#I love the nhs I’m so appreciative of it but I am so sick of drs who don’t take patient concerns seriously

[race-week]

So my doctor thinks that I might have PoTS and I told my mum about this like an hour ago, and since then she’s been looking it up and then called me and basically listed off a whole bunch of health issues that I’ve had in the last 5 years or so that are indicative of PoTS but at the time were just brushed over by doctors

Honestly the feeling of having your doctor actually listen to you, validate your concerns and want to help is something so foreign to me

[scarletjedi]

untitled Untamed time travel au but make it Mingcheng PART 2A

@piyo-13

Part 1: The Setup

Part 2A: GUSU REVISITED (part 1)

EDIT: Part 2B now up!

y'all...I tried to do one part, but this notefic is quickly becoming fic, and I need to keep it small enough to fit on tumblr, lol. The second half of this should be up in the next day or two!

Okay, the next day they arrive in Gusu, have the run in with Zixuan, which....almost goes the same? Zixuan still buys out the inn, but WWX saw this dude, who made Yanli happy, die (and while JC says it wasn’t him, he still feels that guilt) and JC looks at him and sees Jin Ling’s father, and they just... leave. Do not engage. Perhaps with a look at each other like - we need him to see her for herself, but we don’t want to put her through the pain of losing him.

...okay, JC can’t leave without saying something along the lines of “we’re in Gusu to learn, but also to form alliances. Open your damn eyes, and you might actually make a friend” - Zixuan is shook, but Mianmian looks at JC assessingly. I am here for “isolated and therefore socially awkward Zixuan” and I think it’d be hilarious if he takes this as a sign that JC wants to be friends. So, he will kind of randomly show up where JC is, like a cat trying to signal that they’re friends by mirroring you? Luckily, JC speaks “stray animal” and eventually figures out that Zixuan isn’t trying to spy on him but trying to make friends. It eventually leads to a conversation where JC turns to him and just asks “Why don’t you like my sister?” ...but i’ll get to that.

So, they leave, and this time they double check that WWX has the invitation. He does, but they’re still delayed just a bit going up the mountain, so when they reach the top, Lan Wangji is waiting.

The party stops when they see him, mostly because it looks like he’s barring entry, but JC sees the way LWJ looks at WWX and *knows* that somehow, LWJ is back too.

Now, in The Untamed canon (which we’re in) I fully believe that WWX was in love with (and knew it) LWJ before he died, but either felt that his love was not returned, or that LWJ’s love would end if he knew, the time was never right, etc - so, he’s looking at this like and opportunity to present the side of himself that he thinks LWJ wants.

Meanwhile LWJ is like “THERE IS MY GREMLIN ALIVE AND WELL. THIS TIME I WILL LOVE HIM AND STAND WITH HIM NO MATTER WHAT.”

But when JC announces themselves and WWX pulls out the invitation, LWJ says “Wei Ying” in that WAY of his and WWX freezes because a) he realizes that LWJ is also back b) this doesn’t fit into his plan and c) stall. So he does that awkward laugh, flicking his nose, like “Ahaha, Lan Zhan. It’s me.”

And LWJ *SMILES* “It is good to see Wei Ying.”

And WWX *melts* because he is weak, and JC is like “kill me now” (JYL is confused but thinks its sweet) and everyone else is just *confused*.

Not taking his eyes off WWX, LWJ gestures for Yunmeng Jiang to follow him, and leads them (well, WWX and by proxy everyone else) to the student dorms where they will be staying. (WWX walks next to LWJ, and there is something about the way they fit together that makes JC *feel things* all over again, because here was one more thing WWX lost because of *him* and—

When they arrive at the dorms, the other disciples and Yanli all retire, but JC stays because if LWJ is back then they need to talk before JC leaves those two to “count each others eyelashes or whatever they do when they’re alone together” and the absolute bitchy-ass angry *look* that LWJ sends him has JC standing taller and WWX stepping between them.

“Ayia, Lan Zhan, there’s no need for that. Jiang Cheng and I talked it out. We’re good.”

Lan Zhan looks over at WWX, softening for a moment, before bringing the heat back for JC. “He killed you.”

“You-!” JC clenches his fist, and is thrown because there *aren’t* sparks because Zidian is on his *mother’s* wrist, and it’s enough to make him settle, enough for WWX to step in again and say:

“That fall wouldn’t have killed me if— If I hadn’t lied to him, then Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have had every reason to believe I would survive that fall.”

*That* causes a reaction, a widening of his eyes that would be subtle on any other face, at the implication that Jiang Cheng hadn’t been trying to kill him. But, it doesn’t make the frown disappear. “He did not stand with you.”

“Neither did you!” Jiang Cheng snaps, going for the *jugular* without even realizing, and LWJ just fucking *wilts*

“That...is my regret.”

But before he could say anything else, WWX spoke again.

“Look, there’s no reason to rehash the past. I’m alive! And I know what I need to do to not be bad again, but I would really appreciate it if my brother and my soulmate” and didn’t THAT cause JC’s eyebrows to rise “didn’t hate each other.” Suddenly, several things about the last few years made a lot more sense.

“I don’t hate him,” Jiang Cheng said, as Lan Wangji said “Wei Ying is always good.”

When *that* caused the three of them to stare at each other again, Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Look, we need to talk soon about this whole time travel... thing, but I want nothing to do with whatever this” and gestures between them “is. So, I’m going to bed because I have been awake for two days straight and I would like to sleep. Figure it out!” and Jiang Cheng turned and went to find his bedroom (which he shared with WWX. Considering the way they were looking at each other, JC was pretty sure he’d be spending the first night without a roommate. Again).

MEANWHILE, outside, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are left staring at each other. (Well, WWX stares after JC for a minute, mouth open, but that fades quickly when he sees Lan Zhan staring at him, all intent.)

Wei Ying would normally begin to fidget, but he’s transfixed, heart in his throat, without a clue as to what to do next and—

“A-Yuan.” Lan Zhan said, and Wei Ying’s focus sharpens.

“A-Yuan?!”

Lan Zhan nodded. “I found him, after. He was sick. I brought him here, gave him the name Lan to hide him.” He opened his mouth as if to say more, but fell silent.

Wei Ying was staring with shining eyes. “He lived? My little radish...” he trailed off, staring into the distance. He frowned, shaking his head. “But Lan Zhan, why would you—”

“I should have been there,” Lan Zhan interrupts *interrupts* angrier than he had ever sounded, but even Wei Ying can tell that it’s not directed at him. He cools quickly. “I will not make the same mistake.”

He catches Lan Zhan’s eye again and falls silent. “Oh.”

And Lan Zhan steps back, like he hadn’t intended to let that slip. “If Wei Ying does not feel the same—”

“I do!” Wei Ying bursts out, stepping forward and reaching out, not quite touching. “I do. Feel the same,” he said, quieter this time, for the two of them. Lan Zhan’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts and Wei Ying knows him well enough to know it as *joy*

And, Lan Zhan reaches out and takes his hand.

(Yes, they use the next several months to actually talk though their relationship, but this is effectively a speed run from the way they feel in Episode 1 to the steps of jinlintai, bypassing all the *plot* that gets in the way of their romance, but whatever, it’s my fic. If this was a wangxian fic first, then I might do the “WWX needs to get a clue” thing he has going in the book, but.... Honestly, I *adore* the idea of *gremlin couple wangxian* on what is essentially their honeymoon in gusu. Like - pre-sunshot Gusu is not *prepared* for post-Yiling Laozu LWJ.)

The next morning, JC arrives to classes with the rest of the Jiangs, not at all surprised to see Wei Ying standing with LWJ (though everyone else seems to be weirded out by it, which may be because they’re standing far too close). LWJ nods at JC, who nods back, grimly pleased to see that there was no longer an open front of hostility. JC wasn’t foolish enough to think it was gone completely, but at least they should be able to discuss business when necessary. (And some part of his mind absolutely began planning the wedding. WWX was Yunmeng Jiang, and if JC had anything to say about it, he would REMAIN YMJ until he was damn sure to remember that he can’t get rid of Jiang Cheng that easily... and JC would be DAMNED if he let Lan Xichen steamroll the wedding prep, which he absolutely would, hopeless romantic that he was).

They enter and settle into their usual spots, though LWJ hesitates when he realizes that his seat would not let him watch WWX. JC continues on to sit in his old seat, determined to see *as little of this as possible* and turns to look at Nie Huaisang, who—

Oh, sonofabitch, Nie Huaisang was back too. How the fuck did their ritual have enough power to drag *four souls* back in time, especially one from *wherever the hell WWX was* JC widened his eyes at him, clearly saying *WTF* which had Nie Huaisang giving him a *look* from behind his fan, which fluttered, agitated. JC rolled his eyes, cutting them over to WWX, who was blatantly staring at Lan Wangji, chin propped on his palm. (And if LWJ had his head tilted so he could look back, well, *most* of the class probably couldn’t tell). Incredible. Jiang Cheng turned to look at JYL, who was hiding a smile behind her sleeve, when movement behind NHS caught his eye.

Meng Yao. Oh, that wasn’t awkward at all. Nie Huaisang flicked the corner of his fan, and JC turned back aground, knowing they would talk later, and then they were all standing as Lan Qiren walked into the room.

Which was when it dawned on Jiang Cheng that he would have to take these classes again. Judging by the soft whimper behind him, Nie Huaisang realized it, too.

The class runs the same, as clear as Jiang Cheng can remember, even if the recitation of the rules seems occasionally pointed at Lan Wangji, which is odd. He doesn’t dwell on it, however. He’s gotten good at looking like he was paying attention while thinking of other things, and Jiang Cheng had a lot to think about.

~*~

Like before, WWX invites NHS to go fishing (and JC isn’t sure if he realizes that NHS has also come back yet - in fact, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t), only this time, JC agrees to go with them and WWX pulls LWJ along, leading the group far enough ahead that JC and NHS end up waking behind. NHS keeps up with looked wide-eyed and confused until they leave the main areas for the backwoods.

“So,” Jiang Cheng starts. “Something went wrong.”

“Obviously,” Nie Huaisang hisses, snapping his fan closed. “I woke up in the same room as him.”

JC winces, because yeah, awkward. “I’m a little surprised he’s still alive, actually.”

NHS’s jaw clenched, and JC was reminded very strongly of NMJ. “No one would support flat out murder, even if they don’t really care about the victim.”

“And it’s messy,” JC offered, dry. NHS looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“It’s so hard to get blood out of white fabric,” he agreed and JC laughed.

THAT gets WWX to spin around. “You laughed!” he accuses, pointing a finger at JC.

“So?”

“So I haven’t heard you laugh in years, Jiang Cheng!” he pouts. “Why do you laugh at his jokes and not mine.”

“You are an *actual child*--”

Then, of course, NHS gasps, his fan falling from his hand. JC, catches it, reflexively, startled at the horror he sees on NHS’s face as the show drops. “Wei-xiong, you— but you—”

WWX laughs awkwardly. “No need to worry, I’m —” probably going to say something about not being evil anymore, or not following the demonic path, but NHS cuts him off.

“Back from the dead!?”

Which is when JC remembers that they used Baxia in the ritual, and if his core was enough to bring back WWX, then maybe...

“Da-ge!”

MEANWHILE, in Qinghe, Nie Mingjue wakes up, which is odd, considering the last thing he remembered was dying. Perhaps he didn’t die? Unless the doctors had some new pain medications, he didn’t feel as if he had just had a near-fatal qi-deviation.

Tentatively, he opens his eyes and sees...his bedroom ceiling. How long was he sleeping that they brought him from Lanling to Qinghe? His door opens and he’s reaching for Baxia before he can think — and stops when he recognizes Nie Zonghui (though not before Zonghui notices the aborted movement). “Sect Leader....troubled night?”

Nie Mingjue snorts. “That’s one way to put it.” There’s something rattling around the back of his mind, some detail that doesn’t quite add up as Nie Zonghui helps get him ready for the day. It’s not just that Zonghui doesn’t seem surprised (or relieved) to see him up and awake, it’s the names that Zonghui mentions in is reports — names of disciples who are, like Zonghui himself, long dead.

It’s when Zonghui mentions that a messenger bird had arrived from Gusu that morning, carrying word that Huaisang had arrived safely and that Meng Yao would be leaving tomorrow to return to his duties that the other shoe dropped.

“Zonghui, there’s something I forgot to tell Huaisang. I need to send him a message, the faster the better.”

Zonghui gave a short bow. “Consider it done.”

BACK IN GUSU

Nie Huaisang was pacing atop a long, flat rock on the river’s edge. It wasn’t a very long boulder, maybe 5 or 6 steps at most, but it was dry so Jiang Cheng wasn’t too worried about him slipping. Besides, Lan Wangji was sitting only a few stones away, playing a soft melody on his guqin.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were both in the stream, robes and pants hiked up to keep them from getting too wet, as they waited to catch their dinner. Jiang Cheng remembered getting upset about WWX fishing their second night there, blatantly flaunting the “no killing” rule, but if LWJ felt like indulging his soulmate, what the fuck, then who was Jiang Cheng to complain.

On the rock, Huaisang was plotting out loud, starting ideas and rejecting them just as quickly. “You know, if you put this much effort into your studies this time, you might not have to come back again,” JC called over. Nie Huaisand didn’t even break his stride, just flapped his fan irritably in Jiang Cheng’s direction.

WWX darted forward, pulling a wriggling fish into the air in triumph. “Jiang Cheng, catch!” He tossed the fish, and Jiang Cheng caught it with ease. He considered, for a moment, throwing it at Nie Huaisang, but he was getting hungry. He tossed the fish into the bank, where it wouldn’t flop back into the water. Lan Wangji side-eyed it, warily.

“You know, he’s not actually done anything wrong yet,” Wei Wuxian said. “Can you really hold him accountable for actions he hasn’t taken?”

That made Huaisang stop. “To a certain extent, yes, I can.” That got him a *look* from both LWJ and WWX. “Look, all the decisions we make are influenced by the lives we live. And no, as far as I can tell, Meng Yao didn’t come back with the rest of us - and I still don't’ know why you came back too, Lan Wangji,” LWJ makes a gesture that is far too elegant to be, and yet totally is, a shrug, “but so far, Meng Yao’s life is *exactly the same* as the Meng Yao who committed those acts. That means Meng Yao is the same man who WILL make those choices, barring a MAJOR shift in the way he views the world.”

“Can we cause that shift, then?” Wei Wuxian asked. “I just don’t know if ‘kill him dead’ is always the best course of action.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes narrowed, a fraction of the coldness Jiang Cheng had seen that day seeping through, before his expression cleared a bit. “It would be a touchy subject for you, yes, but Meng Yao is not Wen Ning.” Wei Wuxian flinched, and, surprisingly, it was Lan Wangji that spoke.

“One cannot change another’s mind,” he said, vanishing his guqin and rising to his feet, one hand behind his back. “One can only show the path; only they can choose to walk.”

“And we have the path to show him,” Wei Wuxian argued. “Don’t we have a responsibility to try, knowing the damage he can do? If we know we have the opportunity to change things and save lives, are we not bound to try? Is that not why Jiang Cheng was sent back in the first place?”

“I’m fine with killing him,” Jiang Cheng said. “He deliberately uses his own weakness to learn the vulnerabilities of others, and then uses that as leverage to get what he wants and then discard them once his objective has been met. He uses Jin Zixuan’s better nature against him. He used Mingjue’s sense of fair play against him and then used his biggest fear to kill him, and he used Zewu-jun’s kindness as a shield.” He looked up at Nie Huaisang. “Though, if you’re right and he’s back too, Meng Yao might not live long enough for us to do anything about it.”

“Oh no,” Huaisang said, voice dryer than dust. “What a tragedy.”

“His information was key in winning the war,” Lan Wangji said. “Can we win against the Wens again without him?”

“Hey, yeah,” Wei Wuxian added. “Speaking of - am I going to have to...” he trailed off, miming playing a dizi.

“You better not!” Jiang Cheng snapped. Wei Wuxian looked at him in surprise, then smiled sadly.

“No, you said not to, and I won’t refuse a direct order from my sect leader,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I know how.”

“Meng Yao wasn’t actually that good a spy,” Nie Huaisang said, a faint frown between his brows that Jiang Cheng didn’t trust at all. It meant he had noticed something and was putting pieces together that Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure he wanted known. “More than once his information was either wrong or outdated. A lot of the correspondence was kept for our records, and I went back to check once I had my suspicions about him.”

“You think he was playing both sides?” Jiang Cheng asked. Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan and didn’t disagree.

Between them, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian caught more than enough fish to feed Huaisang as well, and he and Lan Wangji were both invited back to the Yunmeng dorms to eat with them and their sister. Yanli was surprised, of course, but rolled with it well enough. Luckily, she had chosen to make a soup that was in line with Gusu Lan’s dietary restrictions, so Lan Wangji was able to join them. WWX and JC exchanged smug looks when Lan Wangji blinked down at his soup in surprise, and began to eat more quickly.

Later that night, while WWX was walking LWJ back to his rooms, Yanli poked her head into JC’s room. “Second Young Master Lan seems to have taken quite a liking to A-Xian,” she said.

JC nodded, because that was certainly one way to put it.

“Which makes sense, A-Xian can be very charming,” she continued. “But from what the other female disciples tell me, Second Young Master Lan is ...” he paused, and Jiang Cheng filled in:

“A giant stick in the mud?”

“A-Cheng!” Yanli scolded, but there was laughter behind her voice. “...essentially, yes.”

Jiang Cheng sighed. He had no idea what to say here. He was never good at lies, never LIKED lies, preferring to neither confirm nor deny another’s suppositions when the need for secrecy was necessary...and he had never been able to lie to Yanli. Never wanted to. And besides, Nie Huaisang hadn’t covered this possibility with him.

“A-Jie,” he said, “There’s something I want to tell you, but it’s going to sound like a lie even though it’s the truth. I need you to hear me out, and to believe me, and I will do whatever I can to convince you that it’s real and true.”

And...he tells her. Flat out, just tells her about living the next ten years of his life - the end of her engagement, the indoctrination in Qishan, the burning of Cloud Recesses and Lotus Pier, the death of their parents, losing his core, gaining his core but losing Wei Wuxian, the War, her marriage to Zixuan, A-Ling, Nightless City, Nie Mingjue, death after death after death — and Nie Huaisang, like vengeance made flesh, with a crazy, desperate plan.

“So, yeah. They’re close because they’re, like, in love or whatever.”

“Because they’ve known each other for ten years.”

“Seven,” Jiang Cheng corrected. “They only had seven.”

Yanli looks a little stunned wild-eyed. She had looked sad yet resigned when she had heard about her engagement ending, hopeful when she heard about their wedding. Her eyes had shone suspiciously when she heard about Jin Ling...a few tears falling when she heard about Qongyi pass and Nightless City.

“Do...” he began. “Do you believe me?” he asked, voice small and hating it, but he couldn’t stand it if Yanli thought he would make this up.

Slowly, she nodded her head. “It sounds...wild,” she said. “But I know my A-Cheng. He is honest, and would not make up wild stories like this. So, if A-Cheng says it, it must be true.”

“A-jie,” He said, and had to stop, his voice choked off, and when Yanli leaned in to hug him, his tears were sweet with relief.

~*~

The next complication came the next day, at the presentation ceremony, when, once again, Wen Cho showed up to interrupt Yunmeng Jiang’s gifting. It took everything in him not to punch Wen Chao in his smug face with Sandu unsheathed, and Wei Wuxian was a dark, simmering presence next to him. Somehow, the steps played out like they had before - a brief exchange lead to swords drawn, lead to Xichen stepping in and Wen Qing soothing tempers with quick words.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t prepared to see her again. Her, or Wen Ning, who was a remarkably still shadow behind her. When they left, his eyes stayed lowered towards the ground. There was nothing to make Jiang Cheng think that there was something different, except the long running knowledge that he had the worst possible luck.

WWX was strangely unwilling to approach Wen Ning first, though he clearly wanted to. Some misplaced guilt, perhaps. He still clung to LWJ’s side, which was in no way avoidant behavior, WWX, but Jiang Cheng was surprised when Wen Ning found him first.

“I knew it!” Jiang Cheng cried out, to everyone’s surprise, even Wen Ning. He gestured at Wen Ning. “WWX’s here because he’s tied to me, and Wen Ning here is tied to Wei Wuxian.”

“That still doesn’t explain Lan Wangji,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping his fan against his cheek.

“Nothing explains Lan Wangji.”

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng, so mean!”

None of this has much of an effect on the present moment, however, save that it causes Nie Huaisang to adjust his plans *again*. “No one else has better come back!” he demanded. “All of these calculations are hard, and I am *delicate,* Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, a real wilting flower.”

Later that night, just before curfew, a missive arrived to Nie Huaisang from his brother. Huaisang walked as fast as he could manage from the Nie Quarters to the Jiang, bursting into Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s room, holding the letter aloft, speaking as soon as he’s through the door: “It’s him! He’s alive! Da-ge’s back!”

Huaisang slammed the letter on the table, reaching for the nearby inkbrush, quickly grinding some ink to circle letters on the page. There, written in an otherwise standard letter reminding Huaisang to mind his studies and practice his saber, was the phrase: Do Not Trust Meng Yao.

TO BE CONTINUED....

[elizabethplaid]

daily notes - Jan5, 2021

TL;DR - Mostly financial talk. We got a windfall/gift, and we’re going to be more comfortable in the long-run. ----------------------------------

Still alive, still Sims4-ing. Started writing a post with screenshots of my dudes, but I brain-farted on their surnames and can’t finish it yet. We’ll see if I can pay attention long enough to remember that.

We got a check from my great-uncle in the mail - just a way to “share Jesus’ [sic] blessings” with loved ones. Shit, I’d visit his church again for that kind of money. He’s a widower with no kids, and his church will get some of his estate; we’re his wife’s sister’s relatives. I got the impression he’s sending such to other people he knows, too, so I’m happy for him.

Since dad’s retired, budgets can be tight when it comes to important purchases, but we’re still comfortable. He says the check plus his firefighter stipend (which is almost the same amount) would be enough to finish current house projects.

But he’s also considering putting it toward a new car. (Our Honda turns 25 this year and is only a back-up.) We got our ‘08 truck in 2013, after mom passed and we donated the van with a wheelchair lift. 7 years later, even the truck is having issues.

I said to set aside part of it in an investment. It doesn’t have to grow much, but it’ll be something set aside for later. He cashed in a lot of investments and such over the years, to pay for emergency situations, and I remember how tight things were. Guess I’m growing up, if that’s the first thing I thought of. I’m also expecting that it goes toward family-related practical stuff (food, repairs, etc) rather than allowance.

Well, he did say he wants to replace my laptop. But again, that’s a practical purchase. I can’t even contemplate fun purchases now, with this current mood. A me-from-the-past would think of big-ticket dolls. Maybe some lower-price long-lost stuff, like fashions or replacing things I sold.

It’d be nice to put money toward a trip to NH-VT in the spring, though. I like visiting my relatives, and we hope to inter mom’s ashes in the family plot, next to my cousin who passed away last year. I loved shopping with my aunt. I felt so guilty spending $35 on a shirt, but I love it so much I could cry (almost am, damn emotional disregulation!).

That guilt for spending money on myself was born amid our financial struggles in 2005 - after mom got sick and a lot of other stuff happened. I hate that feeling, and it’s been awhile since I felt it (prior to the trip).

If that whole check were mine, I’d want to give a bit to a few friends who have it rough. Tiffy has said it before - that our group of folks dream of being well-off enough to support our other friends. Not big, grand schemes; just showing our affection and appreciation. Though there is the fantasy of a compound where we all live together, haha.

[diaryofscribbs]

21/03/2020

I saw a post on Tumblr today saying how historians wish there were better records of history from the people. It’s all well and good having the science, the facts, and the news reports but I can see how none of these really give a true picture of how people are feeling. 

We are currently living through a point in time that we know will be looked back on by not only historians, but doctors, scientists, and school children. Maybe one day people will look back in the same way we are looking back to the Spanish Flu now. One day, people will want to know the little intricacies that didn’t seem so important at the time. I tell you though it is those intricacies that are the most important, because it is those that makes it real, that makes us human. 

I write in my free time anyway, so do take anything you read from me with a pinch of salt, I may be slightly prone to exaggeration. So to write what I am experiencing, how I am feeling, how those around me are coping, is not a task or chore for me. 

And if nobody reads it I shall have lost nothing. If somebody reads it today then maybe it will be enough to assure them that whatever they are feeling right now it is warranted. If somebody reads it in a hundred years time, Hi! How’s the future? Is it as crazy as my present day? 

But anyway, rambling aimlessly isn’t the point of this exercise. 

In case you weren’t already up to speed…

The world is in crisis. Covid-19 saw its first cases in China around December last year. It has spread worse than wildfire. It’s a respiratory flu virus that gives you a cough and a temperature. If you’re one of the unlucky ones it leads to pneumonia, which as I understand it is the cause of most of the deaths. 

Currently, China, Iran, Italy, Spain, and France are the main countries that I know are in full lockdown. Nobody is allowed out unless it is for food or as a ‘key worker’ so people that are vital like doctors or supermarket staff. There are videos circulating of people in these countries standing on their balconies and singing, giving applause to the doctors that are so selflessly and tirelessly working through this pandemic. This is the positive side of things. 

The negative side of things is much much worse. I am led to believe that as a result of the lockdown in some countries, people are stuck in houses with loved ones that have died, doctors in overwhelmed hospitals are being forced to choose between sick patients as to who they can treat and who they can’t. To put it in perspective, this hasn’t been done since World War Two. 

In England, things are getting worse. Two weeks ago people started panic buying in the shop… toilet paper of all things. I have seen and heard about so many families, NHS workers, and elderly people having to go without because other people suddenly decided there was going to be a supply shortage. Just to be clear, there was never going to be a shortage of anything vital. Not yet, anyway. 

At the moment the death rate in the UK is doubling roughly every four days. I’m not sure how many confirmed cases there are but the number of people being tested is minimal and I am sure there are many more cases than there are confirmed. 

There are two things that scare me right now. 

First, the overreaction of some people. How they have reacted by emptying the shelves of the shops, people hoarding hand sanitizer, and just generally having little to no common sense over the situation. People claiming that we’re all going to get sick and die when that isn’t the case at all. It is the old, the sick, and the vulnerable that are most at risk, and it is the people scaremongering that are making it all the worse. 

One person I know has had a mental breakdown as a result of a colleague scaremongering about what is going to happen. This level of stress won’t help my friend's immune system and puts her at even higher risk of getting sick. 

The second thing that scares me right now is how long is this going to go on for? We have no idea at the moment because so little is known about this virus. 

Maybe it’s not so much the timeline that scares me, but rather, what it means. You see, we’ve been told to do this thing called ‘social distancing’, no unnecessary contact with people. As of last night to aid in this the government forced the closure of all public spaces such as bars, clubs, restaurants, cafes, gyms, cinemas and so on. We’re not meant to go out and meet friends for a catch up. We’re not meant to go to work unless absolutely necessary, yet I know I’ll be in on Monday regardless. They’re saying that this could go on for twelve months. 

For twelve months I can’t see my four closest friends. 

Hell, it might be even longer before I get to see my two closest friends out of that group, both who are in the high risk category if they get sick. 

The thought of that alone fills me with absolute dread. Yes, I can talk to these people every day over the phone, online, or even through sharing memes. Not being able to physically see them though? It makes me all kinds of anxious for reasons that I can’t really explain. Talking online is not talking in person, and as someone who always has some catch up planned in the diary to suddenly have nothing between home and work is undoubtedly going to get me down very quickly. 

Life is undoubtedly going to change over the next few months. How I’m going to cope as this goes on we shall see. People keep saying to take one day at a time and be appreciative of the little things. Personally I don’t see it as quite that simple, I can’t help but look at the much bigger picture. But I’ll be sure to keep writing and updating, if nothing else then I’ll be able to look back in the future and remind myself that we got through this, no matter how bad it looked to start with.

[holbyconfessional]

Holby City S21 E31 -  Things My Mother Told Me (and other tales)

Oh my.  It’s been quite some time since I last posted my thoughts on an episode.  This has mostly been due to some Holby City storylines that I found a little tough to swallow, and the fall out kind of impacted on Casualty too.  But, I have still been watching (although sometimes saving several episodes and binging together rather than watching as they aired).  The question is - do I restart these musings of mine?  Or lay it all to rest?

Whatever happens, I feel compelled to jot a few thoughts from tonight.

Firstly, I don’t care what they’re telling me, Bernie Wolfe is NOT dead, until I see a body (or at least until some cast member does!).  Currently, in my head canon, she was held at gunpoint by some enemy insurgents, forced to remove her body armour before being marched off at gunpoint to a secret base, where she is now being kept as a POW, until such time as Serena leaves HC.  At this point, she will make her miraculous escape and return just in time to head off into the sunset.  NOTHING you can say will make me believe differently.  Just saying.

All the above makes Alex’s statement tonight that she was the love of Bernie’s life to be particularly galling.  I have seen various folk saying Alex can’t be trusted and she’s lying, etc.  FWIW, I think she’s telling the truth as she’s choosing to see it.  I can understand why she and Bernie might have ended up together.  As much as we all feel we know Bernie and Serena better than anyone, at the end of the day they are characters owned and created by the HC writing team, and if they think Bernie would never have been able to settle down and live a suburban life with Serena, as much as it galls, we have to accept that that is their vision.  And frankly, even if Serena was the one great love of Bernie’s life - we don’t all get our happily ever after, many of us do  have ‘one that got away’, and we do have to settle for good enough.  And to my mind, Alex would be the perfect partner for a non-tameable Bernie.   (Before anyone yells at me, my Bernie is totes happy sitting round the fire with Serena every day til she’s 95...)  I’m just saying I get that she’s not ours.  She’s theirs, to do with as they will.

Also, massive, proud LGBT Berena fan that I am - I also respect that essentially, Berena have NOT been treated differently to any other couple in the show.  Folk seem to think that lack of representation in general media means that they should be seen to be living happily every day.  Doesn’t work like that.  That’s not true representation, that’s singling out a LGBT relationship for special treatment.  I think that Berena have been handled the same way every. single. other. couple in the show have too.  And that’s true respect.  (Though I STILL totally hate it, and wish they could indeed have been shown to be happy every single day forever).  But realism just won’t abandon me.

Final word on Berena, I really actually want to like Alex.   But goodness me, was her character skeezy the last couple of episodes.  Her handling of Cameron showed the total opposite of respect to Bernie’s memory, and the final scene with her and Serena - <shudder>.  For a moment, I actually thought she was going in for the kill...

Next, I will move on to the intial reason I stopped reviewing - Dom.  Please understand, I appreciate adoption is a very emotive subject, and furthermore, I totally agree that Carole should have told Dom from an early age about his adoption.  BUT - I have not been able to stomach the way he has been treating her since he found out.  She may not have given birth to him, but she’s wiped his bum, soothed him when sick, taught him to ride a bike... apart from actually growing him, she is more his mother than anyone else could ever be, and I couldn’t stand the way he was treating her.  I know he’s a huge fan favourite, and I don’t hate him, but I do see him as I always have (and now more than ever), as the most self absorbed, spoilt little brat ever.  He really does think the world should revolve around him, as he’s repeatedly shown in his relationship with Lofty, and continues to show with his interactions with Carole and now Ange.  Therefore, I applaud tonight for finally, first Hanssen, and then Ange, opening his eyes to how unreasonable he was being toward Carole.

Briefly on to my reason for not starting to review again after Dom stopped me (!!!).  Evan.  I literally struggle to watch scenes with Evan in them.   He has made my skin crawl from the moment he appeared in show, and I’ve considered stopping Holby all together until he’s gone... (hasn’t happened yet, though).  I know his abuse is reasonably hot on the heels of Isaac’s, but whilst I hate and in no way condone what Isaac did, for some reason I’m finding Evan’s manipulations so much more insidious and frankly scary.  I know we have a long run to go yet before Chloe is out of his clutches, but by goodness, I hope it goes quick. Side note - I also know Ange doesn’t seem to be a popular character.  But I can’t for the life of me work out why.  She is an AWESOME mother - to Chloe.  She might not be prioritising Dom, but whilst he’s her flesh and blood, he’s barely more than a stranger, so to my mind, it’s totally reasonable.  Especially since she IS there for Dom.  Just not ahead of Chloe.  She’s also an awesome doc.  Imagine being an NHS patient faced with waiting lists?  Wouldn’t you want an Ange doing some overtime with volunteer staff so you could be helped quicker??!!

Brief mention to Cameron (and Nicky).  Poor, poor Cam.  I hope this storyline ends well for him.  His treatment of Nicky is pretty shoddy after their one night stand, but heck, girl, did you expect different?  You know what state he was in, you know how he feels about Chloe.  I hope they don’t make Nicky into too much of a victim over it, because she’s not stupid and it’s not a shocker when he’s drowning that deep in grief...

Finally, Ric.  Is this the big mistake that’s going to kick off a big storyline?  And whether it is or not, seems like only yesterday that Ric was jailed over some supposed mistake which had some secret reason behind it,  PLEASE don’t be going down the same route again.  That’s just tired.  Give Ric something interesting to work with that doesn’t involve malpractice.  Please!!!!!

[gweniala]

Quantum Uncertainty

After re-reading Dake of the Past by shinakazami1, I was so violently inspired that I spent the whole afternoon, evening and morning writing. This is the 9-page result. I am proud of my muse.

If you’re not familiar with my five Guardians, have a look at NH: The Guardians at my dA page. That should do for an introduction so that you’re not confused who is who.

Important note: Several parts of this fanfiction, mostly the “flashbacks”, were taken from shina’s Dake of the Past and adapted so that they’d fit with my writing style a little more. I don’t claim ownership of those pieces. In fact, this entire thing is heavily based on Dake of the Past, it’s basically a retelling from another angle and... making it cannon. Go shina, your ideas are strange and awesome.

***

„Adah!“

The scream woke Ruze up like a knife stab. He shot up and looked around wildly. He heard a thump in the darkness… and when he finally made light, he saw Dake lying on the floor next to his bed.

“…What?” Gome asked sleepily.

“Dake?” Ruze growled. The Guardian of Fire groaned.

“I think I was having a nightmare…”

Ruze snorted, half annoyed, half relieved. “Don’t scare me like that. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry…” Dake muttered, picking himself up from the floor. “Good night,” he said, lying down again.

“What was the nightmare about?” Gome asked curiously. He was shushed by three of his brothers, but Dake answered in spite of that. “I don’t rememeber anymore…”

“Lame,” Gome yawned.

Before Ruze went back to sleep, he saw Dake light a scented candle beside his bed. He usually kept one alight throughout the night, said it helped him sleep. Did he forget to light it in the evening? Ruze couldn’t remember.

They all fell back asleep one by one.

***

“Tell me only once more ‘I love you’… and I will never go away again.”

***

“Look at that beauty,” Dake said and nudged Kamzik in the rib cage. The Hoodian jerked and spilled dynamite powder on his lap.

“What?”

Dake pointed. Caline and Krevel were walking across the Arena toward the Explosive Shack. They were chatting amicably.

“May I remind you that she’s married?” Kamzik pulled one brow up and returned to stuffing his dynamite stick.

“Yeah but… do you see those huge… stems?” Dake grinned shamelessly, gesturing in front of his chest.

Kamzik rolled his eyes. “Why won’t you just leave her alone?”

“Because she’s one of the very few girls here!” Dake retorted, his gaze never leaving Caline’s body. “I can’t waste this opportunity.”

“It’s always girls, girls, girls with you,” Kamzik looked at the Guardian angrily. “What’s your problem? There aren’t any girls on the Neverhood. The only ones we’ve got is Tao who’s weird and Klaya who’s your mother! Why do you keep going on about them? Aren’t guys enough friends for you?”

“Ah-ah,” Dake wagged his finger. “You have to learn to appreciate beauty, my friend. The curves of a female body are the most refreshing gaze one can… Hello, madame,” he took off his non-existent hat and bowed to Caline, who had just entered the Shack. “May I interest you in some fireworks tonight?”

“No flirting, we’re just passing through,” Krevel told him sternly and pushed Caline through the Shack.

“They will start at eight in the Arena if you take a fancy!” Dake called after them with a wide smile. “Anyway, as I was saying,” he turned back to Kamzik. He paused when he saw what the Hoodian was doing with the dynamite stick. “That is going to explode in your hands, you know,” he said dryly.

“No, it’s not,” Kamzik defended his craft, covering the stick end and inspecting the finished product.

“Uh-huh,” Dake nodded, unimpressed. He took the dynamite stick from Kamzik’s hand (“Hey!”) and walked out into the Arena (“What’s your problem?”). “Watch and learn,” he told his discontented friend. He snapped his fingers and the fuse caught on fire. He barely had time to extend his hand before the dynamite exploded.

“For Quater’s sake, you madman!” Kamzik cried out, running out of the Shack toward his friend. When the smoke cleared, he saw that Dake was covered in soot and completely unharmed. “You’re crazy!”

“And you can’t stuff a dynamite stick,” Dake replied swiftly. “Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done so that you don’t lose a limb or two the next time.”

***

“Dake, why are you sleeping on the ground?”

It was Loopid, one of the youngest Hoodians. Dake groaned. He found Loopid terribly annoying. Whenever Dake approached a lady, this guy would appear out of nowhere and spoil his plans.

“What do you want, Loop?” Dake growled as he picked himself up from the ground. “I’m not bothering anyone right now. Is there a problem?”

Loopid didn’t answer. He was looking at his feet, rocking from side to side gently. Then he smiled, waved at Dake and walked away.

What is up with this guy? One moment he hates me, the next he’s all smiles.

But he wouldn’t waste any more time on him. He needed to see Klem, one of the Neverhood medics. Surely she would give him her time of the day.

***

Arig was tending to a gramophone flower sapling when he heard the inarticulate cry. He looked around quickly, recalling whom he had recently seen in the Garden. When he couldn’t see anyone, he felt out. Immediately he noticed a Hoodian lying under the five-leaved ivy. He rushed over. It was Dake, lying on his side and twitching.

“You said to her… live for… three more years, and…“ he was mumbling.

„Dake,“ Arig called out to his brother. Dake didn’t react.

“Without any memories about me…”

“Dake, wake up,” Arig nudged him gently.

Suddenly Dake’s eyes sprang open. “You BASTARD!” he bellowed and swung his arm, sending a fan of blazing fire out. Arig leaped backward. The heat singed his face and chest, leaving behind nasty burns.

“D-D-Dake?!” he stuttered, wide-eyed and terrified. He felt his face; the wounds were regenerating.

Dake blinked and sat up. He looked at his hand. “What?” he uttered, disoriented. Then he looked at Arig and his eyes widened. “By mother, bro, I’m so sorry,” he got to his feet and went to hug Arig, but the Hoodian scooted away. Dake stopped, looking regretful and ashamed. “I must have been having a nightmare.”

Arig nodded, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He had not seen that coming at all. It had been harmless, all in all, but for a Guardian to use his powers against his brother… “I know. You… you realise that they keep coming back, right? Are you doing anything about them?”

Dake shrugged helplessly. “Candles help. I didn’t want to fall asleep here… Arig, I’m sorry man…”

Arig waved his hand. “I’m fine, you just scared me. Come on, let’s sit down. Do you remember what the nightmares are about? You keep calling someone called Adah…”

“Adah…” Dake repeated thoughtfully. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe Hoborg knows something about them.” He rubbed his hands gleefully. “I hope it’s a girl! Then I could have one at least in my sleep.”

***

“Adah,” Bobuslaw set down a large dusty book, “was a historical figure. She was a wife to Nuri and the sole survivor of the burning of Lides. She lived on a world created by Arven a long time ago. Her name survived to this day because the village’s gruesome end attracted much attention, including that of historians.”

“What happened?” Krevel asked, sipping at his cup of tea.

“Bad business,” Bobuslaw shook his head sadly. “The village shaman, Majeer Shanem, went mad. He murdered everyone in the village except for Adah and then set his house on fire. The fire blazed so high that it could be seen hundreds of miles away. Adah was found scrambling through the ruins, half insane with pain from the burns. She was trying to find the corpse of her husband, Nuri, among the corpses of the villagers, but they were all burned beyond recognition… She died on the same day, but not before she told everyone what had happened. That’s how she made it into historic records.”

“Why did the shaman spare her?” Krevel asked.

Bobuslaw shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he liked her?”

Krevel made a small sceptical smile. “Thank you, Bobuslaw. You’ve been a great help. Your library’s really the best. We couldn’t find a mention of Adah in the entire Castle or in the Hall of Records.”

Bobuslaw blushed and chuckled from the praise. “Do you want to borrow the book? Perhaps you’ll find more interesting things in there.”

“I would like to,” Krevel nodded curtly. “Ottoborg?” he called upstairs. “I’m done here. Would you mind coming down and giving me a ride back to the Brokenhood?”

***

“Nuri was a Guardian of Fire,” Ruze muttered darkly, flipping through the pages. “The shaman didn’t burn his house down, it was Nuri who came in there and fought him with fire. Dake shouldn’t be remembering this. He’s not supposed to recall any of this.”

“But he doesn’t, does he?” Gome piped up. “He has no idea who Nuri or Adah are. He doesn’t remember that previous life when he’s awake.”

“He’s not supposed to remember it at all!” Ruze raised his voice. “Sorry. Fuck.” He ran his hand across his face. “This is really bad. I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s really bad.”

“How can you tell?” Arig asked carefully.

Ruze hesitated. “I don’t know. Gut feeling. I’m just getting the feeling that remembering your previous incarnation is really, really not supposed to happen. I’m worried that the hothead might be interdimensionally sick.”

“Interdimensionally sick,” Gome repeated in admiration. “Psyche… I wanna be interdimensionally sick.”

“No, you don’t,” Ruze snapped, but he couldn’t help smiling.

***

“Higher, higher! Nuri, I want to go higher.”

“Hush love, any more and the fire might hurt you. I can’t let that happen.”

Adah just laughed and told Nuri to give her a break. After their hot-air balloon touched down, she made dinner for them, and like every day, they ate it together in the garden.

When they were just about finished, Adah disregarded table manners and began to sing:

“Something so unfair,

a woman kills a man.

Why did we not beware

and why did you say it, Shanem?

We will die anyway,

but what will it be for

if we have to start up everything

right from the beginning once more?”

She stopped and smiled at Nuri. He knew that his wife’s health was getting worse. He needed to go alone to Majeer Shanem and ask him some questions. And one of those questions was…

***

“We don’t think this is a good idea,” Ottimo shook his head.

“Please,” Ruze stepped forward. “You and Tuborg are the only ones who can help us. Hoborg has rejected us twice now, and Ottoborg doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Have you considered that they might have a reason for that?” Tuborg asked snidely. “I’m not saying a machine that can read dreams is impossible…”

“…but it’s really immoral,” Ottimo finished for him. “I like my privacy when I dream.”

“You share half of your dreams with me,” Tuborg narrowed his eyes as his twin.

“You don’t count,” Ottimo shrugged.

“Then it’s possible,” Ruze latched onto the only important thing he had heard. “You can get inside someone’s head and see their dreams.”

The twins looked at each other. Ottimo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me get this straight. You’re worried that your brother is ripping through reality when he sleeps, which is why he gets dreams about his past life.”

Ruze nodded. Ottimo stared at him in exasperation.

“Don’t you think that it could be a coincidence? Maybe he just have heard the name Adah somewhere. Dreams are weird.”

“And repetitive,” Tuborg added. “Sometimes you’ll have the same dream for years.”

“On top of that, your brother is a womaniser who can’t keep it in his pants for shit,” Ottimo continued.

“He’s been constantly hitting both on our mother and our sister, who are both happily married,” Tuborg elaborated.

“Why would we want to help you get inside his head when we don’t like him very much already?” Ottimo finished.

Ruze bit his lip. “I can offer a favour.”

Ottimo waved his hand, dismissing that option. “Favours are a Neverhoodian thing. Raise the bid.”

“You want money?” Ruze stared at them in surprise.

“What? No!” Ottimo recoiled.

“Best klay would be nice, though,” Tuborg interjected thoughtfully.

“Brother dear, don’t get distracted,” Ottimo told his twin. Tuborg shrugged and smiled.

Ruze huffed. “Fine. Then what about information?”

“Ooh,” the twins said in unison and leaned forward.

“Now you’re talking,” Tuborg said.

“What kind of information?” Ottimo asked, grinning. “A new robot drive?”

Ruze turned his palms up, shrugging. “I may come up with something. Let me into your workshop and I’ll figure something out.”

Tuborg caught Ottimo’s eye. “Are we really going to sell out like this?” he asked, a little concerned.

“Depends on what miracle of technology he comes up with,” Ottimo shrugged and smirked. “Think of dad’s reaction when he sees it. It has to be real good if we’re constructing a dream reader in return.”

***

“And I’m supposed to sleep with this thing on my head?” Dake asked sceptically, turning the dark grey helmet in his hands. “Won’t it explode and tear my head off?”

“It won’t, I checked,” Ruze assured him.

“Right.” Dake rubbed his lips. “I’m still not totally cool with this, just so you know. I’m not wrong it the head. A dude’s allowed to dream.”

“Just put it on,” Usha rolled his eyes and prodded his brother. “We’re all curious about Adah.”

“One more thing,” Dake said as he was putting the helmet on his head. “You’re the only ones who’ll see this, right? Bros before hoes. You’ll tell no one.”

“We promise,” Ruze knocked on the grey helmet affectionately. “Now go to sleep. I hope you’re not too nervous to fall asleep.”

“I’ll keep you all awake for hours,” Dake laughed sinisterly.

He was out within ten minutes.

***

“It’s nice to have such a good patient,” Klem smiled at Dake, wiping her hands clean on a white peace of cloth. “But next time, please, don’t visit ill ladies again. You might not wake up again. Capishe?”

“Of course, Klem,” Dake smiled back, appreciating the view of her curving body. “I don’t understand what happened either. I wanted to find you because I didn’t feel so good, and then I don’t remember anything.”

“Not even what you did in the waiting room?” Klem asked, raising a brow.

“Eh heheh, you know me…” Dake laughed it off. “I’ll see you.”

“Take care,” Klem said, catching and holding his eye as he walked out of the infirmary.

***

“Wow, it’s his dream girl! Did you see that look? That’s what I can flirting!”

“Hush, Gome. You’ll wake the loverboy up.”

***

On his way home, Dake found something completely unexpected.

“Hello girl!” he whistled. “Do you come down here often?” Finally, a new face! He had never seen this Hoodian, and she didn’t look like she knew this place either.

“Yes, quite often,” she smiled at him and batted her eyelashes. She made his blood boil just by that little gesture. “Tell me, darling, where can I find Hoborg?” Her voice was so familiar. But, as he looked at her chest, that wasn’t the only familiar thing about her. That chest didn't belong to the girl from his dreams. No, it was…

“Of course,” he heard himself say. “But first, won’t you tell me your name?” It couldn't be. That chest was the same as Loopid’s. The shape of it was different, of course, but the threaded markings definitely looked similar to his.

”This is my problem,” the girl sighed. “I need to find the king so that he gives me a name. My brother already has one, but I don't.”

“Who’s your brother? You know, most of us can be siblings and lovers at the same time.” He smiled at her, as bright as the sun, while his stomach was turning like a restless otter. He felt like he knew her.

“Well, his name is Loopid…” she told him intimately.

He remembered Loopid's birth. He was born with three brothers, no sisters. But let's play this game of yours, he thought. “Really? Where is your brother now?”

“Oh Nuri,” the girl purred, coming even closer to him. “He is here.”

Dake’s eyes widened. “What did you call me?” Nuri. That name… it belonged to him. How? He felt like something was tearing… “What is this game?” he grabbed the girl by her shoulders. “Who are you? How do you know-” Unwelcome images flashed in his mind: a great fire, a crouching shaman covered in red… a great despair.

Her smile vanished. She looked down and said: “You said that one day I would be the one to forget you. And yet I see you here, chasing other women, not remembering me… Loop is doing a good job.” She sounded close to tears. She looked him in the eye hopefully. “Don’t you remember someone named Adah?”

It was her. The one he had been longing for. Wordless, he hugged her. He was happy that only she could see him cry. Corrupted memories were flooding in.

Then he heard a male voice.

“Welp, I see this session is over. I thought she said she could be here a little here longer.”

***

Dake yelped and jerked awake. Arig went to calm him down, helping him take the grey helmet off. The Guardian of Fire squinted at the static-filled screen.

“Well? Did you see something?”

His brothers responded with silence.

“What? I don’t remember anything. Was it scary? Was it rad? I think I woke up with terror, but I can’t really remember what it was about…”

Finally Ruze broke the silence. “This is really bad.”

“What?” Dake bristled. “Why? You guys – what did you see?”

“It was another Neverhood,” Gome said with wonder. “Different from this one. There were different buildings and different people… I hardly recognised some of the places. But it was definitely the Neverhood.”

“Oh,” Dake perked up. “Were there girls?”

“You talked to two of them, but I saw a lot more,” Gome nodded. “I thought you said the image would be hazy and blurred?” he turned to Ruze. “But I could see everything in detail. And were we supposed to hear Dake’s thoughts, too? By mother, I’d never looked at someone’s chest with that much intensity.”

“We weren’t,” Ruze growled from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “That’s the point. This wasn’t a dream.”

“What about a very vivid dream?” Usha suggested.

“No!” Ruze barked, making Usha jump. Then hid his face in his palms and groaned. “Why are you doing this to me, Dake…”

“I’m not doing anything, you’re the one who insisted that you take a peek at my dreams,” Dake protested. “Not my fault you didn’t like what you see. I don’t remember any of it!”

“Do you really not remember a single dream?” Arig asked. “Not ever?”

“Not ever,” Dake confirmed. “I’ve always been jealous of people who remembered their dreams. I know that I have dreams, but I forget them the moment I wake up.”

“Ruze?” Gome said. “Do you mind telling us why you’re so upset over this?”

Ruze let his hands down and glared at his well-meaning brother. “Sure,” he said in the end. “What Dake’s having aren’t dreams. He’s tapping into another reality. That’s why the image is so clean. His brain isn’t making it up as it goes. It’s genuinely happening, somewhere very far away, and our lover boy switches between bodies and realities as he goes.”

“Ahem,” Usha cleared his throat, breaking the still that followed. “Not to be a spoil-sport, but are you sure that you’ve been getting enough sleep? You sound half delirious right now. I’m pretty sure that other realities don’t exist.”

“I’m-” Ruze began to snap back, but then he noticed the others nodding. “…You really think so? That I’m making this up?”

“I’m just saying that you’re reading a lot into it,” Usha shrugged apologetically. “How would you convince us that what you’re saying is true? Do you have anything beside your gut feeling?”

Ruze hesitated. Then he sighed, defeated, and leaned back against the wall.

“It would explain one thing, though,” Arig spoke up in a musing tone. “Didn’t you find it weird that Dake always chased after girls, even though there weren’t any? Maybe he does it because he remembers them from his dreams. After all, there were a lot of girls there.”

“I don’t remember anything from my dreams, I’ve just told you,” Dake pouted. “Don’t make me out to be deranged.”

“No,” Arig shook his head, “I’m not saying anything like that. It wouldn’t be the first time someone I knew switched back and forth between an alterego and didn’t remember anything.” He paused, looking at his brothers expectantly. Confused stares was all he got. “Really? No one’s told you The Perfect Stone yet?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll have to get Nike to tell it to you once he comes back again. It was Krevel. For reasons I can’t begin to speculate about, he put Hoborg’s crown on many years ago. He turned evil and forgot everything he was before.”

“Holy water,” Gome interrupted. “Krevel put on Hoborg’s crown? And they just let him walk around the Hood after that? He’s a security risk!”

Arig shrugged uneasily. “I… don’t think he is? Anyway, that’s beside the point. What I want to say is, after Krevel turned into Leverk, he didn’t remember anything about being Krevel. And after he turned back, he didn’t recall anything about being Leverk either. But Nike and Nehmen insist that it was still the same person, with the same background, opinions and insights. He just didn’t keep any conscious memories. It was all in the subconsciousness.” He tapped his temple. “The same thing could go for Dake. He doesn’t remember any girls in particular, but he knows that there are supposed to be girls.”

“Are you serious?” Dake frowned at him. “Your theories are even more unhinged than Ruze’s. Don’t tell me you actually believe the guy.”

Arig made a defensive gesture, sitting back on his bed. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just pointing out that there’s a precedent.”

“I don’t have an evil alter ego!” Dake cried out. “Seriously, I think this entire business with dream reading is a load of bullshit. I don’t know why I agreed to it in the first place.”

“Your previous incarnation apparently burned his shaman’s house down to the ground,” Ruze growled.

“He was very obviously upset that his entire village had been killed!” Dake threw his arms out.

“Yes, my point exactly,” Ruze bared his teeth, rising up from the wall. “He let his fury get the better of him. As far as we know, both he and the shaman burned to their deaths in that house.”

“Don’t compare me to some lunatic!” Dake hissed, getting up from his bed as well. “Should I dig up some historic records of your previous lives, see how you fared in the big cruel world?”

“Guys,” Gome said unhappily.

“Go ahead and try,” Ruze hissed back. “Whenever we find references of previous Guardians, it’s always the Guardian of Fire. Who was the first one we learned about, huh? The Warrior of Fire, Gerard. Very moving story, tells how you got your cool sword. Begins with how you burned your house down and our parents with it.”

“Burn in hell!” Dake shouted, stomping his foot. Sparks came out from under it. “You don’t get to order me around like this! My past selves are long gone, and my dreams are mine alone!”

“Funny thing that,” Ruze snarled. “Cause it seems to me like you’re breaking the fabric of the universe in your dreams. You always did what you wanted, chaos. As thoughtless as ever.”

Dake placed his palm over his chest and bright red light seeped from between his fingers. “You will NOT-”

There was a loud crash followed by a splash. Dake yelped and jumped back as rivulets of water ran across the floor. They converged in Gome’s hands as one bobbing blob of water.

“Alright you hotheads – I have a bucketful of water and I’m not afraid to use it!” the Guardian shouted, taking a battle stance. “The first one to smite the other will get wet from head to toe! Seriously though,” he added in a tone much less aggressive and more pleading, “quit it, please. You look like you’re gonna murder each other. Can’t you just take a break and talk it out? Ruze, you don’t gotta rub Dake’s previous lives in his face, you know that’s a low blow…”

Ruze seemed to deflate at that. He slumped his shoulders and said quietly: “I see. That’s how it is, then. None of you believe me.” And he turned to leave. He ignored when several voices called out “wait”. When someone grabbed his hand to stop him, he tried to yank it out. But the grip was stronger than he had expected. He turned around to glare at whoever was stopping him from leaving. He hesitated when he found that it was Arig.

“You…”

“Don’t run away,” the Guardian of Earth said quietly, covering his brother’s hand with his other palm. “We’re here, we’re with you. If something is wrong, we need to know.”

Ruze wavered. Arig pressed his hand and pulled him back gently. “Come. You need to explain where you’re coming from. Otherwise we’ll never understand you.”

Ruze took a deep breath and released it in a sigh. “Fine,” he murmured. He plopped down on his bed and hid his face in his hands. Gome gave Dake a threatening look and wobbled the water bubble in his hands.

“Put that away,” Dake muttered nervously.

“No playing with swords in the bedroom,” Gome reminded him. “Um, Arig? Would you make me a bucket? I don’t have anywhere to put this.”

Dake lit a scented candle it the meantime. It filled the room with the fragrance of chamomile.

“Alright,” Ruze raised his head when they were all settled down. “So… you know that I’m the Guardian of Order, right?”

“Order?” Usha echoed. “You’re the Guardian of Invisible Forces, aren’t you?”

Ruze nodded. “I thought you might not know. Yeah, that’s what they call me. Earth, Water, Air and Fire… and Invisible Forces. Didn’t that seem odd to you? That the fifth element is kinda… redundant?”

“I thought they didn’t know what to call you, so they just came up with something,” Dake shrugged.

Ruze smirked. “I’d think you were trying to be a smart arse, if that wasn’t exactly how it is. Thing is, we didn’t start out as the Guardians of Earth, Water and so on. We started out as three Guardians of the real world and two Guardians of the meta world. The real world, obviously, falls onto you three,” he gestured to Arig, Gome and Usha. “You don’t have elements per se, you command the three states of matter: solid klay, liquid klay and gaseous klay. Earth, water and air just happen to be their most prevalent examples.”

“Oh yeah,” Gome lit up. “I found out I could control molten metal the other day. Cool, right?”

Ruze nodded. “Arig goes a little out of this context because of his second contract, but his flower power is just a wild mix of empathy and regular solid klay skills.”

“Don’t call it flower power,” Arig protested weakly.

“And then,” Ruze paid him no mind, “you’ve got me and Dake. Anyone take a guess what our ‘real elements’ might be?”

“You said you were the Guardian of Order,” Gome said in an unsure tone.

“Congrats, you have an attention span longer than a fish,” Ruze smirked. “And Dake?”

“You called me chaos before,” the Guardian of Fire muttered reluctantly.

“Yep,” Ruze stared at his brother. “You’re the Guardian of Chaos. You could also be called Energy, or Entropy, or Change. Either way, Quater’s original intent was that three of his Guardians represent matter, and two Guardians the antagonistic forces that shape matter. I get to make the rules. You get to break them.” Ruze rubbed his eyes with his palm. “I can’t imagine what the world looks like to you, guys. I suppose you’re ‘one’ with your element. You can feel it, you can move it, it feels like a second nature to you.”

“Something along those lines,” Usha commented.

“To me, the world is a set of rules,” Ruze continued. “I feel the tick of time. I know the structure of things and how they fall one into the other. I get the most basic of forces, gravity, electricity and magnetism, because everything else is too complex for me to fully understand. I get a few cool tricks, but they’re not terribly useful in real life.” He sighed and glared at Dake. “And then there’s you. Who’s able to break my rules without any conscious effort. Who apparently travels in space and time and between alternate realities in your sleep, just because you can.”

Dake shrugged, and seemed somehow pleased with himself.

“Your ‘element’ is phoney, just like mine,” Ruze frowned at the self-satisfied expression. “Fire is a chemical reaction, not a real thing like the air or the earth. Your original power lies in disregarding rules and making your own reality.” He sighed and ran his hand over his face again. He seemed tired all of the sudden. “And that’s why I have such a bad feeling about your dreams. I can’t prove that something is wrong with you. After all, you’ve been having these dreams since we were born and I didn’t feel any tears in the fabric of reality yet. It’s possible that your jumping between timelines is completely safe. But it’s not the way it’s supposed to be. You’re not supposed to recall your previous lives. You’re not supposed to know about another Neverhood where girls are plentiful and chasing skirts is normal. I’m sorry for freaking out on you, but… by mother, it just gives me such bad vibes…”

“Is that all?” Dake asked curiously. “You went this far on a feeling?”

“Sod off,” Ruze mumbled and turned away, flustered.

“And here I thought Gome was my eternal rival!” Dake laughed. “I didn’t know I should hate you in particular.”

“You shouldn’t hate him or Gome,” Usha frowned. “That’s like saying that I should hate Arig just because our elements are so different. You should work together and let your powers complement one another.”

“Hear hear,” Ruze smirked sarcastically. “There’s something about what you say, though. I noticed that not only is the Guardian of Fire the most popular one in literature. He’s also the one who brings the most disasters. Neither Gerard’s nor Nuri’s story ends well. I think Quater might have tweaked your powers a little so that another Guardian could keep you in check. Hence the Guardian of Water.”

“You think so?” Gome asked excitedly. “Then is it alright if I splash him a little from time to time?”

“I will smite you,” Dake began to hiss. Ruze waved his hand quickly to stop them both.

“You don’t splash anyone unless they’re making trouble. But, uh… the bucket was actually good thinking on your part.”

“Hee,” the Guardian of Water smiled.

***

“You won't escape, Majeer. I will find you.”

***

Dake woke up in cold sweat. He unclenched his stiff fists and kicked the blanket off. His brothers were still sleeping. His candle had gone out.

He rubbed his fingers against each other to light it again.

In the bed across the room, Ruze stirred. “Dake?” he mumbled, rising up to one elbow.

The Guardian of Fire waved for him to go back to sleep. Ruze grunted and lay back down.

Dake stared at the ceiling for a long time. He didn’t remember a thing from his dream. Not even the feeling. Was it loving? Had he been with his wife? Had he been fighting the mad shaman? Had he flirted with a pretty girl? He didn’t know. He had no way of knowing.

He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep again.

At the threshold between waking and dreams, he thought: Adah, my love… I’m coming.

[recalibr8]

The mEtOHd in my madness

I’d been out with my teen lads on a Friday. We got off the train and there was a young, crumpled woman sat on the platform, fat tears splashing into a puddle of sick on her trench coated lap. I offered her some tissues; I’m a mum, it come with the membership card. After a few sorries she asked “where did you stop?”. It took us a while to realise she meant, ‘where are we?’ She was out by 2 stations which on the face of it wasn’t bad. We pointed her onto the next train, gave her a mint (gold membership benefits) and my youngest shouted “take care of yourself” as we trudged up the platform. We agreed it was probably work drinks getting out of bounds and she’d be ok now she had tissues. But I kept thinking, “where did you stop?”. Where did I stop? Because I’m now AF af.

AF af. That’s alcohol free and doing pretty darn ruddy brilliant. Three months ago I upgraded my BrewDog to NannyState, went Becks Blue and am thinking in an offhand way about brewing Kombucha. I’ve teamed this up with going plasticlite, veganish and kimchi curious. So far, so middle class virtual signalling. But where did I stop?

I’ve been drinking since I was 5. I’d adorably finish up the beer in my parents’ guests glasses and well, kept going. Not in a Drew, Carrie or Liza rehab by 13 sense but I think I’ve probably had my fair share. I’m well aware that I knew, know and don’t know but suspect people who I love who have significant alcohol use problems and this is blog is in no way trying to say my needs are greater than theirs. I know a lot of highly creative endeavours and friendships were found in a gin bottle but also unforgivable abuses. And I know friends whose acts are based around the camaraderie of drinking. And I’d never tell anyone what they *should* do. But like all ex anybodies, I’m annoying about my sobriety journey right now. Bear with me.

But it’s not just me though. I see booze everywhere. For a dose related lethal toxin that’s very effective marketing. There’s a giant ad on Toots Broadway station entreating me to Go Bottomless and every other Facebook ad is for a spirit that promises to make evenings round the back of Catford Lidl magical. And many of these are aimed at women. A recent industry survey found ‘only’ 17% of women drank beer and this needed sorting out. Look out for more lady drinking adverts, they’re coming.

But I wasn’t alcoholic. Was I? Are you? You’re only an alcoholic if you have one more drink than you doctor. I’m

a doctor ... so let’s take a look.

*I’m really low on the alcoholic check list*

I’ve never drank alcohol in the morning, blacked out, been told by others I have a problem, had to apologise...

Ah, I have had to apologise once or twice. Nothing major, just ‘sorry, I was a bit wobbly/silly/rude/loud/insulting/gave you my shoes as a gift’. I once lost my credit and oyster card at the bar of a immersive theatre event though. I don’t know how I got home. I had to find the site manager the next day and he definitely had other things to do. Not long after my bag was stolen in SoHo because I was distracted. Not sure how I got home then either. Friends put me in an Uber after my MA showcase because I wasn’t walking very straight. Or being very nice. So I definitely remember getting home then.

These were all Thursdays or weekends. I’ve always been careful not to have any chance of affecting my work. But yeah, how clear headed was I for my family, myself? And much of this was stress drinking after a week of being a clever doctor. Just loosened up the joints a bit. Particularly if your slightly socially awkward. But I wasn’t a drunk, no. Maybe just a binge drinker. And that’s ok, isn’t it?

*Hangovers are just a thing*.

With only drinking at the end of the week, I was careful not to be hungover at work. But I had a Friday at home hangover where I didn’t get out of bed for the day. I claimed I’d been poisoned. I’d just had one too many Jaegerbombs. I vomited in the taxi. I’ve vomited in several taxis. That’s not a good look at any age. Hangovers are a funny meme, a cartoon of a dog in sunglasses, office banter. It’s your liver crying and your brain folding it’s arms in judgment. It’s not bad wine, it’s bad choices.

*Get kids used to drinking. Like the French. Then they won’t binge*.

My 13 year old buys old vodka bottles from charity shops. Wearing a furry hat, his comedy drunk Russian is not bad I used to have the deepest voice of my friends at 14 so it was my job to buy the booze for house parties. My mother always told me drink a pint of milk before you go out to soak up the booze. At 14. I had a few sexual assaults along the way but if I blame myself that’s victim blaming and I don’t want to be a bad feminist on top of everything. Med school in the 80’s/90’s was all over the drink. Freshers’ week was a booze insurance test. The circle line pub crawl, the Clint Eastwood Appreciation Society, the Med School pub crawl...end at Barts because Smithfield’s liscence meant you’d keep going all night.

*Booze always cheers you up*.

I’ve got to confess, my life has got a lot quieter. I’m going out much less, I leave early, I’m not champagne Charlie any more. I’m always, well, me. My dad was a depressed alcoholic, so was his dad (he ran a tobacconist and offie so that didn’t help) and his dad before him. And I have depression and PTSD. My moods are now not so high, but they are also not so low. This is very strange. I’m hoping this is a good thing. I’ve heard it is. This, this is the mEtOHd in my madness. The mood stabilisation. That’s the plan.

*Being a doctor is just one of those boozey jobs*

Fun quiz! Who do you think drinks the most? Enough to have a problem. Oooh, were good at guessing this in ED. Writers must be bad, farmers, journalists! yes, they’re always drunk, private invsestigators (?), airline pilots (like my dad, I saw what those guys put away). Ok...it’s.

Lawyers - reporting 33% with problematic drinking

Construction workers- 16.5%

Miners -17.5%

Then it’s Healthcare workers, especially doctors (oh no). A. 2012 study of American surgeons published in JAMA Surgery found 15.4 percent had an alcohol use disorder. Female surgeons (25.6 percent) were more likely than male surgeons (13.9 percent) to exhibit symptoms of alcohol addiction. Healthcare professionals in general it’s 10%

https://www.drugrehab.com/addiction/common-professions/

Performing artists and writers - 11.5%

Catering/hospitality -11%

So no pilots then? I think there’s something they’re not telling us or things are much better since the 80’s. 


 A 1998 study of junior doctors in Newcastle-upon-Tyne reported that:

* 60% exceeded the recommended safe limits for alcohol consumption

* 36% of males and 20% of females used cannabis 

The Sick Doctors Trust says “Since our working lives are spent helping others, it is easy to push aside our own problems, in addition to which, denial is quite common in medical staff. This is not deliberate, but a part of the whole illness of addiction. That addiction is a chronic illness which therefore requires treatment as for any other condition, is now well-established but there is still a tendency to feel that it is a sign of weakness, and that maybe things aren't 'that bad'.’

That some individuals are more prone to developing addiction is generally agreed. There is no single determining factor, but usually a combination of biological, psychosocial and environmental factors - a mixture of nature and nurture. There is now much evidence implicating dysfunction in the Dopamine transmitter system & it’s involvement in craving. There is also evidence to suggest that the effect alcohol has on an individual’s brain is genetically determined. A family history is present in many alcoholics- those having direct family affected being more at risk...

*Its a family affair*

I went to Adult Children of Alcoholics once. It wasn’t for me but what they said made total sense. I take responsibility for everyone, I’m primed for betrayal and disaster and I totally thrive in emotional drama. My dad wasn’t a nice drunk. He made my mum drink when pregnant ‘to keep him company’. She in turn gave babies a tot of brandy to keep them quiet as a stewardess and I can’t imagine my permanently shouting parents wouldn’t have liked us to be quiet babies too. So I’ve got pre and postnatal form. But I don’t have to fix them now. Particularly dad. It’s quite hard to fix dead people.

https://adultchildren.org/

*Booze: the solution AND cause of all of life’s difficulties*

Sick Doctors again “ Alcohol is the commonest substance of abuse in all doctors. Drinking will surprisingly continue despite negative consequences such as job difficulties, relationship breakdowns, financial problems, loss of driving licence; the alcoholic is driven by an irrational compulsion to continue, and frequently results in despair to the point of suicide. Fortunately, the depression associated with active alcoholism often abates when sober.”

http://sick-doctors-trust.co.uk/page/addiction

*I’m not an alcoholic*

and you probably aren’t either. But you might have problematic drinking. I did a survey as part of an UCLH research project. You can too. I lied a bit on it and still came out drinking more than 97% of women my age. Now an icon opens up on my phone every day to that says ‘DRINK LESS’. I stopped leaving my phone on meetings tables.

Drink Less. by Robert West

https://apps.apple.com/gb/app/drink-less/id1020579244

If you are thinking about getting help for problematic drinking or any other addictions including workaholism or have any burnout symptoms for more than 3 weeks, you can of course get staff support and occupational health. But/And there is the amazing NHS Practitioner Health Programme where doctors with any addictions are supported https://php.nhs.uk/ DocHealth is another equally good programme https://www.dochealth.org.uk/. I used the latter when it was MedNet.

So, do I feel amazing? Had I got amazing skin, lost weight, feel energised and hopeful. Urg, not really. I feel a bit scared actually. I’ve lost my social crutch and I’ve stopped going out. I’m worried I’m boring and people will think I’m weird. But....I can get up earlier to walk the dog, I’m moderately less tired and although I’m not skipping down the road happy, the depressive moment I had in spring could have been a lot worse. I think that’s actually amazing. And that’s why I’m doing this. I want to face the world honestly and openly. I want to enjoy my kids before they leave home which is frighteningly soon and weirdly, I want to know my liver replaced itself in a year so I’m literally a new person (don’t google Theseus’ Boat Paradox, life is complicated enough). Oddly compelling, that. So where did I stop? I stopped here. In a weird waiting room in my head. But with the promise of a new adventure through the next door.

But don’t stop doing you, babes. Keep telling me your booze bantz. They are hilarious. Any story that starts or ends with Baileys is only going one way. This clearly isn’t a lecture. Most people can do moderation. And do could I, mostly. And it’s the mostly that’s not good enough. Not for me. Not any more.

Online support - https://www.facebook.com/groups/joinclubsoda/?ref=share

Samaritans- https://www.samaritans.org/

BMA wellbeing including 24 hour support - https://www.bma.org.uk/advice/work-life-support/your-wellbeing

Tea and Empathy for doctors’ online support - https://www.facebook.com/groups/1215686978446877/?ref=share

Al Anon for children of alcoholics https://adultchildren.org/

https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/

Dedicated to my husband who gave up the wine w*nker 6 years ago without any of this mid life crisis fuss. But I gave up meat and caffeine first so I still win.

[ddagent]

Sneak Peek Sunday

Suggested by the amazing @sententiousandbellicose, I present Sneak Peek Sunday. Every week I shall post a snippet from one of my WIPs, whether it’s yet to be finished or just waiting to be edited.

I might have already teased this, but here is an extract from Beauty Has Her Way. It’s the Berena 1980s vampire AU I know you’ve all been wanting to read. Enjoy:

The last time Bernie had visited Holby was 1962, almost fifteen years before. She had left America in a boat; survived off rats and the occasional seaman with wandering hands. Holby was a welcome sight. But even then she had become lost down streets she had once known well; her memories muddled as to roundabouts and stores that had long since closed. She hadn’t washed or slept in close to a month. Yet that journey was a pleasant stroll down a country lane compared to dropping a human off home.

 “No, no, you need to turn right.” The young woman huffed, crossing her arms for the third time. “It’s a ten minute trip that you’ve somehow managed to turn into half an hour. I’m starting to think you are a serial killer.”

 Bernie honked nervously, startling the poor girl into a smile. Whilst she stared at Bernie, Bernie tried not to stare at the dried lashes of blood on the back seat. “Sorry, I-I used to live here, but everything’s changed.”

 “It’s alright. When I first came back from University, I completely forgot the location of Clinton Cards even though I’ve lived here all my life.” She tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear; her expression turning from exasperation to one of sympathy. “How long have you been gone?”

 “Too long.”

 Bernie focussed on the road, on making the right turning on the roundabout so she could drop her passenger home as quickly as possible. She shouldn’t want her in the car. One look at the back seat and she’d be startled; chilled. The two fingers Bernie had spotted under the floor mat would only lead to screams. Then her policeman friend would be involved and her sanctuary would be a no man’s land for a decade, if not two. Bernie had no idea what kept this young woman in the car, at the very least alive. She was, however, a mystery. And Bernie had always enjoyed mysteries.

 “So,” She started. “I know what I was doing at two am on the side of the road. What about you?”

 “Nosy.” She smirked. “I was dropping my friend Sian at the train station. Tried to take a shortcut back and my engine died on me. I’m lucky you were driving past. Who knows who would have picked me up?”

 Her smile was warm on Bernie’s face; conjuring distant memories of the sun. “Well I’m glad I could help. Surprised you didn’t call that policeman friend of yours. I’m sure he’d have picked you up in a flash.”

 Her nose wrinkled. “Robbie’s lovely but…calling him would mean I’d feel indebted to him. I don’t really like the thought of that.”

 “I understand. I’ve always preferred standing on my own two feet.”

 “Exactly.” Another grin. “Finally, another feminist in Holby. I thought it’d be just me, standing alone on the picket line burning my bra.”

 As she laughed, her smile infectious, Bernie realised that no elaborate deduction was needed to solve this mystery. She was attracted to her. Dark hair that curled at the end. Wicked eyes that brightened when she laughed. Soft, pink lips. A long, shapely neck. Bernie gripped the steering wheel so hard she almost broke it. Maintain control. You are not an animal. Yet in her mind’s eye she could see herself burying her mouth in the curve of her throat. Could imagine her gasp of pleasure; the bite of pain. Fielding had been too cloying; Bernie could still taste him at the back of her throat. She would be different. Like a rich red wine.

 You are not an animal.

 “It’s just here, thanks!”

 Bernie pressed her foot sharply on the brake, occupying her hands with the gearshift and handbrake lest she give in to her body’s cravings. Unaware of her Samaritan’s desires, the woman fished her handbag out from the back seat and popped open the passenger door. Bernie glanced up at the woman’s house; at the light illuminated in the front window. A woman, likely her mother, came out. She was toying with a silver crucifix around her neck. Of course.

 “Of course she’s still up. Treating me like I’m fifteen rather than twenty-bloody-five,” she spat, shoulders hunched. Tossing her bag onto the pavement, she then leant back into the car and pressed her lips to Bernie’s cheek. They were warm, wet, and Bernie felt that bloodlust rush through her. “Thank you for the lift; I really do appreciate it. Little word of advice, though, I’d clean that red paint off your back seat before it sets. Vinyl is a bugger to clean.”

 For the second time that night, Bernie’s mouth fell open. She only closed it when her passenger was safely inside number sixty-six. You were lucky. But her luck would run out. Bernie quickly pushed the car into gear and returned to her journey home. She kept Fielding’s car until she reached a deserted industrial area. Tossed whatever meagre belongings she’d managed to save into the black duffel with the rest of Fielding’s money.

 Bernie then took out the petrol can she’d paid for back at the service station and dumped it all over the car. She left the flames flickering in the distance as she made the long walk to her sanctuary. The image of Fielding’s last breath, her reason for returning to Holby, was quickly replaced by memories of dark eyes, a bright smile. Bernie had lived for over a hundred years. She had seen countries that the books had forgotten about and met people long since dead. Yet this woman was perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

 --

 Serena McKinnie did not often find women attractive. But, by God, the stranger who had picked her up was bloody gorgeous.

 She hadn’t believed her luck when she’d seen the battered old Volvo pull up beside her. Robbie’s warnings regarding safety at night were quickly ignored once she’d seen the blonde with the dark, almost haunting eyes. She’d known it was reckless. As much as she told herself she didn’t have a choice (no one else was coming to help her), Serena knew the risks of jumping into a car with a stranger. The young blonde with the long hair and the dark glasses; who stammered when Serena smiled at her. Been a while since I’ve had that effect on a woman.

 “You should have called, ‘Rena.”

 Serena bristled at the nickname; her mother’s admonishments ruining her good mood.  “I’m sorry, Mum. I couldn’t find a phone box.”

 Her apologies did not placate Adrienne McKinnie. She followed Serena through the front door and up the stairs; her dressing gown pulled as tight as her frown. “You shouldn’t have been out in the first place. It’s the Sabbath.”

 She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Funnily enough, the NHS doesn’t plan its staff rotas around your faith, Mum.”

 “Sian is a bad influence on you. And who was that woman in the car?”

 Serena reached her bedroom door; fingering the fraying poster of David Bowie as the Goblin King. I wonder if that works on mothers. “I’m sorry, Mum, but it’s late and I worked a double shift today. Can I please get some sleep?”

 Adrienne pursed her lips. “We’ll discuss this again over breakfast, ‘Rena. Surely if you explained-“

 “Night Mum.”

 Serena quickly closed her door, heading off another conversation about how unacceptable it was for her to help the sick and injured on a Sunday. It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith. She hadn’t been Head Girl at St Winifred’s for nothing. But since her father had passed, her mother had become almost obsessive. Serena’s absence at Sunday services and choir practice were noted over breakfast, upon Serena’s arrival home from work. Once upon a time, top grades were the only thing that could placate her mother. Now it was daily prayer.

 Thank god I’m off. Boxes packed; moving date set. Crummy little flat in the second from dodgiest part of Holby. But it would be hers. Serena smiled as she thought about coming home to her home, to her bottle of Shiraz. Looking out the window onto a quiet city, Serena wondered where her Good Samaritan had ended up. Not that she’d ever do anything. If she brought a girl home, her mother would have kittens.

 Still, it was nice to daydream. Fantasise about blonde strands floating in the breeze. Thin lips and the most wonderful laugh. Eyes that looked like they wanted to devour her whole. Collapsing on her bed, Serena sighed and closed her eyes.

 She dreamt of her.

[klausterpunch]

Let me take care of you

Klauste (KlausXSteven) A drabble fic, in the same universe as Slumber though

Even tea didn’t relieve this agony.

Klaus had been experiencing a crushing case of a migrane all day, no doubt thanks to being stuck in the same position for hours in the office. It was an unnusually quiet time for Libra which meant he didn’t get to go out as often as the others... Even Steven was on the move more than he was today!

In truth however, Klaus didn’t want to move. He was absolutely positive that if he tried to hoist himself up right now, one of two things would happen

1) He would throw up 2) He would faint

It was usually not this bad, but nothing worked against it...

“Klaus?”

Stevens voice called Klaus out of his haze as the large man fixed his posture a tad too quickly. “Yes Steven?” His voice was even and his face was as unreadable as ever... But Steven had already caught that something was wrong. The man was damn observant. “Klaus, you don’t look so hot.” Steven circled around the table to feel the others forehead. Klaus? With a fever? Not unheard of, but practically impossible at a calm time like this. Klaus was always so healthy, keeping to a routine to keep himself as such...

“I am fine, Steven. You nheed not worry over me.” All it took was one slurred word and it sent Steven on high alert instantly. “... Well if you’re alright, you wouldn’t mind helping me pick out some books from the top shelves would you?” He was playing dirty, but the only way to make Klaus admit something was wrong, was to trick him into it.

With a heavy sigh(Internal) Klaus pushed himself up... And almost instantly he wavered. He had to slam his hand on the desk to balance himself, but now all eyes were on him. “Klaus-san?” Leo had stood up, ready to help even though a man the size of Klaus would crush him under his weight. “Not to worry everyone, I’m taking him home.” Steven smiled cheerfully, smug about being right all along. “They’re probably just sneaking out early, man it sure would be niiiice!” Zapp’s voice carried well even into the elevator. Oh how Klaus wished that was what this was.

Against all Klaus’s protests, Steven dragged him out and into the car with which Gilbert drove them home. The whole way there lasted all about ten minutes, but it was ten minutes of an extreme migrane and feeling car-sick because of it. Klaus only barely held on the whole way there! All through the journey Steven kept quiet too, arms crossed and leg crossed over the other... Klaus had learned to read Steven some as well and could already tell the man was angry.

“Why didn’t you tell me you get migranes?” Steven grumbled in a low tone as the two made their way through the hall to the bedroom for Klaus to change. “How did you guess?” Klaus had to lean onto a wall as he changed, feeling slightly better in the quieter environment, if only slightly. “You look like you’re about to hurl, you lean your head to a more comfortable position to ease the pain, your knees almost gave out under you-Alright Steven, I got it.” Klaus hadn’t meant to snap, but even Stevens voice felt so... Loud.

Steven’s features softened some as he walked over to helped Klaus to the bed, sitting him down gently. “Wait there.”

Klaus watched as Steven walked out, though only after dimming the lights and bringing the heavy curtains in front of the windows. He could vaguely make out the sounds of running water, chopping and finally the soft footsteps heading back. He’d even taken his shoes off... Everything to make sure Klaus didn’t feel any worse he already did. He should apologize for snapping, Steven had only meant well...

As soon as the door opened, Klaus had been ready to apologize for snapping earlier, but his mouth was left open at the sight of Steven. He’d switched to his pyjamas in the bathroom and with him he carried a bowl of steaming hot water, a towel and a cup of something that smelled very much like ginger root tea, made from real, fresh ginger root.

“Ginger root helps with nausea, if you can drink it while you��re like this...?” Steven spoke much softer than Klaus had ever heard him speak which made the large mans heart flutter. Nausea and fatigue aside, he could still appreciate how he absolutely adored Steven! “Yes...” Klaus was at his mercy now, unable to really say no to anything.

Klaus ignored the bite of the ginger in the hot water as he downed it all in one go. He was about to speak again, to apologize, but he was quieted down by the extremely pleasant feeling of a hot towel pressed on the back of his neck and the side of his pained head. “Nh...”

Steven chuckled quietly at the pleased sound Klaus made, leaning the big man back until he was rested in a half sitting, half laying down position against Stevens chest.

“Good?” “Good...” “Try and get some sleep, I wont move until you wake up.” “What if... What if I sleep till the morning...?” “Did I stutter?” “I love you.” “Love you too... Next time, take a painkiller, I hate seeing you in pain.”

[ciphertext-x]

HEY YOU

i need help to pay for my therapy

I know I’m not terribly active or involved with any fandoms out in the open here on tumblr.com, but I wanted to reach out to anyone who might be willing to help!

Around 3 years ago, I was the victim of an assault. A man entered my place of work and hit me over the back of the head with a full bottle of wine. Luckily, I had only the head wound - stitches and a headache - and no further physical injuries. Since then, I’ve stuggled tremendously with my mental health. I no longer enjoy reading or writing or drawing, most days it’s a struggle for me to get out of bed. I’m in my final year of a nursing degree, and I’m missing so much time because of my mental health. Friends have told me I’m not the same person I used to be.

It really doesn’t help that even AFTER this man has been to prison, he has been stalking me. He sent me a Facebook message (a breach of the non-harassment order he was given by the judge as part of his sentence), and he sent a hand-written love letter to my home address. That is all currently being dealt with by the police and the courts, which puts extra stress on me as I may have to appear before a judge to give evidence.

I live in the UK, where yes, our healthcare is free. However, I have been fighting the NHS for three years to try to get me the help I need, and nothing has been done. I have seen a mental health nurse several times for my problems, including possible PTSD as well as elevated anxiety levels and depression, and self-harm. This mental health nurse has forgotten about me time and time again, clock-watches when I see her, and I’m still waiting for her to call me and make an appointment she was meant to make six months ago. That last appointment, where she promised she would call me after I turned up at her office in hysterics with fresh cuts and she gave me an emergency prescription of anti-anxiety medication, was in March. I have also been fighting with doctors, and my latest appointment, the doctor told me “you can’t have PTSD because you’re not having flashbacks”. Which is the biggest load of bullshit. He was very dismissive, but gave me an anti-depressant after I practically had to beg him to do SOMETHING. This pill makes me feel very sick, currently, but I’ve only been taking it for around a week, so this side-effect may fade.

I’ve started seeing a private therapist because I just can’t keep living my life this way, and if the NHS won’t help me, I can’t sit around and wait for them to get their shit together. However, with that comes a cost. I am a student living away from home, and all of my small amount of monthly income goes towards rent, my phone bill, groceries, travel to and from placements and appointments, as well as supplies for university.

I’ve opened up my PayPal in the hopes that if anybody wants to and is able to support me in this, they will do so! I’m looking to raise about £400 in total as that should cover most of my sessions, however anything you can donate is appreciated! If you can’t donate, please consider reblogging! 

My PayPal is: ciphertext-x@hotmail.com

Please consider donating in GBP (British Pounds), although any currency is appreciated!

Thank you so much!

[topsyturvyturners-blog]

Turner Family Fanfiction - The Alphabetical Turners

B is for Bernadette!

He couldn't keep his eyes off of her as she stood between Sister Julienne and Sister Evangelina at the summer fair, her gaze fixed upon the Cubs as they continued to put on a show for the community. It had been three weeks since the day that he had kissed Sister Bernadette's palm whilst they had been stood in the kitchen of the Parish Hall and she had turned away from him, blushing crimson as he had silently berated himself. He knew that he should focus his attention on his son as Timothy was up on the stage with the other Cubs; that it was wrong to still feel the way that he did about Sister Bernadette, but he'd never felt more attracted to her. Did he want her so terribly because he knew he couldn't have her? Probably. Even though he'd only ever been blessed with a look at her facial features and nothing else, he'd still found himself wanting to take her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot her own name. Patrick hadn't needed to see any more of her physical aspects to love her. He adored her because of her heart.

He remembered when things had been rocky between he and Timothy after Marie had passed away and how they hadn't really had a relationship with one another. He had arrived to pick Timothy up once his school day had finished, parking his car outside the school gates to see Sister Bernadette sitting on a bench across the street with his son. She had been listening intently as her bicycle had been leaned up to the wall, her brow slightly furrowed as Timothy had continued to speak words that Patrick couldn't hear. When the two of them had noticed him crossing the street towards them, Sister Bernadette had gazed up at him with a small smile and Timothy had leaned back against the bench. 'Good afternoon, Doctor.' She had greeted him kindly before standing from the bench and watching as Timothy had stood, briefly thanked her for listening to him and then made his way over to the car. 'Timothy seemed a little upset when he came out of school and I had just finished my rounds for the day when I saw him. I thought I'd keep him company until you arrived, and then he started to tell me that the bullying hasn't stopped.' Patrick remembered how he hadn't had a clue that Timothy had been getting bullied while at school, since the two of them never really spoke much about it, but he figured that before they began to form a bond with one another he was more comfortable speaking to Sister Bernadette when he felt a little troubled.

Timothy and Sister Bernadette still had a strong bond nearly four years later, which was probably why there was a beautiful smile upon her lips as she watched him perform. Patrick figured that the bond that they shared was something along the lines of one between a mother and son. Sister Bernadette was kind and gentle towards Timothy whenever they were together, always asking him how his week of school had been and asking if he'd been receiving any more trouble. She never failed to make him laugh, even when he had fallen sick with influenza and she had come round to give him his injection. Patrick smiled as Sister Bernadette cast a glance over at him, a small smile forming upon her own lips as her gentle blue eyes had sparkled beneath her glasses. He had to admit that the new pair of spectacles that she had invested in were much more stylish than her rounded ones, the small cat-eye detail at either side of the frames making her look so much more attractive in his eyes. Oh, he adored her. He was lovesick. They held one another's gaze for several long seconds before they joined everyone else in applauding for the Cubs, breaking the little bubble that they'd become caught up in as they snapped back to reality. Sister Julienne turned to speak to Sister Evangelina and Sister Bernadette for a moment before she and Sister Evangelina made to weave their way through the crowd of people, Sister Bernadette looking at Patrick.

She made her way over to where he was standing with Timothy a few moments later, her heart pounding within her chest as Patrick blessed her with his charming side-smile that made her weak at the knee, Timothy noticing her before he hurried over to her and embraced her. She was slightly taken aback for a few moments until she smiled down at the young gentleman that she had become rather fond of over the last couple of years, allowing her fingertips to stroke slowly through his dark brown hair as his arms were around her middle and she could feel Patrick's gaze burning into her. When the embrace that she was sharing with Timothy had broken, he smiled up at her and allowed her to ruffle his hair affectionately before the two of them made their way over to his father. 'Good afternoon, Sister.' His tone was soft.

'Good afternoon, Doctor, you're looking well.' Her heart was pounding so fiercely within her chest that she worried that either he or Timothy would be able to hear the rapid thumps of it against her ribs. Even thought it had almost been a month since their brief encounter in the kitchen of the Parish Hall, she still couldn't shake the feeling of his lips upon her skin out of her mind whenever he was around. His warm brown eyes had made her heart race when he had looked into them, Sister Bernadette being unable to move or make any kind of noise. When he had closed his lips over the soft skin of her palm, she'd felt a warmth that she couldn't describe. A slight longing for him to pull her close to his chest and kiss her properly, removing her headdress and running his fingers through her hair. Yet, she had come back to her senses almost as soon as they had left her, sharply pulling her hand away as she had turned away from him. It wasn't that she had been angry with him for what he did, it was just that she had been scared.

She had been part of the Order since the beginning of July 1948, just before the NHS had started, and ever since she had begun to spend more time with Patrick at births and at Antenatal Clinics, she'd felt it in her heart that she wanted something different. She thought that her heart was trying to trick her, however, considering he had been happily married to his wife at that point. It was wrong for her to feel so strongly about him. However, now, the feelings were stronger than ever and she was troubled about what she was to do. Was she to leave the Sisters behind, the only proper family that she had ever had, to accept Patrick's love? Or was she to ignore the feelings that she felt for the man who had always been so compassionate and warm towards her, staying loyal to the Sisters? Just thinking about the two scenarios had her stomach in knots. 'Sister Bernadette?' Patrick's kind and gentle voice was what snapped her back to reality once more, a soft gasp leaving her. 'Are you alright? You're quite pale.'

'I'm sure it's nothing.' She offered him a reassuring smile even though she felt as though her face was on fire, her heart pounding madly once again. 'If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and get some water.'

She then turned away from the man that she wanted with every fiber of her body, her eyes stinging with the same tears that they'd done when he'd left her alone in the kitchen.

'Sister, I would appreciate it if you would explain to me how you're feeling.' Sister Bernadette's head snapped in the direction of where Patrick's gentle voice had come from, her grip almost relenting on the glass of water in her hand whilst he slowly made his way into the kitchen. 'As your Doctor, I know that you sometimes suffer from a little...breathlessness...' She felt herself tremble as he stood next to her and their gazes locked. 'But as your friend, I also know that you've been feeling some awkwardness around me since I pushed my luck in this very spot.' His voice had taken a slightly huskier tone since his gaze had dropped down to her hand, Sister Bernadette allowing him to take it kindly in his palm before he stroked his fingertips against the faint white line that had been left behind from the cut she'd had.

Kiss me. She begged silently as she watched him caress her palm with light strokes of his fingertips. Kiss my cheek, my hand, my arm, my wrist, anywhere! Just please...kiss me. Despite her slight need to have his lips upon her skin again, Patrick continued to stroke her hand with his fingertips as she felt her heart-rate slowly begin to even out. He used slightly more pressure when he placed his fingertips on the inside of her wrist, their eyes meeting again as he smiled kindly down at her. 'The perfect speed.' He spoke gently to her before she felt a rosy blush rising in her cheeks, a small smile forming upon her lips when he took her glass from her and set it down carefully on the kitchen counter. 'Sister, please let me tell you how sorry I am for-' She silenced him with a simple raise of her hand, a smile on his lips.

'Don't tell me.' She couldn't find the courage to meet her gaze as she was slightly shocked that she had even found the courage to speak, her heart beginning to speed once more as she closed the distance between them, their chests almost touching. 'Show me.' Her eyes fell closed for a moment as she knew that her words had shocked him, hearing the trembling breath he released. The next thing she could feel was his finger hooking beneath her jaw before he lifted her gaze to his, their eyes meeting as delicate tears were in hers and love was in his. 'I want,' A tear came from her eye. 'I need you to kiss me.' As he moved his strong and yet loving hand to cup the curve of her cheek in his warm palm, he leaned in to kiss the tear off of her skin and she felt herself begin to settle slightly with a sigh of satisfaction.

'There is nothing that I have ever wanted to do more.' He reassured her as he allowed his hands to cup the sides of her neck lovingly, his thumbs tracing her jaw as he smiled and the slight crinkles that he had at the corners of his eyes became more defined. 'My darling.' He breathed as he dipped his head to catch her lower lip in a long and tender kiss, her hands slowly finding his strong chest as she allowed herself to lean into him. The next thing she knew, his arms were slowly wrapping around her waist and he was drawing her flush against his chest as their lips caressed perfectly and she let out a light hum into his mouth, his hands travelling over her back through her habit as she stroked her fingers through his thick dark hair. 'I don't even know your name.' He breathed in between warm and delicate kisses.

'Shelagh.' She murmured as her hand slid around to the back of his neck and she rose slightly higher upon her tiptoes to better the angle of their mouths, feeling his lips curve up into a smile beneath hers.

'Patrick.' He replied as he cradled the back of her head through her headdress, allowing their lips to part several moments later as she returned back to her mediocre height and she gripped his shirt gently.

'There.' She breathed as they allowed their foreheads to kiss, the tips of their noses rubbing affectionately against one another's as she sucked her lower lip. 'We've made a start.' He chuckled in adoration.

They certainly had.

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, and please review! Next Chapter - C is for Cuddle! (Cheesy title, I know, but it means Turnadette fluff, so...)

[runthejoint-blog]

Investigation and diagnosis



The road to Paris


When I awoke at about 2am on the morning of May 4th, it wasn’t in excitement and anticipation that I was just a few hours later going to embark on the feat of endurance that is cycling from London to Paris within 24 hours as part of Challenge Sophie’s annual event. No, I awoke in agony with crippling pain in my right hand. I couldn’t form a fist without shooting pain and instantly felt a wave of anxiety flood over me. Not only did I wonder what was wrong with me, but I felt an immense sense of panic. How the hell was I going to cycle 200 miles with limited use of one hand? I was not just worried about the pain, more how would I handle the bike, grip the handlebars, and most importantly brake! I jumped out of bed and ran down to the kitchen to consume pain killers and anti-inflammatories and find a Rapid Ice to stick my hand into.



A few hours later Tom and I were on the train bound for the start line at Blackheath. The train was packed; standing room only, with our bikes precariously packed into the overcrowded carriage and my face crumbling in pain every time I was forced to grab the hand rail to hold on. I decided the best strategy was to keep moving my hand to avoid it seizing up further and gradually over the course of the day the pain abated.

Once the ride got underway the concern about the pain began to lift (in part because it did), mainly as we were confronted with unbelievable weather for the first May bank holiday weekend - torrential rain, followed by vicious hail and our fair share of strong winds - it was going to be challenging I appreciated, particularly as this was a last minute decision for me to join the ride, and had done no training, but this turned into a harrowing four hours on the first day. What on paper should have been a straightforward, and by our standards easy ride, was proving far from it. 



Arriving at Newhaven heralded an enormous sense of relief, the chance to consume copious amounts of carbs (a favourite hobby of mine, and probably the one I excel at the most) and most importantly change into clean and dry kit and begin the next challenge of drying out shoes and staying warm, not to mention trying to sleep on the five hour ferry crossing.



The morning of May 5th began in earnest with us joking that the predicted bad weather was nowhere to be seen. Gathering before dawn to start pedalling again, there was an atmosphere of sleep-deprived, good-natured hysteria. Little did we know that within seven miles the first freezing cold rain would begin, quickly followed up with a chaser of yet more ice-cold and truly vicious hail. Thank goodness we were part of a peloton of 120 riders who had made a pact to cycle the first 30 or so miles to breakfast as a group. Yes, it meant the pace was slower than maybe we would have liked given the conditions, but I genuinely don’t know if either of us would have kept going if we’d done this as an independent duo - we’re tough, but this reduced even the hardiest of riders to teeth-chattering wrecks (personally I blame the previous year’s participants, including Tom, for bitching about how they endured the start of the 2018 heat wave). At the breakfast stop (after what seemed like an eternity of riding) Tom and I stuffed as much food and coffee into ourselves as possible and tried to get warm (an impossible task, it turned out). I genuinely wondered if we should continue, I was particularly worried about Tom with his lack of corporeal padding, but on we went and eventually we made it to the Eiffel Tower with time to spare - 37 minutes to be precise. It had been hard, the weather and fatigue had been a challenge, but all pain had evaporated, or at least been replaced with the general ache of long days in the saddle and the effects of having been unbearably cold.

The road to diagnosis


I forgot about this weird hand pain and continued on my merry way, enjoying an immersive new job and putting my ever-growing tiredness down to spending nine hours a day at a desk staring at a computer screen, and my lifestyle transforming overnight from relatively active to largely sedentary. And then it happened again. About two weeks after the first attack, I was once again seized in the middle of the night by the same pain - overtaking my hand and wrist. It remained for the next 48 hours or so before my left hand began to hurt, although along the edges of my palm and wrist rather than the fingers and knuckles of my right hand. It struck me, it must be carpal tunnel. I knew it was something that tends to get progressively worse before you often need to resort to a surgical fix. A request for diagnosis from a couple of doctor friends over a drink in the pub one night, confirmed my Google self-diagnosis.

Sitting 36 hours later in a consultation room with a locum GP he told me it definitely wasn’t carpal tunnel and instead it sounded more like arthritis. He proceeded to unsuccessfully try and print off a request for blood tests and a prescription for anti-inflammatories to keep me going until the results came back. His inability to work the printer and the fact he didn’t agree with my Google-formed opinion (or that of my friends) instantly made me decide that I couldn’t trust this opinion (another doctor friend has since told me he is one of the best doctors around!). I am 29 years old, eight weeks away from my 30th birthday. I cannot have arthritis. So I duly trotted off to St Richard’s for a blood test the following Tuesday, and cracked on with the day to day.



Within 48 hours I received a phone call from the surgery; my usual GP would like to see me to discuss my test results. It didn’t need to be an urgent appointment, I was told, and so I assumed that the results had returned nothing and further investigation was needed. Nearly two weeks later I endured a 40 minute wait to see the Dr and safely ensconced in her office, she broke the news I had least expected to hear, and wanted to hear even less. At the age of 29 and now six weeks before my 30th birthday, the blood results showed I had arthritis. The tears came quickly, yet silently and trickled down my cheeks as it dawned on me what this could mean. My lovely, warm-hearted, good-humoured GP who has counselled me through so much over the past six months and has seen me transformed from an anxiety-ridden shell unable to speak back to a smily, bouncy, positive person told me not to get ahead of myself. Yes, it was highly unlikely I would be able to run the ultra-marathon I had only a couple of weeks before set my sights on. Yes, it was now a case that I would be medicated for life and have to practice damage-limitation to avoid any further degeneration of my joints. But, I could cycle, I could swim, do yoga, pilates and consider diet adaptions to keep the inflammation under control. The two of us quickly established that it was best for her to refer me to the rheumatology department at our local NHS hospital, but also to see a consultant who practised at the local private hospital so that I would know where I stand sooner rather than later.



You see, yes I can cycle. Cycling is in fact seen as one of the best activities for those living with arthritis. But is the cycling I choose to do going to be encouraged. Is powering up a 15% hill as hard as I can ok? Is putting everything into a sprint to beat my big brother to the coffee shop ok? How about a 2 week long endurance ride akin to the LEJOG challenge I completed last summer going to ruin me, or make me thrive? How about a week climbing in the Alps, Dolomites or Pyrenees? Or a 24 hour endurance challenge such as the one I completed when this whole sorry saga began? 

For those who know me even a little, they know that physical challenges are how I survive life. How I feel truly alive. Challenging myself physically, not knowing if I’ll complete it until the last millisecond, that is how I not only get my kicks, but keep my anxiety and greatest fears at bay and build confidence and belief in myself; something that only a few months ago had been eroded to non-existence. We often see such challenges and achievements as something to be celebrated; a sign of mental toughness as well as physical toughness. The other day someone who has endured hundreds if not thousands of miles pedalling next to (or more accurately in front of me) sent me a message saying: “you tend to push yourself very hard physically. I’ve observed many people in this regard, and your intensity is among the very best (worst?) I’ve seen.” Suddenly, someone whose opinion I had valued so much and who had always made me think that this commitment was a good thing, made me re-evaluate myself. Had I pushed too hard? Had I broken myself? Was I to blame for this?

Today, almost six weeks to the day since my symptoms began and five weeks before my 30th birthday, I met by consultant, Sanj. After he quizzed me on my symptoms, he came up with the analogy of me recounting my experience so far as akin to a Beatles song coming on the radio (familiar and instantly recognisable to him): there was no doubt in his mind that I had  inflammatory (or rheumatoid) arthritis. Again those silent tears sprung a leak. I guess I had this hope that he would disagree with the GP, say it was a one-off virus and nothing to worry about. No such luck, the exhaustion I feel is genuine, the pain in my elbow is not all in my head, it’s in fact totally swollen, the excruciating pain I have in my shoulder today is really there, and yes, it is why I feel physically sick - I’m a classic case; not worrying unnecessarily, I will feel like crap right now and it’s right I feel anxious and fearful for the future. He had a clever knack of giving me as much information as he felt was necessary but knew not to overload me or what could wait until we met again. I won’t know for another couple of weeks what the long term treatment will be, or what my most recent test results will suggest in terms of prognosis, but I do know that it will be a case of adaptation, ‘disease limitation’ and living life by evaluating truly how I feel each day. It might mean that sometimes the best laid plans will fall to pieces at the last minute, or I may even complete an unplanned challenge on the spur of the moment because I feel good. And that is going to be my biggest mental barrier to overcome. It’s ok to not put yourself under pressure every weekend to get out and put yourself through gruelling challenge, after gruelling challenge - I just need to remember that during my lowest moments.

How often do we say, “Oh I want to do that one day”? Make that day today, you never know what is round the corner. I thought I had years to enter Paris-Roubaix, the Tour of Flanders, cycle the Highland 500, run a marathon, run that ultra-marathon, cycle from the Channel to the Med - suddenly I am a lot less sure.



Keep this in mind: One day I will not be able to do this, today is not that day, but tomorrow could be. Don’t waste a day.


[thatrosylife]

Laugh at life's turbulence!

I haven’t updated this blog for quite sometime and there have been some huge changes, challenges and in my mind, miracles. After constant worry and anguish that I would never be able to find, let alone be successful in securing a new job, I did it! I put all the fear and pessimism to the back of my mind and took the plunge! I remember being told I had an interview and fear and panic consumed me, I thought “wow this is it, this is my chance”. I grabbed it with both hands and started preparing. I spent every spare moment I had to prepare, this was it, after 14 years of emotional bullying, I had an opportunity to finally leave my job and I wanted to make damn sure it happened. I even spent an entire afternoon sat in a lovely comfy pub on my own which takes guts, to prep prep prep. My interview came round pretty quick, I was full of excitement. My interview I felt went so well I was so happy. I though to myself “this is the job I want and this is where I know I need to be”. I had to come back down to reality the next day and back into my monotonous dark and toxic job. The only thing still niggling me was the anxiety of the travel and stress of a new role potentially making my symptoms worse. How would I cope? What would I do? Give up work completely? Answer to that, no! How would I know unless I at least tried. There I was sat at my desk one dreary morning and the phone rings, “we like to offer you the role”, the words circled through my mind over and over while feeling dizzy from the adrenaline. These words I had been so desperate to hear had finally been spoken. I was in shock and on cloud nine! Then the panic set in, but no, anxiety you are not spoiling this for me. I had a 2 week holiday to Mexico to look forward to and a new job, all in the same year I also nearly succumbed to depression. Wow what a year. I had my last day at work and after 14 years you’d think they’d be happy for me, jeez was I wrong. I don’t even think they deserve the words I am typing so I won’t waste my energy explaining it. My friends however made a lovely effort with a leaving speech for me and parting gifts. That was that, I was finally free. I felt a huge weight lift off me, what a relief it was like being set free from a prisoners camp (I imagine). Back to approaching holiday, I took half a benzodiazepine prior to flying which panicked me as I thought I was having a bad reaction but I was ok after 15 mins or so. After 10 hours we landed, got our transfer and wow, I was ok! I had been feeling a lot better since taking the Prozac so was basically in remission. I was having a wonderful time, feeling happy about starting my new job and then food poisoning hits me……why me?? It ruined the rest of the holiday but didn’t affect my symptoms and got home ok with the benzodiazepine again. Don’t think I just let it go, I am still in the process of claiming back from my holiday insurance. My first day in my new job, I get the early train, I want to be on time and make a good impression! Everything is going fine, everyone is very welcoming, kind and accepting. Then a huge wave on anxiety kicks in….jeez I wasn’t expecting that. Thoughts race through my mind “what have I done, is this the right decision, I can’t go back now”….I take a calm walk, meet a friend, calm down and carry on. I get the train home, break down in tears on Mick and then pull myself together. I try again the next day, expecting my symptoms to flare up due to the stress…..but they don’t. I was going to come off the Prozac before I started but Mick assured me this was a bad decision as I wouldn’t cope, boy was he right! It took me a few months to feel settled, I have made some lovely friends there, it is a wonderful team and I feel so lucky to have landed this job. Based on past experiences I feel this was a miracle, someone up there giving me a break! But however lucky I am I still have that dark cloud visiting me from time to time, yep you guessed it….depression! I was doing so well, ok I didn’t have the best confidence but who would starting a new job with unfamiliar faces and dynamics. I persisted through it thinking “this is a blip” but gradually I realised, I have been taking Prozac for 18 months now and was on 60mg per day, which is quite high really. I decided to take matters into my own hands and went to the doctor to change them, I was prescribed venlafaxine (Effexor). With the help from my hugely supportive manager I tapered off the Prozac and started the Effexor (quick release)….after a day or 2 I was presented with a whole host of side effects, some were expected but not as intense. I had a dry mouth like I had just eaten a bag of flour, grinding teeth which caused me to feel sick and anxious. Then the heightened anxiety! I give thanks that my work are very pro wellbeing and I was able to work from home in my own surroundings whilst enduring these awful side effects. One of the days I awoke with huge terror of leaving the house, I felt paralysed laying in bed. I got up and dressed but in tears of panic. Again I worked from home, but went back to the doctor who prescribed me the one a day slow release Effexor. He had no idea why the substitute doctor had provided fast release as these cause awful side effects, so note to everyone taking Effexor for the first time, don’t get the fast release! I've now been taking this for 3 weeks and have about another 1-3 weeks to start feeling the full effects but I’m getting there with the support of family and work. I have been listening to audio books, motivational you tube clips, colouring, exercising, Netflix bingeing and getting out in the sun for walks with the dog. I also immerse myself in my work to keep me feeling motivated and I really enjoy my job so that helps. I do this all to help keep the harmony and happiness that the tablets are not giving me at the moment. You are probably wondering why I take them, I have my dream job, I should be happy right? Not quite, depression takes over even if you have everything you could possibly want as some of you more than appreciate, but I also take these to control my stress and anxiety levels because if these increase, there is a chance my symptoms will relapse or get worse if not in remission. On a separate note, after several visits (private and NHS), procedures (lumber puncture, venography) they have come to the tentative conclusion that I have narrowing of blood vessels in the brain which is causing the symptoms, I am yet to get a formal diagnosis. This is mind settling after battling for nearly 10 years however the surgery to ease this is very invasive (stent inserted to widen vessels) and comes with life changing risks or even death. This is something I need to consider and weigh up the benefits. My symptoms are stable at the moment and I am eternally grateful for that, I think the idea of MdDS got ruled out by the consultant at Cambridge Hospital as I wasn’t showing the notorious sign, rocking. I had also travelled on the train for 2 hours everyday for work and get the elevator to the 7th floor and down numerous times a day at work. No symptoms triggered? And the floor moves where I sit and this also is fine. Who knows, I’ll have to wait for the diagnosis letter but I feel I’m there. To anyone out there battling for a diagnosis or battling with acceptance, it will come. I truly believe if you accept your “new way of life” your brain accepts it and adapts. Maybe I’m just lucky but it’s been a rocky road and it has not been easy. I’ve been subjected to emotional abuse from the people who were supposed to be helping me, closed doors in my face by ignorant doctors, loss of so called friends and wanting to end my life, but you have to keep going. Keep going for you! Laugh at what life throws at you! There is always a reason for the things that happen, good or bad. The trick is, when bad things happen, try your best to take a positive from the situation. Even if it is the tiniest thing, there is a positive in there somewhere. When you start to do this, all the bad things are just a bit of life’s turbulence. You are on a plane to happiness, there is always turbulence along the way. This is what grows us. If I hadn’t gone through everything I have, I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t be strong willed, determined and confident. Every time life throws me a curveball, I mentally stick my middle finger up and say “Try me” not why me! Remember god gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. Laugh at life, none of us make it out alive. Stay strong x

[mickey10213]

First off, the fanfic these reviews are left on is called Seductress by Wendbria. Here’s their link if you want to check out their amazing story. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9603596/1/Seductress

Now look at this. Look at these disgusting comments. These hateful reviews left on this fanfic. 

I’m sorry if the writer of this story doesn’t appreciate me doing this, but this is an example of one of MANY, and I mean MANY reviews that I’ve seen on MANY Hinata fanfics on fanfiction.net. Whether it be Hinata x Naruto, or Hinata x Sasuke (especially SH fics) or whatever, reviews like this are very common. Even some of my stories, NH and SH, got revolting comments thrown at me like these.

These are some of the “lovely” reviews left on two different stories of mine. The first one is a NaruHina story with other couples thrown in the mix. The second more lengthy one is on my Sasuke harem story, which I forewarned is going to eventually end with SasuHina as endgame. While I may have gotten an outpour of support from other amazingly kind reviewers on my NH story when I revealed that I have had many suicide attempts in my life years before, it still didn’t ease the fact that there was someone out there who took the time to sit there and tell me that I’m too worthless to live and as a result, I should off myself. It makes me even more upset to know that others are getting messages like this as well, all because they like Hinata and ship her with whomever. 

I’ve actually seen someone who received a message like this nearly quit writing and give into depression all because some asshole told her that she was a pathetic, delusional, loser virgin that should kill herself. I cried when I saw her nearly give in.

As someone with severe depression that still has thoughts of dying, it makes me literally sick and totally pissed off to see things like this. I just can’t comprehend what goes through someone’s mind when they type things like this to a LIVING FUCKING PERSON WITH ACTUAL FUCKING EMOTIONS OVER A FUCKING TWO DEMENTIONAL FICTIONAL FUCKING CHARACTER WHOSE EMOTIONS AND THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS ARE FUCKING WRITTEN AND DRAWN FOR THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s one thing to not like a character or ship from a series, that’s fine. Do You. But to send threats like this to someone who happens to like that character and ship because you don’t like it is not O-FUCKING-KAY! I don’t know who raised you to make you think that it was, but YOU are the fucking pathetic delusional ones since you think that insulting someone and telling them to kill themselves is all hunky dory!

I’m seriously sick and tired of this being a popular thing to do when someone likes or writes something you don’t agree with! IT’S FUCKING RUDE AND DEPLORABLE! IT’S INHUMAN! 

I DO NOT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT WHAT CHARACTER YOU LIKE OR WHAT SHIP YOU LIKE, IT’S NOT AN EXCUSE FOR YOU TO TELL SOMEONE TO GO KILL THEMSELVES! AND IT NEVER WILL BE!

There are people out there that can take your words with a grain of salt and brush it off due to being used to things like this (which should never be a thing to be used to in the first place). But then you have those few who will actually take your words to heart. Those few who actually enjoy writing. Those that use it as an outlet to distract them from things going on in their lives. Those who may have issues that you don’t even know about. They may take what you carelessly say and actually believe and commit to it. If you don’t believe me, I’ve already stated that I’ve been so close to seeing it happen once already. Who knows how many people more were actually affected by these kinds of messages. 

If you are someone who has been on the receiving end of threats like these, I know it’s hard, but please don’t take their repulsive comments to heart. Whether you like Hinata or you like Sakura, or an entirely different character from Naruto or another series, it should never be considered a deciding factor on whether or not you should live or die. Continue to live and love yourself and the things that make you truly happy. You deserve it. Especially if you have unwarranted comments thrown your way. 

If you are someone that is sending hate like this to someone, reread everything that I said above. Reevaluate your life and think hard about whether or not you truly want to be responsible for someone's pain over a FICTIONAL CHARACTER FROM A SERIES THAT YOU BOTH SO HAPPEN TO LIKE. Also, think about how you would feel to receive hate like that over something so trivial. And think about what someone else might be going through before you send pettiness their way. 

This “kill yourself virgin” trend needs to stop. It’s dangerous and revolting and upsetting. Words can affect someone more than you know. So I am begging you, please stop before it’s too late. 

Thank you for reading. I’m sorry that this is so long, but I just wanted to get my point across, which I’m hoping that I did. 

Please don’t kill yourself.

[cassolotl]

Self-diagnosis in relation to doctors, Tumblr, and the disability community generally

In which I continue to be baffled by people who are against self-diagnosis, complete with descent into a frustrated “get over yourself” rant at the end.

~

So a few weeks back I wrote a thing about doctors failing a lot of autistic people, and celebrating that autistic people are diagnosing themselves and finding community.

I’d like to add that getting formally diagnosed was really helpful to me, on a personal level and also on a practical one - having a bit of paper from a doctor saying I’m autistic has allowed me to have access to various services much more easily, and it’s also taken away any doubt that I am autistic and I do experience various legitimate difficulties as a result of that. It’s helped me to accept myself, and even though it shouldn’t it has helped other people accept me as I am too.

So yeah, I am accepting of people who self-diagnose but alongside that I do also encourage people to get formally diagnosed if they think it might help them. It’s not like you can’t accept and appreciate both methods of self-discovery, you know?

But the reason I’m here is to talk about the reality of seeking diagnosis and how that fits with self-diagnosis.

~

My story starts sometime last year. I’d been unable to work for about 10 years due to, basically, tiredness - since I was 20-21ish. (So by the time I started to feel my life was severely negatively impacted by this condition I was probably older than most people who get hassle for self-diagnosing on Tumblr, right?) I couldn’t keep a job or even volunteer work because I kept calling in sick for tiredness. In the end I gave up. The GP tested my blood and told me that I wasn’t anaemic and didn’t have a thyroid condition, so they slapped on me the label of chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS). There was no known cause or cure, and the treatment was graded exercise and CBT. She told me that with no other symptoms it’s considered by the NHS a psychological condition, and I supposed at the time that that meant it was psychosomatic, or like being unable to get out of bed due to depression. I was in my early 20s and not very familiar with the medical system, and I had no idea was autistic, and I just accepted the diagnosis. I was never really satisfied, because it felt like a cop-out, but I accepted it as best I could and moved on. I know now that CFS is usually not a condition on its own but probably a symptom with an underlying cause.

Fast-forward a few years, and I’d been diagnosed with autism and after some fighting the system I was getting support in my day-to-day life. I was around people who loved and accepted me, and I was getting therapy that was helping with, among other things, my autistic difficulties.

One day I noticed that my lower left leg felt weird. It was lighter and it felt kind of nice actually. It took me a few minutes to work out that this weird feeling was the feeling of a healthy, pain-free muscle. It felt weird, in other words, because it didn’t hurt. I had forgotten the feeling of no pain in my lower left leg. But the entire rest of my body felt this other thing - heavy, tired, unpleasant. You know, like normal, the way it feels every day from when I wake up in the morning to when I go to sleep at night. The thing that gets worse every time I walk around or up and down the stairs. I was so accustomed to pain that I thought pain was normal and how everyone felt, and a lack of pain wasn’t just a shock, it was difficult to recognise.

I realised that maybe my tendency to feel less tired and sleepy after taking painkillers might be a bit weird. I thought I was having a strange reaction to painkillers, in a caffeine way somehow, and I felt I shouldn’t take painkillers if I’m not in pain because that would be an unhealthy dependency.

But what if...

Everything is different when you’re autistic. I came to terms with the idea that my entire body is in pain all the time, and my brain has just stopped processing it as such. Even when I am paying attention and listening to my body and really feeling everything as best I can, I can detect no pain whatsoever. When it gets bad I feel like I have to go to bed and maybe nap, but when I get to bed I can’t sleep - and it’s because I’m not sleepy. I’m in pain, and I feel better for lying down in a nice comfortable bed in a safe place. And when I take painkillers, I magically feel better again.

Going to the GP about this wasn’t going to work. It could be anything. All-over pain could be a neurological problem, it could be cancer, it could be anything. I knew from experience that going to the GP with no other information wouldn’t work, because the fact that I hadn’t even been feeling the daily full-body pain I was in meant that unexpected diagnostic questions would confuse me and I would probably answer “I don’t think I have that” to everything. Yay autistic masking! \o/ She would say, as GPs have been saying to me for a long time, something like “I can write you a sick note and diagnose you with chronic pain but unless we have more symptoms to go on I can’t refer you to a specialist.”

However, for a while now I had been somehow connecting with people who had EDS. I followed people on Twitter who had it and even though I didn’t on a conscious level realise that we had things in common because they had pain and I thought I didn’t, I felt a kinship. I remembered the kinship I felt with autistic people before I realised I might be autistic too, and I made the connection.

For several months I self-diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS). It’s a rare genetic condition that affects your collagen, which in some people is very serious. Wikipedia told me that the classical type is experienced by 1 in 20,000-50,000 people. Surely it is really weird to leap to the conclusion, out of the blue, that I have this one very specific and rare condition? It seems so improbable. But when I looked at people with EDS, their lives were so much like mine. Their coping mechanisms and management strategies that they’d come up with deliberately to deal with their EDS were so similar to the stuff I was doing by accident just to get from day to day. If I had the same symptoms and therefore the same diagnosis it would explain everything that isn’t covered by autism and being trans.

So I went into research mode. It took months. That’s how it is when you’re autistic, alexithymic, and are very bad at self-reporting. The Beighton Score part was easy because they’re bodily tests you can do yourself at home with clear results - but for the rest, sufferers of chronic illness will remember the feeling of discovery that goes, “wow, I thought everyone had that?” It was much more difficult than that for me. For every symptom, I had to fight through layers of “but I don’t have that” and “okay maybe I have that but surely not more than most people” and “but if I had this surely my mum would have done something about it when I was a kid” and “I have this but I don’t dislike it so surely that can’t be a symptom.” Because when you’re alexithymic, sometimes you kinda lack the feeling that is like, this is unpleasant, I’d rather this was better, and actually maybe that’s possible. Sometimes things that cause other people great discomfort don’t even register to you as unpleasant. Yay alexithymia.

I had to trick myself into acknowledging my symptoms. I had to compare myself to other people in a way that wasn’t dismissing my own experience, which was a very new thing for me. “I experience this, yes, but have I ever actually heard anyone else complaining about experiencing it themselves? If not, it is probably safe to assume that my experience is unusual and causing me problems, therefore relevant to a doctor.”

I had a Google Document bookmarked in my browser, with headings for each symptom of EDS. I mulled the symptoms over in the back of my head for a long time, writing down symptoms as I became sure of them. Such is my symptom-normalisation that it took months to add these to my list:

Joints dislocating (or partially dislocating) without trauma such as a fall on a regular basis;

Dizziness and passing out from movement or exercise that shouldn’t normally cause dizziness and passing out;

Stomach aches pretty much every day.

During this process, the company who provide my support decided that my care plans didn’t fit their company policy of involving the service user in their care as much as possible. They rewrote my care plans to include constant references to me doing at least part of every activity, with a view to me eventually becoming self-sufficient and no longer needing their care. I explained to them that I was discovering that I had EDS, and could they acknowledge that sometimes I just need people to do things for me so that I had more energy to be independent on my own later. They refused. They said that they would not provide support for EDS until I was diagnosed. They said, in fakey neurotypical language, that they didn’t think I had EDS. They ended our contract over it, a couple of weeks before I was due to attend my rheumatology appointment, and all of this while constantly saying that their service was person-centred. Not that I’m bitter.

A lot of people would doubt their self-diagnosis and stop trying to see a specialist at this point. But I went through similar stuff when I worked out I was autistic and people with power over me didn’t believe me, so I kept going anyway. If I saw a specialist and they told me I didn’t have EDS, at least I’d know.

I started to say openly online that I had EDS. People with EDS accepted me immediately, completely, and without question. But I knew that there were people out there who would tell me that they wouldn’t take me seriously until I was formally diagnosed, and would assume (since I blog on Tumblr) that I was just doing it to get disability points or whatever. “They say they’re nonbinary, autistic, asexual, aromantic, and now they’ve decided they have a rare genetic condition. Yeah, right. I guess their oppression points aren’t getting them enough attention. What a special snowflake.” For serious, the frequency with which I am assumed to be a teenage girl will not be at all surprising to a lot of people reading this. My reluctance to disclose my age and gender online gets me accused of teenage girlhood by TERFs and Tumblr-haters all around, especially if they know I’m on Tumblr. In reality I’m 30, mostly post-transition as openly nonbinary with the kind assistance of the NHS, and formally diagnosed with everything I say online that I have. (I do have some things that I’m not formally diagnosed with, and those are MH things that I don’t trust the NHS with for many legit reasons and I don’t talk about them online much.)

I learned that the type of specialist professional who can diagnose me is a rheumatologist. Eventually I made an appointment with my GP and printed out my symptom list document for her. It began, “if you’re reading this I think you can help me get diagnosed with and treated for Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.” For each symptom I described the severity and how often I experience it. From my 10+ years of GP dismissal for bad periods that turned out to be endometriosis requiring a hysterectomy, I remembered the magic words: “I’d like a referral to a [specialist] please.”

My GP happily referred me to a rheumatologist at my request, and I was on their waiting list for a few months. When I eventually arrived my document of symptoms was even longer; I’d managed to clarify a few more while I was on the waiting list.

I have told you this story to show you how long I prepared for my diagnosis appointment, how much effort I put into diagnosing myself and how much I had to know to even see a specialist who could diagnose me - and to emphasise how anticlimactic getting a diagnosis actually is.

The rheumatologist was very kind. He read through my document, which took a few minutes. And then he said to me, in neurotypical language so I’m hugely paraphrasing and he did not sound this rude in real life:

“I don’t know why you’re here. You know you have EDS, you don’t need me to confirm it. You know there’s not much I can do to treat you, and you’ve had it all your life so at 30 years old you have come to terms with the symptoms and you have lots of coping mechanisms and self-management techniques.”

He was kind and listened to my concerns. Here they are in bold, along with the rheumatologist’s response.

I’m not a doctor, I can’t ever be really sure, I wanted to talk to a doctor to confirm it because maybe I have something else kinda similar or I’m just wrong. “You have most of the symptoms, and you’re well-informed. You seem to be a pretty clear case to me. What can I do to help?”

Perhaps there are treatments or services that you can help me access? “It’s mostly a case of managing it all yourself at home on your own. Try to go out for a walk every day, and don’t rely on your knee braces because your knees need to get strong enough to support themselves and knee braces won’t help with that. But you will probably always experience this cycle of crashing and having to build up your strength again very very slowly. No one else can really help you with that.”

I’d like a bit of paper to show to people who want proof of my EDS, like the DWP (who provide income for disabled people in the UK) and support companies. “The DWP don’t care about bits of paper. They ask you to do a series of exercises like lifting your arms and moving your head around.”

This last one was difficult to hear, because the DWP would indeed declare me fit for work based on their usual tests, and the only thing that gets me out of that situation is letters from medical specialists describing my symptoms. Me describing my own symptoms is not proof enough. To put it another way, me saying “I experience daily pain all over my body” is not proof to the DWP, but a doctor saying “Cassian tells me they experience daily pain all over their body” is totally strong evidence.

The fact is that the support company who ditched me should not have needed a piece of paper saying I have EDS to provide me with support that suits my needs. They were happily providing me with support for autistic difficulties despite never having seen a diagnosis letter. They should have listened to me stating my needs, and then written care plans that suit those needs. But like the DWP, a piece of paper from a doctor saying “Cassian has these symptoms” carries more weight than me saying “I have these symptoms.” It’s kinda twisted, and my diagnosing doctor didn’t know it, but that’s how it is.

So basically, this is all to tell you that people on the internet totally trash self-diagnosed people on the internet, and say “I’m not gonna believe you unless you get a formal diagnosis, you’re making people who really have these conditions look bad, please stop” - but when you actually do get to see a doctor they have no problem whatsoever with self-diagnosis and they don’t understand why anyone would seek diagnosis for a condition that they already know they have. Doctors, they know, are for working out what’s wrong with you. If you already know the name of your condition, you don’t need to talk to them. If you are successfully self-managing and don’t need treatment, you don’t need to talk to them. And as far as they are concerned, you shouldn’t need to have a diagnosis letter to have your needs recognised and respected by companies and local authorities when seeking support.

“But Cassian,” some people will say, “you are quite a special case. You’re older and more experienced than most self-dxers on Tumblr, you did a lot of research for a long time, you did everything right. It’s a spectrum, you know? Your self-diagnosis was valid, but there’s a lot of blatant fakers out there on Tumblr.” NO SHUT UP. You cannot judge people on the internet like that! You know nothing about them and their life! And even if you feel doubtful of their self-diagnosis because of the way they talk about it or whatever else superficial reason, that doesn’t mean that they are making it up! You deciding that I am legit and they are not is PURE PREJUDICE and you can take your backhanded compliments elsewhere!

So like, let’s just go over that in very clear words so you know where I stand. I understand that diagnosis and disability and mental illness are complex and nuanced issues, BUT. Self-diagnosis doesn’t magically become invalid just because you say it does, and holy crap even if teenagers on Tumblr were giving everyone else a bad name no one would know because doctors and the DWP and local authorities and anyone who has any power over us at all DON’T H*CKING USE TUMBLR and have no idea that you think teenagers are making it up for attention. All of this tug of war between “self-diagnosis is valid (��◡‿◡)~” and “self-dxers are attention-seeking Tumblrinas that give legit sufferers a bad name” happens in a little internet bubble that the VAST MAJORITY of people are blissfully unaware of, Jeeeesus Christ on a bicycle.

Okay, thanks for listening, I’m glad to get that out of my system.

~

[Also posted to Medium.]

[bountyofbeads]

Washington Prepares for a July 4 Spectacle, Starring and Produced by Trump https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/03/us/politics/trump-military-tanks.html

Just a few thoughts from everyday Americans on Trump's "Salute to America" parade. Could not find one positive thought on this 4th of July spectacle in the article below. I felt the commentsfor this article were far more important than the article's contents.

"Military parades displayed by dictators like Kim Jong Un in Pyongyang and Vladimir Putin's Red Square all had tanks and mobile missiles rolling down the center of the street. They were propaganda statements of military might and strength, sending a message to the world that these lethal weapons could be used wherever and whenever the leaders decided it was necessary. Trump's paltry parade, however, will not include moving heavy tanks, artillery and missile launching vehicles but it underscores the stunning exhibition of the weak-minded, ignorant and immoral Perversion occupying the Oval Office. A few days after his meeting with Trump at the DMZ Kim Jong Un slammed Trump's pathetic attempt to sweet-talk his way into getting the brutal leader to bend his way in ridding the regime of nuclear weapons. It collapsed and all of Trump's attempts at conning Kim Jong Un and Vladimir Putin, both of whom played Trump like a fiddle in the G-20 in Japan, Hanoi, Helsinki, Singapore and the DMZ in Korea, failed. Trump's disjointed and incoherent ramblings ring more hollow with each day and with each inane tweet he leans on to express his jabberwocky and childish, bullying vocabulary that few take seriously. Trump has become the laughing stock of the world while transforming America into a pariah state as bad or worse than the North Korean regime. Trump's only biggest button is bravado and ego." RICHARD, AUSTIN TX

"What I am really looking forward to is Independence from Trump Day, and it can't happen soon enough!" PB, UTAH

"Trump’s hijacking of America’ Independence Day is a sick display by a sick personality. It says more about how easy it is to give up your ideals and give into greed, hate, fear, and all the other darkest impulses that humans are heir to. It’s about displaying moral and ethical weaknesses rather than standing up to a narcissistic, sociopathic bully. America is in decline when it joins in with and embraces the spirit of the worst monsters in human history. Our Communist style military parade is nothing to be proud of." GROVE, CA

"July 4th is about our Constitution and "Western Values" (not California values Donald). It is not about our military which I honor. Trump flaunts the rule of law daily and then on the very day we celebrate our constitution and independence he pushes everybody aside and flaunts it even more. This is disgusting." HARVEY, NC

"It's remarkable that there are tens of millions of people who will never see or dare admit that this as an astonishingly grotesque side show of parody upon parody. Barnum and Bailey's Flying Circus." MARK, TUSCON

"We have been a military family for over 30 years. The best way to honor veterans and military members is to let them enjoy the holiday with their family." MARY BARBER, MIDDLE AMERICA

The pictures of tanks in front of the Lincoln Memorial are obscene. The is hallowed ground that inspires reflection, dignity and peace. Those tanks are a jarring contrast surrounded by the white granite. They are a desecration of all Lincoln represents.

APPARATCHICK, KENNASAW, GA

"@Honeybee daughter of a Marine, who served in Vietnam in the Navy and WW2 grandfather who was in a tank destroyer unit - we don't appreciate having the military used as political pawns. The US military does not have to parade and show its strength. Trump had a chance to serve in the military but he deferred how many times, I forgot, he has bone spurs and partying with women. Please respect the military and their families service and sacrifice."

YOLANDA PEREZ, BOSTON

" Everyone already understands the important role the military plays in keeping our nation and our world safe for democracy. We don’t need visible, tangible reminders on the Malll to make the point. A cartoon gesture by a cartoon president." ADAN, SAN FRANCISCO

"Isn't it ironic that our Independence Day would be marked by a display befitting a dictatorship?" AN OF NY

"I am extremely proud of my sailor and support showing appreciation for the young men and women who serve our country. I also advocate for taking care of the veterans we keep creating with our forever wars. Lastly, I love parades, fireworks and bands. However, regardless of what Trump and the RNC claim, this is not a celebration in honor of our independence or our military. It's a giant Trump rally at the taxpayers' expense. What are the odds that Trump is going to give an obscene and rambling campaign speech about how great his is and disparage democrats? I'm certainly not going to bet against it." PATTY O, FLORIDA

"Originally, 1,000 troops were supposed to attend the event, but that number was whittled down to 300 — including about a dozen who were ordered to build a platform for the tanks to keep from damaging the ground beneath, one of the department officials said. Another military official said troops are would be disassembling the tank stands and cleaning up at 2 a.m. Friday morning, after the celebration ends." "Some military units stationed in the capital region are having difficulty getting enough troops to carry out these mundane tasks on such short notice because many troops are already on leave for the holiday." ---- In other words, Donald Trump is humiliating members of the military by ensuring they indulge in quasi-slave-labor away from their families on a holiday so Donald can gratify his authoritarian ego. What an incredible daily disgrace to the nation's military this man is. Nobody sinks to the occasion like Donald Trump." SOCRATES, DOWNTOWN VERONIA, NJ

"A vainglorious parade for a narcissistic president, while children are left in squalid conditions in cages. The GOP should be so proud; America not so much." PAUL R, CALIFORNIA

"The US doesn’t need to parade the military to prove anything. It is actually a show of weakness, not strength.. trump is doing this to try to prop up his weak mindedness and insecurities. Sad." JOE ROCK BOTTOM, California

"Wow, what a great way to thank our troops, having them work countless extra hours around the holidays (for which they do not get paid anything extra) and cleaning up people’s trash at 2am. I’m sure they will feel like true American heroes and valued members of our nation." ROB, BROOKLYN EXILE

"It is amazing, just how fast America has become like Russa. The concentration of wealth, the development of an autocratic government, and now tanks on our streets." KING PHILIP, NH

"Trump is a sick and dangerous man. He poses a real and present danger to the liberty of every American and a danger to the world. His threat to our Republic becomes more apparent every single day. I fear for the future of our country if this man is allowed to serve the remainder of his term, let alone another. The House needs to do its duty under the Constitution immediately and not put politics above Country. That is what Trump and McConnell do. True patriots in the House must act immediately."

HORACE, DETROIT

"How utterly absurd for us to go through this much effort to get our military to celebrate a draft-dodging coward. I thought I had it bad serving under W." CHRIS HINRICHER, OSWEGO NY

"It would be more appropriate to have a parade of golf carts driven by his appointees and children." JAY, SILVER SPRINGS, MD

"The last time I recall seeing tanks moving through the Capital city of a nation, when that nation had full territorial control of the city, and no external threat requiring military use was present, was Tiananmen Square."

JMH, CMH

"True strength is not having to display it for the purpose of a spectacle. And certainly not in front of the Lincoln Memorial, which has to me always had the air of a church of democracy. I lived in DC for 20 years and never tired of standing there and watching foreign tourists hush when they approached Lincoln’s statue and then turn and read the Gettysburg Address carved on the wall. Some even cry. So Mr. Trump defiles that place today. Retired Marine"

LIGHTNING 14, OUT IN AMERICA

"The only parade that I want to watch is Trump in an orange jumpsuit headed for Rikers Island. I'll be right there cheering!" YOUNG GEEZER, WALLA WALLA

"Military Parades are the stock and trade of dictators and strongmen that rely on weapons to intimidate their citizens and neighbors. The entire Nation and the world is fully aware of the military capabilities of the United States. Unfortunately Trump has not only dictatorial leanings but also a fragile ego that need boosting constantly. Even the least imaginative person can think of hundreds of better ways to spend a few million dollars other than this superfluous parade. What a poor excuse for a President." DANIEL MESSING, NEW YORK CITY