#I JUST hit the dosage my doctor wanted me at and my body's like NOPE go back down

[youremyonlyhope]

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[stonertransdad]

Life Update since I hadn't been on here in forever

The pandemic was/is wild! Lockdowns started literally around the time we were going to the fertility specialist to get her pregnant. I lost my job to COVID in March shortly before we did the procedure, but we decided there's never really a good time to have a kid. Why not during a global pandemic when one of us in unemployed? (BTW, I don't recommend having a kid during a pandemic. Not being able to go to all of the appointments and having to sit in the parking lot was brutal.)

Let's talk about May friends...it was rough. (TW for mention of suicide btw. I'll post a gif where it's safe to start again if you wanna skip over it.)

So May 1st is the anniversary of my father's suicide. It had been 4 years. I found his body and since he wasn't married, I had to handle his affairs and arrange his funeral. May 1st, 2020 my wife and I had a Zoom game night with our friends and I got drunk because everyone was drinking (except my wife because she was pregnant). After our game night at like 2am, I had a psychotic break. I threatened to kill myself numerous times. My wife tried to talk me down, but eventually called the cops to take me. I thank her for that because looking back, that was the moment I knew something needed to change. I was convinced the cops were gonna kill me because I'm a trans dude in rural West Texas. I legit took the phone out of my wife's hand, hung up on 911, and yeeted her phone across the backyard and tried to hop the fence. Eventually the cops came and talked me down. They took me to the hospital an hour away in handcuffs (for their protection I did nothing wrong). They took me to the religious hospital that I was born in. So when they looked up my info by my name and date of birth from my driver's license (I only changed my middle name) literally all my paperwork and my bracelet had my deadname and wrong gender despite all of my legal stuff saying male with my new middle name. I mentioned it to them and they didn't care. They misgendered me the entire time I was there. I had hit my head hella hard on the bath tub when my wife was trying to snap me out of it, did the hospital even check me for concussion? Nope. I had punched so many things and my hand and wrist were swollen and discolored. Did they check out my hand and wrist? Nope. I was there for over 10 hours before I was able to convince them I was okay and that it was just the alcohol. Did I mention during that 10 hours I was literally out in the hall on a gurney with no mask and this was when COVID was running rampant in Texas (the first time)? I heard people die that night. I had nothing to distract me because they took away all of my personal items and clothes. My wife picked me up and we went home and I have been sober ever since. It's not the first psychotic break I've had with alcohol in my system. Alcohol just doesn't agree with me, but I'm finding new things to replace it with.

TW has been lifted...it's safe now.

A couple of weeks after that I began teletherapy because I had been on the same mood stabilizer and anti-depressant for almost a decade. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I felt like it hadn't been working for at least a year. This is a reminder to check in with your doctor if you feel like your meds aren't working. You may just need a different dose or a new med. There's no shame in that. I bounced around on various medications trying to find the right combo, some side effects scarier than others, but we got there. Before this, I had been diagnosed with ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My therapist threw out my Borderline diagnosis and said it was CPTSD instead, which made sense.

Fast forward to December because my wife was pregnant, I was unemployed still, and we did absolutely fuck-all because the global panini was still raging.

Our son was born on December 3, 2020. He weighed 5lbs 9oz and scared the ever loving shit out of us. He wasn't breathing when he was born so they called NICU in ASAP. I'm freaking out because I can hear and see what's going on while my wife was asking if he was okay as they put her guts back in place to sew her up. 5 or so minutes pass and a nurse asks if I want her to take some pictures. I'm like is he okay, he still hasn't cried. She's like "oh yeah, he's chillin." This goon was being held by a nurse and was just looking around not crying or anything. Chillest baby ever (he still is btw). I held him next to my wife's head until it was time to go back to the room. Little dude did have to spend 4 nights in the NICU because he couldn't keep his sugars or temperature regulated, but he was healthy otherwise. He's now 4 months old and is starting to sit up on his own a little bit and he's OBSESSED with standing. He's still a little guy, but very healthy and growing like a weed. He saves my life daily.

So after being unemployed for over 9 months, I started a new job working in a call center. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It gives me anxiety and throws me into panic attacks, but I had been putting out hundreds of job applications since I lost my last job and this was the first offer I got. I wasn't really in a position to turn it down since my unemployment had ran out 2 months prior. It was 2 months of training, then we'd be on our own. I got thru the training and thought I could handle it...until they started putting us on live calls with someone helping us if we got stuck. My mental health hit the lowest point it had in a few years and my wife was terrified she was going to lose me. She convinced me to quit on February 28th (not because I didn't want to, but because I'm a stubborn ass who felt guilty). My meds got tweaked a little bit more dosage wise during this mess.

Starting about mid-February, I was experiencing severe shakiness, tremors, and spasms. I've always been a shaky person and never really thought too much about it, but at some points I could barely feed myself, or get a drink, or hold my son. On March 7th, I tried to make an appointment with my doctor about the weird symptoms I was experiencing, but she was out of town and her next opening wasn't until the 31st. My body said that won't work and my wife rushed me to the ER on the 9th...I had begun having seizures that day. I had no previous history of seizures. Got to the ER and had a seizure literally as I was walking thru the door, so they rushed me straight back. They took some blood and that was literally it. No MRI. No CT. They pumped me full of Ativan and said it was just a panic attack and to go home and chill.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't just anxiety. I was having 20+ seizures a day. On the 10th, my wife rushed me to a different hospital...the good hospital over an hour away. First we had to drop off our gremlin with my mom to make things a little easier. Yet again, I had a seizure as I walked in the door and was taken back immediately. I don't really remember much because they kept pumping me full of Ativan and morphine because I had been in excruciating pain from the number of seizures I'd had. I do remember them doing a CT pretty quickly after I got there. Then they weren't happy with the results of the CT, so they took me to get an MRI, which showed possible signs of Multiple Sclerosis (but I didn't find that out until AFTER the notes showed up in my patient portal after being home a few days, so I raised hell...more on that later.) They did a 24 hour EEG on me and it showed nothing abnormal. Also, EEG glue is a bitch on your hair and scalp. After looking at everything and given my previous mental health history, they diagnosed me with Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, or PNES. It is a subset of Functional Neurologic Disorder, or FND. I couldn't walk well anymore and had to use a walker when I was discharged. I was in the hospital for 3 days.

When I had my follow-up appointment on the 23rd, I asked why the possibility of MS was never mentioned to me since it was very clearly in the notes. The doctor didn't have an explanation. He called in a referral to neurology so I could get a 2nd MRI to confirm MS and marked it as high priority. He also didn't take my pain seriously. My pain levels had been at a 5 or higher every single minute since they took me off of the morphine in the hospital. He told me to keep taking prescription strength doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol, which I had been. I let him know I had been and it didn't even take the edge off the pain. He ignored me. Leading up to this appointment, I had also added urinary incontinence to my growing list of symptoms and was forced to wear diapers so I didn't have to do laundry all the time. The doctor also took me off my ADHD meds because they were lowering my seizure threshold. He also took me off of my sleeping meds and nightmare meds for the same reason I'm assuming.

I kept my appointment on the 31st with my primary doctor because she's been my doctor for 5 years now and I knew she'd take my pain seriously. She did. She immediately wrote me prescriptions for a muscle relaxer and Tylenol 4. She also told me that my referral had been rejected by neuro. She said my case wasn't a good one for what she called a "wallet biopsy" and the doctors in neurology could be real assholes. She immediately sent the referral to other locations to get an approval. I am still waiting on that despite it being marked as high priority. She wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair because we both agreed my wheelchair was not enough for particular days.

Yesterday my wheelchair was finally ready for pickup, so my wife drove me to go get it. I'm still unable to drive due to my seizures and my tremors and twitches as it's predominantly in my legs and arms. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user now. Some days I can go short distances without my walker, some days I can't go without my walker, some days I can't even get out of bed, and some days I will be using my wheelchair. Don't judge a book by its cover, not all disabilities are visible. I have managed to keep my daily seizure count down in single digits and have even had a few seizure free days. They are still incredibly taxing on my body. I feel like I can't ever replenish my spoons fast enough to keep up with anything in my life.

So all in all, life has been chaotic. We are moving from Texas to New Mexico in the next few weeks, which should be interesting considering I can't overdo it without throwing myself into seizures. We will be closer to my mother-in-law so she can help us with our son and I can start resting a bit more on the more difficult days. Being a stay-at-home dad with an invisible illness has been one of the most challenging things I've done in my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

Sorry this is so long. I just wanted to update my followers since it's been over a year since I posted before a few days ago.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 25)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 

Part 26: here

“Welcome to MacDonalds Sir. Can I take your order?”

The van stops at a drive through, halfway to the hospital and his Uncle. Doom hangs over Arthur like a dense grey fog. A clock slowly counting down.

“Hey. You want anything?” The demon asks, nonchalantly rifling around in the glovebox for spare change.

Arthur’s never swum in the ocean, but he’s watched enough media to estimate and guess that this is what drowning feels like. Memories crash over him, pulling him about in waves. It’s had to keep a grip on what is current and what is past. It’s hitting him all at once. Images of Lewis falling are now mixing in with frames on Darrel’s motionless body left out in the middle of nowhere, carelessly kicked to the side of a narrow dirt road. Alone. Just like Lewis. Left behind to rot. Who knows if anyone would find him. Did Darrel have a family? Arthur can’t remember. What he does know is that it’s all his fault…and he can’t stop. Arthur needs help. He desperately needs help, but there’s no one. The only people who care are miles away and completely ignorant.

‘Why?’

The question is out before he gets the chance to clarify, his thoughts not coherent enough to manage a full sentence. There must be a reason. A point to everything. Because, if there isn’t, then there is no way that Arthur can convince this creature to stop. To leave his Uncle alone.

“Cause we’re hungry. Duh. Try not to ask dumb questions.” Arthur is dismissed, the demon turning back to order. So far, it has been quiet, exuding a calm satisfaction which is only marginally better than manic joy, ignoring Arthur’s thrashing with practised ease. This is the first time Arthur’s had the presence of mind to communicate since leaving Darrel.

At the order collection window, as the serving-girl hands over a brown and red paper bag, she points to her cheek, commenting, “Um. Sir. You have a little dirt on your face. Just there.”

“Do I?” The demon laughs good-naturedly, adjusting the rear-view mirror to reveal their reflection. Arthur looks out, unable to help himself, meeting his own gaze. Bright green eyes stare right at him. The pleasant smile shifts to become mocking. The ‘dirt’ referred to is the small flecks of Darrel’s blood, which have dried a dark brown.

“I do indeed. How embarrassing,” It chuckles, taking the bag, “Thank you for pointing that out.”

The girl smiles back, “Hey no problem. Have a good afternoon sir.”

If only she would lean further out and see the prominent blood splatter across Arthur’s front. She doesn’t. He watches powerlessly, feeling his body wave a goodbye.  

“Have to say. I love these new food options. You humans have certainly been busy this last century.”

Now. This is Arthur's opportunity to talk. He needs to use it and convince this creature to stop. It probably won’t work, if anything it’ll make everything worse, but he must try.

‘Why,’ Arthur asks a second time, pulling his focus forward.

“Why what,” The demon is deliberately obtuse, taking a bite with its free hand, steering back onto the highway with the other. Arthur would be grimacing at the taste. The last thing he wants to do is to eat greasy food. Luckily, nausea is primary a physical phenomenon, so his need to throw up is entirely associative.

‘Why are you doing this. What’s the point?’  How does he get it to stop?

The demon chews and slurps down a soda methodically like it is buying time to consider a response. More likely, it knows how anxious waiting makes Arthur.

“Because it’s fun. You know...Spread a little pain and misery. Cause trouble. Mess with the cosmic balance. You do know what fun is right?"

‘I can be plenty miserable without Uncle Lance dying.’ Arthur jumps on the connection despite how tenuous it is, ‘You’ve seen my memories! I can make anything good depressing if I want to.’

“Ha. Yeah. You do know how to screw yourself over. But, regrettably, I never leave a host alive. Personal policy. Less hassle down the line and all.”

‘He’ll be no hassle.’ Arthur lies blatantly because there was no way Lance wouldn’t try to hunt them down if given a chance, ‘Nope. No hassle at all. No one would care if I vanished right now. Especially not Lance.’

“I’m in your head, I can see you lying,” An eye roll, followed by unpleasant chuckling, “Besides, nothing beats the rush of cutting one of your pathetic lives short. All that potential. Poof. Gone.” The discordant sensation of happiness is back again, and Arthur quickly withdraws, mentally flinching away, doing his best to distance himself.

‘Someone will stop you.’  

“Who will? The dog? It’s miles away. Won’t be here till tomorrow and by then we’ll be done and dusted. I was thinking of going after Lewis’s family next. Sneak on in, in the dead of night, get em all in their sleep…”

Any further attempts at reasoning fall on deft ears. Begging is just as ineffective. All it does is inflate the awful feeling of calm satisfaction. Apprehensively, Arthur watches the demon wipe the blood off their shared face, energy well and truly spent. A grin is flashed towards the rear-view mirror which has yet to be re-adjusted. Not like this thing cares about road safety. It makes Arthur want to laugh hysterically. But he can’t. He can’t do anything.

Half an hour later, after getting waylaid by some traffic, they’re back at the hospital. All up, it’s hardly been two hours since their departure. They even park in the same spot.

Before heading inside, the demon pulls on one of Arthur’s old work shirts, which he keeps in the van for spur of the moment mechanical work. It’s got a few oil stains down the side and hasn’t seen a good wash in a while, but is inconspicuous when compared to coffee and blood splatters. Now, apart from the eyes, there is no other noticeable difference between the two of them. Nothing that screams ‘I’m a demon on a murder spree, please stop me.’ The sickly green skin Arthur had noted in his memories has faded to a natural colour.

St Peter’s Emergency Ward is as cold and sterile as he remembers. The smell of disinfectant and the return to chilled air-conditioning are equally unwelcome. Nurses, doctors and members of the public mill around, murmuring and talking in low tones. ‘Someone notice! Please,’ Arthur thinks desperately while the demon obtains directions from the reception desk. Despite Arthur’s less than clean appearance no one spares a second glance. Everyone is too busy, caught up in their work and lives, to notice his one falling apart.  

An older, matronly woman, sporting a messy bun and tired eyes, ends up leading Arthur to his Uncle’s recovery room. It’s not too far from the main entrance and is, to his dismay, empty of other patents. Space, meant for a second bed, is vacant.

Arthur, the demon- he’s having trouble separating the two -both watch the nurse check his Uncle’s IV, lowering the dosage of whatever is going into Lance’s arm. Probably a mix of pain medication and anti-inflammatories going off Arthur’s previous experience. Curiosity and interest flash between their shared mind. It is taking notes, intently watching the nurse work. Please. Turn around. Turn around and notice what a creepy monster he’s being.

When she does turn, Arthur has already stepped away, acting to part of the worried relative.

“Is he okay. Everything’s okay, right?”

“Your Uncle is recovering as per normal. He’s on a low dose of Dilaudid, to reduce pain and swelling.  It’ll make him drowsy when he regains consciousness so don’t be alarmed if he has trouble forming sentences,”

“He’ll regain consciousness? That’s good. When will that happen?” Its barely contained eagerness makes Arthur want to cry in dismay.  

“Another hour or two,” The woman gives him a perplexed sideward glance. If she does notice anything strange, it isn’t mentioned. “I’ll have a doctor come by and give you a proper run down and better details shortly.”

“Good. Good. That’s very good. Thank you for letting me know,”

A nod. A kind expression. She moves to away, passing by, leaving Arthur alone. She leaves the demon alone with his Uncle unconscious, helpless in the bed. Eagerly, the demon piolets his body forward, scanning the empty room, eyes landing briefly on the solitary clock decorating the otherwise sparse walls. 4: 59. Tick. Tick. Tick. An audible reminder that Arthur is running out of time. A hand reaches into his pocket to fiddle with Arthur’s keys and the small knife attached. Both are crusted with dry blood which crumbles when touched. They clink together threateningly.

‘What do I have to do to get you to stop. You have to want something. Anything.’

“Sure, I do. It’s just nothing you can give .” Nonchalantly, it approaches the bed, finally acknowledging Arthur's presence.

‘Don’t demons collect souls?’ He asks with increasing desperation. Can he give this thing his soul? Was that something he could do?

“Some. I don’t. I think you’ll find that ‘demon’ is a very broad term, covering a wide range of individuals. Besides, your soul is super screwy. Whatever’s shoved it back in here has bound it in tight, so I’d probably have to rip it up to get it free, rendering the activity pointless. So, no deal…But thanks for the offer. I’m flattered.”

‘Please. Stop. I’ll do anything!’

Does he really have nothing? No way to save his Uncle. The only member of his whole freakin family who gave a damn and he can’t even save him. Useless. Why does he fail in all the ways that matter most?

“Oh, don’t mope. Just think, once we finish up here, you’ll never have to worry about failing anybody ever again. No lying. No stress. Doesn’t that sound nice.”

It doesn’t sound nice. It’s the opposite of nice!

The demon drags over the one visitor's chair, which squeaks along the lino flooring, slumping down to stare at his uncle, waiting. It fingers the IV tubing, tracing the piping up to the control dial and back again. Deliberately, it pinches the thin tube shut, attention jumping back to Lance, scanning for any changes.

Waiting.

The waiting is terrible. Especially, when Arthur can feel its attention, partially giddy, laser-focused onto his Uncle. Arthur’s never seen the man look so pale or sickly. Apart from the odd work-related accident, which is impossible to avoid even with strict safety standards, his Uncle has always been healthy. Even the rare times he has seen the man sick it was still ‘no big deal,’ ‘just a scratch,’ or ‘the bodies way of forcing me ta rest.’ While Arthur flip-flopped from one emotional extreme to the next, his Uncle had been a steady, seemingly indestructible, pillar of support. Arthur had never said thank you for any of that. Worse, he’d repaid all that kindness with lies and evasion. Lance should have never taken him in. He had been more trouble than it was worth in his original timeline and he’s definitely not worth it now.

“Hey. HEY!” The demon grows tired of the waiting and gives his Uncle a light slap on the cheek with its free hand, “Wake up.”

“Arthur?” The word is half muttered, barely audible. Lance is phasing into consciousness slowly.  

‘Just say asleep. Stay asleep a little longer. Someone has to come in and stop him. Please.’

“In a manner of speaking. Yeah. I’m Arthur.”

That gets his Uncle’s attention. Lance violently twitches, forcing an eye open. It locks onto him, hazy but critical. Despite being in obvious pain a hand flashes out, snapping onto to Arthur’s wrist, pulling the hand away from his face. The grip is firm abet weaker than Arthur’s expecting.

“Whoa, you might want to take it easily Uncle Lance. Wouldn’t want to pull any stitches. You were stabbed five times you know.”

“You,” His Uncle growls hatefully, eyes narrowing, “Get out of Arthur ya fuckin, slimy piece of shit, bastard.”

“That’s some strong language. And in front of your nephew. He’s watching you know,”

A loose flick and the demon frees its wrist, efficiently shoving his Uncle back down when he attempts to lunge outwards. The hash action causes Lance to grunt in obvious pain. A move towards the emergency call remote has the demon snatching it up and placing it on the small table just out of reach, tutting in disappointment.

“I’ll get ya. Mark my words…You’ll regret this,” His Uncle spits, his attempts at sitting foiled.  His face is pure revulsion and fury. That determination and fire is something Arthur’s never seen directed his way before. It’s all in vain. Nothing matters. Not anymore.

A teasing, “How? You can’t even move. Soon you’ll never move again.” The demon releases its hold on the IV and turns the control dial up to its max setting. Dismayed, Arthur watches the drug take quick effect, rapidly dulling his Uncle’s movements. Eventually, Lance just lies still and glares, even while his eyes are dropping shut.

“Don’t worry about your nephew. He’ll be safe with me. Since you care so much and all.” The glare faulters much to the demon’s renewed glee. The predatory buzz is back, coiled alongside a sensation of anticipation and pleasure.

“Arthur.” His Uncle’s voice loses its heat, softening. He’s struggling to stay conscience, drowsy, eyes shutting.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please. Stop. Please. PLEASE.’

A knife is produced after a small struggle. The hinge, which usually allowed it to flip cleanly open, is stiff, jammed with blood. The key ring makes a clinking sound, hitting the side of the metal bed frame. Tap. Tap. Tap. It echoes through the room in time with the ticking clock.

“Now. How do we go about this in a way that won’t immediately alert the plebs?”

‘NONONONO!’

“Kindy slow bleed? Good choice.”

“Nighty night,” It stands upright. The chair squeaks. Blankets and paper thin robe are pulled aside in an energetic flourish, revealing the assortment of bandages covering his Uncle’s chest and side. A second is spent in meticulous calculation. The knife is carefully positioned and thrust in. The demon waits for a beat before pushing forward against any resistance, twisting, then drawing out. Cold satisfaction. His Uncle’s fingers catch on Arthur’s retreating arm. This time, there is no strength behind the grasp, and it’s easily shrugged off.

“Not….You…r… Fa..ul…t...” The words are mumbled and slurred, swallowed up by the silent room. The clock on the wall ticks.

“Eh. Suppose we’ll look a bit suspicious if we stick around.”  

The blanket is tossed back into place, covering the reopened wound. They turn, strolling towards the door, practically skipping back down to the reception. Arthur can feel himself splitting, joy mixing in with panic and grief.

Just like his life, he’s falling to pieces. 

NOTE: re-writes, re-writes for days. But finally got a version I’m mostly happy with. I’m hoping to have the next section out within a shorter time frame so people aren't stuck on the cliff hanger but no promises.

Part 26: here

[varae-ver-you-are]

So Ren, what happened?

I have been under a massive amount of stress and anxiety over the last month at work to the point where my manager made it almost unbearable to be at the office. I went outside to cry at one point because I needed the release and at the time, I didn’t care who saw me.

I actually liked my job because the people I worked with were amazing. I finally had a team that felt like I belonged with and we all got along great.

Things started to go downhill late April early May when my boss was forced into retirement next year. She started to say I had a pattern of being sick or being away on Mondays and I can’t necessarily help that. I can’t tell my body not to have a sinus infection over a holiday. I can’t say “Don’t get vertigo! I have work tomorrow!”

Shit happens and unfortunately, it happened on Mondays which, yeah everyone dreads Mondays and I’m no different, but I provided proof and doctors notes to show I wasn’t making it up but she never seemed to believe me. So to sate this, I cancelled my doctors appointments so I could make sure to never have time away from work, the only problem is that it meant cancelling my therapist appointments, my endocrinologist, and my psychiatrist. Those really important ones.

I haven’t seen my therapist since February and that’s pretty bad.

My mood stabilizers weren’t working like they needed to so I had to make an emergency appointment and she upped my dosage which put me back on track, but not before she starts picking on me for every little thing. Mind you, I’m not the only one failing to do something but I seem to be the only one she is taking notice of.

June is always a bad month for me. Everything bad always happens in June and July and you’d think I’d be okay considering my birthday is in July, but nope!

The anxiety and stress ramped up around the 16/17 of June and I barely sleep and work is nonstop and not once was I thanked for the hard work I was doing to make the weekend go.

I went to work each day with an overwhelming fear and feeling of dread. Being a contractor is by far the worst thing ever, but I am looking on and looking up. It hurt to lose stability. I have moved around so much that I have lost track of some years in where I’ve been and it was nice to just settle into a job I liked.

It came without warning and hit like a freight train. I had what I wanted, but it was suddenly pulled out from under me and I was left blindsided and like I was worthless and couldn’t do anything right.

It’s still hard to fight that feeling. I have spent the last few days throwing myself at picking up the peices and getting back up. The overwhelming amount of support from friends has been the sole reason I have been able to do this.

I am loved. Truly. I can see it from how much everyone has been there for me in the past few days and helped to take care of me even when they didn’t have to.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I’m working hard to make you proud. I won’t give up yet.

[ppatibandla]

My Quarter Life Crisis

Told in a Series of Saved Snapchats

In about four days from now, I’m going to turn 26, which made me think that this might be a great time to reflect on year 25 of my life.

And well, also because I’m going through a post new year slump. You know, the point of time when you realize that you’re not sticking to any of your resolutions, you’re still recovering from the holiday season and struggling to get back into the daily grind, blah blah blah.

Since my creativity and productivity are at an all-time low, I figured that maybe if I just write and reflect, it might help get the juices flowing in my brain again. And I obviously had to tell my story in the most stereotypically millennial way possible - illustrated by a series of Snapchats that I’d saved over the year! :D

Sooo, back to 25 - the milestone number, the axis of our twenties, the pinnacle of our youth *eye roll*- was it everything I’d hoped it would be? Absolutely freakin not! Why? 

Well to start, I spent most of the first half of my 25th year, sick as a dog. I’m not sure what exactly happened but sometime in 2016, my immunity decided to go on a vacation.

Pretty sure I had brought it upon myself with my love for Indomie and Chunky Monkey (I’m sorry, mama!), but my body was suddenly no longer capable of fighting bad bugs on its own.

I was on antibiotics for various infections, eight different times in a span of fewer than six months. The amount and dosages I was prescribed caused absolute chaos in my body. 

Two months into my 25th year, after a particularly high antibiotics course, my stomach was pretty upset (common antibiotic side effect). I waited for the effects to fade away, but they never did. One week in, three weeks in, one month in, two months in…...my stomach was still chronically upset. When I say “upset”, you’re probably visualizing explosive diarrhea but it wasn’t that. I could literally not eat any food without my stomach bloating, having immobilizing cramps and feeling extreme pressure and fullness.

Now, all of these symptoms might not seem like a big deal, but imagine if this is your constant state of being where you’re always aware of the discomfort in your stomach. Imagine if the only time you feel relief is when you wake up in the morning because your stomach is empty then. Imagine if anything you put in your mouth is accompanied by the anticipation and fear of feeling like crap for the rest of the day. This was my life for months.

The doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, they said I probably had Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). Now those who are familiar with IBS will also know that it is basically a medical pseudonym for “we don’t know what the hell is wrong with your stomach”. I didn’t even know what the problem was in order to look for a solution! So to fix myself, I had to turn to the last place I wanted to for help - the internet.

When you look up a sickness on the internet, it can actually be really helpful or it can fill you with a crippling fear and conviction that you’re going to die. But I had no choice because my doctor had sent me home with this very wonderful, completely unhelpful advice: 

“Well all your tests seem normal. Just wash your hands more and get more sleep so you don’t fall sick.”

*crickets*. This is what you went to med school for, lady? Thanks, much. >:-[

Also, everyone and their dog is a doctor on the internet. You have no clue who out there actually knows what they’re talking about and who is click-baiting you. 

Norma here would have made a much better doctor!

After trudging through hundreds of websites, I began my experimentation with the different remedies that Dr. Internet prescribed, in the hopes that it would give me some relief.

I tried three-day juice cleanses (juice only diet) and water fasts. This is supposed to help reset your stomach by giving it a break from digesting food. I received temporary relief but the moment I started eating again, my discomfort would return.

I avoided foods known to cause intolerance for months like gluten, dairy, soy, eggs, caffeine etc.

On a side note, I never realized how difficult life is when you have to actively check for and avoid ingredients like gluten, which wipes out more than half the options available to consume. My utmost respect for people who have to do this on a regular basis!

But that wasn’t helpful either because my condition was seemingly random, not caused (though exacerbated) by any particular kind of food.

I tried more antibiotics (look up Xifaxan, you need to sell a kidney to even afford this medication) and a ton of herbal drugs. Seriously, while my peers were out spending their money on vacation and parties, I was spending all of mine on expensive herbs and probiotics which promised results, but sadly never delivered. The herbal stuff was especially scary because it’s not regulated by the FDA - I was gambling with trying to fix my problem at the cost of causing new problems for my body.  

And of course, I also tried more obvious things like yoga, crying, praying and what not, all in a desperate attempt to fix myself. I was trying to go about my daily life and work with a semblance of normalcy but I felt anything but normal. 

There I was at 25, prime of my youth, unable to consume food, taking fistfuls of pills every night and avoiding eating any actual food, just so I didn’t have to deal with the discomfort. I lost a bunch of weight and the stress took the biggest toll on me, making my condition even worse. As if all of this was not bad enough, various members of my immediate family were having serious health issues as well which was further upsetting me.

Finally, sick of my constant visits, the doctor recommended that I get an Upper Endoscopy - a procedure where they shove a camera down your throat to look inside your stomach to make sure you don’t have cancer or a tumor.

$800 and the awful experience of having a minor surgery all alone later, the doctor came back and told me the same thing - my tests were normal! He suggested getting some other tests done too and kept talking, but as I laid there in bed in my shitty hospital gown and listened to him talk, I totally had a dramatic, bollywoodesque moment. I felt the doctor’s voice fade into the background as I made up my mind that I was fine. I covered all my grounds, did all the tests, tired all the remedies which yielded no results. I decided right then and there that I was going to be fine, even if I wasn’t.

And I swear to God, it felt like a switch had flipped and my body started getting better overnight. That night for dinner, I said “screw this shit” and bought myself pizza - I was eating gluten and dairy after months! I went back to eating everything like normal and ignoring the familiar discomfort I felt in my stomach.

Hell yeah, I post food Snapchats! Judge away!

And just like that in the following weeks, I started feeling so much better. Am I absolutely cured today? Is this going to be a miracle recovery story? Sadly, nope.

I still have pretty bad days when I’m doubled over with pain and I still take many probiotics and supplements every night. IBS is a chronic condition with no cure, it can only be managed. I know that it could be worse and that I should be grateful - I am grateful. But IBS has definitely affected the quality of my life and I will probably never be able to fully go back to how I was before. But I have learned to live with it and it’s just another part of my life now.

These were just some of the herbs, probiotics, supplements, vitamins and prescription meds I took (and still take) over the past year :/

So there you go, adulthood hit me like a brick when I turned 25 by bringing on wonderful IBS and what’s more stereotypically a sign of age than GI issues?  I brought this upon myself because of self-imposed stress. The moment I consciously stopped thinking about it, I gave my body the opportunity to restore itself, at least to a capacity where I was able to go about my daily life with relative ease.

None of the stress I was dealing with was particularly special, it’s stuff we all deal with - career, visa, money, family, friends, romance etc etc. But I let it get to me and it nearly destroyed the one thing that I actually can’t fix if broken - my health.

In addition to being chronic, IBS is also pretty common and affects many people in different forms. I am hoping that my overshare story is relatable to those who suffer from it and for those who don’t, please chill out and don’t mess yourself up over things that don’t really matter like I did. Pretty basic life lesson which we all know but conveniently ignore.

But year 25 was still pretty awesome - I made great new friends (and lost some) and got my H1B visa finally after 3.5 years. IBS definitely did not hold me back from going on many many many adventures. 

A Snapchat montage of all my adventures from year 25.

While I’m super excited for 26, I do feel the twinge of regret because like most people my age, I’m nowhere near what I thought I would be by now. But a big part of growing up is realizing that the world sucks, it’s not fair, there’re always going to be men with bad hair and no intelligence (read Trump) trying to control you and there ain’t nothing you can do about it. It’s all about accepting that success is defined differently for everyone, that you can’t change everything and being okay with that. It took me a totally avoidable physical and mental crisis to realize that. Here’s me hoping that your journey to self actualization is smoother!

P.S Before you click through and start reading my older blog posts, please note that everything before this was from when I was younger, dumber and not nearly as woke. 

[sleepyfaceandsnark]

Lights Will Guide You Home

"...and ignite your bones"

Ian wakes up on morning, distraught over leaving Mickey, to find a stranger by his bed. Or was he a stranger at all?

Ian walks home from work filled with exhaustion in so many ways. The journey almost pitch black from the shitty street lights not working. He opens the door, the light from inside killing his eyes, and finds Lip and Fiona drinking on the couch.  

“Hey, man,” Lip greets him. “Wanna join?”

Ian offers a fake smile to his siblings. Not having a genuine since…  He things Since you broke up with the man you loved and did nothing as he got chased away with your gun toting half-sister…or was she your cousin. Who the fuck knows. It’s not like your siblings pay enough attention to you to realize your smile isn’t real.

“Nah,” Ian says. “Had a long day. Think I’ll just go to bed.”

“Aww,” Fiona groans, she already seems to be drunk. Drunk Fiona was always a lot of fun. Ian thinks before he shrugs lightly still smiling and heads to the stairs.

Ian’s face drops as soon as he’s out of sight. He gets to his bedroom, Lip’s old one, and starts taking off his clothes.

He sits on the edge and sighs. Another day end, another failed relationship that couldn’t fill the void that was left by-

Ian can’t say his name. Doesn’t want to. It’s left at the back of his throat and he swallows it down hard.

He lays his head on the pillow and welcomes the dreams that will let him escape this reality, at least for a little while.

  The morning comes too quickly, the night was filled with tossing and turning and Ian wakes up as he usually does…still tired. His mind is full of regret, guilt, and whatever the hell else kept him up at night and haunted him in his slumber. He rubs his eyes, his body acting hungover despite him not having a drink last night. This is typical until he gets some caffeine in him. Though not even caffeine could hide the disgust and general hatred for himself he felt whenever he thought about…him… Mickey. He lets him think of his name. The man he loved and left again and again. He tried to bury everything he felt with man-hopping and his new job but it didn’t work and Ian knew it.

The bright sun blinds him as Ian looks towards the opened window.

He sighs and turns over to his side and notices a large lump by him on the bed. At first he thinks it’s a pillow but quickly realizes it’s a person. He quickly shifts all the way to the other side of the bed. It’s probably someone Frank let in for some cash or drugs. Won’t be the first time.

Ian leans back and extends his leg slowly pushing the person further and further off the bed until they get close enough to the edge and Ian kicks them off as forceful as he can.

A loud thump is heard and a groan soon after. Ian quickly jumps off the bed and grabs the bat he always has by his bed.

“Well that’s one fucking way to wake up.” The person says. It’s mumbled enough that Ian can’t quite make out if he knows them or not.

He comes over to the side of the bed the person fell out, his grip on the bat tightening. He can see now it’s a man though most of his body is still covered by the sheets that fell with him.

Ian holds up the bat higher and is about to shout at the man when the man’s arm escape his cover prison to rub his head and Ian sees his hand.

The bat slips out of Ian’s fingers and crashes down on the floor making a worse noise then the body that hit it a few minutes ago.

It can’t be he thinks but he sees it clearly.

 U-UP

 “What’s with the Leonidas death kick, man?” The dark haired man asks pulling the covers off himself to look up at Ian.

Ian says nothing.

“You know from that 300 movie? Kicks the dude down the endless pit?”

Ian looks at what is clearly Mickey but he can’t believe it.

“You okay?” Mickey asks lightly.

“What’re…how are…what are you doing here?” Ian finally gets out barely above a whisper.

“Umm…” Mickey looks around like maybe Ian was talking to someone else but nope they were in Ian’s room. The same room they shared for months. “I live here..?”

Ian shakes his head. “No …Mexico. You’re in Mexico.”

Mickey chuckles like Ian was playing some joke on him. Like some candid camera dude was going to pop out from under the bed.

“Think you got me confused with Frank.”

“What?”

“Remember when Frank disappeared for like 3 months a while back. Wasn’t he in Mexico?”

“Yeah…I guess. I don’t remember but…no you’re supposed to be there. I don’t understand.”

Mickey gets up and gets close to Ian. Not reacting to Ian backing away slight.

“You okay? Maybe your pills are making you see things or something? We can go to the doctor get you a different dosage?”

A sudden panic rises in Ian. No doctor. “NO! …No it’s fine I just…” Just touch him, Ian thinks. Touch him and you’ll know. Ian doesn’t want to. Ian doesn’t want to touch Mickey’s face and feel nothing there. He wants to be with him, here, the way it’s supposed to be. But he can’t live a lie…it’ll be worse in the end.

So Ian hesitates but reaches out to touch Mickey’s face. The dark haired man looking at him curious.

Ian’s hand makes contact with Mickey’s cheek and it’s…flesh. It’s real. He’s real. Ian’s eyes go wide. “M-Mick?”

Mickey reaches to touch Ian’s wrist that’s attached to the hand on his cheek.

“What is it, Ian? You’re freaking me out a bit man.”

“You’re…”

“Are you seeing things again like with the MTs?”

MTs…MTs fuck… Ian thinks. If this is real…like really real what time was he in? Did the MTs already come after him? Did Sammi…? Fuck Sammi.

“No…no I just had…some weird fucking dream. Can I ask you something?”

Mickey sighs with slight relief. “Yeah sure..?”

“The MTs…them coming after me…”

Mickey looks down showing guilt.

Okay so that means it happened. Not that it was Mickey’s fault at all. But if that happened what happened with Sammi?

“I know it was um Sammi that told them and shit you didn’t…do anything to her?”

Mickey eyes Ian curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Like…revenge or something. Cause Mickey please I swear it’s not worth it. She doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to-“

Mickey holds his hand up and cuts Ian off “Woah, woah hey. Its fine dude it’s taken care of”

Ian looks at Mickey sadly and looks down. No, no, no.

“She got arrested from some child endangerment or abuse or something I don’t know.”

“Wait…she got arrested?”

Mickey titters and nods. “Yeah, Ian. Fiona practically threw a party. You don’t remember?”

Ian sighs relieved. “No I do. I do it just kind of slipped.”

“Mhmm...” Mickey nods. Still concerned about Ian’s behavior. “Must’ve been a really bad dream.” Mickey groans and rubs his back where he fell. “A really bad dream.” He side eyes Ian in mock anger but breaks it and smiles shaking his head.

“I’m sorry about the,” Ian gestures to the bed. “Kicking.”

“Oh yeah. Don’t think you’re not gonna make up for that later.” Mickey raises his brow and sticks his tongue out.  

Gladly, Ian thinks.

Ian tries to think of where they are though. Time wise. Were they backwards where he just got out from the MTs and seeing Monica or did time go by like Mickey never got arrested? How’s he supposed to get clues without freaking Mickey out further?

Mickey leaves the room to head downstairs and Ian checks outside to see what kind of weather was out there. The sun was out so at least it wasn’t winter but…sometimes fall can look like summer. And it was fall when… No don’t think about that. Sammi is in jail. Mickey is safe. Here. With you.

Ian sighs and follows Mickey downstairs.

“You off today right?” Mickey asks as soon as Ian’s feet cause the stairs to creak behind Mickey.

“Umm” Shit work. Ian thinks. Did he have the EMT job? Or was he stuck still at the club? Or the diner? “Work?”

“Yeah…does the station need you today?”

Station? So he was still an EMT? Or something else?

“The station for…”

Mickey’s confused like he was missing something. “Ambulances. EMTs.”

Ian gives a look of joy and pride. “I’m still an EMT.” He says softly, thinking Mickey wouldn’t hear him.

“I sure hope so. You worked so fucking hard to get there.”

“I did? I mean I did.” He looks at Mickey again carefully. “Can you tell me about that again?”

Mickey rubs his eyes. Clearly done with Ian acting weird but going with it anyway. “Um well you were fucked up about not being able to do the army shit anymore. I mean that was your dream”

No. Ian thinks. It really wasn’t. My dream was you. But Ian nods.

Mickey sighs. “And uhh I don’t know you hated that diner job and that shitty janitor job after that and I started thinking you were really good at helping people so…” Mickey shrugs. “I threw some stuff at you. That seemed to have stuck.”

Ian smiles softly and nods. “Right. I remember.”

“Yeah you just like boasting about it huh?” Mickey smirks.

“Ha-ha yeah maybe.”

Mickey shakes his head as if to say this fuckin asshole. He goes to the fridge.

“Hey um speaking of Frank that you mentioned earlier,” Ian starts. “What’s he up to?”

“Huh?” Mickey turns around to Ian. He almost laughs. “Why?”

Ian shrugs. He couldn’t say it would help him place when exactly he was. “Umm just you know would like to avoid him.”

“He do something?”

“Nah. Since when do I need a reason to avoid Frank?”

“True.” Mickey accepts and then thinks. His eyes brighten when he finds what he’s looking for. “OH that’s right. He was doing that homeless shit remember?”

Franks always doing homeless shit. This him fighting a homeless guy. Him begging with Liam, or Debbie, or both? Hopefully not when he made that homeless shelter then that’d mean he was almost where he left. And…he’d be there.

“Homeless thing?”

“I don’t know like housing them or some shit. I’m trying to figure out what’s in it for Frank but I guess time will tell.”

Ian breathes in, suddenly nervous. “You mean the one a few doors down?”

“Is it?”

Maybe in this version of it its somewhere else.

Ian shrugs.

“I just heard Frank wanted a new family after we kicked him out of here for like what the 100th time? Guess he finally had enough.” Mickey says as he fishes through the fridge.

He takes out butter and goes to the bread box. He throws the bag on the table and takes out 2 pieces. He notices Ian’s face.

“You look worried.”

Ian shakes his head out of his trance. “Huh? Nah I was just thinking.”

“That dream really fucked you up, huh?”

“Yeah…yeah it did.”

Ian sighs and sits on the stool by the counter.

They eat in silence, Ian thinking Mickey observing Ian.

 After breakfast they head to the living room. Or rather Mickey heads there and Ian just doesn’t want to leave his side.

“Hey,” Mickey says peering out the window to the front of the house. “Looks like you were right.”

“Huh?” Ian asks.

“There’s signs outside advertising Frank’s ‘Homeless Shelter’.”

“Oh?”

That doesn’t mean anything Ian thinks. Frank is always up to stupid shit like that of course that wouldn’t change.

Mickey throws back the curtain and grabs his jacket from the sofa.

“What’re you doing?” Ian asks watching Mickey.

“Gonna check it out.”

“W-why?”

Mickey shrugs and walks towards the door.

Ian panics and makes his way to Mickey as fast as he can but Mickey’s already out the door.

“Mickey where are you going?”

“Seeing what exactly Frank is up to?”

“Why?”

“So we can expose his ass.”

“Why don’t we just let him be?” Ian suggests looking from Mickey to the location of Frank’s Shelter.

“What?” Mickey asks, confused.

“Just come inside. Who gives a shit about what Frank’s doing?”

Mickey sighs. “What’s with you?”

Ian opens his mouth to answer when he sees a car pulling up by the curb. He recognizes it from the other time.

Ian runs down the stairs to Mickey who’s now facing the car. Ian tugs his sleeve. “Let’s go inside. Please?”

“Hey do you know whose house this is?” The guy getting out of the car asks making his way to the boys. Before he can make it in front of them Ian’s already back up the stairs to his house.

“Yeah it’s his-“, Mickey says turning back to Ian and noticing he’s not right behind him anymore.

Ian doesn’t make eye contact with the man. He’s not sure what he’s afraid of it’s not like he ever loved Trevor. He was just a poor distraction from Mickey. But Ian is afraid. He’s afraid if he sees him that somehow he’ll be jumped back to the time he came from. The time without Mickey. The wrong time.

“Mickey,” Ian’s voice begs.

“He okay?” Trevor asks and Mickey turns back to him.

“Yeah, yeah uhh,” He turns to Ian. “I should go. Sorry I can’t help.” Mickey heads back up the stairs to Ian.

He reaches around Ian to open the door and lightly pushes the taller man through.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on or do I have to call someone?”

Mickey just wants Ian to talk and if Ian’s not going to talk to him Mickey will find someone that he will talk to.

Ian shakes his head and looks down at the floor.

“That kid? You know him?”

Ian nods.

“What’s wrong with him? He do something to you? He hurt you?”

“No. No. Not really.”

“’Not really’ isn’t good enough.” Mickey says and Ian can see the anger in his eyes like he’s about to hunt Trevor down right his minute.

“He wasn’t…I just don’t like how I knew him is all, okay?”

Mickey sighs again, the air escaping his nostrils makings a harsh whistling noise. He nods, though, accepting Ian’s answer. Figuring it must be the club or something Ian didn’t like talking about.

“Doing anything today?” Mickey asks, changing the subject.

Ian shakes his head though maybe he did have plans he wasn’t aware of them now.

“Yeah…” Mickey thinks. “Maybe I’ll help Iggy with that job.”

Ian rubs the back of his neck. “Do you-Do you have to?” Ian asks. He couldn’t let Mickey out of his sight now. Not right when he just got him back.

“Why?”

“You could just stay here with me.”

Mickey’s brows furrow in confusion. It’s just one job.

“We never get to really have a lazy day together anymore.” Ian states. Any reason to get Mickey to stay with him.

Mickey seems to agree. “Alright. I guess I can tell Iggy to do it another day.”  Ian breathes out, relieved. “On one condition.”

Ian looks up at Mickey again.

“You tell me exactly what the fuck is going on.”

Ian looks distraught but nods his head in agreement. He sits down on the couch. “For starters. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. But for sake of…let’s just say it was a dream okay?”

Mickey sits down slowly. “…okay…”

“Before I woke up today I was in a different place.” Ian winces at how weird he was making it sound already. “It was like how it is now except you. You weren’t there and I was different because of it. I left you…in two horrible situations. I fucked around. I talked shit about you. I abandoned you. I made you feel worthless I-,” Ian starts getting emotional about how the other him was.

Mickey places a hand on Ian’s knee. “Hey…”

Ian shakes his head. “The night before I had broken up with the latest fling and I left you in fuckin…Mexico. Alone. I’m so-,“ Ian puts his head in his hand. “I fucked up so much.”

Mickey puts his arm around Ian and lays his hand on Ian’s lower back. “Hey it’s alright. I’m here now aren’t I?”

Ian turns to Mickey and looks at him. He smiles lightly and nods. “Yeah. Yeah you are.” Ian reaches his hand to Mickey’s face. “I still don’t understand it.”

Mickey puts his own hand to Ian’s cheek. “There’s a lot of things we don’t understand. Maybe we’re not meant to.”

Ian’s surprised and curious by Mickey’s response. Did he feel it too? Was he somewhere else?

“Yeah.” Ian says now tear eyed.

Mickey closes his eyes and leans in to kiss Ian. Ian returns it and soon their tongues are dancing in each other’s mouth and it’s an amazing kiss. Better kiss then any of the recent ones Ian had. It’s different. It’s happy. They pull away their foreheads touching.

“It’s alright now,” Mickey says. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Ian beams, finding comfort in Mickey’s certainty.

“Plus I mean…It’s gotta be a dream right?”

Ian eyes him confused.

“I mean think about it. Me? Escaping jail? I mean I’m good but I’m not that good. Is that even possible anymore?”

Ian thinks. Mickey does have a point. It doesn’t make much sense. Then again nothing did in the other world. Nothing at all. And why didn’t it…  Ian starts to wonder.

“Now!” Mickey says, interrupting Ian’s thoughts. “What’s on today’s lazy day itinerary, Archie”

Ian nearly rolls his eyes out of his head at the nickname. But he loves it because it’s Mickey.

Ian shrugs. “I figure mostly cuddling and watching movies.”

Mickey groans.

“You love cuddling, asshole.”

Mickey smiles admittedly. “Hey that knowledge stays in the bedroom though.”

“Lips are sealed.”

“Better be, Gallagher. Now get over here and cuddle me, bitch.” Mickey says causing Ian to crack up.

 They spend the day wrapped in each other watching movies on someone’s Netflix account Lip had hijacked or so that’s what Mickey reminded Ian happened.

Neither even notice when the sun goes down. Eventually Mickey yawns and stretches his arm up.

“We should get to bed.” He says.

Ian sits up now noticing its night time. Panic sets in as he watches Mickey get up and go up the stairs to the bedroom. What if this was it? What if the dream was what he was living now and tomorrow he’d wake up alone and Mickey in God knows where in Mexico? What if this was all he got?

“Mick!”

Mickey turns around.

“One more episode?” Ian asks, trying not sound desperate.

Mickey yawns again. “Sorry, Ian. I’m fuckin tired. We can watch more tomorrow after I finish doing that thing for Iggy.”

Ian nods and looks away from Mickey. But what if he doesn’t have tomorrow.

“Come on. Come to bed. You were almost passing out two episodes ago.”

“Yeah I’ll be right up.”

“Okay…”

Ian hears Mickey’s feet hit the stairs and he sighs closing his eyes. After a few minutes pass he breathes in and prepares for what may be his last moments with Mickey…again.

Or maybe they won’t be. He says. Maybe he was brought here for a reason other to feel even more miserable when he returns and if he was being honest Mickey had a strong point. Nothing in the past months or even year made any sense. The shit with him, Mickey getting arrested and tried in the first place should’ve never happened let alone him ESCAPING jail. Mickey was right that shit didn’t happen in this day in age. The dude from that Shawshank movie had to dig a tunnel and even then it took him YEARS.

Ian debates from being positive or pessimistic as he makes his way upstairs to join his boyfriend.

He watches as Mickey gets undressed and does the same.

“This room is a mess,” Ian says lightly just now noticing the room. Clothes were all over the floor. Not like he cared, at least not right now.

Mickey scoffs at Ian’s remark.

“Hey you mind if we switch?” Ian asks.

Mickey’s brow furrow in confusion. “What? Like…sex-“

“No,” Ian laughs. “No, no.”

“Oh good cause I was not ready to give up that position.”

“Oh I know.” Ian says and gives a smug look.

“Ha-ha.” Mickey retorts. “Then switch what?”

“Sleeping…”

Mickey looks towards the bed. “OH spooning. You want to be the little spoon.”

Ian rolls his eyes as Mickey snickers. “Alright Sleeping Beauty I’ll be your big spoon.”

“Well if you’re gonna act like that-“

“Nope. You asked you get.”

Ian laughs as they both climb into bed. Ian lays down first as Mickey moves beside him. Ian blinks his eyes to try not to let tears find their home in his eyes and he tries not to think about what he may wake up to in the morning. His eyes close though, his body immediately calming down when Mickey stretches his arm around Ian. He breathes in sharply. And it’s quiet.

“Hey,” Mickey whispers by Ian’s ear. “You okay?”

Ian just nods.

Somehow Mickey always knew.

“I love you.” Ian manages to choke out.

Mickeys other hand runs through the top of Ian’s hair. “I love you, too.” And Ian feels a soft kiss on his cheek before he drifts off to sleep.

And Ian is at peace in his rest for the first time in a long time.

 But then he wakes up.

Remembering the day beforehand he turns over expecting to find Mickey laying by him still, but he’s not.

Ian feels the empty spot and it’s cold.

That doesn’t mean anything He tells himself. He could’ve gotten up really early and… Mickey? An early riser? Since when?

Ian breathes in. Everything’s fine you’re just overreacting. He sits up on the bed and rubs his eyes. He looks around and something in the room looks different…feels different.

And then he notices it.

All the clothes, the mess he complained about a few hours ago, gone. No. Ian thinks. No, no, no.

He lets his head fall into his lap, his hands going up through his hair and to the back of his neck. “No, no, no, no.” He says out loud. “Mickey…” And then something inside him cracks. He needs Mickey, just a part of him. Something he wore Ian had, something he slept in. And Ian thinks of his army sleeping bag Mickey always seemed to have slept with and “borrowed”. He runs to his closet and turns on the unnaturally bright light inside it. He searches through it frantically ignoring all the clothes hanging from the hooks, ignoring the shoes on the ground. He has to have it somewhere. He starts tearing up the room looking for it until he hears a knock on the door frame.

He looks up and sees Lip.

“Looking for something?” His brother asks him.

Ian wipes away at his face, not noticing the tears that seemed to have dropped until now.

“Nah…ehem no. Think I lost something”

“What was it?”

Ian shrugs and lies “A shirt.”

“There’s a load in the wash. Could be in there?”

Ian nods. “Okay, thanks.”

Lip starts to walk away but turns back. “Oh and Debbie’s making pancakes.” He then leaves and heads downstairs.

Pancakes.

Ian thinks he hasn’t been able to eat them since he broke up with Mickey because they always reminded them of him. Now he’s definitely sure he won’t be able to stomach them but if he didn’t go down there then that would make his siblings wonder why and he really, really doesn’t want to explain all of that.

So Ian makes his way downstairs ignoring the voices in the kitchen.

He grabs a plate deciding to try to stomach one pancake. “That all you’re having?” Debbie asks flipping fresh pancakes over.

“For now.” Ian says, though not really.

He goes over the drawer to look for a fork. He starts digging deeper in the drawer for a clean one that didn’t look like it belonged to one of Debbie’s dolls from 6 years ago. He can hear the dryer going and debates looking in there real quick. Finally finding a fork he decides to just get breakfast over with and look later.

He plays with his pancakes a bit, taking a bite or two here and there.

“They okay? Are they undercooked?” Debbie asks Ian, ignoring Lip scarfing them down.

Ian looks up at her. “Huh? Nah I just-,“ Ian scoots his chair out. “I forgot to uh…take my pills. I should take them before I eat.”

“Oh…okay.”

He gives Debbie a reassuring expression before heading back upstairs. He wasn’t exactly lying he did forget to take them he thinks as he goes back to his room. He takes his medication and waits it out a bit. Trying to think of an excuse like pancakes were too filling and he wasn’t hungry enough for them or waiting for Debbie to finish so he could just throw it out and pretend he ate it.

He shakes his head. You’re being ridiculous he thinks.

He goes down stairs again, hearing the backdoor open and close as he gets to the bottom.

“Mornin’” Debbie greets the person.

“Where’ve you been?” Lip asks them. Ian can’t tell if it’s an angry bite or just sarcasm. It’s probably Frank…unless Lip and Fiona got into a fight.

Ian sighs and takes the last few steps.

“Here,” Ian hears as he walks into the kitchen eyes meeting the floor. “Here’s money for the hot water cause my ass is tired of taking cold showers.”

Wait….

He hears Lip laugh.

That voice.

That’s-

Ian looks up.

Mickey.                  

Ian bumps into the chair he had been sitting in earlier causing Mickey to turn around.

“Hey Sleeping Beau-“

But Mickey can’t finish his sentence as a tearful Ian rushes over to him and grabs him, holding on to him for dear life.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Mickey comforts dropping whatever more money he had in his hand on the counter and wraps his arms around Ian. Ian digs his face into Mickey’s shoulder blade as Mickey rubs his back.

Mickey feels Ian’s sobs through his chest. “Hey it’s alright.”

“Mickey…” Ian says softly.

“It’s okay…”

“I thought you were gone again,” Ian chokes out.

“I’m here.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I won’t. Ever.” Mickey pulls away and grabs Ian’s face. “As long as you promise to never leave me.” He says with a smile

Ian looks at Mickey, the tears in his eyes making his beautiful eyes even more radiant. Ian nods. “Never.”

“Good,” Mickey beams and pulls Ian back into him.

Ian wants to hold Mickey there in the kitchen forever but is now sure he has him, for good. Whatever the other life or timeline or whatever it was it wasn’t his life anymore. His life is here with Mickey.

Ian pulls away from Mickey knowing Mickey would hold him there until his legs fell out from exhaustion if he had to.

Mickey holds his hand to Ian’s cheek. “You okay?”

Ian nods.

Mickey walks to the washer after giving Ian a kiss of comfort. “Don’t think we’re not gonna talk about this later though.”

“Of course.”

Mickey opens the washer and takes out the clothes to put in the dryer. Ian notices as Mickey piles them it’s all the clothes he complained about being on the floor last night and…even the army cameo sleeping bag.

Ian grins and starts laughing when Mickey curses at the washer for not getting his white sweater clean enough only to get the wet fabric thrown at his face.

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