#and i did NOTHING id need therapy for the guilt i could NOT live with that. so i made a call i never wanted to make

[timeisacephalopod]

Ended up calling CAS (Canadian CPS Americans) and I did not expect to have complicated feelings on such a thing because it's not as if the call wasn't needed years ago if I'm honest, but I typically do not like involving myself in such things especially when so many people make frivolous calls to cops and agencies like this. Seriously, child abuse is the crime that receives the most false accusations and of course I'm not talking out my ass, but I also don't want to disrupt a bunch of kids lives over their mothers bullshit.

On the flip side me messing around with their lives at this point is probably the best option for them and that's not something I say lightly, I told the guy twice I was making that call with a heavy heart but what little I know is deeply disturbing to me. And specified that I believe my oldest niece is the primary victim in part because she's a vocal kid, good for her. But that's done, I can at least know I tried for those kids and did what I could to make myself sound credible and give what info I know even if I made it clear that I don't know probably anything really. But I'm tired of waiting for change from someone who isn't capable of it. Those kids need better, it's not like I didn't wait 13 years for her to do better by those kids. It's not like I said anything untrue to anyone involved either, so complicated feelings or not know I didn't just run around making nasty frivolous phone calls. I'm genuinely concerned my oldest niece will end up dead and that the only thing done about it on shitheads end will be protecting my nieces murderer and if I did nothing about that I'd never be able to live with it.

[mrslilyrogers]

All I Have To Do Is Dream

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all. 

Author’s note: I know I’ve been gone for so long, I’m sorry!! I loved these requests and decided to merge them together. Took a while to write, I haven’t had much inspiration. I’ll keep this short and hope you enjoy this!! Let me know what you think!  

Requests: hi!! first of all i adore your writing (esp. betrayal)!! id willingly chop two of my limbs in exchange of ur writing skills hahah!! can you maybe write a oneshot similar to take my breath away, and the reader and steve are dating, but they’re actually in steve’s dream(like in age of ultron) and she is sad that steve’s still hasn’t moved on from peggy?? and can you make it extra angsty?? sorry if this is too much hehe!! thanks btw :))

Hmmm maybe angst w/ Steve or Bucky where a misunderstanding/bad fight leads to the reader leaving the team?

“Damn it, Steve! Would you just listen? Where the hell are you even going?” your voice boomed around your small apartment as you breathed harshly, trying your best not to pull your hair out of frustration. 

At first, it had all been just petty disagreements, you and Steve letting off some steam after the snap happened. You had thought it was normal at the time, a coping mechanism that needed to be flushed out of your systems never expecting that it would last for as long as it has. Five freakin’ years. By now, you would’ve thought you’d realize how lucky you were to still be alive, to still be together while others couldn’t say the same. And yet...

“Geez, Y/N. I am! For the past 30 minutes! And I’m telling you now what I’ve told you from the start,  I am not ready! You gotta give me more time, doll.” He replied, his voice just a tad calmer than yours but you didn’t miss the tick in his jaw as he walked out of your shared room, shrugging into his jacket. You knew his anger was just brewing inside, ready to attack if you pushed just a little bit harder. After countless back-and-forths, this had become a routine between the two of you with Steve always taking the role of the aggrieved party, ending arguments with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes before he walked away, deciding he had something better to do with his precious time than fight with you. While you, on the other hand, always found that more infuriating, making you impatient and mean, baiting and nagging him until you wouldn’t even recognize the shrill and whine to your own voice.

“And when would that even be? It’s been five years since the snap. When will—”

“Don’t you dare bring that up!” his voice rose, eyes glaring at you as he whirled around, his jaw clenched. “Don’t use that excuse on me, you know damned well I know it. Why do you think I chose to move on and be with you instead of helping Nat bring them all back, hmm?” He continued mockingly as if you were stupid enough not to understand. 

This was it, what all your petty arguments had narrowed down into;

Despite what he said, he still wasn’t ready to settle down. 

“But what the hell are we doing now, Steve? We’re not getting any younger! I want to have kids, a family, with you!” You knew you sounded pathetic, and desperate all at the same time but you couldn’t help but continue, the pretty picture already clouding your brain, 

“Can’t you see it? Having children of our own, their drawings hung up on the walls, the dog you’ve been wanting to have since forever running around the house, family barbecues...” your voice trailed off, a lump forming in your throat, your eyes glazing over with unshed tears. It was all within your grasp, so easily reachable if only Steve agreed with you. If only he wanted it too. Anger bubbled up to the surface while he bristled, looking annoyed. 

 “We can have all of that, you know. What are you even waiting for? Will you ever be ready? Because it really feels like you won’t and I’m the only one who actually wants this,” You were unrelenting, thinking of Tony Stark’s family, how they had gone off the grid and had their own little piece of heaven. Crossing your arms, you knew you wouldn’t achieve anything by becoming a nag but your patience was already wearing thin. 

“Jesus, Y/N! Why would you even say that? Of course I want a family with you! I’m just not ready for that yet! Just give me more time,”

Shaking your head, you let out a defeated sigh and looked away from him. You could hear him grabbing the keys from the counter, exhaling loudly before he went up to you and ran his hands down your arms soothingly, willing you to understand. When you didn’t budge, he just pleaded as he always had, 

“I love you, you know I love you. But I need to get to this meeting, those people need me, Y/N. Could we please just talk about this later?” He moved his head lower to meet your eyes and even in your state of anger, you knew you couldn’t say no to that. He took your begrudged nod as an assent, kissing your forehead before he turned to leave. What else were you going to say anyway? He was going to lead a therapy session for people who had lost their loved ones. Guilt ate at you for keeping him here when he so desperately wanted to save the world. People needed him too, not just you. They hung on his every word. They needed their Captain America, their symbol of hope. While, here you were, acting like a child because he wouldn’t let you have your way. 

Letting out another sigh, your gaze stuck to the floor, berating yourself at how selfish you’d become. You knew what you were getting into when you dated him. You had no illusions of being the center of his universe, it was always going to be the people. But still, it would’ve been nice to be put first for once. You hated the tandem feelings of jealousy and guilt that always crept up on you after your fights. You just wished he understood that while those people needed their hero, you needed your Steve too. But as time passed, it seemed like the man and the hero were indistinguishable and you’d been deluding yourself into thinking it could be different. You’d just have to accept that too because living without him wouldn’t even be an option. 

He paused by the door, catching sight of your slumped shoulders. “Hey,” he said softly, striding back to you. 

“You know I love you, right?” he stroked your cheeks and you couldn’t help the turn of your lips. Nodding slowly, you rolled your eyes at how easy you were for him. 

 “I know. I’m sorry,” 

Ducking down to give you a quick peck on the lips, he reassured you again, “We’ll talk about this later, I promise,” then he gave you one last kiss to your forehead before he disappeared. But what once would’ve eased your worries did nothing to quell your nerves now. Your heart believed everything was alright but your gut said otherwise. 

_______________

He looked down at the worn, brassy compass in his palm, his mind years away from where he was, unaware that you were standing by the door. You watched his shoulders relax into a defeated sigh, his eyes never leaving her picture. You couldn’t remember when he ever looked at you like that, all the love and longing etched on his face. He brought his other hand up to caress the picture gently, as if he actually imagined she was with him, a small, sad smile forming on his lips. You felt the air knock right out of you while you scrambled out of there feeling as if you’ve intruded on an intimate moment. You couldn’t help the tears falling from your eyes while you convinced yourself it was nothing. He had just lost his best friends, she was a symbol of his past. He just missed that right? 

You paced around the kitchen, your mind running back to the times you’ve caught him staring at Peggy’s picture. All those times you pretended you didn’t notice how frequently he had been doing it these past few years. His voice, an echo in your head, 

“I’m not ready, just give me more time doll, please,” 

Closing your eyes, you buried your face in your hands. Oh, it would be so easy, you thought. All you had to do was get into his mind and see for yourself. One little, fast trip into his thoughts and you’d get your answers. He’d be none the wiser, no one need ever know except you. And your dignity, and your pride and your principles. Ugh.

He trusted you, you promised never to use your powers on him and yet, that was all you could ever think about now. Did he think of her when he thought of the family he wanted? Was it her face he saw, walking down the aisle to him? 

For the first time in your life, you hated your upbringing at the Xavier Institute. You hated the values and principles they instilled in you, the very reason you were adamant not to use your powers on the unwilling and unsuspecting for your own personal gain even though you were going crazy, craving for your own peace of mind. Deep down you knew, promise to Steve or no, you couldn’t go through with it. 

You looked at the clock, thirty minutes to go before his meeting ended. Grabbing your coat from the rack, you impulsively decided to go to him, promising yourself you weren’t going to nag and argue with him but have a normal conversation like you used to. You haven’t had a date in a long while anyway. Maybe a little spark of romance was all you really needed. 

_____________

Your steps echoed on the linoleum floor, walking past the empty hall to follow the directions to the room where the meeting took place. Rubbing your palms together, you spotted the room. The fluorescent lights hanging above casting a lonely pallor to the already gray walls while the rain poured heavily outside. The gloom, an inevitable reminder of what the world has become. It seemed everywhere people went, there was always a reminder of what they’ve lost. Even on an otherwise unblemished sunny day, the vibrancy was not the same, people were scarce and it was quiet. Too quiet. Which was why you were so adamant to continue on living, in order to honor the lives of the people you’ve lost. 

You could hear their faint voices outside the room. Your heart going out to those poor people who still held onto the past while you thanked your lucky stars you still had Steve.You fished for your earphones in your purse trying not to eavesdrop but his clear and deep voice interrupted you. Leaning against the wall opposite the door, you listened, a smile tugging on your lips while he commended the other person. He was always so good with words, always knew the right things to say and that never failed to make you proud. His words of encouragement lifted your spirits, making you stand a little taller, hope blossoming in the pit of your stomach. He talked about moving on, about finding purpose again. 

“I went in the ice in ‘45 right after I met the love of my life,” 

Your whole body went cold, the smile on your lips faltering, your hands suddenly gripping the edge of your blouse while his disheartened voice continued to try to reassure everyone including himself,

“I woke up 70 years later, you gotta move on. You gotta move on,”  

With a hand to your lips, you ran, your rapid, staccato steps filling the hall barely even muffling the sobs you desperately tried to hide. 

___________

Steve didn’t bother coming home straightaway after the meeting.  He told himself it was because he needed to check up on Nat despite the fact that he could’ve easily just called, despite knowing you were all supposed to meet for dinner in a few days anyway. He took his time getting to the Avengers Compound, embracing the uncharacteristic quietness of the city, giving him the chance to be alone with his thoughts. If he were being honest with himself, he couldn’t shake off the guilt that settled at the pit of his stomach at the thought of Peggy. The love of his life. Apparently, anyway. He had no idea where that came from, never really thought of it until it slipped from his mouth. And did he really feel that way? Was she really the love of his life? 

The thought of you came unbidden from his mind, your warm smile waking him up in the morning, your laughter setting the world to rights whenever he was feeling especially out of place. You’ve been through so much together, what you both had was real and it was beyond anything he could’ve imagined when he woke up from the ice and he knew he should take it a step further. He loves you, he is fully committed to you. There was nothing holding him back and yet… and yet, he still thought of her. He couldn’t help but think that if he had only stayed where he really was supposed to be, Peggy would’ve been the mother to his children, she would’ve been his wife. She would’ve been his life’s true love. But the very thought of that put a sour taste to his mouth, the truth was he could never picture his life without you. As much as he still dreamt of the past, how could it be the same if you weren’t there?

At first he thought falling in love with you was a balm to soothe his lost soul until he eventually realized you had crept up on him slowly but in a span of a heartbeat, wormed your way into his heart so suddenly he couldn’t even pinpoint the exact moment he knew he loved you. It was plain and simple, he knew it as he knew the sun rose in the east, he loved you. It was so unlike the way he fell for Peggy where all it took was one look and he was already drunk in love. 

Was it possible then, to be in love with two women? 

________________________________________

You were already in bed when Steve got home, feigning tiredness from the day when your heart was really beating rapidly in your chest. How could you face him now knowing you were second best? You could hear him in the bathroom, oblivious to your inner turmoil. When he was done, he gave you a quick kiss goodnight and went to his side of the bed, his back to you. You turned to face the wide expanse of his shoulders and wondered where the hell do you go from here. Would you really be alright living in the shadow of his ex, one of the world’s most accomplished women, so extraordinary that Captain America couldn’t even move on from her? Could you really leave him if it came down to it? 

A tear escaped the corner of your eye and you laid on your back, the darkness of the ceiling reflecting the heaviness in your heart. You must’ve stared at it for hours, wondering just how far away you were from the man right at your side. He was with you physically but his heart? You always knew deep down, it belonged to someone else. If he had a choice to go back, would he leave you? With the way things were going, you knew he would. In an instant. There was always a part of him that he closed off from you and ever since the snap, it only worsened. The fights, the distance, it all made sense now. Heck, even tonight, he didn’t even bother to ask how you were doing and accepted your lame excuse to get to bed early. It was the weekend, you literally had nothing to do the whole day and yet, it never even occurred to him that something could be wrong. For once, you were sorely tempted to use your powers on him. Hearing his even breathing as he slept didn’t make it any easier. It would be over before he knew it, what would be the harm in that? 

As if on cue, he turned and faced you. His long lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks, his lips slightly parted, he looked like a man who didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked younger, more like your Steve. The Steve you wished would let you in and give you the family you’ve always wanted. 

“Just a quick little trip, no one would ever know. What would be the harm in that?” the little voice in the back of your head taunted.

What would be the harm in that? 

With your resolve weakening, you jumped right into the abyss, entering the mind of the man of your dreams, hoping you were his too. 

______

The sun shone brightly through the open window, letting in the warm summer breeze while his favorite vinyl record played in the background. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It’s been a long long time 

The air was crisp and the smell of pancakes and cinnamon wafted from the doorway of the kitchen into the living room of the small, suburban house. The yellow walls were adorned with children’s drawings with a few marker drawings on the wallpaper here and there. The faint sound of giggling could just be heard from where you stood by the stairs. Your children, you thought to yourself, a smile creeping up your lips. This was it. This was what you’ve been picturing too, what you’ve told him countless times over and over again. He dreamed of it too. You turned your attention to the living room, your heart giving a little leap at the mess. It looked like someone had tried to tidy up but gave up on the last minute, some toys still scattered about. You noticed the pet bed by the couch, and you couldn’t help but be excited and hopeful, it was everything you thought of down to a T. You went towards the paper and crayons on the low table between the couch and the fireplace, inspecting one of the children’s current drawings there. It was of a family, their hands holding each other while they smiled in front of the house, a little dog at their father’s side. At the bottom, a scribbly handwriting of a preschooler wrote; Mom, Sarah, James, Dad and directly below the dog, Sam. You laughed aloud at that, clutching the drawing, hoping you could keep it for yourself and willing it into existence. 

“Come on, dance with me,” 

You heard Steve’s playful voice coming from the kitchen. A woman’s laughter rang out, you could just imagine yourself shaking your head at him in response, but something about the woman’s laugh caught you in your tracks. A little too shrill, a little too melodic. You inched closer to the open door, your heart dropping to your stomach. There they were, the picture perfect couple.  He twirled her around, her red dress hugging her curves so effortlessly, while she drew her head back and laughed. The dimples on her cheeks deepening, her curls staying in place even when Steve maneuvered her around. They looked so beautiful together, his golden locks and smitten smile never once leaving her face, he never looked so happy. 

Not even when he was with you.

That realization hit you like a train. You couldn’t even remember the last time he looked at you the way he looked at Peggy now.  When was the last time you danced? When was the last time you acted silly together? When was the last time you were both happy? That was what hurt the most. You couldn’t even remember. It felt like a weird sort of deja vu except now, it was an actual woman instead of a picture on a compass. You tried to gather your pride and step away but you couldn’t, you were rooted into place, a sadistic part of you welcomed the pain because you should’ve known. 

“I went in the ice in ‘45 right after I met the love of my life,” 

You should’ve known.

 But instead, you choose to play the fool.

There must’ve been a shift in the air that only they understood because Steve gathered her in his arms now, their eyes locking into each other, gentle and longing. 

You'll never know how many dreams

I dreamed about you

Or just how empty they all seemed without you

So kiss me once then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

He rocked her back and forth, bringing her hand up to his chest, turning into action what words fail to describe. She closed her eyes and laid her head on his heart, savoring their moment. He leaned his head on hers too, a satisfied smile on both their faces as they continued to sway to the music. You had never felt as small as you did now. You felt like a thief, intruding on their moment, stealing his dream away. And that’s exactly what you were doing. That’s exactly what you are. You felt so dirty, a desperate, pathetic fly on the wall he couldn’t get rid of. And worst of all, you destroyed his trust too.

As if on cue, the colors started to change, the song distorting and shifting and in this moment you knew, you had to leave. 

You have to leave. 

Part Two

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 4: Company

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: Whiskey gets a surprised call and he and Frankie have a long talk.

Rating: M

Warnings: Talks of drug use, alcohol, mentions of character death, mentions of canon typical violence, PTSD, violent nightmare

A/N: I really wanted this conversation to happen between these two given their respective histories. We all know that Whiskey needed therapy and in this verse he gets it. It’s also my HC, from what I vaguely know (I’m not an expert and I could be very wrong), that Whiskey was an officer in the Air Force where he flew/placed in jets and that’s how he knows how to fly an F-22 (The Silver Pony).

We are getting some angst and some fluff this time folks!

Also, yes I do have a specific soap in mind for Whiskey, it's Old Glory by Duke Cannon

Huge special thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the betas and encouragement!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons | AO3

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Frankie pulled his phone out, went to the recent number that was, as of yet, unsaved, and pressed ‘call’. His shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear as the line rang.

Whiskey’s hair was still wet from his shower, and his white t-shirt clung to his damp skin. Eyeing the take out on his counter, he sank into his couch and smiled at your texts:

Whiskey: Thai sound good, sweetheart?

Bourbon: God yes Jack, I’m starving!

Whiskey: I’ll let you know when I get outta the shower, see you soon sweetheart

He was just about to send you a message to come on over when his phone rang. Glancing at the clock on his stove, then back to the unfamiliar Texas number on his caller ID, he frowned.

“Whiskey.”

His greeting was curt. Who the hell would be calling at 8:30 pm on a Wednesday?

“H-hey Whiskey, it’s me, Frankie. Is… uh, is she there?”

Whiskey’s frown deepened, not that he minded Frankie calling him, far from it, but his voice was cracking like he’d been... crying?

“Oh, hey there, Flyboy. No she isn’t, do you need me to get her?”

“N-no, no… I, uh, I don’t want her to see me right now. I’m, uh,” Whiskey could hear Frankie take a deep breath on the other side of the line. “I’m having a bad night, Jack. Could you come get me? I’m at the hotel.”

Jack shot straight up, practically leaping to his feet.

“Did you…?”

The question clung to the air like lead, crushing both of their chests in the silence.

“No, I haven’t… I just… fuck.”

Jack was moving, grabbing his leather jacket, keys, and Stetson, practically sprinting out the door.

“Don’t worry about it, Flyboy. I’m headed your way.”

He shifted his weight while he waited for the elevator to take him to the parking garage, shooting off a quick text to you in apology. Frankie’s words, “I don’t want her to see me,” rung in his ears and he decided to hold off on telling you what had come up, at least until he could see you at the office tomorrow.

Whiskey: Hey sweetheart, sorry something came up and I can’t do dinner tonight. Everything’s fine, see you at the office, sugar. X

Your phone went off and you quickly unlocked it, eager to hear back from Jack so you could head over. A frown pulled the corners of your lips down at his text, but you knew he wouldn’t cancel on you without good reason.

You: See you tomorrow, cowboy. Better make it up to me ;)

Frankie had left the door slightly ajar and was pacing around his room, arms crossed in front of him when he heard a quick knock, then the handle was turning and Whiskey crossed the threshold. He took a cursory glance around the room: nothing but minibar booze bottles, thankfully. Whiskey let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived when he took in Frankie’s demeanor. Frankie’s face was taut with shame, and his gaze refused to rise any higher than Whiskey’s boots.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Frankie choked out, “ Pope, and Hawk… I can’t disappoint them again. I’ve been clean for three years, and I didn’t…”

Jack shook his head and beckoned Frankie over, wrapping his arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him in for a quick, tight hug.

“C’mon, Flyboy, this is not the time nor the place to talk about this. I’m taking you back to my place, and we’re gonna have some whiskey that’s much better than what you’ve had here, and then we can talk.”

Frankie nodded and grabbed his hat, planting it on his head as Whiskey tugged him out of the hotel room. He was so deep in his thoughts and his guilt for having Whiskey come out that he didn’t realize where he was until the elevator dinged. Whiskey unlocked and opened the door to his condo, giving way to a view so incredible Frankie almost forgot to breathe. Across from the entryway, on the far side of the condo, the gorgeous New York night skyline twinkled back at them from beyond the wall of glass windows. Frankie marveled at the rustic elegance of Jack’s home. It had an entirely open floor plan, giving Frankie a view of the dark cherry butcher block island, the top-of-the-line range top, and other appliances, all immaculately clean. For a moment, he wondered if that was because Whiskey ordered out more than he cooked, but then he saw the bags of takeout on the counter and immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, looks like I interrupted your dinner plans.”

Whiskey closed and locked the door behind him, hanging his jacket up on the nearby hook. He glanced over at the takeout, then put his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, partner. I just told her something came up. You hungry? I ordered her Drunken Noodles, be a shame to put them to waste.”

Frankie was about to decline when his stomach rumbled, and Whiskey chuckled.

“C’mon, Flyboy, go sit down on the couch and I’ll bring the food and some whiskey round.”

With a nod, he toed his dress shoes off (they were all he had without his go bag) and made for the brown leather couch. He sat down a bit stiffly, feeling awkward given the circumstances. Whiskey brought over the containers of food, handing one to Frankie and resting his own on the coffee table before grabbing them the promised drinks. He sat down, and Frankie took his drink in one hand, relishing in the smooth burn as he took a sip, then set it down to dive into his food.

They ate in a relaxed and cozy silence. Frankie finished first, which wasn’t a surprise. When Whiskey finished, he took Frankie’s empty container with him to toss in the garbage before he made his way back. An awkward silence replaced the previous comfortable one, and Frankie found himself having a hard time pulling his gaze from the amber liquid in his glass. Whiskey took a deep breath, then turned on the couch to face Frankie.

“Santiago said you’ve been clean for three years? That’s quite the accomplishment.”

“Yeah, thanks. Doesn’t really feel like it right now. I feel like I failed. I’m worried I’ll slip up.”

“I don’t think you will, Frankie. Neither do Pope or Bourbon.”

Jack didn’t know why, but the words rang true in his mind, even though he hadn’t known Frankie for very long.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to throw three years of hard work away, Flyboy.”

A small smile tugged at Frankie’s lips and he took a sip from his glass.

“Must’ve been weird for Halcón. Last time she saw me, fuck, I was barely with it. The suspension hit me hard. I had been getting my shit together before Colombia and the funeral. I just wanted to be able to fly. I couldn’t and still can’t stand the idea of being grounded. That, and I knew my fianceé would leave me if I didn’t get it together. But then, well, we all went to Colombia.”

“I couldn’t imagine being grounded. I don’t fly often, but to not have the option? I dunno what I’d do.”

Whiskey shook his head and grimaced. Frankie perked up, head snapping to meet Whiskey’s gaze.

“You fly?”

“Mmmhmm, was in the Air Force for a bit, did jets. Statesmen has an F-22, the Silver Pony, that I fly.”

A small buzz of excitement was washing over Frankie, and he subconsciously scooted closer to Whiskey. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to about flying, even if helicopters and jets were two very different means of flying.

“What made you risk it, Flyboy? What happened in Colombia?”

Frankie frowned and let out a deep sigh.

“Pope had been down there for a few years, chasing a narco named Gabriel Martín Lorea. He finally got a break when his CI told him she knew where he was hiding out and where he was stashing his money. He showed up outta the blue asking us, our old team, to come down and do recon, $17k just for a week of recon. If we wanted to stay on after that, we’d be entitled to 25% of whatever we seized, and the rumour was that Lorea had $75M on him. I’m guessing Halcón was busy with a mission for you guys, and I’m glad she was. It ended up being a fucking shitshow.”

Whiskey noted the faraway look in Frankie’s eyes as he sighed and took another swig from his glass, shaking his head as Frankie recalled the events.

“After the recon, Pope said he thought we could do the job ourselves, take all the money and not tell the local governments. We found out that the local agency hadn’t been the ones to pay us the $17k. That had come out of Pope’s pocket. He was so sure that the locals were on Lorea’s payroll, and if he went to the local agency, Lorea would disappear with the money. At the end of the day, none of us could say no. Turned out the rumors of Lorea having $75M were wrong. The house was stuffed, literally, with cash. Tom, our captain, got greedy. He ignored our hard-out time and insisted we take more loads of cash. We ended up stealing close to $250M, then we burned the house down.”

Whiskey whistled. “$250M is a lot of money, partner…”

Frankie barked out a humorless laugh, his eyes rueful.

“Too much. Our helo couldn’t take it all and make it over the Andes. I knew it before take off, and I warned Tom and Pope, but all any of us could see was the money. Tom didn’t want to leave it on the runway. I almost had us over the Andes when a gearbox blew, and I had to get us back to flat. We had to cut the money net, and it was just our luck that it happened to be over a coke farm. It was a bad landing. I honestly don’t know how none of us were seriously injured, but Pope and Tom went to go and convince the farmers to get out of the money. Our comms were out, so we were going off of hand signals. Tom got too trigger happy, and he dropped a few of the villagers. I-I provided cover fire, too…”

Frankie hung his head, no matter how much Will, Benny, or Pope had tried to reassure him, he still held an enormous amount of guilt over what had happened. He felt Whiskey’s hand rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch.

“That’s what you were trained to do, Flyboy. You couldn’t have known any different, especially without comms.”

Frankie nodded, taking a large gulp of his whiskey, then continued on.

“A couple days later, we took fire in the mountains, and they got Tom. It ended up being a kid and another guy from the coke farm. We killed them, but there was nothing we could do for Tom. Headshot, he died instantly. 10 years we all served together, and then he was gone, leaving behind an ex and two daughters. It could have been any one of us though, Jack… we all took lives during that mission. Tom just took the wrong ones. It… it could have been me even, I shot some of those villagers, too.”

Frankie felt Whiskey’s grip on his shoulder tighten and looked up to see the empathetic sadness of someone who truly understood how he felt reflected back in Whiskey’s eyes. Frankie cleared his throat.

“We ended up bailing on a lot of the cash, taking only what we could carry in our daypacks and tossing the rest in a ravine so we could haul Tom’s body out with us. At the end of it, we made out with around $5M, but we all agreed it should go to Tom’s family. I got back to find my fianceé had left. She couldn’t stand my leaving with Pope. Looking back, my addiction is probably what really did us in, but I was devastated to come home to an empty house after everything that had happened. Things got… dark after that. I fell back on old habits, fuck, I had barely been clean a few months when we went to Colombia. I didn’t want to think about what we’d done there, didn’t want to feel the emptiness, didn’t want to sleep and deal with the nightmares. I was a mess, and I… uh, I took too much one day. Pope found me unconscious, lying on the ground, and got me to the hospital. When I came to, I realized I didn’t want to end up dead in my shitty apartment, once they discharged me, I checked into rehab.”

Frankie took another drink. No one other than Pope knew that knocking on death’s door had been the turning point for him. Whiskey chewed on his lip, taking a drink and debating whether he should share his past as well.

“Drugs are… a terrible thing to get hooked on. My high school sweetheart, carrying my unborn son, was murdered by two meth head freaks robbing a fucking convenience store. I was on leave from the Air Force, waiting for them to come home when I got the call. I didn’t realize how much it festered in me until about a year back when we were taking down the Golden Circle.”

Frankie nodded. He remembered that he had been glad he was clean by then.

“I’m sorry, Whiskey… I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have-”

Jack’s hand moved from Frankie’s shoulder to rub his back reassuringly.

“Listen, the things you’ve done and seen for our country… and not, well, it’s a lot, and I know it’s not the same as the freaks who… it’s not the same. I almost sabotaged the mission. My hate-addled brain thought it would be justice… It was Bourbon who very literally knocked me on my ass and kept me from making a decision I’d regret. She encouraged me to see a Statesmen counselor, which has been a lot of work, but has been more helpful than I ever thought it would be. Have you thought about that?”

Frankie was distracted for a moment by Jack’s hand. It felt nice, reassuring, safe, things that had been sorely lacking for him today.

“I have and I did, well, I had to as part of the program, and I kept it up for a bit after. It helped, but… I couldn’t really talk about what happened with Tom. Sure there’s confidentiality and all that, but what we did is all kinds of illegal. I couldn’t exactly bring that to a session or group.”

Frankie snorted, a ghost of a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“Really though, aside from the program I was in after rehab to get my license back, I’ve gotten some hobbies and some other out-outlets. This was just a lot. I needed to not be alone.”

Jack cocked his head at the way Frankie stuttered and subconsciously fidgeted with the bandage on his right wrist. He had picked up from the night prior that Frankie had a thing for pain, and Frankie’s reaction when he had bandaged him up was further proof of that. But using it as his sole outlet or method of working through his issues was something he wouldn’t enable. His eyes narrowed, and before Frankie could blink, Jack snatched his left hand, mindful of the tender marks as he held fast and fixed Frankie with a hard stare. Frankie flinched at the sudden movement then his eyes widened a little.

“You know this ain’t a solution, Flyboy.”

Jack’s voice had an edge to it bordering on a growl. Frankie shook his head quickly.

“Shit, no, Whiskey, the i-impact p-play stuff, i-it’s an outlet, and it’s not my only outlet. I met my old partners, Sam and then later on her husband, a year and a half or two years ago. I was a year clean before I even had my first session with either of them. I met Sam when she booked a flight tour, and one thing led to another… She’d come back into town and sometimes her husband would come with, but we all kept everything pretty quiet. They helped me relax, and they had their fun.”

Frankie was doing his best to be nonchalant, but he couldn’t help the slight bitterness creeping into his voice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jack’s tone had thrown him off guard, unexpectedly stirring something in him. Whiskey, of course noticed on both counts, having been trained to do so. He could see through Frankie a mile away. Frankie nervously took another sip from his glass, shuddering as Whiskey’s thumb gingerly rubbed circles over the marks, seemingly accepting his explanation.

“You know, had I known about your… interests, I would have done things a bit differently last night, Flyboy.” He winked at Frankie, then smirked as he examined Frankie’s wrist more thoughtfully. “How are they doing?”

“G-good, thanks. And uh, well, you’re one of 3 people who know.” Frankie murmured.

Whiskey’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise as he nodded and released Frankie’s hand.

“Really? Not Pope or Bourbon?”

“Are you kidding me? Pope would never let me hear the end of it. There are some things he doesn’t need to know.” Frankie chuckled and shook his head. “And Halcón? Well, there was never any reason for her to know. We never did anything together before last night.”

“How long has it been since you last saw Sam or her husband?”

Frankie downed the rest of his whiskey, eyes far away for a moment, remembering their last session, the sharp pain followed by a rush of endorphins and the occasional soothing praise. He shook his head gently, blinking himself out of his memories at the feeling of Jack’s warm hand on his knee.

“It’s been a while, six months? They moved overseas.”

There was a beat of silence, Whiskey could sense there was something up, it was a subtle shadow flitting across Frankie’s face. He decided to push a little more.

“Did you have feelings for them?”

“It was complicated.”

The edge in Frankie’s voice was tinged with pain, and he tried to cover it up with a laugh that came out humorless.

“I guess it isn’t that complicated. After six months, things shifted, and they made it clear I wasn’t part of their long term plan. It became very transactional, which was fine, but there was less and less... care after.”

“Oh.”

The response slipped from Jack’s lips, and he was momentarily stunned quiet before his temper began to flare. His index finger and thumb gently gripped Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Listen carefully, Flyboy. What I did last night was the bare minimum of what someone should do in that kind of situation. Anything less is negligent. Christ, how was this ever stress relief for you if you were left to free fall afterwards?”

Whiskey’s voice was calm and even, but Frankie could see the fury raging in his eyes. Sensing Whiskey’s desire for understanding, he nodded then shrugged.

“I guess I’d try to go on a hike with one of the guys or go train at the gym.”

Silence fell between them, a muscle in Whiskey’s jaw clenching before he glanced at the clock and let out a deep sigh, willing himself to calm down.

“It’s already just about midnight, Flyboy. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll put on a clean bandage for you once you’re done. You can use my bathroom. There’s a clean towel hanging you can use. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll leave something for you to sleep in on my bed so you can change while I set up the guest room for you.”

Frankie was about to protest, saying he could do his own bandages, but Whiskey fixed him with a stare and shook his head.

“Go on Flyboy, get yourself in the shower. Head down the hall, second door on the left. Your room is across the hall. I’ll be waiting there with the medkit when you’re done.”

Whiskey took Frankie’s empty glass and stood, taking their glasses to the sink while Frankie got up and made his way to the shower. A pensive frown tugged at Whiskey’s lips. Tonight certainly explained a lot of things. The sharp fury that permeated Whiskey’s chest when they were talking about Frankie’s previous partners returned. How could someone not be bothered with aftercare? It was also clear that Frankie felt abandoned by them. On some level, the poor man was probably terrified of that happening again, if he even entertained the thought of something between the three of you. Whiskey waited a few moments until he heard the water running before heading into his room. He let out a sigh as he grabbed a white t-shirt and a pair of linen shorts for Frankie to wear, leaving them on the bed before he left to make sure the guest room was all set.

Frankie undressed quickly, folding his clothes and setting them down on the vanity in a neat pile crowned with his hat. Next, he made quick work of unwrapping the bandage around his wrist and tossing the materials in the garbage. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the shower and the hot water scoured the last two days from his skin. The relief was quickly replaced with a small whine of pain as the water hit his wrist. Closing his eyes and bracing himself against the wall with his forearm he breathed through the pain, acclimating to the sensation. Frankie took a minute to just exist, trying to enjoy the quiet that had slowly crept back into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he set to work getting himself clean. The steam made the air thick and heavy with the scent of Whiskey’s soap, something akin to leather and tobacco leaves. It clung to Frankie’s lungs, and he could have stayed there enjoying it for considerably longer. But, he didn’t want to keep Whiskey waiting, so he rinsed off and hopped out of the shower. He toweled off, smirking to himself when he saw it was monogrammed (because of course it was), then headed out and changed quickly into the shirt and shorts that had been left for him.

Whiskey looked up in time to see Frankie stride through the doorway wearing his shirt and shorts, smelling like him, his soap. He swallowed thickly and tried to recover with a smile.

“Feel better, Flyboy? C’mon, sit down. Let’s have a look.”

Frankie nodded, then took a seat next to Whiskey on the bed and gave him his right hand. Whiskey hummed his approval at the lack of resistance from Frankie, something the pilot felt tug at his chest.

“This is looking much better, Flyboy, should be completely healed in a few days.”

Whiskey smiled as he finished tending to and wrapping up Frankie’s wrist. Without prompting, Frankie offered his other wrist and Whiskey couldn’t bite back the smirk that followed. He was glad though, glad that Frankie was trusting him with this and was embracing these moments, even if it was for something small. Frankie’s left wrist was considerably better off, but even so, Whiskey was still gentle as he looked him over.

Frankie’s heart fluttered at the intimacy of what was happening. Here was Jack, a man he’d known for barely 48 hours, who was taking care of him, who had dropped everything to come get him, who had spent his evening letting Frankie talk. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him this way.

There was an overwhelming urge building in his chest, and without thinking, he acted on it.

He gripped the collar of Whiskey’s t-shirt with one hand, tugging him closer as Frankie leaned in and kissed him. Whiskey was shocked for a moment, it had been the last thing he had been expecting, but he quickly recovered when he felt Frankie’s tongue swipe at his lip. His hand rested along the column of Frankie’s throat, thumb grazing over the scruff along his jaw as he deepened the kiss, leaning into Frankie and tasting him.

A small moan pulled Jack back to his senses, resting his forehead against Frankie’s and cupping his jaw with this other hand. They both panted, trying to catch their breath, and Whiskey smiled as he gave Frankie another quick kiss. For a moment, Frankie was worried he had overstepped when Whiskey cut off their kiss, but looking into the other man’s eyes, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve had a long day, Flyboy, we’re not gonna do anything tonight. Tomorrow though, if you want, I could help you get rid of some of that stress and help you come down the right way. No rush, no pressure, you can say no and nothing changes. I don’t want an answer right now either, sleep on it.”

Frankie’s breath quickened and his pupils dilated at the thought, but one thing nagged at him.

“What about Halcón?”

Whiskey chuckled and patted Frankie’s shoulder.

“Well it’s what we both want, in a manner of speaking. She’d be onboard, but she doesn’t have to know exactly what we do for now unless you’re comfortable with it. A lot of this is stuff I know she wants to go over on Friday, but for now, when it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it, partner. If you want to do this tomorrow, then we can do it. If not, no harm, no foul, you’re still welcome to stay here and keep me company.”

Frankie nodded, still processing what Whiskey had said and more than a little surprised that Whiskey was inviting him back regardless of his decision. Whiskey stood up then, squeezing Frankie’s shoulder.

“G’night, Flyboy. Holler if you need anything.”

Frankie was back in Colombia. He felt sluggish, his feet refusing to respond the way he wanted them to. He saw the villager from the cocaine farm pop up from the rocky outcrop, but Frankie couldn’t move, couldn’t draw his gun to take him out. He cried out in anguish as the man fired.

“No! Tom!”

Then he was surrounded by Pope, Benny, Will, you, and Whiskey, statuesque as the man who killed Tom lined up and dropped Pope, moving his way down the line. Frankie was sobbing now, he was being swallowed up by the ground, sinking helplessly as the people he cared for were murdered.

Whiskey woke with a start to the sound of shouting.

Ripping the sheet and comforter off, Whiskey glanced at the clock. It read 01:30 and he sighed. Frankie just couldn’t catch a break.

“P-please, No! Po-Pope, God, n-no, Hal-Halcón! Whiskey!”

He really didn’t want to shake Frankie awake, worried as to how he might react waking up from that sort of dream, but Jack had to do something.

“Hey, Frankie, I’m right here, you gotta wake up. Wake up, Flyboy.”

Frankie shot up, feeling like ice water had been poured down his spine. He was wild-eyed and breathing heavily, but once again, Whiskey’s soothing words served to ground him, and he clung to them with all he had. He felt Whiskey pull him into a hug, and Frankie didn’t care about the awkward angle, he clung to the embrace as well.

Whiskey’s heart ached at the way Frankie clutched at him after hearing him call out Pope’s, his, and your names. He had a vague idea of what might have happened, he still had dreams where he couldn’t save his loved ones every now and then. Once Frankie’s breathing calmed a bit, Whiskey tugged him up out of bed.

“C’mon Flyboy, you’re coming with me.”

Frankie didn’t argue, he just followed, grateful that Whiskey was pulling him by his hand, needing that point of contact. Whiskey pulled back the covers on the side opposite of his and waited until Frankie crawled in before he pulled the covers over him, then slid in on his side of the bed. He scooted a bit closer, not wanting to crowd Frankie unless he wanted the contact, and was pleased when the other man scooted back until his back rested against Jack’s chest.

“Get some sleep, Flyboy. I’ve got you.”

Sooner than he expected, Whiskey heard soft snores coming from Frankie. He smiled then wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

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[cogentranting]

So. Some thoughts on the therapy scene. 

I don’t think it’s the case that Bucky doesn’t realize that race is playing a role in Sam’s decision. He knows that Sam does and will face racism. You could see in the previous scenes, he knew exactly why what happened to Isaiah happened. He knew that the police were being aggressively racist toward Sam. And in both instances he was disgusted. 

But I think one of the primary things that Bucky doesn’t get is the way that Sam handles it. He knows that the government betrayed Sam and handed the shield to John Walker because of racism. But Bucky sees what he thinks are tools and solutions where Sam does not. It’s like the scene with the police-- Bucky wants Sam to show them his ID, Sam won’t do it. Then Bucky uses Sam’s Avenger status (which Sam wasn’t willing to do) to get them to go away-- not, I don’t think, because Bucky was more upset that they didn’t recognize Sam as a hero/celebrity than by the racism, or because he didn’t realize it was racism, but because he saw it as a clear simple solution to the problem. And I think he sees Sam taking on the shield in much the same way. A simple way that Sam can combat that racism and prove them wrong. It’s all the reasons why both situations are far more complicated than that that Bucky doesn’t see, and Sam obviously does. It’s an easy trap to fall into as someone who’s white-- to see the racism and be disgusted by it but then think “well why don’t you just do X.” The solutions aren’t simple and they’re not easy, otherwise obviously they would have already been done. (I think as an impulse it's natural-- you see a problem and you look for a solution and you come to the simplest things first. But when you don't check that and let it turn to action and start telling the people who have actually been dealing with those things their whole lives how to act or what to do or presuming they know less than you, that’s when it’s a problem). And Sam maybe can be Captain America (and I think probably will be) but there will be things that come with that that are complicated and are hard and Sam shouldn’t have to deal with that. And Bucky, never having had to deal with something of that nature doesn’t grasp how complicated and how hard and how exhausting that would be and therefore why the decision regarding the shield is so hard for Sam. 

And Bucky was wrong for guilt-tripping Sam over that. I do think Bucky realized that; I saw someone say they thought that was what the “rule #2″ line is about, Bucky realizing that he’d hurt Sam, and that rings true to me. I think that line works doubly well too, because the rule exists in the context of Bucky’s attempts to work through all of his trauma. And that’s what was going on in this scene. Bucky is responding to a lot of his own issues and he’s trying to work through that. That pain is real and valid and I don’t think it’s truthful to say the Captain America mantle has nothing to do with Bucky because the way Steve’s legacy is handled clearly is very important to Bucky and that’s not nothing (it is secondary, of course, to Sam’s wants and needs in all that. By a margin.). And Bucky should get the chance to work through what all that means to him and what Steve thought of him and what he thinks of himself. That moment of fear and vulnerability is real and it matters. But. Rule #2. Bucky's attempts to work through his own issues do not give him license to hurt someone else. And that's exactly what he did.

[albatris]

ik this is probably an inappropriate question to ask but i deal with stpd and just recently discovered this. Previously thought it was just depression/anxiety but ive been on like 7 antidepressants/2 of which were more geared towards anxiety. I was wondering if you take any meds or have any advice you might recommend. Id really appreciate it. Im running out of ideas lol.( Sorry to bother and thank you)

nah you’re all good, I don’t have any problem with questions like this n I’m happy to share any experiences of mine that people might find useful!! though in this case idk how much help I’ll be, sorry D:

mostly about meds but my bad for goin on a whole ramble in the middle about therapy?? I talk a lot and have trouble staying on topic

'cause meds n therapy both have been useful to me but both probably would've been pretty useless without the other

under cut for personal rambles

so I was in the same boat as you for several years, I was in treatment for depression and anxiety and then borderline later on, way way way before anyone landed on schizotypal

as such I’ve been obviously dealing with stpd symptoms for basically my whole life but I only got diagnosed early last year n it’s the first time I’ve been. like. actually in any sort of therapy that addresses it properly and I’m still getting a feel for it

in terms of meds, I’ve been on a whole slew of different antidepressants, didn’t find one that worked until I was maybe 18 or 19? so I’ve been on the highest dose mirtazapine since then....... helps with that kinda baseline anxiety background hum, helps with obsessions and guilt spirals..... I didn’t think it did much for depression until I tried coming off it??

like, it gave me a slight boost in terms of energy and motivation, not a huge one, but definitely noticeable once it was gone

but yeah, it was kinda..... yeah, this med is about as helpful as I’m gonna get, so I decided to stick with it. I recently have considered coming off it ‘cause the sedation was a nightmare, but that’s on hold for the time being

I’ve been on two different antipsychotics, first quetiapine, which did absolutely nothing and was even more sedating on top of the mirtazapine, and currently I’m starting on aripiprazole. still on a super low dose, but working up to something that will hopefully ease some psychotic symptoms. side effects of insomnia and nausea but eased off mostly after the first week

but yeah, I haven’t really had much experience with antipsychotics or how helpful they are yet, atm I’m gonna wait and see whether there’s any real positive effects

but meds are super hard to give advice about, ‘cause different ones work for different folks, what works for me might not for you, what works for you might be something I tried and hated, etc etc etc, y’know

honestly the most helpful thing for me has been therapy, I’ve pretty much been in therapy since I was like 5 and I’ve done a lot of it

meds might be helpful to some people on their own but for me I think they would have been mainly useless without some form of therapy

meds kinda helped with some of the “edges” ie, the resulting depression and anxiety of the personality disorder, hopefully will help with some psychotic symptoms too, therapy has also helped with some of these issues on the edges, and I’m currently addressing some of the more specifically schizotypal core issues, although I will likely have to continue doing the work on those issues for most of my life

if you have a good doctor who listens to you, if you want to continue trying out meds then you might still find one that helps you out! I don’t really have a lot of advice here, because the effects can be so different from person to person. but I’ve found that meds only help on a really small scale, they kind of take a little bit of the weight off but it’s still a whole lot of heavy lifting on my own

so therapy was real good for some of that stuff too, skills for easing some of the load. therapy for me involved Other People, but for others it could involve other resources, such as online workbooks n that kind of thing....... ‘cause I know personally for me I fuckin HATE meeting new people and having to bare my soul for them, so therapy gets. interesting

and I know therapy is not realistic for some folks (and also not what this question was about but I’m just rambling now)

n I know especially that that shit gets fucking HARD when any sort of psychosis and paranoia is involved, in terms of stpd, I flat out refused to speak about certain symptoms with professionals due to paranoia and fear, and had a lot of issues trying to come into a therapy environment and immediately having complete strangers be like “ok tell me about what’s up”

like, no???? fuck off?? I don’t even know you??

n until recently all my therapies where only tangentially useful as a schizotypal, like, I did a bunch of social anxiety stuff which helped with some of the surface level day-to-day social anxiety (not so much the more deep-seated stpd social anxiety, that whole “it gets worse the closer you get to people” type, very fun), I did a lot of work around depression and suicidal urges and goals and meaningful living and whatnot, I did DBT which also encompassed a lot of work on interpersonal skills and handling dissociation and paranoia

n like. some of it was helpful? none of it got to the core of the issue or addressed what I really needed to address

I got super lucky with my current psychiatrist in that she was someone I already knew for around a year and a half beforehand ‘cause she helped out in my DBT group therapy. so I was able to get a feel for what kind of person she was beforehand and got to find my feet in trusting her in a more distanced context before entering one on one therapy. she also specialises in personality disorders and was the one who actually diagnosed me so it wasn’t like she was like “oh you’re definitely schizotypal, I’m gonna just pan you off to someone more experienced now” which was nice

she’s also the one who’s helping me out with meds currently

but ya, therapy can be A Lot, ‘specially for schizotypals who tend to isolate and get uncomfy in those vulnerable scenarios. in order to make the most out of it I have to practice an extremely uncomfortable sort of “radical openness” which is like..... well, I’ve spent most of my life being miserable and unhappy and feeling trapped and stuck in these patterns, and this has gotten me nowhere, in order for something to change I need to be radically open about my experiences

which gets HARD because the knee-jerk reaction to paranoia and delusions is often to pull back and isolate, and often I’ve struggled with the idea that it’s not “safe” to speak about certain things or that something bad will happen if I do

so it’s difficult, but I have to continually commit myself to being open and placing myself in intensely uncomfortable scenarios, getting used to the idea of trust being An Action, and practicing trust even when I don’t necessarily Feel It

that’s been a really helpful outlook for me and the only thing that’s kept me involved with therapy and meds and treatment. idk if it’ll be useful to others. I also know that some therapists and psychiatrists are shit and being radically open with the wrong people can be a nightmare

but it’s something that applies in my other relationships too and with my relationship to myself, so. *shrug emoji*

but yeah. that’s been what’s helpful for me

meds do a little bit of the work, but honestly I still have to pull a fuckload of the weight on my own, I kinda got to the point with meds where I was just like “ok this is obviously as good as it’s gonna get” and just stuck with it......... which is kind of a bummer of an answer

ik that kinda turned into a whole unrelated ramble in the middle there but I hope this kinda answers a bit of your question maybe or maybe not ‘cause I don’t really know what I’m doing

but also

I hope you have a nice day

[lieblxng]

I’m sorry I haven’t really been active recently. I have this blog free of my personal issues for many reasons, so I won’t go into any details. You can look below if you’re interested in the handful of details I’ll give in the cut. I’ll keep it short, but I suffered rather big emotional problems recently that took so much out of me. One of them, actually roleplay-related. I’m going to therapy, thankfully, and have been for over a year, and I have an amazing support system of wonderful people I love. Still, it’s really difficult for me to handle these issues, and it’s the most broken I’ve gotten in a long while.

I’m going to be a bit inactive because of these reasons (I need to be in the best mental state to roleplay, unfortunately–and I don’t want to tarnish the quality of my replies by just throwing stuff out when I’m not ready), so I apologize for that. Just know, I’m not leaving. I’m just starting to push myself in the FE and the Splatoon, but the Pokémon community is an incredible place I’ve grown attached to, surprisingly. I say surprisingly since I got anxiety attacks from seeing all these fancy blogs and long rules because I was all too used to the very chill Cookie Run RPC. I was worried I wouldn’t fit in, but when I came back from my hiatus in November, I’ve found so many roleplaying partners and even befriended some of them. I feel like I finally have a place in this community, and that I’m not a stranger. Pretty good for only a few months, huh? I’m entirely thankful for all the people who have given me chances and who have interacted with me. Even more thankful for those who have stayed and loved my interpretations!

I really mean it when I say roleplaying is for me to cope. I’ve been coping with it for, what, nine years? It’s something that I’ve gotten close to people from, and I’ve made unbelievable friends that I still have, years later. I even met my partner from these roleplays. It really is something that’s been helping me throughout all the chaos of my life in reality, and something I don’t know what I’d do without. So again, I want to thank everyone who has helped me and has had fun with me! I know it takes me forever to reply, but I value every roleplay I get and I don’t want to stop any of them. My motivation changes too infrequently to my own dismay, but I applaud those who don’t get angry at my low-attention span. Thank you! Now, below, will be the major reason for my sporadic activity that will involve personal issues (talking in heavy detail about abuse and a lot of it). Only go down there if you want to and if you’re able to handle such dark topics.

I will be vague as not to upset anyone–originally I was talking heavily of this, but I found it too graphic and too much of my vulnerable state being seen out in the open. I write this while my anxiety is attacking me, so that isn’t good either. Anyhow, I’ve been suffering all my life in an abusive household, physically and verbally. I remember my mother always insulting me harshly if I bothered her, hitting me as well. The worst of the emotional and physical abuse is from my older brother though. I dreaded whenever something bad happened, as he would always cause an entire fight for the family to get sucked into. Not just arguing, but full-on physical fighting. I remember trying to stand against my brother, and my mother was the only one to stop him from beating me into pieces. So much chaos, I can’t believe we’re still together.

Fortunately or not for me, I have the worst memory and I forget a lot that happens to me, but that doesn’t mean my feelings change easily. But at the same time, they do. I forget the bad things they do, I give them chances, something terrible happens. Rinse and repeat. This has been going on for years and years, and while the chaos has calmed down in a sense, it’s still an ongoing thing. I’ve developed anxiety and depression, so these things are even worse to me. I handle them better, yes, but at the same time, I’m more broken from it all. I can’t continue it anymore.

I’ve always wanted to move out of here, but as my mental health worsened over the years, so did my general performance. I was considered to AP classes when I was young and in school until I took such a heavy hit from everything. Then, I couldn’t even handle normal classes. I had the goal of going to college, to both better my life, and to finally be able to live without being with my family. However, now, I’m unable to due to how much I struggled. I would struggle even more in college and waste thousands of dollars doing so. It’s not worth it.

I can’t be here anymore. Fortunately, I’ve been asked to live with a friend of mine, though I was very unsure if I could, since my mother hangs like an overbearing hawk over me. I’m an adult, yet I have to ask to go to places. I have to write such an essay on who I’m going with. It’s downright irritating and demeaning. I’ve never been free until I recently started to hang with one of my friends from school. We drove in the night, even at 3 AM, doing what we pleased without even informing my mother of all the details. It was honestly the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, even if we were just screaming around like idiots. He’s the only one my mother trusts, but lately, my mother has been guilt-tripping me and accusing me of hating her and everyone in the family, all because I’ve been going to friend’s houses, and not inviting them over. Like, petty highschooler drama business, it’s really sad. She’s nearly 60 years old, and yet she still acts like that. I can’t invite anyone over in the place I hate the most. It’s a whole trip just getting the courage to ask, and it hurts to have shit thrown at me for it. I can’t even stand being here, so why would I bring people I love dearly to such a horrible place? I got an anxiety attack when my friend just entered my house to say hi to my mother a few weeks ago.

I’m going to get out of here, no matter what it takes. I hate this environment, it’s unhealthy for me and I’m not going to be my siblings who decide to stay despite everything bad. I finally got my ID recently (by my therapist; my mother would always say she would help me get it, but she never did–no matter how much I kept reminding her) and while it’s been difficult to find a job that doesn’t deal with Amazon or food (I have anxiety issues with fast-food chains, as my mom would always yell and insult the employees every time we went there), I need one so badly. I’m going to save much money as I can, so I can be prepared for moving out of this place. It’s hard for me to be so pro-self-care about myself, but I deserve better. No one deserves to be in such a toxic home. Hell, this place never felt home to me. I always looked forward to going to school to seek asylum, despite me being bullied there–anything was better than this house. Now that I’m grown and graduated, I don’t have that safe space anymore.

I’m going, whether she likes it or not. I’m going to talk about this to my friend when we next meet up, but I’m also going to take steps to get closer to achieving this goal from my therapist. I don’t even have to tell her I’m going, but I want to leave a message for her when I leave so she doesn’t hunt me down or say I’ve been kidnapped. My therapist said something to me that I’ve been trying to remind myself: I’m an adult, and I can do whatever I want, and I don’t have to ask permission from anyone or tell anyone what I’m doing. She has no legal ties to me since I was a ward of the state when I was a child, meaning she only had guardianship over me until I was 18. I’m nothing to her. I’m so afraid of making her upset or getting her angry at me, I nearly broke down mid-session at the thought of it. After all, I’ve been spending my years, hiding my real self away so I can blend in and not get myself killed in this place. It’s been damaging.

I feel like I’ve talked too much of this, but I did seal it off with a warning and a read more. I think I needed this though, I needed to let out my feelings out on a document. I wanted to sound more enthusiastic about leaving, so I apologize for that and talking so much about this. I will never talk about my personal life negatively again, and if I do, it’s something big. Just in case, I will be making a new tag (TW Personal), so if you don’t want to see this stuff, you can block the tag. Thank you, for whoever has read this far. You didn’t need to, but I’m ever appreciative and I admire how you could survive this heavy content. Take a rest if you can, alright? I love you!

[swampgallows]

therapy today went okay but i feel like i talked too much lmfao. i passed out around like 10pm and now im awake again and uhh hmmm ngngngghghhhmhm

also she asked me like “find out what you wanna get out of therapy and then we can set some goals” lmao i wanna GET FIXED 

i dunno if i am actually mentally ill or if it’s just my mom/environment or if i’m neurodivergent somehow or if i need medication or whatever the fuck it is, i just know that it’s not normal to feel okay one day and then have some minor thing happen that catapults me into feeling suicidal. im doing better lately but that’s why i signed up for therapy NOW because i know when im feeling good i get this delusion of like “haha see i never needed it at all :)” and then some little fucking thing happens (or nothing happens) and suddenly i cant get out of bed for three days. i told her that i think it’s more than my environment because even when i was busy at work and even when i was busy and away from home in college i had extremely persistent and severe depression, got into several different overlapping abusive relationships, nearly failed my classes one semester, and then i got hit by a car, was in a wheelchair for 6 months, then had our car hit by a semi immediately afterward. it’s time for new glasses btw lmao as i am still wearing the same pair that got scratched to shit and annihilated in the accident. lmfao The Accident™

this is a pic of them from the night of the accident and the scratches have only gotten worse. id take a new pic but im in bed in the dark and whatever

the therapist seemed impressed with my psychology knowledge which was kind of discomforting, in a way. i guess im just so used to my own situation and people utilizing the internet to learn about their own head cases that i dont consider it novel to have actually done research. also because with my other experiences i felt like doctors would be dismissive of me as if i was trying to one-up them or something, like “well -I- have the degree and YOU dont” like, well yeah, im not sitting here trying to correct you but i am gonna use the terminology im familiar with even if theyre super special SAT words or w/e (like i’m gonna say shit like “comorbid” and “hypnagogic” because that’s the terminology i use all the time to describe these situations... i throw out “5 dollar words” all the time :\) but i think maybe by also having a video/verbal conversation w me that she knows i’m not sitting there meticulously typing up the most fancy schmancy shit i can find, flippin through a thesaurus like a blood elf nobleman vampire’s purple prose or somethin.

i guess what i wanna get out of therapy is uh

1. i dont want to be suicidal, which means 2. i have to build confidence, which means 3. i have to become self-reliant, or more self-reliant than i am.

she suggested, on the grounds of my mom giving me interrogation any time i try to go out on my own (hence me only feeling comfortable to go out when i fucking sneak out of the house or on the VERY rare occasions that she isn’t home) that i have a written list that i either give to her personally or write out and leave for her to read at her leisure of all the answers to her questions: where ive gone, when i’ll be back, what i’m doing, etc. the problem is coming home, though, because then she reads me the riot act of guilt on anything i did. if i go out and get food, it becomes about her. if i go out and do an errand, it becomes about her. everything i do somehow falls back on her. 

i explained to the therapist that even when i was still working—a perfect chance to learn to drive and drive regularly—i took the bus the entire time. but i’d have to be driven TO the bus stop and then take the bus to work, which meant my mom drove me to the bus every day. and my dad would talk about how good it was for MY MOM to have a reason to get up in the morning, and that it’s good for her because it gives her a kind of schedule or obligation to follow. so then like... my schedule now becomes HER schedule. and i martyr my potential independence of driving to work on my own in order to give my mom a sense of purpose. 

so...every day, mom picked me up from the bus stop, just like she had been for all the years i was in school. of course i never went out and did anything after (or before!) work; i never had the freedom. sure i could tell my mom partway through the day if i was staying late or going somewhere else, but my work was also in the middle of a canyon, five miles of nothing in either direction. if i missed the bus home, i wouldnt have another chance to go home for another hour. so having buses come only once an hour and then also having my mom waiting for me at the stop... it was just too much trouble to say like “hm i think i’ll go grab a smoothie before work” or “maybe i’ll hang with my coworkers a bit and go grab dinner with them” or “maybe i’ll start going to the gym after work”. i couldnt make any executive decisions about my own life. i think that restriction of freedom happens for lower income people too, since youre relying on a (notoriously shitty) bus service to get anywhere and you also cant just throw money around that often. i had a little slush fund to treat myself every so often but i didnt have the access to it. 

EVERY day that i was 20 minutes away from the stop i would have to text my mom the name of the stop (imagine, if it were “maple street” or something, my entire text message history with my mom just being “maple” “k” “maple” “k” back and forth for months) in case she had fallen asleep or was doing something, as the bus would sometimes be late or early or whatever. and sometimes i would delay that text on purpose to have the extra time to buy something from one of the fast food places located at my bus stop, then hide it in the bottom of my bag and hope it wasn’t too aromatic that my mom would notice and ask me about it. 

BECAUSE if i bought food on a day she made dinner, she would flagellate herself about it, and if i bought food on a day that she DIDNT make dinner she would flagellate herself about it. it’s HER FAULT because she doesn’t make food enough that i have to go buy my own :((((, so the one time she does cook i’m already getting food because she’s unreliable :((((, and shit like that, instead of like, just because there IS food doesn’t...mean anything!!!!! maybe i just wanted a certain kind of food that day!! But it becomes about her!!!! everything i do hurts her. everything i do. so i just got adjusted to just... not eating, or eating the same things over and over. eventually, when i was still working, i would eat nothing but a muffin until i came home. and if there was food, i would eat it, and if there wasn’t, then i wouldn’t eat. many nights i went to bed without eating even if there WAS food because i was just so fucking tired.

i dunno i kinda lost my train of thought but basically it’s hard to assert myself because i’m not confident because a lot of the time i dont know if im doing something right. it reminds me a lot of the scene in tangled where rapunzel fucks up and something bad happens to her and her mom catches her in the act, and she uses that to reinforce rapunzel’s dependence on her. like obviously my mom isn’t abusive like that but it makes me afraid to fail and even MORE afraid to even try, because i know that if i DO fail--whatever it is--it will just be more evidence for why i should have just asked her or had her do it. and more evidence, to me, of why im worthless and shitty and incapable of doing anything.

like the other day my mom wanted me to follow her in a separate car to a car place to drop off the car she was driving, and then we’d go home together in one car. but she wanted me to do it at 9 in the fucking morning and let me know two days beforehand. i had been going to BED at like 7am at the time so i was already like ‘man this is gonna suck’. but i was still up in the morning and was getting ready to take a shower, iw as on time, but my mom said “i can tell how tired you are and how nervous you are about doing this so you know what dont worry about it. go back to bed.” and it was really shitty for me because YEAH i was super tired and YEAH i didnt feel like i was capable of driving by myself at that moment, like i probably COULD HAVE if it were an emergency, but my mom talked about doing all this shit afterward like going on a shopping trip and stuff and BASICALLY it’s less that i was afraid of the driving but more that i knew the errand wouldn’t end there. and i had gotten zero sleep and just didnt wanna fucking do it, i didnt wanna have a “girl time :)” outing with my mom, and i knew i’d basically get trapped into hanging out with my mom if i went. so i stayed home. but then that’s also a blow to me because stupid fucking worthless idiot that i am cant even drive ten miles in a fucking car, or whatever, useless leech living with my parents contributing nothing, unemployed for a year, blah blah blah. stupid fucking neet should have never been born etc etc etc

she took an uber home and had glowing reviews about the experience and that’s great for her but the guilt made me throw up because i couldnt even do this minuscule thing. so like, if i DO hand her a note and say “here’s all the shit im going to do, BUH BYE” and some shit happens, or i dont get what i need done, or i dont have a fully developed plan of what i’m doing, then it’s gonna be more ammunition toward what a useless piece of shit i am. like, i dont have good food to eat at the house, but i also have NO APPETITE so nothing sounds good, so i cant even think of what foods i would get if i could. it’s such a jarring opportunity that i would just like...not get anything at all and go home. even when i -did- have the opportunity i just went “Uhh umm uhhh fuck uhhh milk” and got that (AND THEN MY MOM CAME HOME W 2 GALLONS OF MILK FROM COSTCO, SO OF COURSE I -DID SOMETHING WRONG-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IF I JUST LEFT IT UP TO HER INSTEAD OF DARING TO DO SOMETHING MYSELF I WOULDNT HAVE LOOKED LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT AND ENDED UP WITH 3 GALLONS OF MILK AT THE HOUSE) of course i drank the milk i bought, it’s not like it went to waste, but i was CAUGHT because there were now THREE instead of the one gallon covertly getting replaced. instead of me doing something helpful i did something that became an inconvenience.

it’s just little shit but it all adds up. it’s been all of these little fucking things forever and ever and ever, just like my mom’s hoarded garbage. “i bought just a couple of things”, innumerable times throughout the duration of my entire life, forever and ever, “just a few small things” over and over until it’s suffocating.  it’s just all this little shit all the fucking time and it’s suffocating.

naturally, the therapist sent me an article on “daughters of narcissistic mothers”. this will be a delight to read, i’m sure.

[sergeantjbuckybarnes]

ALL THE STARS chapter 2: welcome to Wakanda

STEVE X READER X BUCKY

Story: After the events of Civil War, the rogue avengers are in hiding in Wakanda, fearful for their lives. Bucky had been taken out of cyrostasis and will be given the treatment to undo the brain-damage received by HYDRA. All Steve wants is to see Bucky better, the guilt of his actions taken over him.

You, are the psychiatrist that takes on Bucky’s case, recommended under T’Challa.

 Taglist : @loki7ms , @hista-girl , @mashed-fandom-imagines

Warning: 18+ themes present in the story 

TAGS: #allthestarsfanfiction

Next Update: March, 17 2018

Your name: submit What is this?

On paper, Bucky's treatment was perfect.

All y/n had to do, was make sure Bucky and Steve had the resources and coping skills to deal with their past drama.

But in reality, the drama extended from just past. It was woven to the present and possibility the future.

That's not something that's easily talked about.

For the next couple hours, the four went back on different treatment options, and it was only when Dr. L/n mentioned that maybe doing both separately and together sessions could help.

From there, T'Challa decided to have the two men house with y/n, as she would be able to give them 24/7 therapy, should there be a need for it. They arranged for Bucky and Steve would start as soon as the next day, after Bucky had physical therapy for his arm.

The meeting ended there, and y/n gave her goodbyes to all three, having to rush and have a meeting with another client.

Steve and Bucky... It's nice to meet you.

" How do you like Dr. l/ n? "

Steve and Bucky had left the lab, having gone back to the guest bedroom they had been provided with. Steve and Bucky were on the bed, legs tangled as the two cuddled together. After Bucky first woken up from the cryostasis chamber, he had been hesitant to touch Steve at all but had warmed back up to touching again.

"I like her, she's nice."

Steve hummed, rubbing his fingers across Bucky's arms. Bucky pushed their hands together, holding Steve's hand as if it was the most precious thing he's ever held.

The two stayed inside the room, more into their own world than anything else.

To each other, life was just a bit better when they're together.

When Y/N was able to get back her apartment, she wasn't tired at all, so she took the time to really deep clean the apartment.

It wasn't necessarily dirty at all, but with two new houseguests, she didn't want them to think that she wasn't a slob or anything else.

Armed with cleaning supplies and her parent's old gospel records, she spent over an hour in the apartment, shining it to perfection.

For dinner, Y/N had leftovers, making a note to stock up on food. Dinner was eaten at the kitchen table, while she poured herself over files and a notebook.

While it was necessary for her to have questions that are geared towards helping her clients, she also liked having a set of questions that dug a bit into the personal life.

She had a set of questions, only changing them based on the personal info she was presented with before the first contact.

By the time she was finished, it was well into the night, the clock showing 01:30.

Y/N threw her dishes into the sink, moving to the slightly bigger bedroom, her very own space.

The room was decorated to her own beat, which including the handmade desk and her former schools tapestry hanging on the wall behind her bed.

She washed her face and put her hair up, keeping the bonnet secured into her head.

As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was asleep, seemingly dead to the world.

The sound of her door ringing is what the young psychiatrist woke up to.

Y/N was startled, grabbing a robe, and the small dagger that she kept on the nightstand.

She silently walks to the door, moving to the door. Peeking at the screen next to it, she was somewhat upset that it only showed Shuri and a member of the Dora Milaje, the two standing on the welcome mat.

Y/N pulled the door, giving the young princess a sigh as she did so.

"So you must not realize it's early. "

Shuri laughed, holding up a bag in her arms.

"Oh I know, yet I can't seem to care. "

Y/N let the two in, the princess and the two moving towards the kitchen, the member standing guard at the door.

The eldest of the two started on coffee, something she desperately needed.

" Okay, " Shuri started, having pulled out several tech things, laying them on the pitcher's island. " I need to update a couple of security things, and then maybe breakfast together? "

Y/N only nodded, too busy with the drinking the caffeine she had. She watched as Shuri did her magic, a feat that always amazed her.

At 16, Shuri was the smartest person she had ever met, and y/n had met a lot of smart people in her lifetime.

Y/N left Shuri to her own devices, taking a quick shower and get ready for the day.

For the day, Y/N had picked out her favorite colored dress, the one that was just right for her body. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, her edges laid down. Her shoes were the ones she wore the most and She put her lab coat over it and hid her ID inside her pocket.

When she had finished, Shuri was by the front door, fiddling with the screen next to it.

Shuri had explained all of the major upgrades and showed her how they had now worked. Y/N stored all of it her mind, ready to use.

The trio made their way to a food stand outside of y/n's place, getting Tea and Mahamri. They ate on the steps of one of the building, giggling and talking about random subjects.

As they made their way to the royal building, Shuri had struck of another conversation, mainly in the eldest two new housemates.

"Are you nervous at all, this is a bit out of your range ?"

Y/N took a deep breath, shoving her hands into the pockets.

" I guess, but it's my job, I vowed to help those that need it. "

Shuri had led the way to the lab again, letting the lady hang around with her.

Sometime later, y/n went back her apartment, having to work on another case for the day.

Sitting at the desk, her hands flew across the keyboard, tying out replies and sending off emails.

All in a day's works.

After having left Shuri back in the lab, y/n had made her way through the wakandan stalls, picking up food to stock up on in her kitchen. She also had made sure that there things such personal products and cleaning supplies in the guest bathroom. Someone had stopped by when she was gone, leaving two suitcases by the bedroom.

To y/n, she was the most prepared person she knew and would expect nothing else than perfection from herself.

Bucky couldn’t tell if he was nervous or not.

Of course, Bucky hadn’t felt anything during his time as the winter solider, but now, it’s a whole different park game.

He sat on the bio-bed, flexing vibrainium arm that he now had. When he had woken, Shuri had explained that she would be given him his new arm, something she created on her own.

It had amazed Bucky, and he became even more excited when she showed him her lab.

Shuri had arrived, pulling out a tablet, which Bucky was pretty sure held his medical information.

"Are you ready now, Bucky ? I'd like to start ."

" Sure."

Shuri had Bucky work on series of arm finger reflexes, making sure his body was working with prosthetic.

He had Shuri laughing, telling her stories of Steve and him as children.

“After that, we never were able to go back there.”

Shuri gripped the table, her eyes in tears from laughing so hard.

“You colonizers are hilarious.” She took the electrodes off his arm, placing them back in the box.

“Done, you’re free to go now Bucky. “ The teen put the information into the tablet, syncing it to the kimoyo beads

“ Thanks Shuri.”

“Yea, your welcome.”

Bucky went to the room, opening the door to Steve getting dressed. “Hey punk, going somewhere ?”

Steve, who had finished buttoning up his shirt, move towards Bucky, putting his hands on his shoulders. Bucky pulls him closer, putting his forehead on Steve’s.

“Meeting with T’challa. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Remember we’re leaving soon.”

“ I won’t. See you soon.” 

Steve presses a kiss to his lips, the sweet gesture making Bucky slightly flustered.

"I'm not taking no for answer, Shuri. "

" Well, all you're getting is a no. "

This made y/n even more frustrated.

She had came back to the lab, so the now trio could get back to her apartment.

Y/N had found Shuri first, updating the medical records. She offered Shuri to take another counseling appointment, but as usual, the young teen was being stubborn, and refusing, despite her almost dying.

Y/N knew that Shuri held trauma inside her, and after everything, She bottled it up and that wasn't health.

"Shuri, just take the appointment, " y/n exclaimed, "There's nothing with attending one. "

Shuri sighed, seeing the frustration on her older one's face.

“I rather not.”

y/n became even more frustrated, but ultimately let it go.

“Fine. I’ll drop it for now.” She scribbled a time on a blank card,taken from her pocket, placing it on top of the table. “Just think about it. Please.”

The teen only nodded, but y/n could see her looking at the card.

Y/m pulled Shuri into a big hug, pouring all of her love to her.

“ I’m off now, but I’ll be by in a couple of days. “

Shuri lets go, and smiles are on both of their faces.

With Steve in a meeting with king T’challa, Bucky had stayed behind, having to have physical therapy with Shuri. Now, Bucky was back at the room, keeping himself busy with one of the books Steve had lying around.

A knock at the door interrupts him, the knock vibrating against the door. When he opens it, it’s Dr. y/n, a smile on her face.

“Hello Bucky,” y/n starts, sifting a bunch of files around in her arms.” Are you and Steve ready?”

[itspatsy]

the girl who could be you

Summary: Trish has met a few superheroes, but she's never had one break into her apartment and sit in the dark waiting for her. Not even Jessica was that rude. (or: Trish Walker and Natasha Romanoff have something in common, and they talk about it without actually talking about it.)

Notes: Inspired by this awesome idea by @allofthefeelings.

Read on AO3. 

Trish scrambled through the doors of her building, relieved to escape the downpour. Shaking her head and wiping water out of her eyes, she cursed herself for forgetting an umbrella. She exchanged a silent nod with the sleepy-eyed doorman, glad to see him actually awake for once but knowing it wouldn't last long. She envied his ability to sleep anywhere. She could barely manage it in her own bed. She stepped onto the elevator, looking down at her watch to make sure it survived the torrent. It was after nine, not an unusual time for her to be getting home these days.

Until recently, she’d spent as minimal time at the office as possible. But Jessica had still been around then. Had needed Trish there with her. At least, that’s what she’d thought at the time. When Jessica walked back into her life after disappearing for months, traumatized and guilt-ridden and plagued by nightmares at every moment, Trish had worried about leaving her alone for too long. What if she tried to hurt herself? Who would pull her out of her flashbacks? The only reason she went to work at all was because Jessica insisted.

It was slow going, over half a year, but Jess started talking to her about what happened, her snark was coming back in full force, and she’d even cracked a few smiles. It seemed like the therapy was making a difference, that things were getting better. But then Jessica was gone again, and Trish was left wondering if it was her fault. If she’d been too smothering and controlling, or if she hadn't been attentive enough. If she should have given her more space, or if she'd given her too much space. She didn't know, and she couldn't ask Jessica, because Jessica left her no way to find her or get in contact with her.

And it hurt. It hurt to even think about, so she did what she always did when it felt like her chest had permanently constricted and she would never get enough air in her lungs again. She directed all of her emotional energy into external things. Her job provided the perfect source of distraction, and even if there were about a million studies proving how overwork and exhaustion led to an early grave, it was still far healthier than the means of diversion she used when she was younger. So she worked until she was too tired to think, until she felt nothing.

Well, almost nothing. As she opened the door and padded into her darkened apartment, a chill ran up her spine. Something seemed... off. The door had been locked, there was no sign of forced entry, and nothing seemed out of place. There was no reason for her to feel on edge, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

She quietly stepped through the hallway, staying close to the wall and grabbing a vase off the table as she crept towards the living room. She couldn't help but feel silly skulking around her own apartment in the dark. She was tired, her mind was playing tricks on her. That’s all it was. And yet, in a world where aliens invaded New York, Nazis infiltrated government security agencies, and her best friend was mind controlled by a rapist sociopath for months, maybe it didn’t hurt to be overly cautious.

Trish carefully peeked around the corner into the living room and held back a gasp. There was still enough light to make out a figure seated on the couch. Thin. Leather-clad. Long-haired. Her heart stopped in her chest. Could it be?

Before she could decide her next move, a feminine voice that definitely did not belong to Jessica called out, “I know you’re there, Ms. Walker. Don’t be—”

Before the intruder could finish her sentence, Trish was chucking the vase at her head. Her aim was true, but the woman dodged, and the porcelain smashed against the wall. Trish leapt to the kitchen island, grabbing for a knife and yelling, “Who are you?! What do you wan—”

The light suddenly turned on, and Trish stopped mid-sentence as she came face to face with her mysterious visitor. It was… the Black Widow? Natasha Romanoff. The SHIELD agent that fought in the Battle of New York, the whistleblower that revealed HYDRA infiltration to the public, the Avenger. That was... holy shit, that was awesome, but also what the hell?

With her heart in her throat and brain short-circuiting in confusion, she could only feel a surge of relief that she picked up the ugly vase. Then she gave a quick prayer her mascara wasn't running from the rain. Priorities. She was rarely at a loss for words, but her usually expansive grasp of the English language failed her now, and all she managed was a dumbfounded, “Ummmm… huh?” So much for Trish Talk.

The Black Widow raised a calming hand and seemed utterly unperturbed at having a knife pointed at her. Of course, she’d obviously been in far more dicey situations, and Trish figured a blonde lady moonlighting as a drowned cat probably didn’t cut the most intimidating of figures. Still, she was mildly offended. She could be fearsome and formidable, dammit.

“I apologize for the scare, Ms. Walker. This probably seems very strange to you,” Agent Romanoff said, hand still raised and clearly in soothe-the-terrified-civilian mode.

It was a little condescending, and Trish didn’t think it was particularly fair, seeing as how Romanoff was the one that decided to take a page out of the serial killer handbook and introduce herself by breaking in and lying in wait. But Trish returned the knife to the counter and with as much prim politeness as she could muster (which was a lot, she was used to putting on a show and smiling graciously through discomfort and alarm) responded, “You could say that, yes.”

“Let me help you clean up.” The agent gestured to the broken shards on the floor.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll get it later,” Trish said, waving her off. The superspy standing in her living room was a far more pressing issue. Was it... could it have anything to do with Jessica? She didn't know how Agent Romanoff would have any connection to Jessica, but she couldn't stop the fear from gripping at her chest. Why else would a superhero want to talk to her? 

She took a breathe and tried to sound as causal as possible. “I’d rather know what brings the Black Widow to a radio talk show host’s apartment. I doubt you want to set up an interview, not that I would object. But if that is why you’re here, I have to admit, this is a bit of an extreme way to get my attention...” she trailed off, leaving room for an explanation, but the other woman just stared at her, unblinking. It was kind of unnerving.

Romanoff tilted her head to the side slightly, considering, expression inscrutable. After a long moment, she finally said, “Your personal security system leaves a lot to be desired.”

Huh.. okay. That wasn’t really an answer. She was relieved this didn't appear to have anything to do with Jessica, but that just made the whole thing weirder. Trish stared back silently, taking a closer look at the woman in front of her. She looked and talked like the Black Widow she’d seen in the news. The hair was different, but still that brilliant red. Almost the same as the damn Patsy wig, actually. But it looked right on Natasha Romanoff in a way it never looked on Trish. So did the dark leather jacket and fitted jeans and tall boots. She looked good, but her eyes were weary and worn, clear even through her air of cool professionalism. Knowing what she did about the things Agent Romanoff had gone through in the past few years, it made sense. It felt real.

Granted, the technology was available for someone to disguise themselves as another person, but Trish couldn’t imagine anyone with access to that tech would use it to play mind games with a former child star and make themselves look like the Black Widow to do it, no less. On the other hand, was that really more far-fetched a possibility than the actual Black Widow breaking into her apartment to give her security tips? She crossed her arms over her chest, unsure what to think. “So… you broke in to test my security?”

Agent Romanoff apparently decided to continue not answering questions and instead said, “I have a few recommendations. Surveillance, reinforced door, safe room, bulletproof windows, and the like. Check your personal email.”

Trish raised an eyebrow. “You have my personal email?”

She wasn’t naive enough to be surprised someone could access her private email, especially not a spy. Not when regular people did the same sort of thing all the time. Privacy and celebrity didn’t exactly go hand in hand, and Trish understood the enthusiasm of fans. Most of them were harmless, if occasionally overwhelming, but a few crossed the line into creepy invasiveness. Sometimes they’d managed to access personal information: addresses, phone numbers. It’s how she’d ended up with a couple of stalkers.

Hell, her own mother might as well have been a stalker. Ever since she and Jess had left, Dorothy Walker always seemed to know the details of her daughter’s life. Where she was living, her phone number, her work schedule, her favorite coffee shop, her jogging route, every goddamn thing. Of course, Trish blocked her number to cut down on unwanted contact, but Dorothy would just hide her caller ID or use another phone or even change her own number to circumvent it. Trish had gotten wise and rarely answered unknown calls but she was still left with drunken, rambling messages, sometimes remorseful, sometimes berating, but always manipulative and designed to make her feel like shit. A few times, Dorothy had even called the station to pry details about her life out of her co-workers. She was equally a menace when it came to email.

But all of that wasn’t half as bad as when she would orchestrate “accidental” run ins in public, which forced Trish to remain polite lest she draw attention. The last time she’d done it was just a few weeks ago, at one of Trish's favorite delis, and somehow Dorothy just knew. She knew that Jessica wasn’t living at the apartment anymore, and she knew it hurt Trish, so she wouldn't shut up about it. Her mom loved to pick at her scabs, but she loved fresh blood even more. It was almost enough to make Trish change her routine and pick new places to go, but it was her life now, and she’d be damned if she was going to let her mother drive her away from the things she liked. She was often tempted to get an actual restraining order, instead of a Jessica enforced one, but it didn’t seem worth the headlines and publicity. Being in the spotlight, even in a negative way, gave her mother power and satisfaction.

But this was the Black Widow. She wasn’t a fan or a stalker or a controlling mother. Why would she bother with all of this? Before Trish could ask as much, Agent Romanoff continued, “I also included contact information for some reliable personal trainers to start you out.”

"Start me out on what exactly?” Trish asked, a little irritation creeping into her voice. This conversation was becoming increasingly opaque, and she was running out of patience. She just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Romanoff stared at her as if the answer was obvious. “Self-defense lessons.”

Oh, of course. She should have known. “Okay...?” she intoned, clearly expecting more of an explanation but already figuring she wasn't going to get one. 

"You want to be able to protect yourself, right?" Agent Romanoff asked.

And yeah, there was no escaping the cryptic non-answers. But this time what she'd said roiled something deep-seated in Trish. She'd phrased it as a question, but it felt like a statement: you want to protect yourself. It was truer than anything else in Trish's life. Was she just that easy to read? Did she have her victimhood tattooed across her forehead? She considered Agent Romanoff again, in confusion and weariness and, for all her current frustration with the woman, a kind of giddy awe. 

Everyone seemed to have an opinion about the Black Widow. She was in the news more often than not. In defiance of the usual 24-hour news cycle, talking heads and pundits were still dissecting her actions in DC months later. In general, governments of the world viewed her with suspicion, and the United States in particular was incensed at the national security risks and damage to international relations her transparency had wrought. At worst, a few countries considered her a criminal and wanted her extradited and put on trial for past actions. Public opinion was polarized, and there didn’t seem to be much middle ground. Many considered her a hero, but as many, if not more, considered her a dangerous loose cannon with unknown loyalties, someone that could not be trusted and should be wearing an orange jumpsuit instead of black leather.

Trish had made her view of the woman clear on her show, after the Battle of New York and once again after the HYDRA Uprising. Natasha Romanoff was a hero as far as she was concerned. The infodump revealed her past for the world to see, at least in part, and it was... awful. The things she had done, yes, but also the things that had been done to her. The incredible violence and abuse, the brainwashing and mental manipulation. It was the kind of thing pulled from the pages of a dystopian horror novel. And still, despite everything in her past, Natalia Alianovna Romanova made a choice to become Natasha Romanoff. She made a choice to be good and do good, to protect people, even when it came at great cost to herself. Trish admired and respected her for that.

The Black Widow was a cipher in so many ways, more so now that she was inexplicably standing in her living room, but Trish had always felt like she could understand her on some distant level. She knew how hard it was to take control after having none and how good and terrifying it felt to finally be able to make your own choices. She understood the need for reinvention, the power that came with making a new name, and the liberation of forging a new identity separate from the things other people forced on you. It took strength and courage to become a new person, to be someone that fought for good, especially if you grew up with no real guidance of what exactly constituted right and wrong.

Of course, Trish knew she could just be projecting her own issues. Scratch that, she definitely was. She didn’t know the woman. Knew nothing about her but for some publicly available records. It was easy for people to think they knew who you were just because they saw you on TV or read your Wikipedia article. She didn’t want to do to Agent Romanoff what people had done to Trish Walker her entire life.

But what Trish knew with certainty was that Natasha Romanoff did the things Trish wished she could do. Despite being a regular human, she held her own with super-powered heroes. She protected people. She saved the world. Whatever darkness was in her past, she was a goddamn superhero in her own right.

Trish Walker wasn’t a superhero. She couldn’t save the world. She couldn’t protect anyone. Not herself. Not even the person she loved the most.

Trish could only stand on the sidelines as her best friend vanished from her life, knowing something was wrong, so completely wrong, but unable to do anything about it. She could only call again and again and leave message after message of panicky where are yous and are you okays. She could only sit with the phone at her ear, baffled and angry and heartbroken, as Jessica told her she had a boyfriend she loved, and she was finally happy, truly happy, so fuck off and mind your own business for once in your life, christ, you’re just like your mom.

When Jessica turned up at her door again, shaking and empty and shattered to pieces, all Trish could offer was shelter and expensive therapists and it’s not your fault. And when she came home one evening to find a note saying I have to work this out on my own and don’t try to find me, she could only hyperventilate on the floor of her kitchen, tears rolling down her cheeks and fingers itching for pills or whiskey or anything that would let her lose herself in a way she hadn’t been lost in years, in a way she wasn’t supposed to still want because she was better. She could only go on with her life, pretending everything was fine and hoping Jessica would walk back through the door one day.

Trish Walker couldn’t help anyone because she was just a useless talk radio host, not a hero. Not like Jessica.

But a different hero was standing in her living room where Jessica once stood, telling her how she could be a little bit of a hero too, if for no one else but herself. Maybe she couldn't protect everyone, couldn't protect Jessica, but she could at least learn to protect herself. It was something.

"Yes,” Trish said, fervently, feeling a shiver in her spine. She could have told herself it was because she was still soaked to the bone, but she knew it was hunger, the kind of desperate craving she'd only ever felt as an addict. “I want to be able to protect myself.” She didn't just want it, she needed it. She needed it so much her body and blood ached for it.

But she still didn't understand, and a question settled in her throat again. Why? “I just… this is all a little hard to comprehend. You don’t know me, but you break into my apartment to give me recommendations on security systems and self-defense lessons? Why are you doing this? It’s… it’s pretty strange, and you must have more important things to do."

A shadow crossed Romanoff's eyes. Gone was the steady, polished indifference. She looked… lost and young and tired and so much like Jessica the night she’d turned up at the door and collapsed into her arms. So much like… like what she once saw in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror, what she still sometimes saw when she let her guard down and stopped pretending it was all okay. It quickly passed, however, a moment so fleeting Trish almost thought she’d imagined it. But even though she wasn't a spy, when it came to acting, she was as much a professional as Romanoff.

Placid expression restored, Agent Romanoff said, "I used to watch your show."

Trish’s eyes widened in surprise. That… what? That was not what she was expecting. And she didn't see what it had to do with anything. Couldn’t the agent just give her a straightforward answer for once? Why did she have to be so enigmatic? Secretive superspy or not, Romanoff broke into her apartment and decided to offer up unsolicited advice, and she owed Trish a proper explanation for it.

What she did offer up didn’t even make sense. When and how and why had the Black Widow watched It’s Patsy? They were about the same age, but from what was publicly available about her background, the Black Widow started young, trained in spywork by an underground government organization in Russia. There was no way the grown Romanoff spent her free time sat on her ass watching old American tween programming, as hilarious a visual as it was.

Though… maybe it wasn’t completely outlandish to imagine foreign spies being exposed to American culture for their training. They had to learn about it somehow. But using It’s Patsy? Of all things? That was just… it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. It was ridiculous. Insane.

It was insane, but now that her brain had latched on to the idea, it wouldn't let go. It did make a twisted kind of sense. If you were using little girls to do your dirty work, you’d want them to seem like regular little girls, right? To blend in so they could lie and kill with more ease? So why wouldn’t they watch the same thing little American girls watched? Why wouldn’t they learn to act like the perfect All-American girl next door Patsy Walker, squeaky clean and sunshine bright with her green eyes and red hair and utterly mundane problems?

Of course, Patsy Walker wasn’t real. There was no actual little girl like her, American or Russian or otherwise. Trying to be Patsy, it had nearly ruined her life, but she’d never imagined it doing the same to other girls, certainly not in this manner. It made her sick to think of it being used to literally brainwash children, to mold them into better killers. But it made her even sicker to realize that she… that she almost felt less alone thinking that damn show might've made another girl suffer as much as she did. God, what was wrong with her? Was she really so selfish and warped?

Agent Romanoff half smiled, a little corner of her lip tilting up. There was no joy in it, just sadness, and that felt like the closest thing to a confirmation of her wild impossible theory she would ever get. Romanoff added in a slightly strained voice, “I hated it."

Trish almost laughed. "Yeah?” She smiled back, and it was probably an ugly thing, twisted and bitter. Her mother would've jabbed her in the ribs for a smile like that. But her mother wasn't here, and maybe, just maybe it was all right to be ugly and sick and wrong sometimes. To be imperfect in the ways Patsy was never allowed to be. “Me too."

They stood for a minute in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Two women who had nothing and everything in common stopping long enough for a shared ghost to catch up with them. But neither were the type to linger for long, and it was time to bury Patsy Walker again.

Trish cleared her throat. “So, these self-defense lessons you recommend? How long will it take before I’m flipping people around with my thighs?”

Romanoff chuckled, throaty and full. “For you?” She looked her up and down appraisingly, raising an eyebrow. Then her lips twisted into a smirk, and she winked. “Not long.”

Oh. The Black Widow was flirting with her. This night was a rollercoaster of emotions. Before she could really process that, Romanoff began making motions to leave. Trish didn't want to keep her, but she knew she couldn't let a secret agent walk away without doing one last thing. 

"Hey, before you go, I'd like to ask you a favor," she said. "I have a friend. She went through something... horrible, and I was helping her, but then she left, just went off the radar. Could you... I'd like to find out where she is. I just want to know if she's okay.”

It would've been easier to be angry at Jessica. It would've distracted from the worry, the loneliness, the ache in her heart. She wasn't used to being alone anymore, not when it had been them against the world for so long, and she felt like she'd been abandoned, and it wasn't fair, for either of them. But she couldn't be mad at Jess, never truly and not over something like this. She only wished she could do for Jessica what Jessica had done for her, the way she'd looked at a broken, abused, drug addled mess of a girl and saw something worth loving anyway. Jessica had saved her. She wanted to return the favor. Return the love.

But it wasn't for Trish to decide what Jessica needed now. If distance is what it took for her to heal, then Trish would give it to her. Even so, she just couldn't go on knowing nothing. God, maybe it did make her like her mother to be that way, but it came from a place of caring, and that did make a difference. Jess was strong, and she could take care of herself, but she wasn't invincible. All Trish needed to know was if she was alive and as okay as she could be. She could find a way to breathe with that.

Agent Romanoff nodded in understanding. “I’d be happy to assist, Ms. Walker. Send me her details.”

Trish smiled. There'd been enough self-pitying introspection tonight. Jessica wasn't another ghost, and it was time to stop treating her like one. “Thank you, Agent Romanoff. And please, call me Trish.” She stuck out a hand. Romanoff took it, and Trish could feel calluses and scars across the otherwise soft skin. It was a small hand, but strong. 

“I'll call you Trish if you call me Natasha. You know, I’m actually not an agent anymore. Anyway, you should change out of those clothes, and I really need to...” she trailed off, knocking her head to the side.

Trish nodded, letting go of her hand. “Sure, of course. Innocents to protect and vast government conspiracies to uncover, right?”

Natasha smiled, a real one this time. It was lovely. “Something like that.”

As Trish made a move toward the door, Natasha instead walked towards the balcony. Trish quickly noticed, rolling her eyes. “Should’ve known superheroes don’t use doors,” she muttered under her breath, changing course after Natasha. It had stopped raining, but the brick was still slick, and Trish eyed it wearily. It would be just her luck for the Black Widow to die in a freak accident on her terrace.

Strolling out into the open air, Natasha glanced back with a chuckle and mischief in her eyes. “You know, Trish, I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship. Because I—”

“No.” Trish shook her head, eyes widening in horrified realization. “Don’t do it. Don’t—”

“—really wanna be your friend,” Natasha finished.

“Goddammit,” Trish grumbled. “Not you too.”

Natasha was practically grinning at this point, utterly satisfied with herself. It was annoying and endearing at the same time. She’d been so professional and distant at first, and then so sad, it was a joy to see her lighter, happier... telling unacceptably obnoxious jokes. It was also a comfort. If someone that went through the things Natasha went through could still be like this, it gave her hope that Jessica would make it to that place one day too.

Trish sighed in exasperation, but grinned back. “Usually making that joke is a one way ticket to my shit list, though I suppose I could make an exception for my biggest fan. But if I hear one joke about me not being a natural redhead...” she trailed off, waving a fist threateningly.

She wouldn’t say it out loud, at least not in the words of that ridiculous catchphrase, but she really wanted to be Natasha’s friend too.

[hospicelsorg]

Not Getting Replies to Your Health Issues

To Those Who Still Do not Have All the Answers for Their Health Issues

chronic disease getting a diagnosis.

Some may think this sounds…odd. Why would a diagnosis be considered a good thing? How is receiving a diagnosis at all relieving? Isn’t it terrible to know you get a incurable disorder?

No , and yes at precisely the same time.

Let me clarify: years pass from feeling ill with doctors appointments, blood work with no replies and negative effects. It becomes exhausting. Trying and linking. Viewing this doctor and physician. Taking supplements or different medications. Obtaining test after test done. And still, despite all these efforts and time attempting to work out this puzzle, you feel as though you are no closer to replies as possible when you began your quest.

Thus when a physician comes together that finds that this puzzle piece that is missing, it’s a huge relief. It feels as though a giant weight has been raised. Since, yes, you have a chronic illness which waxes and wanes over time, however, at least you know what is wrong. At least it’s possible to take care of the disease to assist your symptoms. At least now you can have that peace of mind knowing that you are not “crazy” or making the whole thing up! Which is a huge fear of mine.

Nonetheless, it’s never that easy. Once 1 doctor figures out it, another physician thinks they have the responses and the other physician isn’t right. The doctors suspect you have that this disease, but the results are back negative. You feel as though you are back to square one.

I felt a huge relief. The unknown of those six months I waited in my muscle contractions were weighing me every instant of every day. Until that day once I discovered the phrases…”We all know why you’re feeling like this, and we can treat it so you begin to feel better.” It was music to my ears! I had a concrete answer and all I went through.

If the treatment methods suggested don’t work, but what happens? You obtain another opinion. What occurs when this opinion questions that the doctor’s diagnosis? OK, you undergo their evaluations. What happens if outcomes conflict, and now, you are no longer positive if the major diagnosis you’ve had for a year is the right one? When the doctors disagree, what happens? What now?

It is a dreadful feeling. It is a dreadful feeling to be to be in the unknown. Particularly after you think you have all the replies! And if you are in this circumstance, I am quite sorry. I know how awful it feels. But do take some comfort in the fact that you are not alone in this stage. In actuality, I think it is common for chronic illness musicians to undergo this during some point of their journey.

This is where we must practice patience. We need to practice approval. We know, and need to focus on being at the here and now all replies come in good time, and at the right time. We’re keen to have all the replies. We’re tired of combating with our health daily and fighting this battle. But if we keep holding on, our responses will come.

Do not stop trying. We can get through this. We can overcome this. Do not underestimate the ability of this disease community; it’s given me strength and hope once I needed it the most. And my expectation for each of you reading this is that as it did me , community can offer you with that same guarantee and fortitude.

We would like to hear your own story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Thinkstock photo via llhedgehogll.

Practice:

Surviving on Cornstarch: My Life With Glycogen Storage Disease

once in approximately every 100,000 births. This disease is hereditary and due to both the mother and father passing along this mutated gene. They don’t have to have  this disorder. When they were to get a child, there’s a person in four chance the   child will have the disease.

The major use of a individual’s liver is to make and store gas from the carbs they consume, such as rice and potatoes. Travels were produced by some of the glucose into the bloodstream and the remainder into the body where it’s used for energy.

The liver of a person with GSD type 1 doesn’t execute this function. We’re overlooking the receptor that allows this process to take place.

The deficiency  impairs the ability of the liver to produce glucose that is free from glycogen. Since these are both main metabolic processes where the liver provides glucose to the rest of the body during fasting, it causes severe and results in a rise of glycogen in the liver or kidneys leading to enlargement of both.

Frequent feedings of other or cornstarch carbs is the most important treatment. I must take daily to 80 grams of cornflour. I’ve not ever had a complete night’s sleep. Cornstarch contains the maximum amount of carbs (one tablespoon contains nine grams of carbs) and when taken raw it’s difficult for your body to digest, therefore giving me slow discharges of energy.

I go through approximately eight boxes of cornflour weekly and above my life time I’ve consumed roughly 1328 kilograms (~2928 lbs) of this. It is estimated to be about 17 bathtubs to visualize this! How can anyone take this illness seriously when our medicine is a gravy thickener?

The danger of not accepting cornstarch is hypoglycemia. It is the one which is quite damaging and the central issue. Any seizure can lead to severe brain damage or , even worse, death. Possessing chronic low blood sugar may allow you to  create tumors in your liver called adenomas, generally getting cancerous if not addressed fast enough.

Having GSD comes with other problems like growth failure, joint problems (gout), kidney problems, pancreatitis, bowel problems, a higher disease risk and blood clotting problems.

Without treatment, growth failure is typical due to chronically low glucose levels. Moderate malabsorption can be caused by involvement. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease at age 16 due to battle and the with  each the above too.

Neutropenia is a manifestation of the disorder. I have a very low white blood cell count and even though I’m on daily injections to boost my immune system that I still pick up infections and viruses easy. Without sufficient metabolic treatment, patients with GSD type 1 have not made it into maturity, and up till 1971 this disorder was completely deadly.

People who live can be stunted in growth and delayed in puberty because of low glucose levels.

I am now on my hospital admission. I’ve been living here in the clinic for 3 months and I am currently awaiting a liver to save my life.

We need to increase financing and awareness!

Doctors in college don’t get educated about GSD; it receives a mention in death, in the best. Here in New Zealand nothing has been released by any one about the illness and I wish to change that! I wish to raise money to assist their teams and doctors.

I am hoping to write and publish a novel on living with GSD. Every little bit helps. If I could walk right into a hospital and also have the physician or nurse already be aware of my illness, it would blow me away.

I would not wish this illness.

As it’s made me who I am now however I would not alter a thing.

We would like to hear your own story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Confronting My Dystonia ‘Face-to-Face’ in Talk Therapy

here.

Thinkstock photo via KatarzynaBialasiewicz.

Follow:

The Mental and Emotional Side Effects of Bipolar Disorder

chronic illness isalso, obviously, the bodily aspect and what effect these kinds of illnesses have on our mobility and the other various bodily symptoms that include the territory. However, what most people today forget about is that the mental component of disease that is chronic. Yes, the bodily effects are tough, but occasionally you might be amazed to know that the mental effects may be equally as bad, if not worse. On the website, I talk about this aspect of sickness and provide some tips to help make it manageable, now!

Chronic illness is not just about the physical hardships that a person can encounter, but also the mental and psychological strains of them too. Actually, research indicates that is a great deal more prevalent in those fighting  with chronic/serious diseases than the general population.

Chronic illness’ unpredictability makes it difficult to live with. Why? Since you don’t know when you might need to change/cancel your plans — whether it be going out with some friends, completing that to-do list or perhaps just a chill day in  the home with your spouse. When you’re always up and down, capable and unable to accomplish things, it can be tough to be pleased all the time. I mean, in case youneed to cancel out something from your control and’re actually excited about some plans, you’d be pretty miffed too, wouldn’t you? It makes it all the worse, when this is a regular phenomenon. The disappointed, the guilt of having to inform friends/partner/family you can not make it, the annoyance this happened for the fourth time in a row… It all adds up.

Chronic illness is often accompanied by changes in life and at times it may even alter the independence of the individual. This can create when you’re heading from the home. Constant queries ensue. Today, can I get a seat on the train, or will I must stand for an hour? How active is it possible to be? Will I have pushed and pushed? How long am I will have the ability to walk around before I burn out? You have the picture. The planning that has to enter everything when you have a serious health condition becomes frustrating and will suck the fun.

If pain is involved by the health condition of one, and they live with a constant pain level daily, it can definitely take its toll. Let us have a flu or cold for instance, since most folks encounter these on a frequent basis (you’re very fortunate if you don’t). Most individuals are miserable the whole time they’re experiencing the symptoms due to the fact that they prevent them from doing what that they love and generally just beats down you… Could you imagine living with a cold or flu daily?

Most importantly, you feel a particular reduction of also the capability to do and also the person that you was. Obviously, doing makes us more happy, but then it makes us sad, since they take too much from it if you can not do them.

So, how do you attempt to overcome these?

Partake in a self-care pattern — it’s something I will post about to come and you will discover some tips on this here.

Discover hobbies you can take part in and love — illustrations include crafts, reading, photographs or even watching movies you love.

Communities — there are lots of online communities, whether it be generally on Twitter, Facebook or internet. The amount of support you’ll be able to gain from these is massive and everyone there understands.

Just conduct you — don’t fret about what other men and women say. Should they love you enough, then they will know!

Which are your hobbies? Let me know in the comments and, naturally, don’t forget to talk about!

We would like to hear your own story. Become a Mighty contributor here.

Practice:

With Bipolar Infection, My Life Isn’t as Simple as It May Seem

here.

Thinkstock photo via LittleBee80.

The Ability Words Could Have in Encouraging Us Through Our Struggles

here.

Thinkstock photo via monkeybusinessimages.

from Health http://www.hospicels.org/not-getting-replies-to-your-health-issues/

[thathumanwiththecatears]

i typed this earlier and then just shoved it into my drafts because i didnt get out everything i wanted to and got busy. i decided i just wouldnt post it, except now im really pissed because of what my mom did today, which i will be tacking on to the end :)

I should have been expecting this, it happens every fucking time, i hoped this time would be different, but why would it. They stiffed me on my check from working the golf tournament and i was only paid for 10 hours, that was one of the worst days of this year for me, i hated it the whole time and had panic attacks and just wanted to go home because i wasnt stable, i fucking earned that money, but guess what, not only did i not get all the money i worked for, i didnt get ANY of the money.

Yet again my mother has stolen my paycheck, i went home last weekend, we agreed she would use it to buy me my laptop on thursday, so i signed it so she could cash it while i was at school. She spent it. And not on my laptop. I will not be getting a new laptop this week, it probably next week, or probably ever. And there is nothing i can do about it. She is manipulative, all i could do is demand my money, and that will either just start a fight that will just be all against me and i wont have anything at all, or it will just lead to her talking her way out if it leaving me with nothing again.

I cant fucking get away from her, im not even living at hone and she stukk manages to steal everything from me. The only way i can think of to be able to get away from it is to get money, but i cant get money, because to get money i have to have money, i dont have a bank account, i cant get one because i dont have an id, i cant get an id because i dont have money. Im trapped. And if i did manage to get away the amount of backlash i would get would be awful, my mom already uses guilt to control me, i dont really want to find out what would happen if i actively tried to get away, she will blame herself, and make me feel guilty, and just manipulate me. she makes everything about her, even when she forced me to go to therapy, where i wouldnt talk because the cause of everything /her/ would go in with me and sit next to me, she would talk, i would have to sit there for an hour screaming min my head about everything as she cried to my therapist. i admitted i wanted to die once and she cried about how she was a terrible mother until i had to be the one to comfort her. I, a child, who wanted to die, had to comfort my mother, because she said she felt like a bad mom because i wanted to die :)

so here is the new part

and so now, she told me that she didnt have the money because she had to buy oil, which i would understand,,,, IF SHE DIDNT GO TO A FUCKING CHRISTMAS SPECIALTY STORE AND BUY A FUCK TON OF SHIT TODAY. like how the fuck you gonna cry to me about money and then go off and spend a fuck ton of it on stupid shit you dont need and literally even if you /did/ you wouldnt need it for 2 fucking months. we have fucking 4 christmas trees, 4, and all of them get put up, we never have heat all winter, but at least we have plastic christmas trees. 

ALSO  she fucking messages me, and not only did she steal my money, she also wants to steal my fucking car, my car, because her breaks are broken, so she wants me to put my car on the road, but you see, i cant fucking drive, and while yeah, putting my car on the road will make it so that i /can/ learn how to drive, do i really think i will ever get that car back? NO you know who told me this would happen? my dad, im supposed to get $400 a month from my dad, you know where that goes? take a guess, nothing is mine, im not allowed to have anything, im not allowed to get a job, im not allowed to drive, im not allowed to even keep my own money. i hate this so much. 

[alexdmorgan30]

Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment

It may sound like a bit of an over-hyped cliche to “become your best self” in addiction treatment.

However, this is really the top level goal of recovery itself, at least in my experience.

Think about addiction treatment from a more global and holistic perspective: The addict or alcoholic is struggling because they are engaging in very unhealthy behaviors. They are hooked on a substance and that addiction is ruining their life. Over time, not only does their physical dependence increase, but the side effects and collateral damage from their addictive lifestyle continue to escalate and progress.

In other words, not only does addiction itself create problems and damage, but the side effects from the destructive lifestyle start to snowball and create additional problems. For example, just look at the way relationships get destroyed and strained due to drug or alcohol addiction. Note that, when the struggling addict or alcoholic suddenly decides to embrace recovery, those relationships do not just automatically become perfect overnight.

And the same is true with all of the various areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life, to include things like physical health, mental health, emotional well being, spirituality, and so on. Those different areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life are often compromised greatly due to the effects of addiction, and thus they all need to be rebuilt in addiction treatment.

The struggling addict gets clean and sober, and now they have to figure out how to function and thrive as a sober person. One of the problems is that they have all sorts of hang ups and issues left over from their life in addiction.

So how do you address all of this in order to live your best life in recovery?

I can see one approach that involves at least two concepts: The idea is that you need to identify and fix those issues and hang ups that you have in your life. This is internal work. The second part of that is that you need to build and sculpt the sort of life that fulfills you in recovery and also supports your being clean and sober. This is external work.

Another way to look at it would be to say that you need to fix your “inside,” and then you also need to work on the structure of your life as well. The internal stuff is just as important as rearranging your life to support your sobriety.

Why is this the case? Because the internal stuff–things like anger, resentment, self pity, shame, or guilt–can be the thing that is making you miserable every day. You could have the perfect life on the outside: Great family, great support network, good job, meaningful work, good health, and so on….but if you are racked with self pity or resentment, then you won’t be happy. Simple as that.

This is why, in programs like AA or NA, they have you attempt to identify some of those character defects and then address them in an attempt to “fix” them or eliminate them.

I did this myself when I realized that I was still clinging to self pity as a sort of defense mechanism. I had a few months of sobriety and I realized that my brain was running these certain “scripts” in my mind that were just making me miserable. What those scripts were doing was justifying another drink–my brain was constantly looking for reasons that I was a victim, reasons that the world had done me wrong somehow, reasons that I could use to justify drinking or taking drugs.

Even though I had surrendered fully and made the decision to get clean and sober, my brain was still running these old scripts that were left over from my addiction. And those scripts of self pity would work fine if I was actually going to relapse and go drink alcohol. However, I was maintaining my sobriety, and I had no intention of relapsing if I could help it, so the self pity that was playing out in my head was only making me sad and miserable. If I could not drink booze in order to “treat” myself, then what was the point of feeling bad, of feeling victimized? It made no sense.

So when I was in my early recovery, I had to realize this and figure out a plan. First I had to recognize that it was even happening. Some people who have massive resentments do not even know that they are carrying all of that anger around with them. So first, you have to notice the problem. You might need therapy or counseling to help you identify such issues. Or, if you get lucky with a good sponsor in AA or NA, they might have the skill set needed to bring some of your internal struggle to the surface.

After you identify something like self pity or resentment, then you need to do the work to eliminate it. If you just recognize it but do nothing to change it then it will continue to hold you back from living your best life.

For me, that meant making a decision to monitor my self pity, to monitor my internal dialogue, and to shut down self pity whenever I noticed it creeping into my thought process. I also practiced gratitude every day and started writing out lists in order to proactively defend against self pity. Gratitude conquers self pity quite well. If your problem is resentment then you might need to practice forgiveness. If you have issues with shame or guilt then a therapist or counselor might be able to help you work through those problems with specific strategies. But the bottom line is that we all have “internal issues” like I am describing here, and you need to identify yours and then do the work to fix them, just as I did in my early recovery.

On top of that, you need to start taking suggestions from people in recovery as to how you rebuild your life. My therapist and sponsor made suggestions to me over the first few years of recovery that included things like quitting cigarettes, going back to college, getting into physical fitness, and seated meditation. I adopted all of those habits and more, which definitely helped me to build a healthy and happy life in my recovery today. But please note that doing all of those suggestions would not lead a person to freedom or happiness if they are still suffering from internal issues such as resentment or shame or self pity. You have to do both the internal as well as the external work in order to recover.

Becoming your best self does at least two things: one, it protects you from relapse. But it also gives you a life that is enjoyable, happy, and worth living. Eventually you will discover your unique strengths and talents in your recovery that will allow you to reach out and give back to others as well. This is how you achieve your best life. Good luck to you on your journey!

The post Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2IDBbbs

[bobbiejwray]

Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment

It may sound like a bit of an over-hyped cliche to “become your best self” in addiction treatment.

However, this is really the top level goal of recovery itself, at least in my experience.

Think about addiction treatment from a more global and holistic perspective: The addict or alcoholic is struggling because they are engaging in very unhealthy behaviors. They are hooked on a substance and that addiction is ruining their life. Over time, not only does their physical dependence increase, but the side effects and collateral damage from their addictive lifestyle continue to escalate and progress.

In other words, not only does addiction itself create problems and damage, but the side effects from the destructive lifestyle start to snowball and create additional problems. For example, just look at the way relationships get destroyed and strained due to drug or alcohol addiction. Note that, when the struggling addict or alcoholic suddenly decides to embrace recovery, those relationships do not just automatically become perfect overnight.

And the same is true with all of the various areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life, to include things like physical health, mental health, emotional well being, spirituality, and so on. Those different areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life are often compromised greatly due to the effects of addiction, and thus they all need to be rebuilt in addiction treatment.

The struggling addict gets clean and sober, and now they have to figure out how to function and thrive as a sober person. One of the problems is that they have all sorts of hang ups and issues left over from their life in addiction.

So how do you address all of this in order to live your best life in recovery?

I can see one approach that involves at least two concepts: The idea is that you need to identify and fix those issues and hang ups that you have in your life. This is internal work. The second part of that is that you need to build and sculpt the sort of life that fulfills you in recovery and also supports your being clean and sober. This is external work.

Another way to look at it would be to say that you need to fix your “inside,” and then you also need to work on the structure of your life as well. The internal stuff is just as important as rearranging your life to support your sobriety.

Why is this the case? Because the internal stuff–things like anger, resentment, self pity, shame, or guilt–can be the thing that is making you miserable every day. You could have the perfect life on the outside: Great family, great support network, good job, meaningful work, good health, and so on….but if you are racked with self pity or resentment, then you won’t be happy. Simple as that.

This is why, in programs like AA or NA, they have you attempt to identify some of those character defects and then address them in an attempt to “fix” them or eliminate them.

I did this myself when I realized that I was still clinging to self pity as a sort of defense mechanism. I had a few months of sobriety and I realized that my brain was running these certain “scripts” in my mind that were just making me miserable. What those scripts were doing was justifying another drink–my brain was constantly looking for reasons that I was a victim, reasons that the world had done me wrong somehow, reasons that I could use to justify drinking or taking drugs.

Even though I had surrendered fully and made the decision to get clean and sober, my brain was still running these old scripts that were left over from my addiction. And those scripts of self pity would work fine if I was actually going to relapse and go drink alcohol. However, I was maintaining my sobriety, and I had no intention of relapsing if I could help it, so the self pity that was playing out in my head was only making me sad and miserable. If I could not drink booze in order to “treat” myself, then what was the point of feeling bad, of feeling victimized? It made no sense.

So when I was in my early recovery, I had to realize this and figure out a plan. First I had to recognize that it was even happening. Some people who have massive resentments do not even know that they are carrying all of that anger around with them. So first, you have to notice the problem. You might need therapy or counseling to help you identify such issues. Or, if you get lucky with a good sponsor in AA or NA, they might have the skill set needed to bring some of your internal struggle to the surface.

After you identify something like self pity or resentment, then you need to do the work to eliminate it. If you just recognize it but do nothing to change it then it will continue to hold you back from living your best life.

For me, that meant making a decision to monitor my self pity, to monitor my internal dialogue, and to shut down self pity whenever I noticed it creeping into my thought process. I also practiced gratitude every day and started writing out lists in order to proactively defend against self pity. Gratitude conquers self pity quite well. If your problem is resentment then you might need to practice forgiveness. If you have issues with shame or guilt then a therapist or counselor might be able to help you work through those problems with specific strategies. But the bottom line is that we all have “internal issues” like I am describing here, and you need to identify yours and then do the work to fix them, just as I did in my early recovery.

On top of that, you need to start taking suggestions from people in recovery as to how you rebuild your life. My therapist and sponsor made suggestions to me over the first few years of recovery that included things like quitting cigarettes, going back to college, getting into physical fitness, and seated meditation. I adopted all of those habits and more, which definitely helped me to build a healthy and happy life in my recovery today. But please note that doing all of those suggestions would not lead a person to freedom or happiness if they are still suffering from internal issues such as resentment or shame or self pity. You have to do both the internal as well as the external work in order to recover.

Becoming your best self does at least two things: one, it protects you from relapse. But it also gives you a life that is enjoyable, happy, and worth living. Eventually you will discover your unique strengths and talents in your recovery that will allow you to reach out and give back to others as well. This is how you achieve your best life. Good luck to you on your journey!

The post Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241842 https://ift.tt/2IDBbbs

[jaylazoey]

Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment

It may sound like a bit of an over-hyped cliche to “become your best self” in addiction treatment.

However, this is really the top level goal of recovery itself, at least in my experience.

Think about addiction treatment from a more global and holistic perspective: The addict or alcoholic is struggling because they are engaging in very unhealthy behaviors. They are hooked on a substance and that addiction is ruining their life. Over time, not only does their physical dependence increase, but the side effects and collateral damage from their addictive lifestyle continue to escalate and progress.

In other words, not only does addiction itself create problems and damage, but the side effects from the destructive lifestyle start to snowball and create additional problems. For example, just look at the way relationships get destroyed and strained due to drug or alcohol addiction. Note that, when the struggling addict or alcoholic suddenly decides to embrace recovery, those relationships do not just automatically become perfect overnight.

And the same is true with all of the various areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life, to include things like physical health, mental health, emotional well being, spirituality, and so on. Those different areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life are often compromised greatly due to the effects of addiction, and thus they all need to be rebuilt in addiction treatment.

The struggling addict gets clean and sober, and now they have to figure out how to function and thrive as a sober person. One of the problems is that they have all sorts of hang ups and issues left over from their life in addiction.

So how do you address all of this in order to live your best life in recovery?

I can see one approach that involves at least two concepts: The idea is that you need to identify and fix those issues and hang ups that you have in your life. This is internal work. The second part of that is that you need to build and sculpt the sort of life that fulfills you in recovery and also supports your being clean and sober. This is external work.

Another way to look at it would be to say that you need to fix your “inside,” and then you also need to work on the structure of your life as well. The internal stuff is just as important as rearranging your life to support your sobriety.

Why is this the case? Because the internal stuff–things like anger, resentment, self pity, shame, or guilt–can be the thing that is making you miserable every day. You could have the perfect life on the outside: Great family, great support network, good job, meaningful work, good health, and so on….but if you are racked with self pity or resentment, then you won’t be happy. Simple as that.

This is why, in programs like AA or NA, they have you attempt to identify some of those character defects and then address them in an attempt to “fix” them or eliminate them.

I did this myself when I realized that I was still clinging to self pity as a sort of defense mechanism. I had a few months of sobriety and I realized that my brain was running these certain “scripts” in my mind that were just making me miserable. What those scripts were doing was justifying another drink–my brain was constantly looking for reasons that I was a victim, reasons that the world had done me wrong somehow, reasons that I could use to justify drinking or taking drugs.

Even though I had surrendered fully and made the decision to get clean and sober, my brain was still running these old scripts that were left over from my addiction. And those scripts of self pity would work fine if I was actually going to relapse and go drink alcohol. However, I was maintaining my sobriety, and I had no intention of relapsing if I could help it, so the self pity that was playing out in my head was only making me sad and miserable. If I could not drink booze in order to “treat” myself, then what was the point of feeling bad, of feeling victimized? It made no sense.

So when I was in my early recovery, I had to realize this and figure out a plan. First I had to recognize that it was even happening. Some people who have massive resentments do not even know that they are carrying all of that anger around with them. So first, you have to notice the problem. You might need therapy or counseling to help you identify such issues. Or, if you get lucky with a good sponsor in AA or NA, they might have the skill set needed to bring some of your internal struggle to the surface.

After you identify something like self pity or resentment, then you need to do the work to eliminate it. If you just recognize it but do nothing to change it then it will continue to hold you back from living your best life.

For me, that meant making a decision to monitor my self pity, to monitor my internal dialogue, and to shut down self pity whenever I noticed it creeping into my thought process. I also practiced gratitude every day and started writing out lists in order to proactively defend against self pity. Gratitude conquers self pity quite well. If your problem is resentment then you might need to practice forgiveness. If you have issues with shame or guilt then a therapist or counselor might be able to help you work through those problems with specific strategies. But the bottom line is that we all have “internal issues” like I am describing here, and you need to identify yours and then do the work to fix them, just as I did in my early recovery.

On top of that, you need to start taking suggestions from people in recovery as to how you rebuild your life. My therapist and sponsor made suggestions to me over the first few years of recovery that included things like quitting cigarettes, going back to college, getting into physical fitness, and seated meditation. I adopted all of those habits and more, which definitely helped me to build a healthy and happy life in my recovery today. But please note that doing all of those suggestions would not lead a person to freedom or happiness if they are still suffering from internal issues such as resentment or shame or self pity. You have to do both the internal as well as the external work in order to recover.

Becoming your best self does at least two things: one, it protects you from relapse. But it also gives you a life that is enjoyable, happy, and worth living. Eventually you will discover your unique strengths and talents in your recovery that will allow you to reach out and give back to others as well. This is how you achieve your best life. Good luck to you on your journey!

The post Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241844 http://www.spiritualriver.com/addiction-treatment/becoming-your-best-self-in-addiction-treatment/

[violetsgallant]

Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment

It may sound like a bit of an over-hyped cliche to “become your best self” in addiction treatment.

However, this is really the top level goal of recovery itself, at least in my experience.

Think about addiction treatment from a more global and holistic perspective: The addict or alcoholic is struggling because they are engaging in very unhealthy behaviors. They are hooked on a substance and that addiction is ruining their life. Over time, not only does their physical dependence increase, but the side effects and collateral damage from their addictive lifestyle continue to escalate and progress.

In other words, not only does addiction itself create problems and damage, but the side effects from the destructive lifestyle start to snowball and create additional problems. For example, just look at the way relationships get destroyed and strained due to drug or alcohol addiction. Note that, when the struggling addict or alcoholic suddenly decides to embrace recovery, those relationships do not just automatically become perfect overnight.

And the same is true with all of the various areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life, to include things like physical health, mental health, emotional well being, spirituality, and so on. Those different areas of an addict or alcoholic’s life are often compromised greatly due to the effects of addiction, and thus they all need to be rebuilt in addiction treatment.

The struggling addict gets clean and sober, and now they have to figure out how to function and thrive as a sober person. One of the problems is that they have all sorts of hang ups and issues left over from their life in addiction.

So how do you address all of this in order to live your best life in recovery?

I can see one approach that involves at least two concepts: The idea is that you need to identify and fix those issues and hang ups that you have in your life. This is internal work. The second part of that is that you need to build and sculpt the sort of life that fulfills you in recovery and also supports your being clean and sober. This is external work.

Another way to look at it would be to say that you need to fix your “inside,” and then you also need to work on the structure of your life as well. The internal stuff is just as important as rearranging your life to support your sobriety.

Why is this the case? Because the internal stuff–things like anger, resentment, self pity, shame, or guilt–can be the thing that is making you miserable every day. You could have the perfect life on the outside: Great family, great support network, good job, meaningful work, good health, and so on….but if you are racked with self pity or resentment, then you won’t be happy. Simple as that.

This is why, in programs like AA or NA, they have you attempt to identify some of those character defects and then address them in an attempt to “fix” them or eliminate them.

I did this myself when I realized that I was still clinging to self pity as a sort of defense mechanism. I had a few months of sobriety and I realized that my brain was running these certain “scripts” in my mind that were just making me miserable. What those scripts were doing was justifying another drink–my brain was constantly looking for reasons that I was a victim, reasons that the world had done me wrong somehow, reasons that I could use to justify drinking or taking drugs.

Even though I had surrendered fully and made the decision to get clean and sober, my brain was still running these old scripts that were left over from my addiction. And those scripts of self pity would work fine if I was actually going to relapse and go drink alcohol. However, I was maintaining my sobriety, and I had no intention of relapsing if I could help it, so the self pity that was playing out in my head was only making me sad and miserable. If I could not drink booze in order to “treat” myself, then what was the point of feeling bad, of feeling victimized? It made no sense.

So when I was in my early recovery, I had to realize this and figure out a plan. First I had to recognize that it was even happening. Some people who have massive resentments do not even know that they are carrying all of that anger around with them. So first, you have to notice the problem. You might need therapy or counseling to help you identify such issues. Or, if you get lucky with a good sponsor in AA or NA, they might have the skill set needed to bring some of your internal struggle to the surface.

After you identify something like self pity or resentment, then you need to do the work to eliminate it. If you just recognize it but do nothing to change it then it will continue to hold you back from living your best life.

For me, that meant making a decision to monitor my self pity, to monitor my internal dialogue, and to shut down self pity whenever I noticed it creeping into my thought process. I also practiced gratitude every day and started writing out lists in order to proactively defend against self pity. Gratitude conquers self pity quite well. If your problem is resentment then you might need to practice forgiveness. If you have issues with shame or guilt then a therapist or counselor might be able to help you work through those problems with specific strategies. But the bottom line is that we all have “internal issues” like I am describing here, and you need to identify yours and then do the work to fix them, just as I did in my early recovery.

On top of that, you need to start taking suggestions from people in recovery as to how you rebuild your life. My therapist and sponsor made suggestions to me over the first few years of recovery that included things like quitting cigarettes, going back to college, getting into physical fitness, and seated meditation. I adopted all of those habits and more, which definitely helped me to build a healthy and happy life in my recovery today. But please note that doing all of those suggestions would not lead a person to freedom or happiness if they are still suffering from internal issues such as resentment or shame or self pity. You have to do both the internal as well as the external work in order to recover.

Becoming your best self does at least two things: one, it protects you from relapse. But it also gives you a life that is enjoyable, happy, and worth living. Eventually you will discover your unique strengths and talents in your recovery that will allow you to reach out and give back to others as well. This is how you achieve your best life. Good luck to you on your journey!

The post Becoming Your Best Self in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241844 https://ift.tt/2IDBbbs

[roberrtnelson]

Confronting Your Inner Issues in Addiction Treatment

What does it really mean to confront your innermost issues in alcoholism or addiction treatment and “get real with yourself?”

How does a person actually go about doing this?

Well for starters, I would suggest that before a struggling alcoholic or drug addict can really get to the bottom of their core issues, they first need to establish a baseline of sobriety. So the key in doing that, in my experience, is to first go to an inpatient treatment center.

It should also be noted that addiction is a primary disease, and that it exists by itself, for itself, without having to depend on a person’s issues.

In other words, you may blame your addiction on the fact that you suffered abuse as a child. However, it should be noted that the addiction could exist and actually have nothing to do with the abuse. Furthermore, there are people who have different issues, or have far less issues than you might have, and those people might still become addicts or alcoholics.

In other words, the issues and the drama and the problems of our past do not necessarily have anything to do with our addiction, and those things did not necessarily cause our addiction.

This is an important distinction because at one point in history they believed that alcoholism and drug addiction were always a response to some sort of issue, and that if we could solve the side issue then the addiction would magically go away. We know today that this is false, and that the addiction is primary, and that the addiction doesn’t really depend upon our issues or drama. The addiction just exists, and it can exist for no apparent reason, and therefore we have to deal with it as best we can.

Having said that the addiction does not depend upon side issues, it should also be noted that everyone has side issues anyway! Which is another way of saying that we all have at least some fear, resentment, self pity, anger, fear, shame, or guilt in our lives. There is no human being on the planet who does not have at least some of that stuff going on inside of themselves.

So we have established 2 things: That addiction does not depend on our issues, but that everyone does, in fact, have some side issues.

Now the third thing to realize is that, while living in addiction recovery, everyone should be actively working on their side issues.

Why?

A few reasons. One, you want to strive for self improvement in general, because that is one way that you avoid complacency and stay active in your recovery journey. Striving for self improvement is a very important concept. One of the ways that we do this is by identifying our blocks, our hang ups, and our negative emotions and then we figure out how to overcome those limitations.

Two, some of our side issues can, in fact, become triggers for a possible relapse. For example, let’s say that you did experience abuse as a child, and you may not even realize that you have a major resentment over this abuse. At some point, you could become triggered regarding that abuse issue, or because of the person that was involved with that abuse, and this resentment could cause you to want to medicate and relapse. So while not every side issue or bit of drama in your life may trigger you to want to relapse, some of them certainly could. As we do not necessarily know in advance what is going to trigger us, it is best to try to tackle all of these potential sources.

You may note that if you thoroughly work through the 12 steps of AA or NA, it very much attempts to uncover these sorts of issues from our past and get us to deal with it in a fairly direct way.

Sometimes this method of step work will be enough to protect us from relapse, but sometimes it may not be enough. Some people work the steps more thoroughly than others, and some people have a better sponsor than others, and so the steps may or may not allow you to thoroughly work through the issues that you need to deal with.

Having said that, I would also make a recommendation to anyone in addiction recovery that they go to therapy or counseling.

As mentioned previously, the struggling addict needs to establish a baseline at the start of their journey. Do this by getting on the phone and calling an inpatient rehab center. Go to rehab. Go to a 28 day program.

You need to do this for several reasons. First and foremost is the safety that it provides during the physical detoxification process. Second of all is the safe environment that it puts you in so that you are not tempted to relapse during those first tenuous 28 days.

But also, by going to an inpatient treatment center, you will be automatically set up with some sort of aftercare plan. Generally a rehab will set you up with some sort of IOP after inpatient treatment, which will include having a therapist or a counselor that will also do one on one therapy with you.

In my experience, and in my opinion, this is critical. A therapist can give you the kind of objective advice that you need to not only succeed in sobriety, but also to thrive and to find your best life in recovery.

Which is another way of saying that you would benefit a great deal from having a therapist in early recovery from addiction. Whatever your core issues are, having a therapist will allow you to tackle those issues and work through them as best you can. Without a therapist, you may not even know about the issues at all, or realize that they are potential triggers for you.

Now in addition to having and using a therapist in early recovery, I would also recommend that you start very early in recovery by exploring various coping strategies.

So everyone, in life, is going to have times of stress. Everyone is going to get “triggered” in various ways throughout their life, and throughout their recovery. This is just part of being alive.

Working with a therapist and working a recovery program can allow us to avoid some of those triggers, and perhaps even most of those triggers situations.

But not all of those potential triggers can be avoided. We are all, at one point or another, going to face some stressful trials in our life.

Therefore we need to have ways to deal with that stress and anxiety.

Now here is a key point: The things that work for me may not work so well for you. I tend to jog long distances when I am stressed or triggered. Not everyone is an avid jogger, nor would that solution work for everyone.

So we need options. Start asking people in recovery how they deal with triggers and urges. Start gathering ideas and then start testing them out for yourself. This has to be a journey of self discovery, to find out what works best for you.

The key is to be open to advice and to actually put the ideas into action. This is the best way to find your own strategy for dealing with stress and anxiety. Good luck!

The post Confronting Your Inner Issues in Addiction Treatment appeared first on Spiritual River Addiction Help.

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