#but i've been exhausted from work to the point of barely functioning

[sansaorgana]

Can you do a buck x reader where she’s a nurse and takes care of everyone at the 100 and they all think she’s just perfect and a mother figure while all the soldiers are away from that mother figure and one day she like snaps when having to deal with screaming soldiers and she goes up to one the higher power guys and like cussing them out for constant sending the men into a death trap and her having to pick up the pieces and buck has to hold her back while she’s just screaming at the other guy and everyone else is like 🧍

hello, thank you for your request! 🧡 I've just realised that none of my previous Readers in the stories with Buck were nurses lol 😷 most likely because I can't even imagine myself as a nurse and writing about all these things is enough to make me feel sick 🤣 but because of this, it was easy to write this story where the Reader is at her breaking point lol proceed with caution because there are ugly descriptions of blood, needles, death etc.

also this gif asdfghjkl I swear, in the story he has more compassion towards the Reader 🤣🤣🤣

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

You thought you could do it. When the war had started, you hadn’t thought twice as you had signed up to help. Real help. No paperwork or coffee making. You had wanted to become a nurse.

The physical aspect of your job was not that difficult. You knew what to do in most situations and you had learnt how to stop frowning at the physiological body functions. It was the emotional aspect of the job that no one had prepared you for.

Sometimes the boys would come back from the air battles with nothing but mere scratches. They would still come by just to spend time with you and let your gentle, skilled hands to patch them up as they were telling you stories.

Sometimes the same boys would not come back from their next mission and the stories they had told were all that was left of them. You would cherish them in your heart forever.

Sometimes the boys would come back burnt, with half of their faces blown out or their guts bleeding all over the floor. Their screams of pain would haunt you later at night. Those were your boys.

Perhaps that was why you were everyone's favourite nurse. You were getting attached to them so easily, treating everyone as a friend, offering them a loving hug when they needed it, listening to their stories, helping them to write letters to their mothers and girlfriends or children. You were a good spirit of the base and one of the planes was named after you. So far it still hadn’t gone down and everyone treated it as a sign that you were their guardian angel indeed.

You didn’t see yourself as a guardian angel. If you had to stay within the religious imagery examples, you’d rather describe yourself as a mater dolorosa – lady of sorrows watching her son’s suffering and not being able to help him.

Sometimes they would die in your arms. Still, it was better than to die in a burning plane. Better for them. Not for you.

Today was a day of a very difficult mission. Most of the planes hadn’t come back at all. And the ones who had, were full of men screaming in agony and pain. You were barely able to hold it all together when they were reaching their hands out for you as if your touch would heal them. But it wouldn’t. It couldn’t, no matter how much you wanted it.

“(Y/N), you should take a break…” Your friend put her hand on your shoulder. You were exhausted indeed. You were working for three hours straight without sitting down for one second and you were running around from one bed to another. “Go, rest,” she insisted but you shook your head and went back to work.

Only when you noticed that your hands were shaking so much that you weren’t able to inject a needle into a vein properly, you decided to take a break indeed. You didn’t want to cause even more damage by trying too hard.

But before leaving the sickbay you wanted to check on one of the young pilots. He was nineteen years old, it had been his first mission and you remembered how excited he had been about it. Now he was laying on one of the beds, barely breathing as his chest was burnt and lungs damaged.

You were approaching his bed and your heart sank to your chest at the sight of the doctor putting a white sheet over his face.

“Wh-what… What are you doing to Johnson, sir?” You asked.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” the doctor shook his head. “He’s just passed away.”

You just stood there with your lips slightly parted. Johnson was just another surname on the list of all these boys you would never forget about. But Johnson was special. He was the youngest you had known. He couldn’t stop talking about his mother and little sister, about his dog and his girlfriend waiting for him back in Alabama.

Your sadness overtook your whole body and then it developed into an anger so big that you felt as if you were about to explode and bring down the whole base.

“Son of a bitch…” You breathed out angrily as you stormed out of the sickbay without even taking your apron off. It was full of blood but you did not care.

You walked down the corridor with murder in your eyes, making everyone step out of the way. And you entered the Colonel’s office without knocking, so loudly and rapidly that all the men inside startled.

“Miss?” Colonel Harding asked as he was sitting behind his desk and showing some sort of a map to a few Majors.

One of them was Major Cleven. He hadn’t been up in the air on that day but he would be tomorrow. And was the one you had befriended the most. But even his presence couldn’t stop your rage at that moment.

“You can’t just keep sending them to die, Colonel!” You clenched your fists and approached the desk as the men watched with big eyes. “Look! Look, Colonel! Look!” You showed him your bloody hands and your apron. “Why is it me with their blood and guts all over me? While you’re just sitting here, planning…” You gave the map a very angry look. You wanted to tear it apart and you were shaking to stop yourself from doing so. “You’re sending them to death, all of them, they’re just boys! Johnson was nineteen years old! Do you even know who he was? Or was he just another number to you?!”

“(Y/N), calm down, let’s take you outside…” Buck approached you carefully but you moved away.

“No! I will not be silenced. I have things to say and I will say them!” You snapped at him and he froze. You laid your eyes back on the surprised Colonel again. “You just sit here and plan how to send them to death more efficiently. You men… Can’t you see how stupid this whole war is? How stupid every war is? And just because some brilliant engineers constructed planes, doesn’t mean they should be used to kill people!”

“Miss…” Colonel furrowed his brow, “Miss I-Don’t-Know-Your-Name, are you done?”

“You son of a bitch!” You banged your bloody fists on his desk and his stupid map got covered with blood. “You don’t even know my name. But I am the one to patch them up and hold their hand when they’re dying after you sent them to death. God damn you, Colonel Harding! You and all the Generals that you serve! God damn Hitler, God damn Churchill and God damn your fucking President Roosevelt!”

“(Y/N), please,” Buck’s strong hands pulled you away. “I’m sorry, Colonel. She’s all shook up,” he tried to explain your behaviour as you started sobbing when the anger had finally left your body. You hid your face in his uniform and allowed him to put his arm around you. “I’ll take her outside.”

“Yeah, you better do it, son,” Colonel nodded at him. Buck started to walk you out slowly and carefully as you heard Colonel’s voice while you were walking out of the door. “Poor girl… She needs a free weekend.”

Buck took you outside and watched you worryingly as you were catching your breath back and trying to calm yourself down, wiping the tears off of your face with the palms of your bloody hands.

“Here, let me,” he took out a handkerchief and wiped your face with it gently. “Gee, (Y/N), what was that?”

“I… I don’t know… I just can’t… I can’t do it anymore, Buck… That boy, Johnson, he was nineteen… Nineteen, for God’s sake,” you sniffed your tears back and looked into his eyes as your lips trembled. “He was telling me stories about his mum and little sister… His dog and his girlfriend… And now… And now he’s gone. Just like that. His lungs were burnt. Every breath was agony…” You tried to explain, still shaking.

“You really need a free weekend,” Buck pointed out and brought you closer to give you another hug.

It felt good to be in his arms. It was comforting. But you were scared to admit to yourself that you indeed liked him more than just a friend. Because if he would go down tomorrow or any other day, it would hurt even more.

“I can’t… I can’t leave my boys…” You took a step back to look at his face again. “And… And I can’t just take a free weekend. It would feel wrong. When you boys are up in the air, so brave and so heroic. All I can do is patch you up later. I can’t give up, no…”

“We all need a break sometimes. Hey,” Buck raised your chin up with his finger, “promise me that you’ll take a free weekend.”

“Aren’t you on a mission this weekend?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then no way, Buck,” you shook your head. “I have to be here to patch you up,” you smiled through the tears.

“There are other nurses ‘round here,” he pointed out with a soft smile.

“I don’t want them to touch you,” you admitted suddenly as your cheeks heated up.

Why the hell had you said that…?

“They don’t know how to patch you up properly, I mean…” You tried to explain yourself quickly. “Only I know how to–”

But he didn’t let you finish. He leaned in very carefully and placed a gentle kiss upon your lips. You were stunned.

“I know what you mean, sweetheart,” he teased after finally breaking the kiss and caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I promise I won’t get a single scratch when you’re not around.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[knaveumineko]

Umineko Episode 6 Blog: Curtain

When the Erika is Furudo.

By Episode 6 the events on the gameboard have been twisted so far away from the original message bottles that they're nearly unrecognisable. Erika already breaks verisimilitude by existing, even if you can technically justify all of her actions without her having explicit meta-knowledge, and now she's actively trying to break the universe. It's definitely wrong to think of the Episodes as timelines or parallel universes, even from a magic perspective, now that we've seen it from the gamemaster's point of view and we know that there is nothing underneath the facade, and everything left unstated is in complete flux.

There's some suggestion of an actual story with the development of the Jessica/Kanon and George/Shannon couples in ways we've never seen before, but once Erika gets going it mostly gets relegated to the love trial and the characters are reduced to purely to being purely functional. A game without love, just as she likes it.

What I suspect is the canon answer to the logic error - that Shannon snuck out the window before Erika set up the seals, then changed over to Kanon, followed her to the mansion and switched with Battler, then became Shannon again after walking into the closet - barely even makes sense from an in-character perspective. Given the existence of the letter, they would have had to plan this manoeuvre before Erika had even set the seals on Battler's room, based on them randomly guessing that Erika would repair the chain and that she would split up from the rest of the group so they could give her the letter in the first place. What were they going to do once Erika opened the closet? Maybe Sayo was planning on killing her at that point, but in Battler's game it's unclear if Sayo is even planning any murders.

I wonder if Erika's defeat will be marked by a turn away from all the metagaming and toward a story that's more concerned with the characters. Even this late, we have quite a few members of the cast that have never gotten much focus, especially those in Sayo's inner circle, not to mention that we probably need to get the payoff with Battler's parents at some point.

There weren't really any new mysteries to solve on this occasion, since the story does most of the work for you in the locked rooms that do show up, but I thought those of you who only know of me from Tumblr might still find my live reaction amusing:

We did, however, get a huge reveal that was bizarrely stuffed inside the Tips menu instead of being mentioned anywhere in the story itself.

We have an answer to what kills everyone at the end of the story now, as well as an explanation for the lack of evidence the police could find at the scene. The catbox is set up by obliterating the gameboard, making it truly impossible to reconstruct what happened on the island. This potentially ties into the backstory given in Episode 1, in which Kinzo made a lot of money off of procurement during the Korean war, and originally acquired the island under the guise of developing a naval base. Does this mean that Kinzo secretly kept a stockpile of explosives on the Rokkenjima all this time? I'm sure his family would say he's crazy enough to do so, but it'd be hard to get away with it, and I'm not sure what he'd use them for.

Bombs existing on the island would also explain where the torii went. The scene of Sayo travelling there to smash the mirror was alluding to her testing the explosives there. Makes more sense than a "purple lightning bolt."

I've exhausted as many words as I can without mentioning the grooming subtext, so I'll end the post here.

[daphnesian]

Regressing with God.

A personal reflection on age regression in my relationship with Dionysus

What is age regression?

Age regression involves reversion to a younger state of mind where the regressor displays thoughts or actions that are typical of that age. It is inherently NOT sexual, NOT kink, and should NOT be conflated with people who pretend to be younger in a sexual context (DDLG). Regression occurs as a defense mechanism in response to distress or trauma, but some people participate in voluntary regression as a coping mechanism (agere)

Regressing around Dionysus.

For me, age regression is accompanied by a great deal of anxiety and self-consciousness, especially because it's usually triggered by distress or overwhelming stress. I don't want to regress. I also have trauma associated with regression because my ex suddenly revoked their caretaker role in an explicitly negative way before breaking up with me, so. It has been genuinely difficult to trust even Dionysus to take on that role without fear of abandonment

The first time I regressed around Dionysus, I had just finished an intimate conversation with him and Ariadne toward the end of my shift. I was suddenly exhausted, overwhelmed, and dissociated, which isn't uncommon at work. I hate my job. I was cleaning up to leave when the switch happened. It's weird. I don't stop functioning as an adult but instead split in half, in a way, where my body was on autopilot while I was "smaller" in my head

Regression around Dionysus was the last thing I wanted. It was embarrassing. I felt guilty and ashamed because at that point in our relationship, I was still greatly affected by the religious opinion that interactions with the Theoi must abide by strict standards (fuck that). What would he think? What would other people think if they knew I wanted to be "babied" by a deity they believed had far better things to do? None of that mattered. The moment I switched, Dionysus and Ariadne switched too

I don't remember all the details. Recording anything while distressed wasn't possible, and I probably wanted to think about anything else once I recovered. I do remember how gentle Dionysus was. He would have parented me if I consented, but I didn't. I was too upset, too confused. Mouse, my "little" alter who has since fused, popped up for the first time in weeks to "take over" our regression. She essentially force-fronted so that I could catch my bearings

Unlike me, Mouse wanted attention. It was unsurprising for an actual toddler who had barely interacted with anyone beyond our system since my breakup. She demanded "uppies" and Dionysus readily complied, holding her on his hip like a man who had done so a thousand times before (he probably has. He loves children). She fell asleep with her cheek smushed against his shoulder and I regained control of front. Dionysus says I apologised, but I don't remember anything else from that night

Regressing with Dionysus.

I'm much more confident and secure in my relationship with Dionysus now than I was when I first regressed. I've allowed him to take on a more overtly "parental" role when I regress: a level of trust specific to Dionysus, Ariadne, and another deity I won't name. I do call Dionysus "daddy" to differentiate between being an adult (calling him "Dio" or "Dionysus") and being a child

Once again: age regression is NOT sexual, and this aspect of my relationship with Dionysus is NOT kink. Dionysus and I both take that boundary seriously. When I'm regressed, I might as well be an actual child because to him I am

Dionysus and I were in our bedroom, where we often are when I'm too exhausted at work to travel elsewhere. I love our bedroom! It's small and cosy, with a canopy bed, fireplace, and balcony overlooking the sea. It often storms because I enjoy the sound. We were in bed, cuddling and talking about I don't know what, when I suddenly and seemingly randomly regressed

I wish I could properly articulate how gentle of a dad Dionysus must be, how gentle he was with me. No hesitation. No fuss. Our previous conversation wasn't important anymore as he immediately tried to counterbalance my distress. He asked if I wanted to colour. I said yes. He set up a small table on our bed and procured from nowhere a bug colouring book and crayons, and sat with me in his lap while I furiously coloured some bugs

Regression has become common for me as I navigate the next six months of hell, but Dionysus is always ready with a soft smile and a colouring book. Sometimes Ariadne brings me a snack (popcorn) because I don't want Dionysus to "leave," and sometimes Dionysus cooks me something like a grilled cheese and tomato soup. I never leave our bed because the bed is safe. Rinse and repeat until I'm comfortably back to being an adult!

Will I ever regress voluntarily? I don't know, but I am learning to trust Dionysus implicitly when my regression is triggered

Questions.

Does Dionysus do certain things to help you regress?

He doesn't and I wouldn't want him to! Regression is primarily involuntarily for me. It happens spontaneously and he reacts accordingly - not to "maintain" regression but to help me work through it. It can be enjoyable to be small with him, I won't lie, but I prefer our adult relationship

What is your favorite activity to do with Dionysus while you're regressed?

I like to pat his cheeks or squish them until he makes a fishy face!

What is something specific Dionysus does when you're regressed that comforts you?

He takes me seriously! Dionysus doesn't become an actual parent, but there's no vibe that he's "pretending." It's not a game. His gentle voice is sincere, like he's speaking to a "real" child, even when he's being silly. He holds me differently, still affectionate but less intimate, with room for me to wiggle around. Dionysus treats this aspect of my inner child with care and respect

I always welcome respectful questions about my experiences or practice! If you enjoy my writing, support me on ko-fi

Dividers

[amethystina]

A health update (and a general explanation of my long Covid)

So while I've been pretty open about living with long Covid, I realise I've never taken the time to explain what that actually means for me and my quality of living. It's a phrase I toss around but I can imagine it doesn't feel all that substantial to a lot of you.

So I figured that now that I'm feeling a bit better (more on that later) I should do so. Partly because I figure it will make it easier to understand why I sometimes have to disappear for weeks on end.

So, if you're interested, feel free to keep reading under the cut :)

But be warned: It's long and kind of whiny. But also ends on a high note! So there's that.

The first time I caught Covid was around Easter 2020, long before there were any vaccines, which meant that I was hit hard. But no matter how bad I felt during the illness itself, the aftermath has been ten times worse. I've been living with my long Covid symptoms ever since, so for four years now. They worsened for a couple of months when I caught Covid a second time in February 2021, but have otherwise held pretty steady during those four years.

A lot of people experience different symptoms with their long Covid and, sometimes, they'll change as the weeks and months go by. I actually had a very interesting couple of months during 2022 when my sense of smell just went completely whack and everything suddenly smelled differently than it should. Like, I could be smelling an apple but it did not smell like an apple. It was a weird time in my life.

Anyway. My most common symptoms are fatigue, fevers, joint pain, brain fog, memory issues, incoherent speech, and lowered blood circulation.

(The latter actually kickstarted the Raynaud's syndrome I have on my mother's side so now I struggle with fingers and feet that will occasionally go white, bloodless, and completely numb at random intervals. Fun times)

The fatigue and fevers are the worst by far. For the past four years, I have had exhaustion fevers between two to five times a week. Or every single day if I'm unlucky. It's very much tied to how much sleep I'm getting, how well I'm eating, and how many taxing things I do each day. I need eight hours of sleep to be functional and anything less than that will most likely mean I'll end up having a fever before the day is over.

Unfortunately, I've always had issues with my sleep so, on most nights, I don't get eight hours even if I try my absolute best. Sometimes it's because I wake up too early and can't fall back asleep and, sometimes — because my life sucks — it's because my fever is so high that I can't fall asleep. Cue the endless cycle of too little sleep and fevers.

Because one of the main issues with these exhaustion fevers — and what makes them so difficult to manage — is that there's no way to lower them. Medicine has no effect whatsoever. Once I have it, I just have to suffer through however many hours are left until I can sleep and hope that it'll be gone in the morning. Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't.

And every day my energy level gets just a little bit lower and the fever a little bit higher. Some days, all I can do when I get home from work is to lie on the couch and stare at the wall because I'm too tired and in too much pain to even watch something. And, again, no amount of medicine helps.

It continues on like this for a while and, every third or fourth month or so, the strain eventually becomes too much and I fall ill. My body simply shuts down from the continued stress and exhaustion, to the point where I can barely get out of bed. And, usually, I can feel it coming. On top of the fevers, I start coughing, then get a headache, and then my nose gets stuffy. And, by that time, I know I have about two to four days before I get sick. It's so accurate that my coworkers have learned that when I give the sign, they have to tell me whatever tasks they need to be finished within the near future since I'll probably be out of commission for one to two weeks.

But I eventually recover, go back to work, and so the cycle starts again. And again. And again. And again.

For four years.

All of this has, unsurprisingly, affected my quality of life to a pretty significant degree. I can barely work, let alone spend time doing any of my hobbies. I can't really travel anymore and, if I do, I'll get sick from the exhaustion. Even the 50-minute commute to the office (which I have to do three times a week) usually results in a fever before the day is over.

This inability to travel was how I ended up missing my maternal granddad's funeral. My shitty relatives didn't tell us the date for when he would be buried until there were only two days left and even if I could have put myself on an overnight train to get there, I knew I would be in no shape to actually be at the funeral if I did. So I couldn't go.

I did go to sit with my paternal grandmother as she was dying but, as expected, I got sick and couldn't return to work for a couple of days afterwards.

I also have to skip most birthday celebrations and any events happening on weekdays since I'm usually too feverish or won't manage the required trip to get there. My life has shrunk so much I barely recognise it anymore. I don't recognise myself. I used to be one of those people who could do a million things at the same time and somehow complete all of them. I was firm, organised, and efficient.

And now I'm not.

(... or, well, technically I am — at least compared to many others — but not compared to how I used to be xD)

Point being, a lot of things have changed and I don't like it. But, with that said, I'm also well aware that I'm lucky to be alive and I'm fortunate enough to have a stable job and a roof over my head. So, all things considered, I'm still doing pretty well.

But I also can't lie and say that this hasn't affected me in a deep and fundamental way. My life has changed and, right now, I don't know if it'll ever return to what I used to consider normal. And dealing with that knowledge — and the grief and fear that comes with it — hasn't been easy. I have cried ugly, self-pitying tears over this many, many times. It's frustrating to have no control over what my body does and to constantly have to be careful of what I do so I don't exhaust myself. I am furious that this happened to me.

But, after four years, there's also a certain amount of acceptance. And while I'm annoyed by my new limitations, I try my best not to feel too sorry for myself. Instead, I try to adapt as best I can, even if I might not always do it gracefully.

That does mean that I sometimes push myself more than I should, though. Because, if I didn't, I wouldn't never produce anything. As depressing as it is to admit, everything I've given you in the past four years has been while I was sick. I don't think a single chapter I've written or drawing I've made has been untouched by this. I've become an expert at writing, editing, and drawing even with a fever.

That doesn't mean I regret it, though — quite the opposite. I think that if I hadn't had a reason to write and draw, I would have felt even worse. A lof of the time, the excitement I feel when I'm able to post a chapter or show off a drawing I've made has been the highlight of my week. It's an accomplishment.

But, that said, it's still hard. Writing in particular. It requires a level of brainpower I can't reach when the fevers are too bad. And so, sometimes, I just can't. I literally just can't.

And, back in January, as I was trying to edit chapter 39 of Who Holds the Devil, I honestly pushed myself too hard. I was so determined to finish it that I didn't let myself see just how bad I was feeling — not at all helped by how emotionally draining the content of the chapter was.

It was only once I finished the chapter and posted it that I realised how absolutely wretched I felt. Not because of the chapter itself, but my lack of compassion for myself, I guess? Because the fevers were bad, I was barely sleeping, and I was both mentally and physically exhausted. And, what was worse, I realised that I was displaying depression symptoms I hadn't seen in over ten years.

All of a sudden, I got annoyed as soon as a minor inconvenience appeared. Everything people said to me was dissected into its tiniest component. I feared that people were secretly hating me. I couldn't meet people's eyes anymore when I was talking to them. I didn't realise I was just sitting there, staring at a wall, until several minutes had already passed.

And, as the final nail in the coffin, I stopped talking about how I was feeling.

And that, right there, is my last warning that I need to do something — always has been, ever since I was a teenager. When I clam up completely, refusing to admit to the people around me that I'm feeling bad, that's when I'm about to spiral.

So, the very next day, I went to my boss and told her that I'm getting burnt out and I need to do something NOW or this was going to turn ugly real soon. Thankfully, my boss is amazing and, after a doctor's visit, I was put on partial sick leave. Right now, I'm working six hours a day instead of eight and, let me tell you, I'm thriving.

Or, well, as much as I can while still having long Covid.

I'm almost angry at how much better I feel because, if I had known, I would have done this a lot sooner. I actually have energy now! I've only had a fever about four times in a little over a month! That's insane! It used to be four a week!

So yeah. I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. The downside is that the partial sick leave is still only temporary and there are no guarantees that I'll be able to keep it. Though, if need be, I'll just have to ask my boss to rewrite my contract and change the amount of hours I work because, man, I don't ever want to go back considering how much better and happier I feel. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I feel like I've gotten my life back. It's not quite the same as before, but close enough to it that I kind of want to cry again — but happy tears this time.

And so I've spent the past couple of weeks just... living? When, before that, it felt like I was merely existing. I've been drawing a lot since that helps with the depression symptoms (which are almost completely gone, thank god) but writing has been harder. Possibly because I forced myself to do it during a time when I felt really, really bad and now I'm instinctively trying to shy away from it. But, since I know that's just my mind playing tricks on me, I'm going to give it another try this weekend. I want to write and I miss the stories I'm working on. And, hopefully, since I'm feeling a bit better, I can maybe get back to a more structured uploading schedule. But we'll see. As always, I can't make any promises.

But that's about it, I guess? I'm feeling better and, since I am, I've been doing a lot of things that I wasn't able to before (like taking walks — I take a lot of walks). And I'm still trying to figure out my new routine now that I work less. And while I still get sick sometimes (I am right now, in fact, due to lack of sleep on Tuesday night) I always find my way back eventually.

So yeah. If you've read this far, thank you so much for your patience 💜 I admit that I don't really enjoy writing things like these since it feels like I'm whining — I was very much raised not to take up space or complain when things are difficult (an unfortunate side effect to being the middle child with two disabled, high-maintenance siblings) — but I also prefer honesty and transparency. And I feel a little guilty since there are times when I've given pretty harsh responses when people question why I'm sick all the time or why I don't upload chapters as often as I used to, but without actually explaining why. So I guess it's time to be honest?

And the truth is that I've been constantly sick for the past four years. Not only due to my long Covid, but also the emotional and psychological toll of all the loss, grief, and pain I've been through. These past four years have been rough.

But I'm not saying that to gain pity or make excuses. I actually think I've done pretty well considering just how hindered I've been. I've improved my drawings so much and have written... god knows how many words. I'm honestly kind of scared to check xD But it has to be over 600k by now, maybe closer to 700k.

I think my only regret is that I haven't been able to engage with you all to the extent I would want. I wish I could be a more active and enthusiastic participant in fandom — to seek you out, hold conversations, and give you all even a fraction of the attention you've given me. I feel like I don't offer you nearly enough.

But I also know that I have to accept my own limitations. So, for now, we'll have to settle for whatever I can give, even if it's less than I would want. But I will keep on creating, trust me on that, because I'm stubborn as fuck and even if my pace is slower, I'm still determined to finish what I start.

And that's the note I want to end this on. I have suffered, yes — more so than I may have expressed to you all — but I've still managed to create some beautiful things. And while I mourn who I used to be and the fact that some of you have never known me at my best, I don't think the me I am right now is all that terrible. Do I want things to change? Yes, definitely. But do I want to change the choices I've made and the things I've accomplished in the past four years? No, I can't say that I do. I'm proud of what I've done, especially considering my limitations.

And, if you're reading this, thank you so, so much for your kindness, compassion, and support. Some of you are old friends while others of you are new, but I am grateful to every single one of you. You have made these past four years more bearable. You have made it easier to keep fighting. You have made it worth it.

Thank you 💜

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: This Physio Pamphlet aka I am so sick of Ableist blame the victim shit.

In home physio re-started Monday and I've been exhausted ever since. The theory makes sense and so do the exercises, but I have to do them all the time I'm up, basically in small portions, on top of me still trying to do bare minimum regular physio, which also wears me up. I had to flat out give up on a lot of the exercises since Covid last September. I can't come close do doing them all and perform basic tasks like feeding myself and beasts and deal with the endless laundry the Emperor now generates.

The physio is good. At the same time, a bunch of the things that she said last time are clearly for people who are not me. And there's this booklet I promised to read and return. I finally finished it Thursday. It wasn't long, but it was endless experientially.

I get it. Most Americans did not have a descent science education because Republican school reforms always attack science and social studies for obvious reasons. I did have one and spend a lot of time with new medical any specialist trying to prove they can stop dumbing things way down for me. No, I don't have specialist training, but I actually do have descent general knowledge. It goes much faster if they bump me up to educated layman, if you see what I mean. So explanations of anything directly from her are slow, but this book is molasses, which is really what they need if they are giving it to people who may know little to nothing about how bodies work.

This I could tolerate.

I actually applaud the large type and the explanation of how to do housework with a disability. I had to work that out myself decades ago, but a lot of people don't understand the short form of the advise when they hear it, so I usually do a long explanation with concrete examples, which is a useful thing to hand people with new disabilities.

The problem is that there is a lot of stuff that assumes average neurotypical brain and a person who has had trouble recovering from one or even a few injuries or surgeries.

It assumes I'm not naturally day-night flipped on sleep cycles. (Supposedly this is a disorder, but it sure looks like useful alternative brain design to have some percentage of the population alert at night against predators or later fire or invasion or later still third shift jobs like emergency response. It's a problem because society isn't structured for nocturnal types and is judgey about it, not because somethings inherently wrong).

It assumes I have a strong fear response. Which I don't. (I suspect Toxoplasmosis contracted as a child from our cats. I remember still being able to feel fear properly when I was small. Then at some point I stopped. I can startle; I can worry; I don't fear. I have learned to use reason to assess risk because otherwise I'd do really dangerous stuff). I am legitimately struggling to figure out how to translate the fear stuff into anything I can use.

There is no fucking way I'm kicking my cats out of my bedroom, and doing that would not improve my sleep. Less pain improves my sleep. The cats are not the problem.

They didn't seem to understand functional limits caused by disabilities at all. The Author seemed to assume everyone can get better and resume normal activities from before, which is bullshit.

They waited until the end to trot out the inevitable ableist shit, the assumption that everything can be solved by willpower and taking rehabilitation slowly enough. The physio herself has carefully not crossed this line, and I've been watching her warily because she skates close to it on occasion.

I read the thing anyway. I gave my word. It was like shifting through shit to find specks of gold and finding hardly any.

I hate this fucking book.

I'm doing the exercises she gave me anyway, because the exercises are clearly correct.

Reading that last section though, I kept thinking of a paraplegic guy I used to know whose relatives took him to a faith healer a couple years after the motorcycle accident. They made him transfer out of the chair and sit at the end of a middle row. There were people in wheelchairs down front who were "healed." That they were plants was obvious to my friend. Otherwise, why wasn't he down front too? Why else take his chair away and hide his disability.

It did not work, of course, and the people who took him their blamed him. He'd be healed if he just believed harder. I had the same thing happen to a friend on the spectrum when she was a teen, which is offensive on so many levels.

It's gross when the right wing fundamentalist do it; it's gross here when it's packaged as left wing holistic power of positive thinking crap.

Yes, some people get better. Maybe the injuries are temporary. Maybe new and improved treatments alleviate or heal things.

I want people to get better. I'm happy for people who get better.

There are two general types of problems going on in my body: the big permanent damage ones, and the things that can be mitigated. I do think a more whole body approach to physio will help me recover from all the damage hospital fatphobic PT did and help me recover from a shoulder replacement. I don't think thinking about pain in a new way will remove two degenerative genetic diseases and the actual physical damage they do over time. I don't see how dealing with fear I don't have will grow back cartilage or until damage to the bones of my spine or the bone around my joints.

[farfromdaylight]

a post about levequests

levequests are a kind of forgotten feature in final fantasy xiv. from my understanding, they were core to the gameplay loop in 1.0, and sure enough they feature in the 1.0 trailer. but we haven't gotten new battle levequests since heavensward, and today they mostly exist to make it easy to level crafters quickly. (i once took an alt from level 15 goldsmith to level 70 in approximately 15 minutes, it was great.)

however, for achievement hunters, levequests are an ever-looming task.

here's the thing. there are three achievements in the game for completing 5,000 battlecraft, tradecraft, and fieldcraft levequests, respectively. this would be fine... if you could get more than 6 levequest allowances per day. couple this with 500 levequests for each grand company, and it takes over SEVEN YEARS to complete all these.

so as an achievement hunter, one has to constantly mind their levequests. overcap, and you just make it take longer to complete them all. there's also achievements for doing unique levequests for each leve type and crafter/gatherer; these mostly overlap with the large achievement. ishgard levequests are weird, as you can spend 10 allowances at a time to do a large-scale leve; a good way to burn them, but a large leve only gives 1 credit for the achievements, not 10, so most people don't do them past the bare minimum required for the unique achievements.

speaking for myself: leves are exhausting. like, the actual content of them is whatever. crafting leves are easy, but tedious since you either have to make or buy the turn-ins. (this is the only leve type that generates decent gil in reward, though, so it's worth doing. rip coffee biscuits.) gatherer leves are easily completed if you have a fisher retainer... which is about the only functional use for having a fishing retainer long-term. grand company levequests can be easily cheesed with leves that spawn only a single low-level enemy to defeat.

but the real bugbear is fucking battlecraft levequests.

they're not hard, since they don't level sync. a high level job can oneshot all the mobs no problem. but my god, they are insanely tedious. the common farm spot is east shroud; you take and hide the escort levequest on offer, then do the rest of them. over and over again. thousands of times. (some people do south shroud instead, as there's double the leves on offer there, but the point is the same.)

as you generate 42 leve allowances per week, it then leads to the question of how best to spend them. some people work on one leve type at a time; others vary it. for me, i got WAY ahead on crafter levequests early on thanks to shb's coffee biscuits, so i have 3,364 of those done. that leaves battle and gather. i've been alternating them every 500 leves, because doing 5000 battle leves in a row would have killed me. currently i'm up to 1,843 battle leves and 2,000 gatherer leves... so i have a lot ahead of me.

anyway, i hate levequests. don't be an achievement hunter in this game. it's a terrible idea.

[naancypants]

I think I've pinpointed the main reason I'm so viscerally unhappy with the direction the writers chose to go in with Nace -- obviously this is just my opinion, so any use of objective terms like "supposed to be", etc is not meant to be taken literally. It's just me airing out my takes on the storytelling.

For me, one of the most appealing things about Nace is how they juxtapose all of Nancy's other romantic endeavors. From the beginning, it's been different with Ace. He isn't a fast-moving hookup or a form of escapism. He gradually grows into the role of a best friend, a partner, someone she is emotionally open with, and the person who can keep her steady when shit hits the fan. Ace's presence encourages Nancy to embrace love (especially self-love) rather than facilitating her urge to push it away.

I associate Nick and Owen, Nancy's season 1 ships -- which ideally would establish a starting point for her -- with Nancy resigning to choices or circumstances that are out of her control, and having to move on from something she really wanted to make work. Both of these relationships were ripped from her grasp, thus leading to pain and reinforcing her belief that she isn't deserving of That Kind of love.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Season 4 has essentially applied these negative season 1 traits to Nancy/Ace, her supposed endgame, with the curse and how it has torn them apart. I've always believed her endgame should break down these patterns entirely, not slap a new coat of paint on them. The idea is for Nancy to learn that true love doesn't HAVE to be painful, that love shouldn't break your spirit. Not when it's the right person. There's no real reason to be rehashing angst and hopelessness and rebounds this late in the game -- not with Ace, who is narratively recognized as The One. This should be the relationship for Nancy that symbolizes joy and the warmth of falling for a friend. It should feel cozy and stable. Why would we want to validate Nancy's belief that great love must come with great suffering? I've always loved Nace for the themes of growth that it reflects in Nancy's character -- that she is learning what real love feels like, that she is embracing her most authentic self, that she has moved away from the closed-off girl we met at the start who used relationships as a distraction from her pain.

Ace is supposed to represent comfort, security, and a safe haven from the strife that surrounds Nancy's life... yet now he is the central cause of her strife. I don't want her to be miserable because of whatever is going on with Ace. I want Ace to be her solace from whatever else is making her miserable! That's how this relationship was built to function!!! That was the entire point!!!!!

I can't help but feel like this star-crossed drama sours their connection a little, when I ship them specifically for the way Ace has always been an anomaly for her; someone with whom she could let her guard down and communicate freely due to the harmonious undercurrent between them. Now they can't make it through (1) conversation without 'breaking up' or stabbing each other in the heart. It's exhausting. It's counterintuitive to everything I love about them. I don't expect a relationship without its bumps in the road, but their arc is so dramatic and heightened now, it's like the writers have disregarded why these two worked so well together in the first place.

All I ever wanted was a sweet little slowburn coworkers-to-besties-to-lovers arc where they both surprise themselves by falling for each other 💐 of course I'm still rooting for them to end up together, but it hurts to know that what was once my #1 currently-airing OTP is barely even a shell of what I hoped it would be.

[alexandraswords]

F*CK NORMAL

An overdue ending to a (un)well decorated drinking career.

Introduction

Friday, June 9, 2023 9:28 AM

Today is one of those days where I am just tired, and a bit bored, but mostly tired. I am exhausted. Mentally at least. I have really been putting my all into my sobriety to the point where my day revolves around meetings but im starting to lose momentum. I have a headache, the dog wont stop barking, i'm trying to pop the zits on my face. Basically being alone with my discontented ass self is not something I'm great at... yet.

I should meditate or journal or text another AA member. But I just want to sleep and be normal and relax. But fuck normal.

I thought drinking was normal. I thought my diet of vodka and water and the occasional box of cheez-its was adulting. I thought I was mature and well refined and socially acceptable because I drank, just like everyone else, because, you know, drinking is normal... right?

Wrong. Not for me. I am NOT normal. So I have to do abnormal shit to keep my addictive eating disordered alcoholic riddled ass self sober and happy. I have to keep listening to other people because me making my own decisions landed me in a crack den sharing a room with a friend I would consider a sibling, whom which a fought with constantly to the point where I dragged the mattress from our third floor apartment (if you consider that uninhabitable shit hole, an apartment) down out side below out kitchen window so if I jumped maybe the universe would send me a sign saying that it is or isn't time yet. Okay so I didn't actually do that, but I sure as shit thought about it... a lot. Like a lot. I mean i couldn't even barely walk to the bathroom let alone haul some shit down the stairs. Hell, I wouldn't even walk across the street to get my own liquor. I would bribe my roommate by telling him if he went for me and took my card he could buy something for myself. I just didn't care anymore. I hated everything. I hated that I had to be loaded to be able to walk because my shakes were so bad. I hated that I had to drink to even feel sober and functional and not hallucinate and vomit and dry heave bright green bile. And worst of all I hated that I had lost control.

My eating disorder and my alcoholism made my reality disappear. The food temporarily until my life became a cage, and the nicest word I can think of to name it would be a vomitorium because it was actually that repulsive if you could see inside the walls of it. The alcohol took control over me so I didn't have to deal with food, but also made it so I didn't worry or care about ANYTHING. 

So I guess this is how I'm going to start this ... whatever rant of words form a book. Where I'm at right now. Because right now is all I have. Yes, I am in full self pity mode, but if there's one thing I've learned from AA it's that I need to take action, and never have I ever felt worse after going to a meeting. So,lets go fucking make our bed, and meditate or some shit and get ready for today. So, yeah, Fuck Normal.

So, Why the fuck not?

I got most talkative in fifth grade. The english section of my English SAT’s, I aced. People (my boyfriend) seem to like my writing and have told me If I don’t do something with it, then they’ll publish it themselves… which I’m pretty sure falls into the lines of plagiarism but lets be honest here. I am probably one of the biggest procrastinators when it comes to doing something that is actually good for me. Why? The fuck if I know. Maybe because all I’ve known has been chaos and panic since, like,  forever, that when it comes to the real things, like happiness and joy and pride in work that I’VE DONE… well, I'm just not used to that type of thing.  But I figured, fuck it. I can write a book. All i have to do is elaborate on how awesome I am at self sabotaging and add in some very few lessons I picked up and am still learning day by day. Basically I’ve decided its time to just put all my shit in one bound piece of parchment instead of having to explain my life story to everyone as if its my first day with a new therapist. 

But alas, melodramatic Alex is bored and avoiding meditating, to keep her shit together and be healthier, obviously,  because that would actually be beneficial to my well being. So for now i’ll just throw it in one of the corners in the back of my mind while it slowly simmers into a pot of anxiety attack soup while I try and explain to you (briefly before the pot starts boiling) how fucking insanely delusionally fantastically fucked my life is, and how I got here, and why I wouldn’t change one second of it for anything. But I mean, there’s forwards and shit in books right? So can this be like a PS after the main intro forward? ‘Cause This sober bitch has to go meditate before a meeting so I can stay mindful in my sobriety and not add homicide to my list of criminal activities. (That was a joke) So for now, just for today, Namaste Sober. 

P.P.S- enjoy the buffet of garbage that hopefully is not similar to mine. But if you can and most likely will relate if you’re reading this (most likely because my clever title struck a chord in your twisted little heart) then just know, you're not alone in this shit show, but no one ever really puts the shit show on the ‘gram now do they?

[distopea]

Nezumi woke up to a strip of yellow light cutting through the bedroom. He remembered leaving the door open a crack in hopes that the glimpse of the bed with Nezumi sleeping in the sheets would be enough to lure Mads in, making him abandon his heaps of work and preparation. But as he drowsily blinked at the stark golden line that illuminated the carpet, crawled up the side of the bed and then split the sheets, he realised his failure.

In the other room, Mads was still shifting papers, making notes, studying blueprints and reading articles. Nezumi could see a thin outline of Mads' back hunched over the table, and the gap between the rooms that had meant to bring Mads to bed worked oppositely. Nezumi pushed the sheets aside and padded to the kitchen.

"You look tragic," Nezumi murmured when Mads turned after the whisper of steps moving across the room. His voice was hoarse from sleep and laden with judgement. Flashing Mads a pout, he rubbed his eyes and went to the bathroom. A cupboard clicked, and Nezumi emerged again with a jar of golden oil and rosemary branches.

He pulled up a chair next to Mads and moved some papers aside. "Open this for me," he asked and handed Mads the jar. "It's olive oil and rosemary; my Gran used to massage my face when I needed to study. Rosemary is good for brain function; people used it since ancient Greece," he explained and dipped two fingers in. Some of the oil dripped on Nezumi's bare thigh before he brought the fingers to Mads' face and tapped his forehead, beginning to smear the oil evenly.

"Close your eyes and hold still," Nezumi instructed, and his thumbs pressed to the inner parts of Mads' eyebrows. He drew circles just above the bridge of Mads' nose, then dragged over the curve of his brows, repeating the process several times in patient and meticulous lines that built up one above the other until Nezumi's thumbs reached the line of Mads' hair.

The scent of rosemary and olive oil filled the room, and when Nezumi moved to massage under Mads' closed eyes, he spoke softly and with grave concern: "This obsession with your father is ruining you. It terrifies me what he does to you—he terrifies me, and I've barely met him. But you," he sighed painfully, "Heavens, Mads. What does he have on you that you have to one-up him in everything you do? He's bad in every way—he's—he's nothing like you. You've already outgrown him, but you remain tethered. Why?"

Glistening with oil, Nezumi's hands cupped each side of Mads' face. He studied the lines on Mads' face and waited for Mads to open his eyes and answer.

@nezumivc103221

He knew that he shouldn’t surrender to his usual bad habits, but he couldn’t help himself when it came to preparing a coup against his father. He was more than zealous, dedicated to the task, to the point that he couldn’t even see his own exhaustion nor the fact that someone was waiting for him in the bedroom. Yet, that was exactly what he had sworn to never do in the end. Catching those glimpses of his own genitor was quite harsh, even more so when he heard the voice of Nezumi, raspy and tired, echoing behind his back, certainly because he felt lonely. 

Mads stiffened on his chair and massaged his shoulder for a second, as he discovered he had been sagging over the table for so long. His fingers were covered in taints of black ink, and his hand felt sore, slightly shaking due to the heavy writing. He sighed and didn’t fight back, watching Nezumi coming back from the bathroom with a small vial of something liquid and quite smelly. “Alright, alright.” He eventually admitted his defeat, while before he could complain that he wasn’t done yet, the papers on the table were pushed somewhere else. “I thought you might be sleeping with the dead right now.” 

He frowned, the perfume of Rosemary was definitely strong. He would have preferred perhaps a good cup of coffee, but Nezumi seemed worried and he didn’t wish to upset him any further. “I have never thought that Rosemary could be good for the brain. Your gran surely had a lot of secrets. No wonder you look so young and I will fade with wrinkles everywhere.” He tried to joke and prove that everything was fine, closing his eyes when Nezumi demanded it. He was certain that he needed more than Rosemary to eventually grasp what was wrong with him, and definitely, the voice of his lover pointed out a few things he had promised to keep away. 

From this act of softness, Mads experienced again the discomfort of his own flaws. He didn’t like to talk much about the reasons why he was so obsessed with his father, but he also was aware it couldn’t be something he could keep away from Nezumi forever. He was sharing more than one secret regarding one another, but the depth of that pit in front of him was terrifying. Nezumi stopped talking, and Mads patiently waited. He only opened his eyes when there was nothing but the silence of the room surrounding them. That kind of look on his face… He had hoped to never see it at all. There was no more room for an act of self-preservation anymore. Mads knew he faced the inevitable need to speak out his true feelings. 

“I know…” But I am like him. He eventually answered before he let loose a defeated sigh, almost painful. He gripped Nezumi’s wrist and somehow invited him to sit back on his chair, his other hand finding the lid of the jar of Rosemary oil to close it. “But I can’t stop. Because he has never stopped on his side…” Mads could sense those boxes of emotions he had secured deep in the back of his head getting opened one by one. Forbidden thoughts and agonizing feelings that were hard to express. “I have a feeling that, if I don’t chase after him like a raging bull, I will forever break my vow to the only person who has never failed to come between him and us.” He intertwined his fingers with Nezumi’s, barely able to look at him. “He killed my mom, Nezumi...” 

The heaviness of those words felt like a dozen rocks on his heart as he discovered how much he was still carrying that guilt. “If I stop… Then he wins. Because he had never cared about protecting her. I have to protect her legacy.” Even if it meant losing him to that. He stopped talking, afraid that he had opened the Pandora's box of his life for good. He had always vowed to cherish his mother and break his father’s toxic system and life goal, but he knew he was each day tainting his soul with his own resentment. And he feared the questions Nezumi might ask, or the advice he might give. He feared them because he knew he wouldn’t listen to them. 

Out of the blue, in need of protection, Mads eventually circled Nezumi’s face and brought him closer, until his lover had no choice but to come onto his lap. Urgently, and perhaps to stop this ticking bomb from ringing in his head, he kissed Nezumi passionately. Soon enough, the palm of his hand was trailing those half dry droplets of oil spread onto his bare skin, massaging his thigh with a burning and urgent lust.

“No…” Mads begged between two kisses, preventing Nezumi from questioning him again, before he eventually secured him onto the table, and spread his legs to nest in between. He rubbed his crotch against Nezumi’s, his fingers skillfully opening the buttons of his shirt, finding their way to pinch and play with his sensitive nipples. A pitiful maneuver to avoid the elephant in the room. But truly, he believed that even Nezumi wouldn't want to see it. 

“No please, Nezumi… No more questions. Not now... Please...” He whispered, his eyes expressing nothing but the endless despair he was experiencing, searching for the only source of comfort he could ever think about right now. 

[threshasketch]

Wow, so apparently today is the 8th anniversary of me starting this art blog. I started Threshasketch in the September of 2015, and my main blog the year before in June.

In that time, I've gone through drawing OCs, fanart for numerous fandoms, traditional style line work and pencil sketches, digital line work and coloring, painting photo-real style, and so, so many chibi art pieces. Art has been my rock through some really hard times in my life. Posting cute chibis to brighten somebody else's day helped brighten mine.

Since 2015, my country has gone through three different presidencies, the world has gone through (and is still quietly going through) a global pandemic, and I've gone through years of struggling. Most of that struggling has been in the past 5 years, but boy does 5 years sound like a lot of time to be struggling for basic living things like heat and food.

Things were really bad just a few years ago. At one point I only had electricity four hours per day, because I couldn't afford gas for the generator. I uploaded digital art because "scanning" (taking pics of on my phone) traditional line art was hard when the place I was living was so dark. Patreon and art commissions were the only reason I had money for food on many occasions.

I've had to move three different times in the past four years. I got rid of or lost a lot of my belongings to live in a small space. Had to deal with rats in my living space twice in as many years. Had to take my 23-year-old cat to the vet to pass peacefully AND help my parents take their little dog with heart failure to the vet to pass peacefully in the same year.

Did I mention I had major abdominal surgery this summer with months of recovery time? Yeah. That actually went really smoothly. I didn't realize how bad my health was getting for the past few years because it was a gradual problem, but I was exhausted all the time, unable to do much physical activity, and super anemic. Just passed the two month mark since surgery, and am feeling so much better it's shocking remembering how bad off I was before. Cripes, I should have done this years ago.

So why, if art has been a coping method for me, has this blog had barely any updates for years? Well, I overextended myself on art commissions, which made my art escapism into a pressure thing. It's nobody's fault but my own, but several of those commissions did not get finished, and that made art into a guilty thing, so I sort of...shut myself down on Tumblr, because drawing for fun seemed wrong when somebody was waiting on me to finish their art piece. So I stopped drawing at all for a long while. That helped nobody—it just made it so that I wasn't warmed up enough to draw the commissions, either.

I'm just now getting to where I'm financially able to reach out to the people who paid me for commissions and refund them. I've refunded several already. If you are one of my art commission customers, you'll be hearing from me, I promise. I haven't forgotten you, I have every commission I ever took in a list saved on my computer.

Speaking of financially able, I'm no longer supporting myself with art and Patreon alone. For most of The Pandemic Years I've been pouring all of my creative energy into becoming a full-time indie erotica author. I write my own stories, I paint my own covers, I do everything myself. It's the most fun job I've ever had, honestly, and it's paying my bills. ♥

I've managed to build it up into a monthly income somehow, and this winter is looking a lot less terrible than last winter. In general, my living situation is now stable, the roof doesn't leak, the lights all work, hell I even have a functioning shower and the ability to have running hot water.

Anyway, yeah. It's been a rough go of it, and this art blog has been around through it all. I got a new art tablet for my birthday, and drawing feels like being carefree again. Here's to many more years of art. ♥

[diaryofasmallbird]

admitting to myself I've been horribly depressed and lonely the past 2 weeks. called out of work and my boss ignored my email saying so + I feel under the weather and he just sent me tasks I need to do when I come back in. like thanks for your understanding lol.

I need to make more friends and rely less on the friends I do have. I don't want to burden anybody. it is my own responsibility to cultivate a better life for myself. but doing so when I have such little energy I can barely keep up with hygiene and basic self-care makes it incredibly difficult. Crow is also struggling and doesn't really have any friends of his own at this point. he rarely comes with me when I see friends since he is also exhausted. we barely see each other with how different our work schedules are. I am alone so much but it is my own fault.

yes I am heavily medicated and have been through loads of therapy. I usually go to the gym but haven't this week. I am eating as well as I can. my lab work is good. I still get like this sometimes no matter how hard I try, and the weight feels unbearable every single episode

I just want to get back to my baseline again, which is probably lower than many people's but it's where I'm used to functioning. in one of those moods where I want to disappear from social media entirely because I feel unwanted and excessively negative

[headsemptysys]

Well I don't know where else to put this so... Lol, lucid dream journal?

Got very, very, very tired watching BHNA. Knew I was going to pass out, so just kind of... Let myself? Halfway? I wanted to stay awake, mostly, but I also kind of figured I would fall asleep anyway.

So I did end up passing out, but realized pretty immediately I was dreaming. I messed around for a few minutes, flew, pet Pixie (who actually listened to me in the dream, lol.) And then decided I shouldn't stay asleep.

So I woke myself up. It was *incredibly* heavy. Trying to open my eyes, move my fingers and hands to make myself wake up felt like pushing off a weighted blanket, a very heavy one, glued to every inch of my body. Then I looked around, looked at the time, decided it was fine actually, and went back to sleep.

Fell right back into a lucid dream again. For awhile I still thought the anime was playing, but I paused it before realizing I was dreaming once I realized I was missing so much dialogue with my eyes closed.

None of it really makes much sense, content-wise. I mostly just flew around, impulsively doing whatever I wanted. There was a creepy doll thing that was present throughout, always facing away from me and always in a different room unless I approached it. I knew it felt creepy, but wasn't scared by it in the dream. Oddly enough, I'm more freaked out by it now that I'm awake lol.

What finally woke me up was the dream finally trying to go nightmare. There was a man who intimidated me, and I knew if I let the emotions spiral I was going to lose control of the dream and it'd turn into a nightmare. So I tried to yell at him.

"This is MY DREAM" over and over again. Grabbed him by the shirt, looked him in his creepy weird eyes, and screamed in his face as best as I could. I couldn't fully stop him from moving (not that he was really doing anything other than looking kind of scary), but I think I did at least have enough control to slow it down? He was clearly a construct of the dream and I was aware of that, so I was just trying to exert control instead of convince him. The yelling was to ground myself to a feeling, and also because I was pissed he was trying to ruin my dream lol. It woke me up, eventually.

I couldn't really yell, though. I could actually barely talk, even in the first dream. At some point I realized I wasn't actually moving my mouth, I was just thinking loudly at things instead of 'talking'. So, I tried to talk... It didn't go very well.

When I focused on it, it felt like my mouth was full of cotton. Like I couldn't move it correctly, it wouldn't fully close around a word or open to project my voice. I could get a few words out but beyond that, my voice just wouldn't work at all. I honestly didn't really think it mattered, though. It was kind of frustrating, but my thoughts functioned just as well as speaking would have, so I just relied on that. I kept up trying to talk, and it got easier when I stopped focusing so hard on it, but it never really became viable. Especially trying to yell at the guy. (Which also was frustrating, but again, it was more about the intent of it anyway and I did know that.)

Waking up from the second dream was a lot harder. I didn't actually intend to wake up, but I guess my emotions pushed too hard. I didn't want to fall back into a non-lucid dream (and potentially have a nightmare considering the way I'd woken up), so I forced myself to move my hands and open my eyes. And uh, here I am.

I just didn't really want to lose this experience. Overall very fun and awesome, wish it happened more often. Unfortunately also very exhausting. Feels like I've been hit by a truck. Maybe two.

[fictionkinfessions]

Hi! Been a while 👋🏼

So, recently I've been working through some memories, and I've realized/remembered something recently. I had three children, not just one. The one I've probably talked about on here before is my eldest, Aster. He was our first egg, and I carried him. Honestly, his egg was so small, and I really didn't know much about eggs, so I hadn't even noticed until probably a week or sooner before the edge detached. It's also why I thought his egg was small, since my only dietary change was a whole lot more sugar than usual (Pop troll eggs... A fast way to cavities /lh/j).

But the second egg I carried (Lila, our only daughter, and the youngest) was *also* small, and man. I did not feel very adequate during those moments. I felt like there was something wrong with me- like I wasn't doing enough or providing enough for the eggs to be healthy *and* the correct size. Each egg rocked my shit, too. I was exhausted, weak, and no matter what I did, my body just couldn't keep up with what was being taken from it. After the eggs detached, Floyd would take care of me until I could function on my own again. Bruce, the best brother I could ask for, would often come over to help me out and take care of me. I don't know how that man didn't die from having such huge eggs when I could barely handle my little ones, and I remember expressing that to him at one point. I think he just laughed, lol.

Floyd had the egg of our middle child (Bay, our second son), and... It was so easy for him. Sizeable egg, no abnormal exhaustion, headaches never strained from average, nothing. I was a bit bitter about it to be honest (and I am right now, kinda), but mostly just jealous. Jealous that his egg was easy, jealous that somehow his body was better equipped than mine was... But that's all in the past (by a fair bit, now, I'd say, lol).

I'm just happy I had my kids, and that even though two are a bit shorter, they were all fit and healthy and lived long lives.

Aster, Bay, Lila- if any of you are out there. Know that I miss you, and hope you are having amazing lives full of love and support from your family and peers. I love you so, so much.

-Lyle #🐾🪩

[hismercytomyjustice]

I want to write right now but my brain is such mush. (ಥ﹏ಥ) I knew it would be, trips always take so much out of me, but it’s so frustrating. I have been running around nonstop since Sunday and damn if it isn’t hitting me like a freight train now.

My husband picked me up at the airport and I ate lunch before immediately passing out for a few hours. And then I managed to get up long enough to shower. And have been trying to stay awake/feel like my brain is still in my head ever since.

I am not the type to just start nodding off, but I did on the flight to NY and back and in my Uber to the airport yesterday. Everything has just been so exhausting.

Thank fuck for noise cancelling headphones, Loop earplugs, fidget toys, and extra anxiety meds because idk how I would have functioned without them. It is WILD how much of a difference using the Loops/noise cancelling headphones makes. I go from wanting to start screaming/crying or wanting to run away to being able to actually function and not feel like I’m dying after. Well, mostly anyway.

I barely slept Sunday night because I procrastinated and was panic packing and then had to get up early (6:20ish) to go to the airport. Then I got to the hotel around 12:30 Monday and even tho I requested an early check in, I didn’t get my room until 2:30. Meanwhile all my coworkers got theirs and abandoned me to just sit in the lobby anxiously looking at my watch while I hoped and prayed I’d be able to get to my room before our first session at 3. Apparently the entire hotel was sold out.

I’d been banking on getting to check in, maybe nap, and hopefully shower and change before the sessions started. Instead I got to check in, change clothes, and then just about sprint to the first session. They told us it was a 5min walk from the hotel to the tower but it was closer to 15. I don’t tolerate heat well so I was sweating buckets by the time I got there.

I didn’t have time to get my actual badge or get my hand scanned for the biometric entry. And even tho they looked me up and knew I was an employee and had a badge waiting for me (had to present my ID), I still needed to have someone in the building to come down and vouch for me? Place was sealed up like damn Fort Knox. I couldn’t get to the lobby without going through security, and even tho i had a temporary employee badge with the floors I needed access to printed on it, I couldn't get on or off any of the floors without someone with an actual badge.

Then we were out until 8pm with our team. Basically got back to the hotel and showered and crashed before having to be back in the lobby by 7:15 the next morning to walk back to the tower. We were in sessions from 7:30 to 5:30pm with barely any time for a bathroom break let alone a break to check on work stuff. I had to spend two of our tiny breaks trying to get my badge, but I finally got it. Then dinner was at 6 and ended after 8. Me and a few of my coworkers walked to the marina and took some photos there. Got back to the hotel around 9. Showered and passed out again.

Then had to check out and be back at the tower with all our stuff before 8am on Wednesday. I took an Uber because I didn't want to drag my heavy ass bookbag and suitcase for a 15min walk. We were in sessions again until almost 3pm. At which point I went straight to the airport. It took almost an hour to get there by Uber, so I was working on my phone the whole time. Got through security and even boarded the plane before they told us our flight was cancelled and we needed to deplane.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've had to fly somewhere so I had no clue how a cancelled flight worked. And flights were getting cancelled all over the city. I stood in a line around 50 people deep to wait for the help desk. They told us to rebook on the app so I stepped out of line and was looking at flights when they finally allowed me to try and rebook. The only other direct flight was Thursday at 7:35pm otherwise I’d have 1-2 layovers for a flight that should only take 2 hours.

Thankfully they made a new flight for us that we were automatically booked for. I got back in the now even longer line to ask about vouchers for food/transportation/lodging per my manager’s instructions. They told us nothing was on offer because the cancellation was due to weather.

So THEN I was scrambling to find a hotel for the night. Along with every other stranded passenger. All the cheaper ones by the airport were full. I’m hoping work will comp me for my hotel last night but am not 100% sure so I didn’t want to book a $500 a night stay closer to the airport. So I booked a hotel in NJ that was 15 miles away. It took an hour to get there by Uber. I checked in around 10 and just dissociated in my room for like an hour lol.

Then I showered and went to bed. Got up at around seven to repack my luggage and get another hour long Uber ride back to the airport. Thank god my flight was on time and everything went smoothly from there and now I’m home again.

I’m mentally and physically exhausted and probably will be for another day or two, which sucks. I hate it takes me so long to recover from stuff like this. BUT THAT’S NOT SELF-COMPASSION. I will be a potato tomorrow and maybe Saturday. Hoping to feel marginally human by Sunday.

BUT. I’m actually really proud of myself for figuring shit out when my flight got cancelled. I don’t travel and I certainly don’t travel alone unless I absolutely have to. But I persevered and got a hotel and got back home in one piece! I didn’t panic! It may have been because I took my extra anxiety meds pre-flight that didn’t happen, but regardless I feel like I did so well given everything that happened! Especially only having been to NYC only once before as part of a high school trip in 2007.

I hadn’t even taken an Uber by myself before this trip! I found the office all by myself the first time! I didn’t even get lost in the process! When I have 100% gotten lost in Raleigh before, which is SO MUCH SMALLER THAN NYC. I survived not one but TWO brand new (to me) airports! And my ADHD and OCD mostly cooperated the whole time! Success after success after success!

Tbh I had a lot more fun than I expected to and it was really nice getting to see my coworkers in person. We’re all virtual and only ever met once before last year in New Orleans, but that was a trip including almost 1k people from our org. This was our first time together with just our team.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE being virtual, but there’s something to be said for seeing colleagues in person too. At least once in a while!

I’ll probably post more about the trip in the days to come as I still process a lot of it, but overall I had a much better time than I expected to!

I also got to meet more of the sales reps I support and it was so funny to have them just yell out customer names I’d helped them with at me when they saw me haha!!! Glad to know I’m making a positive impact! ꉂ (´∀｀)ʱªʱªʱª It’s so easy to feel very siloed while being virtual. It was nice getting a reminder that they’re actual people I’ve helped and that they appreciate said help!

[frogsandfries]

It's gotten to the point where I'm keeping it at like 68° in my apartment, unless I've just gotten out of the shower, which is when I feel like my internal thermostat is maybe the most honest? I don't know exactly why the fuck, but I am burning up. A few early mornings, I've woken up thinking my heating blanket was on, the bedding around me is so hot, but the remote is cold. It's basically all the time that my body would be convinced that I should be sleeping (apparently from about noon till about eight or ten in the evening), so I get a reprieve for a couple hours when I'm at work.

My current theory is a combination of a prescription I've been taking, which has given me "night" sweats which start in the early morning a few hours before I wake up, and a new medication which I believe is having an impact on my metabolism. If my body doesn't figure this out and reset before summer, I'm going to just perish-eth to death. It'd also be great if all this extra metabolic activity could actually, like, do me some good in the weight loss department. I guess that remains to be seen.

In other awesome health news, one of my meds can cause a magnesium deficiency, so that may explain the constant muscle twitches all over my body, from my shoulders and elbows to my ribs. Guess what's on the grocery list--you'll never guess--shredded wheat. Yup. Shredded wheat. I'm getting old.

In further health news, I'm dying. I've been constantly, non-functionally exhausted like, all month. I wake up, I want to go back to sleep. I get to maybe about lunch, depending on call volume, and I'm out, but I can't just take off a ton of time just because I'm sick (which, my brain is). Then I'm just slogging through the remainder of the day knowing that this is going to lead to burnout.

Every evening for at least the past week, I get off work and proceed to keep myself barely awake with the most low-function activity I possibly can. Journaling? Why would I even imagine having the energy, never even mind brain power, to do something insane like that?? So I just keep gathering ideas for journals that I would like to write and just continuing to not have the energy for any of them. Maybe I should make an extra half hour in the mornings for it??

[draiochteve]

I have put a line break here like 8 times idk why it isn't working on my end

I am having a chaotic last two weeks. And I am tired. I am exhausted from crying. I am ready to sleep for a month while at the same time I want to get away from it all and see things to make me happy. Before anyone worries, my married life is fine. The issue is everyone else. I knew some shit was stirring during the wedding in my partner and I's friend group. Thankfully, I had been blissfully unaware all the way through it until it all exploded a few days after when everyone went home. The short of it is a lot of people were simply unable to behave and tried to start shit. People are no longer talking to others. And truly, it was a long time coming for some of this. A handful of the people causing the issues I didn't want to invite for this reason because I knew it could be a problem. It was. My phone blew up every few minutes to the point it was cheaper for me to finally pay for an unlimited plan instead of sticking to prepaid. I was going to swap soon anyways now being able to afford it, but the fact months of rollover time and text are now just gone in a few days will never not be annoying. As that eased, family shit started. My grandfather is dying. I'm not bothered. He is very old, suffering under dementia, is barely living. I have wanted him to pass peacefully in his sleep for months now. But as he is my maternal grandfather, my mother has been struggling immensely which is to be expected. I was handling all of this fine. I was managing, I have been thriving elsewhere...I'm writing so much. I've been happy despite it all and despite the tears. Until last night. My father had a heart attack last night. It was small and only just a little stronger than how a panic attack feels for him, so it's understandable why we all weren't as concerned. I get them too. I thought the stress of the wedding finally hit him. The doctors were convinced too. Scans showed up fine, heart was fine. Then the blood test. He had a heart attack for sure. So they thought it was a minor blockage. It isn't. It's 3 blocked arteries at 90%. He's also now diabetic and likely has been for a couple months now. He isn't doing well. Surgery starts tomorrow for a triple bypass. I have an odd relationship with my parents. I have terrible mixed feelings. They abused me, they mistreated me, but they are all I ever knew and I know they do love me. I've been my mother's rock all this time. She is struggling to function. Helping her is making it hard for me to function even at a distance. Dad is scared. My brothers are scared. I am teetering the line between numb and broken. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I feel guilty planning on hiding away at the local cafe all day and just trying to distract myself. Maybe get lost writing so I'm not watching the clock waiting for everything to be over regardless of the outcome. My partner is going through enough. He's helping me all he can, but his job is shit and demanding and he's not doing well either. Just fuck everything, dude.