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elucere · 3 years

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Sad Late August Quarantine Thoughts 2.0

Last year, I wrote this. Basically my thoughts on how I felt in my life up to that point and what quarantine had illuminated. It felt cathartic then, so hopefully it’ll feel cathartic now. A part of that probably had to do with the fact that the last part was complete bullshit, but we’ll get into that later.

At nearly the slightest inconvenience now, I’ll say “I’m at my limit”. Technically, that isn’t really true because if I was really at my limit, at the next inconvenience I would completely lose it. But no, I’m just simply reminding myself that while I’m constantly met with a series of unfortunate events, I haven’t broken down yet. I might feel like I’m there, but I’m not. I’m just at my limit. Things are bad, but they aren’t the worst they could be yet. So keep in mind, I am very much at my limit as I’m writing this.

Last year I talked about my struggles with my job. Yeah, I got fired in February. It was not pretty either. I knew I wasn’t doing well performance wise, and they invited me into a zoom call that they said was a project meeting a week before my year anniversary and fired me. My supervisor (or I guess, ex-supervisor) cried on call. I didn’t cry until afterwards. It was an entire year of me trying to get better, him promising that it’ll come with time, and then getting sacked because “we didn’t see improvements”. Really, really fucking sucked. And it messed with me for a long time because I kept replaying those last few weeks, trying to decipher what I could’ve done differently to prove my worth and keep my position. There was a lot. I felt really guilty.

I think the worst part is that I got a performance warning in December and realized at that point I’d become so apathetic about my job that I needed professional help. I’d been trying to go to therapy for a long time, but it never panned out. My mom forbade it when I was in high school, it was practically impossible to get an appointment at my college’s mental health facility unless you were considered a threat to yourself and others (which I most certainly did not want on my record), and after school life happened so fast with the pandemic and the fact that I live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my mom and my brother with very little privacy. Even now that I’ve convinced my mom that therapy is okay, actually, she still highly disproves and sees it as some sort of psychological failing on my part. Which is. Sure. Whatever. Why not.The reason I did not enroll in therapy that December is actually because my dad lost his job and with it, his health insurance, and with that, my health insurance. That means I had to enroll in a health plan through my employment, which became an unanticipatedly long process. I actually got my new-but-useless health insurance card in the mail a few days after I got fired. They actually fired me on the last day of the month, so my benefits wouldn’t extend beyond that month. That’s a bit of fun irony.

To quite a few of my friends, this story solidified the idea that insurance=therapy. As soon as I got insurance again, I’d be able to finally get some help. This was a couple of people’s first response to me when I got hired again (yay, I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore but I’m also afraid that I’ll just inevitably be fired again so I don’t let myself have the victory). I know my friends only want the best for me, and I can’t expect them be able to emotionally support me like a professional, but I’m afraid that they think that therapy will be some sort of magical fix of sorts. I don’t mean in the sense of just getting better mentally, but I think being a tolerable person. I know that sounds like I’m just being self-depreciating, but let me explain.

A few years ago I was at dinner with one of my friends. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but she goes “name three things you actually like” because I was probably being negative or something. I said a few things and whatever, but that comment stuck with me for a long time. I thought it was especially poignant or something. Am I so unhappy all the time because I fixate on things I don’t like? It could be connected to the attitude of social media to be outwardly negative. Casual wisdom, you know.

Well, that was the fact until I was out with that same friend and we visited Barnes and Noble. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading this year and got more involved in the book community, so I have many Opinions. Some are good, some are bad, some are just me being annoying. After an hour of browsing the shelves, we drive home. I start talking about a series I really like in the car and she goes “It’s nice to hear you talk about a book you actually like.” Which kind of stunned me because I had just did a lot of talking about books I liked. How happy I was that kids were still reading Rangers Apprentice, going out of my way to see how many Brandon Sanderson books I could find in the Adult Fantasy section, and more reminiscing in the Young Adult section about books I liked recently or as a teen. The truth is, I talk about stuff I like all the time to people who will listen. Ask me about my favorite books! My favorite movies! My favorite musicals! I promise I will not shut up. It’s one of the few things I have that lift my spirits when I talk about it, I just don’t get the opportunity to much because it’s hard to find people who want to listen.

The thing is, I’m naturally a critical person, I think. I love tearing things apart, in good and bad ways. I also love gossip. I’m an okay gossip, but I know at this point that I’m a good critic. I’m really good at identifying faults and commenting them on an insightful or constructive way. I edit a lot of my friends’ writings for this reason. I don’t find that to be anything negative, it’s just something that’s interesting to me. Basically what I’m saying is, what if it’s not mental illness and I’m just annoying and I’ll not be able to meet the expectations of other people’s idea of progress for me and I’ll be a disappointment. I’m kind of tearing up while typing that out while listening bopping to Disturbia by Rihanna but this is the third time I’ve been on the verge of crying today so yaknow maybe it is just mental illness.At this point, I can either talk about criticism in relation to the particular way I dish it, or I could talk about how I want to receive it. I think the former will take less time to elaborate, so I’ll start with that.

I mention last year how I got an unpaid gig as a critic for DiscussingFilm. Embarrassing at times, I joke with my friends that “DiscussingFilm Writer” is a slur, but it’s cool at times as well. I got a press pass to go to Sundance and gorged on an entire family sized bag of peanut M&Ms while I watched like 14 movies in one weekend. I’m trying to say positive things about this until I start ragging to prove that I’m not an overwhelmingly negative person, but I don’t think that’s working well. Whatever. The point is, if I didn’t like it I would quit, but if I did quit it wouldn’t be because I didn’t like it. It would because there was an…event. I had quite a falling out with one of the higher-ups that run the site and in response my work has taken a hit. I won’t go into too much detail, but I don’t get assigned anticipated releases anymore. My work is often delayed going out and, in turn, I feel less motivated to turn in my work on time. And then on top of that, it’s rarely promoted. I have examples on top of examples, but this stupid thing is getting long enough. To summarize the DiscussingFilm situation, I feel like shit. I have one of the lowest view counts on the site. I’m told that my work is good and it’s valued, but not enough to get reposted, I guess! Why bother. And also because the person I do not work well with is quite up in the food chain, I’ll never see a promotion. I wanted to become an editor so bad (I do editing on the side for my friends and enjoy it), but now it will never ever happen. I don’t have the opportunity to prove myself, it’s just completely off the table by nature of leadership. Ass. Complete ass. I’m doing quite a bit of work for DiscussingFilm including creating the standard for the Instagram, making graphics for the Instagram, performing interviews and writing reviews for the site, and co-hosting a DiscussingFilm branded podcast, and I will never see neither a dime for my work or recognition in any meaningful or significant way. I don’t have a say in anything, and I feel like an insignificant cog whose opinion does not mean much.

I still get insecure with my reviews, but not as much anyways. Sure, I can’t compare to the great writers at trades who do this for a living and have been doing so for years. But, I am better than a lot of writers at my level. Sometimes I try pitching to other publications, but so far I’ve only been met with rejection. It kinda stings to know that my work is not worth enough to be paid for, but I’m kinda over it. I still pitch. I try my best. That’s the thing about me, I just keep going. Rejection hurts like a bitch, but whatever. I don’t want to quit just yet, so I guess I won’t. There isn’t anyone in my corner who’s actively spurring me to keep going, I’ve just decided that I’ll get paid for my work one day and so now I will.This connects with the criticism I want to receive which unfortunately very much is not of the nonfiction variety. Ew I fucking hate talking about this but I need to get it off my chest.

After I got fired, I was slipping into quite a bit of a depression. I started a podcast at this time with my friend to try and prevent that, but I knew that I probably needed another project. I wasn’t watching movies anymore, DiscussingFilm was not publishing my shit, and all I was doing all day was reading (which I don’t anymore, I’m in a slump and it’s definitely connected to the idea I have in the next sentence). So I had the brilliant idea of “hey, I could do that. I could write a book. I should do it to do it.”You see, this has not been my only attempt at writing a proper book. I tried when I was 13, I tried when I was 15 and into online literate roleplay, I tried when I was 18 by doing NaNoWriMo in college (also, I was actually more depressed then). I also tried to get into a short story class in college that you had to submit a story to get into and didn’t even make it on the waitlist. Nothing stuck. But hey, I was unemployed and I came up with a funny premise that I wasn’t too attached to, so why not?

The book is not funny. It was supposed to, but it’s changed a lot. I’m very comfortable writing in camp. It’s difficult because I know sometimes I have my moments, but often I don’t. I also chose to write it in a genre I’m not super familiar with (Young Adult contemporary, I read Young Adult and Adult fiction primarily). I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the things I thought would come easily did not come easily. I have a lot of male friends, so I could certainly write the male characters as real people, right? Right? I’m funny, so the humor would come across well, right? Did I anticipate that after years of pretty much only analyzing films critically I’d subconsciously structure my story using dialogue-driven storytelling similar to a screenplay? No! Not at all, actually! This journey of self-discovery has been ass at every corner!

I recognize that first drafts are shit and authors hate their writing, but also I’m built different, your honor. By 15k words in, I realized I needed an outside perspective. I hated my own writing and I was afraid none of the characters were coming off right. I needed feedback, and I still do. But I hate being perceived. As long as no one reads my writing, they think that I know what I’m talking about and value my opinion on their writing, but once they figure out I’m just an Imposter then it’s game over. They’ll lose respect for me. Logically, I know this isn’t how this works, but I feel physically nauseous whenever someone reads my writing.

Anyways, back to my much-needed criticism. To make a long story short involving several English teacher that caused me to quit pursuing writing altogether in my formative years and decide to switch to a STEM track, I have very little tangible self-awareness of my own writing and how to improve it. I need the outside feedback, or at least I did. I’m 60k words into my first draft now and I’m cripplingly self aware of all my errors, but it feels too little too late. 60k words are a lot of words, and it feels not great knowing that most of them are trash. I really needed this kind of feedback earlier in the process so I could make tweaks early on. I know that writing is like a muscle and you need to work it out and practice to get stronger, but fuck man, FUCK. 60k words is a LOT of words. And I still need people to read it and give me feedback and I’m literally willingly asking people to read shit. It’s so humiliating. I guess I’m just at a point where I wish I could look at it and find something of value in what I’ve written.

I see other authors and I get so jealous. At their confidence, at their lyricism, their mastery of the art, their enthusiasm for their story, their love of their characters. I don’t have that. I’m not even talking about imposter’s syndrome. I know what that feels like. This is something else. I just wish I was the kind of person who could openly be creative without wanting to die. I’m 100% sure if I could be enthusiastic about the story I want to tell, the entire thing would be better. It’s crazy how I noticed that I’m not writing any metaphors into realizing that’s directly connected with my inability to be vulnerable and that I’m detaching myself from my work. That, and the fact that I’m fucking shite at writing metaphors apparently.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t have a writer group of friends and very little people to talk about this with, none of which are like… enthusiastic. It’s not their fault. I attract people into my life who are very much like me. They’re supportive and wonderful but I need someone who’d be excited to talk to me about it. I just feel like such a huge burden all the time. Everytime I bring it up I feel terrible, but it’s occupying so much of my brain space and I have no outlet. But also, getting that group of friends would require me to be vulnerable online and be willing to share what I have so far which I might actually throw up.I think it’s very fun that “crying and throwing up” has become a saying on Twitter considering that I’ve counted a countless amount of times this year and thrown up from stress four times since last November. It might also be connected to coffee consumption, but if that’s true I’m ready to off myself because coffee is one of my few joys. Honestly, it’s probably a mix of both. I’m very healthy, very much okay.

I don’t know. Last year, I ended my little essay on a hopeful note. Here’s the thing, this may seem like very much just stream of consciousness bullshit but there is quite a bit of structuring I do and omissions I make. I didn’t talk about my struggles reconnecting with people and subsequently taking their irregular replies, because there’s a lot to get into there. There’s a lot I could’ve talked about, but no room. There’s a very specific flow, and I feel like any story, it needs a conclusion. So last year, through tears, I wrote a hopeful ending. It was as much for me as it was to the people reading it. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in it for me to conclude in the same fashion this time around.

The truth is, I need to feel okay. I need to feel like I’m good at something, anything, and be recognized for it.

Life is suffering and I’m just constantly going through the motions. I promise you, this stupid thing is 3k words and the second I’m done I’ll go back to working on my b**k even though today I literally started crying thinking about how shit it is. I’m just a tenacious individual. I persist. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m done with being genuinely hopeful, but there’s nothing to do but keep moving. I don’t know if my writing will get better or if I’ll ever get published or if this story is worth it. I don’t fucking know anything and I feel like shit. But what else am I going to do? I’ve been holding onto this hope that I’ll feel better about things for just so long and it hasn’t happened. But I’m not giving up lmao I’m just working with what I have. I am at my limit.

#mine #bean spews

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give-baek-my-love · 4 years

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Can We Try Again? (1)

Characters: Namjoon X Y/N (ft. Jin)

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Chapter: 1,

Description: After ten years since your broke up with your first boyfriend, Namjoon, you meet him again ten years later, and as you are on the search the answer to the iconic question ‘Can exes stay friends?’ you find yourself constantly questioning whether or not you did the right thing ten years ago. On top of that, you’re now faced with a new question, ‘Can we try again?’

“Can exes stay friends?” Now that’s a very controversial question that you’ve seen many people on the internet debate on. “It depends. If both of them have moved on, then staying as friends seems doable.” One side would argue. “No. How can you just lose feelings for someone that you once loved and be able to act like friends again? Impossible. You’ll always carry some sort of feelings towards them which will make it impossible to simply see the other as ‘just friends.’’ The other side would argue. Both sides presenting very reasonable and logical explanations, but when the same question is asked your answer is…

(10 Years Ago) Your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Namjoon, and you were seated side by side on the swing sets at your middle school playground. By ‘soon-to-be,’ this is because he was just notified today that he was accepted into the prestigious IB program that he had so badly wanted to get into. Although the white lie ‘we can try to make long distance work,’ could have sufficed the heartache that started building from within the moment that he told you the news, you knew deep down, that this relationship would have to come to an end. You had heard about how tiresome and intense this program was, and you knew that for him find the time to talk and meet up with you would be close to impossible. This was going to be it. “Do you think that exes can be friends?” He asked as he stared down at his feet, struggling to find the willpower to look at you. You debated on lying to him, but seeing that the two of you had known each other for such a long time, he would have seen right through you. “No. I don’t think so.” You said as calmly as you could while turning to meet his sadden eyes. Although you were only at the age of fourteen, you had met your boyfriend at 8 years old and had instantly fallen in love with him, or at least felt what seemed like the love that Disney princesses felt in movies. Your heart broke as you saw his eyebrows furrow with pain followed by a pout on his face. Even though you knew that this break up was inevitable, no amount of prep talk that you’ve been doing could have made this day any easier. “Do you?” You asked in the calmest voice possible while gripping onto the metal straps of the swing tightly, hopelessly hoping that it would help you suppress any amount of pain that you were feeling. The two of you sat in complete silence as the sound of the little kindergarteners playing in the park were in the background. “We can still be friends.” He finally said, in the softest and gentlest voice that you’ve ever heard. Those words instantly sent tears down your face because you knew. This was it. The break up was going to happen. You were going to have to say goodbye to your best friend and first love, and there was nothing that you could do that would stop it. You simply just had to accept it. The sound of you sobbing were like nails on a chalkboard, painful and uncomfortable. He quickly got off the swing, and crouched down in front of you so that he was now at eye level with you. “Hey. It’s okay.” He comforted, pulling your hands from the metal ropes and onto your lap with his hands enveloping yours. You wished that you could say something, but nothing but tears and sobs could come out. You were guessing that the children had left the park after hearing you cry because you could no longer hear their squeals or feet stomping on the park, rather all that you could hear was him repeatedly saying that it was going to be okay while he occasionally wiped your tears away. Finally, the tears came to an end and you stared blankly at his face, hoping to take in all his facial features and admire the face of the boy that you fell so deeply in love with for as long as you possibly can. He stared at you with a sweet smile and a fond tender look in his eyes that for even just a minute made your worries disappear. A unique power that only he could have on you. Hoping to break the saddened atmosphere, you tried to make a joke, “I think I just scarred those kids for life.” He snorted and shook his head in amusement, “This is why I love you Y/N. What am I going to do without you?” “Shut up don’t make me cry again.” You warned as you wiped the last bit of your tears dry. Although it wasn’t necessarily a, instant break up, nothing more was needed to be said for the both of you to know that the relationship was going to eventually come to an end the moment that the next school year started. Without much of a word needed, the two of you made a silent agreement that with whatever time that the two of you had left, it would be spent wisely with as little tears shed as possible. Even though fourteen was a very young age, neither of you doubted that you were both in love, however the relationship just seemed to have ran its course.

Or at least that’s what you thought.

(Present Day)

Now at the age of twenty-four, freshly graduated from university, you by some lucky chance got hired back from the company that you had worked for last summer. As oppose to most of your friends who only took four years in university, you needed an extra year and graduated with a bachelor of science specializing for actuarial science. You didn’t necessarily care about the number of years that it took you, because you were just glad that this company was happy to take you back. It feels nice to be able to work in a more familiar environment and with people that you had previously worked with. Once you stepped into the main entrance of the building, you were greeted by Emily, one of the employees at the front desk that you had gotten very close with, and even went out on a few dinner dates with a couple of other co-workers. She guided you to the photo booth where you were required to take a new picture for your employee badge as she updated you on the new employees that were added to your department at work. “I heard that there’s this new guy that the company brought back from Asia. He had been working there for a little over a year that’s why you haven’t met him yet, but apparently he’s a real cutie and smart. He graduated after only going to university for three years and became a supervisor in just two years.” She nudged you as she linked your arms whilst the two of you walked towards the elevators. However, you weren’t paying much attention to her, instead you were staring excitingly at your new employee badge. With this marks a new era to your life Y/N. We’re growing the fuck up. “Hello? Y/N? Did you hear anything that I said?” Emily asked as she nudged you again.

Ding.

“Hm? Yeah. New guy from Asia.” You mumbled as the elevator doors open and the two of you walked in. “Yeah. He seems like your type. Should I set you up? I know someone from human resources who can help me get his phone number.” She winked. This time it was your turn to nudge her, “Hey. Don’t be a creep. No. I’m not really interested in dating anyways. I’m just going to try and do my job well and start paying off my student debts.” You laughed as she mumbled something about you being no fun. Ding. The elevator rang again it reached your department’s floor. “Hey Y/N! Great to see you back.” Jin greeted you with a bright smile the moment that he saw you and Emily walk out of the elevator. After the three of you each took your turns sharing how their weekends went, Emily escorted you to your new desk where you saw a cute new pot of aloe plant presented right beside your computer screen with a big red ribbon wrapped around the plant’s pot. “Thank you.” You turned to Emily, knowing very well no one but her would give such thoughtful gifts. As Jin argued with Emily about how he never got a plant from her, you settled down and hung your bag by the side of the desk, staring amusingly at the pictures of you and Emily along with some other co-workers at a dinner a couple of weeks back. “Oh Y/N. I forgot to tell you I have a friend that I want you to meet, he works in your department. He recently just came back from Asia-“ “Oh. My. God. You’re friends with him? I was just telling Y/N about him.” Emily squealed with so much excitement that you stared at her filled with confusion. Is this guy really good looking or something? “Really? I was thinking of the same thing too!” He laughed. “Are you guys trying to sell me off or something? I don’t need a boyfriend right now.” You sighed as you plopped yourself down into the chair now staring up at Emily and Jin talking away about how this mystery guy is ‘so your type.’ “Okay. Y/N at least hear me out. He’s young. He’s your age. He’s a bachelor. Smart. Single. Good looking. Need I say more?” He asked waving his hand into the air. You figured that instead of trying to fight with him, you just let him continue talking while your mind wandered off for the first time in a very long time, to someone that you once knew who was very good looking and smart. As it finally came time to start working, the three of you resigned to your own work space and you were filled in by one of your co-workers on what tasks you would be taking on for the month. You were told that your supervisor would help you out and tell you in more detail on what you needed to do for the end of week meeting, but by the time it came for lunch, your supervisor was nowhere to be seen but even so, you worked as productively as possible. You happily joined Emily and Jin who were already at one of the table in the cafeteria, gossiping yet again about this friend of his. Shaking your head in disapproval, you turned towards the food stalls to go look for food. As you looked around the assortment of food options with nothing capturing your attention, you pulled out your phone and decided to order from one of your favourite Vietnamese restaurants nearby on Ubereats. However, you were too engrossed on what to order on your phone that you didn’t see that someone was walking towards you until you bumped right into their chest causing your phone to fall onto the ground. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” You quickly apologized turned to the strangers face. Oh. But it wasn’t a stranger standing in front of you. He was anything but a stranger. The man now standing right in front of you, gave you the same sweet smile that he had once given you ten years ago. The exact same smile that melted your heart ten years ago, and still after all these years has the power to melt it all oer again. He was taller now, much taller than before, at least a head taller than you. He also looked much more mature. Grown up. Handsome nonetheless. These ten years must have treated him real nice. “Hi Y/N.” He greeted in a dark and calm voice. You should have said something, anything would have been nice, but you were too shocked to even let out the breath that you were holding in. It wasn’t until Emily and Jin rushed to your side that you realized that you were probably just staring awkwardly at him without saying a single spoken word. “Y/N are you okay?” Emily asked as she picked up your phone from the ground while you and him never once broke eye contact. “Hey. You okay?” She asked again, now in a whisper as she nudged the phone into your hand. You mumbled a simple yes, suddenly becoming hyperaware by how long you and him were holding each other’s stare, causing your cheeks to flush in a deep red colour. “Oh! Y/N just in time. This is my friend that I was talking about! His name is-“ Jin started. “Namjoon. Kim Namjoon. But you already knew that didn’t you Y/N?” He smirked. A little too well. It almost amazed you just how confident he looked staring amusingly at you, as if he didn’t care that other people were watching. It suddenly felt as if the two of you were in your own world. Somehow the longer you stared, the more you felt yourself turning back to your fourteen-year-old self, a past that you tried so hard to get over. The Y/N that often blushed whenever her eyes met Namjoon’s. The Y/N who attended math club with Namjoon just so that she could spend more time with him. And more importantly the Y/N who was deeply and madly in love with fourteen-year-old Namjoon. Before you could even muster the courage to say anything to him or Emily and Jin, Namjoon straightened out his suit and said, “Ah. I almost forgot to add. Welcome to the team Y/N. I’m your new supervisor.” He smirked as he extended his hand. Oh no. Oh no no no.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts namjoon #bts #bts fanfics #kim namjoon #rm #namjoon x reader #bts ff

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passionate-hedgehog · 7 years

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Spencer X Reader

Prompts #28- “You gotta stop doing that.” “What?” “Saying things that make me wanna kiss you.” & #30- “The problem is,” he said as he leaned in. “If I kiss you now, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

A/N: This one was requested by @mishacastiel.

You're going to notice that these follow the same basics as the other ones. To make it easier for me they’ll all be connected somehow. It’s going to be canon/non-canon...does that make sense?

This is also as far as I’m going to get with smut, not very far. It’s not my thing. It’s totally insinuated in some posts, because whereas I’m abstinent by faith I’m not as disillusioned as to think that everyone I write about is. I’m still not going to write it, though.

I got lots of requests for #30 and instead of re-using it I decided to keep it to this one. I think it pairs very well with #28 anyway. It’s like a good wine and cheese pairing...and now I want wine. Sigh.

OH YEAH- I should have mentioned this when I started this whole “Spencer imagines” thing that I’m fairly new to the fandom. I started two weeks ago, and as of me typing this on my laptop, I’m halfway through season 5. I’m really glad a co-worker slipped some info to me on this season beforehand because if I had gone into these episodes blind...I would have given up hope on all things love and pure. That brings me to my next question: Who does Hotch imagine?

You’d had a hard day at work. Some days were hectic as all get out and some days were so boring that you couldn’t wait to get out of your shift and do something productive (or just really fun) before you conked for a few hours. That particular shift was longer than anticipated. One of your residents ended up having to go to the ER. It was your first time going. Ever.

When you got in the passenger seat of the ambulance, you texted Spencer, your boyfriend of 2 and a half months. He was at home in his own bed, probably not awake yet for the day (your co-worker had called 911 at the end of your 3rd shift). When he didn’t reply for the duration of the ride to the hospital, you decided to just leave it for the time being. You had to leave lines of communication open with your supervisors and home managers anyway. Hospital visits could get busy, you’ve heard from your fellow co-workers. You wouldn’t have time.

After your resident had been set up into the ER, you checked your phone for the time. There were messages from the appropriate people at work but still nothing from Spencer. The guy wasn’t always a morning person, so it didn’t bother you, not entirely. To be honest, though, you kind of missed him. You hadn’t seen him in 2 days. It could get difficult when he was always away on cases, and you worked the night shift.

After Gertrude was finally officially admitted into the hospital from the emergency room, you were made to go home as per company policy. It was hard, though, because she was your favorite resident and you weren’t sure when you would see her again. You were positive that her condition wasn’t life-threatening, but she was a DNR, do not resuscitate. You still had fear. But your boss was your ride home and she was waiting for you out in the parking lot.

After giving Gert a slight kiss on the temple (she was hella knocked out), you made your way to the elevators and then eventually to the car. After writing your incident report in the car, you finally arrived at your apartment. You thanked your boss and made your way through your front door. You heaved a sigh and took off your jacket, then hanged it up. When you kicked off your shoes, you cocked your head and listened. After receiving no reply from your text early, you had hoped Spencer was going to surprise you. You should have known better.

Again, you weren’t completely offended. It was nearing lunchtime, and there was always a chance that he had to fly to a different city in a different state. It was OK. It was totally OK.

“I need Haagen-Dazs,” you heavily sighed. Sometimes the ice cream helped with the little white lies you told yourself.

When the pint of raspberry white chocolate truffle was opened, you grabbed a spoon and proceeded to throw yourself onto the sofa in the living room. You turned on the t.v. and prayed that The Price Is Right was on. Apparently, you were just going to keep receiving disappointments as the day wore on. You should have gone to bed, but your mind couldn’t stop racing.

After you had checked your phone, totally not the hundredth time since you first texted your boyfriend, you stood up for something. Of course, you forgot what it was and sat right back down. You got up again and started pacing after groaning at the sky.

“What is wrong with meeee?”

Nobody answered, you were home alone after all, and you weren’t sure if you should cry, take a shower, or try to sleep. Knowing that sleep was nowhere near possible, you decided to shower. Maybe you’d cry in there? I am losing my ever-loving mind.

When the hot shower didn’t do anything, you decided to switch it to cold to shave your legs. Why am I shaving in cold water, you shrugged but continued to skim the razor over your soaped up legs. You turned off the not-so-helpful water and ran your hands over your legs and made sure you didn’t miss anything. That’s when you got inspired.

“Why the eff am I home, alone, when I have a key to my boyfriend’s apartment that has rockin WiFi,” you asked yourself while you were still bent over feeling your legs. “And why am I talking to myself and asking questions?”

You scrounged your bedroom looking for a cute shirt to put on over your best pair of jeans. The one you picked was a hyacinth blue. When you looked at the ever growing pile of dirty clothes, you decided to use Spencer’s built-in amenities. He drank your coffee, you used his laundry detergent. Give and take, give and take.

The weather wasn’t too obscene for mid-February, and you decided to just walk the few blocks to his building. You were really glad that your job sometimes included lifting your residents and maneuvering their bodies because that laundry bag was no joke. You needed to remember that you were an adult and that you had to do your own laundry more than once a week.

Pfft, yeah okay.+

After making it up to his floor and throwing your jacket and extra key onto his side table, you walked into his bedroom. You sat the bag on the ground and decided to go for a pair of his sweats and sat on the bed to try to roll up the pant legs. That had failed miserably, and you threw your body back on his dark blue comforter in more frustration.

You stared up at his white ceiling and smiled when you tried to imagine what Little Spencer’s walls looked like all those years ago. I bet he had those glow-in-the-dark star stickers and I bet he put them in constellations. Your thoughts of what kid Spencer was like led you to the nap you so desperately needed. Dreams of being a kid and being Spencer’s playmate took over any frustrations you had following your shift.

When you awoke, it was to your best friend with his arm around your waist and his chest to your back. Sometimes your legs intertwining made it onto you Favorite’s list.

Okay, it made the list all the time. It was the top 3.

His even breathing into your hair made you realize that he was taking his own nap. From the corner of your eye, you could tell that the sky outside was darkening, but there were still splashes of pink and orange. You began to crave Superman ice cream and held in one of your groans of frustration.

That explains it! “My period!”

You quickly latched your hand to your mouth when you realized that you yelled that last part but it didn’t matter. Spencer’s hold was tightening, and you could hear him yawning from behind you. You held your breath and tried to wait it out, but he started stretching. You rolled your eyes.

“Awesome.”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend had hummed in confusion.

“Nothing, Spence. Go back to sleep.” The hand that was resting against his arm began to make soothing motions, but it got trapped by a bigger one.

Spencer must have mentally decided he was over looking at the back of your head because he pulled moved you onto your other side, to face him. He gave one of his beautiful lazy smiles and blinked softly. You just gazed into his eyes, waiting for him to get to the awareness level he wanted to be at. Given, not aware might be what he wanted.

When he didn’t snuggle up to you to go back to sleep, you realized that he was waiting on you for confirmation that it was okay to return to slumberland.

“Go back to sleep, Hun.” You fingers raked gently through his hair. “You gotta be exhausted. You had knocked the heck out when I woke up.”

He scrunched his nose in disagreement. “But you’re awake. When you’re awake, I’m awake.”

“Well, that’s not true. If that were the case, then neither of us would be getting any sleep ever,” you chuckled.

He chuckled and responded with “Oh the things we do for our careers. I’d go many moons without sleep if it meant I could get to spend more time with you.”

Blushing, you gave a soft snort. “Maybe if you could survive without resting that giant noodle of yours.”

“Okay Miss Smarty Pants, how long did it take you to give in to sleep after your shift, huh?” He was on his elbow now.

You followed suit. “Not that long. I’ll have you know, I got an adequate amount sleep.”

When his eyes narrowed at you, you held in your sigh of resignation. You weren’t going to give in that easily. Spencer couldn’t always win, could he?

“You got home, almost 5 hours after your shift was supposed to end, and went immediately for the ice cream. Haagen-Dazs to be more specific. You tried to do something to waste time, probably watch t.v. or read. I’m going to guess t.v. since your hands were busy. After you ate ALL the ice cream, you eventually decided to come over here and apparently do laundry. When that, for whatever reason, didn’t work out you decided to come in here and get comfy. Am I right?”

You didn’t answer him, so his fingers skimmed your sides, making you giggle.

“FINE. Yes. Yes, you’re right.”

“Thank you.”

“Mostly right, anyway. Not all of it was right. You missed the part about what happened after I came in here.”

“Oh?”

“I laid on your bed and imagined what your childhood ceiling looked like, imagined being your friend all those years ago. If you could see the stars from where you lay and if they were in all the right constellations. I bet you would have spent hours laying with me telling me them all, name by name. You would have traced them out with my hand.”

Spencer watched carefully as you drew out the only constellation you knew on the back of his arm, making goosebumps raise. He didn’t say anything.

“You would have taken the time to explain everything to me and made sure I understood it. You would have been patient with me too, and that’s more than what I would have deserved. Even after I would have zoned out, not that I would have wanted to, you would have kept tracing the constellations. There would have been nothing that could make you give up on me. Just like there would have been nothing that could have made me give up on you.”

When he still didn’t respond, his eyes never leaving yours, you went on. “Just like how there’s still nothing that could make me ever want to give up on you. Because you’re mine, and I love you.”

“Y/n,” he hummed your name and if that wasn’t one of the best sounds you had ever heard… “You gotta stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Saying things that make me wanna kiss you. The problem is,” Spencer said as he leaned in. “If I kiss you now, I don’t think I’d be able to stop.”

You fluttered your eyes clothes as he ran a hand down your spine and left it there at the base. You had re-opened your eyes to discover his were now sparkling and full of mischief. There was a side of Spencer you didn’t always get to see, and it was beginning to come out. Blessedly, it was a part of Spencer that only you ever got to witness.

A few moments slipped by, and he didn’t do anything else. You softly ran your fingernails from behind his ears and along his lower hairline to the nape of his neck, causing him to shiver. He didn’t move from his position, though. He was still halfway leaned in.

You lowered your hand and gently rested it on his waist, your thumb briefly disappearing under his shirt. He took it was a sign to gently lower you on your back but his eyes still never left you.

How blessed can I be, you thought, that I have such a wonderful man by my side to guide me through the worst of times and rejoice with me through the best of times.

Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the same thing but mirrored.

When his lips touched the base of your throat, you arched your back and gave a soft moan. There wasn’t a sign of him letting up, and then you remembered and began to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” He had asked when you didn’t cease.

“Oh man,” you wiped the tears from your eyes. “I completely forgot, and that could have been an extra mess we wouldn’t need.”

He kept his penance of confusion but raised his eyebrow.

“I just started my period. We won’t be having any of ‘that’ for a while.”

“And that’s funny because...”

“Because if I’m not laughing, I’ll cry and that’s about 3 more pints of ice cream you don’t have.”

Spencer lowered himself back onto the bed and sighed.

“Alright, but there’s ways around that.”

You had slid off the bed and headed towards the en-suite. “Yeah, not a chance. Good try though,” you say as you walk into the bathroom and close the door, still laughing.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg #sr.imagines

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waitingfadingfloatingaway · 7 years

Text

I know why they tell depressed people to own a pet.

I always just thought my brain remembered the wrong stuff. I can pretty much remember every embarrassment or defeat in my life, and remember almost none of the good stuff.

I remember my mom looking at me weird after a joke I made didn't go over well 2 years ago. I don't remember my high school graduation.

I remember an ex boyfriend calling me "an odd bird" for my taste in music. I don't remember any triumph in my tv career.

I've always been like this. I got blackout drunk at a friend's house 2 weeks ago because I hate my life. I made an off-color remark at someone. My only friend there told me about it, and I haven't been able to function since.

I remember the first time I was called fat, but can't remember my college graduation.

If you tell me I was mean to you once, I'll just be mean to you in the future. Why? Because consistency is easy, redemption is hard.

I never thought of myself as depressed until everything I had left.

I moved to a small town, the town my Ex grew up in. He doesn't have savings but he wants to buy a house. So I buy a house, he pays me rent.

We look at rings after 8 months together. I pick mine out and he buys in on layaway (a smart call with no money).

His brother dies. Suddenly and traumatically. Suddenly it all changes. Suddenly my charismatic, kind and caring Ex is a bitter, pissed off, stressed alcoholic. Spends all his money, then asks me for mine. He won't leave his office, much less the house. We spend the next year in silence. We are waiting for the other one to call it off, but neither of us are smart or strong enough to cut it off. He still hasn't paid off the ring.

After 4 years together, and 2 in complete misery, I end it at the beginning of 2017. He moves out 5 days later, and I have a house I can't afford. He calls the jewelry store to back out of buying the ring. They send him a check.

In March I left the job I thought I loved, because it didn't love me. My supervisor had no love for me, but she respected me because I drove nearly an hour each way to and from work just because I loved the doctor I worked for.

I had panic attacks, crying spells, the whole 9 yards after my breakup. I was a good enough actor to patients, but the doctor I worked for knew I cried and hyperventalated on my lunch breaks. I worked my ass off to keep it from my co-workers, and it was the biggest mistake I've ever made.

After my break up, I came off as mean, uncaring, tired, and crazy to my coworkers. One of them complained to my manager...and literally everyone else. I told my manager what had happened, and she understood but couldn't defend me. My 3 year anniversary couldn't result in a raise because too many people had complained about me.

I put my resume out in the beginning of March and got a hit right away. An office 8 minutes from my house, same specialty but a very different focus and something I wanted to learn. I didn't think I would take it, until the doctor that owned the practice decided that I shouldn't be allowed to work for my doctor anymore, and had to work for her as punishment. I lasted 2 weeks.

The owner was and still is an unethical, manipulative, uncaring hellbeast. And that is probably being too kind. Me refusing to believe I was in a fragile state, paired with that monster would have never lasted.

I started a new job. It's good at first, but I missed my doctor. I worked for him on and off over 5 years, and sponged every piece of knowledge I could. I was friends with his wife, kept and eye on his kids and dogs when they went out of town, and considered him a mentor. He helped direct my career and thought process with what I wanted for the future. By leaving, I felt like I threw all of that away, even though he understood.

So now you're caught up. I live in a town I don't like anymore, ended the relationship I thought would be my marriage, and left the biggest mentorship I had.... all over the span of about 4 months.

Oh and surprise surprise, everyone hates me at my new job too.

Oh, and that house I couldn't afford? Still have it. Still can't afford it. Bills piled up collections calls keep coming.

I have an exaggerated total of about 10 friends, but really I have 4 people I would call for something.

Like today.

When I had a bad mental health day, and I thought that maybe just driving my car off a bridge sounded good. Maybe I would get in some awful car wreck, go to sleep and just never wake up. When maybe the pain of cutting myself on the wrists would feel like comfort. Maybe I accidentally take too many pills before bed tonight and just don't wake up. Maybe it doesn't sound scary anymore; the world and those 4 people would be free of my burden of a friendship.

But would my dogs understand? Who would feed them for the days it would take to find my body? Who would pet them, sleep on thr bed with them, yell at them for digging out of the yard? How long would they be alone in a shelter, and would they die there?

So for the first time, I know why they tell depressed people to have a pet. Sometimes they accidentally keep you alive, and they have no idea.

#depressing thoughts #suicdal #mental health #mental illness #mental disorder #dogs

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