#and i still relapse regularly. last time i cried about it was like a month ago. THIS year

[hella1975]

idk how regular consumers of all hurt/no comfort major character death SLEEP at night i watched one piece of media with major character death TWO YEARS ago and it made me fucking suicidal

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #469

“i am hungry for some unrest  /  i wanna push it beyond a peaceful protest”

Do you have any goats? Can't say I do. Are you going to be getting any new pets soon? No. Would you rather be a panda or grizzly bear? As a protected species, I'd say a panda. Do you like BBQ sauce? I hate it. Can you do a twirl like a ballerina? No. Does your house have a pool? No. Do you own an iPad? No. What’s a topic you’ve drastically changed your opinion on? A LOT. Many years ago, I was very conservative, now I'm definitely more liberal. What’s an achievement you hope to see humanity accomplish in your lifetime? I'd really love to see great improvements in nature and wildlife conservation. Are you and your SO Facebook official? We're like... half official? He never checks his notifications, EVER, so he hasn't verified our relationship status. Instead, it just says on my profile "in a relationship with ____ (pending)." I don't mind, though. "Facebook official" doesn't mean much to me at all. What matters is that we know. Have you ever bathed in a river or a lake? I've swum in them, but I most certainly haven't bathed in one. Have you bought a bag of potato chips in the past week? No. I avoid chips because I'll eat too many. What was your first job? And how long did you work there? I was a sales associate at GameStop for like two months, but keep in mind I was VERY rarely on the schedule, so I probably didn't even work for a week's time in total. Can you drive? I can, but I don't do it well and don't have my license. My permit's even long expired. I plan on forcing myself to practice and get licensed once I get new glasses, though (whenever I can afford that...). Right now I couldn't even pass the vision test. I just have to do it; public transport isn't big here AT ALL, and I can't keep relying on others to get me everywhere. Do you spend too much time online? Way, way too much. Extremely high odds are, if I'm conscious, I'm on the computer. I want to change that so badly and experience other things in life way more regularly, it's just an addiction that has been an issue since I was first exposed to the Internet. Do you like to travel? I barely ever get to do it, but yes, I love it. How did you first notice the last person you kissed? Well, it's kinda hard NOT to subconsciously notice the guy who played the fuckin' huge-ass tuba in band, ha ha. Why will/won’t you and your ex get back together? THE ex, because 1.) I'm sure he wants nothing to do with me, and 2.) because I'd be much too worried he'd leave again if I relapse with my depression badly enough. Do you use the words "I love you" too lightly? Definitely not. Do you like pizza? Legit, are there people who don't like pizza???? Do you use an alarm clock? I use my phone for that. Name something that is currently making you happy. Girt is making me really, really happy. I'm still not happy at my core, but, y'know. A person can't do that, anyway. What do you want for Christmas this year? Stiiiill a 40 gallon for Venus with proper equipment... I need a fucking job. That's going to be my answer possibly past Christmas because I just completely rely on my parents financially. Are you excited for the holidays? Very, except for Thanksgiving. I'm way more hyped for Halloween and Christmas and all it entails than usual. Name one tattoo you would like to get someday. I'll give ya one I don't think I've mentioned. On top of one of my hands, over some sort of fiery graphic, I want "Gefährlich ist wer Schmerzen kennt" (translated to "whoever knows pain is dangerous") written in fine text. It's a lyric from the song "Feuer frei!" by Rammstein that I just find very powerful, and not necessarily in an dark way. Are you afraid of stink bugs? Yes, because they're a form of beetle, which tend to scare me. Do you wear contact lenses? No, but I wish. :/ There are piercings I want that would look stupid with glasses. One of my eyes has such bad vision that I need a weighted contact in it (don't ask me exactly what the difference is), and I could feel it way too clearly in my eye, and it made it heavy. Wearing those contacts did NOT last long; I went back to my glasses. Have you ever danced in the rain? No. What was your last dream about? Astonishingly, I don't remember. Where was the last place you went besides your house? The doctor's office. Do you feel like you're judged for your looks? Being someone who is by definition obese, I'm certain some people do. Do you fight with your parents a lot? No. Last time you got stopped by a cop or pulled over. Why? I never have been. Do you like hot sauce? Yes. How bored are you right now? Very, very bored. As a side effect of depression, I experience severe anhedonia like... constantly, at least to some degree. No exaggeration. It makes my life a fucking drag. It's why I take surveys so much; the randomness of the questions is at least a momentary distraction. Do you think you would make a good model? Hell no. Even if I was in a physical shape for anyone to be interested in photographing me, I would feel WAY too awkward. Are you a good singer? No. Do the Emergency Alert System noises on TV freak you out? Yes, because I immediately assume it's a tornado warning. Describe your perfect date. Actually I'm planning something for Girt and me hopefully on Halloween (or if he has to work, at least close to) that is like absolutely effin' perfect for me. Carve some pumpkins together, make those Pillsbury Halloween cookies, and binge some spooky movies. :') Do your parents trust you? Yeah. Do you like pot roast? No. Have you ever thought about being a stripper? No. Are you flexible? No. Can you wiggle your nose? Nope. Have you ever played Mario Kart? Yes. My younger sister especially was sooo good at it; she doesn't even play video games and yet she was hooked on it for a while. How often do you go shopping for clothes? Almost never. I really, really need to for undergarments and pants now. Do you have a high IQ? I don't know my IQ, but I very much doubt it. Would you ride a motorcycle if you had the chance? No. They scare me. Have you ever been bitten by a dog? No. Do you like the smell of cinnamon? yessssss Do you like frogs? I love those lil bug-eyed cuties!!! :') Are you afraid of dying? Not massively. I mean yeah, I don't want to die and the fear of the unknown is there, but I really don't think I'm as scared of it as most people. Do you like bananas? Yeah. Where's the last place you've been to out of state? Lake Gaston in Virginia. What are you listening to right now? I'm watching another playthrough of Fatal Frame 3. Gotta say it's probably my favorite that I've seen/played of the franchise now. Would you rather use a trackpad or a mouse? Mouse, for sure. Do you like steak? Yes. What was the best gift you've ever received? My late dog. Tell me one of your pet peeves. Consistently trying to make conversation with me when I have headphones on. It's a bitchy pet peeve, but a pet peeve nonetheless. Do you like to keep your nails painted? I don't paint my nails or care to. Are you a Duck Dynasty fan? I was a long time ago when I actually watched it. I wouldn't watch it now because I don't support the overly-conservative cast, having followed a couple on Facebook for a time. Have you ever played with Silly Putty? As a kid, for sure. I loved that stuff. Do you take in a lot of caffeine daily? Yes. :x Do you know a lot about history? Definitely not. Are you allergic to pollen? Yes. Would you rather play Xbox or PlayStation? I'm a PlayStation gal. Have you ever worked at a fast food place? No, and I neeeeever would. Hungry people are the worst. Do you like hot tubs? Meh, I have to be in the right mood. Do you know anyone who is battling cancer? Not at this current moment. Are you good at doing fractions? NOOOOOOO, or doing ANY kind of math. Have you ever auditioned for a talent competition? No. Would you rather get high or get drunk? I've never experienced either, but probably high. Being drunk is usually synonymous with being sloppy. Do you like the Silent Hill movies? AYEEEEEEEEE I'm the chick to ask! I love the first one, it's brilliant and loyal to the idea of the series but still unique from the original story of the pilot game. The second one is objectively fucking awful story-wise and is SO all over the place, but I can still enjoy it as an obsessed fan of that franchise. Did you ever want to be a doctor? I wanted to be a vet for a long time, if that counts. [TW: SUICIDE] The last person you kissed, how many times have you cried in front of them? I probably cried some/was teared up to some degree when he visited me in the ER after my overdose. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 1 month? Is this written for a middle schooler? No shit I could, and have in the past on more than one occasion. Have you kissed someone with braces? No. Is this the best year of your life? Nooo sir. Can you have more than one best friend? Yeah. What do you like better: hot chocolate or hot apple cider? Hot chocolate. ooo: What are your full initials? BMD. Would you ever let your grandma set you up on a blind date? She's dead, but if she wasn't? HEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL NO. Do you ever wonder if you will get in a car accident and die? As someone who is terrified of driving, absolutely. I'm primarily more concerned about becoming paralyzed from the neck down, though. I'd rather die than that. So your ex comes to you and says “I want you back”, what do you say? I'd probably say, "I'm happy to finally be able to say 'no'" or something along those lines. Maybe even just a simple "no." Which was worse for you: freshman year of high school or of college? College. I was so fucking depressed and lost. What is the last language you spoke, other than your first? German. Would you ever consider moving to a different country? Canada, yes, if it didn't mean leaving my family and now boyfriend. What is your favourite food from your culture? Burgers. @_@ Other than your name, what was the last name someone called you? Britt. If you could find one long lost friend of the past, who would it be? Megan. I found her on Facebook before and sent her two messages over the past something years, but she never responded. It's frustrating, like I was so close to reuniting with her, but not close enough. Do you wash your hair or your body first when taking a shower? Hair. Have you ever been to a nursing home? Yes, with my mother to visit someone.

[svu-stories]

.89 | The Downward Spiral

Characters: Barba/Reader Word Count: 2,712 Prompt: Barba finds his SO falling ‘off the wagon’ Requested by: @rauliskafan​ (like...6 months ago. I’m so sorry!) Warnings: Eating Disorders (Sp. Bulimia - somewhat detailed/graphic), Depression/Anxiety

You stood over the sink in the kitchen and dropped the spoon in your hand to the bottom of the basin. It clanked against the metal, jarring you slightly. Eyes took in the illuminated clock on the microwave - 1:49 AM - and the numbers were emblazoned in the back of your mind. You knew that this was it. Forever would the numbers 1:49 mean the moment you decided to give up.

Mint chocolate chip ice cream still lingered on your taste buds. It marred the memories of the hot cocoa you’d consumed just prior, along with the red velvet cupcake Rafael had brought home to you and the apple slices you had started the small binge with. There were a few containers containers of leftovers finished off, too. You reveled in the lingering scent of the pork adobo he had made for you only hours ago. Uncontrollable emotions had started to take over again. A medication change prompted by your psychiatrist’s fear of recent complacency seemed to kick off the downward spiral. You knew he had noticed. Rafael Barba wasn’t always the perfect husband, but he still held you when you cried and bought cupcakes when he didn’t have the words to provide comfort.

And in his defense, you had been far less than the perfect spouse, too.

You rinsed the dishes and dropped them into the dishwasher before crumpling the empty pint of ice cream beneath your fingers. Running your thumb over the ridge, you tossed it in the trash, staring for a few moments before slamming the cabinet door shut and letting your feet carry you mindlessly to the guest bathroom.

The master wasn’t an option. You couldn’t let Rafael down, fearing that your failure would make him feel like all of his effort to love you through your reopened wounds had gone to waste. It would never be his fault that you weren’t good enough. All you needed now was to purge all of the emotions that left you exhausted. You needed to take back control. Gripping the doorknob, you pushed the door open easily and toed inside. Just down the hall, through a cracked door, you could hear the silence of a slumber gripped husband who worked too many hours and needed a healthy counterpart. You could feel your heart sink. What you were about to do was a disappointment to you all.

It had been so long.

You had been so healthy.

You followed all of the rules, took every step, opened your heart to him, let yourself heal.

You shook your head as your brain reminded you of the failures. Each time you felt bitter that another court date got his attention rather than you. The job you quit purely because you couldn’t find a way to deal with an overbearing supervisor. The burnt dinners that sat on the table when you were too distracted. The dust that had settled on the furniture because you lost the energy to tidy up. Theu job interviews that had no call backs, or worse - the resumes sent with no response. He deserved so much better.

Shutting the door behind you, you swallowed hard. The tiny surroundings of the half bath were almost too small. You could feel the walls closing in as sobs caught in your throat, unable to make the final journey to be dispelled. You didn’t deserve to cry. This was your choice, your story, and you had to abide in the pain that existed. If you were a little stronger, a little smarter, a little less brash, maybe you would be worthy. Worthy of Rafael and of the life you lived.

It was a delicate dance, but you were too clumsy to be carried away on the twirls of a ballerina’s graceful choreography.

You reached for the faucet, turning it on as high as you could get the water pressure to go in your Manhattan apartment. You paused. It was Rafael’s apartment, really. He took you in when you wed, as was custom, but you knew you could never afford it without him. Especially now, unemployed with few prospects of work.

He insisted it was the right thing to do when you left your previous position. You had worked your way up the ladder, sitting in a management position with nine-to-five hours, plenty of vacation, and a hefty Christmas bonus each year. Still, your supervisor could only point out your flaws, and there were plenty. Your tears each night had started to break him. You took sick days regularly and your job performance suffered as you convinced yourself you were unable to be the employee they needed. Your misery left you helpless.

Still, you hadn’t disappeared into the depths of this dungeon through all of that.

You knelt, scratchy blue carpet from the small rug in the powder room pressing into your knees. You almost regretted your tendency to sleep only in one of Rafael’s v-necks. It had always been your preference since given the option while you were still dating. You clutched the soft fabric and lifted it around your nose, swallowing hard as you inhaled his scent. The sob you’d held back so long ago escaped as you gripped the rim of porcelain before you.

It happened faster than you could really process, but without a second thought you purged the recent intake of junk food from your system. Your body heaved as you gripped the sides of the toilet bowl, eyes closing as salty tears ran down your cheeks. Everything hurt in that moment. It had been so long since the familiar burn had overtaken your senses, but with your previous meal came out all of the fears of being imperfect. The pressure of wondering if you could ever make it in the world dissipated, even if only for a second.

A second was all it took, though, for the thing that you believed you controlled to control you all over again.

This time, it was the opening of the bathroom door. Its creaking hinges made you jump as you realized you had been caught. Rafael’s gasp was barely audible over the running water as he crouched beside you, brushing strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. You hadn’t even realized how damp it was. You felt lips on the back of your neck and heard a gentle sigh. You heaved once more, swallowing hard before leaning back on your heels once you were certain all contents of your stomach had been expelled. A shaky hand reached up, fingers struggling to push down the lever on the back of toilet, flushing away the contents that were proving the guilt of falling off of the proverbial wagon.

“Mi amor,” he said quietly. His voice was breathy as he ran a hand over your back. The rise and fall of your shoulders was exaggerated as you caught your breath, staring at wall rather than letting your gaze meet his. It was easier for both of you if he couldn’t see the shame clouding your vision. “Did you eat something bad? Are you ill?”

His voice sounded far away, but your skin tingled beneath his touches. You slowly closed your eyes and fell into his chest, letting a warm embrace envelop you as you started to cry. He knew every minute detail of your past. It was part of giving him your heart, and you didn’t regret it ever. At least, not until now. Now he was worried. He thought it was innocent. Your collapse in the bathroom, the faucet running, the burning feeling in your throat, even the relief you felt from purging every moment of the last several years that you had held inside left you wanting to fall asleep, exhausted from hiding from him. But he was right there. You couldn’t ignore his warm hands, the gentle kisses to the top of your head, or his worried gaze for much longer.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, holding you closer. You could almost feel the depths of his thoughts. Perhaps he was wondering if the pure act of vomiting had triggered you. Maybe he already knew you had relapsed into a world of negative thoughts and desires to be perfect. “You’re safe with me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You sat together for several minutes. Your tears finally subsided into the occasional sniffle and you hoisted your body away from his, standing up to fill a dixie cup with water. You never used to need to rinse your mouth out, but the foul tastes lingered and you had to forget. You swished cold liquid over your tongue and around your cheeks, glancing in the mirror. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at you with a hauntingly empty expression. You were empty again.

Your gut was void of food and your mind void of the self-hatred.

For now.

You turned off the water after spitting and tossed the empty cup in the trash. Leaning against the counter, you glanced at Rafael, who had positioned himself carefully on the now closed lid of the toilet.

“Let’s go to bed,” you whispered, voice raspy as you ran a hand through your hair and tried to avoid talking about what just happened. Maybe he still thought you just had a stomach bug. “Maybe I should stay on the couch so I don’t infect you, though.”

Rafael’s green eyes were all-knowing, and you wanted to shrink under his gaze. Sitting down he was shorter than you, and you tilted your chin down to see him better. He crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a deep sigh, “Are you ill?”

You pursed your lips, shrugging.

“That’s not an answer,” he continued. His voice held a quiet confidence.

“Can we please talk about it in the morn-“

“You’re not sick,” he breathed, teeth clenched. “Please tell me the truth.”

You shook your head. You weren’t sick with a bug or virus at least, and no food poisoning had overtaken your symptom causing cramps and vomiting that couldn’t be controlled. Instead, you were sick with anxiety and depression, negative thoughts that wouldn’t leave you alone. It was a constant nagging in the back of your mind; a tiny, small voice repeated the failures of your life over and over.

It convinced you that you weren’t worth living.

You could see his face fall. You tried to evaluate his emotions. For a fleeting second you thought you recognized disgust, then disappointment, and finally fear. You had made your husband - the only person in the world who loved you unconditionally - fear you. He had never known you ill. He had never seen the skin and bones version of yourself who was hollow from the inside out. Rafael Barba had watched you fall haphazardly into panic attacks and anger-filled cleaning binges. He had heard you berate yourself over and over. But he had never seen this.

He had never watched the skin be pulled away to reveal the brokenness that was held together with a few safety pins, some tape, and glue. The broken hearted girl who had first started trying to control food as the only chance she had to keep her life in check had never been his spouse.

Until now.

“You did this to yourself?” He asked, his voice quiet as a mouse.

You nodded slowly, refusing to make eye contact as your toes dug into the rug beneath you. This time, you were thankful that you didn’t wear socks. The scratchy fabric pieces grounded you into the moment.

You caught him raise his hand out of your peripheral vision and instantly took half a step back. Realizing he was just running fingers through his perfect hair, you let out the breath you hadn’t meant to hold. “You did this yourself,” he repeated gently. “Which means we have to talk about it. Because God-forbid I let you walk down this road and risk losing you.”

Your mind wandered, unable to handle the sudden onslaught of emotion you felt. You wanted to go finish off the lasagna Carisi had brought over the other night for the entire squad and start the process all over again. Then you wouldn't feel once more. You needed to be able to not feel.

Rafael finally looked up, shaking his head, “Look at me.”

You swallowed hard, eyes still trained on the wall behind him. You were slowly counting the number of loose threads you noticed in the towel behind his head. You frowned, wrinkling your nose, lost in thoughts of replacing the old, ratty towels with new ones that better matched the color scheme.

"Did you hear me?" He asked, voice a little louder. "Look at me."

You snapped to attention, slowly moving your gaze to his. The stare of his green eyes caused you to step back again. You hated hurting him, and all you could see was pain.

"What can I do?" he finally asked.

Despite his quiet tone, you were convinced he was still angry.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. The response was automatic. Being caught in your teenage years, still under the watchful eye of your parents, you had always apologized first in hopes that they wouldn't send you away. You knew the drill. It was a rehabilitation and treatment center with minimal freedoms and a bunch of other kids as sick, if not sicker, than you were. You had to beg and plead with them to not be force fed food and watched for hours after so you couldn't purge. Your entire life was taken away except for the voices that reminded you how much you were hated.

Having to be babysat because they couldn't trust you just added fuel to the fire of your family and friends.

And now your husband.

Rafael stood slowly, his posture non-threatening and easy. He held out his arms, beckoning you into a hug. You doubted it at first, looking away again. This time you stared at your feet, willing them to carry you to safety, but they felt heavier than cinder blocks as they cemented themselves into the rug. Finally looking up, you nodded. The tears were starting to fall again, and this time you fell into Rafael's embrace willingly.

You clung to him as though you could be ripped away at any moment, a fragment of your normally confident self. The mask had faded and finally you admitted to your failure. He whispered sweet nothings as he tried to comfort you, fingers tangled in your hair, butterfly kisses crossing your forehead and temple. You felt his whole body grow broader around you, seemingly protecting you from anything outside of embrace.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't help myself. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Hey, hey," he answered, his voice calm but strong. You could tell he wanted to carry you through it without any other words, but he spoke anyway. "We'll figure this out, mi amor. We'll go to therapy or see a nutritionist, whatever you need. You call the shots, here. But I'm not letting you dwindle away into that world again, you hear me? You're my love, my life, and I need you, all right?"

"You deserve better," you started, hiccuping through your sentence as your strength slowly gave way into leaning the majority of your body weight against him.

Rafael shook your head, pulling you back just enough to place a warm, inviting kiss on your lips, "Don't you ever say that again. I don't deserve you, and I'll fight every day to make you believe it."

You didn't believe him fully. Not yet, at least, but you nodded to at least affirm that you'd heard it.

"I'm scared to death," he admitted quietly.

You smiled sadly, knowing he was telling the truth, "Me, too, Rafa."

Rafael sighed, pressing his forehead into yours as he held you up. He was your rock and strength. You knew his world was filled with skeletons and nightmares, too, and somehow you always made it through together. You nodded against him, letting your noses brush against one another, sending goosebumps down your spine.

"I love you," he whispered. "We'll figure it out."

You found his hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing it. This time, you believed he was right.

[carryonmyswansong]

Questionnaire - About Me, pt 2

Do you usually sleep with your closet door open or closed? This might be weird but I don’t even think about my, closet. Its sitting open at the moment, and has been for several weeks now...

Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels? and the lotions, too....

Have you ever ‘done it’ in a hotel room? Yes.

Where is your next vacation? Does homeless camping this past summer count? Cuz otherwise “vacation” isn’t really something I can afford.

Have you ever stolen a street sign before? Nope. Never saw one I wanted to take lol Plus I don’t have the balls to do it lol

Who do you think reads these? Whoever is scrolling through their dash when I hit post.

Do you have a calendar in your room? Nope, not unless the one on my laptop counts

Where are you? In my room, in Jackson, MI.

What’s your plan for the day? A little more blogging and then I’m gonna go to bed.

Are you reading any books right now? Does fanfiction count? Cuz yes.

Do you ever count your steps when you walk? I do not.

Have you ever peed in the woods? Yes I have. I love camping.

Do you ever dance even if there’s no music playing? Yeah, sometimes

There are more under the Read More. Had to break the list up to include the Read More cuz it was hella long otherwise.

Do you chew your pens and pencils? not technically. but I will hold my drawing tablet pen in my mouth so I don’t lose it. Who ever thought to make those things as dark as they are, instead of a bright neon color, needs to be throttled...

What is your “Song of the Week”?  Pretty much anything from the Teen Wolf soundtrack

Is it okay for guys to wear pink? Why wouldn’t it be? Its even ok if he wants to wear a dress and become a princess. I hate gender roles/rules….

Do you still watch cartoons? Yeap

What’s your favorite love movie? The Last Unicorn, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (with Gary Oldman *swoons*), and The Boondock Saints. This answer hasn’t changed in well over a decade Just the order of the three.

What do you drink with dinner? Usually milk or water.

What do you dip Chicken Nuggets in? I often don’t. I do like sweet and sour sauce though.

What is your favorite food/cuisine? Sadly, since my ED relapse, I don’t have the same taste or passion for food, anymore. It doesn’t ignite the pleasure centers of my brain anymore.. I either I “don’t hate it” or I do. *shrugs*

What movies could you watch over and over and still love? Same as my favorite’s list. I usually watch The Last Unicorn like once a year or every other year, depending on if I remember to.

Last person you hugged/kissed?  not a person; My cast ZahZah

Were you ever a boy/girl scout? Girl Scouts. Very briefly.

Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? Maybe

When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper? Its been a very long time

Can you change the oil on a car? I’ve never been shown how. I’m sure I could, once I learned. I love car stuff.

Ever gotten a speeding ticket? Nope. I don’t drive.

Run out of gas? Same answer as above. I’ve been in the car when both happened, but I wasn’t driving.

Favorite kind of sandwich? ham, turkey, roast beef, bacon, with variations on veggies and sauces... 

Best thing to eat for breakfast? Glass of milk, and leftovers from dinner the night before.

What is your usual bedtime? I’m 33, and unemployed. I don’t have a bed time. (The last time I filled this thing in, I was 26 lol)

Are you lazy? No. I’m disabled, so some days, I can’t do much because of my illness.

When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween? I didn’t celebrate Halloween that often as a kid. I dressed up as a mermaid, a witch, and a vampire…. As an adult, I dressed up as a fairy once.

Do you have any magazine subscriptions? Nope. I wish.

Which are better, Legos or Lincoln Logs? Legos.. hands down!

Are you stubborn? Yup.

Who is better…Leno or Letterman? CONAN! I don’t care for most… 

Ever watch soap operas? I use to. They are kinda dumb… I prefer the teen dramas

Afraid of heights? Afraid? No. Am I cautious? You bet your ass I am.

Sing in the car? Only way to travel!

Dance in the shower? No, but I sing.

Dance in the car? Sometimes.

Ever used a gun? Not really, no.

Do you think musicals are cheesy? Yes, but I like them anyways.

Is Christmas stressful? I hate Christmas. I prefer to celebrate Yule.

Ever eat a pierogi? Yes. Cheesy potato. Yum.

Major annoyance right now? The fact that every time someone gets sick where my roommate works, he brings it home and I’m down for the count for a month at a time...

Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid? Country music star, scientist, unicorn trainer.

Do you believe in ghosts? Yes I do.

Ever have a deja-vu feeling? More times than I’d like to remember.

Do you take a vitamin daily? No, but I drink at least one glass of milk.

Wear slippers? nah

Wear a bath robe? Use to. No idea where mine ended up

What do you wear to bed? whatever is comfortable

Wal-Mart, Target or K-Mart? None, if I can help it. I prefer Wal-Mart, though. I also shop at Meijer’s as well.

Nike or Adidas? Neither. I’m not one for sports brands. I prefer Vans, Etnes, or Volcom.

Cheetos Or Fritos? Depends on my mood. I like both, but I will eat Cheetos over Fritos more often than not.

Peanuts or Sunflower seeds? To be honest? Neither.

Ever hear of, “gorp”? When I answered this the first time, I had to look that word up. I didn’t retain the info.... the word means “trail mix”... lol

Ever taken karate? nope

Ever kissed someone of the same sex?   Yes. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. 

Can you curl your tongue? Yes, and I can also do the three leaf clover thing, as well.

Ever won a spelling bee? No, but I can spell archeologist by heart now haha

Ever cried because you were so happy? Yes, I actually have.

Own any record albums? Records? No. I wish.

Own a record player? Same answer as above.

Regularly burn incense? I would, but my room mate is allergic.

Ever been in love? Yes. 

Hot tea or cold tea? Depends on the flavor. I will drink my tea if it gets cold. I love both.

Tea or coffee? hmmm… Depends on the time of day. I drink more tea than coffee, but I do like both.

Favorite kind of cookie? Oatmeal chocolate chip. Yes. That’s one flavor. Do it. You’ll thank me later. ;)

Can you swim well? Yes I can.

Can you hold your breath w/o manually holding your nose? Yes I can.

Are you patient? Usually

Ever won a contest? Yes

Ever had plastic surgery? Not sure if this counts as cosmetic since it was helpful, but when I was a baby, I had to have the frenulum under my tongue clipped because it hindered my suckling.

Which are better black or green olives? Neither.

Can you knit or crochet? Yes. I can do both.

Wash room or bathroom? Bathroom

Do you want to get married? Yes

Who was your High School crush? Lordy, I don’t actually know... that was a long time ago.

Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way? No. That’s dumb.

Do you have kids? No. I have a couple of angel-babies though… But I do help co-parent 4 kids. And I’m a godmommy to one of them... 

Do you want kids? Yes.

What kind of mom are you?  Openminded, but accountable.

Do you miss anyone right now? My grandmother and all my friends in SC. I haven’t seen most of them for like 8 years….

Who do you want to see right now? Same answer as above.

[vetnurseventure]

Compassion Fatigue – It’s okay to not be okay

No one told me about Compassion Fatigue. I’d been working in the industry for five years before I stumbled across the mere notion of it on my own. I spent three years studying to become a veterinary nurse. We learnt all about how to care for animals; in medical nursing, surgical nursing and triage. We learnt how to talk on the phone to clients, how to serve them in reception. We were taught about the five stages of grief and how to support our clients through them. We were taught customer service and communication skills. But not once were we taught how to look after ourselves.

The term ‘Compassion Fatigue’ was supposedly coined in 1992 by a nurse by the name of Carla Joinson. It is defined as ‘exhaustion due to compassionate stress, the demands of being empathetic and helpful to those who are suffering; the stress that evolves specifically from the relationship between the professional and the patient and client.’ (Dobbs, 2014) Although the concept has been around for many years prior, it had only ever been looked at in the human health care community. In recent years however, we have begun to look and realise that it is also rampant within the animal care community. (CR Figley, 2006) In the US in 2003 and 2004, a survey of 200 veterinary practices was conducted and it found that over 30% of veterinarians and staff had an extreme risk of becoming affected with Compassion Fatigue. (Jones-Fairnie, May, 2008)

The general consensus seems to be that Compassion Fatigue cannot be cured. Once you have it, the potential of relapse is infinite. (Prendergast, 2015) However, as made clear by Mehelich (Mehelich, 2011), an important clarification is that Compassion Fatigue is not something that a person is born with. It is something that we contract due to the environment around us. Some people may be more susceptible to it than others. The most commonly affected would be those in health care and those in animal care, because they are surrounded by trauma and suffering on a daily basis. However any compassionate, empathetic person who is trying to help someone can be affected.

It is imperative to remember that not all stress is bad. Some stress is not only good for you, but necessary. Psychologist Kelly McGonigal, author of The Upside of Stress has even suggested that stress has the potential to make you smarter, stronger and more successful. (Women's Fitness Magazine, 2015) The trick, however, is moderation. Just like an occasional glass of wine can be beneficial, but a case a night is detrimental. With stress, the occasional twinge can be inspiring. Too much and it can take a serious toll on our health, both physically and mentally.            

Compassion Fatigue is a real threat to those in the Veterinary profession, whether you’re a Veterinarian, a Veterinary Nurse or receptionist. And I find it alarming that there is still so little awareness out there. It seems as though there is improvement on the horizon. Mental Health has gained more recognition in recent years. However, I struggled to understand why learning about Compassion Fatigue and developing Emotional Intelligence isn’t a compulsory part of our training. As suggested by (Overfield, 2015), building emotional intelligence within a practice as a whole is the key to achieving a “successful and healthy practice”. So why do we have to look so hard to find more information on it? Recently the Veterinary Nurse Council of Australia hosted a webinar called Compassion Fatigue Pitstop, presented by Rosie Overfield. Overfield is a Veterinary Nurse also trained in counselling and is devoting a lot of time to the topic of Compassion Fatigue and mental health within the practice. It is becoming more popular in continuing education, which means it should only be a short step to including it in the primary veterinary education.

Interestingly, I haven’t found much research on the concepts of Chronic Compassion Fatigue and Acute Compassion Fatigue. In this area, I only have my own experiences to draw from.

I can remember my first episode of Compassion Fatigue extremely clearly. Mainly because it was horrific and mortifyingly embarrassing. It included a very public meltdown in front of my colleagues and it took a long time for me to get back on my feet. I should also point out that I while my occupation as a Veterinary Nurse most definitely contributed to my Compassion Fatigue, it was actually something that was happening in my personal life that truly triggered the attack.

I was looking after a close friend of mine. She suffered from mental illness and I had been struggling to take care of her for a number of years already. Things had progressed rapidly in our friendship, and before I knew it I was in an emotionally-abusive relationship.

At home I was moody and irritable. I am naturally introverted already, but I became antisocial. I stopped exercising, I stopped going out. I ceased taking part in my hobbies.

At work I became distant. I cried regularly, and even publicly, much to my humiliation. I couldn’t handle any form of criticism, every mistake I made felt as though it ought to be grounds for dismissal. My self-esteem and self-worth plummeted. My health deteriorated rapidly. I became physically ill. I developed an auto-immune disease called Tietze Syndrome; sometimes called Costochondritis. I was in unexplained and agonising pain for nearly two years. I struggled to perform my daily duties, further enhancing my lack of self-worth in the workplace. I developed stomach ulcers, stopped eating and became an insomniac.

As I mentioned before, it took me a long time to pull myself together and recover. I had amazing support from my colleagues, particularly with my physical illness. However, I believe that had I had more training, my attack of Compassion Fatigue would have been far less extreme. I was so unaware of my mental health that it was months before I could even acknowledge there was a problem. By the time I did I had what I consider a chronic form of Compassion Fatigue.

After this episode, I developed my own Emotional Intelligence (EI). Emotional Intelligence can be defined as an awareness of one’s on emotional and mental state. It is the “capacity to perceive emotions, assimilate emotion-related feelings, understand the information of those emotions and manage them”. (Timmins, Volume 33, Issue 1, 2006). With my newly developed EI, I became finely tuned in to my emotions and I was able to recognise red flags. I began to realise that my ill health was very closely connected to my level of stress. I didn’t recognise that I had Compassion Fatigue until nearly 6 months later when a lecturer mentioned it in passing during a short online course run by the Crampton Consulting Group.

These days, over two years on from that first attack, I still occasionally succumb to Compassion Fatigue. However they tend to be a more acute form. They’re brief and fierce, tending to only last 1 or 2 weeks. The more I learn about Compassion Fatigue, and the more I learn about myself, the easier it is to identify when I have it and, more importantly, the easier it is for me to correct it. Even reading the research for this paper enlightened me enough to be able to notice when my colleagues were struggling with Compassion Fatigue.

Compassion Fatigue is not something that should be fought on one’s own. The secret to a happy working life in the clinic is a firm grasp of Emotional Intelligence. Building EI with in the clinic is a great way to ensure that everyone in the clinic is being looked after. Develop your own coping methods, as everyone recovers differently and what might work for someone else might not work for you. Leave work life at work and establish a healthy home life. Exercise is a key component to relieving stress and can aid you in both a healthy body and a healthy mind. Sometimes you need to accept the fact that you are not okay and you need to devote some time to healing. You cannot care for others if you cannot care for yourself. It is okay to feel sad, but don’t let it consume you. Educate yourself about Compassion Fatigue. Develop emotional intelligence. Prepare yourself.          

“Sadness belongs to your patients and families, it’s not yours to take away.” (Huggard & Huggard, 2008)

  References  

CR Figley, R. R.  (2006). Compassion Fatigue in the Animal Care Community. Washington:  The Humane Society of the United States. Retrieved from Compassion Fatigue  Awareness Project.

Dobbs, K. (2014).  Compassion Fatigue. In L. Ackerman, Blackwell's Five-Minute Veterinary  Practice Management Consult (2nd ed.) (p. Section 6.24). Blackwell  Publishing.

Huggard, P.,  & Huggard, J. (2008, May). When the Caring Gets Tough: Compassion Fatigue  and Veterinary Care. VetScript, pp. 14-16.

Jones-Fairnie, D.  H. (May, 2008). Book Review: Compassion Fatigue in the Animal Care Community.  Australian Veterinary Journal, 186.

Mehelich, C.  (2011, September). Compassion Fatigue: Emotional Burnout in the Animal Care  Field. Bella Dog Magazine.

Overfield, R.  (2015). Building Emotional Intelligence In-Practice. Australian Veterinary  Nurses Journal, 22-23.

Prendergast, H.  (2015). Stress, Burnout and Compassion Fatigue. In H. Prednergast, Front  Office Management for the Veterinary Team (2nd ed) (pp. 143-144). Las  Cruces: Elselvier.

Timmins, R. P.  (Volume 33, Issue 1, 2006). How Does Emotional Intelligence Fit Into the  Paradigm of Veterinary Medical Education. Journal of Veterinary Medical  Education, 71-75.

Women's Fitness  Magazine. (2015, December). Turn Bad Stress Good. Women's Fitness Magazine,  pp. 30-31.

[negasonic-adult-warhead]

More Story (From Me)

When I was six years old I was 20lbs. My parents discovered that this was an issue when I came to them at 4am early on a Tuesday morning, then told them “I don’t feel normal.” I remember feeling too dizzy and tired to recall the word ‘well,’ and passed out in my mothers arms. The last thing I remember from that night was her asking me, over and over again: “Ryli, what’s normal? What is normal for you? What’s wrong?”

 I was too young to understand at the time that this was just the beginning of my problems. After 4 months of bouncing from hospital to hospital, I wound up at Jons Hopkins in Baltimore, MD. Since a very young age I was obsessed with pet bunnies, and I clearly remember some friends buying me all kinds of stuffed rabbits as I waited for the diagnosis. My favorite then was Baltimore Bunny; a pink, floppy rabbit with a red and blue sweater who accompanied me everywhere since I adopted him from the hospital gift shop.

 By the time my parents knew for sure what ailed me, I had become so used to IV’s that I would watch them put the tip of the needle into my pulsing veins.

 I was too small, the diagnosis said. My metabolism is hyperactive, resulting in my body eating my muscle. The result is a condition called hypoglycemia. As it turns out, I had traveled thousands of miles only to discover that drinking corn starch before bed would help me put on muscle mass, and therefore prevent more weight loss as I grew up.

 My parents would mix corn starch with whole milk every night before bed, rewarding me with a chocolate malt ball if I finished it in a timely manner.  To this day, Whoppers remain my favorite candy. I joined the swim team so that I worked out to put on weight, and it gave my skin the darkest tan I would ever receive; as five days a week in the middle of the Florida afternoon will do that.

 I got my first pet bunny when I was five, and it died. My second pet bunny, and it died too. I got a pair of bunnies, then gave them away. The last bunny I had when I was seven years old was named Spotty, and my mother accidentally killed him of a heat stroke when she moved his cage outside for the day (but I didn’t learn that was how he died until only last year). I stuck to stuffed animals for the next thirteen years.

 Ever since I was born, I had the habit of sucking my fingers, and it didn’t go away until I was nearly ten years old. Which gave way immediately to another strange behavior, licking my lips until they were chapped and bled.

 When I was 13 I began developing acne. As another behavior, I began to pick at the scars on my skin and pimples on my face. It left deep marks on my arms and chest, but I found it difficult to stop. Of course, I bit my nails back then, as I still do today—but what confused me about all of this is that to me, they weren’t connected.

 My parents labeled these as habits and began to tie consequences to them. With all respect to them, they were doing the best that they could to raise me. I regularly disobeyed them, and the same second that they began to tie my habits to punishments was the same second that I began to pull away from them. I couldn’t understand things. I didn’t know why I continued to struggle with this habit, especially when dropping it should have been just as easy as they described.

 I don’t think I realized it at first. Perhaps it was because I felt lonely, perhaps because I felt my behaviors were driving a wedge between me and my parents. My parents did absolutely nothing wrong in this situation. I am one of sixteen children; God knows they had their hands full and had no chance of seeing my issues for what they really were.

 My first iPhone quickly took the place of my scarring habits. I was on that device all the time. I was the reason my parents made my siblings keep their electronics plugged into the wall by my parents’ bed every night, the reason they were not allowed to be played with in the car, and the reason that no one could use one without accountability. I had discovered the online world, and all of the dangers that came with it.

 I gave myself my first self-harm cut when I was 16. My parents and I had gotten into an argument, and I had locked myself in the bathroom and cut three small lines into the edge of my wrist with a razor immediately after that.

 I covered it with a band-aid and struggled to hide my shame. It felt perfect. I’d let all of the anxiety out in just a few small marks. The only unforeseen thing about this addiction is that it quickly escalates into more of it, as the feeling itself is something that cannot be experienced once and then never touched again.

 Of course things got out of hand fast. I couldn’t understand why, though. I knew that I felt depressed, lost and trapped, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I began to panic and become upset with myself, not understanding what was wrong or what exactly it was that I was struggling with.

 And whatever I was struggling with felt so much bigger than me.

 When I struggled with self-harm, it felt so easy to sit and wallow in my own problems. Everything felt far away, too unreachable, and my future vague at best. I was told by my parents that they would never send me to college, as it was dangerous for me to be left alone. And then, my Mom and Dad, panicking that they would lose their daughter (which was, at that point, a very real possibility), gave me a pet rabbit.

 It was the first rabbit I’d had since Spotty passed away about thirteen years before. She was pure white, soft, her fur long and calming to the touch. I took her to my therapy sessions. She would sit on my lap as I talked to my family therapist, who also counseled my parents out of their fears.

 It wasn’t long before I realized therapy wouldn’t help. I was spiraling down a chasm that I felt I had no way out of. I don’t know how it is for most people who struggle with self-harm. Through my life, I’ve met about five other people who have struggled with the same thing. It’s strange to think that people will just label this issue as ‘Cutting’ and describe those who engage in this activity as ‘Cutters,’ as if they are defined by their struggles.

 In this I find a dilemma. As children mature, they have all kinds of interesting habits and odd quirks. Sometimes these are defined as morally perverse or socially unacceptable—as they should be. However, if someone struggles with temper tantrums as a child, do they grow up and deserve the title of ‘Abusive,’ or ‘Fast Tempered?’ Should that be something that sticks with them their entire life?

 Of course not! And yet, it seems some are so fast to title or label someone who has these struggles as if they will never overcome them. As if it is something that they will be forced to repeat and never escape from throughout their entire life. This doesn’t seem important, per se, especially when my argument at the beginning of this paper seems to contradict this paragraph entirely, but let me show you what I mean.

 People who receive these labels can, and in my case, will hold onto them. Blame everything in their lives on them. Feel as though it is all that they will ever amount to in life. The only way that I found to break through this mold that I had unintentionally fallen into was to completely shatter it. For myself, if not for anyone else.

 I started running. Sometime through high school I had fallen off the swim team. I got back onto it. I made it to the USAT National Championships for Triathlons. I began training for a marathon.

 And every day, when I went out for a run, alone… at night… without my phone, as I had lost all my privileges to it… I told myself that, one day, things would be better. I’d have proven to my family and to myself that I could be whoever I wanted to be. And little by little, the scars began to fade… not multiply. I know this struggle is different for everyone, but for me, it took two years to finally stop cutting. Just because I don’t cut myself anymore doesn’t mean it never comes to mind. Relapse is very easy to have happen, and what’s important is to never adopt those labels again.

 The day I finished the Marine Corps Marathon was the day I knew I had hope. I cried like a baby when I crossed the finish line. The finishers’ medal is hanging off a lamp in my dorm room, along with the jars that I used to put a rock into for each day that I trained. I ran cross-country for SU last semester, and this semester, I’ve joined the crew team. Athletics has been the key to the lock of anxiety that I found was chaining me down.

 As for my pet bunny, Sugarbuns, she’s been adopted into a new home since I came to college. My parents and I have been on hard terms recently, but, as I now know, the only thing that’s important in life is to never stop hoping and dreaming that things will get better. Since coming to Stetson, I’ve been much less afraid to tell my story. There’s something about going to such an inclusive, small school and meeting people that you form such close bonds with that I find incredibly special.

 If you’re struggling with self-harm today, the only advice that I can give you is that you have to believe you are so much more than what you struggle with. It’s simple to think that your labels define you, but if you don’t push through it, then you’ll never know what’s on the other side. I had no idea there was so much to live for until I came to SU. 

[inlove-with-myhubbies]

Kay! Im so bored. I'm just gonna do all the qns.

1. Think of the last person who said I love you, do you think they meant it? Yeah, I'm pretty sure Hiroki loves me~ 2. Would you date an 18-year-old at the age you are now? Why would I not date someone my age? Hahah 3. When’s the last time you were aggravated and happy at the same time? When I was playing the main story? 4. Would you ever smile at a stranger? I would prefer not to. 5. Is there someone mad because you’re dating/talking to the person you are? Dunno. 6. Have you heard a song that reminds you of someone today? Yep~ 7. What exactly are you wearing right now? A tank top? 8. How often do you listen to music? Everyday~ 9. Do you wear jeans or sweats more? Jeans~ 10. Do you think your life will change dramatically before 2018? Probably not~ 11. Are you a social or an antisocial person? Antisocial lol... 12. Have you ever kissed someone whose name begins with the letter ‘A’? Aigonorus~ Aoi~ Asahi~ Aslan~ 13. What about ‘R’? Ryo~ Rhion~ Ritsuto~ Rikiya~ Ryoji~ 14. Can you drive a stick shift? No. 15. Do you care if people talk badly about you? Depends~ 16. Are you going out of town soon? Nope. 17. When was the last time you cried? When I broke my nail the other day? It hurts. 18. Have you ever told someone you loved them? Yes. I tell Scorpio I love him everyday. 19. If you could change your eye color, would you? No. 20. Is there a boy who you would do absolutely everything for? SCORPIO~~~ 21. Name something you dislike about the day you’re having. Nope. 22. Is it cute when guys kiss you on your forehead? Yeah~ 23. Are you dating the last person you talked to? Hiroki? Yeah. 24. What are you sitting on right now? My bed? No, I'm not gonna say Scorpio's lap. Fuck! My phone just decided to slap my face. 😓😓 Nvm, let's continue. 25. Does anyone regularly (other than family) tell you they love you? My family doesn't tell me that. We don't even talk or anything lololololol... But yeahhh, my fictional hubbies always tell me how much they love me~ How? Pick a story to replay, then play the story lololol... 26. Have you ever wanted someone you couldn’t have? Yes. I want Partheno, Tauxolouve, Tsugumi, Kohaku, Motai and many moreee... yes! I want Coach Motai!!! 27. Who was the last person you talked to before you went to bed last night? Hiroki~ 28. Do you get a lot of colds? Not really~ I wear cardigans or hoodies~ 29. Where is the shirt you are wearing from? Dunno. 30. Does anyone hate you? Probably... I guess so. 31. Do you have any empty alcohol bottles hidden somewhere in your room? Nope. 32. Do you like watching scary movies? Yep. But I'm scared... So I NEVER watch horror movies alone... 33. Do you want your tongue pierced? No. 34. If you had to delete one year of your life completely, which would it be? The year when I'm born? 1998? 35. Did you have a dream last night? I don't think so lol... but I remember the last time I had a dream... I dreamt of some stuffs I don't wanna remember lol... what an irony hahah... I remembered how I was tied up and... errr let's just say... attacked... 36. When was the last time you told someone you loved them? Almost an hour ago? To my fictional hubby~ 37. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years? To my fictional hubby? Yeah sure. 38. Do you think someone has feelings for you? Probably my fictional hubby? RL? Dunno lol 39. Do you think someone is thinking about you right now? You? Well, you just spent 5 mins of your life reading this... 40. Did you have a good day yesterday? Dunno... isn't it just a normal day? 41. Think back 2 months ago; were you in a relationship? Yes. With my fictional hubbies~ 42. In the next 48 hours, will you hang out with a girl? Nope~ 43. Has anyone told you they don’t want to ever lose you? Yessss~ I never ever ever ever wanna lose my fictional hubbies toooo~ RL? Nahhhh neverrr! 44. What’s the best part about school? Dunno~ 45. Do you have any pictures on your Facebook? Yeah, i guess~ 46. Do you ever pass notes to your friends in school? I did. 47. Do you replay things that have happened in your head? Hell yeah! 48. Were you single over the last summer? RL? Yes. FICTIONAL WORLD? NEVER! 49. Is your life anything like it was two years ago? What was it like 2 years ago? I don't remember lol.... 50. What are you supposed to be doing right now? Nothing. 51. Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with? Nope. 52. Are you nice to everyone? Not really. 53. Have you ever liked someone you didn’t expect to? Yes. But I still love my fictional hubbies! 54. Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months and not cheat? I will NOT cheat on my dumb boyfie, that is if I ever have one... Let's just talk about my parents... My mum has a boyfie, my dad has a (?) girlfriend, and lots of stuffs happened... that's why they divorced... ermmm how many years ago? I can't remember... I think... 5? Or 6? Or dunno lah... But the point is, I don't like cheating. 55. Are you good at hiding your feelings? Feelings on how much I love Yurio? Nooooo~ He is just so precious. 56. Do you think you like someone? Scorpio! 57. Have you kissed someone whose name starts with a ‘J’? Nope~ I think dun have lolol... 58. Do you prefer to be friends with girls or boys? I'm fine with both. 59. Has anyone of your friends ever seen you cry? Can I not answer this qn? Haizzz fine. Few years ago, when I was in class, I had a relapse. A huge relapse. Hmmm... let's just say, when it stopped, I burst into tears... and... it was not pretty. Yeah. I pity my future boyfie, if I will ever have one. He will probably have to deal with my bullshit... and my split personality... and my relapses... and... errr... let's just say some other stuffs. 60. Do you hate anyone? Nope. No need to hesitate lol. Answer is straightaway no. It's tiring lol... very tiring... 61. How’s your heart? Broken into pieces? Lololol waiting for Dr. Saeyoung Choi to stitch it back into one piece for me. Jk. 62. Is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about? Yes. However, even though I hate it, I don't mind talking about it. That's if the listener PROMISES NOT TO SHIT TALK ABOUT IT LATER. 63. Have you ever cried over a guy? Over a fictional character? Yeaahhh 64. Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now? Dunno. 65. Are your toenails painted pink? No. 66. Will your next kiss be a mistake? How would I know? Lolol 67. Girls love it when boyfriends cry; correct? Ermmm... I would like it if my boyfie trusts me enough to do that... 68. Have your pants ever fallen down in public? No. 69. Who was the last person you were on the phone with? My fren? 70. How do you look right now? Messy as always? 71. Do you have someone you can be your complete self around? In real life? No. 72. Can you commit to one person? RL? Yeah. I would never cheat on my boyfie. Fictional world? Haizzz... Please do not remind me. 73. Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to? No. 74. Have you ever felt replaced? Yes. 75. Did you wake up cranky? Sometimes lolol 76. Are you a jealous person? Probably sometimes~ 77. Are relationships ever worth it? Dunno... If he's the one, yeah sure. 78. Anyone you’re giving up on? Nope, except for myself. 79. Currently wanting to see anyone? ...yes Who? ... ... ... The unluckiest god is? SCORPIO!!! 80. Name something you have to do tomorrow? Breathe. 81. Last person you cried in front of? My freaking idiotic brother. Cux that asshole broke my freaking nail. He's a hugeee jerk! 82. Is there someone you will never forget? Yeah. 83. Do you think the person you have feelings for is protective of you? Yeah. Scorpio always protects me. 84. If the person you wish to be with were with you, what would you be doing right now? Hug him. Kiss him. Love him. HE NEEDS MORE LOVE. 85. Are you over your past? No. I have no idea how to get over it either. There are just so many things that remind me of it. 86. Have you ever liked one of your best friends of the opposite sex? Yes. 87. Is there anyone you can tell EVERYTHING to? Nope~~~ 88. If your first true love knocked on your door with apology and presents, would you accept? He wouldn't. 89. So, the last person you kissed just happens to arrive at your door at 3AM; do you let them in? Yes. Why would I not let Hiroki in? 90. Have you ever liked someone who your friends hated? Can't remember lolol 91. Will you be in a relationship in 2 months? With a new fictional character? Yeahhhh! With a guy in real life? I don't know. Probably not. I would probably still be doing nothing everyday. 92. Is there anyone you know with the name Michael? Yeah. 93. Have you ever kissed a Matthew? No. 94. Were you in a relationship in January? How was it going? Yes, with my fictional hubbies. AND YES! It's awesome! 95. Were you happy with the person you liked in March? Yes. 96. Don’t tell me lies, is the last person you texted attractive? I guess he's fine. 97. Who do you have texts from? Frens? 98. If the person you like says they like someone else, what would you say? I wish them all the best? And then I will probably cry? Cux my fictional hubbies left me? 99. Have you ever kissed someone older than you? Yes. 100. Who’s in your profile picture with you? My hubbies, duh 101. Ever kissed under fireworks? No. 102. Has anybody ever given you butterflies? I even see stars lolol...

[thedoughroom]

Without darkness, there is no light

Donny’s log. 9 PM on a Monday evening in December. 16 days until Christmas, and exactly 9 months since I last checked in. How have I been in this past time? I’ve been good. God. I’ve been good. Led an unbothered life, have been very grateful for everything that has come to me. You know me: I appreciate every little thing I deserve, and don’t ask for much. It’s not just a lifestyle, it’s who I am. And I cannot change who I am. However, now that it’s winter, the days are getting shorter and colder, and of course the holidays on our doorstep, I’m noticing a slow but sure slip into a certain state of mind. A state of mind I wish not to be in. It’s not the usual winter ‘dip’… This thing goes in a slightly different direction.

Happiness. Have I been happy in the past time? Define ‘happy’, as I’m not sure if I’m exercising this completely right. Is happiness the same as being thankful? Is happiness appreciating all the small and little good things that are coming your way? If that is happiness, the answer is yes. But even though I check these boxes, I can’t help but stand still and think deeply to myself; does this feeling equal how you’ve felt in the past years? I look up in the mirror and I’m having a stare-off with the guy in the mirror – not to intimidate, but to try and see past the oculus. What do you feel is true and eternal happiness, Donny?

I’m currently living the dream; I have my dream job, I have amazing colleagues with whom I regularly go out, my sex life is so booming that I even try to hide from meeting my hookups. By doing what I love and being good at it, I hope and try to inspire others. I want people to look at me and say ‘Damn, this guy has been performing ever since I’ve known him as a younger boy, to achieve his goals’. I want people to be inspired and say ‘If he can do it, I can do it too’. I want the credit where it’s due. By doing this, I feel like I’m at an all-time high. I feel immortal. But to maintain this feeling, I’m always looking for the next best thing. I’m always looking to keep myself busy. I’m always trying to exceed my own ceiling. But am I really enjoying this moment…? I don’t think you hear me. Am I really enjoying this moment? Do I truly feel? Do you truly know your worth and value in your position? Where does this doubt and question suddenly come from? I chose for myself, and I chose to excel in this. I have all the glory and fame I could have in my position at the moment. But then why do I feel like there is still this dark cloud hanging above my head? I constated the answer. It turns out, as much of the self-serving, independent bad bitch I am… I, in fact, feel… Lonely.

There… I said it. Lonely. Lonely and conflicted. Conflicted, because I know I am my strongest without succumbing to significant other. I am strongest without having to answer to anyone. I am strongest by working on myself with all the space I get. Yet, I am only human, who does miss it to have someone around that compliments you. Somebody with whom you can let your guard down for 1 second. Someone that says: “It’s fine babe. Take a rest from constantly fighting your battles.” We’ve unfortunately, already established that person is not Habibi, and I’ve more than accepted that. However, these feelings bring me back to a certain place. Or rather: a certain someone. Someone I seem to resent for all the bad feelings I feel now.

Nico. The man who promised me forever. The man who shattered my future dreams without batting an eye. Oh, how I hate him. Or at least, how I want to hate him. The reason for this mind race, is because I could assign a face to how I’m feeling at this moment. And that face is his. I don’t know why, but that’s what my brain decided for me, and as hard as I try, there seems to be nothing I can do about. I’m relapsing, but not in the sense that I miss whatever we had, or that I want to go back to us and how we are… Far from it. If anything, I’m glad I’m finally rid of this toxic relationship, in which I had to be shaped into his perfect image and have to live by his rules, while he gets all the freedom to do and be whatever. I’m relapsing, because I apparently have some unfinished business with him. I feel like I haven’t done enough to speak my mind on him.

Well then. Even though I don’t want anything to do with him, why do I keep thinking of him so often in these stupid little moments? I sigh, because here I know I can be honest. Honest to myself, honest to my thoughts. I think, in the past months, I have lived to compensate the hurt. I have lived to try and make myself the happiest man like only I know I can. But silently, just silently… I have lived to try and impress him. I have lived and try to show the world I’m doing fine – no, better. Better than I ever was. Better than I’ve ever been. The question is, though: who are you actually fooling? My life is too valuable to let it hang off a has-been’s opinion. Fuck him, and fuck whatever has to do with him. Ignore him. You’re living your best life, and the only person’s validation that matters for that, is yours! Don, no one else but you holds the power to define what happiness is and what your life should look like. Please do not try to compare yourself to his, and please believe in your own strength. Who you are isn’t dependent on the love someone else gives you. Who you are is reflected in no one other than you. Don’t try to put up a façade for someone that doesn’t matter anymore: be happy because you do what makes you happy. You are the bad bitch that deserves nothing but good. You’ve been working so fucking hard – too hard to let these great achievements be overshadowed by anything else. Donny, you got this. Fill your heart and your life with positivity, not with hate or disgust towards one another. Get rid of the negativity and surround yourself with the positivity.

I sat myself down and forced myself to write everything I’m thankful for. I counted my blessings one by one. And then I cried. I was too much filled with emotions that I haven’t let out in a long time. A cry is a sign of strength – it’s letting go of a stream of negative energy. Release yourself, Don. Release yourself of all the negativity and just put the positivity in your vision. I hereby declare you freed from all the nonsense! Make yourself happy, by I know only you can! I have faith in you, D.

Signed – a guy that just wants to be happy.

[66676677767577667]

no matter how many times i go to recover i seem to come back. im so tired. i wanna live a happy life with my boyfriend forever and save lives i dont want to ruin my health with this but i want to be pretty i want to be thin and dainty

i have not been this low of a weight since like august 2015. since right before sophomore yr of high school started. n now its sophomore year of college!! im finally under 120 . ofc i binged super bad last night so i didnt weigh myself today, bc it would probably tell me 123.

my journey:

began in 2015. sw: 144 in march, got triggered seeing my best friend/crush at the time lose weight from starving himself, not intentionally but bc he was afraid of vomiting (food aversion, basically). lw: 117 in july, stopped weighing after that. began marching band and was 132 in november when they weighed us, was rlly triggered. kept exercising throughout the year tho and stayed vegetarian for most of it. summer of 2016 i had a mini relapse, began at 128ish and lost to about 124 in 2 weeks, then stopped. binged all through junior year, had bad thoghts often but never stuck to my relapses. looked so fat in my senior photos. by the end of marching sxn senior yr i was my highest weight ever, 155. it was disgusting and none of my clothes from sophomore year fit anymore. i vowed to lose weight healthily after marching season. i went tothe gym regularly and tried to eat b/w 1200-1800 cal a day. i binged a lot but not as often. i still watched all the weightloss shows and browsed the weightloss tags but didnt let my restriction get too high. my fitness got a lot better and i was running regularly, and my clothes were beginnig to fit better in 2018. i was stuck at 140-138 for about a year, partially bc i was gaining muscle but also my diet was not super balanced. i went vegetarian at some point during this time. having a lot of “diet foods” wasnt satisfying me as much as eating more real foods. i got to college and went vegan hoping it would help and maybe that there not being a lot of vegan options meant i could eat a lot less. unfortunately there was a lot of vegan stuff but it was all super high carb. i became vitamin deficient and saw a dietician who told me to go back to eating eggs and dairy at the least (i also saw her bc my bf and i recognized that i was really starting to struggle w food again and it was scary). i cried eating an egg bc all nonvegan foods had become fear foods. tbh tho all that high carb made me fluffy as fuck. changing my carbs never helped my sleepiness and i figured i had adhd or something. part of my binging problem is that food was one of the few things that could keep me awake. winter break, i lost about 5 lbs i think? was hovering around 134ish. it was nice. and then i returned to school for the spring, and dont really remember what happened food wise until i went to the sleep dr finally and he gave me stimulants to keep me awake. i didnt tell him abt my history of ed, partially bc its a reason not to prescribe me the meds i desperately needed to stay awake in order to do well in school, but also bc my mom was in the room and she doesnt know. not only was i doing so much better in my classes but eating normal portions and not binging was so much easier, bc i didnt feel like i needed food to keep me awake all the time. at that dr visit i think i was 138. about a month later i was 134 or 132 i forgot. maybe even 130 or 129. at college the only scale i had was in the gym which im not sure was super accurate. i did notice i was finally starting to lose weight tho and it was so nice. at the end of the semester i did a research paper on eds and a well known yter with one and it triggered me a lot. this in addition to the stress and the help of the medication to suppress my appetite, i went into another full relapse and spent all my time looking at ed tags on tumblr. idk how i got through finals. i remember getting so excited to be at 127 and 124 and even 122. i looked better than ever, even tho i wasnt at my lw. i would skip meals all day and then go to the dining hall at night and binge on one huuge 1200-1500 cal meal, then go to bed. i got home and my dog died, so i stress ate a lot and also i wasnt walking everywhere anymore and the gym was a pain in the butt to drive to (and not free), so i stopped exercising as much. also being home all the time with all that food n nothing to do made avoiding eating so hard. i went up to 125-126ish. august i began a binge/restrict cycle trying to lose weight again. i was doing rlly well living in my own apt and eating normally and maintaining... now were here.

[dustydollhearts-blog]

A message to my Line friends about why I’ve been away from them. It was too long to post on Line so this is for everyone I gave the link to. Scroll past/no notes pls. 

The last week has been hard. Just a constant wave of very intense emotions of self hate and disordered thinking/actions. I have stayed away from talking because I didn’t trust myself not to somehow fuck something up or break down in the middle of a conversation. I have been waiting to make this post though because I now I think I am ready. 

I went to a GP recently. Turns out that I’ve lost a lot of weight since my last visit. I have been told that I am showing most of the symptoms of OFSED, specifically atypical anorexia. I’ve been put on a waiting list for CBT and might have to be put under the care of a nutritionist (I find this ironic considering my degree lmao). I have also been warned that if this current rate of loss was kept up, I could drop to a fully anorexic BMI within 6-8 weeks. So I’ll be checked on regularly to make sure I’m not losing too much, preferably nothing at all. On another note, I may also have to be given medication to reduce the amount of hallucinations in my sleep if CBT cannot help that aspect of my health as well.

But a lot of this isn’t new for me.  

I have been struggling with ED since I was a child and have gone through a number of cycles between recovering and relapsing. I had been okay for about a year and a half. I’m never fully 100% okay, but enough to be able to function and not spend all my time being obsessive. But now I have fallen off again. This past week I haven’t been handling the GP visit very well at all. I thought about self harm, I cried when forcing myself to eat, I sat in the dark crying for hours unable to stop thinking nasty things about myself, etc. I am just hurting. A lot. I’m not sure how I am gonna just magically stop myself from losing. Or feeling the way I do. 

If I am being truthful, I admit that I had fallen back into ED behaviours and thoughts again since about June. I was just in denial. Looking back, I feel that I have been stupid, anxious, ruined a lot of good things and friendships over the last two to three months. I tend to self destruct a lot whenever I am in a stage of relapse. I know it is totally my fault though, I’m not going to blame other things for my mistakes and I am sorry if you were ever on the end of my idiocy.

One thing that I also have to address is my current relationship with being a fan. Specifically stanning Hao. I don’t want to stop loving him at all. But there are days where I get really negative and bad thoughts just from seeing him. There are times when I feel insecure, jealous and distressed because I think he has the “ideal” body. These times have been becoming more and more frequent lately. When I say insecure, I mean intensely insecure to the point of complete dysphoria. I would be lying if I said that this insecurity hasn’t helped in some way to fuel my recent relapse. I am currently trying to figure out a way that I can continue to love him with all my heart but without feeling completely self-conscious at the same time. I’ve tried to slow down on my stanning this week, but it’s hard. I still want to save all the pics and do all the things lmao. So I can’t stop myself from loving him. I will have to learn to balance these feelings somehow. I just feel guilty having to admit that my bias doesn’t always make me feel happiness in the ways that he should. But I just tell myself that if I wasn’t projecting my image issues onto him, it would probably be onto someone else that I find “perfect” and “ideal”. I don’t know if this all makes me a bad fan, I’m just very confused and ashamed of my feelings right now. I hope I’m not a bad fan ;~;

I’ve never admitted to my near 20 year long struggle with ED and the depression that comes with it to my family or friends. I’ve only had one person in my life that I told before nearly 3 years ago. (I am still thankful for that person and how much they tried to help me. If you’re reading this, I loved you a lot and I still care for you now). So admitting this to multiple people at once is very daunting and scary. I felt the need to be open and honest though as I realised over the past few days that some people on Line do actually care. I saw worried and supportive messages. Thank you. I thought about making something up but it felt wrong. I’m still going to keep this all to myself in real life though. I’m not ready for that yet.

Please be patient with me as I try and navigate my life at the moment. If I start being weird or stupid sometimes, tell me to calm down. If randomly disappear again I’m probably not feeling mentally well enough to speak or just hiding out of fear of not being able to control my emotions. I’ll always come back eventually though. I like being around everyone. Some people on Line I have known like 4 years now. If you like me enough - even after all this - to still hang out for the next 4 years, I’d like that a lot.

Conversely, if you don’t want to talk any more after reading this, that’s okay too. I understand that not everyone can deal with or accept people with ED. But I just ask for you not to say hurtful things towards me that relates to this. This type of thing is often a life long battle. I doubt I’ll ever be able to recover fully in my lifetime. I had previous therapy at 11, 19 and 25 and I wasn’t able to recover fully all three times. I was just a little kid that got abused repeatedly emotionally and physically, filled full of self hate and fear before I even reached double digits and turned to ED behaviours as a way of regaining some control. I thought I would be loved again if I was small and out of the way. Don’t hate on the way that little kid tried to cope. If at any time I’m being an asshole then you can deservedly slap me, but don’t use the information written in this post to hurt me okay.

Thank you for reading this.

Kumaquat

P.S. Support My I MV or I’ll come around to your house and teach your dog inappropriate language.

[frankcastorf-blog]

Annie Laurie Daniel

Non Fiction Writing

14 November 2016

DBT: A dark comedy

(My Experiences in a women’s treatment facility)

Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, colloquially known as DBT, is a technique of therapy best described formally as: “a cognitive behavioral treatment that was originally developed to treat chronically suicidal individuals diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (BPD) and it is now recognized as the gold standard psychological treatment for this population. In addition, research has shown that it is effective in treating a wide range of other disorders such as substance dependence, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and eating disorders.”

THE ONLY THING THAT ENERGIZES ME IS THINKING ABOUT MYSELF

The waiting room was harshly lit. My eyes were heavy and swollen, my throat sore from chain smoking on the curb minutes before and my nose dripping from remnants of  DOC (drug of choice. DBT is filled with terms for all of our “trigger worthy” vices that land us in such intensive care.)The day after I graduated high school on June 12th, 2015 I was checked into a women’s residential treatment facility in Venice, California. I was eighteen, manic depressive and fresh off of a two year stint influenced by cocaine, harmful and traumatic sexual relations, liaisons and experiences and an overall toxicity that had me fifty-one-fiftyed too many times. A kind therapist and intake specialist had a thick clipboard with all of my information. I was crying, cold, and thirty pounds lighter than I am today. She went through a series of questions required for all intake’s into residential facilities. “Date of Birth?” “March 11th, 1997.” She paused. “Does that mean that you are seventeen?” No, I shook my head. It felt like a pumpkin that had been smashed by angry preteens, orange and rotting, seeds spilling out all around me. “I just turned eighteen.” She continued. “When was the last time you did a DOC and in what quantity?” The night before there were fifty of my classmates packed into my house in Bel Air. We had graduated from Le Lycée Français de Los Angeles less than 24 hours ago. I remembered all the thick white lines and the pink marble of my mother’s bathroom, several bottles of champagne consumed in my honor by myself, and the thick black smoke filled lungs heart and (soul?) before men used my body as their ashtray and I didn’t know how bitter other people and parts of myself could taste. Lonely and lost and very confused. Little to no self worth or inherent values or morals. Manic episodes weekly. Incredibly unstable, drug addicted, borderline alcoholic, uses sexual relations to fill the void and male figure left empty by absent father. “Cocaine and Alcohol, less than 12 hours ago. Moderate quantity.” She wrote it all down. “Why, aside from the obvious, are you here?” I remember shivering in that waiting room, although in the middle of June it must have been quite warm. She offered me a blanket and I accepted. Wrapped up like a baby. Poetry from the dirtiest of mouths makes them howl in delight. An atrocity committed for the amusement of others, a struggle to be heard amongst an unforgiving crowd. An attempt to connect to those who see the filth and hear not the words. “Sexual assault?” I nodded. “Suicide attempts?” A slower nod yes. “Well, then you’re in the right place.”

I checked into treatment alone while my family was on a two month vacation in India, many thousands of miles away. I checked out of treatment alone while my family was in France after their exotic adventure.

(The difference between a relapse and something you can get away with)

There’s something amazing about recovering addicts, regardless of the addiction. We were a small group of women in age ranging from eighteen to late fifties. We each had one roommate in separate room’s of two incredibly well kept houses on the West Side of Los Angeles. We weren’t allowed to use the phone or take a walk without permission from a “Community Consular”, one of the many qualified and over motivational 24/7 staff on location. We had curfews and set schedules and rules and requirements for every section of free time not spent in one of our many therapy groups including but not limited to: ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is a unique empirically based psychological intervention that uses acceptance and mindfulness strategies), CBT (Cognitive behavioral therapy), Mindfulness, Art Therapy, etc. We were loaded into minivans and escorted everywhere we went. It was posh, expensive, exhausting. To be forced into a position and required to examine and evaluate your every flaw and how to potentially...fix it? Absurd. I was an adult, legally speaking, I knew that much. I had lived on my own since I was fifteen, I didn’t need to be babied at rehab. Silly thoughts from a silly girl. I was there for a purpose, for a reason. My extreme emotions that had fueled my art and every action I made in my life for years was now diluted and told to be quiet. Quiet your unquiet mind, someone is paying for you to get better. Someone is paying for you to be healthy and function. I didn’t want to be functional, and I’m not sure I wanted to be alive. Life can be a cunt with its whirring wheels, wheels that are not intact but never stop. That's not to say that there have not been sweet moments among the bitter and alone. There have been sunny afternoons and sleepy mornings and nights that shake steadily until the sun rises. There has been wine poured and champagne kisses that were fucked out of me in baths and showers and beds all across Los Angeles and Paris. Tormented by a love that we cannot grasp. Too much love for the things that hurt us, that fill us temporarily with a feeling of purpose and meaning. Indulging in emptiness and romanticizing pain. Windows open, arms outstretched.

Some really cool people that i met and were really cool to me but the world was a huge dick to them

My roommate was Yasmine. She’s still one of my best friends to this day, the other night we went dancing in Lincoln Heights and drank Gin & Tonics and smoked spliffs and cigarettes in her apartment in Hollywood and laughed and cried about our time in Venice together. We are both Hollywood women, not meant to be confined by the ocean, the salt in the sea only wishes it could mirror the salt in our tears. We stopped crying out of sadness and started crying out of happiness over the summer. On June 15th, 2015 she barged into the house we resided in during those months by the saltless sea off of Lincoln and Rose and screamed “I’mmm baaaaack !” I hadn't met her yet, but she had been temporarily discharged after her insurance failed. 9 years older, 7 inches shorter, beautiful brown haired expat raised in Saudi Arabia with a similar manic depressive bipolar diagnosis as my own. It was love at first sight. We painted in the evenings, and we smoked in the mornings. We waited in line together twice a day outside of the “medicine chamber” where our beloved caretakers would sit patiently as we choked down our cocktail of numbing mood stabilizers and antidepressants and antianxiety and a few others just for fun. We gossiped until early in the morning about our lovers and our dreams and she read “Tropic of Cancer” out loud to me as I wrote her letters in French. The world was unkind to her in Burbank where she worked by day as a “creative assistant”. Men used her body as they used mine and left her strapped into hospital beds hazy and manic.

Ann loved frozen bananas. She was in her early fifties but looked a decade older. A mother of many from North Dakota, she was almost always silent, a woman raised in a time where women weren’t allowed to take up space with their bodies or minds, especially when they were as unquiet as her’s. There was a smoking bench at the facility, a beautiful stone slab covered with vines. I’ve never met an addict (recovered or in process of) that doesn’t smoke, aside from Ann. She would sit with us while we smoked on breaks between groups, our only vice still indulged. We would bitch heavily about our group leaders, our therapists and the many rights we no longer had, choosing to ignore the fact that we were there for a reason and had willingingly removed the toxic black tar from our eyes and hearts. While we blew out smoke and tap tap tapped our hands against our heads, legs and into the dirt Ann would quietly smile and nod. She knew the tax of being a woman too loud for the men around her. There was a girl my age that came into the program in hellfire. Court ordered, a self proclaimed sex addict, borderline personality queen high on compulsive lies. She would regularly reach into the freezer and eat Ann’s frozen bananas. Ann learned to yell when she confronted the frozen banana thief. The gang of gals was sitting in our usual smoking spot waiting to be driven in a godforsaken Honda Odyssey to Pottery Therapy off of Venice Blvd when Ann screamed for the first time, standing up for herself and her stolen frozen bananas. She doesn't deserve to have an abusive husband or resentful daughters. She deserves to live far, far away from Bismarck, North Dakota, with as many frozen bananas as she wants.

I miss myself a lot

I didn’t need help. I was older. I was mature. When I was fifteen my parents moved back to the east coast, the dirty south my father hailed from. My parents always hated LA. When I was fifteen my mother gave me the opportunity to live on my own. He was 56 when I was born, the last after several marriages and children, and he was deeply uninterested in my existence. I was a pet in my parents home. I didn’t have the brains that landed my sister at The London School of Economics, and it was clear I wasn’t going to be following in their path of super-lawyers. “Annie Laurie is such a hoot ! You know she’s an artist ?” I lived with a boy named Max in Hollywood, he was 21, Swiss-Ukrainian, would wear a thick pea coat and scarf even in July and rolled his own cigarettes as he waited for the mail. I went to Lycée and would illegally drive my mother’s BMW to school. It was a charmed life. Shortly after I fled for France for good, elated to be free of smog and freeways once again. I went to school and I took the métro or sometimes the bus. I had a lover named Anthony and I read lots of poetry and I got drunk on Tuesday nights and sometimes smoked hash. I didn’t do any drugs and I didn’t sleep around. I went to all my classes and I made films with my friends on the streets of Paris and I wrote in my diary and slept in on Sundays and kissed a lot of my friends for fun. Independence is earned. I thought that I had earned adulthood by living without my parents, cooking and cleaning for myself in a small apartment, I didn’t ever think I would be a manic, drug addicted, suicidal lady of the night. When I entered treatment I knew that I needed something, but there was no clear self diagnosis. I went back to Paris for a long weekend in May of 2015. Somber and skinny, my friends contacted my parents and suggested something dire needed to be done. I don’t remember that trip very well except for crying on the train from Rennes to Paris. I suppose that’s the trip that saved my life, but I guess I’ll never really know.

Leave me alone;

To be 14 in the south of France

Holding hands with a Romanian girl who I swore was my best friend and who’s name I cannot remember after 3 cocktails, 2 mimosas and a tall Pacifico.

She had black hair and a laugh that was pure. Her hand was smaller than mine, and we laughed while running through traffic in the streets of Nice, before there was terror and her passport rejected by Sarkozy.

I had my first wet kiss, my braces thick and my hair frizzy without my western appliances. I left my purse on a beach in Nice and lost my phone, wallet, and self esteem with a man much older, the first of many to come.

I remember drinking clear liquid that resembled rubbing alcohol but was purchased from a French man in a liquor store that merely mumbled “put in in your purse, don’t tell the police you bought it here.”

My first cigarette in the park, a Marlboro Menthol stolen from my sisters pack. Finally, feeling apart my of my culture. Many men have said “but you’re not really french, are you?”.

No, I was not born there. My parents are not French, one a blue blooded Boston bred heiress, the other a southern gentlemen that worked his way from nothing into deep wealth and the miscommunication and distance that comes with it.

But yes, I respond. Drunk, almost always, do you want to see my EU passport? My father always hated LA and I suspect he’s always hated me. I’m not resentful or angry at my parents. They provided me with so much……..opportunity. They allowed me to fend for myself with a platinum Amex. That was all they knew how to do, burried in their work and their lives. They were happy that way.

 DEAR DIARY: (THE CLASSIC OVERSHARER) (ARE ALL ADDICTS OBSESSED WITH THEMSELVES LIKE ACTORS OR JUST ME) Friday, June 12th, 2015: It is over. I am empty and alone. I am aware that this is the best thing for me but I am sad and scared. I am so deeply sad. Saturday, June 13th, 2015: They say that the first few days are the hardest. I believe it. I’m not allowed to make phone calls or leave this building until tomorrow. Play the game and try and get better. It’s all I can hope for. There’s one woman I’ve met that said she has a finacé and a boyfriend and has been in and out of treatment for over a year. Her mother told me that I look like I’m coming from the stables or a barn. Sunday, June 14th, 2015: Whenever I sleep I have nightmares. Wednesday, June 17th, 2015: The mornings here smell like ocean and grass and nice wood. We don’t have mornings like this in Bel Air. It reminds me of when I was a kid in the south of France, when I was little and very happy to be alive. Tuesday, June 30th, 2015: Today I feel frustrated, untrusted, apprehensive, nauseated. How’s that for mindfulness?

A question commonly asked in mindfulness: “When do you remember feeling loved? Happy? What brings you purpose?” I remember not feeling loved for six months in Echo Park. He was a sculptor, how ironic, as if I wasn’t already made of stone. I wanted him to see the value in me beyond my pussy but as he so often told me “If I can’t commit to my art, how can I commit to you?” I remember not feeling loved outside of dirty punk shows, a place I once considered a community had left me behind as a groupie and nothing more. Now that some time has passed I’m lucky that I escaped those dark sweaty rooms alive, they had nothing to offer me but toxicity and cruel partners with hard hearts and fast fast fast fucking guitars. I remember not feeling loved on the métro from République, raining quickly, my body moving slowly. Are these memories of wasted energy and soulsucking relations and using my body to validate my very existence to all men and mostly myself the reason I was in this situation in the first place? Reflection is key for a good memoir. While I had plenty of time to reflect on every poor life choice and abhorred interaction I had gotten myself into, there’s plenty of thoughts and memories that are still absorbed in the pink cloud of recovery. Sobriety is a mystical concept to me still. I’m livid that cocaine was done in my bathroom in my house a few weeks ago while I slept ten feet away. Friends don’t mess with other friend’s addictions, but my comfort and safety wasn’t a priority when a crisp 100 dollar bill was passed around by my classmates. When I was seventeen I was sleeping with a heroin addict. He was tall and skinny and very mean. YOU DON’T REMEMBER TELLING ME YOU WERE IN LOVE WITH ME WHEN YOU WERE SPEEDBALLING ON HEROIN THANK GOD YOU DON’T REMEMBER WHEN I SAID THAT I LOVED YOU TOO. I had to pull him out of my bathtub when he was nodding off one night at a party. He was wearing a red silk kimono. The dye had started to leak and melt off of his robe like blood. It got all over me as I carried his lanky body into my bed. I locked the door and cried as I put my cheek to his chest, cheek to chest, cheek to chest to hear his heartbeat. I took bumps of cocaine every time I made sure he was still alive. This was my senior year winter formal after party. I remember feeling very alone as I smoked a cigarette in my room waiting for him to wake up. The sun rose, and he eventually rose with it. Gave me a kiss on my face, did a bump of blow, and called a friend for a ride home. “You’re a good girl, Annie.” I nodded. I was a good girl, indeed.

Cocaine changed me in a way that I really liked. I lost a lot of weight and I sure did feel great ! Everyone I knew was a casual user. Most people I know still are. My year and a half sobriety is on December 12th, and I’m getting a cake. You can have some if you’ve never done coke in my house (most of my friends and one of my roommates did not pass this test.) I was aggressive and really happy at parties. I made myself vomit and I felt sublime. I slept through classes and broke into the bathroom at school to stop my bloody noses. I was happy to “function so well on such a great drug.” I had the money for it so I was fine. I was a compulsive liar, and so were all of my friends. I was satiated in my own misery and musically masturbated to my own crash. No one was stopping me, and the numbness that I lived in was far more enjoyable than living in a mediocre emotion of existence. Mundane rituals of Dicté and SAT prep were interrupted when punk boys in beat up cars would pick me up in Culver City and fuck me in dirty apartments in Santa Monica before taking me home to Bel-Air. I really missed my room in France. They didn’t like me talking about it very much. My connection to my home was pretentious and I was a bore. Cocaine made me interesting and more importantly, desirable (the drug and my constant possession of mass amounts kept my musicians happy and unkind.) I had shitty friends and no support system and no stability and that is the end of that.

 THINGS MY MOTHER HAS TAUGHT ME:

NEVER TAKE YOUR PURSE OUT AT THE PIGALLE METRO STOP

HOW TO DRINK WINE WITH DINNER (AND AFTER DINNER AND BEFORE)

HOW TO REGULATE AND RESTRICT EATING. THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE CALORIES ARE THE ONES IN YOUR MARTINI

GUILT TRIPS

THINGS MY MOTHER NEVER TAUGHT ME:

HOW TO FORGIVE OTHERS AND MYSELF

HOW TO LOVE SOMEONE, FUNCTIONALLY

PUSSY IS SACRED, DICK COMES FOR FREE.

The first time I was raped was April 2015. Outside of a party in Palm Springs during Coachella weekend, I waited for my Uber. I was there with a man I had met at a party, we flirted a little and did lots of cocaine. That was it. It was warm out when a stranger pushed me against the side of a truck, pulled my pants down, and fucked me. I was in shock. I didn’t start crying until the next day, when my friends abandoned me at the festival. Alone, I drove home. Pussy is sacred, dick comes for free. It comes when we don’t want it. Now we live in a time where over wine me and my best friends talk about the first time we were raped instead of first kiss stories. Losing a part of myself the second time I was raped by an older student at CalArts, the third time I was raped by my older boyfriend the fourth fifth and sixth times I was raped and I started losing count. When my mother was seventeen in 1973, driving outside of Portland, Oregon her Jeep broke down. While she attempted to fix it herself, two men in their 20’s pulled over and offered to help her jumpstart her car. Instead, they took turns raping her on the side of the road. Against her car. Like mother like daughter, raped by strangers in the night. Strange men with fast hands and a female timidness that won’t leave my bones after years of instruction to smile and make eye contact and be friendly and inviting. Pussy is sacred, so sacred men are willing to do anything to take it from you. Sometimes people don’t believe that you were attacked because they saw you arrive and leave the party together, regardless of the fact that your dress was broken and you were falling everywhere and couldn't open your eyes and your shoes had blood on them and he said that we was going to take you home. He said he was going to take me home. He told my friends he was getting me water and would clean the blood. I hope my blood stained his sheets I hope it never washed out. He said that red was his least favorite color. Funny, because there were dashes of it everywhere (RED LIKE my blood my hair my blood my hair my blood my hair).

I could write about why I ended up where I did and how I got started and the first line I ever did and the first manic episode I ever had and every infuriating moment spent being babysat and driven around in a Honda Odyssey and all the things I couldn’t talk about and all the things that I did anyways. How my art is fueled by my traumas and elations. But for now this is enough and I am enough as I am at least for today. I hope you enjoyed your stay. Cumbacksoon.