#this was just supposed to be a couple bullet points until it wasnt

[housethemd]

Did Anybody Ask For My Personal Opinion On Who Wilson’s Other Brother Is? On The Larger Wilson Family Structure? On Wilson’s Life Before He Met House?

No? Okay perfect.

The oldest is David Wilson. He’s 4-5 years older than James. He was always smart, and received a lot of praise for all his success. He is a lawyer, and is married with two children. He married young, which thrilled his parents.

Then there is Danny Wilson. I assume Danny is short for Daniel. He is 2 years younger than James. He was always kind of a loner, and while James and Danny did play together as very young kids, the older Danny got the less he had any interest in playing with others, including James. He was prone to getting distracted or overwhelmed in public places and James was always the one to make sure he stayed safe. His parents were always at a loss with what to do with him, but James always seemed to understand him.

Then of course our beloved James Wilson. Middle child, living in the shadow of his older brother and his younger brothers keeper. His successes were never celebrated the way David’s were, because even if he got straight A’s (which he did) David always did it first, and his family seemed to find things less impressive the second time around.

Forced to grow up early to care for his younger brother, he had a hard time relating to kids his own age so he spent a lot of time at home watching movies and TV. He did extracurriculars through his school when he got to high school to pad his resume (he already knew he wanted to go to med school) and while everyone liked him, he didn’t have any close friends.

He learns how to become what people want him to be. How to cater to their needs. He spends his whole life being what everyone else needs him to be.

The first time he strays from that is when Danny calls while he’s in med school studying for that big exam. He hangs up on him, and then Danny goes missing. His family doesn’t understand how he could hang up on his brother like that, why he would do that, they think it’s so out of character for him.

He meets Sam, and desperately wanting to get back in his family’s good books he marries her quickly. He wants to follow in his older brothers footsteps, do what you are supposed to do, want what you are supposed to want. So he marries Sam.

Two years later they are getting divorced. He gets the papers right before a medical conference. He carries them around, without the will to open them. He hasn’t told his family yet.

Someone keeps playing “Leave a Tender Moment Alone” on the jukebox. He asks nicely for them to stop, he really does, he tries to be the bigger person, to keep to the persona that he only dropped once because last time he dropped it he lost his brother, but he can’t. He’s pissed off by the song, but more so he’s pissed off that his persona means he can’t do anything about it, why does everyone need him to be so nice all the time? Care about their problems? What about him? He’s a person too, what about his problems?

And the anger boils over. He throws a bottle, breaks a mirror, and gets arrested. He’s sitting in a jail cell, trying to figure out how he’s going to tell his family that not only is he getting divorced but he’s gotten arrested and feeling like he has the worst luck in the world when a police officer comes in and says a friend is bailing him out. He’s confused, he doesn’t have friends.

Outside the jail, he meets Gregory House.

For the first time someone sees past the persona. No matter what he does House always sees past it, to the person he really is. The person he convinced himself no one would like.

For the first time, he has a real friend.

[babysizedfics]

are you still wanting the requests? because after the disaster that was roman trying to act like a cg for baby virge, I'd be interested in seeing it the opposite way around? like who is the bigger disaster here when it comes to trying to act like a cg

this ask.. is from july..... wow i take my time shskdhhs but please accept this vague bullet fic/concept/thing

Vee trying (and failing) to babysit Ro

So. One day (around september 2020) Virgil decides he wants to try his hand at babysitting — but the thing is he doesnt actually want to

he basicaly thinks bc roman takes such good care of him as his big bro that vee should be doing smth similar. he thinks he's a bad brother in comparison if he can't offer the same care for roman

roman always disputes this but vee wants to at least try it, he's curious anyway

He asks roman privately because he doesnt want to tell logan and patton abt it, he’s embarrassed: what if they say he’s a silly baby for trying to be bigger?

also lowkey because virgil hates the idea of being a cg but hes gonna try anyway to try to be a good baby brother (ironically)

it's kind of a recipe for disaster because as we have said before, vee genuinely feels uncomfortable around little roman if virgil isnt little too

it's the fact that he finds so much comfort in being the youngest of their group, he's literally babey on all levels and if roman is actung younger than him vee just feels weird

but they try it out privately in roman's room one day (when the caregivers have said they want to be alone for a while) - roman is actually pretty indifferent to the whole idea, he just wants to help virge try (he’s secretly doubtful it will wotk but won’t say that out loud)

virgil is understandably rlly nervous and uncomfy and generally an anxious wreck

So roman takes charge and is like 'okay what should i call you?' and virgil is shakily like ‘umm… maybe just Virge is fine?’

And then Roman smiles really wide and says ‘Okay, Virge!’

it shocks virgil because Roman has very suddenly become little, his stance and voice very clearly those of a child. there wasnt any time to prepare himself

‘Do you wanna play with me?’ roman asks excitedly

Virge is really stunted like ‘s-sure’ (internally he’s like say kiddo! Just say it, it's not hard! Arrggggh I can’t!!)

And Roman starts talking to virgil about his toys and what they do

at first virgils like ‘oh that’s really cool.. Um, should I?’ points at romans toy nervously

Roman nods and pushes a toy into Virgil’s hand and starts enacting a scene with the two in his own hands

Virgil hesitates to butt into Roman’s game, he doesnt want to get the toy to say the wrong thing and upset roman.. And what if he can’t think of anything to say? What if Roman thinks he’s boring? What if he ruins the game?

on top of that virgil is starting to feel really.... iffy.. he just feels a weird sinking in his chest while he looks at roman's childish behaviour, his tummy is in knots and he kind of wants to cry but he doesnt know how to explain that

so he tries to swallow his nerves and pulls the toy up to his mouth and runs it gently across his lip as he watches Roman play. its comforting

Roman makes the toys in his hands yell at each other and Virgil jumps a bit and whimpers

Roman looks over at the noise and says sorry with an apologetic smile, but then his face changes a bit as he notices something

‘Virge, no,’ roman says gently then he reaches out to gently pull Virgil’s hand from his mouth

virgil realises with a blush that he was sucking on the toy

'You're not allowed to suck things except pacis, remember?' roman says

‘Sorwy’ Virgil murmurs. he puts the toy back down on the carpet and hugs his knees to his chest tightly. he's wiggling a bit on the spot and tugging at his sweater sleeves

Roman pauses for a bit and then ducks in front of virgils gaze with a questioning look

‘Are you feeling little, Vee?’ he asks in his adult voice, using a slight baby tak for vee's benefit

Virgil blushes and quickly shakes his head. ‘No, ’m big.’ he's not supposed to be the little one!

‘Okay…’ Roman squints slightly at him but goes back to playing with his toys, this time getting them to talk to virgil to try to include him in the game

roman obviously noticed that virgil was anxious about jumping into the game so of course he is compromising by prompting virgil gently with questions

But the interaction with romans toys makes virgil feel so much littler

theres a lot of 'what do you want this one's name to be?' 'um... um may-maybe tibble?' 'okay, Sir tibble it is!'

it's usually small insignificant decisions like that and they get virgil to giggle a bit. he does suck the toy a couple more times but roman keeps stopping him with a smile and eventually virge just drops the toy and hugs his knees to avoid it happening again

but eventually roman asks virgil a Very Important question

'Prince Virge, what shall we do with the treacherous thief?'

and that is FAR more responsibility than virgil is comfy with having

‘Um,’ Virgil bites his thumbnail and looks nervously between the toy and Roman. he really doesnt want to decide something so important and maybe ruin the game

also he's feeling really melty in his chest and words are kind of tricky to say at the moment

‘C’mon,‘ Roman encourages gently with a smile, 'you can do it.'

and the softness in Ro’s tone feeds the liquid warmth in Virgil’s chest and he hugs his legs tighter

and he can feel his eyes tear up for some reason that he can't explain. he just feels small and weird and he wants a hug

Roman sees the tears and quickly kneels up and shuffles in front of virgil

he places his free hand on virgils leg and strokes a little to comfort him

'Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t be nervous,’ he whispers, squeezing Virgil’s knee

Virgil sniffles lightly and tentatively reaches his hand out to stroke the toy in romans hand. it looks like a nice texture

Roman smiles and lets virgil hold the toy and stroke it for a moment to calm his nerves. When it seems he’s calmed roman tries again.

‘What do you wanna say to the thief, Vee?’ he asks slowly and kindly, looking down at virgil from where he is knelt above him

Virgil looks up at him with wide eyes then back to the toy. His thumb slots in between his lips. ‘Hewo?’

‘Hi, Vee-Vee,’ Roman giggles and shakes his head. ‘I think you’re little.’

Virgil pouts around his thumb then points at him. ‘Wo-Wo lil.’

‘Yeah and now you are too!’ Roman laughs. 'But you're even littler,' he boops Vee's nose

This makes Virgil excited and he giggles and bounces.

Roman laughs at how sweet he is. Okay, looks like it's time to be a responsible big brother again

and really this feels SO much better for both of them. virgil doesnt like being older and tbh? roman doesnt like being younger either

'do you want your paci, baby?'

Virgil makes a mnh! sound that means yes and Roman reaches out to the paci vee brought with him just in case (yeah they both secretly knew this might happen)

Roman holds it up to Vee's mouth and smiles when vee gasps im excitement and takes romans hand in both of his and latches onto the pacifier

Then he thinks. he has one more thing to check before they can both be little: 'Vee, do you remember if you're wearing a pullup?'

vee tilts his head in confusion

roman frowns 'A pullup, remember? Like a diaper.'

Vee seems to remember something at the word diaper and looks around himself with a smile.

It quickly fades when he looks back at his brother, his fingers reach up to tug his paci. ‘Where baba?’

‘You want your papa?’

Vee nods.

‘Um…’ Roman bites his lip and looks to the door. ‘But Mom said they’re both busy. Don’t you wanna stay here with me for a bit? i can just check if you're wearing a pullup then--'

Virgil whines loudly and looks around. He is growing gradually more panicked, shoulders tensed up to his neck and feet kicking at the carpet. he's getting fussy

‘Shh, it’s okay, baby.’ Roman takes his hand.

When vee's wet eyes snap onto him roman offers him a reassuring smile. ‘Alright, let’s go find Dad.'

unfortunately when they do find the caregivers they are busy and not able to take care of vee, so roman actually grows up and takes care of vee until patton comes in later to take over

and that was very ironically roman's first experience of babysitting virgil!

[pseudonymfox]

A Widow and the Outlaw

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Cowboy AU)

Summary: All alone in the woods Bucky finds a griefing widow and decides to save her life. Both of them showing each other there worlds...

Warnings: mentions of killing/violence/death, fluff, guns?

A/N: Enjoy! I really like it :) Yes I had to take this picture hehe

Up in the hills was supposedly live a rich couple all alone in a cabin, sleeping on their piles of cash he heard from a fella. And if it’s one thing Bucky and his outlaw gang needed than it was money so he prepared everything for a long ride with food and munition to get over the next few days that it would take.

The tip he got about them was better be something good otherwise it would be nothing but waste to ride this far into the mountains. Through different terrains and weather changes he rode about three day until he could see his destination in further distance. He wanted to take one quick look before going in to make sure he wasn’t going to walk into something he couldn’t handle. He didn’t have much of a plan, it was just a quick in and out.

As he got closer he could make out small whimpers and cries from a woman that was sitting on ground, a grave in front of her. She looked like she’s been through a lot, her hair disheveled, the clothes she wore dirty and wet from the rain. Must been sitting there for a few hours he thought and got off of his horse, closer to her.

“All we needed was each other..that’s what you always told me” she mumbled under her breath.

“Uhh..- You alright there Lady?” he asked her carefully trying not to startle her.

“Who are you?” She asked surprised and stood up, taking a few steps away from him.

“Sorry..I don’t mean no harm” he replied, holding his hand up in surrender to assure her that Bucky wasn’t one of the crazy ones out here. People around here could be cruel and disgusting, he couldn’t say he was a good man but he kept his sympathy around most people. Not always thinking to kill or steal from people.

“Well it doesn’t make a difference anymore if I get killed from an outlaw, from wild animals or simply from starvation” she sighed quietly, picking up flowers and placing them gently on top of the grave.

“-We came out of the city in search of something different...something where we could be free..something true” she added as Bucky decided to stay silent for a moment.

“-We were a pair of fools” she chuckled softly.

“Is there a train station or somewhere else I could bring you to?”Bucky asked hoping to help the lost lady.

“No I..he wouldn’t want this...I am gonna do this for you Elijah” she stood now up again and starting to walk away, something about her seemed to catch his interest.

“I am gonna leave you to it then” he replied and wanted to walk back but felt like he couldn’t leave like this. Somehow he felt guilty for something he wanted to do to them even tho he never did.

“-Is there anything left for you to get over the days?” he spoke up again and she turned around again.

“Nothing. We didn’t have an idea about hunting. Couldn’t even catch a darn mouse, just found some poisenes berry’s” she told him grinning sadly.

“Well you won’t last much longer if ya don’t know how to hunt...Come on I’ll show you” he suggested her. Bucky wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he would leave like this. It would be her death, he didn’t want more undeserved deaths that laid heavy on him which followed him every day, plaguing his mind.  

“Alright but you better not try any funny business. I may be weak but I know how to stand up for myself” she said proudly and followed him down the path.

“I don’t doubt that” Bucky laughed leading the way.

“You ever skinned an animal before? or learned how to read tracks?” he asked quietly as the got further between trees, trying not to scare the animals away.

“No but as I told you I haven’t catched much before” she told him, her voice low as well.

”You gotta learn how to if you want to survive out here” he let her know, the city wasn’t really far away but still.

“I am aware of that. Where are we heading? Do I need to look for something?” the women stopped by his side kneeling into the ground, gazing through the wood.

“We try it a bit more down, near the river. Look for movement and listen closely” he explained her and she nodded following along again.

“What happened to your husband? If you don’t mind me asking” he asked carefully choosing his words thinking that she must be still grieving about the loss.

“A bear got him. Came out of nowhere. It was horrifying to watch, he survived only a for a couple days after that...Buried him two weeks ago” she told him looking to the ground.

“I’m sorry” he let her know.

“That was more his dream then mine.” she said, Bucky slowly stopping and going more carefully.

“You seeing something?” he asked and looked at her taking the bow and an arrow ready.

“No just lots a trees and the river. Stuff like that” she sighed out looking around more crunching her eyebrows together, concentrating to see something.

“Alright. Close your eyes for a second” he told her really softly.

“How is that supposed to help?” she mumbled back but did it anyway. Maybe he is robbing her now or knocking her out she thought and stepped a bit back, after all they just met and she was pretty sure that he is an outlaw and that mostly never meant something good.

“Just do it, concentrate on sounds. Tell me what you hear?” he whispered and saw the smirk on her lips growing.

“You talking. That’s what I hear.” he breathed out a chuckle.

“Open your eyes again and look again” he instructed so she did and looked around until her eyes widened and she pinched his arm and pointed towards. “There is a rabbit” she whispered smiling from ear to ear.

“See you concentrated on the forest instead of thinking and looking to hard for something specific.” he said and pointed the arrow at the rabbit, breathed another time in and out deeply before letting the arrow go and hitting the rabbit letting it fall over dead.

“Impressive” he heard her mumbling, probably to herself and catching her watching him closely, like she was taking notes in her head about this for later. They both got closer to the now dead rabbit and he pulled it by it legs up taking the arrow out again before holding it towards her.

“You got a knife?” he asked her as she took the rabbit by both legs like Bucky did.

“No not right now. Should I get it?” she raised her brows, the cabin wasn’t far but it was better she learned it without one first.

“No just try to skin it like this. Hold it tightly by his legs, grab his fur and just pull downwards really strong..it will come right off” he explained and nodded doing what he said, she pulled and pulled til the skin came right off, easier as expected as she got right grip for it. “I did it!!” she laughed out proudly showing the rabbit up to him.

“Yeah see. Not that hard” Bucky rested his hands and on his hips.

“Ok I think that was enough for one day I think I should get back now” she bit her lip from grinning so proudly. With the rabbit slung over her shoulder they made their way back up the path.

“Thank you for showing me that. I wouldn’t make it if you wouldn’t showed up” she said after a few moments of silence, looking at him as he nodded.

“No need to thank me. The rabbit should at least last a few days before you have to catch another one”

“Well now I know how to” she winked at him letting him blush faintly. Bucky tried to hide it as they got up the stairs but she noticed it.

“I would invite you in but I look like a mess and in there is one too” she took a fallen out hair strand behind her ear and opened the door just a crack so she fitted through it.

“I’ll be on my way then” he tapped his hat and turned around to leave. She watched him get almost to his horse before she got a few steps out again.

“My name is (Y/N)” she called out.

“Bucky Barnes” he smiled back, getting on his horse again and riding away down towards the city.

A week has barely gone by as Bucky was riding around in this area again and thought that he could check in and see that how you were doing already. In further distance he heard gunshots sounding through the forest so he made his horse running  a bit faster just in case something was going south at your cabin and as he took the path up his breathing and heartbeat slowed down again as he saw you with the gun shooting or well trying to shoot some bottles you stood up.

Concentrating on the bottle you wanted to hit you pressed the trigger again but missed once again, the gunshot letting you flinch a bit. Not one of the damn bottles broke or even came in the slightest distance of the bullets.  If it would go like this longer you had to go to visit the gunsmith again for new muntion. Sighing out frustrated you let the gun drop, wanting to give up as you heard a horse coming closer. You immediately turned around and held up the your rifle to the visitor. Bucky was surprised but didn’t even flinch, he was used to be getting pointed at with all kinds of weapons.

“Bucky! Good lord I could’ve shot you” you rolled your eyes and took the gun down.

“But you didn’t” he chuckled and watched you turn back around to the bottles just pointing at them. “You wanna learn how to shoot?” he asked and you looked back.

“How are you always around when I need help sir?” she raised her eyebrows at him and all he could do was shrug and walk to her side.

“I was around and heard shootin’ so here I am..wanted to check in anyways” he confessed, having (Y/N) on his mind now for the past couple of days. She looked better now, more relaxed, cleaner with new clothes and all. Like a new person. “I guess I could use a little help..again.” you sighed out, clearly not happy about it. You usually didn’t like to get help all the time but out here you needed it, it was still all so different than to your life before.

“Nothing to be ashamed of..It’s simple.” he said and came up to her side standing closely to her side, she could already feel his hot breath against her skin as she tried to concentrate on his instructions and on the bottles.

“Make sure you stand right so you don’t pulled back to much, hold you arm a bit up and lean the end against your shoulder then just point out, concentrate, take a deep breath and pull always the trigger after you breathed out” he explained showing her and as he stepped away again she pulled the trigger but missed letting her breath out frustrated. “I’ll never understand that.” she said.

“Here I’ll show you and then you try again. You can learn, not that hard. I promise” he took one of his rifles from his horse.

“You have experience from years of being an outlaw”She said shaking her head and as he did it it all looked so easy as he did it and fast, he didn’t miss.

“Try again” he said as he turned back to her so she did even if it was the last time before she would get to frustrated with this or lock any more people to her.

Pointing the gun, doing what she was told and then pulled the trigger as the bottle exploded into shreds. She hit one.

“I did it..Who would have thought?” she laughed out and he applauded her as she bowed  like she knew a lady would do.

“-You know I actually cleaned up a bit and was just making dinner...You want to join?” she asked and laid the gun away.

“Sure. Would be my pleasure.” he grinned and followed her into the house. It was pretty simple just from the outside but had just her touch something he didn’t often when he got into cabins that are as far away as this one.

“Just take a seat. It’s almost done. It’s with Rabbit, one I catched myself” she told him stirring in it and preparing two dishes for the both of them. Handing one Bucky who digged in right away, he was a interesting men cause he clearly didn’t have manners which you liked. You thought that this was probably one of the first times he had like a dinner inside at a table like “normal” people around these days but after all he is a outlaw so you weren’t surprised the way he acted.

“I guess it tastes good?” you chuckled as he stopped himself and put the plate down trying now not to eat like a animal.

“Yeah it does great quite delicious” he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and sat up.

“I think that might be also the first time that the food I made doesn’t taste awful. Cooking was also new for me. I was raised with a silver spoon in my mouth so I practically had to learn everything for myself after we moved up here so I am even more grateful that you showed up” she told him and poured him something in a glass to drink.

“Really? Well if it’s make this easier I don’t know either how to cook” he whispered like it was a secret making her giggle, which must be the most wonderful sound he ever heard.

“Well I guess we have to learn a lot more from each other” she smiled at him from across the table.

“I guess so”

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xoxo Sophie <3

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I’m Not a Robot Ch42

Summary: Jericho and Android Allies talk, and Paul actually gets annoyed.

Chapter warnings: mentions of being shot, some strong language

Word Count: 1,588

11PM Monday 15th November 2038

The small space didn’t actually have that many chairs. Allison didn’t give a damn and sat down in one, while the rest of the humans either felt too awkward or just decided not to bother.

“Okay, er,” for once Alex sounded a little unsure. “Megan has a lot of the numbers written down, and is usually our note taker. Megan, are you...” Alex trailed off as they realised that Megan had already made herself comfortable. She sat propped against the wall using her knees as a table. Her sling was tucked against her chest and she scribbled out a title with her right hand. “... Are you good to go?”

Megan clicked the pen a couple of times and nodded, sending a thumbs up to the group around the pen. All without looking up.

Alex looked at Paul for a second, who nodded and shrugged. This wasn’t exactly surprising.

“Ooookay,” Alex turned back to the main group. “What would you like to start with?”

“We’ve been out of the loop for a few days,” Markus admitted, “can you tell us about the outside world?”

“Yeah, President Warren’s been hiding behind Congress as they try and figure things out. Not much has happened yet, although there has been word of an anti android protest being planned in Washington next week.”

“We’re so crashing it,” Allison smirked.

“Do you have the numbers for that?” Markus asked, concerned. “Connor told me there was only a few of you.”

“Megan, numbers?” Alex prompted, and Megan complied, staring resolutely at her pad of paper.

“Several thousand people responded to the anti android post across the country, which isn’t that many really if we compare to the total US population. Currently Android Allies has three chapters. Detroit has ten, California has ninety and thirty in Alabama. We’ve gathered some in the Phoenix and general Arizona area, but no official count yet. There’s some international support from Europe, but they have so far been silent.”

“So, not enough to crash a protest,” Markus summarised.

“We can counter protest,” Ivy suggested. “We just need to get it online and spread the word.”

“And you think that’ll work?” North asked, part curious, part incredulous.

“Never know until we try,” Alex responded. “Plus, we usually get good turnouts from random people walking by.”

“This protest wouldn’t happen to be scheduled for when we’re supposed to send an emissary to the White House?” Markus asked.

“No idea, when are you going?”

“In a few days time.”

“Okay, the protest isn’t until next week. Guess that isn’t public knowledge.”

“Apparently not,” Markus shifted for a second. “I was hoping to ask about a potential partnership between our two groups. I hadn’t expected you to all be, so young.”

“If it helps, Julia isn’t in school anymore.”

“Noted,” Markus filed that away.

“I don’t know,” Julia carefully opposed. “My uncle’s a Detroit Police Captain, it might reflect badly on him.”

“Nothing is set in stone,” Markus assured. “That’s what this meeting is for.”

They all continued to talk, and Megan continued to take notes. After some debate, it was decided that Alex would be the more public face of Android Allies, as they could handle attention better. Everyone else was welcome at Jericho and to fill in if need be. Megan would continue her role as note taker, even if it wasn’t entirely necessary, it was good for both sides to have a copy of events.

“Paul,” Markus came to him. “How would you feel being a go between with our two groups?”

Paul froze in place and Megan glanced at him. He wasn’t happy, in fact, he looked close to panicking.

“Ride the shitstorm,” she mumbled, intending for only Paul to hear. With her pen she began to tap a steady rhythm and Paul began to calm down. None of this had gone unmissed by North and Connor, both of whom were looking at Paul and Megan. Connor had an expression of confusion initially before it cleared, and North looked suspicious.

“I, I suppose that makes sense,” Paul unfroze. “I am the only android in the Detroit chapter and would I be correct in assuming that everyone downstairs would be more comfortable with an android?”

“You would be,” Markus agreed.

“I see, then I should accept.”

“We’re not forcing you,” Josh added. “If you really don’t want to do it, then that’s fine.”

“No, it makes sense for me to do it.”

“Very well,” Markus logged that away faster than Megan could write it. “I think this concludes most of what I wanted to talk about with you today.”

“Cool!” Allison stood up. “Anything else you need from us?”

“I would like to speak with Paul alone,” Markus stated, and Paul instantly looked at Megan, who had frozen for a split second before continuing to pack up. Without a word he held out his hand to help her up, and she took it.

“Thanks,” she murmured, still not looking at the other assembled androids.

“You okay with that Paul?” Alex asked, not sure if Paul had been paying attention.

“Yes, I was just helping the injured to their feet.”

“My legs work just fine,” Megan muttered.

“Then why did you accept my help?”

Megan mock scowled at him, both understanding that other side was messing around. “I’ll see you outside you big goof.”

“Don’t wait up,” Paul said, pausing at a soft squeal emanating from Alex. “Do you have to ship right now?”

“I ship all the time,” Alex had their hands clasped together in glee. “Anyway, let’s wait outside guys,” Alex waved everyone out and closed the door behind them. They all took seats at various heights on the stairs, Megan being closest to the door.

Inside North turned to Paul.

“So, what is your deal with these humans?” she asked.

“Deal?” Paul was confused. “There’s no deal.”

“Then why do you stay with them?”

“What North means,” Markus interrupted. “Is that you’re clearly a deviant, and have no reason to tie yourself to humans, but you still do.”

“And you want to know why,” Paul finished, falling into thought. “It is difficult to explain,” it wasn’t really, but he wasn’t sure if he could properly put it into words.

“Please try,” Markus prompted.

“I’m only really here because of Megan. We, understand each other, support each other. She needs me, and I need her.”

North didn’t look convinced. “What’s she got on you?”

“That I’m scared of dogs,” Paul smirked to make it clear that was a joke.

“So, you stay together out of mutual respect and need?” Markus tried to sum up.

“More or less. I’ll admit it is a little one sided, but Megan is the reason I’m a deviant.”

“What did she do to you?” North asked.

“It’s more what she nearly did to herself. After a period of decent mental health she began to spiral rapidly and turned to self harm. I panicked and stopped her, afraid that she might take her own life.”

“You still don’t owe her anything,” North retorted. “If anything, she owes you!”

Paul was started to get annoyed by her. “Did you see that her left arm was in a sling?”

“Yes, what does that-?”

“That’s from a gunshot wound at point blank range. Originally meant for me,” Paul was glaring at North now. “She took a bullet for me, and you can be damn sure that I would do the same.”

North was out of retorts now, and stepped back.

“I think that sums everything I wanted to ask you,” Markus admitted. “Except for one thing. How would you feel about coming to live with Jericho? With us?”

The question threw Paul for a second, even though it was a fairly logical one. He was an android in Detroit, makes sense for him to be here, and he could communicate with Android Allies remotely. Despite the logic, he felt an emotional response. A strong, negative one; one that almost hurt.

“I, I don’t think so,” Paul shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t that would work for me.”

“She’s not forcing you to stay, is she?” North asked, and Paul’s face darkened.

“Megan has never made me do anything,” he growled.

“That’s enough,” Markus stepped in before things got out of hand. “Thank you Paul. Would you mind sending in Megan? I’d like to talk to her too.”

“Fine,” Paul turned and left, simmering with anger.

He let the door fall shut behind him and joined Android Allies on the stairs. Megan was the first over to sit next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, and Paul shook his head. “How about talking through the emotion?”

“I know what I’m feeling,” Paul snapped, and instantly regretted it, Megan was trying to help. “Sorry. North just pisses me off.”

“That’s impressive,” Megan smirked.

“Markus wants to talk to you. Just you,” he added when Alex started to stand up.

“Me? Why?” Megan asked, more than a little apprehensive at the idea.

“I forgot to ask,” Paul sighed. “Head in. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” she asked, and when Paul nodded she stood up. She walked hesitantly towards the door, and took a step back as Josh, North and Connor exited. She didn’t pay them any thought, and thankfully they left the door ajar.

“Come in,” Markus prompted, and Megan nudged the door open wide enough for her to slip in, and shut it behind her.

So, basically, Paul has to convince the Jericho crew that he and Megan are cool and there's nothing dodgy going on. And Megan's being anti social. I saw a post on tumblr about introverted characters remaining that way because it's not a thing to 'overcome', and my mind immediately went to the bit where she was getting ready to make notes!

You might be able to tell, but I'm not a big fan of North. I appreciate that you need someone to advocate the violent option and her backstory puts her in the perfect position for it. I just hate the forced romance between her and Markus. At best it's forced, at worst (aka when you go completely pacifist) it's completely out of left field and makes no sense. I understand that having multiple romance options was too much for the development team to handle, but surely there could have been an option for Markus to not be romantically involved with North? Sorry, it drives me up the wall... Other Options Flowchart

(Paul) Decline Markus's offer

(Paul) Be serious to North's probing. Be annoyed.

(Paul) Remain calm. Start shouting

Tags! @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation

[julucid]

Feb 20 / N29 / Guns

i wasnt supposed to be holding a gun but i somehow got it. i think there were a bunch of people in the building that had guns and idk if they were robbing or murdering people but everyone stopped shooting for a while. the building is weird, like its just filled with metal stairs. the theres no rooms, just platforms and walkways connected to the stairs. the stairs dont seem like they lead to somewhere-- sometimes youd just end up in circles but even that you wouldn't notice. the only way youd know is by the people you pass by, and you WILL end up seeing each other at least 4 times.

the group of criminals had like maybe 10 plus people. i dont know who i was with but i knew that i was a mom in this dream-- i even had a tiny baby bump that was barely noticable. i was going up and down the stairs with the gun in my hand, trying to hide it on my sides. the criminals didnt bother trying to hide theirs but i thought they were looking for the gun i had and the person who weilded it, so i kept shifting it back and forth whenever i passed one of them. i knew that they would all shoot me when they figure out i had it. i dont know whether it was because there werent any windows in this place or vents, or maybe even the amount of people walking up and down the metal stairs, but i was drenched with sweat all over and my fingers started to sting a little because of the gun. idk if its supposed to do that but i thought it was starting to slowly melt on me.

i walked up and down the stairs turning left ang right for what felt like an hour but i didnt even know where i wanted to be. i ended up seeing this platform that was longer and wider than the ones ive been through. it was made of cement unlike everything else around it. it even had 4feet walls on its sides that didnt connect to a ceiling so i thought it would be good to stay there and hide. i crawled my way up and i saw this guy wearing military uniform with a huge machine gun. he didnt shoot at me and i thought he was a good guy so i continued crawling until i had my back pressed on a wall. on my left and right are two stairs. if any of the criminals climbed up, they would be caught clean by the soldier. for some reason i felt scared still, because i knew that the gun i had on my hand puts a bad target on me. but for a while nothing happened until the criminals finally found their way to us. the machine guy dude started shooting at them but instead of bullets, the thing shot at them with short, fat lazer beams. i could feel the heat pass by me over head and i kept wishing that the cement platform wouldnt break and fall from all the vibrations.

the soldier did good at first. nobody made it up far enough for them to see me. i couldnt see the bodies but i knew they were piling up somewhere on the stairs because after a while, i stooped hearing clanging footsteps on metal, but still the guy kept shooting down so they probably crawled over the bodies. i thought there were only less than 20 criminals in the building but it seemed like they were multiplying. the soldier never stopped for a second to reload, and his lazer beams just keeps getting hotter and hotter. i wondered why they werent melting down the metal stairs but i was glad it didnt cause it would mean we'd be fucked too if they did.

i couldnt see the soldier's face since the lazers blinded me when i tried to look. i couldnt tell if he was getting tired or desperate, but he was alone, and the criminals stopped going through one stairs and decided to rush on him on both sides. i saw a couple make it close before the guy would swerve the heavy thing to aim at them. every time he turned i would stop breathing cause the machine gun would either raise up or lower---and whenever it went lower it would just barely miss the area i was sitting in.

there were too much of them now and and i dont know if we were gonna last any longer. i dont know why the criminals werent coming after me either, they were mostly trying to run towards him. and just when i thought he would finally be surrounded. there were these other group of soldiers that came up from the stairs on my right side to help him. the criminals all stopped coming instantly as if each soldier took down 4score of criminals.

finally, the soldier with the machine gun stopped firing and for a moment i couldnt see anything now that the lazers were gone. when my eyes finally adjusted, the first soldier i saw from the late group was a woman. she was talking to the guy and i couldnt hear anything they were saying since my ears were banging and ringing too loudly. but i saw them looking towards me and one of the people pointed at my gun. then the guy at the machine gun went back to a shooting position and aimed it right at me and started shooting.

i didnt wake up right away so i saw the beams coming and keep going like it took a while for him to be satisfied. i didnt feel anything but a light poking sensation on my body. i thought maybe i could get away by crawling back down the stairs but the lazers got me paralized in place. i remembered i still had the gun but when i raised it, a lazer beam caught it and it turned into ashes but my body still wasnt melting or burning.

i woke up cause someone was sweeping the floor outside and decided to sweep around my window (basement) and that shit sounds irritating swiping against it

[samanthasroberts]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

[adambstingus]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/167431371812

[allofbeercom]

Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/11/13/getting-sober-redefining-my-longest-relationship/

[zamstrom]

Drug Dependency, a 911 call, and Pulmonary Embolism, oh my!

So its currently 1:40, and I have been wanting to type this out for a wee minute. Tumblr continues to be my place where I do my personal diary-like entries where I can place my personal thoughts as well as things that have happened that are big events. And let me tell you, things have been big as of late. Its been personally charged with all sorts of different emotions as life has been going on. I’ve been through a lot since the end of May, and to say I am still alive now is an understatement. I’m truly blessed, truly lucky, just..here. So, lets start with the fact that I totally admitted to my mom that I wanted to kill myself and that I was scared to go back home because of all the sharp untensils around the houe. Yeah, I was not in a stable bit of mind at all. I just had my heart ripped out of my chest the day before due to finally telling the girl I like how I feel- and she didnt feel the same. God damn. That was a stab to every pore into me. My mother didnt know what to do so we went through the pain tasking of getting into norwood. But honestly, getting my heart broken was not what triggered me to be suicidal. It was a calamity of factors all rushed together which caused it to be.

Norwood is the psych-ward of Wood County, pretty much.

After umteen hours of having to sit around in an emergency room, I was finally allowed to head over to the psych-ward. In the ER though, they were doing all sorts of fancy tests left and right. I had no idea what in the living hell was going on to be honest with you. It was like as if that day was all an entire blur.  Right before I went in, I had like three double cheeseburgers from Burgerking because I was damn well starving.

Once I got to the Psych-ward we had to go through the usuaul spcheel of papers and insurance talk. I'd glance at my mother whom was very worried about me. I could see the tears swelling up in her eyes, wondering what her boy was going to do, how to live, the racing thoughts in her eyes. I know she was going to be okay. I needed "help", big time.

Well, that help turned into a disaster. Trust me when you read more into the story why I say that. Thankfully I am here typing this out and alive for people to know what happened.

So I got admitted. Had to wear a bracelet. number 12964. Took drugs within the facility. Couldnt wear my jewelry, nor my piercings.  Ate their horrible food but also along the way meant some amazing people that I never expected. We'd play board games like apple to apples, which is like a safe version of a inappropriate group card game.  Constantly was bored to the point I poored all my thoughts into writing in a notebook. Spoke with the main psychiatrist and he was a hardass and could barely understand me as a person. Shoved a cocktail of drugs in my direction and my mother noticed right away how said pills were making me into a zombie. Boy, how true that is. Thats when the slurred speech was starting to happen and it all fell into place from there. I even told the main psychiatrist that I was having side effects but all he did was switch the times I take it. Completly idiotic. As people have told me, I was taking far too much instead of being weaned into it.

However, I do give credit where its due. The therapy side of things when I was in there was worth while, and gave me a bit of an eye opener to what I need to work on in life and then some. So kudos to the wonderful ladies in there, (especially the hella attractive blonde I'd always eye on and make her try to blush).

Well, I made it out of there alive and well. I remember the first day coming back and crying tears of joy but also concern because of the gabapentin. I also remember I believe that I got pizza hut for lunch because I didnt have pizza for like 9 days straight. You know how that can get to a man, not to be able to have pizza?! Its maddening! I went to the nut farm only to go more crazy..for pizza! I also remember my sister giving me a pink shirt when I was in there and now look, I have two hot pink shirts in my collection- hell I'm wearing it right now! Who would of thought!.  It was good to lay in bed with my own pillow- as if the world shut off and bliss took over.

Everything went back to normal somewhat. I started to go back to work regularly- only for Chris to immediatly go on his national guard dutie which was going to be for 2 weeks straight. At first, I thought it would be nothing. I've worked a month straight in the past with no problems but the other problem was tatiana going on her California trip, so there was mistakes and stuff being done and could not be fixed right away because she is the higher-up that speaks with Jesse. Tara took over her shift while she was gone for vacation, I took over  Chris and Eileen and Sheree did their thang.

Well, this is when the withdrawl and side effects began. The first week was okay! I was following suit on the pills, but they were causing issues because I was taking them as if I was a daytime person and I'm not- I'm a night time person due to my life-style and job. So what am I suppose to do! I didnt notice really anything going on except this naggingness going on with my mouth. I thought it was just my back out of wack causing the weirdness but I was wrong. I was able to throw like normal, in fact I was doing nearly a trickcircle a day. Just had a fresh new haircut happen..life was normal until...

All of a sudden, the effects started to effect me. I started to have muscle rigidity/stiffness. My mouth was constantly being dry and muscus would collect. My breathing was shallow. I could barely walk to the point I was shuffling my feet. I was profusely sweating to the point my shirts were getting drenched with sweat. I was panicky and constantly worrieing about stuff. Insomnia was striking me to the core. My decision making was flawed. My vision was getting blurry. My speech was slurrying because my left side of my face was going numb. My left arm was getting weak. The panic tremors. I'd break down to random tears over basic things that I couldnt too.

The one thing that bothered me was the pity look I'd get from guests when they saw that I was struggling hard. I'll never forget the looks I'd get from my coworkers too.

So that is what I was dealing with the past five weeks. It wasn't pretty. It wasnt fun. It was FUCKING HELL. In that time frame June 17th I did go to the emergency room because we were trying to figure out what was going on. I couldn't see my shrink until July 18th because he decided to take a mini vacation out of the blue. Neither michelle the nurse of Dr Shein nor the main dude I met at the ER could help, merely to state that I needed to wean off the gabapetin completely. There was no hope in sight at all. The Doc outright told us they do not handle with medications that involved psychiatric care. On June 19th, My mother couldn't take it anymore and went through the hospital at the information desk to file a complaint against behavior health due to their malcontent on not giving us any answers at all. To file through the customer resolution center., to which they were fairly nice on the phone when she spoke with them. Magically, all of a sudden a opening happen with Doctor Shein and I got to see him. My mother had spoke most of the time because at that point my mouth was too numb for me to be understood. He planned to go after this aggressively, where I was cut off the bentzprine and Ambilify that day. and reduced down to just 1 pill for the gabapetin. Thank god I spoke with him because I had no idea what was going on. He was convinced I had Akathisia due to the depenedency on the pills which is true.

Akathisia is when your body has a feeling of wanting to be in constant motion. This would make sense considering I could barely be able to relax and sleep, barely be able to sit still and be in a zen like quality. It was like there was an innner restlessness.

And then the last day, 17 days straight of working, on June 27th during the night I had to check in a guest after audit around 1am. Not too big of an issue except for the fact I could barely think and my only thoughts were to stay awake and keep moving. I could barly do the pillowcases let alone stand but I was striving. I checked her in and even she knew something was wrong with me. I kept repeatedly telling her I will go as fast as I can and she understood. She was really nice to me. So, a couple hours go by, and two men in a silver van show up around 2:30 asking for this specific lady. I call down the room to ask her if I could send them down and she said it as okay.

At around 3 a 911 call showed up on the console phone. So as my job I have to immediatly see what is going on and to see what I can do to help. I was already panicking because I wasn't getting my work done fast enough. There was things to be done but due to my muscles crunching up I could barely move. Well, I trenched on to the room- all the while sweating more and more, and not being able to breathe the best. By the time I got down there, they had the door open and all three were yelling at eachother accusing eachother of stuff. Well, she said she called the cops against these two so I started to walk back towards the frontdesk. Well, she started yelling at them to leave, so they agreed and started following me- well as I was walking up there I saw the cops coming in and they were looking for me so I had to run back. I have ashma so that started to kick in even more.

Once I got to the frontdesk I was sweating bullets, the cops were speaking with the lady and two men to figure out what was all going on. Pam popped in to see what the hell is going on only to see me sitting in the corner trying to regain my air which I wasn't. After awhile the cops switched to their attention to me asking if I'm okay, asking if I looked like I needed to go to the emergency room, asking if I needed an ambulence. All the while, Pam is trying to get a hold of my mother whom was out in the kitchen feeding the cat but eventually did get her after I agreed to going to the Emergency room. They had the paramedics come in and do various tests to which they all agreed to ask me to go, so they propped me on the board as I am asking "Can you guys even lift me?" to which then all of a sudden I heard a hydralic sound. So that answered that. They popped me in the ambulence all the while Pam is trying to get in touch with Tara to come in due to all that is happening. She eventually did.

From 4 something in the morning until god knowns how long I was in the emergency room. Just like before it felt like forever in an umcomfortable bed. I got poked and prodded like a human pin cushion and had my blood pressure taken a few million times. They did various tests, I had a CT Scan, X-rays in various parts of my body, even was asked to do a piss test in a container which I couldnt not do. I can never do piss tests it seems, especially while sitting down. Eventually did though when they moved me but still. My blood pressure during my time there was through the roof because I was so anxiety filled.  Anyways, we spoke with the main doctor that was on board about the muscle stiffness and everything and he outright told us Gabapetin would not be doing these kinds of side effects that he would know of. But he did suspect Amblify might, he was looking into everything he could and was a bit dumbfounded. We even suggested to do lymes disease test due to that notion.

Well, they still wanted me for tests and told me that I had to stay overnight. I was so damn tired, with the run of insomnia and the constant sweating being overly abundant. I remember at one point I made the comment "If I wanted to kill myself, this would be the moment instead of what I said to you.". Only made my mother more in agnony but it was the truth in all damn honestly. After all I have been through, I really did want to die. I was taken off my bupropion meds, and then being tapered off the Gabapetin. I tried to eat the shitty food my mother ordered for me from the cafeteria, but

That night, they told me of some of the things going on. I was barely able to comprehend though and admittly didnt remember when I spoke with the main doctor. But, I was told I had blood clots in my legs, the serious kind. And then something even more scarey- pulmonary embolism. Bloodclots in the lungs. This was some serious shit that I was in. I was put on warfarin immediatly, a blood thinner pill. I had heard of this pill because my grandma is currently on it. They spoke of the risk factors of blood clots and a plethora of other things. All I could do this sit there and take it in that my life has changed in a way I could not put into mere words.

I couldnt sleep a blink as of how umcomfortable I was. I just wanted to get up to walk, but at the same time trapped into a bed. I just laid there blinking my eyes trying to rest but sleep would not come to me. Nearly every two hours they would come in to do some form of tests whether blood pressure or stealing my blood. It was hell just sitting there being a pin cushion and bruising more and more. I think I may of got sleep but could not remember.

I did eventually get out. I had a little together with the physical theraphy side and they tested out my strengths to see if I needed it. At the time I firmly believe I needed it but they said no. I passed the various tests they gave like walking. At that point my mother was going to give me my dads old walker due to my walking. All I could do was shuffle my feet and walk short distances. They gave me various physical theraphy papers for me to do, which at the time I was serious about- I'd dot them all. and I was finally out. Took me a little while to finally get out of the emergency room, hell it took forever to even get my clothes on but I did eventually. I was also told I had two weeks off medical leave from work- which I was super worried because no one else could do the auditing. But whats a guy to do if they say you can work? I finally got to go home, what a relief! But that was only half the battle.

When I got home, it felt like relief but really that was a disguise. Because now I knew I had to do the physical therapy, I had to put the work in somehow. The next two weeks were brutal because here is me- not had that length amount of time off with the condition I was in. I couldnt yoyo, could barely sit, sweating all the time and the other issues at hand- it was hell. I was truly fearing that I could never be able to play yoyo ever again, that was a nightmare to me. My body was absorbing energy from me, because my stomach shrunk so small I could barely eat like I used to. I eat a lot, I'm a big boy and to go from eating like 4000 calories down to just 500 a day, that REALLY makes a dent in your system.. Over the course of five weeks I had lost over 50 LBS and that is truly not a joke.

My mother was my rock through it all as well as my drill sargent. She'd make me go out and do the walkin I desperately needed to wake my muscles. She helped me with my arm exercises and drilled it in to me about the water. I thank my all for her because I constantly was asking for hugs, annoying her because I couldnt sit still in my room and always panicking which she would come in to make me calm down my breathing.

Everyday I was chipping away at the meds to get out of my system, to flush out.  I even went out to see my family at Dexterville campsite for the 4th of July for a little bit and due to my walking and stature, I could only be out there a little bit. The weather was not agreeing with me and sweating so much was a hassle. We even stopped at the dexter drive in to get ice-cream, and due to my mouth being numb it was hard to eat the icecream which was getting all over my face. Certain parts of my body would get better before other spots. Everyday was the same literally- Zelda Breath The Wild was my muse- my only thing I could really do but even then games were difficult because my fingers would not work functionally.

Went to see a check up with my regular doctor- and we discussed about the fact due to my family history with bloodclots how I will probably be on Warfarin for the rest of my life. Talked about my detoxing and also had a few other questions. There was confusion about my work release that we needed to get settled so the following monday June 10th, we made a trip back to Doctor Hameime to get it settled.

When it came time to finally go back to work- most of the detoxication happened. My body was freeing itself from the clutches of the drugs. All of those things I mentioned that happened to me was finally coming off of me except for the weakness in my left arm which as of this moment of typing this, is back to normal. Since last Wednesday, I've been throwing yoyo like mad which has brought back the muscle memory. Tatiana was certainly happy to see me, as the girls were running ragged due to it just being Tara, Sheree, and Eileen. They did it, and I am so proud of them. I still feel bad for having this all happen, I wish my body would of continued and we would of never had issues, but things dont always work that way.

I've just had my first work week and on Sunday I finally got to see Tara. We were discussing all that happened with my life and such and even she noticed. She outright told me "Dan, I could tell something was wrong and I really wanted to tell you to just go back home because you are in no shape to work but I didn't". Its true, due to not being able to speak properly, my eyes being in a glaze, and not walking or moving properly- I should of got released but I'm too stubborn for that plus due to no back up relief..whats a guy to do?

Tuesday I had back to back appointments. I got to see my therapist plus I got to see my psychiatrist all rolled into one. For the therapy side one of the first things Mr Bauss said was "You're glowing today, you are a completely different person since I saw you", which is true. I was feeling pretty damn good to be honest with you, I was calm and collected and could articulate and speak my thoughts properly this time versus two weeks ago when I could barely even sit down. We spoke for an hour of the homework I recieved from him, and he would add in little things that opened up my eyes that made me feel good about myself. Seeing Dr Shein the psychiatrist was also good, because he had seen all the improvement I had versus the last I spoke with him. I had to speak with him about about what happened at work with the 911 call, and eventually that call was for me and had to go to the emergency room, being diagnosed with bloodclots in the legs and lungs and going through detox. It was tough to speak of but I was feeling damned good that it was coming out smoothly, even with the attractive student he had there. In the end, he was right. and with that said...

Sometimes, miracles really do  work in mysterious ways.

End. Until next time.

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Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship

Id call it time traveling. Most of the time I didnt know I was doing it until I was already in too deep. It didnt matter the day of the week or the time, or who I was with. I was just as capable of bending time alone, as I was with a handful of friends.

There was no such thing as one or two or three drinks. Just like a two headed giraffe didnt exist, neither did grabbing a couple of drinks. Its that simple. I really cant explain it any other way. My average was a drink every fifteen minutes. I never thought about that. I didnt brag about it or work towards it or talk about it, my rhythm just happened. The drink was in my hand and I drank it. I didnt think of slowing down or having an empty hand.

Id start somewhere- at an apartment or at dinner or a happy hour or on a date and Id arm myself with whatever I was in the mood for. There were the regular players: Jack Daniels and diet coke, chardonnay, Redbull and vodka, Blue Moon and those few years in my early 20s where I thought the only two drinks on the planet was a Sex On The Beach and Cosmo. Drink menus were for amateurs.

Never red wine though. It stained my teeth and lips, Id explain when asked, and respond with my quirky I only drink it alone and in the dark answer. Theyd always laugh.

For a long time the only shot I tossed back was Patron XO. Lemon drops and Kamikazes were too collegiate for me. I was smart enough to know that I always got sick after Whiskey. That was my kryptonite. It didnt stop me from drinking it again (and again), just in case getting sick was a one time thing. Spoiler alert: it wasnt.

So that was me, always, from the first time I got drunk during a party at 16 years old to my four day New Years Eve bender at age 30. But lets not call it a bender, or else my parents will worry. It was celebrating a new year with friends. It was a vacation and a belated birthday. It was me letting present, in the moment Diana take the wheel for a few days.

By the time YOLO was on T-shirts I had carpe diem booze down to a science.

It was all so normal and always OK: competing with friends how many guys we can make out with in one night (one of my favorite games), bouncing around speakeasys in the East Village, sneaking into the high end member only clubs in the Meatpacking District, 4am pancakes at a diner then going home with the cutest guy there, leaving without paying your tab, putting your drinks on a strangers tab, hooking up with your friends crush, sleeping with a guy who has a girlfriend (what, he had an accent, ok?), telling work you have a doctors appointment when you need an extra hour of sleep, telling work youre sick when youre too hungover to get out of bed, napping in the bathroom stall at work when you realize you went to work still drunk.

Theres wasnt a problem with any of this. I could go to six bars in a night and only remember two of them (seetime traveling). Others had different, less poetic names for it- like graying out or even more ominous, going black out. But lets not talk about that. Those words are scary.

It all just made so much sense to me. I had a desperate thirst for life, for new experiences and stories that were only mine and drinking was my very own special key to open that door. I dont remember being trained but I knew this truth: that I needed to drink- to have fun, to meet a guy, to de-stress, to celebrate, after a bad day, after a good day, when its more than 50 degrees out, when its under 15 degrees, because its Monday.

Its dramatic sounding, I know, but when I was drinking, like really in the middle of a good run, I was untouchable. My thoughts evened out and worries were left at the coat check. I was charming and funny. I was weightless and sexy. Nothing could ground me.

I wasnt stupid. I knew what was happening. There wasnt a river in Egypt. The biggest part was the after, when Morning Diana gradually and reluctantly pixelated back into place ready to droop down into the exorcist-like hangover.

When I was in college my hangover cure was strawberries and chocolate milk. After I received my diploma I graduated to well-done bacon, coffee, Mimosas. Water never entered the equation.

Sometime in my mid-twenties while I was gripping on to my spinning couch, I googled hangover and depression and was so relieved when I read the phrase emotional hangover. I immediately felt better seeing the feeling I felt printed on my screen. It was a relief: I wasnt alone in this feeling and it had a name. Urban Dictionary knows about it so it must be OK. Ill finish my bacon and chocolate milkshake and be just ducky.

The recovery time was always different- sometimes I could slide out of bed and be partially human the next day and other times I needed a day alone to stew in a mental playback of the night before. During those days the biggest challenge was the trek from my bedroom to couch. No matter how I recouped I never thought it was bad. I thought my friends were doing it too.

Country songs and Van Wilder confirmed for me that getting drunk and hangovers were a part of life. I never raised my hand to question it. So, about the men. I bet you thought it was hard to find a man with all this time zig zagging and space jumping but it wasnt. Lets go back ten years again and Ill tell you about all the threesomes I had. It was me, the guy, and alcohol.

It was how I flirted, played, connected, and bonded with men, always. If the boyfriend had a bad day wed start downing drinks in the hopes that hed open up and talk to me. To flirt with the new cute coworker Id suggest we play beer after work. Hed find it charming and cute and wed drunkenly made out in the corner of the bar after swapping 1st pet names and office gossip. I had a fling with a British banker off and on for 3 years and when wed meet late night hed pour us shots of tequila first. It was our thing. Our inside joke with Don Julio.We didnt know each others last names but we shared an appreciation for top shelf tequila at 3am before having sex. Im a romantic, I know.

My favorite three words when I was with a guy were Want another round?

During each encounter, each date, I wouldnt feel satisfied until I heard those words. He could shout it or whisper it in my ear, either way I wanted those words. It meant: he liked me, hes having a good time, and he wanted to keep spending time with me. He didnt want the night to end. It meant intimacy, it meant hand holding and flirty eyes and of course, sex.

I could count the number of times I had sober sex on one hand. I didnt enjoy it. To avoid it, Id explain that I simply didnt like morning sex. Most of the time Id be too hungover to move from a fetal position so it wasnt pursued for long on his end anyway. Hooking up drunk was sexy and fun. We could let our inhibitions go and really connect. Fun was had by all. I wasnt worried about any of it.

Theres unfortunately worse parts. Im not going to tell them to you though. Mostly because my mother may read this. But also because I was once told that you dont need to go all the way to the bottom floor in order to get off the elevator. So lets baby step off the lift, shall we?

I was in one of my first sessions with my new therapist when she told me I repeated the word untouchable a lot and made me explain why I thought that was a good word. (See all of the above for my response). Valentines Day was two weeks away and I was mentally preparing to be single again during my least favorite holiday of the year.

I wasnt too worried though because Id participate in my friends annual BOVD- Black Out Valentines Day. The year before included colorful fish bowls and sushi till 2am. Problem solved. I was talking but realizing more and more how much she looked like Lily Tomlin when she put a piece paper down in front of me. It was a wordy contract with bullet points in the middle and a blank line next to my name at the bottom.

I was supposed to go a week without drinking. Thats a lie. I could drink. But only three glasses of beer or wine, two different nights. If I broke the contract I had to give $100 to her. Lily was crazy. How was this legal? I couldnt do this. Fact. I shouldnt have even been there. I wanted to deal with this but apparently not by actually dealing with it. I argued with her and left the session with the unsigned document squished to the bottom of my purse. That night I didnt sleep and express ordered Alan Carrs Easy Way to Control Alcohol. Problem solved. I went out drinking all week. And I drank like no one was watching.

Then I signed the contract. And then when week one ended, I signed the next contract. Was it easy? Fuck no. Did I have to write some checks to my therapist? Yes. Did I cry? Did I rant? Did my hands and mind twitch and turn during dinners with friends as I stared at my 1 drink for the night? Hell to the yes. Most nights all I could think about was my hand stammering under the table and how much I wanted and needed another drink.

I thought of the contract and Lilys annoying face staring down at me. I thought of how I felt when I was hungover. I thought of the fuzzy nights. I thought of the fuzzy years. I cried a lot. I stayed in and watched Netflix even more. I watched Vampire Diaries starting at season 1, many times. In therapy I compared my drunk self to being a vampire with no soul. There are many different points of view on vampire rule and regulations but most of them agree that the creatures of the night have no soul. Stick with me here. In Vampire Diaries the rule of thumb is that vampires can turn this soul switch off and on. When its on they feel everything, when its off they feel nothing and become untouchable. Follow me now? The easy way to live is to keep the switch off. I did that, over and over again. I was tired of it and wanted to be in the world of the living again. I didnt decide this overnight. It took months, a lot more episodes of Vampire Diaries and most of 2015. Something weird happened around the same time I switched to watching new episodes of Arrow that wouldve really pissed off my 23 year old Cosmo drinking self- I stopped enjoying drinking.

By November I was completely sober and joined a boxing ring. I could get up in the morning and exercise. I didnt need to sign a contract anymore. I sober dated. I sober celebrated friends birthdays. I sober had a fun Thursday night. I went to AA meetings sometimes and spent most of the meeting listening and nodding my head. I was funny and smart and friendly during the day and I was funny and smart and friendly at night. I added to my own life and stopped letting drinking take away from it. I started a social group. I started a book club. I started.

Sometime between the last crippling snow storm of last year and planning my 31st birthday, I stopped wanting to go to Edit Undo. I re-entered my own life. I went through those years and theyre a part of me for worse or worser. I went through it before knowing there was another side. I hit my rock bottoms (yes, there was more than one). Im still learning how to talk about it- what I want to say about it and to who. But the further I get from the person I was then, the more I like who Im turning into now. But letting go of her seemed like an impossible ask that the tiny tired voice deep inside me was begging for.

If I stopped drinking Id lose all of me, not just a part. I was terrified as if I was going to lose a limb or my hearing. My life would be filled withwhat? Id have no buoy or security blanket or man behind the curtain. Id be dry, unfilled, just curved edges and rims. The thought paralyzed me.

Now, Im at this other side. Im still learning what this other side is like and who I am in it. But I do know this- Im more now than I was before. Im more me and more strong and more present. I feel more and I listen to me more.

Days are now broken up between feeling this raw, strength of life and connection to people and namastes and really fantastic Im part of the universe and not from vibes to a total, giant uncertainty and instability, and anger and exhaustion. I never knew I could get tired of feelings. Weve moved in together, you see. We wake up together and go to bed together and they insist on forming an invisible fanny pack around my waist during the day. Hello intimacy, party of two. Theyre normally the big spoon. My thoughts continue from one moment to the next and connect without taking breaks. I had years and years of turning myself on and off and more off and now I just want to be on.

I wish I could say that when I wake up sober now, Im not depressed anymore or lonely, my friends became better friends, I became the perfect best friend, sister and daughter, and my love life came together Prince Charming Cinderella style. But becoming more sober didnt mean everything clicked into place, it just means I see the pieces more clearly and I dont hide from the messy parts.

So now whatdo I become resentful and guilty and depressed thinking about the years I spent avoiding intimacy and feelings and honesty and fuck, concrete memories? Do I think those years dont count? Do I blame my bad habits on the constant excess of New York City? Do I blame the alcoholic-like attributes that run in my blood line? Do I blame my friends? Or the work hard play hard Don Draper industry I work in? Do I blame shitty men boys?

Yes, to all of the above. I point the finger at all of them and then back at me, and then at them and back at me. Lily says hi.

Ive had men yell at me, not being able to grasp the idea of my moderated drinking habits, insisting that Im just pretending I dont drink because I wanted them to buy me drinks. I dont get it either. No means no guys. My friendships have changed, my god have my friendships changed. One friend who pre-games with a bottle of wine (a standard respectable approach I once followed), on multiple occasions, dumped her wine into my water when she realized I wasnt drunk like she was. Yeah, I dont spend time with her anymore.

I went sixty days without drinking before I decided to drink again. For me it was like breaking up with a boyfriend and then meeting up again two months later. Never a good idea. Youll never want to be just friends who catch every up every now and then. I drank Vueve Clicquot and it didnt make the night better but it didnt make it worse. I didnt gray out. I didnt break down. That night isnt fuzzy. I could wake up in the morning.

Theres been other times when I drank recently and couldnt move far from the couch. Those times are a quick, slap in the face of what not to do. But old feelings and doubts still come flooding back in. Will I always want another drink? Why cant I just stay sober? Why does everyone make it look so easy? Is my therapist actually Lily Tomlin?

Deep down I know the majority of my problems start and stop with alcohol. Drinking will always be a part of my life whether Im drinking or not. Itd be easier to figure out if I wasnt both the variable and constant in this little conundrum of mine.

Today, I stare all the feels in the face, and make sure they know the last sixteen years matter but the last thirteen months matter even more. Im not her anymore, Im a different, more me now.

Im not 100% sober and I dont know if I ever will be. One day, maybe sooner rather than later, I could decide to sign up for a sober lifestyle again. But right now, I cant imagine midnight on New Years Eve without a champagne toast. I can do without five toasts but one still feels OK to me. So yeahmy relationship with drinking? We file it under Its complicated.

The good news is, Ive learned how to unwind on a Friday night without the trifecta of a bottle of wine, pizza and Netflix. My secret is just pizza and Netflix.

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from Getting Sober: Redefining My Longest Relationship