#dr scent diffuser machine

[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

Many people new to the world of essential and aromatic oils are curious about the different methods of diffusing these oils in their home or business. Two of the most popular ways of diffusing essential oils are by using a reed diffuser or an electric oil diffuser. While both types of diffusers get the job done, they also each have their distinct pros and cons. That’s why we wanted to write a full guide to the benefits and drawbacks of each scenting method.

By the end of this article, you’ll be able to decide whether a reed diffuser or an electric oil diffuser is the best fit for scenting your home or business. Before we get started though, let’s make sure we’re clear on the key differences between reed diffusers and electric oil diffusers.

WHAT IS A REED DIFFUSER?

Reed diffusers feature a fragrance oil and base solution mixed together inside of a glass bottle with a narrow neck. Rattan reeds or sticks are then inserted to the liquid, and left sticking out from the bottle. These reeds absorb the fragrant liquid from inside the bottle and diffuse it into the air of the room. A reed diffuser continues to release scent throughout the lifespan of the reeds and fragrance oil in the bottle.

WHAT IS AN ELECTRIC OIL DIFFUSER?

As the name implies, electric oil diffusers still diffuse essential oils into the air, but don’t feature any reeds, and are instead powered by electricity. Unlike reed diffusers, there are several different types of electric oil diffusers on the market.

[crybabycabin]

sensory deprivation (1) | b.b.

series masterlist part two

✮ series synopsis: Bucky's numb to everything these days—a ghost haunting his own body. Until his teammate becomes the only thing he can feel, the only thing that makes him want to feel again. (18+)

✮ pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

✮ disclaimers: angst, emotional numbness, depression, ptsd, therapy sessions, touch starvation, emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, mutual pining, mild violence, past trauma references, language, disordered eating mentioned

✮ chapter word count: 4.7k

✮ a/n: this started as a one-shot about bucky learning to feel again and turned into a several-part emotional rollercoaster about two broken people finding each other. yes bucky deserves all the soft things.

i. scent- The vanilla in your shampoo shouldn't matter. Neither should the way you make his breakfast, or defend him when he's not there to hear it. But Bucky's learning that the first step to feeling anything is noticing everything—and you're impossible not to notice.

The problem with therapy, Bucky decided, was that it required feeling something.

He sat in Dr. Raynor's office—new office, same uncomfortable chairs—and watched her mouth move without processing the words. Something about "emotional numbness" and "dissociative patterns" and other five-dollar terms for what boiled down to the simple fact that James Buchanan Barnes had finally achieved what seventy years of brainwashing couldn't: complete emotional flatline.

"Are you listening, James?"

He wasn't. He was counting the water stains on her ceiling (seven) and calculating how long it had been since he'd felt anything resembling a genuine emotion (three months, give or take). The math was easier than admitting he'd become a ghost haunting his own body.

"Yeah," he lied, shifting in the chair that groaned under his weight. Everything groaned these days. Furniture, floorboards, his joints. The world wasn't built for men who'd lived past their expiration date. "You were saying something about... coping mechanisms."

Dr. Raynor's pen scratched against her notepad—a sound that should've set his teeth on edge but didn't. Nothing did anymore. Not the pen, not the way she hummed when she thought he was being particularly obstinate, not even the construction noise filtering through her thin windows.

"I was saying," she continued, with the patience of someone who billed by the hour, "that your complete emotional shutdown is concerning. When was the last time you felt... anything? Joy? Anger? Fear?"

Fear. He almost laughed. He'd been intimate with fear for so long it had become background noise, and then even that had faded to static. Now there was just... nothing. A vast, empty warehouse where his emotions used to live, gathering dust.

"I get angry," he offered, though even that felt like a lie. "Sometimes."

"When?"

When Walker opens his mouth. When Congress treats him like a trained seal. When he looks in the mirror and sees Steve's eyes staring back, disappointed.

"Traffic," he said instead.

She wrote something down. Probably deflection or avoidance or some other term for this man is broken beyond repair.

The session ended the way they all did—with homework he wouldn't do and promises he wouldn't keep. Bucky escaped into the Brooklyn afternoon, where spring was apparently happening without his permission. The air smelled like rain and garbage and new flowers, but it all registered as data points, not experiences.

Scent without sensation. Story of his fucking life.

The Watchtower's coffee machine was having what could generously be called a nervous breakdown.

You stood in front of it, wielding a screwdriver like you were diffusing a bomb, which—given the sounds it was making—might not have been far off. Bucky watched from the doorway, cataloging details out of habit more than interest: the way your tactical pants sat low on your hips, the fresh bruise blooming purple-green along your forearm, the fact that you'd stolen one of Walker's hoodies and cut the sleeves off.

"Come on, you piece of shit," you muttered, and something sparked. Literally. Blue electricity arced between the machine and your screwdriver. "Oh, that's new."

"You're going to electrocute yourself." The words came out flat, observational. He might as well have been commenting on the weather.

You didn't startle—never did, something that should have impressed him if he still had access to that emotion—just glanced over your shoulder with that half-smile that used to mean something. "Morning to you too, sunshine. Sleep well?"

He hadn't slept in six days, but that seemed like the kind of thing that would require a follow-up conversation. "Fine."

"Liar." You turned back to the coffee machine, giving it what could only be described as a therapeutic whack. It wheezed once and died. "Fuck. Guess we're drinking Alexei's instant coffee today."

"I'd rather drink battery acid."

"That can be arranged." You set down the screwdriver, wiping your hands on your already-stained pants. "Val bought the good stuff, but it's in her office, and I'm not quite ready to commit theft before noon."

Val. Valentina. Their illustrious leader who kept them around like trained attack dogs. Bucky should have felt something about that—anger, resentment, even mild annoyance. Instead, he just noted it and filed it away with all the other things that should matter but didn't.

You moved past him toward the kitchen, and that's when it hit him.

Not like a lightning bolt or a revelation. More like... a whisper. A barely-there thread of something that made his brain stutter for half a second. You smelled like—

Vanilla.

It was in your shampoo, he realized. Vanilla and something else, something warmer. Not the artificial sweetness of body spray or perfume, but something that had baked into your hair from proximity. You'd been baking again. Stress response, probably. When things got bad, you made cookies. When they got worse, you graduated to elaborate cakes no one would eat because half the team was too paranoid about poison and the other half was too proud to admit they wanted comfort food.

You brushed past him again, closer this time, reaching for the cabinet above his head. Your shoulder touched his chest for exactly two seconds, and the vanilla mixed with something else—coffee grounds under your fingernails, gun oil on your collar, the sharp-sweet tang of sweat from whatever workout you'd done before wrestling with the coffee machine.

His lungs did something complicated. Not quite breathing, not quite not.

"You okay there, Barnes?" You were looking at him now, head tilted in that way that meant you were actually seeing him, not just looking through him like everyone else did these days. "You've got your murder face on, but like, the confused version."

"I don't have a murder face."

"You have six murder faces. I've categorized them." You pulled down a mug—his mug, the one with the chip on the handle that he'd claimed through sheer stubbornness. "This is number four: existential crisis with a side of possible violence."

He should have been annoyed. Should have felt exposed. Should have felt something. Instead, he just watched you move through the kitchen like you belonged there, all casual competence and controlled chaos, smelling like a bakery had gotten in a fight with a gun range.

"I need coffee," he said, which wasn't what he meant at all.

"Join the club. We meet never because the coffee machine is dead." You paused, studying him with those eyes that saw too much. "When's the last time you ate a meal?"

He genuinely couldn't remember. "Yesterday."

"Try again."

"Tuesday."

"It's Friday, Barnes."

Was it? The days blended together like watercolors in rain. He shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing by miles.

You sighed—long-suffering, familiar—and turned toward the fridge. "Sit. I'm making eggs."

"I'm not hungry."

"I wasn't asking." You pulled out a carton, checking the expiration date with suspicious intensity. "When's your next therapy appointment?"

"Why?"

"Because you look like shit and I'm deciding whether to be worried or just add it to your general aesthetic." You cracked an egg one-handed, a casual display of competence that his brain logged without his permission. "Also because if you pass out during a mission, I'm not carrying your heavy ass to extraction."

"My ass isn't heavy."

"Your body is ninety percent vibranium and emotional baggage." Another egg joined the first, then a third. You moved like this was routine, like making him breakfast was just another item on your daily checklist between clean weapons and stop international incidents.

The pan sizzled. Oil popped. You hissed when a drop hit your hand, shaking it off with a muttered curse that would've made Steve blush.

And then—another whisper. Stronger this time.

Burning butter. Coffee grounds. Vanilla shampoo. Gun oil. The faint trace of the cigarettes you pretended you didn't smoke on the roof at 3 AM when you couldn't sleep either.

It wasn't emotion, exactly. It was... awareness. Like someone had turned the radio up from volume one to volume two—still barely audible, but there.

You slid a plate in front of him. Three eggs, over easy, with toast he hadn't seen you make. No butter on the toast because you'd noticed—when? how?—that he preferred it dry.

"Eat," you ordered, pointing your fork at him like a weapon. "All of it."

"You're not my mother."

"No, I'm worse. I have access to your mission reports and no qualms about tattling to Sam." You took a bite of your own eggs, watching him over the rim of your coffee mug—instant coffee that smelled like burnt sadness. "Speaking of which, how'd the congressional hearing go?"

He picked up his fork, mostly to stop you from stabbing him with yours. "Fine."

"Wow, riveting. Really paint me a picture there, Barnes." You reached for the salt, your sleeve riding up to reveal more bruises, a half-healed cut that looked suspiciously like a knife wound. "Let me guess—you sat there looking constipated while Val played political theater and everyone pretended they didn't know exactly what she's been up to."

Accurate, actually. He took a bite of egg to avoid confirming it.

"You know she's using us, right?" You said it casually, like you were discussing the weather. "Whatever this Thunderbolts-Avengers-whatever the fuck we are thing is, it's not about redemption or second chances or any of that shit. We're weapons she can point at problems."

He knew. Of course he knew. The knowing should have bothered him.

"And you're okay with that?" He asked, genuinely curious about her answer if not the implications.

You shrugged, a complicated movement that made your stolen hoodie slip off one shoulder. "I've been a weapon for worse people. At least Val's upfront about it."

There was a story there. Probably several. He could see them in the way you held yourself, the careful distance you maintained even while taking care of him, the way your eyes never stopped tracking exits.

You smelled like vanilla and violence, and for the first time in three months, Bucky Barnes noticed.

Not felt. Not yet. But noticed was... something.

"You're staring," you informed him, but there was no heat in it. "Do I have egg on my face or are you having another existential crisis?"

"The first one."

"Asshole." But you smiled when you said it, that crooked thing that transformed your whole face for exactly two seconds before you locked it back down. "Finish your breakfast. We have that thing with the enhanced individuals in Jersey later."

"The thing with the—" He stopped. "Are we calling them enhanced individuals now?"

"Val's memo was very specific. Apparently 'mutant terrorists' doesn't poll well." You stood, taking your empty plate to the sink. The morning light caught in your hair, bringing out colors he hadn't noticed before. When had he stopped noticing things like that? "I'm hitting the range. You can come if you promise not to brood in the corner like a Gothic novel protagonist."

"I don't brood."

"You brood professionally. You could teach a masterclass." You paused at the doorway, looking back. "Seriously though. Eat. I'll know if you don't."

"How?"

"Spy shit." You tapped the side of your nose, then you were gone, leaving behind the ghost of vanilla and the first stirring of... something.

He sat there for a long time, eating eggs that tasted like eggs and nothing more, but aware—suddenly, startlingly aware—of the empty space where you'd been. The air was different without you in it. Flatter. Less.

His phone buzzed. Sam, probably, or another summons from Val. He ignored it, focusing instead on the strange, hollow ache in his chest that wasn't quite emotion but wasn't quite nothing either.

The coffee maker gave one last dying wheeze.

Bucky finished his breakfast.

The range was supposed to be empty at this hour. It was one of the few benefits of chronic insomnia—access to facilities when normal people were doing normal things like sleeping or having lives or maintaining basic human connections.

But you were there, because of course you were. The universe had apparently decided subtlety was overrated.

You'd changed out of the stolen hoodie into a tank top that had seen better decades, your hair pulled back in a knot that was already failing to contain itself. The bruise on your arm had darkened to purple-black, and there were new bandages wrapped around your left hand.

"Pull," you called out, and a clay pigeon arced across the simulated sky. You tracked it, fired, missed by a margin that would've been embarrassing if you'd been aiming for it. "Fuck."

"You're dropping your shoulder."

You didn't turn around. "I'm compensating for the hand."

He moved closer, noting the way you shifted your weight to accommodate his presence without acknowledging it. Always aware, always ready. It should have been familiar—he did the same thing—but something about watching you do it made his chest tight.

"What happened to the hand?"

"Knife."

"Theirs or yours?"

"Yes." You called for another target, missed again. The set of your jaw suggested feelings about it. "You here to shoot things or play twenty questions?"

He was here because his apartment felt like a tomb and the gym made him want to punch things he'd have to pay to replace. But that seemed like too much honesty for whatever this was.

"Former."

"Great. Try not to make me look bad." You switched magazines with practiced efficiency, then paused. "Actually, fuck it. Make me look terrible. I could use the humility."

He moved to the lane beside yours, picking up one of the range weapons. It was well-maintained but unfamiliar, balanced for someone who wasn't carrying around a metal arm. He adjusted, compensated, adapted. Story of his life.

The first shot went wide.

"Rusty?" You asked, but there was something else in your voice. Concern, maybe. Or recognition.

"Something like that."

You went back to your own shooting, and for a while there was just the rhythm of it—pull, track, fire, reload. A meditation in violence, which was probably unhealthy but definitely on-brand for people like them.

He found himself watching you between shots. The way you unconsciously favored your right side (old injury, probably spinal). The thin scar that ran along your collarbone and disappeared beneath your shirt. The fact that you'd drawn three smiley faces on your bandages, because apparently you were the kind of person who drew on their medical supplies.

"You're staring again." You didn't look at him, just reloaded and kept shooting. "Starting to think you've got a problem, Barnes."

Maybe he did. The vanilla scent was still there, stronger now mixed with cordite and the specific smell of this place—recycled air and gun oil and too many people trying to forget too many things.

"Just noting your form."

"My form is perfect."

"Your form is compensating for at least three separate injuries you haven't reported."

You turned then, gave him a look that could've meant anything. "Pot, meet kettle. When's the last time you updated your medical file?"

He genuinely couldn't remember. Medical felt like acknowledging things he wasn't ready to acknowledge. Like the way food tasted like ash and sleep felt like drowning and every morning was a negotiation with a body that didn't want to keep going.

"That's what I thought." You turned back to the range, fired three shots in rapid succession. All of them hit, grouped tight enough to make a statement. "We're all walking wounded here, Barnes. Some of us are just better at hiding it."

We. Like they were the same. Like you saw through his careful nothing and recognized it for what it was—not emptiness but overflow, not absence but too much, compressed down until it became its own kind of vacuum.

"Why do you bake?" The question surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise you.

"Excuse me?"

"When things get bad. You bake. Why?"

You were quiet for long enough that he thought you wouldn't answer. Then: "Because it's chemistry with better results. Predictable. Controllable. You put in the right ingredients, follow the right steps, and at the end you have something that didn't exist before." A pause. "Something good."

He understood that. The appeal of creation after so much destruction. The need to prove you could still make things instead of just unmaking them.

"What kind?" He asked.

"Today? Lemon bars. The kitchen smells like a citrus explosion." You smiled, small and private. "I'll bring you some if they don't suck."

"They won't suck."

"Bold assumption from someone who's never tried my baking."

"You measure gunpowder by the grain. I'm betting you're precise with sugar too."

That earned him a real look—surprise mixed with something warmer. "That's... weirdly logical."

"I have moments."

"So I'm learning." You set down your weapon, stretched in a way that pulled your shirt up enough to reveal another scar, this one still pink and healing. "You want to tell me why you're really here? And don't say shooting practice. You could do this in your sleep."

He could lie. You'd let him, he knew. You'd accept whatever deflection he offered and move on because that's what people like them did—respected the walls even while recognizing them.

But the vanilla was doing something to his brain, and the question came out before he could stop it: "Do you ever feel like you're... fading?"

Your hands stilled on the weapon. "Fading how?"

"Like you're becoming less solid. Less real. Like one day you'll wake up and realize you've disappeared completely and no one noticed."

Silence. Long enough that he regretted saying anything, regretted coming here, regretted—

"Every day." Your voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. "Every fucking day I wake up and have to remind myself I'm real. That I'm not just... nothing wearing a person suit."

You understood. Of course you did. He could see it now in the careful way you held yourself, the deliberate nature of every interaction. You were fading too, just better at faking solid.

"But then," you continued, turning to face him fully, "something small happens. Someone laughs at my stupid joke. Or I nail a difficult shot. Or I smell coffee—real coffee, not that instant shit—and for like half a second, I feel... tethered. Present."

"Does it last?"

"No." You shrugged, philosophical about it. "But half a second is better than nothing. And they add up, if you let them."

He wanted to ask if that's what this was—if you were collecting half-seconds too, building them into something that might eventually resemble a life. But that felt too much like hope, and hope was dangerous for people like them.

"The lemon bars," he said instead. "What makes them not suck?"

You blinked at the subject change, then accepted it with grace. "Secret ingredient."

"Which is?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be secret." You were smiling again, that crooked thing that made his chest do something complicated. "But I'll give you a hint—it's the same thing that makes everything better."

"Whiskey?"

"Close. Bourbon." You checked your watch, swore. "Shit. I need to shower before Jersey. You good here?"

Was he? He wasn't sure what good looked like anymore. But he could smell vanilla and gunpowder and the specific detergent you used on your tactical gear, and that was... something.

"Yeah."

"Liar." But you said it softly, like maybe lying was its own form of trying. "Take care of yourself, Barnes. Or at least fake it convincingly. Some of us worry."

You left before he could ask who 'some of us' included. Before he could process the way worry sat in his chest like a lit match.

The range felt different without you in it. Emptier. Less.

He fired six more rounds, all of them perfect center mass, then left to find something that smelled less like your absence.

Jersey was a disaster, because of course it was.

The enhanced individuals (Val's term, not his) turned out to be kids—couldn't have been more than seventeen, powers they couldn't control and anger they couldn't contain. The kind of situation that required finesse, understanding, maybe a gentle hand.

They'd sent the Thunderbolts instead.

"I'm too old for this shit," Alexei complained, nursing a black eye that was already turning spectacular colors. "In my day, enhanced individuals respected their elders."

"In your day, enhanced individuals got disappeared to Siberian labs," Yelena shot back, not looking up from cleaning her weapons. Her vest was singed from some kind of energy blast, but she'd refused medical attention with prejudice.

They were debriefing in the Quinjet, which smelled like ozone and failure. Bucky sat apart from the others, cataloging injuries (minimal) and collateral damage (significant) and trying not to think about the look on that kid's face when the inhibitor collar clicked into place.

You were in the cockpit with Walker, and he could hear you arguing about extraction protocols in low, furious tones. Something about minimizing trauma and unnecessary force and Jesus Christ, John, they were kids.

"Kids with the ability to level city blocks," Walker argued back. "We did what we had to do."

"We did what was easy." Your voice carried the kind of exhaustion that came from having this fight too many times. "There's a difference."

Bucky agreed with you, for what it was worth. But agreeing and saying so were different things, and he'd used up his quota of giving a shit somewhere around the time one of those kids had called him a fascist.

Fair, probably. Didn't mean it didn't sting.

The cockpit door slammed open. You stalked out, fury radiating off you in waves. Your tactical suit was torn along one side, revealing bruised ribs you were clearly pretending didn't exist.

"We need to talk about proportional response," you announced to the jet at large.

"We need to talk about following orders," Walker countered, following you out. "This isn't a democracy."

"No, it's a fucking powder keg, and you're out here playing with matches." You turned on him, and Bucky could smell the anger on you—sharp, metallic, cutting through the vanilla like a blade. "Those kids needed help, not a strike team."

"Those kids nearly took out half a strip mall."

"Because they were scared!" Your voice cracked slightly on the last word. "They were scared and untrained and we came at them like—"

"Like what?" Walker stepped closer, using his height advantage. "Like the professionals we are?"

"Like the weapons we are." You didn't back down, didn't even blink. "And before you say it, yes, I know that's the job. But maybe, just maybe, we could try being human beings first."

"Human beings get people killed."

"And weapons create more enemies than they eliminate." You were vibrating with tension, fists clenched at your sides. "But sure, let's keep doing Val's dirty work and pretending it's heroism."

The jet went quiet. Even Alexei stopped his complaining, watching the standoff with unusual seriousness.

Walker's jaw worked like he was chewing on words too big to swallow. "You have a problem with how I lead, you take it up with—"

"With Val? Sure. I'll add it to the list of things she doesn't give a fuck about." You turned away, then back, like you couldn't help yourself. "You know what the worst part is? You're not even wrong. This is the job. This is what we signed up for. But somewhere between then and now, you forgot that collar we put on that kid is the same kind they'd put on us if we stepped too far out of line."

Direct hit. Walker's face went through several colors before settling on a mottled red. "That's different."

"Is it?" You laughed, bitter and sharp. "Ask Barnes. He's got experience with both sides of the leash."

Every eye in the jet turned to him. Bucky kept his expression neutral through pure muscle memory, but something must have shown because you immediately looked stricken.

"Shit. Bucky, I didn't—"

"It's fine." His voice came out steady, which was its own kind of lie. "You're not wrong."

"I am, though. That was out of line."

"No," Walker interrupted, "what's out of line is questioning command decisions in front of the team. You want to have a philosophical debate about the nature of heroism, do it on your own time."

You turned back to Walker, and for a second Bucky thought you might actually take a swing. He could see it in the set of your shoulders, the way your weight shifted. Could smell the adrenaline spiking, mixing with vanilla and anger and—

"Hey." He stood, drawing both your attentions. "We're ten minutes out. Maybe save the cage match for when we're not in a pressurized tin can."

You looked at him—really looked, like you were reading something in his face he wasn't aware he was writing. Whatever you saw made you step back, tension bleeding out of your frame.

"Yeah. You're right." You moved toward the back of the jet, pausing at his shoulder. "Sorry. About the leash comment. That was shitty."

"I've heard worse."

"That doesn't make it better." You touched his arm—brief, barely there, but it burned through the tactical gear like a brand. "I'll... I'm gonna go check on Ava. See if she needs anything for her ribs."

Ava's ribs were fine. You both knew it. But he let you go, watching as you settled beside her and started a quiet conversation about medical supplies.

Walker stomped back to the cockpit, muttering about insubordination and chain of command. Alexei started up his complaining again, this time about American leadership styles. Yelena went back to her weapons.

Normal. Everything returning to what passed for normal in their dysfunctional little family.

Except Bucky could still feel where you'd touched his arm. Could still smell the cocktail of emotions you'd left in your wake—anger and regret and something else, something softer that didn't have a name.

He sat back down, closing his eyes against the fluorescent lights and trying not to think about collars or leashes or the way you'd defended him even while calling out his history. Trying not to think about the kid's face when the inhibitor clicked on, the way it had gone slack with a particular kind of defeat he recognized in his bones.

You were right. Walker was right. Everyone was right and wrong in equal measure, which was the kind of paradox that made him want to punch through walls.

But underneath the familiar frustration was something new. Faint, barely there, but unmistakable:

He was angry.

Not the cold, intellectual acknowledgment of injustice he'd been operating on for months. Real anger, hot and present and his.

It should have been concerning. Anger was dangerous for someone with his skillset, his history. Anger led to mistakes, to loss of control, to becoming the weapon everyone already saw when they looked at him.

But it was also feeling, and after months of nothing, even anger felt like progress.

You laughed at something Ghost said—quiet, contained, but genuine. The sound carried over the engine noise and Alexei's monologue about Soviet superiority. It struck him like a physical blow, unexpected and devastating in its simplicity.

When was the last time he'd laughed? Really laughed, not the dry chuckle he performed when social convention demanded it?

He couldn't remember.

But he could smell vanilla and tactical gear and the specific soap the Quinjet stocked in its tiny bathroom. Could feel the ghost of your touch on his arm, the weight of your apology in the air between you.

Half-seconds, you'd said. They add up, if you let them.

Maybe you were onto something.

The jet started its descent, New York sprawling below them like a circuit board. Home, or close enough. He'd have to file a report, sit through Val's theatrical disappointment, pretend he cared about mission parameters and acceptable casualties.

But first, he'd check on those lemon bars you'd promised. See if the secret ingredient really was bourbon, or if that was just another deflection in a life built on them.

It wasn't much. A plan to try someone's baking hardly counted as emotional investment.

But it was something, and something was better than nothing.

The anger sat warm in his chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Proof that whatever was broken in him wasn't beyond repair. Just... paused. Buffering. Waiting for the right combination of vanilla and violence to kick it back online.

You caught his eye as the jet touched down, offering a smile that looked like an apology and a promise wrapped in exhaustion.

He didn't smile back—didn't remember how, really.

But he nodded, which was close enough.

For now.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

[hedonisthierophant]

Aching abyss

Aching abyss

The doctors proclaimed that he was alive, crowed over their victory, their triumph in snatching his fragile form from the jaws of death and conspiracy. Clay wasn’t so sure that he believed them. Oh he knew intellectually that he lived. His eyes beheld what unfolded before them, he was aware of various scents perfuming the air, he heard the constant drone of life around him, he was able to process the flavors of his food, his body was warm, his lungs filled and emptied themselves of air in a regular fashion, his bones muscles ligaments and tendons obeyed his commands, he felt sensation against his skin, and most importantly, his heart beat. This could be objectively verified, all he had to do was press a hand against it and feel its steady rhythm. Yet, despite overwhelming empirical evidence to the contrary Clay felt that he had died during the faithful procedure and what the doctors had so pridefully revived was merely an empty shell, a purposeless, empty husk of a man.

Before the operation Clayton had always looked forward to it as the door through which he would step into his new lease on life. Now he looked back on it ruefully as a pyrrhic victory. The result of a twisted covenant with some deity who was spiteful at worst and apathetic at best, they had given him a new life and in exchange taken away Clay’s sense of being alive. Yes his body was here, but was Clay here? That was a more complicated question altogether.

Clay tried first to explain his situation to his physicians, they assured him that these sorts of feelings were par for the course in transplant patients and would pass in time. Clay next set up a meeting with a therapist, discreetly and through a series of intermediaries. He didn’t have the courage to go on any websites or call any numbers for himself. Instead he delegated what he assumed was the more burdensome task to an assistant, he was certain he’d known her name at one point but since the transplant everyone who worked with him seemed to lose their individuality in a sea of faceless underlings, drones whose existence was based around snapping to his soft commands. His sleek black town car pulled up to an equally sleek glass skyscraper. The glass had been tinted green and was interspersed with frames of obsidian. He mumbled the name of his destination to a security guard in the lobby.

He was directed to the 151st floor, some hopeful, grateful voice buried in the back of his mind spoke with an abrasive cheer and reminded him that he’d never have been able to walk up 151 flights of stairs before the operation, maybe he should just to say that he had, after all he had plenty of time before his appointment. A petulant, bitter, far louder voice simpered in return that perhaps he should and his unfeeling misery and run up all 151 flights until his new heart gave out and he ended up in the ground where he belonged. The loudest most omnipresent voice spoke next, it commanded him to simply ride the elevator instead, this voice was the herald the emptiness inside him, a mouth that spoke for the vast abyss where his feelings had once been. He rode the elevator, contemplating whether this parody of life was the price for cheating death? He had been so afraid of the silence and stillness of the grave he’d never considered the idea that they could be draped over him like a burial shroud before he passed away. As he strode down the hall he was steeling himself for some unimaginable and invasive horror. The things his mother would say if she knew that he was seeing shrink. A much younger Clayton had actually mistaken the word “shrink” for a slur such was the venom with which he heard it passed his mother’s lips. He’d used it as a weapon hoping to strike back at a girlhood called him to fragile to play and had been met with laughter that was cruel and worse yet laced with pity.

He entered an upscale reception area suffused with an aura of enforced calm. Diffused light came from a few lamps that had been covered in simple cloths in addition to their shades. Some well concealed noise machine was causing an approximation of the sounds of the surf to bleed through the space, the floor was covered by an enormous, lush, pale green carpet. A portly woman with mousy hair and oversized spectacles handed him the intake forms. He stared at them, his brain lazily processing words like “health conditions, medications, prior diagnoses, history of treatment, presenting issue, drug use, alcohol use, suicide attempts and ideation,” he stared numbly at the forms wondering what the correct pattern of checkboxes was that could possibly communicate what was wrong with him. After several idle minutes the receptionist looked over “don’t worry about it dear many people find it difficult to put in writing, you just have a talk with our provider and she’ll fill one out for you afterwards, it’s no trouble at all.” His mother was laughing at him berating him for his inability to fill out a simple form, his dawdling would make this person’s job that much harder, he was already inconveniencing them and he hadn’t even met them, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that his mirror presence here was a bother.

This entire endeavor was a mistake. For once his body reacted, his pulse hammered, beads of sweat carved frosty path down his brow, he couldn’t get enough oxygen, he was dizzy, his deal with death had only bought him a minor reprieve apparently, he’d come here to discover how to feel alive again and instead he was going to die in this waiting room. Distantly, some part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. The rushing of his blood and the incessant pain in his head brought back memories of the table and what was left of his composure shattered as it was assaulted by those recollections. He heard a faint whirring, it grew louder as though some angry machine were approaching him. His beleaguered mind wandered if perhaps the Grim Reaper rode a scooter? A powerful voice broke through the chaos within him. He was commanded to raise his head, instinctively he did so.

A woman sat in front of him he thought but he couldn’t be sure, his vision swam, threatening to blur into unconsciousness. “Mr. Beresford?” Hearing his father’s name brought a fresh wave of turmoil it felt as though his throat completely closed, in a few moments it was possible that he might be face to face with his father and bare the full brunt of his ridicule for this display of frailty, for the disappointment he caused his father, for the failure of a son that he was. “Clayton?...Clay?” Someone was calling him, it’d be rude not to respond, he couldn’t be rude he would be punished. Reflexively he fought to bring the image before him into focus. He failed, but he was able to force us stammered “Yes?” past his tremulous lips. His effort was immediately rewarded, “Clay I’m Dr Mensah. If you would like I can lead you in a breathing exercise that may provide you with some relief. Would you like me to do that? If not I would like you to know that panic attacks pass and I will stay here with you until this one does.” Her voice was infused with an iron certainty. Clay gave her a weak nod of his head that was almost perceptible amidst his twitching and hyperventilation. She spoke in a calm voice , “I would like you to inhale whilst I count to four, then hold your breath whilst I count to four again then I would like you to exhale whilst I count to four, and hold your breath a second time whilst I count to four final time. We will repeat the process if necessary. She began to count in a determined rhythm. One… Two… Three… Four. As though he was experiencing this from far-flung distant place he was aware of the ritualized pace of his lungs filling, waiting and then emptying. The chaos that gripped him receded ever so slightly. They completed the exercise twice more.

Clay was finally able to open his eyes and properly take in his rescuer. But he had some difficulty parsing the vision that greeted him. Her voice filled his ears again almost hypnotic in its steadiness and placidity. “I imagine that was quite a difficult experience. Would you like to talk about what you are feeling or would you prefer to rest? Perhaps some water? Clay nodded mutely. She turned away from him and the whirring returned, she made her way over to a low table he had noticed before that had the trappings of a miniaturized café. She retrieved a recycled paper cup from a pile and extracted a glistening portion of water from an expensive looking machine. She crossed the space between them accompanied only by the sound of whirring. She offered the cup to Clay. He reached out and nearly splattered it over the both of them. His hands and started to shake just as he may contact with the edge of the cup. He was already prepared with a thousand apologies ready on his tongue, already hearing a lecture from his mother about making a full of himself. But the woman’s grip was steely and sure. The cup hardly moved despite Clay’s embarrassing flailing. Her expression remained unchanged “may I assist you?” Clay’s face was burning with shame that all he could do was nod unwilling to risk another bout of tremors. With one hand she brought the cup to his lips and placed the other at the back of his neck as a sort of support as she tipped the cup up and he drank in the cool liquid. Clay should’ve been humiliated, should’ve been outraged should’ve been indignant. Yes he given his permission but how dare this woman presume to help him in this way as though he were an invalid or worse yet, a child. He was about to make her regret her trespass with some scathing remark but he was consumed by the thought that this woman was the first person to touch him in months since his mother died. He looked down at her and realized for the first time that the source of the whirring had been the wheelchair that she was occupying. “Would you like to accompany me to my office?” All Clay could do was nod, he rose, his limbs being more cooperative than he anticipated. The sound of Clay’s shoes against the carpet was all but inaudible so close to the whir.

  He followed Dr. Mensah into a lushly appointed space. Gently lit by fairy lights with a single enormous couch arrayed against one back wall. Round the space there were several chairs pointed in the general direction of the couch. The wall was painted a pale green broken up by paintings of forests, mountains, and oceans.” Please sit wherever you’d like, or stand if you prefer. Make yourself comfortable.” Clay obediently perched on the edge of the couch fighting the natural instinct let himself sink into it his mother had disapproved horribly of anything that ruined his posture. The woman parks her wheelchair directly across from the couch, and waits. They sit in silence for about a moment before Clay blurts out the first thing on his mind. “I don’t like doctors.” “Perhaps it would be better for you to think of me simply as Beatrice then?” Again the only tool in his repertoire was to nod . “I would like you to tell me about what brings you in today if you feel so inclined, I got a glimpse of the distress you experience but I’d like more information so that I may place it within the proper context.” Years of being and vandalized and thought of week have left Clay with a bit of a sore spot around being anything less than perfect in the view of other people. He makes an effort to straighten his back even further and speaks in the distant tone his mother had employed when dismissing other people’s preposterous ideas as she so often did. “Distress? You must be mistaken ma’am. I’m fine.” He stares at her impassive face. The woman before him is perched in what Clayton assumes is an extremely high-end model of wheelchair looking for all the world as if she were in a throne and questioning an errant peasant. Her body framed by black leather and paint of the same color. Her right leg sits crossed over her left, giving Clay the impression that he is but a subject addressing a monarch, he hasn’t felt that way since his mother died. She is dressed for all the world as though she is one of the many high-stakes powerbrokers that have surrounded Clay’s entire life. Cream colored pants and a cream-colored blazer adorn her form, Clay’s first impression of her would have been that she was distant and inaccessible, unconcerned with those beneath her but this train of thought was derailed by the decidedly more human touches that graced her ensemble. Bangles that would’ve been out of place in Wall Street office, a tribal necklace, nails done to perfection but not merely buffed and coated in clear polish as was the habit of ladies on Wall Street face painted with only the lightest coding of makeup, a subtle red to her lips and black around her eyes.. Her nails glimmered a soft lavender color and several rings adorned her fingers. Her hair was in locks and gathered into a regal looking knot atop her head, secured by a lavender colored cloth. As they stared at each other Clay felt that he was being examined by some class of being several orders of magnitude beyond his comprehension. Finally she spoke, her voice bathed in a quiet authority, “people who are fine do not often experience panic attacks in our waiting room, Clay.” With that simple sentence it’s as though she’s drained all of Clay’s reserves of hostility. She continues, “I would imagine that this was the first time you’ve experienced something like that, perhaps your standard experience is more that of numbness?”

The floodgates open and Clay imparts to her all the apathy that has infused his existence since it was restarted that day on the table. She listens as he describes feeling like a windup doll merely going through a set of preprogrammed motions, acting alive but not feeling it. He describes the profound disconnect between himself and his emotions. The well of nothingness that has consumed him. She listens without interruption and when Clay can no longer think of anything to say they are enshrouded in silence. Clay can’t bear silence, it was quiet times like this that he hated the most before the transplant. When there were no distractions around and he could hear his own heartbeat. He’d made a macabre game of counting the beats wondering how many he had left before he hit zero. The average person’s heart beat 3,195,648,000 during their lifetime Clay had been obsessed with cardiology as a child after learning about the ticking time bomb inside his chest. He been able to recite all sorts of minutia related to the organ and its functioning, of course a particular attention was paid to transplants and the various gruesome fates that could await poor souls who had no choice but to undergo them or worse yet be denied the opportunity to do even that. Clay had always known with certainty of the doomed that he would experience but the smallest fraction of that instead. People were supposed to live to around 80 and yet it was a miracle that he made it to 22.

Clay imparts all this to Beatrice in the same unfeeling monotone because the crushing silence summons the screaming voice of his mother commanding him to take control of the situation, do something say something, be the performer that she had raised and not the useless lout. It is with a serene tone that Beatrice tells him that all his feelings are be expected from someone who’d been living on borrowed time, with one parent absent in the other abusive, suffered a near-death experience brought on by betrayal, followed by the trauma of a string of losses. Her words were cloaked in validation and understanding, enshrouded in a sincere seeming empathy. Hearing her speak made Clay want to cry but he knew he would be unable to. The session lit a tiny spark of feeling within him for the first time since his rebirth. Clay instantly became an addict, he booked a session next week and mustering what dignity he could left the office bed goodbye to the receptionist and descended back to the mass of scurrying mortals living their lives far below the glittering towers that had made up Clay’s. His town car was waiting at the entrance to the building, piloted to perfection by Mercy. Mercy was his chauffeur, assistant, bodyguard, confidant, and the closest thing he had left to a friend. She wore a simple black chauffeur’s uniform and, her face bare of any makeup, red hair concealed. Since his death he found it hard to trust people, to let them near him either emotionally or physically. Mercy had impeccable references, a degree in management from Harvard. She was proficient in three forms of martial arts and possessed a frightening level of accuracy when wielding firearms. She was the only one allowed anywhere near Clayton, any requests from his father’s company all were filtered through her, she ran his calendar, made all the arrangements for every facet of his day, and so shepherded him through his life. These two women were the light houses in Clayton’s so-called life. Mercy roused him each day, presented him with decisions that needed to be made, drove him aimlessly through the city, provided his meals, kept up with his medication, she was an almost invisible, almost silent, benevolent guardian. Beatrice in their weekly sessions helped Clayton begin to assess the level of damage that had been done to him long before you died. She helped to foster that flicker of life within him. Until he confronted her with a dilemma that he was certain would cause her to leave him.

Clayton tried his best to bask in the pleasures of life, to rekindle the flame of actually living life. The finest food tasted like bitter ash, and had to be forced down his throat. He walked the galleries and viewed great works of art, pieces that had once stirred his soul. Before he died he could’ve stared at those paintings for hours and been absolutely captivated, now they did no more for him than a child’s fumbling scribble. He visited the Opera and bought expensive equipment with which to listen to his favorite music, everything sounded as though he were hearing it from underwater, dull, distant, and boring. Films that he loved as a child played before him on the vast expanse of his home theater screen, he couldn’t bring himself to connect with a single scene, to feel anything whatsoever. This is where Clayton ran into trouble, he was forbidden from doing anything strenuous, for anyone else that might be fine. However, when you lived in the condition that Clay did nearly any activity that could bring the faintest spark of enjoyment was considered strenuous. No more gentle laps in the pool, no more mild jogs in the park, no more calm morning workouts, anything like skiing or basketball was completely out of the question. So yes, Clayton lived but he wasn’t alive. He took his questions to the Internet he figured what he needed was some shot of dopamine or else a blast of adrenaline but every activity suggested by the thrill junkies in their wild and free death-defying corners of cyberspace was well beyond Clay’s current ability. He was not permitted to travel by plane as the elevation might put stress on his heart, so visions of some faraway location where he could simply bask in the beauty of nature or a new culture would have to remain so. What drove at Clay the deepest however was the physical manifestation of his loneliness, there were days when his limbs failed him and Mercy efficiently helped him dress, her steady hands doing work that his had been ,capable of since he was a mere child. Fastening buttons here, tying laces there. The experience would leave him burning with shame every time despite the fact that he had no pretenses at an invalid such as himself ever being afforded much modesty, let alone dignity. Worse than the shame though was the ache that burrowed deep within him, the lightest touch of her fingers against his flesh soothed the hollow throb within him reducing all-consuming agony to the slightest aching twinge for an exquisite instant. Vicious vultures circled constantly in his mind filling his thoughts with wicked whispers imparting upon him the knowledge that he may as well already be dead, that this wasn’t a life worth living. He laid all of these burdens at Beatrice’s feet, she sent him to a psychiatrist who prescribed first this antidepressant, and then that, the happy pills gave him energy, but no purpose or drive, he was merely a remote control toy whose batteries had been supercharged. He no longer slept until two in the afternoon and the vultures screeching had been reduced to near silence but the absence of that cacophony and the less time he spent in blissful unconsciousness, unburdened by his reality for precious hours he wished he could stretch into eternity, the more he was enveloped in emptiness. When you were always drowning in pain its briefest absence induced an incredible sense of euphoria, there was no pleasurable feeling but the sheer existence of even a single iota of life, of a moment free of agony became a dangerously addictive high, the sort of sheer bliss that all hedonists would trade their souls for. Clay’s realization came through his dreams. The nocturnal adventures that his subconscious conjured for him were often replete with reminders of his suffering. His father’s abuse and death, his mother’s disappointment, Sam’s betrayal and Jack’s complicity, his mother’s death. It was as though his psyche was daring him to find even the single weakest reason to go on, as though some demon, livid that it had been cheated when he escaped death, embarked on a quest to torture Clay night after night, to remind him of all his pain and loss until he saw the price he paid for the cursed gift that was his second chance and chose to reject it, this malignant creature would use his own mind to rake him over the coals, to turn his only sanctuary into a place of torment until he gave in and died, probably by his own hand, then the demon would be satisfied and absconded with his prize back to hell, satisfied in having righted this imbalance of the cosmic scales that had allowed Clay, however transiently to escape his fate.

Having survived the table and experiencing the visions or astral projection or whatever type of hallucination he had during the process had left Clay with at least some ability to command his mind to come to his aid. Like a mantra he hurt himself repeat over and over, “show me something nice, make me feel alive.” Once, twice, thrice, upon the fourth repetition there was a change. It was early morning and the once brilliant light of dawn that would’ve drawn a smile from Clay no matter what his mood had saturated every inch of his apartment. Clay was lounging in his favorite chair, luxuriating in the feel of the plush cushions conforming to his body, Mercy stood over him gently carting her fingers through his hair draining his worries away and causing the slightest flicker to spark in the candle that had come to represent Clay’s joie de vivre…for the first time since his death he awoke hard.

Clay was groggy at first and then conscious of the delicious friction of his cock rubbing against his underwear, the ghosts of dream-Mercy’s hands still gliding over his scalp. He reached down to cup himself astounded at the arousal he felt, it had been so long, since the morning before his death that his body had given him even a phantom help that he might be able to indulge one of his most base urges. He’d miserably resigned himself to subsisting on half memories of his last morning with Sam before he discovered her betrayal, the colors bled from those images and he hated himself. Distantly he wondered if he’d given himself the opportunity to seek other inspiration some thought not tainted with her memory to make him hard if it would’ve worked, but his body was so thoroughly uninterested in the possibility of ever feeling pleasure again right up until this morning. A happy sigh escaped his lips as he teased himself through the fabric of his silk pajama bottoms. In his nascent pleasure his eyes open sleepily and he realized that Mercy was due to enter his room in a matter of minutes to wake him and begin their daily routine. His arm darted out with the speed and urgency he had not felt since that day and he fired off a terse message to her informing her that he intended to sleep in for at least another half an hour. Predictably, Mercy responded with a simple affirmative nearly the instant after his finger pressed the send key.

 Without her Clay was free to bask in the return of at least a fragment of what it felt like to be human. Sure, it was the most primitive and unworthy fragment but it was something. He slid his clothes off with trembling h hands gasping at the feel of smooth fabric rubbing over the most sensitive parts of his body. He shivered and his nipples became rock hard as he was exposed to the chill air. The illicitness of the situation alone was enough to have him leaking, he brought a shaking index finger to slit and sent it on a slow journey back to his mouth. The taste of himself sent a spasm of shocked pleasure through his whole body. He had worried somewhere distant in the far dark reaches of his mind that he forgotten this. But resonance of recollections guided his movements and he moaned in quiet pleasure as his hands trailed up and down his body causing every hair to stand on end. He circled the shaft with his right hand and gave it the gentlest squeeze, a spurt of precum issued from the head and he laughed in boyish delight, delirious in the joy of rediscovering the art of self-love. Clayton spat into his hand and returned it to his twitching cock. Under normal circumstances he’d of turned his nose up at the idea of using saliva as lubricant but desperate times called for desperate measures and he was willing to abandon some of his principles for the chance to make this feel even the slightest bit better. He tweaked one nipple and almost embarrassed himself with the keening sound that it tore from his lips, rather he would be embarrassed if enough of his mind was not submerged in an ocean of want and could muster enough conscious thought to care. He brought his hand up to the other nipple and began playing with them in unison delicious shivers and twitches racing up his spine crossing him to cross and uncrossed his legs curl and uncurl his toes throw his head back and moaned as he wallowed in wildly wanton madness, mesmerized by the long forgotten pleasure he was capable of bringing himself. For the stolen half an hour he wasn’t Clayton Beresford Jr, the poor fragile billionaire, he was Clay, a horny 22-year-old like any other across the world who had the strength to do something about it. Delirious laughter escaped his lips as he began to massage his balls rolling them between his fingers gently tugging on the sensitive skin as it sent breathy gasps and moans up his throat. His head thrashed this way and then that in response to his ministrations his body giving a rapturous response to its own performance. Some faraway part of him was aware of the sweat that was beginning to soak his skin and distantly ever so faintly as though he were listening to the memory of the shadow of an echo from deep beneath the surface of water he heard his heartbeat. Clay let out a joyous little whoop as he brought himself closer and closer to that elusive peak of pleasure that he was chasing. His body on fire from the delicious torture, screaming at him that it wanted this, no that, that if Clay failed on this quest to satisfy himself that his very form would punish his loss by severing the single gossamer thread that allowed him to remain tethered to this mortal plane. Retribution for teasing himself and failing to deliver on the ultimate few instance of pleasure that would silence all the noise in his head and the complaints of his overtaxed body would be death, brutal in its suddenness. He felt as though he was quite literally, jerking off for his life. If he didn’t ascend to the peak of ecstasy the fire would reach his heart and it would stop once and for all and there would be no one to sacrifice themselves this time for the sake of him getting his rocks off. The train of thought made him laugh deliriously, winds and moans escaped his lips as reedy, needy breaths were all his lungs were capable of producing. He felt absolutely soaked with pre-come, a glance downward confirmed that there was so much of it that it spilled over his significant shaft and coded the light dusting of pubic hair and had spread to drip off his hips on both sides. He rutted mindlessly against his own hand for a few minutes more chasing ever ascending bubbles of bliss. His jaw hung open, his hair and body covered in sweat, heat rolling off him as though he were running a fever  yet still he could not reach his peak, his moans turned to sobs of anguish as he pursued a climax that was constantly just out of reach. His muscle contracted, his heart beat like a machine gun, his cock twitched and spasmed, all to no avail. No! No! No! He wanted to scream with every fiber of his being to roar out his anger and sadness at the uncaring gods who cursed him to live this way, tears streaked down his face as he felt the waves of pleasure begin to crash further and further away from him, for the storm that had gotten him this far to subside. Part of his body began to relax, this was for the best he was pushing himself too hard, this was his new normal and he was condemned to adjust to it. Was he to be denied final satisfaction even after all this momentum had been built up? He snarled in rage, no he looked down at himself and saw that his cock had turned a pained shade of purple and was gushing precum with anticipation, he was so close just a few more strokes, just a bit of a tighter grip, and he would come, come like people all over the world did every day and, he would spend a precious few seconds gliding on a cloud of euphoria. He would be alive again. Clays hips jerked and bucked wildly as, his stomach clenched and his toes curled in anticipation of Nirvana. He let out a guttural, wanton moan, half pleading with his body and have commanding it to finish this, to let his live for just a few seconds, to let him feel. Tears streamed down his face as the pleasure turned to pain and his body refused. Clayton’s desperate wail of sorrow was cut off by a sharp pain in his chest. Agony brought him back to himself and through eyes that could see all too clearly he heard an alarm shrieking on his phone and Mercy burst through the door, her fingers keying in 911 and bringing it halfway to her ear before she got a good look at her employer. The shame roasted Clay alive.

 An hour later after a litany of apologies and offers to find her better employment elsewhere and incoherent sobs, he whispered a stuttered explanation of his situation to Beatrice through the phone that Mercy held to his shaking body. His salvation arrived an hour after that. Mercy opened the door to his sprawling penthouse apartment and brought him a simple black blindfold which she affixed for him with customary professionalism. Clayton’s world was reduced to sounds than, he heard the enticing click of high heels on tile as a third person entered his bedroom. “Hello Clayton, I am Madame Olivia, I am a professional intimacy expert, a sexual surrogate, I’ve been informed of your difficulties and asked by Dr. Mensah to lend my talents to provide you with some relief and sense of normalcy. The blindfold was my suggestion as I worried that seeing my face might cause you to feel a sense of shame or unworthiness.” Do I have your consent to proceed?” Clay nods, her voice rings out, gentle yet firm, “Speak when spoken to Clay.” He shudders as a breathless Yes” escapes him. I am going to start out with small but intimate touches and we shall go from there until you give me a safe word.” Clay, what shall be your safeword?” she asked in a tone that spoke in equal measures of clinical competence and indulgent care. With absolute certainty Clay spoke the word “awake.” “And what shall be your return signal if you wish to resume our activities after you’ve used your safeword?” “Starving,” he says with an unfiltered honesty that surprises him.” “Very well.” Her voice is like warm honey, enticing and comforting all at once, but she speaks no more she advances upon him.

Clay has started to drip with anticipation again as he hears the click of her heels signal her approach. Each sharp, sure step a herald of his impending salvation. He whimpers as delicate, elegant fingers encircle his own, he’s only able to stand the rush of emotion and Ron need it comes from the simple pleasure of holding her hand for a pair of minutes before tears prick his eyes and he’s reminded of how pathetic he is before he gasps out his safeword. Instantly the hand is gone from his, as if by magic. If her touch had lit him aflame, her absence had frozen him he’s only able to bear one minute of wintry isolation and a fear of never having this opportunity again before he gasps out the return signal. They spend hours like that in a tortuously slow dance of advance and retreat, her hand moves from his to his forearm to his shoulder to his neck. He can only stand a few minutes of each touch at a time but even sooner he’s calling out for her again. She gently massages his neck and he mewls with pleasure. Only stopping her because he feels as though he could come from this alone. After his retreat is canceled and she moves forward once more her enchanted, soft hands caress his hair and rub gently against his scalp. He’s floating on waves of satisfaction. Eventually her fingers brushed delicately over the blindfold and he imagines that he can feel them running ever so gently over his eyelids themselves. Over the course of another few minutes she makes her way down to his nipples and begins to work them so much more softly than he had, he cries from the pleasure. She trails her hand over his abdominal muscles rubbing gentle circles into the quivering flesh. When he thinks that she’ll at last reaches caulk she takes a detour and skips over entirely and begins rubbing gently at his feet, massaging them with oil, that warm and has him twitching and gasping from the sensation of pleasure it’s causing to run through his body. They have to take five separate breaks before she is able to complete her work with his feet. Satisfied, she runs her hands back up his body and gently encircles his drenched caulk in her hand, his fluids mixed with the oil on her hands and create a divine sliding sensation free of all but the barest trace of friction behind the blindfold his eyes rolled back in his head. It feels so different from when he had done it in that ill advised session earlier, her hand is much smaller and more delicate than his own, the feel it creates is velvety. It smelled different the first time too, his fumbling attempts had filled the room with the smell of sex, sweat, and desperation combined with the odor of sadness. Now his senses are filled with the gentle floral notes of her perfume, some spice that seems to be emanating from the oil she uses, the faintest trace of his own arousal. The sounds are different as well, before they had been wild and desperate now his soft sighs, whimpers, groans, and moans, along with murmured pleas gently collide with the otherwise quiet air around them. She fondles his balls and works his shaft, tweaking and pulling just so. They are however engaged in a delicate balancing act, her mission is to help them achieve orgasm without putting too much strain on his body. It would be easy this would be over in a matter of minutes instead of the hours it’s taken so far if he could handle even the slightest bit of rougher or more frantic treatment. But the flame of pleasure inside him needs to be gently stoked and built up over time so that it does not burn him again. Eventually her hands wander back up and down his body in soothing patterns that he is not quite aware of. She returns and applies a helping of oil here and there massaging his chest tweaking his nipples in a heavenly rhythm and allowing his cock to relax and soften again before making another attempt. The edges of anger and desperation well up inside Clay and he begs her to be just a bit rougher with him let her nails dig into his skin to get this over with so that he no longer has to be spread out and vulnerable before her so that he can get off just like any other god damn young man in the city. She gives no verbal response instead she merely places her hand against his throat and squeezes gently, the most gentle of threats. His mouth goes dry as she massages his Adam’s apple and he murmurs an apology even as he can feel himself spilling a bit of pre-come at this change in dynamic.

There’s one part of his body that she’s avoided so far the garishly ugly scar that came with his new hollow existence. Clay can even bring himself to look upon it in the mirror. Eventually she slowly let her fingers trace it and he gasps as the sensitive scar tissue reacts to attach and waves of pleasure rolled down his body. He wants to stop her he wants to beg her not to do that not to remind him what he is not here in this safe place where it’s just the two of them under Mercy’s watchful eye. In response to his mumbled protests she merely presses harder against scar rubbing soft little circles into it that have him making a high keening sound somewhere between distress and pleasure. Tears fall freely from his eyes and soak the blindfold as he shakes his head vigorously but he cannot bring himself to use the safeword. She must sense that he’s conflicted about this because she redoubles her efforts rubbing it gently and stoking the flame of pleasure that she spent hours coaxing to life and to reaching new heights safely. Clayton can feel himself dripping, that’s not new he’s been absolutely soaked and alternating between rock hard and soft but hypersensitive in this slow burn arousal he’s been feeling for what feels like an eternity now. “Let go,” she commands. Clayton can only desperately shake his head filled with the new fear that if he does come that the fire will burn him again and stop his heart and he’ll die right here right now, he doesn’t like the way he’s living but he doesn’t want to die he’s terrified suddenly petrified of what the end of this night of pleasure will mean. “You’re safe, I’ve got you,” let go she impresses upon him yet again. Clayton is openly sobbing now. He knows he could use the safeword and bring this to an end but he’s trapped between death by fire and death by ice because he knows that stopping her before she’s done will kill him just as surely as allowing her to finish. “Let go,” Her words are infused with an unshakable authority as though she’s an angel giving a pronouncement from on high. Faced with that command, Clayton begins to relax, plenty of people say they want to die during sex. If this is how his life is going to end it’s not such a bad way to spend his final few moments he thinks, wryly. She leads him right up to the edge. No longer fighting his resisting body he allows himself to get closer and closer to oblivion pre-come pouring from his cock and his entire body shuddering, loud noises of pleasure leaving his mouth, but he’s unable to take that final step, to allow himself to plummet into a free fall of pleasure, until she presses a lingering kiss to the scar adorning his chest and says “Good boy.” Clayton’s world explodes. He hadn’t ever realized what the slow journey up the hill of pleasure could feel like, always concerned with raising up the mountain. It’s as though he’s burning but not with heat, as though he swallowed liquid sunlight all his nerve endings dance in pleasure, as electricity travels up and down his spine, his muscles clench for all their worth one final time and for the moment right before release he suspended in beautiful agony before his muscles relax and a euphoric moan leaves him as his cock spurts wave after wave of cum in the air, painting his stomach, torso, lashes and brows in his own seed. Tears, sweat and cum stain him and blend together as he collapses back onto his pillow and falls asleep, a beatific smile, his first since he died, adorning his angelic face He’s finally alive again.

[dreddymd]

A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works

Source: A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works

by Dr. Edward Group

We’ve all been there. You crawl into bed, drowsy and ready to drift into dreamland. But just as you start to doze off, you remember that you forgot to respond to an email. You open your eyes and reach for your phone. An hour later, you’re mindlessly scrolling through social media. It’s now well past your bedtime, but you’re wide awake.

No matter how tired you are at the end of the day, it can be hard to prioritize rest. Whether you have trouble falling asleep or you wake in the middle of the night, the way you approach bedtime can have a significant impact on your sleep.

Wisconsin-based writer Erika Z. knows from experience how helpful a bedtime routine can be. “I wrestled with insomnia for years,” she says, “but through experimenting with different techniques, I’ve finally found several remedies for falling asleep without a struggle.”

What Is a Bedtime Routine?

A bedtime routine is a series of steps that you take before retiring to your bed that ensures your mind and body are relaxed and ready for the sleep to come.

We’ve created a five-step bedtime routine that can calm both mind and body, preparing you to get the rest you need.

While we find this routine to be very beneficial, you don’t have to do all of these things — pick what works for you.

1. Set the Mood

An important first step in your bedtime routine is to create a peaceful environment for sleep. Turn your bedroom into a soothing sanctuary by keeping it dark, quiet, and at a comfortable temperature. If you have a hard time falling asleep in silence, turn on a fan or white noise machine. Relaxing music played at a low volume also promotes restful sleep.[1]

When it’s time to get ready for bed, put on a pair of comfy PJs and lower the lights in your room. You can turn down brighter lights in your home an hour after sunset to prepare your mind for winding down.

For extra comfort, consider laying a weighted blanket over your bed before you crawl in it. A weighted blanket may boost sleep quality by providing a sense of security.[2]

Essential oils can also set the stage for sleep when sprayed on linens or used in a diffuser. After brushing your teeth and just before getting under the covers, spritz a soft lavender-scented room spray over your bed.

2. Meditate or Stretch

Take a few minutes to center your mind and loosen your muscles. This can make a big difference in how long it takes you to fall asleep. A quick ten-minute body scan meditation is a helpful addition to anyone’s bedtime routine. You can find them online, but essentially, you breathe deeply with your eyes closed, preferably lying down, and mentally “visit” each part of your body, identifying tension.

This type of meditation slows down your racing mind and helps you to locate sources of tension in your body so you can let go and relax. When you finish meditating, doing a few gentle yoga stretches can further prepare your body for sleep.

Doing simple yoga stretches before bed has the added benefit of encouraging you to take slow, steady breaths. This type of breathing can help lower stress levels and reduce anxiety.[3] Even if you’re not a yogi, bending over to touch your toes or stretching your arms toward the ceiling can relax tight muscles.

3. Take a Hot Bath

Bathing is an excellent way to unwind before bed, especially if you use muscle-relaxing Epsom salt. The warmth of the bath can be deeply comforting, both physically and mentally.

Busy mom Kimbra P. is a big believer in the healing power of baths. “Baths are like love to me,” she says. Whether you’re running around all day with kids, working, or engaged in volunteer work, baths enable you to relax before bed. The warmth of the water eases any muscle aches from the day.

Taking a bath before bed not only relaxes your body but also allows you to slow your mind down and reflect on your day — or your life. When you’re in the bath, you can’t reach for your phone or engage in activity, so it’s a great time to just settle the mind. “Baths allow me to collect my thoughts in a relaxed and measured way,” Kimbra explains. You can let go of the day’s worries and prepare for rest.

4. Savor a Cup of Tea

Enjoying a hot cup of herbal tea promotes the release of tension, and the act of drinking it allows you to feel grounded.

“The ritual of wrapping my hands around a warm mug and taking in the scent helps bring me into the present moment by gently redirecting my senses away from home chores or screen time,” Erika Z. says.

Not sure which tea is the best bedtime choice? Many brands offer evening blends geared towards relaxation. Tulsi tea is deeply calming and has a lovely clove-like flavor, while chamomile is a traditional choice for soothing frayed nerves.[4]

5. Put Down Your Phone & Pick Up a Book

Playing a game on your phone or reading on your tablet may seem like harmless ways to wind down. However, staring at a screen too close to bedtime can throw off your sleep/wake cycle.

The blue light and EMF (electromagnetic frequency) radiation emitted by electronic devices disrupts sleep by suppressing your body’s production of melatonin. This hormone tells your body it’s sleepy time. Although all types of light can lessen melatonin production, blue light is a powerful disruptor of natural circadian rhythms.[5]

Turn off your laptop, tablet, phone, and avoid watching TV an hour before bedtime, and resist the urge to reach for them. If you rely on your phone to wake you up in the morning, keep it in a different room overnight — close enough to hear it, but not close enough to be affected by the blue light and EMFs. When it’s time to sleep, pick up a book instead of scrolling yourself to sleep. You may find yourself dozing off after only a few pages.

Bonus Tip: Take Supplements, Not Sleeping Pills

If you feel like you need a little extra help falling or staying asleep, certain nutritional supplements can be a gentle yet effective addition to your bedtime routine.

Valerian

Valerian is another herb with a long history of traditional use for promoting restful sleep — and it works.[6] Unlike sedatives that knock you out, Global Healing’s Organic Valerian Raw Herbal Extract

 can help you drift into a lovely, deep sleep without making you feel groggy the next day.

Magnesium

This mineral may improve sleep by binding to GABA receptors in your brain and nervous system. GABA is a calming neurotransmitter that helps your mind “switch off” at night. This is key for people plagued by racing thoughts that keep them from falling asleep even when they’re exhausted.[7]

Tulsi

Also known as holy basil, tulsi is a sacred plant in Ayurveda. It has been used for thousands of years to support the body’s natural stress response and encourage restful sleep.[8] Our Organic Tulsi Raw Herbal Extract

 is an effective natural remedy for relaxation and sleep.

Points to Remember

Prioritizing rest can be a challenge, but creating a relaxing sleeping routine helps ensure a good night’s sleep. You’ll wake up energized and ready to handle whatever the day throws at you.

A simple bedtime routine can create healthy sleep patterns. We recommend setting the mood in your bedroom by making it an oasis for sleep to set the stage. Start your routine by meditating or stretching, then taking a warm bath, savoring a cup of herbal tea, and reading a book. Avoid staring at a screen before bed. You can pick and choose which of these works for you, or follow them all!

You may also want to try sleep-supporting supplements like magnesium, tulsi, and valerian. These are some of the most well-known, time-tested natural remedies for sleep.

Do you have a bedtime routine? What does it involve? We’d love to hear about it in the comments!

References (8)

Lai HL, Good M. Music improves sleep quality in older adults. J Adv Nurs. 2005 Feb;49(3):234-44.

Ackerley R, et al. Positive effects of a weighted blanket on insomnia. J Sleep Med Disord 2015;2(3):1022.

Naik GS, et al. Effect of modified slow breathing exercise on perceived stress and basal cardiovascular parameters. Int J Yoga. 2018;11(1):53-58.

Abdullahzadeh M, et al. Investigation effect of oral chamomilla on sleep quality in elderly people in Isfahan: A randomized control trial. J Educ Health Promot. 2017;6:53.

Shechter A, et al. Blocking nocturnal blue light for insomnia: a randomized controlled trial. J Psychiatr Res. 2018;96:196-202.

Bent S, et al. Valerian for sleep: a systematic review and meta-analysis. Am J Med. 2006 Dec; 119(12): 1005-1012.

Abbasi B, et al. The effect of magnesium supplementation on primary insomnia in elderly: A double-blind placebo-controlled clinical trial. J Res Med Sci. 2012;17(12):1161-1169.

Cohen MM. Tulsi – Ocimum sanctum: A herb for all reasons. J Ayurveda Integr Med. 2014 Oct-Dec; 5(4): 251-259.

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A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works

We’ve all been there. You crawl into bed, drowsy and ready to drift into dreamland. But just as you start to doze off, you remember that you forgot to respond to an email. You open your eyes and reach for your phone. An hour later, you’re mindlessly scrolling through social media. It’s now well past your bedtime, but you’re wide awake.

No matter how tired you are at the end of the day, it can be hard to prioritize rest. Whether you have trouble falling asleep or you wake in the middle of the night, the way you approach bedtime can have a significant impact on your sleep.

Wisconsin-based writer Erika Z. knows from experience how helpful a bedtime routine can be. "I wrestled with insomnia for years," she says, "but through experimenting with different techniques, I’ve finally found several remedies for falling asleep without a struggle."

What Is a Bedtime Routine?

A bedtime routine is a series of steps that you take before retiring to your bed that ensures your mind and body are relaxed and ready for the sleep to come.

We’ve created a five-step bedtime routine that can calm both mind and body, preparing you to get the rest you need.

While we find this routine to be very beneficial, you don’t have to do all of these things — pick what works for you.

1. Set the Mood

An important first step in your bedtime routine is to create a peaceful environment for sleep. Turn your bedroom into a soothing sanctuary by keeping it dark, quiet, and at a comfortable temperature. If you have a hard time falling asleep in silence, turn on a fan or white noise machine. Relaxing music played at a low volume also promotes restful sleep.[1]

When it’s time to get ready for bed, put on a pair of comfy PJs and lower the lights in your room. You can turn down brighter lights in your home an hour after sunset to prepare your mind for winding down.

For extra comfort, consider laying a weighted blanket over your bed before you crawl in it. A weighted blanket may boost sleep quality by providing a sense of security.[2]

Essential oils can also set the stage for sleep when sprayed on linens or used in a diffuser. After brushing your teeth and just before getting under the covers, spritz a soft lavender-scented room spray over your bed.

2. Meditate or Stretch

Take a few minutes to center your mind and loosen your muscles. This can make a big difference in how long it takes you to fall asleep. A quick ten-minute body scan meditation is a helpful addition to anyone’s bedtime routine. You can find them online, but essentially, you breathe deeply with your eyes closed, preferably lying down, and mentally "visit" each part of your body, identifying tension.

This type of meditation slows down your racing mind and helps you to locate sources of tension in your body so you can let go and relax. When you finish meditating, doing a few gentle yoga stretches can further prepare your body for sleep.

Doing simple yoga stretches before bed has the added benefit of encouraging you to take slow, steady breaths. This type of breathing can help lower stress levels and reduce anxiety.[3] Even if you’re not a yogi, bending over to touch your toes or stretching your arms toward the ceiling can relax tight muscles.

3. Take a Hot Bath

Bathing is an excellent way to unwind before bed, especially if you use muscle-relaxing Epsom salt. The warmth of the bath can be deeply comforting, both physically and mentally.

Busy mom Kimbra P. is a big believer in the healing power of baths. "Baths are like love to me," she says. Whether you're running around all day with kids, working, or engaged in volunteer work, baths enable you to relax before bed. The warmth of the water eases any muscle aches from the day.

Taking a bath before bed not only relaxes your body but also allows you to slow your mind down and reflect on your day — or your life. When you’re in the bath, you can’t reach for your phone or engage in activity, so it’s a great time to just settle the mind. "Baths allow me to collect my thoughts in a relaxed and measured way," Kimbra explains. You can let go of the day’s worries and prepare for rest.

4. Savor a Cup of Tea

Enjoying a hot cup of herbal tea promotes the release of tension, and the act of drinking it allows you to feel grounded.

"The ritual of wrapping my hands around a warm mug and taking in the scent helps bring me into the present moment by gently redirecting my senses away from home chores or screen time," Erika Z. says.

Not sure which tea is the best bedtime choice? Many brands offer evening blends geared towards relaxation. Tulsi tea is deeply calming and has a lovely clove-like flavor, while chamomile is a traditional choice for soothing frayed nerves.[4]

5. Put Down Your Phone & Pick Up a Book

Playing a game on your phone or reading on your tablet may seem like harmless ways to wind down. However, staring at a screen too close to bedtime can throw off your sleep/wake cycle.

The blue light and EMF (electromagnetic frequency) radiation emitted by electronic devices disrupts sleep by suppressing your body’s production of melatonin. This hormone tells your body it’s sleepy time. Although all types of light can lessen melatonin production, blue light is a powerful disruptor of natural circadian rhythms.[5]

Turn off your laptop, tablet, phone, and avoid watching TV an hour before bedtime, and resist the urge to reach for them. If you rely on your phone to wake you up in the morning, keep it in a different room overnight — close enough to hear it, but not close enough to be affected by the blue light and EMFs. When it’s time to sleep, pick up a book instead of scrolling yourself to sleep. You may find yourself dozing off after only a few pages.

Bonus Tip: Take Supplements, Not Sleeping Pills

If you feel like you need a little extra help falling or staying asleep, certain nutritional supplements can be a gentle yet effective addition to your bedtime routine.

Valerian

Valerian is another herb with a long history of traditional use for promoting restful sleep — and it works.[6] Unlike sedatives that knock you out, Global Healing’s Organic Valerian Raw Herbal Extract™ can help you drift into a lovely, deep sleep without making you feel groggy the next day.

Magnesium

This mineral may improve sleep by binding to GABA receptors in your brain and nervous system. GABA is a calming neurotransmitter that helps your mind "switch off" at night. This is key for people plagued by racing thoughts that keep them from falling asleep even when they’re exhausted.[7]

Tulsi

Also known as holy basil, tulsi is a sacred plant in Ayurveda. It has been used for thousands of years to support the body’s natural stress response and encourage restful sleep.[8] Our Organic Tulsi Raw Herbal Extract™ is an effective natural remedy for relaxation and sleep.

Points to Remember

Prioritizing rest can be a challenge, but creating a relaxing sleeping routine helps ensure a good night’s sleep. You’ll wake up energized and ready to handle whatever the day throws at you.

A simple bedtime routine can create healthy sleep patterns. We recommend setting the mood in your bedroom by making it an oasis for sleep to set the stage. Start your routine by meditating or stretching, then taking a warm bath, savoring a cup of herbal tea, and reading a book. Avoid staring at a screen before bed. You can pick and choose which of these works for you, or follow them all!

You may also want to try sleep-supporting supplements like magnesium, tulsi, and valerian. These are some of the most well-known, time-tested natural remedies for sleep.

Do you have a bedtime routine? What does it involve? We’d love to hear about it in the comments!

The post A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works appeared first on Dr. Group's Healthy Living Articles.

A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.tumblr.com/

[gordonwilliamsweb]

A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works

We’ve all been there. You crawl into bed, drowsy and ready to drift into dreamland. But just as you start to doze off, you remember that you forgot to respond to an email. You open your eyes and reach for your phone. An hour later, you’re mindlessly scrolling through social media. It’s now well past your bedtime, but you’re wide awake.

No matter how tired you are at the end of the day, it can be hard to prioritize rest. Whether you have trouble falling asleep or you wake in the middle of the night, the way you approach bedtime can have a significant impact on your sleep.

Wisconsin-based writer Erika Z. knows from experience how helpful a bedtime routine can be. "I wrestled with insomnia for years," she says, "but through experimenting with different techniques, I’ve finally found several remedies for falling asleep without a struggle."

What Is a Bedtime Routine?

A bedtime routine is a series of steps that you take before retiring to your bed that ensures your mind and body are relaxed and ready for the sleep to come.

We’ve created a five-step bedtime routine that can calm both mind and body, preparing you to get the rest you need.

While we find this routine to be very beneficial, you don’t have to do all of these things — pick what works for you.

1. Set the Mood

An important first step in your bedtime routine is to create a peaceful environment for sleep. Turn your bedroom into a soothing sanctuary by keeping it dark, quiet, and at a comfortable temperature. If you have a hard time falling asleep in silence, turn on a fan or white noise machine. Relaxing music played at a low volume also promotes restful sleep.[1]

When it’s time to get ready for bed, put on a pair of comfy PJs and lower the lights in your room. You can turn down brighter lights in your home an hour after sunset to prepare your mind for winding down.

For extra comfort, consider laying a weighted blanket over your bed before you crawl in it. A weighted blanket may boost sleep quality by providing a sense of security.[2]

Essential oils can also set the stage for sleep when sprayed on linens or used in a diffuser. After brushing your teeth and just before getting under the covers, spritz a soft lavender-scented room spray over your bed.

2. Meditate or Stretch

Take a few minutes to center your mind and loosen your muscles. This can make a big difference in how long it takes you to fall asleep. A quick ten-minute body scan meditation is a helpful addition to anyone’s bedtime routine. You can find them online, but essentially, you breathe deeply with your eyes closed, preferably lying down, and mentally "visit" each part of your body, identifying tension.

This type of meditation slows down your racing mind and helps you to locate sources of tension in your body so you can let go and relax. When you finish meditating, doing a few gentle yoga stretches can further prepare your body for sleep.

Doing simple yoga stretches before bed has the added benefit of encouraging you to take slow, steady breaths. This type of breathing can help lower stress levels and reduce anxiety.[3] Even if you’re not a yogi, bending over to touch your toes or stretching your arms toward the ceiling can relax tight muscles.

3. Take a Hot Bath

Bathing is an excellent way to unwind before bed, especially if you use muscle-relaxing Epsom salt. The warmth of the bath can be deeply comforting, both physically and mentally.

Busy mom Kimbra P. is a big believer in the healing power of baths. "Baths are like love to me," she says. Whether you're running around all day with kids, working, or engaged in volunteer work, baths enable you to relax before bed. The warmth of the water eases any muscle aches from the day.

Taking a bath before bed not only relaxes your body but also allows you to slow your mind down and reflect on your day — or your life. When you’re in the bath, you can’t reach for your phone or engage in activity, so it’s a great time to just settle the mind. "Baths allow me to collect my thoughts in a relaxed and measured way," Kimbra explains. You can let go of the day’s worries and prepare for rest.

4. Savor a Cup of Tea

Enjoying a hot cup of herbal tea promotes the release of tension, and the act of drinking it allows you to feel grounded.

"The ritual of wrapping my hands around a warm mug and taking in the scent helps bring me into the present moment by gently redirecting my senses away from home chores or screen time," Erika Z. says.

Not sure which tea is the best bedtime choice? Many brands offer evening blends geared towards relaxation. Tulsi tea is deeply calming and has a lovely clove-like flavor, while chamomile is a traditional choice for soothing frayed nerves.[4]

5. Put Down Your Phone & Pick Up a Book

Playing a game on your phone or reading on your tablet may seem like harmless ways to wind down. However, staring at a screen too close to bedtime can throw off your sleep/wake cycle.

The blue light and EMF (electromagnetic frequency) radiation emitted by electronic devices disrupts sleep by suppressing your body’s production of melatonin. This hormone tells your body it’s sleepy time. Although all types of light can lessen melatonin production, blue light is a powerful disruptor of natural circadian rhythms.[5]

Turn off your laptop, tablet, phone, and avoid watching TV an hour before bedtime, and resist the urge to reach for them. If you rely on your phone to wake you up in the morning, keep it in a different room overnight — close enough to hear it, but not close enough to be affected by the blue light and EMFs. When it’s time to sleep, pick up a book instead of scrolling yourself to sleep. You may find yourself dozing off after only a few pages.

Bonus Tip: Take Supplements, Not Sleeping Pills

If you feel like you need a little extra help falling or staying asleep, certain nutritional supplements can be a gentle yet effective addition to your bedtime routine.

Valerian

Valerian is another herb with a long history of traditional use for promoting restful sleep — and it works.[6] Unlike sedatives that knock you out, Global Healing’s Organic Valerian Raw Herbal Extract™ can help you drift into a lovely, deep sleep without making you feel groggy the next day.

Magnesium

This mineral may improve sleep by binding to GABA receptors in your brain and nervous system. GABA is a calming neurotransmitter that helps your mind "switch off" at night. This is key for people plagued by racing thoughts that keep them from falling asleep even when they’re exhausted.[7]

Tulsi

Also known as holy basil, tulsi is a sacred plant in Ayurveda. It has been used for thousands of years to support the body’s natural stress response and encourage restful sleep.[8] Our Organic Tulsi Raw Herbal Extract™ is an effective natural remedy for relaxation and sleep.

Points to Remember

Prioritizing rest can be a challenge, but creating a relaxing sleeping routine helps ensure a good night’s sleep. You’ll wake up energized and ready to handle whatever the day throws at you.

A simple bedtime routine can create healthy sleep patterns. We recommend setting the mood in your bedroom by making it an oasis for sleep to set the stage. Start your routine by meditating or stretching, then taking a warm bath, savoring a cup of herbal tea, and reading a book. Avoid staring at a screen before bed. You can pick and choose which of these works for you, or follow them all!

You may also want to try sleep-supporting supplements like magnesium, tulsi, and valerian. These are some of the most well-known, time-tested natural remedies for sleep.

Do you have a bedtime routine? What does it involve? We’d love to hear about it in the comments!

The post A Simple 5-Step Bedtime Routine That Really Works appeared first on Dr. Group's Healthy Living Articles.

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[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

Discover the perfect scent machine for your home or office. Indulge in an aromatic experience that creates a welcoming atmosphere and promotes well-being.

[sherristockman]

Top Four Household Factors That Can Influence Your Cancer Risk Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola The fact that toxic exposures will influence your risk for disease and early death should come as no surprise. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), toxic environments are responsible for at least 1 of every 4 deaths reported worldwide.1 Recent research2 also reveals the greater your total pollution exposure, the higher your risk for cancer. As reported by Reuters:3 "While … previous research has linked individual pollutants to increased risks of specific types of cancer, the current study focused on how the combined effect of exposure to a variety of environmental contaminants may influence the risk of tumors … Compared to counties with the highest environmental quality, counties that ranked the lowest had an average of 39 more cancer cases each year for every 100,000 residents. 'We do not experience exposures in a vacuum but rather are exposed to several exposures at any one time,' said lead study author Jyotsna Jagai, [Ph.D.,] of the University of Illinois at Chicago. 'We considered a broad definition of environmental exposures, which included pollution in the air, water, and land and also (man-made) and sociodemographic environmental factors … We found that counties with poor overall environmental quality experienced higher cancer incidence than those counties with good overall environmental quality' … Prostate and breast tumors were strongly associated with environmental quality …" Four Major Sources of Toxic Pollution in Your Home According to Dr. Lee Cowden, a board-certified interventional cardiologist who has developed an exceptional teaching program for the Academy of Comprehensive Integrative Medicine (ACIM), more people die from cancer treatment than from cancer itself. He may well be correct, considering how toxic most conventional cancer treatments are. Without a doubt, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure when it comes to cancer, and cleaning up your living space can go a long way toward lowering your toxic burden. While the sources of environmental pollution are many, four major sources of toxic exposure in your home are: Indoor air pollution Contaminated water Toxic lawn care Flame retardant furnishings Beware of Toxic Dust Indoor air pollution is thought to be one of the greatest hazards. According to WHO, 92 percent of the world's population is breathing polluted air,4 and the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has warned that poor indoor air quality is one of the top public health risks. In fact, studies demonstrate that indoor pollution levels may be two to five times higher than outdoor levels,5 and poor air quality can cause serious damage to your lungs, heart and other organ systems. The materials found in your home are often a significant contributor to poor indoor air quality. Flame retardant chemicals, for example, commonly found in furniture and carpeting, do not remain inertly bonded within the foam or fabric. They escape in the form of dust. One study6 found every dust sample collected from American homes contained Tris phosphate (TDCIPP) and triphenyl phosphate (TPHP); 91 percent of urine samples from the residents also contained metabolites of TDCIPP, and 83 percent had metabolites of TPHP. Other tests have also shown that 90 percent of Americans have flame-retardant chemicals in their bodies, and many have six or more types in their system.7 Disturbingly, children have been found to have levels of flame retardants that are as much as five times higher than their mothers'.8 How to Remediate Poor Air Quality Considering how impure the air is in most homes, you'd be well-advised to implement one or more remediation strategies. Following are a handful of basic suggestions.9 For even more tips on how to reduce indoor air pollution, as well as the different air purifier technologies available, see this previous air quality article. ✓ Regularly ventilate your home This recommendation is virtually free. All you need to do is open up windows on opposite sides of your home for five to 10 minutes every day to cross ventilate. This will go a long way to help radically reduce your indoor air pollution ✓ Install a HEPA filter in your HVAC system and upgrade your furnace filters Be sure to change the A/C filter every three months, or earlier if dirty, and have your furnace and air conditioning ductwork and chimney cleaned regularly ✓ Use a high-quality air purifier and keep it running 24/7 Avoid keeping air purifiers on the floor to avoid stirring up dust. Ionizing air purifiers generate negative ions that attract and trap dust and allergens. Just make sure your system is suitable for the size of your space. Using too-powerful a system for a small space can lead to excessive ozone buildup, which may do more harm than good. Ozone levels up to 0.05 ppm are safe, according to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration.10 When it comes to air purifiers, as long as they limit ozone levels in your home to between 0.02 and 0.04 ppm, they offer great health benefits, without any the negative effects ✓ Avoid as many household chemicals as possible For example, ditch carpet fresheners, air fresheners and chemical cleaning supplies, and replace them with nontoxic versions. Many cleaning products can be replaced with baking soda, vinegar, hydrogen peroxide, water and mild soap. For a fresh scent, use a high-quality essential oil, which can be used in a diffuser or added to your cleaning solution ✓ Add live plants Studies have demonstrated that plants can improve your indoor air quality,11 removing pollutants by absorbing them through their leaves and roots. Most leafy plants are adept at removing some pollution from your indoor air, but some are better at removing volatile organic compounds (VOCs).12 Among the most beneficial houseplants, based on their ability to clean air and remove VOCs, are jade plant, spider plant, scarlet start, Caribbean tree cactus, dracaena, ferns, peace lily, English ivy, ficus, snake plant, philodendron and bamboo palm13,14 ✓ Consider taking a vitamin B complex Recent research suggests B vitamins can help protect against air pollution.15,16,17 At high doses, B vitamins were actually able to "completely offset" damage incurred by fine particulate matter. In this study, participants received a daily supplement of 2.5 milligrams (mg) of folic acid (B9), 50 mg of vitamin B6 and 1 mg of B12 for four weeks. At these high levels, the vitamins reduced genetic damage by as much as 76 percent, and protected mitochondrial DNA from the harmful effects of very fine particulate matter Water Filtration Is Necessary in Most Homes Drinking water contamination is also widespread, both among those with community water and private wells,18 and aging water pipes add to the toxic exposure.19 The list of potential water contaminants is long, ranging from agricultural chemicals like nitrates — runoff from factory farms — and drugs, to fluoride, arsenic,20,21 mercury, lead,22PFCs (firefighting foam is a major source) and perchlorate (an ingredient in rocket fuel).23 The chemicals used in water treatment, such as chlorine and chloramine, also create highly toxic disinfection byproducts (DBP's). Chemicals from perfume, cologne, lotions, sunscreens and medicated creams24 also add to the contamination problem, and old worn-out pipes deposit lead, copper and harmful bacteria into many people's homes. Since most water sources are severely contaminated, filtering water prior to use is more of a necessity than a luxury these days. If you have well water, it is prudent to have it tested for contaminants. You can get local drinking water quality reports for public water supplies from the EPA.25 Ideally, your best bet is to filter the water at both the point of entry into your home and the point of use. This means installing filters where water enters your home and again at your kitchen sink and showers. A whole-house water filter will last you about three years, costing you roughly $1 per day — a worthwhile investment, all things considered. If your water is from a municipal source, it may even affect your indoor air quality, courtesy of evaporating chlorine from toilets, showers, baths, dishwashers and washing machines. Evaporated chlorine forms chloroform gas and chlorine vapors that may increase your risk of asthma, airway inflammation and respiratory allergies. Open your windows for five to 10 minutes each day to help remove these gasses and improve your indoor air quality. One of the best water filters I've found so far is the Pure & Clear Whole House Water Filtration System, which uses a three-stage filtration process — a micron sediment pre-filter, a KDF water filter and a high-grade carbon water filter26 — to filter out chlorine, detergent byproducts and other contaminants. Are Your Lawn and Garden Toxic? Seventy-eight million American households rely on commercial pesticides for their home and garden,27 and homeowners use 10 times more chemicals per acre than farmers do.28 Ninety million pounds of herbicides alone are being applied to private lawns and gardens each year. Roundup — the toxic effects of which are now becoming more widely known — is still one of the most widely used herbicides. However, there are several others that are just as bad, including 2,4-D, found in many "weed and feed" formulas. As reported by KCET:29 "While farm use accounts for the majority of the poundage of 2,4-D used in the U.S., it's in home lawns and gardens that the herbicide is applied most heavily … In several studies, 2,4-D was the most common herbicide found in suburban areas, and other studies have detected the herbicide in two-thirds of interior air samples taken from households … On its own, 2,4-D exposure has been linked … to … cancers, genetic damage, hormonal and immune system dysfunctions, and the usual range of pesticide-related irritations of skin, eyes and lungs. The National Institute on Occupational Safety and Health (NIOSH) lists several formulations of 2,4-D as known mutagens … [A]cute exposure to 2,4-D causes neurological problems, raising concerns that low-level, chronic exposure may do likewise." Like glyphosate (the active ingredient in Roundup), 2,4-D has been classified as a possible human carcinogen by the International Agency for Research on Cancer, a division of WHO, primarily due to its ability to cause genetic damage. In animals, the herbicide has been linked to low sperm count, male reproductive damage, reduced litter size and cancer. Rather than struggling to maintain a pristine lawn and placing the health of your family and pets at risk with toxic garden chemicals, consider transitioning over to edible landscaping and organic gardening. If you're planting trees for shade, there are many fruit and nut trees30 that can do the job, serving double duty by producing food as well. For suggestions, see Help Yourself! website at commongreen.weebly.com.31 While you're at it, you can be an environmental steward by creating an oasis for pollinators. The Honeybee Conservancy has helpful guidance on creating a bee-friendly garden.32 Weed Out the Flame Retardants The fourth major household source of toxic exposures are flame retardants, which can be found in all sorts of household goods and furnishings. The most comprehensive recommendation is to opt for organic or "green" alternatives no matter what product is under consideration, be it carpeting, furniture, drapes or mattresses. Since most mattresses are treated with flame retardant chemicals and you spend one-third of your life sleeping, your bedroom can be a significant source of toxic exposure. I recommend looking for a mattress made of either 100 percent organic wool, which is naturally flame-resistant, 100 percent organic cotton or flannel, or Kevlar fibers (Stearns and Foster is one brand that sells this type of mattress). There are a number of good options on the market. I've also put together an assortment of wool and silk bedding, including organic cotton and wool mattresses you can choose from when it comes time to replace your mattress, pillows and comforters with toxin-free versions. This is the one that I personally use to sleep on in my own home. Other pieces of furniture filled with cotton, wool or polyester will also be safer than chemical-treated foam; some products also state that they are "flame-retardant free." Be particularly cautious with polyurethane foam products manufactured prior to 2005, as they're likely to contain now-banned polybrominated diphenyl ether (PBDE). Carefully inspect such items and replace ripped covers and/or any foam that appears to be breaking down. Also, avoid reupholstering furniture by yourself as the reupholstering process increases your risk of exposure. Older carpet padding is another major source of PBDEs, so take precautions when removing old carpet. You'll want to isolate your work area from the rest of your house to avoid spreading it around, and use a HEPA filter vacuum to clean up. If in doubt, you can have a sample of your polyurethane foam cushions tested for free by scientists at Duke University's Superfund Research Center.33 This is particularly useful for items you already have around your home, as it will help you determine which harmful products need replacing. Lowering Your Toxic Burden Begins at Home Most of us are exposed to toxic chemicals no matter where we live these days, and many of these environmental exposures we have no control over. Your home, however, is one exception. Here, you actually have a great deal of control — far more so than outdoors, in public spaces and at work. Considering about half your life or more is spent at home, addressing toxic exposures here can go a long way toward reducing your toxic burden, thereby reducing your risk of cancer and other chronic disease. Granted, I've not covered all possible sources in this short article. Entire books could be written on that. But by addressing your air quality, water quality, lawn and garden care, and your furnishings, you've covered significant ground.

[babyoutdoorchair-blog]

3 in 1 Portable High Chair

3 in 1 Portable High Chair - What Is It?

The most essential issue when deciding on a space in your home for a totally free range area is your rats' safety. If you simply rock back and forth, you will receive no results which is simple to do. It can seem terrible with regard to interior decor, but if fixed correctly, it may still be presentable.

A wall oven, fixed at an appropriate height, will be less painful to utilize without needing to bend over to utilize it. You should be mindful when using this machine. You may also receive a charge card machine.

The bench can likewise be a location for you to really sit although you tie or untie your shoelaces. Following are the things which you have to keep in mind while purchasing a massage table. As a therapist, you must be sure the table was made to fulfill the massaging demands of your client. For example, some tables include an electric lift which allows you to modify their height with a foot pedal. Thus, make sure that the table you choose has all of the accessories that are essential to do the kind of massage you practice. On the opposite hand, stationary massage tables need a lot of room since they are heavy and can't be folded. Selecting a massage table that is appropriate for your type of massaging is another aspect which can't be overlooked.

Don't be deceived by the name Lounge, you aren't going to be lounging within this thing whatsoever! Don't worry should youn't have a spare room (I never have), because you can nonetheless make a fantastic free range area. There wasn't any way to effectively heat the large rooms in our previous stone building. You will feel as though you are continuously doing laundry. Lots of new tubs today actually have a scent-diffusing feature. What's more, these toilets do not even bother to wind up polluting the organic water bodies with sewage. Probably well worth it unless you by chance have an additional garbage can around that would do the job.

Whispered 3 in 1 Portable High Chair Secrets

When using bottles, you will also require a bottle warmer. Small bottles are better, as you may discover that baby is allergic to a kind and you must switch to a different item. Dr. Brown's bottles are believed to stop colic.

In which case, you can nonetheless open the door by means of your arm. If a person falls and is close to the door, you are still able to go in and help. As an alternative, you can correct a folding door.

The War Against 3 in 1 Portable High Chair

The hospital will likely provide you with a tiny zip-lock bag full of necessary products. Whether or not you're returning to work right following your baby is born, or wish to develop into a full-time mom, you're going to need a breast pump. For the very first couple of months, baby will hang out in their infant seat at the same time you take them for walks. It's true, you should have a particular baby one. You've got a stroller right there facing you! In case you are picking a high-end bouncer with a lot of extra features then you may even hook your MP3 player so you may play your favourite tunes.

Properly lighted areas will guarantee a secure and secure dwelling. A little portion is going to be blown from the air conditioner's exhaust host. Before you use that, just place a little paper insert at the base of the toilet.

Related Posts:

1. Summer Infant Pop ‘n Sit Portable Highchair

2. Baby Camping High Folding Chair

[hedonisthierophant]

Aching Abyss

Aching abyss

The doctors proclaimed that he was alive, crowed over their victory, their triumph in snatching his fragile form from the jaws of death and conspiracy. Clay wasn’t so sure that he believed them. Oh he knew intellectually that he lived. His eyes beheld what unfolded before them, he was aware of various scents perfuming the air, he heard the constant drone of life around him, he was able to process the flavors of his food, his body was warm, his lungs filled and emptied themselves of air in a regular fashion, his bones muscles ligaments and tendons obeyed his commands, he felt sensation against his skin, and most importantly, his heart beat. This could be objectively verified, all he had to do was press a hand against it and feel its steady rhythm. Yet, despite overwhelming empirical evidence to the contrary Clay felt that he had died during the faithful procedure and what the doctors had so pridefully revived was merely an empty shell, a purposeless, empty husk of a man.

Before the operation Clayton had always looked forward to it as the door through which he would step into his new lease on life. Now he looked back on it ruefully as a pyrrhic victory. The result of a twisted covenant with some deity who was spiteful at worst and apathetic at best, they had given him a new life and in exchange taken away Clay’s sense of being alive. Yes his body was here, but was Clay here? That was a more complicated question altogether.

Clay tried first to explain his situation to his physicians, they assured him that these sorts of feelings were par for the course in transplant patients and would pass in time. Clay next set up a meeting with a therapist, discreetly and through a series of intermediaries. He didn’t have the courage to go on any websites or call any numbers for himself. Instead he delegated what he assumed was the more burdensome task to an assistant, he was certain he’d known her name at one point but since the transplant everyone who worked with him seemed to lose their individuality in a sea of faceless underlings, drones whose existence was based around snapping to his soft commands. His sleek black town car pulled up to an equally sleek glass skyscraper. The glass had been tinted green and was interspersed with frames of obsidian. He mumbled the name of his destination to a security guard in the lobby.

He was directed to the 151st floor, some hopeful, grateful voice buried in the back of his mind spoke with an abrasive cheer and reminded him that he’d never have been able to walk up 151 flights of stairs before the operation, maybe he should just to say that he had, after all he had plenty of time before his appointment. A petulant, bitter, far louder voice simpered in return that perhaps he should and his unfeeling misery and run up all 151 flights until his new heart gave out and he ended up in the ground where he belonged. The loudest most omnipresent voice spoke next, it commanded him to simply ride the elevator instead, this voice was the herald the emptiness inside him, a mouth that spoke for the vast abyss where his feelings had once been. He rode the elevator, contemplating whether this parody of life was the price for cheating death? He had been so afraid of the silence and stillness of the grave he’d never considered the idea that they could be draped over him like a burial shroud before he passed away. As he strode down the hall he was steeling himself for some unimaginable and invasive horror. The things his mother would say if she knew that he was seeing shrink. A much younger Clayton had actually mistaken the word “shrink” for a slur such was the venom with which he heard it passed his mother’s lips. He’d used it as a weapon hoping to strike back at a girlhood called him to fragile to play and had been met with laughter that was cruel and worse yet laced with pity.

He entered an upscale reception area suffused with an aura of enforced calm. Diffused light came from a few lamps that had been covered in simple cloths in addition to their shades. Some well concealed noise machine was causing an approximation of the sounds of the surf to bleed through the space, the floor was covered by an enormous, lush, pale green carpet. A portly woman with mousy hair and oversized spectacles handed him the intake forms. He stared at them, his brain lazily processing words like “health conditions, medications, prior diagnoses, history of treatment, presenting issue, drug use, alcohol use, suicide attempts and ideation,” he stared numbly at the forms wondering what the correct pattern of checkboxes was that could possibly communicate what was wrong with him. After several idle minutes the receptionist looked over “don’t worry about it dear many people find it difficult to put in writing, you just have a talk with our provider and she’ll fill one out for you afterwards, it’s no trouble at all.” His mother was laughing at him berating him for his inability to fill out a simple form, his dawdling would make this person’s job that much harder, he was already inconveniencing them and he hadn’t even met them, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that his mirror presence here was a bother.

This entire endeavor was a mistake. For once his body reacted, his pulse hammered, beads of sweat carved frosty path down his brow, he couldn’t get enough oxygen, he was dizzy, his deal with death had only bought him a minor reprieve apparently, he’d come here to discover how to feel alive again and instead he was going to die in this waiting room. Distantly, some part of him wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. The rushing of his blood and the incessant pain in his head brought back memories of the table and what was left of his composure shattered as it was assaulted by those recollections. He heard a faint whirring, it grew louder as though some angry machine were approaching him. His beleaguered mind wandered if perhaps the Grim Reaper rode a scooter? A powerful voice broke through the chaos within him. He was commanded to raise his head, instinctively he did so.

A woman sat in front of him he thought but he couldn’t be sure, his vision swam, threatening to blur into unconsciousness. “Mr. Beresford?” Hearing his father’s name brought a fresh wave of turmoil it felt as though his throat completely closed, in a few moments it was possible that he might be face to face with his father and bare the full brunt of his ridicule for this display of frailty, for the disappointment he caused his father, for the failure of a son that he was. “Clayton?...Clay?” Someone was calling him, it’d be rude not to respond, he couldn’t be rude he would be punished. Reflexively he fought to bring the image before him into focus. He failed, but he was able to force us stammered “Yes?” past his tremulous lips. His effort was immediately rewarded, “Clay I’m Dr Mensah. If you would like I can lead you in a breathing exercise that may provide you with some relief. Would you like me to do that? If not I would like you to know that panic attacks pass and I will stay here with you until this one does.” Her voice was infused with an iron certainty. Clay gave her a weak nod of his head that was almost perceptible amidst his twitching and hyperventilation. She spoke in a calm voice , “I would like you to inhale whilst I count to four, then hold your breath whilst I count to four again then I would like you to exhale whilst I count to four, and hold your breath a second time whilst I count to four final time. We will repeat the process if necessary. She began to count in a determined rhythm. One… Two… Three… Four. As though he was experiencing this from far-flung distant place he was aware of the ritualized pace of his lungs filling, waiting and then emptying. The chaos that gripped him receded ever so slightly. They completed the exercise twice more.

Clay was finally able to open his eyes and properly take in his rescuer. But he had some difficulty parsing the vision that greeted him. Her voice filled his ears again almost hypnotic in its steadiness and placidity. “I imagine that was quite a difficult experience. Would you like to talk about what you are feeling or would you prefer to rest? Perhaps some water? Clay nodded mutely. She turned away from him and the whirring returned, she made her way over to a low table he had noticed before that had the trappings of a miniaturized café. She retrieved a recycled paper cup from a pile and extracted a glistening portion of water from an expensive looking machine. She crossed the space between them accompanied only by the sound of whirring. She offered the cup to Clay. He reached out and nearly splattered it over the both of them. His hands and started to shake just as he may contact with the edge of the cup. He was already prepared with a thousand apologies ready on his tongue, already hearing a lecture from his mother about making a full of himself. But the woman’s grip was steely and sure. The cup hardly moved despite Clay’s embarrassing flailing. Her expression remained unchanged “may I assist you?” Clay’s face was burning with shame that all he could do was nod unwilling to risk another bout of tremors. With one hand she brought the cup to his lips and placed the other at the back of his neck as a sort of support as she tipped the cup up and he drank in the cool liquid. Clay should’ve been humiliated, should’ve been outraged should’ve been indignant. Yes he given his permission but how dare this woman presume to help him in this way as though he were an invalid or worse yet, a child. He was about to make her regret her trespass with some scathing remark but he was consumed by the thought that this woman was the first person to touch him in months since his mother died. He looked down at her and realized for the first time that the source of the whirring had been the wheelchair that she was occupying. “Would you like to accompany me to my office?” All Clay could do was nod, he rose, his limbs being more cooperative than he anticipated. The sound of Clay’s shoes against the carpet was all but inaudible so close to the whir.

  He followed Dr. Mensah into a lushly appointed space. Gently lit by fairy lights with a single enormous couch arrayed against one back wall. Round the space there were several chairs pointed in the general direction of the couch. The wall was painted a pale green broken up by paintings of forests, mountains, and oceans.” Please sit wherever you’d like, or stand if you prefer. Make yourself comfortable.” Clay obediently perched on the edge of the couch fighting the natural instinct let himself sink into it his mother had disapproved horribly of anything that ruined his posture. The woman parks her wheelchair directly across from the couch, and waits. They sit in silence for about a moment before Clay blurts out the first thing on his mind. “I don’t like doctors.” “Perhaps it would be better for you to think of me simply as Beatrice then?” Again the only tool in his repertoire was to nod . “I would like you to tell me about what brings you in today if you feel so inclined, I got a glimpse of the distress you experience but I’d like more information so that I may place it within the proper context.” Years of being and vandalized and thought of week have left Clay with a bit of a sore spot around being anything less than perfect in the view of other people. He makes an effort to straighten his back even further and speaks in the distant tone his mother had employed when dismissing other people’s preposterous ideas as she so often did. “Distress? You must be mistaken ma’am. I’m fine.” He stares at her impassive face. The woman before him is perched in what Clayton assumes is an extremely high-end model of wheelchair looking for all the world as if she were in a throne and questioning an errant peasant. Her body framed by black leather and paint of the same color. Her right leg sits crossed over her left, giving Clay the impression that he is but a subject addressing a monarch, he hasn’t felt that way since his mother died. She is dressed for all the world as though she is one of the many high-stakes powerbrokers that have surrounded Clay’s entire life. Cream colored pants and a cream-colored blazer adorn her form, Clay’s first impression of her would have been that she was distant and inaccessible, unconcerned with those beneath her but this train of thought was derailed by the decidedly more human touches that graced her ensemble. Bangles that would’ve been out of place in Wall Street office, a tribal necklace, nails done to perfection but not merely buffed and coated in clear polish as was the habit of ladies on Wall Street face painted with only the lightest coding of makeup, a subtle red to her lips and black around her eyes.. Her nails glimmered a soft lavender color and several rings adorned her fingers. Her hair was in locks and gathered into a regal looking knot atop her head, secured by a lavender colored cloth. As they stared at each other Clay felt that he was being examined by some class of being several orders of magnitude beyond his comprehension. Finally she spoke, her voice bathed in a quiet authority, “people who are fine do not often experience panic attacks in our waiting room, Clay.” With that simple sentence it’s as though she’s drained all of Clay’s reserves of hostility. She continues, “I would imagine that this was the first time you’ve experienced something like that, perhaps your standard experience is more that of numbness?”

The floodgates open and Clay imparts to her all the apathy that has infused his existence since it was restarted that day on the table. She listens as he describes feeling like a windup doll merely going through a set of preprogrammed motions, acting alive but not feeling it. He describes the profound disconnect between himself and his emotions. The well of nothingness that has consumed him. She listens without interruption and when Clay can no longer think of anything to say they are enshrouded in silence. Clay can’t bear silence, it was quiet times like this that he hated the most before the transplant. When there were no distractions around and he could hear his own heartbeat. He’d made a macabre game of counting the beats wondering how many he had left before he hit zero. The average person’s heart beat 3,195,648,000 during their lifetime Clay had been obsessed with cardiology as a child after learning about the ticking time bomb inside his chest. He been able to recite all sorts of minutia related to the organ and its functioning, of course a particular attention was paid to transplants and the various gruesome fates that could await poor souls who had no choice but to undergo them or worse yet be denied the opportunity to do even that. Clay had always known with certainty of the doomed that he would experience but the smallest fraction of that instead. People were supposed to live to around 80 and yet it was a miracle that he made it to 22.

Clay imparts all this to Beatrice in the same unfeeling monotone because the crushing silence summons the screaming voice of his mother commanding him to take control of the situation, do something say something, be the performer that she had raised and not the useless lout. It is with a serene tone that Beatrice tells him that all his feelings are be expected from someone who’d been living on borrowed time, with one parent absent in the other abusive, suffered a near-death experience brought on by betrayal, followed by the trauma of a string of losses. Her words were cloaked in validation and understanding, enshrouded in a sincere seeming empathy. Hearing her speak made Clay want to cry but he knew he would be unable to. The session lit a tiny spark of feeling within him for the first time since his rebirth. Clay instantly became an addict, he booked a session next week and mustering what dignity he could left the office bed goodbye to the receptionist and descended back to the mass of scurrying mortals living their lives far below the glittering towers that had made up Clay’s. His town car was waiting at the entrance to the building, piloted to perfection by Mercy. Mercy was his chauffeur, assistant, bodyguard, confidant, and the closest thing he had left to a friend. She wore a simple black chauffeur’s uniform and, her face bare of any makeup, red hair concealed. Since his death he found it hard to trust people, to let them near him either emotionally or physically. Mercy had impeccable references, a degree in management from Harvard. She was proficient in three forms of martial arts and possessed a frightening level of accuracy when wielding firearms. She was the only one allowed anywhere near Clayton, any requests from his father’s company all were filtered through her, she ran his calendar, made all the arrangements for every facet of his day, and so shepherded him through his life. These two women were the light houses in Clayton’s so-called life. Mercy roused him each day, presented him with decisions that needed to be made, drove him aimlessly through the city, provided his meals, kept up with his medication, she was an almost invisible, almost silent, benevolent guardian. Beatrice in their weekly sessions helped Clayton begin to assess the level of damage that had been done to him long before you died. She helped to foster that flicker of life within him. Until he confronted her with a dilemma that he was certain would cause her to leave him.

[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

Why is a scent machine right for you?

When you finally find your signature home scent, you want to make sure it permeates every inch of your house. Scent machines are simply scent diffusers that provide you with consistent, long-lasting, far-reaching results. Let us show you some of the benefits of this ultra-convenient diffusion option.

Boosts the range of overall housing remodelling

Our home scent diffusers atomise fragrance oils throughout your entire place, so whether you're in the kitchen, bathroom, or bedroom, you can enjoy your favourite aromas. These results are especially wonderful in open floor plan settings. If you want to extend the coverage to areas such as a larger house or guest house, a finished basement or a home studio, simply add an additional unit. Or, have one upstairs and one downstairs to effortlessly change the scent of your home in different areas of the home.

Stylish and quiet

Not only is this diffusion powerful, it's also quiet and discreet. It's no wonder resorts, hospitals, professional offices and boutiques use the same scent technology you'll find in scent machines everywhere, and you can wall-mount your diffuser or set it up freestanding. Sized to fit, you can easily mount it on a cabinet, countertop, side table or shelf.

The odour dispenser is easy to move and comes in heavy and light weights. So you can put it out of reach of small hands or paws, or you can put it in a noisy space where it's easy to get it to refill and adjust.

But what about noise? No need to worry about that either. Our diffuser is very quiet.

Super user-friendly

We make setting up and switching perfumes a breeze. Diffusers are easy to programme, adjust, refill and use overall. We also provide detailed and illustrated step-by-step user guides and online how-to videos to get you off to a great start.

So many fragrances to choose from

We have over 210,000 different essential oils to choose from, each designed to be 100% compatible with your scent machine. Set up your diffuser according to what you want.

Choose from luxury holiday inspired home fragrances, seasonal scents, or aromas that will remind you of your favourite places. And because we've paired this diffuser with high-quality fragrance oils, rather than the cartridges many of our competitors use, you can count on stronger coverage that lasts to the last drop.

Order your scent diffuser

Why waste money on solutions that don't last or don't live up to your expectations? A home fragrance is like a perfume for your home. It sets the mood and reflects your lifestyle and personality. It's worth the investment.

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how to use mobile phone remote control scent machine?

Aroma diffuser is an intelligent electronic device, using the most advanced atomisation technology, can be wall-mounted, can be placed, can be controlled remotely by mobile phone, using WiFi or Bluetooth connection, better diffusion effect than the traditional rattan aromatherapy, candle aromatherapy, and better persistence of fragrance, it is the first choice for many hotels, dental clinics, office buildings, housing, airports, spa halls, pubs and other places.

Use aromatherapy diffusers to improve your living standard, attract more people to your shop and make your business smell more charming. Use aromatherapy machines to relax from your tiring work.

Aromatherapy machine is an intelligent electronic device, using the most advanced two-fluid atomisation technology, the essential oil atomised into smaller particles, can be wall-mounted, can be placed, can be controlled remotely by mobile phone, using WiFi or Bluetooth connection, better diffusion than the traditional rattan aromatherapy, candle aromatherapy diffusion effect, the persistence of the scent is also better, is a lot of hotels, dental office, office buildings, housing, airports, spa halls, bars and other The first choice for places.

Use aromatherapy diffusers to improve your living standard, attract more people to your shop and make your business smell more charming. Use aromatherapy machines to relax from your tiring work.

Scent diffuser is an intelligent electronic device, using the most advanced atomisation technology, can be wall-mounted, can be placed, can be controlled remotely by mobile phone, using WiFi or Bluetooth connection, better diffusion effect than the traditional rattan aromatherapy, candle aromatherapy, and better persistence of fragrance, it is the first choice for many hotels, dental clinics, office buildings, housing, airports, spa halls, pubs and other places. Use aromatherapy diffusers to improve your living standard, attract more people to your shop and make your business smell more charming. Use aromatherapy machines to relax from your tiring work.

Aroma diffuser machines offer several benefits, including:

Aromatherapy: Aroma diffusers are widely used for aromatherapy, which is the use of essential oils to improve well-being.  The diffuser disperses the essential oil particles into the air, allowing you to breathe in the beneficial properties of the oils.  This can help to relax, uplift, or energize your mood, depending on the essential oil used.

Stress relief: Certain essential oils, such as lavender and chamomile, are known for their calming properties.  Using an aroma diffuser machine with these oils can help alleviate stress, anxiety, and promote restful sleep.

Improved sleep: Using essential oils like lavender or vetiver in an aroma diffuser machine can create a soothing environment that promotes a better night's sleep.  These oils can help to relax the mind and body, leading to improved sleep quality.

Air purification: Many aroma diffuser machines also double as air purifiers.  They use ultrasonic technology to break down water and essential oils into fine mist particles, humidifying the air and removing airborne pollutants, allergens, and unpleasant odors.  This can help improve indoor air quality and make the environment more comfortable.

Enhanced focus and concentration: Certain essential oils, such as peppermint and rosemary, are believed to enhance focus, concentration, and memory.  Diffusing these oils in your workspace or study area with an aroma diffuser machine can help improve productivity and mental clarity.

Mood enhancement: Aroma diffusers can create a pleasant and inviting atmosphere in any room.  Essential oils like citrus, bergamot, or ylang-ylang have uplifting properties and can help enhance your mood, boost energy levels, and create a positive ambiance.

Respiratory support: Some essential oils, such as eucalyptus or tea tree oil, have antibacterial and antiviral properties that can support respiratory health.  Using an aroma diffuser machine with these oils may help to clear congestion, ease respiratory symptoms, and improve breathing.

However, it is important to note that aroma diffusers should be used with caution.  Always follow the instructions provided by the manufacturer and do not leave the diffuser unattended.  Additionally, consult with a healthcare professional before using essential oils, especially if you have any underlying health conditions or are pregnant.

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The first human sense is the sense of smell, the sense of smell is also the most sensitive sense, a kind of scent that makes you feel the most happy, the most joyful, the most relaxed, like in a 5-star hotel, like in a holiday hotel, so that your life is more colourful.

After your day's work fatigue, you can smell your favourite scent when you return home, you instantly relax; in your busy work, smell your favourite scent, your work paste seems more efficient; in your mood is not good, smell your favourite scent, your mood instantly better. Taste, all affect our life, the stink makes us bored, even disgusted, scent let us relax, full of enthusiasm for life.

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An aroma diffuser machine is a device that disperses essential oils or fragrances into the air, creating a pleasant and calming ambience in a room.  When turned on, the machine releases a fine mist or vapor that carries the scent of the oils into the air. Aroma diffusers are often used for relaxation, stress relief, improving sleep quality, and creating a pleasant scent in a room. They can be a great addition to your home, office, or any space where you want to enjoy the benefits of aromatherapy.

[amber-aromadiffusermachine]

Scent diffuser is an intelligent electronic device, using the most advanced atomisation technology, can be wall-mounted, can be placed, can be controlled remotely by mobile phone, using WiFi or Bluetooth connection, better diffusion effect than the traditional rattan aromatherapy, candle aromatherapy, and better persistence of fragrance, it is the first choice for many hotels, dental clinics, office buildings, housing, airports, spa halls, pubs and other places. Use aromatherapy diffusers to improve your living standard, attract more people to your shop and make your business smell more charming.

Use aromatherapy machines to relax from your tiring work.

our company aroma diffuser have some advantages:

1, mobile phone remote control, WiFi or Bluetooth connection, more intelligent/smart

2、Setting different time period, time flexibility

3、small noise/silent

4, amount of heavy fog，spread the scent quickly

5、Professional after-sales service team, solve the problem very quickly.

6, Provide OEM or odm service, we have professional design team.

7、We are factory, you can visit our factory when you have time.

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Nebulizing scent diffusers are becoming increasingly popular as people seek out effective and convenient ways to enjoy the benefits of aromatherapy. These devices use advanced technology to disperse essential oils or fragrance oils into the air in the form of a fine mist or aerosol, providing a more potent and long-lasting scent compared to other types of diffusers.

What are the benefits of Nebulizing Scent Diffusers?

There are several benefits to using nebulizing scent diffusers, including:

Potent scent: Nebulizing diffusers create a strong and long-lasting scent that can quickly fill a room, making them ideal for those who want to enjoy the benefits of aromatherapy without having to wait long.

No dilution required: Unlike other types of diffusers that require the use of water or carrier oils, nebulizing diffusers disperse undiluted essential oils or fragrance oils into the air, providing a more pure and potent aroma.

Health benefits: Essential oils used in nebulizing diffusers have been shown to have a variety of health benefits, including reducing stress and anxiety, improving sleep quality, and boosting the immune system.

Easy to use: Nebulizing diffusers are generally easy to use, requiring minimal setup and maintenance, and often feature intuitive controls and automatic shut-off features.

Aesthetically pleasing: Many nebulizing diffusers feature stylish designs and beautiful lighting effects, making them a beautiful and functional addition to any room.

Overall, a nebulizing essential oil diffuser or a nebulizing fragrance oil diffuser offers a convenient and effective way to enjoy the benefits of aromatherapy. A nebulizing scent machine can be a great investment for anyone looking to improve their physical and mental well-being, or used commercially for your scent marketing or scent branding requirements.