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dumb-hat · 3 years

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Character Sheet - Evander Winsome

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Rules: Things in brackets are meant only as guidelines, to be erased and your answers written in place of. Things separated by | are for bolding and italicising.

Tagged by: No one! I saw this reblogged by @mooglemeet, so I went ahead and grabbed it directly from @bluespiritfire. Link to the blank template is up above! Tagging: No one specific/anyone who wants to. Feel free to tag me back so I can see it!

Name: Evander Winsome Age: 26 Pronouns: He/him Birthdate: 12th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon

~~PLACE OF ORIGIN~~ Race: Hyur From the First: Interracial heritage:

Hometown/city: Limsa Lominsa Current residence/popular haunt:Ul’dah

~~APPEARANCE~~

Favourite/commonly used clothes:

Any difficulties with magical/physical disciplines? Nothing in particular

~~RELATIONSHIPS~~ Parents/Legal Guardian/Parental Figure: mother | father | aunt and/or uncle | grandparents | adoptive | foster | mentor | family friend/godparents | other Siblings: One older brother; deceased Children: None that he knows of Romantic: single | unrequited | crushing | dating | engaged | married | divorced/separated | widow/widower | recently split | it’s complicated (I mean, not to him. To him, it makes total sense. Well, most of it does.) | other (…) Friends: Evander tends to befriend and trust people fairly easily, though it can take him a bit to really open up. Once you’ve hit that point, you’ve likely got a friend for life. Rivals/Enemies: To the best of his knowledge, he’s left these all behind somewhere or other, thanks largely to his restless need to wander. That said, there’s surely a few lurking in the past and there’s always room for more, of course!

Any special gestures of affection they have with people in their life? He’ll often make complaining noises about paying for drinks and dinner, but he’ll do it every time and would be slightly hurt if people didn’t let him.

How are they dealing with the most prominent of the above? How does it affect their in day-to-day life, if at all? Poorly, typically.

~~ODDS AND ENDS~~ Notable Weapons He doesn’t have any particular bond with any of his weapons, really. He sees them as tools, and ones that he uses only reluctantly. He sometimes enjoys tinkering with the ones he builds, but that’s more of a hobby than anything.

Notable Mounts He has various vehicles and machines he likes to fuss over and drive around, but he’s particularly fond of his SDS Fenrir.

In addition to his chocobo—a particularly stubborn beast named Doreen—he’s also fond of his battlesheep, Doctor One and a colossal crab he’s dubbed St. Barnabus.

Notable Minion/s Besides Doctor One and St. Barnabas, Evander is especially fond of various clockworks, automata, wind-ups and models that he’s put together. His favorite is a drone modeled after a Magitek bit that he’s named Valencia.

Keepsakes/Mementos

A pendant in the shape of a swan, a few too many flasks

Chronic Illnesses or Disabilities Evander lives with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. I’ve written about it a few places, most notably at length here and in brief here. How do they deal with these? Depends on the day, really. This isn’t really a thing he has a name for, so it’s not a thing he can easily address. He’s got a sloppily slapped together set coping mechanisms that work about half the time, if he’s lucky. Other than that, he mostly hopes for good days full of things he can convince himself he’s interested in.

Education Level He likes it when people underestimate him, so he’s not always quick to admit to the formal Ishgardian education afforded to him by the family that took him in when he left Limsa Lominsa. He’ll often try to pass it off as eclectic, self-driven studies... Which, admittedly, also played a big part in shaping him.

Habits There’s a lot of excess in his life. He drinks too much. He eats too much. He stays up too late, too long, and then sleeps too late, too long. He’s almost always got a flask or four on his person, and he often finds that he’s picking up the dinner or drink tab wherever he goes.

Other Nothing immediately springs to mind, but I’m sure there’s like a dozen things I should put here. This thing has been sitting in my drafts for god-knows-how-long, so I’m just glad to finally get it out there.

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little-dragon-stories · 4 years

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King chap 11

Your life changed completely when from a slave, you became a spy for the king. Will you be able to help him in his fight against slavery before it’s too late and the threat hanging over him comes true?

In this society where love comes after fortune, will your mutual affection be able to flourish?

Royal au fic pairing female reader and Kwon JiYong

Feat: YoungBae, TaeHyung, MinHo and SeoJoon (just because I had their face in mind when I pictured their character)

W.C: 4511

Warnings: Cuteness overload. OMG, my stomach twisted writing it. I’m so weak for king JiYong.

Other than that, no special warnings on this part.

Disclaimer: Everything in this story is fictional. There is no research to be politically accurate or to fit a certain period of time or place. In one word, it’s all invented.

Note: OMG! How in hell have I survived writing this? I don’t know. So yall, the story is beginning, for real. Buckle up, shit is coming. Smut too… Not on this part tho.

THANKS to my princess @aspaceformyself I don’t even know how to thank her anymore. On this fic, I feel like I have an editor. My muse editor, as I call her.

Love, I’m improving a lot in English and it’s because of you, mostly. You read my stuff, comment and help me with all the editing, not counting your time. You even suggest me new phrasing when I ask for your help. What would I do without you? Thanks for your help. I really improved in English. But also, when I l know you will read me and correct me, I feel more free to explore new words, new expressions. You are like my safety net. I can dive in my writing knowing if it’s really bad, you will tell me. Fortunately, it was never a disaster :) You know, when you tell me “add a transition word here, it will make things smoother”, well, you’re ALWAYS right and it always flows better afterwards. What a poetress you are.

I’m so anxious recently, life is a real bitch. Your soothing presence is helping me. So, again, thank you from the deepest place in my heart. I love you.

Chapter 11

You ran without looking back for several minutes with the queen by your side. The situation seemed unreal as if you were caught in a bad dream. One moment you were working on your own, meticulously translating and enjoying your tea and in the next you were running the length of the palace with the queen after an unpleasant encounter with the king's brother.

You saw the trees pass around you but you could not locate yourself, not yet knowing your new physical environment well. Breathless, you arrived at the executive room where, according to the queen, the king was still debating. She didn't bother to wait to be announced. It’s with a great tumult that she opened the door and interrupted the meeting between the king and his counselors, not taking the time to think about the consequences of her actions.

“Majesty, we need to talk to you, it’s important” she shouted from the front door.

Jiyong stood up both confused and surprised at the sudden rude interruption of his meeting. But soon, his expression morphed into that one of concern when he spotted you standing next to the queen. Trying his best to remain calm, his eyes surveyed you, analyzing if you were hurt. He knew something had happened, an unsettling feeling pooled into the pit of his stomach. You and the queen together, interrupting the assembly was not usual. Both your faces were pale from what he could see. The warning of an ill omen rang in his ears. His instincts smelled something akin to a disaster.

“That will be all for today. I will think about it and give you my final decision on Monday. You can all leave now” He commanded, turning to his counselors, his voice officious, cold but calm, the tone that he used with everyone except you and his son as you noticed.

People left, mumbling their discontentment of being interrupted in the middle of something seemingly important. JiYong ignored them and ordered his servants to stay outside and away from the door. The second they left the big room, he grabbed your hands and pulled you to him. His arms engulfing your waist as his forehead rested on your shoulder. As surprised as you were, you could feel the rapid beating of his heart pressed close to your own. You haven’t seen each other 2 days in a row and now, with his arms encircling around you, you realised how much you missed and craved his presence.

“Tell me you are okay, please?” He whispered in your ear, his hand caressing comforting circles on your back.

“Yes sir, I am okay” you said, your arms resting on each side of you, frozen by the sudden downpour of his affection on you. And that too right in front of his own wife.

“Thanks God! I panicked when I saw you enter the room”, he exclaimed, fussing over you. His mind torn in both anxiety for your safety and the soothing sensation of having you in his arms.

You were not comfortable. You were not comfortable with your King taking you in his arms in front of the queen, convenient wedding or not. Her being trustable or not. After all, she was the queen and she was his wife, therefore she was the one he should be looking after. But at the same time you’d be lying to yourself if being wrapped in his arms didn’t feel good or felt calming for you. You didn’t know what to do or how to react. Conflicted, you turned to look at the queen and she smiled, gesturing for you to hug him back but you couldn’t. All you could do was stand still as Jiyong’s hand stroked your back, his other hand rested on the nape of your naked neck. It was not common for him to hug you like that. Not common but delightful.

You took a small step back and his hands drifted to your shoulders. You could feel the growing disappointment in your chest at being separated from his snug embrace, as confused as you were about it. But it only lasted for a short moment before your gaze met his glowing amber eyes. Soft and tenderly peering down at you. You could feel your breath hitch, a sharp intake of breath luckily going unnoticed by the room. You thought you could very much drown in such a pair of warm eyes. It would be so easy of a task to just fall in and let yourself go.

“Majesty, I need to talk to you,” The Queen’s voice popped you out of the bubble you lost yourself in, seizing his attention almost immediately, “I had just witnessed a conversation between Y/n and SoYoung”.

Starting from the very moment you ran into the king’s brother, she told him everything that she heard, every single word. JiYong’s eyes were on you the whole time she spoke. He reacted whenever she mentioned his brother’s attitude towards you, clenching his jaws or his fists. The deep mark of anguish written all over his face. Realizing everything that just happened, you thought to yourself, she might have saved your life back in the woods.

Without further ado, JiYong called for his guards, startling you by the sudden launched order. YoungBae entered, followed by the personal guard of the king, you recognised them all, they were the men you rode with when you were brought here. All of them bowed at the queen politely and then warmly smiled at you.

“You have to get the prince and bring him here, immediately. Do whatever needs to be done, but bring my son back to me. Also, I want my brother arrested and imprisoned right now. Come and tell me when it’s done. MOVE, NOW”

“Oh no...” HyeJin crumbled to the ground as soon as she realized her son was in danger, “No way… Not my Channie…”

You rushed to the queen’s side as soon as you saw her collapse. It was heartbreaking to watch.

“Do you… Do you think he would harm the prince, majesty?” She asked, turning to Jiyong. Her voice was shaking, “I...I loved him…I LOVED HIM!”

You and Jiyong turned to look at each other. Both of you at a loss of words to comfort the queen.

“I’m sorry HyeJin”, Jiyong softly said, his voice barely a whisper but loud enough for the three of you, “I understand it might have been painful for you to do what you just did. But I’m equally proud of you for doing what’s right. Further assured no one is going to hurt our son”.

“I’m so sorry majesty”, The queen continued to sob as you wrapped her in your arms, “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t think he would do something like that. I mean I knew something was off with him lately. But what I heard today… I just don’t know how to process that. I just knew I needed to come tell you. That’s all”.

You held her closer to you, hoping to help her, hoping to do anything that would comfort her.

“Mama, you didn’t know, his heart was rotten. You trusted him because you loved him. You didn’t know. I bet he was hiding his dark side from you”

“I should’ve known”, She said amidst her cries “I really should’ve… I noticed things although it was never something like what I witnessed tonight ”

“No no HyeJin”, Jiyong stopped her before she further went into a spiral of self blame, “It’s not your fault you couldn’t. From where your position was, it would have been hard for you to even dream about this. But more importantly, you told me when it was important for you to do so. You did your part.”

“I put our son in danger”.

“No mama,” You replied, “You warned us before things got out of control, you also helped me out of danger, tonight”.

“I couldn’t read him. But you saw it, you saw it the first time you laid your eyes on him” She told you, turning her face to look at you. “I noticed the way you stood in front of him. You were so courageous Y/n. I never saw him like that, he was scary”.

“No mama, I was petrified! Even if you couldn’t see it.” You said, cracking a shy smile, “But let’s say, I have experience with malicious men, I’ve come a long way. Mama, don’t be too rough on yourself, you didn’t know.”

“Majesty”, she said turning to JiYoung, half way between tears and laughter, “she is an angel, we have to protect her from SoYoung, he threatened her”

“Protecting her, our son and you is my number one priority, HyeJin”.

You suddenly remembered the evidence you found today, in the books.

“Sir, I have found other evidence too. Besides my word and the queen’s. What we were doing together, I found it”.

For some reason, you were not ready to trust the queen completely. You were extra cautious and didn’t mention exactly that you found a complete document, inserted in the book sent to the japanese government. In it, they gave complete access to human traffic between the countries, specifying how to proceed to acquire a slave legally. They stated that a new law was voted that gave them the right to take away the civil rights of all humans before they turn 10 years old, implying that they could turn every child into a slave. It was horrible to read.

“Oh! Lord! Thank you, love. Thank you so much. When my son is here, I will be able to celebrate completely”.

“Let’s hope he’s safe” you whispered.

JiYong went away to serve tea to you and the queen. After you drank, he took the empty cup from your hand and took your hands in his.

“I’m sorry you met my brother, love. How are you, really?” He asked softly, his eyes scrutinizing yours.

“Now that I am with you, I feel better, I have to say” you murmured, making sure no one else could hear.

He cupped your cheeks with his palm and dotted your face with a kiss. He never kissed you before. His soft lips brushed the skin on your forehead. This time, you abandoned yourself and you leaned against his body, sighing with ease. The tension of the day, disappearing as you melted in his protecting embrace.

“JiYong, I’m scared for your son. I love little Channie so much”

“I know, sweetheart. At this time, normally, he’s supposed to be bathing. I hired 8 guards just to look after my little troublemaker and his nannies, he should be safe”

Fortunately, you didn’t have to wait for a long time. Escorted by YoungBae, Channie merrily entered the executive room in a beautiful red hanbok, almost dancing his way towards you.

“Look what I found,” YoungBae said, grinning and holding the young prince’s hand.

“Father, Mother and Y/n! What’s going on? Are we celebrating something?” he questioned happily clapping his hands. “But, we had dinner already with Mother and Uncle So!”

The little boy ran into his mother’s arms, she kissed and hugged him against her heart, obviously relieved. JiYong went to talk to YoungBae in private. Everything in his attitude showed that he was in fury. His clenched teeths, his gaze, the way he stood up. He nodded to something YoungBae said and the latter left. None of you wanted to talk in front of little Channie. It’s with a fake smile on his face that JiYong announced.

“Channie, tonight your mother will go and sleep in your apartments. She will need her little boy’s comfort. For our part, Y/n and I will stay in my quarters.”

He just announced that you would sleep with him, in his quarters. But, he didn’t consult you before. He cannot decide where you will sleep, even though he’s your king. Well, technically he could but you would at least like to be asked. Knowing that you were about to protest, he turned towards you and added to your attention.

“We need to talk, it’s important” you couldn’t object to that.

“Channie, come here my little man”

He took his son in his arms again, asked him to take care of his mom and to listen to her. He repeated how it was important not to run away. After JiChan promised, after he and you kissed the prince, mother and son left, hand in hand.

+++++ +++++ +++++

Later that night

+++++ +++++ +++++

“How do you feel?” JiYong asked after you sat by his side.

“I feel fresh. Your soap smells delicious”. He smiled.

You and him talk all night about the evidence you collected against his brother and chancellor Kyo. You were proud to show him the documents and he was very grateful for the help you provided. He said he’ll be taking care of it tomorrow.

You shared a meal. He took a bath, went down in his study to let you have your privacy while you had one too. You were curious about what YoungBae told him but you respected his rhythm. Sooner or later, he will tell you.

“May I tell you something?” you asked him.

“Hum… of course” he shifted his attention to you, coming back from his thoughts “what is it?”

Whatever he was thinking only a moment ago faded away. He was now completely focussed on you, his frowning disappearing to let place to a shy and tender smile paired with an intense gaze. How could you have this effect on him? It was beyond your comprehension.

“I.. I… I don’t know how to talk when you look at me like that” you shyly lower your gaze.

“Like what?” he pretended not to understand, mocking you tenderly while he lifted your chin up with his index. When your eyes met, you knew he was playing around.

“Ya, let’s drop it” you smiled “JiYong… What I wanted to say is… I loved the way you held me in your arms tonight. I was petrified when we arrived in the executive room and you calmed me down in one second. I’m not used to being held like that, I froze. Your wife was there too. But… I loved the way it made me feel warm and cozy inside”.

“I’m more than happy to hear that. But I knew, it was soothing you. Otherwise, I would have stepped back”.

“You realised? You noticed?”

“Of course love, you were calmer. Your breathing slowed down and I could feel the tension leaving your body as I caressed your back. I knew I was calming you, as I just said, if it wouldn’t have been the case or worse, if I would have felt you tense up, I would have stopped like I did in the woods. Remember how you were pushing me, when I asked for your help?.”

“I’m impressed. Not that you realised but because you cared enough to notice and give me exactly what I needed. I’m speechless. I’m not used to tenderness, not used to somebody taking care of me like that”.

“Tae and Seo, they always make sure you are feeling good too. They always look after you. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I did”.

“I know they do. We have looked after each other ever since we met. I mean, they will make sure I eat well, they would starve to make sure I am not food depraved. They have their own protective way, I know that and I’m grateful to have them. I’m so grateful... But this is not what I meant… I meant… Like this, being physically close. Being held… Can we talk about something else?”

You realised the turn your conversation was taking and you were not comfortable about it. That man that made you feel light and bubbly, now was making you feel way more than just that. But you will have to analyse it before you have a conversation about it. And right now, you are far than ready for that. What was this new feeling of wanting to throw yourself into his arms? To abandon yourself against him. To want to feel him close, always closer to you. What was this euphoric and new physical need of him? It was too much to handle for you tonight. You needed to change the topic.

“JiYong, why did you want me to sleep here instead of my room. People will start to talk…”

“For your safety of course, your room is not as safe as the royal quarters. And I don’t care if people talk, honestly”.

“With all your respect, I do care. I don’t want people to think I am a woman with no virtue, if you know what I mean”

“You’re right, I didn’t see things like that. I’m sorry, love. I’ll have to do something about it” he said, suddenly closing his eyes and rubbing his temples as if it was hurting him, “but for now, can we just have a quiet moment together? I’m exhausted and we deserve it.” he said, now rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed really tired, both mentally and physically.

“Tell me first, please. Why do you think Seo and Tae are not able to assure my safety anymore”.

“They would have been more than able. They are two amazing soldiers. But I have to tell you... They left the palace to look after my brother. He escaped tonight. YoungBae told me earlier, when he brought Chan. He was unable to catch Chancellor Kyo either. We figured they escaped together but we’ll have to wait and see. Therefore, they might go in a hunt to hurt people I care the most about. I have to protect all of you.”

You stop listening when he mentioned your friends had left the palace, hearing a word here and there only.

“Oh! No, they’re in danger!’ You almost cried, petrified.

“Love, they are trained for that. They are soldiers”

“I know but still, they are new baby soldiers only… I’m so scared for them. I won’t be able to sleep knowing they are in danger”.

He stayed silent for a moment, looking ahead. You calm down when you realise how assured he was.

“I trust them, Y/n. I completely trust them to come back here in one piece and alive. I have the best army in the world. In no time, my brother will be imprisoned and it will be behind us”.

“I know JiYong, I’m sorry, I don’t want to add my own anxiety on your shoulders. You are right, I trust them. They are brave and fierce. They will be back shortly”. You couldn't do anything else other than hope for the best.

He smiled at you.

“I’m sorry you have to face such things. It’s terrible to be a king, I found. It’s the first time I am facing such a situation and it makes me anxious”.

“It’s exhausting, you have no idea. Tonight, I am dead tired”. He sighed. It seems that he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders. You never saw him like that.

He smiled for himself and bent down. He leaned his head on your thigh, turned on his side and buried his nose against your stomach. His hands resting on the side of your thighs, his eyes closed while he hummed in content.

“Hummmm! I want to sleep like that. Can I?”

He opened his round eyes, suddenly realising how he was hugging you. To take you in his arms was something he dreamed of doing since he worked by your side, since he saw you evolve before his eyes. This desire was strong but he didn't want to scare you either.

“Love, you remember your promise, right? The promise you made 2 days ago”

How did you deserve to meet such a wonderful person? He was thoughtful, respecting your boundaries even though as a king, he had the right to demand everything he wanted. Not to forget how alluring he was. You were feeling good with him. With his head on your lap, you were overwhelmed by a great thrill of joy, an innocent pleasure filling all your senses. He made you forget about the whole world outside.

You let your hands respond for yourself. After all, he showed you so many affection marks, maybe it was right for you to do as well. Overwhelmed, you delicately start to comb his hair. Dragging locks of hair between your fingers, you watched his facial features relax, his eyes closed in pleasure. You slowly made small circular fingertip frictions all over his scalp, applying little pressure. You insisted on his temples, gently guiding his head to turn from one side to another. You kneaded the back of his head, the tension on his face fading away. He seemed serene, a content smile on his beautiful lips. His little moan of contentement gave you the courage to push the caress further.

Positioning one finger at the arch of his brow, you grazed it around the outside corner of his eye. A soft touch, not even a caress. More like a soft breeze on a summer day. Gently kneading his velvety skin, smooth under your touch. Tenderly tilting his face with one hand, you smiled at him, even if he couldn’t see you. And repeated the gesture on the other brow.

“Aah! I could die like that, I wouldn’t complain” he softly murmured.

He needed more, just a little more of your relaxing touch. Keeping his eyes closed in delight, he took one of your hand, kissed your palm and innocently brought it against his cheek. For the first time in forever, his mind was locked into the present. He gave himself completely to your touch, having no wish for it to end.

“Remember your promise, love. Remember”

“Can you stop worrying about me? I feel good by your side” you tenderly said with a smile in your voice.

Using wide circular strokes of your thumbs, you explored the contour of his face, sensing the softness of his skin, the different textures depending where you were touching. You delicately massaged along the sides of his jaws, past the corners of his beautiful mouth, next to his nose, and over his now pink cheekbones. He seemed delighted by the relaxing motion of your hands on him. You traced a few lines on his forehead and lovingly knead over his face, temples and scalp all over again. You alternate the pressure, you made smaller or wider movements, depending on the reactions he had, the cute content sounds he made.

When you rubbed the bridge of his nose and ended the movement with a boop on the tip, he giggled. He opened his eyes blurred with emotions. He was so wonderful, on your laps like that. You couldn’t resist passing your fingers through his soft hair again. You loved to touch him, it was something new for you. You loved how he felt under your touch and the immediate relaxing effect you had on him. Most of all, you loved how it made you feel warm and bubbly inside.

“JiYong…”

“umph?”

You didn’t need to add anything. When your thumb started brushing over his lips, he found it hard to fight against the sensations that were going through his body. Your delicate smell was flooding his senses. He locked eyes with you and could read nothing else than a longing desire from your side too. He resisted the temptation that was building inside of his stomach and stayed completely immobile, tensed by the sudden change of mood.

“Ji…”

The way you called his name, your voice filled with an innocent lust, made him lose his mind. He could read different emotions on your face. It was almost like you were surprised by this desire, surprised but welcoming it at the same time. He was used to women trying to seduce him, but he was not used for those raw emotions, for this pure desire for him, himself. Kwon JiYong, not the king of Korea. He had to kiss you, he needed to.

He locked his hands around your neck, pulling you down slightly. Before he did anything, he paused, letting you the time to retract. But you didn’t, concentrated on his lips.

You’re the one who closed the distance. As your hand tugged at his hanbok, your lips brushed his softly. A timid kiss, followed by yet another one. He was caught between the desire to deepen the contact already or letting you guide the delicate kisses. In the end, he could not resist this outburst of tenderness, the softness he felt against your mouth.

He let you explore him, kissing you back at the same pace you were going, the imperceptible warmth of your breath against his skin made him shivered. His hands caressed your hair to encourage you, then he let his fingertips slide behind your ears and under your jaw. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks at first, but soon it invaded your whole body. When his fingers slowly traced down your spine, your stomach twisted in a knot and you became more assertive and greedy. You were unprepared for all of this, but your body ached for more of him. It was easy to get lost in him, lost in this powerful connection between you.

He tilted his head slowly and very carefully, parted your lips. His tongue slipped inside your mouth, gently but demanding, sending a rush of blood to every part of your body. Not wanting to impose himself, even though he didn’t feel anything else other than desire from you too, he withdrew almost as soon as your tongues met leaving a sweet sensation, a desire to devour more. To have more. To know more. Unfortunately, his head stepped back and you were suddenly deprived from him, breathless.

You were both unable to open your eyes afterward, overwhelmed by what just happened. You’re the one who broke the silence. Your fingertips brushing against his now swollen lips. Scared that you did something wrong or unwanted because he broke the contact when you wanted more. Way more of it.

“Do you regret it?”

“What?”

He stood in one motion, now facing you, his hands leaning on your laps where his head just left.

“I don’t regret it at all. I actually want to kiss you more, may I? he asked, playfully smirking. How could you say no to someone who asked you while looking like that? So, you decided to play along with him.

“Oh sir, only if you insist” you joked, softly flicking his forehead. And this time, he wasted no time draping both his arms around your small petite frame and met your lips halfway again. Both of your lips moving along to the rhythm of your heart beats, harmonizing, curling and contours lapping.

Like the notes of a perfect rhythm, a perfect harmony, weaving a song of your own.

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pearloftheorient · 4 years

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sorry to not be a fandom blog or roleplay blog for a moment. i just feel like i wanna express a bit of a heart-to-heart, just a quick rundown of whatever’s going on and how it all happened from my perspective. i mean i don’t even care if nobody reads this, but as someone who expresses a lot more in writing i feel like i should take this opportunity to help unload, you know?

so the lockdown definitely hit us here on friday the 13th in march, which didn’t feel as bad as it was. as a nurse i’ve had this weird concept that a lot of the common diseases that spread around can easily be blown up by social media (hold that thought for later lol) and i just you know, say you should just wash your hands, it’ll be okay. i mean i tend to take the logical route when it comes to health care?? because that’s what i studied and i feel like i owe it myself not to panic TOO MUCH. plus, my husband (an intellectual) also had the same attitude towards media being exaggerated, so like i’m copying his cool attitude as much as i can. i mean we even went to budapest just a week prior, watched a play, mingled with clusters and clusters of people..... and even though people already started wearing masks, i even make fun of them for wearing it wrong or just being quite excessive and wearing gloves in public (i still don’t like seeing gloves in public and if you’re a health care professional you might feel exactly the same way)....

and then they told me on that friday that all of the training days for the next three weeks that i have worked hard to set up, study for, book on rotas, juggled, invited speakers for (i’m a nurse-educator and i organise staff training as part of my job) are now to be stopped. my staff are now asking me about their learning opportunities, is the course gonna go on, and i feel a bit more responsible to give the correct information but i just don’t know where to get it??

then come monday, it was a whole different story again. since the non-clinical aspect of work has been indefinitely stopped, i am one of the people who had been expected to go back into the clinical area and handle patients (i mean i still do this despite my role, but i now have to do it more often). which was fine because handling patients is my happy place, i feel like it is within my remit, i know exactly what i’m doing most of the time, i have a smaller scale to tackle and that’s gonna ease my brain a bit while the world starts to fall into chaos. i’ve done this for the next few weeks. i did mostly clinical shifts, and just do some admin stuff like once a week?? just so i can keep up with the new developments and properly disseminate information, like what PPE are we gonna have, train people in wearing them, what we actually need to do if we get patients with COVID, crash courses for those who will be redeployed, cancelling and cancelling and cancelling study days and training days and finding multiple alternative ways so people still maintain standards despite not having the face-to-face training....

as a nurse-educator, i also feel like i should always watch the news and be aware of the latest guidelines, what WHO wanted us to do, how am i gonna apply this for my colleagues and the safety of our patients... so i’ve done that on a regular basis, and my brain is just filled with information and i actively help in setting up bedspaces with the initial instructions of what PPE to wear....

and then towards the end of march, people are dying. and the fact that it was building in numbers made it more real. and now i started to question what i already know, if we’re actually doing the right thing, but why do other countries do it differently?? why do other hospitals do it differently?? how come people are still on the street?? decisions from the government and the big execs just fluctuate and this trial and error approach just all of a sudden.....became the new normal.

and then we’re all like, but we just have to work together - since all of our non-clinical stuff had been on standby then we can just focus on working clinically, doing patient care. and then i was given the instructions to gather nurses from my unit (we deal with neonates - babies - like i personally haven’t got a clue on how adults work anymore as i haven’t handled one for like 15 years) who can be redeployed based on their previous experience. redeployment sometimes is viewed as heroic, like wow you’re brave to work in adults despite your rusty experience just for the sake of helping with the pandemic, that’s Great. and then to some, it is their worst nightmare, being redeployed is like being fish out of water - going back to square one, not knowing exactly what you’re doing (remember how i was so confident doing clinical?? yeah that’s only for neonates). and then the solidarity feel like, yeah but at least you’re not alone? we gonna support you?? you’ll get all the special messages, a round of applause, because you’re doing something so brave. i wasn’t redeployed, but six of my colleagues are - and every time they talk to me about how stressful it was and how scared they were being uncertain all the time and surrounded by death and suffering, i felt responsible for putting them in that position.

and then i started to feel sadder and sadder. but i can’t stop working, i am physically well, i am strong enough and i am a Great addition to the numbers. besides, with all this redeployment, we are also receiving some temporary replacements who simply had no idea how neonates work! (it’s like a full exchange programme but with little training) and it is my responsibility to make sure they are trained (i mean look, we all did LONG ASS courses to reach where we are in terms of knowledge, months and months of clinical exposure to the area to gain experience, but now i’m asked to train all of them for just ONE DAY.) and so after training, i’m like this mother duck chasing all the ducklings making sure nobody goes astray. so that was the first two weeks of my april.

it’s also when i decided to stop watching the news or looking at social media about the virus because i have enough stress going on, and i don’t wanna like sound so depressed whenever i’m teaching this new people that are coming to us. i have to be open and warm and welcoming and maintain a cheery attitude despite my patience running so infinitesimally thin. i’ve always been known for my calmness and patience. i may be an anxious bean but i’m quite good in not letting it show in my handiwork.

so i know that’s been stressful - but the good things, i am definitely thankful for. people stepping up, working hard and together with less animosity. the free food was overflowing, i don’t even have to bring lunch at work anymore because there’s always something, even fresh produce because tbh everything hurt after a hard day’s work that you can’t even go grocery shopping :p we had this really posh resto that gave us free breakfast every single day and normally in this resto you like have to make reservations at least 6months before to be worthy lol. despite the back and forth decision making, we do have the right equipment to do our work, and with the virus not usually affecting the little ones, we are not heaving as much in terms of the amount of patients. and just the love, the supportive messages, the rainbow drawings, the applause - i mean just wow.

i guess the more i’m fueled to work harder. and the fact that i get to keep my job when a lot of people had been furloughed or lost theirs, i just feel i have to make it count and continue helping in ways i know how.

i have just trained the last two nurses to come (so far) when i got called that my husband got sent home because he got ill. and he is a nurse too, looking after adult patients with covid so he is getting far more exposure than me.

by protocol, i am automatically self-isolated because of him. and so for the last week of april, we are on a full lockdown, with him on a sickbed and me trying to “work from home”

i am working from home and my colleagues continue to ask me questions about work, i write guidelines, mark essays, basically all the admin stuff i’ve stopped doing because i have been pulled into clinical numbers. i constantly dreaded how my husband will be - knowing the scary stories about how the virus treated some people and the rising number of deaths, especially among frontliners. he was fine and got better, thankfully. and then i fell ill that very weekend - and i became a full dramatic binch for a week because my fever and muscle weakness definitely prevented me from doing anything productive. (this is when i binge-watched the untamed lol)

but then we both got tested and we’re both negative lol. whatever the fuck that was surely knocked us down but thankfully it wasn’t covid WHICH MEANS we should go back to work sooner rather than later. yay. we’ve been off for a total of 10 days.

and then i returned to work last week, and i felt so exhausted. apparently it was a common theme from those who had symptoms or had self-isolated (even though i am negative) and i just felt like those 10 days despite spending them mostly in bed, i felt like i ran a marathon that entire time and now i’m paying the price.

i still feel tired now after 4 days of work, and i haven’t even been clinical (they gave me the benefit of the doubt that it might be FALSE NEGATIVE) so i haven’t handled patients YET and instead focused on my admin work - which welcomed with its spiky arms fuck that shit we just had the most dramatic cases at work that i had to deal with, and that’s not even covid-related. and so my brain was also like scraped to the core lol

so anyway, yeah i guess that got long.

i mean i still haven’t talked about what’s happening in the background at this point, like my family (they are okay! thankfully. and my mom is very paranoid which means they are always taking care of themselves lol), the government in where i live and where my family lives (lotsa fucked up things happening right now out there too, dammit i’m so sorry philippines), and all my future plans for 2020 that have now been shitted on by this virus, but let’s not get overly dramatic now.

idk i just feel like pouring stuff out because apparently that’s healthy for you.

stay safe. wash your hands. stay at home if you can. frontliners - and i’m just not talking about my fellow nurses - TAKE CARE AND STAY STRONG. AND THANK YOU. but don’t be an extra hero. wear PPE when you come face-to-face with potential risks. take breaks. know where to draw the line.

#garettext #corona virus //#negativity //#hospitals //

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toshikosatos · 4 years

Text

where I’ve been

trigger warnings for mention of suicidal ideation, and very nonspecific mention of sexual intrusive thoughts. brief mention of fear of starting a fire and contamination fears. (there is also a link to an article which I provide warnings for later, but here’s an advance warning that the article at that link mentions pedophilia.)

alternative title: “OCD: It’s More Than Just Hand Washing! (And Yet I Am Also Singlehandedly Keeping the Body Shop in Business with My Frequent Purchases of Hand Cream in a Desperate Attempt to Undo that Self-Inflicted Damage, As Well.)”

2016 was when it really started to get bad.

there was no real, or at least good, reason for this. my friend had just flown across the Atlantic and moved in with me and my parents, and it was so nice living with a friend and having that constant companionship. I had just finished my first year back in school after deciding to go back and finish my degree following a four year gap, in which I’d bounced between part-time service industry jobs, unemployment, and periods of severe mental illness. it was hard, but I got through that first year. I was 25.

things that sucked, though: season 5 of Person of Interest was happening, and after a year of anticipation, I wound up really disappointed by it. I have a tendency to fixate really unhealthily on my current favourite media, pretty much invest my entire emotional wellbeing in it, and then get totally crushed when it winds up disappointing me in some way. I still feel this cycle happening and don’t quite know how to break out of it, but it was worse back then. and the fandom was also full of REALLY toxic drama at the time that I couldn’t see clearly enough to disengage myself from (although it did ultimately lead to me quitting Tumblr). it wound up really triggering what I now understand to be my OCD, but I didn’t get that back then.

but maybe I should have seen it. I remember weird little things that popped up when I was younger. I went through a time for a few days as a tween when I couldn’t stop flaring my nostrils, or focusing on my blinking, and getting increasingly stressed out by it. later in my teens, I got more anxious about checking all the lights in my house to make sure none of them were about to burst into flames before I went to bed. I also had a bedtime ritual where I’d look at the moon and wish for my loved ones’ wellbeing, and it got more and more ritualized, in this way where I couldn’t step away and go to bed until I felt I’d looked at the moon just Enough, or done certain physical gestures by the window enough times. then I did a school project on OCD at 17 and thought, oh, hey, a lot of this sounds familiar! it made me so aware of my compulsions, but I also started doing them more and getting more stressed out by them as a result, somehow. but a little while after finishing the project, things calmed down again.

these were the things I understood to be related to OCD. I didn’t know WHAT was happening to me when I couldn’t pull myself away from Twitter arguments at 25, couldn’t stop going over the same topics with friends and explaining how I felt and getting reassurance that my friends didn’t judge my opinions, or didn’t judge me for having had a different opinion in the past. I didn’t know why I was losing hours of my life to stress over The Discourse going on on my Twitter feed. I just thought, geez, my anxiety is a mess.

then I went back to school in the fall, and it got worse. one day I remembered something offensive I’d said to be ~edgy when I was 14. read: 11 years prior. I became overcome with anxiety for the next few days, convinced that if I ever told a friend about this, they’d disown me for being an awful person. finally, I told them, and they did not care one bit. they just started listing other 14 year olds they’d known who’d done the same kind of shit. I breathed a sigh of relief. for the time being.

then I wrote an essay that led me down a questionable Youtube rabbit hole. I wound up getting very triggered by a video I saw of something that probably should have been removed from Youtube, but I also convinced myself that I was a horrible person for having looked at it and not immediately looked away. I worried about this for about a month.

then in December 2016, it got much worse. I remembered something similarly inappropriate that I’d seen online when I was 15. again: 10 years earlier. I had looked the thing up out of morbid curiosity, thought it was inappropriate, and never looked at it again. now, 10 years later, I was suddenly overwhelmingly convinced that I was a HORRIBLE person for having looked at this, and that any of my friends would agree and would leave me forever if they knew. within a few days, it became so overwhelming I told a friend, and she did not care. I felt better, for a moment. but it came back. the fear always came back. reassurance from any one person was never enough. I always knew that some remaining friend WOULD hate me for one thing or another I’d done, and it WOULD be proof that I was a terrible person.

I didn’t see how it could get any worse until January 2017. somehow, it did. my thoughts were out of control. I triggered myself eight ways till Sunday, and that January and February was one of the hardest times of my entire life. I was never suicidal - I always knew I would never actually kill myself - but I imagined myself dead every single day, and thought about how much better off we’d all be if I’d never been born. (I remember feeling this way when I took the picture I included at the top of this post.) I felt like there was no point in me living anymore because I was such a horrible person, but that I HAD to keep living, so I was just stuck in a pointless existence, not allowed to feel fulfilled anymore. it was probably the lowest I’ve ever felt. it was the worst feeling. I was anxious and afraid, but that isolating fear made me deeply depressed, too.

but it was pretty early on in all this that I tried to google what I was feeling, and was led to this famous article by Rose Cartwright about pure O OCD. (MAJOR trigger warnings on that article: she talks in detail about sexual intrusive thoughts about pedophilia as well as sexual orientation). honestly, having a name for what I was going through didn’t make me feel much better, but at least I had some idea what was happening to me, now. and it was that knowledge that EVENTUALLY helped me to help myself. it gave me the language to use with the doctors I met, an understanding of how to explain what I was going through, which eventually helped me through evaluations and got me into an OCD treatment program in the fall of 2018. and it did show me that I wasn’t alone.

but there was a sense of, “how did I never realize what this was until now?” I’d referred to myself as having OCD tendencies for a long time. “OCD habits.” I didn’t think any of it was severe enough to actually call OCD. then I found out all the different ways OCD can manifest: intrusive thoughts about sexual topics, violence, morality. I’d had them all. even back in 2013, when I first started seeing a psychotherapist, I went through a phase where I couldn’t stop having a particular intrusive sexual thought that made me feel like a monster. I told my therapist about it, desperate. she reassured me that I wasn’t a freak, and I felt a whole lot better. but she never even used the term OCD. she just said it was strange that I was having these thoughts when I didn’t have a history of abuse. but that’s not strange: it’s just how OCD works sometimes. she didn’t Get It. (I have read that psychotherapists often don’t get it, because they’re quite focused on analyzing the reasons why you feel a certain way, and OCD sufferers already do that too much. we don’t need to analyze: we need to learn to live with our bad thoughts, and not act out compulsions in response to them.) so I went on not knowing until it got much, much worse. and that is why people really need to start building a better understanding of all the different things that OCD entails.

I have intrusive sexual thoughts. I worry CONSTANTLY about everything I’ve ever done wrong and that I’m a bad person, and every single day I fight the urge to seek reassurance from my friends that every single one of those things isn’t It, the thing that will finally make them realize that I’m a horrible person and leave me forever. I second guess every decision I make to the point that I wind up frozen by my own anxiety. I obsess over contamination and harm, too. I wash my hands too much because I’m afraid if I don’t, and then I touch something someone else will touch, I might contaminate them in some way, and that would make me a horrible person. it all comes down to “this will make me a horrible person.” all my other obsessions come back to morality, in the end. I had one doctor who evaluated me tell me I was wrong to connect my sexuality obsessions to my morality obsessions, but I think she was wrong. they are absolutely connected. it is ALL about this for me, in the end.

when I was cleaning my room last year, during my treatment, I got distracted by a notebook I wrote in when I was 12, and I found a page where I wrote, in 2003, “My obsessive compulsive habits are getting out of hand.” I didn’t even remember knowing the term when I was 12. I saw it that long ago, but it took me until I was 27 to get treated for it. there’s no such thing as too late, but when I read that, I wished I could have told my younger self to get help and why. I wished I could show my 17 year old self, or my 21 year old self, or my 25 year old self that page, and let her know, “this is what’s going on. this is what you need to tell a doctor you’re dealing with.” but maybe now I can help someone else figure that out, like Rose Cartwright has helped me with her OCD activism and writing.

my treatment ended a year ago, and I haven’t been using the tools they gave me very diligently since. I’ve been really struggling as a result, but executive dysfunction is a bitch. I hope I can start working on it again soon, because I already know what I need to do to feel better.

a book we used in therapy that I found incredibly helpful: https://www.amazon.com/Getting-Over-OCD-Second-Self-Help/dp/1462529704

Rose’s book: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0118ITJUY/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1

#comes back to tumblr to reblog gay terminator content and writes a personal essay about my mental illness instead #sure!#I don't know why I'm doing this exactly but here I am #if you don't want to click but are interested in resources that have helped me with my OCD feel free to message me #the workbook we used in therapy that helped me is called getting over ocd by jonathan s. abramowitz #gotta say it feels good that I've come so far that I can talk about it this openly now though #personal

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jtargaryen18 · 4 years

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I know this isn't one of your usual asks and I hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable, but I've been struggling a lot lately with my mental health. I feel absolutely alone and like nobody cares. I have no one to talk to and my insurance no longer covers therapy, so I haven't been there in a while. Do you have any advice? I hate feeling like this, its like there's just a black hole where my emotions are. Idk, sorry.

Hey, there. First, you don’t have anything to apologize for and there’s nothing about mental health issues that are going to make me uncomfortable. I had a schizophrenic parent with violent tendencies and I had no siblings. Not telling you that to make anything about me. Just saying I understand what it’s like to feel overwhelmed, confused, and worse, isolated. When you’re wounded and alone, your own mind can be your worst enemy.

I don’t know your situation or what support you have, but you have yourself and you are not powerless. You are also not alone. If you’re here in our corner of Tumblr, I’ll bet you’re a reader. Maybe even a writer. When you can, find stories that make you happy, revisit favorite books, check out new books. If you write, work on something you’d love to read yourself. What hobbies do you have that you enjoy? Painting, cooking, playing music, knitting, anything. It’s important to keep your mind focused on other things besides the negative self-talk going on in your head. Just because it’s there, and that’s true for ALL of us, doesn’t mean we have to listen to it.

And while we’re talking about writing... One thing that can help when you’re feeling held down by your mind is journaling. Even if it is just pulling out every single thing you’re worried, anxious or down about out of your head and writing it down, it helps. I’ve always felt like it gave me a way to corral everything bad in my head in one place instead of leaving it to run wild in there. It can make you feel like you have a measure of control. Once you figure out ways to control the bad thoughts in there, you figure out how to take back control period.

At the end of the day, it’s all about managing your thoughts. No, it’s not easy but it can be done and the how is different for each of us. The mind governs your thoughts, your body governs your emotions. So when the negative self-talk in your mind evokes unhappy emotions, you can make yourself physically ill too. That’s why it’s so important.

There are some great videos on dealing with depression, anxiety, negative thoughts out there too and it's free. Lately, I’ve been into Dr. Joe Dispenza. He has several videos on YouTube and what I like most about him is that he scientifically explains the hows and whys. There are a lot of gurus out there with beliefs and rituals and all that. But to have someone break it down in scientific terms is helpful. His videos got me into meditation (I would have rolled my eyes at anyone who suggested that to me five years ago). That works very well for me.

Just remember - you’re not powerless. You have some control here. And you also have positive thoughts which are far more powerful than the negative ones. And any time, you could have a positive thought or idea come along that can transform your life instead of leaving you in the dark. It’s true.

Anyway, I’m glad you reached out to me. I’m not sure how qualified I am to give anyone advice but I do care. HUGS There’s a lot of really great folks on here and I’m glad you’re part of our little corner. I want you to be happy. And I’m here. I’m slow sometimes to get back because of work sometimes. But I will get back to you. 💖💖💖

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thesickpanda · 4 years

Text

Where is My Mind?

Stress can make you feel like you're going crazy.

I cannot emphasize this enough. Long-term, persistent and intense stress well above your baseline levels can make you feel like you're losing your mind.

Life is stressful and when I think back to when the intense periods of stress started in mine it gets a bit ridiculous because I grew up in a domestically violent household with severely mentally ill parents in a country on the brink of civil war with one of the highest crime rates in the world. So I have been kinda stressed for a very long time. However, in more recent months, the level of acute stress I've been experiencing has made me feel disconnected from reality. I've experienced derealisation a number of times due to Lyrica withdrawal and accidental cannabis highs. But this one is different. The depersonalisation I’ve been experiencing is from pure, unrelenting stress. I really did question my sanity more than once.

In July, I saw my psychologist to describe this feeling to her. She very helpfully drew a diagram which explained the neuroscience of why we feel this way when we've experienced high levels of stress for a long time. It was really helpful to see that because it reassured me that what I was feeling was, as much as this can be said, "normal", given the amount of strain I was under. But the stress hasn’t let up since then and I have been well above my baseline for much too long.

Long story short, I haven't really recovered since my family visited me last year. 2018 was a year from hell. 2019 hasn’t been much better but for different reasons. Basically, the hardships I’ve endured being the leader of a non-profit all these years reached critical mass and finally, at long last, broke me. After 8 years of pouring all my heart, soul and every last spoon I had into it, I quit last month…and to very little fanfare at that. 3 people turned up for our final meeting, and only because we needed to hand them the organization’s physical assets. We had a little unplanned dinner out and that was that.

I'm grateful to the handful of people who have reassured me they will continue its legacy beyond my departure, genuinely I am, but overall I think I stayed in that position at least a year longer than I should have. I feel incredibly jaded and cynical about the whole thing.

And I’m sorry if this offends anyone, but screw Sydney’s activists. The vast majority of them can barely call themselves that. I have never been in such an apathetic, vain, self-centered and lazy city when it comes to political activism. This migrant has had enough of trying to get Australians to care about their own issues. (And yeah, the people I handed the non-profit over to? Also migrants).

It is telling that the final meeting was also the night before we moved house (because we always had to wrap our own lives around the goings on of that organisation, not the other way around, which is another major reason we quit). So after an hour and a half’s drive into the city, we had to get home late to get up early the next day to start that fun process.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Before we ever got to moving day, we first had to find a house. If you haven’t done it before, let me tell you, the process of house hunting on a tight budget in a hostile market is disgustingly stressful.

We were looking from June. The property market in Sydney is unbelievably expensive and even though it experienced a so-called "correction" for a year, (meaning that house prices stabilized instead of continuing to rise), that ended just as we entered into the property hunt. I am extremely grateful that we got the house we did at the price we did, but my God, getting to that point nearly killed me. I keep explaining to people that it felt as if my partner and I ran full blast over broken glass to the edge of a dock, leapt several metres and grabbed onto the barnacles of a departing ship by our fingernails. I really do think we may have been among the last millennials that got on that “property” ship, and it was only because, at long last, we had help from my partner's extremely wealthy parents. After shaming us for a decade for not being able to afford impossible house prices (“ok boomer…”), he finally relented and helped us out. Again, I'm grateful, but also disgusted that this is the world we live in. Housing should be a human right and we shouldn't have this intergenerational greed and infighting over something so basic. Forgive my inner socialist.

Finding the house was only the first part of the equation; moving into it was the next step.

The moving process was incredibly arduous. At the time we should have been packing up the house, my partner's work decided to send him interstate for business on multiple occasions. By the time moving day came round, we were not ready and we couldn't afford to pay removalists. We enlisted the help of two amazing friends and Joe's brother-in-law. Again, super grateful that I had their help, but my God, was it intense. It took the better part of four days to move everything. We had to pay off the mortgage and the rent for the previous place for a two-week period, putting considerable strain on our savings. At the same time, we needed to get some work done in the new house so that was being done while we were trying to sort out the old house. The rental laws in this country are a joke and are widely considered to be abusive to renters, including by many of my American friends who now live here. I doubt we will ever see our bond returned, even though we were treated like crap living there for three years in a house that was not sealed, had no insulation or air conditioning, leaked and was draughty, didn't have proper doors et cetera et cetera. I mean, we had maggots falling from the ceiling… twice. The place was rotting and rotten but because my partner couldn't completely colour match the paint when he tried to cover up what was absolutely reasonable wear and tear on one of the walls, I'm sure we will lose all that. As usual, the landlord will claim it costs our entire $1800 bond to get a $50 an hour painter in to patch up one wall. They always do this. In your contract it says reasonable wear and tear are a few knocks and dings on the wall and that the tenant is not expected to pay for that. In reality, in every rental we have ever lived in, the landlord has refused to refund the bond when there’s been even the slightest bit of damage, even if we had a record of being model tenants. It was almost comical how hard my partner was trying in the middle of the move to cover up a few scrapes on the walls from moving furniture in and out. It all came to nothing because for love nor money he couldn't find the correct match of paint. And then of course he had to mow the entire grounds of the last rental when he really wanted to be using his weekends to sort out and unpack the new house. Good God, it was awful.

My partner and I barely spent any quality time together during this period and he was extremely stressed out and distant from me. I totally understand why but the whole thing flared every single one of my conditions and I needed him as my carer. But he couldn’t really do that, as he was trying to do literally everything else. Moving house is hard on a healthy body, never mind one with two chronic pain disorders, irritable bowel and generalised anxiety disorder. And then (because of course), a family member of mine (one of the abusers) picked that moment in time to start harassing me, thereby triggering my PTSD which led to a nervous breakdown which led to intense depersonalisation, insomnia and nausea. Everyone and everything seemed unfamiliar to me, even my partner. I started to doubt whether or not I loved myself or anyone else anymore. I just felt so completely and utterly disconnected from the world. I began to lie awake at night terrified that I was fading away, that I could no longer feel anything other than fear. All the time, people kept saying, “congratulations on the new house! You must be so excited!” But all I could feel was sickness and dread.

Two weeks after moving in, I had to drop my Lyrica one more time. This drop has been very difficult. All of the stress has led to some dark thoughts in the back of my mind which of course Lyrica then co-opts and exaggerates. I have had a more than a few moments of suicidal ideation. Everything in my life on paper has improved. We are now homeowners, we live in a beautiful part of the world, we've made some new friends lately, things are settling down et cetera et cetera. But I feel like I'm in shell shock after this year and last year. I haven't even had time to process that I am no longer the president of the not-for-profit I founded and formulated an identity around. I just haven't had the time to process literally anything. I've been more exhausted that I have ever felt. Oh, I'm sure everyone will say, “this too shall pass”. But I do not believe that bullshit. Yes, this individual stressor will pass but more horror will come and I know that makes me sound super negative but I just cannot remember a period of time when things were calm for… I can't remember. I just feel like I've been in a hurricane forever.

So yeah, I'm writing this post while experiencing Lyrica withdrawal which makes me depressed and anxious. It's probably colouring my vision on everything. Fine. But I have been going through Lyrica withdrawal for two years, so it’s kinda become my normal. My final drop is on 26 December after which I will experience two more months of withdrawal and hopefully, after that, some semblance of sanity again. In the midst of all this I have to study for my citizenship test which is at the end of this month. I don't get any government support for my disability until I have been a citizen of this country for eight years, and as I’d like to survive my 40s, I need to get citizenship now. But yeah… studying an eighty-page textbook with an addled brain is just so much fun.

Of course, during this time we haven’t have Internet because we had to disconnect the old place and it takes an age for it to get reconnected at the new place. We only recently acquired it at the new house. So there are piles of emails waiting for me. Many of them are from friends and I'm glad for that. But there is also a lot of life admin I now need to do. I have to change my address on every account I hold, which is really tedious. We have also had to organise time with family. Because my partner's family helped us get this house, we feel especially obliged to go to every single one of the family events, of which there are many. He comes from a big Catholic family so every relative who comes to visit, every party that's being held, every birthday, wedding, funeral and religious holiday, we’re now expect to attend. We have several in the next few weekends, taking up most of the time we *needed* to be unpacking the house. We’re obligated now.

In all this negativity, though, I want to say that I am genuinely grateful to be one of the lucky ones to have a house. I know it sounds like I am whining about a good thing. It's not that I'm not glad for this (I know how ridiculously privileged we are). I just haven't been able to really feel it yet. I think that regardless of what happened this year, I’d be feeling this way. Something broke in me last year and just hasn't really come back. I feel shattered.

And all my chronic pain conditions have been wearing me down too. I found out this year that the operation that cost me and my friends so much money (to remove that nerve in my foot) had failed. Or rather, the surgeon had completely botched it up. I have PTSD from that surgery. Just the thought of going back to have it done again fills me with heart racing terror and cold sweats. I’ve had numerous surgeries before that one and been fine, but the reaction I had from the anesthetic last time was so severe, and the recovery so long, that I genuinely fear it more than almost anything else. And yet I need to go in for that nightmare all over again in 2020. I'm going to be asked to trust a different surgeon to do the same so-called “simple operation” to restore some functionality to my left foot. My right knee is probably also going to need surgery since it has been resistant to any physiotherapy rehabilitation. And on top of all this, my poor partner's health has also taken a hit this year from the stress which is worrying me. Because I can always do with some more worry…

But hey! This too shall pass! You should be happy! Life is great now! Yay yay yay!

Fuck, sometimes it just want to be allowed to feel shit and to have other people say “okay you can feel shit now. Yes, some good things have happened but right now you need to process the bad and that's okay too”. My lord, if people could just do that for me. If they could just let me feel what the fuck I need to feel.

What I feel is exhausted, scared, freaked out, traumatized, weird, sick, angry, overwhelmed and fed up. And I need to feel those things before I can feel anything else.

#rant #Fibromylagia #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronic stress #stress #overwhelmed #personal catharsis

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rewrite-the-wrongs · 4 years

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introductions / howdy, pardner

My first short story was about a fishboy and his human best friend. They battled a mutant piranha (whose name I think may have been Mutant Piranha, such was the monumental daring of my creative endeavor) and his army, who were out to destroy a mountain that held a whole planet together. The boys won singlehandedly, because scale was apparently a bit of a mystery to me.

This was the second grade. My teacher--who held me every day as I cried for weeks, confused and miserable and stranded in the throes of my parents’ divorce--understood before I did that I create to a ploddingly slow and steady drumbeat. A sentence is always so much more in my head than I’m able to let out, at first; I have to pore over it again and again, fleshing and flourishing (and often correcting) it, the same way I often have to reread paragraphs or pages or whole books to truly capture their meaning. In a word processor, this back-and-forth is as easily said as it is done; on double-wide ruled paper with dashed-line handwriting guides, the task is magnitudes more time-consuming, especially for somebody as messy as I am. So, while nearly everybody else played at recess on the sandlot and the jungle gym around us, a select few stragglers laid our reading folders on our laps and finished our stories.

My villain, that dastardly Mutant Piranha, found himself in prison at the story’s close. Awaiting trial, I guess; I never ventured that far ahead, seeing the big fishy bastard for a coward. “When no one was looking, he stabbed himself.” That’s the last line, stuck in my memory, not for its own sake, but for my poor teacher’s horrified face as she read my final draft there on the playground.

A mom volunteered to type up the class’ stories and get them printed and bound. For years afterward I reread that collection, always proud to have written the second-longest piece therein. I felt the weight of the pages, inhaled the tiny but acrid breeze that came from rapidly leafing through them. Knew it was a whole smattering of worlds inside, that one of those worlds was wholly mine, and I had the power to show it to people however I wished. Yes, I thought, I want this.

I’ve been introduced to writing many times over, by many people. Don’t get me wrong--I nightowled the first several chapters to many half-baked novel concepts all through my youth. But teachers have a way of showing a thing to you from new angles.

The first person to impact me as such was a high school teacher who was essentially given carte-blanche to construct a creative writing workshop in the English curriculum. The first semester was structured--you practiced poems, short fiction, humor and essay writing, drama, the gamut. Every semester after, the carte-blanche was passed on: A single assignment due a week, each a single draft of a poem or a minimum of two pages’ worth of prose. Forty-five minutes a day to work, and of course free time at home. By the time I graduated, I’d finagled my schedule such that I was spending two periods a day in the computer lab, and several hours after school every day working the literary arts magazine before I went home to get the rest of my homework out of the way and write some more..

My next big influence came in the form of a pair of writers who taught fiction at my university, a married couple. One had me print stories and literally, physically cut them up section-by-section as a method of reworking chronologies. Told me stories happened like engines or clocks or programs--pieces that meshed differently depending on how they were put together, rules that held each other in place. The other showed boundless confidence in me, listened happily to some older students who recommended I be brought on board for a national arts mag. They both encouraged me toward grad school, but toward the end of my junior year I began to stumble, and by senior year I was, to be frank, a drunken asshole. Time I could be bothered to set aside for writing began to dwindle. I limped through the editorship with the help of my extremely talented, utterly more-than-worthy successor--and come to think of it, I’ve never truly thanked her. Maybe I’ll send her that message, now that I’m feeling more myself.

On feeling more myself:

That drunken rage was brought on by a myriad list of factors, the primary ones being 1) I am the child of recovering alcoholics, and our inherited family trauma runs deep, 2) An assault that will likely be mentioned no further from hereon in, as I have reached a solid level of catharsis about it, 3) Some toxic-ass relationship issues, and 4) I was a massive egg and had no idea (or, really, I had some idea, just not the language or understanding or even the proper empathy to eloquently and effectively explore it).

I had a recent relapse with drinking, technically--a mimosa at Christmas breakfast at my partner’s parents’ home--but I’m not honestly sure I can call it a legitimate relapse. I’m not in any official self-help group, I’ve never engaged in the twelve steps or a professional rehabilitation. I had a very wonderful therapist for a few years but reached a point at which I could not pay her any longer and we parted ways--I miss her dearly, as she truly became my friend and confidante; she was the first person I came out to, and very well-equipped to handle it, lucky for me--but I’m still on behavioral medication. That tiny smidgen of alcohol pushed my antidepressants right out of my brain, and I became terribly anxious and angry and sad all at once, and briefly lashed out during a conversation with my partner behind closed doors. Not nearly the lashing out I’ve released in the now-distant past--more on that maybe-never, but who knows, as I am obviously a chronic over-sharer.

Frankly, I don’t deserve my partner. She endured my past abuses, told me to my face I had to be better, and found it in herself to wait for me to grow. She’s endlessly and tirelessly supportive of me. She sat with me to help me maintain the nerve to start this blog tonight. I came out to her as a trans woman just under a year ago, now, and I’m happier than ever, and we communicate better than ever. Our relationship is, bar-none, the healthiest and stablest and happiest I’ve ever been in.

So, naturally, I apologized fairly quickly at Christmas, and continuing where I’d left off at two and a half years, decided I’m still solid without booze.

If we’re all being honest, though (and I’m doing my best to be one hundred percent honest, here, though I will absolutely be censoring names because no shit), I still smoke way too much fuckin’ weed. High as balls, right now. 420 blaze it, all day erryday, bruh. That self-medicated ADHD life. I should be on Adderall and not antidepressants, probably, but it’s been a while since an appointment and psychiatrists are expensive, so I’m at where I’m at for now. Sativas help a lot. It helps with the dysphoria, too.

I don’t have a legal diagnosis for gender dysphoria, but tell that to my extreme urge to both be in and have a vagina. I’m making little changes--my hair, an outfit at a time, no longer policing how I walk or run or how much emphasis I put on S sounds. If I manage to come out to my parents sometime soon--and it feels like that moment is closer every day--maybe I’ll tell y’all my real, full chosen name. For right now, call me Easy.

Anyhow. My goals here are pretty simple:

1) Share words, both those by people I like/admire/sometimes know! and occasionally words I’ve made that I like. See the above screenshot from my notes app. Steal some words if you want, but if you manage to make money off some of mine, holler at ya gurl’s Venmo, yeah?

2) Discuss words, how they work, and how we create them, use them, engage with them, and ultimately make art of them. I am not a professional linguist, but I went to undergrad for creative writing, so, hey, I’ll have opinions and do my best to back them up with ideas from people smarter than I am.

3) Books! Read them, revisit them, quote them, talk about them, sometimes maybe even review them, if I’m feeling particularly bold. No writer can exist in a vacuum, and any writer who insists they don’t like to read is either a) dyslexic and prefers audiobooks or b) in serious need of switching to a communications major (no shade, but also definitely a little shade @corporate journalism).

5) I added this last, but I feel it’s less important than 4 and does not deserve bookend status, and I am verbose but incredibly lazy, so here I am, fucking with the system. Anyway: Art! Music! Video games! I fucking love them. I’ll talk about them, sometimes, too. Maybe I’ll finally do some of the ekphrastic work I’ve felt rattling around in my brain for a while now. Jade Cocoon 2′s Water Wormhole Forest, looking right the fuck at you.

6) Ah, shit, I did it again. Oh well. Last-but-not-last: This is obviously, in some ways, a diary, or a massive personal essay. I will sometimes discuss people, places, or experiences that have informed my work just the same as other people’s art has.

4) Be an unabashed and open Trans woman. TERFs, transphobes, ill-informed biological essentialists not permitted. Come at me and my girldick and prepare to be dunked on and subsequently shown the door via a swift and painful steel-toed kick in the ass. Everybody who doesn’t suck, if I screw up on any matter of socio-ethics or respect for diversity, please feel free to correct me.

Punk’s dead, but we’re a generation of motherfucking necromancers. Be gay, do crime, fight the patriarchy, and fart when you gotta. May the Great Old Ones select you to ascend to a higher plane and learn the terrible truths of existence.

Much love--

Easy

#writers #writing #creative writing #trans #trans woman #fuck TERFs #writing about writing #writer #my writing #diary

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jaydier-blog1 · 5 years

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A Guide to Writing PTSD & Psychosis

Something I’ve noticed over my (too many) years on Tumblr is that sometimes, first-hand accounts of mental illness can be hard to come by. It’s totally understandable, and it took me a long time to get to this point, but it can put writers in a bit of a bind who aren’t satisfied with only the DSM-5 and Wikipedia to accurately portray their muse(s)’s MI. That being said, hi, my name is Holo, and I’ve been living with PTSD and comorbid psychosis for almost a decade at this point, and I’d like to share some of my experiences.

This is by no means a complete or exhaustive guide. The thing about brains is that apparently they’re complicated, and that means that everyone develops MI differently. While there are broad strokes that are generally consistent across diagnoses (and said broad strokes are typically what make up the ‘criteria’ of any MI), not everyone will have every single symptom, and not everyone will display the symptoms they do have the same way. I really do recommend using these sorts of guides as guides to writing MI, rather than actual rules.

I’mma start with some basic definitions. PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder, which is a disorder that develops after witnessing or experiencing a traumatic event. Not everyone who goes through trauma will develop PTSD, and I believe the actual statistic is somewhere between 20-30% (double-check my factcheck before you quote me on that, please). Comorbid mental illnesses (or comorbidities) are MIs that occur with or alongside the ‘primary’ illness, usually because of said ‘primary’ MI. For example, my psychosis is comorbid with my PTSD; it is because of my PTSD that I have psychosis.

Psychosis itself is more of a broad term than a specific diagnosis, and it will generally assume one (or more) of three forms: 1) delusions, 2) hallucinations, and 3) disordered thoughts. I personally struggle mostly with delusions and hallucinations, and I don’t particularly experience disordered thoughts, so that’s what I’ll mostly focus on.

Before I move on, though, I want to share something that an old psychologist of mine told me and that I’ve never really forgotten: it’s possible, and even common, to experience and exhibit occasional symptoms of MI without ever actually having that particular mental illness. A random delusion or general panic attack does not mean your character has psychosis or PTSD. Again, brains are complicated, and what defines a MI diagnosis is the consistent, pervasive presence of multiple symptoms that interfere with the patient’s day-to-day life. You can have obsessive-compulsive tendencies without having OCD. You can be anxious without having anxiety. You can be depressed without having depression.

Another thing is that a lot of MI have symptoms that overlap (which is why comorbid MIs are, again, pretty common). My PTSD comorbidities include depression, anxiety, claustrophobia, and psychosis. In fact, when I first started displaying my PTSD symptoms, I was diagnosed with depression because that was the comorbidity that showed up most prominently at the time, and it took several more years before my doctors and I realized that my depression was a symptom and not the full illness.

Alright! Let’s see if I can break down things into more manageable chunks to talk about.

PTSD

PTSD symptoms are wide, varied, and incredibly subjective from person to person. In my experience, this variance starts with what exactly was the trauma that the PTSD is originating from. Someone who was in a war, for example, will have different triggers and experience different symptoms than someone who was abused (and even then, someone who was verbally abused will once again have a vastly different PTSD experience than someone who was physically abused). Figuring out what your character’s trauma was that caused them to develop PTSD is your vital starting point.

In my experience, PTSD tends to develop slowly. One of the things doctors look for when diagnosing PTSD is that patients are still suffering after six months have passed from the initial trauma. After my initial trauma, I thought I was fine. I was asymptomatic, until months later when symptoms started to creep up on me (and as I mentioned earlier, at first it appeared primarily as depression, and I didn’t even connect it to my trauma at the time).

I experience hypervigilence with my PTSD. I am always aware of where I am, looking for possible exits and escape routes. I get nervous and anxious if I feel trapped in a room or area. (I tried going to a corn maze once. It was a bad time.) I also have an exaggerated startle response. If someone sneaks up on me, accidentally or otherwise, I’m going to react much more dramatically than other people. It’ll frighten me a lot more than it would someone whose startle response isn’t so pronounced. At worst, I’ve had experiences where someone sneaking up on me and startling me as a joke sent me into a full panicked meltdown. (I’d been having a rough time before that, but it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.)

To which I’ll segue rather smoothly into things building up! I find it really difficult to ‘destress’ and relax if I have a lot of small triggers and uncomfortable situations pile up on me within a short period of time or without respite, to the point where something rather minor can set off an entire chain reaction and end up with what looks like an extreme overreaction.

Panic attacks can look different from person to person, or even day to day. Sometimes, panic attacks show up for me as in inability to focus, irritation and snapping angrily at every little thing while my hands shake to the point where it’s difficult for me to hold things. Other times, it’ll look like a screaming, crying mess, huddled up in a ball in a corner on the floor. How people express panic attacks varies greatly, and no one way is an ‘incorrect’ portrayal of your character’s panic attacks.

Flashback episodes are an easy, prominent way to showcase PTSD in media, and so it’s something that a lot of people are familiar with, but in a very narrow way. While it’s possible for someone experiencing a flashback to completely lose touch with their current reality and experience an exact repeat of their traumatic incident, that’s rarely the case. More often than not, my flashback episodes feel more like an overlay, where both reality and my flashback are happening at the same time. Innocuous things will suddenly seem much more ominous and dangerous, I’ll mistake the people around me for those who were present during my traumatic incident, and I tend to experience hallucinations (which I will go into more detail about later on). Someone in a flashback episode could even experience age regression, usually back to the age they were during the initial trauma. Flashback episodes and how someone experiences them are extremely personal, and I strongly suggest doing more research on the topic to find more varied accounts, and piece together how your character would respond to these events, if they even experience flashback episodes at all.

I’d like to take this next moment here to mention triggers. Triggers are highly subjective, depending on the person and their trauma, and they can often be obscure and strange. A particular scent or a familiar name could easily be enough to make someone extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes, triggers are only marginally connected to the initial trauma, or not seemingly connected at all. Conversely, something that might seem like an obvious trigger might not be a trigger at all! Brains are fucking weird like that. Also, a very common experience with PTSD (or any MI with triggers) is that day-to-day life is disrupted in favour of specifically avoiding known triggers. Crowded places will trigger my aforementioned claustrophobia, and so I will often avoid social outings, to the detriment of my friendships and familial relationships. (Which is a good example of triggers having nothing to do with trauma, actually. I was alone when my initial trauma happened. Why the hell am I afraid of crowds. @brain explain this) And not only this, but some days a trigger might not affect me at all! Triggers are so, so subjective. They’re a minefield of possibilities and dangers that can shift on what sometimes feels like a daily basis. It can be a real headache to deal with. Taking the time to get into the mind of your character and deciding what triggers them and what doesn’t it another important part of defining how you write their struggle with PTSD.

Psychosis

Since it’s what I have the least experience with, I’ll talk about disordering thinking first. Disordered thinking is pretty much exactly what it says on the tin, and people experiencing disordered thoughts can appear distressed, confused, and have issues articulating their emotions, even to the point of not being able to form full sentences or fully acknowledge questions being asked of them. I strongly suggest doing more research on this topic outside of this post if you think it might apply to your character.

Delusions are, again, fairly self explanatory. Delusions are probably my most prominent version of psychosis that I struggle with on a daily basis. Personally, the most frustrating part of delusions is that I’m well aware that they aren’t real, but I can’t shut them off anyway. In general, my most common delusions is that Person X is out to get me/is trying to sabotage me. Logically, I know that this is ridiculous, but I still have the anxiety and panic that that situation would induce. While I’m sure there are psychotic people out there who cannot distinguish their delusions from reality, and that is absolutely a valid way to portray it, I have personally never met someone like that. It seems to be a lot more common that delusional psychotics are aware that their delusions are not real, and yet we are still forced to change our patterns of behaviour to accommodate for that delusion as if it were real regardless.

Hallucinations are broad and come in way too many forms. Media likes to portray hallucinations as full-bodied apparitions that are indistinguishable from real life, and while that can be correct, I find that I rarely experience those. Most of my hallucinations are tactile hallucinations. These are hallucinations where I feel as though I’m being touched by someone or something, usually in a negative way (these hallucinations can even trigger or be triggered by a flashback episode). There are also auditory hallucinations, visual hallucinations, and even olfactory and gustatory hallucinations, although I’ve never had experiences with the latter two. Often, I find I can fairly quickly differentiate hallucinations from reality, just by doing a quick check around me. If someone is not touching me, the feeling of a hand on my arm is a hallucination. Visual hallucinations (of other people) tend to not interact with the rest of the world the same way a real person would. Auditory hallucinations do not have an obvious source, and those around me won’t react to the noise. And, of course, the usual disclaimer of everyone who experiences hallucinations experience them differently applies here too, this is just my personal experience with hallucinations.

In conclusion

PTSD and psychosis are both broad MIs with a lot of complexity that vary from person to person. I fully encourage you to continue your research into these MIs and discover what is right for your character(s). I’d like to reiterate that this post is non-exhaustive and has focused on my personal experiences with my day-to-day life as someone who has these MIs. This post is absolutely available for you to reblog if you’d like, and my ask box is right here if you have any questions or discussions you’d like to direct to someone willing to be a first-person source on these topics.

I hope I’ve helped! Now go forth and write! :D

#pstd writing guide #ooc;; the universe is a hologram #psychosis writing guide #writing guide

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self-harmony · 5 years

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I recently saw something that said “talking openly about your mental illness is not attention seeking”

And it really made me think about how it might be healthy to talk openly. I don’t have the body of someone with an eating disorder, but eating food more than one day a week makes me super anxious. The physical feeling of being full makes me feel disgusting. When I eat I can not focus on a single other topic; despite how many people tell me my weight does not define me, everything that is fundamentally me disappears if I feel the number on the scale is too high. I don’t do homework, or work on fanfics, or listen to music, or google nerdy fan theories, or actively try to do my part to save the environment. All I do is exercise or make my “meal” plan for the week. I look in every mirror/reflection I walk by and I dictate how my day will go based on that. Inside, I’m dying to see how skinny I can get. Yet, on the outside I look like a perfectly normal girl. The worst part is, I’ve been going through this since 10th grade. It’s led to more problems with depression, anxiety, and self harm than I’d like to admit. I’m not posting this as attention seeking. I’m just trying to talk more freely about it because I’m sick of always bottling it up. I guess it’s also because for the last 7 years I’ve been too scared and reluctant to try therapy. So sharing part of my story with mostly complete strangers on tumblr who probably won’t even read it might be the first step to talking about mental illness more openly for me. If anyone ever feels they need someone to talk to, feel free to message me. I’m not a therapist, but if I can be your first step towards that I’d be more than glad.

#recovery #therapy #eating disroders #anorexya #bulima #depresjon

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pinkletterday · 5 years

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Writer's Year In Review

This year has been a revelation. I went from deeply, irrevocably believing I can't write fiction at all to knowing that I'm actually pretty good at it!

It's given me the confidence to find work as a freelance writer and editor in real life, after years of unemployment and anxious paralysis resulting from chronic illness and trauma. A lot of other factors also helped but the fic writing played a huge role in getting my shit together.

General Fic Stats:

Word Count on AO3: 92284

Fics posted to AO3: 23

Favourite Fic:

Kiss It Better (Westallen).This fic is my baby. I love little Iris and little Barry in it so much, the hurt and confusion in each other they attempted to heal, how that healing carried into their adult love and family. It will always and always be my favourite thing I have ever written. Wee!stallen is my jam, and the reason I ship them so damn hard.

Do Not Go Gentle (Westallen). Ngl, I love this for the sheer amount of truly gratifying comments. Every single one of them have been emotional and flaily. It all makes me feel like I may have finally levelled up. Hallelujah. xD

Funniest Fic:

The Care and Feeding (Queenwestallen). This is my ultimate OT3. This fic, written as a list and discussion is 95% humour and contains some of my best banter and (I feel) characterization. An element I'm really proud of is how I managed to center and include all their important non-romantic relationships in their conversations. Iris's boisterous female friends, Oliver's friends, Cisco and Caitlin's snarky commentary all shoehorned themselves into the list with hilarious and wholesome results.

It's not a popular OT3 but I feel like it's a good first attempt to drag this ship to water. xD

Cutest Fic:

Dancing Queen (Olivarry). Even after a year this contiues to be the fic with the highest kudos ratio (except for the more recent one) and the second most bookmarked. I love getting comments on this because they are all some variation of "my teeth hurt. I have diabetes!" xD Well, I did build it around a rainbow sprinkle icing sugar donut, but there is a significant dollop of angst there in the middle. A flangst donut.

Your Vigil In My Keeping (Westallen). This fic has less than 200 hits but has the highest kudos ratio of all. I guess kid fic isn't everyone's cup of tea, but Wee!stallen is cute af yo. I headcanon the origins of Barry and Iris's steadfast partnership in this story, where her faith and belief in him is as strong as his protectiveness of her, all tied up in the language and innocence of children.

Kinkiest Fic:

WA Smut and Kink Collection. I literally just posted this yesterday lol. So far it's just a face-sitting short, but I have quite a few hard and soft kinks lined up. Westallen needs more hard smut tbh, and they have such a unique powerfully loving dynamic that every kink I'm writing has required me to come at it a little bit sideways with a whole lot of emotional focus.

Saddest Fic:

Three fics I can't choose from.

Do Not Go Gentle (Westallen). This is basically Iris's grief and fear in a raging tempest, and it's strongly implied that the future Nora has warned them of will come to pass regardless of what they do. The fact is that there already is and will be a timeline where Iris loses Barry, just as there must be one where she won't, because that is the nature of potentiality.

The Paradigm of Uncertainty (Westallen). This was a drabble almost, that ruminates on the probability that speedsters do not erase timelines but abandon them, along those versions of their loved ones. It's as @rkwago's brilliant comment says: "Iris hurts in so many weird, cosmic ways that her life is almost an eldritch horror house," which is the most perfect description ever of what it means to be a time traveller's wife.

The Universal Constant (Gen, background WA). A lot of people find the way Barry goes off on Joe cathartic in this fic, and so do I. But it's not so simple. I don't think Joe was wrong to form the views he did, or that anyone was in the wrong really. As @sophiainspace pointed out, it's a mediation of grief and love, their parallels and continuations between parents and children and lovers. The fact that it takes Henry's death for Barry to find the adult language to articulate to Joe why he will always believe in his father's innocence is a tragedy that cuts three ways.

(This fic is also the reason I have a folder in my drive marked "how to get away with murder" and probably a likely reason to get me arrested one day. xD)

Most Popular Fic:

Strangers In The Cold (Coldflash). The Coldflash fandom is a joy to feed. This was my first smut fic which was preceded by an entire chapter of banter about nothing in particular (except it ended up establishing a background that gave birth to the Coldflash vs Olivarry polyam series) And holy wow, for a newbie writer, the response has been amazing. Looking back, I wince at a lot of writing mistakes and its undeniably rough, but it really bolstered my confidence.

(I feel a little guilty that all my other CF stories are still in my WiP folder while I update the polyam series at snail's pace.)

The Shape of Us (Westallen). I wrote this on tumblr half-asleep one night, half as a rambly headcanon...and woke up to literally one hundred freaking notes. What the hell. Now at over 260, it's the most popular fic I've ever posted on tumblr.

I never consciously intended it to be a body-positivity fic but apparently women really relate to the insecurities of growing older and watching our bodies change with marriage, children and the sheer hectic pace of life. Even my non-fandom friends reblogged it simply for its representation of "real women". Barry's response is my own wish fulfillment fantasy; the sort of total acceptance and validation that we wish we could hear it the times we can't find it in ourselves. In light of the virulent body-shaming Candice Patton has been subjected to ever since she was revealed to have gained a fuller figure in S5, I'm very glad to have written it.

Least Popular Fic:

Carry On (Gen) This character study of Oliver Queen only has 135 hits a year after posting, which is par for the course with gen. But has a solid 12% kudos ratio, which means it's probably as good as I think it is. It's one of my favourite and easiest fics I have ever written.

Love Me Like You Do (Olivarry) Lordy, if my first Coldflash smut filled me with confidence, my first Olivarry smutfic all but ruined it. I struggled with it for a long time, unlike SitC, which I suppose shows in the over-descriptions. I got carried away with the quipping and I guess Barry topping at all is really not popular with slash fans?

Still, I'm honestly toying with the idea of deleting and rewriting it. At least it was a learning experience - don't write smut unless it makes you feel horny yourself.

Most Challenging Fic:

Do Not Go Gentle (Westallen). I think the reason stories you knock off in two hours are instantly popular while the ones you slaved over for weeks barely get any attention is because the process is reflected in the ease of reading. But this one is an exception. It was an absolute monster, taking three weeks and several revisions to wrestle into submission - and it paid off in spades! Going by the response, I seem to have achieved the wow factor I was going for.

My only regret is that I posted it on tumblr before the last revision that finally made it work, so that too many readers saw the lacklustre version rather than the polished one.

Honorable Mention:

A Stitch In Time (Olivarry for now, eventual Queenwestallen) Baby's first multi-chapter! Admittedly chapters 3 and 4 have been languishing in my drive for a few months now and this thing has 100% more deleted scenes and outtakes posted to my tumblr than the actual story on AO3. But I'm so proud of it! I learned to write action scenes because of it, how to write climaxes, dream sequences, news articles and tell a story in several different formats. It made me rediscover my empathy for Felicity and write her as a PoV character, think deeply on Laurel Lance's losses and give voice to her struggles, and explore how a real friendship and understanding could evolve between Oliver and Iris out of their mutual love for Barry. (Centering female characters within manpain narratives, ftw! Otoh, I centered Iris so much it veered off the Olivarry rails into Queenwestallen territory on its own)

There is so much meaty conflict and delicious looming disaster in this story that I'm determined going to keep at it, even if slow and steady. If only to bring the light of Barry/Iris/Oliver into the world. xD

Holding On (Olivarry). This real-world disability AU deals with chronic and mental illness and the precariousness and personal demons of that reality. I tore out the rawest parts of my life for this fic and put them on display so that I couldn't bear to show it to anyone for a year after it was written.

I'm very glad I did finally brush it off and put it up because it has struck a chord with so many people, especially other Spoonies. The low number of hits on a fic that deals in hurt/comfort rather stings, as I can't help but think the disinterest is because of the "disability" and "neurodivergence" tags. But I still think it's one of the best things I've written and one I'll always be proudest of.

General Reflections:

Things I've learned over the past year of writing:

- Self-deprecation is not my friend. I need to be honest enough with myself to acknowledge when my writing is good, because either I self-validate and build confidence or I become a black hole of insecurity where validation goes to die. And if I think I'm a bit better than I actually am, it's not just okay but necessary to believe it.

- What I call writer's block is perfectionism, anxiety and physical and mental fatigue. If I don't eat, sleep, hydrate and acheive a relaxed mental state, I won't be able to write.

- Momentum is more my friend than any amount of inspiration and motivation. Sitting my ass down and make it a habit to churn out X number of words a day, even bad writing, will do more to help me than polishing an idea to a high shine.

- If I don't forgive myself for the stories I can't write I'll never write anything. I am doing this for free, to share the love and joy and therefore obligated to no one.

- I'm capable of writing things I don't have the first idea how to write. My fingers on a keyboard can paint the picture my brain can't visualize.

I don't believe in New Year's resolutions, but I am going to make it a personal goal to write at least 15k words per month, learn to stick to a posting schedule where possible. and end next year with an additional 150k words posted.

To everyone who follows this blog, commented, reblogged and liked my posts - I see and remember and appreciate every one of you. You're the reason I feel seen and valued and why I am motivated to keep writing through all the difficulties life throws at me. <3<3<3

#the flash #myfic #fanfic #westallen #olivarry #arrow #oliver queen x barry allen #personal #barry allen x iris west #coldflash #queenwestallen #leonard snart x barry allen #oliver queen x iris west #writing #meme #review #year in review #happy new year #pinknote

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soniaburke45-blog · 5 years

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Rapid Weight - Excellent To Be Anxious About

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wildflower8281 · 5 years

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Books! How Reading Has Elevated My Mind & Heart Post-Convent

In the convent we were only provided with catholic books. There were libraries in every convent and we were reading all the time actually, but it was all catholic culture, doctrine, spirituality, thought. I have undoubtedly read the life of every single religious nun in church history. When I came home, it took me awhile to not feel scandalous reading other material or books. Even flipping through a regular magazine felt borderline sinful because of what I was exposing myself to - articles about sex, humans in underwear or bathing suites, products enhancing vanity, etc. As I state everywhere, the Program is real and it took me probably about a year before I ‘strayed’ into reading non-catholic books.

Eventually I headed over to the library, got myself a card and wandered through the great halls and explored. It was one of the most liberating moments post-convent, for me. To be able to freely wander these fantastic long rows of all the books I could ever want! It was an introvert and writer’s dream! Fictional stories about different places, books on nature, animals, travel, art! Books on psychology, the brain, nutrition, health! And of course, books on all the religions and spiritualities in the world. It was definitely a moment of mental liberation and thrill for me when I realized how much of the world had been kept from me and how much I was now totally free to explore! Yes, in religious life we were exposed to music, art, history, philosophy - it was actually a very rigorous academic formation - but it was all within the context of the church, it was all always catholic in some form or fashion.

Reading took me into the world at large and let my mind breathe outside of the church confines. I reveled in reading a book about the brain! I relaxed and enjoyed the comfort of a good fiction book on a snowy day. Reading definitely played a huge part in deprogramming my mind from not only all the convent culture, but the catholic programming as well. As someone who is naturally docile and a pleaser, I had accepted mostly everything without question (which is why I was fantastic as a religious superior by the way.) There were always a minority of sisters who were intellectually curious and rebellious, who would question the things or care enough to ask. I didn’t really. It was easier to just assent and move along. However, reading helped me not only open my mind, but begin to use it again, to learn the questions, to integrate new information regarding the church, the world, and myself. No wonder they don’t let religious read more non-catholic stuff - it creates free thinking humans!

Ok, so here is my list of some truly life-changing books, in my geek-opinion. I would recommend these books to any person, whether they were a nun in a past life or not, male or female or any gender identity honestly. I think they are good for the human spirit and mind to learn about, to traverse and integrate!

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho: This is an international forever best seller, life-changing type of book. It is published in 56 languages and has won the Guinness World Record as the most translated book by a living author. Need I say more? It is in essence a fable about a young man who traverses the desert and has different experiences, searching for his purpose. Underneath the story, the mythical characters, the magical desert landscapes are truths about life, love, and self that will resonate if you have a beating heart. There is really nothing more to say here.

The Gifts of Imperfection by Brene Brown: This amazing woman is generally more known for her Ted Talk and for her book, “Daring Greatly,” however for me, it was ‘The Gifts of Imperfection’ that really spoke to many things I was struggling with on my road back into the world. She is famous for her TedTalk on Vulnerability, which probably every human should watch. She teaches on courage, authenticity and showing up as yourself, not faking for anyone. The things she speaks and writes have always resonated with me, because she speaks the language of being human. This book however is a short and sweet version of her overarching philosophy. It’s divided into bite size chapters, packed with real stories and good fodder for thinking, as well as practical ways to implement the practices into your life. Since a lot of convent programming focused on: self-denial, sin, staying busy, keep working, rules, control, falling in line - this book focuses on things like playfulness, creativity, letting go of what people think, self-compassion, heeding intuition, and rest! It’s kind of like an antidote to much of the rigorous mental & physical sides of religious life. For me personally, it kickstarted my curiosity regarding art and creativity specifically. It led me to try new things, to grab some art supplies and begin to just play. Finding art and play was a very deep part of my re-integration and self-confidence that is still with me today. In art and play, I learned to be fully myself without filters. Due to the happiness I found in art & being creative, it opened an entire universe of creativity, movement and freedom for me, mentally, spiritually and physically. Do yourself a favor and grab this short & sweet life manual!

Women’s Body, Women’s Wisdom by Dr. Christianne Northrup, MD: This is basically an anatomy textbook that is fascinating and is helpful if you have a body. True confession: I’m a total geek about the body and enjoy learning about how we work, so dipping into this book was fun for me, however - if you have a body that you live and move and breathe in daily, I highly recommend getting to know how it works for you in exquisite detail at each moment! It’s a big book and that can be off-putting. I get it. The bible is also a big book, but how do you read it? You don’t read it in one sitting, nor do you read it from front to back. You pick it up and read wherever you are led. This is how I read books like Women’s Body, Women’s Wisdom. I read the contents, then skip to any chapter or parts that I’m curious about.

What does this book have to do with life post-convent?

Basic Health: Well, in religious life there was a lot of programming around ignoring the needs of the body, which leads to ignorance in general about how our bodies work and how to take care of them. Also, in religious life, we kind of eat whatever we are given or served. Learning about our bodies and nutrition empower us to choose how we want to nourish our bodies for maximum efficiency and replenishment. This helps us to feel amazing mentally and physically, aiding in our journeys onward. Eating crap and not taking care of our bodies will make the transition into the world - an already rocky one at best - that much more difficult, as our brains will be sluggish, anxious or depressed and our bodies will feel tired and weary. Knowing our bodies and caring for them is perhaps the single most important foundational piece to transitioning back to the world serenely.

Coming Home: Lastly, and personally most important for me was just reconnecting with my body, on the energetic and spiritual level. In the convent (and often in the church,) we live so much in our heads, such an academic and spiritual atmosphere. For a decade, I barely thought about the needs or feelings in my own body. It’s like the priests and nuns are a bunch of heads running here and there. The simple act of sitting and listening to my breathing, or just stopping to notice my heart beat were transformational moments for me. I felt like, ‘Wow, this living, breathing body has been here all along, working for me, taking care of me, doing what she needs to survive, assimilate foods, move for me. And I have utterly ignored every need and feeling from her.’ It was a coming home and a reconciliation for me.

This book will help any human understand their bodily systems much better. It is not heavily scientific, even though she is a renowned doctor. It’s written for the regular person, living a modern-day life. It connects the body with stress effects, the basics of nutrition and shows the energetic connection between the body, mind and illness. It is not new-agey or woo-woo. It’s grounded in legit science and medicine (I say this for the skeptics, because I do believe also in energetic medicines - my Mom is a massage therapist and Reiki practitioner!) It is approachable and easy to read. It’s more like a manual or reference book, but indeed should be read or at least present in any human household!

The Female Brain by Louanne Brizendine, MD: This is along similar lines to Women’s Body, Women’s Wisdom except that it is focused soley on the brain functions and hormones. This book blew up my mind space about my cycle, my hormones and explained so much about how being a menstruating woman feels. I formerly thought that all the hype around pms and cyclical hormones was just that - cultural hype, making fun and being dramatic. This MD explains, again using scientific research in an approachable manner, how exactly our brains work, how our cycles work and how they are connected with the waves of the three main hormones that pulse through us. It’s not a joke, it’s not a drama, it’s basic science and anatomy and how the female brain and reproductive system works. Every human should read it - if they are a menstruating person, or if they know one. Men need to read this book if they are dating women, married to women or are dad’s to women!

This book also empowered me (I rarely use that word because it feels so overused these days, so know that the fact that I’m using it for these two books is noteworthy!) to know myself and my body even more. It helps explain why, as women, we sometimes feel fantastic, strong, outgoing and sexy while other weeks, we may simply want to cozy up in a blanket with a book for 3 days, and not talk to anyone. It helped me understand why sometimes I feel emotionally and mentally resilient, like I can take shit and move on with my day, whereas other days every small comment causes an emotional upset. Understanding my cyclic nature has helped me plan my social life, my errands, my work life, my exercise routines and greatly assisted in relationships. It has given me ownership over my body and being that I am no longer confused or embarrassed by, but rather proud of and make no excuses for. I always know where I am in my cycle and I don’t get freaked out if I am feeling a little low energy or gloomy some days. Additionally, when I am feeling the extra bounce of energy provided by my hormones on the rise, I take full advantage to make social plans, be adventurous and get things done!

Spiritually, I’ve been able to connect the cyclic nature of my body to the cyclic natures of creation and this most definitely has helped me to find peace in each season of a cycle. We cannot be going all the time, just like the flowers are not constantly blooming, and it’s not always Spring. There are seasons of hibernation and stillness, just as much as there are seasons of bursting forth and vibrancy. The ocean waves ebb and flow, the moon waxes and wanes. We go forth and retreat. I’ve written an entire blog on this you can find here (insert link.) Our society and culture, including the culture within the convent, is constantly pushing us to work, keep going, moving always forward (adelante) - however, if we take some wisdom from Nature, we will see that nothing in Nature is always pushing outward. Literally nothing. Things grow and bloom in seasons, in cycles of going forth and pulling inward. This is what our menstrual cycle reminds us to do. Our magic and power as women dwells within us and the only way to tap into that is to have time to go inward. This is why we bleed, why our hormones drop, why we yearn for solitude, quiet and stillness. It’s nature giving us the time we need, just like other living beings, to listen, nourish, incubate the light, love and creative works that we are called to bring forth into the world.

Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd: This provocative title drew me and I also love a good autobiographical account. This is the real story of Sue’s personal spiritual journey, her Story of a Soul, one that began in the christian church world and led her across the world in search of the divine. I was never one to buy into or pay much attention to the charged lingo like ‘patriarchy’ and ‘misogynistic’ things that people said about the church, but when this book found me, I had processed enough of my time in the convent, to read and be open minded about this woman’s journey and search for not only the divine, but truth in the church and rituals. It helped me see with a lot of clarity how things in the convent, especially how we revered the priest ad nauseum, how we served and drove them everywhere, how Mass and many rituals are focused on them - is perhaps a little skewed and off. And I am someone who still holds love for many a priest in my life. I think it’s ok to not be in agreement with the male power in the church, and at the same time truly enjoy the persons that are specific priests in our lives. The book is not all about this, but it was one of the first pieces of literature where - since I was drawn into her personal journey - I read about how patriarchy and men in power can affect one woman’s experience of the Divine and of Church. She takes a beautiful journey that is full of connections to her heart, body, the earth, rituals and a sincere seeking of the Divine.

A few others that come to mind, a short list:

Falling Upwards by Fr. Richard Rohr: This Franciscan priest elaborates on how the second act in someone’s life is often accompanied by great spiritual growth and what we sometimes label as failures or falls actually catapult us forward and upward in wisdom and light. What he connects here regarding veterans who return to civilian life was very helpful & affirming with how many of us feel returning to life in the world, after a unique and extreme situation. Great, helpful read!

The Highly Sensitive Person by Elaine Aron: If you experience sensory overwhelm, have introvert tendencies, don’t like loud places, people, violent movies, etc - this book is for you. It helped me feel normal and be more confident asking for what I need in life, relationships, work and saying no to what I do not enjoy. About 15-20% of humans are HSP, and of that number, 70% are introverts. There is a website dedicated to this book with a quiz you can take to see if you fall into this category.

Quiet by Susan Cain: For all my introverts, do yourself a favor! For all my extroverts, learn about your friends, family and lovers here! This book upped my confidence and self-awareness even more, enabling me to find strength and confidence in my innate, interior, introverted gifts.

The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman: If you plan on loving humans, read this book or at least go to the website, take the quiz and know your own languages. Do you know how you recieve love? Are you a gift person, or acts of service? Do you love physical touch or would you rather have someone compliment you? Also - are you giving love to your loved ones in the language they speak? If you give compliments to someone who prefers acts of service, your compliments will mean nothing. Again, just great to know if you are human and plan on loving and being loved on any level.

Ok, that’s all for now. I could add dozens to this list! Happy Reading!

#formernun #religiouslife #catholiclife #exnun #expriest #formerpriest #ssvm #servidoras #formercatholic #booklover #alchemist #ponderings #postconvent #reading #librarylove #lovelanguages #introvertlife #hsp #freedom

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thoughshebe-butlittle · 6 years

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The Truth About Anxiety.

Inexplicable pain in your chest. Nausea. A pounding heart. Shakiness. A sense of terror. Fear that seems to spread throughout your body, paralyzing you. Muscles that ache.

I can’t begin to number the amount of times I have experienced these sensations, symptoms I believe represent what we call “anxiety.” I can’t count how many times I have said, “Of everything I have ever felt, I hate anxiety the very most.”

Through the years, I believe the Lord has taught me that there is power in vulnerability, because vulnerability spurs vulnerability. Through the years, I have heard dozens upon dozens of precious friends share that they struggle with anxiety. My prayer and hope in writing this, is that just a little of personal vulnerability, though difficult and even a little scary in the moment, would divinely impact those that need to hear hope in the terror they may be living in. I don’t have all the answers and I wouldn’t dare attempt to try and answer all the questions surrounding anxiety in this post, but I hope that if you read, you walk away encouraged in Jesus.

What is Anxiety?

There are plenty of people in the world that do not live with constant anxiety, and I am so very thankful for that. What a true gift! I want to take a moment to attempt to describe what can feel like such a vague term, anxiety. I want to define what I mean when I use that word in this post.

When we worry, I believe we are constantly racking our brains with “what-ifs” in an attempt to control our little world. Worry is fear over what we cannot control, and I believe this can lead to anxiety. While worry/fear is specific over a certain something, anxiety is not. Anxiety is a generalized fear, a general sense of terror over something that may not seem definable.

I believe differentiating between these two are important, as especially as a Christian, I have often been told, “Just pray and trust God more” as a cure to anxiety. While prayer and trusting in God are absolutely critical and core to walking in freedom from anxiety, at times those words would feel empty and distant, as I would respond in anger, “But I feel that I am doing those things!!”

For me, one of the most frustrating parts of living with anxiety is not knowing when or why it will appear. Over and over and over again, I would feel all the physical symptoms of anxiety and not have a clue why. For a very long time, I would be asked, “Well, what brought this on? What are you thinking about?” The answer was often, “Nothing. I have no idea. I just feel so very terrible.” It’s a scary thing to feel so out of control over your own body and not understand its cause. While I do believe now that my anxiety had a root cause, I didn’t know what it was for a very long time, and that was frightening.

Living with Anxiety

I believe that I lived in denial over the extent to which anxiety had begun to take over my life. It wasn’t until professionals began to describe it as “severe” and I was told that I suffered from panic attacks that I began to accept that I needed help. As hard as many have tried to rid mental illness of its stigma, there is still some trepidation in accepting (and sharing!) something so stereotyped.

For those who don’t suffer from anxiety, (Praise God for that!) let me share just a bit of insight. While I believe it can take on different forms, this is what it can look like at times for me.

For a stretch of nearly a year, I felt so anxious every morning when I woke up that getting breakfast down felt like the feat of the day. It looked like watching my hair fall out and my weight decrease due to the toll anxiety racked upon my body. It felt like the smallest of tasks feeling absolutely impossible and terrorizing. It felt like I was doing a terrible job of loving others well, because I was too trapped in my own terror to get outside of myself. It felt like self hate and an inability to accept my own mistakes. In the simplest way of putting it, anxiety made normal life just hard.

Every single morning for a very long time I would pray, “Lord, I cannot do today without you. I cannot do a single thing without you. I can’t face today in all of its tasks without You sustaining me through each moment.” And I meant every word. Anxiety made me realize that I am so very helpless without strength and sustainment from the Holy Spirit (Which, by the way, is true with or without anxiety).

What Causes Anxiety?

In the years I have struggled with anxiety, many times I have been told to repent of my sin. Often, on top of feeling anxious, I would then feel a wave of shame over this struggle. There may be many reading these words right now that feel I should repent of anxiety.

After lots of prayer and reflection, I do believe that the thoughts my heart made a home in for many months were sinful. They were hateful towards myself, and they did not honor the Lord. I did not realize it then, but I believe now that it was those thoughts that would keep me up at night, those thoughts that would follow me everywhere I went, those thoughts that would eventually lead to an anxiety that did not go away. Even after I stopped thinking hurtful things towards myself, I had dwelled in that place long enough that it had made its mark upon me. The roots grew and blossomed a tree. I saw the tree, I saw the tree’s effects upon my life, such as the shade and the leaves falling, but I did not see the roots. I didn’t know from where the tree had grown. It was just there, and its presence sucked all the joy out of life.

This was the time when I needed compassionate and consistent friends the most. I needed people to love me when I felt I had nothing to offer in return. And isn’t that the beauty of the gospel of Jesus Christ? When we were His enemies, when we had absolutely nothing to offer Him but our sin, He loved us deeply and completely and sacrificially.

In short, I believe it was my past thought life that led to my present anxiety.

Freedom From Anxiety? Is it Possible?

When you suffer intense anxiety for long enough and you don’t know its cause, you start to believe that, “This is just your life now.” I began to wonder - Is this who I’ve become? An anxious, trapped person? Is this who I will always be? I’d been in counseling for what felt like forever and often felt I was not making a bit of progress. I remember something my counselor said to me in one of those moments. She said, “Nicole, I’m not going to give up on you. You’ve given up on yourself too many times, and I’m not going to do that to you.” I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.

It is with incredible joy in my heart that I can write in honesty that over the course of the last month and a half or so, I have begun to taste sweet freedom over anxiety, something I dreamed of but was afraid to hope would really happen. Every morning I am reminded to praise God that He is doing a good work in me and showing me life without that trapping terror. I’ve started taking anxiety medicine, and I do not separate medicine and God’s work in my life. I see it as part of what He is doing to make me look more like Him.

This has been such a process, and I believe it will continue to be. I still feel anxious at times, though not to the severity of past years. However, in the moments I do still feel anxious, I remind myself that God is with me. I quote Scripture to my soul and believe that it will be okay, even if it doesn’t feel that way in the moment.

I tell my soul to hope in God, whether I feel anxious or not. He is deserving of the glory, regardless of what I feel. Should I struggle with anxiety the rest of my life, should it be the thorn in my side, I will delight in my weakness because His grace is sufficient for me.

Anything is possible with God. I will pray in faith that He has the power to heal. And if not, He is still good.

You are Not Alone

I am sharing openly today, because it is my prayer more would feel empowered and encouraged to be honest about their struggles. Too many suffer in silence, too many feel ashamed to reach out for help. You are not alone in your struggle. There is Hope, and He is ever patient with you.

Should you need an ear, I am just a message away. I pray that if this be your struggle as well, you would believe you have the freedom to hurt before the Lord and trust in His kindness toward you. And if this isn’t your struggle, I pray that perhaps you know just a little bit better how to care for the loved ones around you that do struggle.

Let’s walk confidently and without fear together, knowing that we are loved fully by an incredible God.

“Be still and know that i am God.” -Psalm 46:10

“Finally, brother and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me- put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.” -Philippians 4:8-9

"But He said to me, my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” -2 Corinthians 12:9

#my thoughts #anxiety #fear

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sp00kymulderr · 6 years

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dO THEM ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL /EVIL LAUGH (??)/ uhm from the "let's talk about" post úwù 💗 I'm sorry I'm making you write so much but i really wanna know!!! ILYSM

ANYTHING FOR YOOOU!

There is a lot here, I’m apparently feeling very chatty tonight so sorry about some of the long ramble-y answers again:

1: Talk about the first time you watched your favorite movie.

Itwas 2005, and 15 year old me had dragged my dad and brother to thecinema to see a movie that looked really interesting to me – itfeatured several badass women in the main cast at a time when Iwasn’t seeing much with actually strong, well written femalecharacters in. So I had to see this, and it was sci-fi which my wholefamily enjoys, so off we went to watch it. At the beginning, therewas a filmed intro of Joss Whedon talking about the movie and aboutthe TV series it came from, which I knew nothing about and thatworried me. But then the film started and I swear my heart stoppedfor a moment, I fell so deeply in love with the setting, thecharacters, the cast. The film was Serenity, and it started a lot forme

2: Talk about your first kiss.

Myfirst kiss wasn’t special like I wish it had been. I was about 14and it was with my best friend at the time, a guy who I had nofeelings towards whatsoever. I regret the kiss a lot, and the kissesthat followed. I wish I hadn’t felt pressured in to it the way Idid.

3: Talk about the person you’ve had the most intense romantic feelings for.

Idon’t really get intense feelings for people that often, especiallynot now I’m older. There was a guy when I was in secondary schoolthough, who I genuinely thought I loved (I didn’t). It was veryunrequited and took over my life for too long, and was a catalyst tothe depression I later suffered with.

4: Talk about the thing you regret most so far.

Partof me regrets going to uni, but then I think about all theexperiences I had at uni and I would never have had those, or madethose friends, or enjoyed myself that much anywhere else. I can’tthink of much that I really really regret, I tend to think thingsthrough a lot before I do them.

5: Talk about the best birthday you’ve had.

Iam the queen of good birthdays, istg! I ALWAYS go on holiday for mybirthday, have ever since I was young, so I have so many good ones.But I think it has to be between going to New York for my 21stor Berlin for my 23rd (my favourite place in the wholeworld), or this past birthday which I spent on my own in New Zealandand got to go to Hobbiton for the first time!

6: Talk about the worst birthday you’ve had.

Ihave genuinely not had a bad birthday yet. This year would’ve beensad if I hadn’t gone to Hobbiton, as I was completely on my own forthe first birthday ever.

7: Talk about your biggest insecurity.

I’ma total mess of insecurities tbh. I wouldn’t know where to start.

8: Talk about the thing you are most proud of.

In2012, when I left uni and moved to London on my own, I started a blogcalled The Theatre Tourist where I wrote about two of my biggestpassions; theatre and travel. A year after I started it, I got myfirst invite to review a theatre production which I accepted havingnever written a review. Once I wrote it, I knew this was what Iwanted to be doing, I fell completely in love with it. And to thisday I still run that blog, I have a fair few readers and connectionswith theatre PR’S all around the world. Currently I’m writing atleast a review a month for New Zealand theatre but when I was back inLondon I was being invited to at least 4 a week every week. I am soproud of that blog.

9: Talk about little things on your body that you like the most.

Mytattoos. They make me feel better about myself because I find thembeautiful and they mean a lot to me.

10: Talk about the biggest fight you’ve ever had.

Thatbest friend I mentioned earlier. He accused me of all sorts andcaused so much stupid drama in my life. We had a massive argument inthe hallway at school once, I ended up in tears in the bathroom andwe stopped talking to each other. He was a massive fucking jerk andI’m glad he’s not in my life any more.

11: Talk about the best dream you’ve ever had.

Ihad a lot of great dreams just before I moved to New Zealand, aboutwhat a great time I was going to have out here, and they havedefinitely come true

12: Talk about the worst dream you’ve ever had.

Istress dream quite a lot, the most recent one was losing my family ina natural disaster and it was awful.

13: Talk about the first time you had sex/how you imagine your first time.

Iwaited quite a while, so I was 18 when I lost it. It wasn’t perfectbut it was nice and with someone I liked at the time. It was, however, in a single bed which was AWFUL god. But other than that, there’s not much to talk about.

14: Talk about a vacation.

Whichone to choose though??? I love travelling and have been so lucky totravel a lot, I studied tourism and it’s always been a huge part ofmy life. That’s why I’m out here on this beautiful island in themiddle of nowhere right now.

15: Talk about the time you were most content in life.

Idon’t feel content a lot, but my first and subsequent 6 visits toBerlin have been the best I’ve ever felt in my whole life. Berlinis the one place I feel completely at home and know I belong.

16: Talk about the best party you’ve ever been to.

Idon’t go to a lot of parties! And the ones I went to when I wasyounger, I don’t remember a lot of them… I went to a really funfoam party in my first year of uni that I always remember fondly iffuzzily.

18: Talk about something that happened in elementary school.

Whichone is elementary? Primary I think? Jesus, who remembers primaryschool? I don’t think much exciting happened when I was that young!

19: Talk about something that happened in middle school.

Waitwhat’s middle school if the next question is high school? Do theyhave a school between primary and secondary in America? I’mCONFUSED

20: Talk about something that happened in high school.

Ohall sorts of shit.

21: Talk about a time you had to turn someone down.

Therewas this guy in college who I became pretty close friends with thenlater told me he really liked me. He was sweet but so not my type soI just said no and then he never spoke to me again lol

22: Talk about your worst fear.

Interms of an actual phobia, I’m really afraid of dogs. Which ispretty inconvenient, they make me panic.

23: Talk about a time someone turned you down.

Ugh,I got drunk at a work party and asked out a guy from IT I had beeneyeing up and he turned me down which is fair enough I was a messback then. But then I had to see him at work all the time and it wasso embarrassing for me.

24: Talk about something someone told you that meant a lot.

Justrecently I’ve been having a crisis about what I’m going to dowith my life once I get back to the UK next year, I want to get a jobI actually love as opposed to ending up in a shitty call centre jobhating my life again. But the other day my manager told me that shegenuinely believes I can do absolutely anything and be brilliant atit, and that just boosted my confidence so much.

26: Talk about things you do when you’re sick.

Iusually try and just get on with things and don’t admit I’m sickunless it’s really bad. I hate sitting still, I need to be doingsomething all the time even when ill.

31: Talk about what you think death is like.

Scary?Death scares me, I can’t lie. I try not to think about it.

32: Talk about a place you remember from your childhood.

TheatreRoyal Bath, I associate so many good memories with this building.When I was a kid and first expressed an interest in Shakespeare mymum used to sometimes take me to see plays there. I started a massivething in me and it’s always a place that makes me feel happy.

33: Talk about what you do when you are sad.

Iput on music. Loud. Usually Bowie, because I know he will make mefeel better, he always does.

34: Talk about the worst physical pain you’ve endured.

Ireally hope this doesn’t tempt fate, but as of yet I’ve onlyexperienced self inflicted pain. Never broken a bone or sprainedanything. Uhm so probably my first tattoo but even then that was a good pain for the most part.

35: Talk about things you wish you could stop doing.

Beinganxious. Seriously, if I could control my anxiety or make itdissapear things would be so different.

38: Talk about songs that remind you of certain people.

Meand my dad share a fairly similar musical taste, and he was the onewho introduced me to all the musicians I love so deeply now.Specifically listening to Delilah by The Sensational Alex Harvey Bandmakes me think of him. With my mum, we both love Alice Cooper so anytime I hear him I think of her.

39: Talk about things you wish you’d known earlier.

Iwish I’d known earlier that there’s no shame in ‘sleeping around’.I felt ashamed for a long time about my sexual habits, and got shamedfor them. I know now that it’s all bullshit and me being in controlof my sexuality is a good thing.

Ialso wish someone had told me that you’re allowed to have stops andstarts in your career, for years after uni I tried so hard to followa career path that wasn’t working for me but I thought I would be afailure if I gave up, or if I ended up doing something that didn’trelate to my degree. Even though I still struggle with the idea of acareer, I at least do know now that I am allowed to do whatever thehell I want whether I studied for it or not.

40: Talk about the end of something in your life.

In 2016 the West Endmusical Sunny Afternoon closed. By the time it closed I had seen it150 times, literally seeing it at the very least once a week for twowhole years. It changed me a lot – I became more confident, I madea group of the best friends I’ve ever had, I started a fan groupfor it and worked with the marketing team for the show on a socialmedia campaign. It was a HUGE part of my life. When the show closedit felt like the end of an era, I really didn’t know what I wasgoing to do without it. It meant so much to me. But now I have allthese great friends who still talk and hang out and I have two castsof actors whose careers I’ll be following for the rest of my life.

#personal #get to know me #weird because I dont like talking about myself IRL but on the internet SURE heres my whole life story #Sorry a lot of these are angsty I'm in a weird headspace

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eddievee · 6 years

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Gay and Sober

I’m intimidated by the thought of writing about this. There are multiple reasons as to why I perhaps shouldn’t express these thoughts. However, I have a problem. I have a problem and I feel as though trying to articulate it will help me cope. It is my hope that friends and family members will read this and understand my struggle. Maybe they or someone on the internet could also find solace in my story.

Basically, I have a drinking problem. Call me an alcoholic. Call me an addict. Any term under the umbrella of substance abuse likely applies. I write this at twenty four. Looking back over the past liquored up eight years of my life, the most traumatic experiences and biggest setbacks I’ve endured have had to do with alcohol. I pinned a guy in my dorm to the ground at eighteen and nearly got expelled from university. I went psychotic at twenty-one, experiencing auditory hallucinations and paranoid delusions. My psychiatrist deduced that it all transpired because I went off of my psychoactives cold turkey and started to self-medicate with wine. That turn of events forced me to withdraw from school for almost a year. In that time, I left random objects on my university president’s doorstep and nearly got arrested for trespassing. I also showed up drunk to the undergraduate library after withdrawal from classes and had to be escorted out by police. My relationship with alcohol is distinctly self-destructive and volatile. In March, I got hit by a motorist after a night out of drinking. I had recently quit a managerial position after over two years working there, lined up a prospective job with greater pay, and a couple of my coworkers bought me Jack Daniel’s as a farewell present. I wrote a goodbye letter that evidently still has a place of honor in the store. It was a bittersweet goodbye, but I was leaving a staff that I knew was going to miss me. From my end, that feeling was mutual. I also had a solid positive reference in my back pocket from my time there. I was ecstatic. To leave a job I really didn’t like was fabulous. To feel as though I was moving on in my career was even better. It was time to celebrate, of course! So, I imbibed. I guzzled hard liquor by myself and went to my usual haunt. I drank more there and tried to ride home on my bicycle. That’s when it all happened. The injury was severe. I sustained contusions on both sides of my frontal lobe and cracked a few bones in my skull. Emergency services were called and I was rushed to the hospital. There, it was determined that I was at a .27 blood alcohol content. Had I consumed a couple more drinks that night, I would have been legally dead. At the hospital, I was put into a medically induced coma and given a room in intensive care. The coma lasted roughly a month and I received inpatient physical, occupational, and speech therapy for another month before discharge. Multiple doctors, nurses, and therapists told me that based on the severity of the injury, I was expected to be discharged by November. I remember visiting the intensive care unit after being moved to the rehab unit. Multiple doctors and nurses who managed my case expressed verbal and physical disbelief that I was standing and walking. Several entered the unit for their shift, saw me, and would throw their hands in the air and turn around before greeting me. I don’t know the totality of their experiences in medicine, but I imagine several of their cases don’t end up walking and talking a month after coming out of a coma. They were unquestionably shocked to see me so relatively well.

Basically, I almost died. Mortality was clarified for me in March. The physical toll alone was nothing short of traumatic. In spite, I’m happy that my recovery has gone so unexpectedly well. I’ve gained 25 pounds of muscle back, I was discharged from outpatient therapies after two weeks, and I’m now looking at the possibility of returning to work. However, I’m not totally well right now. Despite all of the strides I’ve made over the past three months, I know I have an immense amount of work to do to get healthy again. However, I’m ill at this point for reasons unrelated to the somatic impact of my auto accident. The psychological consequences of my injury came later and asymmetrically. With the physiological component consuming most of my time, energy, and focus initially, I simply didn’t know how what happened was going to impact my mental health. With BPD on my diagnostic record, I’ve been depressed, anxious, and occasionally psychotic for much of my adult life. I’ve been in and out of psychiatry and psychotherapy since I was 18 years old. I’ve been hospitalized for psychological reasons twice. Having a degree in psychology and women’s studies, I know the annals and the phenomenology of mental suffering. Through both talk therapy sessions and undergraduate study, I am familiar with coping mechanisms and understand quite a bit about mental illness as a whole. With that said, the knowledge doesn’t necessarily lead to better mental health outcomes for my own struggles. I shouldn’t be drinking at all. In certain traumatic brain injury cases, to consume alcohol is to possibly have a seizure. I also developed blood clots in the hospital and was put on a powerful blood thinner. I’m off that prescription now, but it could have had complications with hard liquor. None of that kept me away from the bottle. I experienced a radical shift. Prior to the injury, I was working overtime hours every week and dating someone I was passionately in love with. He had a key to my apartment after one week of love drunk stupor. Suddenly, I was unemployed and single, my boyfriend breaking up with me in a hospital bed. It was jarring. That particular adjustment was perhaps as traumatic as the injury itself. I had free time and loneliness and ample opportunity for self loathing. Libations were perfect to indulge that stress and sorrow. Got a problem? Pour some plastic jug vodka on it. Let’s Popov off. I mentioned that I had a history of making serious, lasting, and self destructive decisions by drinking prior to March, but I was always able to control myself. I could stop. Now, I can’t. I can consume an entire fifth of eighty to one hundred proof liquor in one evening. If there’s some leftover when I wake up hungover, I drink it that morning. I can’t handle my liquor anymore. I’ve permanently damaged some friendships by sending weird and alarming text messages when I’m blackout drunk. Normally comprised of suicidal ideation, they’re pathetic pleas of “kill me.” Alongside the profound lack of self control, that depth of depression is what’s particularly alarming to me. I don’t want to get sober, but if I keep going like this, I’m going to die. It’ll be at my hand or with a broken bottle. Maybe both. At the least, my liver will fail or I’ll withdraw into delirium tremens or develop Korsakoff’s amnesia. Something. I’ll say again: I don’t want to get sober. However, little of that has to do with alcohol’s effects on my brain and body. Those certainly are factors, but it’s not the bulk of the story. I don’t need a drink to get through the day. It’s fun to be drunk! I like to party. I like relaxing inhibitions, but I don’t need a drink to function. The social and celebratory elements of drinking make it harder to leave behind. I’ve quit abusing other substances in the past because I was almost always using by myself. I like people more than I like drugs. Alcohol is different because that line between people and drugs is blurrier. There’s a distinctly social component to drinking that bears salience to my life. I’m gay. Bars and clubs, the spaces relegated to LGBT people by dominant culture, are centered around the sales and consumption of alcohol. That’s a fact. I’m also a drag queen, who are hired in part to facilitate that commerce. Alcohol was in the room when I first started to meet other gay guys at sixteen. Its omnipresence throughout my gay young adult experiences make it that much more difficult to go without. Booze is sometimes like an old friend; it has been my chaperone for years.

To leave alcohol behind would make me profoundly anxious, thinking that I would be leaving my friends behind too. My community matters to me. If there’s anything that the experience of surviving traumatic brain injury has solidified in my mind, it’s that I matter to my community as well. I’ve made friends in these spaces for years now. The gay bar has been a critical component to my sense of self and I’m terrified to lose that. A friend of mine might read this portion and roll his eyes. He once told me something like “People you party with are not your friends. They’re people you party with.” That may be true, but it’s connection. There’s a multitude of research literature on how social connections lead to better life expectancies and health outcomes. Unhappily married people tend to live longer than content single people for a reason. I don’t know how to mesh sobriety with my network of relationships in the nightlife scene. These people have welcomed me and held me, laughed with me and wept with me. I’ve devoted so much time and energy to drag performances to express my love and gratitude for my community. I don’t want to be without the people I’ve met in part through drinking. I wouldn’t be here without them. At the same time, many people in my nightlife existence know that I have a problem. I went out the other weekend for a going away party. After leaving the club, I went to my friend’s place and had a 2:00 AM conversation with another friend who didn’t accompany us out to the club. He’s mentally ill, but high functioning, and deeply empathetic. We relate. I asked him about our friends’ perception of my alcoholism. He expressed that even before my accident in March, people would notice how drunk I’d get on a regular basis. He said that some people get that drunk “every six months or so.” With me, it was “like every other week.” He went on to comment on my overall melancholy and bleak outlook on life. He said, “Sometimes, when I see you, it’s like you woke up and happiness wasn’t even a possibility.” Being a depressant, alcohol feeds into my psychological dependency for crisis and sorrow. RuPaul asserted that Katya, Brian McCook, had an addiction to anxiety in season seven of RuPaul’s Drag Race. I feel that. I’m realizing just how intensely accustomed I am to feeling depressed. In drag, I’ve rejoiced in sorrow on stage for years. On multiple occasions, I’ve walked into the bar in full drag makeup and the first thing I hear is “what’s wrong?” It’s not even that the glass is half empty. For me, the glass was never there. To be sad is almost comforting in its combination of introspection and self pity. It’s especially affirming when you feel as though you have a right to that lowness. As Bright Eyes once said, “Sorrow is pleasure when you want it instead.” That pleasure has grown old. I want to do more than just survive in spite of crisis. I’ll say this: I don’t know if I’m going to get sober from alcohol. In my recent brief attempts at sobriety, I’ve recognized just how much temperance culture permeates United States media. You’d be challenged to walk down the main street of any major city and not see at least one advertisement for liquor. The push and pull relationship of Puritanical abstinence from indulgence and the American civic duty of reckless consumption is powerful. That relationship is also undeniably profitable. With that said, my pro and con list of continuing to drink is getting grimmer. What I need to do becomes more obvious after each fifth of bottom shelf whiskey, with each morning I wake up hungover, and within each inebriated, suicidal cry for help. To those of you who have been on the receiving end of my substance abuse, I’m sorry. My brother recently found me in my apartment, eyes rolled in the back of my head from drinking to excess. I’ve fallen down stairs at the local gay bar, making an absolute fool of myself. I’ve said alarming, dreadful things in person and online that I regret terribly. In total, I’ve damaged relationships that I’m never going to repair. The problem is when I’m alone. If I’m at the bar and not drinking around you, don’t think it’s completely because of what I’ve expressed here. More than anything, just know that I have a drinking problem. It exists unarguably within and outside the context of my near death experience. I wrote that I was unsure of how to simultaneously be sober and be present at the spaces where I’ve made loving relationships. This is my attempt. Know that I want to be around, but I simply can’t do it like I used to. I need to get sober from alcohol. At the very least, I should. It’s going to be a tall order, but less lethargy and fewer depressive episodes sound fabulous. Thank you.

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