#but it wasn't anything they couldn't solve through therapy and conversation

[janitorpostman]

some implying that Betty's desire to please Simon automatically make her a victim and Simon an abuser make me go 😑

[crymeariveronceagain]

*in a terrible brooklyn accent* click the link if you dare i need to ramble rant and rave like a woman driven to the brink of insanity

i know i didn't deserve the way they treated me. i know i didn't deserve it. i know it inside and out. but my heart hasn't learned. my brain can't do it. all i think when i look someone in the eyes is "shit what if it all ends up awful again" over and over and over. every interaction i have is stilted because of the way they treated me. every last one of them hurt me in some way. every last one of them damaged some part of my heart.

the first one told me i was too happy and now i worry about being too positive and driving everyone away. he took my love and smiled as he crumbled it into dust. he held my hand and he smiled at me and then it must not have mattered quite enough.

the second one didn't give me real reasons, just fake ones, accusations that he'd never brought up before, something i thought was a joke that he decided was splitting grounds. he laughed when i cried in front of him.

the third one didn't care. she was my best friend for years and then one day decided that i wasn't worth bothering with. i guess i should have expected that when she dated my ex less than two weeks after we broke up. when she spread rumors about me around like butter i wasn't surprised but stars did it hurt. her little brother asked if i'd abused my ex, and i think i should have expected all the problems she brought with her.

the fourth one joined in, after i'd lost friendships defending her, lost love because she'd told me that our friendship was doomed anyways, didn't hang out with me without someone else around and still let me think she was my best friend. she never understood why i couldn't be around him, never understood why i didn't like being a third wheel when all she ever did was stare into her boyfriend's eyes.

the fifth one hurt the most. because he didn't do anything at all. he never did anything. he just never asked if i was okay. and maybe i'd have survived that if he hadn't been my closest, truest friend. maybe i'd have been okay if he hadn't been my brother in everything but name. maybe i'd have been okay if the sight of him doesn't make me want to throw my arms around him and ask him how he's doing and if he cared and why he never stood up for me when i'd never have let anyone say that shit about him.

and now every single time i look at someone new i just see it, over and over, replaying like a broken record.

my mom says someday i'll forget all about them.

my mom says that someday they'll be so far in the past i'll laugh to think how worked up i got over them.

i hope she's right. i hope i never have to think about how my old friends are out in the world. i hope i never have to look my old boyfriends in the eyes. i hope i never have to smile at my oldest closest fondest friends.

i dont know why it's not fading. feels like a raw wound, with a rope, dragged back and forth over my skin.

am i sitting in my pain, am i trying to stay where it hurts?

am i frozen, stuck?

am i too weak, too small, too tired to keep fighting?

should i get over myself and go demand that my old friend explain? Should I ask the question that's always on the tip of my tongue?

Why wasn't I worth it to you?

would that solve the problems or would that make it worse?

would that make me cry or make me free? would that save me or ruin me? would i live or would i die?

would i be able to smile when this nice friend of mine comes and sits with me at the cafeteria? would i be able to hold a conversation with the guy i like? would this solve my problems or make them worse?

I feel like the line I'm walking is straight through health and brokenness and I'm tottering from one side to another and I want to let it all dissappear into the past but I can't figure out how to stop it from happening.

I can't figure out how on earth to solve the problems.

Usually I'd say that I need therapy.

But I still haven't picked up the phone to call the office. Because what do you say?

Hi, can I speak to your least terrifying therapist who knows about fucked up friendships and relationships and anxiety and like, emotional issues and burnt out gifted kid shit and problems and problems and problems?

Sounds foolish but that's all i have to say.

hi, can you help me?

[jupiterthroned]

The shadowy creature that wore Morgan's face was hovering behind Alex again, but this time all he did was smile knowingly. “More questions, then?” Cobalt was never subtle about wanting more information. Truth be told, Alex was starting to enjoy these little talks. “Alright, let's hear it.”

It came out in his own voice. “What about Morgan?”

The smile drops instantly. He pauses, considers the question. What about Morgan, indeed. It's a subject he's been avoiding as best he can, trying to focus on the project, on the future, not on the past. But it only made sense that the being created from Morgan's memories wanted to know more about its origin.

“Okay,” he finally concedes. “We can talk about Morgan. Let's sit.” It's not really a question. If it wants to have this conversation, it can at least do him the kindness of letting him sit for it.

Cobalt sits across from him, still staring with that blank expression. He's gotten used to it for the most part by now, but finds himself re-examining it with the subject at hand. That expression is so… uncanny. Like the way Morgan looked after some of the tests, the strange and unfocused expression that was so unlike them. Those were the bad days, when he didn't know who Morgan was anymore. When Morgan didn't know who Morgan was anymore.

"You... probably guessed this already, but Morgan... Morgan's dead." Alex looks down, hands in his lap, adjusting his gloves just for something to do with his hands. "Has been, for... a long time now. Long before the tests began. Before you existed."

“Can you tell me what happened?” Cobalt asks through Mikhaila's voice, strained and sickly. It matches how he feels, he thinks, even if it's not paraplexis that's currently making his throat feel tight.

“Morgan… never really recovered after we got back to Earth. Not mentally. Maybe it was the loss of memory, or the stress of the outbreak, maybe it was the nullwave, I don't know. All I know is, they weren't well. I tried to get them to go to therapy, but I couldn't convince them for anything. They were in this dark place, and I tried to help, but…” The words get stuck in his throat, too large and heavy to speak.

Cobalt speaks for him, an echo of January, an echo of Morgan. “I've been wondering if it might be bothering you that you planned your own death.”

And Alex folds in on himself like a house of cards. “They did,” he confirms quietly. “They did.”

Cobalt, as ever, doesn't seem to react with any emotion to this revelation. It just stares at him in that way that means it's searching for the right thing to say. “History is populated with examples of self-sacrifice—”

“It wasn't self-sacrifice,” Alex snaps, cutting off the quote. “If it was, I could understand it. At least someone would have benefited. This… it was just pointless. Morgan chose to kill themself, and for the life of me I can't understand why. The old Morgan knew better, knew death wouldn't solve anything.” The words are tumbling out of his mouth now, fury and anguish indistinguishable from one another. “But I guess that memory got thrown out with all the others. So they did it, and left me to find the body. I've seen a lot of terrible things, but that? That is something I will never recover from.” He closes his eyes and he's back there again, kneeling beside Morgan's body, begging any higher power in the universe that this couldn't be happening, please don't let this be happening.

Alex’s face falls into his hands, voice choked with grief. “And it's my fault. The testing, the Typhon, all of it. It's my fault. Morgan's dead, and it's my fault.” He'd been the one who did this to his own flesh and blood, and he'd never be able to take it back.

He flinches when he feels hands on his shoulders and looks up. Cobalt has shifted across the room, standing right by his side. 

It speaks in Bellamy's voice. “Not your fault,” it says.

“It is my fault,” Alex insists, voice cracking.

“Not your fault,” it repeats. “Not your fault.” And its arms— Morgan's arms— curl around him.

For the first time since Morgan's death, Alex lets himself cry.

[nosleeppotions]

*Six has problems, and Thirty can't solve them *

Six growls and paces around as Thirty sat and watched, Nuka Cherry in one hand and a slice of bread missing a few bites in her other. "I don't speak "grrr". Remember?" She reminds jokingly. Six absolutely refused to attend any Quiet Haven therapy sessions, despite it having been his idea in the first place, but Thirty made sure he understood he could ALWAYS talk to her about ANYTHING. Luckily Six took it to heart. So she was used to him showing up at her home and pacing around while she continues doing what she was doing. Heck, he has a spare key now. Kinda funny how traveling through dangerous places can build a friendship.

Unfortunately Six is a man so used to being quiet and stuck inside his own head. He often had to be reminded her presence alone won't help, especially not if he doesn't actively TALK and SAY what's bothering him. She knows Seven was the kind of guy who just picked stuff up based on body language and whatnot, but she wasn't like that.

Six sighs, pausing his pacing for a moment. "You know how I don't remember anything before the… well…" he gestures to the scar on his head. "Mhm, yes we've established that part early on." She nods. "I still don't, aside from that weird… memory fever dream, whatever it was that was possibly a small glimpse into my childhood." "Yes, after you had several Casador stings and Arid came dragging you to the docs looking more terrified than I think I've ever seen any of our ex-legion guys before." That was an understatement. It was still in the beginning days when it happened, nobody really trusted the guy and it had been the perfect opportunity to run… instead he came back with this… expression… despite what he's done in his former life, Thirty couldn't bring herself to hate him after that.

Six shrugs and starts pacing again. "I try not to think about it too much. But anyway, everything indicates we knew each other. Arid implied as much as well." Well, that explains a lot. "You ask him about it?" She takes a large bite out of her bread slice. Six huffs, not answering for a moment before realizing he went quiet again. "No, I didn't ask him. I don't think I WANT to know who I was before. That's what I came here to talk about actually." Well… he's implied disinterest before, but this was new. Outright shooting that idea down. She tilts her head and gestures for him to continue. "I dunno… it's something that's been bothering me since day one.." he finally sits down in a chair, uncrossing and recrossing his arms. Ah, he must've been putting this conversation off for a while. She's no body language expert, as stated before, but she's seen Six do similar just enough times before to at least know what THAT means.

"I don't remember. But it's like… muscle memory or something, like somewhere in the back of my head whatever's left of the Six before is still kicking. Like my lack of reaction to seeing people crucified. " He mumbles. He was dancing around it, like always, but she thinks she can put enough together based on prior conversations. "You think you were in Caesar's Legion." "I… I really hope not… I like to think the old Six was just a Courier…"

She shrugs. "Then let the old Six just be a Courier. You said yourself, you don't want to know, so don't. You're you now, isn't that what matters?"

Six shrugs. Quiet once again. The "he's done talking" kind of quiet he's pretty much known for. "Anyway, I've been catching signals talking about a caravan needing some extra muscle, could be a few caps. Wanna come with? Might make you feel better. " She offers since he's here anyway. Poor guy must miss traveling through the Wasteland, Quiet Haven is great but the day to day can get… repetitive, safe. Not bad things but for people more used to fighting tooth and nail for survival constantly, this could get… hell-ish in a way. A bit of excitement might do her friend some good.

[ofwavesandislands]

I saw her. I listened to her stories. I tried to help but she wouldn't let me.

If there is one thing I'm most thankful for in life, it's my friends. I can't even imagine how I'd survive without them. They've been my support system since I don't know when. They've been patient and kind to me even when I wasn't to myself. So, I love and value them and I see them as my family and I try to be there when they also need me.

One of my circles, my closest friends for almost 13 years now, doesn't always meet regularly but we know that when one of us needs the group, we try our best to show up and with complete attendance. We'd go to our favorite fast food and there we start talking but the problem is when we became busy with our own personal lives, we grew apart. It felt like our relationship have become shallow. We don't share as much details about our lives as before. Even the littlest details or updates were held back in fear and shame of getting judge or misunderstood by the group.

When I saw an opportunity to open up, I told them the truth about my past; my traumas, the abuses I've been through, the mental illness I was diagnosed with, and even the process I had to go through to go on in life. I was so thankful I did because I've been feeling bad about not telling them.

After that time, we planned to spend an all-nighter in Rizal. One of our friends arrived early at our meeting place which is my apartment. As usual, I would throw some punchlines and some jokes to light up the conversation and we would talk about how we've been lately. Then, she started asking about how I was able to recover from my trauma and what pushed me to consult a doctor. It was a bit uncomfortable for me to talk about it that time but I still answered her questions. I thought that maybe she wanted to know so she could be more aware of my condition. But then, she started opening up.

She was also a victim of abuse; sexual abuse. The earliest memory she has of it was when she was 8. Her father would bring her to motels and he would threaten her that he would kill her grandma if she rat him out. He continued abusing her with her mouth shut for years. The last time it happened was in 2016 when she woke up with her father's hand inside her undies. Still, she kept it a secret because she doesn't want her family to be broken apart. When she was telling me all these, she was breaking down and I was trying to hold back my tears 'cause I didn’t know how to respond to what I'm hearing. I, too was so horrified that all I felt was anger towards her father and to God for allowing this to happen. And I partially blame myself for not seeing it behind her loud laughters and big smiles.

Then, she carried on with how it affected her mental and spiritual health. How the abuse contributed to her personality. She became needy and lonely. She’s craving for affection. She longs for attention. She wants to be taken care of by someone. The only thing that she could think of to solve her problems was to enter a relationship even when she's aware that she has a tendency to be possessive and toxic.

I want to help her. I want her to try therapy so she can finally process her trauma but she wouldn't listen to me. I told her that entering a relationship wouldn't solve anything and it could cause more damage to her if the relationship isn't healthy to begin with. She wouldn't listen. I guess I'm only writing this to speak about my frustrations. I couldn't blame her. I could only blame the world for damaging her.