#And in all honesty he only relapsed during the fall

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

The Grand Treehouse of Maplewing Forest

I’d say that Maplewing Forest falls under the category of simple, pretty, and underrated. In all honesty if you’re not a scenery person, you probably wouldn’t find it too appealing. But for someone who likes looking at scenery, it’s a nice place to check out, take a walk around, and find a place to lie down on a blanket and chill.

To me, I think the appeal of the forest is how the colors scream autumn. There’s a lot of warmth - reds, oranges, golds, yellows, browns - even the climate give of autumn vibes. To experience cooler temps during a hot summer feels refreshing. The heat hasn’t been good to me these past few days at the camp so being out here has been good.

Before heading to the Grand Treehouse, Daisy Jane and I stopped at Rosevine for a couple days to meet up with Team Magic. It’s too bad that Almie and Pippa couldn’t make it but they have more pressing matters at hand that need to be done. What a shame - and bad timing too with Pippa supposed to be going off to college soon - but hopefully things will work out. Truth be told, it’s not really unexpected, kinda like preparing for the worst but hoping for the best sort of thing.

Right now Pippa says she feels okay so that’s a good sign. She also says her doctor’s pretty good so she trusts her fully, especially since she was immediately upfront to Pippa about her latest test results. Nothing is certain yet but the fact that her doctor caught on that Pippa might be heading for a relapse that early on is a good thing. Almie’s been on edge but if Pippa says she’s in good hands, then she’s in good hands. It might mean something, it might mean nothing, but whatever the outcome, Pippa’s bracing herself for what comes next.

It was Mariposa and Hunter’s idea to visit the Maplewing Forest as they both need to gather some leaves and twigs from there. I don’t know Hunter too well aside from how he and Mariposa didn’t see eye to eye on many things at first. He was once part of the coven - the same one Cassie left on bad terms with - as in he’s the nephew of the head, but due to a bunch of circumstances, he’s completely cut ties with them. As in he literally had to flee for his life and had one too many close brushes with death.

The more I hear about the coven, the more I’m convinced that it’s a glorified cult. Willow, Emmy, and Eddie’s parents are associated with that group too - at least their mother still is. No one knows for sure yet but there’s rumors going around that their father walked out and might be planning to file for divorce. The three don’t know anything for sure but they said he’s been making an effort to reach out to them and make amends so it looks like it might be true. For now other than checking in on the kids he seems to be laying low so that kinda confirms it. If so, then good for him.

Hunter’s had it rough, to put it simply. Aside from that, now that he’s away from a toxic and abusive environment, he’s been doing a lot better. For now he’s been crashing with Luna, Skully, and Mariposa and taking things slow. He was gonna run off with one of his uncle’s advisors who deflected with him, only for that to fall through for totally unfair reasons. And it’s not just that guy, it’s a group of other rebels as well who basically dropped Hunter despite the fact that it literally cost him a limb to make sure they made it out alive.

Out of all his close calls with death, Hunter said that one was the worst. Somehow he had a feeling that he wasn’t gonna able to bounce back like all the other times and in a sense he was right. His powers have gone haywire similar to what happened with Luna and Cassie, plus he lost one leg and while the other was spared, it’s been badly injured. To those people, now Hunter’s seen as excess baggage, so they dropped him. The worst part is that he says he’s been through worse with his uncle, not to mention that it wasn’t too surprising considering how they treated Mariposa and Luna.

I’m aware that he’s seen and endured a lot of shit but like wow, this guy’s got it so bad that being tossed aside when he’s no longer useful is considered a good thing for him. Maybe it helped that he kinda expected it - to be honest, he never got along with them so the extent of their connection is using each other as a way out. For someone who’s been through hell - probably literally on some occasions - I think Hunter’s doing all right.

In fact, this trip’s the first time Hunter has left Rosevine since he got there. He would’ve gotten back on his feet sooner if complications hadn’t happened but obviously that’s out of his control. A couple weeks ago he finally got his prosthetic, which was supposed to happen sooner but his remaining leg took much longer to heal than expected. Now he’s able to get around with crutches, which is a huge upgrade for him, and it looks like he’s gotten the hang of them. He says he has to since it looks like he’ll be using them for the rest of his life and he’s accepted that.

That’s part of the reason why Hunter was interested in Maplewood Forest. The wood from the trees not only have magical properties, they’re also super sturdy. Luna and Cassie are gonna help make him a pair of crutches since the wood’s magic is similar to his so not only it’ll help him get around, it’ll also alleviate some of the pain inflicted by various curses he’s been affected by over the years.

Right outside of the forest is a place called the Grand Treehouse of Maplewing Forest. Luna, Mariposa, and Hunter know the two who run the place and they’re an odd bunch. To explain, let me go a bit into the treehouse’s background.

A long, long time ago, the treehouse was once a castle, or so they say. In other words, it’s kinda like a historical sight and the same family has lived there for generations. The current generation is three siblings, Dave, Kanda, and Didi. The three are an odd bunch and not too long ago there was some big drama regarding ownership of the place that blew up on social media when Didi though it was a good idea to publicize the drama in hopes of making people side with her. Spoiler alert it made everyone look bad.

A couple people I know were unwittingly dragged into that drama - Luna, Mariposa, Emmy, and Manda - and in all honesty, it was basically clown on clown type of thing. What happened was that not too long after Kanda turned 21, she and Dave decided to kick Didi out of the business. They were in the right to do that as Didi did absolutely nothing to take care of the place, which was why their parents left it to Dave instead of her when they went off traveling. From what I’ve heard, Didi’s not easy to get along with and she’s basically a spoiled brat who thinks she’s the center of the world. So she threw a fit over the fact that she can’t live off the money her siblings rightfully earned - not that it makes much of a difference since the family’s loaded anyway and the treehouse isn’t actually as lucrative as Dave makes it out to be.

Then Didi makes a fool of herself by complaining on social media, thinking that when she goes viral people will automatically take her side. It blew up and then Dave and Kanda fought back, making themselves look bad in the process. Mariposa and Luna were roasting the three on the server while the rest of us were being amused by the whole thing. Like it’s three grown ass adults fighting like middle schoolers over a treehouse - it’s kinda embarrassing but it’ so ridiculous that you can’t help but pull out the popcorn and figure out who’s gonna self destruct first.

That being said, the treehouse really is a nice place to stay in, but it’s no grand castle. No one knows why Dave keeps plugging the place as something spectacular as if it’s some fancy five star hotel or something when in reality it’s just a humble but charming abode near the forest. After meeting the guy and getting to know him a bit, I get what Hunter and Luna mean when they say he’s a nice guy but also kinda infuriating.

I don’t wanna say that Dave is delusional or a liar but he seems like the kind of person who’s really out of touch with reality. I mean, he’s from a super rich family so that kinda explains it, but it’s like you can’t wonder what exactly goes on in his head. Hunter even went on to say that with all the stupid shit Dave does, it’s honestly a miracle that he’s survived to his thirties, which sounds kinda hard but I can get what Hunter means by that.

Kanda, by many accounts, is very unhinged but is also the sane one in the family. She’s basically the feral gremlin kid who grows up to be a terrifying force so most people try to avoid her. Aside from that, she’s the most reliable out of the three so once you get past her eccentricities, she’s the one who actually gets shit done without overcomplicating things. Not the nicest person to be around but she does keep to her word.

Thankfully I haven’t run into Dave and Kanda too much - good thing Luna warned me ahead of time on what to expect. Aside from that, I’d say they’ve been doing a good job running the place. It’s no grand castle but it’s definitely an upgrade from a motel. The place is kinda in the middle of nowhere but it serves its purpose as a stopping point for those traveling a long way, plus it’s worth checking out for the forest. The treehouse is modest, comfortable, and safe and sometimes that’s all there is to it.

It’s been nice getting lost in the forest surrounded by reds, oranges, and golds. With the weather back home being so hot and humid I’ve been staying indoors trying to stay cool and making sure I don’t hack up a lung or something. If I had to pick a lesser of the two evils I guess I’d pick high temps over humidity because sweat is gross but it’s whatever while asthma exacerbations don’t always resolve itself and I don’t wanna deal with that.

I’ve been spending my time hiking and chilling out on a picnic blanket. After deliberating over it for a long time, I’ve finally gotten started on knitting the ballerina wrap top. So far it’s been going well and raglan isn’t as intimidating as I thought. I’ve also been careful in making sure I have the right number of stitches and aside from one miscount that I easily fixed, I haven’t had any issues.

(Protip: instead of counting all the stitches at once, count by sections where the stitch markers are! Not only it makes counting easier but you also make sure the sections are even as well! I feel like this is basic common sense but for some reason my brain never registered it until now…anyway I should write it down so I remember in the future)

The weather’s so great out here, I could just sit and knit all day while surrounded by maple leaves.

[leothesplicer]

Bee boi Rapture isn’t a good place :( it might have been at first but now it’s just death and more death :(((

It’s fine. It’s fine! Everything’s great! Rapture’s fine. We’re on the up and up. We are.

[olivia-lovecraft]

A Case for Immortality

Olivia traded one dark passenger for another. In the absence of Arcasius, the warden and guardian of her soul, Mortality had become her shadow. Unlike the shadow entity, though, Mortality was a demanding presence. It lingered in the peripherals of her mind and caressed her thoughts frequently. It tainted her dreams and brought new pain to old wounds. She saw its reflection in the world around her and feared its hunger. It was slowly stealing her life from her, hour by hour, day by day, and it could not be bargained with.

Mortality was the shadow everyone shared with Death.

As her morbid thoughts threatened to stain a perfectly beautiful day, Olivia forced herself to focus her attention outwardly. Her fingers brushed along the words engraved upon the display’s placard. Her eyes followed in the wake of her touch, but it took her a few tries to retain what she was reading.

‘The Barrens Crocolisk average a length of between 11.5 feet and 16.5 feet, but there have been specimens known to reach 20 feet and weighing up to 2,400 pounds. Despite their size these creatures are adept ambush predators and can move with near blinding speed when the moment is right to attack.’

Olivia lifted her green gaze from the information card and observed the scene beyond the velvet ropes. Captured with taxidermy, a large crocolisk is rising up out of the artfully designed riverbed with its powerful jaws open. The second subject of the scene was a young zhevra, frozen, terrified, in the final moment of its fictional life. If the snapshot of the predator and prey were to come to life, the crocolisk’s mouth would close around the ungulate’s throat. The enormous reptilian creature was a face of death during its life, but Olivia knew that the true fate of both the subjects of the exhibit was not so natural. They had been hunted, skinned, and then built up again from unnatural materials. They were posed, like any other model, and found their immortality lifeless.

“They are really beautiful, aren’t they?”

When her grisly daydreams were interrupted a second time, the intervention came in the form of a voice soft and deep. The stranger gently announced himself as he moved up to observe the display.

“I don’t think I have ever seen either of these creatures captured with such artistry. It is rather moving scene, don’t you think?”

Olivia put on a smile and turned to address the man, but all of her intent was stolen away as she studied his face. Out of the corner of her eye, his manner, attire, and hair afforded him a familiar presence, but seeing him fully took her breath away.

“Sir Corbin?” She whispered, her fingertips covering her lips as the man stepped forward to catch her from falling.

“I am so sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man whispered while helping to keep her to keep her footing.

The resemblance between the stranger and the man to whom Olivia was once promised was uncanny. So much so that she could not find purchase in reality for several moments. She wasn’t even aware that the man led her to a nearby bench and helped her sit down, while staying close and speaking softly to comfort her.

“Are you alright, miss? Should I call for medical aid?”

When at last his voice cut through her confusion, she could hear that he wasn’t the knight who died several decades ago. His accent was distinctly southern, like that of a Stormwind native. His eyes were brown, and Corbin’s had been blue. His face was without scars, and Corbin’s had been riddled with faint reminders that he was a soldier and a knight.

“I’m sorry. You look remarkably similar to a man I once knew,” Olivia whispered hoarsely. “His name was Sir Corbin Anders.”

A cordial smile spread over the man’s features as he subtly shook his head.

“I do not know that name. I am Father Marek Luxster. Are you alright then?”

He slid down the bench to give Olivia some space but watched her as if her condition may relapse.

“Oh yes. Just startled. Maybe a little tired,” Olivia laughed. “I was daydreaming and didn’t hear you approach.”

A melodiously warm chuckle bubbled up and he nodded.

“I was afraid of that. It is why I tried to announce myself. I am quite taken by these displays myself, though. The artists responsible for these pieces truly capture nature in imaginative ways. Well, at least I consider them to be imaginative. I have never seen a crocolisk in the wild.”

Olivia looked back to the display and hummed pensively. Her thoughts were at war as she observed the predator and prey in new light. As silence stretched out, she gave into instinct and potentially impolite honesty.

“I suppose I really haven’t considered them to be sculptures, but you are right. Artists made them this way.”

“Well, it could be argued that nature made them this way,” the priest corrected.

“No. They died at the hands of humanoids. Guns and traps. I don’t consider such things to be natural in the same way that they are natural,” Olivia remarked as she shook her head. She glanced to the man and found him looking at her curiously and decided to continue. “Artists have made them caricatures of what we know them to be. An ambush predator and its elegant prey. It is a snapshot of what may have been if they had lived on together. But they were taken from nature and brought here to serve their lifeless immortality in a dead zoo.”

Marek turned away to look at the display. Just as it had when Olivia was considering his point of view, silence filled in the space between them. Her sigh broke it only subtly and she started to stand, assuming her macabre assessment had upset the priest. However, he turned and reached for her without touching her.

“I have not seen it that way, but you are absolutely correct. You have a very unique outlook, miss.”

Although he didn’t draw the last word out, Olivia realized she hadn’t introduced herself. She chuckled and took his hand to shake it, despite the original intent behind the gesture.

“Olivia Lovecraft. I am glad I have not darkened your day with my gruesome assessments, Father.”

He stood up as he shook her hand, still smiling.

“Not at all, Miss Lovecraft. It is refreshing to see these things through the eyes of another. I am especially fascinated by your use of the words ‘lifeless’ and ‘immortality’ in conjunction to one another. I wanted to say that it is a contradiction, but…well, it is rather apt, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps it is something I have coined? I consider the things here, in the museum, the relics and artifacts, the legacies and ideals on display, to all be lifeless immortality. These creatures died once, but now they are here. Just like the portraits in the art hall on the second floor, every subject is immortalized beside the artist who captured them.”

His dark eyes gleamed as Marek listened to the woman with intense interest. Again, she saw Corbin in the priest’s expression, but while it made her heart ache, she was strong enough to resist succumbing to the pain.

“I can’t help but feel as though there is disappointment in your tone, Miss Lovecraft.”

“A bit,” she confessed as another sigh betrayed her. “It seems like such a tragedy that immortality only comes as lifeless or half-life existences.”

“Do you really believe that? What about the Elves and Draenei? The Celestials and Dragons? Would you suggest they all lead half-lives?”

“No. But, time has proved that their immortality is imperfect. I suppose, though, that would suggest, like time, mortality is a construct, and nothing can evade Death’s embrace forever.”

“No. I don’t believe anything natural can,” Marek agreed. His lips parted, as if he had insight to offer on the topic, but he was interrupted.

“Father, the curator will see you now,” a young woman reported. She stood at smart attention and waited for him to turn and follow her back from where she came. A subtle sigh escaped the man and he smiled one last time to Olivia.

“It has been very lovely making your acquaintance, Miss Lovecraft. If you ever desire to continue our musings, you should be able to find me here on the weekends.”

Olivia bowed her head, acknowledging his words and their parting in the gesture.

“Thank you, Father. I am sure to return one day.”

Without a nod, the man turned and let the woman guide him back to his business, leaving Olivia to her thoughts, and the case for immortality.

[blackcoffee85]

The Interview

Pairing: Liam × Savi (MC)

Word Count: 1570

Rating: G (Pure Fluffiness)

Description: This interview will serve as part one of the head canon for Liam and Savi.

Author's Note/Disclaimer: Life imitates art... there are nuggets about me throughout this interview. Can you identify which ones they are?

All characters (with the exception of Savi and Sienna) are from The Royal Romance Choices series and belong to Pixelberry.

Tags: @ladynonsense @zaffrenotes @sleepwalkingelite @bobasheebaby @hopefulmoonobject @nikkisha16 @poc-and-gay-choices

“Thank you, citizens of Cordonia, for joining us for a special live taping of Trend Magazine. This special taping is sponsored by Lord Maxwell Beaumont and his new book, The Royal Life. Today, we will be taking an intimate look at our King and Queen, one that gives us some further insight into who they are without the crown,” Ana de Luca smiles at the audience. “Without further ado, I would like to welcome our beloved King Liam and Queen Savi Rhys to the stage!”

From backstage Liam and Savi can hear the raucous applause from the live audience. “Are you ready, my love?” Liam holds out his hand. “With you, always,” Savi smiles at Liam, putting her hand in his as he leads them out to the stage, using their unoccupied hands to wave to the audience as they approach their seats. Liam seats Savi first and then himself.

“Thank you, Your Majesties, for agreeing to this special.” “There are no thanks needed, Ana. We were honored and delighted to be asked to do this,” Liam looks out into and grins at the audience. “I will jump right into the questions. King Liam, I’ll start by asking you the first question. The citizens of Cordonia are aware that you met Queen Savi in New York and that she came from the United States to compete for your hand during the social season, but we want to hear the details. How did you meet Queen Savi?”

“Prior to the social season, Lord Beaumont thought that I needed a break to get away - a “pre-Bachelors Bachelors party,” Liam emphasized with air quotes. “As Lord Beaumont has always been a fan of New York, he rallied Drake Walker, my best friend, and at the time one of my oldest friends, Lord Tariq, and I to go to New York. Little did I know that one of our outings would lead to the bar where I would meet the love of my life and the future Queen of Cordonia.”

Savi adds, “Prior to meeting King Liam, I had been having a rough time over those last couple of months. I had recently graduated from Fordham University with dual Bachelor's degrees in Social Work and Sociology but was having a hard time finding work in my field that paid enough to afford me the opportunity to work only one job. That meant that I was waitressing on the weekends, on top of my full-time career as a housing case manager to cover my living expenses. Before coming into the bar to begin my weekend shift, I had been at my full-time position where my supervisor had released one of my favorite clients from housing due to a drug relapse. I was devastated. When I got to the bar, we were short-staffed, my co-worker Daniel was trying to leave early for his date, the manager was being difficult and I had just spilled some trash I had just taken out on myself. It was a rough night. That is, until in walked the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life. Like, I mean, FINE!” Savi looks into the audience, head cocked to the side. The audience laugh and Liam blushes. Savi continues, “Kind cocoa eyes, beautiful accent, and that smile.” Savi places her hand over her chest, swooning and looks at Liam. “I melted. I just knew there was something different about him and the next morning, I thought, “what do I have to lose?” and I was on a plane with Drake and Lords Beaumont and Tariq on my way to Cordonia to compete in the social season.”

“Oh, my goodness!’ Ana exclaimed, “would you say that it was love at first sight?” Taking each other's hands, and locking eyes at the same time, Savi and Liam blurt “YES!” to “ohhhhs” and “ahhhhhhs” from the audience.

“Next question, and Queen Savi, we will start with you this time. What do you love most about King Liam?” Savi smiles. “His kindness.” Still holding Liam's hand, she gives it a quick squeeze. “Building up to the coronation and immediately following his start as King, Liam had been put through and seen a lot. However, he never let the things he had been through change who he was at his core or how we treated others,” Savi squeezes Liam's now trembling hand while he fights to maintain his stoic demeanor. “The night we met, I ended up serving as the guys’ unofficial tour guide. Liam was more concerned about their experience and whether or not they were having a good time then he was about his own.” Liam smirks recalling the memory of the five of them at Savi’s private spot on the beach. “His kindness, his heart, is what made me fall deeply in love with him and also affirmed what kind of king I knew he would be and is for Cordonia. Plus, you see him, right?” Savi gestures up and down next to Liam’s chair with her hand. “My husband, who is a king, is Fine. He is fione! Liam blushes a deeper shade of crimson, chuckling while shaking his head at his wife before switching back to a more serious tone.

“What I love about Queen Savi is her honesty and directness. As evidenced by the way she just described my looks.” Liam smirks at Savi while the audience laughs. Liam continues, “One of the things that Queen Savi has taught me, as her partner and as a man is the need to be effective in my communication. What I also learned is that while I think it is easy for Queen Savi to be honest with me, sometimes it comes at a cost to her.” Liam pauses, looking at Savi who is nodding her head in approval before he continues.

“It is very clear that Queen Savi is a Black American woman and was not born in Cordonia. When the scandal with Tariq occurred, the Cordonia people made no qualms about some of their racist and specifically anti-Black views. In America, Black women advocating for what they need is seen as something negative. I cannot imagine the toll it takes on her to be authentically herself as a Black woman while also serving as a queen with that level of scrutiny.”

Savi interjects, “I am still working through the stigma of how I was perceived in America and how some Cordonians may still think of me despite the scandal with Tariq being over six years ago. I don't expect people to relate directly to my experience as a Black woman, but I do expect people to be aware of their biases and unlearn them, just as I have had to be mindful of and work to overcome my insecurities.”

“Ana, I'd like to add more one. I'm also in love with Savi's strength. I don't know any Queen who would this honest about who she is. As part of our vows, we made it a point as King and Queen to leave a very different legacy than those before us, even different from my father, Constantine. I could have never imagined that Cordonia could flourish in the way it has over the past couple of years and I am thankful for each day that I get to experience this life with Queen Savi and Princess Sienna.”

“We truly could not have asked for more kind, benevolent and thoughtful rulers, Your Majesties. Thank you for giving the Cordonia citizens this peek into your life behind the castle walls. Our time is almost up, but, Queen Savi, I believe you have a surprise for King Liam before we end this special edition of Trend Magazine.” “That I do!” To the left of the stage, Regina comes out holding the hand of their spirited five-year-old daughter, Sienna. Sienna sees Liam and breaks out in a sprint, Liam standing to catch and wrap his little chocolate drop in his arms. Kissing her cheeks, Liam sits and adjusts Sienna in his lap to face the audience. In Sienna’s ear, Liam whispers “wave to the audience little chocolate drop.” Sienna excitedly waves to the audience and the audience waves back in kind. Ana leans into Savi, “she’s a natural.” “She gets it from her father,” Savi laughs.

“Sienna, we have a secret for daddy, don’t we?” Sienna excitedly bounces up and down, “can I tell him now?” “Sure, baby.” “Daddy,” Sienna turns to face her father. “Yes, Sienna?” Liam beams down on the little girl that shares his eyes and smile. “Can you help me take my sweater off, I'm hoooootttttttttt,” she whines. Liam chuckles, “sure, sweetie.” Liam stands Sienna up facing him to remove her sweater. Upon seeing the wording on her shirt, his eyes grow wide. “Daddy, do you think I'm going to be a good big sister?” Eyes shining, he hugs Sienna tightly and says, “you'll be the best big sister because you are fierce, honest, and protective, just like momma.” Still holding Sienna, Liam stands and pulls his two girls into the biggest bear hug he can. “Daddddddyyyy you’re squishing me.” Liam and Savi laugh, wiping tears from their eyes before Liam puts Sienna down. “Sienna, show the audience your shirt.” Sienna proudly stands facing the audience. 

On her shirt reads, The only present I want to open on Christmas is William Jackson George Rhys. Delivery scheduled for 12/2019.

[dahmer]

no longer my call

michael just broke up with me. outside, by his car, parked in the red outside our apartment building gate. as I helped him load up bags into his trunk. two of which I packed for him the night before. full of thoughtfully selected clothes, socks, underwear, chargers, books, mail, bathroom stuff, and a journal. the journal is one of those “each page has a prompt question” type pre-made journals. a friend, King, gifted it to me years ago as a birthday gift. most of the questions are about “your partner” and relationship type stuff, sprinkled with some “today made my smile because” sentimental wash. the questions are sort of unfair right now, but many would do him good, in my calculations, since he isn’t talking to anyone or handing out time apart in a healthy way. his words. the journal never seemed needed, but upon digging through my many gifted empty-notepads, journals, and writing mediums, I found that this one has found its place for good use. I filled out the first six or seven entries, outlying “my favorite memories with my partner” and “nice things I’ve done for my partner recently/nice things my partner has done for me recently.” 

for my “nice things I’ve done...” I crossed out “nice” and exchanged “for” with “to,” so I could highlight and overview all the pain and damage I’ve caused our relationship since he found out I was struggling with addiction. He discovered my opiate paraphernalia gear that I began barely trying to hide. It was in my clothes basket in the bathroom, and I knew he noticed I oddly had it pulled out randomly for no reason while entering/leaving the bathroom between showers. it’s like I wanted to get caught. I was near or already felt several rock bottoms, at least in the stages I’m at, and couldn’t stand another day of my addiction. It had been that way for months. a year. since the start. but I couldn’t bring myself to telling him. the shame, the guilt, and the paralyzing fear that I’d lose him. that he’d just walk away without looking back.

sure enough. my biggest fears came to pass. there’s no one to blame but myself. this is all from my own toxic behavior and selfish decisions. he left to his parents house immediately after discovering me using. he waited until I left the methadone clinic to start detox, then took off. that weekend was the hardest. being alone at home, left without the man I love. who has given my support, who has fallen asleep in my arms for almost six years, who has been there for me everyday. but to him, it was all a lie this last year. and as I progress through recovery, I understand that more and more. his perspective and position, his pain and hurt, his distrust and disgust, it’s understandable. he grew up in a clean, upper class, wealthy, one percent little south orange county town, and he’s never had to face any real world struggles. showing support in our relationship always reflected what he inherited from his father: how can I give money to make this all go away. he seemed most upset about my addiction in terms of money. the money i would have had. the money that i took when i needed help with big expenses. the money that’s preventing him from buying a house and progressing in society, moving up the social ladder. i understand all that because i understand who i was dating. always.

and i love him. he’s the love of my life. at least that’s how i feel right now. the last 10 years he’s gone radio silent. before that, we only met up once after he left to his parents house. we went to dinner. where he asked a few questions, and i cried nearly the whole time, answering in total and complete honesty. that level of vulnerability is incredibly difficult. sometimes i resented how he took it for granted. as if it were easy for me, yet something he could never even do himself. that’s what came up. my response to him breaking up with me.

i, firstly, brought on myself. he came by to pick up some things, and grab the bags I packed for him that I planned on dropping off the night before. but once he got wind of me bringing it over and having them brought up through his twin brother’s boyfriend (my appearance and involvement non-existent--simply a gesture), he texted me while on my way last night to say he planned on coming over today to grab stuff anyways, so I don’t have to come by. so it’s “easier on me.” My gesture was about care and concern, not convenience. when I saw he was close to the house today, I packed up my work--grading papers--and went to the coffee shop that’s basically connected to our fancy apartment complex. it’s directly across the small street we live on. “The Walk” it’s called, a strip of shops for our big complex, with the coffee shop being the main staple. you can see it from where we exit our gate from our side of the building. I figured this gives him space in the apartment, but if he needed to chat or check in, I’m right here.

i was frankly delighted when he texted me moments after being in the apartment:

‘Hey I’m at the apartment. What are you up to?

I told him I was at the coffee shop. A short, direct response, but I implied the night before I might go there when he came by if he needed space. He said he didn’t, but I was trying to be diplomatic knowing him and the response of “doesn’t matter if you’re around or not.” He responds with a shorter “For sure.” i wait a few minutes and inform him i’ll swing back to the apartment if he wanted to talk or anything, or he’s welcome to join me at the coffee shop--I’m “at a two seater table.” iMessage never shows he read the text, so I assumed he was busy gathering his belongings. about 10 minutes later and michael appears, asking if he can take the empty seat. no hug or formal greeting, and i almost laugh at the question. “of course.” his eyes glance me over and i detect immediate disappointment. i even point it out quickly, but he dismisses it. i can be a little confrontation. aggressive. but its been 10 days since he’s spoken to me, and before that, little texts that he ended quickly with no intent to maintain dialogue. there were many words exchanged at the dinner date during our last meet--the only one between today and when he left at the start of my detox--but what kept ringing in my ear after that dinner, despite all the kind and ambiguous words were: “I’m still trying to decide if I want to be in a relationship with you.” I know that trust is hard to rebuild, and only able if both parties are committed. i was aware of his doubts, keen to his hesitations of commitments to serious, non-monetary issues, and drowned in the radio silence as of late.

we exchanged basic questions at the coffee shop. his answers were often positive, but felt a little forced. and his face keep drawing this down glare--giving off impressions of disappointment and disinterest. i knew seeing me again would not be all that he wanted. i hadn’t made significant progress at the gym yet, i could be eating healthier, i’m under stress from work, and i’ve been depressed on and off about our situation. on the bright side, i’ve been working hard at recovery. and trying to think about what this is like for him, and be understanding to that. i’ve had to take low dose benzos to fall asleep each night, and regretted that last night because it makes my eyes droopy, and michael always said the one thing he can tell that i’m on by still looking at me was xanax. even though it was the nice before in lose dose as instructed in treatment, i’ll always wonder if maybe that played a factor. the half-life the next day, still dampening my appearance. an appearance already i didn’t feel confident of next to him, with hopes and expectations of this just going all away--as stated during our previous dinner meeting 2 weeks prior.

we asked adult questions. about work. my classes. his family. my family. my recovery, but he jabbed a little mock at me wanting to call it that. he asked if i was still “on methadone,” i tried to explain that this was a treatment option that yielded the highest success rate for some, and i’ve already experimented and failed with others. but i don’t think he likes the idea. understandably. as much as i hoped my sister-in-law, who was coaching him over the phone before he even confronted me, after finding my gear, had explained the positives of methadone. but i know they’re not fond of medication assisted programs, and even though i hoped it would inspire him to research more, which i know his has, i don’t think he’s stumbled upon the vast outdated and bias, outworld thinking of this epidemic. i wish i could show him this HBO documentary I just watched. there was a post short film that discussed recovery options. i quote some stats, about 75% of medication assisted treatments prevent relapse, compared to the 90% fail rate of most other treatment options. a 10% success rate means i’m being smart about how i go about it. but not sure if that translated well.

our conversation was brief. he ended up after about 10 minutes, checking his iWatch several times. the universal gesture of wanting to leave. i offered, but he dismissed that was the case initially. but then said he’d “let me get back to work.” before he left, i mentioned how i wanted to see this film, beautiful boy, on a date. a ‘by myself’ date, but implicated i would enjoy company. the subject matter was relevant to what i’m going through, and one of the rare early screenings happens to be in Irvine not too far from where he lives--opening this Friday. i dangled it out there to gauge interest. he didn’t bite. just noted how “yeah, I think I saw the trailer to that.”  

[more later]

[kyaappucino]

Where Did The Party Go

Pairing: Hakyeon/Taekwoon

Words: 1,938

Rating: PG-13

Summary:  If a doctor opened his chest right that minute–he wouldn’t be surprised if Taekwoon’s name was imprinted over and over again. And yet…no matter how much his body ached, his hands ached to touch–he was kept at a distance.

Notes: Written from Hakyeon’s point of view. I hope I wrote Hakyeon with enough honesty.

Warnings: mentions of sex, hungry Hakyeon is hungry

“We’re luckier than most, my Hakyeon.” That’s what his mother always said when people would fight over him.

Constantly admired and mocked for how he looked: a misfit with tan-colored skin, sinewy limbs and a waist so small it bordered on girlish.

The first time he feels untouchable by the teasing is when his mother signs him up for a summer dance class. Standing on a raised platform and surrendering everything for the sake of the music and for the performance–that was when Hakyeon felt the most right.

So when the kid from Changwon makes it into Vixx, made as a leader of the group–he’s surprised and ecstatic. Scared that he’s responsible for five other lives, five boys who are equally wide-eyed and unsure of everything. Ecstatic because it’s his dream to sing and dance in front of an audience—always has been, always will be.

They need each other, and he’s determined to make it work. They crawl into the limelight with their songs and feel their hearts flutter when people buy their albums, when they hold their first fanmeet.

It’s for them, and for each other that they work, losing sleep and foregoing food in the name of making their fans–their precious Starlights–proud of them.

When they finally win during Voodoo Doll they allow themselves to swell up with love and pride (repaid their fans’ love and unwavering hearts with chicken) and Taekwoon embraces him for the first time, crying so hard he can’t even whisper—that’s when, Hakyeon thinks—that’s when he fell in love with Jung Taekwoon.

+

It takes awhile before Taekwoon warms up to Hakyeon again. After that evening of watching the younger boy embrace his SpongeBob doll tightly and moving back each time Hakyeon moves forward—that’s the thing that gets him the most. How Taekwoon doesn’t want to touch him, doesn’t want to do anything to him. All he gives Hakyeon is this distance, a gaping maw of sadness and disappointment. He supposes its punishment.

“I don’t understand.” He says again during the next night, cold and empty despite having the comforter pulled up all the way to his chin. Taekwoon says softly, “I want to be the only one.” As long as Hakyeon comes home bruised and bitten with the scent of another’s cologne on his body, his neck, his heart—Taekwoon continues to back away from him, even during the daytime.

He’s had to endure breakfasts where Taekwoon’s eyes are pointed elsewhere, his laughter swallowed up, words clipped whenever they locked eyes.

He’s burning for Taekwoon, needs his touch to function properly. But all Taekwoon ever sees are the marks others have left on his body–never seeing the mark that Taekwoon burned into Hakyeon’s heart.

If a doctor opened his chest right that minute–he wouldn’t be surprised if Taekwoon’s name was imprinted over and over again. And yet…no matter how much his body ached, his hands ached to touch–he was kept at a distance.

That’s what hurts Cha Hakyeon worst of all. So much that he needs to leave, needs a warm body to press kisses all over his bare chest, so he can pretend it’s Taekwoon. He’s lost count how many times he begged his partners to bite him harder, until the pain squeezes all the desire he feels for Taekwoon, until all he can utter is Taekwoon’s name as his hips are assaulted, bruises dotting his body all the way to his neck.

It was like trying to wean himself off of a potent drug and committing a relapse each time.

“You really have it bad for this guy.” His latest partner is a lawyer with hair darker than a raven’s wing. His eyes were what sealed the deal–they were sharp, missed nothing and he didn’t particularly care that Hakyeon doesn’t even know his name.

Hakyeon chooses not to comment and goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth when they’re done. When he comes back he stares at his partner of the evening and says “Yeah. I really do.”

“Does he like you?” The man asks as he gets out of bed and opens a window, lights up a cigarette. Hakyeon frowned. “Would I be doing this if he did?” There’s a shrug and the smell of vanilla-scented smoke as it drifts outside, to the lit streets of Seoul. “Do all your partners mind that you keep screaming for this guy?”

“They all know.” He thought of all the boys and girls who’d seen it fit to punish him for calling out for someone else, someone that wasn’t currently in bed. He swore it was like second nature now, calling out Taekwoon’s name in the heat and haze of pleasure. The intensity of want and shame filled him to the core and he thought, “Why am I still doing this?”

For the first time in his life, Hakyeon wants to disappear. He grabs his clothes and prepares for the long walk of shame back to the car, back to the dorm.

+

So when Taekwoon was the one who started pressing into his back, when Taekwoon declared his love for Hakyeon–well. Hakyeon had been fucking over the moon. It was like a dream, touching the smooth planes of Taekwoon’s chest, nuzzling into the column of his neck and tasting body wash and salt and feeling so, so hungry.

Everything he’d ever wanted, but he knew that his heart’s friend–your lifelong friend, he kept reminding himself as he spoke to interviewers and forced himself to hold onto another member–might just run for the hills if he tried anything.

He tried to find a solution, really. Hakyeon cuddled Taekwoon until he felt that he would burst with want and left to find the nearest body to fuck, until he felt drained of all the desires to touch Taekwoon. If he didn’t return to the dorms sated and sleepy, he was terrified of what he would do. Of what he wanted to do. He desperately wanted Taekwoon to be comfortable and didn’t want to pressure him into anything.

In the end, Hakyeon just craved Taekwoon’s touch and when the younger boy would push him away, whispering “…someday…” the fire inside Hakyeon just kept burning brighter and hotter and he just needed release.

He always got it, because Hakyeon never really asked for anything–but the thought of Taekwoon’s sad eyes and empty smile lingered afterwards. Instead of feeling indignant, that he and Taekwoon didn’t really have a serious relationship Hakyeon felt shame blooming on his cheeks, over his heart.

Taekwoon deserved more than a boy who just wanted, a boy whose hips would sway and grind, a boy who searched for fingers that would mark him—long and spidery, like Taekwoon’s.

Taekwoon deserved the world and Hakyeon couldn’t give it to him clean. He wanted to give the younger boy the chaste, pure love he seemed to be searching for.

But it often meant that someone else had to throw him down onto rumpled bedsheets before he was devoid of all the things he wanted to do to Taekwoon. And whenever he came back, lips swollen and body bitten (but his desire is full and the thought of Taekwoon lying back on his side of the bed is no longer as erotic) he had to face the sad eyes and the widening gap as the main vocalist refused to be touched.

The mountain that Hakyeon climbed just to be closer to Taekwoon came back, taller and sturdier than ever.

So when Taekwoon tells Hakyeon “I hope you’ll stop sleeping around,” all Hakyeon thought was, “If I can’t touch you I’m going to fall apart.” What he actually asked was, “Why don’t you forbid me?” It wouldn’t have been the first time, really. The difference being, after this he usually wanted to let go, to break up.

The answer he got was surprising, and Hakyeon could feel the sadness coloring Taekwoon’s soft, soft voice.

“Because I want you to choose not to do it, Hakyeonnie.” This boy was just full of surprises. Hakyeon whispers in a broken voice, “What if I keep doing it, Taekwoonie?” He just wanted to know how high the stakes were, how much Taekwoon was actually willing to risk just so Hakyeon would try.

“Then…you can’t touch me.”

He thinks he’s going to combust.

+

Touch is important to him. It’s how his family—how he—expresses their love. He isn’t used to this, not used to the introvert contented to sip a cup of coffee and eat beside him with a soft smile that makes Hakyeon so, so hungry.

He wants to keep touching Taekwoon, wants to be allowed to come closer. The other members keep asking him if he’s all right. Hakyeon plays it off as stress due to his busy schedule, the lack of sleep making him restless.

One night after filming for his web drama, he goes straight home, enters the dorm taut and hungry for his roommate, a burning desire that nothing else can quench. He’d received invitations to another party, but he turned them down saying softly, “I need to go home. Somebody’s waiting for me there.”

It’s probably the most honest he’s been in awhile.

He comes home to Jaehwan and Hongbin on the couch, iPad in hand and sharing earbuds. “Hyung!” They both smile. “You’re home early.” Hakyeon smiles tiredly and pats their heads as he walks towards his bedroom.

“Filming finished early. What are you doing?”

Hongbin holds up the iPad and says, “Monitoring. Everyone else went to their rooms.” Hakyeon yawns and replies, “That sounds like a good idea. Don’t stay up too late, you two.” Jaehwan winked. “Of course not, hyung~” Hakyeon laughs and as he nears his bedroom door, he hears a slight sucking sound, and shakes his head. “At least wait until I’m inside!” He called out, and there’s a resounding “Sorry mom!” from the living room.

He opens the door and Taekwoon is there, lying on his side of the bed. Eyes him fully and when Hakyeon strips his chest bare, free of bite marks—there’s a small smile on his lips. He walks over to the closet to find his sleeping shirt and is surprised when Taekwoon’s arms wrap around Hakyeon, the main vocalist’s head nuzzling into the back of his neck.

He’s pretty sure he smells a lot like sweat and whatever dinner the staff gave him before he left for the dorm, but that doesn’t seem to matter. His senses are on fire and there are goosebumps on his arms, on the back of his neck as Taekwoon breathes in and out, his breath smelling of toothpaste.

“You’re home.”

It’s so simple, but enough to make him cry. “Yeah…I’m home.” he says softly as Taekwoon holds him in place, arms tight around Hakyeon’s middle. He still wanted to touch Taekwoon–all of him–but somehow this was more intimate than being fucked. The fire inside of him dims until it’s nothing more than a quiet flame, small and soothingly warm against his chest.

Hakyeon feels Taekwoon’s heart against his back, and it’s beating quickly, mirroring his own. He chuckles and says softly, “I make you nervous?”

Taekwoon whispers back, kissing his shoulder, licking the sweat gathering at the base of his neck, “You always have.” He feels one of Taekwoon’s hands leaving his waist and he breathes out a soft whine, trembling.

“Soon,” Taekwoon promises as he pushes one of Hakyeon’s white shirts into his chest.

When they sleep that night, there is no gap between them.

[anxiously-articulated-art]

My Letter To You That You’ll Never Get:

I’m gonna fucking miss you. Not only because I love you with everything in me but because you were also my best fucking friend. The one person I wanted to call at the end of the day. The one I wanted to share everything with. This is what I feared most. Losing you all together. We travelled the world together. We raised a beautiful fur baby together. We were figuring life out and doing really good. Or so I thought. And one day it all just stopped. The love. The laughs. The romancing. Instead it was replaced with anger, resentment and ridicule. One day I no longer saw love in your eyes. I saw resentment. Annoyance. And my heart shattered. I know you said you never cared about me. But I don’t believe that. The moments we shared. The passion. The tears. The hugs. And it fucking feels like fire that you deny all of it. That you killed off your feelings for me. 

I know I go against everything that you’ve always known. Financial security, vanity... I’m a goofy looking dude. And I don’t have the security you want. But you knew this from the beginning when you were my best friend. You knew I was transitioning to be a man and the hardships I suffered prior. The history with my exs and family. My deep rooted trauma. How do you get into a relationship with me knowing all of that? And at the end of the day its the very same reason you left me. You talked about marrying me. You were sending ring ideas to my sister, connecting with my grandma and my nieces and nephews. Telling my grandma that you want me to put a ring on it. AND your family. Taking me costa rica with your family for the holidays, look into moving out of state with me, talking about getting your eggs frozen for surrogacy and DECIDING ON A LITTLE GIRLS NAME WITH ME (ROWAN- Ill never fucking forget), just to fucking leave me when I catch you stepping out line on our relationship. 

Like do you resent me because I was more of a hoe than you during my time being single? are you mad at me that I didn’t stop us from dating or moving in together? Because you wanted time to hoe around? Or are you really that shallow and transphobic that you cant date a transgender that you practically planned an entire life with and raised a fur baby with and DECIDED ON A FUTURE CHILDS NAME WITH. O FUCKING K. Doesn’t make fucking sense to me.

But I also realize that with the stress of trying to fit in the life you wanted me living, I was self destructing and it was contributing to the end of our relationship. I was so unhappy being that sales man you wanted me to be so I could provide financial security. I was upset that I no longer had lacrosse. I wanted to find a different path in life. And every time I tried to travel that road we would just butt heads all the time. I became angry that all you cared about was our image, I  had no idea what I was walking into in terms of financial upkeep regarding our relationship. And little did you know I sold most of my prized possessions and committed horrible crimes to attempt to finance our lifestyle. I was drowning. And I became angry and stopped loving you in your love language. I stopped listening to your soul because mine was ravaged and chaotic. I stopped loving you tenderly. I stopped making you feel like my world. And I was wrong in that. And you know I will always own up to my shit. In fact I expect you to call me out on it, it was foundation to our friendship. It’s why I fell in love with you. Calling me out for treating a homeless man poorly. And the time I talked to rudely to the natural grocers employee. It’s the reason I loved you. You always pushed me to be a better man. Then one day it stopped. And you starting just making different choices. You were fighting people when the girl I met would have handled it like an adult with a conversation. I don’t know what happened. 

I know you suffer from crippling mental health issues. But those were never the problem in our relationship. I would have never loved you any less. And I would have done what ever was necessary to make sure you were okay. You made me promise after therapy together that if you got worse that I would take care of you. AND IM SO MAD I CANT RIGHT NOW BECAUSE YOU DECIDED THAT I WAS DISPOSABLE.

I’m angry because you disregarded everything about our relationship. and that shit felt REAL to me. Even to this day I still love you with the same passion and intensity as the day I first met you. I’m angry that I was so easy for you to drop. That my family was so easy for you to disregard. That our little family was so easy for you to throw away. I’m angry because all I wanted was a conversation. Honesty. Transparency. Everything we always promised to each other since DAY 1 of our friendship. I’m angry because I gave you so many outs. I offered you so many other options and solutions. But you chose to stay committed to me and make me believe we were really doing this life thing together. Only for it to literally fall apart within hours. 

Like I watched you almost die. You almost died on me trying to lose weight because of the pressure you feel from your family and the society you grew up in. My heart was broken. You will never know how many times I cried in the shower after that day. You will never know how many times on my drives to work early in the morning I prayed to god he would help me keep you safe. And I still pray to him that he keeps you and lincoln safe. I pray every single damn day.

And I think of you both. Every day. Every morning. Every night. Almost every fucking moment of the fucking day. And its nauseating. Doctors basically gave me horse tranqs so I could function without losing my shit. And I’m doing all of this to prevent myself from relapsing. I told you if we ended that I’d probably never move on and dive back into drugs and die in a ditch somewhere ODed or something. Well I’m doing the exact opposite. I’m getting in shape. Getting rid of my debt. Finding a good paying gig that I am actually happy with. Getting involved in the community and staying sober. I’m taking care of myself because you once told me “ I can’t bury another love ya know?”, you wanted me to take care of my body to prolong my inevitable demise. And you even promised me you’d be there in the end pushing my wheelchair. 

And because you told me that you were mad at me once for not giving you your “chance” with k****. And you asked me “well what if I was happy with her”... because your lesbian label means everything to you. And I knew this time I just had to let go. And cut my losses. Lincoln. My collection of books. My art. My family. You. Like there was no reasoning with you. You just hated me and wanted to spit hate at me any chance you could and I truly didn’t understand why you hated me so much. I was the one who got cheated on. More than once. And forgave you. Were you mad just because you got caught? How long would have kept that up if I hadn’t know? How long were you going to toy with me? Did you actually mean your final words you said to me? Is this how you wanted it to end? 

And like, I’m not even mad at you. I just want to understand. Because I meant what I said, I love you so much I’ll do anything to make you happy. And I truly want you to be the happiest ever in life. And I understand why you do the certain things that you do. I saw first hand the trauma you experienced your whole life. And I am so sorry. I didn’t know how to help. I didn’t know how to handle things. Maybe I was too emotionally inept to truly understand your world and I can’t apologize enough for that. I’m sorry my transition affected us as much as it did. Not a single day goes by that I wish it hadn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you the best towards the end. I recognize that. And I wish I could have corrected my behavior sooner. I wish I handled things differently. I wish at the end I would have reminded you more about how much I love you and I want the best for you rather than radio silence. Because then maybe we could have closure.

But I’ll never know. Because I will never be the one to reach out to you. And I doubt you’ll ever try to contact me. 

Just know I will fucking miss you. And lincoln. Give her my love. And I wish you the best. 

I will always love you. I’m sorry.

Your root. 

Logan

[tinyshe]

“Relapsed back into addiction after 8 years sobriety. I had also been a Christian for 8 years. This is the only song on my album Gold written during active addiction. Gold is an album written in hospital and later released in the hope it might inspire and encourage others to be emotionally transparent  and raise mental health and recovery awareness.   Written when I was utterly broken, I was very ill with undiagnosed PTSD from childhood trauma and trauma when I was homeless in my twenties. I had kept these things secret in fear of rejection from my family, church, friends etc. But, we are only as sick as our secrets. I was slowly falling into a deeper pit of despair and I turned back to the temporary relief of alcohol and prescription meds because I didn’t know how else to ease the pain. It didn’t work. Our lives imploded and I lost everything. I know God loves me; I know what he did for me; and yet I hated myself and was holding onto my guilt and shame. I couldn’t figure it out; I turned back to alcohol because I couldn’t bear the stress and pain of the mental images from abuse I’d suffered. I didn’t know what I know now. I was so lost in the depths of mental health I felt exactly like, if not worse, I did when I was a homeless 25 year old man in the midst of addiction. This was before I was a Christian. Wrapped up in so much anguish, lonely beyond belief, mad as a hatter, and suicidal, I felt hopeless. Wrapped in my own brokenness I couldn’t connect to God no matter how hard I tried. I FELT like I’d lost my salvation. I was convinced I was going to hell. This might make people feel uncomfortable but it’s how I felt and thought at the time. I was convinced. But I was very ill. I’ve never been a Theologian (I’m a songwriter) but I am aware the theology police will likely jump on some of the allegorical lyrics, but it’s a representation of my desperate emotional state before nearly losing my life in January 2016.  Hopefully that’ll clear up any confusion; some folk really pick up on these things. I finished the song later in the year reflecting on psalm 23. I came to realise God had never left me and walked with me through all the pain and into my physical, mental and spiritual recovery. I am so grateful for this. Becky Dawson dances in the video. She has her own testimony of Gods Grace in her life. I applaud my sisters freedom of worship and expression for the Lord in dance. The truth is, even as Christians we can veer off the path. We can then convince ourselves it’s all over and hopeless. But even during my convictions God was faithful and took me on a journey to emotional transparency, honesty, and smashed through the shame and guilt that was never mine to carry. Thank you Jesus for the gift of music. For the ability to sing about brokenness. For making the way to healing and wholeness in You.” 

--Steph Macleod

[l0st-h0p3]

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

I see it.

I’m on the tip of the ice berg.

Slowly it’s melting beneath my feet.

Soon I’ll be crumbling & crashing down.

Shes back. She’s here. I feel her. She’s near.

So last little update since I last wrote. I kinda decided I wanna treat this platform as my safe space. A place where I can vent and complain about my life because sometimes you just fucking gotta let that shit out man.

So I left off with the eating disorder shit so I wanna talk about that because I’ve been stressed the fuck out.

I guess there’s no simpler way to put it... I’m relapsing. It’s been day 3 of restricting and today has been the worst because it was the easiest and now I’m in deep waters.

Today I got a trigger drink. I really do hate that word but it’ll make sense in a second. So back when I was in beauty school I got really really bad I was like 89-90 lbs. All I ever did was drink a dangerous amount of coffee & espresso & eat the same food everyday because it fit in my calorie amount. In that time I was eating 500 calories a day. I guess it was really bad then because I was dating an alcoholic/drug addict and he was mentally, verbally & sexually abusive. After he raped me several times I lost all control of myself and literally diminished into nothingness.

Ok so my trigger drink. I got an iced Americano. If you don’t know what that is it’s 4 shots of espresso with water. I get it black. So because it’s so strong I take small sips throughout the day and I realize I’m not hungry at all.

During the week I normally work at 12 or 1 til close which is anywhere from 8-9. But we all know in the salon world you leave when the last client is finished. So I never eat in the mornings because I’m never hungry. So I come home at 9:30 , smoke a half of a blunt & eat some snackers from Olga’s.

It’s not 12:55 am and my stomach is growling yet I’m not allowing myself to eat. Part of me is like “no don’t fall backwards you made so much progress.”

But I don’t care. I hate my body. I don’t like how I look I feel and look ugly. I’m not comfortable in my own skin and I miss being petite, skinny and tiny.

So I’m an assistant at a salon & spa so I work under the head stylist. She had this client today that was clearly anorexic. Her arms were sooo thin you could snap them like a pencil.

Now some normal persons initial reaction would probably be something like “oh wow she’s so skinny, she needs to gain some weight.”

But what was my initial reaction? Pure jealously. Pure rage. That I couldn’t let myself get to her point because I was too weak.

So I don’t care really right now if it’s my eating disorder talking or if it’s me... maybe it’s both or maybe we are one by now. I mean it’s been 11 years already... what’s 11 more right?

I swear my ED is just a drug I can’t seem to get away from. I love & hate everything about it. It’s a journey filled with endless pain & eternal sadness. You don’t realize what you’re doing to yourself until you step away & look at the big picture and you’re like “fuck maybe this is a problem.”

And the worst part is I even went out of state for treatment and everyone around me thinks I’ve magically recovered because that’s what I want them to think.

Nobody knows I’m relapsing.

I think my disorder is kinda like an addiction. It makes me feel safe and like I have control. I’m terrible with or without it. No matter how hard I try I always end up back in the depths of the disorder.

And what’s sad is I really see me going down hill this time. I’m just not happy with my life right now. I have no close friends which is completely my fault because I lied to them about being with my ex again. I don’t really have that close of a relationship with my older sister because she’s going through some shit. And I don’t know like I love my work so much I love what I do but the depression makes me feel like I’m not going anywhere in my career and that I’m gonna stay stagnant. Some days it’s so hard to get out of bed in the morning. I just feel lost & lonely. And when I feel that way I turn to my friends Ana & Mia because I guess they are my best friends yet terrible enemies. I feel so good yet lost & confused without them.

I don’t feel like anything when I’m at a healthy weight. It’s like the negative attention I get when I’m sickly thin is a pro in my eyes? God that makes no sense.

I still have old pictures on my phone of my body from 2015 up until now. I’m literally triggering myself by looking at old photos of myself. The only thoughts that run through my mind are : “ you were sooo thin. Why did you let yourself go? This is the largest you have ever been? You’re fat. What are you doing to yourself you pig?”

So I’m done. I hate my body. Sure I looked sexy to guys but fuck it I don’t care. Fuck feeling pretty or sexy about myself. I don’t deserve to feel that way. I’m a piece of fucking shit who is terrified of the world and I’m just a lost soul.

I’m so hurt by my past that I can’t forgive myself. I can’t move on. I can’t escape. I’m trapped by my mistakes and traumatic events that occurred because of those mistakes.

Like in all honesty I really do think it was my fault I was raped and abused. Why? Because I knew what he was doing was wrong and I still fucking stayed. I ran back and forth from the toxic relationship for almost 2 years!

The first night me and nick ( 1st Ex boyfriend) hooked up was not like any hookup... it was forced.

So story time. I knew this guy nick through my old friend tyra. I always thought he was cute but I thought if he got in shape and cleaned up a little he would be really attractive yanno? So anyways fast forward to November 2016. Me & my friend tyra go to a college house rave party. We get there and in comes nick. Right when I saw him I was like “damn.” He went to navy school and lost so much weight and he looked really good. So the party starts and everyone’s super fucked up. I got drunk, smoked hella weed, and did some coke & molly. So 5 am rolls around and bodies are just hitting the floor man. I swear I was on an episode of skins or something. So by this point nick and I kinda flirted with each other but it was nothing serious. He was blackout drunk and on hella drugs. So we are kinda flirting and hanging out and we are trying to find somewhere to sleep. Every fucking spot in the house is taken and I decided that nick and I could sleep behind the dj booth on the fucking basement floor. So I sit out my blanket and pillow. I just wanted to cuddle. I was so fucking exhausted by this point and not feeling good because what can I say me and molly don’t get along. And As we are cuddling he keeps grabbing on me and trying to stick his hand down my pants. I keep laughing and telling him to screw off and go to bed. He keeps trying and trying. I keep laughing but nervously now and he keeps being persistent and sticking his hands in my pants. And what did I do? I fucking gave in.

Then we started having a relationship a couple months after that and we went downhill super fast. He never wanted to have a real relationship with me. He was awkward & didn’t really make any conversations with me. We just would get fucked up together and have sex. After awhile he became super manipulative and just mean. I was always searching for valadation from him.

He went to a navy school that was 4 1/2 hours away from where I live. He would visit a lot so I would see him often. Eventually when I started beauty school I would go and visit him. I remember my first weekend up there. I took some days off school and was so excited to finally visit him. The agreement with my parents is that I drove to my sisters college which was about 2 1/2 hours from nicks school so he would pick me up from there because my car was sketchy to take the whole trip. So he picks me up from my sisters apartment and everything seems good. We talk the whole way there and laugh. I get to his apartment and right off the bat he seems awkward around his roommates with me there because I was only 18 at the time and nick was 20 and his roommates were 21 & 22 I think. Mind you he begged me to visit him up at school and always held it against me when we fought that I never made an effort to see him. So the first night is ok we drink but I don’t think I got that drunk. We have sex once or twice as expected and yeah everything seemed ok.

Well the next day things took a weird turn. The whole morning he doesn’t even speak to me and instantly just hops on top of me and starts taking my clothes off. We go to the mall later that evening and he runs into some friends from school. He introduces me as his friend. I just kinda look at him with that “are you fucking serious face?”. I know he got the message instantly. His excuse was that he slipped and said friend. Yeah ok.

The rest of that trip was a blur. We never even left that fucking bed. All he wanted was sex. Like every fucking hour. And I didn’t even feel anything.

I guess the first time he raped me was when I visited the first time. I remember he wouldn’t let me wear clothes to bed. He always wanted me to wear nothing or the least amount of clothes possible. I remember I would wake up in the middle of the night still drunk & confused to find him on top of me trying to “stick it in”. I would kinda be like “wtf Are you doing?” And he would make up some excuse or just “fall back asleep.”

The others times I went up there it got worse. Some days we would barely say a thing to each other. I began drinking a lot because I guess I thought that if you can’t beat em join em. I got sick and tired of always having to take care of his drunk ass so why not get wasted with him?

The abuse got so bad. I remember one time I drove home and had to pull over on the highway because I was sobbing. I couldn’t even sit down or stand up too fast because my vagina had been torn so badly because he would just shove it in. I remember one time I told him to stop because he was hurting me... he told me to “just get used to it” and proceeded to thrust.

I felt trapped. Every time I tried to leave he lured me back in. Until finally I had enough. I stood up to his bullshit and told him what he was doing to me was terrible and no human in their right mind would do that to another human. I finally left.

I think those were my darkest days. My disorder really took ahold of my life and my own fucking boyfriend didn’t realize that I was 90 lbs. I was so sick.

But I still feel responsibility for those events that occurred. It’s MY fault. I could’ve left. I could’ve stood my ground right from the start. I could’ve stood up and grabbed my things that night we were lying beneath the dj booth.

I could’ve. I should’ve.

I didn’t.

[1685thrite]

TAGGED BY: Instead of admitting openly that I tagged myself I’m gonna credit the indirect tag to @deathvow

TAGGING: Free for the taking!

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ?

In canon, Darwin is 175 cm tall, or about 5′9″. For an adult male of European descent, that’s basically right at average.

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ?

His mother was a sickly and small waif of a woman, and Darwin went through periods where he wouldn’t eat for days on end due to poverty as a child. He considers himself lucky he managed to even get this tall.

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ?

Soft and effortlessly shiny, but a bit on the unpredictable side.

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ?

Oh, the time he spent trying to control that cowlick before realizing it was useless...but now, not so much. Bathing and basic grooming are a necessity, especially when one spends time training and getting all sweaty, but Darwin doesn’t require a whole lot.

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ?

He does, to a reasonable extent. Growing up, he didn’t have clothes that could even really be considered presentable until he started getting hand-me-downs from Orlando. He also takes good care of his fighting gear before heading into battle, finding that making his sword and armor shine gives him a bit of a confidence boost.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?  He likes them both. He can spend time lost in his own thoughts in a quiet room or a spacious outdoor area.

▸     RAIN    OR    SUNSHINE ?  He usually prefers sunshine because there’s more to do. In his younger days, he spent a lot of time reading exciting stories, and playing less active games with Orlando or Marie when it rained, but he could actually act out those stories outdoors with his friends on sunny days. Rain also decreases visibility in battle and can lead to slips and falls..

▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ?  He spent entire days outside in the woods behind the Crichton family home playing with Orlando and Marie until they were exhausted but happy. He’s never been to a beach, but the forest is special to him from so many memories.

▸     PRECIOUS    METALS    OR    GEMS ?  Gems tend to offer better stat boosts for speed and luck...

▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?  Flowers.

▸     PERSONALITY    OR    APPEARANCE ? Many of his fellow mercenaries are rough around the edges but good people who share a sense of pride and brotherhood fighting to represent the strength of their country. Personality is key as far as he’s concerned.

▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?  Being alone. If he’s in a crowd, he usually prefers to have someone he knows with him. Crowds make him anxious.

▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?  Order. He’s seen when places fall into anarchy and lawlessness, and there’s nothing but bloodshed and senseless violence. There needs to be an order to things.

▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR    WHITE    LIES ?  He’s known his fair share of painful truths. He believes honesty is the best policy, but that doesn’t make the truth hurt any less at times.

▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?  Magic and science have close ties in Ornia, with magic being a source of power and technological advancement. It fascinates him, since he has a naturally curious mind. That, and one certain magic user has unquestionably gained his favor.

▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?  Peace. Though conflict does grant him an income, that doesn’t mean he enjoys it.

▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ?  Day. The bad memories and nightmares tend to show up at night.

▸     DUSK    OR    DAWN ?  He’s not a morning person by any means, so he’d almost certainly choose dusk.

▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?  Warmth. He spent too many of Ornia’s winter nights outside as a very young orphanage runaway. Nowadays, he doesn’t mind the cold quite as much since he knows he’ll have a warm house to return to.

▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  He’s not socially inclined, and his closest friends mean the world to him. He would take them over every person on the planet wanting to be his friend.

▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?  Both. He’s always liked reading stories about adventure and heroism, getting lost in them easily, but it’s definitely amusing to see Orlando get furiously angry over losing a chess game to his “little brother.” Darwin can only hope to beat Marie someday.

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ?

He’s not great about sharing his feelings and his worries even with the people he trusts, and it drives them crazy when they know something’s wrong and want to help. He just fears being a burden to those who have made him feel so accepted and loved. His tendency to bottle things up also leads to sudden outbursts of anger when under duress, and he always feels awful after doing that.

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ?

Yes. His parents both died when he was five years old, though he was only close to his mother. His mother passed away first after her fragile health began to decline rapidly, and his father died several months after because of a relapse into substance abuse. Years later, Orlando and Marie’s parents passed away unexpectedly, and that affected him on multiple levels. He had become fond of Mr. and Mrs. Crichton himself, but to watch Orlando and Marie experience the same unbearable pain as he had felt wrong and unfair. They had helped him out of such a dark place, and it didn’t seem like such kind people ought to have to suffer such a great loss.

Once he followed Orlando into the life of a mercenary, he saw much more death. It didn’t get any easier. And throughout the events of CR2, he witnesses deaths of allies as they tried to fight off monsters, and deaths that he had no choice but to inflict. Each death is harder than the one before it.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?

He tries not to let the memories of his loving mother fade with time, though it gets harder. For the most part, his happiest memories involve Orlando and Marie. They used to play together as children, calling themselves “The Unholy Trinity of Ornia” and having a great time. Even as they got older and playing pretend lost its appeal, his relationship with Orlando turned from a best friend relationship to that of brothers. Marie used to have to take drastic measures in order to put a stop to their prank wars. She wasn’t without her own mischievous streak, however, and she and Darwin would have wild pillow fights when he stayed over at their house, and she always managed to embarrass both of the boys when they had scary storytelling contests. She always managed to have them jumping out of their skin after delving into some old anthology of chilling tales in the name of victory. Those memories are only found in retrospect...back when they were actually occurring, Darwin was petrified.

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ?

Not even a little. When he was recruited to the Ornian Guard at fifteen, he thought it would be easier to kill since he’d already experienced so much death, and since he was fighting to protect the people he cared about. The abundance of loss in his young life only made it that much harder, and it got to the point where he became so lost in regard to his purpose that he almost forgot why he took up the sword in the first place. Even after the game ends and he regains his sense of direction, killing isn’t easy...but he know that it’s necessary in his line of work. As long as he can be merciful and avoid senseless, unnecessary killing, and he can be sure that he protected his fellow mercenaries, eventually returning home to the people he loves, then he can keep his head held high.

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ?

Not many people see Darwin break down, because he keeps a sturdy and imposing wall around his heart. However, this ice-covered brick wall protects a warm and vulnerable heart that feels things very deeply, from anyone who can potentially cause him too much pain if he lets them in. He is shown as a man who cries when appropriate, and in the company of those he trusts...or if he’s under extreme emotional duress (such as when he cries in front of Lessica for the first time). His tears are so heartbreaking to behold that they can bring about a sense of melancholy in others, and because of his tendency to bottle things up, there are times when it’s hard for him to stop crying once he starts.

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ?

He has to be, what with his line of work. The Ornian Guard is a group of unified mercenaries, so he has to rely on others to watch his back and let others do the same for him if need be. Darwin adapted to this perhaps a bit more slowly than your typical merc, due to the massive trust issues left over from his troubled past, as well as being a reserved and independent person in general. Still, he learned eventually for the sake of survival.

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ?

It’s unexplored territory for him...but he’s always been fond of exploring, and he’s eager to explore this. While he may not always say what’s on his mind in regard to his own worries, he will never hesitate to let his partner know she is loved. Whether by light squeezes of the hand or sweet kisses, by taking care of household chores, or saying “I love you” outright, it is always apparent. His eyes are more focused than ever before in battle, as what he has to return to once he goes home is of dual importance, but during his free time, he stares ahead, longing to hold her again. He is attentive and affectionate during intimacy, his utter devotion driving him to satisfy them both. Even as time goes on, the passion and attraction never fades, but the loyalty, affection, and companionship stays ever strong. He owes her that, and so much more than he can ever hope to give.

[therecoversite]

Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Widow Speaks Up About Her Husband’s Addiction

New Post has been published on https://therecoverdev.wpengine.com/phillip-seymour-hoffmans-widow-speaks-up-about-her-husbands-addiction/

Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Widow Speaks Up About Her Husband’s Addiction

Mimi O’Donnell has opened up to Vogue nearly 4 years after her husband’s untimely death in 2014. Her husband Phillip Seymour Hoffman died February 2, 2014 in his Manhattan apartment; there was heroin, cocaine, benzodiazepines and amphetamine found in his system. His death was ruled accidental due to acute mixed drug intoxication.

Mimi detailed their romance from the beginning, telling of her professional relationship that blossomed into friendship and then quickly turned into her being sweeped off of her feet. She began dating Phillip in the fall of 2001 and from the beginning she noted that he was always very honest about his addictions.

“He told me about his period of heavy drinking and experimenting with heroin in his early 20s, and his first rehab at 22. He was in therapy and AA, and most of his friends were in the program. Being sober and a recovering addict was, along with acting and directing, very much the focus of his life. But he was aware that just because he was clean didn’t mean the addiction had gone away. He was being honest for me—This is who I am—but also to protect himself. He told me that, as much as he loved me, if I used drugs it would be a deal breaker. That wasn’t an issue for me, and I was happy not to drink, either. Phil was so open about it all that I wasn’t worried.”

They became official during a New Years Eve date and they quickly moved in together. In the spring she told Phillip she was going to be taking herself off of her birth control and he agreed, “Good. Don’t” he said. She was pregnant with their first child and delivered their son Cooper in March of 2003.

While Phillip’s family was growing his career was also skyrocketing, and soon his years long struggle with his own identity, as an actor was resolved. In 2006 he was awarded with an Oscar for his performance is Capote, and was ranked #35 on Premiere Magazine’s 100 Greatest Performances of All Time (2006).

O’Donnell characterized their life during this time, “If I were to take a snapshot of how things were before they changed, it would look like this: We were living in the West Village. We had three healthy kids. Phil’s career was skyrocketing. He and I were still collaborating on theater and films, and I had started directing plays. We had wonderful friends. We had money. His mantra was: We have it to give. And he did. Phil was endlessly generous with his time and energy and money, whether it involved something as serious as paying for a friend to go to rehab or just having coffee with an intern, meeting a writer struggling with a play at midnight, or showing up for a babysitter’s non-Equity showcase. He knew that it meant something because of who he was. He was never comfortable with celebrity, but he knew how to use his fame so that something good could come of it. I couldn’t have imagined a better life.”

She spoke about when his relapse began and was very bold about it. “Twelve-step literature describes addiction as “cunning, baffling, and powerful.” It is all three. I hesitate to ascribe Phil’s relapse after two decades to any one thing, or even to a series of things, because the stressors—or, in the parlance, triggers—that preceded it didn’t cause him to start using again, any more than being a child of divorce did. Lots of people go through difficult life events. Only addicts start taking drugs to blunt the pain of them. And Phil was an addict, though at the time I didn’t fully understand that addiction is always lurking just below the surface, looking for a moment of weakness to come roaring back to life.”

She tells how when he began feeling weak was when his long time therapist died of cancer. His long time AA friends and he had had a falling out and his work load was growing to be too strenuous. “The first tangible sign came when, out of nowhere, Phil said to me, “I’ve been thinking I want to try to have a drink again. What do you think?” I thought it was a terrible idea, and I said so. Sobriety had been the center of Phil’s life for over 20 years, so this was definitely a red flag. He started having a drink or two without it seeming a big deal, but the moment drugs came into play, I confronted Phil, who admitted that he’d gotten ahold of some prescription opioids. He told me that it was just this one time, and that it wouldn’t happen again. It scared him enough that, for a while, he kept his word.”

Eventually after finishing projects, he was faced with a lot of free time and that’s when O’Donnell said he started using prescription drugs again.  “As soon as Phil started using heroin again, I sensed it, terrified. I told him, ‘You’re going to die. That’s what happens with heroin.’ Every day was filled with worry. Every night, when he went out, I wondered: Will I see him again?”

She spoke of the final come down “Phil tried to stop on his own, but detoxing caused him agonizing physical pain, so I took him to rehab. In some of the conversations that we had while he was there, Phil was so open and vulnerable that they remain among the most intimate moments of our time together. Within a day or two of returning, he started using again. At home, he was behaving differently, and it was making the kids anxious. We both felt that some boundaries would be helpful, and tearfully decided that Phil should move into an apartment around the corner. It helped us maintain a little distance but allowed us all to be together as much as possible—he still walked the kids to school, and we still had family dinners.”

“In the fall, Phil finally said, “I can’t do this anymore,” and he went back to rehab. We decided I would bring the kids, then five, seven, and ten, to see him for a family visit. We sat in a common room, and they asked him questions, which he answered with his usual honesty. He never came out and said, “I’m shooting up heroin,” but he told them enough so that they could get it, and they were just so happy to see him. It was hard when we left, because they all wanted to know why he couldn’t come home with us. But it felt healthy for us to deal with it together, as a family.”

“When Phil came back in November, he wanted so badly to stay sober, and for the next three months he did. But it was a struggle, heartbreaking to watch. For the first time I realized that his addiction was bigger than either of us. I bowed my head and thought, I can’t fix this. It was the moment that I let go. I told him, “I can’t monitor you all the time. I love you, I’m here for you, and I’ll always be here for you. But I can’t save you.”

“I guess that was also the moment I made the decision I had deferred while looking up at Freedom Tower back when Phil had first started using. It’s difficult to stay in a relationship with an active addict. It feels like being boiled in oil. But I couldn’t abandon him. I just had to figure out: How do I live with him? And how do I do it without caregiving or enabling, and in a way that protects the kids and me?

Some time in January, Phil started isolating himself. He was in Atlanta filming The Hunger Games. I called and texted him and said, “I’m here to talk.” At that point, we had started to shift things over to me financially, because Phil knew that when he was using he wasn’t responsible. We began making plans to set up another rehab as soon as the movie wrapped, but I knew we had a difficult path ahead of us.”

“It happened so quickly. Phil came home from Atlanta, and I called a few people and said that we needed to keep an eye on him. Then he started using again, and three days later he was dead.”

“What got me out of bed every morning and kept me alive, of course, were my kids. I had no choice: They needed me, and I loved them more than anything in the world. I would hit moments when I felt, I’m done. I’m so done, but then I’d see their faces, and right away it would become, OK. I can do this today. They were keenly aware that I was now their only parent, and Willa, my youngest, obsessed about it, asking, “If you die, how are people going to know how to find us?” It was almost a year before I could go out at night without the kids’ going into a panic. When I forced myself to make a few tentative forays into the world, within an hour there would be a phone call and I’d be on my way back home.”

“It’s been almost four years since Phil died, and the kids and I are still in a place where that fact is there every day. We talk about him constantly, only now we can talk about him without instantly crying. That’s the small difference, the little bit of progress that we’ve made. We can talk about him in a way that feels as though there’s a remembrance of what happened to him, but that also honors him. We talk about his bad sides and his good sides, what he did that was funny and what he did that was crazy, and what he did that was loving and tender and sweet. We open up, and it brings us together and keeps his spirit alive.”

[bethanigoodrum]

I just got off the phone with the admission person for Rogers Hospital as well as with a manager of an apartment for people in treatment. And guess what, they both have openings and have accepted me into their programs. So now it’s smooth sailing into treatment. Go me. 

If I sound slightly sarcastic it’s because I’m wigging out right now. Like, I understand that I need this and that a part of me actually wants it, but boy do I really not want to actually go through it. And now there is literally no blockade in my way. I have the doctors appointment on Friday, move into the apartment whenever they email me back with the lease agreement, and start the program on Monday. THAT iS IN 6 DAYS HOLY SHIT. I’m wigging out. So my thought logic is to spend some time now to reflect on just how I got to this very moment of stress and anxiety. And maybe give myself some credit for what I have already gone through this year in order to feel a slight bit of confidence going into what could be one of the scariest things of my life. 

One of the last weekends before senior year started I slept with my now ex boyfriend for the first time. And I’m not talking sex, I’m talking about the literal sleeping next to him aspect of our relationship. I hadn't done that with anyone for a year and a half and it was the hardest thing that I had to overcome with the label of being in a relationship. I remember that night I had no interest in cuddling, touching, or even being there next to him, the only thing on my mind was surviving the night. And it was all simply because the last time I had laid down next to a guy and slept I was left vulnerable and exploited by his greed and dominance. And that was all I could think about as the lights went out that night: I was allowing myself to be completely vulnerable to Joel in that moment. But that moment passed and eventually I was able to spend many nights by his side that involved more than my thoughts of just pure survival. I was able to push myself in those situations and come away stronger in the terms of my trust in men. I pushed myself and I was able to grow from that strength. 

On the other hand, when it came to sleeping with Joel, and not in the literal sense, I had some real challenges. The first time was like the opening of the flood gates of pure relapse. I had been doing well and then after that situation I abandoned all food for days. Don’t ask me why I did it, I barely know it myself, but it led to me sitting here now looking at another stint in treatment. I went from eating balanced meals every day to having friends ask me to send them a snap chat of every bit of food I put in my mouth because they were terrified I would waste away. I cried in my car about a bag of fruit snacks. Spent a night sitting next to the toilet hyperventilating about a bite of pizza. I gave power to the underlaying beast within me and it fed on me in a way that I have never been able to feed myself. But maybe if that hadn't happened I never would be sitting here going back into treatment. Maybe I needed to fall down in order to take the steps to try and really soar. God these metaphors are cheesy as hell. But they speak the truth. Along with relapsing into my eating disorder I also relapsed into my self-harm. I had gone so long without inflicting physical harm to myself, but all it took was being in a bad mental place, watching a rape documentary, and boom, perfect recipe for new scars to appear on my body. And just a side note I guess, the self-harm extended from small lines of pain appearing on my skin to nights of intense thoughts of ending my life. As well as an afternoon spent in an emergency room explaining to doctors that I wanted to end my life. That wasn’t one of my finer moments in life I have to admit. But to make it slightly positive, I haven't self-harmed in almost a month and I haven't had strong suicidal thoughts for even longer than that. The biggest reason for all of this comes from Sam, who sat me down and got on her infamous soap box and described how it can no longer be an option to even ponder over. So thanks Sam, this has been your special shoutout. Also shoutout to Claire for your bluntness and ability to confront me at my worse. And it is important that this period of no self-harm continues because I know once I fuck up it’s gonna be harder to try and stay clean in treatment where being clean is expected. I have to continue to leave my skin looking good for I guess the rest of my life (not gonna lie, that’s as intense as it is scary to think about) 

Another thing that I went through that I want to point out is the fact that I lived with the idea that I was pregnant for 3 weeks as well as walked around being pregnant for 7 weeks. Like, what the fuck? First of all, the pure stress that being pregnant does to you is one like no other. And add on the fact that I found out I was pregnant the day after breaking up with my boyfriend...it wasn't easy. It is a decision that literally changes your life and the potential life of those cells. I could be 5 months pregnant right now while typing this. I could almost be a mother. But at what cost? My mental health would have been at such jeopardy. I hate my body now, what would my disorder make of a growing belly? The choice that I made lives with me all the time. Yesterday I was shopping and when I was leaving a store there was a three year old boy coming in the store with his mom. When he saw me he held the door open (with the help of his mom) and smiled at me saying “there you go.” The first thing that came into my mind was the idea that that could've been my life in three years. Those moments were in my grasp and I gave it up for the sake of my mental health and own life. If I wouldve kept the baby I don't think I would have been making those calls that I made today. But whenever there is a child in my presence my mind is plagued with the decision. But it was something that I don’t regret and that whole situation was just another indicator of how strong I can be. (though arguably some would say I wasn't strong because I chose to abort). But do you know how hard it is to walk into an abortion clinic by yourself and go through all of that with no physical support by your side? I was completely alone on that day and yes, I had friends check in on me before and after it, but during it was where the courage took place. And I did that all on my own.  And it’s gonna be the same on the day I walk into treatment. I’m gonna have friends sending me texts before and after but the actual day of treatment is gonna be so difficult and it’ll be me on my own trying to not get discharged on my first day. 

The biggest thing that I am worried about for treatment is my anxiety. Go figure, I am having anxiety about anxiety. But it has been the worst I have ever experienced recently. Before this year I would get panicky and would experience nausea but it is as if this year my body pushed even further and gave me anxiety that was quite literally paralyzing. The first time i honesty thought i was dying when I was trapped in my own fear that did not allow my entire body to move at all.  Do you know what that is like? To be trapped within your own body while your boyfriend is moving on top of you and you have no way to make it or him stop? All I could do was just lay there because my mind was too powerful to overcome it. I thought it was just a freak thing that would only happen that one time. But it happened again while I was driving one day freaking out about my life and feeling as if I was this huge disappointment for everyone in my life. I know that if it happens again that all it takes is time and being talked down by someone and the paralysis will ease up, but god am I terrified that I will experience it at treatment. I’ll take almost anything other than the feeling of being unable to control the muscles in my own body. 

And I guess with that I have covered the last 9 months of my life. There has been a lot that I have gone through, not gonna lie or undermine it. And to say the last year of college was enjoyable and a breeze would be the lie of the year. But all of the struggles and relapses have led me to those phone calls I had today. I’m not doing well, and it’s gonna get a lot worse from here on out, but maybe if I can get myself into a mind place that isn't all anxiety, I will be able to make these last few months of intense struggle meaningful and worthwhile. And who knows maybe in the future I won’t be sick with this thing. Wouldn't that be the ultimate knee slapper? 

[nappingwithpuppies]

This is really long. But I’m really proud of it.

i’m not done with this but i’m tired and i need to sleep. this has been so therapeutic. 

1,683 days ago I began my college career. In 38 days it will all be over. That’s 1,721 days of being a college student. They say that college is supposed to be the best 4 years of your life. For me, that’s a lie for two reasons. First, it’s taken me 5 years. Second, they have been far from the best years of my life. But I made it.

I’ve been getting super sentimental about being done with college soon, and it’s really starting to hit me that I’m actually going to receive a diploma.

Although I wouldn’t consider it the “best years of my life,” a lot of growth came from it. I learned more things in the last 1,683 days than I did in the entire 18 years of my life prior to college.

Since I love writing and I love seeing personal growth, I figured I might as well make a list. As a reminder, as a form of motivation, as a symbol of growth.

So here it is. Things I wish I knew then.

1) The day your best friends leave for college will be tough. You’ll cry. A lot. It will hurt to see them all go away to the same school, but you’ll make it through.

*

2) The roommate at Carroll that you thought was going to be a bitch will turn out to be the one who helps you survive your first semester. You’ll laugh with her, cry with her, and drink with her an awful lot. You’ll also remain good friends even when you transfer home after living together for one semester.

*

3) You might think that you’re not making a lot of friends on campus, but the few friends you do make will still be friends with you 5 years later. You may not see them nearly as much, but they’ve seen you at your worst and will always be a big part of your life. I think this rings true for many situations. Some of the best friends are the ones you go months without seeing but can pick up right where you left off the next time you do see them.

*

4) You’re never too old/too cool to talk to your parents on the phone every other day. Or every day. Or multiple times a day on the really tough ones. Even when they’re 2 hours away they’ll help you in whatever way they can.

*

5) Go to class. Even when you don’t think you can work up the effort to get out of bed. You may not believe it, but you can always catch up on sleep. Your class attendance, however, can’t be made up. Mental health days are okay. Mental health weeks, are not.

*

6) You’ll be taken advantage of by a boy who means nothing to you, and you mean nothing to him. You’ll hide the truth of what happened for the next 4 years and only talk about it in counseling. Let this be a lesson to speak up when you need it. Help is there. It’s not your fault.

*

7) Speaking of boys… There’s a different boy who will break your heart multiple times. You’ll want to keep going back to him, but don’t. He’s not worth it. Your feelings aren’t to be manipulated with. Don’t keep sleeping with him just to sleep with him. He’s. Not. Worth. It.

*

8) Your friends from home might be at a different school than you. They might have made their own friends, and created their own lives. IT’S OKAY. They’ll still be there for you in ways you never could have imagined. Don’t forget to be there for them as well.

*

9) When you fill out that application to transfer home, you’re going to get a lot of backlash from your family. Your cousin will call you terrible names. You’re going to feel like a failure. But you’re not a failure. Taking care of yourself is important. You’re going to be happy you did it. As soon as your cousin realizes how much better you are at home, she’ll apologize. It’ll be okay.

*

10) The night before you’re supposed to go home for Thanksgiving break will be the worst day of your life. But it will also be a turning point and what makes you stronger. It will be the reason you pursue a degree in the mental health field. Don’t let depression win. Please, don’t let depression win.

*

11) A dog can truly save your life.

*

12) Transferring back to Oshkosh will bring a whole bunch of negative thoughts into your head. You aren’t a failure. You’re going to graduate from this school with a degree that Carroll didn’t even offer. It’s a excellent choice, don’t be so hard on yourself.

*

13) Telling your parents about your mental health problems is going to be hard. Your dad will be in denial. At this point, he doesn’t believe in mental illness. He thinks depression/anxiety medication is a scam. Don’t listen to him. He’s going to come around. 4 years later you’re going to be sitting in the living room with him and he’s going to tell you how proud he is of you for getting through everything you did.

*

14) You’re going to fail 2 classes. Actually, you’re going to fail them both twice. You’re going to be on academic probation. But keep holding on. The last 4 semesters of college you’re going to make the Dean’s List. You’re also going to make yourself damn proud.

*

15) You’re going to start self harming again. You’re going to relapse quite a bit. Don’t forget that relapse is part of recovery.

*

16) You and your best friend from middle and high school are going to grow apart. It’s going to devastate you. You’re going to get jealous. It’s going to hurt. But you’re still friends, and you still talk. Things are different, but things are okay.

*

17) You’re going to grow closer to another one of your friends, and that person is going to stand by you through absolutely everything. You’ll get tough love. You’ll get pure honesty. That’s what you need.

*

18) You’re going to spend a lot of time second guessing your decision to come home. Every time your Carroll friends post pictures together or tweet about each other you’re going to get jealous. At the beginning of each semester you’re always going to wish you could go back with them. But you can’t, and you need to accept that.

*

19) You’ll cry a lot the day your Carroll friends graduate. You’ll live stream their graduation and imagine them calling your name. You’ll relapse that day. You’ll also make it through that day.

*

20) Your mental health struggles are what inspires you to go into the Human Services field. Your passion is going to shine through.

*

21) You’re going to move into an apartment with two girls that you worked with. It’s going to be a roller coaster. There will be a lot of screaming, and a lot of harsh words thrown around. You’re going to have great times, and really bad times. At the end of your lease you’re going to be on terrible terms with one of them. The other one will remain good friends with you for a while. Moving home will be a great idea.

*

22) To go with the previous point, people are going to leave with no reason. It’ll crush you. You’ll try and make it better, but at some point you’ll realize relationships are two ways streets. That goes for friendships and romantic relationships. Try not to lose too much sleep over it. What’s meant to be, will be.

*

23) Remember when you hated your brother? That’ll change.

*

24) Speaking of your brother, he’s going to fall hard for a girl that you absolutely despise. You’ll fight about it a lot, because you don’t think she’s good enough for him. Keep your mouth shut. Let him enjoy it while he can. She’s going to break his heart, and you’re going to question whether or not your attitude towards her had anything to do with it.

*

25) The day that you put Cal down is going to destroy you in ways you never would’ve imagined. You’ll cry for almost an entire day straight. But you will be okay. Your best friend and his family will give you a key so that you can go over by their dog during the day. They’re doing it so that you can help them out, but it’ll help you in more ways than you could imagine.

*

26) You’re going to get two really great internships. You’re going to go through hell to get those internships, and it’ll involve a lot of crying and second guessing yourself, but they will turn out to be an excellent choice. Your hard work will shine, and you will finally feel like you have a purpose. Never forget you have a purpose.

*

27) Some of your best friends are going to be people you met on Twitter and Facebook through an End the Stigma mental health group. They live all over the country. You’ve never met them in ‘real life,’ but they will become a huge part of your life. They are awesome.

*

28) You’re going to learn the importance of putting your mental health first. October 2016 will be a really tough time for you. So tough that you’re going to have to take 3 weeks of FMLA at work. It’ll also be the first time you fully open up about your mental illness to your employer. It’s worth it. They’re on your side.

*

29) You’re going to struggle (a lot) with your body image. You’re going to get called fat when you’re walking home from the bars on a busy street by yourself. You’ll go home, stand in front of the mirror, and cry. Whenever you go shopping you’ll cry in the dressing room because nothing fits. But please remember you are so much more than just your weight. You’re going to have a doctor appointment and your doctor is going to take your blood, do a physical, etc, and tell you that even though your BMI is high, you’re otherwise very healthy. Please remember. You’re more than just a number.

[therecoversite]

Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Widow Speaks Up About Her Husband’s Addiction

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Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s Widow Speaks Up About Her Husband’s Addiction

Mimi O’Donnell has opened up to Vogue nearly 4 years after her husband’s untimely death in 2014. Her husband Phillip Seymour Hoffman died February 2, 2014 in his Manhattan apartment; there was heroin, cocaine, benzodiazepines and amphetamine found in his system. His death was ruled accidental due to acute mixed drug intoxication.

Mimi detailed their romance from the beginning, telling of her professional relationship that blossomed into friendship and then quickly turned into her being sweeped off of her feet. She began dating Phillip in the fall of 2001 and from the beginning she noted that he was always very honest about his addictions.

“He told me about his period of heavy drinking and experimenting with heroin in his early 20s, and his first rehab at 22. He was in therapy and AA, and most of his friends were in the program. Being sober and a recovering addict was, along with acting and directing, very much the focus of his life. But he was aware that just because he was clean didn’t mean the addiction had gone away. He was being honest for me—This is who I am—but also to protect himself. He told me that, as much as he loved me, if I used drugs it would be a deal breaker. That wasn’t an issue for me, and I was happy not to drink, either. Phil was so open about it all that I wasn’t worried.”

They became official during a New Years Eve date and they quickly moved in together. In the spring she told Phillip she was going to be taking herself off of her birth control and he agreed, “Good. Don’t” he said. She was pregnant with their first child and delivered their son Cooper in March of 2003.

While Phillip’s family was growing his career was also skyrocketing, and soon his years long struggle with his own identity, as an actor was resolved. In 2006 he was awarded with an Oscar for his performance is Capote, and was ranked #35 on Premiere Magazine’s 100 Greatest Performances of All Time (2006).

O’Donnell characterized their life during this time, “If I were to take a snapshot of how things were before they changed, it would look like this: We were living in the West Village. We had three healthy kids. Phil’s career was skyrocketing. He and I were still collaborating on theater and films, and I had started directing plays. We had wonderful friends. We had money. His mantra was: We have it to give. And he did. Phil was endlessly generous with his time and energy and money, whether it involved something as serious as paying for a friend to go to rehab or just having coffee with an intern, meeting a writer struggling with a play at midnight, or showing up for a babysitter’s non-Equity showcase. He knew that it meant something because of who he was. He was never comfortable with celebrity, but he knew how to use his fame so that something good could come of it. I couldn’t have imagined a better life.”

She spoke about when his relapse began and was very bold about it. “Twelve-step literature describes addiction as “cunning, baffling, and powerful.” It is all three. I hesitate to ascribe Phil’s relapse after two decades to any one thing, or even to a series of things, because the stressors—or, in the parlance, triggers—that preceded it didn’t cause him to start using again, any more than being a child of divorce did. Lots of people go through difficult life events. Only addicts start taking drugs to blunt the pain of them. And Phil was an addict, though at the time I didn’t fully understand that addiction is always lurking just below the surface, looking for a moment of weakness to come roaring back to life.”

She tells how when he began feeling weak was when his long time therapist died of cancer. His long time AA friends and he had had a falling out and his work load was growing to be too strenuous. “The first tangible sign came when, out of nowhere, Phil said to me, “I’ve been thinking I want to try to have a drink again. What do you think?” I thought it was a terrible idea, and I said so. Sobriety had been the center of Phil’s life for over 20 years, so this was definitely a red flag. He started having a drink or two without it seeming a big deal, but the moment drugs came into play, I confronted Phil, who admitted that he’d gotten ahold of some prescription opioids. He told me that it was just this one time, and that it wouldn’t happen again. It scared him enough that, for a while, he kept his word.”

Eventually after finishing projects, he was faced with a lot of free time and that’s when O’Donnell said he started using prescription drugs again.  “As soon as Phil started using heroin again, I sensed it, terrified. I told him, ‘You’re going to die. That’s what happens with heroin.’ Every day was filled with worry. Every night, when he went out, I wondered: Will I see him again?”

She spoke of the final come down “Phil tried to stop on his own, but detoxing caused him agonizing physical pain, so I took him to rehab. In some of the conversations that we had while he was there, Phil was so open and vulnerable that they remain among the most intimate moments of our time together. Within a day or two of returning, he started using again. At home, he was behaving differently, and it was making the kids anxious. We both felt that some boundaries would be helpful, and tearfully decided that Phil should move into an apartment around the corner. It helped us maintain a little distance but allowed us all to be together as much as possible—he still walked the kids to school, and we still had family dinners.”

“In the fall, Phil finally said, “I can’t do this anymore,” and he went back to rehab. We decided I would bring the kids, then five, seven, and ten, to see him for a family visit. We sat in a common room, and they asked him questions, which he answered with his usual honesty. He never came out and said, “I’m shooting up heroin,” but he told them enough so that they could get it, and they were just so happy to see him. It was hard when we left, because they all wanted to know why he couldn’t come home with us. But it felt healthy for us to deal with it together, as a family.”

“When Phil came back in November, he wanted so badly to stay sober, and for the next three months he did. But it was a struggle, heartbreaking to watch. For the first time I realized that his addiction was bigger than either of us. I bowed my head and thought, I can’t fix this. It was the moment that I let go. I told him, “I can’t monitor you all the time. I love you, I’m here for you, and I’ll always be here for you. But I can’t save you.”

“I guess that was also the moment I made the decision I had deferred while looking up at Freedom Tower back when Phil had first started using. It’s difficult to stay in a relationship with an active addict. It feels like being boiled in oil. But I couldn’t abandon him. I just had to figure out: How do I live with him? And how do I do it without caregiving or enabling, and in a way that protects the kids and me?

Some time in January, Phil started isolating himself. He was in Atlanta filming The Hunger Games. I called and texted him and said, “I’m here to talk.” At that point, we had started to shift things over to me financially, because Phil knew that when he was using he wasn’t responsible. We began making plans to set up another rehab as soon as the movie wrapped, but I knew we had a difficult path ahead of us.”

“It happened so quickly. Phil came home from Atlanta, and I called a few people and said that we needed to keep an eye on him. Then he started using again, and three days later he was dead.”

“What got me out of bed every morning and kept me alive, of course, were my kids. I had no choice: They needed me, and I loved them more than anything in the world. I would hit moments when I felt, I’m done. I’m so done, but then I’d see their faces, and right away it would become, OK. I can do this today. They were keenly aware that I was now their only parent, and Willa, my youngest, obsessed about it, asking, “If you die, how are people going to know how to find us?” It was almost a year before I could go out at night without the kids’ going into a panic. When I forced myself to make a few tentative forays into the world, within an hour there would be a phone call and I’d be on my way back home.”

“It’s been almost four years since Phil died, and the kids and I are still in a place where that fact is there every day. We talk about him constantly, only now we can talk about him without instantly crying. That’s the small difference, the little bit of progress that we’ve made. We can talk about him in a way that feels as though there’s a remembrance of what happened to him, but that also honors him. We talk about his bad sides and his good sides, what he did that was funny and what he did that was crazy, and what he did that was loving and tender and sweet. We open up, and it brings us together and keeps his spirit alive.”