#it’s very… illogical and irrational. I know it’s the anxiety part of my brain going off the wall but it doesn’t make tackling actually-

[ghoul--doodle]

I wish I could not have to speak verbally ever

I don’t like talking to people. I wanna just. Text. Or write.

Fuck talking out loud

[whenisitenoughtrees]

Congrats on 500 followers!!!!! Your writing is amazing and you totally deserve it! Would you be able to do “Can you please stop biting your lip…it’s distracting.” for analogical? If you don’t get inspo for it that’s totally fine I’m just on a total analogical kick recently lol

@wisherbystarlight thank you!! i absolutely love analogical so here you go

Title: abject impermanence

Word Count: 3,570

Content Warnings: implied suicidal ideation (in reference to virgil ducking out), negative self image

(fic masterpost)

Virgil would rather die than admit this to anybody, but he develops a crush on Logan after their first debate.

It’s ridiculous, and bothersome, and stupidly humiliating, and he has to spend a few days in his room before he feels prepared enough to face anyone again, prepared enough to put up his usual walls and throw around his usual sarcastic comments, and all the while, his heart is beating far too fast, his mind racing, insisting that he’s being obvious, that everyone knows.

(That is what being Anxiety means: he is under a microscope all the time, his every movement watched and analyzed and derided, alone in a crowd of people who wish him nothing but ill.)

It’s awful, really. Is he truly so pathetic that the first time someone treats him like his opinions are valid, he falls head over heels for them? Because he has to admit, that’s the root of all of this. The debate, and the fact that even though Logan didn’t agree with him, he still treated him with respect, like he was someone worth listening to, and none of the light sides have ever acted like that before.

And they’ve certainly never told him that they don’t mind his company.

So. He has a crush on Logan. And it takes him a few weeks to calm down enough to really think about it, but when he does, he decides that nothing has to change. It’s not like he’ll ever work up the courage to act on these feelings

(because holy shit, how badly would that go? He can picture it now: Logan sneering at him, Logan rejecting him, Logan informing him that he would never in a million years have feelings for someone so irrational and useless, and while Virgil is at it, would he kindly remove himself from his presence and never come back and— well. Maybe Virgil is irrational, but he can’t bring himself to risk something like that)

so the only thing to do with them is pretend they’re not there, right? He’ll keep all of his emotions right here, in his chest, and then one day, he’ll die, and no one else has to know a thing about it.

He doesn’t see what could possibly go wrong with this plan. Which is odd for him because usually, he can only see the things that could go wrong. But the only factor in this plan is him, and his own ability to disguise his feelings, and he’s been successfully doing that for a very long time.

(After all, it’s been years, and none of the others have managed to figure out how much their rejection hurts him, how deeply it strikes at the heart he pretends not to have.)

But he doesn’t anticipate things changing. He doesn’t anticipate trying to duck out, at least, not until the moments in between making the decision and actually going through with it, and he doesn’t anticipate anybody coming after him. He certainly doesn’t anticipate their reactions, doesn’t anticipate being told that he’s important,

(because since fucking when?)

and doesn’t anticipate their acceptance.

He doesn’t anticipate telling them his name.

And alright, maybe he could deal with all of this. Maybe he could ease his way into being one of them, edge his way into their inner circle. It’s something he once would have thought impossible, but now, they seem determined to make him one of them, to bring him into their family, and even though part of him wonders whether they’re just trying to make sure he doesn’t duck out again, doesn’t hurt Thomas, a larger part of him is ecstatic about the fact that they’re including him at all. Maybe he can let himself have this, for once.

But that night, Logan comes to his room.

“Do you have a moment to talk?” he asks, and reluctantly, Virgil takes off his headphones.

Because, yes. Of course. He’s hardly busy, and even if he were, he’s certain he’d figure out a way to put it aside in favor of Logan, because really, he’s helpless to do anything else.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, aiming for casual. He thinks he makes it, if only because he is very practiced in hiding how much of a mess he is internally. “What’s up?”

Logan looks uncomfortable, a bit shifty, even though he hasn’t been in his room nearly long enough for its effects to take hold.

“I merely wanted to check in with you after today’s events,” he says, and then pauses, biting his lip, something that Virgil finds incredibly distracting. “Specifically, to ensure that you are alright.”

He blinks. “Of course I’m alright,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“Well, I was considering everything that happened, and it occurred to me that we glossed over precisely what ‘ducking out’ would have done to you in the long term.” In an oddly vehement motion, Logan shoves his glasses further up his nose. And Virgil knows very well that as the embodiment of Logic, Logan tries not to display his stronger emotions, but right now, he is the perfect picture of distress. “I find it likely that if Thomas had been unable to utilize you for an extended amount of time, you may have… disappeared, for lack of a better word, not unlike a muscle that atrophies after disuse.”

Well, yes. He knew what he was risking. But he’d felt low enough that he didn’t particularly care about himself.

He was just tired of hurting Thomas.

(And maybe, just maybe, if there was a part of him, small and insidious in the back of his brain, that found the prospect of nothingness appealing, he’ll keep that to himself.)

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But that didn’t happen. You guys came and got me, and I’m okay now. Not gonna do anything like that again, I swear.”

“That’s not my point,” Logan says, even more upset entering his voice. He crosses his arms, holding his shoulders tensely. “No matter how illogical it might seem, I find myself wondering what might have happened had we not attempted to reach you in time, and the idea is… displeasing.”

Oh.

Despite himself, Virgil’s heart flutters.

“So, I arrived at the conclusion that assuring myself of your continued well-being would help to assuage my concern.” Logan fidgets. “As well as the fact that… I want you to be alright. For yourself, and not just because I am…”

“Anxious?” Virgil can’t resist finishing, even as he feels his face flushing underneath his foundation. God, he hopes Logan doesn’t pick up on that. He shouldn’t be reacting this strongly to something as simple as basic worry, especially after the day they all had, but to know that Logan has been thinking about him? That Logan doesn’t like the idea of him not being around, doesn’t want him to vanish?

That Logan cares enough to come check on him like this?

It’s a strong, heady feeling, and Virgil has the sneaking suspicion that his crush has just upgraded itself.

“Yes,” Logan answers, and he seems a bit embarrassed, but he holds his ground, staring Virgil straight (gay) in the eyes. The direct eye contact is intense, almost too much for him to handle, but Virgil finds himself unable to look away.

“Well, uh, I appreciate it, I guess,” he manages. “Really, it’s nice to know that you care.”

“Of course,” Logan says, and seems almost indignant at the idea that he might not. “I value our discussions,” he adds, and Virgil has to pretend that that statement doesn’t almost give him a heart attack.

But that is mostly the end of that conversation, because really, neither of them is very good with touchy-feely emotions. Logan sinks back out shortly after, and Virgil is left alone in his room, his headphones lying uselessly on his lap as his mind reviews their exchange over and over again, searching for all the places where it might have gone wrong, or where he might have messed up. He can’t really find any, and that is a realization in and of itself, almost enough to distract him from the bigger one, the one that looms over him.

It’s not just a crush anymore. He could try to deny it, but he thinks that would summon unwanted attention. So he accepts it, accepts that he is… he’d say infatuated, but infatuated isn’t the right word. Infatuated doesn’t even begin to cover what he feels when he looks at Logan, doesn’t cover the way his heart races and his words trip over themselves and the way he longs for his approval. It doesn’t cover the way he knows so many little details about him, like the way Logan pushes at his glasses or fiddles with his tie when he’s nervous or upset, or the exact way his lips curl around the edges when he’s pleased and trying not to show it. So many little details, none of which would be on his radar at all if he wasn’t—

Well. He won’t deny it. But he doesn’t particularly see the need to voice it, either.

After all, it’s not like it changes anything. Or at least, it shouldn’t. He wasn’t planning on sharing his feelings when they were a simple crush, and he’s certainly not going to share them now that there’s more.

Except, nothing is ever that simple,

(Nothing ever can be, with him. It’s what he does best, turning easy things into overcomplicated messes because he can’t let go of all the what ifs—)

because suddenly, he’s welcome to spend time with the others. Is welcome at their table, is welcome in the commons, is welcome to join their movie nights and their game nights, and most of the time, he even feels mostly okay with doing so, because Patton is enthusiastic in his invitations, and he can tell that even Roman is honestly trying. And sometimes, it makes him want to cry, because this is all he’s ever wanted, to be one of them, and now he can and it’s almost too much.

The only problem with that is that he’s spending a lot more time around Logan.

Which is fine. Great, even.

Except, sometimes, Logan will do things. Little things, inconsequential things, but things that remind Virgil all too clearly of the feelings he keeps nestled under his heart.

For instance, Logan bites his lip a lot. When he’s working, when he’s watching movies, when he’s listening to the others, and sometimes for no reason at all. It’s a stupid thing to get caught up on, but he can’t help himself. And it’s not as if Virgil’s attraction to him begins or ends with the physical, but—

Whenever he does it, Virgil can’t stop his eyes from zeroing in on his lips. Can’t stop himself from thinking about how much he would like to kiss him.

He would like to kiss him a whole lot. And he’s fairly sure he’s being pretty obvious about it, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

So, really, he should have prepared himself for the possibility of being found out. Under any other circumstance, he would have, but there’s a saying, he thinks, about love and fools.

“Can I help you with something?” Logan says, and Virgil flinches violently, the rest of the world coming back into focus. He snaps his gaze up to meet Logan’s eyes, and the expression on his face might be amusement, maybe, but it could also be annoyance, and in fact, it’s probably definitely annoyance, because actually Logan is annoyed with Virgil and maybe even angry and now their budding friendship is completely ruined and all because Virgil doesn’t know better than to stare when he really shouldn’t be staring and—

No, stop. Stop. He’s not going to do that, not right now. He wrests his thoughts back under control with an effort.

Logan was working, typing away on his laptop, biting his lip as he concentrated. And Virgil just so happened to be out in the commons as well, in the perfect position to watch him and daydream, just a bit.

He needs to reply. He’s left it too long, and Logan’s eyebrows are inching up his face as he awaits a response. And the longer he takes to come up with something, the more suspicious Logan will be, so he should just shrug, mutter a denial, and pointedly turn his attention away. Something like that.

But it’s his job to make snap decisions under pressure. And sometimes those decisions aren’t the right ones.

So instead of taking another second to think things through and deflect Logan’s interest, his mouth opens ahead of his brain and says, “Can you please stop biting your lip?”

Logan stares. Virgil feels himself wilting.

“… It’s distracting,” he finishes weakly, and prays for the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t even manage to sink out

(because his mind is screaming at him now, screaming horrified recriminations, screaming all of the worst case scenarios, and it’s taking all of his concentration to breathe properly, much less get out of here)

because the sheer force of his embarrassment is leaving him paralyzed, curled up in his chair and with nowhere to go, nowhere to escape Logan’s widening eyes.

“Is it now,” Logan says, and he doesn’t sound particularly angry, but Virgil could very easily be wrong. Or, he could be angry and trying to hide it. Or maybe he’s not angry, but irritation would probably be just as bad, at this point.

“Sorry,” he mutters, hunching in on himself. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“Virgil, you’re magnifying,” Logan says softly, and that softness is worse than any anger could be, because what if he’s figured it out? What if he pities him? Virgil would take just about anything over pity. “Whatever you think you just said, I assure you that it didn’t come off nearly as badly as you seem to believe.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Though, I can’t say I’m certain of what you meant, considering—”

He cuts off suddenly, and Virgil can practically see the cogs turning in his head. He should leave now, leave before Logan draws his conclusions, but he is frozen, powerless to do anything but let this train wreck happen in real time.

“I wouldn’t ordinarily consider biting my lip to be a disruptive habit,” Logan says slowly. “It makes no noise and does no one any harm, and it’s not something I would think affects anyone else. But you were staring, which means there is something about the habit that draws your attention. I can only think of a few reasons for that.”

He takes it back. Pity would be far better than this, than this slow and measured reasoning, drawing out all of Virgil’s best-kept secrets, spiraling toward a conclusion that he never wanted anyone to know, much less Logan himself.

Perhaps that is why he says what he says. Because with this, Logan is only prolonging the inevitable, and it’s torture.

It’s like a band-aid. The biggest band-aid ever, maybe, covering one of the worst wounds of his life, but a band-aid. And it’s coming off one way or another, so he might as well rip it off now and brace himself for the sting.

“Oh my god,” he says. “It makes me want to kiss you. That’s why it’s distracting. And I’m just gonna go die in a hole now, if that’s alright.”

His face is burning, mortification rising up in him like a tidal wave, threatening to swamp him. This is, possibly, the worst thing that has ever happened to him, ever.

(It’s not, of course, because anything and everything is better than it was before he was accepted, when he was on his own and so lonely and bitter all the time. But this comes close, he thinks. It’s a different kind of hurt altogether, but a hurt nonetheless.)

Logan sets his laptop down, giving him his full attention. For a moment, he is completely silent, and Virgil prepares himself to stand and sink out and into his room, where he will spend the next few weeks huddled under the covers on his bed with his headphones on blast, hating his life and himself for being such an idiot, because here he is, ruining one of the best friendships that he has ever known, and for what? Because he was too much of a moron to keep himself from staring, from forcing his unwanted attentions upon the one side who was more likely than any of the others to notice what he was doing? It’s pathetic, and stupid, and he knows it, and Logan knows it, and—

“I don’t see why you need to do that,” Logan says. His voice shakes, just slightly. “You could kiss me, if you wanted.”

Virgil stills. He can’t have heard that right.

Logan clears his throat. “That is to say, I would enjoy it, if you kissed me. If I’d realized you were interested, I would have broached the topic sooner.”

Hysterical laughter threatens to escape him, his brain dissolving into static, because what? And he knows he needs to say something, needs to respond, but his vocal cords refuse to work, so he’s left sitting there, staring, stricken dumb.

Logan glances away, something like uncertainty crossing his face. “I apologize,” he murmurs. “I’m not doing this right, am I?”

And that is what finally spurs Virgil to action, because Logan sounds so terribly dejected, and that is absolutely not allowed. Not when it’s Virgil that’s made such a mess of things, when none of it is Logan’s fault at all.

“Do you mean it?” he croaks.

Logan blinks, his expression clearing, and then landing on comprehension. His face softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stands, crossing the floor and kneeling in front of where Virgil sits.

“Of course I do,” he says, and then reaches out with one hand, cupping Virgil’s cheek. Virgil’s breath catches, the contact shooting lightning across his face and down his spine. His heart starts beating faster, and he doesn’t know whether it’s fear or anticipation or some mixture of the two. Most of him still hasn’t processed that this is happening, hasn’t made the jump from Logan can never know about my feelings because he’ll reject me and then I’ll have no choice but to jump off a cliff to Logan knows about my feelings and he is doing the exact opposite of rejecting me hoooooly shit what do I do—

“I think about you often,” Logan says. “Ever since our first debate, if I’m being completely honest.”

Virgil blinks.

The laugh escapes him, then, but there’s not much hysteria in it. It’s something warm, now, something bright and colorful and blooming as he realizes just how much of an idiot he’s been, as his anxiety slowly begins to fade away,

(not completely, never completely, because he is who he is and that will never change, and his mind is already looking to the future, at all the fresh new opportunities he is going to have to screw this up, but for now, in this moment, he has Logan here in front of him, offering to kiss him, telling him that his feelings aren’t as one-sided as he convinced himself they had to be, and it’s very difficult to be negative at all, in the face of such a beautiful thing as this, as him)

morphing into something that he is tentatively willing to call hope.

“Yeah?” he says. “Me too.”

Before he can lose his nerve, he shifts position, leans down, and kisses Logan. Lightly, briefly, and it’s really more of a peck than anything else, but in the split second in which their lips meet, Virgil can feel just how soft Logan’s are, and when he pulls back, anxiously searching for a reaction, Logan’s cheeks are dusted with red.

“Yes, um,” Logan says. “That was… good. Would you like to do it again?”

A wave of fondness washes over him, and he lets it drag him away.

“You dork,” he says, and pecks him on the lips again. He doesn’t yet have to courage to try for more, but he thinks that might come with time. If he is allowed time, if he is allowed this, and he is not prone to optimism, but for once, he might be willing to give it a go.

Optimism, and whatever this is, new and exciting and budding between them. And there is a part of his mind that is screaming at him, insisting that he’s only going to hurt Logan or get hurt himself, and that no brief happiness could ever be worth that, but—

Logan’s lips are gentle and soft, and Logan is smiling at him, and that, he thinks, might be worth the world.

(“I would be extremely displeased if you died in a hole,” Logan informs him a bit later. “Please refrain from doing so.”

He agrees, if only because of that fact that if he died in a hole, he would never get to kiss Logan ever again. And now that he’s started, he doesn’t ever want to stop.

He is not one to believe in permanence. Or in happy endings. But just this once, he’ll try it, and trust that Logan will catch him if he falls.)

General Taglist: @just-perhaps @the-real-comically-insane @jerrysicle-tree @glitchybina @psodtqueer @mrbubbajones @snek-boii @severelylackinginquality @aceawkwardunicorn @gayerplease @elizabutgayer @dwbh888 @thatoneloudowl @sanderssides-angst @gayboopnoodle @wildfire5157 @a-ghostlight-for-roman @ldavmp4

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me - Chapter 3

WARNINGS: NONE

TAGGING: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @alievans007​, @alievans007​

The clock reads 5:07 am when he snaps awake. Torn from a comfortable, almost pain free sleep by a nightmare. He hasn’t had one in three months; since the images of his wife’s brutalized and violated body in place of Erin Ferguson’s had finally subsided. That one had haunted him every night since returning from New Zealand; having him bolting awake, drenched in sweat, chest impossibly tight and making it difficult to breathe, tears streaming down his face. Those dreams had thankfully stopped just as fast as they began, and from that night on he’d been able to sleep reasonably well when paid didn’t wake him.

Tonight, he’d dreamt about Austin; the exact same images that he’d seen while dying on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. His tousled blond hair and his steel blue eyes and his sweet, innocent smile. Only this time he hadn’t been alone. Millie was with him and they’d been holding hand as they waded through the surf; talking and laughing as if they’d always known one another. Both smiling as they looked over their shoulders at him, holding their hands out towards them.  But when he’d reached out for them, they’d simply faded away, leaving him despondent and heartbroken and calling out for them.  It was then that he’d woke; eyes snapping open, feeling the sweat that beads on his brow and gathers at the nape of his neck and the small of his back, his lung fighting to draw a steady breath.  

It takes several minutes for his brain to register his surroundings; the smell and the sound of the ocean trickling through the screens of the wall to wall windows, his wife’s gentle, rhythmic breathing behind him,  the feel of her smooth leg pressed against his. She lays on her stomach, comforter pulled up to the back of her head, her bare feet sticking out at the bottom; the same sleeping position she’s had in the six years that they’ve shared a bed.  And he rolls over onto his side, fingertips gentle as they pull the comforter down to her shoulders and then brush her hair to the side; lips placing feathery kisses along smooth, warm skin, his palms sliding down her arms.

She gives a long, content sigh and her hands come up to rest over his; lacing their fingers together and then placing them against her stomach as she wriggles back into him.  “What time is it?” she inquires sleepily.

“Early,” he presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her ear.

“How early is early?”

“Quarter after five early.”

She groans. “What is wrong with you? Why do you insist on waking up at ungodly hours? You’re supposed to be retired.”

He’s been waking up at the crack of dawn for as long as he can remember, since his military days, and is able to function on little to no sleep. A trait that’s come in handy since having kids. Often the one that gets up in the middle of the night to change diapers and fetch bottles.  

“I told you,” his lips are on the side of her neck now. “I’ve got shit to do with Ovi today. And we have to go into Port Douglas. To my dad’s place.”  

The anxiety nags at him the second he mentions his old man. He’d reached out as soon as they’d moved back to Australia, but his father hadn’t requested to see him in person until a week ago. Sending him a text message in the middle of the night, rambling about things he needed done around the house and how he couldn’t handle them on his own. From what Tyler understood, the dementia was rapidly progressing; he had his good days and his bad days, and required a live-in personal support worker and a nurse that came every second day. He wanted to feel bad about it; that his old man was struggling. But the bitterness is still so raw; all the anger he’s been holding onto since he was a kid, the years he   had to listen and watch his father abuse his mother.  Abuse that was turned on him when he turned nine and his mum passed away. He can’t get past it; that rage that he hangs onto. The desire to teach the old man a lesson whether he remembers half the shit he’s done or not.

But he promised Esme he’d give it a shot, that he’d be the bigger man and try to put the past behind him, at least for the sake of his children. The kids deserved to spend time with their grandfather before it was too late, she felt. After all, her entire family -aside from Kyle- considered them dead.  Tyler could care less whether the kids ever saw his father, let alone spent time with him. Why expose them to someone that had caused so much agony in the first place?  

“Oh yeah…” she yawns noisily and rubs the side of her face against her pillow. “…and you’re okay with that?”

“How bad could it go? If things are as bad as his nurse says they are, he probably won’t even remember me. Maybe that’s a good thing; he won’t have a lot of shitty things to say about me or my mum.”

“Even if they aren’t that bad, don’t let him get to you. He’s a bitter old man who’s so miserable that he wants to make everyone else that way. I thought maybe he was turning over a new leaf when he’d contact me all the time, but…” she shrugs.  “Don’t let him get to you, Tyler. Just let it go in one ear and out the other.”

“We’ve been here six months and he’s called how many times? Twice? And never asked about the kids once? His only grandchildren?”

“I know it’s easy to take it personally, but if he has dementia, he likely doesn’t even remember even having grandchildren. He might remember you, but he probably doesn’t remember you have kids. I mean, Millie was two months old the first and only time he saw her.  And she’s almost six now.”

A little more than a month away. Until she hits that milestone. And he wonders if that is the reason behind the dream involving her and Austin. That she’ll be turning the exact age he’d been when he’d passed away. Part of him is even scared; that she’ll wake up that morning and be sick and it will turn out to be something horrible she will never recover from. It’s irrational and he knows it; the chances of that happening. But his brain doesn’t exactly recognize the difference between rational and irrational these days.

“Did the baby wake up?” she asks. “I thought you got out of bed earlier, but I didn’t know if it was for her or if you had pain or…”

“Around two thirty. I just got her a bottle instead of waking you up.”

“Baby, you’re the best. You spoil me. You let me sleep through the night, you let me take naps, you help me get off.”

He smirks. “Three times.”

“Yes…” she sighs happily. “…a very nice three times.”

“You almost woke the entire house the third time.”

She giggles into her pillow. “I can’t help it. You have that effect on me. If you weren’t so good at the things you do, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“If I wasn’t so good at them, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“It’s true. I would have had my five days of fun and that would have been it. If you hadn’t known what you were doing, it would have ‘boy, bye’.”

He chuckles into her hair. “That’s fucking harsh.”

“Well you had nothing to worry about obviously because it’s six years and five kids later and I’m still keeping you around. You’ve got some skills.”

“Yeah? You’re decent, I guess.”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” she huffs, and directs an elbow at his stomach.  

“I wish you could, actually.”

“Do you even have that in your cell phone? When the dry spy officially ends?”

“Maybe…”

“You have absolutely no shame,” she declares, and then rolls over to face him, pecking his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you. For being the way you are. With me. With your kids. You put the work in. Without complaining about. You don’t piss and moan when the baby wakes up in the middle of the night or when you have to do dishes or laundry or take the garbage out.”

“Any man who complains about all that is a little bitch.”

“You’d be surprised. There’s a lot of little bitches out there. I’m lucky,” she kisses him again. “Very lucky. You help out, and you’re eye candy. What more could a woman want?”

“A big dick? Oh wait…”

“See? You’ve got it all,” she laughs and tucks her head under his chin, an arm curling around his neck, fingertips gliding back and forth at the bottom of his hairline.  

He wraps his arm around her, drawing her tight against him, hand rubbing her back in slow, smooth circles. She feels so good; the thin fabric of her tank top against his bare chest, the warmth that radiates from her, the feel of her lips and her breath against his throat. He closes his eyes, finding himself easily lulled back to sleep; the sensation of her fingers against the back of his head and pain in his shoulder and back settling down to a dull manageable ache. Until it’s interrupted by the alarm on his cell phone.

“Really?” Esme grumbles, as he rolls over onto his back and reaches for the phone.  

“Really,” Tyler sighs, turning off the alarm and then staring up at the ceiling; mentally trying to prepare himself for the day.  

Even with the pain, it isn’t the physically challenges that hold him back. He’s learned to live with it and work through it. It’s all the bullshit that does on inside of his brain.  The anxiety, the illogical fears, the hypervigilance. All working together to make it extremely difficult to function as a normal human being. He can’t believe what he’s been reduce to; not even half the man he was six years ago. When he got stare down the barrel of a gun and not even blink. Now there’s moments where he can’t even go into a store without something triggering him and bringing back all the memories and the trauma.

“Do you really have to get up this early?” Esme asks, as she moves closer to him, resting the side of her head against his chest, her hand on his stomach.  

“I do.”

“Like you can’t stay in bed for like ten more minutes?” she drags a finger down to the waist band of his boxers. In the beginning stages of things, they’d both preferred to sleep naked; loving the feel of skin pressed against skin. But back then they didn’t have little ones that could sneak up and burst into a room unannounced. Making some clothes a must.  

“Not even ten more minutes,” his hand captures hers, moving it back up to his chest.

“Fine,” she huffs, and reaches up to comb her fingers through his hair.  

“Go back to sleep,” he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get the baby if she wakes up. I’ll bring her to you before you leave.”

“You’re a keeper,” she says with a smile.  “You’ve even learned to put the toilet seat down and put your dirty laundry in the hamper. You can teach an old dog new tricks.”

He grins and slips out of bed, grabbing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt as she moves back over to her side of the bed; tucking one of his pillows underneath her head and then pulling the comforter back up past her eyes, kicking and wriggling her feet until they’re once again poking out from the bottom of the blanket.

“Be safe,” she says when he reaches the bedroom door.  

An old habit, he supposes, used to saying it every time he left for a job in the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning. And it hurts his heart; that she’d become so accustomed to him leaving that those words are now second nature.

****

Ovi saunters up onto the back patio at quarter to six; hair still messy from sleep, eyes heavy. He’s grown considerably since the move, packing on the weight and the muscle: less stress, more eating right and a consistent work out schedule, and hard, manual labour. It isn’t a full time job by any stretch of the imagination, but their clients pay well and Tyler pays even better. Ovi and Chloe can live comfortably, pay all their bills, and never worry about finding themselves in financial trouble.

It’s become their routine. Sitting out back, drinking coffee and eating breakfast before setting out on the road. This morning neither of them offer a verbal greeting, instead exchanging smiles and nods before Ovi drops into the chair across from him. Both staying silent as they watch the sunrise, the rippling ocean painted in a brilliant, breathtaking golden hue.

Tyler doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the sunrises and sunsets, the smell of the salt that hangs in the air, the breeze that rolls in off the water. The mountains had been beautiful; it had been one hell of a view from the back deck at their place in Telluride. But nothing compares to this. Maybe he’s biased; he’d spent almost thirty-six years in Australia. It’s home. He’s admittedly much happier here, far more relaxed. The privacy and the seclusion not enough to solve all of his problems, but helping the healing process tremendously. He feels grounded. Secure. As if he’s finally able to put down real roots. Able to raise a family somewhere that feels totally safe.  

Ovi watches the final moments of the sunrise with the rim of his coffee mug pressed against his lips. There’s pure wonder in his eyes; as if it’s the first time he’s witnessed the scene playing out in front of him. Wide eyed and amazed, like a child on Christmas morning that’s rushed downstairs to find the living room covered in presents and treats.  

It reminds Tyler of the first time the kid had ever seen snow. He’d glanced up from the dinner table and had given a loud gasp, eyes impossibly wide, and dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter as he sprung up from the table and out the sliding door. For a half an hour he’d stayed out there on the deck; clad in nothing but a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Tears streaming down his face, unable to even form a proper sentence as he let the soft, white flakes fall onto his upturned palms, laughing when they got stuck in his lashes and his hair. Millie joining him and teaching him to catch the them on his tongue.  

After that he became fascinated with anything to do with winter. Throwing himself into helping the kids make snow angels and snow men, even building forts and having snowball fights. He and Tyler would go ice fishing on the weekends, their main bonding time. And he loved Christmas. Not necessarily getting gifts, but giving them. Enjoying the decorating of the tree and putting lights up on the house, and all the delicious food that he’d never been able to experience in India. He was a child again; filled with wonder and excitement, able to forget all about what happened in Dhaka and the trauma he still struggled with.

“That was an awesome one,” Ovi breathes, shaking his head in disbelief before turning to the plate of food in front of him. Nothing extravagant; some scrambled eggs, toast and a selection of various fresh fruit.  

Tyler nods in agreement, pushing food around his plate with his fork. The meds fuck with his stomach first thing in the morning; often not able to actually eat a meal but resorting to smoothies and supplements to get the calories into him. He likes the weight he’s at now; a little extra around the middle, but larger through the chest and shoulders, biceps and forearms bigger, as well as his thighs. He feels healthier than he has in years, maybe even since before Dhaka. He’d been running on nothing but booze and pain meds back then. And a death wish. Now he concentrates on what he’s putting into his body and how hard he works it.

Addie stirs in the car seat carrier that sits on the ground beside his chair; the soother tumbling out of her mouth, prompting that tiny whine that comes shortly before an epic meltdown. Two weeks old and she has a temper already; small and feisty, just like her mom. When putting the soother back in doesn’t work, he picks her up; laying her across his forearm, stomach down, her face rubbing against his skin as she settles into him.  

“I don’t know how you do it,” Ovi comments. “Make it look so easy.”

“It’s far from easy, mate. Trust me. Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You don’t make it seem that way, though. You make it seem like you’ve been doing it forever. It’s only been six years.”

“I just learn as I go along. Pray I don’t screw it up. Or screw them up.”

“I think you’re doing a good job. A great job, actually. It’s still funny seeing you like this though. As daddy Tyler and not Tyler, Tyler. Do you ever miss it? Miss him?”

“Not often. But yeah, sometimes I do.”

He feels guilty for even saying it; as if he’s somehow disrespecting his wife and his kids. But he’d been Ovi’s age when he had joined the army and began building and honing his skills; the ones that he’d taken with him into the job. He'd spent years on the move; being deployed while in the military and then bouncing from job to job, never settling down, never having to worry or think about anything other than his work. Now everything had ended abruptly and with it came a much slower pace, consistency and routine, more responsibility. Not just for himself. But with six people that depend on him.

“Do you ever want to go back?” Ovi asks.

“Once or twice I’ve thought about it. But I’d never actually do it. I don’t have it in me anymore. Not mentally. I need to work on myself. Not worry about helping other people. And I kind of love my wife and the life we have together, and I want my marriage to work, so...” he sips his coffee. “I’d never do it. I lose everything. And no job is worth that.”

“So if something came up, you’d just say no?”

“Unless it’s a threat to my wife or my kids or you. Nothing will make me go back. What’s going on? Why are you asking me about all of this?”

“No reason,” Ovi shrugs.  “Just curious.”

“You’re a shitty liar. You always have been. Who’ve you been talking to? Nik? Yaz?”

“No one!” he insists. “I’ve just been thinking about things.”

“What kind of things?”  

“Things that I can do with my life. On top of what I do now. I thought maybe if you ever got back into it, I could too.”

“That’s never fucking happening,” Tyler scowls, and Addie begins to fuss again. Maybe even hearing the change in his tone of voice or feeling the tension that takes root in his body.  And he lifts her to his chest, a hand on the back of her head, fingertips gently rubbing in her dark hair. “Not for me.  Not for you.”

“We could build our own business,” Ovi suggests. “We could get the word out, take on clients.”

“I said no. We’re not doing that. We’re not even going to talk about it. Get that shit out of your head. All it’s going to lead you to is a really fucking dark place. Trust me.”

“The money is good! You used to say that all the time.”

“No amount of money is worth not coming home to my family. You’re the last person that should want to get into this. After everything you went through...everything you saw...why the fuck would you want to get involved in that crap?”

“It was exciting. When you had me take the kids. Being on the run like that. Being responsible for the lives of others. I finally got over being scared of everyone and everything. I want to help people. Just like you helped me.”

“I didn’t help you, mate. I fucked everything up. I fucked you up.”

“It wasn’t your fault that things went bad,” Ovi argues.  “It was my father’s fault. Not yours. You got me out of there alive. Even when you knew there was no money. And you almost died doing it.”

“And I don’t want you almost dying...or dying...trying to solve other peoples’ problems. We can’t save everyone. No matter how much we want to.”

“I just want to give back all the good I’ve been given.”

“Find something else to do then. Feed the homeless. Work at an animal shelter. Volunteer somewhere. Do anything that would make you feel good. But fuck the job. Don’t even think about it. You want to mess things up with Chloe? Because that’s how you’ll mess things up with her.”

“It didn’t mess things up with you and Esme.”

“Like hell it didn’t. We split up for six months. You know how close it came to her filing for divorce? You know how close I came to barely seeing my kids? It was a goddamn miracle she took me back. And I still kept doing the job and I still kept making promises I never kept and I still keep abandoning her and my kids. You don’t think that hasn’t caused problems? That I don’t pay for my shitty decisions every day? We see a marriage counsellor, for fuck sakes.”

“Chloe said she’s fine with it. That if that’s what I want to do...”

“You actually talked to her about this? About becoming a mercenary. Are you fucking serious right now? Why the hell would you do that?”

“She’s part of my life.  I can’t make a decision like that without talking to her about it.”

Tyler frowns. “You’ve actually been thinking about this? For how long?”

“I don’t know,” Ovi shrugs. “Couple months, I guess.”

“A couple months?! And you’re just bringing this up to me now?”

Addie begins to cry in earnest now; startled by him raising his voice.  And he pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, a palm against the back of her head, the other patting her back as he sways his body back and forth in an effort to calm her.  

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers harshly to Ovi. “Why would you even think about doing the job?”

“The excitement. The danger. The...”

“The danger is exactly why you shouldn’t want to do it. You saw what happened in Dhaka. You were right there the entire time. Why would you want to put yourself through that? And never mind that, why would you want to put Chloe through that?”

“You and Esme...”

“Don’t even bring Esme into this. I’ve screwed up. A lot. I’ve made a lot of mistakes that could have ended my marriage. We have to see a goddamn therapist to try and fix things. Is that you want? You want to screw up someone else’s life? Because that’s exactly what you’d be doing.”

“But if she’s okay with it...”

Ovi is interrupted by the sliding glass door opening; Esme holding it so Declan...in just a diaper and a t-shirt and his hair sticking up in all different directions...can toddle through.

“Sorry to interrupt, guys,” she gives a tired, sheepish smile. “But someone woke up wanting daddy.”

Little arms wrap around his leg and Declan rubs his forehead against Tyler’s jeans before looking up at him with a huge pout on his face and those blue eyes rimmed with red and filled with tears.  

“What’s a matter mate?” Tyler asked. “What did the mean lady do to you?”

“He was pissed because I had to change his diaper before I would bring him down here to see you. If one of them could not have your temper that would be great,” Esme helps herself to a sip of his smoothie. “Is she okay? Want me to take her? Just so this one...” she lays a hand on Declan’s head. “...doesn’t pitch a fit because he’s jealous?”

“She was just a little unsettled,” he says, handing his daughter off and then scooping Declan up onto his hip. Running a hand over his strawberry blond hair, pressing kisses to his cheeks; letting him grab at his ears and his beard and anything else he can get those little hands on before sitting down and settling him on his lap and helping Declan feed himself the leftover food on his plate.

“Oh typical,” Esme grumbles, and sits down beside Ovi,  settling Addie against her chest and laying the side of her head against her daughter’s.  “He knows daddy will give him ‘big people’ food. And you wonder why he’s going to be six six and two hundred and fifty pounds when he’s sixteen.”

“Don’t listen to the mean lady,” Tyler says to his son. “You’re going grow up and be big and strong and kick some major ass.”

“Ass,’ Declan repeats, and shoves scrambled egg into his mouth.

“Oh, way to go Tyler,” his wife sighs. “You couldn’t leave one all innocent and sweet. Don’t you dare think you’re going to be teaching my last one any of your potty words.”

He grins. “She’s going to be the worst one of them all. It’s always the small ones you’ve have to worry about.”

“Your dad talks a lot of nonsense,” Esme says to the baby, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Don’t listen to him. He’s a bad influence. He already has your sister beating up kids on the playground and using the F word.”

“She’s got a hell of a right hook,” Tyler says, and Ovi nods in agreement. “She messes up her brothers.”

“We don’t want people messing anyone up this house.  Don’t pay attention, Addie. You’re going to grow up sweet and kind and never hurt a fly.”

Tyler snorts. “Not if she’s your daughter she won’t.”

“Can you believe I put up with him? That I willingly do this every day? Listen to that mouth?”

“It’s the other things that I do with my mouth you like,” Tyler says, and shoots her a wink across the table.

Ovi nearly spits out a mouthful of coffee.

“Oh god...innocent ears...”  she places a hand over one of Addie’s ears, and then a hand over one of Ovi’s.  

“Yeah, he’s not so innocent. He’s probably getting it more than I am.”

Ovi bites down on his bottom lip and shakes his head in embarrassment.

“You’re not used to this yet?” Esme laughs. “You know what he’s like. You’ve lived with him for five years now. You know the crap he talks about. Only the strong survive in this house.”

Ovi wipes his hands on the thighs of his jeans and holds his hands out in a request to hold the baby. He’s always been a natural; taking on the role of a big brother the moment he’d first laid eyes on Millie when they’d travelled to Mumbai and stayed at the Mahajan house. Lending a helping hand in taking care of the kids whenever Tyler was out of the country on a job, never shying away from dirty diapers or spit up.  He is a calming presence. Never raising his voice or showing any signs of nervousness of anger. And Addie snuggles right into him, one of her hands gripping his shirt, her head against his shoulder.

“This is nice,” he smiles. “Babies are nice.”

“Remember that they’re always nicer when their someone else’s,” Esme says. “So you don’t end up with one of your own way before you’re ready for it. Because they’re sweet and they’re cute but they’re a lot of work.”

Tyler nods in agreement.

“So no kids, okay?” Esme tousles Ovi’s hair. “I’m not old enough to be a grandma. Give it a few years. At least. Okay?”

He nods in agreement.

“So what were you guys talking about? Things looked kind of intense when I came in.”

“Just stuff,” Ovi shrugs. “Nothing important, really.”

“For something that wasn’t important, you two looked like you were going to get into it about something. Everything alright?”

Both Ovi and Tyler nod.

Her eyes narrow. “What aren’t you guys telling me?”

“It was no big deal,” Tyler gives her a reassuring smile. “Just normal talk. Guy talk. Nothing serious.”

“Well I’ll let you guys get back to your guy stuff,” she says, ruffling Ovi’s hair once more before standing up. “I’ve got school lunches to make and bags to pack. Ughhhh. Is it the weekend yet?”  She places her hands on Tyler’s shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek before heading inside.

“Whew...” Ovi breathes a sigh of relief. “...that was close. I thought she’d hear for sure.”

“Don’t ever bring the job up again,” Tyler’s voice is calm and even, his attention fully on the toddler in his lap. “I don’t ever want to hear it come out of your mouth. That’s not something you want to get involved in. And it’s not something I’m letting you drag me back into.”

“I wasn’t saying I was going to do it,” Ovi attempts to reason. “Just that I thought about it.”

“Well don’t think about. You’re too good for that. Way too good for it. Go back to school if you want. I’ll pay for it. I’ll support you no matter what you do. But not if you do that. You go into the job, I can’t have your back. I just can’t.  I can’t just sit on the sidelines and watch you kill yourself. Understand?”

Ovi nods.

“You deserve so much better than that life. So does Chloe. And I wish every day I never got back into it. That I’d just walked away for good. It would have saved me a whole lot of hurt.  It wasn’t fair to Esme. Or my kids. And that’s something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. Trust me, kid. You do not want that guilt on your shoulders.”

It will always be there. He knows it will.  He’ll spend his entire life looking for absolution that will never come.

[happiness4jane]

The Scariest Thing I’ve Ever Done

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Well, this is terrifying. Paralyzing almost. My hands are literally trembling as I try to punch the letters on my keyboard. When I allow myself to think about the people that might read this. People I know. People I work with. Students I teach. Students I’ve taught. My soon-to-be-in-laws. My exes. Their families (they’ll say, “I told you so!”). My friends. Their friends. My family. My children. All 836 of my Facebook “friends” are potential critics. And they’ll share it with even more people that might know me or will know me, that see me around and will avoid making eye contact with me in Walmart forevermore! When I allow myself to think about that – the people that might read this – every self-doubting, loathing, shaming, insecure demon inside me surfaces in protest. BUT… but. That’s the point, after all. For people to read this. To maybe help others claw their way out of the uncompromising, crippling, and degenerative grasp of the illness known as Bipolar Disorder (no, but seriously, this scares the shit out of me and I can’t breathe).

Here’s the thing though – I shouldn’t be ashamed of it. It isn’t fair we live in a society that shames people with mental illness into silence. That calls us “crazy”. We can’t just snap our fingers and make it go away (but, oh, if I could!). We can’t just act normal, act rational. It’s not something we can tame on command. And we didn’t choose this. Who would choose this?! Who would choose to leave behind a legacy of wreckage? Well, I don’t doubt there are some who’d choose that… As for me, when I think on all the destroyed relationships, the lost jobs, the unfinished projects and departed dreams, the reckless moments that would haunt me for years, the countless days stolen away by infinite darkness… the shame, the shame, the shame – I would never choose this. And yet, despite all the chaos and ruin and regret, it took me about twenty years to get help. Why? The simple answer is, I didn’t want to be Bipolar. I didn’t want people to think I was crazy (Ha! Like they didn’t already!). So, I refused to accept it. I refused to seek treatment. And it got worse. Much, much worse.

About seven months ago, after another life-is-amazing-and-I-don’t-need-to-sleep-and-I’ll-hyper-focus-and-finish-that-novel-and-train-for-that-marathon-and-FUCK!-you-better-stop-getting-in-my-way-or-I’ll-bite-your-damn-head-off-so-feed-yourself elevated state (Symptoms of a manic episode: increased activity, energy or agitation; decreased need for sleep; abnormally upbeat) followed inevitably by a crashing-into-bed-and-plotting-out-the-details-of-my-exit-because-I-just-can’t-live-in-this-world-anymore-and-I’m-worthless-and-horrible-and-you’d-all-be-better-off-without-me depressed state (Symptoms of a major depressive episode: feelings of sadness, emptiness, hopelessness; marked loss of interest in activities; fatigue; feelings of worthlessness or excessive or inappropriate guilt; thinking about, planning, or attempting suicide), I sought the help of a counselor. So, what changed, you might be wondering? What made me seek treatment at this point, after shunning it for so many years? Well, it used to be that I had normal periods of time between the depression and the elevation. It used to be fun and ambitious and productive (euphoric but always beguiling) to be elevated. It used to be the depression came maybe a couple times a year. The unwarranted distrust and insecurity and ultra-sensitivity was fleeting. The suicidal thoughts were daunting rather than soothing. That’s what used to be. It was easier to pretend I was normal then. I was just eccentric! I was special! Like some of the greatest artists and inventors and individuals that made history. I was a mad genius just like Salvador Dali, Vincent Van Gogh, Charlie Chaplin, Ben Franklin, Sir Isaac Newton, Michelangelo (Symptom: exaggerated sense of self). I was able to ride that train of twisted thought for a long long time, because I could finish what I started then, because I was younger then, and there was always another job, another lover, another place that would accept me. But around seven years ago, that all began to change. The depression seized more frequently. The elevation became less euphoric and more agitated, even rageful at times – lashing out at and rejecting the people I loved most. I started projects but never finished them. It became more and more difficult to go to work, and when I got there, I had to convince myself out of the car and into the classroom. In the classroom, I felt like an alien. I couldn’t stay on track, couldn’t focus my thoughts (Symptom: rapid and frenzied speaking, racing thoughts). I felt like I was disconnected from everything around me, like I wasn’t real (Symptom: dissociation). And then over the past year, the episodes seemed to be crashing right on top of each another with no reprieve in-between. It was relentless, crippling. One day of unbridled energy followed by two days of extreme irritability followed by one day of bed-ridden depression and then rinse, lather, repeat. Weeks, months, a year like this. The darkness that occasionally consumed my thoughts mutated to a pervasive utter blackness – leaving a void where hope and happiness used to visit. My fiancé pleading with me to get out of bed. My 10-year-old son asking me why I was so angry. My six-year-old daughter saying, “Mommy’s sick again.” I hated myself. I couldn’t pretend I was perfectly healthy – just eccentric – anymore. I was sick. Very sick.

You see, Bipolar Disorder is a degenerative illness, and by denying myself treatment, I had enabled a progression into periods of rapid cycling, meaning I was basically Bipolar on steroids – my depressive and manic moods shifting in a constant unpredictable shitstorm. This is the way it was explained to me by my counselor (in much more eloquent terms). She said that in the same way progressive diseases like Cancer will eventually cause organ failure if left untreated, Bipolar Disorder gradually diminishes brain function if left untreated. Oh, did I mention this conversation took place just a month ago? And, perhaps you remember that I went to see her the first time about seven months ago? No, it didn’t take that long to diagnose me. It took that long for me to commit. I honored my appointments only twice before I disappeared for another two months and then for another five months after that (I was still battling my desperate desire to be “normal”). During those initial appointments, I either purposefully omitted the symptoms of my elevated states, or honestly didn’t know they were elevated states. Hard to tell. On the one hand, for most of my life the elevated states were something to look forward to. They were a tremendous relief since they often followed a long period of depression, or, they were a welcome rush of intense energy and focus and ambition after a period of normal moods and routines. On the other hand, there was a part of me that hoped, if I had to be diagnosed with something, that it be depression and/or anxiety – just not Bipolar, please, not that! For some totally illogical reason, having depression and anxiety seemed more socially acceptable to me. People posted about their depression and anxiety on social media. My students openly discussed their struggles with them in class. Lot’s of people are depressed and anxious! Poor reasoning but, I convinced myself that my elevated states were just “normal” times when I wasn’t depressed. After all, I didn’t behave like someone that was manic. I was nothing like Bradley Cooper’s character in “Silver Linings Playbook”! I didn’t suddenly become totally irrational. I didn’t spend everything in my bank account in some obsessed frenzy. I didn’t abruptly start making good on all my wildest fantasies and desires. I didn’t incoherently speed-talk and jump around from one interest to another. No, it was never that pronounced. Or, was it? I’d certainly been called Bipolar enough in my lifetime – and not in a concerned or encouraging way. More like I was being called a “crazy bitch”. It was a bad word. And I did spend [a lot] more money than I should when I felt “good”. Like, when I bought that boat with a personal loan on a 50% interest rate. Or, when I financed that international trip while negative in my bank account. And on all that professional camera equipment when I decided to be a video editor, and on this website two years ago when I decided to be a blogger (Perhaps, now, I’ll finally make use of it?). And the hundreds of dollars I invested in gear when I was suddenly inspired to run a marathon (but I did follow through on that one, thank you very much!). Oh, right, I guess I do jump around from interest to interest when I’m feeling “inspired”. I’m going to be a motivational speaker, no, a novelist, no, a personal trainer, no, a corporate trainer, no, a filmmaker, no, an entrepreneur, no… the list goes on and on. But these things felt so good. Even though I had to clean up the wreckage whenever I smashed back down on the pavement. The rubble of estranged relationships, busted bank accounts, retired jobs. So yeah, I went with depression and anxiety, masking the symptoms of mania. And I refused medication (because all I really needed to do was get my shit together, not numb myself with zombie-making pills). Until the progression to rapid cycling imprisoned me and I sulked, defeated, back into therapy five weeks ago.

After years and years and years of heartbreak and rejection and confusion and self-loathing and denial and protest, I began taking a daily mood stabilizer and seeing my therapist once a week. It took a couple weeks before there was any discernable change, and after four weeks, the change in my behavior was nothing short of striking. At that point, I realized I hadn’t been swallowed by the black void in three full weeks – a record time in nearly a year. I hadn’t lashed out in rage at anyone either. And the most surprising thing? I wasn’t the living dead. I had heard these nightmare testimonies about people with Bipolar Disorder beginning medication and going numb, like they’d been lobotomized, and that panicked me. I didn’t want to stop feeling, I just wanted to experience my feelings in a regulatory fashion. And I was, for the first time in years. Now, I want to be very careful not to sound like the poster girl for medicating. My strong belief is that we over-medicate in this country (but that’s for another post). No miracle has occurred. I’m not “cured”. In fact, there is no known cure for Bipolar Disorder. It can be managed, with a combination of medication and psychotherapy. Some days are better than others. But every day, I still battle my demons and the life-long conditioning of patterns, emotional reactions, and behaviors. My recovery is a continuous journey where no arrival point exists. But I have hope today. I wake up motivated to get out of bed without needing the boost of mania. I carry out the responsibilities and routines of the day without fighting off panic or becoming despondent. I fall asleep without the “lulling” melody of my own death dancing around my thoughts. Yes, I still get anxious and angry and sad and overly eager. The difference is in the way I’ve responded to those feelings since starting treatment. My awareness of the condition and the symptoms that accompany it, along with my medication, has helped me acknowledge my feelings before acting on them.

I hope it’s not the honeymoon period. I hope it lasts.

It’s early yet.

But if this remarkable change is here to stay [with dedicated treatment], I can’t help but feel frustration with myself for not seeking help sooner. Just to think on all the chaos and anguish I could have spared myself and others… But I’m here now, and perhaps it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be – writing this blog so that you may read it and be inspired to act now. For yourself, or for someone you know, before it’s too late. Make no mistake, this disease does kill. The suicide rate for people with Bipolar Disorder is twenty times that of the general population, and nearly 30% will make a suicide attempt at least once in their lifetime.

Don’t pity me, and please don’t fear me. I’m not very different from you. I have a family, friends, a career, hopes and dreams and struggles and fears. For those of you that know me, I’m still Jen. Maybe I’m even a better Jen – my greater and more genuine self. As a society, we need to reframe the way we perceive and speak about mental illness. Help me promote a fair image for those individuals and families that are afflicted with it – so they won’t suffer in silence. So they get help.

My name is Jen Hogue, and I’m diagnosed Bipolar II. Today, I’m in treatment. I take my medication everyday and see my counselor every week. I have a sense of hope that I haven’t had in far too long. I still don’t know if I’ll be brave enough to publish this. But I hope I will. After all, it’s often in the greatest risks we take that we find our greatest triumphs, and our greatest gifts to one another.  

[amysubmits]

Hey Amy! I adore your blog, & I was wondering if you've ever experienced sub drop & if so, how do you deal with it. Thank you! (Also sorry if this has been asked before)

Hey Anon!

I don’t think this is a repeat but even if it was I wouldn’t mind. :)

Most of the time when I see people talk about subdrop it’s described as a sudden drop in emotions once intimacy ends. I’ve never had it exactly like that, I don’t think. I’ve never went from glee/joy to sudden sadness or anxiety once we’re done. 

What I have experienced at times is something that feels really fun for a long time, but then some tiny insecurity or worry works its way into my head while we are playing but I’m able to sort of push it into the back of my head, to enjoy the experience during, but then once we’re done, that insecurity come back with serious intensity. I have been diagnosed with anxiety, so I’m familiar with sort of arguing against my anxieties and insecurities and listening to the ‘real me’ thoughts instead of the anxious ones most of the time. Often when these anxious thoughts come after intimacy is, I’m just too fragile/sensitive/vulnerable emotionally to be able to pick apart what is what, and I sort of feed into those thoughts and end up in an anxiety spiral.  So…I’m not sure if this is really ‘sub drop’ or if it’s more…’your anxiety showed up when you were vulnerable from submission so it got the best of you for a minute’ type of thing? 

We always cuddle after being intimate no matter what we’ve done or how we’re feeling. If I have negative emotions afterward, we typically just talk it through. It’s silly, but when I have anxiety after being intimate, it almost always come back to the same few fears..and they’re all related. It typically start by worrying that I haven’t sufficiently pleased him. This is always totally ‘on me’ as he never expresses disappointment in me sexually or anything like that. I can have this anxiety triggered very easily at times. I’ve had it happen before when he’s told me something like “we’re going to use the hitachi next” and I grab it and he says “I didn’t say to start using it yet.” and he said it completely calmly, not scolding me or anything like that at all, just gently correcting me but I’ve spiraled from that sort of thing before. I’ve had it happen when I’ve orgasmed but he didn’t. I’ve had it happen when I’ve had an outburst of attitude or struggled with physically resisting spanking or something else uncomfortable at first. All of this is totally silly because he realizes that sometimes it’s natural for me to instinctively ‘bite back’, he knows sometimes I can’t hold still while receiving pain, and so on. I know that if he doesn’t orgasm it’s almost always a conscious choice he made, but even if not, it’s not like he is blaming me? So none of these expectations or fears come from him at all. I just have issues with idealizing what a perfectly ideal submissive would be/would do, and just other random anxieties as well. I’m well aware, even in the midst of panicking about it, that I am not being reasonable with myself, so they aren’t true beliefs, they are just thought that take over my emotions if that make sense? 

How it usually goes is, I start off with thinking I’ve made some mistake sexually, and/or didn’t please him enough. From there, the anxiety spirals into thinking that if I am not pleasing him enough sexually then the rest of my submission is also not ‘enough’. I feel that my submission is a big piece of who I am, and a huge piece of my relationship with CD, so if I start feeling like I’m a bad submissive, then I fail to understand how I have worth within our relationship or as a person. Again…this is all just irrational anxieties. I don’t really believe any of this when I am clear headed! 

I worry about my submission not having value…but honestly, this is usually tied to #1. If I feel like I am not doing great at being a submissive sexually then it sort of discounts the rest of my submission. If I can’t see the value in my submission then I start to question my value as a person. So, with these all being connected in my anxious brain, Yet at certain times, something that simple can just totally spiral my anxiety into ‘Do I have worth as a person?” which is clearly just absolutely illogical. But, when I’m in subspace my emotion are just really fragile sometimes I guess. We’ve noticed that I am much more likely to have a negative spiral if I am PMSing or hormonal….and I’m just more prone to anxiety and depression during that time of the month as well. So I feel like it’s little to nothing to do with what we are doing together and more jut of how sensitive I am emotionally during that time. We don’t do anything ‘intense’ for us (we avoid soft limits) if we know I am sensitive but sometimes I spiral just from doing stuff that is really basic and ‘easy’ for me any other time. It’s a pain in the butt, and neither of us want me to experience it, but we honestly feel like it’s impossible to truly avoid. I would say on average I might have this sort of ‘drop’ or anxiety thing happen once a month or once every other month? So it’s not that common, really. 

I’d like to just admit to him that I’m freaking out but honestly I usually try to act normal for some reason? I don't’ know why I do that..it’s not a good thing to do…that’s something I need to work on. Thankfully, so far anyway, he’s always picked up on something being wrong and coaxes me into talking about my fears and then he gives me his take on them. The last time this happened I made this draft that I never posted as without context it’s kinda sounding like I only have value because of elements of my submission and he certainly does not believe that, but I didn’t know how to explain that while also sharing these, I guess. But basically, he knew my anxiety was coming back to not seeing value in my submission so he was focusing on those things to counter that anxiety. He certainly thinks I have value outside of my submission, too but he was just focusing on the parts I needed to hear. Anyway here is what I wrote. 

I had temporarily lost the battle with the anxious, self-loathing little monster that lives in my head. The anxious and self-defeating thoughts got louder than my own and I lost track of which thoughts were mine and which belonged to the monster. CD cuddled me through the breakdown. I explained that I was struggling to see the value in myself within our relationship because I was struggling to see the value in my submission. I typed out a few of the reasons he gave me because they’re one I know I really need to burn into my brain better. He said…

You have value because you’re sweet.  

You have value because you trust me.

Your sexual submission has value.

There is pleasure in having my cock in your mouth even if I don’t cum.

You have value because you do as you’re told.

You have value because you try so hard to make me happy.

[secretshinigami]

Elevator Advice

Author: jeevas-exe For: all-my-lovely-fics Pairings/Characters: Soichiro Yagami, Quillish Wammy Rating/Warnings: G, no warnings apply Prompt: Soichiro asking for advice about how to deal with a genius son, and these two bonding. Author’s notes: im so bad with notes, i never quite know what to say. this is very focused on characterization of watari and soichiro, since not a lot happens in it, but im hoping i was able to do this prompt justice. i hope you enjoy it!

It’s morning, and Soichiro happens to be running a bit late.

The long nights have been killing him with sleepless nights and stress. He would’ve thought, by now, that his body would be used to it. Used to the long nights waiting and thinking and searching for any sort of development with this case, but no. Even if he’s allowed to home at a normal time, his sleep is disrupted with thoughts about the case.

The Kira case seems to have consumed his life.

Though he knows he shouldn’t be worrying anymore. What he worries about before he sleeps shouldn’t take over his mind as it does, because his son is cleared. He knows this, clear as day; If it’s fatherly instinct or simply anxiety causing it is what he doesn’t know. Light has been cleared permanently, and he’s the alibi for it. So the reasons for such feelings are irrational, illogical, but it lingers and resides with him enough to keep him up, sleep past his alarm by ten minutes, and run late for work.

Not that L would care. He’d certainly draw attention to his lack of presence, but it’s not as though he’ll be late by a whole lot. A few minutes, at most. His biggest concern for running late was due to him needing to catch the train at a certain time to bring him through Tokyo-at times he thinks it may be easier to simply stay at headquarters, where he knows there’s plenty of space for all of the task force and more. He doesn’t see it necessary to leave his family though. Not if he has to. He can still be there for Sachiko and Sayu, even if his son is currently living at headquarters for an unknown amount of time.

Not that Sachiko or Sayu know this. They still believe he and Soichiro had a fallout. They have no idea that he’s still being suspected of being a mass murderer.

Soichiro sighs at the thought. In his head, Light is cleared. In his head there’s no way that Light, his own son, could be Kira. It seems impossible, and while he understood L’s previous reasoning for his suspicions, he doesn’t now. Light sincerely thought he would die in that car, with that gun at his head. He really thought Soichiro would shoot him, and then himself. He wasn’t thinking of being Kira, he wasn’t thinking of handing off any sort of power-and to Soichiro, that’s enough to show that there’s no way Light could be Kira.

Why L thinks so is beyond him.

Then again, he’s never fully understood the way L thinks, or where he draws his ideas from. How his deductions can be supported by such minimal evidence, while remaining so abstract. L is as difficult to figure out as the case itself.

Light being able to reflect this, however, impresses Soichiro, and makes him proud. He’s only eighteen, and already he’s working on a case. He’s had to give up his studies for it. Since his release from confinement, he’s been nothing but helpful to the case, helping it move along quickly and providing yet another perspective for it. He and L are able to swiftly bounce off of each other’s ideas, their minds working faster than they can speak, their ideas flowing on the same wavelength. Watching them work is like a show of its own, and Soichiro feels pride in knowing that his son is helpful. That his son is more than what he could ever ask for.

The train has stopped at the station, and headquarters is only down the block. He begins to walk through the station, up the stairs and onto the main street.

Every day for the task force has proved to be more and more complex. Light coming onto the case, at first, had been a bit odd, but now that he’s working full time and beyond on it, Soichiro has seen how much he’s grown. He can see the spark in his eyes as his mind processes all that’s given to him, like a childish curiosity. He wants to know where all the pieces go in the puzzle, how to make the appropriate move. He supposes this is similar to how L thinks, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t know. He doesn’t like to compare Light to him, but his credibility as the World’s Greatest Detective makes it hard not to. His son is as smart as the man who keeps the world at bay. It makes him swell with pride, even if he’s not entirely sure he understands how either of them operate.

He’s approached the front of HQ, the reflective panes casting a sheen of bright light from the oncoming sun. He walks into the lobby as he sees Watari taking his belongings from the cubby it was placed in temporarily. He starts to pick up his pace a bit, stride lengthening to get to the metal detector and other sensors quicker.

“Good morning, Mr. Yagami.” The older man greets, and Soichiro bows the slightest in return, taking off his watch. He briefly catches that it reads 8:04.

“Good morning.” Soichiro says. He takes off his wedding ring. “How are you?”

“I’m well, and you?” Watari has pressed the button to the elevator, the light illuminating an arrow up. It’ll probably take a minute or so for it to reach the first floor, the floor they’re on.

“I’m alright, thank you.” He replies. He walks through the metal detector, after going through the remaining sensors.

“You look very tired.”

“I’ll admit I’m not in the best shape as of late.” He’s begun to collect his own things from the cubby.

“Perhaps it would be wise to take a day off, if you’re able to.”

“Not with the rate of development of this case.” He smiles, though he knows it comes off with a hint of somberness. “Has there been anything new since yesterday?” He’s started to put his watch back on again, slipping his wedding band back on his finger.

“I don’t believe there has been much progress. Ryuzaki is still working with my previous business partners on his own, though I think he’s found a dead end with that.”

Ah, yes. He’d forgotten about the alias momentarily.

“Was that through the night?” Soichiro steps forward and stands beside Watari, who nods. “His work ethic never failed to impress me.”

“He’s never been one for sleep, unfortunately.  An insomniac.” The bell to the elevator rings, the doors parting slowly to let them in.

“I got that from the first few days on working with him.” He gestures Watari to step in first, which he does.

The button for the floor they need is pressed. The doors close, and they’re left in silence. A usual one. Watari doesn’t seem like the man to ever want to speak unless he has to, but the air of the elevator is anything but comfortable. Simply because it’s a normal reoccurrence doesn’t make the feeling any better.

“I am quite surprised at what Light was able to find last night.” Watari comments. It catches Soichiro off guard for a moment, but he recovers quickly.

“As am I.”

“He seems very bright. He almost reminds me of Ryuzaki.”

“In what ways?” Soichiro asks.

“The way he puts things together. His interest for it. Though, Ryuzaki was not nearly as socially adequate.” He chuckles. “However, his interactions with Light surprise me.”

“How so?”

“Ryuzaki isn’t typically one to trust people.”

This confuses Soichiro. “If he’s still considering Light a threat, I’m certain he doesn’t fully trust him.”

“You’re right, but he has let his guard down a bit. He’s become comfortable around Light enough to be casual with him, which is rare.”

“Ah.”

“He never had many friends because of it. He does consider Light a friend though.”

“What was Ryuzaki like growing up?” Soichiro asks on a whim.

“He was inquisitive. He let his curiosity get to him frequently. He intimidated other kids though, and preferred to be alone.”

Soichiro nods. “Light was the same way, but he was always sneaky about it. He pretended to be, anyway. Sachiko and I would always catch him when he least expected it. He had a few schoolmates, more as he got older.”

“Ryuzaki had a knack for puzzles and the like. It’s how he started out, you could say.”

“Really?”

“Yes. As he got older though, he began to get into mysteries-things in the news, mostly. He chose what he wanted to do based on interest, however, much like he does now.”

“I have noticed along his career line that he takes on cases that either interest him or prove to be a challenge to him.”

“It’s a trait that’s always stuck with him. I’ve tried to push cases onto him before. He doesn’t appreciate it.” There’s a brief pause. “What was Light like growing up?”

“Curious, as I said before. He was always excited to learn new things. He was very structured though, things had to be a certain way.” Soichiro explains. “I wish I had been around a bit more.”

“You weren’t?”

“I was often called in for longer work hours, being a somewhat younger member on the police force. They wanted me to have more experience, you see, so I wasn’t home very much.”

“Ah, yes.”

“I remember him always being excited to show me things they were doing at school. When he was younger. I remember he’d always be excited when I got home, always wanting to share everything he learned in school.” He sighs. He can remember it almost clear as day, the way Light would practically jump on him as soon as he walked in the door, wanting to lead him to the dinner table quicker so he could start catching his father up. “It feels like just yesterday. Strange, how time flies.”

“I agree, though things haven’t changed very much for Ryuzaki and I in the last few years or so.” Watari says.

“You’ve always been with him then?”

“For the most part of twenty odd years.”

“He’s very young.”

“Light is younger. Though I’ve learned age doesn’t account for intelligence. Wisdom, perhaps, but by no means brains.”

 “I find it ironic how such young people can know so much more than us. You’d think our experience would equate to that level by now.”

“It is rather odd, but I find it best not to question it. They are who we are, and we may never understand them.”

The elevator begins to slow down, approaching the floor needed for Soichiro.

“I feel as though at times I don’t get what’s going through Light’s head. It makes me question if I know my son at all.”

“I’ve been in a similar disposition with Ryuzaki many times before. The only thing you can do it wait, really.”

“Wait?”

“For them to open up.” Watari replies.

The elevator dings, alarming them that it’s reached the floor it needs to.

“I suppose I’ll have to do that then, and see where it leads me. It was a pleasure to speak with you.” Soichiro takes a step towards the opening doors.

“And you as well, Mr. Yagami. Take care.” Watari says. The doors shut too quickly for Soichiro to reply.

He looks down at his watch: 8:08. He walks to the entrance of the main floor, opening the doors.

He’s ready to begin another day.

[anishananigan]

Brain: Lost and then Found

59 D. The transcript said, and I shrugged it saying university is always difficult, the same person who would be upset over 89 in high school. A lot of things had changed over the period of 3 months. My friends, lifestyle, attitude, myself. But I felt it was just me growing up. I am still unclear on if it was the claws of a dreadful sickness slowly getting hold of me as I was being oblivious to any change. One night, mid semester of winter 2014, my second year, it was very a cold night I remember because I had two comforters on and I remember thinking “I am an international student what am I going to finish school? Will be able to? What if my Visa expires? What if I fail al the other courses and how do I apply to Ph.D.? how to I register for next years courses” . And I started cursing myself for how I did not think of all this before and by the time I realized how all these thoughts had no premise and had not connection and were easily answerable, it was morning. I had to rush to school. My friend use to pick me on the way I thought of telling him about it but somewhere I still knew I was being irrational, hence decided to figure it out myself. This I believe was the first red flag, keeping quiet, not sharing, not that I am an expert in the field but from personal experience. Once in school walking up the stairs it felt strange. It felt as if the ground was slipping from under my my feet. As if I couldn’t balance myself anymore as if it’s all uneven and not a flat surface anymore. And trying to maneuver the ups and downs I almost tripped 3 times. This felt weird but I though I might be too tired or sleepy as I was up all night. Class was no different hadn’t been for few weeks now. The professors seemed to go faster than usual. I had a hard time recollecting whatever happened in class and the workload just was too much. I would tend to get obsesses so much with one though never got a chance to go to the other. It was the St. Patrick’s day when I first acknowledged I might have a problem. For quite some time the unbalanced feeling was becoming a part of my life however once back from class about to go out with friends for a party I was changing and realized my legs shaking. Uncontrollably. Just shaking involuntarily. I freaked out and for some reason was in denial of this particular event. I disagreed to the fact that this was happening. I convince myself that I am being ridiculous. I went to the party sat there with my group of friends and heard them discuss a lot of things however nothing they said seemed relevant to me or I did not understand why were they talking about what they were talking about. My best friend was discussing about how her boyfriend and her are going through a rough patch (which is very common among girls) and all I could think was “what do I have to do with this? Why is she telling me this? Never mind just keep nodding.” Slowly things started getting worse from professors seeming fast it had now become completely impossible to comprehend anything that the professor was saying and sitting in the class all I could think of was “what have I learned in all these years. I know nothing. My life is useless”, and would get completely obsessed with this idea so much so that I stopped going to school altogether. Once my friends noticed this they wanted to talk to me about it, as they knew it wasn’t like me to miss school and shut off everybody. On more in depth discussion they decided to take me to the hospital and figure out what wrong. I was diagnosed with severe dehydration when I thought “wait, I haven’t been drinking enough water. That must be it.” On coming back home in the car as I was saying rather rambling on stuff that would seem completely illogical to a person I saw my friend tearing up. He started getting emotional and said, “this is not you. I have never seen you like this. It cannot be just dehydration”. He held my hand, “just trust me”. We went to another hospital as we felt like the previous one wasn’t a satisfactory answer where the after 4 vials of blood and 6 blood pressure measurements later I was given a neurologist reference with a presumption that I might be predisposed to having a stroke at 19 years of age. This was based on the idea of me being cognitively troubled and having trouble walking. Again the drive back was painful. Not getting any answers was worse. Being a science student I was desperate for reason for cause for result for a diagnosis. “The doctor is not in today he is on a vacation” the nurse said as my fried clenched his teeth in anger. “why is this happening to her?”. Is it even logical to get a referral for a doctor that isn’t even in town.” All this while I was thinking “Am I going crazy? I am slipping away? I will never be fixed? Is it because I am a bad person?” Maybe if I don’t sit with my legs crossed I won’t be punished?”, and these thoughts seemed completely acceptable to me. I was taken in by the doctors assistant “ push your hand against mine as hard as you can.” She said pressing the hand against mine. She came close to my eye with a device that had a little in it. “look up, right, down, left.”

“I have sleeplessness.” I said my first word that day and felt as if I conquered the world, only to realize how low my confidence was now. The assistant did not bother about that remark and looked at my friend, “”She is stressed maybe has some anxiety”. Then looking at the phone she said let me make some calls, “in a low voice she murmured something. “we have a bed for her and will be scheduling an MRI soon.” Next day I was supposed to sit in an exam I screamed and lost all control and started getting all jittery and was shaking yelling at my friend why? You want me to to fail You are pushing me for an MRI in the same day as my exam. What am I going to do? I am losing everything I had.” I see my friend trying to calm me down, the nurse rushing in and then I went to sleep. That was it, for that day. MRIs happened of brain and spine. More vials of blood, more IV more needles still no results. It was frustrating it was testing my patience or whatever I had left of me. MY friends describe my eyes so blank, lips dried and blood oozing out of the cuts, cheeks sunken in until they looked discolored and a smile that was so scary as it was so empty. I was moved from one facility to the other and in that I lost all hope. I decided it was over. There was no answer to my desperation for a diagnosis but by now it the disease had engulfed me such that that I didn’t even know I wanted a diagnosis. I didn’t know how feeling something was. No pain, physical or mental, no expectations except waiting for the lady who came every morning at 6:30 am (as the clock on the wall was the only think I could see) “Morning, stretch your hand. Have you been to the washroom yet?” . “No” the word struggles to come out of my mouth. My friend wakes up “morning, how did you sleep?”. Sleep. Hmm. Wondering when I actually slept last time. All I remembered was my blood being taken and at night a small cup of water with 5 different pills as I force it down my throat and then lay until the next vial of blood is taken from me. I was kept on a stretcher out in the corridor as there was no bed in his facility. According to my friends there were multiple tests done on me but all I remember I seeing a dark empty room with a small red light and I was trying to hold something. A distant voice yelling “if you don’t sit straight we cannot do the test. Please keep you hand still.” It was very faded I couldn’t really understand why was she yelling. Why was I there where was I what is happening? “you’re going to get better, relax don’t move. Let them help you Anisha”.

They are trying to inject something in me. They are plugging something on my head. Are they shaving my head? They are trying to erase all my memories. I am a lab rat. All my friends are with them. I see that man on the computer he is rewriting my life. He is taking away everything from me. He is feeding someone else’s life in me. They are killing me and I start yelling. Why is my friend dancing in the air? What is that group of people beside the waterfall discussing are they conspiring against me? “Maaaa. Mom! I want her! Please my mother. My voice sounds as if I my lungs will burst out. I couldn’t have screamed louder. I push away my friend who was trying to read some religious verses around me and I pull out the plugs off my hair. Banging the table beside me and kicking my legs in the air I roar “MAAA! Where are you! Save me lease I beg you maaaa! Come to me ! MAA, MAA. I was being pushed on the stretcher back to the corridor. I kept yelling and throwing my hands and legs in the air. I remember them giving me some tablet under my tongue and next thing I know I was in a room. Same friend of mine was flirting with a guy whose brother was in the same room admitted for some mental illness. They were talking as I lay there staring at the lights outside it seemed like it was late night. “why she not sleeping” “Am I sleeping?” Suddenly I see this big white monster with red eyes trying to attack me and my friend assisting it in all possible way she could. I screamed and pulled out my IV and punched my friend and started squirming and had this pain all over my body as if something is torturing last thing I remember of that night is 6 very dark soul like thing grabbing me and holding me down and taking me somewhere I didn’t want to go. I wake up apparently I was sedated for 8 hours and it took 6 nurses to achieve that feat. All this seems irrational but it was real very real and it was happening to me and nobody else. Anybody and everybody after that day could tell I was not me anymore. Nothing in me was the same. I was now completely on IV couldn’t eat or walk. Stopped talking comprehending basic information was a rigorous exercise and finally the last straw was when was in my diapers at loss of all control of my body. I thought to myself “Am I even Alive?’

Luckily the doctors and my friends didn’t think like that. After 2 months of various tests and blood work and spinal tap finally there it was on 30th April my friends came running telling “They have a diagnosis, they have a plan. You’re going to be okay. It is called Anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis”. All I had to say was “hmm”. That’s how it worked because I couldn’t even remember 4 words for 20 seconds anymore. I wasn’t there coherently so I couldn’t understand. To me I was done forever. But then 2 months of psychosis, paranoia, hallucinations cognitive problems and 7 months of IVIG and Methyl prednisone plus another relapse next year with 5 cycles of plasmapheresis, lots of love and support from family and extremely gifted doctors later here I am a B.Sc. graduate in biotechnology with lovely friends to count on. The ghost of NMDA relapse scares me but the possibilities of future keep me going on.

[researching01]

How To Overcome Anxiety and Feel More at Ease (Part 1)

New Post has been published on https://headacheshelp.com/awesome/how-to-overcome-anxiety-and-feel-more-at-ease-part-1/

How To Overcome Anxiety and Feel More at Ease (Part 1)

Anxiety ailments are the most prevalent mental health challenge we face. Globally, an estimated 275 million people, or 4 % of the population, were affected in 2016. (( Our World in Data: Anxiety Disorders )) In the U.S ., 18.1% of the adult population suffers every year and 30% of people will experience nervousnes at some phase .(( Anxiety And Depression Association of America: Facts& Statistics )) Anxiety ailments touch 25.1% of children between 13 and 18 years old and women are almost twice as likely to experience anxiety ailments than males.

So if you’re feeling anxious or suffering from anxiety, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

Not merely is anxiety highly common, it is also highly treatable. Yet less than half of people suffering seek treatment.

Having been there myself, I know it is scary, confusing, frustrating and difficult. At periods, it feels like it’s going to suffocate you or swallow you whole; and you fear you’ll never feel like yourself again.

I recollect a day when I stands at the front door sobbing because I didn’t want my husband to leave for work in the morning. It was not me. I have always been laid back, easygoing and fearless. And all of a sudden I was anxious, scared and full of fear.

What attained it even worse was feeling scared I would feel that way forever. I remember calling a good friend on my route home one day from therapy. She’d suffered from anxiety too. I’ll never forget it what she told me. It was a turning point in my healing. “It WILL get better; you won’t always feel like this. I know it feels like it now, but you won’t. I promise, you will get better”. Those terms resonated profoundly and stuck with me through the toughest of periods. I desperately needed to know there was hope.

Everyone I’ve spoken to who’s suffered from anxiety says something similar. I thought it would never end. I supposed I was going to have to live like that forever( and I knew I couldn’t ). I has no such idea how I was going to get out of it. But they all been through this it.

In this article, I’ll share real tales and recommendations from those who have been through anxiety, as well as tips-off and strategies from mental health professionals.

All of them share one common sentiment: anxiety is common and can be treated. If you can summon up the strength and gallantry to take a few steps out of the darkness, you will find light.

So if you’re out there wondering if you will EVER get through this, wondering if you will EVER feel like yourself again, wondering if this will EVER end…It CAN and it WILL.

For those of you facing anxiety on any level, my hope is that you find at least one of these stories, strategies or resources helpful and supportive in running through your own process and journey.

What Is Anxiety? People use the term’ anxiety’ to describe everything from a stressful impression or situation to a severe feeling of anxiety, and even anxiety assaults which can come out of nowhere and closely mimic the same symptoms of a heart attack.

According to David Carbonell, PhD .( The Anxiety Coach ): “Anxiety is a set of feelings, thinks, and physical sensations typically centered on some dread about a future event or potential instance. Anxiety is an ordinary emotion which is part of life. We would have trouble functioning without it.

An anxiety ailment, on the other hand, is a condition in which a person has literally become afraid of their experiences of nervousnes and tries to resist and avoid those experiences in ways that attain the problem worse rather than better. People develop an nervousnes disorder for various reasons. It seems clear that there are genetic predispositions to develop them. People who score high on a measure of’ anxiety sensitivity’ are more prone to develop one.” There are several major nervousnes ailments including Panic Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, and specific phobias of all kinds. When talking about overcoming anxiety, since there are such differing levels and degrees of what that means, there are also varying levels of treatment and supporting .(( Anxiety and Depression Association of America: Understand the Facts ))

What Causes Anxiety? Here’s the technical answer from Jennie Morton: “The experience of anxiety has emerged from a cascade of events that are triggered in the body by the activation of the sympathetic nervous system( or battle/ flight mechanism) in response to a threat. This is a very natural reaction that is designed to ensure our survival when under assault from a predator. An area of our brain called the amygdala acts as a kind of’ smoke detector’ for environmental menaces and plays a key role in triggering the fight or flight response.

The amygdala (( Science Daily: Amygdala )) is also involved in emotional learning and, based on our experiences from childhood onward, will label certain places, people, situations, etc. as either safe or unsafe.

So while for many the experience of nervousnes may seem irrational or illogical, there will be a reason why the amygdala has chosen to spark this sensation. Somewhere along the line it put a red flag warning on an event or even just a particular aspect of a threatening situation which it is then conditioned to repeat.” In my experience, if you’re suffering from anxiety, something bigger is going on. Anxiety is not the problem. Anxiety is a symptom of something.

There are many complex and varying causes for anxiety, including;

Life experiences and events( including trauma)

Genetics and upbringing

Brain chemistry

Medical conditions( including blood sugar imbalance, thyroid dysfunction and gut imbalance/ food sensitivities ), and

Forms of stress including unhealthy relationships, demanding tasks, and financial obligations.

More often than not, anxiety is a sign you are out of alignment or out of balance in some way shape or kind- mentally, emotionally, physically or even spiritually.

It’s your body’s way of telling you something isn’t’ functioning. Something is not right. Our bodies are quite amazing. They have a way of telling us to slow down, do something different, pay attention or make a change. And if we don’t listen, guess what? They scream louder. And often, they speak the language of nervousnes. Remember, anxiety is a message. To honor this message, seem deeper into what may be out of balance in your body, as well as your life. This may feel scary at first, but remember, the life you want is on the other side of dread! — Dr. Kelly Brogan How to Heal Your Anxiety I’d like to introduce Erica Phillipson. Erica is a Graphic Artist, Yoga Instructor& Retreat Facilitator( and former Club DJ& Radio Show Host ).

Here, she shares her personal narrative and recommendations for overcoming anxiety:

At the height of my anxiety, I thought I would never get through it. I didn’t simply have anxiety, I had Panic Disorder. On bad days, I would have 6 or 7 panic attack. They would sometimes last for over an hour and often it would take me a few hours to recover. The trauma I experienced took a toll on me both physically and psychologically. Eventually, everything became too much for me. I didn’t want to get too excited/ nervous/ scared, I didn’t want to set myself in any situation that could trigger my anxiety, I didn’t want to leave the house. I felt like I had short-circuited. I even got to a phase where I would worry that merely thinking about a panic attack was going to bring one on.

I thought it would never objective. But it did. It may have lasted 6 years, but I haven’t had a panic attack for over 6 years now!

Having Panic Disorder pushed me to work through so much’ stuff’. It forced me to really go deep within myself. Seeming back at how much I evolved during that time, I can frankly say that my Panic Disorder has been one of my life’s greatest gifts. Without it, I would have stayed in a career that was not working for me; I would not have found balance in my life; I would still be saying yes when the answer in my heart is no. I would probably not be as grateful for the little things that induce our lives so beautiful; I would not be the person I am today.

I know who I am. I know what I want. I know what I am willing- and not willing- to put up with. I am glad! If I can get through it, you can, too.

This anxiety you are facing is a tool for growth, but you need to be willing to work with it. Your body has given you nervousnes because it is trying to tell you something but you have not been listening. It’s time to listen.

As I went through my healing process, I tried every type of therapy out there, including: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Tapping, Vitamins, Homeopathy, Yoga, Hypnosis, Art procedures, kundalini, Breathwork and drug( for a few months ).

I’m said he hopes that the knowledge I is obtained from these therapies will help you to heal quicker than it took me.

The biggest thing I want you to know is that no one can heal you but you.

Here are my recommendations: 1. Know your triggers. Get to the root issue of what’s not working and what’s causing anxiety.

For me, there were a few triggers. I was working too much , not sleeping, traveling every week and stressed out. I was afraid of flying( from a past experience as a child ), so having to perform in a new city every week became a massive trigger for me.

Living on my own became a trigger because I would arrive home in the early hours of the morning when no one was around( in one of the most dangerous cities in the world, Johannesburg ).

My radio indicate also became a trigger because it was naturally nerve-wracking for me. DJing at clubs became a trigger for me because it’s stressful having to keep a dance floor full and happy.

Compounding these triggers resulted in the perfect recipe for Panic Disorder.

I also use coping mechanisms to keep me running. I would get ready to DJ a present by drinking Coke and a shot of tequila so that I was’ awake and smiling’. Now this may sound extreme, but my guess is many of you have your own versions of this- taking medication for that headache every day, having one too many glasses of wine every night, taking sleeping capsule so you can sleep or drinking style too much coffee to get through the next hour of run. All of those things are masking something that’s not working.

Find out what they are and eliminate those things from your life. Make the changes step by step, and eventually you will begin to understand your anxiety and get what your body is trying to tell you.

It’s not going to be easy, but it’s going to be a heck of a lot easier than living the style you are right now. 2. Find what brings you JOY and add more of that to your life. Discovery what brings you balance, makes you feel good, or brings positivity.

Do what you love. Find things that are aligned with your heart, your soul, your purpose. 3. Surround yourself with people that’ get you’. Unless you’ve had anxiety, you can’t truly understand better how it feels. Not many people got what I was going through.

So many times I suffered panic attacks’ in broad daylight’. I would be hosting my show, DJing to a thousand people, at a fundraiser for the “South African Depression and Anxiety Group”( ironic !), and wouldn’t tell a spirit.

Others would try and help by telling me’ it was going to be ok’ or’ I must think about something else’, but they had NO idea how dark it was. I guessed I was going to die. I guessed I was going to lose my mind and never come back.

It’s important to find your people. Maybe they have gone through it themselves, maybe they just know how to support you unconditionally, perhaps it’s a therapist who can support and normalize what you’re facing.

My husband was my rock, his love helped me mend. My best friend was incredible, she took my panic attack seriously and that meant the world to me. I also determined immense convenience in my puppy, Nala. She genuinely was my emotional support dog. 4. Take care of your body. Eat healthy foods, practise yoga, journal, exercise, breathwork, sleep … These were critical in my healing. 5. Acceptance. When I stopped opposing my panic attacks and faced them, they moved through me much more quickly.

Being aware of what has triggered you and how you are feeling will help you to gain perspective and slowly. But, surely you will understand that you are safe and nothing is going to happen to you. 6. Get to know yourself. This was the single most important factor of my healing. So much of my nervousnes was caused from being out of alignment with who I was, I had to get REAL.

I procured myself in a life that was NOT working for me. I was in a job that wasn’t me. It was glamorous, fun and astonishing from the outside; it looked like the dreaming task. But it wasn’t me. It wasn’t what I wanted to do or how I wanted to do it.

I had to look at who I was, what I wanted in life and what genuinely made me happy. I had to dig into my faiths, values, and moral compass.

Please, as you go through this, don’t be so hard on yourself. Be gentle and nurturing. This is a process and takes time. There is no one way to heal from nervousnes. The root cause is different for different people and the solution will be as well. Try everything. Note what works and let go of what doesn’t.

Lastly, consider that the universe might just be giving you a gift. Maybe say to yourself: “Here’s a gift. It’s called anxiety. Let’s insure what it brings me”. I hope I had that perspective and I hope it helps you.” Conclusion I love Erica’s incredible story and am so thankful she’s shared it with us. It’s a poignant reminder that there’s a reason you have anxiety and that there are things you can do to overcome it.

Personally, I addressed my anxiety from an integrative, holistic approach as well. I stepped back and assessed my life and looked at what needed to happen mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I went to therapy, worked with a coach, made some important life changes, got bodywork, read books, did yoga, and practiced meditation.

I learned grounding techniques. I changed my eating. I cut out alcohol, caffeine and artificial sweeteners. I tried everything I could get my hands on. I maintained what worked for me and let go of what didn’t.

I was able to work through my nervousnes too…and though I can’t pinpoint exactly what helped the most, I know it was this integrative, multi-faceted approach that made a difference.

Today, I wouldn’t say I’m back to my old self. I’d say I’m happy to be my new ego.

As Nietzsche so wisely said many years ago, “That which does not kill me induces me stronger”.

It’s true. My experience with nervousnes has helped me evolve into the more conscious, thoughtful, connected and compassionate person I am today.

For those of you facing anxiety on different levels, my hope is that these stories and suggestions are supportive in helping you work through your own process so you can move forward and uncover that ‘gift’ Erica spoke about.

Your next step? Take a step forward — any step. That may entail trying one of the techniques you’ve read here or reaching out for help. There are many forms of fantastic therapies that can help – but they can only work if you do.

Don’t miss PART 2 of the Anxiety Series which includes additional stories and lots of great strategies from mental health professionals and experts.

And below are some additional resources to support you in your healing. Resources and Websites Therapists If you’re experiencing persistent and excessive levels of anxiety, I highly recommend you reach out to your doctor, therapist or specialist for support.

To find a therapist near you, reach out to someone you trust who can make a recommendation, contact one of our professionals above or find someone here:

Anxiety Disorders Association of America

Association for Behavioral and Cognitive Therapies

Additional Websites

Anxiety and Depression Association of America

The Anxiety Coach

MarisaPeer.com

Kelly Brogan

Best Anxiety Blog 2019

National Institute of Mental Health

Read more: lifehack.org

[sherristockman]

Why Sleeping Less Than Seven Hours a Night Is a Recipe for Ill Health and a Shortened Life Span Dr. Mercola By Dr. Mercola In the featured video, Joe Rogan interviews professor Matthew Walker, Ph.D., founder and director of the University of California Berkeley’s Center for Human Sleep Science and author of the book "Why We Sleep: The New Science of Sleep and Dreams,"1 in which he shares the latest discoveries about sleep and how it impacts virtually every area of your physical and mental health. I read Walker’s book last fall, and share his view that sleep is profoundly important — even more important than diet and exercise. After all, you’re not likely to reap maximum rewards from other healthy lifestyle habits if you’re constantly exhausted. Beyond that, lack of sleep has been shown to raise your risk for chronic illnesses such as dementia, cancer, diabetes, heart disease and obesity. In fact, the World Health Organization has tagged shift work as a “probable human carcinogen” because it causes circadian disruption.2 Lack of sleep is also associated with shorter lifespans. Like Walker, I believe getting quality sleep, and enough of it, is the single most effective thing you can do to reset your brain and body and invigorate your health on a daily basis. Sleep Deprivation Is a Form of Self Abuse There are many reasons why you may sleep poorly, and one may simply be related to your mindset. Many, especially in the U.S., still view lack of sleep as a badge of honor — a sign of drive, ambition and achievement at the expense of sleep. Worse, good sleep is often characterized as a sign of sloth. As noted by Walker in one of his lectures,3 “We want to seem busy, and one way we express that is by proclaiming how little sleep we’re getting. It’s time for us to reclaim our right to a full night of sleep, without embarrassment or the stigma of laziness. In doing so, we may remember what it feels like to truly be awake during the day.” According to Walker, “Humans are the only species that deliberately deprive themselves of sleep for no apparent reason,” and based on his studies, he is convinced no one can make it on five hours or less of sleep without suffering some level of short-term impairment or long-term illness. There’s an exceptionally rare genetic mutation known as advanced phase sleep syndrome that allows some to thrive with minimal sleep, but you’re far more likely to be struck by lightning than have this rare genetic mutation. Rogan and Walker also discuss more acute symptoms of sleep deprivation. This includes wild hallucinations, sometimes reported by ultra-marathoners and others who for various reasons have attempted to go without sleep for extended periods of time. As an example, Walker recounts the story of Peter Tripp, a disc jockey who, in 1959, tried to break the world record for sleeplessness. He stayed awake for eight days straight, doing a continuous broadcast from Times Square. “By Day Three, he was having florid delusions and hallucinations,” Walker says. “He was seeing spiders in his shoes; he became desperately paranoid, thinking people were trying to poison him … “ He also became belligerent and abusive toward everyone around him. “He was clearly psychotic,” one of the attending psychiatrists said. His experiment is detailed in the short video below. How and Why Sleep Deprivation Can Trigger Psychosis In a very real sense, when you forgo sleep for extended periods of time, you begin to dream while awake — hence the delusions and hallucinations. Rapid eye movement (REM) sleep is a 90-minute deep sleep cycle during which you dream. Tripp’s experiment revealed that even though he was awake — walking around and talking — his brainwaves showed he was asleep, and it was during the REM cycles that he was most likely to hallucinate. Essentially, he was experiencing his nightmares in an awake state. Tripp finally went to bed after remaining awake for 201 consecutive hours, and slept for 24 hours. Upon waking, there were no signs of delusions and Tripp reported feeling quite normal. His wife, however, disagreed, saying he’d changed. The couple eventually got divorced. The attending psychiatrists also agree that after his experiment, his personality had changed, and that the change appeared to be permanent. He was no longer as cheerful and easygoing as he’d been before. Arguments with his boss led to the loss of his job as well. Those who knew him best insist those eight days of sleep deprivation damaged his psyche long-term. Parts of Your Brain Become More Active During Sleep As explained by Walker, your brain doesn’t shut down during sleep. Quite the contrary. While some parts are subdued, other parts become far more active than during wakefulness. During REM sleep, the visual, motor/kinesthetic, emotional and memory centers all ramp up their activity. Meanwhile, activity in your prefrontal cortex — the “CEO of the brain” that rules rationality and logical thinking — decreases. This is why dreams can be so visually and kinesthetically powerful, sucking you into a vortex of emotion while simultaneously being completely irrational and illogical. And, when you are sleep deprived, this “dreaming while awake” state can start to seep through, as it did in Tripp’s experiment. Indeed, studies have shown skimping on sleep is a surefire way to lose emotional control, become more emotionally volatile — and more irrational. If you frequently feel emotionally off-kilter or struggle with a short fuse, chances are you might manage your emotions a whole lot better were you to get more sleep on a nightly basis. Walker also cites research showing there’s a dramatic difference in injury rates between those who sleep enough and those who don’t. Athletes who get just five hours of sleep have a 60 percent higher injury rate than those who get nine hours. Five Common Enemies of Sleep Walker defines sleep deprivation as sleeping less than seven hours a night,4 and statistics show half of all American adults fail to get the recommended eight hours of sleep each night. An estimated 1 in 3 is getting six hours of sleep or less per night. According to a Gallup Poll,5 Americans slept an average of 7.9 hours a night in 1942. Today, the average is six hours and 31 minutes, Walker says, adding, “That means there’s a huge swath of people well below that average.” Walker also notes that “One of the big problems with lack of sleep is that you don’t know you’re sleep deprived when you’re sleep deprived! Your subjective sense of how well you’re doing with a lack of sleep is a miserable predictor for how you’re doing objectively.” So, with sleep deprivation being so rampant, what’s the cause? Walker pins the blame for our consistently declining slumber patterns on the following “enemies of sleep:” Alcohol and caffeine: These and other substances, such as sleeping pills, interfere with sleep quality and sleep time Artificial lighting: We have effectively electrified the night, and light at night damages your health by degrading your sleep Loneliness, anxiety and depression: The longing for connection and the effects of mental illness can often interfere with or cause people to forego sleep Long work hours: The international business environment, increased global competition and longer commuter times are just a few of the factors contributing to the increase in work hours and stress-related burnout Overcommitment: Schedules are filled from morning to night, and many people are unwilling to trade entertainment or socializing with family and friends for sleep When asked by The Guardian if he takes his own advice about sleep, Walker replied:6 “I give myself a nonnegotiable eight-hour sleep opportunity every night, and I keep very regular hours. If there is one thing I tell people, it’s to go to bed and to wake up at the same time every day, no matter what. I take my sleep incredibly seriously because I have seen the evidence. Once you know that after just one night of only four or five hours of sleep, your natural killer cells — the ones that attack the cancer cells that appear in your body every day — drop by 70 percent, or that a lack of sleep is linked to cancer of the bowel, prostate and breast … how could you do anything else?” Simple Sleep Hacks to Improve Your Sleep As noted by Walker, there are a number of ways to “hack” your biology to improve your sleep. Following are some of his favorites. For many more, see “Sleep — Why You Need It and 50 Ways to improve It.” • Keep a regular sleep schedule seven days a week. Go to bed and wake up at the same times each day, even on the weekends. This will help your body to get into a sleep rhythm and make it easier to fall asleep and get up in the morning. To this, I would add getting bright sunlight exposure in the morning and for at least a half-hour to an hour right around noon, to help reset your circadian clock. • Avoid bright lights and minimize use of electronics in the evening. Both bright lights and electronic screens are major sleep thieves, robbing you of the ability to fall asleep quickly. Research has shown that the more time you spend on electronic devices during the day, and especially at night, the longer it takes to fall asleep and the less sleep you get overall.7,8 Walker suggests dimming the lights in your room and reading a book rather than watching TV or using electronics before bed. If you must use electronics in the evening, I recommend installing blue-blocking software such as Iris, or use blue blocking glasses. • Make sure your bedroom is cool enough. Studies show the optimal room temperature for sleep is between 60 to 68 degrees F. Keeping your room cooler or hotter can lead to restless sleep. When you sleep, your body’s internal temperature drops to its lowest level, generally about four hours after you fall asleep. A cooler bedroom mimics this natural temperature drop. Sleeping naked can also help. • Keep your feet warm. While your body needs to be cool, your extremities need to stay warm for optimal sleep. At least one study has shown that wearing socks to bed reduces night waking. • Take a hot bath or sauna before bed. When your body temperature is raised in the late evening, it will fall at bedtime, facilitating sleep. The core body temperature drop that occurs when you exit the bath signals your body it’s time for bed. Beware of Electric and Electromagnetic Fields Based on the research I’ve done, I believe eliminating electric and electromagnetic fields (EMFs) in your bedroom is a really important factor that can improve both your quantity and quality of sleep. EMFs have the ability to disrupt your pineal gland’s production of melatonin and serotonin, and are a significant contributor to mitochondrial damage and dysfunction, which is at the heart of virtually all chronic disease. EMF exposure has also been linked to neuronal changes that affect memory and your ability to learn.9 EMFs harm your body’s mitochondria by producing excessive oxidative damage, so “marinating” in EMFs all night, every night, can cause or contribute to virtually any chronic ailment, including premature aging. Ideally, shut down the electricity to your bedroom by pulling your circuit breaker before bed. Also be sure to shut down your Wi-Fi. Keep in mind that even if you completely shut off the electricity in your bedroom, your room may still be electrified. This is what happened to me, and when I used sophisticated body voltage measurements I was able to detect this. This is a result of electrical fields (not electricity) transferred into your home by the electric utility and spreading in your home. This can be remediated using certain kinds of shielding paint that is then grounded to form a Faraday cage, which stops the fields from entering your bedroom. Should You Use Melatonin? Rogan asks Walker about the use of melatonin. Is it advisable to use melatonin if you’re having a hard time falling asleep? Walker recommends the use of melatonin to resynchronize your circadian clock when traveling between time zones. “You can use melatonin strategically for jet lag,” he says. “Once, however, you are stable within the new time zone, melatonin does not seem to be efficacious for healthier sleep … But if it works for you — no harm, no foul. Keep taking it.” Ideally, it is best to increase your melatonin level naturally, which is achieved by exposing yourself to bright sunlight in the daytime (along with full spectrum fluorescent bulbs in the winter) and complete darkness at night. If that fails or isn’t possible, I’d suggest trying a 5-HTP, which I believe is a superior approach to using melatonin, especially if you’re older. 5-HTP is a hydroxylated form of tryptophan that easily passes your blood brain barrier. Your body converts 5-HTP first into serotonin (which may give your mood a boost), and then into melatonin. In one study, an amino acid preparation containing both GABA (a calming neurotransmitter) and 5-HTP reduced time to fall asleep, increased the duration of sleep and improved sleep quality.10 You can also take some magnesium malate or glycinate before bed to increase body relaxation. Cannabidiol (CBD) oil is yet another option. CBD oil not only helps reduce pain and muscle spasms, which may keep you awake, but also promotes general relaxation and has been shown to improve sleep. To Optimize Your Health, Make Sure You Get Enough Sleep Regardless of the reason for your sleeplessness, research linking chronic poor sleep and lack of sleep to disease and illness cannot be ignored. Research (cited by Walker) has shown that a single night of sleeping just four hours lowered the amount of natural killer cells — powerful immune fighters that target malignant cells — by 70 percent. In other words, a single night of sleep deprivation throws you into what Walker calls “a remarkable state of immune deficiency” that raises the risk that cancer cells will multiply in your body. Additionally, each spring, when we lose an hour of sleep due to the switchover to daylight saving time, there’s a 24 percent increase in heart attacks — and that’s from the loss of a single hour. In the fall, when we gain an hour of sleep, there’s a 21 percent decrease in heart attacks. “That’s how fragile and vulnerable your body is to even just the smallest [change in] sleep,” Walker says. Sleeping just six hours a night for seven days straight has even been shown to distort gene activity. Genes related to immune function were switched off, while genes related to tumors, chronic inflammation and stress were overexpressed. The scientific facts underscore my belief that there is no substitute for, nor any excuse for not getting, a full night’s rest. If you think you “don’t have the time” to sleep for seven or eight hours because you have too much work on your plate, think again. As noted by Walker, “Why do we overvalue workers that undervalue sleep?” The fact is, sleeping less does not equate to greater productivity. In fact, the complete opposite is true. When you’re working on an inadequate amount of sleep, attention, logic, efficiency and productivity go down the drain and emotional reactivity goes up. Given its importance, I encourage you to take a few moments today to evaluate your sleep habits. Are you getting enough sleep? If not, what’s one change you can make to improve the length and/or quality of your sleep? If you need help getting started, check out my 16 Chronological Tips to Improve Your Sleep, or read through “Sleep — Why You Need It and 50 Ways to improve It,” hyperlinked earlier.