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lexosaurus · 4 years ago

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Everything Was White: Part 12

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Read on: [ffn] / [ao3]

---

The alarm was blaring.

Danny recognized the noise immediately. But his eyes were still slow to open, his arms were slow to turn off the offending sound, and his brain was slow to recognize that the white ceiling above him was just his bedroom ceiling.

His body was numb. Nothing felt real.

He grabbed his phone off his nightstand and unlocked it. The screen was too bright, but he didn’t care. He’d been through worse. What was a little eye strain to him, really?

There were text messages, but Danny ignored them. The government likely already read them first, so if they were important, Danny would probably have woken up back in his cell rather than his cozy bed.

Ghosts like Danny didn’t get to have comfort. He was unpredictable. Dangerous.

“You’re a feral beast.” Operative O’s deep voice rained down on him. “You need to be trained.”

Danny opened the Twitter app only to be faced with a crushing amount of notifications and his name on the top of the trending list.

He should have felt nervous. Anxiety should have gripped his stomach. But...it didn’t.

He felt nothing.

Numb.

He clicked on his name and scrolled through the tweets. As he suspected, that damn video of him at the PHP littered his screen.

Protests have begun to break out near the health clinic Phantom is attending. [image]

I don’t understand, why doesn’t he just fly into the building or something? Can he not fly?

Is phantom over?

It’s so gross how people feel the need to harass a teenager trying to recover from trauma.

imagine being a teen trying to get emergency mental help and then THAT walks into ur class

What the fuck did the government do to him?

He was numb.

Nobody knew what really happened in there, and Danny wanted so badly to keep it that way. And the worst part was, he thought that if he just forgot about it, tried to move past it, then it would all go away. And no one would ever know.

Except Vlad did find out. Somehow, Vlad had managed to get a hold of classified government files about Danny, and if what he had implied was true, then he had learned everything.

And if Vlad knew, then…

No. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Danny knew from the moment he’d stupidly revealed himself that his life was not his own anymore. He knew that he was going to be nothing but a government possession from that moment till the day he died.

He didn’t deserve to get upset over this.

He pulled up a blank tweet and started typing. His movements were robotic. Stilted. But one slip-up, just one reason for the public to get suspicious, and Danny knew that some seedy corner of the internet would pounce on the opportunity to dig deeper into Danny’s life than he was comfortable with.

Danny Phantom @dannyphantom Thank you everyone for the support. I’m back home with my family and am healing.

Before he could question what he was doing, his finger was already pressing send on the tweet. He watched as almost immediately, notifications popped up in his inbox.

But he didn’t open his notifications, he didn’t look at the replies. Instead, he closed the app and shut his phone off.

He didn’t care anymore.

Maddie knocked on the door and asked him a question, and he responded with the right answer for her to leave. He got up and started his new morning routine of sitting in the shower for ten minutes, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, and heading downstairs for breakfast before leaving for six hours of mandatory therapy.

He stared out the window, watching the morning traffic pass by him. He couldn’t remember if he shampooed his hair or if he just sat under the scalding water. But it was fine. He was just a government-issued robot now. Whatever.

There were people lining the highway when Danny pulled into the PHP center. They were shouting different things, holding different signs, their cameras armed and ready as soon as the GAV came into view. The police were there, making sure no one escaped into the parking lot, and there were therapists waiting outside.

They didn’t know. They had no idea what Danny had gone through, why he was there.

And it didn’t matter. Not to them, not to Danny, not to the police or the news stations filming the scene or to the government or Vlad or anyone else.

Danny wasn’t in charge of his life anymore.

He was only here because the government had decided he could stay free.

For now.

The therapists escorted him into the building. Danny felt hollow. Sick.

No, he was fine.

Maddie hugged him, told him to have a good day, that she’d be back to bring him to more therapy after, and Danny nodded. At least, he thought he remembered to nod. He might not have, though.

There was a window in the lobby. A white van was parked along the street.

The APC news van.

Jazz was right. Danny was just being paranoid about the white van outside of their house before. He was so stupid.

Even if it wasn’t a news van, what would it matter? He didn’t control his life, what would he care if they finished him off in some back alley? What would it matter if they snuck him into their van and held him captive for the rest of his life in some damp containment cell?

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Danny spaced out for the morning meeting. He couldn’t remember if he managed to read off his paper for the other teens. His voice wasn’t working today. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Everything was numb.

They had art therapy today, run by a tall, lanky man with sandy hair and a clean-shaven face. He told the group to paint what they were feeling today, to channel their emotions onto their blank sheets of paper.

But Danny felt nothing. He had nothing to give.

He must have stared at his paper for too long, because the therapist tried to talk to him, ask him if he was alright, if he was having trouble with the exercise.

Danny didn’t respond, instead choosing to pick up the green paint and squeeze some of it directly onto his paper, rules be damned. It was too dark, so he grabbed the white paint and smeared it into the green. The color still wasn’t right, but Danny didn’t know enough about art to make it right, so he just kept spreading green across his paper. A dash of yellow, then some white, more green.

Time was up. His paper was green.

“Good job, Danny. What do you think?” the therapist asked.

Danny stared at the paper, studying the streaks of yellow within the brush strokes. “It’s not the right shade of ectoplasm.”

The day continued with more emotion-managing lessons and group activities but Danny didn’t care and nobody could understand that. He was done with this, he was tired, it didn’t matter.

It was lunchtime, and Danny had no appetite. It felt like he had just eaten breakfast. His stomach was still full, but he had a sandwich sitting in front of him that he needed to eat or else they would tell his parents.

Danny held the sandwich between his fingers. It looked like sandpaper.

He didn’t want to eat it.

The therapist was looking at him. She was probably talking to him too, asking him questions about his day. But Danny ignored her. After all, didn’t he need to eat this lunch? How could he possibly eat and talk at the same time?

The teens were talking around him, but Danny blocked them all out too.

They were noisy.

It was like they weren’t even there.

Danny wasn’t human. He didn’t care.

But you do care.

He didn’t.

He was numb.

Eat up like a good little dog.

I’m not a dog.

Something inside him snapped, and he yanked on his cold core, channeling all his energy to his fingertips. His fingers tingled out of the tangible field, and the sandwich fell to the table.

“Whoa!” The blonde girl jumped, her eyes trained on Danny’s transparent skin.

“Danny?”

There was an audience. Danny had forgotten about them. His core faltered, and the power faded from his fingertips.

He should have felt embarrassed by this emotional display. He should have felt horrified that he’d allowed himself to act so inhuman and disgusting in front of these innocent bystanders.

But he was still numb.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was bored.”

“That was sick!” the brunette boy chimed in. “You can do that on command?”

“Usually.” Danny’s gaze flickered over to the therapist, who was giving him a strange look. He turned his attention back to the fallen sandwich.

Maybe he would get kicked out of the program for this. For being too dangerous. That would probably be for the better. Then he could go free into the world. No more schedule, no more therapy, no more dissecting his emotions or talking about his trauma.

Who cared about his trauma, anyway? Certainly not him.

“So you still have your ghost powers, then?” the blonde girl asked. “People were saying online that you lost them. The government took them or whatever.”

Danny brought his hand up to his face, willing his fingers to fade to invisibility. “They’re locked. But...I...they’re there. I’ll get them back.”

He would get them back. He needed them.

Especially now.

Which was how he found himself sitting quietly outside his mother’s door. Waiting. He should have knocked probably, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. He didn’t know why, he knew he should just go back to his room, go to sleep, stop bothering his parents about this, but he needed his core back.

His mom would understand. She was a ghost biology expert, right? She would get why he needed his core back now.

He raised his fist to knock, but he must have already knocked before because the door opened, revealing his mother dressed in teal pajamas on the other side.

“Danny?” She frowned, her brows pulling cautiously above her eyes. “What are you doing up, sweetie? Everything alright?”

“I, uh—” His voice was scratchy. He broke eye contact, staring down at his lap. “My—my core.”

“Something wrong?”

He licked his lips, his mouth dry. “I need it back.”

“Sweetheart,” she said in a patient tone. “We talked about this.”

“No. you talked.”

She sighed. “Danny, it’s nearly eleven. Can’t this wait till morning?”

“No. No. I need it.”

“I told you, hun, your core and body need time to heal properly first before we make any drastic changes to your physiology. Just give it a few more weeks, alright?”

“Weeks?” Danny’s voice rose in alarm.

“I promise it’ll be all worth it.”

Static rang in his ears, and a steel claw clutched at his stomach.

His mom didn’t understand. Why would she? She was human. Humans would never get it. She didn’t understand.

“No, I can’t…”

“Danny, you need to trust me. Your body needs to rest.”

“You don’t understand.”

She regarded him for a moment before opening her door fully. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk, then. You can tell me why this is so important to you.”

Danny peered inside the door, at the surprisingly average-looking bedroom before him. He could go in, tell his mother just how wrong he felt cut off from his core, how he was being blackmailed by Vlad, how there was a distinct record of every detail of what the Guys in White had done to him, how he had never felt so defenseless, so vulnerable in his life.

But he wouldn’t, and he knew he couldn’t. There was no way he could put it all into words. He was a ghost, she was a human. He couldn’t explain this to her.

Skulker and Vlad may have forced his revelation, but they gave him more secrets than he could ever have dreamt of handling.

Danny turned away. “It’s fine. Good night.”

“Hun…”

“Night, Mom.”

There was a tense silence before Maddie finally relented. “I love you, Danny.”

“You too,” he said reflexively. The words tasted sour on his tongue.

She didn’t understand. If she truly loved him, she would give him his core back right now, but she didn’t.

No, he was just being paranoid. This was just his Obsession talking. He didn’t need his core, he was just as much human as he was ghost. So what if he had to be a little more human for the next few weeks? Isn’t that what he’d always wanted?

To just be a regular human?

Maybe that was what his mother wanted. Maybe that was why she was postponing removing the chip. Maybe she was too afraid to see her son as a monster. A ghost.

But that was crazy. She loved him.

She was telling the truth.

His parents accepted him.

---

“You seem quiet today.”

Danny leaned back against the sofa, his arms crossed and his eyes looking anywhere but at the blonde figure sitting before him. The stress ball sat untouched on the table next to him.

He didn’t feel like doing therapy today. He didn’t want to talk.

His mom was human, his therapist was human. No one was going to get it.

“What’s on your mind, Danny?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He was fine. There was nothing to talk about. Even if there were things to talk about—and there weren’t, this was all just his Obsession going haywire—it wouldn’t matter anyway because he was defenseless and the government was going to kidnap him again. It was only a matter of time.

“You finished your first week with the PHP group today, right? How has that been going?”

“Fine.”

“Can you tell me about some of the activities you’ve been doing?”

“I don’t know.”

She sat there for a moment, as if giving him time to elaborate. But Danny wasn’t going to elaborate. He didn’t feel like talking today.

He looked out the window. The leaves had changed color, the ripe greens fading to yellows, oranges, and reds. In another few weeks, the ground would be littered with fallen leaves.

Summer had barely just begun when he was dragged from his house, drugged, and locked away. And yet, even though his entire world had come to a halt, time still moved on.

The clatter of the therapist’s clipboard falling on a side table jolted Danny out of his musing. He flinched, his eyes snapping over to see the therapist rising from her chair.

She stretched her arms behind her back and walked over to the closet. “You know what? It’s been a long day. Wanna play a game?”

“Um...are we allowed to do that?”

“I don’t see why not.” She grabbed a box out of the closet and placed it down in the center of the room.

Danny peered at it in confusion. “Jenga? Of—of all the games out there, you’re really gonna make me...make me get on the floor for Jenga?”

“Oh, come on, it’s fun.”

“You must throw some wild parties,” he remarked, rolling his eyes. Nonetheless, he slid off the couch and slowly scooched himself towards the middle of the room. As long as he didn’t have to explain why he was two seconds away from ripping his own core out of his chest, he would go along with whatever game she threw at him.

The therapist carefully tipped the box upside down, sliding the lid up to reveal a tower of multi-colored wooden tiles jigsawed together.

“So here’s our marvelous tower,” she said. “You can reach that alright?”

“Yeah.”

“So normal Jenga rules. We switch off trying to remove a piece without causing the tower to collapse. Except, for this game, after you remove a piece, you’re going to pick a card from this stack—” She pointed to a deck of large cards set up next to the Jenga tower. “—and then answer the question on the card that’s the same color. So if I take a purple tile out, I’ll answer the purple question on the card. Got it?”

Danny glanced between the cards and his therapist’s eager face. He was fairly certain Jenga never involved a set of cards before.

Maybe he’d forgotten the rules. It wouldn’t have been the first time his brain had betrayed him. “Am I being quizzed?”

“Don’t worry.” She pushed up the sleeves of her blue cardigan. “They’re just basic therapy questions. Nothing too bad.”

No. This was a trick, wasn’t it? To get him to talk?

He wasn’t going to fall for it. “I thought we weren’t—weren’t doing that...today.”

“The questions aren’t too deep. Honestly, I mostly just use this game as an icebreaker for new clients. But Jenga’s pretty fun all the same.”

He must have still looked too suspicious, because she threw him an easy smile and went, “Here, I’ll go first.” She carefully nudged a green tile out of the stack and drew a card. “Okay, so the green question on here says, ‘Describe yourself in three words.’ Well, I’d say I’m kind, I think I’m rather nerdy, and I’m a bit of a cat lady.”

That...wasn’t so bad. Maybe this would be an easy game.

He doubted any of the questions asked him about his core. Maybe he could loosen up a bit, go along with this icebreaker game, if only for an hour before sinking back into his internal panic.

“Cat lady?” he tried.

She chuckled. “I’m surprised that’s never come up! I have two at home.”

Right, his therapist had a life outside of therapy. Outside of his problems.

But it wasn’t like he knew her name. At this point, it was just too embarrassing to ask. Maybe she had told him that she had cats, and he just couldn’t remember. Maybe he would forget it again tomorrow.

Whatever. It was fine. He couldn’t care about things he didn’t remember. “Uh…” Danny pushed a purple tile out of the tower. “So I just pick up a—um, a card?”

“Yup, and read the purple question.”

Danny looked down at his card and rolled his eyes. “Oh, figures. ‘If you had superpowers, what would they be?’ Well, I’m dead. Does being dead count?”

She laughed, her voice light and airy. “Of all the questions, huh? Okay, let’s modify this a bit. If you could only keep one of your powers, which would you take?”

“Probably intangibility,” Danny said, his lack of hesitation surprising him.

“Oh? Why?”

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Where the chip was. “It’s the most useful, isn’t it? I can just...you know...I have no physical stuff in my way. I can just phase through any—anything I need. Or—no. Almost anything.”

Not shields. Those could still trap him.

Thankfully, she didn’t try to pry further, just offering him a kind nod and a “that makes sense” before pushing out another Jenga tile. “Blue! Alright, my question is, ‘What is your favorite feature about yourself?’ Hmm...that’s a bit tough, isn’t it? But I think my favorite thing about myself is my hair. When I was a teen, I used to straighten my hair, but then when I got to college, I stopped doing that and just let it be. Now I quite like my curly hair. Okay, your turn!”

“Okay.” Danny leaned over and pushed a red tile out of the tower. “Okay...my quest—question is…‘What is your biggest hope for your future?’ Oh...”

He did want to be an astronaut. But that was before, when he was still human. And then he was caught between thousands of volts of ecto-electricity and that future vanished right before his eyes.

What did he want to do with his life? What did he hope would happen?

He wanted his core back. He couldn’t let himself be so vulnerable for much longer. His chest felt like it was tearing itself apart, he needed to—

Breathe. And answer the question.

What did he hope for his future?

“I don’t know. My future’s kinda...ruined, isn’t it?”

“Try to think on a smaller scale.”

“I…” Danny ran a hand through his hair. He wanted his core back, he wanted to be Phantom, he wanted to protect Amity Park. But he couldn’t say that. It made him sound too ghostly. Too inhuman.

Humans didn’t have these kinds of otherworldly desires. She would think he was a freak if he told her. She wouldn’t know how to react.

“I want to finish PT.”

“That’s a good goal to have.”

“Your turn.”

Humming, she nudged a tile out of the Jenga tower and flipped over a card. “Okay, my question is, ‘What is something you were worried about when you were younger?’ Let me think…oh, here’s one. When I was young, my older sister moved out to live with her boyfriend. It was really scary because I had never lived without her, but we kept in touch and everything turned out okay.”

“I haven’t either. Lived away from Jazz I mean. Like—like for real. But she’s going to college next—next semester. I think she, uh...deferred a semester.”

“And you know, it’s common to feel worried about a sibling moving out. Periods of transition in life can be the most stressful for us, but it’s important to recognize that things will be okay.”

Danny looked down at the carpet. “I guess.”

Some days it felt like Jazz was the only one truly on his side. He was a lab rat, too well known and too hated to ever have a future, forever condemned to a vicious cycle of evading people like the Guys in White and Vlad for the rest of his life. Jazz was leaving him in a few months, his friends would follow in a few years, and in the end, Danny would be alone.

But he was fine with that. He’d accepted it. It was just his life now, there was nothing to say about it.

“It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

“Yup! Go right ahead.”

Danny removed another tile. “‘How do you think others view you and why?’” He paused, throwing the therapist a bitter look. “This is rigged.”

“Not rigged, that’s just a very lucky pick.”

“Lucky to who?” Danny groaned.

What was with the universe finding new ways to torment him?

“Humor me,” the therapist said patiently.

Danny glared at his card, tapping his fingers against the edge. It wasn’t like the public opinion of him was exactly a secret, but it still hurt. Constantly. Like some scab he kept telling himself to ignore, but ignoring it was impossible because the public would never leave him alone.

“Not good,” Danny muttered. “People hate me.”

“Being in the public eye is very stressful for anyone, but to be unique in your way adds on an entirely different layer. People are afraid of the things they don’t understand, and that makes them forget that at the end of the day, you’re still a person.”

“Yeah.” Danny’s eyes were trained on the colorful tower before him, which was starting to blur as the prickling behind his eyes increased. He ducked his head and blinked, hoping to save face before it was too late.

“That doesn’t mean everyone feels this way, though. But sometimes it can feel that way to you because the ones who are the most afraid, the most hateful, are the loudest voices in the crowd. But remember, Danny, you won that court case for a reason. You have more people on your side than you think.”

“I won it for now, you mean. I don’t...I don’t think…” His voice failed, and he pressed his fingernails into his palms. He took a few shaky breaths. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Danny. Why don’t we talk about the case for a minute?”

Tucker’s words echoed in his head, how it was televised. How millions of people all around the globe probably tuned in for it, or watched streams online, each person with their own opinion of him.

But he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“No,” he said. “Can we—can we just continue the game?”

“If you’re not ready to talk about it, then that’s okay. Thank you for letting me know.”

“It’s your turn.”

“Alright.” She pushed a block out of the tower. “So...alright, my question is, ‘What memory do you treasure the most?’ To that, I think fishing with my dad as a child. He was a big support for me when I was growing up, and I really valued our times fishing together as important bonding moments for us.”

Danny nodded politely, trying his best to not appear like he was counting down the seconds until therapy was over.

He could feel his emotions building inside him, threatening to topple the carefully constructed dam guarding his secrets. This was such a simple game, these were such simple questions, so why did he feel like he was failing?

He pushed out a Jenga tile—a red tile—from the tower and grabbed a card, scanning the questions until he found the red one.

What are you afraid of?

The words echoed back to him, and he pushed the card away. He didn’t want to look at it, he didn’t want to read those words or hear her voice because saying the question would mean he would have to talk and he only agreed to this stupid game to get out of talking.

There was so much he was afraid of that he had no right to be afraid of. Because he deserved this. Getting revealed was his fault, he was being reckless. He deserved all of it.

The experiments with the Guys in White. The pain, the way his skin was torn apart. How they threw him in a vat of ectoplasm the next day to heal, and how the ectoplasm entering his lungs made him feel like he was drowning because even though ghosts didn’t need to breathe, he still used those organs reflexively as Phantom. But he was in too much pain and his brain was too hazy to fight back. He could only sink into the darkness.

The red bag. The way it tasted, smelled, how it haunted him every day and how he revisited those moments every night in his dreams. How he would wake up each day and the drawer on his nightstand would be shimmering in the morning sun, as if tempting him to open it up, grab the bottle inside, let it help just for one day. It can take the edge off, he can be functional. Who cares if he’s cheating? It’s just for a day...

The public. The people. Their judgments, their words. How he was, on a molecular level, so vastly different from them. How he could never be the same. He would never have a normal life, he could never have a normal job, a normal family, normal friendships, ever again. There would always be something there, something alien between them.

Even between him and his best friends. There was just something... different ever since the portal accident. It had brought them closer together, sure, but in other ways it had also driven an invisible wedge between them. Because Danny would always have his powers, he would always be a half ghost, and there would always be things now that Sam and Tucker would never understand.

How much would change now? Now that he was in the public eye, now that he’d gone through government torture? Now that his brain didn’t work the same?

And his core. His humanity. Why were his parents so apprehensive about it?

What are you afraid of?

Why wouldn’t his parents let him down into the lab? What were they hiding? They said his core was damaged, but it had been months since he was ripped open. His surgical damage had healed, his broken bones were back to normal, and even though his nerve endings in his chest and spine were still fried, they had been slowly mending themselves too.

Ectoplasm healed faster than human physiology. His core should have been fine by now.

What was the truth?

“They accept me,” Danny said automatically.

“Who does?”

Who accepted him?

Sam and Tucker did.

His family…

Did they?

“I don’t know.”

“You have people in your corner, Danny. Your parents, your sister, your close friends. They all care about you. We’re all here for you, even if those loud voices in the public tell you otherwise.”

But if they cared...

“Then why won’t they let me have my core back?”

“Your core?”

“My powers. My ghostliness. Ectoplasm.” Danny let his eyes flair to emphasize his point.

If his therapist was scared of his otherworldly display, she didn’t show it. Instead, she continued to look at him with her neutral expression, free of the judgment he’d come to expect from people since the accident.

And for some reason he couldn’t explain, that irritated him.

“You mean the inhibitor chip?” she asked.

“Yes. They told me it was because my core...it was damaged but—but it doesn’t make sense! It doesn’t...”

“Have you talked to them about this?”

Of course he had. They kept repeating that his core was damaged. And they were probably right—for a time, at the very least. But that was months ago.

Why hadn’t they scanned his core recently? Shouldn’t they be happy to learn it was healed? Shouldn’t that make them relieved?

What were they afraid of?

What are you afraid of?

“Do you think it would be helpful if I talked to your mother about this?” asked the therapist. “As a way to introduce the topic? She likely doesn’t know how much it’s bothering you.”

But that didn’t make sense either because Danny brought his core up every day. His parents knew how much it was bothering him. They had to have known, right?

So why were they doing this to him?

What were they hiding?

What are you afraid of?

---

Danny tried to remember a time where walking from his living room to his kitchen didn’t require a list of steps to be taken beforehand—a time where he could just get up and walk. But those memories were far too distant now.

And besides, this was his reality now. A reality where something as simple as walking made his head spin.

He shouldn’t dwell on the memories of how easy it used to be for him, he shouldn’t have snapped at Jazz for getting a cup of water for him because he knew the glasses were too high to reach from his wheelchair, he shouldn’t allow this irrational anger to overtake him every time the creeping anxiety of his future as Amity Park’s ghost hero came into question.

He just needed to focus on where he was now. Curled up on his couch avoiding his parents.

Everything felt wrong this morning when he woke up. For a moment, he had managed to convince himself that he was just being paranoid. That it was just his damaged nerve endings freaking out as normal. That once he took his medication, his problems would go away.

But they didn’t. He still felt wrong. His chest still felt wrong.

It was manifesting in other ways too. He couldn’t walk as long today at PT. His physical therapist told him it was just a bad day and that his body was probably just tired from his busy week. But Danny knew that wasn’t right.

It had nothing to do with him being tired. He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t anxious.

His core was the problem. His parents were the problem.

He tried asking about his core again on the way home from PT, using conversation techniques he went over with his therapist at the end of their last appointment, but Maddie just brushed him off. Said they would talk about it later.

But then later came and...she didn’t.

Danny tried asking his father, but he brushed Danny off too. Said Danny needed to focus on healing first.

But how was he supposed to heal when he was missing half of himself?

He felt wrong. So wrong. His body was too bound by gravity, it was too empty, it wasn’t listening to him.

He pressed his palms into his forehead. His hands were clammy. Shaking. Speckles of cold touched them—or was that his tears? Was he crying?

No.

He pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting this way?

The government had him in a cage. They tormented him in ways he would rather die than live through again. But then it ended, and he was freed. He was allowed to go home, he could live his life as a legal person again.

Except, he wasn’t free. Not at all. He was still trapped here in Amity, in his house, in his body. He had no control. Not over what he ate, when he slept, where he went, what he could say, what he could think.

Half of him was still locked up tight with no hope of escape.

His water glass was empty. It would have been too embarrassing to ask someone to help him, but he was so thirsty and dehydrated and he just really needed this to work. He needed his body to respond to him. For one moment, please, just let his body respond.

Gripping the water cup in one hand and his walker in the other, he tried to stand, to walk over to the kitchen sink. But balancing everything was so difficult, his body was still fatigued from PT, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to do it but he just needed to try.

But he couldn’t do it in the end. The cup slipped out of his hand and tumbled onto the carpet, thankfully saved from shattering on impact by some last shred of luck the universe decided to pity him with.

And now Danny too was on the floor because he couldn’t bend down to pick the cup back up like a normal person, and he didn’t want to call for help, and he couldn’t use any of his powers, and he felt so trapped. So helpless. So vulnerable.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it was too stubborn and he was too useless.

A tear splattered against his hand, and he gripped the floor, his body trembling.

“Stop crying. Stop it.” he hissed.

He was weak.

Plasmius, once nearly his equal, had so severely overpowered him the other night. It was embarrassing. On the hierarchy of ghosts, where was he now? At the bottom with the blob ghosts?

But those ghosts could still fly. They could still turn intangible. Things that Danny couldn’t even do.

Hell, he was so weak that even the Box Ghost could defeat him now.

“Stop crying.”

He crawled back to the couch, the thought of getting water abandoned on the floor along with the last semblance of his dignity. Another tear fell from his cheek, and he desperately tried to ignore it, ignore his dry throat, ignore the pain in his chest, ignore his core and the Y-scar on his body and his new place in the ghost hierarchy as lower than dirt, ignore everything. Just focus on getting back to the couch. Shut down, go numb.

He was fine, he was okay.

He just needed to push through this. Just toughen up, quit whining. Life wasn’t fair. So what if he was now just a regular human? Hadn’t he been human for the first fourteen years of his life? He needed to suck it up.

Dragging himself back onto the safety of the couch cushions, he pulled one of Jazz’s throw blankets around his body and pressed a pillow into his face.

Never in his life had he been so tempted to scream, to curse, to finally let the last brick fall and allow hell to break loose. But his parents were in the basement, Jazz was upstairs, and he was fine.

He was fine.

---

Huge thank you to tumblr user and writer @imekitty for proofreading this chapter. She’s amazing and I owe her my life.

And as always, thanks for reading!

---

#danny phantom #everything was white #chapter 12 #my writing #fanfiction #phiccs #danny has A Bad Time

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ajoekerr · 5 years ago

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two weeks

Last Monday, I put in my notice at Tumblr. It's been quite a wild ride the last four years but, alas, it is now my time to move on to a new challenge like many Tumblr engineers before me. Tumblr has been an absolutely amazing place to work and has challenged me in ways that I would have never expected.

I've never really... quit a job before (Tumblr is my first "real" job!) but, fortunately, I had this amazing article by @brianmichel to go off of! After reading it a few times, I think I found a good path to efficiently quit and leave behind a good amount of my knowledge.

the first week

The day I gave notice, I posted on one of our internal P2 blogs that I was leaving and I was looking for documentation requests. Over the years, the Tumblr Security Team has worked on an absolutely incredible amount of projects and, since I was the last member of the team left, I wanted to get all of the historical knowledge out of my head. I also started working on bringing the hackday project that @continuants and I worked on to life. I cut tickets, set some strict-ish deadlines, and got to work.

On Wednesday, I actually sat down and made a list of projects, processes, and services that I was the last one left who had knowledge of. This ended up being a list of ~45 things (woah!). For each of these things, where applicable, I pointed to up-to-date documentation/references and made tickets for the ~7 things that were missing documentation. I also started transferring over my "important" team documents over to the new manager of the Core PHP team at Tumblr.

In the same effort, I also found all of the alerts & email addresses & other things that were only monitored by me and made a giant checklist to kick off the discussion of “do we need this?” and, if so, who they should go to. This approach seemed to work pretty well as there was some instant discussion and some alerts that were pretty instantly transferred.

By Friday, I had a functional version of my final Tumblr project in production and had written documentation for (most) of the things that were undocumented! At that point, I was able to set myself up for a successful second week of finishing up my project and taking as many meetings as I possibly could!

the final week

At the start of my final week at Tumblr, I started redirecting as many requests as I could to do a good test run of what it would be like without me (plus, ya know, I was busy! 😅). I think doing this as soon as I possibly could was a really good idea because it poked holes in the runbooks that had been previously written and provided a chance to figure out who was the new point of contact. As Brian put in his post, it's "a dry run of what it's going to be like when [I] actually leave".

Then, I set up some appointment slots on my calendar for "coffee" (on a Google Meet) and that filled up my calendar pretty quickly! It was really nice to chat with folks one last time before I left. I also did a final round of 1:1s with my team to say goodbye and tie up any final loose ends before I left.

On top of that, I was able to wrap up my project nicely with completing some feature requests from the end users and write some documentation about it to boot. I'm super happy with the amount of work I was able to get done on this project and I'm leaving it in very capable hands! 🙌

---

I will literally never be able to put into words how much being able to work at Tumblr has meant to me and I will forever be grateful for the wonderful folks who have made my first job truly amazing.

💕 & fuck yeah forever.

#fuck yeah

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citymaus · 5 years ago

Link

“At this hour, there were only about 10 people on the bus, mostly sleepy commuters getting off the night shift. But there was one woman she flagged immediately as a potential PIN (Person In Need). She was an elder, white hair stuck to her pale forehead, with a tattered raincoat hanging off one shoulder and three canvas bags slumped at her feet. As Cruz passed her seat, the woman began talking and gesturing. “They are all dogs,” she said. Her voice got louder. “They are dogs and killers!” Surreptitiously, Cruz checked to see whether the PIN had an earbud. Negative. She was talking to herself.

It wasn’t necessarily a sign of distress. Lots of people talk to themselves without realizing it. Still, Cruz made a mental note to keep an eye on the woman, looking for signs of escalation. Part of her training involved mental health interventions, and the rule was to leave people alone unless they were overwhelmingly disruptive — or a danger to themselves or others. She took a seat behind the potential PIN, trying to beam a chill vibe directly into her brain.

morning commute on muni. flickr/dlytle

“A Black woman in a nurse’s uniform got on the bus at Masonic, and the PIN in front of Cruz got agitated. “Your dog is killing me!” she screamed. “It almost bit my face!” Ignoring her, the nurse walked to the back of the bus and sat down with a sigh. The PIN was just getting started, though. She screamed again. “Call off your dogs!” A few of the sleepy commuters woke up, and one moved to a seat farther from the PIN. The woman continued to yell about dog attacks. This was officially a disturbance...

Gently, Cruz put her hand on the PIN’s arm...

“Hey, I’m with Muni Social Support,” Cruz said. “Do you need some help? We can find you a warm meal or a place to sleep tonight. Or we can get you a doctor if you are hurt.” The woman turned to Cruz, face distorted by rage or confusion — maybe both. She glared at Cruz’s hand, brown against her white bicep. Cruz thought about how the PIN had started really losing it when the Black nurse got on board. Was this going to become a thing? Was this woman going to pull a Karen?

read more: sfchronicle, 12.07.2020.

social workers on public transit to take care of the “crazies” and homeless. what do you think? would you support it?

#fiction #future #muni #bus #buses #social work #homeless #mental health #transportation #transport #public transport #transit #public transit #san francisco #sf

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myrauwu · 6 years ago

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Antipsychotics, Psychosis, and I

This is a tough subject to write about, it’s like I’m looking at an empty screen and filled with ideas but the ideas stay there instead of being typed onto the screen. But I will give it my best shot. Apologies if this seems like word vomit, or if I jump from subject to subject, but know this comes from the heart.

Now, on to my history of psychosis and antipsychotics:

I’ve been on one antispychotic or another (sometimes two at once) since the age of 16 (except for 2017 when I cold turkey’d all my meds, but that’s a story for later) when I had my first psychotic episode. Part of me wonders how well these episodes were handled, whether I would have been far better off and relapse free going to a Soteria type environment. But nonetheless, history is history and it’s not like Mississippi would be having radical schizophrenia treatments anyway. Mississippi throws their schizophrenics into the state hospital and either leaves them there to die or ejects them onto the streets with little to no social support, where they inevitably die as well. [1]

The only reason I have not succumbed to this fate is because I had a therapist with enough foresight to put me on SSI (disability) and I have a family that understands and supports me, and has good insurance that I can take advantage of until the age of 26. Thus I see a doctor who admits not to the state hospital, but to a local private one known for being quite good. I am privileged in that sense, despite my illness, and despite me being on disability.

However, back to the point, I’ve been on every atypical antipsychotic except some of the newer ones (Saphris, Invega, Rexulti, to name a few,)[2] and Seroquel (except for sleep). I’ve been on Haldol (haloperidol) as well. I am currently on Vraylar (Cariprazine) but I am worried that this medicine will follow the pattern that all the others have, and it is this pattern I will explore later.

My journey on the “med carousel” has been a wild one. Filled with moments where I felt miserable, filled with moments where I felt like I was cured and all was good in the world. But all those moments point towards the same conclusion, in the end: relapse.

Before the medicines came, the psychosis did. I had my first psychotic episode at the age of 16, months after my parents divorced. I was feeling immense pressure at that time, as an AMAB person, I was the only “”man”” in the house, and responsibilities came with that. Instead of “stepping up to the plate” I instead withdrew, and sunk into a deep depression complemented by acute panic attacks. I was put on Celexa (Citalopram) by a local doctor who specialized in adolescent care. This lifted my depression, but did nothing for the crippling anxiety I felt at school.

Then suddenly, one night, I heard a voice speaking to me. It was a whispering voice, I could not discern the words, and then more voices accompanied them, until I sat in bed miserable, crying, unable to function. That was how my mom found me in the morning, crying with my hands over my ears, complaining of a “crowd of voices.”

I was immediately rushed to a local hospital, where I was put on Risperdal (risperidone) and I stayed there for five days. I was so sedated during these five days that I could scarce stay awake, they went by in a blur. I dimly remember a visitation where I begged my mom to get me out of there, but she refused. It’s something I feel resentful about to this day.

After discharge I was well for a while, until symptoms returned, this time with accompanying delusions. Latuda was the next med of choice, one that worked well for a time, but then failed me and ended with me being back in hospital, but this time, the state hospital.

Whitfield, the mere name seems to scare residents of Mississippi. Whitfield is very much a stereotypical state hospital, poorly run, with no air conditioning in some buildings, poor computers, and an over-worked staff. I will not go into detail of my stay there, I will just say it was not enjoyable

After my stay there where I was tried on several medications (which, to be honest, I can not recall) my psychiatrist accused me of malingering. If his medicines weren’t working, well then the problem must be me! He severed our patient/doctor relationship and I continued on, discharged from the state hospital, fighting down psychosis and trying to be normal despite daily panic attacks, hallucinations, and believing the FBI was reading my thoughts.

Eventually, it all became too much, and I broke down in front of my family. This brought me to my next doctor, who I see to this day. He was much more kindly than the other doctor, with a happy tone in his voice and a genuine desire to listen to my troubles. He prescribed Geodon, and it seemed I had found my miracle drug.

But this drug failed me as well after a few months of blissful silence in my own head, I was hospitalized during an acute episode of hypomanic psychosis, which brought me to the label of schizoaffective bipolar. [3] During this hospitalization I was put on Haldol (haloperidol) and lithium, both did their job and I was out of the hospital after two weeks.

Fast-forward 6 months, I have a falling out with my therapist, I refuse to do the work in therapy (later I learn, I simply was not mature enough to do work in therapy) so she recommends I be kicked out of the house, and my mom obliges. [4]

With that, I stop all my medication. The Lithium? thrown in the trash. Haldol and Geodon? Same

At first it seems like I’m going to be okay, but of course, the psychosis is always there, always lurking, always looking to take an opportunity. The result was 6 months of unending psychosis where I scarce leaved my apartment (and most days, my bed).

This psychosis was only ended by a visit to a Partial Hospitalisation Program (PHP) where I learned skills to manage my psychosis, and was put back on the Geodon.

But of course, the Geodon again failed me,and after a Geodon + Haldol combo ended with crippling Akathisia my doctor was out of choices, and I went back to partial hospitalization to try Clozaril (clozapine).[5] But, the doctor said I had another choice, Vraylar. This Vraylar was new, expensive, but the doctor thought it would work. And so far it has.

Yet, the fear remains, what if it stops working and I have to try Clozaril?

These thoughts haunt me, but I hope they won’t hold me back, and I hope that in the future I can find the right amount of coping skills and medication to truly one day feel happy.

I know this is a bit of a word vomit, but this is for me, not for the reader, although I hope you got something out of this. In the future I will probably blog about antipsychotics, prognosis, and whether I want to be on them or not (as I’ve recently read Anatomy of an Epidemic by Robert Whittaker, who argues that antispychotics can be beneficial in the short term but are worse in the long-term). But for now, this is it.

Endnotes:

[1] This is the subject of a lawsuit between the US Justice Department and the State of Mississippi, which is ongoing as of the writing of this piece.

[2] I am going to be using American brand names for the antipsychotics in this piece, but where I can recall the generic name I will use it alongside the brand name.

[3] I conceive of schizoaffective disorder not as is its own valid scientific entity, but merely an explanation for the co-existence of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder or major depressive disorder, something deemed impossible by the Kraepelinian dichotomy which the DSM-V still follows quite rigorously

[4] Me being transgender also had something to do with this action of kicking me out, but that is not a subject I felt like broaching today.

[5] Clozaril is a dangerous drug with a 1% side effect rate of decreased white blood cells, which can be fatal. As a result, the drug is a pain in the ass to take. You can only have one weeks worth of the drug at a time, and to get the next weeks dose you have to get your blood tested to show your ANC count is normal.

#schizophrenia #schizoaffective #antipsychotics

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mrsronan · 6 years ago

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Mustard Seed Hope

In March I was pulled off a clinical trial and saw growth in my tumors. I began losing hope. My thoughts were focused on how I needed to prepare for dying. I felt most things are in order for the worst case scenario of if I die. But, there were a few loose ends to tie together. I wanted to make sure my daughter was enrolled in pre-school and she had someone set up to take her to ballet classes. I’ve been talking to a few family members about what I hope Catica’s long term care will look like if I’m ever not able to be a part of that. I’ve told a few really really close family members hopes for my funeral arrangements.

My silent thoughts often began with “when I die…” Rarely was I having any thoughts that I might live to see the future (I’m not sure how far in the future it needs to be to be considered the future, but that’s a whole nother topic). I had been keeping my dismal, doom and gloom thoughts to myself. I figured there was no need to drag anyone down into this hopeless pit with me. I was depending on the hope and faith of others to get me through this time.

Then, one Friday morning I decided to let my husband in on the level of discouragement I’d been feeling. Right away he began praying God would do something to encourage me. That night we went to a worship and prayer meeting at my church. The Holy Spirit moved. It wasn’t a powerful passionate prayer, it wasn’t a worship song that touched me deeply. It was the Warriors (dubnation!) I was journaling and pulled out my phone to look up a scripture. At the same time I got a message from a friend offering me her tickets to game 1 of the first round of playoffs (Warriors vs. Clippers), the next day! I text all Catica’s babysitters immediately and came up with someone to watch her.

So, we went to the game. We sat court side. 😄 We ate caramel corn and drank soda (don’t judge me).

Before the game started we saw our friend Walter. Walter’s wife Lori is the Primary Inputter Statistician for the Warriors. She is the first woman to ever hold her position. She’s a world class, world changing woman.(https://www.sfchronicle.com/news/article/History-making-ground-breaker-is-the-one-who-12771482.php. ) (https://www.nba.com/warriors/video/teams/warriors/2019/05/03/2593738/1556916805436-people-lori-2593738)

Walter is one of the chaplains for the Warriors. We let our friends Walter and Lori know we’d be at the game. About 10 minutes before tip off Walter was walking around the court and waved to us. He walked deliberately toward us and placed a small glass jar in my hand. “Chastidy, what I’m giving you is very special. Only the players and coaches have been given this, and now I’m giving it to you.” In the jar were four mustard seeds. Walter told me the legend of the mustard seed jar. In 2015, he gave them to all the players at chapel before the first playoff game and reminded them that it only takes faith the size of a mustard seed to move mountains. That was the first year this team won the finals. In 2016, he did not give them a mustard seed jar, in an unexpected and hardly explainable twist the Warriors did not win finals that year. In 2017, the players went to Walter and said, “Hey, we need those mustard seeds this year Walter!” So the chapel before the first playoff game they were given a jar with 2 mustard seeds and they won the finals. In 2018, the chapel before the first playoff game they were given a jar with three mustard seeds and they won the finals. And this year, in 2019 they were given a jar with 4 mustard seeds. I’m assuming they’ll win the finals. Walter told me the players need to have faith to accomplish the mission they are working toward. And, he knows I need to have faith right now, too. But he reminded me it only takes a little. Place my mustard seed size faith in God, knowing He is able move mountains and remove tumors.

The half time show was a group of kids that looked to be 8-10 years old doing this amazing hip-hop dance to music from my high school years. They were awesome!

The Warriors not only won that first play off game, but they dominated!

On our way out of Oracle there were fireworks, people dancing, good cheer and hope every where.

Yes, hope everywhere. Even in my heart.

As we walked out of Oracle I found myself thinking hopeful thoughts; thoughts that I might live a long life. I was thinking I can’t wait to see Catica* dance at a Warriors half time. Maybe I don’t need to find someone to take her to ballet, instead, I need to find out what dance school was performing today.

It was the first time in over six weeks I had hopeful thoughts about the future, and that I might be here to see it. Going to the Warriors game and receiving that little jar of mustard seeds restored my hope.

GENERAL HEALTH UPDATE:

On paper, things aren’t looking so good. But I’ve got a jar of mustard seeds and God is still in the business of miracles. I’ll start with what’s good and you can read as far into the bad as you’d like.

I got a spot on a clinical trial in San Francisco. More info on the trial can be found with this link (https://clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/show/NCT03634982?term=rmc4630&rank=1). I started the trial on Tuesday. So far I haven’t had any noteworthy side affects.

I went to three hospitals in Ohio for second opinions and to discuss treatment options in case we decided to move back to be close to family. I saw Dr. Olugbenga at the University of Cincinnati. He referred to UCSF as “the Mecca of trials” and recommended I continue receiving treatment here, saying UC wouldn't have any trials to offer me at this time. He was the first doctor who has offered to pray with me during a visit, and it wasn’t a half hearted run of the mill prayer, but a fervent, passionate, and heartfelt petition! This was very encouraging! I saw Dr. Krishnamurthi at the Cleveland Clinic. She said with the level of disease I have throughout my body I wouldn’t be a candidate for the hepatic pump or a liver transplant. She also inferred they don’t have any trials right now that she’d recommend. She made it seem as if the best thing for me is to stay at UCSF for now. I saw Dr. Laith at the James Center at Ohio State University. He informed me of a car-t-cell (I might be spelling that wrong) therapy trial they will have sometime in the next year. He recommended going ahead with the trial I just started at UCSF, but contacting him if/when I finish that trial to see if they have openings on car-t-cell trial.

I had MRI’s on both legs which showed tumors in both femurs. This means the pain I had been believing was a side effect of one of my medications is actually tumors. The pain is sometimes livable, and sometimes so extreme I can’t stand up. The pain increases with the amount of activity I do. I’ll be getting radiation to both femurs which is supposed to stop the tumor growth and the pain. However, I can’t get the radiation until after I have been on this trial for over a month, so sometime in early July I’ll be getting radiation. Until then, I just have to deal with the pain. My doctor suggested using a cane, but I have purchased one yet. Some days I feel like I need one, some days I can hobble along with out one. When staying with my brother-n-law’s family recently I had to go up and down stairs a few times a day. I couldn’t do it; I’d sit down and scoot like a baby, but it got me where I needed to go. The pain has prevented me from exercising like I would like to, but I’m hopeful that I’ll be able to move around normally after the radiation in July.

I continue to have a very persistent cough from the lung tumors. The cough is worse the more I move. When I’ve been sedentary for about 20+ minutes, my cough subsides. Sometimes, the cough becomes so severe I’m gasping for air and it can induce vomiting.

There is a new tumor on my right ovary. It doesn’t cause any noteworthy pain.

OTHER NEWS:

We have been given the great opportunity to sublease a beautiful two bedroom apartment. Some friends are moving to Africa for a year and we get the blessing of renting their apartment while they are gone. The apartment is on the same block as our church and there are about 15 friends, couples, or families we know from church who also live on that block (all in properties owned by our church). Moving here will not only be a blessing because of the space (Catica will finally have her own room and there is an amazing back yard), and location (it’s near a park, an organic grocery store, and several great restaurants), but also because of the community (we’ll be surrounded by friends from church who’ve offered to help us).

We also made a short trip to Ohio at the end of May for a friends wedding and to visit those hospitals. For a variety of reasons related to my medical care we didn’t know for sure until the day before the trip that we’d be going. We bought tickets and left with in 24 hours. We didn’t get to see many people because of the wedding and spending 4 days at hospitals, but it was great to see the few family and friends we did get to see. If we missed seeing you on this trip, it’s not or lack of love, just lack of time.

*Catica is pronounced KAH-tee-tsa. It rhymes with pizza.

June 6, 2019

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anothergirlrecovering · 6 years ago

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Lynn 105

got there a minute before Lynn and use the bathroom and when I came out I sat down and she open the door and said I could come on in. I sat down and she asked how I was doing and I said good and asked how she was and she said she was also good and then she said so how was your week I said it was OK how was yours and she said it was good so far and she said she couldn’t member if she had told me about her friend having a baby and how she would be helping take care of her so she might be taking off work depending on if things change. I said she had told me and that was fine we can play it by ear. She asked how my week had been and if I had seen the dietitian and I said yeah I saw her right Before coming here. She asked me how it went and I told her about what she said and Lynn was like what are you eating better this week and I was like I mean yes and no and she just sort of waited with her pen in hand and I was like I mean I dropped more weight if that’s what you’re asking and she wrote something down and I was like what the heck but OK. She asked about EMD are and where I was stuck and she looked back through all of her notes and pointing out that we’ve gotten stuck in a line when I look back at everything where do I actually feel stuck and how does that play with eating disorders side of things because she was like you know we’ve said this from day one that you don’t have to be sick to come here in fact the goal is that you get better and better and better and then you don’t even want to be here unless if something random happens that bothers you and you need to work through it but if you wanted to you could literally come in anytime you want to just to work on self improvement goals so that’s not a good excuse and I laughed and I was like OK but it honestly I know you are rationally saying all that there still that part of me that feels the need to be sick and she was like I’m not gonna let you win on this one I’ve already said you can see me for as long as you want him and I was like OK fair but she was like as we talked about in the beginning if the eating disorder becomes too much of an issue I’m going to have to refer you out and I said that I understood and She straight up was like at what point do we refer you to treatment how much weight you have to lose and I was like wait what and she was like I’m not an expert but what did the dietitian say about it or do you know and I was like I mean I’ve only seen her three times now but out of point if there are medical issues going on or there is continued failure to make progress at the outpatient level at a point you refer to IOP and then depending on how severe use day they bump you up to inpatient or PHP but I was like that’s not gonna happen and she was like OK well you need to eat prove me wrong and I was like I’m working on it. She asked again about where I felt stuck and whether or not the issue was eating this order or this other stuff and I said I think the eating disorder is essentially just a way of coping with the other stuff so it’s kind a like a secondary thing and she brought up secondary gains and I was like no I don’t think it’s what you’re describing but I think there is a secondary gain in the fact of if you are getting sicker it does validate that you’re sick and if I’m always afraid that there’s not actually something fixable that’s wrong with me I needing shorter is fixable. I tried explaining what I have thought through which was just that I think when I looked back at my trajectory of weight loss over the past two years I think initially this trend of weight loss started innocently where I started taking insurance and got busy and did actually start missing breakfasts and lunches but then in December Lynn started talking about not being sure if MDR was a good fit for me and getting stuck and I think there is that sense of there’s something inherently wrong with me that can’t be fixed and maybe there’s nothing wrong I’m just building up in my head and if I have an eating disorder, which of course this is all on conscience but if I have an eating this order then it validates the fact that they must actually be something wrong. I don’t really know if any of that made sense but when I explained it as the sword of my other issues as the primary in the eating stuff as a secondary she was like OK then eat. Eat so we can work on the other stuff I’m really get to what’s wrong and fix it. I said OK and I’m trying. She asked me about EMD are and where I was at and with all of that and I was basically like I think when I think about my whole life regarding this type of issue I feel like there’s this little kid part of me that never grew out of age 6 with feeling Completely desperate and helpless and I’ve always been trying to prove that there is actually something wrong with me or that I’m actually sick and deserve help because on the one hand if you don’t really have a problem and you don’t really even deserve to get help and so I just when I think of being that six-year-old kid at the doctors trying to tell them about the stomachaches and being completely minimized I just have this really desperate and helpless feeling. She said we could go with that and so she took out the light bar. I noticed that I wasn’t really feeling anxious but that I was just feeling really sad for that little kid because it is such a desperate and helpless feeling. At one point I said that I wished I could go back and talk to that kid and she was like what would you want to say to her and I was like well really I guess I would want to go back and talk to the doctor and es I noticed that I wasn’t really feeling anxious but that I was just feeling really sad for that little kid because it is such a desperate and helpless feeling. At one point I said that I wished I could go back and talk to that kid and she was like what would you want to say to her and I was like well really I guess I would want to go back and talk to the doctor and tell her that I had anxiety and that was the stomachaches and Lynne was like OK I didn’t say to go back and establish a treatment plan LOL she was like what would you want to say to yourself imagine that little girl is right here sitting in the chair OK maybe she’s playing on the floor and I was like I mean I would I think education is really important I think I would explain that worry is normal and that it’s OK to be scared and I would explain that sometimes our brain gets sick and perceives things as extra scary and I would explain what a phobia is using the fire alarm analogy because every kid understands the fire alarm analogy where the fire alarm goes off at school and there’s not really a fire but everyone has to exit the building and then the fire department comes and shuts it off, but when you have anxiety or a phobia it’s like the fire alarms are going off for no reason but there’s no fire department coming in and shutting it off and we need to teach you how to turn the fire alarm off yourself. I said that I would tell her it’s OK to reach out for help and talk about her feelings and I explained how I think I’m growing up when I think about the few times that I did try to talk about my feelings or asked for help with anything mental health related they always minimized it or I got rejected for having it and so I learned to use my body to communicate my emotions and that wasn’t healthy and that’s landed me where I am today. I noticed that I think there was a part of me that always knew there was something wrong with me and just didn’t know what it was and honestly maybe that was why I envision that little imaginary world in my head which went on for way too long but I pretended that the person I was in that imaginary world had this made up illness and maybe that was my way of trying to cope with the fact that I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know a word for it and everybody was basically acting like I was crazy for it. I told her about the guy at the county clerks office yesterday and just help in processing it made me think about how I can’t help but wonder if somebody had stepped in like that dad to try to protect me from all of those little comments that always build up how different would my life be. I noticed that it’s all in the past and I’m frustrated that I’m even still obsessing over all of it because I can’t change any of it now. I explained how I had looked back at My old pictures on Facebook to find things to be grateful for and honestly and looking back at it it was like I had so many good things to look back on and truly I’m so grateful for my best friend Michelle in childhood because I think she was a huge buffer for me but I think for as much is like there were really good things about my childhood but there are also some really bad things to you and if I objectively look at it I know that there was bad things about it and when I looked back those pictures it was like in every single picture despite all the good things going on like having fun in college and being in a sorority and experiencing you’re up like if I had gone back in time and talk to that person my old pictures on Facebook to find things to be grateful for and honestly and looking back at it it was like I had so many good things to look back on and truly I’m so grateful for my best friend Michelle in childhood because I think she was a huge buffer for me but I think for as much is like there were really good things about my childhood but there are also some really bad things to you and if I objectively look at it I know that there was bad things about it and when I looked back those pictures it was like in every single picture despite all the good things going on like having fun in college and being in a sorority and experiencing Europe like if I had gone back in time and talked to that person that person would’ve told me how much they hate themselves and I’ve never been able to truly enjoy the present because I’m always wrapped up in being angry at myself and hating myself and it’s like even when I think back to freshman year when I was literally having the time of my life eating whatever the fuck I wanted and building friendships and having fun with easy classes, I’m still somewhat haunted by those memories of me crying in the bathroom and taking a razor and slicing the word fat across my stomach. And I explained how there was a picture of my mom and I and how I have been the one to initiate the picture and I think back then like if we accessed my freshman year and even later notes from therapy there would be absolutely nothing about my mom in there because back then I didn’t think that I had a problem with my mom because I thought there was something wrong with me and I was the problem and therefore there wasn’t an issue with us there was just an issue with me and so I think I really should’ve been was a lot better and now the more and more that I’ve come to grips with the fact that it wasn’t my fault that I wasn’t taking care of it makes me angry and I don’t know maybe when was like what would it take to let go of the past and I was like I don’t know maybe letting myself feel that anger towards everyone else instead of taking it out on myself and I was like I don’t know does it work that way and she was like just go with it and I was like I don’t know maybe there’s a period of time ride you need to let myself just feel that anger at everyone else for not getting me the help that I needed because the signs were all there but that’s really hard because if I’m letting myself feel anger towards my parents then it makes me want to disconnect from them and I don’t want anything to do with them because I’m angry with them and then I also just end up also feeling guilty and sorry for them because it’s like I know she didn’t know how to be a mom and maybe I’m making excuses but when I think about it now I’m just like I can’t imagine being a grown adult and knowing that neither one of my kids has a relationship with me and really cares to call and so I don’t know how to find that balance of letting myself feel angry but not completely cutting them off and Lynn smiled and was like so you mean boundaries? And I was like yeah I mean I guess that’s the word I’m going for. She was like I think were in a good transition place but good work. I said OK Thanks and we scheduled for the two weeks out and then she brought up with her friend having the baby they scheduled the C-section so she was thinking of changing that third week so we went ahead and scheduled anyway and normally she asked me to be one of those people who skips a week but she didn’t this time so I’m wondering if she’s just more concerned with me right now but I almost had to skip it because she didn’t have a good availability were I was like what the heck like she had already given away the morning and late afternoon appointments around like the middle of the day is just really fucking mean yet but I was able to work it out to do the Monday morning and I will just have to switch a few of those recurring client times. She told me to eat and to take care of myself and she said safe travels and I said thanks and she said it’s not supposed to rain until tonight I don’t think I said maybe it’ll snow and she said ew hopefully not and I said I hope you’re wrong but we’ll see and then we said bye and I headed out.

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dreamersandwriters · 7 years ago

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Starbucks Trip Pt. 1

Soooo, this is the start of my adventure series in Manila/NCR

Mind you, I'm typing this the same day it happened to me, and if I ever forget a detail, I'll be adding it up as I remember it. Might not be in chronological order lol hahaha

Start.

Date: 24 Aug., 2018

So I went to Makati today for an interview with Starbucks as I applied for a barista position after receiving a text message I was invited for an interview, Aug 23 or 24 at 9:00-10:00 a.m. As I live an hour's trip away (excluding traffic, I'll elaborate on that later), I would have woken up at 6:00 a.m. and arrive there at least before 8:00, with time to spare. But as I live in Bulacan, and knowing how much of a hassle the traffic can be, I left the house at 5:20 a.m., barely catching the bus that was due to leave at exactly 5:30. I chose to ride the P2P Bus from Robinson's Place Malolos to Trinoma-North Edsa because: 1. It leaves on time and they have a tarpaulin showing the time each bus will leave. They leave even tho they only have like three passengers on. 2. It's a whole lot better than trying my luck (and failing) at riding the UV Express vans cos they pack the people in there like sardines.

Of course, me being stupid, I left the house ten minutes before the bus was due to leave. Generally, the ride from home to Rob Malolos takes more than fifteen minutes (without traffic). Thankfully, it was 5:00 goddamn a.m. And traffic was barely there. So yeah, I was running, no, waddling cos I was wearing a skirt, to go pay my face and the driver told me that the bus was leaving. The guy giving the tickets looked at me as I was so lucky to have arrived there on time. And the bus ride took, I guess, an hour? You guys know the place where vehicles do a roundabout in front of Ayala Malls Cloverleaf? That place showed the first sign of traffic and I was like, Ganto ba talaga ka-traffic dito? Bakit ang daming sasakyan. Thankfully the vehicles were moving at a faster rate. The road was pretty clear from there and we arrived at Trinoma where the bus took to the front entrance instead of doing a U-turn near Quezon Ave, which prolly saved a lot of time. There were very few cars going into Trinoma as it was still early.

After departing from the bus, I walked to get to the stairs going up to the MRT station but you have to go down another flight of stairs to get to the other side. And at that time, it really sunk in me that people do this every single day. The line was loooong, nearly reaching the stairs from where I came. I bought a Beep card, so I don't have to purchase Single Journey Tickets every time I need to ride the MRT/LRT. It costed me Php 100.00, the load was eighty and the card costed twenty pesos. It's reloadable so it's less of a hassle, instead of queuing to buy tickets. And as North Ave is the first station, the train was fairly empty but it got filled with people quickly. It was the first station, I repeat, first station, going southbound.

It was really irksome as you do not have personal space inside. We were already packed inside and the metal bar beside the seat was digging into my thighs. It got really bad as we arrived at Cubao, onwards to Ortigas. Only one or two people can enter the train because we were so packed that the door can't even close. As we arrived at Shaw, more people went out and the train wasn't as packed as it was as it left North Ave.

So, I alighted at Buendia station, ninth from North Ave. And I did not know it was underground, I was surprised. And another thing that got my attention was, in some stations, the platform was between the rails, e.g. Buendia, Guadalupe, where as in North Ave and some other stations, the platform was placed on either side ( the rails are bet. the platforms ). So I went up the stairs, two flights I think. And walked from there to Urban Bldg where the Interview will be held. The walk was a short one, barely five minutes. But something so unfortunate happened to me.

The sole of my shoe broke from the shoe itself. You know the feeling of having stepped on a bubblegum and it sticking to wherever you step? I got that feeling and as I looked down, lo and behold, the sole was on the pavement instead of my shoes. It happened right in front of Phildaf, which is exactly beside Urban Bldg. The newspaper vendor and fruit vendor were also looking at me as I looked down and saw the poor state of my shoes. I stood there, looking down and feeling bad because I can't go home to change shoes or have someone bring a new pair to me. Shops weren't even open yet as it was only past seven o'clock in the morning. Good thing tho was that there was a 7-11 nearby, not even more than fifty metres buuuut, the sole decided to really part with my shoe halfway there. Some people passing by pointed and looked at me, saying, ay kawawa naman sya, nasira sapatos. I just swallowed my pride and walked to 7-11 with a sole-less shoe and bought mighty bond. I walked back to the newspaper vendor's place and sat at the steps, gluing my poor sole back. He helped me by telling me where to put the glue and pressing it together as I was lacking the energy to do so. I was lucky they were so nice to me. I guess anyone would be nice to someone who were in my (sole-less) shoe. After letting the glue dry a bit, I bid them goodbye and headed into Urban Bldg for the interview.

Imma omit what happened at the interview, what the instructions were, how long it took, and the general process, cos I might be sued for leaking their interview process.

To be continued in part 2.

#prompts #writing prompt #Probinsyana Diaries #ProbinsyanaDiaries

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lexosaurus · 5 years ago

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Everything Was White: Part 9

part [1] / [8]

read on: [ao3] [ffnet]

---

Danny glared at the space where his hand should have been, concentrating on the light tingles that ran throughout his fingers like tiny electric beads of energy. He felt the current in his fingers waver, and his hand flickered back into visibility.

That was no good. He pulled his eyebrows tighter together, willing his hand back out of the visible spectrum.

Danny sighed in relief and allowed his arm to fall to his side. He closed his eyes, and his body relaxed into the soft carpet below him. He could feel the stress leaking from his muscles. Even his chest, which seemed constantly at war against his fried nerve endings, felt at ease.

Much better.

Danny couldn’t remember ever feeling so fake . He spent the whole day with his core under lock and key—feeling physically more human than ever—yet surrounded by teens who couldn’t see him as anything more than Phantom.

The rest of his day at the PHP had been even worse than Danny thought it would be. With each new therapy came a new opportunity for the therapists to try to get Danny to open up. And when that happened, so did the stares and the tense silences which made him very much not want to speak, but then if he didn’t speak he would have to return to inpatient, but that resulted in more stress which caused his voice to clam up and then he was stuck right where he started.

His physical therapy session hadn’t come soon enough, and when Danny finally got to the clinic, he made sure to push himself as hard as his body would allow and then some. His physical therapist had commended him on the “great day,” but Danny couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

No matter what, it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.

Because he was still trapped.

Footsteps sounded from the staircase. He bolted upright and glanced at his wheelchair beside him.

This was bad. This was really bad. The government was back and he had no way of escaping.

Goddamnit, if only his parents had given him access to his core, he could phase out of here and fly away. But he couldn’t do that now. He could hardly keep his fingers invisible for over a minute without breaking a sweat.

He made motions towards his chair as a plan formed in his head. A very ill-formulated plan—one that was sure to cause him to lose a few teeth—but a plan nonetheless. But just as he touched the wheels of his chair, his door flung open.

He turned, fully prepared to use what little muscular strength he’d managed to build up in his legs to launch himself over to his captors, but he froze.

The people at the door weren’t tall men in white suits and black sunglasses. There were no ecto-guns pointed at his face. There was no glowing green inhibitor ready to be clasped onto his neck.

It was Sam and Tucker, staring shyly at him in a way that reminded him of how they used to act around each other before they truly became friends.

“Hey, Danny.” Sam gave him a small wave.

“Oh.” Danny dropped his hold on his wheelchair. “Hey. Hi, guys.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Sam stared at him with eyes that were progressively getting shinier by the second, and Tucker stood with his mouth hanging open, as if he couldn’t believe Danny was there.

Danny fidgeted. There was so much unsaid emotion happening. The atmosphere was suffocating, and suddenly Danny was hyper aware of how uncomfortably he was sitting. He shifted so his legs were crisscrossed under each other and placed his arms in his lap. Maybe that would solve it. Maybe his posture was the source of his discomfort.

“Dude,” Tucker said. “Holy shit.”

“I—yeah, uh…”

Tucker shook his head. “You look...damn, what the hell did they feed you in there?”

The red package flashed in his mind, and Danny felt the blood drain from his face.

He wanted to snap at Tucker, to shout that he wasn’t a dog and turn invisible because he hadn’t seen his friends in weeks and the first thing they were going to bring up was his biggest point of shame and destruction in his life? Something so embarrassing that he hadn’t told anyone about it?

Oh. Wait.

If he hadn’t told anyone about it, then Sam and Tucker wouldn’t know about it either. He was safe, then, and Tucker wouldn’t have been referencing that thing. So then what was Tucker talking about?

He creased his eyebrows and looked down at his hands. He didn’t think he looked any different than usual. Even though the Guys in White had forced him to consume... that, it hadn’t drastically altered his appearance in the same way that his eyes would give off a light glow if he accidentally ate one of his mom’s ectoplasm-infused dinners in human form.

His arm looked the same. It was a little thin, and his skin was a little pale, but it looked like a normal human arm. There were no globs of ectoplasm dripping from his skin, no inhuman glow encasing his form, nothing. It was just a normal arm.

He must have looked lost, because Sam supplied, “You look really healthy, Danny.”

Oh.

Right.

He was reading too far into this. The last time Sam and Tucker had seen Danny, he was so underweight the doctors told him it was a miracle his organs were still functioning. He was on a special high-calorie diet filled with vanilla protein shakes, all with the goal of helping him regain what he lost.

It seemed like so long ago now, but it had only been a month since Danny had seen anyone outside the hospital. And so much had changed in that time.

“Oh...um, thanks?” He said, peeking at his friends from under his bangs. “I—uh...they had these...the protein—protein shakes. Made me drink them.”

“Well, you look amazing,” Sam said.

Danny felt like his face was on fire. He attempted to settle the topic with an “I’m glad you think that.”

If anything, that made their reactions ten times worse.

“Oh, Danny.” Sam sniffed, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth. “Wow.”

“What?” He blindly reached over to his wheelchair again, hoping that maybe some height would make him seem less pitiful. But before he could pull the chair closer to him, Sam sank to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I told myself I wasn’t going to do this. I promised I wasn’t gonna cry.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her fingers. “Ugh, sorry.”

“No—it’s. Um. I just...I just—” Danny tried to look at Tucker for help, but Tucker was avoiding eye contact with him now.

“I’m sorry?” Danny tried.

Sam’s eyes snapped over to his. “No! God, Danny. Don’t apologize. Please.”

“I don’t...I don’t…”

“No, it’s me, Danny. I’m sorry, it’s me.” Sam sniffed again and brushed unshed tears away from her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before glancing back over to Danny with that same damn shy expression as before.

Just what was going on right now?

“I know you don’t like being touched anymore—”

Danny grimaced. It wasn’t his fault that none of his nerve endings responded the same to physical stimulus anymore.

“—but would you mind if I hugged you? Just for a second?”

“Uh…” Danny trailed off. Since when did his friends ever ask him if it was okay to touch him? Normally they just barreled right into him, intangibility be damned. But, thinking back to his interactions with them a month before, he hadn’t really allowed them near him, did he? Of course, they invaded his room anyway, no thanks to Jazz. But even then, they always sat a respectful distance away from him on separate chairs rather than piling on his bed like they would have done before his time with the GiW.

Something churned in Danny’s gut. Had he really been that bad before that he made his own friends feel like they couldn’t have physical contact with him now?

“Sure?”

She leaned into him slowly, raising her arms up towards him as if he would break as soon as she touched him.

But he didn’t flinch, his eyes didn’t waver, and when she finally made contact with him, he didn’t pull away.

But he wanted to.

Arms wrapped around his waist, resting lightly on his back, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had held him with such care, such tenderness. He knew his family was still keeping their distance, still unsure about how much contact he could handle, but he didn’t realize it had been this long since anyone had just...given him a hug.

And it bothered him.

The first time he woke up in the hospital, his parents had wrapped their arms around him similarly to this. Then, he felt nothing. He spent weeks after that mulling it over, wondering if maybe deep down inside he had been angry at them for letting the Guys in White force him away. Maybe he was just another Pavlov’s dog, and he was only able to associate touch with pain now. Or maybe it wasn’t that serious, maybe he had just been too drugged up to be able to process even a simple hug.

But it couldn’t be the drugs from the hospital, because it still felt different to him. He still felt nothing.

He tried to melt into her embrace, pulling his own arms to fit around her slim body. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the familiar smell of her coconut shampoo, the one from that vegan company she liked so much.

“Danny,” Sam’s shaky voice sounded from his shoulder. “I missed you.”

He felt something wet touch his neck, and he tightened his hold on her, desperate to ground himself in the moment. But the dampness from her tears reminded him of the way his skin felt for those last few weeks in his cell. Never dry, always trickling with loose ectoplasm.

Get a grip, Fenturd.

“Yeah. I missed you too,” he managed to choke out.

Sam shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t—”

“I—we tried. We tried so hard to get you out sooner. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

He paused, then pulled back. What were they talking about? Hadn’t they organized that protest for him? What more could he have asked from them? “It wasn’t...it wasn’t your fault. I know you tried.”

Tucker shook his head. “No, dude. Like, we tried tried. We had a whole team of people—Ember, Frostbite. Hell, even Skulker—but nothing.”

“Wait, hold up.” Danny tilted his head, glancing between the duo with raised eyebrows. “Skulker? How did—how did you get Skulker? And, and Ember?”

“You remember that time last winter that Ember came over to listen to that band’s new album? ‘Cause she couldn’t do that in the Ghost Zone?”

“Yeah...she...oh, she almost got...right? The Guys in White almost got her then?”

“Right, and you remember who came to save the day?”

“Um...it was...it was…” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. That day was fuzzy. He remembered that Ember came over, and they were listening to the album up on the roof of the Nasty Burger while eating some fries some drunk teenager handed him in the parking lot. But then, a net came out of nowhere and grabbed Ember.

And after that, everything was blank, as if someone had burned a hole in the middle of his memory.

“Skulker, I guess?”

Tucker nodded, his face contorting into an expression that Danny couldn’t read. “Skulker came. He’d been watching Ember the whole time. Didn’t want her crossing over by herself, I guess.” He grinned. “Though, if you ask me, I’d say he has a crush on—”

“Ugh, Tucker! Gross! Don’t even joke about that!” Sam scowled.

“Right, you keep thinking that!”

“No, we’re not having this conversation again!”

“Sure, Sam…”

Danny blinked, head turning between them. For the first time ever, he was on the outside of their bantering.

It felt...odd.

“Point is,” Sam continued. “Ember almost got kidnapped, and neither of us were there to help you guys. And they had the whole building surrounded in no time, mind you. But Skulker of all ghosts actually showed up, blew up the Guys in White’s van engines, freed Ember, and got you both away from there.”

“Oh. Whoa.”

“Yeah, whoa. So when he heard you were taken, he actually came to us wanting to help.”

Danny’s fingers twitched. He started to raise his arm, but then, thinking better of it, lowered his fingers down to run along the carpet. His movements were rigid, and when he spoke, his voice was tight. “And what did...him and Frostbite...what did they think they could do? Find me? Break me—break me out? And then what?”

Their silence, as well as the blanket of unease that had settled over the group, was all Danny needed as a response.

His shoulders sagged. “You couldn’t...there was no way. I tried, and that didn’t...it doesn’t matter.”

Danny felt a hand drape his shoulder, and he looked up to see Sam’s eyes fixated on him.

“It does matter, Danny. You matter to us. And we would have never forgiven ourselves if we didn’t try to get you out, even if it was impossible. You’re our friend, and we care about you.”

“Yeah.” He broke eye contact. “I’m sorry. I put you through so much and I—I didn’t think. You guys didn’t know. I mean...what—what do you guys know now? Has—has Jazz told you anything? About what happened in...in there?”

“Uh…” Tucker started. His gaze flickered over to Sam. “I mean...Jazz told us some stuff. Other stuff I think we were able to infer. Like uh...your...you know…”

Danny could feel the looming presence of his wheelchair and walker next to his bed. And apparently, so could Sam and Tucker, because suddenly their eyes were flickering between Danny and his wheelchair, and he could see the inevitable question on their lips.

Maybe they wouldn’t ask. But then again, if they did, would it really matter if they knew? They were his best friends, and friends were supposed to tell each other these things.

Hell, they’d been there for the portal, they were there during all the time’s he’d been bitten or stabbed by all sorts of unsavory characters.

Maybe it would be okay.

He took a deep breath. “That’s what happened when I tried to escape.”

Tucker froze, and Sam ripped her arm off his shoulder and brought it to her mouth, her eyes growing in size by the second.

“Holy shit, dude,” Tucker breathed.

Danny lowered his head. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have told them. They were only going to pity him more than they already did.

“It’s fine, I’m pretty over it at this point. It’s...wanna play Doomed instead?”

“Oh...Danny...”

“How did—I mean, what did they—”

“I—I can’t remember when it happened,” Danny said.

This was a disaster. He was going to have to tell them now, which is something his therapist would be proud of because that would mean he was being open and honest with his loved ones. So he should be fine telling them, right? This shouldn’t be a big deal.

He just had to power through this. “Everything kind of...blurred together at some point. But a guard—the guy who gave me dinner—he opened the door and I had this...this protocol…” He was fine. He could do this.

“What was the protocol?” Sam asked.

“Um it was...it’s not important.” He remembered it too well. Stand in the back of the cell, against the wall, facing the agent. Refuse and be punished. “But there was a...he—the guard would shut the window and unlock the door. And in that—that moment, when he opened the...the door and I push—pushed him. I pushed him down. He fell, and I ran.”

“Oh no…”

“It was stupid.”

“Danny, no it wasn’t.”

Sam went to wrap her arm around him again, but he shrugged her off, turning his head away from her.

“I wasn’t thinking. He still had his...communi...communication device in his ear. So when I turned down the—the hallway, he told...told...uh...it was over. I was—was ambushed before I knew it. Electrocuted. Dragged to a room with Operative...the head operative, and he had a metal...a metal bat I think, and it was over.”

“And they left you like that? Just beat you to the point of paralysis and then left you to rot?”

“Sam,” Tucker hissed.

“No, that’s—that can’t be legal! That’s torture! They can’t do that, even if you are half-ghost. They can’t do that!”

He frowned. “I mean, was it really a secret? What did you—did you think? When you saw me in the hospital?”

“I don’t know.” Tucker said. “Obviously we knew something happened. It felt like every time we talked to Jazz, you were in the operating room undergoing another surgery, or you were recovering from a surgery. So we knew something happened.”

“And my speech. It’s not...not the same.”

There was another awkward silence, before Sam said, “We didn’t wanna ask. But it seems better. Than the last time we saw you, I mean.”

“It’s fine.” Danny shrugged. This was exhausting. “They think I...I, uh fell asleep on a concussion...at some point. It wouldn’t...surprise me.”

“It was that bad,” Tucker said.

“It…” Danny’s voice trailed off. He had been ready to deny it, but the proof was right in front of them.

They were his best friends. He needed to trust them.

Sam and Tucker were silent, probably processing everything that was happening. How all their worst fears about life inside a secret government anti-ghost compound were likely coming true. Danny could see the last of their denial leaving their face. They’d tried their best to find him, even going to Danny’s enemies like Skulker for help, with nothing but speculation to go off of, and for what?

He’d already talked about the paralysis incident with his parents in therapy extensively . Not willingly, of course, but it was something he had to do before they would release him, and he’d really wanted to be released so he could get access to his core back.

Lot of good that did him now. He was home and still sans powers.

He thought back to that day. The therapist had already told his parents what happened—to prepare them, she’d told Danny—but that didn’t matter. They both started crying the minute Danny started the story.

It was funny how time worked. That therapy session seemed like it happened months ago.

But even then, there were things he didn’t talk about, like how for the next few days he lay in his cell, surrounded by a pool of his ectoplasm, passing out and waking up so often that he didn’t know how much time had passed. He remembered the chilling feeling as he realized that no one was coming to help him, that he really might die there. And then he remembered when the click of the door finally sounded, revealing two operatives who stood there, ordering him to “get up, ghost.” But he couldn’t stand up, they knew he couldn’t do it.

They had taken their time with him that day, mocking him. He was weak, pathetic, disgusting.

“You really thought your little Houdini act would work, ghost? I know you lot are stupid, but that’s just sad.”

“Hah, are you gonna cry, ghost? Are you crying for Mommy and Daddy right now?”

He remembered that morning, and he so desperately wished he didn’t, because when the operatives were finished having their fun with him, they punished him for not following orders.

For not standing up.

Danny frowned. He still hadn’t told anyone about that. He couldn’t…

Oh, right. Sam and Tucker were still here, still living with microscopic breadcrumbs of knowledge of Danny’s reality.

What was the question again?

Danny glanced up at Tucker. “Don’t you have homework?”

“Nah,” Tucker said, waving him off. “Lancer was nice to us today.”

Danny stared at Tucker, his lips twitching upward in some poor attempt to grin, just like the old times. “You’re such a—a shit liar. You know?”

“Must be a new ghost power. Nobody can see through my charming gaze.”

Danny snorted, his mind wandering to last night. He thought this would be so easy last night, but he hadn’t exactly been in his right mind then. He was happy and full of bliss, but it was all a lie.

Last night, he thought that telling them wouldn’t be so hard. Hell, they had seen him bloody and beaten more times than he could count. Just because this time it was done by the government, and not one of his ghostly foes...

But now the drugs had worn off, and reality was hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He knew he could tell them about some things. He could tell them about how the Guys in White would strap him down in a tube chamber, testing different chemicals on him to see how his body would react. He could tell them about how one day they surrounded him with blood blossoms to try to harness the electricity from the flowers and use it for energy.

Danny was almost thankful that one was a dead end. It turned out his ectoplasm was more powerful than the blood blossom electricity.

But there were some things he still couldn’t say. Like the time he was strapped to a table, conscious—though barely—and taunted with metal knives and other sharp objects. He couldn’t tell them about how just minutes later, the knives were brought to his skin and he had to lie there helpless and watch the ectoplasm trickle down his chest and pool around his sides, dripping off the table and splashing against the tiled floor. How the room started blurring and then, before he knew it, he was forced into consciousness by the feeling of fire and the sight of green-stained gloves inside his body, groping around for his core.

And just how violated he felt. Like the last of his innocence had been stolen from him right along with the chunk of his core they extracted. And that was the real reason why he wasn’t allowed access to his ghost core, because it was scarred and damaged now just like the rest of his body.

Ugh, he was stupid for inviting them here. He couldn’t tell them what they wanted to know.

This wasn’t a typical ghost fight. This wasn’t a time where he needed a few stitches in his arm, some Advil, water, and a good night’s sleep to heal.

This was permanent.

And then there was another matter entirely, the one with the red bag. And the sight of it, the smell, and the taste and—

“Earth to Commander Fenton! Do you copy?”

Danny’s head jerked up, and he realized where he was again: in his room, tense, with two concerned faces hovering over him.

He forced his shoulders to relax. “Yeah—yeah, sorry. Just, the timeline...weird.”

Sam gave him an encouraging smile. “I know it’s a lot, but we’re here for you. We’ll stay as long as you need, homework be damned.”

“Fuck homework,” Tucker agreed.

“Yeah.” Danny sighed.

Reality sucked.

“Um...”

“Danny, how did they get you?” Sam asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When they kidnapped you. I mean, what even happened?”

“They ambushed my house. You know—I heard it made the news—and...they dragged me away. Into the van.”

“We, uh…saw some footage of that. Videos people took. You know,” Tucker said.

Danny pretended not to hear that. “My parents tried to fight them, but they pinned them down. Shot a bullet in the floor next to...to my dad. I couldn’t...fight back. Couldn’t fight back. So they put the inhibitors on me and that was it, I was done.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, I mean, it wasn’t all bad…”

Sam wiped her eyes. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

That almost sounded like their confrontation before Danny was admitted to inpatient, before Dash caught him in the middle of a breakdown and got Lancer involved.

“I was in my cell most of the time.”

In the darkness, with the smell of ectoplasm and the red bag permeating the air, cold and shaking, constantly fighting against his body’s pain receptors or the clawing hunger in his stomach.

“And the rest of the time?”

Danny shrugged. “It depended. Most of it wasn’t...wasn’t horrible. They didn’t do much.”

Tucker raised his eyebrows.

“I mean…” Danny shifted. He needed to give them something, or else they were just going to accuse him of lying again. “I...uh, how do I say this...at first, they mainly just wanted to understand ghost—ghost biology. You know? Typical stuff. And they had other—uh, lower level...ghosts to compare me with. Tested my ectoplasm against theirs. They realized my ectoplasm was more...potent. Because my body is more dense than an—an average ghost. I don’t know. But they would have me flat on a table...and there would be a—uh...they would take some. I would just lie there and they’d have a tube in my arm. It was...boring.”

“And then?”

“I tried to escape...and things changed. They got worse. I don’t remember most of it, but they made me...I wasn’t—I couldn’t eat anymore. I could barely move, and one of my arms was busted. I couldn’t eat, so they would...granola bars, and...it—it was red, like one for, you know—and it...they...and…”

“There’s a good dog,” Operative O’s voice hissed in his ear. “See, was that so hard?”

Danny’s throat burned. He felt something trickle down his cheeks. Was it ectoplasm? Tears? Bile? He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

It was too hot in here. But he was so cold.

“I’m only doing my job. If you were a better trained dog, we wouldn’t have to do this, now would we? It’s not my fault we’re in this position. Don’t you get it?”

“—what was red?”

Danny flinched, startled. “Huh?”

“The red thing?” Tucker asked. “With the granola bars?”

“Granola bars?” Danny breathed. “I don’t...I don’t remember. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. It’s not...I don’t remember why they brought the bag in. It was probably just to collect samples. For storage. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look with each other. Another silent conversation.

“Everything is jumbled. I don’t remember most of it.”

“It’s okay.” Sam plastered an obviously fake smile on her face. “We can do something else if you want?”

Danny looked down at his hand. It was shaking.

“You up for some Doomed? Or think you’re too rusty to take us dweebs on?”

“Yeah,” Danny forced out. “Doomed sounds great. Let’s...let’s do that.”

He was fine, after all. Reality sucked but he was here and alive and with his friends who cared about him very much. He could play Doomed with them. It was his favorite game, right?

So why did he feel like there was a wall in between them?

---

They could hear the yelling as soon as they stepped out of the elevator.

“Oh dear,” Maddie said, hesitating beside Danny. “I hope everything’s alright.”

Danny hummed in response and focused on the voices. Stretching his sensitive hearing, past the muffled babble, he was able to pick out one distinct word.

“...Ghost…”

“I think we should wait out here,” Maddie said. “At least until it’s calmed down in there.”

Danny pushed himself forward. Had he heard wrong?

No, that was impossible. He knew what he heard.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach squirmed.

Ghost.

“Danny, I’m not sure…”

“All I have to do is sign in, anyways.” Danny pushed himself closer to the door. The voices were getting louder on the other side. He could pick out more words now from the muffled yelling.

“...unsafe...vicious...”

“It’s not like we have to—to hang around the lobby.”

“Wait, I don’t think—”

But Danny had stopped listening. His hand was already on the door handle, his heart was already thumping in his chest, and his head was already swimming with pain from his chest and back and everything else going on.

“I thought you were running a professional clinic here!” the woman’s voice on the other side cried out.

There, that was all he needed to rip open the door to the lobby, where he immediately locked eyes with the owner of the raised voice.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “My daughter came here to heal. I can’t sit quietly while I know she’s here with that—that thing putting her safety at risk!”

Whatever Danny was about to say, whatever half-baked plan he had constructed in the corners of his curiosity vanished in an instant. He looked up at the woman twice his height, her finger extended out to him, scorn etched on her features, and Danny shut down.

That thing, his brain echoed. He was just a thing. Just some piece of trash kicked off the sidewalk into the street where cars could run over him.

He used to be something back before he stupidly outed himself on national television. Someone admired by most in the town. A ghost, sure, but a ghost with a purpose.

But not anymore.

The therapist swiftly moved between them. “Danny,” she said gently. “Please wait out—”

That thing.

He wasn’t human. Hell, he wasn’t even a ghost. What was he? What right did he have to be here?

“How dare you,” came his mother’s voice from behind him. “That is my son you’re talking about. How dare you imply—”

“And you, what the hell were you thinking? Enrolling your science experiment in—”

“He is a child!”

No. No he wasn’t.

Danny felt someone push him away from the raised voices, but he couldn’t see where they were going. All he could see was the expression the woman had on her face.

Disgust.

Repulsion.

Fear.

That was it. She was afraid of him, wasn’t she?

Maybe...maybe Operative O was right. Maybe all those days being tested and tortured were for something. Maybe they were all right back in the compound.

Maybe he was just a rabid dog.

A door closed behind him, and one part of his brain played the sound of his cell doors shutting in the Guys in White facility—that soft click bouncing off the walls of his mind—while the other part of his brain reminded him that he wasn’t there he was outside the compound where the government couldn’t get him, but then that was a lie too because he would never escape them, not really.

There was a therapist in front of him now. She was talking to him, Danny was sure of it. He could see her lips moving and he could hear a voice in the room but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. The words didn’t make sense together. It was just noise, just like everything else. It didn’t matter. It was noise.

His core thrummed in his chest, and he could feel the prickles of intangibility dance along his fingertips. More than anything, his core wanted to escape. To get away. Fly out the window and soar through the sky. Who cares if anyone saw him? It wasn’t like his leaving the hospital was a secret any longer. By tonight, the woman from the lobby would be all over the news, telling the story of how she only narrowly escaped the sharp claws of that rabid animal known as Danny Phantom. The disgusting, vile ghost masquerading as a human teen. How horrid that he’d managed to infiltrate a PHP program to prey on the defenseless, traumatized teens.

Everyone was going to know about him now.

Nothing mattered.

The therapist moved in closer to him, her lips still moving. He made eye contact with her, and she nodded encouragingly. But it didn’t matter.

There was no more hiding. No more running away.

Danny Phantom was back.

He was a monster.

“There’s a good dog.”

#everything was white #my writing #danny phantom #phandom #fanfiction #phicc

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rin-recovery · 4 years ago

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My Sponsor Said Yes 1 Year Ago Today 9/9

It’s been 1 year since I asked Danira to sponsor my crazy ass and she said yes. Well, I actually texted her yesterday a year ago and asked because she was a scary lady (still kind of is). I started this crazy journey the beginning of July and was more then sure my mental health was going to get in the way, and I was terrified to ask anyone to try to help me because my mental health has run so many people off (paid help as well as regular people) and I was not in the state of mind to deal with any of that. So, I waited and waited and somehow did not relapse during that time. 30 days went by and then the week I started graveyard at work my mental health took a turn for the worse and I almost died by my own hand. I was more convinced that the recovery life was not for me and the 17th of Aug. under direction from my counselor at the time I self-admitted to the hospital and was there till the 25th. On the way in I remember texting a few of the women in the room that when I got out, I would work harder to get a sponsor and I spent the time in wondering who would want to deal with someone like me. I got out and Danira invited me to her church, and I said sure, why not. She was one of the women checking to see if I had a sponsor yet (in fact she called me out at a meeting about needing to get one) I told her that I had some not-so-great mental health and that was what was slowing me down. I believe God was opening a door because as much as she is scary, she is also kind. Also, during this time I was texting a gratitude list to her. I think God knew who needed to be there and knew that we needed each other. I got my 60 days on the 7th still without a sponsor and was happy to get that coin because my mental health was not that in tack even with just getting out of the hospital. I was on PHP then IOP and meds that were not working out that well, I was also getting ready to lose my counselor and staying clean was still very hard for me to do. I remember telling David that I was more then sure God was pointing at Danira to be my sponsor because she scared me and because no one else came to mind when the word sponsor came up. So, I texted her the next day and she said she wanted to meet up and talk. So, on the 9th I spilled my guts on my mental health to someone I barley knew and asked for help. I knew that recovery was way harder than not using, and I knew that my mental health was out to get me and was going to end my life sooner or later and the way I was going it would be sooner. She said yes and I got to work. I would like to say that I did good from Sept to the end of Oct and then I got covid and life stopped. Not being able to go to meeting and not being able to call people or even pick up the phone (due to mental health), my mental health took over and was going to end my recovery and life in that month. I was broken and Danira kept working with me, she did not fire me, she kept pushing me. December and January came and went and then hell broke loose, and my world fell apart. I was barley holding on and Danira was holding me tighter, I was lost, and this went on for months. The fight that almost ended my recovery and my life, Danira was worried and wanted me to go in, I kept saying I would be ok, and I kept getting worse and worse until April 14th when my brain stopped working and I lost it. Danira and 2 of my sponsee sisters showed up at my front door the morning of the 15th and Danira put her foot down and said I would be going back because she would not let me gamble with my life again. I am not sure I would be alive if she had not stepped in that day. I had lost all memory but from what people have said about what went down Danira saved my life. She and a sponsee sister sat with me while waiting for the check in. She did not have to, but she was there. At this point she could have fired me twice over because I was not being a great sponsee and she did not. She sat in my darkness with me so that I did not have to be alone. She sat with me when I had no memory and had no idea what was going on, she sat with me in one of my

darkest hours. I was released from the hospital 5 days later and while I was in, she found someone who would help me with my mental health (the counselor that I had at that point was not helping and was in fact doing more harm) God lined up these events for her to say something to a counselor where she works and that wonderful person to know how to help. I was released Tuesday and on Wednesday I had an intake appointment for the current place that I go to. She sat with me for those long scary ass appointments to do all the paperwork. Between Danira and my current counselor I am finally getting the help that I need, and it is going to take time. July 7th, I celebrated my year in recovery with No Matter What being my topic because that is what my year has been willed with. Danira has been my biggest cheerleader during this time, and I know for a fact that it was God. Danira is such a Godly woman it is kind of scary and awesome when she prays. It is like mountains move for her. She knows I have my problems with God, and she does not judge she has stayed with me every step of the way. Because of my mental health and because I see more dark days then good days, I never thought that I could stay in recovery for this long (14 months as of the 7th) and because of Danira and her love and support I am still in recovery. I am still working a program and I am still moving even when it does not look or feel like it. I am so grateful that she said yes. I am so grateful that God lead her to me. I am so grateful that she has never given up on me and helps me to feel a part of when all I want to do is hide under a rock. She understands me at a deeper level then most people around and sees when my days are not good, she helps me in so many ways. She met me where I was at and has stayed with me through thick and thin. She helps me to feel like I belong in the recovery world even with all my oddness. Without her sitting with me on my 1 year I don’t think I could have gotten through it. She helps me come back when I have wandered off in my mind (which I do a lot and can be hard to tell if you don’t know what you are looking at or for) Thank you Danira for saying yes to this journey. Thank you for not firing me. Thank you for meeting me where I am at and staying with me through the darkness. Thank you for being there through thick and thin when I am easy to love and when I am harder to love. Thank you for showing me God in your walk and talk. There are 110 things I can say thank you for and be grateful for. For someone like me who never thought that life and recovery was possible you have shown that it is possible and that I never have to go through it alone. HAPPY 1 YEAR OF BEING MY BAD ASS SPONSOR!!!

#aa #recovering alcoholic #aa meeting #mental health #no matter what #sponsor #dual diagnosis recovery #recovery #big book #addiction #wedorecover

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olddog60s · 4 years ago

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Health

Chaurjahari hospital was started as a Christian Mission Hospital. It serves a vast area. There is a state run hospital in a town about five miles away but the quality of services is poor. That is because Nepal is a poor country with few tax payers.

Chaurjahari has an excellent reputation. It provides simple operations and health care and medicine. There is an emphasis on mothers and babies and many children are born in the hospital each year. Because there are no roads, people have to walk or if they are too ill to walk, be carried by family/friends on stretchers. People walk for days to get to the hospital. The record whilst we were there was a family who had walked six days to get there. Their loved one was treated and recovered.

The hospital runs solely on charitable donations and funds from charitable trusts..Patients who can afford to pay, pay for their treatment. There is a sliding scale of payments and those who can’t afford to pay have all their costs met by the hospital charitable fund. A high number of patients benefit with payment in part or full from this fund for their treatments.

Care is availabe 24 hours/7 days/ every day. Here is a paragraph from the webiste of the Nepali charity which now runs the hospital. (This is an adapted form of something I wrote for their website when we were in Nepal).

“CHR (Chaurjahari Hospital Rukum) is situated in one of the most remote and rural regions of Nepal. It is located in the centre of three districts (Rukum, Jajarkot, Salyan) in the mid-western region of Nepal. The aim of the hospital is to mainly provide quality and affordable medical services to the underprivileged and marginalized communities of people of Rukum and its surrounding districts.

Rukum was one of the centres from where the conflict flared up, CHR faced many challenges during the 10-year long insurgency. CHR was initially operated by TEAM but with the rising tension between the government and locals, CHR was completely shut down and could no longer operate due to political unrest. HDCS was requested to manage and operate CHR, the situation was risky but HDCS saw the urgent need for CHR to reopen since it was the only hospital in that region. HDCS successfully reopened CHR and continued serving the people. Even with the end of the conflict, there were many other issues the hospital worked to fight against.

Being in a remote area with limited modern advances, the hospital struggles to change the mentality of people regarding health care. Lack of education has allowed locals to hold on to false beliefs and superstitions. For example, many people seek help from traditional healers for physical ailments and only come to the hospital as a last resort. CHR along with PHP is working to educate communities about health issues and to bring positive social changes.

In this way, CHR efficient services and many life changing procedures has established the hospital as a place where HDCS can give quality care for minimal costs.”

Just to give an idea of the problems Nepal faces because poverty means there are few taxpayers, therefore the government has little money to spend on services, I’ll share this experience.

The Nepali health system has doctors, two grades of nurses (fully qualified and ANMs) and CMAs, who are doctors’ assistants. CMAs assist doctors but are also trained to perform simple operations which don’t need anaesthetics. They can diagnose issues and prescribe treatments and drugs.

On one occasion one of the Nepali administrators (he was a competent English speaker) took me to visit a Government Health Post in the area which was run by one CMA. It took us two hours to walk to the village and when we arrived the CMA was sat outside the health post with a school type exercise book to keep his records. There were swarms of flies in the air. He told us he had had two patients that day. When my colleague told him we were from Chaurjahari hospital the CMA allowed us to look inside the health post. I immediately understood why he was sitting outside and not inside the building. What I saw shocked me. The inside of the building was literally like a ghost town is portrayed in an old Cowboy Western. The rooms were filthy. The shelves and the medicine containers and equipment on them were covered in thick cobwebs. Another picture sprang into my mind...like something out of an early twentieth century Hollywood horror film. The health post literally looked like a film set. It was surreal. That is the tragic situation of a country which doesn’t have a functioning economy. The government provides some services, but in rural areas, they are pretty much services in name only.

When we were there, Chaurjahari was a 38-bed hospital. There was one doctor, but he left after the first six months and for about another six months there was no doctor. We had one fully trained nurse and five ANMs who were not as highly trained, but in practice performed the same work. There were six CMAs, a couple of which were experienced and highly competent. There was also an X-Ray technician and two trained Lab technicians. They were the medical staff. Belinda’s function was to help with the ongoing training of the nurses and to implement better systems in the hospital.

In reality, she was often called upon to use her skills and experience to intervene in difficult medical situations. Belinda often assisted in the Operating Theatre when there was a doctor there. We also had a highly motivated retired, French doctor who worked for TEAM. He used to come maybe three times a year and stay for 6-8 weeks. During that time, he trained the doctor and other staff and he performed operations each day.

One incident I remember well was during the time when the French doctor wasn’t there and there was just the Nepali doctor. One night, Belinda and I got woken up by the Security Guard. “The doctor needs Belinda to come to the Operating Theatre straight away, and he wants you to come too.” It was maybe 2 AM. We got up quickly and walked across the volleyball court to the hospital.

The doctor was dealing with a difficult birth. The mother had been in labour for a couple of days. Instead of coming straight to the hospital, her family had secured the help of the local Shaman (traditional healer). Only when his help produced no results did they bring the lady to the hospital as a last resort. The problem was that the family were all at the hospital. They knew the woman was in a life-or-death situation, but there was an expectation that the westerners would save both her and the baby. The doctor told us all this and said he was very worried. He knew he could only save one of them ... and that this was going to create problems with the family.

He wanted Belinda there to help him with the difficult birth, because he knew she had the required skills and experience. He asked me to come because he wanted me to pray. That was quite a humbling request as the doctor did not have an altogether positive attitude towards faith. He also wanted the moral support of another man. As it turned out, he and Belinda delivered the baby and saved the woman’s life, assisted by the ANM nurse. At the point of delivery, the ANM who was reading the instruments, was told by the doctor to come and assist himself and Belinda in delivering the child. He then told me what to do, but I had to read out the blood pressure and oxygen level reading from the monitor and say them out loud to the doctor.

The child was delivered but was sadly dead. Then the doctor and Belinda and the ANM made sure the mother was stabilised and she survived. That was my first ‘hands-on’ experience of death. The ANM wrapped the dead baby in a blanket and the doctor asked me to take it and put it on the table whilst they worked on the mother. Holding a dead, new-born baby in my arms was a shocking and humbling experience. But for medical staff, sadly, it is something they often face and just must live with.

Once the mother was stabilised, she was put on the ward. Then the doctor had to break the news of the death of the child to the family. They were understandably upset because there was also an expectation of western medicine being invincible. This led to accusations of the doctor being incompetent being made by the family to local politicians and leaders over the next few days. Thankfully, the two Nepali Hospital Administrators who I was working with, were both well respected in the community and amongst the representatives of all political parties. They managed to smooth this issue over. The reality was that the child died because the family should have brought the mother to the hospital 48 hours earlier, rather than going to the village Shaman (healer) for remedies. The poor doctor carried a heavy weight of expectation. To be the only doctor made that a heavy burden to bear.

And Belinda too had high expectations on her. When there was no doctor, she was looked to as being the last line of defence in difficult medical situations.

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brinshannara · 7 years ago

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Creator meme

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favourite works you’ve created this past year (fics, art, edits, etc!) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2017. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original!) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works.

I was tagged by the lovely @inspectorboxer! I didn’t write a ton of stuff in 2017, but each chapter of each fic I wrote felt like birthing a child, so I’ll include some individual chapters here. All Sanvers, all the time. ;)

1. Two Times Alex Accepted Her New Normal

Prior to this effort, I was mostly just writing around scenes, adding in my take on what Alex was thinking or feeling at the time of the scenes, maybe adding in a touch of my own ideas here or there. The first part of this fic had a couple of scenes that definitely didn’t happen in the show and it showed me that maybe I can write Maggie and Alex, even outside of the structure of the show. As someone who had just come back to writing fanfiction for the first time in ages, I was relatively pleased with how this one turned out. (Particularly the first part, though I do like the second part as well.)

2. Chapter 2 (Pool Champ) of Three Times Alex and Maggie Cooperated, Competed or Kissed.

Also known as the one where I insert ALL KINDS of Barenaked Ladies references. This is absolutely one of my favourite chapters between them that I’ve ever written. I love the competition, the flirting, the joking, the laughing. While you should read the whole thing, if you only read Chapter 2, this is that promised “Pool. Tomorrow night.” evening that takes place after 2x07 and before 2x08, which we should have seen on-screen, but I’m glad we didn’t because I like my version a lot better than whatever we would have seen. ;)

3. Chapter 1 (The First Date) of Four Times Alex and Maggie Went on a Date

I was really nervous about this entire fic (all four dates) because this would be the first time I was writing Alex and Maggie without the support of the show for an extended period of time. I wanted to bridge the gap from the kiss in 2x08 to the morning after in 2x09. Obviously, time had passed between the two and 2x09′s morning after was filled with references to it being the first time they slept together. As such, I wanted to show them dating a bit. I sat down with a calendar and figured that about 10 dates or so would be adequate before the events of 2x09. This was the first of four that I wanted to examine (1, 2, 6, 10) to show the progression in their relationship.

4. Chapter 4 (The Tenth Date) of Four Times Alex and Maggie Went on a Date (Rating: Explicit)

My readers know that this took me something like five months to write. The funny thing is that it really only took me three or four weeks. I had a rough draft done by the end of March... and then Real Life descended upon me, which meant that I had to drop everything. I had some amazing feedback from a bunch of people ( @lingeringlilies, @poppyssupergirl, @radmo, @zennie-fic ) and realized I had a chunk of editing and rewriting to do, but also had to:

- do a website for a freelance client - not fail my Java class (you guys, it was really close) - do my PHP I class

Oh, and I got a new, full-time job in there, in June. So I was juggling all of these things and I still had a bunch of edits to do for Chapter 4.

I finally posted it on August 5th, almost five months after posting Chapter 3. PHP I ended and I finally had a few spare hours to dedicate to writing. With PHP II coming up, a work conference and National Novel Writing Month, I knew I had a small window to do it -- so I did.

Also, this is the most explicit thing I’ve ever actually written, so that was challenging, too. I’m glad I managed to put it out and actually complete my Four Dates story before life got all crazy busy again.

5. Too Little Too Late

Snuck this in on New Year’s Eve. It’s the only thing I’ve published (so far) that deals with Season 3 at all. The next major fic I’m working on tackles the events of 2x09, so I’m mostly still in the happy Sanvers place right now. ;) But I wanted a New Year’s fic with them and thought I’d touch upon where I imagine they’re at nowish.

TAGGING

@zennie-fic, @lingeringlilies, @radmo, @poppyssupergirl -- all in thanks for helping me birth Chapter 4 -- and whoever else wants to do this. :)

#fanfiction #fanfic #sanvers #supergirl #alex danvers #maggie sawyer

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t-baba · 5 years ago

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Why We Moved a 20-Year-Old Site to Gatsby

We knew we had a problem.

In 2019, SitePoint was getting Lighthouse Speed scores under 10 on mobile, and between 20 and 30 on desktop.

Our efforts to control UX bloat were failing in the wake of a publishing business environment that sprang new leaks just as we’d finished temporarily plugging the last one. Our reliance on advertising, controlled by external parties, was a major obstacle to improved site performance. Our traffic growth had turned into decline.

On a site that provided people with a place to come and learn to code with best practices, this was not a good look. And it wasn’t a site we could feel proud of, either.

To make matters worse, operational bottlenecks had arisen that made adaptation a tricky logistical business. Our team was struggling to make changes to the site: having focused on our Premium experience for several years, we were down to one developer with WordPress and PHP experience. To test out code changes, the team would have to wait in a queue to access our staging server.

It wasn’t energizing work for anyone, and it certainly wasn’t efficient.

It was time to make some changes, and we set out to look for a solution. After a lot of research, we decided that Gatsby would be a great fit for our team. It would play to our talent strengths, help us solve all of the issues we had identified, and allow us to keep using WordPress for the backend so the editorial process wouldn’t need to change.

Why We Moved to Gatsby

[caption id="attachment_176594" align="aligncenter" width="1522"] The end result.[/caption]

Early in the research process, Gatsby started to look like a serious frontrunner. SitePoint isn’t a small site, so we knew that the tech we chose had to be able to handle some pretty intense demands. Gatsby checked all of our boxes:

We could code everything in React, a tech that every member of the front-end team knows and uses daily.

Gatsby is super fast at its core — performance was at the heart of this project, and we could start from a good footing.

The entire site is rendered as static, which would be great for SEO.

We could build it as a new project, which meant no worrying about the existing codebase, which brought a huge amount of legacy code with it.

We could use Gatsby Cloud, allowing the team to get feedback on the build at any time just by pushing the branch to GitHub.

DDoS attacks on WordPress wouldn’t cause us issues, as the front-end is completely stand-alone.

More Maintainable CSS with styled-components

Since we were going to rebuild the site from scratch, we planned to make some design changes at the same time. To help with this work we decided to use styled-components.

styled-components keeps the site’s styling easy to maintain, and we know where to look when we want to change the style of something — the style is always with the component.

How We Made the Build Happen

We started by following Gatsby’s basic docs and pulling in our posts with the gatsby-source-wordpress plugin.

This was a big initial test for us: we had to see if it was even possible to use Gatsby for our site.

After 20 years of blogging, we have over 17,000 posts published. We knew the builds would take a long time, but we had to find out if Gatsby could deal with such a massive amount of content. As you’ve probably figured, the test delivered good news: Gatsby works.

A quick tip for other teams working with large sites: to make development a better experience, we used environment vars to prevent Gatsby from fetching all of the site’s posts in development. There’s nothing quite like a 60 minute hot reload to slow progress.

if (hasNextPage && process.env.NODE_ENV != "development") { return fetchPosts({ first: 100, after: endCursor }); }

From this point, we ran into some limitations with the WordPress source plugin. We couldn’t get all the data we needed, so we moved to the WordPress GraphQL plugin.

We use Yoast to set our metadata for SEO, and had to ensure we were pulling in the correct information. We were able to do this with WordPress GraphQL. By doing it this way, the content team could still edit metadata the same way, and the data would still be dynamic and fetched on each build.

During the build, we would have three or four people in the team working on parts of the new blog. In the past, if they wanted to get feedback they’d have to push to our staging server and make sure nobody was already using it.

We found that Gatsby Cloud was a great solution to this issue. Now when someone pushes to a branch in GitHub, it creates a build in Gatsby Cloud along with a preview link. Our developers could share this link and get immediate testing and feedback much more effectively than before.

This faster feedback cycle made it easy to have multiple people on the team working on the build and put an end to a major bottleneck.

Launch Day Fun

On the big day, we launched the new site and ran through our initial tests. The new blog was flying — every page load felt instant.

We ran into some problems on SitePoint Premium, which started running into slows and even crashes. The culprit was a new element on blog pages that pulled in the popular books people were currently reading. It would do this via a client-side API call, and it was too much for Premium to handle due to the amount of traffic we get on the blog side.

We quickly added some page caching to the API to temporarily solve the issues. We realized we were doing this wrong — we should have been sourcing this data at build time, so that the popular books are already loaded when we serve the page to the user.

This is the main mindset shift you need to make when using Gatsby: any data that you can get at build time should be fetched at build time. You should only use client-side API calls when you need live data.

Once we’d re-written the API call to happen during the build, the first load of a blog page was even quicker — and Premium stopped crashing.

What We Still Need to Solve

While it’s hard to overstate how much better our on-site experience is today, there are still a few pain points we need to solve.

If a new article is published, or if content is updated — as it is multiple times per day — we need to re-run the Gatsby build before these changes show up.

Our solution for that right now is a simple cron job that runs at pre-scheduled times over the course of a day. The long-term solution to this is to add a webhook to the WordPress publish and update button, so that a new build is triggered once pressed.

We also need to get incremental builds running. Right now, the entire site needs to be rebuilt each time, and given our content archive, this can take a while. Gatsby just introduced incremental builds as we went live, and we’re working on implementing this on our site. Once that’s set up our builds will be much faster if the only thing that has changed is content.

Our speed score is still not where we want it to be. While the site feels subjectively very fast, we are still not getting consistent scores in Lighthouse. We want to get both mobile and desktop into the green zone (scores of 90+) for optimal user experience and SEO.

Would We Do It Again?

A launch of this type would normally be a pretty nerve-wracking event, and take a lot of work from the team on launch day.

With Gatsby, our launch was really easy. We just had to move WordPress onto a new domain, and point sitepoint.com at the Gatsby version of the site.

Then we sat back and watched the numbers to see what happened to our traffic. Within a few days, the data was starting to come in and we were seeing a 15% increase in traffic. User engagement metrics were up across the board. And we hadn’t even removed our ads yet (which, you may have noticed, we’ve since done).

It’s not hard to figure out why the effects were so immediate. We had better SEO running on static HTML and CSS pages, and massive speed improvements made possibly by the move to Gatsby.

Since we made the move, we’ve increased our Lighthouse speed scores from 6-15 on mobile to the 50-60 range, and from the 30s on desktop into the 70s. We wanted to ensure speed remained top of mind with this change, so we’re using a great tool called Calibre that runs speed tests over a number of top pages each day and alerts us to the scores. We are using this tool to continue to improve our score, so I hope to have another article for you in three months when we get everything to stay in the 90+ range.

The team loves working in Gatsby. The blog codebase was something that nobody wanted to work on. Now, everyone wants to take those cards thanks to the great developer experience.

If you’ve been eyeing a move to Gatsby and wondering if it’s ready for prime time, take our advice — it’s worth the switch.

Continue reading Why We Moved a 20-Year-Old Site to Gatsby on SitePoint.

by Stuart Mitchell via SitePoint https://ift.tt/2O3eMp5

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