brysonmaverick-blog

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 This is awesome 👌

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 I think this is great 💖

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keeping you together

i wrote this at one point as part of an oft paid price and i still like it

warning for post-afghanistan tony ptsd

–

Pepper remembers the early days after Tony’s return, and one afternoon in particular when she’d woken Tony after he’d fallen asleep in the kitchen mid-cereal. That afternoon is seared into her memory because it had been the first time she’d been present for one of Tony’s flashbacks. He had startled awake, at least, into what she thought was wakefulness, and screamed in the most horrific way, his hands groping at his chest. She wouldn’t realize until later what it was his fingers were scrabbling at and she had been terrified. “Tony!” she’d yelled, skittering back from him and Tony had gone abruptly still, eyes wide and hopeless, his face shadowed and white with terror all at once.

“Pepper?” he’d croaked.

“Yes, Tony, it’s me,” she’d said and moved closer, close enough that she’d had to bend to look into his face. Her hair had fallen over her shoulder and Tony had shuddered from head to toe, started shaking his head, repeating over and over, “No, no, no, not here, not here, she’s not here.”

“Miss Potts, Mister Stark is experiencing a flashback,” JARVIS had cut in. “Your presence appears to be having a detrimental effect, rather than the beneficial one I’d hoped. I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

And so Pepper had backed toward the door, part of her screaming to go and get as far away as she could, and part of her wanting to refuse, to stand her ground and stay. She had been at Tony’s side all this time, why should this be any different?

“Please, Miss Potts,” JARVIS had said, far too much sympathy in his modulated voice. “Perhaps you will be able to help another day.”

Pepper had retreated past DUM-E, the little robot carrying a cup of ice in its claw, whirring in concerned notes. She hadn’t gone far, heading straight for Tony’s liquor cabinet to take a shot from whichever bottle her fingers touched first. It burned all the way down. Then she had collected her Stark Tablet, set aside her shoes, and started researching.

She’d still been there, curled up on the couch, reading intently when Tony had finally emerged long after she should have been gone. Pepper had nearly jumped out of her skin when he’d broken the silence with, “I know you’re the hardest working administrative assistant in the world, but don’t you think this is overdoing it a little?”

“Tony!” she’d exclaimed, hand over her heart. “Oh my god.” Then she’d seen the time on the clock and her eyes had gone round. “Oh my god, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

He’d grinned at her, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever and his cheeks thick with scruff—he hadn’t bothered shaving since he’d been back. He’d waved his glass at her, sloshing a little of the liquid inside over the rim. “Nah, ’s fine. Place is too big anyway. Too empty.”

Over the years, Tony had said a lot of things to her under varying degrees of inebriation, and she still wasn’t sure what exactly had stopped her this time; perhaps the relief and the uncertainty of having him back, the same and somehow fundamentally changed all at once. Everything familiar new again. Whatever the reason, she had paused, stopped gathering her things and turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Tony.”

He’d swallowed, immediately put the glass to his lips again and tossed back the rest of the drink. “What for, Pep?” he’d said and she’d seen right through his attempt at levity.

“That I wasn’t there for you.”

“No,” Tony had shot back, suddenly fierce and astoundingly, alarmingly sober. “Don’t you dare. I wouldn’t wish that on my—on my worst fucking enemy. Don’t say that again. Ever. Got it?” The intensity in his eyes, nearly black in the low light, had frightened Pepper a little and she’d nodded, mute.

Tony seemed to realize then the ferocity of his response and he’d pulled back, dropped his hand, his eyes. He’d put the tumbler down on the counter with a soft clink and pinched his eyes closed, pressed his fingers into the corners. “Sorry. You didn’t. I’m just— Fuck.” Then he had sighed and looked up at her, weariness written in every line of his face. “Look, Pepper, I'm—Afghanistan kind of—it fucked me up, okay.” He waved his uninjured arm. “More than before. Like, epic amounts of fucked-up. And things are going to be…well, I don’t know how they’re going to be, but a lot of it is probably going to be ugly and a lot like what happened earlier this afternoon, which I’m sorry about, by the way, I should have maybe warned you or something. There was just never really a good time to be like, ‘Hey, so I have some wicked PTSD now and you know how I was paranoid before, well it’s, incredibly, worse, not to mention the fact that I’m having full-blown audio-visual hallucinations of being back in that hellhole! By the way, you might actually be one of my triggers, go figure, you weren’t even there.'” He’d drawn a breath, ready to go on for hours if Pepper had let him, but she’d cut him off.

“What do you mean I might be one of your triggers?”

Tony had frozen then and she could see him replaying what he’d said in his mind, saw the exact moment when he replayed those words and he winced. “Jesus, I’m bad at this. I could really use another drink, do you want—”

“Tony, what do you mean, I might be one of your triggers?”

He’d been silent for several long moments and Pepper had finally given up on getting an answer when he finally said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear, “While I was—I heard…I heard your voice. Calling me. I got these, uh, flashes. Of you, looking at me. Sometimes—sometimes I could smell your shampoo.”

Pepper had blinked at him, stunned. “My shampoo?”

Tony had shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what the hell it is, I just know you walk past me or just get close to me and your hair moves and it smells like—” Then Tony had cut himself off, his expression going very carefully nonchalant. “Scents are powerful.”

Pepper had nodded, her throat too tight to speak because she understood what it was he wasn’t saying. She’d gone out the next day and bought new shampoo and conditioner—new bodywash to be absolutely certain and then had washed her hair three times before daring to go to work. When Tony had joined her in the car, where she was forming her still slightly damp hair into a ponytail, his eyes had widened in surprise. “Is that—you smell different,” he’d said suspiciously.

Pepper had rolled her eyes, kept them focused on the pile of papers in her lap, her hands finishing the ponytail and smoothing over her scalp to check for evenness. “I ran out of bath products.”

Tony’s eyebrows had crawled up his forehead. “All of them?”

“That’s really none of your business, is it?”

And then Tony had sat for a second, staring at her and Pepper had wondered if maybe she’d gone overboard, if it hadn’t been the right thing to do. She had glanced at him, suddenly nervous, and mumbled, “Tony…”

But before she could think of anything to say, Tony had leaned into her personal space, tilted his head and breathed in, closing his eyes. She remembered the way his eyelashes, dark and long, looked against the finely wrinkled skin under his eyes. “I liked the old products,” he’d said, quiet. “But I can see certain appeal here.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” Pepper had replied, voice thick with sarcasm and her heart fluttering against her chest with relief and something else she hadn’t been ready for.

Since then, Pepper has been able to see Tony out of the flashbacks because even if he can’t be sure of her voice, he knows the new smell of her means he can’t be in Afghanistan. Sometimes when nothing else can pull him back, just getting close and letting her hair down can be the tipping point.

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Abused kid things #14

People saying to forgive your abuser because that’s part of recovery and you’re just like….

why the fuck???

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 Just cause 🖖

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 BOOM! 🍻

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Abused kid things #28

Not actually opening up to your therapist because you fear they will tell your parents about it or react the same way as your parents.

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Our future

We stood there, holding each other as tight as our own skin.  Looking at the future, not sure what it held.  It was large and full of equal parts danger and adventure and we wanted it all.  – theAuthor

http://www.drjohnaking.com/poetry-and-art/our-future/

Poetry by Dr John A. King

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 All day everyday 💖

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 Love this 😎

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Me: *goes to sleep and has a nightmare*

Me: literally what did I expect

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Misty Moore Reviews #dealwithit

Misty Moore reviews  #dealwithit  . I was greatly encouraged by how practical Misty found the book, that was my aim.  I didnt want this to be a book by another Dr Firstname Only that promised you unicorn, butterflies and a quick fix.  I want this to confirmed to you that yes your life suck…but it will get better, here is how I did it and if I can make it, so can you.  You can connect with Misty on instagram @mistymae21  Get the book  #dealwithit  – living well with PTSD  www.drjohnaking.com   #drjohnaking ,  #dealwithit

   #dealwithit #stress2strength #drjohnaking 

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 Love it !! 💖

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Are you able to help please ?

I am the proud mother of a wonderful 22 year old transgender daughter. Recently she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, a painful and debilitating chronic illness. There is no cure. I have an L2 compression wedge fracture on my spine with some disks affected by degeneration. I was working, but this injury became aggrivated when I was reinjured in my job (Mental Health Sector) and tried to stop a person I was supporting from being assaulted also. Neither of us are capable of working right now. I am currently on eighty percent of my wages. Bills are piling up, our medical bills alone are almost $200 dollars a month. We have to choose between food or medical bills at times. We constantly juggle what little finances we have to survive. This week we didnt get petrol so I could pick up some suppliments from the health store for her. We both suffer from CPTSD. I am exhausted but I am managing to support my daughter who is living with me. There are days her chronic pain is so bad she cannot get out of bed, or mobolise much. At times even her skin hurts. Our electricity bill is horrific as one of the only things that gives her comfort is long hot baths. We also need to pick up items to make my daughter’s life easier and more comfortable (Pillows, a cane, new supplements, medication,a collection of soft rugs, a walker, mattress, comfortable chair etc) I have never asked for anything in my life. We have no family and or friends able to help. She doesnt want her father in her life, for very good reason, and I respect her decision. If you feel able to donate to us, my daughter’s Paypal is ninjenkins@gmail.com , and we could really use anything you can give. Even if you can’t give, thank you for reading, and if you could please share and reblog this I’d sincerely appreciate it. I have no expectations or sense of entitlement and would not have asked you for assistance if I didnt feel so desperate. I dont know what else to do. Thank you for taking the time to read this

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Fake It Till You Make It

Fake It Till You Make It . Sometimes you just have to get off you butt and drag yourself back on the field of life and play hurt. . You have to fake it till you can make it . Get the book #dealwithit – living well with PTSD www.drjohnaking.com . #drjohnaking, #dealwithit

   #dealwithit #stress2strength #drjohnaking 

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This too shall pass

“This too shall pass.”  Nothing in all the world gives me greater hope than this simple concept. Whatever I am dealing with today is simply a temporary affliction–something that will pass beyond memory with the passing of time.  I sit in a wonderful place in my journey. I can look back at the events that made up my childhood with a growing sense of objectivity. I can see lessons that can be learned to help prevent abuse in the lives of others. I can see coping skills acquired that may help others do more than just survive. I can see strength developing that will help others be strong. I can see weakness and brokenness manifest so I can warn others of the issues they will face.  This can be done because I have come to accept that ‘this too shall pass’.

http://www.drjohnaking.com/ptsd-recovery/this-too/

By Dr John A. King