#I did in fact need to use cannabis as soon as I woke up this morning

[g0ldengubler]

chapter 9 ~ ...and the after party

A/N: i’m baaaaaccckkkk! i hope u guys enjoy this chapter and expect 10 coming soon! also thank you guys for almost 600 followers! that’s insane i love u guys🥺🥺 get ready for the one shot coming right after this ;) (also i will fix this so it has the keep reading part sometime this week i’m on my phone lol)

Category: smut (NSFW18+)

CW: use of cannabis, hangover, lots of smut at the end.

Word Count: 2598

✨masterlist✨

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You were awoken by the feeling of arms wrapping around you as the pounding in your head grew. Taking Spencer's hand, you covered your eyes thinking it would calm it down a bit as you thought back to last night. You couldn't remember much, but you did remember feeling happy and content, being surrounded by people you could actually call family and not feel the need the hold back anything about you. You remember feeling free, whether that was the alcohol talking or not. You've only known Spencer and the team for only a short time, and through that, you've gotten to know Spencer at, what felt like, a deeper level. That was something you never really could do or feel, growing up - to feel like you belonged.

Carefully moving his hand back to where it was before, you let your eyes flutter open as the pounding got worse. You looked around the room to see that you and Spencer had taken the couch and you were the first one awake. You saw Emily and Jj passed out on the floor, their heads on pillows and blankets wrapped around them. You figured that Garcia and Morgan were asleep in her room, as the two couldn't take their hands off each other last night, and Hotch had passed out on the recliner, his snoring being the loudest of them all which didn't surprise you until you realized you got wasted with your boss. You chuckle softly to yourself, knowing that this would be one hell of a story to tell in the future, hell maybe even tell Seth when you got back.

You felt the body next to you shift and looked to your right, seeing a sleepy Dr.Reid rubbing the sand out of his eyes. As he shifted the weight of his body onto his elbow, he smiled when he saw you before putting a hand on his head.

"How much did I drink last night?" He asked.

"Good morning to you, too." You said before leaning over and kissing his forehead.

Spencer wraps his arm around you and pulls you in closer. As the two of you talked about what you remembered, everyone started to wake up one by one, joining in on the conversation. Garcia came in before Morgan woke up and made everyone tea and gave each one of you some advil for the headaches.

"Where did Rossi go?" asked Jj.

"Rossi already had an Uber ready to pick him up from the bar," said Hotch, "I just checked my phone and he had texted me when he got home."

"Anyone up for food?" asked Emily, "I'm starving!"

"Anyone have any plans today?" asked Garcia.

Everyone shook their heads. "I haven't even thought that far since we got back from Michigan." you said.

''Good! Because I already had something in mind."

"You always do, baby girl." jokes Morgan, which made everyone chuckle to themselves.

She looks around the room as an evil grin grew on her face. All but Morgan were confused. "Ok, no," he says, "I don't think anyone would want to do that, especially Hotch."

"What wouldn't I want to do?" asked Hotch, looking even more confused than before.

Morgan sighs before speaking, as if he didn't want to say this in front of him. "Garcia has been wanting everyone over for a "proper smoke sesh", not like the last time. She's been like this ever since she got these new hemp blunt wraps."

"They're healthier than normal ones," she said, looking a little annoyed with Morgan, "they're better than getting leftover tobacco and nicotine in your system."

Hotch sat there for a moment, sipping on his tea while thinking about it. He put his thumb under his chin and his index finger on top, going through the scenarios and the pros and cons. "I mean," he spoke, "Jessica still has Jack over at Hershey Park from their weekend vacation, and I wouldn't have to be back until tomorrow...."

"...So is that a yes?" asked Emily.

There a was a pause for a moment, and in that moment you could feel the unnecessary tension in the room.

"...yeah I'll stay for tonight," he confesses, "but we do NOT talk about this with anyone else. I haven't smoked weed since college."

"Didn't you go to law school, though?" asked Spencer.

"How do you think we got through law school?"

Everyone cheered jokingly and laughed at the fact that their boss was getting high with them. Never did you think that within the beginning of your time with the BAU, you came at a time where the whole team was given their first uninterrupted, paid vacation that desperately needed, and was able to find love and do things you didn't think they'd do. You knew this night was going to be even more interesting than last night.

____

Something about getting high with others made you feel it more than usual. Could've been because it's more fun with more people, but that train of thought faded into the fog of your brain as your attention shifted to the cards in front of you. That night, Garcia had rolled the blunt and everyone passed it around until it was a roach, Hotch having a coughing fit at one point, but she had made her way to her room after and had the box of Cards Against Humanity in one hand and a bong and grinder in her other. Spencer cracked up the most out of all of you when Hotch had his coughing fit, you couldn't tell what was funnier.

As Changes by David Bowie played in the background, you were enjoying your own little version of the game. Whoever lost the round had to take a bong rip, and boy was Hotch having a rough night as he couldn't seem to get a win.

It came to the final round, and you and Spencer were tied on 9 black cards. The black card was, 'When I was tripping on acid, ____ turned into ____', and it was Jj's turn to pick. She luckily narrowed it down to two cards, one of them being yours. As she read them allowed, you noticed that she laughed at yours a little more than the other one. She ended up choosing yours and you cheered that you won the game, deciding that you wanted to take a victory rip. As you exhaled without choking, you caught Spencer out of the corner of your eye rolling his, which you pretended to ignore.

You lay back on the couch afterward and snuggled into Spencer as he wrapped an arm around you. Everyone talked amongst themselves, eating the snacks that were placed out on the coffee table. You felt Spencer lean in as he whispered, "That's not how you were last time," he said "you were completely gagging."

"Are you just jealous that you choked when you took a bong rip?" You teased. You knew where this was going, but you hoped that he had a plan and where to go.

Spencer looks around the room before leaning back to your ear. "Where it all started," he said, "follow 5 minutes after me and if anyone asks you're going to the bathroom, clear angel?"

You simply nod as you watch him get up. You pretend to look at your phone, keeping your head down, but you would look up a little bit to watch him stumble his way. After five minutes you get up and head to Garcia's room, where you see Spencer spread out on the bed looking up at the stars, just like that night.

"Well well well," You said after shutting the door, "someone looks spaced out." You sit next to him on the bed, where he sits up on his shoulder.

Spencer pushes a strand of hair out of your face smiling. "Nice one," he says, "but I'm going to be honest, I think we should skip all the foreplay."

He pushes you down on the bed as he gets on top of you. You felt the air leave your body as his lips went straight for your neck, devouring the blank space. "I need you so bad, y/n," Spencer says breathless, "it was hard hiding myself after in front of everyone as you took those rips. I couldn't stop thinking about pounding you."

"Well get to it then, daddy." You said as innocently as you could, palming him through his pants.

That was the push he needed. He quickly ripped off your jeans with your panties going with as you ripped him out of his. You saw his cock hit his stomach and you couldn't hold in your moan. Spencer quickly covered your mouth shushing you. "I know they have Bowie going on repeat, but I don't think it'll cover our beautiful voices, however. Can you be a good girl and try to be quieter?"

Muffled, you say yes. Spencer moves you up higher on the bed so your head could rest on the pillows. He doesn't even tease your entrance as he pushes all the way into you. Your jaw hits the mattress as you let out a silent scream. He wouldn't even let you adjust as he quickly moves inside you.

"Fuck daddy it feels so good!" You moan out.

"You're so fucking tight, angel...And so wet-fuck...You like being fucked like a slut, hm? You like getting pounded into the mattress like this?"

"Yes yes yes yessss!"

He leans down and lifts your shirt up, showing that you weren't wearing a bra as your tits glow in the moonlight. He tsks at no bra before letting it slide and attaches his mouth to your right nipple. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he flicks your nipple with his tongue, intoxicated by the amount of pleasure you were feeling.

Shortly after, you felt the pressure in your lower stomach start to drop and you tighten your grip around his cock and he lets out groan.

"You getting close, angel?" He asks.

"Please let me cum daddy, please please please!" You beg.

He grabs the headboard with his left as he used his right for support, pounding you even harder and harder. Your grip on him tighten even more, making him tilt his head back at the friction.

"Cum for me angel, be a good girl and cum so hard all over my cock."

You throw a pillow over your face in fear of the other's finding out. You felt like you were screaming at the top of your lungs as he helped ride out your orgasm, but he didn't stop. He kept going at it, railing you to the mattress. You could feel yourself getting more and more sensitive as he kept going at it. You looked up to see him still holding onto the headboard as he throws his head back in pleasure. It was so hot to you that you felt yourself getting close again.

"Ca-I can't...take it daddy!" You whimper out.

Spencer looks down at you and gives you an evil grin as he chuckled to himself. "You can...and you will." He shuts his eyes tight and almost lets his jaw fall open as he felt you grip tightly to his cock again before saying, " I'm so close angel. You want me to cum in you?"

"Yes daddy pleeeasssee fill me up with all your cum!" You moan.

With a few more hard thrusts, they started to get sloppy as you felt him coat your walls and heard him moan and groan in your ear, cursing under his breath. Spencer falls on top of you as he finishes, trying to catch his breath. He falls to the side of you and watches his cum pool out of you.

Spencer's POV~

"You did so good, y/n," I say breathlessly, leaning down and showering her body in kisses. She immediately snuggled herself into my body, forcing me to wrap an arm around her. I think she knew the sex was great, and she told me she loved getting fucked like that, but I could tell she was falling as the vulnerability was starting to peak through.

"Hey," I say as I pepper her cheek in kisses, "You were such a good girl. Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Your pen?"

"Can you clean me up for now," She asks in a small voice, "I'm ok. Just let me try to stand first."

As she goes up to stand, she falls right back down to the bed. I tried to holding in my laughter as she kept trying before stopping her. "It's ok, let me go get something to clean you up and then we'll go back out there, ok?"

"Thank you Spence." She says, trying to hold back tears of embarrassment. I reach over and wipe  a tear away from her face.

As I shut the door behind me to get a wipe from the bathroom, I noticed that everything was quiet. Too quiet. Not being able to find wipes in the bathroom, I slowly but casually (or as casually as I could act) walked to the kitchen. I couldn't even make it there as I froze where I stood in the living room, eyes darting on me with a few small grins poking out. I look at his team, as they look right back at me. It was Hotch who finally broke the tension in the air and started cracking up. No words, just laughter. Soon everyone else joined in, myself only giving small giggles and chuckles.

"You heard?"

"You're full of surprises, kid!" said Emily.

"That was you in there?" Morgan asked jokingly, "You. Pretty Rickey. You were saying all of that shit....Why do I feel like I need to learn from you now?"

That made Hotch laugh even more as he burst into another fit. Everyone looked over to him, some confused, some worried.

"Is he ok?" I asked.

Jj pats the top of his head and shook hers. "He'll be fine, he's gonna pass out any minute now."

"Where's y/n? Is she ok?" asked Garcia.

"Yeah she umm..." I was trying to think of the words to use but finally I just came out and said, "...Do you umm..have any wipes, Garcia? She's ok, she just uhh...can't get up without falling back on the bed."

As I gave my classic white, awkward smile, Garcia shook her head and told me she would take care of her. She grabs an ice pack from her freezer and then went over to her purse and grab a packet of baby wipes. She walks over to the hallway before stoping in front of me, making me nervous.

"Did you really have to have rough sex on my bed?"

"I mean, you and Morgan proba-"

"Never mind, just don't talk about it again."

She walks off pass me hurrying to y/n's aid. I look over to Morgan and he just chucked, motioning me to come sit next to him. I walk over and sit down, Morgan handing me the joint they were passing around. Hotch had finally passed out like Jj had said, and Emily put the music back on. I knew there were a lot of questions I wanted to ask, but I decided to save them for tomorrow as I continued to enjoy the night, waiting for y/n to come back out so I could hold her close and give her all my love after ruining her like that.

[crashdevlin]

The Color in Your Leaves

Author’s Note: I haven't written Cas in a while. And I haven't written Endverse!Cas for a one-shot so...this goes for my Endverse!Cas square for @spnkinkbingo​

Summary: Y/n gets tasked with caring for Castiel when he breaks his foot. Y/n has strong opinions about the hedonistic lifestyle the former Angel lives, strong opinions about how everyone in the Apocalypse has allowed themselves to fall. Can she help him remember who he used to be?

Pairing: Endverse!Cas x Reader

Word count: 4431

Story Warnings: Dean is an asshole, derogatory terms for lesbian, a bit of exhibitionism on Cas' part, 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, unprotected sex, fingering, angsty

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You had no qualifications for this. You weren't a nurse or a doctor. You weren't a caregiver of any kind. You were a weapons expert. You were volun-told by the boss man. General Winchester needed his right hand man back on his feet as soon as possible, which meant sending in someone to take care of him, keep him off of his feet until he healed.

There were two dozen women who went to the General and begged for the opportunity, the privilege, of caring for Castiel, but Dean Winchester was smart enough to see their desire to help as just plain desire. "Needs to focus on his health, not getting his dick wet. That's why you're gonna do it, Y/n."

"Because I didn't volunteer?" you questioned.

"Because you're a lesbian. You won't care about anything except caring for him and keeping him off that bum foot 'til it heals."

You were not, in fact, a lesbian. You were very attracted to men. You were just the only woman in camp who turned down Dean's advances so you got labeled. It wasn’t that Dean was unattractive, either, he was just an asshole. Most survivors were. Even the former Angel you were charged with helping used his aura of celestial wisdom to lure women into bed with him. It was disheartening. If this was what was left of humanity, then what was the point?

You knocked on the doorframe holding up the beads that were his front door. He went full hippie when he went full human. Drugs, women, indulgence, and 'why not?' you overheard him tell Chuck once. "Why not load up on this stuff? The closest I'll ever get to Heaven again is when I reach nirvana with the help of amphetamines and a good orgasm."

An Angel.

You rolled your eyes as he called out, "Come in!" You stepped through the beads and sighed. "Bedroom!" he shouted, answering your query of his location before you could ask it.

You twisted the doorknob and pushed the door to the bedroom open, gasping as your eyes fell on him and Nadia, both very naked and midcoitus. "Oh my god!" You twirled on the balls of your feet and slammed the door. As soon as the shock wore off, you were pissed. He had no fucking decency! She had no decency! The world might have ended but that wasn't okay! You don't call someone into your bedroom when you're in the middle of- "Our fearless leader sent me here to play nursemaid and specifically said he doesn't want you getting laid until you're healed, Castiel, so Nadia needs to get her damn clothes on and get the fuck out of here. Now!" you shouted through the door.

You could hear the grumbling from her as she grabbed her clothes. Castiel's voice was murmuring promises to her, but you couldn’t hear the words. Nadia glared at you as she stomped out of the room. "Bitch, don't even," you snapped before turning halfway toward the door. "Castiel, I'm coming in. Please respect that I have no desire to see your nakedness. Cover up, please."

“I’m covered,” he called, an air of amusement to his words. You rolled your eyes as you walked in and started gathering dirty clothes from his floor, avoiding looking at him on the bed just in case. “You know, modesty is such an archaic ideal to hold onto, don’t you think?”

“Well, modesty might seem archaic to you, but choice is not and I choose not to be indecent just because the world has ended. I choose not to sleep around the entire camp just because it’s easier to fuck everything away than it is to dwell on it. I think that’s being stronger than getting stoned out of my mind to ignore it like you do,” you snapped.

Blue eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, glaring slightly. You couldn’t help but notice the way that his chest hair showed through his open flannel. “You think you’re stronger than me because you choose to let everyone believe you’re a lesbian?”

A shock of indignation went through you as you rolled his clothes into a ball and tucked them under your arm. “I don’t see the point in correcting them. It’s not like I’m courting a relationship with any of these assholes around camp. You and Dean and Spencer and Tallman and all of the rest of the jerks around this place who think the surviving women are left to bring you pleasure and nothing more, what the hell would I want to deal with that for?” you growled. “Only downside is I get put on bullshit duties like this, taking care of a literal celestial being who couldn’t manage to land right after a second-story jump and broke his damn foot.”

You licked your lips and looked away from him. “I think I’m stronger than you because I didn’t lose myself as soon as the Earth went to Hell,” you answered his earlier question before looking away. “I hope you like oatmeal. I’m gonna go set these to soak and I’ll bring you your breakfast.” You stomped out of his bedroom, through the beads, and out to the laundry bucket outside. “Asshole.”

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You spent as little time as possible at Castiel’s cabin. You found other things to do, away from his prying blue eyes and the stench of cannabis and only went in to feed him, clean his cabin and bring in the basin of hot water for him to clean himself. After the fifth veiled request for you to help him bathe, you started dropping the bowl at the end of the bed and walking out without a word.

“How can you try to cling to what you used to be?” he asked suddenly as you handed him a bowl of beans and hot dogs. It was the first time he approached the subject without the judgment in his tone. “I’m curious.”

You sighed and rubbed at the back of your neck. “Lucifer, he...his whole thing is that we’re broken, right? Humans, we’re broken. We’re flawed and murderous and corrupted, that we were a waste of the Father’s time and effort. That He should have stopped after He created Earth or whatever. So, Lucifer took the Earth, set Hell upon us, and we all crumbled. We let fear and anger and hopelessness turn us into exactly what Lucifer said we were. We let him be right and that’s something I just can’t...I can’t let Lucifer be right about me.”

Castiel blinked a few times before looking away, a look akin to shame on his face. “You’re insightful.”

“Don’t think I don’t understand why it happened, though. I know why it’s enticing to be...selfish and chase pleasures of the flesh. I get the allure of...the baser things when you know that...but there was a time when…” You looked away and shook your head. “I’m just not okay with letting go of that.”

“That is…” Castiel sighed. “I feel I might be quite different if I’d had your perspective when I lost my connection to Heaven.”

“Far as I can tell, Castiel, I’m the only one alive with this perspective. Don’t feel bad about it,” you said, before nodding at his bowl. “Eat up. I’ll be back for the bowl in a while.”

You ducked out of his room before he could continue the conversation. Something about having an honest conversation with the Angel was disarming. The wall you put up to keep yourself from getting too close to the degenerates in camp felt like it was cracking and you couldn’t deal with that.

"What happened to your family?" Castiel asked when you came to retrieve the bowl.

"Same thing that happened to lots of families," you dismissed, your abs clenching, reacting to the question like a literal punch to the gut.

“Croats?” he asked, softly.

“No,” you said, looking down at the floor. “A group of large, angry, normal human beings who wanted the food we were more than willing to share.” You cleared your throat. “I’ll, uh, see you in-”

“How did you get away from the ‘large, angry, normal human beings’?” he asked, not relinquishing the bowl when you moved to take it.

You ran your tongue over your teeth and forced yourself to swallow down the feeling of rage that took you. “I was saved,” you answered.

“By?”

“By a man who...expected me to show my appreciation...said he only saved me because he couldn’t see wasting a body like mine.”

Castiel nodded knowingly as you started toward the door. “Lucifer was right about some humans, but…” You stopped at the door. “...you are an exception.”

“I wasn’t an exception when I put my last bullet through his skull,” you said, before walking out. You could get the bowl in the morning.

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You could almost feel the change in the atmosphere when you showed up the next morning with breakfast. The old smell of weed lingered, but you couldn’t smell anything new. He didn’t smoke his morning joint, which was weird. Smoking was always the first thing he did when he woke up.

He was sitting up in his bed. His hair was combed, his shirt actually buttoned. He looked almost like he was trying to clean up a bit. He smiled as you entered the room, handing his bowl of oatmeal to him and picking up the bowl from the night before where he put it on the floor.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

“Good morning, Castiel.”

You nodded to him as he picked up the oatmeal. He chuckled. “You know, you can call me ‘Cas’. Everyone else does.”

“They do that because Dean has set an example. I follow my own lead. But if you want me to call you ‘Cas’, I’ll do that,” you offered, grabbing his shirt and pants from the day before off of the floor and hanging them over your arm.

“I’d like you to call me whatever you wish, Y/n. Profanities aside, of course,” he said, smiling a bit. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“I personally like ‘Castiel’. Nothing wrong with reminding you where you came from.” You shook your head and chuckled. “When I moved out of my parents’ place, my dad said ‘You can move on and grow big, but the ground you grew in will always put some of that color in your leaves.’ Sometimes, you gotta look at your leaves and remember the ground you grew in.”

He looked perplexed for a minute before nodding. “Heaven is the ground I grew in...and my name is the color of my leaves.” You nodded, smiling brightly. “Feathers might be more apt.”

You laughed. “Maybe, but then it wouldn’t be the thing my dad said. Enjoy your breakfast, Castiel. I’ll have your clothes folded when I get back.”

“I could help with that, if you bring them back first. I’m not doing much besides sitting here.”

You thought about it a minute before you nodded. “Sure,” you responded before walking out.

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You almost hated the fact that Castiel was so charming once you got past the drugs and indulgences. What other man could make you laugh while you were folding a pile of clothes? Or make your cheeks get hot from a lingering look? What man could make your skin tingle with a brush of his hand?

“He almost healed?” Dean asked at the end of the first month as you exited the beads. No pleasantries, no greeting.

“He can stand on it, but he’s still got a limp when he walks. He needs another couple weeks,” you responded. You were guessing about the length of time, but it seemed like the right number.

“He good, though? Hasn’t been sneakin’ chicks, I know that much.”

“Because you’ve been paying so much attention to your best friend?” you snapped.

He pursed his lips a bit and his eyebrows came together a bit. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve talked a lot the last month that you’ve had me caring for him. I’ve seen pieces of the man, sorry Angel, he used to be. You let a perfect celestial being become a...a junkie.”

His eyebrows jumped up indignantly. “I let him? You think I let Cas become-”

“I think if you had cared a little bit more about him, he wouldn’t be like that. He wouldn’t chase skirts like you do and-and chase highs. I found what I’m pretty sure is heroin under his bed and you let-”

“Cas is a big boy. He can take care of himself, Y/n.”

You nodded and smiled tightly. “Then he can take care of himself.”

“That’s not what I-” Dean growled.

“I know it’s not,” you interrupted. You shook your head, sadness filling your eyes as you looked upon the great and powerful Michael Sword. “But he obviously can’t, Dean. He obviously needed help adjusting and you were all he had and you did let him fall to pleasures of the flesh and chemical indulgences. That’s on you.”

Dean looked at you with rage simmering in his eyes for a minute before he chuckled and bit into his bottom lip harsh enough that you thought he might start bleeding. “Here I was, thinkin’ you’re a carpetmuncher but you just don’t like me.” You looked away, your jaw ticking as he stepped closer, radiating the same sort of energy the first man you killed gave off. “Someone’s got a crush on our resident seraph, huh?”

“So what?”

“So now I know why Cas hasn’t had Tallman bringin’ him any of his weed crop the last couple weeks. Cas is tryin’ to do better for you...and I’m pretty sure the whole reason I gave you this duty was to avoid those kinda entanglements.” He took a step back and turned toward his own cabin. “You’re done. I’ll get someone else on Cas duty. Stay out of his cabin. Go find another place to make yourself useful.”

You didn’t even have a chance to argue it before he disappeared into his cabin.

You were livid. Not only because of the way Dean Winchester spoke to you but because you were taken off of the duty you lamented and because Dean knew you weren’t a lesbian as he assumed.

And Castiel was interested...enough that he wasn’t smoking as much as he used to. You refused to believe that you were the reason for that, but Dean seemed so certain.

It didn’t matter.

Nothing really mattered.

You went back to your cabin. It was good. It was a good thing that someone else would have to deal with Castiel. You would be able to put your walls back up. You’d be able to stifle that pesky emotion you were starting to feel for the junkie Angel. It was good.

So why did it hurt you so much?

You went back to work making bullets, cleaning and caring for the camp’s weapons. That was more your speed. Just you and the beautiful, intricate, deadly pieces of machinery.

You felt eyes on you more often as you walked through camp. You felt like people were judging you more now that the camp knew you weren’t a lesbian than they had when they thought you were a lesbian. Probably because they knew that you were judging them for their descent.

You were in your cabin working on a beautiful Colt .45 when a knock came to your door. No one ever came to see you. It just wasn’t done. You set the pistol on the table and stood, walking over to the door and opening it just a few inches. Castiel was on your little porch. His hair was clean and he was wearing clean clothes. He smiled a little when you opened the door a little more. “Castiel. D-do you need something?”

“Need? No. But I would like to come inside,” he said with a smile. You bit your bottom lip and stepped out of the way. He nodded and took two steps past the threshold, allowing you to shut the door behind him. The smell of weed followed him into your small space. “I wasn’t able to thank you for helping me.”

“It was a bit abrupt, how Dean sent…” You cleared your throat. “Tallman in to take over, but that was fine. I...I’m better off…” You licked your lips and walked over to the table. “I’m good with guns.”

“You were doing pretty good with me too, though, weren’t you?”

You swallowed and sat down in your creaky wooden chair, picking up your cleaning cloth. “Too good for our fearless leader’s liking.”

“Dean, he’s...he’s complicated.”

“Not really. He wants you drugged up and drowning in pussy because it’s easier for him to toss away his guilt if you’re enjoying the human condition.” You shrugged. “Or at least appearing to enjoy the human condition.”

“I’ve accused you of being insightful in the past, haven’t I?” he asked and you nodded, avoiding catching his eyes. You didn’t want your wall to crumble again. Not after spending two weeks building it back up again. “Well, I feel that you were very helpful and I-”

“You don’t need to thank me or any of that, Castiel. I was just doing what I was charged with doing. Just, um, stay safe next time you go out. Try not to jump out any windows.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “You seem to have completely tossed away every bit of goodwill you had toward me. Why?”

“Because I can’t like you. It’s that simple.” You set the cloth down on the table and started picking at a loose thread on the edge of it. “Not only is it a vulnerable position to put myself in, but the inkling of possibility that I might like you caused Dean to forbid me from entering your cabin. I can’t imagine what he’d do if he found out I disobeyed him and-”

“We’re not in my cabin, Y/n. You can be nice to me here.” You swallowed as he moved forward and cupped your face between both of his hands. "You're allowed to like me. I know you have strong opinions about the 'junkie Angel' but you don't have to feel bad about liking me."

"Yes, I do." The warmth of his hands on your skin made your eyes flutter closed. "Because you are a man who gives your body without even-"

"You're the only woman to receive my touch since Nadia, Y/n...and I would love for you to touch me." He chuckled and you opened your eyes to look up into his. "It just isn't as satisfying to touch myself to thoughts of you."

Any other man saying those words would have pissed you off. It would have disgusted you. But from Castiel’s deep gravel, it made you feel weak...and letting go seemed like the best option. You stood, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He smiled against your lips and started pulling at your t-shirt. He tasted like weed but you didn’t mind, for some reason.

It didn’t take long for you to be tangled up on your bed, tongues rolling across each other as your hands roamed your bodies. When the fingers of his left hand found your slit, you gasped into his mouth and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s...I haven’t...it’s been…”

“I know. I’ll go slow, Y/n.” He kissed and nibbled at your shoulder as he started rubbing at your clit. "Your body is a gift. I'm humbled to receive it," he mumbled into your skin.

"Fuck," you whispered as his middle finger dipped into you. Too many years of celibacy made you oversensitive and touch starved. The whimper of his name was lost in his lips as you kissed him, pushing your hands into his hair and rolling your hips against his hand as he used that finger to explore your inner cavern.

"So wet. So tight. So beautiful," he praised as you dropped your head back into your pillow and stared up into his sapphire eyes. You were breathless as he slowly ramped you up with just a single finger working inside of you.

"Oh my god!" you squealed as he found that spongy patch inside of you that you barely knew the location of. "Right there, Castiel! Right there! Fuck!"

"It's going to be an honor to make you fall apart, Y/n. No other man here has had the privilege and you're granting me the-"

"You're not a man," you said, words rushing out of you clenched around his finger, arching your back.

He let out a soft gasp and kissed you, slow and sweet as he brought you to the first orgasm given to you by someone else in almost five years.

"You're the only one who still treats me like an Angel," he whispered as he worked you through the orgasm.

"You have a cult of foll-" you started, but he shook his head.

"They idolize me but they don't see me," he whispered against your lips before leaning back and looking into your eyes. "To them, I'm nothing more than the...Apocalypse's last b-list celebrity. To you, I'm still divine. To you...I'm still the color in my leaves."

"You are, Castiel."

You leaned up and pressed your lips to his as he covered your body with his own. The warmth of a body weighing you down, the feel of lips against yours, the way his fingertips dug into your ass as he maneuvered your hips into the position he needed you...it was everything you dreamed it would be when you were trying to keep him out of your mind and he invaded your sleep.

His breath against your ear as he grunted and moaned, his beard rubbing your skin, pushing you closer to the nirvana you heard him talking about so many months ago, it sent shivers down your spine. It was perfect. He was perfect. He was divine.

"I'm almost...almost there," he grunted, sealing his lips over the bolt of your jaw and sucking lightly.

"Please. Angel, please. I wanna feel it." Those words and the whiny, mewling, small quality of them, they barely sounded like you at all.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands tightening their grip on your hips and his cock twitching as he started to cum. He took gasping breaths to calm himself as he pulled back to look at you. "You were every bit as wonderful as I expected, Y/n."

Your cheeks were already warm from the sex but they turned burning hot from the way he was looking at you. "You...were amazing, Castiel."

He ran his fingers almost lovingly across your cheek. "I mean it. I've had women with much more experience who were not even close to as good as you."

"Thank you," you whispered, looking away from him. You didn’t want to be reminded of his many, many sexual partners.

He let out a gasp as he pulled out of you and dropped to your bed beside you. "You are spectacular," he said, pulling you to lie against his chest. You sighed contentedly and closed your eyes, taking comfort in his warmth.

Which was gone when you woke up.

"Hope you don't mind," Dean's voice cut through the haze of sleep to force you to wake with a jolt, immediately concerned with whether you were covered. "You're the only one with beer right now and I needed a few for the party."

"Party?" you asked, turning your head to look at him but keeping your body front-down on the bed. He was sitting in the chair in the corner of your room, a six pack of Coors in his lap.

"Cas' girls wanted me to throw him a little 'Welcome back' thing. I figure, it's the least I can do after cockblockin' 'em the last six weeks, ya know?"

Cas' girls. Cas' cultists. Cas' harem. Cas' far more experienced women.

"Right. Least you could do." You swallowed and bit the inside of your cheek. "I don't mind sharing, but am I at least invited?"

Dean sucked in a hissing breath and grimaced mockingly. "Ah, sorry, sweetheart. I would invite you, but you've gotta hit a supply run with Spencer into Detroit."

"Detroit? That's a fucking red zone! And I'm not a scavenger!" you exclaimed, sitting up and wrapping your blanket around you.

"You are whatever I say you are, Y/n, and I say you're going to Detroit so you're going."

"Is this punishment for not fucking you, Dean?" you snapped.

"No, this is a job," he answered, standing up, cradling the beer in the crook of his elbow. "And if I were punishing you, it wouldn't be because you didn't wanna fuck me, Anne Heche, it'd be because you're changing Cas. If I needed an Angel, I'd'a said yes to Michael. I need my right hand man and you're fucking with that so if I were punishing you, which I'm not, it'd be because you couldn't mind your own business for six weeks and someone's gotta teach you a lesson in Nunya."

He glared down at you. "If you make it back, you'll be on night guard duty at the gate and you'll get to hear Cas' moonlight orgies. But you won't get to come near him and you won't get to influence him anymore, you hear me?" He smiled and lifted the arm with the beer. "Now, if you'll excuse me. You gotta get ready to roll out to Detroit...and Cas and I gotta fuck a half a dozen crazy hippie bitches. I expect you gone in thirty."

You let out an indignant scoff as he walked out of your cabin. You hoped Cas would stop him, say something to save you, but as you stomped toward the gate twenty minutes later to join Spencer at his Jeep, you could hear music and laughter from Cas' cabin. Cas and Dean's laughter and giggling from his women. Too much to hope that you'd truly affected the Angel. Too much to hope that you were more than just a notch on his belt. Too much to hope there was enough green in his leaves to combat all the post-apocalyptic brown.

You didn't say a word as Spencer turned on the Jeep and drove out the gates, driving you to your death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​ @wasabiwitteks​ @rainbowkisses31​ @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661​ @officiallyunofficialperson​ @dolphincliffs​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @gayspacenerd​ @foxyjwls007​ @ilovefanfic86​ @marvelfansworld​ @f-yeahfandoms​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​ @hhiggs​ @sev3nruby​  @hobby27​ @paintballkid711​ @divadinag​ @thewhiterabbit42​ @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark​ @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural​ @letsby​ @supernatural-bellawinchester​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @swinchester27​ @chalicia​ @sunnyroadtrips​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @dayasvalkyrie​ @paryl​ @wereallbrokenangels​ @the-american-witch​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @tatted-trina6​ @sunshineandwings86 Hunter Tags - @atc74​ @sandlee44​ @spnbaby-67​ @kalesrebellion​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @hoboal87​ @stoneyggirl​ @kbl1313​ @cookiechipdough​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @holylulusworld​ @pretty-fortune​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits​ @imperiusimpala​ @supernaturalenchanted​ @blueaura​ @quxxnxfhxll​ @bucky-babygirl​

[pork-bao-buns]

Part 2- Dekusquad

Part One- Bakusquad 

Prompt- In celebration of 4/20, these are some headcanons of getting stoned with different groups in class 1-A and throughout bnha. 

Includes: Izuku Midoria, Tenya Iida, Shoto Todoroki

TW: drug use, fluff, 18+, mild MILD angsty smut, blood mention

Note: all characters are aged up to 18+

Izuku Midoriya

• He was on patrol in the area and you two ran into each other

• He let you know he was getting off soon and asked if you wanted to go grab something to eat, since you had both been busy doing hero work that day

• You invited him to your apartment for dinner since it was just a few blocks away 

• The two of you decided you would cook something together just to have some fun

• He found a jar of green looking butter in your cabinet while he was looking for some spices 

• Y/n, what’s this?

• Your breath caught in your throat and you fought to keep your cool

• Oh, it’s a special infused butter use sometimes, but we don’t need it

• He inspected the jar, shrugged, and stuck it back where he found it, much to your relief 

• But when you went to the pantry to get some noodles, you didn’t see Midoriya grab the jar, a spoon, and drop a huge dollop of the butter in the sauce

• He wanted to see what was so special abt it 

• He shoved the jar back in place just as you came around the corner 

• He had a dumb little grin on his face the whole time you were finishing the pasta 

—————-

“Holy shit y/n, this pasta is incredible!” 

You blushed and swirled some noodles on your plate and watched the hungry hero devour everything on his plate. 

“You know, I don’t know why you didn’t want to use that butter, that stuff is amazing!” Midoriya was going back for seconds as the smile fell from your face. 

“...what do you mean? I didn’t put any in the sauce?” You shot him a quizzical look as he shoveled more food into his mouth. 

“Yeah, but I did when you went to get noodles, and it’s so great! It makes the sauce a lot silkier and—hey!” He jumped as you lurched forward and nabbed his plate, taking it and dumping it into the trash in one swift motion. You kept your back towards him, took a deep breath, and turned to face Izuku. 

“Deku… that was cannabis infused butter. If you cook it into something and then eat it, it will get you high.” 

The smile fell from his face immediately. He looked at the pasta, at you, and then at the floor. 

“Deku, I’m so sor—“ 

“I HAVE TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL IF I GET HIGH I WILL DIE.” His huge green eyes flew up to yours and you could see the panic in them. You quickly flanked to his side, cooing him with reassurances. 

“Hey, whoa. No, no hospital, you definitely don’t need to go to the hospital.” You ducked underneath his arm and leaned his weight onto you, guiding him up from the floor and onto the couch. “Listen. You’re going to be okay, but here in the next hour or so, you’re going to start to feel a little funny. But you’ll be okay, and I promise, it won’t last forever.” 

He leaned back into the couch, but his body was still stiff. He was still panicking. You tossed a blanket over his lap, stuck a pillow behind his head, and took a seat next to him. 

“I’m sorry, I added it to the sauce, I didn’t know…” You took his hand and patted it reassuringly. 

“Don’t. It’s okay, we just gotta get through tonight. What will help you relax?” A blush came over his cheeks, making his freckles pop. 

“When I was a kid, my mom would play All Might videos to calm me down… I haven’t watched them in a few years, so it might be worth a shot?” You could tell he was embarrassed to admit this, but you were judgement free. You grabbed your tv remote and pulled up YouTube, then selected a playlist of All Might videos that was about 5 hours long in total. 

“This okay?” You glanced over at him and his eyes were wide, staring at the screen. He nodded softly and you let out a sigh of relief. 

The night went pretty smoothly after that: the two of you watched All Might videos together and reminisced about your later years at UA. You could only tell he was stoned by his hooded eyes and the fact that his usual 100-word-a-minute speech had slowed to a conversational pace. Midoriya eventually fell asleep on your couch and did all the dishes the next morning before you woke up as an apology for accidentally drugging the food. 

Tenya Iida 

• You had grown up with Tenya, but you were the bane of his existence 

• Bc you were a troublemaker 

• And Iida despised troublemakers 

• When you two were little, it was harmless enough, like stealing snack or telling fibs to adults 

• But now you two were grown adults and you still managed to get under his skin

• You still teased him about being a rule follower and it drove him bonkers 

• A group of friends had invited you to go to the opening event to some club and you were down but Iida took some convincing 

• You didn’t think he was going to come, but he showed up before you could order your second round of drinks

• The two of you ignored each other for most of the night 

• But you two could sense the other presence and it became too much 

• You slipped out the side door for something to take the edge off

—————

The door slammed open beside you and your spliff nearly fell out of your mouth. 

“Jesus what the fuck is your problem du—,” your sentence was cut off as you looked up and saw Iida hovering above you. Shit. 

You tugged the piece from your lips and palmed it, flashing a toothy grin up at him. “Heeeeeyyyyy Tenya...what’re you doing out here?” 

“I saw that you were going outside unaccompanied and it’s night out, so I came out to make sure you are safe.” You scoffed. “I did not think I would catch you out here doing drugs!” He yanked your hand and pushed into the fleshy part of your wrist, making your fingers fly open and the spliff fall to the ground. 

“Shit Tenya will you shut up? It’s not a big deal, it’s just a spliff. I just want to relax tonight, is that a crime?” You bent down to pick it up but Iida beats you to it, plucking it between two fingers and staring at you angrily. 

“Yes, actually y/n, this is a crime because this is drugs and you do not need...this!” 

“Oh, so are you gonna throw it away and go tattle on me like when we were kids? God, grow up! Sometimes it’s fun to break rules and do stuff that people tell you not to. You should try it sometime, it might loosen your fuckin’ asshole and make you relax a little bit! This little thing in your hand isn’t going to kill anyone, not even me. So would you just fucking chill and let me smoke my spliff? Please?” You looked up at him, pleading, when you realize his face wasn’t steely like it almost always was. His expression was as if you had just smacked him across the face. 

“Tenya… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean all that—“ 

“Give me your lighter.” 

He cut you off and you looked to him in shock. “I’m sorry, what?” 

He glared down at you and advanced until he had you pinned to the wall. “Give. Me. Your. Lighter.” You let out an audible gulp as you fished in your pockets and pulled it out, setting it in his hand without breaking eye contact. You felt him wrap his fingers over it and you slip your hand from his grip. He towers over you and he’s so close...you can feel the heat both his body and engines were radiating. 

“You think I need to relax? That I need to chill?” You held your breath as he lowered his face until it’s inches from yours. 

Then, he did the unthinkable. 

He popped the spliff into his mouth, lit the end, and took a deep drag. He held it for a moment, then blew the entire stream right into your face. You should have been mad, but… it was kinda hot. Iida took another drag, but this time he blew it behind himself, not into your face. You finally realized that you had done it. You had gotten in his head, and now he was breaking the rules. You hadn’t thought that this would be the rule he would break, but it was a welcome surprise. 

“Oh, so you’re just going to come out here, scare the shit out of me, and then smoke all my weed?” You snatched the spliff from his lips before he could register your words and popped it into your own mouth, taking a deep drag. You held it for a moment before going up on your tip-toes and wrapping your arms around Iida’s neck, pulling his mouth to yours. “Breathe in,” you whispered before putting his lips on yours. You blew your hit into his mouth and he sucked it in. Your lips lingered on his for a moment before you pulled back, blushing. He exhaled the remaining smoke, and you saw him do something you haven’t seen him do in years. He smiled. 

You returned the smile and rolled back to flat feet. You could see the blush across Iida’s cheeks and you fought the urge to run your fingers across them. You were unsure if the flush was from the smoking or from what just transpired between the two of you, but you didn’t care. 

“See? Sometimes it’s fun to break the rules.” You poked him in the chest and took another drag from the marijuana cigarette. Iida nodded in agreement, but then shook his head. 

“Yeah, but this rule was a gross one to break. I don’t know how you smoke that shit.” He turned and hocked a loogie to the ground as you laughed. When he had recovered, you offered him another hit. He was hesitant, but he took it and took another hit before tossing it on the ground and stepping on it. 

“Dude!” you shouted, gesturing to the now ruined nub on the ground. “There was still some good stuff in there!” 

“I understand, but you don’t need that anymore.” He took your face in his hands, holding your cheeks firmly so he could look you in the eye. “And I don’t ever want to catch you smoking again; cigarettes or otherwise.” You didn’t mind him being rough with you, but you couldn’t fight the urge to antagonize him. 

“Or what, Ingeniuum,” you spat at him and his grip slid to your jaw, grasping it tighter. 

“Or we are going to have a problem.” 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, frozen in time. Then, the weed kicked in. His hands melted from your face, down your neck, over your collarbones, down your back until they stopped around your waist, pulling you into him. The feeling was strange, but not unwelcome. You brought yourself close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck again. 

“Dance with me, and I won’t snitch,” he lulled into your ear. 

“Deal.” 

You grabbed one of his hands from your waist and pulled him back into the building. The two of you spent the rest of the night on the dancefloor, intermingled in each other’s arms, thriving off the feeling of the other’s touch. Your friends took notice, and chuckled to themselves. 

They knew it was only a matter of time before the two of you hooked up. 

Shoto Todoroki

• He knew you were a stoner 

• At least, he knew you smoked weed sometimes

• You both worked for the same agency under his father, Endeavor

• Shoto was was a pro-hero training to take over for his father, but you were just a secretary in the office

• Or rather, more of an errand girl

• Todoroki had caught you smoking behind the building on numerous occasions, and he knew that you weren’t smoking cigarettes

• They reeked of something he had only smelled once before when he was on a mission in Amsterdam and a farm had accidentally caught fire due to his quirk

• The smoke of your “cigarettes” smelled just like that day, and while he never told anyone, he was intrigued to say the least 

• You had just arrived home after a long day of work and were in the middle of unpacking groceries when you heard a SNAP and your front door flew open, scaring the life out of you 

• Shoto stood at the door with a torn shirt, dirty pants and was covered with small cuts and bruises

-------------------

“Sho--uh, Mr. Todoroki? Are you okay?” When you had recovered from the initial shock of him busting down your door, you approached him and took in his current state. You knew he was doing field work with his father this evening; it seems like they may have gotten into a scuffle with some petty villains. “What are you doing here?”

You knew of him--who didn’t?-- and had a few short conversations with the hero in passing, but you didn’t seem to be on an ‘I know where you live’ basis with him. You’d run errands for him before, sure, but you weren’t, like his personal secretary or anything. 

“Sorry about the door.” His low voice pulled your gaze to his and you could see the fire in his eyes. He was angry, pissed, even, but he was still being polite.

“Don’t worry about the door, are you okay?” Your fingers fluttered above a few deeper cuts along his right forearm, but you dared not touch them. You silently ushered him into the house and sat him down on the couch before running into your bathroom for the first aid kit. You rejoined him on the couch and set the small box on his lap. He moved it to the table and turned to face you. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Y/n, I came here to ask you for a favor.” A small blush rose up his neck and you drew your eyebrows together. 

“What is it Mr. Todoroki?” 

“Please, you can call me Shoto.” You nodded. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to ask you for this…” He trailed off and his eyebrows drew together, like he was thinking extremely hard about how to form his words. Your stomach dropped. 

“You’re not going to ask me to like...sleep with you, right? That’s not why you’re here.” You guffawed and his eyes grew wide. 

“No, what? No! I’m here because I know you smoke weed and I’ve had a terrible day working with my father so I was here because I wanted to see if I could try some!” The words poured out of his mouth before he could think about what he was saying. Your mouth dropped open and all the color drained from his face. “Oh, I’m sorry I was being presumptuous I--” 

You held up your hand, cutting him off. “You’re here… because you want me to smoke you out?” 

“No...I’m here because I want to smoke weed with you.” 

“To--Shoto it’s the same thing. How did you even know I smoke weed?” 

“I can smell it when you take your smoke breaks behind the building. I know what it smells like, and you’re the only person who smokes back there.” 

You stare at him for him for a moment, taking him in fully. He held your gaze unabashedly. He wasn’t joking, that really was why he was here. “So say I do smoke weed. Why do you want to smoke?” 

Shoto shrugs. “Mostly because I want to know what it’s like.” He paused. “And to piss off my dad.”

You snorted. “Okay understandable. And why should I share the weed that I might have with someone who’s basically a stranger to me?”  

“I didn’t think it would hurt to ask.” 

Valid point. You really didn’t mind smoking with him, this was just an odd way to go about the whole situation. 

“Fair. And you won’t tell anyone about the pot I may or may not have?” You crossed your arms and Shoto nods, bringing a finger to his lips and zipping them shut. You rarely ever heard him speak, so you had no reason to believe he would blab about anything. “Alright, but this better not be like a drug bust or something.” He shook his head. 

“I promise, it’s not. You have my word.” 

“Okay, wait here. And while you do, please clean yourself up. You’re bleeding on my couch.” Shoto looked at you and smiled. It took you by surprise. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before, you thought as you turned and went to your bedroom to gather your supplies. A grinder, a small baggie, and a lighter come from a drawer, and on your way back to the living room, you stopped in the kitchen to grab your bong from the freezer. When you went to start filling it with water, you felt someone staring at you. You turned to see Shoto watching you with intent. 

“Is there a problem?” You asked before continuing with your task. 

“Why do you keep that vase in the freezer?” 

Oh wow, he really was clueless. “This is what we’re going to smoke out of. And it’s in the freezer because hits better when it’s cold. If I had some ice cubes, it would be perfect.” You scooped everything up from the counter and joined Shoto on the couch. He had wrapped up the cuts on his arm and added a bandage to a mark on his face. And in his hands, he had some ice chips. 

“Like this? Would this help?” He offered them to you and you smiled. He must have used his quirk to make those when you weren’t looking. You nodded and motioned for him to put them in the top of the piece.

 After a brief explanation of how to use it, you handed the bong to Shoto. You offered him a lighter, but he held his hand up, refusing it. He put his mouth on the top of the piece, like you had just shown him. He put his thumb and forefinger together and produced a small flame, holding it to the bowl and lighting the edge of the green. So that’s why he didn’t want the lighter. 

You watched the smoke gather in the top and motioned for Shoto to breathe in. He did, and you pulled the stem out, allowing him to clear the piece. “Hold it…” He nodded and held until his face turned red and you told him to breathe out. He coughed a few times, but other than that he took it rather well. Reinserting the stem, you took the piece from him and grabbed your lighter. Before you could bring it to the bowl, Shoto’s hand was on yours. 

“Allow me.” Again, he put his thumb and forefinger together and held it to the edge of the piece. You took the hit and passed the piece back to Shoto. The two of you fell into a routine of sorts until the bowl was cashed. You set it on the table and looked at him. 

“Can I just say this is weird? This is weird, right?” You were stoned to bits and had no filter between your thoughts and your words. For the second time, Shoto smiled. It was a nice smile, and you remember thinking that he should do it more often. Before you could stop yourself, you said it aloud. “You have a nice smile. You should smile more.” You slapped your hands over your mouth. “I’m sorry--” 

“No, you’re right, I should smile more. You’re not the first person to tell me this,” he says, cutting you off. “I just...I don’t know, my brain’s all fuzzy right now.” He was stoned. Even if he hadn’t just said that, you could see it in his hooded, red eyes and slouched posture. 

“Don’t worry about it.” A silence fell between the two of you. “Are you hungry? I just went grocery shopping, I could make you some soba or something?” His face lit up. 

“I love soba...how did you know that?” 

“How did you know where I live?” You shot back at him. He shrugged. 

“...I would love some soba.” 

That’s all you needed to hear. In a flash you were in the kitchen, cooking for the two of you. Shoto sat quietly on the couch and watched you prepare the food, and while you noticed, you never said anything. His watching was not predatory by any means, just...curious. When you finished you brought the two bowls to the couch and offered one to Shoto. The two of you spent the rest of the evening talking and going rip for rip on your bong. You could have never imagined it, not even in your wildest dreams, but that night, you found a friend in Shoto Todoroki.

Thank you guys for all the love on Part 1, here’s part 2! I have two more parts in the works under this prompt (maybe three? I haven’t decided yet lol). My requests are currently open, so if you have an idea you’d like to see me interpret, let me know! 💕

[tinkeringwithcannabis]

The First 90 Minutes Episode 34

Strain: Durban Poison Terp Sauce Cart

Company: Sira Naturals

Location: Somerville, Ma

Cannabis Connoisseur:  Nnahre

Website: www.siranaturals.org

 

Hello again to all my cannabis loving and canna-curious friends, and welcome back to another episode of The First 90 Minutes! Today we will be toking and talking with Durban Poison in the Sira Naturals Terp Sauce cartridge, with THC levels measuring up to 88.3%! This earthy, piney, sweet strain is said to help those struggling with stress, depression, fatigue, pain, and headaches. Patients report feeling energetic, uplifted, happy, focused, and euphoric while medicating with this lovely lady. The potential negatives associated with this strain are dry mouth, dry eyes, anxiety, paranoia, and dizziness.

I chose this particular strain today to help deal with fatigue. My medication changes have been making me extremely tired, and it has been difficult to function. My head constantly has that “I just woke up”fuzziness, and no amount of coffee seems to be helping that. It is my hope that this product will help me combat this fatigue and be able to have at least a somewhat productive day. So now that we’ve run through our background info portion of this segment, I say we jump ahead to the fun part! So let’s light up, sit back, and relax as we toke and talk about the next 90 minutes!

When you open the vial for the cartridge, you really don’t smell anything. If you hold it close to your nose, you do get the slight scent of pine. Starting our medication session at 9:15a.m., I am taking two hits using a 3 setting button-activated battery. My battery is set to the lowest (white) setting. There is a strong pine flavor on the inhale, with earthy undertones. On the exhale, the pine is still present, but it is more of an even balance of pine to earth flavor. The aroma, also strong in pine and earth, reminds me of the scent of the air as I hike deep into the forest. Based on this flavor and scent profiles, this is one would be perfect for me for hiking in the woods or enjoying other outdoor activities. Now, as far as effects, I did end up with a bit of a head rush feeling upon initially medicating, but that partially may have been due to coughing, as this is a little harsh. Outside of that, there are no noticeable effects as of yet.

At 9:25 a.m., I can feel the fatigue starting to decrease as my energy levels and focus start to increase. I can only compare this feeling to that of the first few sips of that first cup of coffee in the morning. You know the one I’m talking about. That one which takes you from the walking dead to finally starting to realize that you are sitting in your kitchen with a cup of coffee in front of you. I haven’t quite got that “I can get up off my ass and get moving” point yet, but I am at the “maybe in a half hour I can get my ass in the shower” point. In terms of mood, I see and uplift from “meh” to more happy, starting to feel more upbeat, and uplifted. I am starting to feel like the gears are beginning to function properly, and there may be hope for my day yet.

At 9:45 a.m., the effects have really gone full-blown. My level of focus has shot through the roof and the fatigue has almost completely dissipated. I finally found the strength to drag my ass into the shower, and have found the motivation to begin setting up to get going on some writing projects. That brain fog, which was so thick it could have made San Fransisco’s fog look translucent, has finally faded leaving me with a clear head and a positive and upbeat attitude. One thing I must note is that generally with strains that lift me up like this, I end up with some degree of anxiety, or a jittery feeling. This has not been the case here. Although my energy has significantly increased, along with my focus, the body effects are very balanced, leaving me feeling physically calm, cool, and collected. Overall, right now I feel such an improvement in how I feel on both a mental and physical level it’s both impressive and exactly what I needed!

At 10:15 a.m, my level of focus and motivation are still running strong. The clear-headed high has led to an amazing organized and creative mindset that has expanded my artistic flow sending me into the zone.My mood continues to remain happy and positive, and I must say I do feel a bit euphoric right now. Physically, the stress and tension has been drained from my muscles, yet I do not feel too relaxed to the point where I cannot function. The physical sensation is more that of a care-free person just nonchalantly going about his day. I am experiencing a little dry mouth at this point, but it is a small negative compared to the amount of relief and enjoyment I am receiving from this med session.

Hitting our 90 minute mark at 10:45 a.m., I am still enjoying the physical and cerebral effects Durban Poison has provided. Although the buzz portion of the high has started to mellow out a little, the focus, clarity, and creativity boost are still there and going strong. My ability to block out potential distractions has been pretty significant, and it appears this level of focus isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. My euphoric mood has decreased slightly, but I feel very happy and positive, and a sense of calmness is coming over me. My body continues to feel stress-free and at ease, although the bodily high is also beginning to taper down slightly. The only negative at this time is the dry mouth, which is still going strong. Regardless of the slight decreases in the “high” portion of the effects, I still believe that I have roughly about another good half hour or so before the high entirely wears off.

Normally, I would begin my final thoughts here, but I wanted to do a follow up to my 90 minutes. First, the psychoactive effects of the THC lasted me another 45 minutes until I felt the effects had completely worn off. Another interesting thing I found is this strain is amazing for days when I can’t be high, when I add in some CBD at the end. On a day I had things to do, and I couldn’t be high, I woke up and took two hits of this Durban Poison Terp Sauce cart. One hour later I started vaping CBD. This helped to mellow out the effects of the THC high, but allowed me the focus, energy, and mood boost I needed, accompanied by the bodily stress and tension relief I needed to get going.

Ok, now it’s time for my final thoughts. This strain and Sira product has easily become a favorite of mine. I love the way it works for me, and the dry mouth was only minor and small in comparison to the benefits I experienced. I was left feeling as though I had a cup of coffee after an amazing night’s sleep and I could take on the world. The fact that the effects of this strain exceeded 2 hours for me is also a big deal. In most cases, I may get an hour and fifty minutes at best, but this Terp Sauce cart really seemed to bring it with the long-lasting effects. When I add in the added aspect of the CBD combination with the Durban Poison Terp Sauce cart, I was able to find the perfect matchup for those days when I need to get things done, but it’s not an appropriate time to be high. I love the flavor and scent profiles of this strain, and the cartridge is even more impressive because it packs the full terpene punch experience into a small, compact, and discreet vape pen, which can be slipped right into your pocket. So Sira, another amazing product for the books, five stars ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️! Keep it up!!

If you are a patient in Massachusetts, Sira’s Durban Poison Terp Sauce Cartridges are sold at the following dispensary locations:

Sira Naturals:

Cambridge- Medical only

Somerville- Medical only

Needham- Medical & by appointment only

Well my friends, we have reached the end of this review. Thank you for joining me, and stay tuned for more product reviews!!

Disclaimer

*****Please remember, this blog is an account of my personal experience with this product. Not everyone has the same experience with every product, and that’s okay. I always recommend starting out with one to two hits to see if that is enough, and you can always increase your dose from there.*****

Also, if you find this post helpful, please help me get the word out to other patients by liking and re-blogging this post! Thanks!

[thesickpanda]

Being Grateful for Who and What I Have

Recently I was tremendously hurt by confiding in one of my in-laws about how difficult it has been these past eight years to essentially hide my pain and suffering from her family to avoid judgement. I told her my story, how I got ill, my struggle to get a diagnosis, the degenerative nature of my illness, how much it’s taken from me and how, recently, it has been getting worse. In return, I received an ablest, invalidating, cruel response thinly veiled as a “pep talk” to “change my attitude”. Needless to say, this was devastating to me. I thought I was getting close enough to this person that I could trust her with this side of me, and that trust was clearly misplaced. What’s worse is that I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, and so my mind has been replaying the situation over and over again along with the myriad of responses I could have given. I swing between different philosophies, from the Buddhist “forgive people their ignorance” to outright rage where want to attack back twice as hard. My mind cannot settle on on how to handle the situation, on how to respond to it, and the more I try the more confused and frustrated and exhausted I get. All I wanted was a little empathy and compassion, which was apparently much too much to ask for from this person.

 I woke up this morning to the same playback loop of this as yet unresolved situation. Right away I knew what kind of day I was heading into, and I just felt so low.  And then I remembered I was scheduled to talk to a blood relative of mine on Skype today, and I began to fee nervously optimistic.

 You see, I have a complicated relationship and history with this close relative. When I first got ill, she didn't really seem to understand or even fully believe me. After all, I was seen as the weak, overly sensitive cry baby of the family and so it was likely just me making a big fuss over nothing, right? But I was also an overachiever, someone who worked extremely hard at everything she did, someone with lofty dreams to travel and to do as much as she possibly could. Eventually, this relative started to make the logical deduction that somebody as ambitious as I am wouldn't just give up on their dreams and hole themselves up in bed for weeks at a time. It was, actually, really out of character. And gradually her attitude began to shift.

 I think part of her slow acceptance of my illness was that it was a hard thing to accept. I don't think she wanted to believe it. I get that; I didn’t want to believe it either, but it soon got too severe to ignore and I had no other choice. It also didn’t help matters that there was no known medical cause for it, no label I could ascribe to it.  (That came later).

 Over time, though, she's become better about it.  In fact when we do see each other (ever year or three, we live in different countries) she quietly and without fanfare, does all the things necessary to support me. She carries heavy bags for me, stops and rests with me when I need to and even cooks meals for me when I'm feeling too tired. She has a quiet seriousness about her when she does these tasks, and bristles when I thank her. Heck, if I openly appreciate the help, she looks plain grumpy. And I thought she was grumpy at me for a long time.  Then I realised she was not grumpy with me, she was grumpy about the situation. She was upset for me. She's not a particularly expressive person when it comes to those sorts of emotions. She keeps a tight lid on her more troubling thoughts and feelings. But after some years I realised that it pained, even scared her to see me suffering. She didn’t want me to acknowledge the subtle acts of support she performed for me because it voiced a truth she had very grudgingly, very painfully accepted but absolutely loathed.  She didn’t resent me; she resented my illness. So I learned to shut up and just let her “do the thing” without drawing “unnecessary” attention it.

 In more recent years she's been more open about the fact that she worries about me. Sometimes this worry expresses itself in unhelpful ways, and there are times it’s clear she still doesn't fully understand what I'm going through.  But unlike so many other family members, she is trying.   She hasn’t done a lot of research or reading up on my chronic illness, but that’s ok, because what she actually does is better: she takes my word for it when I tell what I'm feeling. (To a chronically ill person, that is so incredibly important). I think it's just really hard for her to openly acknowledge because she loves me and wants the best for me and this life of pain isn’t what she expected or wanted for me.

 This morning I told her I was feeling really low. I very rarely talk about the ways in which my chronic illness affects me psychologically. In fact I don't like talking about my chronic illness much at all with my family. They live far away from me and so when I talk to them I want to hear about their news. I prefer to tell them about the good things going on in my life. I like us to have joyful and happy conversations as often as we possibly can. But the past year has absolutely worn me down.  New problems have arisen in my body, some that have required surgery and others that require additional expenses in the form of mobility aids. I've been besieged by bad luck, worsening health and constant, unrelenting stress. My nerves are frayed and my defenses against my anxiety have been worn down to stubs. This time I just couldn't put up the cheerful veneer. I told my relative exactly how I've been feeling, how my anxiety has been plaguing me, how fears of my mortality have been infiltrating my nightmares and my waking dreams. I explained to her the absolute soul-fatigue I felt at fighting off an illness that is slowly but surely crippling me. I cried when I talked about the fact that after years of resisting it,  I now needed a cane. I was making myself vulnerable in the same way I had to my in-law and I knew that there was a small chance it could backfire. But I just needed to talk to somebody other than my partner about this; someone in my own family network. I’m fortunate in that I have wonderful friends, many of whom are well aware of my situation and have given me enormous amounts of compassion and love. I couldn't survive without them. But I just really wanted someone in my family network to hear me, to really hear me.

 To my enormous relief, my relative gave me all the empathy, compassion, kindness and love I so desperately wanted to get out of my in-law. She said all the right things. She cried for and with me. And it was a truly healing moment. Of course, it hurts me to see her cry, but it was also a very close bonding moment between us. She told me how much it had tormented her over the years to know that I was suffering; how much she loved me and wished she could give me a hug; how powerless she felt and how much she wanted to make it better for me.  And for all the difficulties we've had with each other, all the fights and misunderstandings, in that moment I felt really connected with her in a way I haven't in some time.  I felt loved. I felt so loved.

 My brain will likely continue to obsess over the negatives of my life, including the invalidation I’ve received from my partner's family. But when it does, I'm going to try really hard to remind myself of this moment and to remember that I have at least one family member who's got my back in the right way; who hears me, who sees me, who is my ally in this fight. She accepts that I can't control the anxiety, accepts that this is really hard for me and that I am struggling and doing my best. And she does this even though it is tremendously difficult for her.

 Today I tried to think really hard what it must be like to be my blood relative. How I would feel if I watched her go through what I have gone through. And I felt my heart breaking. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy, least of all in the person I love most in the world. And I realise I've been impatient and frustrated because I've misunderstood her past reluctance, her past attitude. It didn't come from a place of disbelief; it came from a place of fear. I understand that now.

 So today I'm grateful for the validation I received. I am grateful to have people who love me in my life. I'm grateful to have a wonderful network of supportive and loving friends. I'm grateful for my adoring partner. I'm grateful for this Tumblr community. I'm grateful for the support group in my local area. I'm grateful for brave doctors like the one I saw on Friday fighting to get medicinal cannabis to the patients who need it. I'm grateful for the activists lobbying for better research into my illness and for better health care and treatment. I am grateful that I was born in the 21st-century, a time when there is a better understanding of illness than in eras past. I'm grateful to live in a developed nation with access to support structures, good doctors and community groups. 

My mind is sometimes a dark place…

Practicing gratitude is a good way to shine a light in there.

[saintcheesus]

600+ notes later for my post and I wrote the first prompt! Lmaooo thank you all! And big thank you to @loki-god-of-thunder-and-mischief to givinng me advice and helping me with my fic! 

~~~~~~ It was a particularly trying day for Damien.

First, he woke up late because his wonderful son took his charger while he was asleep because god forbid that Lucien cleaned his room once in a while, and so his phone died over night. Then he thought that he would have some cereal instead of a normal apple or other piece of fruit, and so he poured a bowlful. Of course, his son managed to use the whole gallon and so he was left with dry cereal which he poured back in the bowl, and then his son was being unusually pushy and rushed him out so he could drive him to school. Of course, there would be traffic on his way to work, why did they do so much construction when nothing ever got fixed?! His boss was usually lenient with Damien running late, he’s always tried to prove himself to be a model employee, and was well-liked around the office. He forgot that one of his co-workers were out sick, so he had to take their calls, while trying to do his own work. He was starting to see why his friend got sick.

The plus side was that he got off early, and was able to join Mary at the animal shelter. He figured that it would be a good time to unwind before going back home. Of course, even his happy place gave him a rough time. One dog was sick and Mary thinks it had something to do with it eating garbage when it thought no one was looking, and another one was having puppies and they needed to help with its birth (and they also were looking forward to it for three months). So, cue Damien covered in dog vomit, and birth juices in under two hours. Mary noticed that the animals weren’t giving him much grief and that he looked strung out already and sent him home. When he got to the house he prayed that Lucien wasn’t home. He loved his son to death but he just wanted five minutes of peace before he came home tearing the house apart looking for food.

“Lucien?”

There was no response. Damien figured that he couldn’t hear him. He took his shoes off at the door and looked up at his son’s room. He walked up to the door and gave it a few knocks. Lucien never really answered the door. Either his music was terrifyingly loud, he just gave something between a moan and a growl that signaled he could enter, if he didn’t do any of the two he was sleeping or he wasn’t home. Since Damien dropped him off today, he knew that his son didn’t go back after he left and cut school, so he just wasn’t home. He sighed and slid down the door and buried his face in his hands. He felt that familiar craving and hated himself for it. He hadn’t done it since Lucien was born and now he couldn’t keep his mind off it.

Damien really wanted a cigarette.

He ran a hand down his face and berated himself for even thinking about smoking. He did it when he was a teenager, mostly because a lot of the goth kids in his school did it and he didn’t want to be a poser (does anyone still say that???) so he picked up the habit too. Thankfully, he only smoked two or three a day, and Lucien came into his life before it could become a life-threatening past time so weaning himself of it was easy. He spotted Lucien a few times putting out a cigarette in the front of the house, or coming home from school smelling like the tobacco. He really didn’t approve of Lucien doing it, and even told him that he used to do it, Lucien must have taken some of it to heart because he stopped smelling like the smoke, and the ash marks on the porch are gone. He couldn’t stop Lucien from doing it permanently he realized, but it would make him feel a little better if he could at least smoke one a month. In fact, he was sure that Lucien had a few in his room right now. Even if he didn’t smoke them all, he probably sold them and Damien made a quick note to have a very serious talk with Lucien about that but for now, he was going to smoke one. Damien pushed himself off the floor and opened the door.

The boy’s room was a mess.

It was mostly clothes that belonged in the hamper, some papers of Lucien’s art that Damien wanted to hang in his office at work because it was so good, and other miscellaneous items. Everything in Damien’s body screamed to just get a cigarette and leave but he couldn’t help himself and gathered all the clothes, organized his books (that he stole from his room) and placed all of his jewelry and make up and small items in his drawers. He found the rolled-up cigarettes on his table and grabbed one as he exited the room. When he got to the laundry room, he threw all of Lucien’s dirty clothes in the washing machine and started the cycle.

“He’s going to definitely wash his clothes when he gets home.”

While he was watching the machine go, he looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. He didn’t grab Lucien’s lighter and didn’t want to chance Lucien catching him snooping in his room. He turned on the front stove burner and lit the end of the cigarette. He turned off the flame and took a huff of the cigarette. He frowned and coughed a bit.

“What type of tobacco is he using?”

He heard keys and his heart stopped.

“Dad I’m home!”

He walked up to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. His mouth hung open and Damien’s never seen his eyes so wide.

“Dad. Are you smoking?”

Damien sighed and looked at the cigarette.

“Lucien…I’m so sorry but I was really…no, I was horribly stressed today and I needed to have a smoke. I didn’t mean to steal one of your cigarettes…”

“Dad, dad hold on. Did you say cigarette?”

“Well…yes, are these not cigarettes? I know you tend to roll them yourself…”

Lucien held his hand up. He was trying hard not to laugh, and Damien knew that he did something wrong. He took another huff and blew a puff of smoke out.

“Dad you’re right about me rolling my cigs but…that is not a cig.” He was pointing at the item in his dad’s hands. Damien furrowed his brows and stared at Lucien harder. The boy was holding his hand over his mouth now like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to be horrified.

“Son…is this weed?”

Lucien smiled and said, “I am neither confirming or denying it…. but yes.”

And all Damien could think to say was:

“Well, shit.”

-----

Ten minutes later, they were sat in the middle of the living room, his dad sitting on the floor smiling at nothing and looking around his house as if he’s never lived in it before. Lucien took the joint from his dad as soon as he saw the cannabis doing its work on him. He led him to the carpet and that’s where they’ve been. His dad was hugging his knees to his chest and grinning like an idiot. At first, he was scared that his dad was going to have a panic attack, he was already prone to having those when he wasn’t high and it was horrible every time. His stuff was mild so his dad wasn’t going to hear colors or see dancing flowers, but he did take quite a few puffs of the joint already. Lucien wondered if he should just give his dad the rest of it, but he placed it on the table and leaned against the couch cushion and watched as his dad got up to look at his display skulls. He giggled and put his hand on the glass, leaning in really close so that his nose was crushed against the spotless showcase.

“You are so beautiful…I want the world to love you.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed at his dad. His father looked over at the carpet and placed his hands on it, his grin never wavering.

“Everyone steps on you but no one takes time to appreciate you…”

Lucien cracked a smirk and wondered if he should record this.

“I love this color so much, Lucien, did you know that?”

He rolled his eyes as he recounted the countless hours they spent shopping for the carpet. Lucien insisted that no one was going to care if the carpet was a lighter shade of red but all he got was a lecture on the importance of maintaining aesthetic and Oscar Wilde and how they could not possibly live in a home where the colors do not complement.

“Yeah dad I know.”

He watched as his dad put a hand over his mouth and giggle.

“I love my home so much, and I love you son! I love you so much!”

Oh here we go.

“You make me happy. Everything makes me so happy!”

Lucien stopped smiling. That wasn’t something his dad said often. He hadn’t heard the word “happy” leave his parent’s mouth in quite a while. In fact, the teen couldn’t remember the last time he saw his dad this happy and carefree. While he did pride himself on wearing Victorian clothes and being the Goth Dad, his dad was often quite insecure about his passions, and himself most days. He knew that as much as he spent time with him, his dad needed more than familial love. Some days he would try to hide it but Lucien knew that he got lonely time-to-time. He gets dates pretty often but there doesn’t tend to be second dates because people suck. They spent so long, no, his dad spent so long personally renovating their house and no one complimented it or congratulated him, but himself. His dad never liked to dwell on bad feelings for long but still, he was only human, and he’s had a rough go of things.

He didn’t hear his dad shuffle closer to him, he did feel his dad padding at his hair, and his face. He was slightly uncomfortable but let his dad rock.

“Look at you! My boy…”

“Dad…”

“I love you!”

“Heh…love you too dad.”

His dad moved onto the table and whispered something to it and Lucien crossed his legs. He was going to get hungry soon, and so snacks would have to be put out. He sighed and got up.

“I’ll be back dad.”

He heard laughter and just kept walking. He left him sitting criss-cross and holding his cloak.

“Why does everyone call you a cape? You are special, you’re my special cloak!”

“Come on, I know you’re hungry as fuck right now.” He chuckled at being able to curse without being scolded. His dad nodded and rose from his spot.

“Thank you son, you’re amazing!”

He watched his dad take his seat in the chair and smiled at him. So maybe he didn’t need to be giving his dad blunts every day, but it was nice to see him so calm and happy. His dad deserved to be happy. His dad deserved so much more too.

 ~~~~~~~

So I’m gonna tag @damienbloodmqrch @dreamdamein @rainbowroyal @onecolorgirl @thevoicesinmyheadsayitsokay @negatjazzy @tinyawkwardoctopus @5fantasticfuckingnightsatfreddys @nanasamantha @choroland @xxinfinitywriterxx @ddadds-lover @raddadds @crying-waffles @suicidesquadgirl13 @little-mister-disappear @shadows-destiny @1-800-moonriver @robinitegames @corynofhoole @trans-damienbloodmarch @glassdais @maybe-strawberry-blue @tearstainedashes @dinocatdraws @cas-winchester-novak @adryanass @isdisorigionalenoughforyou @reinventphan @damien-and-lucien @c-chanfromda @dream-dicky @voidofthestars

I went through all 720 notes to tag people who picked both/the first one/asked me to tag them. If you want to be tagged in the next, send me an ask or a message!

[melibee44]

Puzzling

When I woke up Friday morning, it was bright and early! Those are two things I rarely experience at the same time... bright and early. The infection had definitely improved quite a bit, so that must mean the pain would be soon to follow! Maybe I’ll be able to enjoy what’s left of my resting time here with mama and papa. Maybe even do a puzzle (which is what I was most looking forward to doing during my recovery).

I made my way to the kitchen to get food and water to take with my meds. I think that’s when I saw my mama, who was happy to see that the redness had gone down. We talked about me having a shower later in the day. That would be blissful! I’d need help getting myself organized for that as my toiletries were in my suitcase.

After I’d eaten and medicated, she asked how I was doing. She has this very optimistic enthusiasm about her. “How are you? You look good! You look like you’re feeling better! How’s the pain?”

I wanted the pain to be improving, so in my mind, it was. In fact, it probably was better than the infection pain, but that was two days ago now. I can’t remember well enough to compare. “I think it’s improving!”

I’d spend a couple hours trying to convince myself of that.

I insisted on getting that puzzle started. I couldn’t handle another day of doing absolutely nothing. While I did that, mama was kind enough to put everything I needed in the guest shower and hung a light so I could see even better while in there. Then she went to work sorting out the pH of the tower garden we share.

The next thing I remember is breaking down in tears while trying to get myself ready to shower. The pain I’d been trying to ignore suddenly became too much and I needed relief. We’re talking full meltdown. I’m pretty sure I regressed in age by a couple of decades. Maybe even a few. Let’s not talk about how old that makes me.

Mama brought me another tramadol and, more importantly, some cannabis oil. I rested on the couch with a pillow supporting my head for a bit. Once I was calm and the pain was slightly dulled (thank goodness for legal weed), we decided I could try for the shower again.

It was blissful and refreshing. I felt like a new person once I was clean and the steri-strips didn’t budge, so all was well!

We decided I should try wearing a bra again, to see if that helped take some strain off the incision. It did. In fact, after this I’d wear it all the time, except in the shower. Though... I suppose that would be one way to keep my bras clean!

After my delightful shower, I insisted I was fine to do some puzzling again, until I was called for dinner. This is where I’m going to mention how insanely grateful I am to have two loving and able parents who are nearby and willing to look after me like a kid again when I’m sick. Shoutout to mama, who did all the hard work, cooking, and cleaning.

For the rest of the evening, I made sure I didn’t run out of cannabis, and spent time with my parents. I tried my best to manage the pain and also dabbled in puzzling some more, when reaching didn’t hurt too much. The pain wasn’t good, but I tried to make it better with positivity... I guess?

We decided I’d spend tonight downstairs for the first time, instead of the recliner. Mama wanted me to try out the bed she’d stacked up with pillows before she turned in for the night, so we could make sure it would work. She figured it could be bad for the incision if I managed to roll out of bed and onto the floor. I’m a klutz on a good day, so this isn’t an outlandish concern.

I believe this was about the point where I had another pain meltdown. The pain I’d been trying so hard to ignore was back and the tramadol really didn’t seem to be helping.

Maybe, if I tried to give it some credit, it would get me from, say, an 8 on the pain scale, to a 7.8. So that’s something, right? Is that what they mean when they say it only helps a little and doesn’t work for everyone? Is this considered okay? Is that why they won’t give me anything else? Maybe I should try another Tylenol since everyone is convinced that should help. It won’t help.

I asked my mom if this was all okay. Why is it taking me so long to do normal things? Most people are back to “normal activities” by now. (What the fuck is a “normal activity” anyway?!) My infection was clearing up, so shouldn’t I be doing much better? Why does it still hurt so much?

She tried to reassure me. She pointed out that I’d had an unusually large mass removed and they’d had to dig around in my sternum. It’s okay for people to go at their own pace and it’s understandable that I’d be going a little slower. She told me it was normal to be anxious and normal to feel some pain. We wouldn’t know it until later, but this is where we got some wires seriously crossed.

Mama went to bed and I tried to sleep. I was feeling very tired and had been up early, after all. Hey, I thought, maybe I can keep this up and get myself onto something resembling a regular-people-schedule!

I didn’t fall asleep. I laid there, awake. Pain slowly growing and anxiety slowly mounting. I didn’t want to get back up because it hurt to move. Standing up was especially hard. So I tried really, really hard to get myself to sleep. I tried old meditations and breathing practices I knew, but it wasn’t working and laying there with nothing but my thoughts was increasing my anxiety, so I got up. It was time for more meds anyway.

Read more:

[kootenaygoon]

So,

The early morning sun prickled my eyelids, the heat painting the inside of my skull a throbbing crimson. Swallowing a few times, I attempted to struggle back to consciousness as someone carefully dragged their fingers through my wet hair. I forced one eyelid open, revealing a sight-line of milky clavicle leading down to a goose-pimpled breast in a sheer black triangle. Everything smelled like satsuma body lotion, and happiness, like some beautiful orchard with a gently babbling brook. The woman above me glanced down, noticing the movement, and gave me a bemused smile. It was Blayne, and I was sprawled in her lap on the edge of Niles’ campsite. One of my flip flops was missing.

I sat up, blinking away the dizziness. 

“And our intrepid journalist is with us once again!” Niles announced, as he manned a little tabletop burner ten feet away. All around him the girls were sleeping, some in sleeping bags and one in a hammock. “Blayne found you down by the river before you could take off swimming. She says you were talking to yourself.”

I looked back at her, from where I was laying between her open legs. “Really?”

She nodded. “When you took off from the dance floor I went looking for you, and you were down by the river pacing back and forth. You were really upset about something, and angry, so I brought you back here. You’ve been passed out for like four hours now.”

“Holy shit, what time is it?”

Niles stood up, walking his sizzling pan across the grass. “It’s just past 7 a.m. now. I’ve got scrambled eggs and avocado toast almost ready here. Just give me five minutes.”

My stomach immediately made its discomfort known the moment I stood up, and I staggered over to the picnic table half-doubled over. Blayne crossed to Niles’ trailer, ducking inside to grab something, while I tried to process my surroundings. How long had Blayne been holding me like that? Had I done anything stupid? It seemed more and more obvious that she was in love with me, which was a serious problem. Why couldn’t she have materialized during one of my university dry spells? Why did she have to show up when I already had a partner I was obsessed with, that I wanted to marry? Why would the universe play a cruel joke like that?

“Hey Blayne,” I said, palming her forearm as she passed. “Thanks for looking out for me, seriously.”

She smiled. “It was no big deal.”

“Well, I consider it a big deal. You’re a good friend,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “I mean that: I really value you.”

For a moment she looked startled, like she might cry. Then it passed. “I was just trying to do the right thing, especially after what you did for me. I knew you were a Shambhala virgin,” she said.

“And you were here to help me pop my cherry. I won’t forget it.”

She gave me a long hug, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck, and I breathed in the satsuma again. We could hear Niles banging around with breakfast, and nearby campsites were beginning to blare their music. I felt really fucking tired, like the inside of my skull had been scraped clean with a spoon, and I longed to faceplant on a pillow. I wanted to find Paisley, spoon her, and retreat into unconsciousness. The longer I stood there with Blayne pressed against me, though, the more dangerous it became. I needed to get home quick. Once she released me, sinking down from her tippy toes, I went looking for my flip flop. Niles then reappeared, singing to himself.

“We’ll get a good meal in you, then send you back to your lady with a to-go coffee and everything,” said Niles. “We’re doing it right around here.”

After gorging myself and thanking Niles profusely, I hobbled off bare foot to find my RAV. Shambhala was a significantly different place during daylight, and at this time it was mostly deserted. I stopped at a row of Port-a-Potties, which had a sleepy line of campers waiting dejected for their turn. One guy was covered in body paint, splashes of green and orange and yellow, while another was wearing a Chewbacca costume he’d rolled down to the waist. When I reached the front of the line a woman came bounding out topless, intent on her next destination. Her chest was bathed in sparkles and she had two black hearts taped over her nipples. I held up my hand to stop her.

“Hey, sorry, I think you forgot your shirt in there,” I said, concerned.

She laughed. “Dude, I haven’t been wearing a shirt for days.”

As I hiked back to Paisley, I tried to take stock of my headspace. Most normal days I woke up in a black mood and had to chase away my thoughts with cannabis, but today felt different. My body trembled and vibrated, still processing the events of the night before, while my mind hurtled above me and took off flapping. There was something I’d learned here, something important, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. I couldn’t believe that this was my job, that I’d been sent to this experience for free, that I was a real fucking journalist now. I was trying to teach myself to live with gratitude, and the fact was simple: I’d never felt more fulfilled by a job, more fortunate to play a certain role. If only I could get over my conflicts with the Carpenters, everything would be perfect. It was them, Cam and Sharon, who were ruining everything with their bush league bullshit. I wished they would get fired, or transferred, or somehow ejected from my life. 

It made me feel terrible to hate them, but I did.

Then Snapper appeared, riding a tiny pink bicycle. He stood up to pump his legs, weaving dramatically, as he pulled up alongside me. His pony tail was loose, so his hair hung around his shoulders, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I could smell him from six feet away.

“Hey man, I heard you went for a widdle walk-about down by the river last night,” he said. “Partying with my Dad?”

I started to walk faster. “He’s good company, your father.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, spitting and slurring. “You have no idea how fucking embarrassing he was growing up.”

“Where’re you heading?” I asked, trying to figure out if I could ditch him or not. “You got a campsite out here?”

“Nah, I gotta head over to the harm reduction tent cuz my buddy’s having a nice sleep on a comfy womfy bed like the fucking princess he is.”

The next thing happened fast. My mouth was open to say something when the first ATV screamed to a stop only six inches from me, and still open as three more revved into position from all sides. Snapper saw what was happening, but couldn’t pedal properly, and nearly toppled over. Before he could regain his balance they had him by the arms, these red-shirted security dudes, and they were bending him over the back of one of the ATVs. One of them already had the Zap-straps ready. They swarmed Snapper as he thrashed, throwing himself around like a hooked Marlin. With his arms pinned behind his back he lowered his head and rammed straight into one of the security guards, clobbering him in the sternum and knocking him off balance.

“Fucking pigs, get the fuck off me!” he yelled, slobber flinging from his mouth. “Fuck you!”

Around me all sound dropped away, the world coming into sharp focus, until I was watching Snapper struggle on mute. The security guards body-slammed him into the dirt face-first. Blood ran from the side of his mouth as he tried to crawl away like a snake, as he donkey-kicked one of his opponents in the chin. It was a desperate, stupid, violent spectacle and I felt a realization washing over me: I understand Cam Carpenter. 

If Snapper represented the druggie subculture of Nelson, then I understand how someone like Cam could spend their whole life wanting to be the absolute opposite of that. Ever since I moved to the Kootenays I’d judged him for his business-centric attitude, for his archaic views on abortion, for his whole anti-hippy M.O. But what if I was wrong? What if that sub-culture was disgusting, and violent, and worthy of rejection? Maybe he wasn’t the real asshole; maybe it was me. I’d taken all my Christian baggage and right-wing prejudice and projected it all on to someone that was completely undeserving. Some small-town family man. Cam was just a father, like any other father, who wanted the best for his kids. If I could see him as human then maybe I wouldn’t have to hate him anymore.

I was still pondering all of this when the ATVs departed, taking Snapper with them. My heart was thrumming intensely, and for a moment I couldn’t move. It must’ve taken a minute, maybe less, for them to swoop in and grab him. What was that about, even?

“Hey dude,” I asked one of them. “Why did they arrest that guy? Did he do something wrong?”

He glanced at me, tired. “No wrist band. And I’d bet good money that’s not actually his bicycle.”

Shaking my head, I continued my journey back to Paisley. I didn’t know how much more Shambhala I could take. I’d been on the grounds for just over 12 hours, but it felt like I’d been away for weeks. I thought about the tidy stash of joints in the glove compartment, about her slumbering away peacefully in the back. Pretty soon we’d be home to Muppet and Buster. The sun was starting to bake my shoulders, I was covered in grime, and I desperately needed some water. I took another slug of Niles’ coffee, and laughed a little to myself.

Well, that was something. 

The Kootenay Goon

[erraticfairy]

Podcast: Is Mental Illness a Made up Disorder?

In this episode, our hosts discuss whether or not mental illness is a real disorder or if it’s just something that medical and pharmaceutical companies made up to make a profit. 

SUBSCRIBE & REVIEW

“Instead of taking my psychiatric medications this morning, should I have just gone to yoga?” – Michelle Hammer

Highlights from ‘Mental Illness Made Up’ Episode

[2:00] Is mental illness real?

[4:00] Yoga doesn’t cure all mental illnesses, just like it wouldn’t cure cancer.

[16:00] Dealing with people who think mental illness is not real.

[19:30] Eating disorders are such a stigmatized mental illness.

[20:00] Cigarettes used to be a health food (true story!).

[27:00] You can still live a great life with a mental illness.

Computer Generated Transcript for ‘Mental Illness Made Up’ Show

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Announcer: For reasons that utterly escape everyone involved, you’re listening to A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. Here are your hosts, Gabe Howard and Michelle Hammer.

Gabe: Welcome, everybody, to this week’s episode of A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. My name is Gabe and I live with bipolar disorder.

Michelle: Hi, I’m Michelle and I’m schizophrenic and I am so ready for this podcast right now. Gabe, are you so excited right now?

Gabe: I am so jazzed We finally delved into the mailbag and really found out what some of the questions that we get asked a lot. Ah, so like several people are going to hear the questions and be like, oh, they answered my question. But in actuality, like 100 people just ask us the same thing over and over again.

Michelle: That’s OK. Nothing’s wrong with that. A lot of people have the same kind of questions.

Gabe: It is true, but. I do this a lot. We do this a lot. We travel the country, we have the podcast, we write. And every time I go give a speech, I come home and my wife says to me, Hey, did you get any good questions? And then I launch into this, you know, 10, 15, 20, 30 minute spiel. And every time I see her slowly eating her food going, yeah, that’s great and exciting. And she just looks so bored. Just once, just once I would like to come back from one of these trips and she says, hey, did anybody ask any good questions? And I tell her the question that I was asked. And she puts down her silverware and says, Oh, my God, what did you say? All right, Lisa. We’re throwing it over to you.

Michelle: Our producer, Lisa, let us know these questions, Lisa. Let us know.

Lisa: One of the more interesting questions we got this week is: Can you guys do an entire podcast on how to deal with people who don’t even think mental illness is real?

Michelle: Gabe, is mental illness real?

Gabe: Yes.

Michelle: I thought so, too.

Gabe: All right.

Michelle: Well, that was easy.

Gabe: I mean, that was pretty awesome. I suppose we can delve into why people think that it’s not real.

Michelle: Why don’t people think that it’s real? Why do people think that yoga, essential oils and meditation will fix them?

Gabe: Don’t forget cannabis oil.

Michelle: And yes, CBD oil. Why do people think that’s better than psych meds? I that I don’t understand at all. I don’t I don’t I don’t get it. Why does yoga cure anxiety?

Gabe: Well, yoga might cure anxiety and that that little, little piece of the puzzle, I think is very, very important. See, here’s the problem. We refer to everything as mental health. So it doesn’t matter if you woke up in the morning feeling a little sad or if you woke up in the morning being flat out balls to the wall, schizophrenic, delusional, hallucinating. We would call those things both mental health and we would call those things both mental illness. But there’s a world of difference between waking up, feeling sad and waking up being delusional.

Michelle: Ok.

Gabe: But we talk about them using the exact same verbiage.

Michelle: Ok. So instead of taking my medicine this morning, should I have just gone to yoga class?

Gabe: For Michelle Hammer? No, absolutely not.

Michelle: Ok.

Gabe: Yoga and exercise and diet will have an impact on your overall health and it will impact your mental health. But it provides no cure and it can’t be used alone. And I really think this is the big distinction there. Nobody is telling you that yoga is bad. Nobody is telling you that eating healthy is a bad idea. Those things will improve your life. They just won’t treat schizophrenia or bipolar disorder or major depression in isolation. You need both things. But if you have to pick one. Don’t pick yoga.

Michelle: Agreed. Agreed. I always have my story about my summer where I was trying to get over anxiety, so I drew a lot of pictures. That’s what I did to help me when I was feeling very anxious and not on a lot of medicine. But that definitely was not a cure. It was just something I used to stabilize myself that summer. What would have been better would have been to be on meds, but that wasn’t my option at the time. I did what they did to help me then, but I wish I was on meds. Basically is the gist of that story.

Gabe: There’s lots of coping skills, coping skills are phenomenal. I think that yoga is an absolutely phenomenal coping skill for the right person. I mean, my 300 pound ass isn’t going to lay on the floor and stretch around. That’s not the kind of thing that I enjoy. But, for example, I play the drums.

Michelle: Wait, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.  I’ve got a great, great, great video. We have to make it. It’s called Gabe Goes to Yoga. That we have to do. I would love to see that happen. Gabe goes to yoga, just title it that. Coming soon, folks. Coming soon. Gabe, goes to yoga.

Gabe: I think we should call it like fat ginger does yoga. I mean, forget about mental health. Forget about Gabe. Forget about my own notoriety. Just fat ass does yoga.

Michelle: Fat ass does yoga that. OK, fine.

Gabe: Fat ass does yoga.

Michelle: Sure. Let’s do it.

Gabe: I’m not discounting the benefits of yoga, but let’s pretend for a moment that you have a loved one who is diagnosed with cancer. I mean, real scary, genuine, scary cancer. And they’re there under treatment for cancer. They’re doing the things that they’re supposed to. Whatever it is. And somebody walks up to you unsolicited and says, oh, your loved one has cancer. Have they tried yoga? It’s so incredibly dismissive. And it lets you know immediately that they don’t believe that cancer is real, that they don’t believe that cancer is a medical issue and that they don’t believe that you’re smart enough to care for yourself because they are just giving you this unsolicited medical advice about the magic of yoga. And when they do it with mental illness, that is what it really feels like. Listen, I don’t know if people are walking up to all the cancer patients and telling them to do yoga. I really, really honestly don’t. I don’t think that they are in the same numbers that they’re doing it for people with mental illness. But this tells me unequivocally that they do not believe that mental illness is real. They think that it’s some sort of personality quirk, that if we would just work harder, we could treat on our own. That’s so awful. It’s so awful. I can’t even be sick.

Michelle: Do you think that most people that don’t think that mental illness is real? Is it the family members or is it the person who is fighting the most?

Gabe: I think that if we’re being honest, it’s probably the family members because it, you know, being mentally ill creates bad behaviors. The symptoms look like bad behaviors. Let’s take me, for example. My ex-wife, 15 years ago, I cheated on her. And the reason that I cheated on her was because of mania, because of hyper sexuality and because of bipolar disorder. But when she hears that, she might mistakenly believe that. I’m saying that what I did to her was OK, it wasn’t OK. Bipolar disorder was the reason she was still hurt. I still hurt her. I owe her an apology, but I can see her hearing this. Oh, well, he’s saying that what he did was OK because he was mentally ill. He’s faking because she’s got to protect herself. She was a victim in that scenario. I broke her trust. What I did was wrong. The fact that I have a quote unquote, good reason doesn’t change those dynamics. But so often, I think that people with mental illness, people like, you know, us Michelle, we’re like, oh, we hurt you and we were sick. Well, that’s OK. We don’t have to apologize. And I think that further makes family members say they’re faking. They’re making excuses. I think that we need to make sure that both things are true. The reason for the behavior was because of mental illness and we were still wrong and owe you an apology and amends.

Michelle: Sometimes people don’t realize that people’s actions are because of mental illness. When my whole thing first started in 9th grade and I stopped doing homework, I started failing like English class. My mom had a whole meeting with my guidance counselor and my teacher and my mom was convinced that I had a learning disability. She thought it was a learning disability for years and years and behavioral problems and everything. And then once I get diagnosed with a mental illness, she goes, I never thought mental illness was even anything about it. I really always thought it was a learning disability and behavioral problems. I was completely shocked by this and I always shared the story about how I told my roommates I was schizophrenic and they were like, oh, that couldn’t have been more obvious. We already knew that. Yeah, we told you that. All of my best friends knew, but my mother was completely surprised. Did she not think mental illness from the very beginning? How could she not think?

Gabe: Of course not.

Michelle: How could she?

Gabe: Why would you think mental illness from the very beginning? Let’s think about what your mother would have had to think in order to think mental illness from the very beginning. My daughter, whom I love, who I birthed is crazy. And given her generation, she probably thinks that crazy people are the fault of mothers. So she would have to think that she was flawed. Learning disability fits a lot better. It’s a lot more common. So she thought to herself, I wonder if this is a learning disability. And then she only found data that supported learning disability.

Michelle: Yeah, I believe she thought I was autistic at some point, honestly. But, you know, I didn’t want to speak or anything because I was so paranoid that everything that I was going to say was bad. I was afraid to hand in essays in school because I thought the teachers were gonna think I was stupid. I was afraid to hand in homework because I didn’t want the teachers to think I was dumb. I was just so paranoid about everything. I didn’t want to talk at all. I was so just out of reality that she thought that I was not OK, but she’d never thought it was a mental illness. She always thought it was a learning disability, autism, all these other different things, but never thought, you know, maybe depression, bipolar, schizophrenia. She was just so surprised when I had schizophrenia. And guess what? So did my great grandmother. So does my father’s cousin. So, you know, it runs in the family. Yet she was flabbergasted when she found out that diagnosis. I think she didn’t want to accept that. That could have been a possibility.

Gabe: Because it’s a negative Michelle, it’s a negative. In order for a family member to accept that their family member is mentally ill. That rubs off for whatever reason, that rubs off. If your family member is crazy, then you’re crazy, too. It’s a moral judgment.

Michelle: Yeah, and she did blame herself for a long time after finding out the diagnosis. She said it was from. She was getting an amniocentesis when I was in the womb and that her three days of waiting so panicky about what the results were gonna be, must have messed me up while she was, you know, pregnant with me. But then years later, found out that couldn’t have messed up the whole pregnancy thing.

Gabe: Of course not.

Michelle: So she blamed herself for a long time. Yeah. All these things.

Gabe: And of course, she blames herself because parents, especially of the generation that our parents are in, they were raised to believe that mentally ill people come from bad parenting. That was their belief. And that’s a lot of deprogramming that we need to do in society. Believing that is straight up stigmatizing. Sometimes your family members will get illnesses the end and some of those illnesses will be mental in nature. The end. There is no cause and effect here. It’s potential, I suppose. I’m not trying to discount, you know, like things like post-traumatic stress disorder or generational trauma or people that come from really, really bad homes. But, you know, bipolar, schizophrenia, major depression, even anxiety. These are just part of our genetic makeup. And there’s treatments available, whether it be medication, whether it be therapy, whether it be coping skills. There’s a lot of data to support it. But again, back to the core question. Why don’t people believe it? Because it’s invisible. They can’t see it. There’s no definitive test. And if they accept it, they have to accept that there’s something wrong with them as well. And that last one that last one is so incredibly offensive because it’s completely untrue. It’s completely untrue. Your loved one being fucked up doesn’t mean that you did anything wrong.

Michelle: It must be because how could my friends all know and she have no idea. It must have been her denial of trying to accept that there was actually something mentally wrong with me.

Gabe: Of course, let’s take your friends for a moment. One, they’re younger, two, they had more mental health training. But the big one, you being schizophrenic said nothing about them. Nothing. Michelle Hammer could be schizophrenic and their lives didn’t change one iota. But your mother’s life would change dramatically. And she’d have to explain to people.

Michelle: That’s true. Yes. She would have to tell her friends.

Lisa: Was she just denying that you could be mentally ill? Or was she denying that mental illness could exist at all?

Michelle: Oh, my mom completely knows that mental illness is real. I think she was just kind of in denial at the moment because she didn’t think that I had that. She has pages and pages and pages of me and my behavior and things I’ve done and everything. If I ever go to a new therapist or doctor or anything, she gives them like a 10 page packet of my history of everything I’ve done. She believes it. She knows it’s real. Took her a long time to accept it and it took her a long time to tell people. So for a long time, it was I told them, what’s going on with you? I told them what’s going on with you. I told them what’s going on with you. It’s like, what do you mean? What’s going on with me? I am who I am. Why is it a secret to tell people? Not a secret for me.

Gabe: We’ll be right back after we hear from our sponsor.

Announcer: This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp.com. Secure, convenient, and affordable online counselling. All counselors are licensed, accredited professionals. Anything you share is confidential. Schedule secure video or phone sessions, plus chat and text with your therapist, whenever you feel it’s needed. A month of online therapy often costs less than a single traditional face to face session. Go to BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral and experience seven days of free therapy to see if online counselling is right for you. BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral.

Michelle: And we’re back discussing whether mental illness is real.

Gabe: You know, Michelle, you’re looking back over. Of course, the course of your entire life. But specifically, when your mother first saw your behavior, she did not believe that it was mental illness. Now, later on, she did believe that it was mental illness and created pages and pages of documents and done all the things to get you help. But let’s go back to that moment in time, that small chunk of time where your mother did not believe that you Michelle Hammer had mental illness. So she did not believe that mental illness was real for you, but she did believe that it was real for other people. Does that matter? Does that make it worse? I kind of think it almost makes it worse. I think that I would rather somebody say, I don’t believe mental illness exists, period. Therefore, Gabe, you don’t have it. Rather than I completely believe that mental illness is real. But you, Gabe, are faking.

Michelle: She didn’t believe I was faking anything. She didn’t know what was going on. She brought me the therapist, but I just stone

Gabe: Yeah. Yeah. Stop defending your mom. Nobody gives a shit.

Michelle: Ok.

Gabe: We all love our mothers. Hugs, hugs, kiss, kiss, kiss. If they’re listening, you’re off the hook. Thanksgiving will be fine. The specific question is how does it feel when somebody looks you in the eyes and tells you that mental illness is not real and that you don’t have it? It’s not a thing. They don’t accuse you of faking it. They accuse you of being, I don’t know, brainwashed or stupid or who knows? They just do not believe that the thing that you have is real. How does that feel?

Michelle: Well, at the time, I didn’t know that I had a mental illness.

Gabe: Yeah, yeah. Michelle. I get it. You love your mom, your mom is a good mom. You’ve all learned; you’ve grown. There was a magical moment. It’s an after school special. I’m talking about today. Today. Right now, you. Thirty one year old Michelle Hammer, advocate, woman living with schizophrenia, person who is doing wonderful things in the world. You’re walking down the street. Somebody walks up to you and says, hey, you have schizophrenia? That’s not real. How do you feel?

Michelle: I feel like that person is a complete idiot and they know nothing about me and they know nothing about mental illness.

Gabe: I agree, I just think that person is stupid, but now pretend for a moment because this is where people are getting caught up. Pretend that that’s not a random person. Pretend that that’s somebody who has some control over your life. It’s a boss, it’s a hiring manager. It’s a principle at your school. It’s an admissions person. It’s somebody that you cannot just dismiss as an idiot. What do you do?

Michelle: Wow. I wouldn’t even know what to do, I would try to get a letter from my doctor. That’s really the only way to do it. Get a letter from a doctor, try to prove it’s real. Show a video that I have. I really don’t know what I would do other than try to provide as much proof as possible or I have to eliminate this person from my life and get out of that toxic situation.

Gabe: I like that you said that it’s a toxic situation because I agree people denying things are true when they are very true. It’s the cornerstone of our advocacy. We know that people believe that this is untrue. This is why we make videos. This is why we make podcasts. This is why we write blogs. Yet when people walk up to us and they’re like, what do you do when people think that this is fake? We look so confused. The answer is what we do is we make podcasts, we make videos, we make we write blogs. We advocate. We’re all over Facebook. We make little quotes on Instagram. We talk about it a lot because we want to change it. We want to change the way people see these illnesses. But yeah, that’s a really, really long thing to do. And not everybody can start a podcast.

Michelle: That’s true. Something like a joke that I say to people, if they think I’m not really schizophrenic, I say, well, just hang out with me all day when I’m off my meds. You want to do that? It’ll be proof enough. You’ll want to kill me by the end of the day. But you’ll believe I have schizophrenia then.

Gabe: Or will they? I got to tell you, I don’t think so. I think that there are some people that would assume that you’re not faking, but that you’re not controlling your behavior on purpose. For example, my father is a yeller. He yells all the time. He just he just he has a hair trigger temper. That’s not mental illness. My dad’s just kind of an asshole when he gets mad and he really needs to control his anger. He has anger issues, not mental illness. He just really needs to calm the fuck down. So if my dad said, hey, I can prove to you that I’m mentally ill, just hang out with me until I start yelling uncontrollably. I would not think that my dad had mental illness. I would think that my dad needs to, you know, take a deep breath before he talks to his wife and kids. Sorry, Dad, I love you. Just you see what I’m saying? They think that you can control it. They think that Gabe can control it. They think that we all can control it. And just inexplicably, we choose not to. Probably because we’re bad people.

Michelle: That’s true. You know what, illness gets almost the worst rap? It is eating disorders because people think just eat. You’ll be fine if you just eat. Just eat.

Gabe: Or just stop eating.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: Go, go the other way, you know? Yeah. You just need to eat or you just need to stop eating because you know, that’s all you need to do. There’s no disorder component there. But yeah, that happens a lot.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: Society does have a hard time understanding. You know, bulimia and anorexia, because you’re right, they just think, well, if the person would just eat more, they would be OK. And people equally have a hard time understanding binge eating disorder because they think that you just need to stop eating and that that’s the solution. But it’s so much more complicated than that. It’s the same way with mental illness. And just cheer up. Cheer up.

Michelle: Just cheer up.

Gabe: How many times do we hear that?

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: Just cheer up.

Michelle: Yeah. Just just, you know, put on some essential oils, breathe them in and you’ll be great. Just, you know, have some CBD. It’s so good for you that CBD. These days, they do everything with CBD. They can. It can just cure everything. Right, Gabe?

Gabe: You know that it’s incredibly helpful because you buy it at the gas station and it’s unregulated.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: And the big pharmaceutical companies don’t want anything to do with it. That’s how you know that it’s so perfect and valuable, the fact that it’s sold at Speedway.

Michelle: Yeah. You can get it at any bodega in the city, totally CBD. You know what else you get at a bodega? Cigarettes, cigars, swishers.

Gabe: And interestingly enough, cigarettes were marketed as a treatment for lots of things. It was a health food when it came out. People were literally smoking. The thing that is killing people with lung cancer was marketed as a health food. When it first came out.

Michelle: That blew my mind.

Gabe: I know, isn’t that strange?

Michelle: That blew my mind because I did not know that.

Gabe: Yeah, straight up, true. They used to encourage pregnant women to smoke.

Lisa: You know that cigarette brand, Virginia Slims? Targeted to women. That’s why it’s called “slims,” because if you smoke you will lose weight.

Gabe: Yeah, that’s 100 percent true story. Thank you, Lisa, for popping in with that interesting fact.

Michelle: I’m going to start smoking. Virginia Slims then. Thanks, Lisa.

Gabe: It’s industry marketing and creating the idea in a lay person’s head that mental illness must be fake and just use this alternative medicine. And what’s so incredibly sad about that is all of these alternative things, they cost a lot of money. They’re not cheap. I am fascinated when people tell me, well, mental illness is fake and I’m not going to take medicine for it. So instead, I take these pills for it. But they’re supplements.

Michelle: Supplements which have no FDA warning or anything, and they’re not even.

Gabe: But forget about all that.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: They’re literally taking pills to treat their non mental illness because taking pills to treat their mental illness is wrong and they’re spending the same amount of money, if not more, to do it. So the behavior is identical.

Michelle: Because there’s such a stigma. There’s just such a stigma on mental illness and they don’t want to go to therapy because they don’t want to be stigmatized by, oh, I go to therapy. They think it’s so rare and so taboo. Oh, no, oh, no. So many people go to therapy. There is no shame in going to therapy. Going to therapy is way more beneficial than a yoga class. For your mind, at least.

Gabe: And all of this, again, feeds the narrative that mental illness isn’t real, that it’s not real, that it’s all in your head, that if we make better choices, we can do better. And this is why the general public is so confused and it’s so sad because. Gabe and Michelle, we have real information about mental illness. We have ugly information. We have positive information. We have negative information. We have factual information. But we don’t have a billion dollar supplements industry pushing out our message. But they are pushing out the message that it’s all in your head. It’s all fake. Take this magical alternative treatment. And when you say why do people think that this is not real? Why do people think that it’s fake? I think that this is one of the reasons. And I think that people upon hearing that people think that mental illness isn’t real, need to say stop listening to your corporate overlord Masters, because that’s what’s happening. They’re believing marketing. They are believing marketing over their sick loved ones who have real symptoms and are seeing real doctors because they saw something on the Internet.

Michelle: Then just go on Web M.D. and find out some nonsense and they’ll spend tons of money on supplements. But no, I’m not going to go through and actually take an actual pharmaceutical from an actual company. But I’ll just go to wherever

Gabe: Prescribed by an actual doctor.

Michelle: Yeah. Yeah.

Gabe: Don’t forget all of that. That’s the other thing that just really frustrates me so much. They hate big pharma, but they’re OK with big supplement. People, they’re both billion dollar industries. One is addressing an actual problem with oversight and one is ignoring all responsibility and creating a false narrative. But this is why your loved ones don’t understand that mental illness is real, because your individual message can’t break through. All of the misinformation and the misinformation is so much. From your mom, Michelle, thinking that she’s a bad mother, to people not hearing about mental health or being taught mental health in school, but they are taught about learning disabilities, to people not openly discussing mental illness. I mean, how many shows are there like ours? There’s not that many. Now, how many shows are there arguing over whether the last Avengers movie was good? Literally thousands. Literally thousands probably.

Michelle: Note I did not see that movie.

Gabe: Tens of thousands.

Michelle: I did not see that movie, don’t ask me about that movie. I know nothing about that movie. I’m sure it was great. Good. Yeah, you go girl.

Gabe: You’re the one. You’re the only one in America that hasn’t seen it.

Michelle: Sorry.

Gabe: But even though you haven’t seen it, do you think The Avengers movie is real?

Michelle: Yes.

Gabe: See, you’re doing better than the people outright denying mental illness. And that is that is so incredibly frustrating. But I think that we need to understand why people think that it’s not real and why people are fighting against it. And I think what we as people living with mental illness need to do is talk about it more. The bottom line is we need more people like Gabe and Michelle. We need more people like the people who write us letters. We need more people like the people on social media who say, I have major depression, I have schizophrenia, I have bipolar disorder, I have anxiety, because eventually it will break through that this is real, it is treatable and people live great lives in spite of it. But right now, it’s just a bunch of nonsense that confuses people. So to sum this up for our listeners as they answer the basic question of what do you do when people don’t believe mental illness is real? Michelle, do you think that you can change somebody’s mind when they are one on one with information?

Michelle: One on one with information? You might be able to change somebodies mind, but it’s really not going to be an easy thing to do. I think.

Gabe: But you think it’s worth it?

Michelle: It is worth it. People need to know that mental illness is definitely real. You can’t just live in a world of yoga supplements and CBD. It’s a great idea to share your journey, bad, good, an ugly with mental illness. Us sharing our journey can only help others. It’s not easy to say you need therapy. It’s not easy to say you might need medication. But the two of us talking about it so openly can only help people feel better about themselves and maybe start that journey for themselves.

Gabe: Do you think it’s empowering for other people to share their successes in spite of living with mental illness?

Michelle: Yeah, you should definitely share your success despite mental illness. Mental illness shouldn’t be bringing you down all the time. You can still have a great successful life with it as long as it’s managed well. You know, I do well. Gabe, you do well. We’re living a great life despite our mental illnesses. So sharing that with other people just shows that they can live a great life as well.

Gabe: I’ve always said that crisis in mental illness is so public. But when good things happen, it’s never credited.

Michelle: That’s something I always say, I always say when you turn on the 11:00 news, you’re going to hear about something about somebody that’s mentally ill and they were running around with a knife and running out of the gun, they got arrested and brought to jail. But you never hear on the 11:00 o’clock news. This person with schizophrenia woke up in the morning, had some coffee, went to work, met friends after work, went home, had dinner, went to sleep, had a good day. You never hear that. You only hear the bad things. So if you only hear the bad things, you’re going to stigmatize the entire group of people. So if we could just share our stories like what we’re doing and showing that you can live a good life, you’re only going to hear more positive stories. And that’s what we’re doing and that’s what we want other people to do to share a story of living well with a mental illness. And I think that’s exactly what we need to do, what everyone needs to do and what society needs to do.

Gabe: Michelle. I could not agree more. Listen, if you have a great positive, awesome story about living well, despite your mental illness, please hit up show@PsychCentral.com. Over the coming weeks, we’ll be featuring people on our show. That’s right. Do you want to be a guest on a bipolar schizophrenic and a podcast and share your story with hundreds of thousands worldwide? All you have to do is hit up show@PsychCentral.com and tell us about it. Don’t forget to subscribe to our podcast on your favorite podcast player. Share us on social media. Give us as many stars as humanly possible. And hey, use your words. Tell us why you love us. And listen, if you are not telling a friend about our show, then clearly you’re not telling a friend about our show. Michelle and I would consider it a personal favor if you did so. And we will see everybody next week.

Announcer: You’ve been listening to A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. If you love this episode, don’t keep it to yourself head over to iTunes or your preferred podcast app to subscribe, rate, and review. To work with Gabe, go to GabeHoward.com. To work with Michelle, go to Schizophrenic.NYC. For free mental health resources and online support groups, head over to PsychCentral.com. This show’s official web site is PsychCentral.com/BSP. You can e-mail us at show@PsychCentral.com. Thank you for listening, and share widely.

Meet Your Bipolar and Schizophrenic Hosts

GABE HOWARD was formally diagnosed with bipolar and anxiety disorders after being committed to a psychiatric hospital in 2003. Now in recovery, Gabe is a prominent mental health activist and host of the award-winning Psych Central Show podcast. He is also an award-winning writer and speaker, traveling nationally to share the humorous, yet educational, story of his bipolar life. To work with Gabe, visit gabehoward.com.

  MICHELLE HAMMER was officially diagnosed with schizophrenia at age 22, but incorrectly diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18. Michelle is an award-winning mental health advocate who has been featured in press all over the world. In May 2015, Michelle founded the company Schizophrenic.NYC, a mental health clothing line, with the mission of reducing stigma by starting conversations about mental health. She is a firm believer that confidence can get you anywhere. To work with Michelle, visit Schizophrenic.NYC.

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/33fepht via theshiningmind.com

[positivepsychologyinterventions]

Podcast: Is Mental Illness a Made up Disorder?

In this episode, our hosts discuss whether or not mental illness is a real disorder or if it’s just something that medical and pharmaceutical companies made up to make a profit. 

SUBSCRIBE & REVIEW

“Instead of taking my psychiatric medications this morning, should I have just gone to yoga?” – Michelle Hammer

Highlights from ‘Mental Illness Made Up’ Episode

[2:00] Is mental illness real?

[4:00] Yoga doesn’t cure all mental illnesses, just like it wouldn’t cure cancer.

[16:00] Dealing with people who think mental illness is not real.

[19:30] Eating disorders are such a stigmatized mental illness.

[20:00] Cigarettes used to be a health food (true story!).

[27:00] You can still live a great life with a mental illness.

Computer Generated Transcript for ‘Mental Illness Made Up’ Show

Editor’s Note: Please be mindful that this transcript has been computer generated and therefore may contain inaccuracies and grammar errors. Thank you.

Announcer: For reasons that utterly escape everyone involved, you’re listening to A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. Here are your hosts, Gabe Howard and Michelle Hammer.

Gabe: Welcome, everybody, to this week’s episode of A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. My name is Gabe and I live with bipolar disorder.

Michelle: Hi, I’m Michelle and I’m schizophrenic and I am so ready for this podcast right now. Gabe, are you so excited right now?

Gabe: I am so jazzed We finally delved into the mailbag and really found out what some of the questions that we get asked a lot. Ah, so like several people are going to hear the questions and be like, oh, they answered my question. But in actuality, like 100 people just ask us the same thing over and over again.

Michelle: That’s OK. Nothing’s wrong with that. A lot of people have the same kind of questions.

Gabe: It is true, but. I do this a lot. We do this a lot. We travel the country, we have the podcast, we write. And every time I go give a speech, I come home and my wife says to me, Hey, did you get any good questions? And then I launch into this, you know, 10, 15, 20, 30 minute spiel. And every time I see her slowly eating her food going, yeah, that’s great and exciting. And she just looks so bored. Just once, just once I would like to come back from one of these trips and she says, hey, did anybody ask any good questions? And I tell her the question that I was asked. And she puts down her silverware and says, Oh, my God, what did you say? All right, Lisa. We’re throwing it over to you.

Michelle: Our producer, Lisa, let us know these questions, Lisa. Let us know.

Lisa: One of the more interesting questions we got this week is: Can you guys do an entire podcast on how to deal with people who don’t even think mental illness is real?

Michelle: Gabe, is mental illness real?

Gabe: Yes.

Michelle: I thought so, too.

Gabe: All right.

Michelle: Well, that was easy.

Gabe: I mean, that was pretty awesome. I suppose we can delve into why people think that it’s not real.

Michelle: Why don’t people think that it’s real? Why do people think that yoga, essential oils and meditation will fix them?

Gabe: Don’t forget cannabis oil.

Michelle: And yes, CBD oil. Why do people think that’s better than psych meds? I that I don’t understand at all. I don’t I don’t I don’t get it. Why does yoga cure anxiety?

Gabe: Well, yoga might cure anxiety and that that little, little piece of the puzzle, I think is very, very important. See, here’s the problem. We refer to everything as mental health. So it doesn’t matter if you woke up in the morning feeling a little sad or if you woke up in the morning being flat out balls to the wall, schizophrenic, delusional, hallucinating. We would call those things both mental health and we would call those things both mental illness. But there’s a world of difference between waking up, feeling sad and waking up being delusional.

Michelle: Ok.

Gabe: But we talk about them using the exact same verbiage.

Michelle: Ok. So instead of taking my medicine this morning, should I have just gone to yoga class?

Gabe: For Michelle Hammer? No, absolutely not.

Michelle: Ok.

Gabe: Yoga and exercise and diet will have an impact on your overall health and it will impact your mental health. But it provides no cure and it can’t be used alone. And I really think this is the big distinction there. Nobody is telling you that yoga is bad. Nobody is telling you that eating healthy is a bad idea. Those things will improve your life. They just won’t treat schizophrenia or bipolar disorder or major depression in isolation. You need both things. But if you have to pick one. Don’t pick yoga.

Michelle: Agreed. Agreed. I always have my story about my summer where I was trying to get over anxiety, so I drew a lot of pictures. That’s what I did to help me when I was feeling very anxious and not on a lot of medicine. But that definitely was not a cure. It was just something I used to stabilize myself that summer. What would have been better would have been to be on meds, but that wasn’t my option at the time. I did what they did to help me then, but I wish I was on meds. Basically is the gist of that story.

Gabe: There’s lots of coping skills, coping skills are phenomenal. I think that yoga is an absolutely phenomenal coping skill for the right person. I mean, my 300 pound ass isn’t going to lay on the floor and stretch around. That’s not the kind of thing that I enjoy. But, for example, I play the drums.

Michelle: Wait, Gabe, Gabe, Gabe.  I’ve got a great, great, great video. We have to make it. It’s called Gabe Goes to Yoga. That we have to do. I would love to see that happen. Gabe goes to yoga, just title it that. Coming soon, folks. Coming soon. Gabe, goes to yoga.

Gabe: I think we should call it like fat ginger does yoga. I mean, forget about mental health. Forget about Gabe. Forget about my own notoriety. Just fat ass does yoga.

Michelle: Fat ass does yoga that. OK, fine.

Gabe: Fat ass does yoga.

Michelle: Sure. Let’s do it.

Gabe: I’m not discounting the benefits of yoga, but let’s pretend for a moment that you have a loved one who is diagnosed with cancer. I mean, real scary, genuine, scary cancer. And they’re there under treatment for cancer. They’re doing the things that they’re supposed to. Whatever it is. And somebody walks up to you unsolicited and says, oh, your loved one has cancer. Have they tried yoga? It’s so incredibly dismissive. And it lets you know immediately that they don’t believe that cancer is real, that they don’t believe that cancer is a medical issue and that they don’t believe that you’re smart enough to care for yourself because they are just giving you this unsolicited medical advice about the magic of yoga. And when they do it with mental illness, that is what it really feels like. Listen, I don’t know if people are walking up to all the cancer patients and telling them to do yoga. I really, really honestly don’t. I don’t think that they are in the same numbers that they’re doing it for people with mental illness. But this tells me unequivocally that they do not believe that mental illness is real. They think that it’s some sort of personality quirk, that if we would just work harder, we could treat on our own. That’s so awful. It’s so awful. I can’t even be sick.

Michelle: Do you think that most people that don’t think that mental illness is real? Is it the family members or is it the person who is fighting the most?

Gabe: I think that if we’re being honest, it’s probably the family members because it, you know, being mentally ill creates bad behaviors. The symptoms look like bad behaviors. Let’s take me, for example. My ex-wife, 15 years ago, I cheated on her. And the reason that I cheated on her was because of mania, because of hyper sexuality and because of bipolar disorder. But when she hears that, she might mistakenly believe that. I’m saying that what I did to her was OK, it wasn’t OK. Bipolar disorder was the reason she was still hurt. I still hurt her. I owe her an apology, but I can see her hearing this. Oh, well, he’s saying that what he did was OK because he was mentally ill. He’s faking because she’s got to protect herself. She was a victim in that scenario. I broke her trust. What I did was wrong. The fact that I have a quote unquote, good reason doesn’t change those dynamics. But so often, I think that people with mental illness, people like, you know, us Michelle, we’re like, oh, we hurt you and we were sick. Well, that’s OK. We don’t have to apologize. And I think that further makes family members say they’re faking. They’re making excuses. I think that we need to make sure that both things are true. The reason for the behavior was because of mental illness and we were still wrong and owe you an apology and amends.

Michelle: Sometimes people don’t realize that people’s actions are because of mental illness. When my whole thing first started in 9th grade and I stopped doing homework, I started failing like English class. My mom had a whole meeting with my guidance counselor and my teacher and my mom was convinced that I had a learning disability. She thought it was a learning disability for years and years and behavioral problems and everything. And then once I get diagnosed with a mental illness, she goes, I never thought mental illness was even anything about it. I really always thought it was a learning disability and behavioral problems. I was completely shocked by this and I always shared the story about how I told my roommates I was schizophrenic and they were like, oh, that couldn’t have been more obvious. We already knew that. Yeah, we told you that. All of my best friends knew, but my mother was completely surprised. Did she not think mental illness from the very beginning? How could she not think?

Gabe: Of course not.

Michelle: How could she?

Gabe: Why would you think mental illness from the very beginning? Let’s think about what your mother would have had to think in order to think mental illness from the very beginning. My daughter, whom I love, who I birthed is crazy. And given her generation, she probably thinks that crazy people are the fault of mothers. So she would have to think that she was flawed. Learning disability fits a lot better. It’s a lot more common. So she thought to herself, I wonder if this is a learning disability. And then she only found data that supported learning disability.

Michelle: Yeah, I believe she thought I was autistic at some point, honestly. But, you know, I didn’t want to speak or anything because I was so paranoid that everything that I was going to say was bad. I was afraid to hand in essays in school because I thought the teachers were gonna think I was stupid. I was afraid to hand in homework because I didn’t want the teachers to think I was dumb. I was just so paranoid about everything. I didn’t want to talk at all. I was so just out of reality that she thought that I was not OK, but she’d never thought it was a mental illness. She always thought it was a learning disability, autism, all these other different things, but never thought, you know, maybe depression, bipolar, schizophrenia. She was just so surprised when I had schizophrenia. And guess what? So did my great grandmother. So does my father’s cousin. So, you know, it runs in the family. Yet she was flabbergasted when she found out that diagnosis. I think she didn’t want to accept that. That could have been a possibility.

Gabe: Because it’s a negative Michelle, it’s a negative. In order for a family member to accept that their family member is mentally ill. That rubs off for whatever reason, that rubs off. If your family member is crazy, then you’re crazy, too. It’s a moral judgment.

Michelle: Yeah, and she did blame herself for a long time after finding out the diagnosis. She said it was from. She was getting an amniocentesis when I was in the womb and that her three days of waiting so panicky about what the results were gonna be, must have messed me up while she was, you know, pregnant with me. But then years later, found out that couldn’t have messed up the whole pregnancy thing.

Gabe: Of course not.

Michelle: So she blamed herself for a long time. Yeah. All these things.

Gabe: And of course, she blames herself because parents, especially of the generation that our parents are in, they were raised to believe that mentally ill people come from bad parenting. That was their belief. And that’s a lot of deprogramming that we need to do in society. Believing that is straight up stigmatizing. Sometimes your family members will get illnesses the end and some of those illnesses will be mental in nature. The end. There is no cause and effect here. It’s potential, I suppose. I’m not trying to discount, you know, like things like post-traumatic stress disorder or generational trauma or people that come from really, really bad homes. But, you know, bipolar, schizophrenia, major depression, even anxiety. These are just part of our genetic makeup. And there’s treatments available, whether it be medication, whether it be therapy, whether it be coping skills. There’s a lot of data to support it. But again, back to the core question. Why don’t people believe it? Because it’s invisible. They can’t see it. There’s no definitive test. And if they accept it, they have to accept that there’s something wrong with them as well. And that last one that last one is so incredibly offensive because it’s completely untrue. It’s completely untrue. Your loved one being fucked up doesn’t mean that you did anything wrong.

Michelle: It must be because how could my friends all know and she have no idea. It must have been her denial of trying to accept that there was actually something mentally wrong with me.

Gabe: Of course, let’s take your friends for a moment. One, they’re younger, two, they had more mental health training. But the big one, you being schizophrenic said nothing about them. Nothing. Michelle Hammer could be schizophrenic and their lives didn’t change one iota. But your mother’s life would change dramatically. And she’d have to explain to people.

Michelle: That’s true. Yes. She would have to tell her friends.

Lisa: Was she just denying that you could be mentally ill? Or was she denying that mental illness could exist at all?

Michelle: Oh, my mom completely knows that mental illness is real. I think she was just kind of in denial at the moment because she didn’t think that I had that. She has pages and pages and pages of me and my behavior and things I’ve done and everything. If I ever go to a new therapist or doctor or anything, she gives them like a 10 page packet of my history of everything I’ve done. She believes it. She knows it’s real. Took her a long time to accept it and it took her a long time to tell people. So for a long time, it was I told them, what’s going on with you? I told them what’s going on with you. I told them what’s going on with you. It’s like, what do you mean? What’s going on with me? I am who I am. Why is it a secret to tell people? Not a secret for me.

Gabe: We’ll be right back after we hear from our sponsor.

Announcer: This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp.com. Secure, convenient, and affordable online counselling. All counselors are licensed, accredited professionals. Anything you share is confidential. Schedule secure video or phone sessions, plus chat and text with your therapist, whenever you feel it’s needed. A month of online therapy often costs less than a single traditional face to face session. Go to BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral and experience seven days of free therapy to see if online counselling is right for you. BetterHelp.com/PsychCentral.

Michelle: And we’re back discussing whether mental illness is real.

Gabe: You know, Michelle, you’re looking back over. Of course, the course of your entire life. But specifically, when your mother first saw your behavior, she did not believe that it was mental illness. Now, later on, she did believe that it was mental illness and created pages and pages of documents and done all the things to get you help. But let’s go back to that moment in time, that small chunk of time where your mother did not believe that you Michelle Hammer had mental illness. So she did not believe that mental illness was real for you, but she did believe that it was real for other people. Does that matter? Does that make it worse? I kind of think it almost makes it worse. I think that I would rather somebody say, I don’t believe mental illness exists, period. Therefore, Gabe, you don’t have it. Rather than I completely believe that mental illness is real. But you, Gabe, are faking.

Michelle: She didn’t believe I was faking anything. She didn’t know what was going on. She brought me the therapist, but I just stone

Gabe: Yeah. Yeah. Stop defending your mom. Nobody gives a shit.

Michelle: Ok.

Gabe: We all love our mothers. Hugs, hugs, kiss, kiss, kiss. If they’re listening, you’re off the hook. Thanksgiving will be fine. The specific question is how does it feel when somebody looks you in the eyes and tells you that mental illness is not real and that you don’t have it? It’s not a thing. They don’t accuse you of faking it. They accuse you of being, I don’t know, brainwashed or stupid or who knows? They just do not believe that the thing that you have is real. How does that feel?

Michelle: Well, at the time, I didn’t know that I had a mental illness.

Gabe: Yeah, yeah. Michelle. I get it. You love your mom, your mom is a good mom. You’ve all learned; you’ve grown. There was a magical moment. It’s an after school special. I’m talking about today. Today. Right now, you. Thirty one year old Michelle Hammer, advocate, woman living with schizophrenia, person who is doing wonderful things in the world. You’re walking down the street. Somebody walks up to you and says, hey, you have schizophrenia? That’s not real. How do you feel?

Michelle: I feel like that person is a complete idiot and they know nothing about me and they know nothing about mental illness.

Gabe: I agree, I just think that person is stupid, but now pretend for a moment because this is where people are getting caught up. Pretend that that’s not a random person. Pretend that that’s somebody who has some control over your life. It’s a boss, it’s a hiring manager. It’s a principle at your school. It’s an admissions person. It’s somebody that you cannot just dismiss as an idiot. What do you do?

Michelle: Wow. I wouldn’t even know what to do, I would try to get a letter from my doctor. That’s really the only way to do it. Get a letter from a doctor, try to prove it’s real. Show a video that I have. I really don’t know what I would do other than try to provide as much proof as possible or I have to eliminate this person from my life and get out of that toxic situation.

Gabe: I like that you said that it’s a toxic situation because I agree people denying things are true when they are very true. It’s the cornerstone of our advocacy. We know that people believe that this is untrue. This is why we make videos. This is why we make podcasts. This is why we write blogs. Yet when people walk up to us and they’re like, what do you do when people think that this is fake? We look so confused. The answer is what we do is we make podcasts, we make videos, we make we write blogs. We advocate. We’re all over Facebook. We make little quotes on Instagram. We talk about it a lot because we want to change it. We want to change the way people see these illnesses. But yeah, that’s a really, really long thing to do. And not everybody can start a podcast.

Michelle: That’s true. Something like a joke that I say to people, if they think I’m not really schizophrenic, I say, well, just hang out with me all day when I’m off my meds. You want to do that? It’ll be proof enough. You’ll want to kill me by the end of the day. But you’ll believe I have schizophrenia then.

Gabe: Or will they? I got to tell you, I don’t think so. I think that there are some people that would assume that you’re not faking, but that you’re not controlling your behavior on purpose. For example, my father is a yeller. He yells all the time. He just he just he has a hair trigger temper. That’s not mental illness. My dad’s just kind of an asshole when he gets mad and he really needs to control his anger. He has anger issues, not mental illness. He just really needs to calm the fuck down. So if my dad said, hey, I can prove to you that I’m mentally ill, just hang out with me until I start yelling uncontrollably. I would not think that my dad had mental illness. I would think that my dad needs to, you know, take a deep breath before he talks to his wife and kids. Sorry, Dad, I love you. Just you see what I’m saying? They think that you can control it. They think that Gabe can control it. They think that we all can control it. And just inexplicably, we choose not to. Probably because we’re bad people.

Michelle: That’s true. You know what, illness gets almost the worst rap? It is eating disorders because people think just eat. You’ll be fine if you just eat. Just eat.

Gabe: Or just stop eating.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: Go, go the other way, you know? Yeah. You just need to eat or you just need to stop eating because you know, that’s all you need to do. There’s no disorder component there. But yeah, that happens a lot.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: Society does have a hard time understanding. You know, bulimia and anorexia, because you’re right, they just think, well, if the person would just eat more, they would be OK. And people equally have a hard time understanding binge eating disorder because they think that you just need to stop eating and that that’s the solution. But it’s so much more complicated than that. It’s the same way with mental illness. And just cheer up. Cheer up.

Michelle: Just cheer up.

Gabe: How many times do we hear that?

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: Just cheer up.

Michelle: Yeah. Just just, you know, put on some essential oils, breathe them in and you’ll be great. Just, you know, have some CBD. It’s so good for you that CBD. These days, they do everything with CBD. They can. It can just cure everything. Right, Gabe?

Gabe: You know that it’s incredibly helpful because you buy it at the gas station and it’s unregulated.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: And the big pharmaceutical companies don’t want anything to do with it. That’s how you know that it’s so perfect and valuable, the fact that it’s sold at Speedway.

Michelle: Yeah. You can get it at any bodega in the city, totally CBD. You know what else you get at a bodega? Cigarettes, cigars, swishers.

Gabe: And interestingly enough, cigarettes were marketed as a treatment for lots of things. It was a health food when it came out. People were literally smoking. The thing that is killing people with lung cancer was marketed as a health food. When it first came out.

Michelle: That blew my mind.

Gabe: I know, isn’t that strange?

Michelle: That blew my mind because I did not know that.

Gabe: Yeah, straight up, true. They used to encourage pregnant women to smoke.

Lisa: You know that cigarette brand, Virginia Slims? Targeted to women. That’s why it’s called “slims,” because if you smoke you will lose weight.

Gabe: Yeah, that’s 100 percent true story. Thank you, Lisa, for popping in with that interesting fact.

Michelle: I’m going to start smoking. Virginia Slims then. Thanks, Lisa.

Gabe: It’s industry marketing and creating the idea in a lay person’s head that mental illness must be fake and just use this alternative medicine. And what’s so incredibly sad about that is all of these alternative things, they cost a lot of money. They’re not cheap. I am fascinated when people tell me, well, mental illness is fake and I’m not going to take medicine for it. So instead, I take these pills for it. But they’re supplements.

Michelle: Supplements which have no FDA warning or anything, and they’re not even.

Gabe: But forget about all that.

Michelle: Yeah.

Gabe: They’re literally taking pills to treat their non mental illness because taking pills to treat their mental illness is wrong and they’re spending the same amount of money, if not more, to do it. So the behavior is identical.

Michelle: Because there’s such a stigma. There’s just such a stigma on mental illness and they don’t want to go to therapy because they don’t want to be stigmatized by, oh, I go to therapy. They think it’s so rare and so taboo. Oh, no, oh, no. So many people go to therapy. There is no shame in going to therapy. Going to therapy is way more beneficial than a yoga class. For your mind, at least.

Gabe: And all of this, again, feeds the narrative that mental illness isn’t real, that it’s not real, that it’s all in your head, that if we make better choices, we can do better. And this is why the general public is so confused and it’s so sad because. Gabe and Michelle, we have real information about mental illness. We have ugly information. We have positive information. We have negative information. We have factual information. But we don’t have a billion dollar supplements industry pushing out our message. But they are pushing out the message that it’s all in your head. It’s all fake. Take this magical alternative treatment. And when you say why do people think that this is not real? Why do people think that it’s fake? I think that this is one of the reasons. And I think that people upon hearing that people think that mental illness isn’t real, need to say stop listening to your corporate overlord Masters, because that’s what’s happening. They’re believing marketing. They are believing marketing over their sick loved ones who have real symptoms and are seeing real doctors because they saw something on the Internet.

Michelle: Then just go on Web M.D. and find out some nonsense and they’ll spend tons of money on supplements. But no, I’m not going to go through and actually take an actual pharmaceutical from an actual company. But I’ll just go to wherever

Gabe: Prescribed by an actual doctor.

Michelle: Yeah. Yeah.

Gabe: Don’t forget all of that. That’s the other thing that just really frustrates me so much. They hate big pharma, but they’re OK with big supplement. People, they’re both billion dollar industries. One is addressing an actual problem with oversight and one is ignoring all responsibility and creating a false narrative. But this is why your loved ones don’t understand that mental illness is real, because your individual message can’t break through. All of the misinformation and the misinformation is so much. From your mom, Michelle, thinking that she’s a bad mother, to people not hearing about mental health or being taught mental health in school, but they are taught about learning disabilities, to people not openly discussing mental illness. I mean, how many shows are there like ours? There’s not that many. Now, how many shows are there arguing over whether the last Avengers movie was good? Literally thousands. Literally thousands probably.

Michelle: Note I did not see that movie.

Gabe: Tens of thousands.

Michelle: I did not see that movie, don’t ask me about that movie. I know nothing about that movie. I’m sure it was great. Good. Yeah, you go girl.

Gabe: You’re the one. You’re the only one in America that hasn’t seen it.

Michelle: Sorry.

Gabe: But even though you haven’t seen it, do you think The Avengers movie is real?

Michelle: Yes.

Gabe: See, you’re doing better than the people outright denying mental illness. And that is that is so incredibly frustrating. But I think that we need to understand why people think that it’s not real and why people are fighting against it. And I think what we as people living with mental illness need to do is talk about it more. The bottom line is we need more people like Gabe and Michelle. We need more people like the people who write us letters. We need more people like the people on social media who say, I have major depression, I have schizophrenia, I have bipolar disorder, I have anxiety, because eventually it will break through that this is real, it is treatable and people live great lives in spite of it. But right now, it’s just a bunch of nonsense that confuses people. So to sum this up for our listeners as they answer the basic question of what do you do when people don’t believe mental illness is real? Michelle, do you think that you can change somebody’s mind when they are one on one with information?

Michelle: One on one with information? You might be able to change somebodies mind, but it’s really not going to be an easy thing to do. I think.

Gabe: But you think it’s worth it?

Michelle: It is worth it. People need to know that mental illness is definitely real. You can’t just live in a world of yoga supplements and CBD. It’s a great idea to share your journey, bad, good, an ugly with mental illness. Us sharing our journey can only help others. It’s not easy to say you need therapy. It’s not easy to say you might need medication. But the two of us talking about it so openly can only help people feel better about themselves and maybe start that journey for themselves.

Gabe: Do you think it’s empowering for other people to share their successes in spite of living with mental illness?

Michelle: Yeah, you should definitely share your success despite mental illness. Mental illness shouldn’t be bringing you down all the time. You can still have a great successful life with it as long as it’s managed well. You know, I do well. Gabe, you do well. We’re living a great life despite our mental illnesses. So sharing that with other people just shows that they can live a great life as well.

Gabe: I’ve always said that crisis in mental illness is so public. But when good things happen, it’s never credited.

Michelle: That’s something I always say, I always say when you turn on the 11:00 news, you’re going to hear about something about somebody that’s mentally ill and they were running around with a knife and running out of the gun, they got arrested and brought to jail. But you never hear on the 11:00 o’clock news. This person with schizophrenia woke up in the morning, had some coffee, went to work, met friends after work, went home, had dinner, went to sleep, had a good day. You never hear that. You only hear the bad things. So if you only hear the bad things, you’re going to stigmatize the entire group of people. So if we could just share our stories like what we’re doing and showing that you can live a good life, you’re only going to hear more positive stories. And that’s what we’re doing and that’s what we want other people to do to share a story of living well with a mental illness. And I think that’s exactly what we need to do, what everyone needs to do and what society needs to do.

Gabe: Michelle. I could not agree more. Listen, if you have a great positive, awesome story about living well, despite your mental illness, please hit up show@PsychCentral.com. Over the coming weeks, we’ll be featuring people on our show. That’s right. Do you want to be a guest on a bipolar schizophrenic and a podcast and share your story with hundreds of thousands worldwide? All you have to do is hit up show@PsychCentral.com and tell us about it. Don’t forget to subscribe to our podcast on your favorite podcast player. Share us on social media. Give us as many stars as humanly possible. And hey, use your words. Tell us why you love us. And listen, if you are not telling a friend about our show, then clearly you’re not telling a friend about our show. Michelle and I would consider it a personal favor if you did so. And we will see everybody next week.

Announcer: You’ve been listening to A Bipolar, a Schizophrenic, and a Podcast. If you love this episode, don’t keep it to yourself head over to iTunes or your preferred podcast app to subscribe, rate, and review. To work with Gabe, go to GabeHoward.com. To work with Michelle, go to Schizophrenic.NYC. For free mental health resources and online support groups, head over to PsychCentral.com. This show’s official web site is PsychCentral.com/BSP. You can e-mail us at show@PsychCentral.com. Thank you for listening, and share widely.

Meet Your Bipolar and Schizophrenic Hosts

GABE HOWARD was formally diagnosed with bipolar and anxiety disorders after being committed to a psychiatric hospital in 2003. Now in recovery, Gabe is a prominent mental health activist and host of the award-winning Psych Central Show podcast. He is also an award-winning writer and speaker, traveling nationally to share the humorous, yet educational, story of his bipolar life. To work with Gabe, visit gabehoward.com.

  MICHELLE HAMMER was officially diagnosed with schizophrenia at age 22, but incorrectly diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18. Michelle is an award-winning mental health advocate who has been featured in press all over the world. In May 2015, Michelle founded the company Schizophrenic.NYC, a mental health clothing line, with the mission of reducing stigma by starting conversations about mental health. She is a firm believer that confidence can get you anywhere. To work with Michelle, visit Schizophrenic.NYC.

from World of Psychology https://ift.tt/33fepht via IFTTT

[iamdesperatelyaskingforhelp-blog]

I Have No Hope left. Please.

I don’t want to bother, but please read the first two paragraphs. Please. My friend Daniel Hompoth has been involuntarily committed the the psychiatric ward of Windsor Regional Hospital - Metropolitan campus, located in Windsor, Ontario, Canada. His psychiatrist, Dr Barry Miller, called an ambulance and the police yesterday, while Danny was sleeping. He woke up to the police at his fire escape and forced into an ambulance. He requested to know why. They would not tell him. Danny was diagnosed with schizophrenia by Dr Barry Miller. He has talked about his symptoms extensively with his psychiatrist, Dr Barry Miller, for years. He has talked about his experiences and his experiences that indicate epilepsy. His mother described her experiences with dealing with his seizures, and all the injuries he has sustained as a result. This includes tremors, shaking, confusion and aggravation, loss of memory. He has fallen down so many times, including staircases. His mother talked about how she always immediately instinctively went to him, to prevent him from injuring himself. She described his convulsions, his blank stare, and other symptoms. Danny was told those are not symptoms of epilepsy. He stated it was because Danny was not taking his medication, and he was suffering from psychosis. This is a lie, as he was actually forced to get injections because “it’s easier”. And he always took his antidepressant, which does help him. But no matter how much he requested trying a different medication because of both lack of positive effects, and the severity of negative effects, which caused a lot of psychological trauma and permanent nerve damage (Abilify). Dr Barry Miller did did not care to consider a second opinion or a change in medication. Every person is legally required advanced notice of involuntary commitment. Danny did not receive any form of notice. There was no indication that he was a risk to himself or others. Regardless of the diagnosis he was given, he was ignored and hurt, instead of listened to. An important note on the subject of his diagnosis: Epilepsy can often manifest the the same symptoms of schizophrenia. One important difference is that epilepsy has additional symptoms, which have been repeatedly dismissed by Dr Barry Miller despite numerous witnesses. This is of dire importance, because the treatment for epilepsy is drastically different from schizophrenia. Danny is being denied proper treatment. Epilepsy I also did something that is wrong or technically illegal. I gave him some of my medication. It helped alleviate his symptoms, and he felt like himself. I apologise, but I don’t regret this. His quality of life is more important, and I chose to go with morals instead. He also uses cannabis, which has a bad reputation of causing schizophrenia. Cannabis also has a good reputation for treating epilepsy. But because of its association with schizophrenia, not only does Dr Barry Miller use it as further evidence of schizophrenia, but his friends and family, also use it as further evidence that he must be schizophrenic. To the extent that they have lost respect for him because they think he is unable to make decisions for himself. But with cannabis, he uses it to medicate, and not to get high all the time. When he uses it, he is himself!!! To be able to see Danny again, his true self, I cried the first time. I was so happy. It feels like he got his soul back, at least temporary. But he has to fight to cherish those moments. As the effects fade, is unable to recall them. Using pictures and videos of him in that state, helps him remember that he has hope, he can get better. So when his motivation is gone, his hope is gone, his trust is gone, he has those to fill him with determination to not give up. Every person is legally required equal right to treatment without discrimination of disability. Every person is legally required equal rights to legal capacity, without discrimination of disability. But above all, every single person deserves freedom from harassment and physical abuse. He was not provided any of the above. His requests for the injuries he sustained from his treatment by staff was ignored. This is inhumane. Whether they assume schizophrenia or epilepsy, he deserves care and respect. He has an intense phobia of hospitals because of the treatment has experienced in the past. He becomes scared and has a fight or flight response. And when he fights, it’s with himself. Because when he tries to use words, he is humiliated and demoralised. Dr. Barry Miller did no blood tests, despite it being requested numerous times. He claimed it wasn’t worth it, because he’ll probably get sepsis... He ignored requests for Danny to be referred to a neurologist. Dr Barry Miller claimed he has no peers, and that Danny did not need a neurologist, just medication. Dr Barry Miller denied Danny’s requests for brain scans, or any other test to determine what Danny was suffering with. (His family doctor was shocked at this blatant negligence). Dr Barry Miller didn’t even have the respect or patience to listen to Danny try to express how he feels during appointments. He tried to tell Dr Barry Miller that the reason he was changing to a new psychiatrist was because he did not feel he had rapport with Dr Barry Miller. Dr Barry Miller instead manipulated the meaning of rapport, which confused and disoriented Danny. I tried to help Danny by asking him a simpler question. “Do you feel comfortable talking to Dr Miller”. Danny said he wasn’t comfortable. I was immediately asked to leave the room. That is the person that forces him into involuntary commitment, and uses it as a threat to Danny. With the permission of Danny, I recorded part of one of his appointments. We are very lucky to legally require one party to consent to this. We don’t know what steps need to be taken. We need help, because the hospital is his biggest fear. It is worsened by the fact that Barry Miller uses it as a threat when Danny does not just do what he says. After I was removed from the office his appointment was in, he was threatened again. Because Dr Barry Miller decided I was a negative influence, and he threatened Danny to remove me from his life. From my knowledge, Dr Barry Miller has broken oaths as a doctor, and laws as a human. Regardless, he caused long term psychological trauma, potential brain damage, a phobia of trusting anyone. He has no hope, because he is reminded that he will never get better because schizophrenia is untreatable. His relationships with friends and family have deteriorated as a result of the years of psychological abuse at the hands of Dr Barry Miller. Please give him hope in humanity, he has almost none. Please help give him his life back. And he’s currently trapped in the hospital. And I hate to say this, because I very much care for and respect his mom and dad, they visited him for five minuets and left. He was devastated and became numb. He felt alone and abandoned by his parents. I never mean to hurt them, but if they truly care, they need to know how much their actions and lack of action hurt him. I called the hospital and various sections, every 20-30 minutes as soon as I found out he was forced into ambulance. I just wanted to talk to him for 30 seconds to give any support. I called the psych ward while he was still in emergency, to let them know he is very scared, anxious, and sensitive to noise. I requested they have patience for him. Multiple times, at different sections of the hospital as he was there, asking if they could please at least write a small note from me saying it’s going to be okay. I just wanted him to know he is cared about. I found out none of these were even acknowledged. A simple note. Asking for patience. None of the people I asked actually gave him a note. One person even told me “I have better things to do”. What’s better than caring for a patient in the psych ward? What makes his mental well being so low on the list? Why would someone go into a field when they don’t actually care about the effects they have on so many people. Please help. I don’t know what to do. I’m in England, so I can’t even be there in person. I couldn’t get through to the patient advocacy line. I couldn’t talk to a lawyer about the situation because they already closed. And I am unable to contact another friend of his, which means I am having trouble finding support. If she somehow finds this post, please contact him. He would appreciate any words of comfort. Please, I don’t want him to suffer. He’s trapped and scared and I don’t know how to save him. Please.

[fitnesswomenshealth-blog]

Theo Fleury says addiction robbed him of 21 years of maturity. So today, he’s ‘only 29’

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/theo-fleury-says-addiction-robbed-him-of-21-years-of-maturity-so-today-hes-only-29.html

Theo Fleury says addiction robbed him of 21 years of maturity. So today, he’s ‘only 29’

Theo Fleury was born in 1968.

But question him his age nowadays, and he’ll notify you he’s 29 many years aged.

“They say the day you begin ingesting is truly the day you cease maturing, and then when you get sober, you begin at that age and then move via that,” he advised International Information Radio’s Charles Adler on Wednesday.

“I’m really not 50, I’m only 29.”

Fleury spoke with Adler 1 day right after he marked 13 decades of sobriety, relating a prolonged journey by means of habit that commenced when he was 16 decades outdated.

Protection of Theo Fleury on Globalnews.ca:

Former NHLer Theo Fleury desires to sit down with abuser Graham James for documentary

That was the yr that he observed alcohol — soon after he experienced been sexually abused by junior hockey coach Graham James.

He would development to substances this kind of as cocaine and cannabis, ultimately getting to be an addict.

“The direct end result of my remaining abused was that I grew to become a raging, alcoholic lunatic,” Fleury linked in his memoir Taking part in with Fireplace.

And it would wreak havoc for him all through his 16-calendar year NHL profession.

He would come to be a prosperous participant, successful a Stanley Cup with the Calgary Flames in 1989 and getting named an NHL 2nd Team All-Star for the 1994-95 season.

He would gain a gold medal for Canada at the 2002 Olympic Winter season Video games.

He claimed he after had $50-million to his title.

Czech Republic goalie Dominik Hasek will make the help you save on Canada’s Theo Fleury through 3rd period hockey opposition at the XIX Olympic Wintertime Online games in Salt Lake City, Utah, Monday Feb 18, 2002.

CP Photograph/Tom Hanson

But Fleury struggled off the ice, even as he excelled on it. His problems with medications and alcohol attained their peak in 1999, when he played for the New York Rangers.

He would commit nights drinking and snorting cocaine, and use his infant son’s urine to cheat on drug checks, he advised the New York Situations in 2009.

He performed his previous activity as an NHL player with the Chicago Blackhawks in 2003 — he was suspended in April of that year, a few months after he became embroiled in a fight at a strip club in Columbus, Ohio.

Browse Extra: Previous NHLer Theo Fleury needs to sit down with abuser Graham James for documentary

Fleury reached a turning point in his lifestyle two yrs later on.

“I was in a washroom in my property, and I knew that eventually I was likely to die,” he informed Adler.

“I presently attempted suicide, I could not do that, and I understood that there was just a greater way of carrying out this, and which is named existence.”

Fleury dropped to his knees and “had it out with God” in the washroom.

Previous NHLer Theo Fleury stands in front of a boy or girl abuse monument in Toronto on May possibly 14.

AP Photo

He “called him every title in the guide that I could imagine of, created a pair up of my possess, and at the conclude of the conversation, I just in essence stated, remember to, God, consider away the obsession to drink and do prescription drugs.”

He woke on the early morning of Sept. 18, 2005 and appeared at himself in the mirror — and he couldn’t remember the final time he did that.

“I sat there and I stared,” he claimed.

“Next issue I know, 30 minutes goes by and I went, holy cow, I stated my prayers have been answered.”

Fleury hasn’t had a drug or a consume due to the fact that day, and invested the intervening decades unpacking his trauma.

“What trauma teaches us is, first of all, it teaches us abandonment and neglect,” he told Adler.

“I’m not good enough, I’m not lovable, and the fourth issue is, do I even exist in the world?

“I did not come to feel that I deserved good things in my lifestyle.”

Fleury came to new realizations about himself, finding out how to be individual, and how to pay attention to people.

He stays sad at how his NHL vocation finished — and whilst most believed it had to do with his dependancy, he explained it experienced extra to do with his mental wellness.

“My mental wellbeing took me out of the recreation,” he stated. “And now I’m hoping to do one thing much better to enhance, you know, the top quality of people’s life who have knowledgeable trauma and supporting other people.”

Read through More: Previous NHLer Theo Fleury in Saskatoon raises awareness about kid sex abuse

Fleury would mount some thing of an NHL comeback in September 2009, landing a tryout with the Calgary Flames, the team that drafted him.

In his initially recreation back again, he scored a goal in a shootout, ultimately racking up four details prior to the crew launched him.

He introduced his retirement soon immediately after. His memoir was introduced the next month.

Due to the fact then he has discovered new daily life as an advocate for victims of sexual abuse, providing speeches and getting component in charitable functions.

His abuser James would plead guilty to sexually abusing hockey players, receiving a two-yr sentence in 2012 that was later on elevated to 5 yrs.

James received full parole in 2016.

Fleury stated earlier this yr that he would like to sit down with James for a documentary that he’s filming.

“The reality that I can be in the same place as my abuser claims a good deal,” he said in July.

“I’m not a sufferer anymore.”

The Stanley Cup and gold medal-successful all-star may well no for a longer time have the hundreds of thousands he once enjoyed, but he thinks “everything that took place to me was component of a greater approach.”

“I possibly would not have discovered the true intent of my everyday living if I continue to experienced the $50-million,” he said.

© 2018 Global News, a division of Corus Entertainment Inc.

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[junker-town]

Athletes are leading cannabis into the mainstream

The bottle stared at Cullen Jenkins for two weeks untouched on his nightstand, and he stared back at it.

“I thought I was going to be high,” Jenkins says. “I thought I was going to be just tripping the same things as weed. But it wasn’t anything like that. It’s more of a mellow, calming, smooth feeling. I felt pretty good.”

Within just two months of trying Fresh Farms CBD Oil, Jenkins is already a cannabis evangelist. This past NFL season was his first out of football. As the season began, he worked out and digested tape, believing he might be signed by an NFL team at any time. Jenkins started 138 games as an NFL defensive tackle across 13 seasons. He won a Super Bowl with the Packers. Including his high school days, Jenkins had played competitive football for nearly 20 years. But after being cut by Washington in 2016, teams didn’t call and Jenkins felt listless.

“And you have that sense of — I guess, not of being a failure, but not being good enough as well,” Jenkins says. “I went through a while where I wouldn’t get out of bed until 2 in the afternoon. You just felt kind of like a bum, or you just felt like — I don’t know there’s a word that I’m looking for to use.

“You just felt unimportant, I guess. Like you didn’t really matter.”

Jenkins says his wife and cousin both pushed him to try CBD oil, which can be taken like a nutritional supplement by using a dropper to squirt a not-unpleasant tasting gob of brown-gold tincture beneath the tongue. Jenkins was leery, but then he quickly noticed a change in himself. His says his joints feel better, and his depression and anxiety eat at him less. He has been able to talk to his two teenage daughters more easily, and without becoming irritable. He’s been more vocal and focused in his carpentry classes, and “anybody who knows me knows that’s not really the type of student I am.”

“At the foundation of what I’m talking about is player health and safety. If you want to get distracted by the stigma or what not, well that’s on you.” —Titans linebacker Derrick Morgan

Jenkins used to drink half a fifth of vodka and several beers to chase it every day. He started drinking just to sleep, but then the drinking would make him feel sick when he woke up. So he would take pills as needed to handle any pain, then drink, try to sleep, and repeat.

Cannabis ended that cycle — for him. The emphasis is necessary there because though the product that Jenkins takes doesn’t get him high, it is derived from the cannabis plant, which is classified as a Schedule I drug by the United States Controlled Substances Act, alongside heroin and DMT. As such, the evidence of cannabis’ medicinal benefits is still not as thorough and as vetted as many would like, nor is any understanding of its negative side effects.

What, exactly, cannabis can and can’t do is incredibly hard to say. What we can tell you is Jenkins is not alone. That across the United States — and among former professional athletes, especially — people are telling stories of how cannabis curtailed their epileptic seizures, helped manage their chronic pain, and gave them their lives back. We can also show you research that says in states where medical cannabis is legal, opioid overdose deaths and addiction treatment admissions have fallen, providing a glimmer of hope to perhaps solving an American epidemic.

And just as those stories are adding up, so too is a $9.7 billion and growing industry in North America around things like tinctures and creams and inhalers and tablets and vape pens and more that all can purportedly make you feel better in just about every way you think you need to feel better — from strong evidence that it soothes regular ‘ol aches to nascent (but not insignificant) evidence that it slows the production of proteins that cause Alzheimer’s.

At the forefront of this green rush are athletes, perhaps the best possible ambassadors for an industry that would very much like you to know that they are not trying to sell you a good time, but something that will soon come to be categorized officially as medicine. A product that, with any luck, can help fix some of this nation’s biggest problems — not just substance dependence, as it did for Jenkins, but also things like a prohibitively expensive healthcare system and the disproportionate arrest rate of people of color.

Sounds pretty good, right?

The word you should implant in your brain now — because in due time, you may have no choice — is “CBD.” See-bee-dee is an easier way to say cannabidiol, one of at least 113 cannabinoids in the cannabis plant. Cannabinoids are why we’re here: They’re chemical compounds that act on receptors in the brain and can alter neural function. For example, tetrahydrocannabinol — THC — is largely responsible for getting you high, and may also have a host of benefits that are still difficult to study as long as cannabis is illegal at the federal level.

Alongside THC, CBD is also abundant in many strains of cannabis, but won’t get you high in exchange for all the purported good it does.

The idea that cannabis (which you might better knows as “marijuana,” but that term has issues) is good for body and soul goes as far back as at least 2900 B.C. when the Chinese emperor Fu Hsi wrote about it as a “popular medicine that possessed both yin and yang.” In 1851, cannabis was recognized as medicine in the United States Pharmacopeia, a compendium of drug standards still enforced by the Food and Drug Administration. Back then, it was indicated to treat “neuralgia, gout, rheumatism, tetanus, hydrophobia, epidemic cholera, convulsions, chorea, hysteria, mental depression, delirium tremens, insanity, and uterine hemorrhage.”

But over time, cannabis developed a stigma. The Marihuana Tax Act made it officially illegal under federal law in 1937, despite opposition from the American Medical Association. In 1969, the Supreme Court struck down the act, but then the Controlled Substances Act took its place and categorized cannabis as Schedule I — meaning, in the government’s view, that cannabis has a high potential for abuse and no currently accepted medicinal value.

Richard Nixon appointed a commission to review cannabis’ criteria as a Schedule I drug. But by the time the Shafer Commission recommended that cannabis be descheduled — and, in fact, decriminalized — Nixon had already officially declared the War on Drugs, and stated outright in 1971 he would reject the commission’s findings if it proposed legalization:

As you know, there is a commission that is supposed to make recommendations to me about this subject; in this instance, however, I have such strong views that I will express them. I am against legalizing marijuana. Even if the commission does recommend that it be legalized, I will not follow that recommendation ... I can see no social or moral justification whatever for legalizing marijuana. I think it would be exactly the wrong step. It would simply encourage more and more of our young people to start down the long, dismal road that leads to hard drugs and eventually self-destruction.

And this is all, roughly, how we wound up with Ricky Williams.

The NFL instituted rigorous drug testing in the 1980s, coinciding nicely with Nancy Reagan taking up Nixon’s torch and telling America to “Just Say No.” When Williams was drafted in 1999, America was still largely afraid of pot. In 2000, a Pew Research poll found roughly three in 10 Americans supported marijuana legalization, and just four states had legalized medical cannabis.

So when Williams privately struggled with anxiety and depression, and was revealed publicly to be relying on marijuana, America wasn’t kind. Williams described being abandoned by sponsors after it was announced that in December 2003 he had tested positive for cannabis, thus failing his second NFL drug test.

Ricky Williams when he played for the Dolphins. Photo by Getty Images

He has said he started smoking regularly during his first three NFL seasons, which included a league-leading 1,853 yards rushing for the Dolphins in 2002. He retired early from football in 2004, only to come back, after soul-searching, as an unapologetic cannabis user. He would later say he wouldn’t have won the 1998 Heisman Trophy or played 11 NFL seasons if not for pot.

By coming back, Williams set an important precedent: He proved you could use cannabis and still excel — he rushed for 4.4 yards per carry in 12 games in 2005, before violating the NFL drug policy a fourth time and being suspended for the 2006 season — even at a sport that supposedly demands utmost discipline and commitment to succeed. Former Jets defensive end Marvin Washington credits Williams as one of the first pro athletes to normalize cannabis use.

“I know some of these guys ... and they’ll tell you this themselves that they’ve been involved with cannabis since high school,” Washington says. “So you look at the sacrifice and the things they did, and it goes against everything that you’ve been taught, that you’re lazy, unfocused, you get the munchies, you’re not going to accomplish much.

“These guys graduated from high school, got a scholarship, got degrees, they excelled, and came into the NFL and had long careers, and they were medicating and using cannabis all the way through.”

Whereas then Williams was seen as a rudderless screw-up, today he can be credited as one of the cannabis movement’s pioneers. He has been outspoken about his social anxiety disorder and his cannabis use, even opening a line of weed gyms and more recently revealing a personal line of cannabis products.

Washington discovered cannabis independent of Williams, mind you. The two men weren’t contemporaries — Washington retired after the 1999 season, the same year Williams was drafted. Instead, Washington says he was approached by a company making CBD products about four and a half years ago.

“I didn’t know the difference between THC or TLC, or CBD and CBGB,” Washington laughs. “And that brought on a deep dive into cannabis, because once you’re in the space then you meet all these cannabis nurses and doctors and kids that are medicating and what have you, and you learn about different strains, and you learn that that your body has a system in it called the endocannabinoid system, and then you learn that you see all these soldiers that are suffering from PTSD that are being helped. You see people with MS.”

Former NFL players suffer opioid addiction at four times the rate of the general population.

Washington mentions former Saints, Rams, and Chiefs offensive tackle Kyle Turley, who began experimenting with cannabis in 2012 after reading a study showing a cannabinoid was able to protect mice from brain injury. Turley credits cannabis for saving his life. He once recalled standing on a balcony the night he was inducted into the San Diego State Hall of Fame when he had a sudden desire to jump, and says the fact that he was smoking cannabis is the reason he didn’t. He battled thoughts of taking his own life, and the lives of his wife and children, something he has blamed on the anti-depression medication he was taking.

Turley says he hasn’t taken any kind of pill — no anti-inflammatories, no opiates, and no antidepressants — since 2015. He is convinced that football deteriorated his brain, and calls cannabis “the best psych medication I’ve ever been prescribed in my life.”

“You know we’re football players, we’re alpha males charged to play a game,” Turley says. “And individuals like myself playing positions where we’re supposed to be violent, we’re supposed to get our point across through being loud and forceful. That doesn’t go over very well in the real world.

“And I’ve found that this plant has the ability to help us control our brains more than anything.”

Washington and Turley are now veterans of the movement, one that’s seeping into the realm of current players. The NFL still has a draconian cannabis policy relative to just about any professional sports league you can think of, but that didn’t stop Eugene Monroe from becoming the first active NFL player to advocate for the use of cannabis to treat pain in 2016, nor is it stopping current Titans outside linebacker Derrick Morgan, who is pushing the NFL to follow through on its promise to study medical cannabis.

Morgan credits the Titans for standing by him, even if they don’t necessarily support his views. When Morgan became an active advocate for cannabis in 2016, he wasn’t sure whether he would face repercussions, but he had done his own research and made a calculated decision to speak up.

“I felt like me being able to spread the word was worth any type of repercussions that could come to me,” Morgan says. “Because I looked at it from a logical standpoint — as in what I’m talking about, the subject matter, the education I have on it ... they were all coming from good places. So I felt at peace with any type of repercussion that could come my way because my motives were right.

“At the foundation of what I’m talking about is player health and safety. If you want to get distracted by the stigma or what not, well that’s on you.”

The list of current and former athletes who have advocated for cannabis is now long. UFC fighters seem to use cannabis liberally, though THC is still banned, and Nate Diaz has become a de facto CBD poster boy. In the NBA, Al Harrington, Cliff Robinson, and Rick Barry are all advocates who have vested interests in the industry.

Photo by Getty Images

Former NFL players who support medicinal cannabis may stretch into the dozens, including the likes of Leonard Marshall, Jake Plummer, and Jim McMahon. The league is a flashpoint for the cannabis debate, because football is both immensely popular and immensely violent. The link between repeated physical trauma and chronic traumatic encephalopathy (a.k.a., CTE) is nearly incontrovertible, as is the fact that former players suffer opioid addiction at four times the rate of the general population.

This wave of athletes supporting cannabis isn’t a case of retirees needing new hobbies; the debate is personal. And where once cannabis was associated with locker room misfits, it now seems to be building a loud and legitimizing chorus of support.

“We have more information at our hands than at any time in history, and people are starting to see that those were lies, that was misinformation, and this plant has been here for over 10,000 years,” Washington says. “We need to get to medicating with bio-based medicine, which is plant-based medicine, because we cannot continue down this path that we’re going with the opiates and benzodiazepines, or else we’re going to lose a generation.”

By 2021, Troy Dayton predicts that cannabis will grow into a $24 billion industry. He’s the CEO of The Arcview Group, a network that connects investors to entrepreneurs who are developing cannabis products and product lines. He is a founding board member of the National Cannabis Industry Association, and was named one of Fortune’s “seven most powerful people in America’s marijuana industry.” And even he says he was “late to the game” when he realized the potential that athletes had to speak to America.

“It hit me that sports stars are the true icons of American culture. And it just started dawning on me like, ‘Oh, right!,’” Dayton says. “And the sports media really hits a different audience than the political media. These are cultural figures that are really speaking to how Americans see things.”

Today, many of those early athlete cannabis advocates are now financially staked in the industry’s growth. Dayton says Williams was an early investor with Arcview, and Monroe is involved with the group now. Turley has his own line called Neuro XPF. Washington represents Isodiol. In the NBA, Harrington began a company called Viola Extracts, and Robinson has his Uncle Cliffy brand. Barry, at 74 years old, is an ambassador for a bulk CBD producer, manufacturer, and distributor called Folium Biosciences.

Says Barry: “The beauty of life is that if you can be involved in the business world and do something that’s providing a product or a service or whatever that helps to improve the lives, and maybe even saving the lives, of other people, and you can make a living doing that. That’s pretty darn cool.”

Advocate Ryan Kingsbury realized the power athletes had while working as communications director for a Colorado hemp producer. CW Hemp, founded and run by the Stanley brothers, created a low-THC, high-CBD oil named Charlotte’s Web, which CNN spotlighted in an impactful special about a girl named Charlotte Figi who suffered from frequent and severe epileptic seizures. Charlotte’s family tried to help her with pharmaceutical drugs, but found they were only effective for so long before the seizures would come back, hundreds per week. With the help of two doctors and the Stanleys, Charlotte was able to start a CBD treatment. Today, the family says Charlotte has fewer than three seizures per month, and Charlotte’s mother continues to be an advocate for medical cannabis.

“We need to get to medicating with bio-based medicine, which is plant-based medicine, because we cannot continue down this path that we’re going with the opiates and benzodiazepines, or else we’re going to lose a generation.” —Former Jets DE Marvin Washington

Off the notoriety of Charlotte’s story, CW and its its non-profit partner, the Realm of Caring, tasked Kingsbury with reaching out to former NFL players for a campaign called When the Bright Lights Fade, which raised money for studies into how CBD can treat and prevent the onset of symptoms associated with CTE. At the time, the NFL hadn’t yet admitted what now appears to be a clear link between the neurodegenerative disease and football. Kingsbury noticed that ticket sales would spike at cannabis conferences whenever the athletes he recruited would speak. One of the first people he reached out to was Plummer.

“Plummer was doing interviews, and I would get emails — tons of emails,” Kingsbury says. “In fact, a CW representative at the time estimated that 60 to 70 percent of their call volume was people referring to something they had read about one of the athletes.”

Kingsbury pushed CW to strengthen its relationship with athletes, but he says the company wanted to target its marketing and advocacy toward families, like Charlotte’s. So Kingsbury branched off, taking his rolodex of pro athletes to form Athletes For Care, an organization run for and by athletes who are interested in cannabis. Both Morgan and Washington sit on the board of directors, along with former Jaguars offensive tackle Eben Britton and former Broncos wide receiver Nate Jackson.

Athletes for Care not only develops advocacy campaigns, but it helps current and former athletes navigate the cannabis industry by, for example, reviewing any contracts they sign with cannabis companies to make sure they are fairly compensated. According to Kingsbury, the experience athletes have with cannabis is often worth more — much more — than they realize.

The idea that athletes are great at hocking products goes back to Honus Wagner agreeing to let Louisville Sluggers ship bats with his signature in 1905. Since then, athletes have been used to sell insurance and shoes and beer and all sorts of horrible flavors of sports drinks. However, very rarely have they been able to sell something that could be so acutely important to them.

“The fans only see Sunday. We know how the sausage is made during the week,” Washington says. “And we know what it takes to get on the field. That’s why we speak out about it so passionately. Listen, if they only knew, they would be in favor of something that was non-toxic and non-addictive for athletes to use, and it’s cannabis.”

And athletes appeal broadly. According to Kingsbury, pro-cannabis advocates are often on two ends of a spectrum: the heavy recreational users — your stereotypical stoners — and those with severe neurological ailments — like Charlotte. Kingsbury says athletes have the ability to appeal to the wide swath in the middle, those who don’t want to define their life by cannabis, but may be struggling with anxiety, or some physical pain.

The general public may not need to be as worried about CTE, and their bodies certainly don’t take near the beating of, say, the average starting offensive guard. But we all need maintenance, and as athletes show us how they use cannabis to get by in their daily lives, their message is that we can, too.

Photo by Getty Images

“The reality is that there’s a huge population in between that I really think could benefit from cannabis, but do not feel empowered to talk about it,” Kingsbury says, “because there’s no message coming to them about, ‘Hey, it’s OK, you can be active, you can be healthy, and still use cannabis.’

“And I felt very powerfully that while Charlotte and the story of what she endured really opened the door to be able to have the dialogue, and for people to kind of accept the healing properties of cannabis, I really felt like the athletes were going to be the key to remove the stigma that’s been there.”

That power in advocacy is a good thing provided that the cause is just. Again, a lot of what former athletes claim that cannabis can do hasn’t been vetted in a strict testing environment. And before cannabis, alcohol and tobacco were also marketed both as conduits to fun and relaxation, as well as (albeit in bygone eras) health elixirs.

Athletes may be normalizing cannabis to America, but whether America is ready for cannabis is, as of yet, unclear.

Federal legalization feels inevitable. Medical cannabis is now legal in 29 states, as well as Guam, Puerto Rico, and Washington, D.C. Recreational cannabis is legal or decriminalized in nine states and D.C., and is expected to be legal in Canada as of this summer. Currently, 61 percent of Americans support legalizing cannabis, a figure that jumps to 70 percent among millennials.

And with these new and burgeoning markets comes the possibility for exploitation. There’s good reason for skepticism. In 2015, for example, a Buzzfeed report found many cannabis users bought products that appeared to be mislabeled or falsely advertised.

“There’s no oversight. There’s no mechanism that gives the consumer some assurance that what they think they’re getting is what they’re getting,” said Amanda Reiman, the manager of marijuana law and policy at the Drug Policy Alliance. “If someone sells you 30 percent THC cannabis, and you don’t feel high, you have an idea it’s not quite what was advertised. Because CBD is non-psychoactive, if someone gives you a tincture that’s says 25 percent and it’s actually three percent, you’re not going to be able to tell that just from ingesting it.”

It also means that no one is testing hemp CBD products for whether THC traces exceed the legal limit. A truck driver is suing Medical Marijuana Inc. over a product he used to alleviate hip and shoulder pain. The product was advertised as containing zero percent THC, but the driver claims it was the reason he failed a drug test, lost his job, and has been unable to find a new one.

Turley says he has seen those bad actors in the industry, “providing poor product, producing just to produce with no purpose.” He operates directly opposite how a snake oil salesman would, he says, using his business as a conduit to continue to raise awareness, foremost.

“I could care less about the business, I could care less about the million dollars worth of product I’ve sold in this business in just a little bit over a year,” Turley says. “If you’re going to talk about it, you have to be about it, and there needed to be a shift in presentation of this product, of this unbelievably medicinal plant so that it could be palatable. And nobody as I was going around this industry was doing that.”

But there, again, is the rub: A good huckster can be indistinguishable from an earnest man who says he’s trying to make a better world.

Cannabis distinguishes itself from alcohol and tobacco in several significant ways. It has never been definitively linked to a death by overdose, nor to lung cancer. However, it is far from perfect. It has been linked to respiratory, psychological, and dependency problems with heavy use. Adolescents who use cannabis are actually more likely to misuse opioids. And though the state of Colorado has benefited in many ways from the legalization of recreational cannabis use, it has also seen a worrisome spike in traffic fatalities.

The 2013-16 period saw a 40 percent increase in the number of all drivers involved in fatal crashes in Colorado, from 627 to 880, according to the NHTSA data. Those who tested positive for alcohol in fatal crashes from 2013 to 2015 — figures for 2016 were not available — grew 17 percent, from 129 to 151.

By contrast, the number of drivers who tested positive for marijuana use jumped 145 percent — from 47 in 2013 to 115 in 2016. During that time, the prevalence of testing drivers for marijuana use did not change appreciably, federal fatal-crash data show.

“... For people to kind of accept the healing properties of cannabis, I really felt like the athletes were going to be the key to remove the stigma that’s been there.” —Ryan Kingsbury, founder of Athletes For Care

And yet, the potential benefits of cannabis legalization may be irresponsible to ignore. Doctors For Cannabis Regulation is an organization of physicians who support legalization efforts around the country, and acts as a face for the 76 percent of doctors who support medical cannabis, according to the New England Journal of Medicine. DFCR’s Declaration of Principles points out that there are more than 700,000 cannabis arrests in the United States every year — disproportionately for people of color — and that access to legal cannabis coincides with a reduction in opioid overdoses.

And in order to drive its platform, DFCR has partnered with former NFL players, penning an open letter to the league in 2016, asking it to revisit its cannabis policy. The partnership began when Eugene Monroe approached Dr. Sue Sisley, one of DFCR’s board members, to see if the organization would support his call for cannabis research.

They were perhaps a perfect match: The DFCR found that by backing the former players against the league, it was also essentially fighting a proxy war against America’s own draconian cannabis policy. Players are stand-ins for the people cannabis criminalization most negatively affects: Not only are they nearly 75 percent black, but former players are also disproportionately afflicted with opioid addiction.

“When you look at the NFL and its policy, it’s an interesting microcosm of larger policy,” says DFCR’s executive director Brian Muraresku. “It’s a way for us to engage the argument around drug policy for folks who might not necessarily think in those terms, or be familiar with the larger debate, which is our whole interest — taking the debate beyond the field, especially during a national opioid crisis.”

The effectiveness of the pro-cannabis side of the debate depends on America’s ability to believe — just this once, after decades of being sold bills of goods — that something isn’t too good to be true. It sounds farfetched, and yet here we are, at the outset of an age of cannabis, with people like Turley poised as shepherds. To argue that cannabis doesn’t help would be to deny their pain.

“I’m not afraid,” Turley says. “I’ve faced suicide, I’ve stolen the last few years of my life thanks to this plant and the good Lord and my beautiful wife. So whatever. Fuck off.”

Washington compares this moment to the Wright brothers taking off at Kitty Hawk. It’s a helluva sell.

“We’re still cranking our plane up at this stage,” he says. “But imagine this industry, imagine this sector, imagine this space when we get to the twin engine, and the jet age in 10, 20, 30 years from now. It’s going to be unbelievable.

“And Bob Marley always says cannabis can heal the world and can heal a nation. I believe it.”

[gaiatheorist]

“Reintroduction of apex predators.”

(My head is playing the 2am game again, there are dozens of things I should be concentrating on, but I’m busy going mad. It’s fine, I usually come back eventually.) 

2am-ish. “Bleurgh. Ick. Cold. Timesit?”

Yes, ‘Bleurgh’, and yes ‘Ick’, that’ll be the wine. Yes, ‘Cold’, because I’d fallen asleep on the sofa again. ‘Timesit?’, bollocks, I didn’t put my phone on charge, so there’s an on-screen reminder that a pending update couldn’t be installed overnight. I hate phone updates, I always worry that something will go wrong, which is ridiculous, because I haven’t ‘always’ had a mobile phone, and there must, logically, be a way to un-install an update if something does cock up. It’s just after half past three now, so it’s taken me about an hour and a half to convince myself that ‘nothing bad will happen’ if I update my phone. Not that updating my phone would stop OTHER bad things from happening, I’m not THAT mad.

The sensible thing to do if you wake up at 2am on the sofa would be to go to bed. I’m not sensible, and, since the brain haemorrhage, there’s been even more of the “Ping! Wide awake!” malarkey. It is a behaviour I need to change, and, yet again, I failed to do so. (Side-thought about setting up a GO TO BED screen-saver on my phone?) I’m differently-mad to my friend, who called around for a cup of tea after his eye test this week, we share some similar traits, and we’re open-ish with each other. He wakes up every single morning crippled by confusion, processing the fact that he’s one of billions of bipedal beings on the surface of a spinning rock, and, every day, it takes him ‘hours’ to shake off that confusion, and regain some semblance of functionality. In a way, I’m glad I just wake up in the middle of the night, with hundreds of fragments of nonsense-thought running through my head, because his existential anxiety every morning sounds awful. (Waking up at 2am, knowing it’s going to knock-on my sleep pattern again, and immediately checking the internet to see if anything has happened is awful, too, but I’ve normalised it to an extent. It’s my awful, I’m used to it.)

We’re similar in that I knew where his post-vasectomy anecdote was going as soon as he started it, I guessed the ‘masturbating with a bag of frozen peas clamped to his testicles’ part, but the ‘while the police raided the house next door for cannabis’ twist was a surprise. We talked non-stop for an hour, about what utter chaotic twats we were two decades ago, about the times he’d driven the ex and I home out-of-his-mind drunk, bouncing off kerbs, that I couldn’t remember, because I was also out-of-my-mind. He couldn’t remember the time he’d stayed at our old house, and put his foot THROUGH one of the stairs. We both remembered disgusting days of just not going to work, and arsing about. We both remembered the Ouija board, his unflattering nickname for one of my friends, and how unpredictable-unstable our weird little pre-bubble group was. We’ve concluded that we were twats, and we’re trying not to be any more.

Part of his twattery was multiple affairs, his wife is an absolute stoic, and keeps taking him back, they’ve divorced twice. He’s married her 3 times, and she was his third wife, I think. Other people’s business, isn’t it? After one of the affairs, she banned him from associating with us, like she was a grown-up, and we were teenagers, leading him astray. I became ‘Her!’, and the focus of her hate, more so than the ‘other women’ he was having affairs with. (To clarify, there was never any of that between us.) I’d forgotten about being ‘Her!’, but, apparently she hasn’t, and still resents me. I’ll live, but now sort-of-understand why I don’t have his actual mobile number, he only ever contacts me on Fakebook, AND he deletes the chat-messages. “She’d go mad if she knew I was here.” For fuck’s sake, unwittingly duplicitous-complicit in a married man’s sneaking-about.

I went the long way around that, didn’t I? There are several escaped crickets having a little adventure on my living room carpet, I really ought to pick them up.

OK, I woke up at an unreasonable time, and did what I shouldn’t have done, in checking the news, to see if anything had happened. With me, that’s a hang-up from September 11th, I’d been ill with a migraine, and missed the news, I plunged into obsessive-panic about not missing ‘The News’, which, back then, was on the TV, there was one computer in the house, which took about a century to boot up, and then the rest of your life to connect to the dial-up. How times have changed. I’m not the only one doing it these days, logging on, and hoping for the best, but acknowledging that there is the possibility that something catastrophically ominous is on the horizon. Please, please, let me find something in the news that’s not Him, or Her, like the lovely nun yesterday. 

Lettuce? I don’t buy it as a matter of course, the father-in-law used to plant millions of the ‘butterhead’ bastards on the allotment, horrible, floppy-limp things, full of mud and slugs, for years my fridge was guaranteed to contain mud and slugs. “Here, lass, I’ve fetched you a lettuce!” I don’t like lettuce all that much.

Wikipedia? OK, it’s a side-swipe at people telling huge great big massive lies, but the ‘many hands make light work’ approach is encouraging. A chain is only ever as strong as its weakest link, but so many links could effectively knit truth-chain-mail. Too relevant, though, too linked to real-time events.

Bullshit Barbie? No thanks, I read that yesterday.

I flicked through, looking for something that wasn’t ‘that’, ready to be witty, or engaging, or insightful before some knobhead invariably weighs in with “How is this news?” That’s the fucking point, knobheads, we’re aware of the news, which is why we’re also looking at “10 ways to tuck in a shirt.”, or whatever, with courses as heavy as these ones, we absolutely need palate-cleansers as well. The ‘breaking’ banner will pop up if something happens, in the meantime, we’ll read the fluff, and the filler.

It would appear that it’s not working, though, the distraction-method. I clicked on an article about a proposal to reintroduce lynx in Northumbria, thinking that couldn’t possibly have any “We’re all fucked!” connotations. (Except if you’re a roe deer, apologies to any roe deer reading this...) I can see the logic, the lynx would be brought in to control the roe deer population. The deer haven’t done anything ‘wrong’, they’re just being deer, you know, making more deer, eating leaves, making more deer to eat more leaves, when the tree really needed those leaves, to photosynthesise, and keep us all breathing, and such. The local farmers don’t want the lynx, because they worry for their livestock, and I’m relatively certain there’s probably some knobhead setting up Fakebook pages that say lynx eat babies. (Note ‘relatively’, and ‘probably’, I talk shit, but I’m not Bullshit Barbie.) 

It’s not the ‘people refusing to accept science, because it threatens their lambs’ thing, it was one phrase, used repeatedly. ‘Apex predator’ (Food-chain, chain-mail, my head is misbehaving, but that’s why I’m rattling it all out here, to purge my cranium of these thought-snippets.) Apex predator, top of the food-chain, it’s nature’s way, because most creatures on this revolving rock don’t have access to family planning. Oh. The thing at the top of the food-chain, or food-pyramid, or food-web, depending on how they’re teaching it now eats the things below it. (Fucking hell, woman, park THAT Gaia Theory, this potential catastrophe for the planet ISN’T a global phone-update, move away from the rats-and-cockroaches ideation.) 

Nature does its thing, or, at least it did, until we started trying to boss it. We’re twats, some more so than others, we kill things we have no intention of eating. We kill each other. We bugger about with the environment, and then complain about lettuce. We, in the UK have eradicated most of our apex predators, what chance do a handful of nappy-eating foxes have of controlling the rabbit population? (Especially if people in silly clothes carry on with their ‘sport’.) We ate all the dodos, and all of that particular kind of turtle, we’re killing the fucking BEES, and we all know how that ends. (Removes tinfoil hat.) 

We have new apex predators, and we need to figure out how to keep ourselves as safe as we can, because these new apex predators don’t behave in exactly the same way as the ones we’re used to. The ‘bubbles’ are electronic versions of stone-age tribes’ perimeter-spikes against sabre-toothed tigers. (I don’t know, I’ve already told you I never paid attention in History, sometimes I used to pick my ear until it bled, so I could get out of class to see matron for a plaster.) I’m dithering around a vague notion that our greatest weapon is the truth, but also dabbling with the idea that our strength is our number,  not in the same way as animals produce ‘spare’ young, because they know some will be eaten, though. We are little, but there are lots of us, aside from good guys always coming last, we DO need to remember that we’re human, in the face of this inhumanity, the first big collection of little things that stoops to the level of the new predators is on a very shaky foundation. 

This thing will run its course, as all things do, we just need to remember to show our arses to bears, and punch sharks on the nose, not the other way around. Personally, I’d prefer this fuckpuddle to be mopped up with paper rather than projectiles, and soon, because this limbo-uncertainty is exhausting us, and sending us mad. Nobody’s going to pop out from behind the sofa with a hidden camera crew and shout “Fooled you, you’ve been part of the biggest reality TV experiment ever!” We need to watch and wait, keep ourselves and each other safe.

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Recovery is a bitch.

When I first crash-landed on the coast at the beginning of December, wearing my Shambhala tights and violently monologuing to whoever would listen, I couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve rage — and it was exhausting me, making me feel disgusting and anti-social. 

Really, deep down, I was sad.

It’s one thing to know about a certain type of injustice, to intellectually engage with the idea of censorship, but it was something else altogether to experience firsthand. While I thought I was working on the most important journalism of my life, the powers that be had decided I was more trouble than I was worth — taking away both my journalism and my bouncer jobs within two weeks.

I didn’t understand. How could people just stand by and watch?

One smart move I made on my way out of the Kootenays was to leave my computer and my phone behind with my roommate. I’d been receiving death threats on my phone, while my computer had three years’ worth of memories waiting to drag me back into the blackness. I was better off going tech-free. I took all my creative energy and funnelled it into painting. 

My parents accompanied me to Vancouver General Hospital the first day I got back, and sat in while doctors told me what I needed: to cut out citalopram, my antidepressant of four years, as well as cannabis. To replace them I was given new drugs, lorazepam and zopiclone among them, and I was told to take it as easy as possible. I was scared of withdrawal, but the new regimen worked nicely. 

I did a lot of sleeping, and had a good Christmas.

Then came the New Year. By that point I’d levelled out for nearly a month, and I was starting to take social calls. But my head was still in the Kootenays, and I found myself processing my feelings with my series “Anatomy of a Mental Breakdown” — some of the rawest shit I’ve ever written, and cathartic too. But as my psychologist pointed out, I was purposefully throwing “petrol on the fire”.

Then Mike Spry wrote his piece “No Names, Only Monsters” , hosting it on a website called CanLit Accountable. He was busting his own glass house so he could throw some stones. Suddenly my feminist classmates, who had been engaged in a multi-year battle with UBC about the Steven Galloway situation, had a new reason to throw truth-grenades on Twitter. While I sat at home, bored, my friends were engaged in social media warfare.

So of course I joined in.

Looking back now, I’m embarrassed by how clumsy and ridiculous I must’ve appeared to everyone else online. While thoughtful women like Chelsea Rooney and Alicia Elliot put forward nuanced arguments, I was making everyone uncomfortable by tweeting outrageous shit at Galloway, using YouTube clips from The Wire and The Sopranos.

“Sorry I’m late,” I wrote to Chelsea. 

For me, the situation came down to tribal loyalties. And the fact was I’d spent years feeling guilty for not speaking up, for not backing up my friend Sierra Gemma. I’d been paralyzed by fear of saying the wrong thing, or messing up my employment opportunities, but suddenly I was free to say whatever the fuck I wanted. I felt like I’d unleashed a feral version of myself, like I’d transitioned from being Will Johnson into a snarling attack dog otherwise known as the Kootenay Goon.

By this point, I wasn’t sleeping again. When I started disturbing my siblings, I decided that the best course of action was to chain-smoke while driving all over the Lower Mainland in the early hours of the morning — from Surrey to Vancouver to Richmond and back. I was spending a lot of time crying, sorting through my Nelson memories, and worrying about what was going to happen next in my life.

“You need to stop looking into the past, and start looking into the future,” my Dad said. “Nelson is just making you angry.”

Along with my brother Cody, he brought me back to Nelson to pack up my stuff in mid-January. I still wasn’t sleeping properly, so around 4 a.m. I woke up Cody and drove around, ultimately leaving five of my paintings for friends I cared about — at the Hume, Vienna Cafe, Windsor Barber, Finley’s and Power By You. We went out to the bridge where bank robber Andrew Stevenson was arrested after jumping over the side.

Then, later that morning, I saw a tweet from Jacob Mooney where he noted that UVic teacher Lee Henderson (a good friend of Galloway) had taken his name off the UBC Accountable letter. It was a huge moment, being applauded all over Twitter, and in celebration I drove across town to see my friend Syd. I took a photo I posted with a provocative caption calling out a local asshole, and though I told my Dad not to answer his phone within half an hour we’d gotten frantic calls.

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” I told him.

Once I was safely back in Tsawwassen, I returned to Twitter to check if anything else had happened. Apparently the teachers Mike Spry called out at Concordia were no longer teaching their classes, and there was a sense that shit was happening right here, right now. With new access to my photo archives, I shared pictures from SD8 and noted that former Superintendent Jeff Jones was the first person to ask me about Galloway — which is true.

One night, buoyed by everything happening online, I drove out to UBC at 3:30 a.m. to hold my own “peaceful protest”. Different women had chastised me for “taking up too much space” in the dialogue on Twitter, so I decided to leave my RAV parked diagonally in front of the UBC sign and walk off with the music blaring. Somewhere deep down I understood that nobody was going to come, but in my mind I pictured my friends hosting a raging protest around my car.

Instead, they put me in the psych ward.

When I was doing the intake, the doctor was a muscular black man who resembled Dr. Dre. I told him I’d been watching “I Need a Doctor” by Dr. Dre repeatedly, along with a bunch of Eminem tracks, and I felt like I’d been screaming that sentiment for weeks: I need a doctor! Now, finally, I was getting some help!

As it turns out, the psych ward was a blast. I met a bunch of amazing people, had daily meetings with psychiatrists who were introducing me to new meds, and my journalist brain was carefully recording everything that happened around me. If nothing else, this was a good story. When I walked out 7 days later, shaking hands with Dr. Hutnyk, I thought for sure I now had the resources and support to scamper off into the world.

For a while, I was right. The following month was low-key and productive, as I found a new mental health team and started taking lithium. At times it was frustrating, like when my Dad and I drove out to Surrey to have a 20 minute conversation that could’ve easily been done over the phone, but I had the sense that people were mobilizing on my behalf and things were about to level out. No more drama!

But I hadn’t finished processing what had happened in Nelson, and I was still furious every day. I’d spent a lot of time contemplating anger, and the unhealthy ways I’d expressed it online up to that point. It was clear that controversial shit didn’t belong on Facebook, so I started funnelling my content more carefully through Twitter and Tumblr while I built my new friend base. I’d started a new Facebook to ensure that my friends were actually my friends. 

Then I wrote a post, on a Monday morning, that would cost me more than I’d anticipated. Because of the way I’d worded it, the person I was angrily addressing misread my sentiments. I was threatening to release information — which I ultimately did — but he took it as a death threat and reported me to police. At first it seemed so funny I couldn’t believe it, but a few days later I was in the segregation wing of the Surrey jail, wondering how the system could fail so profoundly.

While I was inside, I met with a psychologist named Dr. Worth twice. The first time I was wrapped in a Velcro smock, the second time in the red sweat-suits worn by all the other inmates. We discussed my actions at length, and talked about what I would do next. I told him I was planning to turn my experiences into blog posts at the very least, but maybe even a book.

“You’re definitely going to have a rich experience here,” he said. 

Four days later I was back in Tsawwassen, dealing with the bullshit around finding myself a lawyer, but I actually felt better than I had in months — I’d successfully thrown a truth-grenade that had a legitimate impact. I was told my boss didn’t leave his house for three days, and I was thrilled that I’d successfully fucked up his world. I’d gone from feeling powerless to powerful — I’d successfully established my moral dominance over him, and called him out for legit wrong-doing.

But again, my head was still in Nelson. And it would have to be for a while, because I had to ride-share back there for a court appearance a few weeks later. Luckily this visit, in March, went better than the one before. I was doggy-piled by love and moral support, saw a bunch of my favourite people in the world, and left town again feeling like a conquering hero.

That being said, I was still bored and jobless. There was the legitimate fear that these court proceedings could result in me having a criminal record — again, something so ludicrous I can only call it funny. I was vindicated by the fact that the local school district hadn’t considered me a threat, probably because they knew me better than my absentee boss, and I happily tweeted with them as soon as I was free. 

Now here we are: I’ve got three weeks ahead of me in the “low-stimulus environment” of Tsawwassen my psychiatrist recommended, and I’m trying to lose some of the weight I’ve gained while living at my parents’ house by joining a Master’s swim team and jogging up to Fred Gingell Park. I’ve signed up for whitewater rafting school and the biggest thing I have to battle in the meantime is boredom. 

Does that mean I’m recovered? No, probably not. But I’ve got faith that I’m getting there.

The Kootenay Goon