now. "You are weepin'."
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." You fumbled to wipe your face off on your sleeve. "I'm alright, I'm fine." You assured him with a watery smile.
He studied you for what felt like a lifetime, those brown eyes boring into your own. "I am Ezra, gentle soul. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 
Ezra. That's right, he had introduced himself as such to Damon before everything had gone so incredibly wrong. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend." You said thickly. "I didn't...I didn't want anyone to get hurt."
He waved off your words, scoffing a bit. "Number Two was a utility, not a friend. I am none too aggrieved by his loss, and I implore you not to trouble yourself with such dour ruminations on his behalf." Ezra stretched, then swiveled his head around. "What does our supply situation look like? I can see your scrawlings, naturally, but I would prefer it from the merchant's mouth."
You leafed through your notebook pages. "If we're careful, we should have enough to last one month." Split between the two of you rations were a bit harder to calculate, so you went with the safe route of halving the time evenly. "I don't know your appetite. Damon would go days without food sometimes, because of the sleep meds."
"I am ravenous at any and all opportunities, I must confess." Ezra admitted. "Been surviving off bits bars for the last four stands. Calori-paste is my damn marrow at this point in time."
"W-We still have some powdered things, tea, if...I mean can I offer you...um, some coffee?" You warily turned your back to him and started rummaging in one of the many side compartments, pulling out a tiny sealed bag of dehydrated coffee mix.
"I would be…" He paused, sounding like he was fighting for breath. It was so dramatic that you actually looked at him, a touch alarmed. "I would be forever in your debt if you would grace me with so much as a watered-down teaspoon of that heavenly beverage." He settled on one of the side benches, his pistol holstered for the time being. "We will not need rations to last the month, gentle soul, so our best option in the event of calamitous mechanical difficulties may be to take any excess off to the Saders to trade for goods."
"Saders?"
"They are a group of people that inhabit the Green. Religious settlers, tedious scavengers."
Your brow furrowed. You were no religious expert. "Like Kevvaites?" You tried.
"No no, not so much with the monotheism. They believe in the Tides of the universe. The Currents, a certain...ebb and flow of life." Ezra waved a hand to illustrate. "All very poetic, giveth and taketh kinda' sort. Not bad folk to deal with, all things considered, but voraciously against conventional arms and armaments."
You wracked your brain for any other useful items you may have stowed away from Damon, lest he pawn them to pay for his drugs of choice. After you set the hydro to churn the precious dust into coffee, you knelt and shuffled your small personal storage compartment open. "I don't have a lot to offer, I'm afraid." You murmured, tugging out a few duct tape sealed bags. "Almost all the basic hygiene items, my emergency filters...anything he could get his hands on, really. He would just trade it for more drops or Brism." You continued apologetically. 
"That man was a junkie." Ezra said bluntly. "Now, I have my own vices and I am not above reproach, but I always assured that my consumption was never at the cost of someone else's comfort." 
Your throat felt tight and you ducked your head down, avoiding eye contact. "I...I'm sorry." 
"Whyever for, gentle soul?" He asked curiously. 
"I-I shouldn't have-" You had no idea what you were apologizing for, your words dying in your throat. After so much time with Damon, you did it automatically. The hydro beeped, offering you the opportunity to bolt. Which you took immediately. "Coffee!" You announced brightly, the flimsy cardboard container that it dispensed into almost scorching your hand. You passed it off to him, warning, "Be careful, it's-" 
Ezra slugged half the scalding contents in one go, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. 
"-h-hot." You finished weakly.
"Kevva above, it sure is." He grunted, shuddering. "God damn, I have missed that acrid nightmare of flavor burnin' my esophagus like Satan himself. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." He pawed idly at his wounded arm after a moment, grimacing. "I don't suppose that Damon kept any of the usual med supplies? A field kit, maybe?" The older man queried hopefully.
You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. "He...didn't." You answered carefully.
Ezra looked momentarily distraught before he seemed to catch himself, his expression smoothing into something closer to weary resignation. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. They're worth good currency in a trade. Bodes poorly for the survival of my arm, however." He said glibly, the wince that followed contrasting dramatically with his unphased tone.
"Y...Your-?"
"Once the dust gets in, it don't take too long for the fester to permeate." Ezra explained. The wound on his arm oozed a sickly, yellowish fluid down the sleeve of his exosuit when he pressed his hand over it. "It wasn't originally just myself and Number Two, you understand. We had a full crawling party before the muti--" He jerked to a stop, shooting you a wary glance. "Now, gentle soul, I don't want you thinkin' that you have anythin' to fear from me. The mutiny was...a misunderstanding. You saw today what depths desperate men stoop to over a bit of aurelac."
You nodded, your throat gone dry. 
"There were...concerns voiced about equal shares, it was a Kevva-forsaken mess. I don't know how many times I've told folk to draw up their union contracts before they get boots on the ground. Nobody listens, though. It's always 'mutiny once we're planetside' this and 'we can take everything' that." He griped. "Words and metal flew and, regrettably, myself and a few others were marooned on this damnable moon." Ezra drew his hand away from his arm, that yellowed fluid clinging to his fingers in thick, pitchy strands, "We quickly found that these climes are fiendishly inhospitable to floaters in damaged suits."
Your lip felt like it was about to drop off your face from how hard you were worrying it. "I...D-Do you promise not to hurt me?" You finally asked.
Ezra gave you a look of confusion, brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Gentle soul, I thought I had made it abundantly clear that-"
"Just-! Just say yes or no." 
"Yes, dammit, but I fail to see what that's got to-"
"I h-have a kit. A f-field kit." You stammered out. His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown and you saw his jaw working. "Wait! Wait, just let me f-f-finish." You extended your hands in a placative gesture, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. "I...trade. I'll trade you. Nobody does anything for free, right? I'll help you, and in exchange, I want you to promise me you won't hurt me."
"What would you do if I did hurt you, gentle soul?" Ezra inquired softly. Your breath hitched. "Indeed, what would you be able to do? Especially now that I'm aware you've got a kit hidden somewhere." The man got to his feet and you immediately flinched. "Your powers of persuasion need some...refinin', but I am not immune to civility. Gentle soul, if you give me that kit not only am I willin' to work with you to get us off this moon, I'll throw a chunk of my haul your way as a show of good faith." He offered, dark eyes watching you closely. "And, I will give you my word as an individual with the slightest, infantessible modicum of moral standing, that I won't lay a finger on you fueled by dubious or malicious intent." 
You stared up at him, your mind entirely blank from panic. His strange words certainly weren't helping your comprehension. "I..." No, no, this was wrong. He was putting far too much up for his end of the bargain! He must be planning something, some sort of trick.
Ezra cocked his head. "You still with me, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you're strokin' out, it'd be a shame to lose such pleasant company."
Your laugh was a jagged hiccup in your chest. Ezra huffed out a breath after a moment, obviously uncomfortable. He probably thought you had gone moony, entirely lunar. "I'm...I'm sorry, I...that's a good, um, deal, b-but I can't accept it." You struggled to get your words out. "Y-You…that is, I don't...I don't want…" to be like Damon. 
"Perhaps your persuasion isn't nearly as uncalibrated as I originally surmised. Very well, gentle soul. How much is my dominant arm worth to you?" Ezra queried dryly, misunderstanding your hesitation. "Because to me, as a workin' man, it's worth its weight in aurelac sixteen times over." 
You hadn't thought of it like that. You felt a bit foolish now. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry." 
"Kevva above, you are a tender thing. I don't mean to be so grim, but that's the harsh reality that I've been livin' with since I found myself marooned. It's a miracle I've managed this long with the meager supplies allotted to us." He said, sounding rueful. "I mourn my stomach every morning as I eat those crunchy bastard bits bars and I pray for my sufferin' to end."
You didn't mean to snort, but his colorful terminology caught you off-guard. His smile was less predatory this time, as if he hadn't expected your mirth. You knelt, burrowing even deeper into your compartment until you hit the false bottom. There, underneath several sheets of whitewashed cardboard, resided your precious field kit. You had traded the entirety of your meager share from an equally-meager haul for it stands ago, once you realized how deeply entrenched Damon was in his addiction. You had always clung to the faint hope (albeit perhaps in vain) that you might be able to escape from Damon and, if you struck out on your own, you knew you would at the very least need a good field kit as a failsafe for emergencies.
You hesitated before you tugged the box free, your fingers stroking the smooth plastic. You felt silly for the melancholic sensation that rose in your chest, it was just a field kit. You could always get another one. But it had seemed like so much more than a porta-surge. Until today, it had represented your dreams of getting out from beneath Damon's thumb. 
"Not to-" You had been so lost in thought that the unexpected sound of his voice caught you by surprise. You bolted to your feet in a rush and the top of your head met the bottom of his jaw with a bone-jarring impact. Your vision faded momentarily from the force of the blow, black dots exploding and fading out. 
The older man grunted, staggering back a step. He proceeded to sit down heavily on one of the bench seats as you held your aching head in pain. The porta-surgery box laid abandoned on the floor. You could only imagine what level of punishment you were in for now. 
"Martyr's malfeasance, gentle soul, if you try to ring my bell like that again you may do me in." He groaned hoarsely, working his jaw and tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is your cranium comprised of?"
You didn't answer, sniffling a little bit and blinking back your tears as you scooped the field kit off the ground. You held the box out to him, your eyes focused on your boots while you struggled to keep your hiccups to a minimum; Damon hated when you would cry.
You cringed when a gloved hand rested gently on the top of your head, clumsy fingers parting your hair. What was he…? "You are goin' to have a fine bruise, gentle soul. Mercifully you didn't break skin. Guess my jawline isn't as sharp as I've been claimin'." 
Was he...was he joking with you? You dared to glance up at him and you were startled by how concerned he looked. Oh, I'm still holding the kit. You gracelessly pushed the field kit against his stomach, trying to use it to give yourself some breathing room. 
Ezra seemed to get the hint and he shifted a step back, taking the kit as he went. "Kevva, this is one of the portable surgicals. Sequestering it was the intelligent choice, gentle soul." He muttered, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I am loathe to willfully use your resources, so I shall do my best to be prudent." You could feel him looking at you again. "This is all that you have, isn't it?" He asked abruptly. "The kit, those few possessions you've already dug out of that compartment."
You just cleared your throat and avoided his searching gaze with studious intent. "You're wasting time." You whispered.
"True enough." Ezra agreed. He flopped back down on the bench and rummaged around in the box, tugging loose the tiny orange sepsis kit and the patch gun with a grimace. "Hello, old friend." He then raised his voice to address you once more, "I will be makin' a copious amount of noise presently, gentle soul."
You nodded jerkily, covering your ears and turning your head away.
Part Two
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Breaking Up with a Depressed Partner Doesn't Make You a Bad Person
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Breaking Up with a Depressed Partner Doesn't Make You a Bad Person
I dumped my boyfriend when he was frustrated. It was the hardest matter I have ever finished. The text jammed in my throat and our tears mingled as we hugged in bed in a dingy AirBnB. He questioned me if I meant it and, head thumping with a hangover, I said indeed. We went for breakfast at our beloved location and drank orange juice in silence. Then he pleaded with me to remain as we cried on a park bench. We hugged and kissed, for closure, right before I climbed into my car and drove for 3 hours, back to my parents’ household.
Admitting that I left him when he was at his cheapest issue fills me with guilt. Individuals will say I was egocentric. They are going to say that if you definitely love anyone, you support them by sickness and dark moments. I experimented with, but it wasn’t doing work. The fact was that his psychological health and fitness challenges infected my possess headspace and I actually was not sturdy ample to offer with it. The problem remaining me struggling worry attacks and teetering on the brink of melancholy myself.
When information broke on Friday that rapper Mac Miller had died of an apparent drug overdose at age 26, folks on social media were being fast to stage fingers at his ex-husband or wife, singer Ariana Grande. “You did this to him… you should come to feel absolutely sickened,” one particular social media user wrote in a tweet directed at Grande. “Treated him like dog shit, threw him to the suppress like he was almost nothing.” “You killed Mac Miller,” wrote another.
Enjoy: How to Get Around Your Ex
Grande and Miller—who admitted working with medication in a Noisey interview nicely right before his connection with the singer—began dating in 2016 and ended up together two years prior to splitting in May well 2018. Shortly afterwards, Miller was charged with driving under the impact following crashing his car. Just one tweet in reaction to the news, which went viral, mentioned: “Mac Miller totalling his G wagon and having a DUI following Ariana Grande dumped him for one more dude immediately after he poured his heart out on a 10 track album to her called the divine feminine is just the most heartbreaking detail taking place in Hollywood.” The 25-12 months-outdated star strike again: “How absurd that you decrease woman self-regard and self-worthy of by expressing someone ought to keep in a toxic marriage.”
Examining the reviews into Miller’s dying, and looking at the abuse at the moment becoming directed at Grande, all I can say is: She’s suitable. Grande was not to blame for Miller’s DUI, any additional than she’s to blame for his tragic demise. No matter if it really is substance abuse or lousy psychological health and fitness, dating an individual who’s in a dim location was 1 of the most difficult experiences of my life.
Max was my to start with right boyfriend. We met in Rio de Janeiro while travelling all around Latin America. We had our very first kiss at dawn on Copacabana Beach front. We produced sure our paths crossed once more a few months afterwards, in La Paz, Bolivia. I was interning at a magazine and he was backpacking, but we finished up acquiring a solitary mattress and a established of Toy Story sheets and sleeping on the flooring of an vacant mansion adjacent to our friend’s condominium. The assets had a cellar, 50 %-painted children’s nursery, and creaky floorboards like a traditional horror motion picture set. It was creepy, massive, and cost-free, so we used a couple of months there. Then we returned to our life in the United kingdom and made the decision extensive length was hell, so we moved in alongside one another. I adored him.
Alongside one another in Bolivia. Photo courtesy of Shanti Das
We began renting our very first flat when I was 19 and he was 22. All my mates were going to higher education and we have been dwelling in a shoebox that we could barely afford to pay for but obtaining the time of our life. We would take in chicken nuggets at a cardboard box desk and sleep on a futon. Afterwards, we moved for my position. Issues progressively bought more difficult. I had started out my to start with job as a journalist and the lengthy several hours took a toll. I was normally drained and pressured. Max hated his position but felt helpless, for the reason that he was not sure what he preferred to do. I usually understood he experienced depression. As a teen he was in and out of clinic undergoing remedy for a coronary heart affliction, which activated a extended period of time of very low temper. It lingered, constantly, but it had been manageable right until then.
In those few months, we became trapped in an exhausting cycle. We were being dependent on one a different for our contentment, but we were being fully out of sync. A small comment or temper swing would send out almost everything spiralling out of handle. Max would apologize, certain he was to blame. I would say it wasn’t his fault. He would not believe me. I would sense undesirable for having frustrated. I would go for walks, travel all around the community, smoke cigarettes in the park, continue to be late at function to get away. I would have worry attacks. He would consider times off. I was functioning 12-hour days, and he demanded all my attention when I got dwelling. Sometimes, I felt suffocated.
We experienced no area to breathe or feel feelings without upsetting one particular other and location off a chain of events that could drag on for times. I begged him to see a health practitioner, but he was just handed a tick-box questionnaire with a sliding scale asking him to fee how most likely he was to get rid of himself. Irrespective of telling physicians that he had suicidal feelings, they didn’t take into account him to be a significant more than enough possibility. He was prescribed antidepressants and enrolled him in a team counselling session where a PowerPoint slideshow recommended he do more physical exercise. Max was now going to the gym five times a 7 days and cycling to get the job done each and every day. As there was no one particular-to-1 treatment available on the Nationwide Well being Assistance, medical practitioners upped his dose. It failed to perform.
I distanced myself subconsciously right before we broke up. I recommended we each go again home with the intention of saving revenue but I think that actually, I desired to reset. We noticed each and every other at the time a fortnight and right after a several months, resolved to go on a weekend away. I didn’t prepare to split up with him, but the phrases came out through a alcoholic beverages-fueled row. He asked me the up coming morning if I meant it, and I realized I did.
In the months that adopted, Max hit rock bottom. I realized he was suicidal and that weighed on my mind constantly. He had normally stated I was the ideal matter to come about to him and he hated his life in advance of he met me, but at the similar time he was confident I’d be better off devoid of him. For the initial time, I agreed: and I also realized that he would be better off without having me, also. We were being trapped in a continual destructive loop, and points wouldn’t increase unless of course we broke the cycle.
I know that I’m not by yourself in this: when you have a companion with mental wellbeing concerns, it is tricky to know where to begin. “Possibly the most essential matter that you can do is to motivate your husband or wife to seek out acceptable cure,” points out Stephen Buckley of the mental health and fitness charity Thoughts. “You can reassure them by permitting them know that enable is out there, and that you will be there to aid them way too.” It can be also significant to acquire care of your own perfectly-remaining and wellness. “Be reasonable about what you can and won’t be able to do you,” Buckley provides. “Your psychological health is critical much too, and searching right after a person else could put a pressure on your wellbeing.”
After we broke up, I felt unwell and feared that he may possibly harm himself. All I required was to be there for him, but I realized that could make issues worse. As a substitute, I messaged his mother to see how he was performing. Deep down, I was terrified that our split-up could direct him to conclude his lifetime and change mine without end.
It was the lowest issue in each our lives, but it finished up staying the most formative. Max spent 18 weeks devoid of aid on waiting around lists but ultimately, with the assist of his loved ones, began viewing a private psychologist whom he credits with serving to him turn things all-around. The treatment gave him the applications to deal with detrimental ideas that crept into his mind, taught him that he wasn’t to blame for my unhappiness, and gave him self-worth. It also made him notice he needed to help others in a equivalent predicament and he commenced learning for a diploma in psychology. He’s just completed his to start with yr and is in a fantastic spot. And—plot twist—we’re again together now.
We bought again alongside one another late past calendar year, immediately after getting points bit by bit and speaking for a lengthy time. Max was performing superior, and so was I. Issues are much from great, but we are more powerful and happier now than we have at any time been before.
Miller’s demise is a tragedy. Irrespective of irrespective of whether he was mourning his relationship with Grande or, like some sources say, or had moved on, our knee-jerk response to tie the two points together is destructive. It insinuates that Miller may possibly still be alive if she experienced not still left him. This is just not true: Miller talked about material abuse and battling depression decades prior to his romantic relationship with Grande began. We need to cease putting the obligation for keeping a further individual alive on the shoulders of their husband or wife. It perpetuates the fantasy that women—and men—should remain in unhealthy relationships. They shouldn’t, and to propose normally is hazardous.
In my situation, my break-up with Max could have finished in tragedy. If it had, I would have felt dependable for the relaxation of my life, but I know now that it would not have been my fault.
Editor’s be aware: Max has presented authorization for Shanti to share his story and use his photograph.
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xottzot · 6 years
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2018-05(MAY)-21st--Monday-the SAME CRIMINALS AGAIN IN THE STREETS AND INVADING PEOPLES HOUSEHOLD PROPERTIES HERE.
2018-05(MAY)-21st--Monday-the SAME CRIMINALS AGAIN IN THE STREETS AND INVADING PEOPLES HOUSEHOLD PROPERTIES HERE.
ALL MORNING from early on there has been criminals roaming the streets and invading innocent householders properties and throwing and hurling rocks and yelling and abusing and swearing.
And of course there's no sign of any Police presence at all in the area, and even if they were, they are too stupid to listen to any truth and only rely on listening to the criminals themselves who lie, lie, lie, 100% of the time.
And Police here wonder why no matter what they do, NOTHING changes?
Things are now shifted to a "Winter" cycle of rampant crime and criminality and criminals in this hellhole.
But there is no rain. Though rain is finally due to start happening sometime this week according to weather forecasts. (THAT in itself will trigger their raining crimial activities).....
The uncontrollable small criminal who wanders the streets seems to be absent. (was he finally arrested and taken away?), however.....ALL HIS CRIMINAL PRACTICES have been taken up by a fellow criminal who lives with him in the criminal households. And today he has been active, as well as female criminals. But he is MOST ACTIVE today.
He currently is again on a pushbike and roaming about. - Is THAT just to elude Police and authorities from spotting him? - Has he been tipped-of there would be a vehicle about soon? And so he cycled off (no pushbike helmet of course because they obey NO LAWS AT ALL), and ALL MORNING has been rampant in the streets doing THE SAME CRIMINAL SHIT that the other one would always do.
I'm NOT going to give specifics except to Police andor authoroties...and then ONLY WHEN THEY ASK ME. - (BECAUSE THEY SEEM NOT TO CARE OR TO BE DOING ANY GOOD AT ALL AGAIN IN THIS HELLHOLE AREA). - Any time I approach THEM, they seem to not give a shit at all. I'm talking about the Police and authorities.
Oh, he's back again.......I wonder who's place he broke-into whilst he was out?
There is NO PEACE AND QUIET AT ALL HERE.
ONlY 'lulls' between criminal events...AGAIN.
THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR around 10 years!
Poor Sam & poor Max have been greatly distressed again.
Poor wild native black cockatoos have AGAIN been the targets of one of the criminals...AGAIN.....
The next time that they repair windows in THAT empty house again for rent...I don't give a flying fuck how much it costs them AGAIN. If they were SERIOUS about crime and criminals in this hellhoel area then they should have had enough evidence gven to Police to have ALL THE CRIMINALS ARRESTED AND PUT AWAY, NOT JUST THE ODD TOKEN ONE.
Now it seems to be a criminals tug-of-war beeen who can do the most crime......whites or aboriginals......FFS......
And any of we few innocents left here are once again suffering because of it all.
This hellhole has become a wide open-prison nirvana for criminals to roam about and do whatever the hell they want.
So fuck the lot of them.
Last week a few days agao the Police were PLEADING for information to criminals and crime, but that's just bullshit window-dressing public relations.
The ONLY things that are currently missing are the aboriginal toddlers (offsprings of the criminal aborigials) in diapers roaming and running about ON THE ROADS IN TRAFFIC, and the scores of utterly feral cats of the criminal aboriginals, and the near-feral dogs of the aboriginals..........
Instead, what is happening are criminal aboriginal youths roaming the streets.
The aboriginal criminal kids have been hauled away somewhere temporarily...it's ALWAYS TEMPORARILY....to be somebody elses problems and hell, leaving the older youths to continue being criminals and carry on their 'criminal traditions'.
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Today has been a council 'garden waste' verge collection day and that was all finished up this morning. But the fact that trucks were all congregating in the streets brought out the criminals afterwards. NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE NORMALITY AT THIS HELHOLE AREA.
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STILL heaped up in the front yard of the empty 4-sale or rent place is a huge amount of rubbish stacked up and leaning against one of the few sections of remaining fence there still surviving after all the criminals destruction of all the other fences. It's a large amount of rubbish AGAIN that AGAIN the real estate company will have to pay to have removed AGAIN.
And where did the rubbish come from? - From across the road from there of course. Purposely dumped there AGAIN.
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The Police and authorities know about these things and do nothing. The real estate company does nothing. Nobody does anything. Because this is a fucking hellhole area that has been allowed to fester and go rancid.
A road motorbike has come out out of one place and sped off. I wonder if it was stored inside the house. Since their own driveway is blocked by a huge camper trailer. They use a section of their fence they remove to get cars out that they park next to their front door of their house of their front yard of this hellhole.
A big delivery truck of "Essential Applicances" arrived in the street AGAIN. A company that hires out goods including refrigerators and stuff. - THEY have made countless deliveries to the criminal households before. Stuff that always ends up illegally on the street verges for council rubbish collections or stuffed into rubbish bins or....
Criminal aborigals started flocking aorund it on the streets (plural) because it pulled up at one aborigial household, was mobbed, then it drove off to another street and was congregated around by the same ones AGAIN. - AND....an aboriginal toddler in a diaper ran across the road without looking as part of all that.
Then a sedan vehicle pulled up and MORE toddlers in diapers toddled out......and aboriginal criminals get out of the sedan, (have they been to a court case today because of their criminality?)
And the streets became full of criminal aboriginals.......
...AND the chainsmoking departmental? woman was walking all about and holding onto a device.....seeing it all. But she is just an utterly useless pawn in an utterly useless system designed to home criminals and keep them in check (somewhat) so that locals don't riot and kill them all which would be very embaressing to authorities.
The truck drives off goes into the empty carpark area and the street is still full of the shits.
And all throughout this is LOUD drum set playing coming out of the household that has the removeable section of front fence that they use as their 'driveway' on and on and on and has been playing for many hours. This place is RIGHT NEXT door to the old guys place.
The aboriginal shits collect in the street on foor and on bicycles and start travelling on the footpath slowly and being utterly feral.
They come to the street corner with the vacant for-rental house is and they invade the yard. One picks up a half-brick and urges another aboriginal (the SAME aboriginal criminal who has done this a million times before) to hurl it and smash the house up AGAIN.
The aboriginal male takes the half brick and hurls it at the house again and again and again, breaking the fibro walls of the house and smashing the kitchen windows (ALL AGAIN FOR THE 10th TIME NOW?) - They did this AFTER they tried to smash the large living room picture window AGAIN.
Then they all slowly walked along one more house along and entered INTO THE YARD ALL TOGETHER into the old guys place through his open big green gate.
There was no yelling from him or anything. - He was utterly quiet. he had been standing outside just minutes beforehand so he WAS home.
They hung around in there for awhile then exited, then returned around the street corner AGAIN and again invaded the fenceless corner property. More smashing sounds.
Then the mob slowly walked down the footpath and on bicycles and most went into fatguts aboriginal criminal household.
ALL THIS HAS HAPPENED BEFORE COUNTLESS TIMES
Somebody needs to shoot them DEAD. A dead criminal aboriginal body laying in a place where the shit should NEVER have been is something they CAN NOT LIE ABOUT.
Lies that are utterly accepted by authorities ALL THE TIME. And have ben accepted ALL THE TIME FOR YEARS.
Did you notice that all todays criminal shit happened AFTER the departmental 'watcher' had left the area?
I wish I had not voluntarily legally handed in my own guns years ago. I really do. This criminal feral scum deserve far worse.
Now there is false calm.
It's a perfect time for Western Australian Police to do a patrol and report back there's nothing out-of-sorts at this hellhole area.
Because EVEN IF THEY DO ARREST THE CRIMINALS....NOTHING HAPPENS! -- How do I know this? - BECAUSE NOTHING HAS HAPPENED FOR OVER 10 YEARS AND INSTEAD THEY HAVE ACTUALLY REWARDED THE CRIMINALS AND EMBOLDENED THEM FURTHER AND PERSECUTED AND HARRASSED THE LAST OF ANYONE INNOCENT AT THIS HELLHOLE AREA as they flurry about trying to make themselves look like they're upholding the law.
The next thing on the agenda is that...."Oh, but we can't uphold the law because the government hasn't given us enough money to do that anymore again.....would you instead like to buy a Police raffle ticket from us?"
And now....roaming aboriginal criminals are freely associating with the old guy with the big green fence......
The old guy gets NO SYMPATHY from so many because he is directly related to the criminals of Kalara Way street, and despite he himself being a victim of their crimes and criminality he indulges them.
And so does the place next door with others....they get around in expensive high-performance cars.....
So the fiction between two criminal 'mafias' is always present too.
No wonder the old guy HATES THEM ALL.
And I fucking well hate THEM ALL OF THEM ALL.
All of them make up this criminal ghetto.
And Western Australian Police wonder what the hell is going on in these fucking streets? - YOU POLICE HAVE NO IDEA...NO IDEA AT ALL....AND YOU WANT PEOPLE TO REPORT CRIME!?
I've ALWAYS said for MANY years that the Police should establish and maintain a Police station in this area to deal and handle it all. And to keep everything contained so that there is normality and LAW in this region.
But they do NOTHING. - Until an event pops up that they can't ignore yet again, so they dipatch a public relations team to try to soothe down innocents rightful and lawful concerns YET AGAIN because the statistics make them all appear like they're ummmmmmm...doing nothing again.....
This is a fucking hellhole!
I said it was exanding....and it has. - I said it was getting worse.....and it has.
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I don't care if nobody believes me anymore. I don't give a flying fuck anymore. After I'm dead and the crime and criminality is utterly ramant and out-of-control AGAIN, then who the fuck are you going to balme huh? Because the ones responsible are doing whatever the hell they want to do right NOW and getting away with everything and will conitnue to get away with everything becaue NOBODY wants to believe that such a criminal ghetto like this can be allowed to be established and fester and grow and attract yet still mroe criminals.
No wonder the Police were about the other day a few days ago trying to elicit information...they're TOLD THE TRUTH but they will not accept it. Or they've been told not not accept it.
This is a new Balga (look up the history of THAT hellhole place too) area of metropolitan Perth Western Australia, and it joins the other neo-Balga's that have also been established and which make crime and criminals so utterly rampant in other areas and makes so many innocents lives utter hell. And which they prey upon all other innocents and businesses large or small and clog up amenities and services with all their shit.
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I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you away from this utter hellhole which is worse than any hellhole jailhouse. - Poor Sam & poor Max are uttterly distraught and always on-edge. When a dead criminal is laying on the ground before them I doubt whether they will even sniff the shit because they are so foul. They'll probably just cock their legs and piss all over the body. - And Police will all be clueless AGAIN and pleading for anyone to give them information AGAIN just as they have been doing so FOR YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS....... - Meanwhile, anyone who is innocent suffers and is suffering here at this hellhole. - And no wonder I get blamed for not being able to sleep. And no wonder I got blamed for being injured and ill. - And no wonder NOBODY can figure just what the damn hell is going on whenever they hear about this hellhole in any way. -- I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you and for us both to be away from here together just as you promised. - This has become a hellhole madhouse jailhouses area where damned incredibly noisy jets fly VERY LOUD OVER JUST AS THEY ARE DOING AS I'M TYPING THIS, a place full of criminals that do whatever the hell the want with total and utter impunity.
Dear Mother, this is a hellhole. I'm so sorry you are not alive but I'm so very glad you are not suffering from all this hell of this hellhole which used to be good for bringing up innocent children and for people to quietly live their own lives in peace and safety and quiet. All that is gone. IT'S GONE FOREVER IT REALLY REALLY SEEMS IT WILL NEVER EVER RETURN.
I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you.
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