#once my antidepressants start working anyway

[binch-i-might-be]

I love autism diagnoses. would love to have one someday

[combeauferre]

.

[bad268]

Could you do another pezzy fic? Maybe even the rest of the boys too (puffer, droid, Grizzy) something like a faceless streamer getting like made fun of and the boys help them?

Agoraphobic (Pezzy X Faceless! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Miscellaneous

Requested: Clearly (You caught me in a Pezzy mood, so I tried it lmk if it's shit)

Warnings: Online hate, agoraphobia

POV: First Person POV

W.C. 1291

Summary: When chat takes hate too far, the reader quits only to return for more hate (and loosely based on Agoraphobic by Corpse Husband).

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

My whole career started by accident. The pandemic shut down everything, including where I worked, and I got laid off. Streaming became a sense of normalcy in the craziness that was the world. Games were what I did best given that I was a game designer and tester. 

It started one night when my boyfriend, Pezzy, talked about it. He said his friends were thinking about it, so the next day, I logged onto Twitch.tv and streamed my favorite game for the moment, Among Us. It was a low-IQ game, and the fun graphics were interesting to look at. I joined a random lobby, and the rest was history.

I blew up from my imposter plays and impeccable detective skills. My viewers went from 10 to 100 to 1,000 and before I knew it, I was at 250,000 viewers. Through this time, I never care about a camera. Mainly because I knew they would tear me apart, and I would not subject myself to that torture. However, recently, it seemed that people did not even need to see my face to trash me.

“If you guys can’t behave, I’m going to either get more mods or just quit,” I said one day on stream when it seemed like the hate was never-ending. Every other message I saw was a comment about how I am probably ugly, I can’t pull anyone, or just flat-out calling me degrading names.

It never stopped.

I put up with it for nearly four years before calling it quits. Despite the support from Pezzy, telling me not to listen to anyone else, it was hard to be berated every second of every stream especially when it seemed like everyone used the highlighted texts or text-to-speech to shout at me. 

It really took a toll on my mental health. I became so self-conscious, and the fact that I had severe social anxiety did not help my case. I retreated into myself as I got bigger, and the bigger I got, the more paranoid I got. It got so bad to the point where I retreated into my house, and I could barely function without antidepressants.

One day, I was feeling spontaneous. I wanted to stream. I wanted to game. I wanted to interact with people. I asked Pezzy if I could join him for a Mario Kart stream, but play off-camera in the same room. 

The stream started off fun. I won a few, lost a few, and had some fun battles in the game against Pezzy’s friends. Then, it turned south.

Ex-fans and haters filled Pezzy’s chat and his friends’ streams. Their mods could not keep up either. It was becoming the only thing we could see, and it was getting in the way of their normal conversations with their chats. 

“Mods, do we need some backup? Where did these people even come from?” Puffer said as he looked to his moderators for help, but noticed they were doing as much as they could. “There’s so many of them!”

“It’s like they spawned out of nowhere,” Grizzy laughed before getting serious as well, “but for real guys, knock it off. They’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Yeah, if it doesn’t stop, I’ll end stream right now,” Pezzy gave an ultimatum as he looked over at me to see how I was reacting. I was pretty numb, but my mood was visibly ruined. “You know what, guys. I’m gonna end the stream anyway. I don’t know when I’ll stream next, so look at my Twitter. Bye, guys.” 

The other guys did not need to be told twice as they followed suit and ended their stream as well. They each sent reassuring messages to me as I left the room once the camera was off. 

I walked outside to sit on the patio. Since we just moved to the new house, we had not had the chance to get patio furniture yet, so I took a seat on the concrete. I was still under the cover, but I sat right on the edge. It was pouring rain, something that rarely ever happened, but it was my favorite weather. Rain was always so calming for me, and it made me feel at peace despite the thunder I read online. 

After a while, Pezzy joined me. He sat beside me with a blanket that he put over my shoulders and pulled me into his side. The serenity of the rain combined with the comfort from Pezzy helped calm my racing heart.

“I love when it rains” I broke the silence, looking out into the yard as I refused to look toward Pezzy. I let it hang in the air for a beat before I sighed, “I can’t do shit right. I can’t learn my lesson. They don’t want me online, but they give me shit for not streaming. I can’t even play with your friends without them finding me.”

“It’s not your fault they’re assholes,” Pezzy consoled as he rubbed his hand up and down my arm. “It’s never been your fault.”

“It’s my fault I subjected myself to it in the first place,” I pointed out. “If I had never streamed in the first place, I never would have been in this situation. These people are taking the piss out of gaming, and I’m sick of it! I can’t go outside without thinking someone will find me! I am so paranoid about my privacy. It’s like I’m on house arrest.”

“You know the odds of someone recognizing you are slim to none,” Pezzy tried to intervene as I spiraled.

“No, Pezzy, you don’t understand how I think,” I pressed, turning to look at him as I grabbed his hands. “Pezzy, they’re always asking questions about my face, and I can’t stand it. They will stop at nothing to get what they want. I lived in three apartments before I agreed to move in because somehow, someway, someone found out where I lived, or at least they found my P.O. box and said they knew my address. I live in fear every day that someone is going to find me.” I stopped for a second to let Pezzy absorb what I was saying. I could see the recognition in his eyes. I continued, “Pezzy, it has been 1000 days since I had the first threat. I have not been able to function for 1000 days. I love you, Pezzy, but you will never understand how I think. It’s just too complicated.”

“Listen, I may not understand it completely, but I’d like to. I love you too, and I never understand you fully, but I will always be here to support you,” He leaned in to kiss my forehead before leaning his forehead to mine. “I don’t want you to fight your battles alone. I’m here for you. I do not care how many people I gotta fight to tell you otherwise. I’ll fight from the trenches if I have to if it means I get to help you through anything causing you pain.”

“You don’t mean that,” I dismissed, looking away as I felt tears fill my eyes. “You really don’t, Pezzy. As much as I know you care, there is no way you’d be willing to help me in that way.”

“I do! I’d do anything for you,” Pezzy consoled as he put a hand on my chin to turn my face to look at him again. “I’m with you till the end of the line, remember? We’ve known each other our whole lives, and I’m not leaving your side. I don’t care how dark or difficult it may seem. You are my person till the end of the line, and I’m here for the long ride.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[oracle-fae]

a short life update

it's been a while since i've posted. i wanted to share a few things that have been going on with me. back in March i started getting mental health help through a local psychiatry program and was diagnosed with ADHD. i began taking a new medication on top of my antidepressant and was referred for a full psych evaluation. once I spoke with my psychiatrist, she started me on a third medication for anxiety that I can take as needed. she also gave me a referral for a therapist.

i had my first therapy session two days ago and I still feel kind of emotionally exhausted from it after having to bring up a few stressful topics. overall i'm equal parts nervous and excited to finally unbox some of the trauma I've experienced in my life.

it was recommended that I keep a journal for therapy. I used to journal regularly but life got in the way and it became less and less of a priority. I did make a couple of entries over the weekend, though, but I don't have too much to write about as of late.

aside from my mental health, I've been dealing with the day to day stresses of being a mom, wife, and homemaker. my three year old broke his collarbone last week and my 17 month old is now at the age where everything is fascinating and must be touched. my husband works an insane amount of hours for the railroad and hasn't been able to do much besides eat and sleep. so, it's been a hell of a few months to say the least.

i'm still around-ish, but i'm spending more time in books and with my family than I am on the internet. earlier this year I finished the ACOTAR series and took several weeks to regroup. I finished a book called Credence this weekend and am trying to choose between two other books at the moment.

anyway, that's about it. if I get any downtime this coming week I will try to add some things to my queue now that Tumblr is once again fresh in my mind. if I don't, i'll pop back in eventually.

much love xx

[sirianasims]

Chapter 26

Love Me Anyway

“Welcome back, Eric, doctor Holland is ready to see you.”

“Thank you, mr. Holland.”

“Hello, Eric. How have you been doing since last time? You’re still staying sober?”

“Yeah. I think I’m doing pretty well, actually. I mean, it’s still rough sometimes, but I mostly struggle when I’m alone for too long. And my neighbours check up on me regularly and invite me over for dinner, and my parents call me at least twice a week.”

“That’s good. And the antidepressants seem to be working too – do you want to try lowering the dose a little?”

“I don’t know… actually, no. It doesn’t feel… safe. Not yet. I really don’t want to relapse.”

“Understandable. We won’t touch them yet, then. How’s your daughter?”

“Oh, Freya’s great! She’s doing well in school, she plays football and basketball and wants to go back to Mt. Komorebi so she can snowboard again. But the best thing is, I just finished renovating the house – and she got a new bedroom!”

“Her mother and I finally agreed that I’m doing well enough that she’s comfortable with Freya living with me every other weekend.”

“That’s wonderful news, Eric! I’m happy for you. You deserve it, you’ve worked very hard in the last year. What about your job then?”

“Well, I’m still running the clinic alone, and it’s hard, but it also means I’m too exhausted to lie awake for too long at night, so I guess that’s positive. I’m still debating whether to hire a nurse or a vet. But I promise that it will be a man either way.”

“Good. I don’t usually approve of hiring someone based on gender, but I don’t think it’s wise for you to be working too closely with women just yet. You still have some work to do.”

“I know. It gets lonely, though. I mean, I haven’t… been intimate with anyone for almost a year now. Not since the vacation to Mt. Komorebi.”

“I know. And I’m no stranger to mixing love and work – after all, my husband is my receptionist. But until you’ve dealt with your tendency to use sex as a distraction, I think it’s better this way. Have you given some thought to what we talked about last time, about figuring out what you really want?”

“I’m trying. It’s just… I thought I already knew, right? I had everything planned out since I was a teenager, so there was never any doubt or insecurity to deal with. And then I met Katherine and suddenly my carefully planned future looked completely impossible. I felt lost.”

“You were still able to graduate and start a vet clinic, though. That was part of your plan, right?”

“Yes, but it just didn’t… quite live up to my expectations, I guess? My plans hadn’t involved Freya or her mother at all, so everything felt wrong. And I couldn’t even bond with my daughter at first, it was horrible. I didn’t know how to deal with it, I just tried to escape it all like a coward.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Eric. You were only 23, you had a lot to deal with, and postpartum depression in men is woefully under-diagnosed, I’m afraid. But now that you’re doing better, what are your long-term goals? What do you want out of life? What about finding love?”

“Love?”

“Yes, love! I’m not going to force you to be celibate forever, Eric. So what do you want? Do you want to fall in love? Do you want to get married? Have more children?”

“I… yes? I think I do. I’ve just tried not to think about it, not since – I had an ex once, we really had something special but we broke up when we went to different universities. Then one day she came into my clinic, and I remembered how I always wanted to find true love and get married and all that. But I’d just had Freya at the time, and… things turned out differently.”

“Eric, listen. You’re what, 31 now? Take it from me, I’m twice your age, and your life is far from over. You have plenty of time to fall in love again, get married, have as many children as you want.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Well, that’s all for today, Eric. Keep working on your goals. I’ll see you in two weeks, and remember – no women, no booze.”

“No women, no booze. Thanks, doctor Holland.”

“Same time in two weeks, Eric?”

“That’d be great, mr. Holland. Thank you.”

I left feeling strange. I often felt relieved or exhausted after a therapy session, but this time I felt… excited? Scared? Maybe a bit of both. I hadn’t allowed myself to even consider getting into a relationship for a long time.

Was I even able to fall in love? I loved my parents and my daughter, but I couldn’t even imagine romantic love any longer.

beginning / previous / next

[everythingwasnormalhere]

Stan Marsh headcanons?

first i love my main au stan because he's so !! and because he goes thru lots of changes as he grows up,,

Tw for alcoholism, depression, s/h, attempted sewerslide, hospitalization...its stan what did you expect

Most popular stan hc ever: he's an alcoholic. But like,,, till he's like, 12-13, he only drinks in the mornings so it helps him get through the day, like antidepressants but bad 💀

When he's 12-13 some people his age start drinking for fun, and so he sees it's socially ok so he starts doing it too

Yeah everything is way less shitty in the moment, but when he's sober it's even worse than before. Oops

Well anyway his friends don't really notice he's doing this, sure they're kinda concerned when they hang out and he's getting drunk, but yk,, typical Stan it's not that bad

This is an obvious one but he's depressed asf

And btw. All sp kids have gotten something misdiagnosed in their lives, like this is canon the medical system in that town sucks

So Stan has anxiety, but it was misdiagnosed as asthma (haha not me projecting)

He didn't get it diagnosed right until he was in his teens

But he doesn't have it anymore

He also has insomnia and BPD

The amount of times he's split on Kyle is insane

Anyway about his depression !!

It remained undiagnosed for a Long while

It got better and worse and better and worse and yeah you get it

On the worst episodes he would spend weeks not getting out of bed

At the beginning he'd say he's sick but at some point he gave up and stopped with excuses

His friends (Kyle mostly) would check on him but he wouldn't really talk to them much (on another episode of: stan giving up on life!)

Also he would spend time with the goth kids sometimes, mainly when he was at the worst points

The goths were kinda pissed he would leave them every time he felt better, but Stan's kinda their adopted kid lmao they have a soft spot for him<3

Welp anyway he starts s/h-ing at 11-12

At first it's not really noticeable but soon it gets worse

He covers it with wristbands but eventually the wristbands don't cover it all

And so, after his parents find out, at 13 he goes to the psych ward for the 1st time

It's only for a couple weeks, but it gets him to get so much worse

Nobody at school knows what he was doing for those weeks, besides Kyle because Stan went to him first thing after he got let out

Kyle is Worried. btw.

He gets hospitalized 2 more times after that

Once at 15 after he attempts

And another at 16, after a huge ass breakdown in which he asked his parents to take him there because he was scared of what he'd do otherwise

People in town only know about the one of when he was 15 (it was big news)

Besides Kyle and Kenny, Kyle because Stan tells him every time and Kenny because,,,he's Kenny he just Knows

After the 2nd hospitalization, he starts taking actual antidepressants

They don't do That Much but they still work better than nothing

Short after the 3rd time he goes to the psych ward, he finally manages to stop s/h

And slowly he stops covering his scars, as they're a reminder of how he's healing :)

Since he's 14, he starts bleaching his hair every few months

Now it's closer to straw than to hair but whatever issok

It's also incredibly greasy, so much it's insane

When it's really really bad he wears a dark blue beanie with some pins of obscure bands and some his friends gave him

His clothes are mostly black, and the ones that aren't are still alt

He wears eyeshadow all the time

And his parents don't allow him to get tattoos so he and his friends draw on himself instead

He's still in Crimson Dawn, he's the main singer and guitarist :)

His guitar is red and he takes so much care of it

The same can't be said about its case, that thing's fucked up

He's also the one who writes most songs, it's become kind of a coping mechanism for him<3

They're not famous, but they're not completely unknown either - they've played in some cities besides South Park, and they have a bunch of listeners on Spotify

They're the kind of band that almost nobody knows but the ones who do are the most loyal fans ever

"wHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW CD??? You gotta listen to them Right Now"

By the way Stan is late to every practice

The days when he's not arrived at least 10 minutes late are almost non-existent

Same for school

At school his worst subject is definitely math

(He probably has dyscalculia but he doesn't have it diagnosed)

He likes music best obviously

He's also pretty good at history and English

Btw he has a musicals phase for a year or two

His favorites are the historical ones, like Hamilton and Les Miserables

His family life isn't the best

He stays at Tedrigri farms on weekends, the rest of the time he spends it at his mother's

Shelly's kinda physically abusive still, but not as much as when they were kids

Btw he fucking hates staying at Tedigri so most nights he cycles to Kyle's or Kenny's instead

Fun fact he has a scar on his side from when he was 13

The m4 were jumping a fence to get to this one abandoned house (Butters was grounded)

And when it was Stan's turn he got cut with the fence and fell

That scar is huge and he's super insecure about it

Another fun fact he plays Brawl Stars

His favorite brawlers are Brock and Kit

And in general also the ones with attacks like Shelly's and Bull's

He's bisexual :) and ultimately broke up with Wendy when he was 16

(one of the things that triggered that huge breakdown btw)

He also had so many gender crisis, finally he decided he's just non-binary (he/him) because everything else was way too confusing

Aaaand i think that's it? Tell me what you think :D

[my-chest-hurtss]

I got contrave last week (it's Mysimba in the UK but I can't find any active groups for Mysimba) and started my first dose yesterday. I have been previously diagnosed with depression, however, I remember trying a few antidepressants and the first few weeks is always super rough for me (sweating, crazy heart rate, feeling very sick, unable to walk in a straight line) so I halved my first contrave pill as I know l'm not someone who can start with a whole one! The first 24 hours went like this:

• 8am: took half a pill with some toast, added maybe 5g of low fat butter

• 9.30am: start to feel a slight change, diaphragm feels a little tight & heart rate very slightly changes, slight dry mouth so drank lots of water

• didn't feel hungry until 1pm (very unusual for me)

-1pm: ate lunch (1 item rather than 4 items)

• didn't snack all afternoon, didn't feel a sugar drop/spike, kept drinking lots of water, felt a bit spacey but it didn't interfere with my work

• 8pm: ate dinner (2/3 of my usual portion)

• I was worried about trying to sleep while on this as I'm a bad sleeper anyway, but once I was in bed by 10.30pm I was exhausted and fell asleep no trouble.

I was (unfortunately) so ready to have the worst side effects but this actually was super easy and pleasant and I feel really optimistic about contir on this. The food noise is basically silent and it's really refreshing and has made me more productive.

[chimcess]

The Spork {M.Y.G.} (2)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other tags: Journalist! Yoongi, Artist! Reader, Coworkers to Lovers, Starving Artist! Yoongi, Pianist! Yoongi, Yoongi pining over his ex heavy in the beginning, Smut Word Count: 2.6k Genre: Coworkers to lovers! AU, Angst, Slow Burn, Eventual Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pining over Ex Synopsis: Min Yoongi is by all accounts a loser- well according to his girlfriend anyway. After losing his job at Five Guys, Park Bitna finally kicks their 8-year relationship to the curb and now he is desperately trying to win her back, even going back into the world of journalism to make things right. After getting a job at humor magazine, The Spork, Yoongi meets Y/N, an anti-social cartoonist with mommy issues. Together, the two hatch up a plan to help Yoongi get Bitna back, but what happens when Yoongi realizes that maybe his dreams are different now? Warnings: Talks of depression, talk of antidepressants (for like two seconds), Huge insecurity issues, Reader has mommy issues, mentions of past eating disorder (Please be cautious), They’re massive idiots, alcohol consumption, Oral (f receiving), Dirty Talk, Pretty vanilla, soft Yoongi, fluffy smut, lots of kisses, pretty tame honestly, they do it on top of the piano, multiple smut scenes A/N: So... it’s been a while...(7 months) hehe. Hear me out, this story has been impossible to write! I’ve been doing more deleting than writing and it was beginning to get frustrating so I may have taken a tiny break. I’m hoping after I get this out in the void and continue working on other things in between parts that I can keep my momentum. She’s a bit short (I’m sorry) but something is better than nothing (I hope), and there is a massive content warning as the ED talking begins here. PLEASE, do not read if it will trigger you. Also, we have updated the banner for this baby. Still not sure how happy I am with it but definitely better than previous versions. Playlist

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Bowling came faster than Yoongi was expecting. Jungkook and Taehyung had picked him up from his apartment. Y/N lived down the street from the alley and walked. They were all paid for and ready to go. Yoongi felt nervous during the drive and at ease all at once. The two men had never brought up Yoongi’s panic attack nor the cold behavior afterward, and while he was grateful, he felt on edge about it. Sooner or later they would. He felt embarrassed at the idea. Y/N being around made him feel more at ease about the situation. She had not brought it up again and he now had almost an entire drawer in his office filled with sticky notes. They started to eat together every other day, and Jungkook was sad that he never got to spend time with his “nonna” anymore. Y/N would make sure to take him out when the pouting became too much. Yoongi ate with Hoseok and Namjoon on those days much to his dismay. Namjoon was incredibly awkward to be around.

“You any good at bowling, hyung?” Taehyung teased, taking off his seatbelt. 

Yoongi had not realized that they had arrived. 

“No,” Yoongi deadpanned. “This is my second least favorite thing to do.”

“What’s the first?” Jungkook piped in, grinning widely. 

“Roller skating.”

Seokjin was at their table waiting for them. Y/N was nowhere in sight. Yoongi panicked but did not show it. He needed to be okay without her here all the time. He liked these guys. He had little contact with Seokjin aside from his rants with Jungkook but he was a nice guy. He was married with kids, always talked about his dinner parties, and Yoongi was almost positive the guy was the loudest but most polite person he had ever met. 

It was odd to see everyone dressed down. Everyone, aside from Y/N, always dressed professionally. Seokjin wore designer suits along with Taehyung. Yoongi did not even realize Jungkook had a full sleeve. He had always worn long sleeves and only the small tattoos on his hand were visible. Now, they were all wearing stereotypical bowling team shirts, Jungkook had got a few extra shirts from his real bowling team, and gave the once pristine white and shell pink button-ups a god-awful tie-dye job. He had changed the name to “Spork Fraternization” on the back along with a very poor quality .jpg of a stock image of a woman eating a salad. It still had the “Shutter Stock” watermarks on it. Yoongi was glad Jungkook did not have enough time to make him one.

Seokjin smiled at him. 

“Hey, Yoon the Goon. What’s up? Y/N invite you?” Hoseok had everyone at work calling him that now.

Yoongi nodded.

“Well, welcome to the team! You’re the ref, right?”

He nodded again.

“Make sure no one cheats. Jin Hyung always finds a way.” Jungkook joked.

“It’s literally impossible to cheat at bowling.” Seokjin snapped, annoyed and defensive. “There’s already a computer keeping count!”

“Well, actually…” Jungkook began a rant and rave about the different ways you could theoretically cheat at bowling.

Seokjin grew more displeased. Taehyung looked amused. Yoongi felt himself relaxing. 

“Why do you always pick a fight with me?” Jin accused, voice high pitched.

“I’m not ‘picking a fight,’ I’m just picking on you.” Jungkook laughed.

“You two are by far the most annoying people I have ever met.” Y/N seemingly came from nowhere. Yoongi felt his heart rate speed up at the sound of her voice.

It was the first time Yoongi had ever seen her in jeans. Y/N was wearing the ugly bowling shirt and tucked it into a pair of stone-washed ripped jeans. They were baggy and did not do much for her shape but Yoongi still found them unbelievably attractive. Her hair was styled differently than normal. It was usually a messy, low effort, just rolled out of bed. Tonight it was brushed and tied back into a sleek ponytail. Yoongi noticed she was wearing a tiny bit of makeup as well. She looked pretty in her baggy jeans and white Air Force Ones. He wanted to see her like that more often even if he did miss the way she looked in those Superman pajama bottoms.

“Sorry about them. They don’t know when to shut up. Ever.” Y/N gave Yoongi a huge smile and wrapped her arm around him in greeting.

Yoongi was so shocked he did not get to return the gesture. Y/N never made physical contact with him before. This was totally new for Yoongi and he enjoyed it as much as it made him feel guilty. Because when she touched him like that all he could think about was the way Bitna used to hold him and he wanted it to stop. He wanted to enjoy himself without this shadow looming over him. He tapped her shoulder lightly and she backed off. He let out a sigh and relaxed once more. He noticed her tablet glove had been replaced with a bowling glove like Jungkook’s. Yoongi felt himself get disappointed. It was as though the woman from work was gone and the only remaining quality was her dry humor.

“Sexy jeans, Y/N.” Jin joked, tongue overdramatically running over his lower lip.

“Virgin, Jin.” 

Yoongi was not sure if he had seen any of the men laugh harder. His own smile took over his face without much help. That comforting feeling was back. He quickly realized that as long as he did not focus on how foreign she looked, Yoongi was able to drown in the overwhelming calm that overtook him in Y/N’s presence. Ever since the anxiety attack, Yoongi had been even more attached to her than before. He even texts her at least once a day outside of work. Yoongi hated texting.

Y/N had not brought up Bitna once since she blew him off. Yoongi was grateful for that. Jimin had asked him about it the day after it happened, and after Yoongi explained the situation, it seemed like Jimin was everywhere. It was beginning to become annoying even if Yoongi appreciated the kindness behind his actions. Y/N was right when she told him Jimin was the nicest guy in the world. To a fault at times.

The bowling match started off strong, Yoongi doing nothing but eating some pretzel bites he got at the snack bar and sipping a whiskey on the rocks. Jungkook and Y/N, dubbed Big Meow, were in the lead but Taehyung and Jin were only five points behind. It was quite amusing. Apparently, both teams felt the need to heckle the other in the most obnoxious ways possible. Every time that team Big Meow won, a name Yoongi still was not sure made a lick of sense considering the context, Y/N and Jungkook would wave around the speedos the boys were supposed to wear. In return, Jin would scream “Get Milked, bitches” and chest bump Taehyung. Very entertaining. 

“Having fun?” Y/N asked, still breathless from a round of laughter after Jin managed to slip before taking his shot. Everyone decided that it counted.

“Yeah, you guys are something else.” Yoongi smiled and took another small sip from his drink. It was far too expensive to buy another one.

“Can’t wait to watch them streak through Seoul.”

“Where are you taking them?” Another sip.

“Namjoon’s band is playing at Eat Milk. We go inside and split up, the guys order a drink from the bar, go to the front row and get Joon’s attention. Start stripping and get the hell out of there before security gets to them.”

“Sounds like Namjoon-shi is also getting punished.” He finished off his last pretzel. 

“Yeah, well he fucked up our performance reviews under the basis of ‘being disruptive at work,’ so we decided to show him how disruptive we can be.” Y/N asked Jungkook to grab her water when she noticed the younger man going to the restroom. 

“Speaking of,” Yoongi ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back. “What’s a Fat Lard Challenge?”

“Only the most intense food challenge in South Korea,” Taehyung, as per usual, came from seemingly nowhere. 

“Jesus man, you got to stop doing that shit.” Yoongi glared.

“My bad, anyway,” Taehyung started whispering as though this were some secret. “Fat Lard is crazy. You have one hour to eat a 4lb burger with eight slices of bacon, four slices of cheese, and four fried eggs. Plus a side of fries. You win, it’s free and you get a shirt. You lose, you get a picture on the loser board, spanked with a paddle, and you have to pay for it.”

“How much?”

“About $50,” Y/N replied casually. 

“Can you eat that?” Yoongi looked Y/N up and down, not believing for a second she stood a chance.

She suddenly wrapped her arms around herself. Y/N had had an odd look on her face, one Yoongi could not decipher, but he felt like he had upset her in some way. Scared. Y/N looked scared. He scrambled to figure out why she would respond to his obvious joke in such a strong way. Taehyung was strangely quiet as well.

“Jungkook is the one doing the challenge. Only one person can do it. I’m just moral support.” Her voice was as small as she looked at that moment.

It was her turn once again and Y/N took her first shot. She knocked down four on her first roll and the rest on her second. Jungkook had returned for his turn and gave Y/N her water before getting into another ego contest with Jin. She did not join in this time and returned to their table. Yoongi tried to apologize but could not figure out what to say. The rest of their bowling match went on. Jin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were all yelling at one another, and Y/N and Yoongi sitting in a tense silence while she waited for her turn. For the first time since their friendship had started Yoongi did not know what to say.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jungkook had sat across from Yoongi, he had not noticed. Y/N was gone. “She went to the bathroom.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Jungkook smiled sadly. “Just try to refrain from food talk. She’s been talking to her mom again and it’s been rough. I’m sure you know all about that trainwreck.”

“Uh,” Yoongi shook his head. “I mean, sort of. Y/N hasn’t really gotten into it with me herself. Yoona briefly bought it up when Bitna stopped by but that’s about it.”

“Oh, shit,” Jungkook blurted, “Well, it’s something. She’ll talk about it eventually but don’t bring it up.”

“Yeah, man. No problem.”

“I’ll get you a drink at the restaurant.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Again her mother had been brought up as a point of contention. Yoongi tried to imagine Y/N’s family and could only think of other smart-ass, funky artsy types, but that was not the case. Apparently, Y/N’s mother was like a wicked stepmother and no one really seemed to like her. Not even her daughter. Yoongi wondered why she would talk to someone who hurt her so badly that her coworkers knew all about it but knew that it was hypocritical of him. He had had a meltdown over a woman. This was someone’s mother. 

Y/N came back about five minutes later and sat beside Yoongi. He tensed up but did not move away. He enjoyed the proximity but felt clueless. Should he apologize? Then again he had no idea what to apologize for. Yoongi did not have to think for long. Y/N leaned over and asked him to go outside with her. Yoongi nodded and quickly followed behind her. No one in the group asked about it and Jungkook took her turn with no complaints. Again, Yoongi felt the overwhelming emotions he had the other day. He would never regret working with them.

It was windy out but still hot. The humidity made Yoongi break out into a sweat and he felt the pit in his stomach getting deeper. He did not like confrontation and he was afraid he had pushed away his friend. Anxiety bubbled in his chest but he attempted to ignore it. He reminded himself of the kind of person she was and it soothed him if only for a few seconds. The anxiety only grew the longer she stayed silent.

“I’m sorry about getting all weird in there,” Y/N finally spoke. “I’m so used to everyone knowing all about me that I can forget you don’t. I think it’s why I enjoy spending time with you so much.”

Yoongi remained quiet. He figured she just wanted him to listen right now. Bitna never just listened. She always had to say something o provide input and it bothered him. He did not want to push Y/N any more than she wanted to be. He would listen and stay quiet.

“I know you’re probably really confused. It’s a long story but I’ll just spare you the details.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Yoongi voiced, “I don’t want you to feel forced.”

Y/N smiled into the distance. 

“It’s okay. You got vulnerable with me so I’ll return the favor.”

She took a deep breath before finally looking Yoongi in the eye. 

“I’m recovering from an eating disorder I’ve been struggling with since I was 12.”

Y/N took another deep breath and Yoongi heard the way she choked up. It broke his heart.

“It moved from calorie counting to starving myself, and by the time I was a freshman in college, I was bulimic. I didn’t start getting better until after I graduated and was sent to a psych ward after being hospitalized for malnutrition. I was sent to an inpatient center for a few months after that. I think that’s when Little Meow and Big Kitty started, and Jimin and I started talking about opening our own magazine company. The Spork was born and we bought the building after I was released.”

Yoongi did not say anything and neither did she. The pair stood outside, the sweat building up, and staring straight ahead. The man did not know what to say. How do you react to that? Should he talk about his own mental health? Maybe bring up his days of locking himself in his dorm room waiting on God to just let him die? However, he did not do either one of those things. Instead, he stood tall next to his friend, completely quiet, and reached out to place a hand on her head. 

“I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

“Yoongi, it’s fine-” She brushed his hand off.

“No,” The man made a point to keep eye contact. “It doesn’t matter if I knew or not, I still made you upset and I’m sorry. I’ll be more considerate next time. I promise.”

Y/N closed her mouth and looked away. Yoongi was worried he had upset her again. He had meant it, he did want to apologize, but he could see how it could upset her. He contemplated saying sorry again but found himself unable to figure out what he was saying sorry for in the first place. Before he could gather his thoughts, Y/N faced him again and this time placed her head on his chest. The two of them stayed like that, silent and unmoving until the three men came outside yelling about Jungkook’s landslide victory. 

Taglist:

@hobipost​ @rottenandpretty​ @pb89nv @screaching-cookie​ @mochieverything​ @almosttoopizza​ @youurkryptonite​ @ysljoon​ @gfksz @tarahardcore​

[fictionplumis]

Some progress has been made!

I saw a Cardiologist yesterday and almost broke my "did not cry during a doctor's appointment" streak. (We are up to 3 now, woot!)

So basically, my heart is doing one of two things. Either it's going, "I need to emulate my hero and savior Sonic the Hedgehog," and is always beating so fast for no legitimate reason. Like with POTS. Or it's going, "Oh shit, this place is fucked, I gotta beat faster to make sure all the blood goes to the right places." This would be my heart reacting to another factor in the body and feeling like it's necessary to speed up, like if I had some underlying rheumatalogical condition.

I already knew things like POTS could really fuck up your system, and I've never been officially diagnosed but I've been pretty sure I've had it since high school, when I mentioned to my mom that I get tunnel vision everytime I stand up and she immediately took me to get an MRI. I didn't think it would make just existing doing the bare minimum to live such a hell.

Anyway, he's putting me on meds to slow my heart down. Either these meds will work and I'll feel weird for a bit and then start feeling better as my body adjusts, meaning it IS my heart deciding to go 130 BMP for funsies while I'm doing literally nothing, or the meds will work but I'll feel much, much worse because my heart does, in fact, need to go that fast because this place is fucked.

And by this place, I mean my body.

Now, he did mention working out! He explained that he would usually start treatments for something like this without medication first, but unlike the rheumatologist, he took my struggles seriously and said that since simple, daily tasks are such a struggle, and my heart rate is so high at rest, the medication needs to come first so I can get to the point that I CAN start low effort physical therapy.

He also asked if I had researched my symptoms online and if there was anything I've found or heard of that I felt matched my symptoms best, which god fucking bless dude, that's one hell of a green flag for a doctor.

The hardest part about dealing with doctors for me is that I have this defense mechanism where I am "an open book" and speak honestly and openly about my struggles, but in a very friendly and humorous tone. Like, "I'm so emotionally exhausted that I can't concentrate on much anymore. I've beaten Baldur's Gate like twelve times because I know everything that happens and it's low effort now. I'm so tired of playing Baldur's Gate, man." It's true! My tone usually implies humor and a joke, and I guess that makes people go, "Oh, things are difficult for her but she's okay enough to make light of them."

And I don't know how to not do that?

Even the nice doctors that took me "seriously" still didn't seem to quite understand the full scope of me saying, "I haven't left the house for eight months for anything but doctor's appointments. I haven't seen my friends in eight months. My family goes to eat dinner without me and brings me home lukewarm, soggy food in a takeout container. I've had to stop my sewing projects because my arm gets tired so quick holding down a sewing pattern that I can't trace around it without taking a break, and then the pattern gets misaligned and I get frustrated and start crying. I'm on antidepressants because I can't do any of my hobbies, I have nothing to distract me from this hell where simply reaching up for a cup in the cabinet feels like a herculean task, my room is a mess because I can't clean it up, and I was crying three to four times a day. Now I only cry once or twice a week. I am scared, and lonely, and everyone in my house works full time so it's hard for them to help, and I try not to ask them for much. When I do need to ask for help, I often spend a few hours having an anxiety attack before working up the nerve, and if they say no, I feel guilty for immediately bursting into tears over it and making them feel bad about it. My hair looks awful because I usually keep it short but I can't go through the effort of getting dressed and leaving the house for a haircut, so I took a pair of scissors to it in a Britney Spears style meltdown and you know what? She had the right idea!"

I guess something in my tone just implies hyperbole? Or maybe I don't come across as distressed enough while saying it, so they think it can't be possibly be this awful, life-ruining thing? Unfortunately, breaking down crying doesn't convince them either, I've tried that already. So IDK how to get doctors to understand what I'm feeling.

This guy, though?

I front of his two student shadows, this motherfucker, who is the softest spoken person I've ever met, by the way, leans over his knees and looks me dead in the eye to say, "I want you to know that you're an amazing person. I can't imagine the kind of strength it takes to deal with this for as long as you have with no answers, and still be pushing yourself to come to appointments like this when everything is so difficult for you. If this is cardiac related, I want you to know that we're going to figure this out and get you back out there in the world. At your age, you should be out with your friends, having fun and living your life, not isolated and struggling like this. Do you have a support group? Who all is in it?"

Man. There is something about sincere compassion and genuine concern that hits right to the core, and I could barely keep myself from bursting into tears.

For all my jaded bullshit with the doctors and the American medical system, sometimes you end up finding a gem.

So either these new pills will work and in the next couple of months I can start a long path to recovery, or they won't but I'll be able to tell every other specialist I see that we 100% know my fast heart rate is a symptom of something else, not everything else being a symptom of a cardiac issue.

[aramatientediada]

So, I started to use antidepressants

Since depression is the main topic in this site I decided to share my experience here.

My psychologist said to me see a psychiatrist or general physician for medicine prescription. In the public health system we have to talk with the general doc to get a specialist anyway.

I asked for psychiatrist and the doc offered an agreement, he'd give me a medicine and if it don't work in 15 days then he'll refer me to the psychiatrist.

He didn't give any detail about the medicine, besides to take it once a day.

I meet with the psychologist that day. She reacted to the fact that the doc prescribed a whole pill instead half and she make it very clear I have to take it in the morning and only in the morning because it gives me "disposition".

I took it 6 am and then read leaflet (I know I know but I tent to trust the doctors). So, NOBODY WAS GOING TO TELL ME I CAN'T DRIVE OR OPERATE HEAVY MACHINES WHILE USING THAT? I mean, I don't drive, but I have license so... I might.(!)(?)

Don't you hate it when you take a medicine for a thing and the side effects include that thing? I had this experience with others medicines before, but at least with the allergy one it made sense.

Somewhere between 8 and 10 am I started to VERY SLEEPY. Where was my desired disposition? I also felt other foreseen symptoms, like much mental blurriness and a bit of nausea in certain moments.

High, I was high but without the "good part" of feeling high we get with alcohol. Only the bad part.

This all got some better in the evening, but before the nigh I was very sleepy again. Probably something to do with I woke up before 4am?

Now is the next day. I hold my sleepiness and only went to bed around 9 or 10 pm but wake up by myself before 6. Which now that I look at it was a very good sleep time.

I wake up with residual sleep, but with a bit of "disposition" . Still a bit of that "bad high" feeling and The Confusion™.

Disobeying medical orders I took only half pill today, now lets see how the day goes.

At this moment you must be asking "But what about the intended effect? What about what really matters? Does it work".

Yes... and maybe.

I don't know how far it's actually working or is the placebo effect. I was actually feeling a lil better since my psych said to me ask for medicine. And a lot better having the prescription in hands. It's what Lori Gottlieb mentioned in "Maybe You Should Talk to Someone", the hope for a "cure" that makes us fell better for itself. (Hope actually has great medicinal power according science)

I can say that while physically I'm feeling a lil trash, emotionally I'm... perfectly normal!

Which is a humongous upgrade!

Not more that psychological enormous pain, that despair, that dread of living. Even though all the things in my life that make me fell worthless, in danger, without future, hopeless, powerless are still there!

Now those thing are just bothersome things that exist, but no more thing that make me want to cease exist every time I think about 'em.

I feel as wanting to unalive yourself is not a feeling, neither a desire or any natural part of the brain but a malfunction! Ok ok, we know the depression itself is already a malfunction, but I'm talking about the will to end yourself.

I'm not feeling a super love for live, that sweet feeling of wanting to live, but neither to stop living. And I don't feel that only the feelings and rationalization that give me suicidal intention were vanished, because they weren't (completely), but the intention itself is unable to exist.

Bad though are just bad toughs and nothing else, not triggers.

Is this how normal people feel? Is this how the people who never want to end themselves feel even when everything is terrible in their lives? Is this how they can fight back?

What a delicious feeling, I wish I could have it without the sleepy and nausea.

[steves-strapcollection]

It has been a hot minute since I shared a selfie and I missed TDOV bc I was dying at work, but here have this selfie I just took. I got so many compliments on my hair today and idek what I did bc I haven't done anything different (so I'm thinking it's just... The length?)

Anyway, I'm now well over a year and a half on T, woohoo!!

And as is my tradition when discussing my transition, some pics of me taken around the same time over the past couple years:

The picture on the left I took about 5 months before I started T. I still identified as nonbinary and at the time I thought I was okay being perceived as a woman. It wasn't until I returned to work a month later and had to face hearing and using my legal name after a year of being called "Gerry" by literally all of my friends that I realized "oh shit I'm miserable"

The picture on the right is me 6 months on T, essentially a year after the one on the left was taken, and legitimately the way I felt in the second pic is just... Night and day to how I felt in the first one. I stopped taking my antidepressants once I started transitioning (with my doctors support) bc lmao I guess being dysphoric 100% of the time makes u SUPER DEPRESSED and when u like? Deal? With the dysphoria? The depression becomes like? Manageable? Who knew.

Anyway, it's weird looking at these pics bc the first one I like... I KNOW that was me, but it's NOT me? The second pic is like "that me!" y'know?

ANYWAY this is my super late TDOV post I meant to post like... On TDOV and also a "hey my transition is going GREAT" type update.

[kyndaris]

The Shadow of Broken Dreams

Although I wanted to initially title this the Boulevard of Broken Dreams, I didn't know how well it would have gone over. This is a short story I've written following on from me finishing up Toymaker. Now it's just a matter of editing that behemoth of a novel before I upload it on FictionPress and Wattpad to share.

Once that's done, well, here's hoping I can start working on something I actually want published.

Should be noted, though, that this piece wasn't uploaded to my Wattpad because I felt it was a bit too grim and a little too experimental. It IS on my FictionPress (put up back in August) but I've also posted the full story here anyways behind the read more link. So, enjoy!

The apartment was dark when I entered. The only light being the television set to a channel that replayed old sitcoms and daytime movies from the 70s. It served as white noise as I set my work bag groceries and the groceries down on the floor. They’d been heavy. Weighing me down as I wrestled them up the stairs.

Yet despite the numerous complaints, building management had refused to install an elevator. The bastards.

And while I knew I ought to put the groceries all in the fridge, that was a battle I didn’t want to face right now. Not when all I wanted to do was curl up next to the kitchen counter. I was drained. Exhausted. Tired from smiling and being the vivacious social butterfly that most of my work colleagues and old college friends saw me as.

If they could see me now, what would they think?

Would they see the broken woman that I was? The one who spent most nights with a glass of red wine in hand? Who had a bathroom littered with bottles of pills? One for anxiety, another filled to the brim with antidepressants, and a third for some unknown painkiller to get rid of the ache that racked my very soul?

Probably not.

I mean, why would they? It wasn’t as if I invited anyone over. And no-one was curious to delve more than surface level in trying to get to know me.

During my darkest moments, I often played with the thought of just disappearing entirely. After all, who would miss me? Who would even care?

Certainly not my father. Especially after the explosive fight we had four years ago during Thanksgiving.

And definitely not the ‘friends’ that had glommed to me back in high school like barnacles to the bottom of a very rich ship. Or the faceless men that I had met in bars, looking for a quick pick-me-up or just to feel something when everything inside me was numb.

Despite everything I was doing, though, I still felt so alone in the world; cast adrift by everything and everyone.

Shaking the morose thoughts from my head, I got to my feet. I wasn’t rejuvenated in the slightest but it wouldn’t do for the food to go bad just because I couldn’t deal with the empty apartment and the lack of human contact. People couldn’t subsist solely on alcohol and the occasional Chinese takeout.

But even as I unpacked everything from my reusable grocery bag and put them in the fridge, my movements felt sluggish. As if I was swimming through a thick and heavy malaise. And I couldn’t help but think what the entire point of all this was for.

Why did I even bother going to a dead-end job? Or try to befriend people that couldn’t give a whit about who I was or what I was interested in?

Nothing mattered. Not in this cold, uncaring world.

Wouldn’t it just be easier…

The snap of the elastic band around my wrist broke the chain of thought that had gripped me. Suddenly, I was standing in front of the fridge, a carton of milk in my hand.

Had I been in the process of putting it in or taking it out to make myself a coffee? I didn’t remember.

I put it in the fridge and instead grabbed the bottle of wine resting on the top shelf. My therapist said that self-medication wasn’t the answer but what did she know, anyways? I’d had a tiring day and my head was still throbbing from the grilling I had received from one of our long-standing business associates.

Her words sounded in my ears as I poured myself a glass, the red kissing the rim. I took it with me to the couch. The show on the TV was something I’d seen in passing a million times before. A vapid woman chasing after a man that couldn’t have cared less about her.

The associate – a woman in her late 50s, her hair in a neat chignon – had been utterly ruthless in her assessment of the report me and my team had handed in.

She had destroyed what little confidence I had. And even now I was questioning if I knew what I was doing; if I deserved the position that had been bequeathed to me. Both at work and in terms of the trajectory that I wanted my life to go.

Which, I mused as I took a gulp of wine from the glass, was straight down to rock bottom.

Maybe I should tender my resignation. I was clearly unfit for the role AND out of my depth.

That had always been clear to me from the start.

I took another sip from my wineglass only to find that it was empty. Frowning, I padded back to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of red. With the bottle in hand, I returned to my spot on the couch.

By the time I had downed the entirety of the bottle and felt buoyed by a light buzzing in my head, the time on my phone showed 8:54PM. It was late but not so late for me to cook something simple.

But the desire to get back up and actually do something for myself was non-existent. Especially as I had gone out after discovering that there was naught in my fridge but two bottles of wine and 3 six-pack of bud light. Which had, of course, prompted me to go down to the shops to pick up some groceries to give the thin veneer that I was a fully functional adult human.

Besides, I’d picked up two buffalo wings and a bread roll from the corner store before I went out.

That was a healthy meal, right?

It was certainly better than nothing, I told myself as I turned back to the TV, eyes glazed.

--

I blinked groggily awake as the sunlight streaming through the half-closed blinds hit my eyes. Taking in my surroundings, I realised that I’d fallen asleep on the couch again. The wine bottle had fallen to the floor, the last dredges of it staining the carpet red.

Shit.

As I contemplated if it was worth it to clean it up or leave it until later, I felt a vibration at my side. Patting myself down, I couldn’t find my phone but I knew it had to be nearby. Before I’d fallen asleep, I’d been scrolling through social media. Something my therapist had recommended that I stop.

It was only after I stood up that I found the Samsung snuggly sandwiched between the seats. Grabbing it, I looked at the screen. Why was management calling? At this hour?

Before I could compute what was happening, the call rang out and I finally glimpsed the time. 10:55AM.

Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

I was late. Very late.

No wonder management was calling. They were after my pathetic little hide for screwing up so spectacularly. And a part of me did still care about what they thought of me.

These were people that had took me on. They had hired me despite all my flaws. And I was letting them down during a crucial moment.

The guilt ate at me as I hurried to my bedroom. Just as I was stripping out of my work clothes from yesterday, my phone buzzed again. This time, I picked up.

“This is Cheryl,” I said, somehow sounding peppy though I was running on fumes.

“Oh, thank God. For a moment, I thought you’d died in a ditch somewhere.”

“After the dressing down I got yesterday, I almost wanted to.”

An awkward titter. “Oh, Cheryl. You’re so funny. But, not gonna lie, you had me worried there for a second. I’d called you ten times already. What’s going on?”

“Long night,” I replied sheepishly as I glanced back towards the living room. “I’m so sorry, Joan, for letting the team down. If you give me an hour, I can get into the office and start on the project. I’ll work until it’s finished, no matter how—”

“Cheryl, it’s fine. We can park the project for tomorrow. I called because we hadn’t heard from you and I was getting a little worried since you’re usually in so early.”

“But I can still—”

“No, Cheryl,” said Joan, channelling her mum voice that I knew all too well. “Look, we’ve all been under pressure one time or another, so I know how you feel. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something to say to leadership. You take today off, okay? Get some rest and look after yourself. You’ve been looking a little pale these last few days.”

“Joan—”

Before I could say something more, she had already hung up. I kept the phone held up to my ear for a few more moments, expecting to hear Joan’s voice come through to demand that I make it into the office by 12 or I’d be fired, before I threw the phone onto my bed and let out a frustrated groan.

God. What was wrong with me? How could I have let myself slip like this?

As I slumped down onto my bed, still half-naked, my thoughts turned towards the project I was supposed to be busy starting right now if I hadn’t overslept. What would people say? Would they finally see through the façade that I’d projected all these years?

And Joan…she’d said I had looked pale during the phone call.

Did she know? Did she suspect something was amiss?

Fear and paranoia gripped me then. Before I knew it, I was up on my feet, heading to the shower. All the while, my thoughts were dissecting the conversation I just had with my immediate supervisor.

What had she meant about being ‘under pressure?’ Or that I ought to ‘look after myself?’

Had I let the mask slip?

No. That was impossible. I’d honed my ability to put on a smile so that none could see beyond the image I’d projected. In that, I was, at least, perf—

The cold water from the showerhead struck me then, pulling me from my thoughts. I yelped, dancing back in the shower until the water had turned lukewarm before diving back in.

It was too late now to eat breakfast. But if I was going to enjoy this unplanned day off, I needed my daily dose of caffeine. Maybe I could grab a wrap, too?

There was a café close by that I’d always wanted to try but never had the time for.

Yes. I’d go there.

Some food in my stomach to appease the hunger gods and a few of my prescribed skills in my gullet would be enough to get me out of this funk. Or, it would allow me to stop trying to parse the hidden meaning behind Joan’s words. More likely than not she hadn’t meant much of it.

She’d just been trying to make small talk.

Right?

Trying to find a way to be empathetic was the ‘perceived’ social norm.

Right?

Or maybe it was all a way to say that the team didn’t need me at all. That I was a liability. A burden.

Fuck. I needed to get out of my own head. And quick.

--

I got into the office early the next day. There was a ton of work that I needed to catch up on. And I couldn’t disappoint. So, I skimmed through the emails in Outlook before turning my attention to the big project that we’d been assigned. I was adamant that by the time Joan arrived in the office, I would have a draft on her desk.

They couldn’t fire me then. Right?

I was indispensable.

A vital member of the team.

But even as I searched for statistics, the doubt continued to gnaw on my mind. Despite the anti-anxiety pills and antidepressants I’d taken. The worry just wouldn’t leave me be.

It haunted my every step; made me question every move.

When Joan did finally arrive at a quarter past nine, her cappuccino in hand, she walked right past my desk, plonked down at her desk and stared at her blank computer screen for a good few seconds before taking a sip of her coffee cup and shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. That was when she glanced down and saw the printed outline I’d made.

Her head turned towards my desk before looking back at the outline. Her brows knitted together and her lips arched downwards in a frown. After logging into her computer, she rose from her chair.

I quickly turned back to my computer screen. The project wasn’t going to finish itself. Especially if they wanted it in by the end of the week. And it was already Thursday.

The clack of her heels was the only warning I had before Joan loomed above me.

“Cheryl.” Something sounded off. Had there a hint of disappointment in her voice? I looked at her face but the usual fun twinkle I saw in her eyes was absent. This was no-nonsense Joan. A person I’d rarely met.

A cold shiver went down my spine. Why did it also feel like my stomach had dropped out from its usually spot?  

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I hit ctrl + s on the document I was working on. I forced a smile to my lips, though all I wanted to do was run and hide. Was it too late to go to the bathroom? “Hi Joan. How’s your morning today?”

Joan looked at me, an unreadable expression on her face.

The mother of two was impeccably dressed although I could see that she had slightly smudged her lipstick. Despite having a rebellious teenager and a loud rambunctious pre-teen, Joan was a career woman through and through. Like me, she had on a blazer. But while mine was grey, hers was black. And while I much preferred wearing a skirt matched with low heels, Joan dressed like a woman on mission in black slacks and flats.

“Cheryl,” she said again. “Look, this isn’t easy to say but the project…well, it’s been assigned to Brett.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in.

That they had reassigned the project to Brett wasn’t the issue. It was the fact that they didn’t think I could do this that broke me. It meant that they didn’t need me.

One mistake and it had all led to this. What was wrong with me? How could I have done something so blind, missing that glaring mistake in the report?

The pressure in my head began to build, dull though it seemed. But as time passed, it grew ever more present. Ever more demanding. White noise filled my ears. And then, my entire imploded. Utterly and completely.

Before me, a black void yawned open in front of me. I stood alone at its edge, no-one beside me. Off in the distance, I heard the sounds of howls getting ever closer. Fear enveloped me.

Did I jump off? Or did I stay to be devoured by monsters?

It would be easier to just let go. To take that step and take the plunge. Then I wouldn’t be hounded every day. I wouldn’t be a burden. I wouldn’t take up someone else’s share of oxygen…

“Cheryl? Cheryl!” Something was shaking me.

I blinked twice and the office swam back into focus. Before me was my computer with a screensaver of a forest somewhere in Germany. To my left, there was a photo of me smiling with my family on a summer vacation back in my 20s. In the corner of my eye, to the right, I could see a beige blouse.

There were words being said above me but I couldn’t process what was being said. It all sounded like nonsense to me.

Then someone crouched down to eye level.

It was Joan. There was a look of concern on her face. But rather than reassure me that there was someone out there cared for me, I was filled with anger. I had seen behind the façade. Nobody cared about me.

Certainly not Joan.

If my self-control hadn’t kicked in, I would have snarled at the woman and probably spat in her face. She was a fucking bold-faced lie. Why did she and everyone else in my life play pretend? What was the goddamned point? Did they think they were good people if they put in a tokenistic effort of empathy?

Well, fuck that. And fuck them.

“Cheryl, I think—”

“I’m fine,” I said through clenched teeth as I unlocked my computer.

“Are you sure? Look, we understand if you’re angry. This isn’t a reflection of all the work you’ve done for us so far. Given the fact that we didn’t know how long you were going to be away, leadership thought—”

I closed my eyes, counted slowly to five. “I said I’m fine, Joan. There’s a lot that needs to be done. I’m here to work. So, let me do it.”

Perhaps Joan sensed something in my tone. She rose to her feet. “Be that as it may, Cheryl, I think it’s in your best interest to take ten minutes. Go out and grab a coffee. Or get some fresh air, whichever helps. Then, when you’re back, we can talk about the project and Brett. Okay?”

It wasn’t a suggestion but an order. I flashed Joan a tight smile. “Sure. Fine,” I said, grabbing my bag. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Reining in my bubbling resentment, I headed to the elevator lobby. Two minutes later, the doors opened on the ground floor and I stepped out onto the street. But instead of turning left to enter the coffee shop, I walked straight past it.

And then I began to run, my handbag slung over my shoulder.

I didn’t go back to the office.

--

In my darkened bedroom, I sat on my bed and stared off into nothing. I had curled my knees up to my chest, my arms holding them in place.

It was Monday.

Normally by now I would be in the office, tapping away at my keyboard and finishing off whatever it was I had been assigned or responding to emails from stakeholders. You know, business as usual. But it was already nearing lunch time and I hadn’t done anything except stare at nothing for the entire day.

My phone sat beside me. I had turned it off immediately last Thursday after walking out of the office, fearful that I’d receive a barrage of calls once Joan realised that I wasn’t coming back.

But a part of me wondered if that truly would have been the case. Would they have even cared?

What was I but a cog in the machine of corporate America? And an unimportant one at that. Easily replaceable with someone like Brett. A man that had coasted by on his good looks and charisma but who couldn’t even string two sentences together in a report.

Yet, leadership favoured him anyways.

I wanted to hate Brett with all my being but I knew that it wasn’t entirely his fault. Not really.

He was, after all, a better choice than Briony.

Now, she was a piece of work. A woman who delighted in gossip. Who would tell everyone far and near how accomplished she was even though she’d literally done nothing to earn it. Every day I’d see her chatting with upper management or leadership or going out for coffee at least five times a day. She was slow with her work and constantly on the phone to her friends or her daughter or the landlord.

It was easy to get mad at her but it wasn’t worth it.

After all, I knew I was going to be fired. Not that I cared.

Nothing really seemed to matter to me anymore. During the weekend, I’d lazed in bed. Hadn’t bothered to even get up to brush my hair or my teeth. Or even really eat anything beyond some buttered toast and ordering in an unhealthy dose of ice-cream via Uber Eats.

The antidepressants weren’t working. I’d stopped taking them on Saturday because I hadn’t seen the point of it all. And I’d flushed the anti-anxiety pills down the toilet as well.

Only the painkillers remained.

Maybe if I…

Before I could finish the thought, there was a knock at my apartment door. It was an incessant hammering that told me if I didn’t open it now, the person would only continue until I opened it or the door broke down from the sheer force of their hits.

Better to ignore it, I thought though my original train of thought was gone. How else ought I to while away the time? Maybe I could watch some daytime TV. They were mostly reruns of soap operas from back in the day. Mindless drivel, most would say.

Or perhaps I could turn on my computer and sit down to some reality shows on Netflix that could drive away the numbness that had taken hold on me.

It knocking kept on for a solid five minutes. By then, it sounded like the door to my apartment was about to cave in.

Having not decided what I ought to do best with my time, I tumbled out of bed with a groan and grabbed a jersey that had belonged to one of my exes, and which was long enough to reach my knees. For a moment, as I slipped on the jersey, I wondered if I ought to change into something more presentable but thought better of it.

What did it matter anyways?

Satisfied that I wasn’t entirely exposed except for my pale creamy legs, I padded to the door.

As if they had heard my footsteps, the knocking stopped.

Rising to my tiptoes, I peeked through the peephole to see who had come to interrupt my pity party. But there was no-one to be seen.

What in the world?

Was this just an elaborate prank?

They had hammered at my door for so long but by the time I arrived, they were gone? It was enough to heat up what little energy I had when it came to such things.

I wrenched open the door. Maybe, if I was quick enough, I could see who had bothered to come a-knocking at my door before leaving so abruptly.

Poking my head out, I first looked left and then right. But there was no sign of anyone having been there. The corridor was empty.

Had I been imagining things?

Time had lost almost all of its meaning as I had moped around the apartment.

Just as I went to close the door to return to my wallowing, I heard soft mewling coming from under me. I looked down. There, right on the welcome door mat, was a cardboard box. And inside them were four tortoiseshell kittens.

Fuck.

--

“We’ll make sure to find a home for them all. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot to me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep one?” asked the shopkeeper of the pet store. “Tortoiseshells can be a bit tricky but they’re lovely creatures.” She was young. Or, at the very least, looked it. I guessed that she was probably in her mid-20s. Her soft straw-coloured hair was tied up in a messy bun. And over her blue and white striped shirt, she was wearing an apron.

In comparison, I was dressed much more sloppily in shredded black jeans and a too-large maroon hoodie stamped with Harvard University on the front.

Not that I’d gone to Harvard.

My dad had bought it for me when we had visited Boston during my sophomore year in high school. He’d pointed out the law building in particular, said that it had been his dream for one of his children to attend.

Given that I was the only child that my parents ever had, that burden lay on my shoulders.

Suffice it to say, I didn’t make the cut.

I smiled back at the shopkeeper. “No. I’m good. Not sure what kind of monster decided to dump them on my doorstep but I’m glad that I was able to help them out.”

And really, I was glad. It was the first time I’d felt good about something I did.

True, it wasn’t a high paying job and wouldn’t get me any brownie points, but it was the right thing to do.

After all, I couldn’t look after the kittens. Heck, I couldn’t even look after myself.

This was for the best.

They would find good homes to take them in. People that were more put together and had their life all figured out—

Someone crossed by my vision. She was dressed in a business suit, like always. Her hair was pulled into a neat chignon, held in place by a diamond tipped pin. It was Joan.

Fear sluiced down my veins. Had she recognised me? Was she going to rip into me for not being at the office these last two days, and had been unreachable via both phone and email?

But no, Joan was headed towards the far end of the pet store. She walked with purpose. And that was when I remembered that she had a little chihuahua at home. Brutus, his name was. No doubt she was here to pick up some treats for him.

Once she’d picked up some premium lamb dog food, she headed back to the counter. Not once did she glance in my direction but I kept my face turned away, hidden beneath the hoodie.

“Gone through another bag, has he, Joan?”

Joan let out a sigh. “If you’d believe it. Brutus just loves these. Goes rabid at the very scent because he knows he’s been a good boy.”

“What’s wrong, Joan? You’re not normally so down.”

“Oh, just some drama in the office. You know how it is Vanya. Big project, new staff that need to be trained and to cautious about making a mistake.”

Vanya – the owner of the pet shop owner – nodded. “Yes, I remember you telling me something about it. Said you had this troublemaker that forced you to kiss up with the big bosses. I think you said she’d gotten drunk on a weeknight and was too sauced to come in the next day?”

“That’s the one. And it wasn’t even for anything serious.” Joan leaned across the counter. “I tell you, Vanya, this young generation that’s coming in, they’re just too sensitive. Give them even the slightest criticism, even ones that are constructive, and they fall apart at the seams. That never used to happen with me.”

“Exactly. You listened, you learned, you became better.”

Joan nodded. “Anyways, you don’t need to hear me bitch and moan too much, Vanya.”

“Oh, it’s no bother, Joan. You’ve been a loyal company for fifteen years. What are friends for? Us—"

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I didn’t want to. Especially given the topic of choice. So, after pulling my hood just a little further down to cover my face, I waved goodbye to Vanya and headed straight for the door.

By the time I’d made it down the street, to the lights, I was breathing heavily and my chest was tight. Thoughts whirled in my head, never slowing enough for me to analyse them.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Had that really happened?

What was Joan even doing, coming into a pet shop in the middle of the city, in the middle of the Goddamned day…

But as I turned the corner, I was met with the skyscraper that housed the business I’d been working at since I graduated from college, fresh-faced and eager to contribute to the workforce. I’d met Joan at my first interview. She had been kind and friendly. Always eager to answer my questions when I didn’t understand something.

How quickly things had changed.

I turned on my heel and headed back down the street. Somewhere, I’d just got turned around, my feet naturally leading me back to something that was familiar, but which also filled my very being with dread.

It was probably because I’d been distracted, thinking too much on Joan’s sudden appearance. She was a blast from the very recent past. And based on what I’d overheard, she’d never been my friend. Like everyone else in my life, she saw me as a disposable tool. A person ‘too sensitive’ who couldn’t take an undeserved dressing down.

A lump formed in my throat and hot wet tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. Ones I tried to blink back desperately. I wouldn’t cry. Not out in the open like this.

All I needed to do was get back home. Then I could close the door against the world and let myself go.

Blinded by the despair that gripped me, I didn’t notice when I bumped headlong into someone.

My first impression was of warmth as something spilled onto my hoodie. Then the thud of a solid chest.

I stumbled back, keeping my eyes lowered to the ground.

“Hey, that was my bloody espresso!”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured under my breath, jaw working overtime to keep the sob from my voice. Everything hurt. And I wanted to get away.

“Just…just watch out next time, yeah?”

I nodded, head down, before sidestepping past the man. The most I caught of him was a fitted graphic t-shirt with three triangles set in what looked like a pyramid.

As I hurried to the next intersection, I didn’t dare look back. Even though I could feel the man’s gaze drilling a hole through the back of my head. What else was there to say anyways?

--

Back in my dark apartment, sitting in the empty bathtub and naked from the waist down, I looked at the bottle of pills in my hand. It would be so easy. And it would make things so much better.

After all, I was unlovable. I was a burden. I was weak. I was sensitive. And I was never going to aspire to anything in life.

Flashes of memory, from both the distant past to the recent encounter at the pet shop, rushed through my mind. Each and every one reflecting how much I had failed and worthless I was.

At age 7, I’d had dreams of becoming a pianist. But a recital gone wrong, when I’d sat frozen with fear had shattered those dreams early. The relentless teasing I’d undergone afterwards only proved that becoming a world-famous pianist was not in the cards for me.

 So, I’d dreamt smaller.

Yet, even there, I’d failed.

Dad had wanted me to attend Harvard. To follow in his footsteps. And though I wasn’t sure what degree I’d pursue once I’d arrived, I’d put my heart and soul into trying to get into an Ivy League School.

Despite busting my arse all throughout high school, earning myself a 4.0 GPA, they had found my admittance letter lacking. I was just one amongst hundreds of hopefuls and I had failed to stand out of the crowd in a meaningful way.

I touched a hand to my right shoulder. Hidden underneath my t-shirt was the mottled scar. After I’d failed to get into the college of my dreams, I’d been moping at home before falling asleep with the electric blanket still on. The first sign that something had gone horribly wrong was the sharp pain in my shoulder. When I’d opened my eyes, the polyester shirt I’d been wearing had melted, twisting into my skin.

Mum had thought it was a self-harming incident. She’d argued with Dad and had taken me to see a psychiatrist.

That was when she’d first been diagnosed with depression and anxiety.

But it was the pain that had troubled me over the years. By the time I’d graduated, I couldn’t really function. A trip to the doctors saw me prescribed with medication to deal with the chronic pain.

It worked. To a degree. Dulling the short sharp lances down the right side of my body into a dull ache.

Yet it wasn’t gone.

Rather it lurked beneath the surface, ready to rise to the surface.

It would never leave.

If I wanted to be free of it, to be free of the doubts that plagued me, it would so much easier to put an end to it all. And I had the solution right in the palm of my hands. I merely had to take a little too much, my breathing would slow, and I’d never have to deal with all the failures that my life had become.

Twisting open the bottle cap, I hesitated for a moment before I poured the first few painkillers out into my hands.

This was it.

It was now or never.

Did I take that final step? Was it worth it to walk into that good night? To put an end to my story?

Before I could make that choice, however, I heard a soft mewling somewhere in the silent apartment. 

What in the world?

I tried to shut it out, resolute in my decision. But it kept going. Rubbing my nerves raw.

Returning the pills to the bottle, I clambered from the tub, nearly slipping in the process. After I put the bottles back into the medicinal cabinet, my heart still beating a hundred miles a minute, I studied my wan reflection in the mirror. Dark purple circles underscored my blue grey eyes. Matted strands of red hair clung to my face when once it had been filled with life.

How quickly my life had spiralled.

The mewling started again and I tore myself away from the bathroom, finding a pair of pants to pull on.

I padded to the living room but couldn’t find the source of the mewling. My mind was already racing back to when I’d first found the box of kittens at my doorstep.

There had been four kittens in the box. I was sure of it.

And when I’d handed the box to Vanya at the pet shop, there had been four kittens inside.

So, why could I still hear mewling within the confines of my one-bedroom apartment?

Having no luck in the living room, I headed to my bedroom. Seated on top of my covers was a kitten that was almost entirely black except for its paws and the white dot on its forehead. It came up to me, curiosity shining in its eyes, as I approached before nuzzling my outstretched hand.

I gave it a scritch behind the ears before glancing up at the clock on the wall. Maybe I could head back into town and hand this one over to Vanya as well. Not that she would be the best person to give it to. Her conversation with Joan had forever tainted my initial impression. But with a start, I realised just how late the hour was. By the time I arrived, the shop would be closed.

The little kitten would have to stay with me. At least for the night.

I was pulled from my thoughts as it mewled at me again. She was hungry and wanted something to fill her stomach.

While I hadn’t been contemplating cooking anything up for dinner, and in fact didn’t feel hungry at all, I couldn’t just let the kitten starve because of my own bad choices.

“Wait right here,” I said to it. “Let me see what I have.”

The kitten looked up at me with its huge blue eyes, letting out a little needy cry that seemed to demand that I hurry up. Bossy little thing, I thought, as I headed back to the kitchen and to my mostly empty fridge. Although I’d restocked a few days ago, I didn’t know if I had something appropriate for a kitten.

I reached for my phone to google what types of human food would be appropriate for cats to eat before realising that my phone was still sitting on the ground of my bedroom, the screen cracked after I’d thrown it at the wall after the encounter with Joan at the pet shop.

Hurrying back to my bedroom, the kitten meowed in greeting.

“Sorry. Just recovering my phone. I’ll be back.” With that, I grabbed my phone and headed back to the kitchen, pulling up Google as I did.

I glanced through the first page of results, noting the cooked meats, the few vegetables that were listed and the small pieces of fruit.

Opening the fridge, I looked through my measly stock.

Well, I had some chicken and broccoli and carrots.

Maybe I could whip up something simple. The thought of preparing a meal flipped a switch inside me and my stomach let out a small growl. For the first time in weeks, I had something of an appetite.

It had been hours since I last ate. When I had eaten, it had been something simple. Some toast, slathered with jam along with a middling coffee. Then I’d binged on some chips and beer. Nothing substantial.

Looking at the ingredients in my fridge, I decided to whip up a quick stir fry. Something that would satisfy me until the next day. After all, I needed to keep myself alive until I could think of what to do with the kitten.

In my mind, it deserved a fulfilling life with a good owner. It needed someone that could shower it with unconditional love.

And that person was definitely not me.

--

I was back in the office again, working on a project that I’d been assigned. As I clicked open the email to refresh myself on the parameters, nothing seemed to make sense. The words were difficult to parse. The sentences went round in circles before trailing off into nonsense.

Desperate, I sent through a message on the group messenger to Joan. Knowing she’d be able to assist me. She had always been there for me in the past.

But as I hit ‘enter’ on the keyboard, the memory of the encounter at the pet shop swam through my mind. A growing sense of dread and panic rose in my gut. Behind me, the voices in the open office space began to swell as people began to whisper and gossip.

I caught snippets of their conversations. None of it good. All of them about what I liability I was for the company. That they would be better off if I vanished from the face of the planet.

And, was it me or were there eyes drilling into the back of my skull?

Breathing became hard as I tried to fight the rising terror that had gripped me. I wanted to turn around but I didn’t want the others to know that their words were affecting me.

If I kept my head down and did my work…

Clipped footfalls sounded behind me.

Dread made its way down my spine. It felt like ants were crawling on my neck. The itch was intense. And all I wanted to do was turn around and say I was sorry. Why I felt the need to apologise didn’t matter. I just knew that I had to.

“Cheryl.” It was Joan’s voice. Slowly, hesitantly, I turned around to face her.

Words clung to my throat. I wanted to say something but my chest was so heavy. It was like a weight was pressing on me. Robbing me of breath. Robbing me of sound.

“Jo—“ I tried to say her name but couldn’t seem to wrap my lips around it. It was just too hard.

She cocked her head to the side, confused, before she reached out to me, the picture of concern. “Cheryl, we need to talk. Would you come with me, please?”

Before I could nod and follow her, something in my chest constricted.

I flailed, pushing something off my face as I blearily blinked up at my dark bedroom. Sunlight was peeking through the underside of the blinds. And resting on my pillow, looking sheepish was the stowaway kitten that had wormed its way into my life.

“What is it now, Princess?”

She mewled at me before agilely landing on the ground and began to claw at the door. Picking up my phone, I glanced at the screen. 9AM. On a freakin’ Saturday. I wanted to groan and sidle back underneath the covers.

But Princess was having none of that. There was only one thing on her mind. Breakfast.

“Fine. Let me get dressed first, okay? And stop sitting on my face. If you aren’t careful, you’ll kill me and who will feed you then?”

Princess spun around, sat down on her haunches and started licking her paws clean. It was a clear sign that she hadn’t been listening. Nor did she care.

With a sigh, I looked around for something to throw on.

Already, Princess had been with me for three months. I don’t know how she’d managed to entangle my life with hers but she had. Despite my best intentions of bringing her to Vanya, the pet shop owner, Princess had been nowhere to be found when I was ready to leave. When I did finally spot her hidden on the upper shelf of my wardrobe, it had taken the entire day to coax her down.

The next day, she’d utterly refused to leave the apartment, sneaking out of the makeshift cage I’d made for her from a few pieces of scrap cardboard that someone had tossed out for recycling.

By the end of the week, I’d given up.

Princess clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

But that left me saddled with a kitten to look after and no job in sight.

True, I might not have properly resigned from the firm I’d walked out on but I had as good as done so. The calls and text messages had slowed to a dribble. My last message from Joan told me of her disappointment that I would step away after all these years when I was so close to reaching my fifteenth year.

 So, I’d sat down in front of a computer and forced myself to apply for every single job that caught my eye.

In the end, I’d taken on an administrative role with a startup tech firm. The pay was much lower than what I’d earned in my previous position as senior project lead. But considering the fact that they had essentially offloaded all my responsibilities on Brett…

I caught myself right before I spiralled.

My first order of business for today was to get breakfast for Princess.

“Here you are, my Princess,” I said to the kitten as I opened up a packet of salmon cat food and poured the contents into her bowl. “Eat up.”

Princess looked up at me with her big blue eyes and meowed before digging in. Watching her enjoyment, I felt something warm and fuzzy suffuse my chest. A smile pulled at my lips before I caught it.

Squashing the fleeting glow of not-quite-happiness down deep, because I knew that it was undeserved, I turned away to prepare my own morning meal. After all, breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Or so my mum had told me growing up.

And maybe there was some wisdom to it, I thought as I pulled out a loaf of bread in the freezer, some peanut butter and jam from the pantry and laid it all down on the counter.

It was hard to imagine life without Princess anymore. She had barged into my life and demanded that I be the one to look after her. Just like a little prima donna or a rich lady of leisure. But while I’d been tempted to name her Queen for her imperious and spoiled ways, there was also a wild side to Princess that decided me on her name.

Breakfast sandwich made, I flopped down on the couch with my morning cup of coffee, a peeled apple and turned on the TV. Princess snuggled in beside me, purring as I stroked her head.

Life wasn’t quite perfect. Not just yet.

But there was a light now in the very dark tunnel I found myself in.  The battles were still hard but I now had something to fight for.

At least for now.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d be with Princess. It was still my personal opinion that she would be better served with a proper owner that had their shit all sorted out rather than with me. And I’d raised the fact with my therapist who had only nodded and scribbled something in her notepad before asking me if I’d had any more instances of suicidal ideation.

--

Rain pissed down on my head. My hair was matted to my scalp. But I cared not as I ventured further down the dark street, calling for Princess. I was desperate to have her back with me at home where it was warm and I could put on a dumb movie for the two of us to watch. Maybe something light and fun. Like Oliver and Company.

Why had I left the door to the apartment open?

“It’ll be okay, Cheryl. I’m sure Princess isn’t too far off.” I looked up at the man carrying an umbrella and forced a smile to my face.

Yang was one of my neighbours a few doors down. He was a lanky man with a mop of unruly hair with blond highlights. Framing his face were a pair of rectangular half-rim glasses. A blue parka sat atop his black jeans.

He had been the only one to volunteer his assistance. My other neighbours had all shook their heads and closed their doors when I’d asked if they had seen a black and white cat called Princess. Even the one that lived right opposite me in the hallway. She was a nervous spindly woman in her late 40s. But while she had helped me out when I first moved in, offering a basket of goodies, we’d had little interaction since except when we exchanged ‘hellos’ in the elevator.

“I just…I just need to find her.”

“Don’t worry. We will.”

I held onto Yang’s words like an anchor. Princess meant everything to me.

Little by little, she had wormed her way into my heart and had pulled me back from the brink, focusing my thoughts on the things I could do and serving as motivation to be a better person in general. Now that she was gone, I felt cast adrift. There was nothing to keep me grounded.

Once more the doubts came creeping in.

Had Princess left me too? Would I be alone again? Friendless except for the fleeting encounters I shared with those I’d known in high school and college?

Everybody was so busy these days, preoccupied with life.

Nobody cared to look behind the façade I’d put up. Nobody cared to ask how I was doing or if I was okay.

“Hey, hey, hey! Look at me, Cheryl. We’re gonna find her. Just breathe.”

I nodded, though my gaze was focused on the concrete pavement beneath my feet. With effort, I focused on slowing down my breathing before the panic took me to parts unknown.

I felt something warm rub my back.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ve got this. And, if not today, I can see about making some posters, yeah? Everything is going to be fine Cheryl.”

“Thanks Yang. Maybe we give it another half hour? Sorry. I just want to make sure we’ve checked everything nearby.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’m good to go.”

We combed the block twice more before Yang escorted me back to my apartment. He said nothing as we trudged down the hallway.

After all, what was there to say to a distraught woman who had just lost the only guiding light in her life?

Without Princess, I was nothing except a broken human being who had no purpose and was better left in a ditch somewhere.

There was nothing for me without Princess. Absolutely nothing.

As we approached the door to my apartment, though, there came a familiar mewl. Sitting on the welcome mat with a disgruntled expression was Princess. Just like me, she was a little bedraggled. But a quick glance told me that she wasn’t harmed in any way.

Relief flooded through my entire body. Had it not been for Yang, I might have collapsed to the ground.

--

“So, you’re planning on moving? When?” asked Yang, curling his legs up underneath the duvet as he spooned a mouthful of ice cream.

“Yeah. It’s just not affordable in the city anymore. And there’s just too many bad memories here. I think a change might be nice.”

“What about me?” he asked, turning to face me instead of the movie we watching. Die Hard.

I smiled. “Well, there have been a few good ones,” I admitted, nudging Yang on the arm. He grinned at me. “Memories, that is. During this past year.”

“Thanks. Good to know that I quantify as a memory.”

“I’m only joking, Yang. You’ve been a great friend to me and I’ll miss hanging out with you in a few weeks’ time.”

“Oh, I know. I’m gonna miss having these hangouts too. Who knew I had such a cool neighbour for these past five years and never knew?”

My cheeks flushed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that I’m very cool. In fact, I’m not very interesting much at all.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, lightly punching Yang on the shoulder.

“Hey! Watch it! I’m fragile!”

I cocked an eyebrow at Yang. God. He was such a melodramatic Leo. No wonder he was trying to become an actor instead of something useful. Like a doctor.

“Okay, fine. I’m not that fragile but you ought to know you can’t treat me like this.”

“Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t want your girlfriend to come knocking on my door,” I said. “Honestly, I’m still not sure what she sees in you. She’s so accomplished and you’re just…well, you.”

“Hurtful!”

Exchanging a look, the two of us broke into giggles before turning our attention back to the movie right as Bruce Willis was crawling through the air vents.

 A few minutes later, Yang looked once more in my direction.

“So, what about the commute?”  he asked, curious.

“Well,” I said, “the good thing about this new role that I’ve got is that they offer plenty of work from home options. So, I won’t be taking the subway every day. But, even if I were, it’s only about forty minutes door-to-door. Not too shabby, if you ask me.”

Princess chose that moment to jump onto the couch. She settled in my lap and looked plaintively up at me, begging to be petted. I did so, unable to resist any of her demands.

Was she as eager as me about moving to the new place? I hoped she was. It hadn’t been as cheap as I had told Yang.

Or would she, instead, miss the old apartment? Miss Yang, perhaps, and the old haunts she favoured?

When I’d been hunting for a new place to call home, I’d brought her with me. I’d felt it important that we make the decision together. After all, Princess was an important member of the household.

Of course, she hadn’t much liked the cage. It had been impossible to coax her inside.

But she had been amenable to the backpack with a small bubble that Princess could poke her head through to look around.

It was the second apartment that we’d been looking at that she had fallen in love with. While it was still a small one-bedroom apartment, albeit with a study, the views of the river from the balcony had been stunning.  Even Princess had mewled her approval.

Better yet, neither the owner or building management had been fussed about her bringing along a pet. In fact, they welcomed it.

“So, your earlier question, Yang, was that your attempt at offering to help out with the move?”

Yang kept his gaze fixed on the television as he spooned up another mouthful of double-choc mint ice-cream. “Maybe,” he said after a moment.

I turned my head to look at him. But he kept his eyes rigidly focused on the younger Alan Rickman, may he rest in peace always, as he monologued his evil plans. If Yang wasn’t already taken, I might have just snapped him up for myself. Despite his questionable career path, he was a good man.

And, dare I say it, a good friend. I cherished these small moments we shared.

For the first time in a long while, I had someone that cared about me and didn’t want anything beyond just my company. My heart swelled up at the thought and I dabbed at the corner of my eyes before turning my attention back to the TV.

I still wasn’t sure what Yang saw in me, personally, but I felt that in that moment, curled up on the couch watching Die Hard, it didn’t matter. Not in the slightest.

He was my friend. And I knew he would be there for me. Through thick or thin.

His was a friendship without conditions; without artifice. And I could rely on him as much as I needed.

--

I had just been grocery shopping at my local Albertsons when I’d seen Briony. She was immaculate as ever, her hair styled into a coif although she was dressed like she’d just been at the gym. Beside her was a young girl, presumably her daughter, who looked about eleven.

They hadn’t noticed me as they headed in the opposite direction down the aisle.

Well, Briony wouldn’t. She was just as self-absorbed as ever. It was why I’d always hated working with her.

As she passed me by, I could hear her speaking. But it wasn’t to her daughter. Instead, she was talking into a Bluetooth headset.

“—you believe it? They’ve asked me whether or not I’d take a voluntary redundancy. Me? Yeah, mhmm. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Cheryl—” There was a brief pause as she grabbed a box of cereal from the shelf. “Fuck her. She walked away when the company needed her most. And fuck Joan. Always having a ready excuse to explain away—”

I didn’t hear the rest as I turned the corner and was out of earshot. Standing next to a shelf stacked to the brim with all sorts of chips, I took a moment to steady my breathing and calm my beating heart.

What had all that been about?

No. I wouldn’t go there. It wasn’t my business. I’d stepped away from the company.

And yet, a part of me couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in the end with the project that they had given Brett. It had been a big one. One that might have consolidated my position and perhaps earned me a promotion. Coming in on Thursday, I’d tried my best to set up a plan given the fact that I’d taken some unexpected leave on the Wednesday. Joan, however, had dashed all of that.

Maybe it hadn’t been her call, exactly, but after overhearing her at the pet shop, I couldn’t stop the anger that rose to the surface. She was my immediate manager.

Why hadn’t she ever fought for me?

I had thought she’d cared. Had seen me as more than just another number. But in the end, I had simply been a pawn for her corporate aspirations.

Resentment, hot and dark and terrible, bubbled under my skin, leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

I’d never received much closure after stepping away. But there had been a thousand and one different things I’d wanted to say. And it came as a surprise that despite the year that had passed, it had never left me.

It was something I’d not been able to let go.

Even with Princess in my life. And even with the positive steps I’d taken in therapy.

It was something that I needed closure on.

With that thought in mind, I picked up the remaining goods that I needed and headed for the checkout. There were a lot of things that were weighing heavily on my mind.

Princess was sat on the kitchen counter when I walked in, laden down with groceries. She cocked her head as I set the bags down before padding over to me and demanding that I scritch her behind the ears.

“I hope you behaved yourself while I was gone,” I said as she strutted past me to the edge of the counter.

The expression on her face would have curdled butter, such was the contempt in that furry face of hers, as she turned around to look at me over her shoulder. “Do you really think I wouldn’t?” she said in a deep sonorous voice that should have surprised me. “I’m no bright-eyed bushy-tailed kitten any longer, Cheryl. And I can tell that something’s on your mind. If you ask me, you need to pay Joan a visit. Show her exactly the pain you went through.”

“How, Princess? It’s not like she’ll just let me talk it out with her. Heck, I probably wouldn’t be able to get my foot in the door.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Cheryl.”

“I don’t understand, Princess,” I said to the cat. And truly, I didn’t.

Princess padded up to me, her tail brushing against my chin. “You already know what needs to be done, Cheryl. Don’t make me spell it out for you. And you ought to do it tonight. After all, it’ll still be the weekend and we both know you need your seven hours of sleep if it’s a weeknight.”

“But—” Before I could put forth my arguments to the contrary, Princess had hopped off the kitchen counter and had headed for the bathroom where her litter box had been placed.

I remained standing next to the fridge as I tried to sift through the hidden implications in Princess’s words.

My history with Joan was a long and troubled one. Did I have what it took to finally confront her over it all? Or was it better to just push it out of mind and keep it buried where no-one would be able to see the hidden ugliness of it all?

I glanced towards the bathroom where Princess had vanished into.

Princess had said I knew the answer to this dilemma. But the thought of actually seeing it through was terrifying. And it made me wonder if this was truly what I wanted.

But although I agonised over what I ought to do as I packed all the groceries away, in the end, I knew Princess was right. A reckoning was coming.

It was do or die.

And as the hour ticked closer to midnight, I packed my bag for everything that I would need. Princess watched on. She sat in the shadows, licking clean her paws. She glanced up and from where I was standing, the light, as it hit her eyes, made them look demonically red.

It should have frightened me but I only felt a sense of calm suffuse my entire being.

This was right.

This was a means of bringing back balance to my shattered life and the broken dreams that had plagued me since childhood.

I had to do this.

If not, then I would be forever adrift, unable to be satisfied with my lot in life. And it would only be a matter of time before I took that last drastic step and fall into the deep and dark abyss that had been threatening to swallow me whole since time immemorial.

Glancing up once again at the clock in the living room, I gave a resolute nod to Princess before padding towards the door. Princess barely looked in my direction. She had turned around to watch the TV as Annie Murphy appeared on screen. The Canadian actress had two white streaks in her hair.

Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob and stepped through in my black hoodie, back jeans and comfortable black joggers. I would be as a shadow. Unseen and unheard.

The door clicked close behind me.

I was alone.

--

Joan lived in a four-bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. I’d been there only once before for a 4th of July celebration. All I really remembered was her huge backyard set up with two barbecue grills, four plastic tables and boiling in the hot July sun as we chatted inanely about their favourite sporting teams or the weather or provided anecdotes about their children.

The lights were off as I did a circuit around the block, looking for a place to park my car.

I couldn’t park it too close lest it seem suspicious but I didn’t want to be too far away in case things went awry. There was Brutus, after all, to contend with.

Not that he would be much trouble.

From my recollections, he had been an amicable Yorkshire Terrier. Though he could be excitable among strangers.

He’d never much liked me when I met him the first time, although he hadn’t tried to bite me either. It was a mystery on how he’d react if he could smell Princess on me, though.

But it didn’t matter. The plan was to keep him distracted. If that failed, I would need to find another way to silence him. Joan couldn’t be forewarned. At any cost.

The streets were empty as I crept towards Joan’s house.

Thankfully, living where she did, Joan had eschewed the need for actual security cameras. Rather, she had installed fake ones to deter any potential thieves. But given that she lived in a fairly well-to-do neighbourhood, the risk of a burglary was small.

No-one saw me as I hopped the gate that led into the backyard. From my backpack, I pulled out a packet of dog treats. Hopefully it would be enough to get him off my back for however long it would take me to find either an unlocked door or break in via the glass slide door.

There was another packet for when I needed to leave. Although, by then, perhaps I could simply waltz through the front door instead.

I stalked forward, ears alert for the sound of barks and the pattering of tiny feet.

But to my surprise, there was no sign of the Yorkshire Terrier in the yard. There were no yips of outrage as I padded over to the sliding door that separated the living room from the backyard.

The first indication that something strange was going on was when I reached the porch and noticed a dark stain on the mosaic tiles. It meandered its way around the corner of the house.

The eerie silence only made it worse.

Once again, my thoughts turned to Brutus. I couldn’t help but wonder if something terrible had happened to the dog. To my knowledge, he was only about five years old. Hardly the time for him to die of old age, Yorkshire Terrier or not.

But since I’d never been close to Joan, I couldn’t say for certain that her pet had had any health problems.

Shaking the thought away, I pulled lightly on the glass door and watched in surprise as it slid open. Clearly Joan and her family didn’t think much of basic security. Although, growing up with their privileged lifestyle, it came as no surprise to me as I crept into the living room.

Inside, I took stock of the perfect modernity that was Joan’s living space. Right in front of me was her three-seat couch with chaise longue. A rich carpet lay underfoot with a heavy coffee table serving to hold it down. A vase of flowers worked as the centrepiece.

Her 80’ inch 4K TV had been mounted to the wall. Next to it were a stack of DVDs and CDs. Of the titles, I could see nothing and I didn’t want to risk turning on the light just to sate my morbid curiosity.

All of it screamed opulence.

It only made me hate Joan more as I headed deeper inside. The stairs, if I recalled, hadn’t been too far.

As I turned the corner, I slipped on something sticky on the ground. Thinking fast, I grabbed onto the wooden bannisters to prevent myself from falling and managed to arrest myself before I took an unsightly tumble that might have warned Joan or her family of my presence.

What had I even slipped on? Had her kids spilt juice on her hardwood floors? If so, it would be a pain to clean up and I didn’t envy Joan the task. Although, come to think of it, she probably had a cleaner come by to help out.

Still, I couldn’t help but thank my lucky stars that I’d never had any children.

Once my heartbeat had calmed down to something reasonable, I started to climb the stairs. It was slow going. I didn’t want to set off any creaky floorboards and announce my position.

But I reached the top of the stairs without incident.

Glancing down the hallway, I could see nothing except the shadows of picture frames and closed doors. No doubt they were filled with pictures of family holidays where Joan, her husband and two children were enjoying themselves. Her desk had always been cluttered with mementos from her children. The lock screen on her phone had been a professional photoshoot of her and her husband, Brutus between them.

From memory, the master bedroom had been at the farthest end.

As I took a cautious step forward, the floorboard creaked beneath my foot and I immediately froze.

Seconds passed into minutes but there was no sound to indicate that anyone had heard. Letting out the breath I was holding, I crept forward ever so slowly.

All of this needed to go smoothly.

When I reached the door to the master bedroom, though, I found it standing slightly ajar. There was a soft gentle light peeking through, as if someone had turned on a nightstand lamp.

Odd. That didn’t seem right, I thought, as I gently pushed the door open.

 It swung open on well-oiled hinges and revealed what could only be described as a crime scene. The blankets and sheets and pillows had been strewn across the floor. They were coated with feathers, having been ripped open. To the right, a portrait of Joan and her husband had three long gashes torn through it.

Finally, my eyes trailed to the sight that I’d been avoiding.

The body that lay on the bed.

I’d never talked to Joan’s husband. Didn’t have much of an opinion of him. In my head, he was a non-person, an accessory to the very real Joan that I knew in my day-to-day life when I worked at the company.

But there he lay, eyes wide open in shock as they stared up at the ceiling. Blood flecked his cheeks, his stubble, and his messy brown hair. In his chest was a gaping hole.

Fuck! Fuck! What had I just walked into?

As I doubled over to empty the contents of my stomach, I caught a black and white shape in the corner of my eye. Wiping my mouth clean, I glanced towards the chest at the foot of the bed.

Sitting atop it was Princess, looking nonplussed as she licked her paws clean.

Her paws that were stained a deep red.

“You’re a little late, Cheryl. But no matter. I saved the best for last. You’ll find Joan cowering in the bathroom. Ready for you,” said Princess. Her voice reverberated around the room, dark and ominous.

Cold prickled on the back of my neck

This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right.

I backed away from Princess, chest feeling tight.

“Oh, come now. You aren’t thinking of getting cold feet at the penultimate moment, are you Cheryl?”

“No,” I said, my back hitting the wall. “No. No, no, no. What have you done, Princess? This isn’t what I wanted.”

God, was it me or had it become incredibly hard to breathe? Each breath seemed to take more effort than the last. And they were all shallow.

Was I going to have a panic attack? I thought, cradling my head. This wasn’t real, right? It couldn’t be real.

Princess hopped off the chest and approached me, her tail twitching in the air. “Cheryl, Cheryl, Cheryl. Of course, it is.” And then she pounced at me.

--

I jolted awake, gasping for breath. Princess, startled from her perch atop my face, landed on the floor, hackles raised. I took a few deep breaths and tried to slow my racing heartbeat.

It had all been a nightmare. A horrid and terrible nightmare.

After all, I hadn’t bumped into Briony when I was shopping for groceries but rather Joan herself. She hadn’t seen me as I headed down the aisle, too busy wrestling with her youngest who was throwing a tantrum about wanting Frosty Flakes for breakfast.

My old manager had looked worn, dressed as she had been in sweatpants. Her hair was a mess and there were dark circles under her eyes as she sternly told her youngest that only students with a 3.5 GPA deserved Frosty Flakes. Right as her eldest surreptitiously slipped two packs of Dorito chips to the already huge pile in the shopping trolley.

Watching them from the corner of my eye as I picked looked through the condiments, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Joan. She had always presented herself as professional in the office. With her placid smile in place, she had always told me that she was keen to help. That there was no question to stupid that she couldn’t field.

And while I desperately wanted to hold onto that image of Joan, I knew that she wasn’t perfect.

Looking back, I had been in a vulnerable state. Hurt and grieving and overwhelmed. Joan hadn’t fought hard enough for me, her concern only surface-level.

Maybe for anyone else, it would have been fine.

But I had been drowning in doubt and self-recrimination.

A part of me still resented the fact that she hadn’t been there for me when I’d needed her. The support I’d come to lean on over the years had decided to take a step back. I’d fallen down, looking for a hand to help pick me up.

Then she had to deal me a second crippling blow when I’d overheard her with Vanya the pet shop owner.

That had when the veil of ignorance had truly been ripped away and I realised that Joan was just as human as the rest of us.

Did I resent her for that?

A little.

But as I sat in bed, reminding myself to breathe, I looked down at Princess, who had hopped back onto my bed and was making herself comfortable at the foot of my bed, and wondered if what I truly wanted was closure.

After all, Joan didn’t owe me anything. Rather, I’d leaned on her for so long. She wasn’t the one to blame for my downward spiral. Nor had she agreed to be my anchor in a toxic workplace that was always seeking to pit every single employee against each other.

We hadn’t parted on good terms and that had been my fault.

I’d been living too much in my own head, letting every small comment trigger a meltdown.

Had it not been for what had transpired, I might never have walked away.

I shuddered to think what my life might have been if I had stayed. Would I be lying in a grimy alley somewhere, unloved, friendless and forgotten? Another victim of the big city lifestyle that had claimed so many others?

True, I still wasn’t in the best headspace now but I’d made some headway in clawing myself away from the abyss that was never too far away. My therapist said it would be a gruelling journey, coming to love oneself. Yet with Princess by my side, it didn’t seem as hard or as insurmountable as I’d initially thought.

With her in my life, I was too busy to be lonely. And I’d also made some fast friends. Both at my workplace and with my neighbours.

That didn’t mean that all my wounds had been healed, but I was learning to take each new day in stride.

Slowing down had been one of the best decisions in my life.

And it had all been because of Joan.

So, I didn’t resent her for that. I couldn’t.

Having cleared my thoughts on the matter, I turned to look at the alarm clock next to me. 3:34AM. It was time to get back to sleep. When it was a much more reasonable hour, perhaps I’d think of something to send Joan as a parting farewell gift.

It wasn’t the closure that I wanted, but it was probably the one I needed. My therapist had always said that oft times, it was how we thought about things that really informed our view of the world. So, maybe if I changed my thinking around, I could learn to forgive past wrongs and move on with my life.

As I laid back down to bed, I did so with a smile on my face as I made peace with the past and finally let it go.

[burger-goblin]

hi

i haven't been able to work in weeks

constant anxiety and lack of sleep are keeping me from living a normal life. i go outside about once a week because i'm anxious and i don't know why. started on a new antidepressant and increased the dosage on my antianxiety meds but i'm still really struggling. i'm constantly fatigued, probably because i'm always tense, which has lead me to feel almost no motivation to get anything done.

therapy hasn't really been helping. i have PTSD and that's not really what i'm being treated for, which might be part of the problem.

i'm trying to work but when i sit at my desk and get logged in, there's this tightness that forms in my chest and my limbs go numb. trying to work through it hasn't been going well. the job is easy. i should be able to do it. but i can't and i don't know why.

anyway. this is a post asking for help, so i can pay off my credit card and pay my phone bill. $42.79 and $35.00

v*nmo - Burger-Goblin

c*sh*pp - burgergoblin

p*yp*l - gurberboglin

anything helps and is greatly appreciated

$0 / $77.79

[theprodigypenguin]

This year's been quite a lot. I quit a job that I'd been at since 2017 because our employer changed and they were treating me like garbage, started at a new bakery after a month off that I did not enjoy, moved in with a roommate after five years living alone.

I only wrote 3 fics this year.... because my faith in my own abilities was in the gutter and it didn't seem like anyone really gave a damn about my fics. Interaction seemed to be at an all time low. I was spending far too much time on Twitter. Writers get shafted on Twitter, don't go there.

My anxiety and depression got so bad, I upped the dose of my antidepressants and they still weren't working. I need to somehow get on more medication to manage my mental health, because the synapses in my brain don't fire right and it's driving my bonkers.

I also commissioned lots of art, though. I embraced OCs again. I made new friends and somehow managed to keep my old friends. Got a new tattoo (sad it wasn't more than one but I'll take it for now).

My cat is healthy, I manufactured an enamel pin for the first time, which was a new experience I now have. I know how to make croissants from scratch now. And bagels. I can make mousse and lemon curd. Taught myself how to make rolled tamagoyaki. Had a hot pot for Christmas. Built up my wall of Sabo art. Was lucky enough to play a pokemon game for the first time in 25 years of life cuz my bestie got Arceus for me for my birthday.

Lot of bad things happened. And a lot of little good things. I don't know if I have resolutions but I do have things I hope I can accomplish.

I'd like The Baltigo Manifesto to do well, to give writers a bit more of a voice and donate to a charity in need (and give the revs more focus of course).

I'd like to rediscover my passion and enjoyment for my writing. I'd like to write more than 3 measly fics that barely registered in the fandom anyhow.

I'd like to be kinder and gentler to myself. Get myself on some more potent medication and start some real therapy. Somehow. I live in the middle of nowhere so good therapists are hard to come by, and God forbid the doctors listen to me when I ask for different medicine.

I'd like to learn to drive finally. If I had a bit more independence, and the ability to get out of this crap town once in a while, it may help my mental health. My roommate and I wanna move out of state anyway, but we can't do that if neither of us can drive.

I think that's all I have for now. That's all I'd like to accomplish, I suppose. I hope everyone has a safe and happy new year. I hope to be around Tumblr a bit more, y'all are much kinder to writers than Twitter.

Anyway here's a picture of my OCs Aurora and Lysander drawn but Ruffy the absolute king. I hope I can write their stories completely this year too.

[babybatscreationsv2]

I have a bunch of different mental health disorders and was wondering, what do you do to try to keep your mind busy when it just won't shut up?

I like to watch youtube. I try to find channels where it feels kind of like hanging out with a friend. Let's players are great for that. I've also been watching a lot of No Rolls Barred. They're great for pretending you have friends lol

If that doesn't work I put in my headphone and I turn on some sort music that helps me to dissociate. Idk if triggering that kind of thing is healthy or not, but I do know having a little fantasy where I can be in control of things and get my emotional needs met while I pace around my room makes me feel better

Sometimes reading helps, too. But that's kind of tricky. You have to pick something you can disappear into. Good books I recommend if you want to get lost for a while is the Folk of the Air trilogy by Holly Black and Cinderella is Dead by Kalynn Bayron and they both have happy endings and aren't too terribly stressful

And a tip I learned from tumblr that got me through my teen years, put on some sort media that you've seen a thousand times but really like. The familiarity can help with anxiety. My favorites are all classic disney movies. They're beautiful to look at, the music is nice, and they make me feel safe

If you can get your mind to go quiet a bit I highly highly recommend the big combo of 10-15 minutes of exercise/a walk outside + a snack + a shower. People always recommend those things because they generally really do help

And lastly, if you're not on any other medications cbd oil is fantastic. It doesn't mix with a lot of meds like antidepressants (it can cause overdose) so do some reading first. It also doesn't help much once you're already in too deep, but if you take a dose as soon as you start to feel icky you might just save yourself from getting any worse. It won't hurt to take it once you start feeling bad anyway. Maybe it'll be just the thing you need

I hope this helps and also thank you for forcing me to remember my coping mechanisms ❤️

[quillyfied]

I think what I appreciate and find interesting in the way season 4 of WWDITS played out is that theme of cycles and nothing changing despite best efforts, however misplaced. This was a season with an air of casualness that immediately felt jarring after the heightened emotional intensity of s3, and descended quietly into something more melancholy. I can’t speak for anyone else but for me I think s4 hit me so hard once it was fully finished because it felt familiar, uncomfortably so. Oversharing ahoy.

I have ADHD. The inattentive strand. And I’m a white cis woman. So the depression and anxiety were easy to clock, but the ADHD took several years of self-exploration, two rounds of inconclusive testing, about five doctors, years of cycling through antidepressants and anxiety medications, and one therapist who listened to me when I said I thought I might have it and after two sessions agreed with me. I’m still uncovering the ways ADHD affects me, but one of the biggest aspects that has pretty much taken my adult life out at the knees is ineffective cycles: trying to change, trying new things, failing or feeling like I failed, and falling back into the same rut or habit I was trying to break in the first place. It’s a thing that now that I’m aware of it, it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with and often makes me even more upset with myself for falling into the same traps. But being angry doesn’t stop how exhausted I feel when trying to change, and the sense of something close to relief when I finally fall back into a comfortable rut.

S4 showed the housemates all expanding themselves, or trying to—and failing. Some fail more horrifically than others. But that’s fine, immortal beings are creatures of habit and true change for them is next to impossible anyway, so what does it matter? It was a cool distraction for a little while. By definition they aren’t living things anymore and they can’t change the same way real living and growing things can. The writing of the season could have done a humorous shrug and leaned into it, those darn silly vampires with their being stuck in their ways. But. It didn’t feel like that at all, did it? It felt cold and sad, not like a punchline at all. There were still notes of humor, but the butt of the joke wasn’t stagnation itself. If anything, stagnation was the enemy this season, the threat of annihilation that WWDITS has sometimes (the first visit of the Baron, the trial and attempted executions by the Vampiric Council, the Sire escaping). Trying to escape stagnation drove the character arcs for the season, so to have it close out in almost the exact same place and dynamic as s1 was the horror element of this horror-comedy show. And because it’s good writing, the audience feels that disappointment and frustration that being stuck in a rut that feels not just impossible but pointless to try and change because of continued failure causes.

But something is different. Guillermo not only notices the cycle, but he’s actively taking strides to break it. Will he be successful? Personally, I don’t think he will be, because there are two seasons left, but I think he’s going to cause SOME kind of breakthrough. Because changing ruts is hard, very hard, but not impossible—and easier with help and good support. And it starts with trying again. And not just trying again, but trying something DIFFERENT than before. Not falling back on old behaviors without a fight and support to help get through relapses. Making changes in ways that work for you, not trying to fit yourself to changes in a way that works against your brain and causes the exhaustion and failure and burnout that leads to settling back in the rut.

What’s gonna happen? I don’t know. But I’m intrigued at this thread that the show seems to be tackling and curious to see how it plays out.

Because, as someone who finds making good changes and breaking cycles to be next to impossible but has found herself making some anyway, slowly but surely, I’m ready to follow the writers down this path and see where they take us.