#i relapsed recently for the first time since leaving my ex and I just feel myself slipping

[coffin-upalung]

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Tag vent, needed to get it out. TW suicide/SH/mental health/inaccessible care

[restforthe-burdenedsoul]

There are a lot of thoughts in my head right now and I’m trying to unravel them a bit before therapy on Friday.

Being with my friends this week brought up a lot of memories of my past self. I felt the most me in college, even though that was my most depressed time up to that moment. We were reliving my “glory days” of when I was literally (okay figuratively) fighting guys off me. For whatever reason, I was really “popular” in college. It was interesting hearing one friend (who I only recently became friends with) tell me how she wished all through college that we could be friends and she was so jealous of the people that were close to me (funny thing, this friend intimated me back then!) and our other college friends agreed- I was part of the cool kid club. We were recounting stories of the guys I dated and how some really tried controlling me (Bible colleges y’all) and I was a spitfire. I challenged them left and right and they all ended up leaving because they couldn’t get me to submit. (Seriously. This is Christian culture)

Then I moved to Massachusetts and while that wasn’t me, the confident parts of me grew even bigger. It was a trashy time in my life that I don’t like to relive, but the values I can pull from that time are confidence, self assurance, and self advocacy. I knew who I was, what I wanted, and wasn’t going to settle.

I was super shy and unsure of myself in high school and my confidence started growing in college and then in what felt like overnight, I lost all of it when I returned to college after Massachusetts. My friends had all graduated in the time I was gone, I was older than most of them classmates, had “lived more life” and just didn’t relate to my sheltered Christian peers. I hit an all time low with my depression and didn’t leave my bed unless I had to. I started over eating and drinking to cope. I sunk back into myself and it’s been like that ever since.

Hearing peoples perspectives of me back in college, reconnecting to that confidence and strength I once held… who I am now is not who I really am I don’t think. I think I had a moment (2013-2015) of confusion that led me to be more vulnerable to awful people.

Through college, I had a crush on this kid. Looking back, it was quite toxic for us both. He took on the role of counselor and me the client. He was my first unrequited love. I was crushed when he ultimately told me it wasn’t happening and he got engaged. I took this to heart. I felt unworthy of love. He didn’t like that I self harmed and always brought this up, that I could relapse, and I did many times. He didn’t like that I was queer, I couldn’t change this and felt so much shame around it. There were so many things he didn’t like about my free spirit and confidence and I molded myself to fit into that space. If only I was quieter, straight, stopped talking about my mental health, ready to submit…then I’d find someone.

I graduated college, most of my friends were already married (again, Christian culture. You’re an old hag if you aren’t married by 23). I felt unloveable. I started negative self talking to 1) make myself believe I was unworthy so being single hurt less 2) convince myself I was ugly and that was why no one wanted me 3) convince myself that life was pointless, you live and you die and that’s all there is to it.

I met my ex-husband and he saw my vulnerabilities. I was feeling so low about myself that he truly seemed like the best option I could have. He reinforced my negative self talk by shaming almost everything I did. Threw out the cleavage shirts, anything tight, anything that made me the smallest Bit confident. Slowly started planting seeds of doubt with my friends, ultimately convinced me that my best friend was no good and ended our 12 year friendship. Make me ditch all my guy friends. Abused me sexually and mentally until I was nothing.

And I’ve been carrying that feeling/self view ever since. And I’ve known that to some extent, but I didn’t realize just how much until re-telling stories of who I used to be.

——

My therapist uses mostly Acceptance and Commitment Therapy modalities in session. I didn’t really understand it until I started a research paper on it. One of the main things is to not base therapy/healing around goals, but to base them around values you want for yourself. View your life through the value lens. And things have been shifting, but now I really see where things can go.

Unrelated but related, the dynamic in my relationship is also changing drastically. I’ve had a lot more self confidence which shifted even our “lifestyle” if you catch my drift and I’m enjoying taking more a leadership role in our relationship. M and I have always been equals, but my brain has always told me that was not true. Until recently. I’ve been more about saying what I feel and challenging him when I don’t like the outcome if it feels unfair.

—-

I have never been one to submit and accept things as they are. As a little kid, I stood up for my friends and fought bullies. Things changed in Middle school and I seemed to have found myself again in college. Lost myself again, but I’m determined to get back to myself.

Confident, unapologetic, strong.

——

I think this also plays into my issues with my name. Something that I think goes deeper than just not liking my name, something i avoid in therapy.

“Kyden” and “Jersey” have been my favorite nicknames. They were college and Massachusetts, respectively. I was “Jessica” all through middle and high school. I was “Jessica” after college. The name makes me feel very dissociated. I don’t know who “Jessica” is and I think it’s because “she” is the one who went through all the bad shit. She’s the one who’s handled her parents homophobia and unnecessary pressure, she’s the one who made her family whole again after her sister abandoned my dad, she’s the one who broke her family apart during her first marriage, she’s the one breaking them apart again for the second marriage, she’s the one who was raped and abused, she’s the one who was bullied through grade school. She’s the one who’s taken everything bad and held into it because there’s nothing else that defines her.

I hate that name because it holds every negative thing that’s happened in my life.

I’ve been leaning towards making Kyden my legal name. Kyden is who I was in college. Kyden is confident and self assured. Kyden fought her way through depression and college and came out a stronger person. Kyden had/has so many friends. Kyden fought back against homophobia and Christian culture. Kyden stood out and didn’t care. Kyden challenged professors and students closed minded views. Kyden gave zero fucks and kept going even when the depression got bad.

“Jersey” was a mess, but a fun mess. I wouldn’t go back to this part of me/my life, but she taught me a ton. She was the last part of my confidence, the unhinged side I suppose.

This is the first time I’ve been able to verbalize any of that. It doesn’t seem like that big of a realization now that I’m saying it, but I’ve been too afraid to address it.

I think you can see subtle differences. But maybe it’s just me.

Jessica 1.0

Kyden in college

Jersey in Massachusetts

Jessica 2.0 right after divorce. (Lost all photos during my marriage thank goodness)

New moments of confidence and goofiness I haven’t had in years

[missmentelle]

Why can abusers hurt you but be very caring in certain aspects? I've recently been admitted after my eating disorder relapsed. I don't have a support system, when it first happened the only support I had was my now ex-boyfriend. He was abusive physically and emotionally but he always took time to help me with my ED. It makes me miss him because he was the only person who seemed to care even though he was also hurting me. I haven't felt like this since I was in our relationship but with relapsing, I'm thinking about it all over again.

Fundamentally, abusive relationships are about power and control. Abusive partners believe (whether they realize it or not) that they are entitled to control their partner; it's when they are denied that control that they lash out, to try to bring their partner back under their control by whatever means they see fit. This process looks different in different relationships. Some abusive partners are totally fine with their partner arguing back at them and telling them "no" when they're at home, but completely flip out if their partner leaves the house in an outfit they don't approve of. Some abusive partners don't care what their partner wears or who they talk to, but will flip out if their partner disagrees with them over the smallest thing. Each abusive person has their own idea about what a relationship should look like, and that often involves having huge amounts of control over their day-to-day lives.

To that end, some abusive partners are actually very caring when their partner is sick, vulnerable, or mentally ill. For them, having a sick or struggling partner in need of care is sort of ideal - when you’re struggling, you’re dependent on them. You need them. You probably aren’t spending much time out of the house with other people. Helping someone with an eating disorder often involves monitoring them very closely - keeping track of where you are, what you’re doing, how you’re feeling and what you’re eating is a legit part of helping you recover, and it also means that he has the control he wants. It also puts him in a position of authority; he is the “healthy” “normal” one, and you are the “sick” one who needs to listen to him and cooperate with him so you’ll get better. 

This sort of thing is why some people find themselves in a confusing cycle where their partner seems to be very supportive of their efforts to improve their health - whether it’s overcoming depression, losing weight, or managing a serious mental illness - but seems to get upset when they actually start to succeed in doing it. Some abusive partners like being a caretaker, but don’t actually want you to get better. When you’re spending all day sitting at home on the couch in your pajamas, too miserable to feed yourself or talk to your friends, they feel secure. They know exactly where you are all day. They know you’re not going out and meeting other people behind their back - you’re at home in your pajamas with greasy hair. And they know that you’re in no danger of leaving them, because you depend on them for everything. It’s when you start to recover that the abuse starts to escalate again - now that you’re leaving the house on your own and don’t need them as much anymore, they start to think that you might meet someone else and leave them, and they feel desperate to regain that control. 

It’s also important to remember that every abusive relationship will have some good times and happy memories. There is a reason you fell for this person in the first place - they were kind, charming, funny, clever, generous, etc. Abusive partners are often obsessed with their victims; it’s what leads them to become so controlling and abusive. They are often capable of turning that charm back on when they need to - they might buy you flowers the day after they called you a bitch, or cook you a romantic dinner after a week of terrorizing you with accusations of cheating. Abusive relationships are generally not abusive 100% of the time; there is just enough warmth and kindness in there to convince you that maybe the person you love is still in there somewhere, and that maybe this person can overcome their abusiveness and be a good partner to you after all. 

Don’t fall for it. 

Ultimately, caring for a partner in crisis is a bare minimum, and it doesn’t undo any of the physical and emotional abuse that he inflicted on you. It’s natural for you to be missing the comfort and support he provided now that you’re going through a difficult time without a support network, but it’s important to remember that you deserve better than someone who hurts and abuses you. You deserve a support network that doesn’t also come with abuse and fear. 

If you’re in inpatient care right now, talk to the staff about how you’re feeling - they aren’t a perfect substitute for family and friends, but they can be a shoulder to cry on, and they can connect you to resources or support groups for people who are going through the same thing. Try to resist the urge to reach out to your ex - remember that he is an ex for a reason, and the support he gave you is not worth the hurt he caused. If there are any friends you can turn to - even ones you might not have spoken to in a while - see if you can start to rekindle those relationships. You deserve support that comes from someone who isn’t out to hurt and control you. 

Best of luck to you. MM

[ssa-babygirl]

Out of my League [Part 6]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: JJ gives you some bad news and Spencer feels like he’s only making matters worse. For both of you.

Warning(s): Angst, mentions of grief and death, allusions to relapse, swearing, mentions of drinking, this is lowkey a mess so i may have missed a couple of warnings

Author’s Note: IT’S HERE!!!! YAY!!! that’s the happiest you’re gonna be all chapter. The next one may take a bit of time and i am SORRY for that because this may or may not have a sorta cliffhanger you should just read it to find out!! also heads up there are a lot of perspective changes later on please just imagine how it would be cut together in a movie that’s how i wrote it OK ENJOY DON’T BE MAD JUST TRUST ME OK??

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

Washington, D.C., 2011

(Reader POV)

You’d gone to three different funerals since moving to D.C. Three more than you would have liked, obviously, no one ever really wants to go to a funeral.

The first had been your father’s. You had Jamie and your mom, but you needed Spencer. He was out on a case and you couldn’t blame him for not being there, but he made up for it a million times over. Your dad’s death wasn’t unexpected, and while it hurt to say goodbye, it was relatively easy to move on.

The second had been for Aaron’s ex-wife, Haley. You didn’t really know her, but Aaron was your friend and you wanted to support him. That and Jamie got along very well with Jack, acting almost as an older cousin, and you know how important family is when you lose a parent.

The third and most recent funeral was the worst one: Emily’s. She was there one day, raring to go and take on the world, gone the next. 

The day you found out was just terrible. JJ had called you herself to tell you. You managed to stay calm until you hung up, when you practically threw your phone onto the kitchen table and collapsed into a chair, tears pouring down your face as silent sobs wracked your body.

Jamie ran in at the sound of you crying, “Mom? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shook your head, unable to speak. Jamie wordlessly wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you as you struggled to regain your voice. When you could finally breathe and relay the news you just received, you choked out, “Aunt Emily died last night.”

Then Jamie started crying too. He curled up into your shoulder and sobbed into your shirt, soaking you to the skin, almost like he was little again. You crumbled at the sound of his whines and cries. Every part of your chest ached with the weight of your grief. 

“What happened to her?” He finally whimpered.

“She has a dangerous job,” You didn’t even notice the tense you used, “A bad man was after her.”

“Well, is everyone else okay? What about Uncle Derek? What about Doc—”

“Everyone else is fine, baby, no one else was hurt. Doc’s fine.”

You sat still for God knows how long, silent, clutching each other like a lifeline, praying this was all just a dream and that you’d get a call from Emily telling you it was all some sick joke. Of course, you’d be furious with JJ, but at least there wouldn’t be a hole in your family where Emily had once been. 

Your mother came over to help you cook, the same role you had taken years prior while your father was sick. She consoled you and Jamie for the next two days and then drove you to the funeral. You got out of the car and walked in silence to the church, clutching Jamie’s hand as you entered. 

Aaron was the first at the door. He wasn’t one for hugs, but when he saw you, exhausted and barely standing, he pulled you and Jamie in tight. The hug was brief, but it helped, God, did it help. Dave was just behind him, and he didn’t hesitate. He ruffled Jamie’s hair and gave you a kiss on both cheeks. JJ was holding Henry in the corner, and Will gave you a weak smile. Derek and Penelope were holding one another, both shaking as they cried. Your grip on Jamie’s hand grew tighter, tighter, tighter until you saw him.

You then dropped Jamie’s hand as you ran over, arms open wide as your son followed close behind, “Spence--”

He returned your hug instantly, burying his face in your hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t call--”

You felt Jamie join the hug, but you kept your head buried in Spencer’s chest, “No, I’m sorry too, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.” He pulled away, wiping away some tears and sniffling, “I’ve just been holed up in my room reading Vonnegut all for the past three days.”

Of course, “What books?”

“Mostly Slaughterhouse-Five, it was her--”

“Her favorite,” You nodded as you spoke the last part in unison with him.

“Yeah. I read it out loud just…” His voice cracked and the words looked painful to get out, “Just in case she could hear me.”

Your heart broke imagining him wrapped in blankets, eyes rimmed red as they glazed over the worn-out pages. You ached at the thought of his voice cracking just as it did before as he read for hours and hours, begging the universe to let Emily hear him, “She did. And she loved it.”

“I just hope she didn’t realize I was crying,” he muttered, and it shattered you, “She wouldn’t want us to cry for her.”

“You’re right, but I know she’d be unbelievably offended if we didn’t cry just a little bit,” Spencer’s tearful smile was enough to make you feel slightly better. There was still hope.

Your mom took Jamie home after the wake, knowing that you needed time with the team to feel like a person again. You went home with Spencer. He shouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

“You’re really good at taking care of me,” he smiled weakly, sipping the tea you made for him.

“Yeah, I had a good teacher.” Your mother was always there when you lost someone. You had your ups and downs, but she was a good mom.

“Does it get easier? Losing someone?”

“No. It always hurts just as bad,” you sigh, “But moving on used to be a lot harder.”

“Do you still miss him?”

“Of course I do, but less than I used to.” You still talked to your dad sometimes, something you did as a kid when he wasn’t home, just telling him about your day or narrating what you were doing. Even after all these years, you still found yourself explaining to no one that you had to run to store and buy bread to make Jamie’s lunch.

“I see little pieces of him everywhere I go. Jamie has the same exact smile. His favorite book when he was little was the same one my dad read to me. No one ever really leaves. Family, friends, they stick with us.”

“I’ve never lost a friend before. When Gideon left, I knew he was out there. Same with Elle. I could have Garcia find them right now and call them up to see how they’re doing, but Emily--” his voice cracked too much for him to want to continue, so he dropped it altogether.

“Did I ever tell you about my college roommate, Juliet?”

“No.”

“We were best friends. We did everything together: Movie nights, parties, all that. The night of our last final senior year, we decided to go clubbing to celebrate.”

You told him the whole story. The drinking, the dancing, the guy. You don’t remember his name, but you remember trusting him. He was sweet and Juliet liked him, so when she came to you at the bar after dancing with him telling you she was going home with him, you let her.

“I was happy for her! She had just gone through a breakup a few months before, so it was nice to see her getting some,” you let out a weak laugh, “I remember the last thing I said before she left was ‘Okay, have fun, call me in the morning, we’ll get brunch. I love you.’” Spencer winced, almost as if he knew where this story was going. Given his line of work, he was expecting far worse, but he at least knew that we didn’t get lunch the next morning.

“I went home a little bit later, I got bored, so I got a taxi home.”

You close your eyes and sigh deeply, “I’m in the back seat when I get a call. It was Juliet’s phone.”

“She wasn’t calling you, was she?”

“No, it was the police. Juliet didn’t have a good relationship with her parents, so I was her emergency contact.” You had to plan the funeral, invite her parents, look them in the eye and lie to them that Juliet wanted to make amends with them. The horrified guilt on their faces almost made it worth it, “The car she was in got t-boned when the guy ran a red light. He wasn’t as sober as we thought he was.”

“She didn’t make it.” Spencer guessed for you.

“No. She was dead before they got her out of the ambulance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If Juliet hadn’t…” You still couldn’t bring yourself to actually say it, “I wouldn’t have moved home, I wouldn’t have gotten back with Kyle, and I wouldn’t have Jamie. I don’t wanna tell you that something good will come out of this, because that’s a horrible thing to hear, but looking for an opportunity to find something good can’t hurt.”

“I can’t just look for something new when all i can think about is how I should have been able to help!”

“You really think I didn’t blame myself for what happened to Juliet? That every night for years after I thought I could have done something differently, and sure, I could have, but it’s not like I knew what was going to happen, and I couldn’t keep blaming myself.”

“It’s not the same, you don’t get it.” His fingers ghosted over old scars on his forearms, scars you didn’t want to think about where they came from.

“I do, Spencer. Emily was my friend too. And because she was my friend, I know she would never let you blame yourself for it. She knows you can’t save them all. All we can do is save ourselves,” you took his hand in yours, he still tensed up, “‘cuz that’s all the people we lose want us to do.”

He turned his head up from the floor and met your eyes. Once you gazed into those deep hazel irises, the tension in his hand melted away. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a deep breath, squeezing your hand like a lifeline, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Spence.”

“I’m sorry for snapping.”

“You apologize too much.” You had nearly forgotten exactly what he said to you that night in the hotel bar in Vegas all those years ago, but clearly, he hadn’t, he couldn’t, and he didn’t, because after a few moments of staring into your eyes and slowly drifting towards you in peaceful silence, he closed the gap between you both and kissed you.

Spencer Reid was kissing you.

This was happening.

Nearly two decades of being friends--

Years of being totally, ridiculously, and most importantly, cluelessly in love with each other, Spencer Reid was kissing you. You were almost so overjoyed at that moment as you started to kiss him back that you nearly forgot that your friend was dead and you were supposed to be comforting him. This wasn’t comfort, this was what Kyle did to you all those years ago.

You broke the kiss before he did something he’d regret, “Spence…”

“Oh my god,” he removed his hands from your face and shifted his entire body away from you, “I’m so sorry.” 

“No, don’t-”

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot!” He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands as his hands landed at the back of his neck, forcing his head to stare in his lap.

“No you’re not! Hey. Genius. Look at me.” He didn’t. “You’re not. You’re just in a bad place, I get it.”

“No you don’t. This time, you don’t.”

“What do you m—”

“Look, I don’t wanna kick you out but I really think you should leave.”

“Oh… yeah… sure… okay.” You slowly rose from the couch on weak knees. Whether it was from adrenaline or anxiety, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be! Just… please, take care of yourself?” You glance around the room for your belongings, “Shower, eat something, get some rest, please. And call me if you need anything--”

“Y/N, please, just go.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you reached for the doorknob. You turned your head just enough to look over your shoulder to say, “Goodnight, pretty boy,” before you left. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, breathing heavily. 

           (Spencer’s POV)

Why was I kicking her out?

Why was I telling her to leave?

Why was I pushing her away?

Why did I kiss her?

Why did she push me away?

Why did she call me “pretty boy?” She never--

The pieces fell into place as they often do, all at once with the force of a car slamming into a pole at fifty miles per hour. 

“Goodnight, Pretty Boy.”

“Goodnight, Princess.”

She remembered that night.

She remembered that night when I drove her home and put her to bed and--

And I told her I had a crush on her in high school.

And I almost said I loved her.

And I almost kissed her then.

God, I wish I had. Any time would have been better than now.

          (Reader POV)

You didn’t know you could miss someone so much while they were behind just one door. You could’ve turned around right then and knocked and waited for him to be ready to talk about what just happened. About him kissing you. About you kissing back. About you stopping him. About that drunken night when you let it slip how pretty you thought he was.

You should’ve just waited.

But you couldn’t stand to be that close to him while he wanted to be as far away from you as possible.

So you ran.

You practically sprinted down the stairs and out of his building as quickly as you could, getting in your car and pulling out of the parking lot and getting the fuck away before you hurt anyone else, including yourself.

          (Spencer POV)

I couldn’t just let her walk out like that.

I had to say something.

I had to go after her.

I had to get her back.

I needed her.

But when I opened the door, it was like she had never been there. 

I leaned on my door frame staring at the staircase down the hall, wishing I had the energy to run after her, to catch her before she reached her car, to stop her from driving away, to tell her I was sorry, to beg her to please, please, come back upstairs and talk to me, but my feet were fixed to the floor and my legs were weak. I just closed my door with my back and slid down to the floor, unable to bring myself to cry anymore. I sat there for god knows how long until I found the energy to crawl over to the coffee table where I had left my phone, picked it up, and dialed a number.

          (Reader POV)

You jumped slightly at the sound of your phone ringing, you shuffled through your bag in the passenger seat, desperately trying to find it before the light turned green. Some foolish part of your mind told you it was Spencer, you wished it was Spencer, you wanted nothing more than to turn your car around and talk it all out with him, tell him you were sorry, that you loved him, that you needed him, but your heart sank when you looked at the screen and saw the number.

It was a just fucking spam call.

You threw your phone back in your seat and beat your fists against the steering wheel, groaning and wishing the fucking light would just turn green already. When it finally did, you slammed on the gas a bit too quickly, sending the car jolting forward. You barely stopped the entire rest of the ride home, the universe must have sensed your impatience. As you finally pulled into your driveway, your skull felt as though it was packed with cotton, your tear tracks drying on your cheeks.

You raced up the steps to your door, fussing with the keys and trying to unlock the door as quickly and quietly as possible. You inevitably made noise as you entered, prompting a light to turn on in the living room. Your mom rose from the couch she had been sleeping on, her face dropping from annoyed to concerned.

“Toots, you’re home already? I thought you wouldn’t be back until morning.”

You had thought that you were fresh out of tears, but apparently, you still had more to spare, seeing as you broke the second the words left her mouth.

“Oh my, what happened?” She raced towards you, wrapping you in a hug, “Is Spencer okay? Did something happen?”

As confused and sad as you were, you couldn’t stop the smile that had suddenly appeared on your face, “He kissed me.”

“He what?” She broke the hug, holding your face in her hands and wiping tears off of your cheeks, “Then honey, why on Earth are you here?”

          (Spencer POV)

“You kicked her out? Why?”

“Why do you think I called you, Jennifer? What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“Well, what exactly happened?”

“I freaked out, she came over, we talked, I,” I took a deep breath and braced myself for her reaction, “I kissed her—”

She almost choked on her coffee, “And you didn’t lead with that? Don’t you think that’s a little important?” 

“I was trying to avoid reliving it for as long as possible.”

“You’ve wanted this since high school, why wouldn’t you want to relive it?”

“She pulled away.” There was no anger or sadness behind my words. I don’t sound hurt as I recount the scene, “She took my hand, I kissed her, she stopped me.”

JJ’s hand brushed over my shoulder and I flinched away slightly.

“I apologized immediately, she wasn't mad or anything, I just…” I trailed off, unable to admit that I just couldn’t look at her anymore. I never thought I’d get tired of seeing her face, but I had needed her to leave. When she pulled away, all I could think about was the sound of Alexa Lisbon sneering at me as Kyle and his goons tied me to that goal post.

“She wanted to help me, and I know she did, but…”

“She couldn’t.” JJ finished my sentence.

I shook my head, “Not this time.”

“But now you want her to come back?”

“And I don’t know how to tell her that because I fucked up.”

“What did she say after you told her to leave? Did she just go?”

          (Reader POV)

“I told him not to feel bad and to take care of himself.” You hadn’t had time to tell him how much you wanted to kiss him but neither one of you was in the right state of mind for that. 

“Right, yeah, and did he say anything else?”

You winced at the memory of how his voice sounded. “He kept telling me to leave, so I just went for the door and said--”

          (Spencer POV)

“‘Goodnight, pretty boy,’” I grumbled, “That was the last thing she said.”

“Okay?”

“She never calls me Pretty Boy.” I told her the whole story. When I was done, her eyebrows were drawn together and lips were pressed together in a thin, worried line uttering, “Spence…”

“What?”

She sighed, saying nothing and smirking slightly to herself, but saying nothing.

“Jennifer.”

“She loves you, genius.”

“Then why’d she leave?”

“Because you told her to. And…” she hesitated, almost scared to say anything else. I was scared to hear it. JJ took my coffee away and dumped it down the sink, a silent indicator that I had enough and needed to go to bed.

She turned back to me and leaned over the table again, making sure I'd look her in the eyes, “She’d do anything for you.”

I just stared down on my hands on the table, unable to say another word, unable to defend myself, unable to fight anymore.

Because I knew she was right.

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[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

What Fresh Hell?: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst, talk of child pornography, talk of sexual abuse with children

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

Billie’s father is seen parking in the driveway, and even from where you’re at, you can feel how angry he is. He turns this whole blue energy of the house into a light purple. Both red and blue mix to create a whole mess of emotions. He’s not right in the head either, but that’s clearly not going to stop him from marching in here. As soon as he does, him and Billie’s mother just go at it.

“I have been calling you all night!” she yells.

“I'm sorry, Marilyn. I turned my phone off.”

“How could you turn your phone off? What if Billie got sick or—we needed you!”

“I said I was sorry!” he groans.

She slaps his arm and gives an angry scoff. She turns away and leaves the room. Thankfully, William stays put to give her time to cool off.

“What's being done to find my daughter?”

“We're assessing that right now,” you answer.

“She's been missing since yesterday! What the hell have you people been doing since then?!”

“Where have you been, Mr. Copeland?” Gideon wonders.

“Me?”

“Where were you all day and all night?”

“I have a cabin in Brandywine Valley,” he says, but that doesn’t tell you where he’s been this entire time.

“The police tried you there.”

“Well, maybe I was out at the time.”

“Billie tried your cell phone yesterday afternoon. You didn’t answer then,” you comment.

“Well, I shut it off sometimes. I like the solitude.”

“You didn't fight your wife for custody of your daughter, but you like being in her life,” Gideon rattles off the facts.

He wants to make him nervous. It’s working.

“I want her to grow up in her home with her friends around. This is the only place she's ever lived.”

“So, you love her very much.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you waste any precious time we have left?” Gideon sighs and cuts to the chase for this is taking too long. “You weren't at your cabin. You weren't at work or with friends. Police didn't call us until a little while ago because they thought your daughter might have been with you—that you might have taken your daughter. Until you can give us a satisfactory accounting of your whereabouts from the time your daughter went missing until—would you help me understand why a devoted father who talks to his daughter every night suddenly turns his phone off and disappears for almost twenty-four hours?”

“I was… busy,” he hesitates.

“It was 1:30 in the afternoon. You called your wife at 11:30 that morning and found out Billie was missing.”

“So?”

“Well, Brandywine Valley is fifteen minutes away. Where were you, Mr. Copeland?”

William knows he’s been caught, so he chooses the right option to tell the truth. He sighs heavily and sits down with a long and tired look on his face.

“I—I was at Sloane Kettering hospital in New York City. Dr. Baylan Mahal is the head of Oncology. You can call him if you want.”

“I will. Did you have a relapse?”

“It's in my lymph nodes now. There's nothing more they can—” he cuts himself off. “Please find my daughter. Find my daughter.”

“Call Sloane Kettering,” Gideon instructs of you.

“Yes sir,” you say, already taking out your phone.

The bad news is that Sloane Kettering vouched for William, confirming he was with them the entire day with proof through cameras as well as the sign in sheet. If he didn’t take his own daughter, then that means it really is a stranger abduction—most likely. The good news is that Derek, Elle, and Hotch did have something when they returned from the park. You didn’t want to upset the parents even more, so you had a small meeting on their lawn as soon as they arrived.

“What do we know?” Gideon asks as he jogs up to the rest of the group.

“We talked to a kid who had contact with the unsub. He came back to the same street more than once,” Hotch informs.

“Well that tells us he's at ease in the neighborhood—comfortable talking to kids in plain view,” you fit the pieces together.

“He lured Billie with a story about a lost dog.”

“She recently lost one of her own.”

“That indicates previous knowledge of the victim,” Spencer says.

“But it doesn't necessarily mean that she knew him personally. This only means he's aware,” you counteract.

“Actually, it's not uncommon for predators like these to know the kids that live around his area. He’s from this neighborhood.”

“Then we go door to door and ask for voluntary searchers,” Detective Russet speaks up.

“The neighborhood is already crawling with uniforms. They're everywhere. Having more searchers is only going to make the man who did this go into hiding,” you point out.

“So far, you followed the child abduction response plan to the letter,” Gideon trails off.

“For the past few hours, yes,” the detective nods.

“So now we need to move past the guidelines and change tactics. If we don't, Billie isn't gonna make it past the next twenty-four hours. I want you to corral these clowns,” Gideon points to all of the news cameras. “We're gonna need 'em—all of 'em.”

Before you can deal with the press, it’s about time to give the profile. Usually, you’d have more time to put one together, but Billie is very high risk. If you don’t put one out now, she could die sooner rather than later. Every single cop that’s around this area is in one room, listening to your team give the profile. Each and every one of them are listening intently, taking down notes as you go along.

“Billie Copeland has been missing for twenty-two hours. It is vital that we locate her in the first twenty-four,” Gideon starts off.

“The unknown subject, or unsub, in this case is most likely a resident of one of the subdivisions around the park. We have cancelled the amber alert. We need to coordinate with all your officers to pull everyone off the street immediately,” Hotch explains.

“That’s fucking crazy,” a random officer scoffs.

“Just hear us out—”

“But it goes against court procedure. You guys wrote the damn thing.”

“Actually, Carp is just a guideline for immediate response to child abduction. Believe it or not, we're already late in the game, and we do know enough about this unsub to know that if he feels like we're closing in on him at all, he will kill Billie to avoid detection. If anything, we need to lessen the pressure on him,” Spencer spits out.

“This man fits in because nobody knows what he is. Can we really know our neighbors? He walks his dog and does yard work. Solitary activities appeal to him. However, if you watch closely, you'll see he pays a little too much attention to the neighborhood kids. Largely goes unnoticed because he isn't perceived as a threat. He’s a white male in his late twenties to thirties. He has a menial or temporary job and is socially marginalized and frustrated. He relates better to kids than he does to adults. It’s not his first offense to children, but it is his first abduction,” you explain.

“How do you know that?” Detective Russet asks.

“First-timers hunt closer to home. Experienced predators don't.”

“He's had a recent stressor—a job loss or other setback. Unable to maintain a normal relationship, he'll have extensive pornographic materials in his home and on his computer. And while they won't all involve children, some of them definitely will,” Hotch takes over.

“Since he used the missing dog ruse, and we believe him to be a regular fixture of the neighborhood, it's quite possible that he truly does own—or did at one point—own a dog named Candy. We recommend cross-checking veterinary records with residents in the neighborhood,” Spencer says.

“He will not inject himself into this investigation.”

“Don't these guys like to know what the cops know?” the detective says.

“No, not this type of unsub. He's hiding. He doesn't know what anyone saw. He doesn't know if there's any information about him out there. He's unlikely to walk in and ask us, ‘can I help you?’. But I can guarantee you he will be watching the news. So, how we handle them is very important,” Gideon stresses.

“Check your canvass records. One of you may have had contact with him in the early stages.”

“What about registered sex offenders?”

“We've got somebody working on that right now.”

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, everyone clear on that? Good luck. Thank you,” Gideon closes this meeting out.

Derek immediately leaves off to the side to call Penelope to have her work her magic touch on the already growing pile of suspects. You’re scheduled to go back to Mrs. Copeland’s house with Elle just to make sure she and her ex-husband are doing alright. Before you do that, however, you walk over to Spencer who is kind of all by his lonesome.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” you ask.

“Could be better. What about you?”

“Same. This is just going to be another nightmare to add to my list,” you sigh sadly.

“Do you dream of children often?”

“It’s a lot less than what you’d think it’d be. I swear this job never gets easier. When I agreed to take this job when Gideon offered it, I was ecstatic. I thought I’d really make a difference.”

“But you are—”

“No, I’m not,” you cut him off. “All I get are some victims that are saved, and a shit ton of nightmares to follow it. The payoff is actually worse if I think about it. Just as I’m about to collapse from extreme depression, I think of this team. I think of you and Penelope and JJ and Derek. I think of kids like Billie. I think of everything good that comes out of these cases. While there isn’t much, I try to hold onto the good as tightly as I can in hopes some of it will rub off on me, you know?”

“Try going through life with an eidetic memory.”

“Bless your heart, Dr. Spencer Reid. Seriously. You’re doing a great job if it means anything.”

“It does. Thank you,” he smiles shyly but brightly.

“Y/N, come on!” Elle calls for you.

“Duty calls. Save that smile for me when I get back, yeah?” you flirt.

You’re already gone before Spencer can come up with anything clever to say. All he’s getting are flushed cheeks and a fuzzy brain. You actually make him forget what he’s about to do… and that’s saying something.

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[caffeinated-chaos-bean]

Mid-2021 Blog Update

Hey guys.

So... It’s been a while. Quite a while... and I want to lay some things out as to why I’ve been gone and the blog has practically been dead in the water for half a year, if not for a whole year. 

I want you to know that what I’m going to say will be in heavy detail. I’m comfortable speaking on it, and what information doesn’t just include me will be using either public details that I know I can share or will be put in a short and sweet manner.

This is your trigger warning: If you need to click off or scroll past due to the mention of extremely bad mental health, toxic relationships and households, the mention of depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts, please do so now.

. . .

First off, I’ve lessened the amount of time I’ve been online due to my mental health. I was put on antidepressants as well as told to take anti-anxiety gummies in November and will be weaned off of those starting this October. A lot of my family and relationship drama on top of the world practically shutting down and going into chaos thanks to COVID-19 just took a major toll on me. With so much on my shoulders, stress from living with said things on my shoulders, unsupportive family members, and an emotionally distant partner, I was at one of the lowest points in the life. I’d never had to be on mood-related medication in my life until last November. I’d always been able to handle what was thrown at me, but mid- to late-2020 was what knocked me down that low for the first time in my life. Suicidal thoughts came and went (they weren’t often, only when I couldn’t bottle my emotions up any longer but didn’t have a way to express them either), but even when they did, I knew that it was just in my head. I never once chose to act on them, because to me, that is not a way to solve a problem or escape your inner demons. All it does it put your personal suffering onto those around you -- your friends, family, and those who cared about you even when you don’t see it -- and it doesn’t do anyone any good. When my doctor asked me about suicide, that’s the very explanation I gave her. Yes, they happened, but I’d never act on them; it’s not a way out and it puts your pain onto others and only worsens the situation for the long-term.

Aside from that, though... I move on to other personal reasons for my absence that helped trigger what was mentioned above. Mid-August of 2019, my then fiancé's mother was murdered by two 17yr old boys of whom she and their family knew. Going off the information that was made public, one boy had mixed meth with marijuana prior to the killing. He claimed that my fiancé’s mother mouthed off and made a derogatory comment about his deceased mother, thus sparking the incident. While he claims to have only stabbed her once, the autopsy report shows that her head/face and upper torso were “hacked, slashed, and chopped” repeatedly with “various sharp, bladed objects”. Not only did they murder her, the two individuals also set the grass around her body on fire along with her home. When we found out about this having happened, I had no idea how bad it would have turned my relationship upside-down. My now ex-fiancé didn’t come from a great childhood, there was abuse and CPS, among other things. But he had managed and was a good person. He could make me laugh and tear up at his jokes, sang beautifully, and did everything to make those around him happy. When he lost his mom, it broke him. It shattered his very being, because not only did he know the two who caused it to happen, he also was unable to reconcile and make amends with his mother for what he went through as a child. He was robbed of being able to forgive and be on good terms with her, and it broke him. He stopped communicating with family, he took bereavement after being pulled from work by family the day it was confirmed to be his mother only to to fired 3 months down the line when he tried to go back (fuck Walmart for that btw), and was slowly becoming a hypochondriac. He stopped talking to me, he would cry in his sleep, and grief made him lash out as was expected. But as the days dragged on, his motivation and care towards finding a new job dwindled. He and my mother would fight endlessly and I was caught in the middle of it, as we all were in one household. There were times in which I would keep my phone on my leg and record for my own personal documentation should I need it due to how bad my own mother would belittle me, belittle my ex behind his back, and just scream and go off. When I’d turn to my ex for comfort, he wasn’t much help due to his own deteriorating mental health. He took to discord, specifically the Vampire the Masquerade community, as his escape from reality. He eventually would hardly talk to me at all, show no compassion, and at times I tried to speak with him about getting a new job or suggesting part-time ones that I felt would be easy and as stress-free as possible for him, I would be shooed away without a word; if I tried to further my attempt to have the conversation, he eventually got an attitude and would just say “Bye!” over and over again while shooing with his hand to get me to leave. There were many days where I’d get off work and sit in the bathroom for an hour and cry because of my frustration and how I felt stuck between two people I cared about deeply (ie. my ex and my mother).

My ex has since moved out and no longer lived with us. He and I are no longer together, and he has cut off all communication to me along with his family. He isn’t living in California anymore, really. He met up with discord friends and is in another state. That’s the last I heard from him. That’s the last his family heard. He doesn’t talk to us or attempt to reach out or respond when his family reaches out. I still very much care about him and want him to get better, but if he has to do so by being away from everyone, then so be it.

While I was letting - or shutting out, rather - the emotions I was feeling once he officially moved out, I relapsed with my anxiety tick; with my trichotillomania. I have a good number of smaller, thinned out spots in my hair from unconsciously pulling out strands of hair when my emotions didn’t know how to regulate. I’m still fighting to get this under control, as I do still catch myself doing it and so does my mother. It currently is not as bad as when my ex first moved out and I had to adjust back into sleeping alone and without someone next to me, but I do still pull. I am looking into trying to get my sister to order me a HabbitAware bracelet for me this Christmas in order to help get my tick back under control. I know its something I will live with forever and go in and out of doing, as there is no cure or medication to curb trichotillomania, but its something to help me be more aware of how often I do pull and to train it to no longer be a muscle memory response.

Most recently, I’ve had to stop taking melatonin. I’ve had bouts of insomnia since my ex left, and eventually I took enough melatonin to not only build an immunity to it but also a slight dependence. I was taking more than I should have been, and I noticed the signs of it and have stopped taking melatonin altogether. Due to this, I have switched to hempseed oil gummies. I take 2 before bed and they have helped wonderfully. But, due to how easy it was for me to become dependent on melatonin, I do plan to take brief breaks from the gummies to avoid a similar situation. I also do not plan on seeking an insomnia medication due to the same reasons. I knew what I was doing was wrong and I knew i was becoming addicted, and due to this I do not wish to risk it happening with a prescription sleep medication. I will deal with my bouts of insomnia as they come.

I also am conquering my insecurities towards others knowing I am a fan of Michael Jackson; a moonwalker. In elementary school (5th grade, 2009), I went through a heavy obsessive phase when he passed. I’d never heard of him, and when I listened to his music that firs time I was instantly hooked. I was ridiculed at school after I performed “Thriller” during a talent show; I had classmates going as far as saying that I must want him to kidnap and r*pe me if I enjoyed his music so much. I didn’t understand the gravity of those comments back then the way that I do now that I’m 23, but I still knew to an extent that what they were saying was in now way a good thing. I shut out his music from mid-6th grade all the way until this year. I hadn’t listened to a single song aside from hearing “Thriller” on the radio during October. For my birthday this year, I had a friend take me out of town and get away for a day. The entire time, she surprised me by playing hours of his music when in the car with her. It has since reopened that connection to his music and I’ve been listening to his songs with a fresh take, with the mind of an adult who can comprehend his words and understand finally what he’s saying for each song. As such, I’ve become more comfortable with others knowing I’m a moonwalker. You can have your opininos of the man, you can choose to believe the tabloids and junk media or make your own conclusions after assessing the details and documents of his life, but I will enjoy the same freedom of opinion.

I know this is getting pretty long, but I wanted to fill those who still might be checking up on this blog for any sort of update or spec of life coming from it in on what’s practically killed the blogs for a good chunk of time.

I do plan to slowly start doing stuff again after Halloween. I have a video made that I plan to post for Halloween and I look forward to letting Kikumi and the others be open for asks again. Until then, may the wind guide you all. I hope everyone can have a safe and wonderful rest of August. I will see you in October.

[hannahvsana]

Buckle up for a long but positive post!!

Basically I’ve been very stressed and anxious about life recently. I had no plans for the future and in the knowledge that I’m living alone next year, falling back on the only comfort I know was and still is tempting. However: I have had an epiphany.

Since I was tiny I have adored nature and birds in particular. My absolute dream was to be a wildlife TV presenter, especially on Springwatch or something similar. I’d always be out birdwatching, and for a long time I volunteered as a bird ringer at my local observatory. However, since I first got ill, I could no longer do it, because I was so cold and weak and ultimately, in hospital. Fast forward a few years, I still love nature and birds, and I’ve been wanting to make 2020 different somehow.

So I made the resolution to reconnect with who I AM, not my ED and take any opportunity to get into the nature career field somehow, to give me something to aim for. One problem: I haven’t done a science since GCSE, and on inspection, I can’t do a conversion course into a biological or conservation field without it. HOWEVER over Christmas I’ve been reading an amazing book called ‘The 12 Birds of Christmas’ by Stephen Moss and as if it were the universe’s will, I read the back page and it turns out the author teaches an MA in Travel and Nature Writing at Bath Spa University.

I don’t need a science degree, just a 1st class degree or a 2:1 with good experience. I wouldn’t have to move to Bath, because it’s taught online except 3 residential weeks. What’s most exciting however is that it focus on meeting authors and publishers with focus on getting published on a blog, website, newspaper, radio OR TV. I know I wouldn’t come out and become a TV presenter, nature book author or wildlife filmmaker immediately, but it gets me into my field and getting my name out there, one huge step closer to my dream.

But where does this leave me? Well my friends, essentially I now have something to really live for that’s mine. I was fighting for everyone else but this is for ME. And it also means that I can’t afford to relapse ever again, especially not next year when I’m alone because I have to get a good degree and expand my knowledge. I can’t afford to lose my mind and energy to think and explore and meet people who will get me a step further to my goal.

I have NEVER felt this way, like I actually want this to be be the last, real recovery I have to go through. I don’t want to do this again, I have stuff to do now. This year isn’t only the start of a new year, it is the start of a decade in which I turn twenty. I have been anorexic since I was 14, and exhibited disordered cognitions way before, and now I’m 20 in five months with little to show for my teenage years. That is going to change.

Of course I feel scared that I’m letting go, and it does make me feel somewhat invalid now that I’m properly engaging with treatment. But I know that’s my ED kicking back. My weight terrifies me, and I hate losing my sick body, but everytime I panic I close my eyes and visualise myself taking to a camera and how healthy and glowing I’ll look, and how many people I could help. We had an ex-patient come into the unit on Monday and I want to inspire people the way she inspired me.

I still want to compare myself to everyone around me, and I cringe when I see someone smaller, or relapsing online. But I’m learning to not want that life for myself anymore. I see people getting better and relapsing when they realise that they’re letting go of their ED. I don’t want that to be me anymore. Every relapse has taken two years of my life away, one of spiralling and one of hospitalisation, rounds of treatment, dropping out of uni, appointments, arguments and worry. I don’t want to look back in 3 years time and wonder why the hell did I relapse just because I could, when I could have an amazing degree and going on to do an amazing Masters.

I am scared of being a healthy weight and no one believing how severe it got, only now I am eating and realise how physically ill I look now do I realise how physically ill I was at a much lower weight. But again, I am making myself reinforce the fact that I don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I know the worry I caused, I know how awful I physically and mentally felt, I know how it impacted my relationship and I know how devastating it was to drop out of uni. I don’t need to prove my history of suffering by maintaining a sick body which should be a relic of a closed chapter. I now want my story to inspire people who see how I came out of the other side, not merely remain a shock factor when they look at me.

This really feels like the start of something, and the end of something. I have moments of doubt and I am struggling today, but I wanted to update you on the whole story. You can expect to see me going up and staying up from now on 💪🏻

[dearmrsbitch]

March 29, 2019 - Did you know AA doesn’t work like they want you to think it does???

         Q. Therapist at work and home: My live-in partner and I have been going through a rough patch recently. I recently found out that he kissed someone else a few months ago and lied to me repeatedly about it. We are trying to patch things up and have identified his drinking and drug use as a major source of some of our issues in our relationship and his problems individually.        

         I’ve done everything I can to try to support him while also trying to heal myself from his betrayal, including going to the first AA meeting with him as a supporter and helping him get connected with a therapist through my work insurance. He went to the therapist once and hasn’t gone back to AA since I went with him. He has been drinking much less, but last weekend when we got into an argument, he slipped up.        

         I know I can’t be his only source of support while trying to make these changes; I work as a therapist for adolescents with suicidality, and when I come home, I feel completely burnt out. I’m hesitant to give him an ultimatum that if he doesn’t go to AA and therapy then we will have to end our relationship because I’m not really comfortable with ultimatums, but I feel way too much pressure to help him while I’m also in a lot of pain from his indiscretion with this other woman.        

         I love my partner a lot and I don’t want to abandon him while he’s trying to work on things, but everything is feeling like too much for me. Do I insist on AA and therapy for him in order to move forward in our relationship? Cut my losses, break up, and uproot the life I’ve created with him? Leave it up to him to figure out his drinking and drug use? We just started to see a couples therapist upon my insistence and he has been willing to engage in that, but the therapist took us on with limited availability and there have been weeks between appointments, so we haven’t been able to gain much momentum. The therapist was coordinated through my work insurance in which I have limited options, so switching isn’t really possible, and I don’t have the funds to pay someone else out of pocket.     

Dear Therapist,

You two need to split and tell him to seek treatment at an in-patient facility. 

1.  You can’t have a good relationship with a drug.  Anytime a partner is taking substances, regularly like that, you’re dealing more with the drug than them.  They need to know you’re not going to enable their shit anymore.

2.  It’s a big myth that you need to hit rock bottom before treatment.  You don’t need to put him on the street, but he would be better off in a sober living facility than at home or else he will relapse more easily.

3.  Ultimatums don’t work.  You cannot recover in treatment if you are forced to be there, that’s why it doesn’t work - the person needs to make the call on if they want to recover.  So what you really need to say is, “If you can’t get sober and don’t want to be sober, we are done.”  But if he can go to AA and walk through the steps and he knows you’re at home to catch him, well... honey bun, it might be another enabling factor.  You need to accept that you might be at the end of this relationship and you can only serve the ultimatum to yourself that if he doesn’t want to get clean, you will leave to save yourself.

4.  AA is such bullshit, I can’t stand it, I hate it, I hate that a lot of fucking therapists think it’s the only option and god, I want to scream! 

Let me break this down for those who don’t know.

4.1.  The guys who founded it made it up.  They didn’t know anything, they just tried something and managed to weasel into government consideration for programs for money for themselves, okay?

4.2.  According to their own stats, they are no more effective than going cold turkey by yourself.  Their highest reported success rate was ....  5%.  For a program that nearly 100% of people are referred to?  That is a shit number.

4.3.  They are religious in nature.  Not only is it a violation of your rights to be forced into an inherently Christian religious treatment, they lie to people when they say you can do it secular.  I know a few atheists who were forced to recite prayers, etc., as part of their treatment when they were promised otherwise.

4.4.  They have no exit plan.  AA people are always the ones who are like, “I can’t be around beer, ever again!”  Real treatment includes reintegration into situations that may have alcohol and having strategies to avoid the temptation.  If you can’t be in a room with beer, you’re not recovered.

4.5  They deny human agency.  Part of the insidious nature of the “God help me to get through shit,” is that that idea is what causes a lot of relapse.  If you “give your recovery to a god” then you are not taking agency in what you are doing and in recovering.  You are being taught that an outside force can help you, and it can’t, and it also leads a lot to those who have faith - having a crisis of faith which causes more FUCKING RELAPSES!

4.6.  They substitute addictions.  The community is cult-like.  Pick a number of other shit they have been exposed for over the years and my goddamn tax dollars are still going to them... *grumble*

Look...  The Bitch family knows rehab, we work in it.   It’s a fucking hell of a road to walk down, and there will be relapses, etc., but if you take a secular, cognitive behavior therapeutic approach, you might have fewer walks down it than with AA.  If you’re going to get him help, get him real help! 

Drug treatment, for those who don’t know, can be a mixed bag.  A lot of places simply use ex-addicts because the absolutely stupid idea of “You can’t help if you haven’t been addicted,” is still around.  Which is not true at all, in fact, counselors who have never been addicts tend to be better than those who are.  You want to seek out programs that are in-patient, (ideally) that are run by people who have graduate degrees or higher ONLY.  They should not be methadone or suboxone adverse, they should not require statements of faith, they should be self-reflective, they should have proper discipline for those who transgress that does not include shit like public shaming, they should have trained nurses and narcan on hand, and they should be accountable to the state or a board that is not run on any principle except getting people better.  They should also be willing to take back people who have fallen off the wagon at least a few times because that is very normal.

That is what you must get your partner to do and agree to.  Proper treatment and it’s going to take awhile.  Remember, his brain has been rewired in a bad way, detoxing him is the easy part!

Mrs. Bitch,

Sorry, I just really can’t stand AA’s bullshit.  If nothing else is available first, then fine, but goddamn, we have got to stop funding them.  They’re the Myers-Briggs of addiction treatment...

[lysitheaioandeuropa]

All the vday questions ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

happy vday sis!!!!!

1: Do you have a crush at the moment?- eh, kind of. lmao

2: Have you ever been deeply in love?- 50005% yes. god that can do shit to your heart bro

3: Longest relationship you’ve ever been in?- 2 years seems to be my typical expiration date

4: Have you ever changed for someone?- i have changed something for someone, yes

5: How is your relationship with your ex?- nonexistent lmfao

6: Have you ever been cheated on?- not that i know of

7: Have you ever cheated?- unfortunately

8: Would you date someone who’s well known for cheating?- probably not

9: What’s the most important part of a relationship?- everything that comes to mind are all equally important

10: Do you like to be in serious relationships or just flings?- oh it rly depends if the mood strikes or what. i’m usually not into relationships at all and when i get into them they come at me so fucking left field and next thing i know i’m planning a future and shit. it’s literally only happened a couple of times

11: When you are dating someone do you believe in going on “breaks”?- i believe in needing space and if someone says they need it then maybe they should be warranted that much.

12: How many people have you ever hooked up with?- it’s 2k18 and you’re really still asking for a body count

13: What’s one thing you regret saying/doing in a previous relationship?- i regret not being completely honest about my wants/needs

14: What age do you think is appropriate for kids to start having sex?- “kids” shouldn’t be having sex, lol. but idk, whatever floats their boat. 16?

15: Do you believe in the phrase “age is just a number”?- if it’s likelegal and within reason, yes. and rly does depend on the dynamic considering that a lot of the time it isn’t genuine and is a power move.

16: Do you believe in “love at first sight”?- maybe not love, but the way my heart did summersaults when she first smiled at me? incredible.

17: Do you believe it’s possible to fall in love on the internet?- been there done that, yes. it works out

18: What do you consider a deal breaker?- idk, i’m pretty open minded. but snooping is definitely one lmao

19: How do you know it’s time to end a relationship?- i don’t.

20: Are you currently in a relationship?- is that what they call it nowadays?

21: Do you think people who have dated can stay friends?- i think there is room for attempt. but it is difficult to work out

22: Do you think people should date their friends?- if they grow genuine feelings for one another, of course

23: How many relationships have you had?- 4?

24: Do you think love can last forever?- i do not fucking know bro, i doubt that shit daily like i wonder how people rly be out here in love for 50 years

25: Do you believe love can conquer all things?- nah fam, wtf

26: Would you break up with someone your parents didn’t approve of?- nope

27: If you could go back in time and give yourself one piece of advice about dating what would it be?- stop forcing shit, don’t date boys you just are not that into, and when you are into one really sit down and think about that bc it’s not normal to think they’d be perfect if only they were a woman

28: Do you think long distance relationships can work?- yes

29: What do you notice first about another person?- physical appearance usually. first think i noticed about her was her height, then her face, then her smile

30: Are you straight, bi, gay or pansexual?- i think pan is most accurate; i can be physically attracted to just about anyone, and not just “two genders” as bi entails. i do have a muuuch stronger leaning toward women though, so i just say i’m gay it rly covers all bases

31: Would it bother you if your partner suffered from any mental illness?- i don’t think it would and i think/know i could be understanding and supportive. however, i can see how it can take a toll on someone normal, so i can’t imagine on myself, with everything i already have as well. we’d both need to have very healthy coping skills and be getting help and working/communicating with one another, especially if i’m already doing all of the above, they certainly should as well

32: Have you ever been in an abusive relationship?- yes and it sucked. thank GOD it was a bit short lived. he is hands down my worst, slimiest ex and just no i would never again

33: Do you want to get married one day?- i don’t fucking know

34: What do you think about getting your partner’s name tattooed?- fuck no

35: Could you be in a relationship without sex?- most likely cannot, but it depends on me, my sex drive is all over the place but has been more steady recently

36: Are you still a virgin?- nah

37: What’s more important: Looks or personality?- both are, but i might go with personality

38: Do you enjoy love films?- no i don’t lol horror all the way

39: Have you ever given anyone/received roses?- not roses, but other flowers yes

40: Have you ever had a valentine?- this year i had two lmao (one of them was my roommate before y'all wanna assume i’m hoein’ since that’s how y'all are)

41: What’s your imagination of a “perfect date”?- we’re sitting in a blanket, on a rooftop, with the view of the space needle and mountains and cityscape in front of us. fleetwood mac is playing in the background and we’re singing along. i’m laying in her lap, she’s playing with my hair and we’re holding hands. we’re alone, and talking about our future, and our dream house, and things to do together when we’re back home. maybe sandy is with us, considering she’s so well behaved. we’re telling each other stories we haven’t shared with one another yet, and every now and again we share deep and lingering kisses. she’s looking at me like i am literally the only person on earth and there is so much love in her eyes and it is 1000% mutual. her smile and her laughter alone bring me joy. i tell her how much i love her, how she means the entire world to me, and she tells me the same. we stay on the rooftop and watch the sunset over the city and my heart is just so, so, so full. i know she’s right next to me, and we can’t get any closer, but something inside still makes me miss her and yearn for her. we share one last kiss before we leave the seclusion of the rooftop, and walk our way back to our room, taking in more of the sights. we have a glass of wine together, or coffee (since that’s our thing), and we’re together freely, without side glances or judgement on either of us. she’s the light of my life; we’re happy.

42: Have you ever read “Romeo & Juliet”?- more than once

43: What’s more important: Your partner or your friends?- depends really, i think you need balance

44: Would you consider yourself “romantic”?- idk about romantic but i can be nice? lol

45: Could you imagine to date one of your current friends?- i would date this one girl in a heartbeat LMAO, but just bc she is dead ass a 10/10. besides that fuck no all my friends are way too fucking emotional and just not my type and just no. the guys aren’t much of a step up

46: Have you ever been “friendzoned”?- lmao, in middle school but i wasn’t too hurt by it, they were cool to be friends with. (if i were a nigga i feel like this answer would be far from this)

47: Which “famous couple” is your favorite?- i used to stan johnny and winona. besides that i really don’t care enough

48: What’s your favorite love song?- 505. lmao idk if that even counts. dreams by fleetwood mac (even tho it is kinda a break up song but i love it)

49: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?- so i have been told

50: If you’re single, why do you think you are?51: Would you rather date someone who’s rich but a douchebag or someone who’s poor but a nice guy?- there are levels to this shit, how much of a douche bag is he really? does he just neglect me but i have access to all the money? bc i would do that.

52: Are you good at giving other people advices regarding dating/ relationships?- no considering my advice is always “dump him. drop them. leave her” lmao. it has gotten me into trouble a number of times

53: Are you jealous of couples when you’re single?- my niggaaaaa, FAR from it lmao. i really fucking THRIVE when i’m alone, but even relationship me looks at other couples like “tsk tsk”

54: How important is it to make a relationship official (p.e. on facebook)?- on social media, not really. though i would be skeptical of someone who goes out of their way to deliberately not post their partner

55: Would you consider yourself “clingy”, “overly attached” or “jealous”?- i can be, but i do chose to hardly ever act on it. shit will irk me and i will know it is irrational or dumb or makes no sense so i’ll try to dismiss it myself, mostly for fear of being called crazy for having and displaying the emotions i’m going through but it is what it is

56: Have you ever “destroyed” a relationship?- i have. not malintentionally

57: Do you think it’s silly to consider suicide because of a broken heart?- no, not at all. all things considered if someone already has mental health issues a bad breakup can trigger a relapse in depression - etc. is it rational and a good thing? fuck no. but i wouldn’t take it as lightly as to call it silly and dismiss it. get yourself or the other person help.

58: Are you the “dominant” or the “submissive” part in a relationship?- independent as fuck but not tryna step on my partner’s toes either. i think we both have to be dominant. maybe me a bit more. (also, i am soooo talking in regards to personalities and not sex for you weirdos out there).

59: Have you ever forgotten important dates like your partner’s birthday or your anniversary?- i have not, i can still give you exact dates from years ago

60: What’s your opinion on open relationships?- none of my business if it floats your boat

61: Who’s more important: Your partner or your family?- i am by far the least family oriented person in existence so, my partner.

62: How do you define “cheating”?- anything your partner doesn’t want you doing;any boundaries you wouldn’t want crossed

63: Is watching porn while being in a relationship inappropriate?- no. maybe i bit unexpected if anything if you guys live together and can have sex/try new things on a daily basis

64: Do you think Valentine’s Day is overrated?- it’s whatever. i always do something but i’m not wild about it like some other people

65: Would you consider yourself a “cuddler”?- big time. i cuddle sandy 25/8

[mothergwendoline-blog]

Trans Isolation

Disclaimer: This blog contains discussion of suicide and depression. If this makes you feel unsafe, please leave.

For a journal of a mad woman dedicated to suicide I certainly seem to be forward thinking. If nothing else the thought of my transition goals are one of the few things enabling me to wake and face every day. Make no mistake, the planet is dying, we live the last era of humanity and I fully intend to end my life before the apocalypse but I will be damned to go without seeking joy where I can. Barring the recent resurgence of extremist hatred and fascist uprising, no small matter, I am fortunate in many ways to be well positioned in life. Though I am poor, through fortune of being allowed to live with family whilst I recover from my last two suicide attempts, I at least am afforded some stability. I have a roof over my head, hygiene, relative physical health compared to many and food in my stomach. I think on my ultimate suicide daily, how and when I will accomplish it, but where is already decided. I will take myself to our government and end my life at their doorstep in environmental protest to the constant neglect and abuse of our planet at the hands of the powerful. When will be after I reach my original weight before my binging, after breast augmentation and a return to the sex industry, and finally after bottom surgery. I give myself about five years. I am not be the first climate change suicide but I intend to be a notable one. I expect I shall make national or hopefully international news for demonstrating in blood the very real harm those in power have done to our Earth. Soon we shall see an uprising of the masses and I have every hope the rich and powerful will beg us for mercy as we overthrow them.

For now, it is the joy and meaning of self-improvement that motivates my living. I have resumed weekly electrolysis treatment of my facial hair. It is a slow and constant progress but eventually I will have a soft, smooth kissable face. Of course I am mostly concerned with ridding myself of the immense dysphoria of having to shave away my beard but I am also glad to become more attractively feminine. Beauty is fickle and open to debate but I have my own concept of my personal beauty and I will obtain it through hard work.

I found a nice beauty therapist for electrolysis, I have had two of many treatments to come. Although she is a tad blunt on matters transgender. This would shy a lot of people away, too many trans folk are in my experience fragile and easily wounded by misplaced comments. My beauty therapist refers to us as “transes”, or “my girls” more affectionately. She told me a tale of how her second husband, after their divorce, left her to become a “transvestite”, her words, in a large city and is now a “street walker”. She holds no resentment to the ex-spouse or to trans people, which is fortunate. She did ask a great deal of questions of the trans experience, most revolving around socialization post-transition which I found an uncommon and interesting query.

The beauty therapist said “most transes I’ve known prefer to socialize with [cis] women rather than other transes” and asked why I choose to socialize with other trans people. Solidarity and good company I suppose. But it did raise an interesting question in my mind about the shame and self-imposed isolation of trans people. There are many trans folk, mostly older white women in my experience, who prefer to live lives without other transgender people. I can empathize to this. For a long period of time after my transition I refused to call myself trans; I was just a woman, plain and simple. There is still a great deal of truth to this but now I see myself as a woman and as a transgender person equally. I can only make guesses for others but for me there were, at the time, a great many things I detested about the trans community. For one, the promotion of finding happiness looking visibly trans was something I did not, and still do not rest easy with. Only now I hold no resentment towards others who hold this position, I simply see myself as sharing different sentiments. I used to want to go completely stealth, to move to a new city where no one knew me and live a life closeted about my gender history. However, things changed. I hold no grudge against people who want to live stealth, for some that is their truth and meaning and I respect it. For me, I look at the horrible state of inequality and abuse faced by my trans siblings and I can do nothing to remedy this without being open and out with them. I am trans, I want and need trans people in my life and though my goal is to pass and obtain bottom surgery, I will continue to remain open about who I am. So to the inquisitive beauty therapist I am not sure what to say in answer to her questions. Perhaps it is best said I believe that, if my being out can offer solidarity and comfort to other trans people and if it can help peaceably advance our equality, then I will be out. Barring of course an anonymous trans blog. I can be out in my public life whilst seeking my privacy online.

On that note, I have started going to a transgender support group held every few weeks at a local LGBTQ center. I waited outside vaping with a handful of other “transes” whilst waiting for our meeting space to be set up. All a very quiet bunch but then again, it is hard to have deep and involved trans talk out in public waiting on the street, the privacy is important. We were let in to a warm and inviting office lounge coopted into a meeting place. We shared food (all vegetarian, it’s always vegetarian), drank special teas and spent the next hour and a half regaling our lives, our woes and joys of life being transgender.

There were many shy, all but broken people in the room. This, sadly, is much in line with my other experiences of such support groups. The condition of life for trans people is unfortunate, many come from families who have abandoned them, others cannot come out for this very fear. I found myself to be one of the most extroverted people in the room which came as a surprise to me as I am usually the shyest in the room. Or perhaps I have simply grown in social confidence and should pat myself on the back for breaking out of my shell. I was also one of the longest “out” of those in the room, this being a young group and myself having been out since about twenty-one years old. I was not the oldest person there, but one of the oldest in trans years. It afforded me an interesting position, to listen to people talk of such things as beginning hormone replacement therapy, or their first venture into a public restroom, or even planning for their first surgery, whatever that may be. It made me take a moment to reflect and feel happy that, although I am young and have yet so many transition goals to achieve, I have already accomplished a great deal.

I started HRT about six or seven years ago, I have fully socially transitioned and am out to everyone in my life, and I have had FFS. I still remember acutely my first trans milestones. The first time I used a public women’s restroom was at a hospital after my first meeting with an endocrinologist, just when I started HRT. I decided then and there I would be brave and allow myself that infinitesimal right to go to the bathroom of my true gender. Exiting the cubicle, a mother and her child were in the room and she looked at me with shock and horror and moved her child away from me so that she the mother stood between us. I washed my hands and quickly left in self-disgust, even though it was her wrong and not mine. I pass better now but at the time, even though I was wearing a dress, makeup and handbag and had my hair done, I was visibly trans. Even in this day and age there are still those bigoted and ignorant people (sometimes hateful) who believe our very presence is a threat, to children no less. You could ask me to be sympathetic to her and consider what she was thinking. But you should also ask the same of her, to be sympathetic to me. And ultimately that is what it comes down to.

Transgender people have a right to use their correct restrooms and it is for others to abandon their hateful prejudices and look at us as common, equal human citizens. I am tired of the lackluster, unscientific, illogical and bigoted complaints of TERFs and transphobes. “It is a space for females” they would say “And you have a male body”. But sex and biology and gender roles are not, nor have the ever been so simple. But this blog is not an essay to justify the rights of trans people to use restrooms, plenty others exist. This is a personal journal to catalogue my experiences of transition and fitness. Hearing others at the trans support group talk of these milestones in transition with apprehension and fear made me look for the first time and realise I take these actions in stride. Using a public restroom, dressing how best suits my gender expression, entering gender specific spaces such as women’s art groups. Of course there is still adversary and transphobia I encounter regularly but I have become somewhat dulled and desensitized to it. On reflection it angers me and fuels the fight for rights and equality but it has also become a day-to-day occurrence.

After another month or so of rest and recuperation, once my mental health is less volatile as a result of therapy, I intend to find work in the city. I’m an artist, a writer, so finding work within my passion will be too difficult to obtain steady living as yet. A nice office job, secretary, clerical, data entry position will suit my needs and experience. And it will make the cost of transition achievable instead of digging away at my steadily diminishing savings.

Exercise at the gym has been treating me well although I have yet to lose weight. I recently had a severe depressive crash which resulted in my relapse in drinking self-harming again. I also broke my intermittent fasting for several days and returned to binge eating out of sadness. Thanks to exercise I have not gained weight, but I have not lost weight either. From today I will be trialing one month of intermittent fasting and will post my weigh-in at the end of the month.

I will likely have to return to a psychiatric hospital for a few days as my suicidal ideation is reaching its breaking point. Self-harm is a dire warning sign for me. Although my family are loving and empathetic, I need to be somewhere I can receive professional care.

Ultimately my goal is to obtain a referral through the public mental health system to attend a private psychiatric hospital which I would otherwise have no way of affording. And I believe I am an ideal candidate. I have had ongoing mental health struggles since the age of about ten or eleven. Since then I have been in and out of public psych wards and attempted suicide twice. I believe a private psychiatric hospital with intensive daily therapy is my best and only shot at obtaining a meaningful quality of life. But obtaining a referral is exceedingly difficult.

And that is where I shall end this entry. Between gym, electrolysis and the trans support group I am filling my life with meaningful pursuits of happiness, but I require something far more drastic to improve my mental health. Unfortunately we live in a world that chooses not to listen to suicidal ideation until it is too late. And then the mourning comes, an outcry of people exclaiming “What were the signs? What could we have done?”, but our drastically underfunded mental health services remain barren and individuals like myself bear the brunt of lack of care.

Mother Gwendoline

[lizzieanderummel]

this is some piece i wrote when me and pam were doing a revamp and i was super obsessed with birdman so i wanted to use the gifs of emma and ed norton so i wrote in parker

"Elizabeth, it’s nice to finally meet you!” Dr. James Mareson says to her softly. He’s in his mid-30′s, a yuppie looking guy. “It’s nice to meet you too.” She stands, following him into his office. He motions for her to sit on the couch, but she knows the drill by now. He takes a seat across from her, and smiles. “So what brought on our meeting today?” “Well, my boyfriend, Parker, is concerned about my.." She hesitates, "issues.. when it comes to handling my anger.” “And you’ve been to anger management classes before?” He asks, writing in his notepad. “Yes, he sent me to a group thing a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t comfortable with other people being there.” Liz sighs. “It made me angrier.” “He sent you?”

“Yeah.” He writes something down. “And before that?”

“Well,” Liz starts, crossing her legs. “I’ve taken a few therapy sessions here and there.” “And Parker, tell me more about him. How long have you two been seeing each other? What does he do?” “Didn’t you talk to him?” She laughs, remembering Parker coming home and telling her she has an appointment. “I did, but I want to hear from you.” He points his pen at her. “Um- well, we’ve been dating for almost four months." "And?"

"He's a professional actor, he's funny, but not like intentionally, like where he's trying too hard.. He's kind of an asshole, but not in a mean way, he's arrogant, but he's an actor.." "What else?"

"He has two daughters, and he's great with them. He's not what you expect when you first meet him.. I’m completely crazy for him.” She smiles.

“And you’re moving in with him?” “Yes.” She says, pulled from her thoughts. “And that’s what brought on him wanting you to see me?” “Well, he and his ex wife have two kids, and if I’m moving in I’ll be around a lot, and they’ll be around a lot, and he’s concerned that I won’t have the patience to.. be with them.” “Okay, so you’ve been dating for four months, you’re moving in together, and he has two kids?” The doctor asks in an almost critical voice. “Yes?” Liz asks, angry, not appreciative of someone criticizing her life choices. “I’m not paying you to criticize me, I’m paying you to help me, so if there’s some concern with my lifestyle choices, I can go find another therapist-” “And that’s exactly why you’re here.” He smiles at her. “Is this mainly a concern for him, or for you?” “Him. I’m doing this for him, I think I’m fine.” “You think that you’re fine?” “Well better than I have been.” Liz corrects herself. “And you’re not concerned?” “I would never yell at his kids.” “No?” “No, they wouldn’t know better. Adults know better.” She shrugs. This among many other reasons is why she’d never yell at them.”

“So this is a problem that occurs often?” She nods. “Are there any people in particular that trigger anger?”

“I guess like my dad, previous relationships.”

“Your dad?”

“Well.. one of them..” She shrugs. “I think we’re too much alike.” ”Does it disrupt your relationship with him?”

“I don’t know.” She says honestly. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“How long?”

“I guess a few months.” She shrugs. 3 months, and 17 days is the truth, but she doesn’t want it to sound like she cares that much.

“Is this a new trigger for you, or has it been going on for a while?”

“It’s been going on since I was like 15.”

“Around the time your bulimia began?” James asks her, and she nods.

“Around then.”

“And I’m assuming it hurt your relationships with your friends, and siblings?”

“I would assume so.”

“Do you want to talk about them?” He sets the clipboard behind him, on his desk.

“Who would you like to hear about?”

“Whoever you want to start with.” She doesn’t begin speaking. “How about your friends?”

“I- I didn’t really have friends.” Liz’s mind quickly flashes to Aaron, but Aaron never was really just a friend.

“Boyfriends?” He asks.

“I guess it made that area harder.”

“Your anger made it harder?”

“Yeah, and there was the whole sneaking around because y’know..” Liz says, referring to her bulimia.

“But the unreasonable anger was the biggest problem?” He asks.

“I had a lot of problems at the time.”

“And you’d take them out on the people around you?”

“Basically.” She smiles a little bit. 

...

“I’ve been in contact with you doctor in Lima, and you were last diagnosed with Bipolar disorder, correct?” He says, as she takes a seat on the sofa. It’s been a week since her last session. “Yes.” “And that was when you were 19?” “Yep.” Liz nods, bitting her bottom lip. “And before that depression?” “Yep.” She nods again. “And before that Bipolar, then before that it was depression again, and then just bulimia before that one.” “Has anyone talked to you about the possibility of borderline personality disorder?” Dr. Mareson asks her. “Like hearing voices?” “No, that’s schizophrenia. Borderline personality disorder personality is very different. I believe what happened is what happens to a lot of people, you were misdiagnosed for bipolar.” He explains gently. “When you experience moods, especially anger and love, do they alternate weekly, or hourly?”

“What?” She asks, confused by everything.

James begins reading her, from a textbook, what it means to have borderline personality disorder. She fits almost every category. She listens to him explain how BDP and eating disorders go hand in hand together.

“So your changing my diagnosis?” She asks.

“Yes.” He nods.

“What do I do?” Liz says, unsure about her medication.

“Well, I’m going to find someone to refer you to for therapy-”

“Refer?” She interrupts. “You’re sending me to someone else?”

“I think we can find someone better to see you-”

“I know what a referral means, and I know it means your going to run me around in circles until I give up.”

“That’s not what’s going to happen.” He says, moving to the seat across from her. “I don’t think I’m the best person to help you.”

“Why?” She feels her anger building up slowly.

“BDP is incredibly.. thorough. I want you to get the best treatment.”

“Way to bring the abandonment issues into this.” 

“What?” He asks, putting down his clipboard.

“I just said way to bring the abandonment thing into this.” She shrugs.

“Into what?” 

“Well I come in and you’re all like ‘you’re scared of people leaving you’ blah blah blah.” She mocks his voice. “Then your all like ‘well, I guess I’m abandoning you now-”

“Okay, Elizabeth, I get it.” James presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You can stay.”

...

“I mean, there was a lot of stuff. I don’t even know who’s fault it was. The angry part of my mind blames him, but that sane part knows it was my fault.”

“Now, looking back, how do you feel about Jeremy?” He asks her. Her views of Jeremy were constantly alternating between a strong desire to impress, and prove that she deserved him to hating him, and believing he was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

“I’m not sure, everything is so distorted. I think he knew I wasn’t 100% with him, y’know. I was always somewhere else. There was an ongoing fight to spite the other one more, or at least there was from me..” “So overall an unhealthy relationship.” “Oh, yes. Of course.” Liz pauses. “No, I don’t know.” “What do you mean by spite?”

“I would just do things to upset him, like hanging out with people that hated him.. I kissed someone else in front of him, so he’d see, things like that..”

“But it alternated, correct?”

“When I loved Jeremy, I really loved Jeremy, y’know? I wanted to be with him all the time, but when I hated him, I really hated him.. Or maybe I didn’t. Maybe I made up the hatred to avoid blaming myself..” Liz shakes her head, unsure of almost everything.

“Have you spoken to him recently? Talked to him about these things?” He asks, leaning forward.

“No, I haven’t heard from him since I was 18.” She runs her fingers through her hair, and looks around the room.

“Why don’t we, together, try and contact him? We could work through some of the distorted memories that are still hurting you.”

“I don’t know if they’re really that serious.” Liz says. 

“Why don’t we give it a try. You could say your apologies-”

“I don’t have any apologies.” She laughs. 

“You’ve told me on multiple occasions that you felt bad about the way you treated him.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want to-”

“You don’t want to admit that you were wrong, but I think it will make you feel better.”

“Look, I wouldn’t even know where to find him at, he disappeared after he graduated.”

“Have you checked Facebook?”

“I’m 21, of course I’ve checked Facebook.” She says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Either he doesn’t have one, or I’m blocked.. Probably blocked.”

“Blocked?”

“I’d block me. He probably wouldn’t want to hear anything I have to say anyways.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m fucking crazy.” Liz sits up from her position of lying on the couch, and crosses her legs.

“You’re not crazy, you are mentally ill. There is nothing wrong with having BDP.” James says softly. “Now, will you at least let me try and help you find him?”

... “I fucked up.” Liz says as she enters James’ office. It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon. James is a little startled by her abrupt entrance. He’s eating an apple.

“What?”

“I- I relapsed. I mean, I guess it’s not that bad, but it’s been a while so it freaked me out.”

“Okay, take a seat,” He puts down the apple, “And we’ll talk about it.” Liz sits down, and puts her hands on her knees. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She sits quickly. “I don’t know.”

“Well, when?”

“Yesterday.”

“What time?” He asks, standing, and moving from his desk, to the seat in front of her.

“1 o’clockish.” 

“Were you home alone?” James leans forward.

“Yeah.” Liz nods.

“I hear that from you a lot now, y’know?” He observes.

“Yeah, with the show happening, Parker’s not home, and the girls stay with Sheryl.” Liz says, having not fully realized how often she was alone until saying it out loud.

“Maybe you should try going back to school?” Liz shakes her head immediately.

“I don’t have time.”

“Liz.” James places his chin in his hands, sighs, then sits up straight again. “Where do you see the relationship going, really?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” She admits.

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life like this?” Liz stares at him, then shakes her head. “Then we need to figure out something for you to do.” Liz doesn’t say anything. He hands her a piece of paper and  marker. “Okay, write down everything you wanted as a kid. Circle the things you have.”

...

Liz disassociates a lot after the break up. It helps her get through the long, boring days, and it helps her get through how weird it is sleeping in the apartment. It’s around 7:00 am on a Thursday. It’s a grey morning, and traffic is beginning to form. She ‘s taking a walk through Central Park with all the joggers and bikers when her phone rings. “Hello?” She answers, and takes a seat on a nearby bench.

“Elizabeth? This James” He says, and pauses for an answer. When she doesn’t he continues. “Anyways, I was concerned because you missed your appointments last week.”

“Yeah, um- sorry for not calling.” She says sincerely. 

“It’s okay, we’ll talk about it later today.” She says nothing. “You are coming in later, right?”

“About that..” Liz starts. “I’m actually not going to be coming in anymore.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just- I’m moving back to Ohio, and I can’t really come in.”

“Your moving back to Ohio?” He asks, sounding confused.

“Yeah, um, Parker and I broke up.” She says, struggling for words.

“You should come in today, and we’ll talk about it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t, I have to get a plane ticket-”

“Is it a money thing?” She pulls the phone away from her face, and takes a deep breath.

“Thank you for your help.” She says.

“Do you have someone in Lima that will see you?” 

“I- I think I’ll be fine.” Liz says. She feels fine, she’s eating, she’s sleeping. “I’m doing well.”

“Elizabeth, please come in today, I’ll find someone to refer you to, don’t even worry about the money. Just come by, and we’ll get it figured out.”

“Thank you for your help.” She repeats, then hangs up, and puts the phone in her jacket pocket. It’s getting warmer, but it’s still a little chilly outside. She imagines that Parker’s left for the theatre already, but would rather wait just to be safe.

When she feels enough times has passed, she walks back to the apartment, and lets herself in. It’s silent, and a wave of relief rushes over her. She takes her jacket off, and hangs it on the hook by the door. She takes off her shoes, and takes out her phone. Liz sets an alarm for two hours later, and lets her hair down. She takes a seat on the sofa, then lies down. She closes her eyes, trying to get a little bit more sleep. She’s undoubtedly tired, but sleep won’t cooperate. 

She stands, stretching,  and walks down the hall to the bathroom. She takes her medication, and closes the medicine cabinet. On her way back to her place on the couch, she passes Parkers bedroom, and pauses to look at it. The beds unmade, as it has been since she stopped sleeping there. She leans on the door way. She’s not sad, but she’s not happy either. It’s sort of that strange sick feeling you get when you make a decision that you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about.

Liz can’t help herself, and she doesn’t even remember moving, but she gets in the bed, and just stares at the wall. She feels out of her own body, but it’s not a bad feeling. She lays on her side, and rubs her face into the pillow. She wakes up an hour and a half later to the sound of loud beeps coming from her phone. She turns the sound off, and allows herself to stay in the haze between asleep an awake. The haze where you can daydream and it feels real.

Eventually, though, she does have to get out of bed. She gets dressed, still feeling out of her own body. She leaves about 25 minutes before Parker usually leaves the theatre. She goes to the subway, and rides south. She gets off, and walks to a Starbucks, not too far from the NYU campus. She orders a black coffee, and hands over exact cash. “Do you go to NYU?” The barista asks, writing ‘Liz’ on the cup.

“Huh?” She asks, pulled from her thoughts.

“Do you go to NYU?” He repeats.

“Oh.” Liz says, and laughs a little. “No, no I don’t.”

She sits at a window seat, plugs her phone into the wall, and plays Sim City. When she looks up again, it’s getting dark. She looks at the time knowing that she has another 6 or 7 hours before she really can head back to the apartment, but she really doesn’t think the Starbucks employees appreciate her sitting there for so long.

Liz quickly gathers her purse, and exits. She walks a few blocks, further into the campus. She doesn’t miss school, but she misses the idea of what school could be like. She sits down on the sidewalk, and watches people pass by. She wishes she smoked so she’d at least have something to occupy herself with. She feels so much older than the people passing her by. She knows that she’s in the same age group as them, but they look and act so much younger. She checks the time again, and only an hour has passed. She decides to go to some bar she found on google. 

Maybe she drank a lot, but at least she wasn’t hurting anyone in the process. At least that’s how she feels. Liz sits at a booth alone with two empty shot glasses and half a glass of some locally brewed beer. She checks her phone for plane tickets, to see if any had gone on sale. She still makes a little money here and there with her piano students, but he still hasn’t gathered the $220-$270 a ticket will cost her. It’s hard to save when you have to find things to occupy roughly 11 hours of your day with. “You won’t make many friends like that.” Someone says.

“Huh?” She asks, barely looking up.

“On your phone, you won’t meet many people.”

“Oh.” Liz says, still not looking up.

“Yeah.” He says, but doesn’t leave.

“Look,” Liz sighs, turning off her phone screen. “I’m just trying to have a drink, not make friends.”

“Why don’t I get you a drink, and we can be friends? That way we both get what we want.” The stranger asks, sitting down across from her. She finally looks at him. He has blond hair, and blue eyes. He slightly reminds her of Aaron, but he has a tattoo on the bottom right side of his neck, and his nose is sharper. She looks at his tattoo, it’s a small apple.

He gets them a few shots, and momentarily she finally feels in her body again, but in between the actually shot taking, she feels like she’s sitting on the other side of the booth, watching her struggle to sound interesting in comparison to this guy, Alex, who says he’s a political science major at NYU. She watches her explain to him that she went to OSU, and she watches him move to her side of the booth to tell her a joke. She watches them take a shot at the same time, and she watches him press his face into her neck. 

The next morning, when she’s walking home in the same dress, she keeps checking her phone. She keeps thinking that Parker will text her and ask her if she’s okay, or why she didn’t come home. Instead, she gets into the apartment and finds a plane ticket for that afternoon.

Returning home from New York was possibly the hardest thing Liz had ever done. She forgot to tell her dads she was coming back, so when she gets to the airport she mindlessly gets into a cab, and gives him her old address. The ride home is quiet enough, and she feels very unreal.  She pays the cabby with what little bit of cash she has left, and scrambles to get her luggage out. She barely gets to the door, and has to readjust everything when she pulls out her keys to unlock it. She grabs the luggage again, and drags in into the hallway, then to the edge of the stairs. She looks straight ahead to see Kurt and Blaine sitting on the sofa in the family room starring at her, surprised to see someone who isn’t a  burglar. She ignores them calling her name as she drags everything upstairs to her room.

Things are sort of normal after that. It’s a lot like how high school felt. Her dads seem unsure of what to do now that she’s home. They have dinner as a family again, and no one asks her any questions. She gets her job back at Breadstix, and is offered a job as a part time manager, taking Scotty’s spot so he can go off to be a doctor or whatever. She’s good at work, and it’s always been the only place where she truly keeps her cool. Liz stops taking her medication about a week after she gets back. No one notices for a while.

Liz is good at her job, so that’s what she does. She works, and works, and works. Then she comes home and sleeps. Kurt and Blaine have a lot of friends they hangout with, so that often leaves her home alone. She doesn’t relapse or anything like that, she doesn’t even really drink, she just doesn’t do anything. She remembers Dr. Ellen Mareson telling her that a disinterest in life, and boredom, are common symptoms of BDP, but she hadn’t felt it since she moved to New York.

There are a lot of symptoms she didn’t fully recognize in herself until she got home. Social isolation, general discontent, identity disturbance, chronic feelings of boredom.. She’d felt all these things before she’d moved, but they’d gone away.  When being diagnosed she understood that those were feelings she’d had before, and even in New York, though she would deny it, she felt that way often too. The only symptom she’d never felt was the impulsivity. She’d never been able to spend a lot of money, and she’d never had a one night stand like Dr. Mareson told her most people do. Well, she hadn’t until she got back. Her dad’s, concerned with her lack of socializing, ask Adriane to take her out. Adrian, who is nothing like Liz, takes her to a club. Liz goes home with some mediocre looking guy, and doesn’t remember anything that happened. This happens two more times before she starts going to therapy again.

Kurt comes to her room one night while she’s painting her nails, and asks to steal some toilet paper. He goes to the bathroom, and returns with her almost full bottle of Geodon. “Liz, are you not taking you medication?” He asks, shaking it. She explains to him that she’s fine, that she doesn’t need it. “Liz, you’re not fine.” She argues with him back. “You’re going back to therapy.”

She see’s the doctor 7 times by herself before Kurt and Blaine demand to go with her. It’s after she applied for the fall semester, and they find out she’s looking for somewhere to live. She doesn’t know why, but they freak out.

“What brought this on?” The therapists, Dr. Avery, asks them after sitting in silence for a few minutes. She’s in her late 30′s, possibly early 40′s.

“We know Lizzie’s older, and that she’s lived on her own, but we just want what’s best for her.” Blaine explains.

“We’re worried about her, and we’re worried about our family-”

“You’re selfish.” She says under her breath, but Kurt ignores her.

“You see, liz was our first child, all our others came much older, and they’ve always felt very independent from us, more so now than ever. I feel very safe, despite the rough times we faced with them when they were younger, with them out on their own. Our other daughter lives in New York, one son lives I L.A, and the other is a tour manager, and I don’t worry about them. Liz, when she goes to back college this fall, will be living 30 minutes down the road, and that feels too far.”

“Do you think it could just be because she is your first child that you possibly just feel the home is empty without her?”

“No.” Blaine answers before Kurt can.  "Her living away is fine, the home is fine, we’re scared for her safety.“

“Why do you say that?”

“Because while things settled down with the other children, Liz went in the opposite direction. We.. We didn’t notice. Everything was fine, and then we’re getting a call that she’s been taken in an ambulance from her school, and is in the hospital.”

And that leads into a whole ordeal involving their guilt for her eating disorder. Liz wonders why she even had to come, it seems like Kurt and Blaine need to go to therapy. Somehow the conversation swerves into them talking about her living in New York.

“And then she just comes home, and doesn’t tell us. She shows up, won’t talk to us, we were terrified we had no idea why. We were terrified! We didn’t know if she had ran away, if she’d been abused, if she was pregnant, we just didn’t know.” Kurt says. Liz roles her eyes at the obnoxiousness of it all.

“But you did eventually find out?” The therapist asks, looking at her notes from previous sessions.

“Yes. Thankfully, it was just a breakup.”

“And have you, as a family, talked about why Lizzie chose to leave?”

“No.” Blaine shakes his head.

“It was very abrupt, correct?” She looks to Liz for an answer, and she nods.

“Had you been drinking?” Blaine asks cautiously

“It wasn’t tha-.” She starts, but is interrupted by Kurt.

“Elizabeth. Yes, or no? Had you been drinking?” “When?” She roles her eyes. “In the few months leading up to your breakup.” Kurt says. “I mean, I was 21, I drank.”

“Were you drinking more than usual?” Blaine pitches in a little. “No.” And it’s not a lie, she always drank that much. “Not more than usual for you, more than usual in comparison to-” “To what?” She interrupts, startling Kurt. “To a normal person?” “I didn’t say-” “But that’s what you meant right?” Liz asks, skeptically. “Was i drinking more that a normal person? Yes, yes I was. Probably because I have a mental disorder, that could possibly have been caused by something like early childhood trauma, something that caused PTSD something like, I don’t know- like neglect. And it probably didn’t help that something major, like possibly adoption, occurred.”

“No one blames you for having..” Blaine trails off. “Borderline personality disorder?” She asks.

“No one blames you.” He says, again.

“And what about with Aaron? And Jeremy?” Kurt continues. “Aaron had pretty much stopped drinking at that point.” “Jeremy?” He asks “Me and Jeremy both drank more than most adults do.” “And did you drink together?” The therapist asks, pulling the session back to the two people it should be focuses on: Liz and the therapist. “It felt like that was the only thing we did together.” She chuckles. “So, often?” “No, it was actually only a few times. We just never really did anything together.” Liz shrugs. The therapists senses that she doesn’t want to talk about Jeremy. “And did Parker not like you drinking?” “He didn’t tell me not to.” She says calmly. She does suppose he wasn’t very fond of it. “Did he drink?” “Occasionally.” “Less than you?” Liz just nods. “And when did you realize that the relationship wasn’t where you wanted it to be?”

Liz takes a moment to think. “The night he asked me to leave.” “Now, Elizabeth, you told me last week that you left Parker on your own, he didn’t make you.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” She asks, critically. “Now, Liz, did you want to leave or not?”

“Yes, maybe, I don’t know..”

“Liz, did he kick you out?” Kurt asks, and she shakes her head. “Did you come home right after the breakup?” She shakes her head again. “Where were you living- I swear to God if you didn’t have anywhere to stay-”

“I stayed there until I got a plane ticket.”

“Good.”

“And you two dislike him, I’m assuming.” She must have noticed Blaine and Kurt’s distaste at the subject.

“We’re not fond of him, no.” Kurt says.

“Why?” She asks.

“Because they dislike me being happy.”

“No.” Kurt snaps. “Because I dislike the way he treated our daughter.”

“And how was that?” Liz and the therapist ask, but in very different tones.

“He took away her ambition. We send her to New York to work, to learn. He has her quit her job to take care of his children.”

“That is not what happened.” Liz says, shocked. “I quit because for once in my life I didn’t have to work. Maybe, if you’d called you would have known.”

“You were not speaking?”

“We were.” Blaine answers. “Kurt and Lizzie weren’t.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t respect me.” Liz says.

“I do, but you don’t respect yourself.”

“What does that mean?” Liz gasps.

“Lizzie, honey, you have sex with this man, and you want to move in with him.” Kurt rants on. “You take care of his kids, you give up everything. He took advantage of you.”

“That’s not what happened.” She shakes her head violently.

…

“I really don’t think I need to go to Alcoholics Anonymous, Ellen.” Liz laughs, pulling her feet onto the sofa with her.

“Liz, all of our conversations come back something that happened when you were drinking, or something you said-”

“It’s the middle of the summer, there’s not a lot going on.”

“Even before the summer, even before you started coming in, your stories-”

“I really don’t need help. When my relationships start going downhill I always drink, this one just stuck around a little longer. 3 times the charm I guess.”

“Elizabeth.”

“And besides, people like me better when I drink.”

…

Liz does find herself at AA a few weeks later,

It takes a little time, and a lot of effort, but Liz and Kurt do have a good relationship eventually.

[howsit-going-toend]

Please, Don’t Ever Be Sorry

A Kwon Jiyong scenario in which he consoles the reader for the terrible actions and harsh treatment to them by their ex.

Genre: Fluff

Warning: light mention of emotional abuse

(A/N: I’ve been having a hard time writing the next part in the series for this week and I apologize for not having the next part up as soon as planned. I’ve had a lot on my mind and a lot thrown at me recently. This scenario should explain why that is. I know those of us who endure such things would have given the world to have someone like Jiyong there to help as he does for Y/N in this scenario. Please enjoy)

It’s impossible to pinpoint the exact moment when everything got as bad as it did. When did the nights of fun and love turn to nights of jealousy, deceit, and pain? If you were being honest with yourself, they took a turn a long time ago. Your relationship with your now ex-boyfriend turned tumultuous pretty soon after you’d gotten together.

But you got through it the only way you knew was possible: by forgetting about your needs entirely, and allowing him to pick you back up by the hand and continue to drag you through the mud with him. You didn’t even care during the bad nights that it would be him throwing you face-first back into that mud. The next day would always begin with him telling you how much he loved you and all would be well once he offered his hand to pull you up once again.

You tried to explain such foolishness of your past self to your neighbor, Jiyong, as he sat with you inside your apartment, eyes never leaving your face.

He had been your immediate neighbor for quite a while; from well before the start of your relationship with your ex and every single up and down that came along with it. Soon after you first moved in, you and Jiyong would enjoy stopping by each other’s apartment for tea or to enjoy the newest drama that you both couldn’t get enough of. You’d gotten into the habit of knocking on each other’s doors enthusiastically, with a full fork in hand to get the other person to try the latest recipe you’d attempted. You found that you both had a lot in common and soon learned quite a lot about each other; like how his recipes were never the best, you never failed to trip on the first step into his apartment, and together you eventually watched the Goblin series 3 times in its entirety.

Jiyong realized pretty soon that he had quite the crush on his neighbor and tried to go about it as aloof as possible. He tried his best to admire you from afar and told himself that if certain feelings felt mutual, then that was when he would attempt to pursue you. You two had an undeniable chemistry and it felt as though you were lost in your own world within the confines or your apartments. After months of late night conversations, he had found an excuse to knock on your door just so he could get every feeling off his chest. But all his motivation and confidence came to a screeching halt once your door opened.

He wasn’t prepared for meeting anyone but you at that front door, and he definitely wasn’t prepared for meeting him.

“Hey, man, what’s goin on? Can we help you?” the tall, muscular prick said while flashing his pearly whites.

We.

“Oh I was just wondering if Y/N was home, but I didn’t mean to bother anyone so I’ll just be on my…”

“Jiyong! Hey, wait!”

You appeared at the door, too flustered to notice the expression on Jiyong’s face. His discomfort was clear as he paused and couldn’t decide to keep his arms crossed or uncrossed, all while avoiding eye contact. But this unusual change to his typical charm was easily written off in your mind; Jiyong was a very polite and respectful person and you figured that without any proper introduction to your boyfriend, he just didn’t know how to respond. After you introduced them, Jiyong continued the excuse he had come up with to talk to you, and proceeded to leave your doorstep bidding you both a good day.

The way you smiled as you said the word “boyfriend” haunted Jiyong for days. But you were too enthralled with the budding romance to pay any attention to your heartbroken neighbor.

After that day, through the rest of your relationship, the only times you spoke to or saw Jiyong were in the hallway in passing, or the off chance you shared an elevator. He missed seeing you as often as before, but kept his distance and interactions short to minimize the pain. How stupid he felt for falling for the literal girl next door and thinking things would work out in his favor.

But Jiyong would eventually realize that the genuine smile he longed to see hadn’t graced your lips in a very long time.

The walls were very thin in this complex so he could hear absolutely everything when nights were bad. He heard the way that bastard would speak to you; how he would bring up your past that you told him about in confidence and throw it in your face to make you out to be a horrible person, while he drank himself away into a screaming monster. The things he would say through slurred speech were unspeakably hurtful and yet he said it all like it was nothing. Jiyong heard all of this, for nearly two years, and it completely tore him apart.

There were several occasions where he couldn’t sit by and listen any further and he knocked profusely on your door until you answered. But you would always only open the door enough to peek part of your tear stained face out to tell Jiyong that everything was fine and you were just “having a private moment.” He didn’t believe you for a second, but he knew it wasn’t his place to push further. He would analyze your face as much as he could in the days he caught a glimpse of you after explosive nights with your boyfriend; ensuring there wasn’t a scratch or scuff in sight. There would be no way he could hold himself back given any shred of proof that son of a bitch was putting his hands on you.

But right now, in this moment as you confided in him, Jiyong’s anger only centered on himself. He was furious with himself for not pushing that door open all those nights and punching that piece of shit in the mouth. He felt like he let you down and that hurt like nothing else.

After one last horrible explosion the night before, you had kicked your boyfriend out in the morning and remained a crumbling mess on the floor of your living room ever since. Jiyong had heard your sobs through the walls and after hesitantly knocking on the door, you answered and immediately wrapped your arms around him. You both sat on the couch as he held one of your hands tightly within both of his, asking what the hell happened. He listened to you explain the story of your relationship with your ex and heard every word leave your lips with further heartbreak.

Your former boyfriend was an alcoholic that had said the absolute worst things that anyone has ever said to you when he was drunk. But you thought that since it only happened when he was intoxicated, then things would be better if you helped him get sober. You thought you could fix him. But dozens upon dozens of relapses, sleepless nights, and “promise me this is the last time” proved you dead wrong. Jiyong’s eyes teared up listening to all that you went through and how you thought that it was your responsibility all along.

The second you started insulting yourself saying “maybe he’s right…” Jiyong reached out and gently lifted your chin to meet his gaze.

“You have been through so much, Y/N. And you didn’t deserve absolutely any of it. Don’t ever think for a second that anything that bastard has said is true. You are worth so much more than being treated that way and you deserve someone who wants to give you the universe. I am so sorry you had to go through this for so long, but you know what? I’m proud of you, Y/N. I’m proud of you for kicking him out of this apartment and out of your life. You are free now. You are free to live your life and do anything and everything it takes to ensure your own happiness. You deserve that more than anyone I know.”

You couldn’t fight any of the tears escaping your eyes as you settled your face into his hand and listened to him say every word with such compassion. For the first time in what felt like years, the tears coming out of your eyes were tears of joy. You couldn’t believe the words leaving Jiyong’s mouth and your heart warmed with each and every one of them. You were speechless.

“You don’t even have to say anything. You’ve fought for yourself for so long, now please let me do something for you. Please, stay at my place. Just for a little while, until you’re sure all of his things are gone and he won’t be coming back here. We don’t even have to talk if you need some time to yourself. It won’t be very good but I’ll even cook for you every day. You can sleep in my bed, while I make a spot for myself on the couch. I just want to make sure you’re safe. Please, do this for me.”

You managed to nod your head in between tears and pulled Jiyong in as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He held you as tight as he could while the two of you sat that way for a while. You sobbed and thanked him for everything he said and accepted his unbelievably kind offer.

Though he was heartbroken for you and everything you had to endure, Jiyong felt a warmth return to his heart as he helped you move some of your things to his apartment. He made the couch for himself with a blanket and pillow and made the bed for you, as he wanted, ensuring that you were nothing but comfortable. After you parted ways and headed towards his room to end the night, you stopped at the door and looked back at Jiyong on the couch.  

“Jiyong. I really am so sorry that you had to hear everything you’ve heard through these walls all this time. I know it was a lot and…”

“Please, don’t ever be sorry, Y/N.” Jiyong cut you off before you could continue to apologize for your ex’s actions. “None of it was your fault and you didn’t ask for it to happen. Now get yourself some sleep, ok? You deserve it.”

After he reassured you that he would be right outside the door if you needed anything from him, you smiled and thanked him before closing the bedroom door for the night. As Jiyong lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, all he could do was think of you and everything you’d said to him. Seeing you smile genuinely again meant the absolute world to him.

Maybe Jiyong cared for you more than either of you knew. Hell, maybe he loved you. Maybe you loved him too. But whatever was to happen between the two of you, Jiyong decided that night to put all his dreams of you together to the side for a while. All he cared about was your happiness and doing everything and anything he could to help you achieve it, whether it included him in the end or not. You really did deserve the universe and he wanted to give it to you.

[artificialqueens]

You don't own me (Trixya) Prologue - thevortex

Prologue

AN: because I have appalling concentration, and am very flitty in nature, I’m thinking about a new series. This one won’t be updated as much, until I finish the others. I had an idea and needed to get it down. Hope you like it, may carry it on, may not. Not 100% decided yet x

I had snapped. It was a long time coming, but I hadn’t had a blip that bad in such a long time. I hadn’t relapsed, thank goodness, but God I was close.

Who am I? Most people see my persona, Katya. A blonde, slender and somewhat fousty woman, with red lips and a brilliant smile. Yes, she is a bit of a whore, but she cannot help herself. But at her core, of course, is me, Brian McCook. Your favourite ex-meth head and gender-bending extraordinaire. The truth is, as I’m sure you’ve all figured out, I use Katya to channel aspects of myself and my personal past in order to create peace with it. I will admit too, I recently have been starting to think that Katya is getting bad for my mental health. The lines between Katya and Brian were growing far too thin. After being on the road for so long, and never allowing myself enough time to break between tours, I could no longer focus. Unintoxicated blurred vision whenever I was on stage. Twinkling lights had turned to bubbles through the film of tears that had accumulated; never let them fall. My occasional Russian accent turned into an everyday occurrence. I stopped tucking, or I’d forget to untuck. I never wore heels, nails, I hardly did my makeup. I hardly took it off either. I don’t know what had happened, but Katya and I were becoming one and the same, and that just couldn’t happen.

I ran away. I hid. From everyone. From Alaska, from Trixie, Jesus I hid from my Mom. I cancelled a month or two’s worth of touring just so I could stay at home. I got home delivery so I didn’t have to go out. My once immaculate house in sunny Los Angeles soon turned to the state that I was so used to living in Boston. I wouldn’t even have trade come over. The only way I could get off was to gay porn on Tumblr and it would usually end with cum all over myself and then I’d cry. Who even was I? Was I Katya? Was I Brian? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I had used Katya to channel parts of myself that I didn’t like, and just stick lashes on it. People liked it. So it doesn’t surprise me that Katya started to get darker weeks before the ultimate break.

Trade would walk out of my hotel room not knowing what hit them (literally). I could feel my whole body being taken over by what could only be explained as a dark, alluring force. It would tug at my throat, making me growl. My jaw would be so taught all I’d want to do is bite. My nails were kept sharp so I could create beautiful welts on my partner’s back. I loved it when it painted their skin in deep red. Sticky, and salty. But not the kind I was used to. I was thirsty for it. I craved the yelps and the cries. Begging me to never fucking stop as I drove hard into them, bruising everywhere I touched. Of course I craved the aftercare, wanting to look after them and nurse them back to health, so to speak. But they never felt the same. Too “boyfriend”-ey for them. Crossed the line. So I’d watch them walk away, their backs painted with the nebulas I had created in a feat for my own pleasure.

Back to the breakdown. I had shut myself away for God knows how long. When you never check your phone, and don’t talk to anyone, losing track of the time is harder than you’d think. So when Brian literally broke the door down, I couldn’t tell you what day it was. It was raining. That’s all I knew. At the time I was on the sofa, huge bags under my eyes, with eyeliner smudged across them from my random bouts of crying. Brian was ready to shout at me. I remember the fire in his eyes as his mouth opened ready to scream until the fire met my ice, and they calmed. He rushed to my side, avoiding the clutter that I hadn’t been bothered to clear. He reached up to cup my cheek, thumbing the stubble and catching a tear that I had somehow let escape. “What happened?” He asked me, his voice tremoring, his eyes searching mine for an answer. Then the floodgates opened.

I told him how lonely I was. How cold the nights were. How I couldn’t even tell who I was anymore. How before my breakdown, Katya emanated everything I hated about myself. From the whoring around, to the sadism. When he found out I hadn’t relapsed he couldn’t stop himself from pulling me into his strong arms and rock me, kissing at my hair. I craved his touch, so when he went to pull away, I clung on for dear life. “Don’t leave me.” I said, my voice trembling, tears spilling freely now. It has never been a secret that I have always been head over heels for Brian. He knew that. His *boyfriend* knew that. Which of course made this whole situation very difficult. “You know I’d never leave you.” A bitter chuckle left my mouth. “No, Bri. You don’t get to do that. I am with someone, that has no reflection on how I feel or how I don’t feel about you. I am here because I care. Isn’t that enough for you?” His words bit at my ears, and I just wanted to curl into a ball and slip ever so peacefully into the pits of hell where I belonged. “You can go. I know you probably had to argue with your mister to even get permission to come here. I know how he feels about me.” “I don’t need permission to see someone I love.” “Exactly my point. He doesn’t like me because he knows our history. I mean fair point. I bet you still have that scar on your shoulder.” Brian giggled and hid his face in my neck, where he was still holding me. I laughed too, reminiscing the fun we’d have on tour, to the ignorance of everyone else. The time we spent together was bliss. He was the first person I’d gotten a little feisty with since my teenage years. He seemed to like it, being my bitch that is. I’d have him quivering with one look, one whisper, one brush of my hand. He’d let me take him for dinner, and wash his hair, kiss him goodnight. We would live in domestic bliss, pretending we had something that could never be. I missed that.

[pitz182]

The Ugly Side of Dating in 12-Step Programs

Recently I was in a relationship with a guy I met in the program. We’d been together about four months, on again-off again. Really twice on, twice off.The first breakup wasn't pretty — we'd had an argument one evening and when we parted he wasn't happy. I'd say he was disappointed, but it was more than that. But after years of working my AA program, my "people pleaser" was quick to reassure him we were "good." In fact, while the argument wasn't really that bad and could have even been food for growth, his anger had frightened me. I'm eleven years sober, he had four years. I thought the recipe was for love, not disaster.The truth is: I'd been on the fence about him since we met.On our first date, he told me that he'd threatened to kill someone during a relapse. This left me feeling unsettled, but when I told my friends and therapist, I learned it was apparently really, really bad. I thought well, it was a relapse, not the type of thing he would do sober. I remembered him also telling me of a breakup that had happened when he was still using. Maybe all of his negative behavior was when he was using. I'd been through this before with sober men, and it was altogether confusing. An ex had gotten physical with a few women before I knew him, and I assumed it was while he was drinking. I learned at the end of our relationship that it was actually during a dry period. I sound so judgmental. I guess we all have to be, to some extent, while we're choosing who and who not to date. But apparently I'm not judgmental enough. I ended up dating the man who'd threatened someone's life, and now here we were, post-fight, all my protective feelings swirling around inside me. I hate it when people say they were a hot mess, because it implies that they are or were hot, which is a little too narcissistic for my taste, so let's just say I was a mess. (Not that I'm completely free of narcissism, but I choose to believe in the good in myself and focus on my character defects one at a time, rather than bundling them together.) I'd like to say I was fine, but really I wasn't fine. I was going to act like I was, though, to maintain the status quo. In other words, I'd said everything was okay, so I'd act like it was. Acting as if is a skill I learned fairly early in sobriety, and it had served me well.The morning after the fight I awoke to a long Facebook messenger message, really a few long messages from him, clustered together. This was the guy I was dating exclusively, and sleeping with, and basically in a "sober" relationship with. His messages were angry and spiteful. I’d thought all was okay enough to at least be civil to one another, but no such luck. And I felt sick about it. I can't remember if we spoke after the messages, but I don't think we did. I was livid and hurt, an ugly combination of emotions. I broke up with him. Over messenger. The way we loved, we died.The ResurrectionUntil he started love-bombing me. I call it "The Resurrection." It started with things he was going to give me, restaurants he wanted to take me to. He gifted me with a very personal family heirloom... and on and on. After about a month, I caved. Our second-round first date was at a park near my home. When this guy was on, he was on. We ended up kissing at my place, just kissing, and I was falling in love like I never had with him before. When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that's what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn't special or not special. I was typical. The love affair lasted about two days, and then the old him reappeared: not listening well, an underlying frustration, a continuation of great and comforting sex (that's where the connection stemmed from). All in all, except for the sex, nothing very exciting. Except I'm leaving out my behavior in the whole episode. Knowing I didn't feel as strongly about him as he did about me, I should have ended it the first time around.Then the second time, about a month in, we went to a couple of galleries and walked around on a Friday night when everyone in New York City, like us, was mulling around for free. I wasn't in a very good mood; my insecurity and self-hatred were getting the best of me. We had an argument — again, not so bad — but he got too angry for the situation.I woke up the next morning, upset and out of sorts, and called my sponsor, as I had a few times during our courtship. I asked her if I should keep my date with him that night. For the third time, she suggested I take a break from seeing him, but I didn't listen. Suggestions are just that, I told myself, and at 11 years sober, who was I to have to listen to my sponsor.I went over to his place around six that evening. We took a taxi to a restaurant we liked, and the whole ride there was awkward, with short bursts of forced conversation. It got worse at the restaurant and culminated in me telling him I didn't have the same feelings for him that he had for me. Read: My Part. I shouldn't have gone in the first place, should have broken up with him the night before (as I didn't hesitate to mention during what I now realize was a fight from the minute I set foot in his apartment).But then his anger moved in, like a dark cloud."I'm breaking up with you, bitch," he said and slammed his hand on the table. He started to walk out, which I feared would leave me stranded, far from home, with no means of getting back to my warm apartment and my sweet cat. At times of high stress, I, like so many others, go to the worst place, a place of abandonment and rejection. And as much as he really might have been rejecting me, I knew in my heart I had left the relationship months ago.I ended up begging him to let me ride home with him — that feeling of being stranded, scared, and alone that reminds me of all the reasons I drank and drugged — and we ended up sharing a taxi back to his apartment so I could take the subway the rest of the way home. During the 45-minute ride he alternated between yelling at me and saying he wasn't going to be mean to me any longer, an agreement he broke countless times during the drive. He spewed hate at me while I mainly stayed silent and looked out the window. And then he said the most danger-filled and threatening thing anyone's ever said to me: "if you think this is bad, try pouring alcohol and coke on it."The moral? I should have left sort-of-well-enough-alone. After I knew who he was, I never should have gone back and dated him the second time. Or, if I am honest with myself, the first. I'm glad I got out before something really awful happened, though I remain worried that he might stalk me. I don't know if that's his style, but he did tell me that I had reason to be terrified of him. He said there are only a few people in the city who he hates, and they are scared of him.Learning to Trust AgainI'm dating again and it's hard. I've had difficult breakups, in and out of sobriety, but this has to be the worst. It's an all-time low; the one that leaves you with the most vile taste in your mouth. I don't even know if I want to publish this, for fear he might read it, for fear you might. I'm going to go with HP on this one — pray like there's no tomorrow, pray to be of service, to learn what HP has brought me in offering me this experience which I have embraced and then, finally, un-embraced, and to affirm that whatever happens, I'll be taken care of.

[emlydunstan]

The Ugly Side of Dating in 12-Step Programs

Recently I was in a relationship with a guy I met in the program. We’d been together about four months, on again-off again. Really twice on, twice off.The first breakup wasn't pretty — we'd had an argument one evening and when we parted he wasn't happy. I'd say he was disappointed, but it was more than that. But after years of working my AA program, my "people pleaser" was quick to reassure him we were "good." In fact, while the argument wasn't really that bad and could have even been food for growth, his anger had frightened me. I'm eleven years sober, he had four years. I thought the recipe was for love, not disaster.The truth is: I'd been on the fence about him since we met.On our first date, he told me that he'd threatened to kill someone during a relapse. This left me feeling unsettled, but when I told my friends and therapist, I learned it was apparently really, really bad. I thought well, it was a relapse, not the type of thing he would do sober. I remembered him also telling me of a breakup that had happened when he was still using. Maybe all of his negative behavior was when he was using. I'd been through this before with sober men, and it was altogether confusing. An ex had gotten physical with a few women before I knew him, and I assumed it was while he was drinking. I learned at the end of our relationship that it was actually during a dry period. I sound so judgmental. I guess we all have to be, to some extent, while we're choosing who and who not to date. But apparently I'm not judgmental enough. I ended up dating the man who'd threatened someone's life, and now here we were, post-fight, all my protective feelings swirling around inside me. I hate it when people say they were a hot mess, because it implies that they are or were hot, which is a little too narcissistic for my taste, so let's just say I was a mess. (Not that I'm completely free of narcissism, but I choose to believe in the good in myself and focus on my character defects one at a time, rather than bundling them together.) I'd like to say I was fine, but really I wasn't fine. I was going to act like I was, though, to maintain the status quo. In other words, I'd said everything was okay, so I'd act like it was. Acting as if is a skill I learned fairly early in sobriety, and it had served me well.The morning after the fight I awoke to a long Facebook messenger message, really a few long messages from him, clustered together. This was the guy I was dating exclusively, and sleeping with, and basically in a "sober" relationship with. His messages were angry and spiteful. I’d thought all was okay enough to at least be civil to one another, but no such luck. And I felt sick about it. I can't remember if we spoke after the messages, but I don't think we did. I was livid and hurt, an ugly combination of emotions. I broke up with him. Over messenger. The way we loved, we died.The ResurrectionUntil he started love-bombing me. I call it "The Resurrection." It started with things he was going to give me, restaurants he wanted to take me to. He gifted me with a very personal family heirloom... and on and on. After about a month, I caved. Our second-round first date was at a park near my home. When this guy was on, he was on. We ended up kissing at my place, just kissing, and I was falling in love like I never had with him before. When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that's what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn't special or not special. I was typical. The love affair lasted about two days, and then the old him reappeared: not listening well, an underlying frustration, a continuation of great and comforting sex (that's where the connection stemmed from). All in all, except for the sex, nothing very exciting. Except I'm leaving out my behavior in the whole episode. Knowing I didn't feel as strongly about him as he did about me, I should have ended it the first time around.Then the second time, about a month in, we went to a couple of galleries and walked around on a Friday night when everyone in New York City, like us, was mulling around for free. I wasn't in a very good mood; my insecurity and self-hatred were getting the best of me. We had an argument — again, not so bad — but he got too angry for the situation.I woke up the next morning, upset and out of sorts, and called my sponsor, as I had a few times during our courtship. I asked her if I should keep my date with him that night. For the third time, she suggested I take a break from seeing him, but I didn't listen. Suggestions are just that, I told myself, and at 11 years sober, who was I to have to listen to my sponsor.I went over to his place around six that evening. We took a taxi to a restaurant we liked, and the whole ride there was awkward, with short bursts of forced conversation. It got worse at the restaurant and culminated in me telling him I didn't have the same feelings for him that he had for me. Read: My Part. I shouldn't have gone in the first place, should have broken up with him the night before (as I didn't hesitate to mention during what I now realize was a fight from the minute I set foot in his apartment).But then his anger moved in, like a dark cloud."I'm breaking up with you, bitch," he said and slammed his hand on the table. He started to walk out, which I feared would leave me stranded, far from home, with no means of getting back to my warm apartment and my sweet cat. At times of high stress, I, like so many others, go to the worst place, a place of abandonment and rejection. And as much as he really might have been rejecting me, I knew in my heart I had left the relationship months ago.I ended up begging him to let me ride home with him — that feeling of being stranded, scared, and alone that reminds me of all the reasons I drank and drugged — and we ended up sharing a taxi back to his apartment so I could take the subway the rest of the way home. During the 45-minute ride he alternated between yelling at me and saying he wasn't going to be mean to me any longer, an agreement he broke countless times during the drive. He spewed hate at me while I mainly stayed silent and looked out the window. And then he said the most danger-filled and threatening thing anyone's ever said to me: "if you think this is bad, try pouring alcohol and coke on it."The moral? I should have left sort-of-well-enough-alone. After I knew who he was, I never should have gone back and dated him the second time. Or, if I am honest with myself, the first. I'm glad I got out before something really awful happened, though I remain worried that he might stalk me. I don't know if that's his style, but he did tell me that I had reason to be terrified of him. He said there are only a few people in the city who he hates, and they are scared of him.Learning to Trust AgainI'm dating again and it's hard. I've had difficult breakups, in and out of sobriety, but this has to be the worst. It's an all-time low; the one that leaves you with the most vile taste in your mouth. I don't even know if I want to publish this, for fear he might read it, for fear you might. I'm going to go with HP on this one — pray like there's no tomorrow, pray to be of service, to learn what HP has brought me in offering me this experience which I have embraced and then, finally, un-embraced, and to affirm that whatever happens, I'll be taken care of.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://www.thefix.com/ugly-side-dating-12-step-programs

[alexdmorgan30]

The Ugly Side of Dating in 12-Step Programs

Recently I was in a relationship with a guy I met in the program. We’d been together about four months, on again-off again. Really twice on, twice off.The first breakup wasn't pretty — we'd had an argument one evening and when we parted he wasn't happy. I'd say he was disappointed, but it was more than that. But after years of working my AA program, my "people pleaser" was quick to reassure him we were "good." In fact, while the argument wasn't really that bad and could have even been food for growth, his anger had frightened me. I'm eleven years sober, he had four years. I thought the recipe was for love, not disaster.The truth is: I'd been on the fence about him since we met.On our first date, he told me that he'd threatened to kill someone during a relapse. This left me feeling unsettled, but when I told my friends and therapist, I learned it was apparently really, really bad. I thought well, it was a relapse, not the type of thing he would do sober. I remembered him also telling me of a breakup that had happened when he was still using. Maybe all of his negative behavior was when he was using. I'd been through this before with sober men, and it was altogether confusing. An ex had gotten physical with a few women before I knew him, and I assumed it was while he was drinking. I learned at the end of our relationship that it was actually during a dry period. I sound so judgmental. I guess we all have to be, to some extent, while we're choosing who and who not to date. But apparently I'm not judgmental enough. I ended up dating the man who'd threatened someone's life, and now here we were, post-fight, all my protective feelings swirling around inside me. I hate it when people say they were a hot mess, because it implies that they are or were hot, which is a little too narcissistic for my taste, so let's just say I was a mess. (Not that I'm completely free of narcissism, but I choose to believe in the good in myself and focus on my character defects one at a time, rather than bundling them together.) I'd like to say I was fine, but really I wasn't fine. I was going to act like I was, though, to maintain the status quo. In other words, I'd said everything was okay, so I'd act like it was. Acting as if is a skill I learned fairly early in sobriety, and it had served me well.The morning after the fight I awoke to a long Facebook messenger message, really a few long messages from him, clustered together. This was the guy I was dating exclusively, and sleeping with, and basically in a "sober" relationship with. His messages were angry and spiteful. I’d thought all was okay enough to at least be civil to one another, but no such luck. And I felt sick about it. I can't remember if we spoke after the messages, but I don't think we did. I was livid and hurt, an ugly combination of emotions. I broke up with him. Over messenger. The way we loved, we died.The ResurrectionUntil he started love-bombing me. I call it "The Resurrection." It started with things he was going to give me, restaurants he wanted to take me to. He gifted me with a very personal family heirloom... and on and on. After about a month, I caved. Our second-round first date was at a park near my home. When this guy was on, he was on. We ended up kissing at my place, just kissing, and I was falling in love like I never had with him before. When someone acts perfectly, their best selves, when that's what they present to us, we often fall for it. I wasn't special or not special. I was typical. The love affair lasted about two days, and then the old him reappeared: not listening well, an underlying frustration, a continuation of great and comforting sex (that's where the connection stemmed from). All in all, except for the sex, nothing very exciting. Except I'm leaving out my behavior in the whole episode. Knowing I didn't feel as strongly about him as he did about me, I should have ended it the first time around.Then the second time, about a month in, we went to a couple of galleries and walked around on a Friday night when everyone in New York City, like us, was mulling around for free. I wasn't in a very good mood; my insecurity and self-hatred were getting the best of me. We had an argument — again, not so bad — but he got too angry for the situation.I woke up the next morning, upset and out of sorts, and called my sponsor, as I had a few times during our courtship. I asked her if I should keep my date with him that night. For the third time, she suggested I take a break from seeing him, but I didn't listen. Suggestions are just that, I told myself, and at 11 years sober, who was I to have to listen to my sponsor.I went over to his place around six that evening. We took a taxi to a restaurant we liked, and the whole ride there was awkward, with short bursts of forced conversation. It got worse at the restaurant and culminated in me telling him I didn't have the same feelings for him that he had for me. Read: My Part. I shouldn't have gone in the first place, should have broken up with him the night before (as I didn't hesitate to mention during what I now realize was a fight from the minute I set foot in his apartment).But then his anger moved in, like a dark cloud."I'm breaking up with you, bitch," he said and slammed his hand on the table. He started to walk out, which I feared would leave me stranded, far from home, with no means of getting back to my warm apartment and my sweet cat. At times of high stress, I, like so many others, go to the worst place, a place of abandonment and rejection. And as much as he really might have been rejecting me, I knew in my heart I had left the relationship months ago.I ended up begging him to let me ride home with him — that feeling of being stranded, scared, and alone that reminds me of all the reasons I drank and drugged — and we ended up sharing a taxi back to his apartment so I could take the subway the rest of the way home. During the 45-minute ride he alternated between yelling at me and saying he wasn't going to be mean to me any longer, an agreement he broke countless times during the drive. He spewed hate at me while I mainly stayed silent and looked out the window. And then he said the most danger-filled and threatening thing anyone's ever said to me: "if you think this is bad, try pouring alcohol and coke on it."The moral? I should have left sort-of-well-enough-alone. After I knew who he was, I never should have gone back and dated him the second time. Or, if I am honest with myself, the first. I'm glad I got out before something really awful happened, though I remain worried that he might stalk me. I don't know if that's his style, but he did tell me that I had reason to be terrified of him. He said there are only a few people in the city who he hates, and they are scared of him.Learning to Trust AgainI'm dating again and it's hard. I've had difficult breakups, in and out of sobriety, but this has to be the worst. It's an all-time low; the one that leaves you with the most vile taste in your mouth. I don't even know if I want to publish this, for fear he might read it, for fear you might. I'm going to go with HP on this one — pray like there's no tomorrow, pray to be of service, to learn what HP has brought me in offering me this experience which I have embraced and then, finally, un-embraced, and to affirm that whatever happens, I'll be taken care of.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 https://ift.tt/2F35DrN