#if you ever want to be triggered into an ocd episode just have breakfast with your mil dfgfds

[non-un-topo]

Worried I may be about to have an OCD flare-up. Send writing or drawing prompts to help distract me?

[kazosa]

Secrets - SoA: Chapter 15

Summary: Reader has lived in a life full of secrets. When her father dies unexpectedly and sends her on a trip all over the country, she finds out just how much like her father she really is. The end of her trip brings her to Charming, CA where she finally gets some big pieces of her family puzzle put back in place and form new relationships with the people there. Chapter 15: Lunch with Lyla, Sunday Funday with Chibs, fessing up about scars Warnings: language, talk of abuse/stalker Trigger Warning: Talk of domestic abuse and stalking. I tried to skirt the topic as much as possible but still get the point across. Please take that into consideration before continuing. A/N: If it wasn’t clear before, this takes place after the events of the final episode, SPOILERS! Italics are for Chibs and his inner thoughts. Bold is for the reader’s inner thoughts. Word Count: 1927 Master List

Tags: @telford-ortiz-teller  @sam-samcro  @tstieff  @yourcroweater  @kacilove26  @hiddlelove  @evilsorceress  @reallynigga21  @suz-123  @between-shades-of-winchester  @caitcrook  @i-was-made-of-nutella @charlottecl  @gunsnrosesislife  @yoonjigu  @mkindoll2016  @confidencerush  @jade770  @lost-in-the-stories

The rest of the week was like heaven for you. Things finally went at a blissfully normal pace for you and Chibs. You and he would have breakfast together before going to the shop. You would be in the office cleaning and going through the boxes, getting things in order, grateful to Chuckie and his OCD file keeping. There had only been a few boxes that were really messed up. Lunch breaks were, usually, with Filip, except for Friday when Lyla took you out.

There was a nice, little Chinese place that made a delicious chicken lo Mein. You liked Lyla, she seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders and understood the business side of filmmaking.

“How’s your books?” you asked. “Do you do them or do you send ‘em out?”

“I do them, but I’d love it if you’d come take a look, maybe show me some tricks?” she asked as she paid for both of you.

You’d been buttered up. Smirking, you said, “Save that receipt, that’s a business lunch and you can write that off.”

Yeah, you liked that clever girl. She brought you out to RedWoody Productions after you let Chibs know where you were going. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what RedWoody did, nevertheless, it was a bit of a culture shock to see all of the bare bodies as Lyla showed you around and introduced you to people. When she noticed your pink ears and cheeks, she was quicker about getting you to the office.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I see it all the time and forget it’s not normal for everyone,” she apologized.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I think it was the anal rain dance that really threw me for a loop.”

Lyla showed you how she’d set up a computer software program to do the production company’s book work. Lyla went back to work behind the camera while you went to work in her office. She had everything set up neat and tidy. When you were settled and started looking things over, you opened a Word document and started taking notes. Working through someone’s books was like working a big puzzle and you easily lost track of time.

It was almost closing time at the shop and (Y|N) hadn’t come back yet. He knew where she was, and when he tried to call, she didn’t answer. He called the production floor phone and was told Lyla was busy.

“Jaysus, is my ol’ lady there or not?” he demanded.

Twenty minutes later, he was striding into RedWoody looking for (Y|N). He stopped at the office door and watched her for a few moments. She was so many things, a thief, speed freak, biker, beauty queen, accountant, daughter, and most of all, she was his. She had a way with people that he admired, and he loved that she could make him laugh. She warmed his heart and his bed.

He looked at her sitting there with her hair being held up with pencils and he wondered again how in the hell she did that. She put on her glasses to look at the file folder in her lap, so engrossed in the work, she still didn’t see him. (Y|N) began typing a note when he spoke.

“Sexy as hell.”

She finally looked up and gave him a smile that made his cock twitch. Jesus, the sex… he couldn’t hardly keep his hands off her. She made him act like a horny teenager.

“Uh-oh, neglecting the shop? Who will watch the mice play while you’re out?” she teased, her eyes glinting, her smile mischievous.

“This cat left the shop when all the mice went home,” he said, stepping into the office.

He watched the realization wash over her as she checked the clock then leaned back in the chair and rub her hand over her face. She quickly printed a document and shut everything down. After gathering them, she stood in front of him and looked up at him with her beautiful (Y|E|C) eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she put her arms around his neck, “I lost track of time. It’s fun looking through stuff like this.���

It definitely was not fun for him. It may as well have all been in Greek for as much sense as it made. It did make him glad all over again that she’d walked into the office that night. He leaned down to kiss her.

“You can make it up to me later. I want to take you out for a ride,” he told her as he put his arm around her.

She surprised him by pinching his ass. “Deal,” she grinned up at him.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON You were lying in bed with Filip, neither one of you eager to do anything other than lie there together talking or making love. You’d never wanted anyone as much as Filip. He took the time to make sure your needs were met, and you he. A few moments prior, you’d rolled off of him and to his side, your legs shaky and sore.

“Insatiable!” he breathed hard. “Jaysus, you’ll be the death of me.”

“It’s your fault. I can’t help if my old man is damn sexy. Tone down the sexy if you’re too tired,” you leaned back to grin at him. Rolling up onto your elbow, you half laid on his chest so you could hiss him again. After, you snuggled into the crook of his shoulder as his breathing evened out.

“I canna just’ turn it off,” he was matter-of-fact. “You’re either a sexy bastard or yer not.”

That made you giggle, “Quite right.”

It felt good to be with him and not just for the amazing sex. It was the way he held you, how he would brush the hair out of your face before kissing you, the way he looked at you when he thought you didn’t see him. It was all so…right.

Together you laid quietly for a few moments when the shiny skin on his belly caught your eye. It was so much like your own. You ran your fingers over the mostly smooth skin.

“Was this Jimmy’s doing, too?” you asked.

“Aye,” he said softly.

He pulled you closer, if that were possible.

“What about you, luv? Chasing that speed demon?”

You shook your head a little. It was time to tell him, he needed to know. It had happened a long time ago, but like the song said, the scars remind us…

“No. It was a guy named Brandon. But before I get to him, you need to know about Tom, first…” you began. You told him how you and Tom were friends since you were kids, bonding over your love of cars. As soon as you and Tom got your licenses, you were driving all the time and boosting cars. After your accident, you weren’t around to make sure Tom stayed out of jail and about 8 years later, he got caught for the last time and was sent to prison for grand theft auto on a 2-7-year stint.

You told Chibs you’d met Brandon while you were in the army and he had swept you off your feet. You didn’t notice his aggressive behavior right away, or were quick to dismiss it. It all finally came to a head when you could no longer make excuses and you kicked him out. You’d thought you’d done everything right, changed the locks, changed your phone number, kept your comings and goings random, you’d even gotten a restraining order. Eventually, after several months, you’d started to relax a little and that was when it had happened.

“The only thing that made him stop was letting him believe I was dead. I thought he left so I crawled for my phone that was in my purse and called 911. I was told later, when I was in the hospital, that when the cops caught him, it looked like he was going to try to dispose of me,” you tried to roll out of Filip’s tight hold on you. “Sweetheart,” you looked up at him, putting your hand on his cheek, “I’m okay.” He only loosened his hold a little, enough for you to lie on your back. Your fingers traced the scar on your belly, “I had a tear on my liver. They didn’t know where the bleed was at the time, so they cut me here to poke around inside.”

It hurt you to see the look on his face. He was so upset. The man who called you his personal furnace was suddenly very hot and angry.

“I’ll bloody kill the bastard!” he barked. “The wretched piece of shite doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air…”

“Filip,” you tried to calm him. He almost hopped out of the bed and pulled on his underwear, leaving you alone with the sheet pulled up around you. “He’s not worth it and he’s not going to be hurting anyone ever again.”

He stopped to stare at you, “What?!”

“The judge on Brandon’s case knows my mom, respects her. He threw the book at him and sent him to the same prison that Tom was in,” you told him. What a tangled web… “Brandon could never keep his mouth shut and word eventually made it to Tom. Tom had always tried to look out for me. Anyway, he and some of the guys he hung out with made sure Brandon couldn’t raise a hand to harm anyone ever again.”

Filip was pacing the floor in the bedroom and stopped near the door to look at you. He crossed the space to you and sat in front of you on the bed.

“There’s more, isn’t there, luv?” he encouraged, putting his big hands over yours.

You nodded, it seemed like there was always more, “When Tom got out a few years later, he and I started a relationship. Looking back, I knew it was never going to go anywhere. I thought at some point we’d just grow out of it, but he proposed and, for some reason, I said yes. I finally came to my senses about a week before the ceremony.” You sighed heavily, relieved and grateful you finally got it all out. “I didn’t know what love was then, but I knew what we had wasn’t it.”

Chibs was both mad that (Y|N) had gone through an abusive relationship and mad that he hadn’t been the one to take care of Brandon. He might have even been a little jealous of Tom for being the one to do it. What he was most jealous about was that he had known the lass most of her life and had loved her longer. If he ever met Tom, he wasn’t sure if he’d shake his hand or punch him in the face.

When he looked up at her, his heart broke a little. “None of it was your fault, lass. Ya didn’ deserve a bit of it, aye? No man should ever raise a hand to the woman he loves, not ever.”

“He never loved me, Filip,” her voice soft.

“I know, luv,” his spirit was heavy, “men like him are incapable.” He took her hand and vowed to himself that he would protect her with everything he had, even if she didn’t love him the same way he loved her.

“C’mon, (Y|N), let’s get cleaned up, go for a ride. I have a surprise for you,” he said taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom.

[desperatesouls-desperategoa-blog]

so, something’s been really getting on my nerves lately.

it shouldn’t be a huge deal, but it is, & i’m sick of it.

people i haven’t seen or heard from in almost four years seem to have an issue with me & with my physical appearance, so i have decided to write a letter. 

dear people i knew, currently know, and those i have yet to meet.

i may or may not know you yet, and that’s okay. if you fall under the ‘people i knew’ category, you were probably around when i was struggling massively with my perception of myself. if you fall under the category of people i currently know, you’ve probably seen me go through a lot of those struggles, because i carry them with me to this day. and for people who are yet to be a part of my life, i hope you read this once you know me and understand where i’m coming from.

i tend to be pretty open about the things i’ve struggled with, because i don’t see the point in being anything but upfront with the people in my life. if you are one of the few people i have been around at any point in my life & don’t know the extent of this, i’ll give you a brief overview: i suffer from manic episodic depression, along with social and general anxiety that can be crippling in nature. i was also, for about four years, anorexic, with a tendency towards bulimia on the rare occasions that i did eat. i have managed to recover from my eating disorders, but still struggle with body dysmorphia on a massive scale every single day of my life.

i’d like to point out that while i may currently be in the recovery stage of all, if not most, of these mental health conditions, there are still things i find triggering or difficult, and there will always be reminders and thoughts that i can’t completely escape from that make me question my self worth or my value in society. the main issue i’m dealing with at the moment is the constant reminder of my body dysmorphia, and that’s the main reason i’m writing this. 

when my depression first became apparent, i was dealing with a lot of shit. i was bullied on almost a daily basis, regarding my skin colour (yes, white people can also experience racism), my figure & my appearance in general, and was being belittled and slut shamed despite never coming anywhere near close to the dictionary definition of the word ‘slut’. that’s what first brought on my body dysmorphia. being told every day of your life for four and a half years by multiple people that you are a ‘fat, ugly whore’ leaves its mark on you. they’re just words, right? wrong. 

at that point in my life, at a UK size 12 (which at that point was not considered ‘plus size’, might i add), i would look in the mirror and see fat everywhere. i resorted to self harm in the attempt to ‘cut it off’. having also been diagnosed with tendencies that on a larger scale would have also meant i suffered with OCD, i could tell you on any given day exactly how many times a blade had hit my skin. on average, i don’t think there was a point for approximately six to eight months where i was cutting myself less than a hundred times a day. 

when i realised that literally cutting myself open wasn’t making me any skinnier, i started restricting my diet. i had an account at the school canteen that my mum gave me money for, and i would use it to buy food for my friends so that she wouldn’t find out that i wasn’t eating. i’d come home and say i didn’t want dinner, because i’d eaten a lot at school today. my sister was at school with me & was none the wiser; she’d ask me to spot her and buy her things not realising that none of the food she ever saw me with was actually mine. i felt guilty about all the lying for a long time, but i’d gotten so used to it that it stopped feeling like it mattered.

the weight finally started dropping off, and everyone but me could see it. i’d hear remarks from people on the odd occasion i asked for a bite of their food like ‘wow, you’re actually eating something for once!’ or, from those who still thought i was too big, ‘are you sure?’. whenever i heard the latter my heart broke a little more, and i’d retreat into a bathroom stall until the bell rang again. i’d look in the mirror and see the same fat slut, and looking back at pictures now i can’t for the life of me understand how i couldn’t see it. i was so ill that it got to a point where my mum almost tricked me into being hospitalised because she legitimately believed i was going to die, and i hated her for it for months after she finally admitted it to me. 

when my sister graduated, we moved to a new country, and i was so relieved to be able to start over. at that point i was in recovery and had started being able to stomach eating two meals a day again, even though they were small. to this day, i still can’t handle eating breakfast for the fear that i’ll be bloated for a full day. 

once we’d moved, i started putting the weight that i’d lost back on. i’ll point out that at this point, i’d gone from a UK size twelve to a UK size 6. because i had recovered, and because i needed a fresh start, i stopped calorie counting and i stopped worrying about exercising altogether. by the time i graduated from high school two years later, i was the largest i’d ever been, at a UK size 16/18 depending on where i bought my clothes. but i was happier. i was free of all the drama that had ensued at my last school, and it didn’t matter anymore that i wasn’t the skinniest out of all my friends. i hated how i looked, don’t get me wrong - body dysmorphia doesn’t just go away. but i was happier for a while. i still had issues with my depression and anxiety; i still hated myself; but i had friends who actually gave a shit about me and wanted to support me. 

before i got that fresh start; when i was still stuck in the middle of all the shit being thrown at me, i was terrified of what would happen when i finally left for uni. i was terrified that with no one there to make sure i was eating, that one day my parents would get a call in the middle of the night saying that someone had found me dead in my room due to malnourishment or a suicide attempt. but after we moved i realised, ‘i can do this. i can be responsible and make sure i feed myself and that i don’t go back to the dark place’. 

when i first got to uni, the thoughts came rushing back in that i wasn’t small enough, therefore i wasn’t good enough, therefore i didn’t deserve to be loved or respected. my best friend at this point was tiny and drop dead gorgeous, and any guy i ever had a chance with would drop me as soon as they saw her. needless to say, other things happened and we are no longer friends. but being friends with her brought those things back to the forefront of my mind, where i’d fought so hard to keep them away from for two years. i’d stand in front of the mirror thinking, ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’, ‘why aren’t you smaller?’ ‘how do you expect anyone to love you looking like that?’. but i persevered. i fought with myself every day and forced myself to make sure i ate. i hated myself for it, but i did it. and despite what i was eating, the weight started to fall off me again. you know that shit about the ‘freshman fifteen’ that everyone’s always talking about? it exists. but it exists as either a loss or a gain, and that’s the part that people forget about.

in late november (literally thanksgiving weekend for any americans reading this), two months after i left for uni, i had a random urge to go on my ask.fm for the first time in almost two years. i logged in, and saw a message from an anonymous source from the year before, informing me that someone i had considered my best friend for six and a half years at this point, had been bitching me out after i’d moved saying how fat i was and how disgusting i looked. bear in mind she’d been with me when i was crying in the bathroom every time i’d stayed over at her house and her mum had practically forcefed me a three course dinner and i’d run off to get rid of it. i was horrified. i sat there thinking, ‘have i really let myself get that bad? just by not thinking about it and ignoring the voices in my head telling me i’m too fat to care about?’. as you’ve probably gathered by now, we don’t speak anymore either. so as a random side-story moral: if someone can’t be fucked to be straight with you to your face, they are toxic and are not worth your time. you do not have to put up with their bullshit and you deserve to have better people in your life.

by the time i flew home after my first year away at uni, and after a year of not going anywhere near a scale, i weighed myself. and i’d lost 20 kilograms. not pounds, kilograms. and let’s be real, i was fucking over the moon about that shit. i hadn’t starved myself, or forced myself to throw up every time i ate. i’d lost weight the healthy way for the first time in my life, and i was so proud of myself for that. in terms of clothing sizes, i had gone from a UK 18 to a 14 just by eating twice a day and walking to and from uni every day. there were clothes in my closet in my old room that hadn’t fit me in years, and i could suddenly get into them again. i was fucking ecstatic. 

so, that’s the general (but not exactly brief) background on my struggles with food and my own perception of how i look. let’s flash forward to where i’m at now.

i’m about to finish my second year of university, and i’ve gone from a UK 14 down to a 10/12 depending on brand/store size discrepancies. i have not starved myself, or binge/purged, in almost three years now. i have not been near a scale since my first day home last summer. i didn’t need to lose any more weight, but i’m happy i did. because that’s what body dysmorphia does to you. it makes you feel like losing more is always better, and that an end goal is never quite enough weight lost. it’s a struggle - fighting those voices in my head when i drink too much and get a little bloated in a tight dress - but i’m here, and i’m healthy, and i’m alive. 

over the past two years, i’ve cut a lot of people out of my life that were around during the darkest four and a half years of it. i didn’t want the constant reminder of all of the people i was never good enough for. i did, however, keep one or two people around that have supported me through all of it. you know who you are, whether you ever read this or not, and i love you so much for always being such a solid support system. one of those people was an ex, but i don’t regret still having him in my life for a second. he is one of the best people i know and i wouldn’t trade him for anything. 

over the past few months, a few people we both used to know have contacted him and brought up my name - and not in a positive way. they have taken advantage of the fact that i no longer speak to them, and bitched me out to him. they have called me fat, ugly, and a few other things that aren’t worth mentioning. they are the reason i’m writing this letter now. my message to all those who were involved is as follows:

i have not thought about you, or your existence, since i left the school we attended together. you do not come to mind at any point other than the times when i hear you have been stupid enough to come to people i love and that love me back, to insult me and discuss my physical appearance. i hope that you are happy, because i wouldn’t wish my experiences on even my worst enemy, but i do not think of you. so for you to sit there and still bitch, almost four years later, about how i look and what i weigh, is completely ridiculous to me. i will not apologise if my weight offends you, because it is none of your business. i should not have ever had to feel like my weight defines me, and you made me feel that way over and over again. i should not have to prove myself to you through progress pictures, or through messages, or through fucking letters that you will never read. but because of you, i flinch a little bit every time someone brings up my weight. people saying that i look great and i’ve lost a lot of weight makes me physically uncomfortable, because half of me is so ecstatic that they’ve noticed, while the other half of me hates that that’s all people see of me. i will not thank you for the trauma or the pain that you have forced onto me, and i will not apologise for being fat, skinny, or any other shape. there is more to me than my exterior, and the fact that, after all this time, you can’t see past that, says more about you than it will ever say about me. i did not ask for your opinion, nor do i care about it. 

love, me.

ps. for anyone that struggles with any of the issues brought up throughout this letter, please do not hesitate to reach out if you need to talk. i am always here, and you are so much more than a number on a scale, or a voice in your head, or the scars on your skin. you can get through this, because you are stronger than any and everyone who has ever tried to tear you down. you matter, your voice matters, and what you stand for matters. don’t let anybody ever tell you different.