#but through therapy time and support I reached a breathing point

[crayonurchin]

In 2021 I suffered a very severe bought of T-OCD, Transgender OCD.

This is a subset of OCD where, despite having never experienced thoughts of not identifying as your current gender (it can happen to all identities) you are suddenly obsessed with the thought 'what if I'm not this gender'?

The difference between T-OCD and actual trans thoughts, is the reaction. I cannot speak for transgender thoughts but I can speak for T-OCD thoughts. Mine were a constant terrifying fear that I was wrong about my identity, that if I didn't transition RIGHT NOW I would become so depressed I'd kill myself, I had constant intrusive thoughts of my breasts cut off like slices of ham, of my genitals being different, of facial hair and a deep voice and (essentially looking like my dad when he was young)

and it was horrible. I was so frightened of losing my femininity, something I really cherished. I had a couple nights holding scissors about to cut off my very long hair, something I love. I didn't want to do it, but it felt like I HAD to do it, because if I didn't then something very awful would happen.

I tried being called Andrew and wearing mens clothes and I bought a binder and packed my underwear, my thoughts to my body because extremely distorted, referring to my fat as 'blubber' and my breasts as 'udders'. And with all these fearful thoughts, there was absolutely 0 joy in being 'male'. I didn't want it. But it wouldn't go away.

It was one of the worst OCD episodes of my life and it came out of absolutely nowhere.

It's a tricky thing to talk about because there's a fear of hurting transgender people with this. If any fuckwit thinks they can go to their trans family, friend, coworker or stranger and say "are you REALLY trans or is it just OCD", I hope you step on a blowtorch.

But it does nEED to be talked about ,the same way all OCD subsets need to be talked about. This includes R-OCD, P-OCD, True-OCD and Sexuality-OCD. The more we make them 'normal', the less power they'll hold.

I wrote this because I was listening to a song cover and the singers used illustrations of themselves on screen. The female singer was a very pretty illustration, blouse loose around her chest, lips full and painted, gentle pretty eyes and long, volumeous dyed pink hair.

I saw that picture and thought 'she's so pretty, I want to look like that'

And THAT, is a gender thought that is NOT terrifying because it's female based. It's a good thought.

And I'm very happy I got it.

[clarepreed]

Corporate Abduction, Pt. 2

Story Summary and Content - 4,233 words. The story wraps up with Larissa and Mitchell experiencing lingering symptoms from the injuries sustained during the abduction. Artificial respirations, symptoms of illness, seizure.

--

Part One

Mitchell, Tuesday evening

“Sinus!” Jane said, her voice tense with excitement. She pointed to the monitor, her fingertip tracing the rhythm for Mitchell’s benefit. The line representing Larissa’s heartbeat galloped across the screen in a pattern even he could recognize. “Got her back! Can you see?”

Mitchell sagged, dizzy with relief, though he remained cognizant of his hand on the bag connected to Larissa’s tube. His eyes skimmed her face for movement and her chest for any sign of independent breaths. She didn’t look at all better yet; her freckled skin was the color of sour milk and her lips were slow to lose their purplish hue. “Shouldn’t she be breathing? She’s not… She’s not trying at all from what I can tell.”

“Can we get her inside now?” Jim asked, sounding antsy. “If she isn’t going to die right this second?”

Jane reached out and put her hand on Mitchell’s arm as he tensed up, sensing he was about to snarl at Jim. “I need to do a few things first. She’s not ready to be manhandled.”

“I just sent the message.” Joe was sitting next to them on the driveway, Mitchell’s phone cupped in his hands. He plucked at the surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. “I’ll take the SIM out and dispose of everything. Burner A gets turned on in a half hour.”

Jane dug through her bag and pulled out what looked like a headband with a blue plastic piece in the center. She sat the device on Larissa’s chest, then took the ambu bag from Mitchell and squeezed it once before unhooking it from the tube. She slipped the blue piece over the tube, reconnected the bag, and gave it another squeeze. “Go ahead and take this back over while I get the tube secured. This will keep us from accidentally extubating her or crimping the tube while we get her inside.”

Mitchell complied, watching as Larissa’s chest rose and fell in sync with the movements of his hand. He lifted his free hand and smoothed back a strand of her honey-colored hair.

“It’s not unusual for patients to need respiratory support after an arrest,” Jane said. She’d plugged the earpieces of her stethoscope into her ears and was listening to Larissa’s lungs. “I hear crackling. She’s got fluid in her lungs, unsurprisingly. I wish I could have suctioned her.”

Joe climbed to his feet, shivering. “We should have found a house with a fireplace. It’s cold out here and it isn’t going to be any better in the house.”

“Doctors sometimes treat cardiac arrest patients with cold therapy. Not that I’m a doctor, or practiced in that.” Jane took the stained, cut pieces of Larissa’s shirt and draped them over her exposed breasts. “Being cold might not be such a bad thing for her, but we can give her a little privacy.”

“Thank you,” Mitchell said, briefly caught off guard by the gesture.

She is not our friend, he reminded himself. His head throbbed, knife-like stabs catching him in the temple with each beat of his heart. The pain made it difficult to think clearly.

“You alright over there?” Jane asked, studying him. “I’m just taking her blood pressure. I need to start an IV, but I also need you to tell me if you’re not alright, because you’re doing the most important thing.”

“I just have a headache,” he said, looking back down at Larissa.

“When we get her settled inside, I’m going to take a look at your head.” Jane fell silent, and he heard the sound of air slowly leaving the blood pressure cuff. After a moment, she said: “Her pressure’s pretty low. Fluids should help with that.”

She needs to go to a hospital.

This shit needs to get wrapped up, fast.

What’s happening back at the company right now? he wondered. He wasn’t sure what kind of message Joe had sent, or if enough time had passed for law enforcement to call his brother Samuel or the office about his wrecked SUV. If the C-level staff was made aware that they’d been abducted, there was protocol for this sort of thing. They went over it annually at the leadership retreat. A private kidnap and ransom firm was kept on retainer, and insurance was paid up through the end of the year.

Hurry up, he thought to himself. I don’t care what’s reasonable. Figure it out. Work fast.

Mark

He figured out something was wrong when his smartwatch went crazy. Calls, texts, email; the notifications were coming through so fast the vibration made the skin under his watch itch. 

He caught from Charise as the message flew across the screen: Mitchell’s office, now. 911.

Mark stood; at the same time, his office door swung inward and his secretary hurried in, asking: “Oh my God, did you see the email?!”

“No, I’m sorry, Lisa.” He hurried past her, through the door, and was almost up to a jog when she snatched at his arm. 

“Stop! Look!”

He was so surprised by her behavior that he complied, turning to look in the direction she pointed. She had an email pulled up on her computer, with an embedded photo: A dark blue SUV, overturned at the edge of a field. A second embedded photo: a pool of auto glass and smears of blood.

“What is this?” He leaned closer, eyes moving up to the text.

“It’s Mitchell’s SUV,” she said quietly.

The subject line read: URGENT: From the Desk of Mitchell Anders.

He skimmed the body; there were only a few sentences. Confirmation that “they” were “in possession of” Mitchell and Larissa. A phone number and a time to call. And then the photos.

“We should be on lockdown,” he said, his skin prickling with worry. Just as he was speaking, three loud peals issued from the phones on his and Lisa’s desks. “Check with Liam and see if he needs any help; I’ll be in Mitchell’s office.”

“Okay, yes. I’ve got it.”

He jogged down the hall, passing Mitchell’s ashen-faced assistant, Liam. He hurried into Mitchell’s office just after Charise.

“Oh my God,” she said, meeting his gaze. She waved a small bound document in front of him. “I brought my copy of the abduction protocol. We need to call the kidnap and ransom firm now!”

First proof of life video.

Filmed at approximately 11pm on Tuesday.

The video starts. Mitchell Anders sits on a bed. Next to him is a woman. It is difficult to make her out as she is lying prone across the bed, but the viewer can accurately presume she is Larissa Colton. 

Mitchell holds a piece of paper in his hands. He looks pale and haggard, with a bandage around his head. Larissa is visibly unwell, intubated and connected to an IV, with a portable cardiac monitor at her other side. An arm is visible in-frame. The gloved hand regularly squeezes the ambu bag attached to Larissa’s endotracheal tube.

The room is lit by a single source of harsh, white light.

“My name is Mitchell Anders. This is Larissa Colton.” Mitchell’s voice is hoarse. “The phrase is: ‘radish skull, internet cabinet.’ We require medical assistance. Thank you.”

He drops the paper in his lap and looks down at Larissa. The video stops.

Second proof of life video.

Filmed at approximately 12:30am on Wednesday.

Mitchell Anders sits on a bed. Next to him, propped up on cushions, is Larissa Colton. She is wearing an oxygen mask and her eyes are closed.

Mitchell looks down at the piece of paper in his hands. “My name is Mitchell Anders. This is Larissa Colton. The phrase is:‘yellow fur, cactus gum.’ We require medical assistance. Thank you.”

Third proof of life video.

Filmed at approximately 3am on Wednesday.

Mitchell Anders sits on a bed. Next to him, propped up on cushions, is Larissa Colton. She is wearing an oxygen mask, and her eyes are open. The cardiac monitor is no longer visible.

“My name is Mitchell Anders.” He gestures to Larissa, then looks down at the paper in his hands, squinting. “This is Larissa Colton. The phrase is: ‘toy stamp, grass vinyl.’ We require medical attention. Thank you.”

Mitchell groans and rubs his head; Larissa coughs and reaches toward him. 

Fourth proof of life video.

Filmed at approximately 8am on Wednesday.

Mitchell Anders sits on a bed. Larissa Colton reclines next to him, barefaced and coughing.

“My name is Mitchell Anders,” he says, before placing his hand on Larissa’s leg.

“Larissa… Colton…” Her voice is hoarse and faint, and she starts coughing immediately.

“The phrase is: ‘factory salmon, chevron laminate.’ We require medical attention. Thank you.”

Larissa coughs until the video cuts out.

Fifth proof of life video.

Filmed at approximately 11am on Wednesday.

Coughing is audible before Mitchell Anders and Larissa Colton are visible. Mitchell is cross-legged, his elbows on his knees. He stares down at a piece of paper.

“I’m… Mitchell Anders. This is Larissa… Colton.” He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The phrase is ‘khaki monitor, spider stripe.’ Ah… thank you.”

Mitchell, 11:05AM, Wednesday

“You need… a head… scan…” Larissa wheezed, squeezing Mitchell’s hand.

“Yes,” he whispered, his arm thrown over his eyes. They were both resting against a set of nasty couch cushions, stretched out horizontally across an equally filthy king-sized bed. He murmured: “Don’t try to talk, baby.”

“You’ll probably feel better if you don’t talk much, Larissa,” Jane said, briefly taking Larissa’s other hand to look at the pulse oximeter clipped to her finger. “Your oxygen levels aren’t great.”

Larissa ignored both of them. “When… are we… going home?”

She’d been asking a lot of questions like that. Some moments she seemed lucid; others she forgot where she was or what had happened. The canister was out of oxygen, and Jane said Larissa was hypoxic and had fluid in her lungs. He could see what Jane meant; Larissa’s face was pale, lips and nails bluish. Worryingly, her feet and lower legs had started to swell. Mitchell squeezed Larissa’s hand and made a soothing, unintelligible sound.

As for himself, he did need a “head scan.” He’d never had a headache like this, and so far, everything he’d tried to eat or drink had come back up. Jane was threatening to use her last bag of saline to keep him hydrated.

Like Larissa, Mitchell also wanted to know when they were going home, even though he knew that kidnap and ransom situations sometimes lasted days, weeks, months. 

“Jane,” he said.

She leaned closer. “What is it?”

“You’re obviously not prepared for a lengthy ransom situation. You don’t have the supplies. We’re not doing well. My company has kidnap and ransom insurance and a firm on retainer dedicated to hostage negotiation. What’s going on?”

She leaned back, looking unhappy. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“I don’t… believe… your name… is Jane.” Larissa started coughing again, inhaling in scary, rattling gasps.

“You’re lucky we’re alive,” Mitchell said. He dug his knuckle into the space between his eyes. “I don’t know how long we’re going to stay that way.”

“I’ve explained the situation to Jim. He even passed the information on to Jill.”

He cracked his eyes open and pinned her with what he hoped was an intimidating glare. “You don’t want our blood on your hands.”

Jane climbed off the bed. He couldn’t see much of her face with the mask on, but her eyes had narrowed. “You’re assuming I don’t already have blood on my hands.” Then she left the room.

“Think you… upset… her…” Larissa wheezed.

“It’s okay. She’ll get over it.”

“Mmm.”

Mitchell realized this was the first time they’d been alone since they were taken. 

I can’t do anything about it. She can’t walk anywhere at all, and I’m not sure I can walk far.

He looked over at Larissa. She was blinking up at the ceiling, her mouth open. He could see tension in her neck; every bit of the musculature stood out. He shifted his grip on her hand, slid his fingers up to her wrist. Her pulse hammered under his fingers, strong but fast.

Her eyes darted to his face. “Still have… a pulse?”

He wasn’t sure if it as a joke, and he didn’t think he could laugh regardless, so he just squeezed her hand.

“My… turn…” She pulled her hand free and ran her fingers along his skin. Her fingertips felt icy, but he didn’t pull away when she held them to the inside of his wrist. “Fast…”

“Not as fast as yours.”

“Its… not… a race.” She started coughing again, and her fingers slipped off his wrist.

He rolled himself onto his side so he could see her better. She closed her eyes, and her hands came up to clutch at her chest as she coughed. The fit lasted long enough that Jane came back into the room and put her knee on the bed, leaning in to check the pulse oximeter.

“I asked Jim for an update,” she said. “Just relax, Larissa.”

“And?” He didn’t look up at her; he was watching Larissa catch her breath, her chest heaving, the skin over her ribcage seeming to wrap itself tight over the bones and cartilage.

“C-cold,” Larissa whispered, her eyes closing reflexively when he ran the back of his hand down her cheek.

“It’s almost over,” Jane said. He heard a zipper and some rustling, and then Jane draped her coat over Larissa’s torso. “We’ll be moving you soon. Jill and your people have each accepted the terms. They want a video first, of course.”

“Thank you,” Mitchell said. He felt his insides quake. “You’re sure this is happening?”

She was silent for a moment, and then he felt her sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m certain. And you’re right. I don’t want blood on my hands. More blood on my hands. It’s not worth the money. I can handle going back to prison, but not… that.”

“Why… were you… in prison?” Larissa asked, her brow furrowed. 

“She might not want to answer that, baby,” Mitchell said, keeping his voice kind. He wasn’t used to feeling like he needed to monitor Larissa’s speech. She wasn’t herself, her eyes unfocused as she looked around the room.

Jane sighed. “Negligent homicide.”

Sixth proof of life video.

Filmed at approximately noon on Wednesday.

Mitchell Anders and Larissa Colton have shifted position and are now resting against the headboard, reclined on the same sofa cushions as before. Someone has changed Mitchell’s bandage, and Larissa is wearing a coat.

Mitchell holds another slip of paper in his hands. His posture is greatly changed. He slouches, fidgeting with the slip of paper.

“I’m Mitchell Anders, and this—”

“Larissa… Colton.” Larissa’s voice is barely audible. Mitchell glances at her and back down at the slip of paper.

“The phrase is: Candle curtain, black—”

“Why… are we saying… names… to Joe?” Larissa asks. Then she starts coughing, one or two hacks turning quickly into a fit.

Mitchell’s eyes dart between what must be multiple people standing out of frame. He reaches over and puts his hand on Larissa’s leg.

“The phrase is: Candle curtain, black water.” Mitchell stops speaking, crumples the note in his hand, and stares at the camera.

Mark, 12:30PM Wednesday

“She’s confused,” Larissa’s mother said, her voice cracking. Larissa’s parents were seated close to Mark and Samuel. She’d watched each proof of life video with her hands pressed to her mouth.

Her husband spoke up as well, his voice hoarse. “What are those people thinking? What kind of operation are they running?”

Just next to Mitchell’s desk, a woman from the kidnap and ransom firm stood, television remote in hand. She nodded. “You’re right to be upset. But I was just given permission to let you know that this will be over soon.”

Mark and Samuel both leaned forward, Samuel’s hand shooting out to clamp down on Mark’s leg.

“They’re going to release them?” the CRO, Greg, asked. His face was flushed and his eyes large. He’d had trouble reaching his wife and children when the company went into lockdown; it turned out they were in the middle of the mall where the signal was weak.

“They’ve given us a location to drop the money. And they will have a location for us where they are going to leave Mitchell and Larissa. Now,” the woman said, noticing several people in the room starting to speak. “I imagine you have concerns about that. I can’t give you details but rest assured measures are being put into place to keep them safe during the exchange.”

Larissa, 1:15PM Wednesday

Larissa watched, confused, as Jane packed up her bag. “Where… you… going?”

“This might be over soon, baby,” Mitchell said, rubbing her thigh. She was too exhausted to do more than tip her head in his direction, but she thought he sounded like he was in pain. 

“You… okay?”

“I’ll be okay.” 

Larissa watched as Jane carried everything out of the room that they’d brought in. The black duffel of medical supplies, the cardiac monitor, the empty oxygen cylinder. All trash, including the empty saline bags, snack wrappers, and water jugs. She left the pulse oximeter clipped to Larissa’s finger.

“You can keep that,” Jane said. “And my coat. It’s been in the videos; I can’t wear it.”

“Thanks,” Larissa said, though she glanced over to Mitchell as she said it, frowning. Something about thanking the woman seemed like the wrong thing to do, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.

“You’re not coming with us, wherever we’re going,” Mitchell said. He sounded worried and exhausted.

“You aren’t going far,” Jane said, not contradicting his statement. “Two hours down the road, max.”

Larissa grew anxious at the idea of traveling. “Mitchell…”

“Yes, baby?”

“I… don’t feel… like going…”

He sat up, grunting and clutching at his head. She wanted to comfort him, but speaking was making her cough again, and coughing made her chest hurt and her head spin.

“I’m sorry baby,” she heard him say.

Larissa took a careful, shallow breath, and let it out in a sigh.

Mitchell, 2PM Wednesday

The back of the SUV still smelled like vomit.

“Get in,” Jim said, nudging him with the barrel of the gun. Evidently, he felt like the situation called for threatening them with the weapon again.

Mitchell climbed inside the cargo area, anxiously waiting for Jim and Jane to carry Larissa out. He didn’t like being separated from her, even if he was too weak to do anything about it. He was surprised he’d even been able to walk out of the house.

Soon enough, Joe and Jane walked out of the house together, Larissa’s arms draped over their shoulders and their hands forming a seat and leaving her feet to dangle. Then they lifted her higher and bundled her into the cargo area with Mitchell, who held out his arms so that he could cradle her against him. The tailgate and hatch closed with twin slams.

The two of them sat together in the chilly cargo area for several minutes before he felt the vehicle move.

“Where…?” Larissa whispered. He could feel her panting for breath, hoped she wouldn’t feel carsick again on top of everything else.

“We have to take a drive.” He closed his eyes; even with the tinted windows the interior of the SUV was too bright for him, and the edges of everything refused to remain stationery. “Two hours. Then we’re both going to the hospital.”

“No… more… hospitals,” she wheezed. “Please, Mitch… ell.”

“It’s okay, baby. Shh.”

They both lapsed into silence. Mitchell drifted in and out, of sleep or unconsciousness he couldn’t say. Larissa’s noisy breathing kept him from entirely relaxing; even with his head injury a part of him seemed determine to keep an eye on her.

After a few minutes, he realized Larissa was muttering to herself.

“Not… now. Not… now.”

“Larissa?”

She didn’t respond.

“Larissa?”

She stiffed in his arms, a wheezing cry forcing its way out of her throat. Her back bowed, and when he leaned around to look at her face, he saw the whites of her eyes. Mitchell kept his arms wrapped loosely around her and called out: “She’s having a seizure!”

Yelling made his head feel like it would split open. His eyes watered with pain, frustration, and anguish.

He heard her draw a breath just before she started to thrash. Her arms and legs jerked rhythmically, bumping against the back seat and the interior of the hatch. Mitchel turned his head to the side, trying to keep himself from getting clocked by her head against his busted temple.

“We can’t stop!” Jim called out. “Is she dying?”

“I told you we should have brought Jane!” Joe exclaimed. “Spend the whole time with them half-dead under her supervision, and now—”

“Shh, baby,” Mitchell whispered. “It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay.”

She was making wheezing and grunting noises as she writhed. Mitchell let out his own groan of pain and grief. Please, baby. We’re so close. You just need to make it through this car ride, right? You and me both…

“Hey!” Jim called back. “You both still alive back there?”

Miraculously, or so Mitchell thought, the seizure was short. Her body went limp against his. He pulled her back up to his chest and held his palm in front of her mouth, feeling for breath.

It turned out he didn’t need to; not only could he feel her breath puffing against his palm, but he could also hear her breath whistling in and out of her inflamed lungs. 

Mitchell kissed her hair and unzipped Jane’s coat, slipping his hand inside. His fingers brushed against her cool, naked skin. Jane had left the defibrillator pads stuck to Larissa’s chest. He felt the pads under his palm as he slid his hand up underneath her left breast.

Pressing his hand firmly into her flesh, he felt her heart beat against his palm, rapid but strong. She made a low groaning sound and his throat spasmed, his eyes brimming with tears.

“We’re alive,” he said, much too quiet for anyone else to hear. Mitchell cleared his throat and tried again, belting out: “We’re alive!”

Then, in pain and completely spent, he sagged into the corner created by the side of the SUV and the back of the rear passenger seat. Larissa’s head tucked itself neatly underneath his chin, and without any further thoughts, he slipped into unconsciousness.

Mitchell, two days later

“Mitchell.”

Hearing his name, Mitchell flinched toward the sound. 

“That’s right. Hey, buddy. It’s Samuel. Mark is here, too. It’s a party. Another minute you’ll probably have a nurse or two in here. Oh, and there’s some cops outside.”

Samuel.

Cops?

He had a terrible headache, which seemed familiar. His throat was scratchy, too, and when he tried to swallow his mouth was parched.

“Hey, buddy, I know you can hear me,” his brother said.

“Mitchell.” That was Mark. “You’re safe, you’re going to be okay.”

I’m safe?

Ah, hell. What happened?

Then: Larissa!

He cracked open his eyes, and tried to speak. His mouth was so dry it took him a couple of tries. “La… La… rissa?”

“She’s your neighbor,” Mark said, leaning into his field of vision. “Next room over. Her parents were just visiting her. They would have stayed and waited for you to come around, but I told them to go get some rest.”

Larissa’s parents are here. This is a hospital.

“We were in a car accident?” Mitchell’s head throbbed with each word that he spoke.

Mark nodded, though it was Samuel who spoke. “You were, sort of. That kicked it off. You hit your head. Almost had to have brain surgery. Just a little hemorrhage, it turned out.” 

“‘Just a little hemorrhage,’” Mark muttered, shaking his head.

“I have a headache.” The room was much too bright.

“I’m sure you do, buddy,” his brother said.

Mitchell was having a hard time keeping his thoughts organized, but the most important one floated back up to the surface. Larissa. Very sick?

“Larissa’s okay?”

“She’s sedated,” Mark said, looking worried. “She’s fighting a bad lung infection, and I guess some system-wide inflammation. Her parents seem genuinely optimistic, though.”

“Can I see her?” He squeezed his eyes shut against the lights.

“Not with your eyes closed,” Samuel quipped. Mitchell cracked one eye open again, lifted his hand, and flipped his brother the bird. “Hell, Mitchell. You must be okay if you’re up for telling me to fuck off.”

“You can ask the nurse about visiting Larissa,” Mark said. “I think one’s about to come in here.”

We made it? Images flicked through his addled brain in no particular order. Larissa gazing up at the ceiling, coughing. The drive to Creston. The look in Jane’s eyes when she said the words “negligent homicide.” Larissa, empty eyes staring as he performed chest compressions. The ruined, filthy bed. His arms around her convulsing body. 

“Oh!” he heard Samuel say. “You’re okay, buddy. She’s okay! Oh, man…”

His brother, he knew, hadn’t seen him cry in years, not since their parents’ funerals. Before then, they’d been children. Now, tears streamed down his cheeks. They cut hot tracks down his cool skin.

--

Mitchell and Larissa return in Assist.

[kdaisies]

Hello, my name is Kaleo Mendes. I am a transgender person (transmasc), and I have been undergoing hormone therapy for approximately 3 years. Right now, I am experiencing rib pain due to an injury caused by wearing a binder. I confess to you, I can't take it anymore.

I live in Belém (Amazon) - Pará/ Brazil. I have been receiving care through the public health system (SUS) for years, here, transgender individuals need to wait for 2 years to be referred to the gender affirmation surgery queue.

However, the place where I was being treated moved to another clinic, and many medical records were lost due to administrative irresponsibility, forcing me to endure two more years living with the discomfort of chest dysphoria and all the painful injuries I incur from binding.

Believe me, I don't wear a binder because I want to. Flattening my chest is infinitely less suffering than the psychological pain of not doing so. I need help. I constantly feel short of breath, experience heat to the point of dizziness, my ribs are injured, and I have tape burn marks. My posture is ruined, and I have no desire to leave my house...

How can I work, study, and continue my life with physical and mental health in this condition? Currently, I am pursuing a specialization at Federal University of Pará and I have faith that I will progress to a master's degree (waiting results). However, the anxiety of exposing myself in public spaces while feeling uncomfortable with my appearance has hindered me and affected my performance.

Previously, I tried to start a fundraiser to raise funds for my mastectomy, but before reaching the total amount, my dog developed cancer, and I had to pay for her medications (fortunately, I had the support of a friend who sponsored her treatment).

This meant that I decided to talk to the people who supported me at that time (I knew all of them) and ask them to redirect those funds to save her life. I was devastated, but I put it aside and decided to endure the binder for a while longer.

But now, all of this has become IMPOSSIBLE. I genuinely NEED help; I just want to have the minimum of health and comfort with my body. Please, if you can help me, I beg you... my mental health has been deteriorating even though I am already taking psychiatric medication.

I don't think I can continue in this condition... I want to give up. This is the link to de BRL CAMPAIGN:

https://campanhadobem.com.br/campanhas/mastectomia-e-consultas-do-kaleo

I am not a scammer; I am just one more transgender person begging for help to stay alive in the country that kills the most transgender people in the world. That's who I am:

LATTES CURRICULUM (ACADEMIC CURRICULUM FROM CNPQ) : http://lattes.cnpq.br/1315688602818108

LINKEDIN PROFILE AND CURRICULUM: https://www.linkedin.com/in/kaleo-mendes-469034231/

I am also a writer of books with LGBTQIA+ representation. You can verify the authenticity of my information through my pinned tweet on twitter (X):

HOW TO DONATE:

Paypal e-mail: kaleomendesm@gmail.com

Remessa On-line: Use "Wire Transfer" mode Banco Beneficiário: Banco Topazio S/A Código SWIFT: TOPZBRRSXXX IBAN: BR7607679404000000293025720C1 Titular da Conta: Kaleo Mendes De Melo Da Rocha Endereço: Rua 18 de Novembro, 273 - Porto Alegre - RS, 90240-040 Banco Intermediário: Standard Chartered Bank Código SWIFT: SCBLUS33 Titular da Conta: Banco Topazio S/A Número da Conta: 3544026839001 Endereço: New York, USA

Please... Idk how to say it anymore... how to beg... I just want to fell ok...

There some pictures of the happyest day of my life, the day that I graduate... Those are my partner and my son...

help

[godsfavdarling]

chapter 33

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!oc

summary: Molly and Spencer are having a fight?

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3, my masterlist

warnings: a bit of angst

words: 1,5k

One evening, the soft glow of lamplight cast a warm ambiance over Spencer and Molly's dining room as they sat down for dinner. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of recent events hanging heavily between them like a dense fog.

Spencer had recently started therapy, a mandatory requirement for his return to the FBI. He genuinely sought a way to cope with the trauma and pain he had endured during his time in prison. 

However, he had also silently vowed to spare Molly from the worst of his emotions and struggles. He didn't want to burden her with his pain or cause her any more worry than she already had. He figured he could deal with his issues in therapy.

He was aware that Molly was struggling too, her own worries and fears weighing heavily on her heart. He knew she was keeping something from him, something she believed would only add to his troubles. 

Yet, he couldn't bear to see her suffer in silence, watching her carry the weight of her worries alone. Still, he gave her space and time, hoping she would eventually open up. But she remained closed off.

So, he silently promised himself to show Molly that he was okay, that he could handle whatever she needed to tell him. He vowed to be her rock, her safe haven in the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm them both.

Spencer cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth as he carefully measured his words. "Molly," he began, his voice hesitant, "there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

Molly looked up from her plate, her brow furrowing in concern as she noticed the apprehension in Spencer's demeanor. 

"What is it?" she asked softly, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before plunging ahead. 

"It's about... my time in prison," he admitted, his tone somber. "I know I haven't really talked about it much, and I've been trying to downplay everything, but..."

Molly's heart clenched at the mention of Spencer's incarceration, her mind flooded with images of him trapped behind bars, isolated and vulnerable. She reached out and gently placed her hand over his, offering a silent gesture of support.

Spencer offered her a weak smile, grateful for her understanding. "I just... I want you to know that I'm okay. Therapy helps and…" he insisted, his voice tinged with forced confidence. "I've been through worse, and I've come out the other side."

Molly's patience wore thin as she listened to Spencer's assurances, her own anxieties bubbling to the surface. "But have you, Spencer?" she retorted, her tone laced with bitterness. "Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like you're okay at all."

Spencer's jaw tightened, his frustration mounting as he struggled to contain his emotions. 

"And what about you, Molly?" he shot back, his voice tinged with accusation. "You act like everything's fine, but I know something's wrong. You won't even talk to me about it."

Molly recoiled as if struck, her defenses rising in response to Spencer's pointed words.

"Nothing’s wrong." she snapped, her voice sharp with indignation. "I know you are pretending everything's okay when it's clearly not."

Spencer's temper flared, his frustration boiling over into anger. "I’m pretending?" he demanded, his voice rising with each word. "You won't talk to me either! You won't let me in!"

Molly's eyes blazed with intensity as she met Spencer's gaze head-on, her own anger matching his.

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you!" she shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "Maybe I just don’t want to!"

Silence descended upon the room, thick and suffocating, as the weight of their unspoken words hung heavy between them. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a battle cry in the war of wills that raged within their hearts.

"I thought… I should give you some space and you’ll eventually talk to me" Spencer whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "I can't keep watching you putting on a smile pretending like everything's okay when it's not."

Molly's resolve wavered, her anger giving way to a surge of sorrow. "Well you do the same thing" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Molly stormed off to the bedroom, her steps heavy with frustration, and slammed the door shut behind her. 

Spencer listened in silence, the sound of her anger reverberating through the quiet apartment. 

After a while, he could hear her soft sobs from behind the closed door, and a pang of guilt tugged at his heart.

As he paced the dimly lit living room, his thoughts raced in circles. He had always believed in protecting Molly from the darkest corners of his mind, shielding her from the trauma and pain he had endured. 

But as he listened to her quiet sobs echoing from the bedroom, he realized that his silence was only driving them further apart.

With a heavy sigh, Spencer sank onto the couch, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. He couldn't continue to expect Molly to open up to him if he wasn't willing to do the same. Perhaps it was time to change his approach, to let down the walls he had built around his own struggles.

He knew that sharing the details of his time in prison, including the harrowing encounter with Cat Adams and the depth of his fears and doubts, would be a daunting task. 

But he also understood that it might be the key to breaking down the barriers between him and Molly.

As he pondered his next move, Spencer felt a sense of determination wash over him. He couldn't continue to hide behind a facade of strength and stoicism, not when it was driving a wedge between him and the woman he loved. 

It was time to take a leap of faith, to trust that Molly would be there for him as he had always been there for her.

With a newfound resolve, Spencer rose from the couch and made his way to the bedroom door. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle, before finally pushing it open. 

As he stepped into the room, he found Molly sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes red-rimmed from tears.

"Molly," he began softly, his voice filled with sincerity, "there's something I need to tell you."

As Molly looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and apprehension, Spencer took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to reveal.

"I wanna tell you everything," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside him. "I haven't been completely honest with you about the extent of it all, and I realize now that keeping it to myself hasn't been fair to either of us."

Molly's expression softened, a glimmer of understanding flickering in her eyes. She reached out a hand, silently urging Spencer to continue.

Taking a seat beside her on the bed, Spencer began to recount the events of his time behind bars and the relentless psychological torment inflicted by Cat Adams.

As he spoke, he watched Molly closely, gauging her reactions with each revelation. He saw the sympathy in her eyes, the flicker of anger at the injustice he had endured, and the profound sadness at the thought of him suffering alone.

When he finally reached the part about Cat's twisted game and their tense confrontation, Spencer hesitated, his throat tightening with emotion. 

But Molly's gentle touch on his arm gave him the strength to push through, to lay bare the depth of his vulnerability and fear.

As he finished recounting the last harrowing moments before his release, Spencer fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. He braced himself for Molly's response, unsure of how she would react to the truth he had finally shared.

But as he looked into her eyes, he saw nothing but compassion and understanding shining back at him. 

Without a word, she reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace, holding him close as he finally allowed himself to let go of the burden he had been carrying for so long.

In that moment, as they held each other, Spencer knew that he had made the right choice.

Opening up to Molly had been terrifying, but it had also been liberating, a crucial step towards healing the wounds that had threatened to tear them apart. 

And as they clung to each other, Spencer felt a glimmer of hope blossoming in his heart—a hope for a future where they could face whatever challenges lay ahead together, as partners in both joy and sorrow.

"Molly…" he began, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "I know things haven't been easy for either of us lately. But I want you to know that you don't have to carry this burden alone. Whatever it is that's been weighing on you, I'm here for you. Always."

Molly's breath caught in her throat as she met Spencer's gaze, the raw vulnerability in his eyes taking her by surprise. 

For a moment, she felt as though the walls she had built around her heart were crumbling, the barriers between them melting away in the face of Spencer's firm support.

"I..." she faltered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know where to start."

Spencer reached out and took her hand in his, his touch grounding her in the present moment.

 "You don't have to have all the answers right now," he reassured her, his voice gentle yet firm. "Just know that I'm here for you, no matter what."

[desultory-suggestions]

it's been hard for some time for me. Weeks, months, the past 3 years. I am not finding any reason to hold on, to hang in there and it's so fucking hard. People say 'it was meant to be' and that feels like a knife, i don't know if all this pain, this intense struggle is meant for me, im 18 years old, I have an exam in 2 days, which is going to decide my entire life and I'm crying here trying to find reason to simply stay in this goddamn planet and coming up with nothing and it's so fucking hard . Above all I want to do well in this test, desperately, but my mind is so fucked up right now it's honestly so hard to simply stay right here, and I feel like I'm going to mess up my life by myself and isn't that so fucking unfair because I want this so MUCH and everything decides to go shit right now when it matters

I'm so sorry for unloading all this on you

Hello, love. Thank you for reaching out. I know in times like this things can feel so hopeless, and it can become completely overwhelming to handle without some reassurance and support. First things first, no matter what happens with your test your worth will not change. You are a whole being, you are loved and you are important. You deserve joy in your life, and I know beyond this difficult period of your life there is so much love waiting to be found.

I'm going to assume this is an educational test, but please let me know if I am wrong. As someone with extremely specific goals that I want to achieve, I know how you can be swept up into how this is your purpose, how it is all that matters, and how any deviation from the plan will ruin it. I can also tell you that none of that has to be true. I planned my college education to a T. I knew exactly where to go, what degree, what specific field, and what timeline. That didn't happen. At first, it did, but life gets in the way and I got thrown off my track. I felt like my world was ending. If I couldn't do this, why should I even be here? But after all of that panic, I'm doing better than I ever was before. I still have the same goals, and while I am disappointed at times that my plan didn't work out I also have so many opportunities to appreciate that I never would have had otherwise. This is where it is so vital to separate your worth from one goal. If you fail the first time, you can try again, you can take a new route, and have a much better experience! But if your worth is based on how well you can do this specific thing, any hiccup will throw you for a loop. You are worth more than your accomplishments. You have your own unique experience, ideas, and interests. You have hobbies, friends, and personal goals. You are only 18, and you have so much life ahead of you to decide to do anything you want. You will grow and change in ways you can't even imagine today, and that is a beautiful thing.

But all of this aside, one thing is the most important. Your life matters, and if you are struggling with feeling depressed or even suicidal the most important thing is not any tests or achievements but getting the help you need. If you aren't healthy it will be infinitely harder to get through what otherwise you could do with enjoyment. Therapy is a vital tool for those struggling with depression, especially if there are factors such as adverse life events or traumatic experiences that may exacerbate the issue. Support groups are also a good option for those who need emotional support throughout their life, and often you can find a group for a very specific niche. I know that at this point it probably feels like it will never get better, but I promise that is not the case. With support and patience healing is possible. Reach out to those you are close with and explain honestly how you are feeling. Having comfort from those we love may not erase our struggles, but it can offer a space to breathe and feel safe. Little things will help you get through the bad days, and that's okay. Staying alive for your pet, your plant, that new show, a tasty food, or anything at all is a good reason.

You have a bright and happy future ahead of you. No one test will take away the years of wonderful experiences and love you will have. Please feel free to reach out for support at any time, whether it's for emotional support or educational advice. You are loved, you are important, and you will get through these difficult times.

-Evan

[kalira]

Last night I was having a stress breakdown, bad enough I went to crash a friend's for the evening (you know, when being alone with your thoughts will only make things worse? maybe friend can't fix it, but letting things out and having supportive company . . . it helps).

I took two of my tarot decks this time (I often throw one in my bag when I'm going to hang at her place, and not uncommonly in general unless I'm just running errands), and I asked her if she could guess which ones before I pulled them out, after some time to get through distress and start calming down.

One was easy, of course - The Barkana:

It's not only a very pretty deck with a nice story (the deck was created and watercolours painted by a disabled, queer artist, and many of the dogs featured are actually service dogs - including the artist's own), it is hands-down the nicest deck I own in terms of readings. I reach for it especially when I'm having a rough time because it's gentle about things, looks into the positive, and is very encouraging.

It can be a nice bit of soothing reassurance, in really turbulent states, and even the harsher readings are gentled somewhat by a hopeful feeling - and even if things are rough, the dogs are there for you, right?

(The artist is Calion, and there's a now-quiet Instagram still visible for the deck, which is out of print.)

On the flipside, I also brought The Corrupted Tarot:

It's quite striking (with work from a large number of artists), but it is not a nice deck in terms of readings. The deck is designed off the inverted meanings of the cards (thus corrupted), though of course can be read with reversals (which makes tracking it tricky; 'okay this is inverted, and it's the Corrupted, so the meaning is inverted to begin with, so this is functionally the upright meaning. . .'), but beyond that, it is a gut-punch of a deck to read with.

I like it though, and one reason is that while it delivers a gut-punch with just about every reading, it is always constructive, not just for the hell of it. Don't reach for it if you're not prepared to have it point out your own worst tendencies and the things you try to avoid, but it gives you that sharp shock to push you to insightful guidance.

(The Corrupted Tarot was put together by Wyrmwood Gaming and is still available.)

The combination honestly wasn't bad for such a stress-distress time, but it also has me thinking again how much difference the moods of my different decks can make a difference when I reach for them.

(I do actually have a deck that is just mean, too - if the Corrupted is a gut-punch that follows it up with therapy levels of examine yourself and do better while you're gasping for breath, that deck is chucking a brick at your face and laughing at you in the aftermath. I don't reach for that one often. >.> And of my decks? It's nooot the one you'd guess would be like that by looking at them. XD)

And sometimes, like last night, I don't necessarily need the way forwards advice (or predictions) so much as . . . the exercise of thinking them through can help in itself.

[crossxskulled]

Aight so! I wanna get the main breakdown here underway, basically how this Ryuji interp here plays itself out. This mainly refers to post-P5 Royal events.

I'm taking a mesh of that and some liberties from Scramble to really get the angle set for him. In short, I wanna get the main part out of the way. Ryuji at this point made good on his word and wound up getting a place of his own in lieu of his goals.

When truly thinking about it when it comes to possibilities, he doesn't intend to take some 2nd place measure in pursuit of his dream.

Thanks to the granted connections made not only through the Phantom Thieves, but making good on getting in contact with his old coach, topped with a bunch of love and support from his ma, the transition actually drives forward right on schedule.

A lot of this time spent with Ryuji having primarily phone/media based contact with his friends outside of a few meet ups. Within this year he wholly dedicates on the task on balancing physical therapy on top of his schooling, beating less around the bush in crappy grades as that fire is properly lit up in his veins again. He's actually out here giving a damn, giving a genuine effort and man does it give results.

Ryuji holds a modest apartment in tandem to picking up a job through said connections (hc for another day), on top of a good amount of savings made from the Phantom Thieving business. The majority he put his use to was to help him through physical rehab payments, schooling and getting a good foot on the ground so to speak. Not to mention getting a move organized for his mother as well, both of them living apart yet not too far from each other.

The decision finally leave that old apartment all the memories, wonderful and horrid was finally solidified after he dropped the news of his plan to her.

Success would be the name of his game as news of not only his return, but the newest strides that easily broke old records would be hitting both the papers and media outlets from the new (unnamed for now) school that partakes in before graduation. His future of entering the sports realm and taking it to the professional level is finally being brought back to light again, edging away from the grim realities Kamo/shida intended to keep him suffocated under. His recovery managed to reach record levels of improvement thanks to his consistent dedication and more solidified balance in his regimen thanks to a lot of added effort with his old coach.

This is where he's primarily centered in my mainstay for Rps (outside of the story adventures at Shujin). I still got some finer details I'ma iron out over the course, but I want to focus on adventures that give him a lot more breathing room in terms of not only what he can do, but also be caught doing, so on and so forth. It's also around this point of time where he also partakes in his adventures in P5 Scramble.

Naturally it just has a couple of switch ups from the base content as he's not only a Shujin student any longer, but also has a better grip on his level of organization.

[livelaughloveandfuckme]

*Trigger Warning*: Domestic Violence & Childhood Abuse- Therapeutic Writing Exercise

I have been doing a lot of work on my Complex PTSD workbook. All of the literature that I read supports that writing about traumatic memories is beneficial in healing for the trauma survivor. While working on this workbook for the past week or so, I have been flooded with a few traumatic memories from the domestic violence I was exposed to through my biological father. I am choosing to write about those this week in an effort to release them.

But first, more about this amazing workbook. The trauma workbook I use is by Dr. Arielle Schwartz and I highly recommend it to anyone working through trauma either in addition to trauma-focused therapy or to use as a self-help book. It was recommended to me by an amazing L.M.H.C. that I had for couples therapy long before my diagnosis of PTSD; she recognized a lot of the symptoms in me and recommended this book and the body keeps the score by Dr. Bessel Van Der Kolk. The book teaches coping skills to manage trauma and techniques for managing the overwhelm of emotions when one is releasing trauma. It has short chapters with case study-like scenarios, as well as journaling prompts, to guide you through the exercises. I have taken several of the prompts from this workbook into my therapy sessions and they have served as a great tool to guide my sessions so I can continue to build and heal from the traumas I have lived through.

Now, as to not let my avoidance symptoms get the better of me, let's talk about the traumatic memories that resurfaced while I was working on this workbook. There was one time when I was younger, that my dad had his girlfriend and her three children over the house. It was supposed to be just a regular night of us hanging out at home. I suspect that he had been drinking. I was approximately somewhere between 7-9 years old (the amnesia related to my C-PTSD makes it very challenging for me to remember my age during a lot of these traumatic events and it also impacts my ability to form a coherent narrative-- I am still working through this so bare with me as I recall the details). I had been sent to my room for punishment for something. I do not recall what that punishment was for. The next thing I remember was my Dad coming into my room in a confrontation-like manner. I said something back to him, no doubt something smart-assy because it triggered him. The next thing I remember he lunged at me. He grabbed me by the throat with both hands and started to shake me as he continued to walk forward while choking me. I couldn't breathe well. I didn't fight it, I went completely frozen.

As he continued to choke me and shake me, he backed me up against the closet doors in my room. I hit my head against the closet doors. Once my back hit the mirrors of the closet doors, he choked me harder while he was screaming at me. He lifted me off the ground while he choked the life out of me. I remember at this point smelling alcohol on his breath. I started to get dizzy, and my hands reached up to his wrists to try and break his grasp, but I was not strong enough. I don't remember what he was screaming at me or why for that matter, but I remember how red his face was, his eyes were bloodshot and tremoring from side to side (I now know this as nystagmus since I am a nurse, which is a sign of heavy alcohol intoxication) and the veins in his forehead were bulging as he screamed, choked me and shook me.

The next thing that I remember, as my tippy toes were dangling, barely touching the floor, was that Carol, his girlfriend at the time, came running into the room and screamed: "MICHAEL! STOP!". He immediately put me down. I felt a rush come back to my head and the dizziness subsided quickly, but I had floaters and fuzzy vision for a few moments as I regained my wits about me. He left the room and I cried a lot that night. I was able to overhear Carol and my Dad talking in the other room, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

Carol didn't last long. She and my Dad ultimately ended up breaking up and were only together for a short period of time. I liked her a lot, and we actually stayed in touch long after my Dad and her split. Carol made it a point to stay in touch with my mom, and once I had facebook, her 3 daughters and I connected on facebook. Two of her oldest girls are married now, one with children of her own. Her youngest is in a long-term relationship with a nice young man that I went to high school with. Carol is since remarried and happy as ever, and I love that for her. Carol was there for my sister and me when my Dad wasn't. He worked a lot, and when he wasn't working, he was having meetings with clients or he was out lord knows where drinking. Carol was a hairdresser and make-up artist and she worked in the salon at Ulta. Being that she had 3 girls of her own, she was no stranger to the things that little girls loved, whereas my Dad was totally clueless. She used to cut and style our hair for us, do our make up, and paint our nails whenever my Dad would take us to visit her at work. She would let us pick out a different nail polish color every time we went to the Salon to see her, and she would tell us which were the most popular colors that all the other girls at school would be wearing.

I could tell, even as a young child, that Carol just wanted us to feel safe and loved. I often wonder what would have happened to me if she never came into the room that night, and how badly would my Dad have seriously hurt me if she didn't walk in on that. I think Carol was smart enough to befriend my mom, in the interest of being a good "step-parent figure" and that my mother must have given her some kind of warning that she didn't stick around long, but I am glad because no one should have been subjected to my Dad's alcoholic stupor and abuse. Especially not as good of a person as sweet Carol. I often wonder if my Dad ever raised a hand to her, and maybe that's why she left so suddenly. All I know is I am glad she resurfaced outside of life with my Dad, cause a piece of me always felt safe knowing she too witnessed the monster he was capable of being.

[groggyaeneator]

Besides all the ex/online drama, I've had a really nice week and reconnecting with all the people I've been avoiding because of my toxic relationship has done wonders for me. Me and like 4-5 of my queer friends are doing a weekly karaoke night and we had such a blast last night, I'm doing weekly pokemon league with another one of my best friends every Sunday, I just had a really nice dinner/drinks session with some old mentors of mine tonight, I'm meeting up this weekend with another old friend, in the past two weeks I've been reached out to/have reached out to four really good friends of mine who I drifted away from during my relationship, and on top of this my therapy has been going really well and given me a lot of hope for my life and career going forward.

My support network is so strong and so real and so tangible right now. I feel so, so loved and I'm quite literally the happiest I've been in months. This is the most like a real, breathing, living person I've felt in months. I feel so grounded, and happy for the first time in a long time in a way that's not just manic.

I feel like I can finally drop the weight that's been holding me down and leave this relationship behind me. I don't think I'm done working through the trauma and the consequences yet, but I feel like I'm finally at a point where I'm not just telling myself I'm better off, but I FEEL better off, at least right now. This mood will probably ebb and dip but right now, I just want to capture it. I'm so so grateful for the people in my life who really honestly love and care about me and want to see me happy.

[myfitbrain9]

Navigating Through Life's Challenges: Insights from an Online Therapist

Introduction

As an online therapist, I have the privilege of journeying alongside individuals from all walks of life as they navigate through the ups and downs that come their way. Through this unique vantage point, I've gleaned insights into the human experience and the myriad of challenges we face. In this blog post, I aim to share some of these insights and offer guidance for those seeking to navigate life's twists and turns with resilience and grace.

Embracing Change

Change is inevitable, yet it often brings with it a sense of uncertainty and fear. As an online therapist, I've observed that embracing change is key to personal growth and fulfilment. Rather than resisting change, we can choose to view it as an opportunity for growth and transformation. By adopting a mindset of adaptability and resilience, we can navigate through life's transitions with greater ease and confidence.

Cultivating Self-Compassion

In a world that often emphasizes perfectionism and self-criticism, practicing self-compassion is essential for mental well-being. As an online therapist, I encourage my clients to treat themselves with the same kindness and understanding they would offer to a dear friend. By cultivating self-compassion, we can develop greater resilience in the face of adversity and foster a deeper sense of self-acceptance and love.

Building Healthy Relationships

Human connection is a fundamental aspect of our well-being, yet building and maintaining healthy relationships can be challenging. In my work as an online therapist, I've seen the importance of communication, empathy, and boundaries in fostering meaningful connections with others. By prioritizing open and honest communication, practicing empathy, and setting healthy boundaries, we can cultivate relationships that nourish and support us on our journey through life.

Practicing Mindfulness

In today's fast-paced world, it's easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of daily life. As an online therapist, I often encourage my clients to incorporate mindfulness practices into their daily routine. Whether through meditation, deep breathing exercises, or simply taking a moment to pause and savor the present moment, mindfulness can help us cultivate greater awareness, reduce stress, and enhance our overall well-being.

Seeking Support

No one is immune to life's challenges, and seeking support is a sign of strength, not weakness. As an online therapist, I provide a safe and non-judgmental space for individuals to explore their thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Whether through individual therapy, support groups, or online forums, reaching out for support can provide valuable insights, encouragement, and validation during difficult times.

Conclusion

As an online therapist, I've had the privilege of witnessing the resilience and courage of individuals as they navigate through life's challenges. By embracing change, cultivating self-compassion, building healthy relationships, practicing mindfulness, and seeking support, we can navigate through life's twists and turns with greater resilience, grace, and fulfillment. Remember, you are not alone on this journey, and support is always available for those who seek it.

Recommended article :- Embracing Mindfulness in Therapy: A Path to Healing

[thebloomingbodygraph]

it's a definition thing

Sometimes you meet those people who just get you. You know, the ones you don't have to explain things to... the ones you can live senses wide open next to... the ones who can understand your silence.

Sometimes you meet those people that just fit. It's almost inexplainable the way they settle into the spot in your life/heart/space, as if they were always meant to be there, and somehow, in perfect timing, just showed up.

That happened to me this weekend.

I met an incredible person through a facebook group, where I'd posted seeking out some chosen family, after the hardest years of having no famililal network. I explained in this group that I'm no-contact with my parents, that it's hard, and that it's been a lonely three years full of therapy, healing, and grief. And that at this point in my process I'm really seeking out chosen family. I listed a little bit about me, what I'm into, and someone I was looking for. Enter Jen.

Jen is a rockstar, barely old enough to be my mom, and one of the literal most awesome people I've ever met. She showed up to breakfast with me this past weekend in a shirt with a Bee on it that said (bee) kind. She didn't know bees are a symbol for me of trusting the process, sweetness, and allowing yourself to enjoy.

Jen and I had breakfast for three hours.

It was the best morning. I had my favorite food, we talked about everything from family to our favorite shows, and we've got plans for mediterranean food and sedona trips. She even wants to come support my kid at his extracurriculars! WHAT!

Part of me knew that it was time. Time to reach out to the ether and signal my readiness. Time to magnetize the chosen family I want around. Time to breathe life into who I'm wanting to become, and that means building my community. And there is another part of me who is REALLY shocked at how amazing I feel having some chosen people around. Like... I knew it would feel good... but THIS GOOD? This wholesome? This nourishing? This emotional?

Her husband is from my hometown. Her birthday is coming up and I get to celebrate her. Her cats are named after witches.

I couldn't have scripted this better.

And that's why definition is so important -- because when it's right, it's right. You just know. You fit together like puzzle pieces when your openness, bridges, etc are bridged and complemented by someone else. In Human Design, the spots you have open or undefined can be "filled in" or bridged by someone's defined centers. I describe this like layers of tissue paper; when we're together we can "lay over" someone else's design and have access to different energy patterns than we would on our own.

I don't know Jen's design yet. But I have a hunch that our wiring will complement SO MUCH. Because I felt it in person. I know we're on the same line of geometry -- the same "fractal" as HD calls it. I usually call this "fractal buddies" when I teach. :D

It's that feeling of definition being shared, when someone's wiring complements yours, and when you can be fully yourself, in unison with them being fully themselves.

My root, sacral, ajna, and crown are undefined... my crown is completely open. I'm curious what Jen's design is, and if I had to guess, I would bet she's a fellow projector, or perhaps a MG. I felt her aura poke and bubble me so much, and the questions she asked were PHENOMENAL.

Just goes to show you that even when you're separated by time and space, the souls that want to do life together will... and the ones who want to bounce out (á la my bio parents), will.

Trusting that the fractal is flawless, that everyone meant for you won't miss you... has given me the most peace.

I'm curious if she bridges my split at 26... we will see!

[emberlynnrayne]

7/20/23

Here for therapy homework.

I'm not sure what to write about today.

Starting the day off with writing yesterday made for a very raw day. It was a great day, nothing bad happened. I even got a job! Where they insisted on paying me more than I was asking! Like. With these two jobs, I can truly afford a stable, modest life for my daughter and I. If everything fell apart again, I'd be able to afford a small apartment. I'm finally reaching a point that I could provide for my daughter on my own. It's so huge. I have so many people in my life helping me right now, and to know that I can stand on my own (once this job starts and I get caught up) is so huge. I don't want to go it alone, but if I had to, I could.

So it was great and I was ecstatic. But it was also support group night.

I shared the two posts I wrote without drafts yesterday, and it was too much. No one judged, I was thanked, but it was too much for me. By the time I finished speed reading through the second, I couldn't help but clasp my hands over my mouth. Once I could relax that impulse, I still felt super sick and panicky. I got out as quickly as I could as soon as it ended. I didn't fellowship, didn't wait for my friends, I just got out. I was the only one outside yet, there was no one in the parking lot, and I just had to lean against the wall and breathe. I stared at the sky and the trees and brought myself back to earth. I still struggled to speak for most of the rest of the night.

I thought I was an open book. I keep no secrets about my life, my trauma, my struggles. I'll answer any question on any topic. I never considered myself closed off. But I'm not sure anymore. I don't want my pain to be known. I don't want my failures on display. I don't want to share my worries and burdens. What happens in the darkness in my head without the pretty, poetic form that further serves to maintain distraction from the reality. I'll show you these shadows and scars and you'll see pretty black lace.

I know this isn't healthy or maintainable.

[sherlollyandspoilers]

Chapter 13, We’re worth it, July 25th, August 1st, and August 8th

Chapters 1 through 12 of We’re worth it can be found here

Here be Dragons is the original fic that this fic is a companion piece for

Two weeks later

“I think John and I should come to your next session,” Mary announced as they were sitting down for dinner.

“What?!” John sputtered as he tried not to spray the drink he had just taken all over Molly and Sherlock’s table.

Molly giggled at the horrified look on his face. “I don’t think that’s a bad idea at all.”

“What?!” John said again. “These sessions are for you and Sherlock to work through your problems!” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “You know what I mean,” he sighed.

“And what exactly would you like to discuss?” Sherlock asked as he turned to Mary. He knew that Molly had been keeping her up to date on what was being discussed in session and with the fact that they had been discussing Mary being shot and his spiral downward, he was not surprised at all that Mary wanted to come.

“You know exactly what I want to talk about.” She smirked at him.

“I feared as much,” he sighed, but hid his own smirk behind his glass as he took a drink.

“Am I going to be given a heads up on this conversation or will I get filled in when we get there?” John asked exasperatedly.

July 25th/August 1st/August 8th

“I am glad to finally meet you two.” June smiled as she took a seat. “You have played large roles in the conversations that I have had with Molly and Sherlock.”

“It’s really nice to meet you too…these two are very important to us and I can see how much you have been helping them.” Mary reached over and squeezed Molly’s hand.

“Thank you, but I am just here to help guide and offer support, they have been doing all the work.” June smiled brightly at her favorite clients. “Alright, before we start, since the four of us are probably going to be working with each other for the next couple of weeks and despite the fact that I already know quite a bit about you two, why don’t you tell me a little more about yourselves and why you wanted to come.”

“The easy one first,” Mary started. “I think the four of us need to work through the shit that we have put each other through over the last two years and accept each of our roles in it.”

“That’s the easy one?” John said under his breath.

“Well, I figured starting with my past as an assassin might have been a bit more complicated.”

 June thought for a moment after John and Mary had finished sharing. “I think the best way to approach this is to think of it more as a conversation.” The four of them gave her questioning looks. “It sounds like you all have something you want to say to the others, let’s just start there, and I’ll step in as needed.”

--

“Oh, my goodness! Sherlock, shut up!” Mary snapped. June stifled the giggle that rose in her throat at the look he gave his friend. “I understand that part of your own therapy is accepting your poor decision making, but it’s also time that you allow the three of us to accept our role in letting you down.”

He blinked at her for a moment, processing the information before simply nodding his head.

“Why do you think this is so important to you, Mary?” June asked.

“I had a family before and I let them down, losing them all…I don’t want that to happen to this family.”

--

“I was, I – ” John sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat. “I was pissed at you.” He looked up at Sherlock. “I blamed you for Mary’s entire situation…but you didn’t shoot Mary.” Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to look at him. “Mary was shot trying to save your life. It was her choice. No one made her do it.” He looked at his wife and smiled. “No one has ever been able to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“But I – ”

“Am a human, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary,” he smirked at his best friend, “And you make mistakes.”

“I put the woman you love in danger.”

“As I said before, no one makes Mary do anything she does not want to do. And…” John swallowed hard, “I forgive you.”

--

“I am still basically pissed at you for running away,” Molly whispered to the floor. “I know that you thought you could handle the situation on your own,” she looked up at Mary, her voice louder now, “but we had promised each other that we were going to do life together.” Mary opened her mouth to comment, but Molly cut her off. “Sherlock and John weren’t much better by playing in their secret boy club, but they wouldn’t have even had a chance to do that had you just been fully honest with us…When you left, you didn’t just leave John and Rosie…you left Sherlock, and Mina, and Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, and…me.”

Mary sniffed loudly, trying to gain her composure as unshed tears gathered in her eyes. “I had a new family that I wanted to protect, and I didn’t know how else to do that besides leaving.” She wiped her eyes. “I am sorry that I didn’t trust you all enough to have my back then…I do now.”

--

“John, you look like something has been on your mind,” June prompted.

He sighed before turning to Molly. “You said that Sherlock and I had played in our secret boy club.” Molly gave a hesitant nod. “What about you? For two years you lied to me about my best friend being dead and kept the fact that he was the father of your child a secret.”

Molly snorted before rushing to say, “I am not trying to be insensitive, but I already apologized for both of those things.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest. “And honestly, while I am sorry that you suffered thinking that Sherlock was dead, I will not apologize for keeping myself safe – I could have lost my license, my job, and who knows what else I would have lost had I revealed that he was still alive!” she snapped.

“I know, I know,” John held up his hands. “Its just…you made a decision on how to keep the ones you loved safe, and Sherlock let me make the decision on how to try and help keep my love safe.”

Molly frowned at him and looked out the window.

“Molly?” She looked at June. “Is it safe to say that you feel the situations aren’t comparable because your relationships were vastly different when Mary ran away than when Sherlock jumped?”

“Yes,” she sighed and looked back at John. “When I decided to keep everything a secret, I didn’t have the relationship with you then that the four of us had when the memory stick came back into our lives.”

John thought for a moment, before nodding. “You’re right,” he turned to June, “I apparently still have some things from the past that I need to let go of.”

“Most of us do.” June smiled.

--

“Sherlock, I have something to ask of you,” Mary spoke when there was a lull in the conversation, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “You and I…we both have a tendency to handle things on our own and it often goes over very poorly. I know that you have been working hard to be better than your past, and I want that too.” He nodded at her. “I need you to hold me accountable…challenge me when I am slipping back into old habits, and I will do the same for you.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation.

--

“I know that the two of you have been working really hard to move past both of your short comings while I was in my coma,” she turned so she was looking at both Sherlock and Molly, “but I have to say this to you, and I apologize in advance for any guilt this stirs up.”

“It’s okay,” Molly reassured her.

“I guess I understand the basic reasoning you had behind being able to show empathy to John during that time, but you expected so much out of Sherlock - he’s the least emotionally mature of the four of us,” she turned to Sherlock briefly, “No offense,” she looked back at Molly, “But you were holding him the most accountable?”

Molly sat thinking for a moment, but it was June who spoke first. “Mary, it seems safe to say that you see a bit of yourself in Sherlock.” She nodded. “Is it possible the reason you are so bothered by Molly holding Sherlock accountable is that you see yourself in that situation and it reminds you of how it felt when John and Sherlock brought you home?”

Mary stared at her for a moment. “Damn, you’re good.” She smiled. ���I do see myself in it…and I am not particularly fond of the way it reminds me of how I felt then.”

“It also sounds like your fondness for Sherlock clouds your judgement a little,” June pointed out. “Is Sherlock emotionally immature at times? Yes.” She looked at Sherlock, “You are doing a really good job of working on expressing yourself in healthy ways, though.” She turned back to Mary, “But Molly should still be able to count on him in tough times along with giving him the benefit of the doubt when he is triggered.” The four of them looked at her, furrowed brows. “Relationships are about give and take…it all takes practice.”

--

“John,” Sherlock was quiet as he started talking, “I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for being there for Molly when I was gone and for holding me accountable when I came home.” John looked uncomfortable with the acknowledgement. “And Mary,” he turned his attention to her, “Thank you for being there for both of them.”

“My pleasure.” She smiled fondly at him, but he shifted awkwardly in his chair and she looked at him expectantly.

“I know I already told you this, but you being willing to sacrifice yourself for me placed a value on my life that I didn’t know how to live up to,” he faltered for a moment, but she smiled warmly at him, “Thank you for showing me that I have value.”

She stood up and pulled him to his feet, hugging him and placing a kiss on his cheek. “Any time, love.”

[subwaysurf45]

Love You to the Moon and Back

summary: Bucky notices you’re feeling down after a bad injury, he does his best to help.

words:  3817

warning: depressive episode, doctors, mainly fluff!

pairing: Bucky x Reader 

Masterlist!

Bucky could tell you were getting bad again. 

And it hurt him to see you like this but it always happened after a big mission, your job was traumatizing and it took a toll on all of you. Bucky knew he had his days but he also knew when you finally let yourself slip it was really bad. 

You were a very headstrong person, you didn’t like letting people see your weaknesses or just you being hurt in general. So it sucked when you had broken your shin and witnessed a school of kids get blown up by a bomb, maybe sucked is an understatement but it was what you always said. 

You had pretended to be a teacher because there was supposed to be a hit on most teachers at a private school, so when the school blew up before everyone was out of the building- including you -it left the memories very crystal clear. There was no way of saving everyone so you saved yourself, and the feeling of selfishness had never been more apparent than right now. You were lying in bed with a cast on your left leg, your left leg was on top of the duvet while the other leg was under. 

A tank top and shorts was all you wore even though you were cold. A pillow was placed between your legs down by your shins to keep the injured one elevated, Bucky had stuck it there the last time he came in to check on you. 

Speaking of Bucky, he walked into your shared room in the compound. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky cooed as he gently opened and closed the door without making any sound, you had become hyper-aware to sound and light so a loud noise or a flash of a camera could send you into a state of hysterics. Bucky sat himself at the edge of the bed at around your midsection, you were lying in the middle and facing him. You barely said hello, all you could muster was a groan that had the same rhythm as the word hello. “How’s my girl doing?” Bucky rubbed your thigh very carefully. 

It was so obviously a rhetorical question, you were absolutely shit and he knew it. You both just stared at each other and Bucky seemed to get the message, he nodded and looked down. The room was so dark from the lights being off and the curtains being pulled you barely registered that Bucky had a plate of cheese, apple slices, and crackers. Bucky saw you turn your nose up and he knew you would, you had been like this for what felt like weeks. 

“You have your two appointments today, you wanna use the crutches or the wheelchair?” Bucky asked as he gently caressed your thigh, a little hum came after a few sections to clarify this wasn’t rhetorical. 

“I don’t know,” you mumbled into your pillow. 

“Okay…” Bucky held onto the last syllable, he glanced over to the wheelchair and crutches. “How about you have a little snack and then when you got food- and I’ll get water -you can make your choice. You also know you can switch and I’ll be glad to grab it for you, alright?” he did a few quick pats on your thigh before setting the plate down on the bedside table, he grunted as he stood up and stuck his arms slowly beneath you. All Bucky did was sit you upright to eat, you had gotten better at eating and now didn’t need motivation to eat but just a little push at the beginning to keep going after the first bite. Bucky also found if he ate a few pieces from the plate you’d be more inclined to eat the rest. 

“Thanks,” your voice was low and barely audible. 

“No need, pretty lady,” Bucky got right beside you and grabbed the plate, he placed it between you and let you choose the first piece. “So, you’re at the doctor at two and then Doc at three-ten, do you wanna nap between for a little or for a while after?” he just took a cracker and plopped it into his mouth. 

“No, no nap between, I wanna sit outside Doc’s office like before to make sure I’m not late.” You mumbled and stacked a piece of cheese on an apple slice. Doc was your therapist that was assigned to you a little while before your injury, Bucky wasn’t the only one who got nightmares and manic episodes; you probably got them more. Bucky knew he couldn’t go into your therapy meeting, he could physically go in but it went against his morals, this was your time to be alone and completely vulnerable to a human that you only see one or twice a week, he didn’t want you to sugar coat anything just because he wa sitting there. 

Bucky nodded and hummed before pulling the notebook out of the bedside table’s drawer, your combat backpack which you used for everything between missions and a picnic in the park was curled over itself in the corner of your room. Bucky picked it up and headed back to bed to let it rest there as he packed. He did this when you weren’t injured, Bucky had sadly realized your memory was a little shot from the amount of bootleg brainwashing and head injuries. You’d constantly forget about appointments or missions, or even the date. 

“Baby, I told you, your birthday is today, that’s why I got flowers.” Bucky said and pointed to the counter with the bright flowers on it. 

“No…” you rubbed the front of your head. “My birthday isn’t today, I forget the day- but it’s not today, I swear.” 

He slid in your journal that you used to write down lists and memories, you had used a guitar pick as your bookmark even though you can’t play anymore. Sometimes when you’d show up to a therapy session you’d forget what you wanted to say, it hurt him when he’d walk you there and you’d be saying the list of things under your breath with your eyes closed. Nightmare, mom, picking my nails, ankle, nightmare, sand, flowers. 

“We gotta go soon, anyways, wanna get ready for the day?” Bucky softly asked, there was no nice way of telling your loved one they needed to shower. 

“Sure,” you looked down at the plate and grabbed the last of it before getting up, the apple and cheese was just curled in the palm of your hand, as you walked over you shoved it all into your mouth because you knew you had to shower and you didn’t like soggy cheese. 

“I’ll keep packing your bag, and I’ll fill a water bottle for you.” Bucky had been your human crutch as you walked to the bathroom, you had an itch down in your cast that was bugging you. 

Tony had wanted to add tech to the shower to help you stand because putting pressure on your left leg hurt after three minutes and seven seconds- not that you were timing to see how long you could go without collapsing. You had said no to tech and just asked for a bar, Bucky even thought it would be cool but it was all up to you. 

Bucky helped you slip out of your clothes before leaving you be, he knew he would have to check on you periodically because you were too stubborn to ask for help if you had fallen or couldn’t get in the shower. You gripped onto the metal bar and helped yourself slip in, you turned the water on right away. 

You liked warm, long showers. You just let the water hit your skin as you stood in front of the shower head, the water pressure was high so you let the bullets hit your face when your eyes were closed. Your hair got wet as you stood there, you reached for the bottle of shampoo and expected it to be where it always was. The was getting into your eyes and when you squinted to see where the bottle was everything was double, as you reached for the bottle you had actually reached for the fake double and knocked the bottle off the ledge. A loud thump rang through the bathroom and it sounded like a bomb. 

There was one second of silence before you heard scrambling from outside the bathroom door, all at once you could see the door swing open by its shadow through the curtain. The curtain was pulled back so hard a couple of ringlets holding it up were ripped off. 

“Baby?” Bucky yelled before he registered you were standing upright. “What?” he breathed heavily, he was completely expecting you to be passed out on the floor with a cracked skull. 

“Shampoo bottle,” you said meekly. 

“Oh, thank god…” Bucky sighed to himself as he reached down to pick it up. “Are you hurt at all, did you fall?” He placed the bottle back on the ledge which made him reach across your naked body, on his way back his hand touched your shoulder then went to cup your cheek and move your head to look at him. 

“I’m all good, babe.” You smiled, an exhausting smile. 

“Alright, back-is-packed, finish up and I'll help you over to physio, alright?” Bucky closed the curtain to give privacy but waited for a verbal answer. 

“Perfect, thank you.” You grabbed the bottle again, your heart ached for him to be in the shower with you, it was something you did all the time before you were injured. 

“Don’t thank me, pretty lady.” Bucky reached for the door and opened it, before he could walk out, your voice quietly called his name, he could barely hear it over the water in the shower. “Yes?” he replied with the same softness. 

“Stay here with me, please.” the ‘please’ came after a beat, and extra plea. 

“Always,” Bucky sat on the toilet seat and gave the company you needed as you tried to stick your finger down your cast to itch that one spot on your leg. 

*****

Soon enough you were sat in the physio room, Bucky was off to the side with paper work in his lap and a binder in your backpack he packed for you. You liked the moral support when you were here because you never really had the best experience with doctors, Bucky would act like he wasn’t even there. That was a good thing, he did need to be the hovering boyfriend all the time because that can get tiring for both parties. He’d look up and listen to the doctor near the end, Bucky would write down the exercises and when to do them so he could gently remind you later. 

“Alright, you’re gonna get a new cast next week,” the doctor smiled at you, when you didn’t pick up on the excitement the doctor’s smile faded. “That means three quarters done!” Bucky had looked up and smiled, even clapped a couple times. 

“Then I have to learn how to walk again,” that was an exaggeration but it didn’t feel like one. 

The doctor gave a knowing look, “why do I feel like you’re already walking without the crutches?” You didn’t say anything because it was true. 

Your leg was examined and x-rayed, Bucky held onto your necklace as you went in. Your mind faded in and out as the doctor spewed ‘doctor stuff’ at you, you just didn’t have the care to listen; but Bucky did. He’s the type of guy to take notes and research later. 

Bucky would look over and see you looking at the floor, not even paying attention. He knew he couldn't get mad at you, you both dealt with injury very similarly. But something about seeing you shut down entirely made his heart ache, he wanted to reach out and lift the corners of your lips up into a smile because they seemed like they were being weighed down, he couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and real smile. He hadn’t been going on mission to keep you company, but now he knew his most important mission.

He walked you over to your therapy session that was still in the building, your Doc would come to the Avenger tower. He’d walk you right to the door of some random debrief room and kiss you goodbye. Bucky would hold your shoulders and gently rub your arms to hype you up before going in, he gave his little speech and said the same thing after. 

“You know I love you, and I know it’s hard.” he’d then kiss your cheeks and forehead. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, don’t even sweat it, pretty lady.” He then wouldn’t leave until the door closed and he heard muffled voices. 

The tower was right in the heart of the city, everything he needed was right there and a walking distance away. He slipped on a long sleeve and his gloves, he knew you took the backpack but you also had reusable bags, he took a few and headed out into the summer heat, it wasn’t humid today which was great but it wasn’t cold either. The tote bag was slung over his shoulder, all that was in it right now as a list. 

flowers 

chocolate

card

stuffed animal 

To call Bucky a romantic would seem weird to someone who only knew of him from the news or a museum, you knew him as a total hopeless romantic. Even in the 40’s, Bucky was the type of person to keep their walls up until he really got to know and trust you. It would normally be one little thing that would allow him to truly be himself around someone, he let his guard down that day you were walking to the restaurant he made a reservation at, Bucky placed himself so that arm or hand you’d hold would be his right but when you caught on you walk around him and looped both arms around his left, metal arm. After that, he was goner. 

He’d leave little sticky notes everywhere, a blue square paper in the coffee mug that read: ‘make sure you only drink one cup!’ or another on your shampoo bottle: ‘you look great naked ;)’. Bucky knew the little things mattered to you and vice versa, he knew that grand gestures didn’t mean anything without a little kiss that came before. 

The flower shop smelt great, Bucky didn’t know much about plants but he knew which ones you’d like. He was thinking of putting one on each bedside so whenever you’re lying in bed- which was a lot -you could look at some pretty flowers. They were a nice shade of purple and the stems were not too long, Bucky bought them and put them gently in his tote bag before heading over two stores to the grocery store you always shop at.

He was envyus of your clean eating, you’d eat what you want but you’d shop at fermer’s markets and organic stores. Bucky didn’t know it made a difference. He went to the frozen section and found chocolate covered strawberries. Bucky picked up a little pack of eight and headed to the front. There were also flowers there but they didn’t look nearly as nice. All he wanted was a very simple cute card with a blank inside, they were easy to find. It was cream coloured with a little sketch of a fuzzy, brown teddy bear holding a yellow balloon. All it said in dainty cursive at the top was: “look at you go!” Bucky knew this was perfect. Near the cards were little toys and stuffed animals. He found a bear that looked eerily similar to the one on the card but without the balloon. 

As he walked into the Avenger’s tower the bag was full and he had enough time to spare to set things up. Bucky headed to the rooms and made the bed, he changed the sheets as well because he knew you liked them when they were crisp. The teddy sat right in the middle with the card next to it. Bucky had written a little note that covered the entire right side of the card. He got a bowl from the kitchen and filled it with ice, he also found that white wine you liked and stuck it on there with the strawberries just to keep them cool but not melted. 

Bucky glanced at his watch and felt almost giddy as he realized it was time to head over to the conference room, he had to work on not giving it away when he’d first see you with his wide smile. The walk to the room was quick because of how fast Bucky was walking, he turned the corners sharp and almost jogged down the hall down the meeting rooms. He only stood there for about three seconds before the door slowly opened, Doc had opened the door and helped you out. Bucky’s smile turned into complete worry when you walked out holding a tissue to your nose, your eyes were red and puffy. Bucky also noticed that your fingernails were red and bleeding, that was one habit you were currently trying to break. 

“What’s going on?” Bucky asked in quiet disbelief, his eyebrows almost touching. 

Doc gave a curt nod, “we talked about a lot of things,” her answers were always so vague. 

You sniffled and waited for Doc to leave down the hall, Bucky was still looking at you. His hands held your shoulders and gently massaged the answer out of you. 

“It was a good cry, I needed that.” you sighed from exhaustion. 

A little piece of Bucky’s heart broke, if you needed to have a good cry then you could have told him, he would’ve listened. Bucky started to go back and see where it went wrong, if he was too overbearing and if this whole afternoon he had planned was created at a very wrong time. He wanted to ask what he did wrong but what came out was different. “Well that’s good to hear, I know Doc is good at that- helping you out.” His words were true but something about the delivery made it seem uneasy. 

“I just-” you looked to the ceiling and hoped to find the words you needed written there. “I like flushing it all out to her because I won’t see her for a week and I don’t need to keep up with what I’m feeling. I always cry to you but Doc is just really good at explaining how I feel, you’re there to validate it and make me feel soothed.” You held his left hand as you both walked down the hallway. “I feel lighter, like, I feel better.”

“That’s always good, sweetheart,” Bucky made sure you were putting weight on him because you didn’t bring your crutches but you really should have. “I have a little treat for you,” He turned to face you when you both stood at his door, Bucky kept his hand on the door handle. “I know it’s been a rough few weeks but I hope you know I love you all the same, and all I see is my strong, beautiful girlfriend.” Bucky saw your confused face, as he opened the door to reveal a dim lit room with flowers, wine and a teddy your eye welled up with tears again. 

You gasped and put your hands on your chest, “for me?” your voice shook as you walked in, you peered into the ice bucket to see your favourite wine and some food as well as a card beside the ice bucket, under the teddy. Tears flowed down your face as the feeling of being overwhelmed washed over you, you could barely string a sentence together. A hand waved the gifts all away, “too much,” was all you could muster. 

“No, baby,” Bucky smiled, he walked over and pulled you into a hug. “Nothing will ever be too much for you.”

He let you cry in his chest for a very long time, you both ended up sitting on the edge of the bed as he stroked all the way up your back. His hand would bunch up your hair as he went up to your neck. His lips were right at your ear, all he whispered were sweet nothings and a calming ‘shh’ once and a while. When you had a little composure Bucky reached for the card, as you read it your lips trembled even more. A hand stayed glued to your heart as your body warmed at loving words, you could barely read it with blurry vision from the tears but it still seemed crystal clear. Your finger traced over the signature: ‘love you to the moon and back, Bucky’. And you crumbled again, your forehead hit his chest as you cried away all the pent up emotion you thought you flushed out at your therapy session. 

With all the crying you were so tired, Bucky had thrown on a movie you two could watch while enjoying your strawberries and wine. You only had two and half a cup before you were snoring on Bucky’s shoulder, he tried to nudge you a couple times but nothing worked at all. He watched the movie on his own and saved the last two strawberries for you in the morning. You didn’t even wake up at him getting up and leaving the room. When he came back he got you out of your day clothes and into something comfy. 

*****

You woke up to the sun hitting your back, when your eyes opened they focused on the flowers and a smile graced your face. It was the first time in a long time since you smiled with your eyes, a little giggle even slipped out. 

At that sound Bucky walked out of the bathroom, “well there she is,” he smiled wide. 

“What does that mean?” you wiped the drool from the side of your mouth, “I had a nap, a really good one, too.” You seemed to be bragging. 

“A nap? Baby, it’s eight.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. 

“Ya, I fell asleep at about five so I had a three hour nap, no biggie.” You rolled on your back and stretched out, your gaze moved back to Bucky when you heard a giggle, “what?” you laughed back. 

“Eight in the morning, the next day. Your three hour nap was actually a well deserved fifteen hour hibernation.” Bucky joined you on the bed. 

“That’s why I feel so good,” you sighed, you looked over to Bucky and swatted his chest at his little smirk. “Don’t think like that.” 

“I bet I can make you feel just as good-”

You cut him off with a kiss.

[oonajaeadira]

firstofficerwiggles has made think about some of the ways that massage therapist PATS could help me through some stuff. Like when I have a migraine or when my anxiety won't respond to treatment or I need a break from the stress of having my mother living with me. (I love her but she's making me crazy) Thank you for this titillating version of PATS.

Oh, yeah, he's good for a lot of stress relief. I'm glad you enjoy what I'm laying down. <3 <3 <3

PATS Treatment for Migraines and Anxiety

FANDOM: Calls - Apple TV (PATS is a character from ep. 3. “Pedro Across the Street.” This is not RPF.)

Migraines are heavy on the massage and trigger point therapy. These are full-body manipulations...and by that, I mean he'd get up on the table with you and use his own body to support you in stretches, bend you into postures, smooth you into curves, and hod you against himself, warming you into twists that allow your muscles to loosen so joints can crack a little and relieve pressure. For hour two, he's going to just sit up against the headboard, blindfold you with a cooling pack and lean you back against himself and just touch, just use his hands to make you feel relaxed and beautiful, and guide you in breathing.

For anxiety, he'll cover you with a soft blanket. For the massage he's going to take you away from your thoughts, reaching his warm oiled hands under the blanket and going soothingly piece by piece. He starts with one foot and asks you a gentle question about yourself or something you like talking about, asking you to keep your voice low. Then the other foot and another question. Then each calf. Each thigh. One question per body part as he moves up to your head, and as you answer, he gives vocal confirmation that he hears you, his low, sincere "mmm"s and "mmhmm"s rumbling and warming through you. Then he's going to touch you on the table, while he smooths your brow with the other hand, bending low over your ear to softly tell you what he liked about the things you've told him, totally validate your thoughts, make you understand that your mind is an okay place to be. Hour two is whatever you want...he will do anything you tell him to do in the moment. Harder, softer, this leg here, your mouth there, any toy you want, torture him, overstimulate him, tell him to praise you, he actually says "yes" out loud to every suggestion, he wants to hand you the keys and make you understand that here in this bed, you can feel free to have total and unfiltered control if you want it--that he welcomes it--and at any time you're done with control you can give it back and he can drive the rest of the way. The only thing he gets to dictate is telling you to breathe, preciosa.

If you just need a break from your mom, you can book an extra appointment. He'll relax you and rail you hard enough to take your mind off of it for a few hours and send you home with prescription for isolation time or long solitary walks or whatever you need to get a break now and then and just concentrate on breathing and relaxing and being in the moment without interruption. And if Mom is offended? *shrug* Your therapist's orders, not your fault.

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