#in this space a couple of years ago. i’ve been mentally depressed and checked out since

[honeykyeom]

hey! please don’t do this!

[saint-magdalena]

Sat Aug 19 12:24

so i’ve been visiting my parents house for like a week or so and dear god i am so dreadfully bored. i yeah it’s been kinda fun catching up with all of the gossip but i guess is my depressed and low energy state for the past few years that there is literally nothing to do here. well unless you have friend or maybe like a social life. but back in the bigger city, i could just go for a walk outside and there would always be something to do—something to eat, something to watch, something interesting to gossip about later on. but anything interesting going on in this town might as well be in fucking space cause hell if i can reach it. the most interesting that i’ve seen al week is a construction guy’s asscrack outside the living room window. i should have left yesterday, but my mum won’t let me. i mean i kind of expected to stay a bit longer but i miss my boyfriend and lord, i am so fucking horny.

so since i’ve been gone, my boyfriend was stupid enough to volunteer to clean my place up, laundry and dirty dishes and everything. god i love that man. i didn’t even have to ask him for fuck’s sake, he just said that he would. i have no idea how i bagged him to be honest with you. i mean, i’m a mentally ill, lazy, spoiled, entitled bitch that hates men and for some fucking reason he fell in love with that person. i better not jinx it though, he’s not perfect either, but he’s pretty fucking good. might actually marry him, who knows.

so yeah, boring as shit over here on the other side of the country. i think i’ve watched more movies this week than i have in the entire year. to be fair, i’m not really much of a movie girl but i guess i am now. i watched two movies in a row today, that never fucking happens. one movie usually lasts me a good couple of days. mostly because i only watch movies when i eat with my boyfriend.

i finally got another month’s supply of antidepressants today thanks mum. i ran out of them a few days ago cause i spent the last of my money on a bus ticket and a couple of vapes. i didn’t really have any responsibilities lined up so it didn’t really hurt. yay.

on another note, i’m switching schools…again. it was kinda my fault for not checking my old school’s tuition before i dove in headfirst into enrollment. but holy shit it is expensive, like, i can’t afford fucking eggs expensive. and if i’m being honest it’s not even worth it. mostly you’re just paying for the clout. anyways, i found another school that’s pretty much exactly the same, and better, in some aspects for half the fucking price. less than half, actually. it’s a bit further away, but thank fuck for cheap public transport. i’m gonna have to wake up earlier than usual though, but if i schedule my classes late enough i should be fine. fuck 7 am classes.

okay one lesson that i’ve learned through the years is to absolutely never set up expectations. if you’re pretty and made up and a fucking smartass on the first day of school, you’re just gonna disappoint yourself with every passing day. so yeah, i’m definitely gonna lay low on the fucking theatrics this time. i’ll be a bit made up, but not hour-long type shit. i’m gonna give like sydney sweeney i-fucking-woke-up-like-this shit. effortless and cute as fuck. but like, not indimidating, i’ve made that mistake before. and i definitely will not participate in lectures, unless asked to of course. no one like a fucking smart ass. at least i don’t, not on first impression.

okay i’m gonna go to sleep now. wish me luck.

buhbye.

[blue-bird-kny]

Day 10: All I Want For Christmas

A 3am post? me? never. Well sometimes I let time pass me by, but what are we going to do. Enjoy this round of secret Santa and have a wonderful night~Amanda

Reblogs always appreciated~

Warning: None

( 1.2k+ words)

↳{In which Tanjiro was lucky enough to pull his crush as his secret Santa recipient, but ends up overthinking the whole ordeal}

“Gather round’ everyone! Come on let's get this started” you yelled grabbing the attention of all those around you. Together in one room stood all nine hashira’s and your four closest friends, a feat in itself working around all their complicated schedules, all waiting to reach into the bucket you held, the box they all excitedly (almost all of them anyway) placed there names in to be selected for this years Secret Santa game. You shook the box a couple times, mixing the papers into shaggy clusters, passing it around for each hand to reach in a grab one.

Everyone’s reaction was unpredictable and different, you could tell by the subtle distressed dips in some faces or grateful shake of others that this year's pool was sure to produce some great laughs. The last slip lay tucked away in a corner, reading “Muichiro”,  just your luck you received the one person you didn’t know as well as the others. “Happy shopping and please no gifts that can harm your recipients this year” you reminded, everyone's eyes falling on Shinobu who sat unabashedly grinning, the memory of poor Zenitsu, who she gifted a box filled with a concoction that exploded in his face when he opened it last year, still fresh in everyone's mind.  “Oh hush, I did give him a wonderful gift after so no harm done, right Zenitsu?” Shinobu looked over at the younger man who only shook his head in agreement- you weren’t convinced.

Of the entire bunch, not a single soul stressed the gift exchange more than the Kamado son. He had prayed that he’d receive you, his crush, as his person however when he pulled your name, his heart sunk because “What was a good enough gift?”.  Later that night, he lay in bed pondering all the things he could buy or make for you, something that you’d look at and feel his warmth, wordlessly accepting his confession and living that happily ever after he craved. “Maybe jewelry? Or a new haori?” he racked his brain for the perfect gift to no avail, nothing felt right. Tanjiro had a week to sort this whole ordeal he’d created in his own mind out, but little did he know that the perfect gift was right under his nose.

You, on the other hand, were in a similar situation as your close friend, however for a different reason. “Ugh what does he like?! I’ve never seen him do anything really, he sorta just is always around, floating like a ghost?” you complained, tearing off a few of your own hairs out. You weren’t sure who to ask exactly nor did you want to show up with an irrelevant, thoughtless present. In the midst of your simultaneous mental breakdowns, neither of you noticed each other's presence quickly approaching, until you collided into each other in an abrupt halt of thoughts. “I'm sorry” you both yelled, instantly checking to make sure the other didn’t happen to get hurt.

After assessing and confirming that you didn’t break the boys nose, an idea dawned on you, “Hey Tanjiro you spend lots of time with the hashira’s, what would Muichiro want for Christmas?” you asked innocently, hoping to get some idea of a decent gift, however you didn’t expect the man to take the simple question into an entire other level. “Why does she want to get him a gift? Is she getting him something special?” Tanjiro scrambled, not acknowledging the possibility that your question was related to the whole root of his own dilemma- the Secret Santa exchange.  

“Um well, he likes being outside and isn’t very active” was all he could respond, admittedly sounding more dejected than he had mere moments ago. Your mind filled with ideas miraculously, grateful for this lead “Thank you!” you yelled running off to purchase something. “Sure” Tanjiro answered to himself quietly as he watched your form recede in the distance. His depressed mode lasted only a second before he slapped himself back into reality, his literal palms leaving a dull tingling in his cheeks, “I have to find her the best gift, whatever it takes”

A week passed far faster than Tanjiro hoped, all 14 of you gathered in one room again, this time carrying packaged presents and wearing jovial smiles. As expected, some of the gifts exchanged were hilarious and the pairings could not have been more perfect had you planned it; Shinobu had pull Sanemi and the whole room erupted in a fit of laughter as he unwrapped the double sided octopus, one side pink with a smile and the other blue with a frown, the toy complete with a book on how to manage anger issues- the color of his face almost matched that of the pink octopus. Next, Uzui presented his gift to Obanai, a set of  designer face masks to replace his ‘stuffy bandages’, a gift you all knew he secretly appreciated. Another odd pairing was Rengoku and Nezuko, the older man gifting her with a new hair clip and an assortment of little goods because he felt the small things matched her perfectly. 

With every gift exchanged and chuckle shared, Tanjiro  grew worried as he knew his time would be coming soo. “Muichiro-san it's a gadget that sprays these scents into any open space you place it in, it's supposed to help you relax and sleep” you explained handing the diffuser to the shorter man and, to your content, he was fascinated with it. “We'll, it's just me, who pulled my name?” you asked, circling around only to be met only with shaking heads, “It's me” Tanjiro confessed, handing over a single small red box which you opened feverishly, awing at the earrings that lay inside. “Their beautiful” you muttered speechless, “well there is a couple more” Tanjiro admitted; alas you were gifted with boxes of hair pins, beauty products, chocolates, anything Tanjiro saw at the market that made him think of you he bought- which is difficult when you were all thought of.

“Jeez talk about making us look bad” Uzui remarked for the sidelines earning him a distressed gaze from Tanjiro, “Just teasing, lover boy” he assured. “Lover boy?” you didn’t have time to process the nickname for Shinobu ushered the night along, the festive party in full swing with foods and music and best of all sake. “Tanjiro, I sorta feel bad you got me so much” you said, pulling the boy to a quiet corner, “Well… I wanted to get you the perfect gifts so I went a little overboard” “ A little?” “Oh be quiet”  you two shared a laugh, your bodies falling closer together. “You know there was one thing I really wanted” you started nervously, the small shot of sake you took acting as liquid courage. Tanjiro clung to your next words until he froze, shocked as you finished, “You. All I wanted for christmas was you”.

It was as if the party around him settled to a dull background hum because you liked him….YOU liked HIM. He was over the moon at your confession, all that time spent looking for the perfect gift and you were interested in only him. In a flurry of excitement and full content, Tanjro reached over and placed a crooked kiss on your lips, stunning you. “I..ugh… sorry, got carried away” he scratched the back of his neck nervously after he pulled away, “Nope, I really liked it” you told him, gripping his collar to bring him in for another, more comfortable kiss.

Holiday Event Masterlist

[rosethornewrites]

I don’t know if I can fully express how tired I am lately.

To sum, I’m less and less enamored of my workplace. Academia is hegemonic in structure and basically the difference between castes and power sucks. In the last few years, a significant number of colleagues I loved have jumped ship for a variety of reasons. But the main reason has been discrimination and hostile work environment. To make matters more fun, one of the people who led to one such friend’s departure is now department chair.

On a personal level, I have no trust that the work that I do for the department or university is valued because I’m not the right academic caste. I got a clear indication of that last semester and have regretted all the extra work I have put in beyond my contractual obligations, sometimes at the cost of my physical and mental health, over the last going-on-9-years.

But here’s the sad thing: if I move on, it’s same shit, different institution. I’m disabled and queer, and the academy caters to people who are hostile toward both. Systemic oppression isn’t going away, even when multimarg faculty join the ranks, because guess who gets shat on every step of the way.

It has been 3-4 years since my fibromyalgia diagnosis. Two of those years allowed me to teach from home. Now, with a disability that is largely considered an autoimmune disease (guess what researchers don’t know much about because it primarily impacts afab folks?), I am no longer protected by a mask mandate on my campus. I’m in fact not allowed to mandate masks in my classrooms because fuck me, I guess. I’m just a cog that can be replaced (for free if UCLA is any example). So I self-identified to my students (which frankly should not be any of their business) and appealed to them to wear masks to protect me and others who may have autoimmune diseases. Half of them care if I die, I guess.

I’ve basically inherited all of my mom’s health problems. Fibromyalgia? Check. Bipolar? Not quite, but double depression with a side of generalized anxiety disorder and trauma is aces. And now it turns out that she’s been having mini-strokes, potentially for years. I probably have that in my future too.

She’s also stuck 15 hours away for another week and a half, and I’m taking care of her incredibly spoiled dogs, who have made it their personal goal to shit and piss on every available piece of floor space, and who cannot get on the guest bed by themselves and will howl until I wake up and put them on it. All. Night. Long.

So I’m not really getting good sleep. I managed to rig a system so that one of the dogs can get up on her own, but the chihuahua can’t.

Guess what flares with lack of sleep? Yep, all of it. I spend a couple hours a day soaking in an effort to alleviate the pain. While doing a full time job that doesn’t even value my life, let alone my contributions. While taking care of dogs that are not mine, who are actually traumatized at the separation from my mom because the last time someone left and didn’t come home it was Dad and he died. So I can’t even be too mad at them for the piss off potty mats, for the incessant whining and howling, for the general neediness. Because it’s been 6 years and thinking about Dad dying still makes me sad, so I can’t expect less from the dogs, especially given the chihuahua was his.

But overall, I’m rapidly approaching burnout, if I’m not there already. There are days my spoon deficit is so bad I wish I could just turn off existence for a little while. Like, can I get a medically induced coma as a treat?

Oh, and add to the fact that I had some fandom fucks threaten to dox me 2 years ago for daring to speak out about an abusive asswipe, and I have no idea if they still stalk my Tumblr or whatever.

Yeah, I’m tired. It’s not getting easier.

I really just want to rest.

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 5) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,327

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This ended up shorter than expected but posted sooner than expected. Since I’m needy, please let me know what you think via reblog, message, ask, etc.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

"That's it. You officially need a break," Alicia decided, pulling Wren's copy from Advanced Potion Making out from under her forearm. Wren made a noise of protest, reaching up to try to grab the book back from her dormmate, only for Alicia to hold it up out of reach.

"Alicia, I need that."

"Nope," Alicia answered back, popping the p. "You need to relax. You've spent the past two weeks with your nose in this book. Lee says you've already figured out the potion. At this point, you're just obsessing over answers you won't get until you make it."

Wren huffed, sitting up on her bed and glaring at Alicia. "I'm trying to keep the boys out of the hospital wing."

Angelina snorted from her bed, pulling Wren's attention to her. "That's going to involve several sticking charms and maybe a good Body-Bind Curse."

"The only adult they spend more time with than Filch is Madame Pomfrey," Alicia nodded with some finality. "Your potion's fine. You said you even had Cedric check it."

She had, and even he hadn't been able to spot any potential problem spots. Her face must have softened some because Alicia let out a triumphant Aha! which made Wren think she was spending a bit too much time with Nora. This was perhaps more dangerous than anything that could happen with the potion.

"See? You deserve a break."

"Get your mind off it," Angelina added.

"Easier said then done," Wren said, throwing herself back into her pillows. "Between this and classes, it's not like I'm brimming with opportunities to relax."

Alicia turned to Angelina giving her a very significant look. Angelina, for her part, returned the look with a very clear, stern, no. The two girls held each other's stares for a long moment as Wren looked between the two of them, her brow crinkling in confusion.

"For Wren?" Alicia's voice took on a slight pleading tone, and Angelina let out a long-suffering sigh, hanging her head.

"Fine."

The absolute glee on Alicia's face at Angelina's apparent defeat was almost laughable. In fact, it took just about all of Wren's self-control for Wren to keep herself from laughing.

"I'm missing something," Wren said, fighting to keep the corner of her mouth down.

Angelina looked up at Wren with an exhausted sort of resignation. "Apparently I'm having a birthday party on Friday." Alicia turned to Wren, widening her eyes with excitement. Wren smiled reaching out for her copy of Advanced Potion Making, and Alicia passed it over. "But nothing big!" she pointed an accusing finger at Alicia.

"How big can she make it in two days?" Wren asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angelina scowled. "You'd be surprised."

"I promise we'll keep it small and quiet."

"Small and quiet," Angelina repeated with a nod. "And if it's not--just remember I know a lot about you Alicia Spinnet. And I know there are certain things you might not want certain people to know about."

Interest piqued, Wren turned to face Alicia who had narrowed her eyes at Angelina. "You wouldn't."

"And you wouldn't throw me a huge birthday party, would you?" Angelina asked lightly, a bit of a smile turning up her lips as she began stacking her books on the bed.

"Well played, Johnson."

Angelina didn't respond, but there was a certain lightness to her movies as she slid from her bed, picking her books up before making her way to the door.

"Have fun with Katie. Don't forget to invite her!" Alicia called after her, and Angelina waived before exiting the dorm.

There was a beat of silence as both Alicia and Wren stared at the door. The moment stretched one breath, two, three…

"Fred and George are right, you are more devious than you look," Alicia said, spinning back around to face Wren. "You had me convinced you were going to have a breakdown."

Wren laughed. "I still can't believe Angelina needs to be tricked into having a birthday party."

Alicia rolled her eyes shaking her head. "You remember her birthday second year, don't you? We threw her that birthday party and Lee brought those enchanted balloons?" Wren couldn't believe she'd forgotten those balloons. They had filled the common room. When popped they cheered for Angelina, and when the air was let out of them slowly, they literally sang her praises. Not only had Angelina never been one to be the center of attention, but some of the compliments they sang about her were rather...romantic in nature. Wren remembered attempting to corral as much of the balloons as possible and pop them all at once to get it over with. The whole thing had been a complete spectacle leading to a common room had been full of laughter and an extremely mortified Angelina.

Alicia must have seen the memory dawn on Wren because she let out a sigh. "Ever since she hasn't trusted us enough to throw her a party."

"Tell me you haven't enlisted Lee's help for this one," Wren said with a smile.

Alicia paused, her mouth dropping open slightly before a sheepish look overtook her features. Wren laughed out.

"He's the only one able to get us some fire whiskey!"

Wren raised both of her eyebrows at Alicia who sighed, running a hand over her face. "I've made a huge mistake haven't I?"

Wren shook her head. "I'm sure we'll find out Friday."

Wren's eyes followed each jerk of the second hand.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Two more minutes left.

Alicia had left a good twenty minutes ago with Lee and Katie, on their way to the Top Secret Location with the drinks and decorations. Wren and George were slated to come next with the food.

The boys had insisted on a phased departure so as not to draw too much attention to the fact that seven students had left the portrait hole all at once after hours. "A couple here and there the paintings turn a blind eye to," Fred had explained. "A large group at once? Someone's running off to a professor's study."

"Learned that the hard way," Lee chimed in.

So, they'd broken themselves up into groups each with a boy to guide them through the castle to the undisclosed location. Why the location had remained undisclosed was a small mystery that Wren hadn't been able to get a straight explanation for. But, seeing as it didn't really matter, and as George had guessed, she did rather enjoy the thrill of doing something she wasn't supposed to, Wren let it slide.

The second hand landed on 12, and Wren felt her stomach drop as if she were diving on a broomstick. She swallowed hard, standing up from her bed and wiping her palms onto her jeans.

It wasn't the first time she'd snuck out after hours.

But sneaking out to meet a prefect was a bit different than sneaking out to hold a clandestine birthday party. It felt more like a bend than a break of the rules.

She took a breath in and headed towards the door, careful not to wake up Genevieve or Fiona. She closed it behind her with a soft click before padding down the stairs and into the common room. She was halfway down before she noticed George, standing in the shadows close to the portrait hole, hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Where's the food?" Wren whispered halfway across the common room. George raised an eyebrow and then gestured to two bags. The closer she got, the better Wren could see that they were bulging with carefully wrapped foods. In the back of her mind, she wondered if they would be too heavy for her to carry inconspicuously through the castle. Rather than voicing the question, she reached for one and slung it over her shoulder.

It was bulky and fell oddly against her side, but she felt confident enough that she'd be able to navigate it through any tight spaces.

"Ready then?" George whispered back, and she nodded, following him out of the portrait hole.

The pair walked silently through the castle halls. There was far less pressing themselves flat against walls, peeking around corners, and freezing to listen for any sounds of movement. Instead, it was simply a silent stroll through a still and dark castle. As if they had every right to be going where they were going.

George stopped suddenly, and Wren almost ran into his back, instead taking hold of his shoulder to steady herself and keep some distance as she pulled up short. George looked over his shoulder at her. "Can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

It was a miracle the castle was dark because Wren was sure her face was scarlet. Instead, she settled on a scowl as she yanked her hands back. "A little warning would be nice," she hissed, and George's smile grew as he turned back around, brushing aside a tapestry. He drew a large arc with his wand against the stone, and as if he'd just drawn a doorway, the stones in the center vanished, allowing them passage through the wall. George started in and Wren went to follow when he pulled up short again.

"As a warning, the passage is like 50 meters and then there's a staircase. I'll be stopping to go down the staircase."

Wren glared at him. "That's actually helpful to know, thank you." she snapped lightly, and George grinned, disappearing through the dark doorway and Wren followed.

The tapestry swung closed behind the pair, leaving the passageway completely dark until both students illuminated their wands. It was a fairly straightforward passageway, no choices for turn offs and pleasantly wide enough and tall enough for them to easily walk through. As she always did, Wren wondered how the twins had managed to find this passage and go to class and have friends and do homework and work on their secret projects and manage Quidditch practice along with all of the other routine survival tasks wizards and witches did every day. If she had to guess, the two sacrificed a lot of sleep. And good marks in their classes.

"You might be happy to know that the hard part is sneaking out. Coming back in should be a breeze," George said from ahead of her. His voice was still soft, but it was above a whisper, and the fact that he felt comfortable raising his voice put Wren a bit at ease.

"I'm worried you're lying to me."

"When have I ever lied to you, Wren? Or anyone for that matter?" Despite her certainty that there had been a time, she could not, at the present, name one. George took her silence for what it was: an acquiescence.

"The beauty of it is that tonight's Astronomy for sixth years. They'll be gone past one, and we can just come back in with them."

It was rather ingenious.

The two grew quiet once more as they drew nearer to the staircase, the sounds of their footsteps lightly echoing against the stones. It was on the fourth wraparound that Wren spoke.

"So, where are we going?" Wren asked, gathering her bag up into her arms to keep it from bouncing against her leg any more.

George looked up at her from his lower stair. "The forest."

"The forest?" Wren repeated.

"I know. I had half a thought to leave without you. You've been known to do some impulsive things in forests," George quipped turning back around to watch where he was going. "Last time I brought you into one--"

"I thought we agreed we didn't need to talk about that," Wren said, her voice high and tight.

"I don't remember making any such agreement," George shrugged with a cheeky grin.

"Well let's agree to it now," she huffed.

"Alright, I promise to only bring it up around those who already know."

"Who already knows?" Wren asked, her voice taking on a panicked quality. George shushed her.

"Just you, me, Nora, Fred, and Ginny. Lucky for you it's a tight circle."

"Don't bring it up around Nora and Fred. Fred will just tease me mercilessly about it and Nora will use it to get on my case about Simon."

"Not a fan of his?" George asked, his voice taking on a careful quality.

Wren went quiet. It was hard to explain the depth of Nora's detest. Even Wren wasn't exactly sure what had happened between her boyfriend and her cousin. It had happened slowly over time going from polite greetings to faces pulled behind the other's back and now snide little remarks.

Wren had asked Nora once why she didn't like Simon and she'd given her a litany of reasons (his friends, how he always had to have the answer, his strong opinions), but none of them seemed to make sense as THE reason.

When she'd asked Simon the same question he'd shrugged it off as Nora's problem.

"They don't get along. They're quite different."

George snorted and Wren glared. "What?"

"Bit of an understatement is all," he shrugged. Still suspicious, Wren decided to let it slide as the end of the stairs came within sight.

"So, you agree? Not to bring it up anymore? To anyone?"

"Thought I still had Ginny."

"George!"

"Fine. I agree," his lips curled up into a teasing smile. "Which you should know is a huge sacrifice. You're wonderfully fun to tease about this."

Wren ignored him, hopping down the last step and George led the rest of the way out of the castle in quiet.

When the pair emerged from the castle, it was from under a bush. George reached up and pushed at the bush's trunk, swinging it over to the side so he could scramble out. He reached out a hand to Wren and pulled her out. Wren dusted herself off as George put the bush back before nodding with his head to the left.

Wren felt fairly grateful that when George said "the forest" he didn't mean "in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. They tramped along just at the edge of the forest, the castle remaining visible the entire time. It seemed there were some places even Weasley Twins recognized were forbidden for a reason.

A blue glow up ahead gave away the celebration's spot. As they grew closer, Wren could hear Alicia giving orders to Lee and Katie, and the soft hum of music playing.

"Who's that?" Katie asked above the noise, and all sounds silenced.

"Just us," George called out as he and Wren entered into the small clearing.

It was gorgeous. Small lanterns hung from the trees, luminescent purple, blue, white, and yellow flowers filling each.

Bottles of Butterbeer, Prosecco, and Firewhiskey were gathered on a large stump draped with a purple table cloth.

The music was coming from a small radio placed at the foot of the stump.

At the moment, Lee was looking up at them from where he was bent over a small pile of firewood. Alicia stood over him, rubbing at her arms while Katie finished tying a purple HAPPY BIRTHDAY banner with shimmering gold letters between two trees.

"Hey," Lee grinned before turning back to lighting the fire. His features contorted in concentration and then a small smark appeared

"Got it!"

"You would have gotten in three minutes ago if you'd just said the bloody spell," Alicia muttered, stepping around him and the fire to come up to Wren and George. "Well, what do you think? Think she'll like it?" she asked, rubbing her hands together. It was difficult to tell if it was her nerves or the cold that inspired the action.

"I can't believe you did this all in fifteen minutes," Wren said, looking around to admire the set up once more.

Alicia shrugged sheepishly. "I may have forced Katie and Lee to leave a little earlier."

Wren felt the bag lift from her shoulder and turned as George took both of the snacks and followed Lee to the fallen tree draped with a tablecloth.

"I don't know if anyone can undo what Lee did and make her love birthday parties again, but this has to come pretty close."

"I hope so," Alicia said, turning to watch Fred and Lee lay out the snacks. Lee took his wand from his pocket and pointed it towards the bag. "Oi! No wands, Jordan!"

He looked back at her with a cheeky grin and slipped it back into his pocket before bending over to take the snacks out.

There wasn't much to set up after that. Alicia, Katie, and Lee had done much of the work so that by the time the telltale rustle and snapping of branches could be heard, all of them were sitting on logs, eagerly waiting for Angelina to appear.

Fred came through first, grinning ear to ear, before revealing Angelina looking rather exasperated behind him. The look vanished from her face with one look around the fire at her beaming friends and the whimsical little clearing.

"Oh," she said softly. She seemed to lose her grasp on words as she looked around, blinking rapidly. Alicia let out an excited squeal and launched herself towards Angelina, throwing her arms around her. Katie was not far behind.

"You like it, then?" Alicia asked, pulling back to look at Angelina who was still being rocked side to side by Katie.

"Yes," Angelina nodded, smiling, and the joy was evident in every ounce of Alicia's being. She swiveled to face the rest of the group and twirled a finger in the air.

"Butterbeer all around!"

The last time Wren had been to a birthday party that was this much fun, she had been eight. Her parents had gotten a host of magical creatures and miniaturized them so she had her own petting zoo for the afternoon. She and Nora had gone through and named each one and created a backstory, personality, and relationships between the creatures. In the end, Wren's mother brought out a cake that Aunt Kathleen had made and the family sat around eating cake and sharing stories.

It had been intimate and grand.

Which was exactly how Wren would describe Angelina's birthday party. Although the sweet naivete of a child's petting zoo was definitely lacking as they had each taken to keeping Angelina continuously supplied with firewhiskey. After all, there was no class tomorrow.

This was the same excuse Wren used when stealing her own shots of the burning liquor, throwing them back as she watched George spin Katie around to the music as Lee attempted to dance with a more than slightly tipsy Angelina.

Next to Wren, a body sank down and she looked up to find Fred, holding a bottle of firewhiskey by its neck. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Very much," Wren said, twisting her shot glass into the soft earth so that it didn't tip over. "It's a good break from all that," she said, flailing a hand towards the castle.

Fred let out a low laugh. "The professors have been particularly dragon-like recently."

Wren let out an amused exhale. "And there's the tournament and just all of life at Hogwarts," she shrugged. "It's nice to get away from it for a few hours."

"Not to ruin that," Fred said, and Wren had the distinct feeling that he was, in fact, about to ruin it. "But I did mean to tell you that Charlie sent back a letter, and he will not be giving us any of his hair. For some reason, he doesn't trust us."

Wren laughed and hung her head, shaking it before turning her attention back to meet Fred's gaze. She could see the fire flicker in his eyes making them shine a bit more. "I can't imagine why."

"Beats me," he shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You'd think we'd done something terrible to him before, like put itching powder in his clothes right before he went out for a date in Hogsmeade."

Wren clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as Fred's grin grew. Once she felt moderately under control, she dropped her hand. "Well, I think we'll be close enough even without the hair."

"Careful Collings, that sounds dangerously close to confidence."

"Guess your plan is working then," Wren smiled, absentmindedly twisting the shot glass once more.

Fred looked back to the fire and their dancing friends, and Wren followed suit. Alicia had stolen Angelina away from Lee to dance with her and Katie, and Lee and George were amusing themselves, pulling out embers from the fire and making them dance or explode into little tiny fireworks. "They usually do."

If Wren had known what the week leading up to Halloween would look like, she might have tried convincing Alicia to push back Angelina's birthday party to this week. Although, if she had succeeded, she probably wouldn't have been the best of company. And George probably would have had to pry her work from her hands and carry her out of the common room.

So maybe it was best that they'd had the party on Friday.

Still, the tension within the walls of Hogwarts was bordering near unbearable. Not just from the short-tempered professors and the mountains of homework, but the impending test to see if Wren could really create a potion that outsmarted Dumbledore.

She, Fred, George, and Lee had finally settled on a variant that they felt confident would work. (A variant which included no human hair despite the fact that Lee had been able to get some of his father's hair, no questions asked.) Still, Wren continued to double check and triple check her equations and ingredients. No trips to the Hospital Wing. The small mantra rang throughout her head as she made her way to class, checking off her list of measurements.

A hand gripped Wren by the inside of the elbow, tugging her to the side of the hallway. Instinctively she yanked her arm away, whirling on the person who grabbed her. Simon stood with a look of amused confusion.

"Did I scare you?"

"Yes," Wren breathed out, clutching her books tighter, pressing her notes into her chest.

"Sorry," he grinned, looking anything but.

There was a beat of silence between the two of them, and Wren checked over her shoulders at the rapidly clearing hallways. "I don't have long, I'm running late to Herbology."

The grin slid off of his face as he studied hers. "I haven't seen you in over a week."

Wren shook her head and turned to start heading to Herbology. "I know. I'm sorry. I've just been busy."

"Too busy for your boyfriend?" The words came out light, but Wren could hear the line of tension underneath them. She could feel it radiating from his presence next to her as he walked her out to the lawn.

"Too busy to breathe, really," Wren said offering a quick, frazzled smile.

Simon was frowning at her. Not quite anger, not quite concern. More of a disappointment than anything else. "What's got you too busy to breathe?"

Wren shook her head, shrugging. "Sixth year."

"Sixth year?" he repeated, and Wren nodded. "That's it."

"Yes. You were right; it's crushing."

Simon let out an angry sigh and stopped suddenly in his tracks. Despite the fact that the greenhouse was in sight and Professor Sprout had been docking points for tardy students for the first time ever, Wren slowed. "What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to have a conversation with my girlfriend and getting one word answers," Simon said, gesturing at her. "You're not still mad at me about the potion are you?"

"No," Wren shook her head. "I just need to go."

He raised a hand to his brow and rubbed it, letting out an angry exhale. "I don't understand why you're punishing me for trying to help you."

"What? No. I'm just busy--"

"Busy for a week and a half?" He interrupted, raising both his eyebrows.

Wren shrugged. "Yes. You know what it's like. You have weeks like this."

"Don't turn this back on me," he argued.

"Simon--" A bell tolled, alerting students they were officially late to class. Wren winced. "I have to go."

"Fine. Go. You've made it clear I'm not a priority, so carry on." Simon gestured to the greenhouse, and Wren shook her head, reaching out for his hand.

"It's not like that--"

"Maybe I'll see you later, if I'm worth your time," Simon said, snatching his hand away from Wren's and turning back up the hill.

Wren breathed in sharply, taking a moment to compose herself and blink back the tears before turning around and heading to the greenhouse. Quietly, she opened the backdoor and shuffled to her place next to Fred.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Ms. Collings," Professor Sprout admonished from the front. Wren nodded, keeping her head down and fixated on the glowing blue plant in front of her.

Fred bumped her shoulder with his own. "You ok?" he whispered.

Wren nodded, giving him a quick glance. His warm brown eyes were fixated on her face, his mouth tugged down with concern. It made it harder not to cry.

So, she looked back down at the plant and gave a halfhearted smile. "Fine."

She couldn't believe the day was here.

The past week seemed to have passed by in a blur. One moment she was agreeing to make the potion with Fred, George, and Lee. Then it was Angelina's birthday party, the final day of classes the other week, and the arrival of the other schools.

When they found out that Impartial Judge was the Goblet of Fire and that all Dumbledore was doing to assure participants were of age was drawing an age line, she was certain she would burst.

It was the best possible scenario, especially since Charlie turned down the twins' requests for some hair. There were only so many failsafes someone could put into an age-line versus layered complex enchantments on the cup itself.

This could work.

This could really work.

When the four of them had brewed the potion last night, none of them could keep from grinning. Compared to the mess of figuring that part out, getting selected seemed a breeze.

Yet, in spite of obstacle after obstacle being overcome, Wren couldn't shake the feeling of anxiousness that buzzed through her. And that was why she sat alone in the common room while the rest had all gone down to the entrance hall to watch prospective champions enter. She decided that she'd simply wait up here to hear how it went. If it worked, the boys would be leading a triumphant parade back. And if it didn't...she didn't want to see it.

"Angelina told me I might find you here," Fred said, dropping into the seat across from her. "Said you were too nervous to come down."

Wren's cheeks grew warm. She wished she wasn't such an obvious read. Especially when it came to her nerves. She was in Gryffindor and nervous about someone else taking a risk. It didn't make any sense.

"Unfortunately, your presence has specifically been requested by myself, George, and Lee, so you're going to have to come."

She snorted. "Is that how it works?"

"That's precisely how it works," Fred said, leaning back in his chair and looking at her with an amused smile. "But I am glad to have caught you here because I also wish to collect."

Wren tilted her head. "Collect?"

"You owe me, Wren Collings," Fred said, meaningfully as if that were enough to clear it up.

"I believe you owe me," Wren said, crossing her arms.

"Ah, fair point," Fred said, taking a piece of candy from his pocket and handing it over. Wren took it. "Now I've paid up, and you owe me."

Wren's eyes furrowed a bit and she offered the candy back. Fred held out a hand to stop her. "Nope, I want equal payment for services rendered."

"What are you on about?"

He turned to look at her with eyebrows raised and an expression that made her stomach twist. “You owe me a kiss.”

“I—” Wren started and he cut her off.

“I also helped to pull Nora to the trees. I just wasn’t first because I had to make sure Ginny didn’t run after the other lot. And George's been holding it over my head for while so…” Fred puckered his lips and Wren laughed in spite of herself.

“Absolutely not.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a quick one; no one's around for a show.“

“No,” Wren shook her head, the smile slowly fading. “Because that other one--it was just an act of irrepressible gratitude.”

“Interesting because it looked rather like a kiss."

She shook her head again as if he'd missed it the first time. "No, I just wasn't thinking. I mean my head was completely gone. One moment I thought we were going to die, and then we didn't and--"

"You don't have to explain," Fred said, holding out a hand for her to take. Wren slipped her hands on his, and he squeezed it reassuringly. "You just have to bestow an act of irrepressible gratitude on me," he grinned. Wren snatched her hand back as he laughed out loud.

"Shove off," Wren snapped lightly, standing up from the table. Fred stopped laughing as he joined her, walking towards the portrait hole. They had just exited when Wren spun on him again. "None of the jokes in front of anyone else, ok? I don't want--I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea and then...it didn't mean anything and I--"

"Don't hurt yourself, Wren," Fred said with a shake of his head as he led the way down to the Great Hall. "It'll stay between us."

There was a small cheer from their friends when Wren appeared behind Fred. Everyone else had their eyes fixated on the cup which stood in the center of a glowing golden circle. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione hovered near their little group, each looking rather skeptically at George and Lee.

"Ready then?" Fred asked, clapping Lee on the shoulder.

"Who's going first?" Lee asked, looking between the two twins.

"I'll go," Fred said, pulling a slip of parchment from his parchment with his name and Hogwarts scribbled on it. He walked slowly up to the line and paused just before it. Wren's eyes were glued on him as he took a deep breath and then stepped over the line. Her mouth dropped open and George let out a triumphant yell and jumped in after Fred.

And then it went wrong.

A loud sizzling sound echoed around the Entrance Hall and then both of the twins were flying out of the circle, crashing into the stone floor. Wren lurched towards them, stopped only by Angelina's arm looped through hers. Then, there was a loud pop and Fred and George had each grown identical white beards, long enough to rival Dumbledore's.

Everyone laughed. Lee was bent over clutching at his middle, Katie was wheezing like she couldn't breathe, and even Hermione was giggling loudly. The twins stood up, brushing themselves off and upon one look at each other broke out into laughter as well.

Wren didn't laugh though.

"I did warn you," said a deep voice laced with amusement. The whole hall turned to see Professor Dumbledore emerge from the Great Hall, his eyes on Fred and George. "I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett, of Ravenclaw, and Mr. Summers, of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little too. Though I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours."

Fred turned to Wren and wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she still couldn't bring herself to smile.

Because she had sent them to the Hospital Wing.

[dazedoctober]

i need to vent about him

he is a leech and a tornado, simultaneously. he rips through a situation, destroying and undoing any good he’s brought over any given number of weeks. and then i am exhausted and sad and i put space between us because i need to be away from him but he clings to me like glue. i don’t know who is the fool - him, whose yes’s and no’s are uneven, whose lack of consistency irritates him and causes him to lash out, whose disturbing lack of self awareness reminds me most unfortunately of my sister OR me, who can’t find the fucking heart to block him because i know it will hurt him.

i’m trying to be there for him, i’m trying to be a friend and be a healthy person he can rely on. but he’s so fucking mean. and he doesn’t understand how he’s mean. he doesn’t have a filter and he doesn’t get it. i understand why this is - the friends he had for 2/3 of his life, the ones he just lost last year are some of the most psychologically disturbing people i have ever met in my life. i only knew these people for slightly over a year - i never fit in and it was clear from the beginning, my heart and mind was so much different from all of theirs and one of them ended up raping me a couple years later - but when i was finally free it took months upon months of healing to undo the damage they inflicted upon me. he was involved with these people for 2/3 of his life. they were his friends. they were horrible to him and he was horrible to them back and they called it a friendship. he’s mean because that’s all he’s ever known.

last night we talked on the phone for over an hour. he was so unnecessarily mean to me and when i kept exasperatedly asking why he was talking to me if he didn’t want to he kept responding back, “i DO want to talk to you, that’s why we’re on the phone isn’t it? i DO care about you, why do you think i check in every few weeks?” his perception is skewed. acting as if i need the help even though i’m mentally/emotionally healthy and he is very much not. as if him checking in every few weeks is an act of grace and not a result of the fact that i stopped reaching out to him months ago because he drives me insane.

i said something kind of mean to him in my frustration last night. i told him that he often made me regret reaching out to him last spring. i told him that had i known he would try to stay in my life, i wouldn’t have reached out. that i only reached out to clear my conscience. and all of that is true. but i didn’t need to say it. he was quiet when i said it.

the last part of our argument in the phone call was me at wit’s end saying “why won’t you let me be nice to you?!” and him just about losing it saying “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN SOMEONE IS NICE TO ME.” he then proceeded to tell me he doesn’t know how to react when people are nice because of that group of people i mentioned earlier. and to honest, i believe him. like i said, i only encountered them for a year of my life and they were absolutely brutal to me. i was already incredibly depressed and anxious before them, but combined they tore me apart. i can totally see him being broken like this after years of a sick set of friends like that.

i’ve been navigating this situation through the lens of “if i have it in me to be patient with him just a little longer, i should.” and where i’m at right now, i do have it in me. but i need space from him for a long while. and he’s already been texting me today about his mental health that’s unrelated to anything we talked about last night. i feel like his caretaker and it’s so hard on me. i love him as a person but i don’t know how much longer of this i can take. something’s gotta give.

[unholyhelbig]

Red | #HW204

Prompt: Possession 

Summary:  Aubrey and Beca take their youngest daughter to a child Psychologist when weird things start happening around their new house.

Read on Ao3 Here!

Aubrey Posen had expected a lot more from the tiny office that rested on the third floor of a business park. The door had a frosted glass pane with fancy gold writing and dark stained wood, but the little waiting room that rested right behind it was cold and dark. It made her skin itch. This place was meant for children- wasn’t it?

The only indication that anyone younger than fifty-four attended sessions here was a small box sandwiched between two leather upholstered chairs. It was a forest green and contained a couple of picture books and markers that had long ago run out of ink. Aubrey instinctively pulled her daughter flush against her and passed her a phone to keep her occupied while Beca checked them in.

Her wife was just as nervous as she was, though, she hid it better. Beca had always been the positive one in the relationship. Though they both saw the world through the same colored glass, Beca admired while Aubrey shattered. She had a way with her words and made the unpleasant receptionist crack a charming smile.

Beca said a few more things that she couldn’t hear over the low hum of the game that Marley had stumbled upon. It was something with bright colors to captivate her, other than the slate grey walls and dying plant in the corner. It needed to be watered. 

Beca finally flopped down into the chair next to them. She smiled nervously at their daughter, who had the same stormy blue eyes. She smelled of melted snow and vanilla lip balm. She had grabbed one of the informational pamphlets from the counter; Your child and their emotions.

What it really boiled down to was ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions that ruled out if Marley was a sociopath. Aubrey didn’t want to look at it and Beca shoved it into the pocket of her coat, blanching because she had realized her mistake. Their daughter had switched to another app on Aubrey’s phone.

“What are you coloring, Monkey?” Beca asked, trying to keep things light.

“A tree,”

“That’s neat. Can I see it?”

Marley nodded with a wide grin and passed the phone over to her mother. Beca zoomed out on the picture; it was a nice scene that reminded them fondly of the home they had moved into a few months ago. While it was still summer, Beca had put up a tire swing much to Aubrey’s safety objections.

The photo had a white picket fence and a large oak like the one in their front yard. It didn’t have a tire swing, but two long sections of rope connecting a plank of wood to one of the limbs of the tree. Beca let out a silent sigh of relief. It looked fairly normal. She praised Marley and handed the phone back.

Aubrey shrugged apprehensively at her and gave a weak smile. Maybe things would be alright. Though, both of them were thinking, as they breathed in stale office air, that they weren’t going to be. They had been to a couple of specialists that lead them here. Doctor Beale was one of the top-rated child Psychologists in the area.

“The Posen’s?” They had all glanced up at once, Marley quickly going back to her coloring while both parents stood from the seats. The leather made too much noise and Beca glanced back at it nervously before her cheeks blanched.

A woman with a mane of copper hair stood in the vacant hallway. She was dressed casually in a navy blue sweater and a pair of black slacks. She had a kind face and striking ocean eyes. Aubrey instantly relaxed in her presence and forgot about the state of the office in an instant.

“I’m Beca,” her wife extended a hand first “This is my wife Aubrey, but you probably already knew that.”

Chloe chuckled sweetly “Yes, I did. And this must be Marley?”

Their daughter was shy. She had abandoned the task on her phone and clung to Beca’s pant leg instead. She blinked up at the pretty stranger and tucked her face into the fabric. Doctor Beale didn’t’ seem deterred by this at all.

“If you guys would like to follow me, we can get started.” Chloe didn’t’ wait for an answer. Instead, she turned and they began to walk down a hallway that was much like the main lobby- devoid of color. Beca had scooped Marley up, she pressed her cold nose against the nave of her neck. “I’m assuming you haven’t done this before?”

“No, never,” Aubrey answered.

They passed a few doors that were the same solid oak as the one upfront. They had been to a lot of pediatricians, and neurologists. Neither of them could find anything wrong physically. They had had a long conversation about mental health before they were pushed in this direction.

All four of them stopped in front of another similar door. This one, Doctor Beale, had keys to. She turned the lock and pushed it open. The lack of color in the waiting room had been culminated and thrown in here; it was a large room with every type of toy and art supply imaginable.

The walls were a friendly yellow and little foam puzzle pieces made the flooring under their feet malleable. Beca’s mouth was propped open almost as wide as Marley’s and Aubrey couldn’t help but smile easily at that. There was a large mirror propped up on the side of the wall and posters of animals and mountains around the space that hadn’t been taken up.

“She can play for a while if she wants, we still have a few things to discuss before we start.”

Marley still looked apprehensive, so Beca worked her usual magic. She had a soft, yet commanding voice. “Marls, do you want to play for a couple of minutes?” Their daughter whimpered and dug her nose further into her neck “Oh, come on now, look at all those cars. Don’t you want to check them out?”

It took a couple more seconds, but she eventually let Beca set her down before moving over to the large rug in the corner that had a grid of maps stitched into its fabric. She quickly grasped at a white matchbox car and started driving it around the sharp corners. Chloe leads them closer to the door without exiting into the hallway.

“Which one of you is Marley more comfortable with?” Chloe asked in a hushed tone.

Beca made her stance rigid while Aubrey lifted her chin towards her wife. “She’s the fun mom.”

“Right,” Chloe smiled despite herself “Beca, would you be alright with staying here with Marley while Aubrey and I watch from the other room?”

“Sure?” She shrugged apprehensively “You just want us to play?”

“That’s exactly what I want you to do. The biggest thing we can do here is observe her behavior. From what I’ve seen so far she’s a normal, highly functioning five-year-old. From what your file describes, that tends to change drastically in certain situations. Am I correct?”

Aubrey had suddenly gotten cold in the small little room. Yes, Chloe Beale was right more than she would like to admit. Their daughter was a sweet and loving girl. She was outgoing and confident, but every aspect of that could flip on a dime.

“We thought it was because of the move,” Beca sounded out, looking over at Marley. She had grabbed another car from the shelf and slammed them both together, making a crashing sound “But she’s gotten violent.”

“She hears voices,” Aubrey said.

“Voices?”

“We chalked it up to an overactive imagination at first. Both of us were so tired from fixing the place up that we didn’t’ see the warning signs, I guess. She didn’t like her room. She said that was a tall man with a funny hat that would bother her at night.”

Chloe nodded and shoved her hands into her pockets as she had suddenly gotten cold as well. “Has this stopped?”

“Eventually she didn’t talk about it anymore.” Beca explained “We thought we were doing the right thing by making her stay in there instead of sleeping in bed with us. But that’s when the weird behavior started.”

“What kind of weird behavior is she exhibiting?”

Aubrey looked over at the young girl as she played with a few more cars. She had created a traffic jam and spoke silently under her breath. They couldn’t hear what words she had been forming and Aubrey figured that that was a good thing.

“She gets this vacant look in her eyes sometimes… that’s all it was at first, and we thought she was just getting distracted. She started standing at the foot of our bed and just staring, for hours.”

Chloe quirked a brow “You set up camera’s?”

“We had no choice. Things were vanishing around the house, expensive things like power tools and then little things like keys. We had just moved in so we figured we might have an intruder or something. But it was Marley every single time. That’s why we decided to get her checked.”

The psychologist thought for what seemed like a while, they listened to the squeaking of the car wheels and Beca started to trace her eyes along the posters. She felt like she was in trouble. Instead, she was seeking help.

“Right. Aubrey, if you would come with me.” The woman nodded and glanced at her daughter for a sparing moment “Beca you just have to keep Marley playing. If you can, direct her to the little table in the corner.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” She said nervously.

“Good. Is there any way you can get her to talk about her room?”

This would be a little more difficult, but she nodded nevertheless. Beca knelt down next to Marley and pointed to the nearest car with question in her eyes. Aubrey watched for a few more moments before Chloe touched her shoulder gently and navigated her back into the depressing hallway.

They walked a couple more feet to the next door. This one, Chloe didn’t’ need a key to; it was smaller and darker than the lobby and the colder than the room they had just exited. There were two chairs facing a glass window and a little table that attempted to be spruced up with bottled water and a plant that was in even worse condition than the one she had seen before.

Aubrey wandered up to the window and stared through the glass. It was in the same position as the mirror had been. She could see her wife and daughter talking quietly by the rug that they had left them at. The psychologist took a seat in one of the chairs and waited for Aubrey to do the same.

“This doesn’t feel a bit… invasive to you?” Aubrey sat down, the wood was frigid.

“I’m a psychologist, Mrs. Posen, it’s my job to be invasive. We need to figure out what’s spurring your daughter's recent behavior.”

Aubrey supposed that’s why they had paid for the hour. She was hypocritical, worrying about sitting behind two way glass when they hid a camera between the stuffed animals on Marley’s dresser. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched carefully. Beca had somehow coaxed their daughter to the small table closest to the wall.

She went to the wall and grabbed a handful of markers and paper before struggling to sit in one of the little chairs. Her knees were nearly up to her ears, and in any other situation, Aubrey would have laughed.

Beca uncapped a brown marker first. She started to sketch the outline of a tree, stretching it to the top of the paper. It was nearly identical to the photo that Marley had been coloring earlier. She began to use that classic charm of hers.

“This looks kind of like the tree out front, huh?”

Marley was focused on dragging a navy marker against the page “Mm-hm,”

“Do you like the new house, Marls?”

Their daughter stopped the tip of the marker, and a large circle of ink started to spill from the hard-pressed gesture. She frowned and drew in a shallow breath. Beca had stopped coloring too. She watched with apprehension like they were sitting at the kitchen table once more- a steak knife within reach for them both.

“Was that fear?” Aubrey asked, sinking further into her seat. Her mouth was dry and it would have been easy to reach to her left for one of those water bottles, but she didn’t.

“No, it was anger. Does she get that look often?”

“Everyday.”

Beca slowly brought her eyes back down to the paper and started to color in the sun at the corner of the page. She was pressing too hard, hard enough to almost rip the paper. It was like she could taste the charged energy in the room.

“The house is nice. I like my room. I didn’t, but I do now.”

Marley never took her eyes away from the woman. She was speaking through a clenched jaw. Aubrey didn’t even know that a child could do that, that they had enough stress to show it like this. She understood nightmares and normal phobia’s, but this felt too… adult.

Chloe was writing something down on her notepad, but she leaned forward in her seat as if they were watching a movie. Aubrey could read the sudden fear that rolled in waves off of Beca. This wasn’t her normal energy, and Marley smiled wickedly at this.

“Yeah? Do you… still see that man?”

Beca had pushed it as far as she could. She had abandoned her picture altogether and focused her entire attention on their daughter. These past few months had been filled with exhaustion and odd fear, and prying sharp objects from little fingers.

One of them had slept in the rocking chair by the door each night. It was uncomfortable and made them stiff, but they had a keen eye on the door to their bedroom. That same steak knife that was nearly grasped from the table earlier had been close to Aubrey’s throat one night. She woke to the feeling of cold metal and then a thin line of warm blood.

They hadn’t told Chloe that. It wouldn’t be in the file that she had gotten of them. Everything else had been disclosed but that one night, the night that scared them the most would remain right where it was forever.

Marley nodded slowly, “He’s my friend. I like his hat.”

“What does the hat look like?” Marley squints her eyes, and Beca tried again “Can you show me?”

Marley looked down at the art supplies in front of her. It was a random pile of markers and a few colored pencils. She grabbed a clean sheet of paper and searched over her options with new vigor. She had been given a task and Beca was watching her with keen eyes.

“No, I can’t do it.” She whispered with frustration.

“Why not, sweetie?”

Marley slammed her little hand down on the table and the markers and pencils and little cup that held them jumped with the extra force. Beca tensed up her shoulders but figured quickly that this was better than something being thrown across the room.

“There’s no red.” She growled out, gripping the cheap plastic table “I can’t draw my friend if there’s no red. It’s his favorite color, he’s always wearing it.”

“I can get you a red, Marley,”

“No. It’s too late.” Their daughter glanced up from the white paper, her eyes filled with that same primal anger as the night with the knife. Marley turned her eyes towards the mirror and Aubrey felt herself freeze. Chloe gripped the note pad until little dents marked the lines neatly.

Marley moved her small little finger against the length of her neck, somehow staring directly at Aubrey with a vacant expression and a truly vile expression. “He has red here. He has red everywhere.”

[holisticpassport]

My Covid Story

Apologies for any spelling errors, I’m on a time crunch. I’m a few hours out from leaving for my first flight since July 2019 (and before that, March 2018). Heading out to Sydney, I’m a mix of anxiety and absolute excitement. In January of this year, our sublet was almost up in Eltham and Cam and I had plans to pack up the car and begin doing workaways around Australia to help rebuild communities devastated by the historic wild fires (doesn’t that feel FOREVER ago?). When our sublet became available for a full lease transfer, we changed our minds to stay in our space, so that was the first instance of travel being knocked out of the picture. Then we had Valentine’s weekend open to go visit some friends in Tasmania, so we booked tickets and upon waiting in the airport, our flights were cancelled due to inclement weather. DAMN.  Mid-march came around and it was Cam’s birthday, so we wanted to get out for a weekend of camping in our big bell tent, find a gorgeous spot in the woods out east near Warburton. When we arrived, every camping spot for an hour’s dive any direction was either full or completely not open at all. We picked a spot off a random road and spent one night there, but some rangers came by and said we couldn’t stay there due to the possible danger of logging trucks not seeing us. So that was a bust.

Then as you’re aware, this time frame leads up to the very tumultuous third week of March when Melbourne officially went into its first lockdown due to COVID. I documented this time in journal entries which I will add at the end, but ultimately the lockdown went until June, and the state reopened too quickly/had a fiasco with quarantined cases getting out of a hotel, thus sparking the second wave. We had flights booked to California for June to see my family and then planned to travel around Mexico for a few months, but that dream was quickly squashed when flights out of Melbourne ceased to exist at all. Months later, I had a flight booked in July to go to Sydney where I was to have my eggs extracted for donation. The day before I was to fly out, second lockdown went into effect and the flight was cancelled (thus forcing me to have the procedure done in Melbourne and cause a huge, historic controversy between Melbourne IVF’s CEO and the medical director of IVF Australia about how to transfer frozen eggs over a closed border!).

I’m struggling to comprehend just how important and meaningful my ability to travel today is. To think back to the first time in history, watching borders around the world close, flights become grounded, and witnessing a global pandemic unfold whilst in a foreign country—I remember thinking at the beginning how unfathomable the scale of it was. When people talk about things not seeming real or like it’s a dream you can’t wake up from, that’s exactly how it felt. I questioned whether I needed to go back to the U.S. in fear I might not see my family for years or be with them if they got fatally ill. Would I be able to even go back if that happened let alone would I be able to re-enter AU (the answer was no). And thank god I didn’t go back considering the absolute cluster fuck of a mess Trump made of the pandemic. But also, thank god my family has been healthy and safe. The level of fear for their safety was at an all-time high as civil tensions grew when the riots around the country kicked off in conjunction with the pandemic. I wrote to all of them to have a plan to escape to Mexico and get their passports if Trump won the re-election. This was a genuine fear I’ve never experienced before.

The level of frustration, depression, anxiety, hopelessness, self-hatred for lack of productivity during lockdown, and uncertainty about so many facets of life weighed down on me during this time. But I know how much worse our time could have been. I was immensely grateful for the fact that we had a home and incredibly gracious landlords who were human and understood the financial difficulties of this unprecedented time when so many became homeless as job loss skyrocketed. We were so fortunate that I was able to continue working even 2 days a week through the lockdown as a barista and Cam was able to get government support for six months as a NZ citizen who lived in AU over 10 years when so many other New Zealanders were forced to return to their country because of the time limit stipulation for support. We only had two family members contract Covid and were young and healthy enough to survive when so many families will be without a member at the holidays this year.

And I acknowledge my privilege in that my identity is so closely entwined with the ability to travel, that while it felt suffocating to not even have the choice to travel anywhere outside of a 5km (3mile) zone, I fully empathize with those in parts of the world where they could not walk more than 50 meters from their front door or people who didn’t have windows/balconies in apartment buildings who were going out of their mind. All of that does not diminish the struggles I faced with not being able to travel, but it does always keep my perspective in check. My trip today signifies how a city and a country came together during the most difficult period of our lifetime, followed strict government guidelines, and came out after 120+ days in full lockdown on the other side of a pandemic, now able to cross state borders without isolation or quarantine. To go to a live music show,  have drinks on rooftop bars, walk around outside without a mask on, and see people going about their daily lives again on public transport and see a city bustling with energy—the months of mental hardship and growth was all to get back to a post-Covid world. Even though a vaccine is not out yet and we need to be cautious, the level of hopelessness has diminished significantly, and I’m not terrified my trip might be cancelled in two hours. I’m actually going this time!

There is also a whole other facet to my time in lockdown and that of course is the personal development and mutual growth in my marriage! That’s a whole separate post though which I hope to get out soonish. But here’s a bit of something I started a few months ago. Enjoy.

 ********

I remember when it first started in the news; like a minor blip of a story flashing at the bottom of the screen: some mutant virus had infected a couple dozen people in some random city in China. I was working solo in a café serving the employees of a major shoe distribution company in the warehouse district of Collingwood, Melbourne. The TV was on in the cafe but muted the first few weeks of January as the main stories were about the most devastating wildfires in the history of the world, and we all just felt a communal helplessness. As the numbers grew in China and the story became a daily headline, the first case was announced in Queensland on January 25th. Everyone stuck around a few minutes longer each day after they were handed their coffee. I think back to the moment when Wuhan, the epicenter at the time, reported 1,500 cases and I thought surely there can’t be much more than that. This is just media sensationalizing something small. This whole story will blow over in another week or two.

If only.

It was summer in Australia, and my husband and I were planning what to do after our sublease was up in mid-March. I commuted daily from a suburb 50 minutes north called Eltham, a creative and eco-friendly heritage town. We lived in a triplex made of adobe mudbrick, surrounded by native forest, a communal garden, and enjoyed huge artisan windows that brought in natural filtered light through the towering trees. Our little studio was a quiet haven away from the chaos and constant flurry of people in Melbourne, especially during summer as it brought travelers from every corner of the globe. There was no way we could have possibly known that this little paradise would feel like a prison after six months in the world’s longest lockdown due to a global pandemic caused by that little virus in some random city in China now known worldwide as COVID-19.

As the weeks passed by in February, more and more countries began reporting cases. I did not understand how pandemics worked as the last one I was alive for and could remember was H1N1 in California, and I was about 17—far too consumed with college applications and boys to think about world affairs. The Spanish Flu was never something that was particularly emphasized in our history classes, so it didn’t even occur to me to compare what was happening now to that point in time. Then again, this was incomparable because in 1912, the world was a less globalized economy and there were no commercial flights transporting thousands of passengers across the globe daily. By the first week of March, my daily rush-hour commutes became the first real difference I noticed. The number of morning passengers on the train platforms dwindled from 50 to 25 to 5, and eventually, to just me. As the train stopped at over 30 stops from where I lived to the city, my carriage wasn’t even remotely full at 7 a.m.

There was less foot traffic in the city. Flinders Street Station, one of the two largest hubs that saw thousands of people daily, was eerily quiet and empty. We were two weeks out from leaving Melbourne to go travel, planning to go to New South Wales, AU to help rebuild communities that were ravaged by the bushfires. I was desperate to travel this year, and we were so close to leaving. I had picked up some other barista work in an advertising agency closer to the city. But day by day, office workers were being told to work from home if they were able to. Hand sanitizer became readily available in the café, bathrooms, and around the office. I remember staring out the window of this high rise building that overlooked the lush green stretch of Albert Park and thinking it looks so normal outside. Every day, I looked at the news in Australia, which I had never really done before. Industries were shutting down, and the panic was setting in for thousands of casual workers in the hospitality industry as it was only a matter of time before we would be shut down too.

Melbourne is a cultural hub filled with travelers who typically come here on a Work and Holiday Visa which gives them 1-2 years to work and live in AU. Most find work in hospitality as there are over 40,000 restaurants and cafes in this region. You couldn’t go a single day without meeting someone from another country which is why I fell in love with this city. I worked as a freelance barista through agencies that called for workers to be able to step in if someone called out sick or quit unexpectedly and they found themselves short. But my agencies had gone completely silent in the week leading up to the industry shutting down. There was no more work and travelers were finding themselves stranded. I journaled daily in the lead up to my final day of work in the city as I knew something big was happening, and I wanted to be able to recall when it all began. I also knew we would not be travelling anytime soon, around Australia or otherwise, when national and international borders began closing around the world.

 March 17th, 2020

All that’s being talked about is COVID-19. Entire countries are closing borders and going into complete lockdown. Italy has been inundated with patients in hospitals and now have to choose who lives and who dies. AU isn’t taking nearly as intense of measures, but the general atmosphere is not normal. All events with over 500 people have been cancelled. Those who have traveled anywhere must self-quarantine for 14 days or face a huge fine. Some people still don’t take it seriously, thinking/acting like it’s just a normal flu when in reality its ability to be passed on and even re-infect someone a second time is much higher than the rate of a simple flu. In the states, my family says all the restaurants and schools have closed, even the Hollywood entertainment industry has closed down. So many independent contractors, myself included, are without means to live because there’s no emergency government funding in place. It shows what’s truly flawed with the system. Luckily Cam has full time work still, but for those people who have kids and no daycare options? No partner or family? Those who are traveling and can’t get back home? This is devastating for all of us, but them in particular. Supposedly, there are rumors that the virus dies with the warm weather, but AU is headed into winter. It could be why the virus isn’t as big in places like South America and Africa (*note* countries from these two continents are now in the top 10 most infected places as of September 2020) Europe is completely shut down as is New Zealand. I have flights to California in June, so I’m hoping I can still go. For how weak my immune system is, I’m surprised I’m not more concerned because I’ve been continuously reassured the virus only attacks those with underlying conditions, mainly in the elderly population. Even in calm, tight-knitted communities like ours in Eltham, we’re seeing the best and worst of humanity come out with people hoarding resources, but also there are those offering rides for people to stores or grocery drop offs to their homes. I’m very interested to see how the next three months progress all around the world. Right about now, it’d be nice to hide away in a beachside house in Mexico. (*Mexico is also among the top 10 most infected countries now*)

March18th, 2020

The government should announce today whether hospitality industry will close, potentially putting Cam and I both out of jobs. Luckily our landlord is being highly accommodating. Trump is giving Americans $1,200 and has postponed tax season by 3 months. Only seems he does something decent when it’s to keep the economy from tanking and his money is protected.

Cam and I both have throat annoyances and headaches. We should try to stay home, but can’t afford it. Today, they’ve dropped gatherings of 500 down to only 100 people, yet shopping centers and public transport remain open, which I would think are the riskiest places for transferring infections. It’s been stated this is a once in a decade event that will change the course of history.

 March 19th, 2020

Amidst all the chaos from morning to night, people are finally taking time to nurture their interests and creativity. I’m taking two courses on sustainable fashion and fashion in design. I’ve also applied to be a mentor for women trying to gain work and leadership experience at an NGO called Fitted for Work. They have stylists that help women to prepare business outfits and tailor their resumes/do mock interviews. I’ve looked into an MA program I’m interested in at Warren Wilson College back in North Carolina. I think looking forward is the only way to keep the fear down about how long these shut downs may last possibly through June. The world economy is going to see some extremely confronting realities it hasn’t seen since the Great Depression. For the moment I’m looking into teaching English online which I’m already certified to do, just to try and earn some money. I’ll be interested to see all the art that comes out of this period and the photojournalism that captures this historic time.

 March 21st, 2020

We went over to Williamstown (Cam’s parent’s house) as Cam had two shifts out that way. Restrictions in cafes are now 1 person per 4 square meters, so in the 100 person limit already imposed, it’s now down to 25. I’m nervous for Cam to keep working and going on public transport. It’s high risk and unethical in terms of coming in contact with people we could transmit it to without knowing (asymptomatic) because it takes 14 days to even show symptoms. We made the choice to start self-isolation come Monday as we can see in the next week or two the same spike will be here in Melbourne as we’ve seen in Italy and most likely soon to see in the U.S. Reading other peoples’ accounts about how they continued life as normal as though nothing had changed in Italy is exactly where AU is projected to head towards.

 March 25, 2020

As of Monday, AU took drastic measures to ensure safety and closed many non-essential businesses with a series of daily updates for more and more businesses to shut or only stay open for takeaway. Overnight, nearly 80,000 people in hospitality work were laid off or lost work, Cam and I included. A stimulus package of 66 billion dollars was announced and Cam qualified for government payments through Centrelink because he’s a kiwi who’s been here over 10 years. Other kiwis who haven’t been here that long are completely without any kind of support from the AU government, even though in NZ, Aussies are supported. A very backward, selfish system who told them to go home.

We went to Centrelink on Monday at 7:45am in Greensborough (suburb over from Eltham). By 8:30 am when the doors opened there were over 200 people in line. The government has been terribly confusing with their messages out to the public, highly unprepared. People are confused about what they can and can’t do, what businesses are remaining open, who is eligible… it’s a mess. Why are liquor stores and hair salons considered essential?? There have been spikes in young people getting this virus as young as 18, and they are dying. The virus coats your lungs like a jelly ultimately blocking oxygen. We did what is hopefully our last grocery shop because being in the store is just as contagious as a café. There’s no safety or hygiene measures in place. We had gloves on and people were dancing around each other in the aisles to maintain 1.5m social distance.

The U.S. is becoming the new epicenter with horrific rapid spreading, particularly in New York. Flight around the world, including as of today AU, are being stopped and we can no longer leave the country at all.

  To Be Continued…..

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled - Ch 2

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

Warning: Implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, Demon!Dean, Sam’s tendency to leave out vital details for folks helping him to save Dean (read: Sam’s tendency to be a Winchester), threats of violence, emotional manipulation, mind fuckery (expect LOTS of that in upcoming chapters)

Word count: 1597

Author’s Note: This story would not be possible without @thoughtslikeaminefield , who convinced me to write and finish this story, cheered me on every step of the way, and convinced me that even after over a year of not finishing a single thing, I hadn’t lost my writing after all. MJ, thank you for poking the story til it squeaked. And for the banner. And lots and lots of other things. Thanks also to @cracksinthewalls for checking my work. You make everything you touch better.

If you’re reading this, hi! Have a seat and strap in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride (in the best way!).

In case you missed it:

Ch 1

Chapter 2

The wave of sheer malevolence that rolled over Miriam nearly knocked her from her feet, and she only just kept from throwing her arms up in defense.

Nothing was coming at her, no weapons, no attacks or enemies. But the sense that something in this room was absolutely wrong couldn’t be denied any more than she could deny the mental and physical effort she had to exert just to stay by Sam’s side.

Torn, she thought, eyes darting around the enclosure. She wanted to bolt from the room, from the whole bunker, find the furthest cave, and bury herself in it.

And yet...

Moment by moment, she had to fight the urge to walk straight over to the man bound to the chair not fifteen feet away, a chair she couldn't help but notice was bolted to the floor.

What the hell did she think she’d do when she got there, exactly? Where was this coming from?

Her stomach twisted as she forced herself to breathe normally, to ignore the flush rising through her skin, and really look around the newly revealed room.

Dungeon, her scattered mind projected. The Winchesters have a dungeon.

A massive devil's trap, much larger than any of the few she’d seen, was painted on the floor. The sigils were painted in black against the grayish white of the floor; detailed, huge, and precise, the mystical symbols couldn’t help but draw her gaze. She examined the lines for a long moment, studiously ignoring the one thing in the room she suddenly needed to look at.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

Dean Winchester had aged a little better than his brother, but he’d obviously weathered some tough times, as well. That his arms were both cuffed and tied to the chair in which he was sitting, his eyes blacked out in true demonic presence, did nothing to ease every instinct within Miriam that screamed for her to run.

Sure, Sam had said his brother was a demon, but…still. Dean Winchester, the Dean Winchester, an actual demon? That wasn’t a fact that could be conveyed through simple words.

“Gretel, it’s been too long. Where’s Hansel? Did a mean old witch toss him in an oven yet?”

The demon smirked at his wit, and Miriam felt her lips drawing back in an involuntary snarl, but Sam’s earlier words echoed in her head, and she throttled down the instinct to find a very swift end to this abomination. Nostrils flaring, she cracked her neck slowly to one side, then the other, closing her eyes for a two-count before opening them again.

Dean watched her, head cocked inquisitively, showing the first signs of real interest since she and Sam had walked in. His obsidian eyes narrowed as he gave her a thorough once over. His gaze lingered on her neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took in the ruined skin, the pulse beating along the column of her throat. When he spoke again, his velvet tone throbbed in her veins, even as his words sent her stomach spiraling.

“Nah, I think the big bad wolf found you both. Ate up baby brother and started in on you for dessert. Bet he thought you were real sweet. Wouldn’t mind sinkin’ my teeth into that neck, either.”

Sam’s hand on her shoulder brought her back to herself, out of the rushing void. She blinked, cleared her throat, tasted blood.

When did I bite my cheek? she thought.

She shook her head like a dog shedding water, and suddenly she was back with herself. She glanced at Sam, looking for guidance on what to do next. Every hunter instinct she had screamed at her to drown Dean in a vat of holy water, or behead him at the very least. Anything to not look into those eyes again.

Those empty, black eyes that pulled when they should repel, that called to her to jump into the abyss rather than backing away from the precipice like any sane person should.

But Sam, the same man who didn’t hesitate to tackle the witch about to finish Aaron off as Dean set fire to the hex bag all those years ago, was frozen in place, his mouth a thin, painful line as his red eyes shone wetly under the harsh lighting. Then he cleared his throat and looked away from his brother as he arranged some flasks on the metal table nearby.

“Dean, I’ve gotta get some supplies for the ritual. It’ll take me a couple of days. Miriam is going to watch you, keep you...company. Then we’re gonna fix this.”

The harsh, gritty laugh that rumbled up from Dean’s chest was as amused as it was mocking.

“Are you still on that crusade, Sam? I don’t need a babysitter. Let me go, and we’ll just forget this whole brainless little scheme of yours. I don’t need fixing.” Dean grinned wider as his brother visibly flinched. “Ain’t broken, Sammy. Just improved.”

Sam’s lips pinched together hard, his eyebrows drawing down sharply, but he didn’t reply, instead turning his attention to Miriam.

“I know it sounds crazy, but we’ve figured out a way to cure demons. I can get my brother back, but it’s not gonna be easy. I have to go get the materials, some kind of specialized stuff, and it may take me a few days. I need your help; our other...friend is dealing with something and can’t get back here, and somebody has to watch Dean while I’m gone, just in case.”

Miriam glanced disbelievingly between the two brothers, one very obviously at the breaking point, if not well past it, and the other seemingly bored despite being chained down.

She took an unconscious step towards Dean before she could stop herself, then planted her feet hard. What the hell was that? she thought.

Dean eyed her speculatively for a moment, taking in her odd internal struggle. His nostrils flared briefly as he inhaled, and a smirk began to curl at the corner of his mouth.

“I think we need to talk in the hallway for a sec, Sam,” Miriam said, her lips pressed into a thin, tense line.

Sam huffed out a breath, and Miriam could see he was relieved she wasn’t outright refusing. As he led the way back to the hall, she glanced at Dean. He’d reverted to his natural appearance; warm, clear green eyes sparkled across the room as he winked at her.

“See ya soon, sweetheart.”

She shuddered and hurried after Sam.

The air in the hallway was by no means the fresh air she’d prefer, but it was bracing and clear after the tense, conflicting atmosphere she’d left behind. She took a moment to gather herself, to get her overwhelmed thoughts into some sort of order. Before she could find her words, though, Sam broke the silence with the last thing she expected or wanted to hear right now.

“I heard about Aaron. I’m so sorry, Miriam. I know it’s a rough time for you right now, but-”

“That's not the point, Sam,” she interrupted before he could finish, irritation and pain flaring hot in her chest. “You said you needed my help. That implies there’s something I can even do here. You want me to watch Dean, but what the hell do you think I can do if he gets out? I can’t hold back a demon by myself! You could’ve warned me, saved me the trip!”

“He won’t get out,” Sam said, his fingers clenching reflexively on the edge of his sling, and he grimaced. “The cuffs are inscribed with runes, and he’s inside a devil’s trap; you know those will hold demons as long as the lines are intact. Those flasks on the table back there are loaded up with holy water. Anything happens, you run like hell, call me, and I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”

He stepped into her space suddenly, and she was overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. He grasped her shoulder with his good hand, leaning down to hold her gaze. His desperation was etched into every line of his face, and she felt a sudden, unexpected affinity to Sam Winchester.

“I had no one else I could trust. I knew if I told you the whole situation over the phone, you might not come. But I never forgot you and your brother, and I never forgot your promise. I knew, out of the few people I could turn to, that you were the only one who’d understand that I’m going to do everything I can to save Dean.”

Sam’s fingers dug into Miriam’s shoulder blade, but she didn’t flinch, holding his gaze for a long, weighted moment. Then she nodded. He was right. Of everything that had happened since she answered the phone seven hours ago, this was perhaps the one thing she really, truly understood.

“You’re gonna have to load me up with holy water, though. Maybe a water gun to hold it. You got a Super Soaker lyin’ around somewhere?”

Sam coughed out a sudden laugh and released her.

“I can do you one better,” he said.

He reached behind his back to pull out a knife from a hidden sheath. He held it out to her handle-first, and her eyebrows shot up as she took in the inscribed, serrated blade. She’d heard stories about that knife, but she never thought she’d actually see it, much less hold it.

“Shit, Sam, I knew you respected me, but I didn’t know you actually cared.”

...

Chapter 3

[donnerpartyofone]

idk if you've talked about it, probably have. but if you don't mind to again, ketamine injections for depression? did it work? was it expensive? how long did it work for? ty.

dang, i never got a notification for this message. sorry! ketamine absolutely worked for the management of my depression, it was very expensive, and i think i would have needed more for it to become a longer term solution. i may still go back in the future if my lifestyle changes, but for right now, i can’t justify the cost--which is an insane thing to say when what i’m paying for is freedom from hurting myself, but, ya know, CAPITALISM. 

the whole story is, i’ve been severely depressed my whole entire life; i don’t have any memories that don’t involve feeling morbidly upset, and i can remember things pretty sharply from the time i was slightly younger than 2.* i took ketamine recreationally some years ago when i was around 30 (i wasn’t adventurous about substances until i reached about that age), and i was totally astounded by how it affected my depression both during, and for weeks after the experience. it seemed to distance me from the oppressively immediacy of my bad feelings, giving me space to actually THINK about what was really bothering me, what kind of control i could have over how i assign importance and authority to things that don’t serve me, and what i might like my life to be like in the future. so, when i found out that there were ketamine clinics in new york, i kind of freaked out. actually, i found out about it from a guy who i met on an ayahuasca retreat upstate (which is its own hilariously mortifying story that i’ve been trying to write down for years and it keeps turning into a big unwieldy novel), who had been through the entire gamut of treatments for major depressive disorder. he liked his ketamine experience, but admitted that it was prohibitively expensive to keep up.

this is the place i went, and i recommend it to anyone who can afford it:

nyketamine.com

they say that they accept patients selectively, if you have treatment-resistant depression. i don’t know how strict they are about that, because by the time i came to them, i was looking pretty treatment-resistant. i’d been in and out of a few shrinks’ offices, and i’m basically incapable of taking any of the usual antidepressants because of how they affect other conditions i have. the process was, i filled out a request form on their website, and in a day or two, a clinician called to interview me over the phone about the character of my depression, and to gather some other anecdotal information about my history and health. the person i spoke to was very kind, attentive, and reassuring. the following day, someone called to set my first appointment. the whole reason i was able to do this is because of some inheritance that i received at the time; it’s $450 a session, and they suggest (or insist? i’m not sure) that you begin with a minimum of 6 sessions, each of them 2 days apart. after that, you just kind of monitor yourself to see when you think you need pickup sessions; the effect is cumulative and long term. i have no idea if they have any type of sliding scale accommodation, it could be worth asking.

when i went in for my first session, i had a brief interview with the head doctor, a navy veteran and anesthesiologist who had been working with ketamine in various capacities for 50 years. he explained a lot of things that i had no idea about, that were great to learn. periods of prolonged stress, especially while your brain is still developing, can result in a deficit of the neural pathways that you need to experience a full range of emotion; essentially, being chronically depressed and anxious can kind of give you brain damage. if you have that type of problem, it doesn’t matter what you do to try to boost your serotonin or dopamine or whatever; it’s like if you’re trying to get somewhere in your car and you can’t, not because you’re out of gas, but because the bridge is out. for some reason, ketamine switches back on the function that builds those pathways, so with regular therapeutic applications, you can actually heal the structural problem around your mood centers that’s reducing your emotional range to anxiety and depression. if you’re over 60 or so and your brain is less plastic, your chances of success aren’t as good as when you’re younger, but there’s always a chance; also, for some reason, ketamine plays especially well with estrogen, so women have a bit of a leg up. anyway, the doctor was great, and i really liked everyone there; it felt like they all knew they were doing something meaningful.

the sessions themselves are pleasant. they put you in a private room in a big cushy medical chair with a blanket and a pillow, and you let them know if you want the lights on or off. they give you an IV drip that lasts roughly an hour, and they communicate with you to figure out the dosage. you basically just tell them what feels comfortable, if the dosage they start you on is too low to notice. you won’t get something that puts you in a K hole, but you should enter a gentle dissociative state where you feel a little numb and floaty, and you might have a lot of interesting abstract thoughts. the worst part of it is just how bad you have to pee by the time the drip is done, when you’re still feeling a little anesthetized; sometimes i wound up looking at the bag with my flashlight to check if i had finished, and then i’d just press the call button to get them to come unplug me before i pissed my pants.

you’re not supposed to necessarily notice a difference right away, but you should detect a change in mood after a few weeks. i did. the way my disorder works is, most days i just have a low level background radiation of sadness and exhaustion, even on a “good day” when things are working out or i’m distracted by things i enjoy. when i wake up in the morning and realize i’m conscious and the time for sleep is over, my first feeling is disappointment, 100% of the time. then, i’d say roughly once a month or once every couple of months, i have a complete nervous collapse where i’m in so much pain i can’t really do anything but like drool and cry and let my eyes go out of focus, for anywhere from 1-7 days. there will usually be an apparent trigger; i’m a fairly dysfunctional person, and i frequently lose things, break things, and fuck things up even though i like STUDIED to do them, took it slow, asked for help, gave myself extra time, etc. but the thing is, i think the “trigger” is arbitrary, this is just a cyclic psychic event that builds up and waits to happen. but after my first battery of ketamine treatments, i had a particular day when i could tell that normally, i would quickly wind up curled up at the bottom of my bathtub scream-crying until i couldn’t move--and this time, i managed to just push through. not only did i not break down, but i actually got a number of difficult chores done, that i had put off because they seemed too intimidating, or like i wouldn’t be able to mentally handle my inevitable failure. i noticed more and more of that, while i was in proximity to the treatments, an ability to just buckle down and keep going. so it’s not like i felt HAPPIER or something, but i felt much more capable of coping, which was like a miracle honestly.

it’s been about 3.5 months since i last went in, and i think i could use a booster appointment, but as i said i just can’t fit it in with my financial reality right now. so, that sucks. but, i definitely feel that it was worth doing, and i would recommend it to anyone who can shoulder the cost. hopefully in the future, ketamine will become a much more common psychiatric treatment, and it will become available to more and more patients.

*A friend of mine just told me he read somewhere that you don’t actually recall memories from like 20 years ago, you just remember the last time you recalled them--so like, i THINK i remember my parents struggling to give me drops for pink eye in our first apartment when i was about 1.5 years old, but in reality, i just remember the last time i remembered it, or the earliest time i’m able to remember remembering it. pretty interesting! and kind of disturbing, like the idea that star trek-type teleporters don’t actually transport a person, they just DESTROY the original person and rebuild a new one on the other end, a thought that REALLY BOTHERS ME.

[rimmers-swimming-certificate]

Red Dwarf Fanfic - Comatose (7/?)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

Lister’s guitar stood resting against the wall, in the same place it had been yesterday, and the day before. The same place he had left it the last time he had played it, months ago, when he could still touch it.

Sitting on his bunk with his legs dangling over the side, Lister moved his hands as though he was playing, humming a tune to himself as he imagined the feel of the guitar in his hands; the weight of it, the feel of the smooth, painted wood, the pressure of the strings on his fingertips as he pressed the frets and strummed to coax music from the instrument.

He stopped. It was no good. Imagining it would just never be the same.

Lister sighed deeply, pulled his legs back up onto the bed, and lay down. He closed his eyes and tried not to think. Thinking at a time like this would be a bad idea. The best thing he could do when he felt himself sinking into despair was pick up his guitar and let himself get lost in the music.

He had never been prone to depression before he had been marooned in deep space. He was fully aware that he’d had his issues, but that had never been one of them. Since Holly had brought him out of stasis, however, he had found himself sinking into low moods with alarming regularity, even before he had been whacked over the head and woken up as a hologram.

He supposed it made sense. After all, he was the last human being alive, he was cast adrift in deep space, with very little hope of ever seeing Earth again, and he hadn’t touched a woman in three million years. Honestly, he supposed it was a miracle that he wasn’t a blubbering wreck rocking back and forth in the corner.

Most of the time, he could ignore the feeling; push it into the back of his mind and act like it wasn’t there. He could drown it out by making himself smile, finding the joy in what little he did have, and forcing himself not to think about what he had lost. If he pretended hard enough most of the time, it would go away.

But not always, and once he began to sink, he would often sink hard, and it would take time and effort to drag himself back up. And that was what he felt beginning to happen now.

It had been brewing for some time in the back of his mind, and right now, he just didn’t have the mental energy to fight it off. He couldn’t retreat into his usual coping strategies. He had always used his guitar to stave off the worst of the loneliness, his guitar, and a good curry, and now he couldn’t even touch either.

“Lister, falling back into old habits, I see,” Rimmer announced as he strode purposefully into the living quarters they shared. “Honestly, if I’d known that you were going to spend all your time lying around in bed, I’d have suggested we leave you comatose.”

Lister cracked open an eye and glared at Rimmer through it. “Very funny.”

Rimmer shook his head. “It wasn’t a joke,” he said.

Lister rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Leave me alone, Rimmer. I’m not in the mood.”

Rimmer frowned at him as though he was some disgusting piece of gum he had found stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Not in the mood for what, exactly?”

“This conversation, for a start,” Lister said. He wasn’t in the mood for anything, he wasn't in the mood to have to deal with Rimmer, he wasn’t in the mood to talk, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to have to pretend like he was okay. Not now, when he was feeling less okay than he had in a long time.

Rimmer nodded. He looked himself over in the mirror, brushed down imaginary dust from his clothing, then turned back to Lister. “You need to get up,” he said.

Lister continued to stare at the ceiling. “I’m tired,” he said.

“No, you’re not. Well, you shouldn’t be, anyway. You only woke up a couple of hours ago.”

“No I didn’t,” Lister argued. He frowned, and turned to address a question out into the centre of the room. “Hey, Holly, what time is it?”

Holly’s face appeared on the viewscreen. “About 4.15pm,” she said. “Why?”

Lister turned back to Rimmer triumphantly. “See. I woke up three hours ago.”

“Oh, well done,” Rimmer congratulated him in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what have you done with your day so far? Achieved a lot, I imagine. Have you even got out of bed yet?”

“Yes!” Lister told him. Truthfully, as it happened. “I mean, only for a bit. I popped down to the medical unit to check on my body.”

Rimmer nodded. “How’s it doing?”

“Same.” Lister turned his head to look at Rimmer as he spoke to him. “Kryten says he's going to keep me informed, but I guess there’s nothing to tell, because so far he’s barely said a word about it.”

“No news is good news,” Rimmer said.

Lister shrugged. He wasn’t so sure about that, but he supposed that at least it wasn’t bad news.

“I don’t understand why you keep going down there.” Rimmer told him. “Surely it can’t be fun, seeing yourself hooked up to all those machines.”

“It’s not.”

“And it’s not like it’s helping anything. It isn’t like visiting a sick relative so they think you care. There’s nobody in there to score points with.”

Lister stared, disbelieving. “That’s the only reason you’d visit someone in the hospital then, is it? Point scoring? So they ‘think you care’? You genuinely wouldn’t give a damn if someone you cared about was sick in hospital?”

Rimmer shrugged. “It would depend on the person,” he said.

“So did you never go visit me then, before you hologrammed me? You never once swung by to check up on me?”

Rimmer folded his arms and looked away. “Once or twice. I didn’t make a habit of it.”

“No? Because Kryten told me you were there every day.”

Rimmer shrugged dismissively and suddenly appeared very interested in the wall at the other side of the room. “Yes, exactly. Once or twice a day. That’s what I meant.”

“Because you didn’t want to make a habit of it.”

The hologram scowled, then folded his arms. “Even comatose, Lister, you’re a better conversationalist than the Cat. Anyway, forget that, we were talking about you, not me.”

Technically, no. Lister had been trying to have a lie down on his bed. Rimmer was the one trying to talk.

“You’ve got to get up, Lister. Stop moping around and get on with your life. Otherwise what was the point in us giving you this hologram body, if all you’re going to do is lie in bed?”

Lister eyed him suspiciously. “Did Kryten put you up to this?” he asked.

“Kryten? No. Why?”

Lister shook his head. “No reason. So, go on then, what do you suggest I do? I mean, my options are a bit limited right now, if you didn’t notice.”

Rimmer gave him a look. “Yes, thank you. I’m well aware of the limitations of being a hologram Lister. I’ve been dealing with them for a good few years now. Maybe it’s time you stopped moping around and listened to me. You might even find that I have some vague idea what I’m talking about.”

Lister sighed.

“There’s loads you could be doing,” Rimmer assured him.

“Like?”

“Like? I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

Lister shook his head. He wanted to be left in peace. He had been perfectly fine moping around in bed. “Leave me alone, Rimmer,” he said. “I’m okay, honestly. I don’t need your help.”

Rimmer shrugged, and turned to leave. For one, brief, moment, he thought the hologram was going to do as he was asked. Facing the door, Rimmer stopped, and then turned back. “No,” he said. “I’ve had enough of this. Get up.”

“Rimmer…”

“Lister, you know the ship’s computer can take control of a hologram’s body, right? Holly did it to me, when he decided to play that ridiculous practical joke and pretended to be Queeg. It’s not very nice, and if you don’t want to learn that first hand, I suggest you get out of bed.”

Lister sat up and stared at him in horror. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

Rimmer stared back at him wordlessly. His expression said ‘try me’.”

Lister felt his mouth go dry as he imagined a total loss of control. A familiar feeling of claustrophobia began to grip him at the mere thought of it, but that would be so much worse than being trapped in a small space. To be trapped within his own body, unable to move except at the will of another person. He felt himself begin to break out in a cold sweat, and his heart, or the simulation of his heart, pounded in his chest.

“Don’t.” He slid down from his bunk. “Please don’t, Rimmer. Don’t you dare.”

“I wouldn’t.” Rimmer told him. He was staring at him in horror. “I… really I wouldn’t. What do you take me for? It was a joke.”

A joke. A joke? Lister took a deep breath and sat down so heavily on Rimmer’s bunk that for a moment he thought he was going to fall through it. He ran a hand over his face, then wiped it on his trousers. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Rimmer told him. “I didn’t mean to make you… whatever it is that’s happening. What is happening, by the way?”

Lister leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, he sucked in a slow deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips as he tried to chase away the rising panic. “Claustrophobic,” he said.

“Oh. Well I wasn’t going to make you lock yourself in a box or anything.”

Lister forced himself to look up and glared at Rimmer, who genuinely looked worried about what was happening. Lister took another slow, deep breath. “You’re a total smeg head, Rimmer. You know that, right?”

Rimmer sat down on the bed next to him. “It’s been pointed out to me,” he said. “On occasion.”

Lister nodded.

“In my defence though, I expected you to just threaten me back, or… I don’t know, maybe call my bluff or something.”

Lister sucked in and blew out another breath. “Rimmer, if you ever so much as think a threat like that again…”

Rimmer nodded. “I won’t,” he promised. “Got you out of bed though.”

“Yeah.” Lister sat up straight and rubbed a hand over his face again. He could still feel himself shaking, but he trusted that Rimmer wasn’t really going to follow through on the threat. He turned to look at Rimmer. “Any particular reason for that? Or have you just decided you don’t like people to be laying down?”

“I wanted to try to cheer you up,” Rimmer told him. “I smegged that one up, didn’t I?”

Lister couldn’t help it, he laughed at that. “Great job,” he said.

Without thinking, he touched Rimmer. A quick hand on his shoulder as he moved to get up, and he froze.

With his hand still on Rimmer’s shoulder, he stared at it in fascination. “Rimmer…” he began, but broke off.

Rimmer too, was sitting completely still, staring at Lister’s hand. His eyes were wide, and his expression impossible to read.

Lister squeezed, just slightly, pressing his fingers into Rimmer’s shoulder. He could feel the flesh and the bone beneath. It felt so real. Warm; human. The unexpectedness of it took his breath away.

Rimmer raised his other hand slowly. Hesitantly, he touched the back of Lister's hand. Through the fingerless leather gloves he was wearing, the touch felt feather-light, moving slowly across the back of his hand, tracing the shape of it. Lister watched, wanting him to press harder, but not wanting to break the spell of the moment by speaking.

And then, it was over. As quickly as if a switch had been pressed, Rimmer snatched back his hand, got to his feet, and bolted from the room.

“Rimmer, wait a minute!”

Lister was too late, Rimmer was already gone and by the time Lister had reached the door, he had disappeared around a corner.

“Smeg.”

He went back into the room and sat back down on the bed. He looked at his hand. He could feel the ghost of the unexpected touch. He touched his own hand, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t speak to that need for contact inside of him; a need that until that moment, he hadn’t even recognised.

He sighed. He didn’t get it, Rimmer had seemed to like it at first. Until he hadn’t. Lister flexed his fingers and shook his hand as though he could shake off the memory of the touch, but it was impossible.

Finally, he got to his feet. “Holly, do you know where Rimmer’s gone?” he asked.

(next)

[scandalsavagefanfic]

You know how Bruce took Jason to the place where he died, hoping Jason could remember something to help resurrect Damian? What if Bruce actually succeeded in triggering Jason's memory of what happened on the day he died, but instead of getting the information he needs to revive Damian, Jason goes into shock and dies. Or worse he returns to the state he was in mentally when he crawled out of his grave?

You’re my favorite kind of monster. My angst soulmate.

This is the first comic book that made me cry. We’ve been talking a lot lately about Bruce punching Tim in Batman #71 and some people even talk about Bruce beating the shit out of Jason in RHatO #25 but frankly, in my opinion, this is the most fucked up thing Bruce has ever done (and that’s not even counting the fact that after he subjects Jason to this, Jason punches him (as he should), and he punches Jason back).

Trying to summarize it in the thing I wrote for this wouldn’t have done it justice so I included the panels which roll right into the little ficlet I wrote for this. So you’ll want read the comic panels like they’re part of the story, because they are.

[[If you haven’t read Batman and Robin (2011) #20 by Peter Tomasi and Patrick Gleason, you should. The really heartbreaking stuff takes place immediately following the panels I’ve included]]

Regress 

Words: 1121 (not counting the ones in the panels)

Rating: …Teen?

Warnings: emotional abuse/manipulation, panic attacks, seizures, severe traumatic brain injuries, severe ptsd

He doesn’t register the increasingly labored breathing at his side until movement out of the corner of his eye interrupts his speech.

Jason is doubled over, one elbow bracing himself across his knees, fingers of the other hand digging deep into the dirt, steadying himself against the ground.

“Jason?” Bruce says in concern, stepping toward him. But the younger man, raises his hand in a halting motion and stumbles away a few steps putting more space between them.

Stunned, Bruce watches in confusion as Jason takes too many deep, frantic breaths as though he can’t get any air. He’s hyperventilating, his face suddenly clammy; pale and wet with sweat.

When Jason squeezes his eyes closed only for them to fly wide open almost immediately to stare at ground, refusing to blink until tears well up and drop into the dust, that’s when Bruce is shaken from his shocked stupor and rushes to the younger man’s side. 

Just in time to catch him as he suddenly seizes, collapsing into Bruce’s arms while convulsions wrack his body.

He knows the look of abject terror on Jason’s face is reflected on his own. He has no idea what’s happening, how something like this could come on so suddenly, without warning. 

Jason doesn’t have a history of panic attacks or seizures. But his pulse has skyrocketed. It’s racing so fast Bruce is worried he’s going to have a stroke or go into cardiac arrest. 

“Jason, I-I know it’s hard son, but you need to focus. Please, try to breath or you’re going to–” 

Or you’re going to die.

Bruce chokes on the rest of the words. He looks up, out at the rubble of the warehouse that only a couple years ago had blown up around his tortured son and killed him slowly as it filled his ruined lungs with poisonous smoke.

His gaze snaps back down a moment before a wet gurgle sounds from within Jason’s throat. Instantly, without hesitation, Bruce turns Jason onto his side. So he doesn’t drown in the vomit that spills beneath them, splashing onto Batman’s boots. 

It doesn’t even register in Bruce’s mind. Jason’s pulse is still ratcheting higher and higher. 

He keeps Jason securely in his lap, pressed close against his armor, with one arm. Both eyes fixed intently on the youthful face twisted in agony, watching for any changes, trying to not fixate on the way one pupil is a pinprick while the other is dilated so wide there isn’t the slightest hint of color. With his free hand he starts desperately fishing for the strongest sedative he can safely administer to someone Jason’s size.

Suddenly, Jason’s eyes shut tightly again, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, and he grabs at his head; pressing against his temples with all his strength before taking fistfuls of hair and trying to pull them out. 

Terror isn’t strong enough to describe the kind of fear that floods every cell of Bruce’s body and it’s only years of practice that allow him to compartmentalize his guilt and shove it aside. He can’t afford– Jason can’t afford– for him to fall apart.

Letting his violently spasming, child slip gently from his lap to the ground so that he can effectively retrieve the sedative is at once the hardest and easiest thing he’s ever done.

Moments after he depresses the needle’s plunger, Jason’s convulsions slowly abate. His hands drop, boneless, away from his head. His breathing evens out. His lids drop heavier and heavier until he’s taken under. 

Finally his whole body relaxes.

Bruce takes a deep breath of relief and realizes he had been holding his own.

But now, in the silence, bathed in the harsh white from the Batmobile’s headlights, darkness pressing in, the crumbled remains of a dark tomb casting sharp, twisted shadows across the eerily still form of the teenager they once buried… now Bruce is left with only his own thoughts. 

I did this.

————————————————————-

Two months and two dozen specialists later, the best anyone can tell is that a severe panic attack triggered a seizure which tore open all the old wounds the Lazarus Pits had tentatively mended. The physical trauma inflicted on Jason’s brain is some of the most extensive the doctors had ever seen. And permanent.

He’s lucky to be alive, they’d said.

The last time Bruce saw Jason, the little patches of hair he had torn out had just started growing back. His eyes were vacant as he stared, unseeingly, into the distance. Tim had gently wiped up the clear fluid that occasionally leaked out of Jason’s ears with a tissue. Then, with one final angry, heartbroken glance back at Bruce, he’d wheeled an unresponsive Jason out of the manor, into his new van, and drove away.

Alfred had gone with them.

Tim and Barbara speak to him exactly twice after that. Once to extract Damian from the league after Ra’s managed to resurrect him. And the final time to help Dick finish with his undercover work at Spyral. 

None of them are surprised when they find out Bruce lied to them about Dick’s death.

Dick is horrified when he sees Jason again for the first time, when Tim and Barbara fill him in. The look of disgust he levels at Bruce cuts deep. Even though Bruce knows he deserves that and worse. 

Damian, who had been conflicted about what happened with Jason, it was cruel and heartless but it was done out of love for him, went easily with Dick to Bludhaven after everything. Dick’s right. It’s for the best.

Bruce deserves it all. He’s aware of that. What happened… what he did… it’s unforgivable.

But he can’t stop himself from checking in on them. Making sure they’re all right.

That’s how, nearly a year later, he learns they’ve all moved to New York together. They have the top TBI specialists there. The boys chose a place close enough to the city that they can do their night jobs but far enough outside the city limits that the lights are in the distance and the noise is non-existent. A peaceful house in a peaceful wood, tucked away from the world, where their broken brother can… can…

Exist.

They take hundreds of pictures. Jason is in every single of them. Never alone. Never forgotten. Always cared for.

But there’s still nothing behind that emotionless gaze.

Sometimes Bruce thinks about putting Jason in the Pit again. Even found himself, with no one to stop him, halfway to New York once. 

But the boys haven’t taken him. Dick and Tim and Damian haven’t tried it. They must have a reason.

And if one thing has been made abundantly clear to Bruce, it’s that his judgement absolutely cannot be trusted.

[seasonofthegeek]

Here comes a personal post because this week has been a doozy and I want to get some words out. Also please don’t reblog this post. This is just for me to get some thoughts down and there’s no reason to spread it. Thanks. :)

Back in May, I began having passive suicidal thoughts and knew I needed to get some help. I didn’t want to actively hurt myself, but I thought it might be better for everyone in my life if something happened to me and I died. After a visit to the doctor, I started an antidepressant that worked for me and I got back to a mental level I was more comfortable with. A few months later, something happened to someone I love dearly and it showed me that I was just teetering on the edge, even with the meds, so I sought out a therapist to have someone outside of my life to talk to.

It’s been a great experience and my therapist is easy to talk to but also good at keeping me accountable in the tasks I’ve set for myself, while also reminding me that it’s okay to fail. She listens and offers advice when it’s warranted and some sessions I’ve just walked in and word vomited for an hour and that’s been fine. A few sessions ago, she suggested I start seeing a psychiatrist to get to the root of some of my issues. She was wondering if I had bipolar disorder (my brother was diagnosed with it ) and put the ball in my court to contact someone if it was something I wanted to explore further.

I was an anxious mess but called one of the psychiatrists my therapist recommended and set up an appointment. That appointment finally came up this past Tuesday and after battling an angry child not wanting to go to school, no time for breakfast, construction traffic, and school traffic, I finally made it to my appointment twenty minutes late (I called on the way, of course). 

I was a wreck and almost didn’t get out of my car when I pulled into the parking lot, but I forced myself out into the cold and then into an unknown office. After a few minutes, I was taken back to meet my psychiatrist and he was one of those people who can immediately put others at ease. He recognized the My Hero characters on my hoodie and told me his daughter loved the show. He smiled and made small talk.

And then he read aloud the notes my therapist had sent him with my consent.

I’m going to be honest, it was ROUGH hearing everything I’ve been dealing with read by someone I just met in the span of a few minutes. He went through it simply, not commenting, just relaying information. I took a big breath when he finished and told him it was hard to hear it all at once. And he smiled and suggested we just start from the beginning.

And that’s how the rest of the appointment was. He was pleasant and kept things simple and asked questions that led me down different paths of conversation. He told me that I would be diagnosing myself with his help and that I had all the power.

It was refreshing.

My therapist is great and she has helped me with a lot of issues, but she can mainly just offer advice on how to deal with things.

My psychiatrist led me to understand why I deal with the issues I have and where they stem from. It was something I’d never given much thought to honestly. I’ve had bad things happen to me, I think everyone has in different degrees, but I didn’t think any of them really shaped the person I am. I was wrong.

After discussing things, we both decided that I’m not bipolar because it didn’t fit for me. I do have depression and anxiety though and they were manifesting in ways that can mimic some of the symptoms of bipolar disorder. I have a feeling I’m always going to remember how he explained my level of anxiety too.

Dr. S: If I said to you, Kayla, do you think most people deal with this level of anxiety in their day to day lives? Would you say “no” or would you say “duh”?

Me, thinking my high level of anxiety is completely ordinary, laughed: I’d say duh.

Dr. S with his nice smile: Ah, see, that’s not the case.

Me: ...oh. Ohhhhhhh.

It was a bit of a revelation to find out this brain stuff I deal with constantly isn’t the norm for everyone else. I didn’t realize most people don’t think when they tell their family goodbye in the morning that it might be the last time they see them because something horrible is going to happen or that their house is going to catch on fire when they go on vacation. I didn’t know most other people didn’t check for their keys three to four times before locking their cars in the fear of locking themselves out. It didn’t occur to me that a lot of people don’t think their friends hate them just because they haven’t spoken in a few hours/days/weeks. 

It was almost a relief to find out and at the same time there was morbid fascination in realizing how off my thinking is because of the anxiety. 

He helped me trace it all the way back to being a child and what caused it and how the depression came into play because the anxiety was fear and fear made me feel helpless and that made me angry. I used to have angry outbursts and temper tantrums out of the blue up to adulthood. I learned to monitor myself better and get things out before they blew up as I got older, but with Dr. S’s help, I could go back and see where it had started and that I’ve carried it my whole life. 

I’ll probably always carry it, but now I know and now I can start working on it.

So that’s what happened with me and my brain stuff which is more than enough for one week, but my son’s brain stuff came into play on Friday.

My son is, goodness, he’s just amazing. He’s my world. He’s funny and goofy and creative and a butthead and moody and loving and better than I could’ve ever imagined. For the past couple of years, it’s become more and more obvious that he wasn’t quite like other kids his age. He was developing slower and didn’t start really speaking until he started doing speech therapy.  Even after a little over a year, a lot of his speech still comes from mimicking. 

He started school this year and I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. I was called back in on the first day after he’d been there for two hours. He’d had a meltdown in the cafeteria because it was too loud and his speech therapist (who thankfully was the same person he’d been working with the previous year as a private student) picked him up from his class and took him to her room as a safe space for him to calm down. He adores her and was able to soothe himself as soon as he was in that familiar setting. I went to a meeting on the first day of school to find that my son was not going to be able to make it through the whole school day, but the school wanted to work with him so he’d still be able to attend. We cut his days down to two and a half hours and went from there.

A month or so after that, a meeting was set up with the district psychologist who wanted permission to observe him and see what further help might be needed. She suggested letting an occupational therapist and physical therapist observe and test him too and I consented to all it. He was having issues connecting to the other kids in his class and he couldn’t seem to follow the schedule. The teacher worked with him the best she could, giving him a visual task calendar he could follow and use to point to and other similar things, but she also has seventeen other students. I knew more help was needed.

So for the past couple of months, he’s been going to his general education class and his speech therapy while also being observed by a psychologist on some days. He did a couple of sessions of testing with an occupational therapist and a physical therapist (who cleared him with a laugh that he is definitely strong and super fast). It was all coming down to the meeting we had on Friday.

Seven women sat around the table and showed me how each of them wanted to help my son. I’m tearing up just thinking back on it, to be honest. The psychologist broke everything down for me and made sure I could see every step of the process they’d all gone through while watching my son. At the beginning of the year, he’d started with paperwork stating that he was receiving help with speech and language but that was being moved to a secondary position because he was now being categorized as mild to moderate on the autism spectrum.

I’d had a feeling about autism. I’d wondered about it from time to time. He fit some of the indicators. Like with finding out about myself, it was a bit of a relief. There’s something about knowing that is just so helpful because then you can ask, “Okay, what are the next steps we need to take?” 

They suggested moving him into the special education class. It’s half the size of the class he is currently in, he’s already familiar with the teacher, his speech therapist works in that class a lot, and he knows two of the students from his group speech sessions. 

LIfe is kinda funny how it works out sometimes. My mom has worked with special ed kids most of my life. I went into her classroom all through high school and got to know the students in there. We’ve discussed the past year or so that my son might need that kind of help, even if it is only for a little while. So when this group of teachers and therapists and the psychologist recommended moving him, I felt comfortable agreeing. I know from the other side of things that it is not something done lightly or suggested easily. 

The psychologist even said it might be something he only needs for a year or two and if they can get him coming to school for longer periods of time, they want to get him back into the general class he was in for short periods. I know they’re looking out for him. They’ve already done so much to accommodate him and I can see they truly care for his development. I feel really lucky that he is going to the school he’s at.

I’m relieved and I’m worried. He’ll start his new class on Monday and I know it’s going to be a tough transition, but I hope it’s for the best. He’s such a smart kid and he’s got a great imagination and I know he’s got a lot going on in that lil noggin. I just want to do the best I can for him.

So I’m watching out for him and I’m trying to take care of me for me and for him (and for my husband and my best friend and my parents). It’s been a lot to learn in the span of a few days but I feel hopeful for the future. <3

[musicalluna]

hey everyone. so in honor of mental health day, i want to talk to you about my experience with realizing i’ve been depressed over the last 3+ years.

for several years, maybe starting after i got laid off of my first full time job, or maybe just increasingly throughout my twenties, i had on and off periods of depression (the months while i was underemployed were particularly bad) where i was just generally anxious and not generally optimistic about the future. more resigned. i was very stressed about money all the time. la is a horrible place to be if you don't have a job or even if you do and it's not like, millionaire movie star. except i loved la.

when i did finally get a job, i hated my commute. (commuting sucks. how do people commute.) i also hated a lot of the deeply prejudicial and, frankly, illegal discrimination i was seeing at my job. i loved la, but it was also murdering my peace of mind.

i did a good thing and did something about that though and applied for a job in another state where life is cheaper. the move was stressful. from the time i accepted the new job to the time i started the new job, i think was three weeks. no more than a month. i packed in a month, told the roommates i'd been living with for 6 years i was moving in a month, put in my two weeks notice in a month, and then over two days, drove to my new place of residence with my car jammed full of all of my belongings that weren't books (those i mailed ahead).

i found an apartment the first day i was here with a stranger online.

the new place is VERY different culturally from la. pretty much everywhere is lbr. but it's an extremely conservative state with a huge religious population and winter, which i have only dealt with in very small doses up until now.

i don't know whether it was the stress of the change, being alone in a new area, the political climate, being anxious about being a queer person in a conservative space, winter being a thing now, or a perfect storm of all these things, but despite having a job i like pretty well, enough money to live comfortably and have a little left over, and a much nicer place to live, i was struggling.

i also didn't REALIZE i was struggling. i would think "wow today sucks" or "this week sucks" or "i'm so tired" but i didn't see it as a pattern. plus it built over time. things seemed okay overall. i went to work every day. i got to come home and hang out in my own space and do what i wanted and i didn't have to worry about money. i also never really went anywhere that wasn't work or the grocery store once a week (if that).

i was tired a lot (i still am so idk that might just be a thing). i didn't want to go out to run the simplest errands. i had to force myself to get up and go out in my pajamas just to get groceries. eating was a huge chore. a lot of nights i just went to bed hungry.

there was one point almost two years ago where i told a friend i wanted to take some of the vicodin i had just because it would make me feel better in general. they told me at the time that that was a sign i probably needed to talk to a professional, but i was pretty much like, well i WANT to but i won't. and it sort of niggled at me that it was kind of an alarm bell, but i still didn't really do anything about it.

i saw the doctor multiple times over these months. for migraines, for allergies, for a physical. my doctor makes each patient fill out a mental health evaluation sheet every time they come in. mine was basically the equivalent of 'you seem a little down but you're fine overall'.

i cried sometimes on the way to or from work. or to the store. seeing a pretty sunset once made me sad. i cried a lot in my room, especially on my period. i figured, eh, whatever, i'm emotional, i have my period, it's a bad day

i went to visit my friend back in la over thanksgiving and it was wonderful while i was there. i was happy and comfortable and enjoyed doing things like cooking for them. then i came back home and i crashed hard emotionally and i couldn't understand why i was like this. why couldn't i just enjoy the good thing?

i did actually see some therapists over this time too. i never went to one more than once and there was one in particular who responded to me saying that i hated eating because it was too hard with 'well you're going to have to do it for the rest of your life' which was when i stopped trying new ones all together because i was just like, that's the LAST thing i need to hear right now.

at some point maybe a year, year and a half ago, i'm not really sure, i started wishing i didn't have to wake up. that i'd just die so i didn't have to deal with anything anymore because it was all too exhausting. it was more days than it wasn't. and at some point during that period i had a doctor's appointment and circled the little number indicating i had several days where i felt i'd be better off dead. my doctor checked to make sure i hadn't made any plans and i was just like, no. i'm just tired. i'm so tired. my doctor said that was concerning and he wanted to put me on some medications. we talked about how my periods seemed to make it worse.

so at that point he prescribed me fluoxetine and birth control.

it was probably six months ago when i started feeling like "oh this is making a difference. oh, wow, i was in a BAD place." i started having moments where i felt like i used to (i hadn't even realized i didn't feel like i used to). i didn't cry in the car on the way to work or on the way home because i was inexplicably crushingly sad.

there was a bad time in april where stuff going on with my roommate got to be too much and i freaked out, but i talked through it with my mom and after that i was okay. it was just a week or so of being haywire. since then i've been really good. i've been cooking dinner more nights than i don't. i shower every other day, sometimes more, rather than every 3-4 days like i was doing. if i think of something i need or an errand i need to run, i just go do it rather than spending 3 months thinking about it before finally dragging myself out of the house. i don't feel like everything is insurmountably hard anymore. i've been exercising a couple times a week.

anyway, my point is that i was depressed and didn't think so, despite being on tumblr where i was seeing posts almost daily about mental health and depression and getting help. none of those felt like what i was experiencing. i could go to work and be fine while i was at work, so this was just how i was. 

no. 

if you have the slightest hint that things are off, they probably are! i feel like if i had been able to go to my doctor two years ago and be like 'i'm sad a lot for no real reason and i'm not sure why or if it's normal' i probably could have gotten the issues addressed sooner. don't think you have to be wishing for death or unable to get up and go to work to get help. i am on the lowest possible dose of fluoxetine and it's completely changed things. (to be fair, i also met a friend about a year ago and moved in with another friend about six months ago. i think both of those things also had a hand in it. but the medication was so important for me.)

if you feel sad or resigned about the future or too exhausted for basic life activities half or even 1/3 of the days out of a week tell your doctor! i am only just realizing as i am feeling better that the way i felt was not typical (even for me). take care of yourselves. i love you. <3

[lionheartslowstart]

Ghosted

This past year I have been ghosted by two friends of mine. Yes, you read that correctly. For the record, I don’t necessarily have a problem with ghosting someone you’ve been talking to online, or have even met only once. It’s rude, certainly, but it’s not like you owe this person anything. Although, if you’ve met up a few times, I would say that the other person deserves some type of formal goodbye from you.

But that’s not what I’m talking about here. I’m talking about friends, people I know and spend time with, just completely ghosting me. One of them was someone I knew for over ten years, and the other one was someone I only knew for about one year, but I thought we had become close friends. Both of these people have mental health problems that I’m sure impacted their choices to ghost me.

I don’t want to sound insensitive, I really don’t. I’ve been very vocal about my own mental health journey. That said, I’ve also been incredibly vocal about feelings versus behavior, and the fact that mental illness doesn’t excuse harmful actions. I don’t know what’s going on in my friends’ lives, and I won’t pretend to. I don’t know what they’re feeling or how they’re struggling. And of course, they’re under no obligation to share that kind of information with me. I’m not suggesting they are. What I am saying is that these are people I considered dear friends, and I think it’s wrong that they both vanished without a trace (one back in November, and one a couple of months ago). The fact that two adults, with whom I had intimate relationships with, could just up and go without any explanation is wild to me. Not only is it wild, it’s incredibly hurtful. Whatever the reason, I would hope that someone who cared about me would reach out to let me know why they were choosing not to have me in their life. “Hey, I’m depressed and I need space right now, just know I still care about you,” or even, “Hey, you’ve been really shitty and I don’t think we can be friends anymore.” I just feel like a friendship should mean more than just “poof” and you’re gone.

The first person and I have a very delicate history to begin with, and this is not the first time they’ve ghosted me. They always come back with apologies and promises of changed behavior. And while I certainly understand their complicated feelings regarding me and our friendship, I don’t think I deserve to be treated like a yo-yo. I have done a lot of work and I’m not the same person who hurt them a long time ago. If they just straight up don’t want to be in my life, I can understand that, but I would hope after years and years of friendship, they would at least express that to me. And if they do want to be in my life, I think they should treat me better. I’m not a toy to be picked up and played with and then put away. I don’t want to elaborate too much on my relationship with this person, but I will say that this last time they ghosted me may have been the most painful of all. If they do decide to come back, I don’t know that I’ll be so forgiving this time. At the very least, I would make sure they understood I don’t plan on being ghosted by them again.

As far as I know, the second person and I have never had any issues. I think this is just a case of them going through a particularly rough bought of Depression and not wanting to talk to people. In fact, this is something they expressed to me a few months ago. I don’t want to gloss over that. They did tell me they were depressed and didn’t have the energy to interact with people. I completely understand that, and have many people in my life who go through these periods, myself included. But the last I heard from them was back in mid-May. I’ve reached out to them three times in the last three months to check on them and let them know I care, and received nothing. The third time I reached out, which was last week, I straight up asked them if they were still struggling and needed space, or if something had changed and they didn’t want to be friends anymore, specifically because I’ve been ghosted by friends before I wanted to make sure this wasn’t the case here. No response. I don’t know, maybe I’m the asshole here. Maybe I’m being impatient. Maybe three months isn’t a long time.

My overall point is that I understand and respect these two people I care about have mental health problems that may create emotional environments where they need space in general, or even space from me specifically. And, I have mental health problems too. Even more than that, I have feelings, trauma and mental illness aside. And those feelings are valid. I get hurt too. I need reassurance too. I don’t think asking for periodic communication is a lot. Even if it’s to say, “I still need space, it’s not you.” Or if someone decides they no longer want to be in my life, that they would tell me so, and why, assuming I haven’t done something so outwardly heinous, and especially after years and years of friendship.

Yes, the feelings of these people in question are valid. But that doesn’t mean it’s fair for them to completely ghost me. Mental illness isn’t a pass to act however you want, regardless of consequence. I’m extremely hurt. I feel unvalued and discarded. I question how much these people care about me, or if they even care about me at all. Again, maybe I’m being the asshole. Maybe I should be more understanding, or more patient. But I also won’t ignore my feelings, or pretend I’m not hurt. I just want communication. Even if it’s goodbye. Is that so wrong?

[one-hot-ramble]

ode to swimming - from my very anxious brain

I was very fortunate that I had access to different forms of exercise during my school years. In sixth form we even had free gym passes for a couple sessions a week. During school years, social media, messaging and general phones featured heavily in my life, and they were a constant presence from the moment I woke up and I would check all my feeds until the hours I’d be scrolling on them before I went to sleep. A lot (a scary amount) of evidence shows how this presence  in our lives has increased our dopamine tolerances, having all kinds of catastrophic effects, most notably in my case susceptibility to depression due to a numbness to small levels of dopamine released from activities, and then a debilitating and deeply physical lack of motivation to do ANYTHING. But that’s another story. This seems unrelated to the gym; however, I believe that perhaps that combined with the obsessions over ‘big booties’ and toned abs curtesy of Instagram models, the gym became another quick dopamine hit that towards achieving these goals. The weights, and ‘reps’ were quick and simple to progress on. It wasn’t like doing an hour-long marathon, I could quickly increase the weight on my squat rack or leg press and quickly feel the ‘burn’ that meant I was getting stronger (or my bum was getting one step closer to the Kim K 'goals'). It was the same with ab workouts. It took two minutes of crunches and twists to feel that intense burn which made me feel like I was closer to those washboard insta abs. The immediacy of the results in terms of ‘feeling the burn’, was similar to the quick reward I would get from receiving a ’snapchat’ or getting a like on an Instagram picture, or scrolling through my endless twitter feed full of brain numbing content. Also, this was all totally unrelated to whether my appearance changed.

So, what does it matter?

I think it was unhealthy for me, the form of exercise didn’t relax me and give me space to be ‘mindful’, it only intensified the dopamine rat race my brain was constantly after - and I’ve realised this ever since I started doing some different forms of exercise.

I took up regularly swimming about a eight months ago. I had re-developed some nasty mental health problems which didn’t completely control my life but made day to day a struggle. Overwhelming anxiety around socialising and my performance at university simultaneously pressed me in to doing more work than ever and crashing and having no motivation to get out of bed. I had a gym membership but no longer really found the quick burn from a set of squats or ab crunches gave me the satisfaction it used to, and my motivation and interest dwindled. Besides my lessening obsession in reaching a certain body type, I think this is where I think my dopamine tolerance issues might come in. I wanted to do some exercise to help my mental health as well as my physical health but I just didn’t have the motivation to stick it out.

When I started swimming, I found it frustrating. I loved the sensation of water, how cool it was, how I could look up at the surface whilst I was underneath it and touch the reflection of my hand where the water met the air. It was hypnotic, and that sensation kept me going when I didn’t really have the motivation for anything else. However, the struggle with swimming was that there weren’t any target weights to smash, or any quick way to make your abs burn. Apart from trying to sprint swim a length, which left me totally breathless and wobbly all over, there was no way to quickly tick a box for a dopamine release. To reach a ‘goal’, (e.g. a good amount of exercise to make my trip worth-while, and to justify the packet of chocolate digestives I would consume after) I simply had to stick it out and swim the 20, 30, or 40 lengths. The process was long, especially when I’d been used to quick hits and fixes that my phone scrolling habits, and the gym workouts used to afford me. I knew I’d have to be swimming for a good half an hour, with lots of breaks to readjust my ruddy-leaky-goggles in order to feel that sense of achievement I used to get in a matter of minutes. I kept at it though, and I realised I couldn’t’ remember a time when I’d ever really stuck something out for such a long time to get the result and sense of achievement, which I now believe is that dopamine release. Not only that but the boring, repetitive strokes and constant swell of water and heavy breathing in my ears became sort of bearable, and time slipped by. I feel as though this is probably what people would call being mindful because it felt so soothing and therapeutic. Of course, I’d be thinking about my deadlines or what night out I’d have to make an excuse to get out of next, but I was primarily focused on counting my lengths, keeping up with the person ahead and the rhythm of my strokes with my breathing. And at the end, I’d get out, having done 20 or 40 lengths, check the distance (because I am still of course obsessed with ‘goals’ and quantifying my achievements, and go home feeling completely exhausted and energised at the same time.

All this just to say I think swimming’s pretty amazing. It sounds boring, and long, and repetitive, but the thing is that it forces you to wait for the gratification, which we just aren’t really used to now with the constant buzz of our phones every second of the day. I feel like its genuinely been therapeutic, and helped me feel a lot better mentally, let alone improve my stamina and physical health.

I know it’s not a simple solution to all the problems to do with social media and instant gratification but I feel like it’s had a profound effect on me, and I cannot wait to dive back in to it (ah-ha) after the lockdown is over.