Recovery - Blog Posts

"No matter how bad you think you look, someone's always gonna think you're hot." -Paraphrased from a woman thrice my age.

i cannot pour from an empty cup, universe

but i hope whatever comes would be something that my heart and mind be ready for.

and please i hope i have shoes when it comes

Caretaker having to learn new skills because of whumpee but its not about taking care of the wounds or how to deal with flashbacks, no.

Its about caretaker having plain straight hair while their whumpee has the most curly hair they've seen.

Learning all about how to care for that type of hair and maybe even whumpee teaching them and ending up having some bonding time.

I needed this.

In case your head is making you feel very anxious: No, there is nothing wrong with your appearance, you look normal. You are absolutely fine. Nobody notices that pimple, the way you walk or the anxiety you carry. Breathe, darling. You are fine. Nobody thinks you are awkward. Nobody thinks you are ugly. Nobody is staring at you. You are fine. Everything is going to be okay. Hold on to me, my love. You'll get through this.

a loving reminder with the warmer season getting closer 🌷

You don’t need to shrink your body.

Clothes are meant to fit you, you are not meant to fit clothes.

Enjoy the foods you want this summer.

Cherish the memories you make over the calories.

Your body is the LEAST important thing about you

Wear what makes YOU happy not society

Be gentle on yourself.

And remember, restricting yourself from nourishment will never be worth it.

Writing by Sonia Sabnis

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(Source)

Hard drugs. Hard problems.

Functional + Generational Addiction are hard. Why me, God? Wasn't being gay in the South enough? I didn't fall into the stereotypes. I wasn't a drug addict cliché. No one ever said anything. Why didn't anyone ever say anything?

Kyle. I can see that you are a little fucked up. Or, you look like you had a long night. No one ever said a thing. It turns out because they didn't actually know. Not always. Not even the times I was so sure they did.

222

"a long and difficult cycle will soon be over". That was the tarot card I pulled. It had the moon sign of what the moon would be in on my birthday last year. I saw 222 constantly while I was getting sober.

Well, soberish. Sober-adjacent. Or just drug addict in denial.

But no offense, if you can't tell if I have used, it makes it less desirable to quit. I know the health problems. I know it makes me a bad person. But so did being gay. So why should I care who thinks I'm a bad person or not. I still do though. And it ate me alive for years.

The inner turmoil was the worst of it, come to find out.

Leaving every social interaction wondering if they could tell. If they knew. It started to overshadow everything. Every moment of my day. It was always in the back of my mind. That I had done meth. That I was technically on meth. We all know the stereotypes. But I went to work. I went to school. I paid my bills. I got good grades. I took showers, brushed my teeth. I went to dinners, events, funerals, birthday parties. No one ever said anything. No one ever asked.

But I would read their faces. Their expressions. Any sign or glimpse that they knew my dirty little secret. Any hunch that I was exposed, and that they knew. Oh how terrible it would feel. To be just a dirty drug addict. It truly was Hell. Even worse than being gay.

It’s strange getting over suicidal thoughts because your mind is like “hey if you do this, you could easily kill yourself” and then you’re like “oh cool...wait, I don’t want to die!”

Tw: little vent about bpd

Borderline personality disorder is such a horrid thing to live with . . .

TW: ED mentioned

Why’s eating in the morning so so hard?, it’s like I try and try to eat, but it takes me literally forever to even get a bite in and it’s not even like I don’t want to eat it. It’s more like I wake up nauseous and sick and anxious and so I can’t really eat anything because I already feel like I’m gonna puke

The thing is it’s even worse when I’m little because when I’m little, I don’t really understand what’s going on 

A Lesson In Façades

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Two - Mask (Nesta wielded the mask in ACOSF, but she's also an expert in hiding her true thoughts and feelings. What does Nesta wearing a mask mean to you?)

A/N: This submission deals quite heavily with negative self-talk, mentions of mental health and recovery, and Nesta’s not-so-great relationship with the Inner Circle. Please read with caution.

Word Count: 4155

Nesta heaved, expelling the contents of last night’s dinner into the toilet. Sounds of her retching filled the chambers, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not as she shivered, trembling, and gripped onto the porcelain for dear life, knuckles white and gasping for breath.

She was sure she looked like a stray; a heathen hauled in from the ragged streets and the dirtier, rougher areas of Velaris. Matted hair, dark circles under her eyes, and an increasingly narrow frame had become common for her as she lived in perpetual numbness. She’s not even trying. Her sister’s cold words as Nesta overheard them, and it was then she felt a flicker of rage. A small ember, but it was snuffed out just as quickly as it had come alight.

She hadn’t found the energy to be able to care these days. Not for the city she lived in, not for her sisters, and certainly not for herself. She wouldn’t even know where to begin should she wish it. Maybe Feyre was right.

Nesta somehow managed to get to her feet, make it to the sink, and rinse her mouth out. The foul taste of her own regurgitation sat in her mouth like an iron claw that refused to loosen its hold on her. Swallowing a healthy amount of water she would no doubt end up retching later anyway, she took a seat beside the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up nearly an entire wall. 

Curling her knees to her chest, she looked out at the laughter and joy and life teeming from the city below. She could see eager patrons encouraging potential customers to enter their ridiculously priced restaurants or vendors attempting to haggle prices and selling useless knickknacks much the same as the ones her father had made. 

Velaris, Feyre had mentioned to her briefly, and had refused to elaborate. Nesta hadn’t bothered to ask. What would it matter anyway, if her bastard of a brother-in-law was bound to throw her out on her ass whenever he felt like it? It certainly wasn’t worth getting attached to, and it wasn’t like she planned to go outside and explore the city anytime soon. 

You dragged me into this mess, this horrible place.

I am not a thing to be controlled by you.

I won’t go.

None of it had mattered, in the end. She’d still been forced, kicking and screaming and crying and pleading to be left alone, but she’d still ended up in the House of Wind like a petulant child that refused to listen.

The House of Wind. Where she’d been contained and watched Elain destroy herself, her sister ready to jump out of the red-stoned mountain as she deteriorated further. Nesta’s bones chilled at the memory, and she fought to suppress them before she another bout of panic settled so deep into her she wouldn’t be able to get it out. Her breaths turned shallow, and her eyes refocused on the wall beside her. What she’d thought would have been a sanctuary, a place for her and Elain to heal, had now become her prison.

No way to leave, save for the ten-thousand steps leading down to the city itself that would likely kill her if she tried. Or flying with Cassian, then winnowing, said a small voice in the back of her head that she promptly shut down. The point was, she was trapped, and it was useless to come up with elaborate escape plans that would encourage Rhysand’s already bloodthirsty attitude towards her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he requested for her head on a pike, simply because he could.

Despite having…whatever powers she had, despite being High Fae, there was something in Nesta that cowered upon the sight of Rhysand. Violet eyes that seemed to contain the stars themselves were unnatural on a number of levels, and the ethereal, unnatural grace that he possessed terrified her. It took efforts to clamp down on that fear lest it show, lest he scent it like some sort of rabid animal.

It was the same feeling that had overtaken her at that disastrous High Lords’ meeting. Fear, so thick and cloying that it choked the very life out of her, until she was breathless and dizzy with anxiety as she fought to keep her cool. No one had noticed that day, how she’d felt. No one ever did.

Feyre might have known about her splurges in the darker areas of the city; seedy taverns and pubs that she went to solely because of the music, but what she didn’t know was what Nesta was feeling. I understand how you’re feeling. Hollow words making up hollow promises that made even hollower relationships. Nesta was surprised theirs hadn’t crumbled yet, though she supposed it wasn’t long before that happened. Perhaps it was better if she burnt that bridge, too. What would it matter in the end, if they were all the blame her?

How was she to explain to anyone what was wrong? Did she even know what was wrong? Everything, that voice crooned again, latching onto the vulnerable, wounded parts of her mind like a parasite determined to suck all the life out of her. Nesta tried not to dwell on the fact that it was succeeding, burrowing itself deeper into her mind with every passing day.

Everything. Your personality, your failures, your inability to form relationships. You barbed, thorn-tongued witch. You failed your father. He might not have cared for you when you were younger, but he did come to save you. You hated him, but he came, and you failed him, just like you failed Elain when you couldn’t protect her or Feyre from having to hunt. You’re a failure.

Nesta shut her eyes, attempting to keep the familiar tears at bay. All it took was one crack for the entire dam to come crashing forward, and who knew how many tears Nesta had shed these past few months?

You could have been one less mouth for your family to feed had you married that Tomas Mandray. You knew he was bad, but at least Elain or Feyre wouldn’t have ended up with him. You wouldn’t have been a burden. 

She dug her nails into her palms, relishing in the sharp sting as she fought to keep her breathing even. Breathe, she’d instructed Elain every time she was on the verge of a panic attack. In, out, in, out. Do it with me. Her commands were laced with nothing but concern then; concern for her sister and worry that she might find her mangled corpse thousands of feet below if she finally decided to jump.

Now, Nesta’s words to herself were cold, commanding as she chided herself. Stop crying. You have no reason to cry. Stop this.

Nesta couldn’t tell if it was her voice or her mother’s, telling her to keep her emotions at bay.

A lot of that seemed to be happening these days. The lines between reality and her nightmares seemed to blur, even more so when she drowned herself in alcohol. Her head spun the more she drank, but she knew that she’d never felt more free, more uninhibited than when the faerie wine was in her bloodstream. It was stronger than human wine, but it was one of the reasons she favoured it.

Oh, how Nesta longed for a drink now. It would help whatever she was feeling, subdue it to a dull ache that allowed her to revel in the wild debauchery and raucous music playing in the bars she frequented. Seeing the familiar patrons and bartenders, having her usual game of cards, gambling…her hands itched to do it again, if only to stop herself from collapsing entirely.

The alcohol would make her more palatable, easier to digest. Maybe some of her sharp edges would be dulled, maybe she wouldn’t feel her wounds. She’d do that until they stopped festering and lying there infected, unwilling to heal as she simply stared at the blood pooling down her body. The blood would clot eventually, until she’d have another outburst that would lead to more wounds. Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if her arms and legs were all covered in scars by the time she made it to her grave. Maybe they’d be a reminder that whatever she’d endured had been real, and not just a fantasy she’d made up inside her head.

Maybe that would finally be enough to get that writhing creature inside of her, whatever it was, out. She only hoped that it would stay out once she got rid of it and wouldn’t ever find a way back in.

Nesta wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive something like that again.

✦ ✦ ✦

Sunlight streamed in through the window, bright and piercing, and Nesta blinked her eyes open. She’d forgotten to close the windows last night, and she turned over to the other side in a futile attempt to get a few more minutes of extra sleep.

The House, however, seemed to have other plans. Tugging at the blanket she’d curled over her head, it managed to win the battle between it and an extremely disgruntled and sleepy Nesta. 

“Seriously?” She huffed to it as she lay on her bed in shorts and a tank top, the blanket thrown haphazardly over the enormous bed as it trailed onto the floor.

In answer, it only flicked the lights of the bathroom on, signalling to Nesta that it was time to get ready. “Fine,” she grumbled, but began her morning routine for the day anyway. 

Forty-five minutes later, she was showered, dressed, and had done her makeup as best she could to cover her dark circles. Her hair was braided in the usual coronet fashion that Nesta favoured as she sat at the breakfast table, facing an equally exhausted-looking Cassian.

“Morning Nes,” he crooned with an upward tilt of his mouth. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it a smile, but it seemed that he was at least attempting to be civil. She gave no acknowledgement, only picking up a bowl and beginning to pile cereal onto her plate. They might have hauled her here against her will, but she’d be damned if she didn’t enjoy good food while she was at it, never mind that she threw up most of it anyway. They didn’t need to know that.

“Still don’t want to talk to me, huh?” His question hung in the air for a brief second before Nesta sliced through it, snapping it clean in two. “What makes you think I want to talk to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he started, placing a hand on his chin in mock contemplation. “Maybe because we live in the same house and because I’m training you?”

“I’m not obligated to talk to you outside our training sessions. Why don’t you bring Morrigan over here? It’s not like she has a job anyway. And if she does, it’s not like she does it. One would think her job is drinking wine and going to that unholy place she calls a club.”

Nesta knew the blow had landed the minute Cassian’s face contorted into a snarl. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” she countered coolly, unphased by his sudden change in demeanor. “I’ve never seen her do much else.” If he attacked her, it would give her all the more reason to leave this damned mountain. She only hoped she was smart enough to provoke him, and that he was sutpid enough to take the bait.

Cassian merely pursed his lips in response as he glared daggers at her. Any decent person with an ounce of common sense and a slight bit of self-preservation would have the good sense to look at least a bit worried, but not Nesta. Maybe she’d never cared enough for her own good.

What he didn’t know, however, was why Nesta had insulted Morrigan. That self-righteous, haughty superiority complex had waltzed into last night’s dinner over an hour late, the one that Nesta had been forced to attend as a sign that she was getting better. The blonde had then proceeded to joke around with everyone, given and received the appropriate pleasantries, and turned her serpent’s gaze on Nesta.

“Well, you certainly look like you’ve been eating,” she’d remarked so condescendingly it had made Nesta want to rip the skin right off her flesh. Her brown eyes, void of any warmth or consideration, had roved over every curve and plane of her body, though there hadn’t been many curves there to begin with. A brief murmur had landed on Nesta’s ears, but she hadn’t bothered to properly listen in. Knowing them, they were likely encouraging Morrigan to continue insulting Nesta publicly.

“Yes. Nutritional requirements tend to increase when one trains,” she’d responded, voice bored and carefully neutral. It wouldn’t do to start a brawl in the middle of the High Lord’s dining room. She’d be pulverised to dust before she even had the chance to say I’m sorry. It wasn’t worth it. Besides, there were far better and far easier ways to get under their skin.

For all their supposed diplomatic skills that they showed to the world, the Night Court’s Inner Circle wore their emotions on their sleeves, with the exception of Azriel. It had led Nesta to notice many things about them, things that her sister had missed because she’d never been the observant one of the lot. Simply sitting and observing, Nesta’s mother had drilled into her, let you know more about the people than you might ever need to. Tuck this information away into the crevices of your mind, she’d whispered into the ears of a barely twelve-year-old Nesta as she stood poised about to enter that year’s summer gala. You never know when it might come in handy. Use it then.

Nesta was using it now, throwing their pathetic hearts on their sleeves right back at them every time they said or did something particularly heinous. For instance, when Morrigan’s conceited attitude came head-to-head with her favourite pastime of picking on Nesta for no particular reason.

“Oh, so you are training now?” She asked again with a quizzical tilt of her head. “Did your decision to do actually contribute to the well-being of this Court instead of its ruin take place before, after, or during you were fucking Cassian?”

Nesta would consider herself a heroine if she didn’t murder the pompous blonde by the end of tonight. Honestly, Rhysand should keep his lackeys in check. Then again, the bastard was likely enjoying the free entertainment he was receiving at her expense. The day he stepped in to help Nesta was the day Hel would freeze over.

“Did your decision to target me like some sort of game animal take place before, after, or during you saw me fucking him?” She retorted. Her tone was the same as Mor’s; light, breezy, and completely contradicting the vitriol they were spewing at each other. 

Unluckily for the Night Court’s Third-in-command, she didn’t know who she was up against. Nesta had always prided herself on her viper’s tongue, had honed the weapon to such precision it hardly took her half a thought before she was poised and ready to strike at the slightest provocation. 

It was what kept the hordes of people away, those with false promises and honeyed hopes that all would be right in the world and she would be okay. All was not right in the world, and she was not okay. She was far from it, but they didn’t need to know that. Besides, it wasn’t like they cared, despite what they attempted to show her and the world.

“Nesta,” came Feyre’s exasperated voice as she clutched her swollen belly. “Can we not? It’s…you’ve been doing so well, and this…can we have a nice, quiet night? Please?”

She nearly gagged at Feyre’s imploring tone that would no doubt turn into a hardened command if she declined. They loved giving people the illusion of choice, she realised. They wanted everyone, but mostly her, to think that she had some say in whatever twisted politics they relished in playing. It was what their court thrived on.

But Nesta was done. She was tired of playing games like these. She’d been trained to play them with such expertise it would shock her opponent, instructed and coached to be a deadly weapon that she was sure it would never come out of her, not if they tried it a hundred different ways. She was the weapon, and short of killing her, they’d have to deal with her.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said to no one in particular, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. She might have lashed out then, might have screamed at whoever tried to stop her. 

Thankfully, they appeared to retain at least that amount of sound judgment. No one stopped her, but they watched as she tugged on her boots and coat, and then stepped out into the biting cold.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t know how long she wandered the desolate streets of Velaris for. It had begun to get colder now, the warm rays of the sun giving way to the watery gloom that was autumn.

Nesta remembered how she’d hated autumn as a child. Colds, sniffles, and fevers had frequented the Archeron manor every year. She remembered having to stay cooped up in bed while cold-blooded and dispassionate servants had ensured she swallowed enough doses of whatever vile medicine the doctors had prescribed.

As an older girl living in a cottage, she had somehow managed to hate the frigid season even more. The moment the leaves had started yellowing was the moment she knew that winter would soon be upon them. It would mean scarce game, less food, and hungry bellies. It would mean raised tempers, aching bones, and the risk that they might not all make it through the season. 

No, Nesta had never been particularly fond of autumn. Certainly not now that it had started to rain, the drops falling in thick clumps and filling her ears with a pitter-patter that was almost soothing.

For all of Nesta’s hatred towards the autumn, she loved the rain. Something in the quiet, steady rhythm of the drops and the silence that seemed to envelope the world stilled the restlessness and unease in her.

Wiping a drop off her eye, she continued walking towards the general direction of the House of Wind. She’d make it there eventually if she followed the river. There was a bridge somewhere along there, she knew, and all she needed to do was cross it and keeping walking straight. 

While she’d never been into the city itself, she’d gleaned enough from the aerial views and flights she’d been on to make her way around Feyre’s four (or was it five?) mansions, estates, and properties all over the city. 

Another ridiculous notion of her youngest sister’s; to insist on having literal palaces around the city when there was still rampant poverty throughout Velaris, she thought to herself as the familiar taste of bitterness began to seep into her bones once more, as sharp and resentful as it had always had been.

Nesta had drank, dined, and gambled with a few of the less…financially stable patrons. She hadn’t thought less of them, only given them the grim understanding a stranger could give as both parties’ priorities were the same: drowning out their worries for the night as they laughed and joked and toasted to the small moments like those instead of wallowing in their own self-pity.

It was what had kept many of them from giving up entirely. Nesta often thought that the power of indulgence was exceptionally undersold. It was a luxury that the rich were looked up to for, while anyone not in the same elite status was demonized. The double standard was sickening.

Nevertheless, it was Rhysand’s governing that had led to the financial divide, and his unwillingness to even acknowledge, let alone bridge the enormous wealth gap, was mortifying.

She came to a sudden halt as the crimson stone of the House loomed in front of her, now slick and wet with the pouring rain. She hadn’t realised she’d made it all the way here; she’d been so consumed by her own thoughts.

Panting lightly, she decided it was best to at least attempt to climb the steps. If she didn’t make it back up to the House by midnight, she’d camp out on the stairs. She’d be dry if nothing else. It wasn’t like they would care much for her absence anyhow. 

Sighing, Nesta began the unholy ten-thousand step climb, and prayed to the Mother that she’d have enough energy to deal with the aftermath of her behaviour tomorrow.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t know how long it took her to climb those steps, only that she had eventually made it to the House, and that she was now soaked with sweat. The city glowed golden beneath her, alight with joy and love and and life and a hundred other things that now seemed foreign to her, but she didn’t notice it, nor did she care.

It took Nesta more energy than she cared to admit to make it back to her room. As she passed the common corridor, (because Cassian had insisted they stay on the same floor), she heard the male’s snores faintly echoing around the space.

She relaxed slightly, relieved that she wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else lest she act so malicious they would consider throwing her into the Hewn City.

As much as she told herself it was an empty threat, there was a part of her that wasn’t so ready to accept the lies the self-proclaimed Inner Circle fed her. She had no doubt they’d dispose of her as little more than trash and be altogether too happy to be rid of her the minute she ceased being of any true value to the court. 

The only question was when.

✦ ✦ ✦

Turning onto her side, Nesta glanced at the clock and sighed. 3:02, it read. Three in the fucking morning, and she hadn’t managed to catch even a wink of sleep.

Some nights, the sleeplessness was due to her nightmares. Other times, it was worry and anxiety roiling so deep in her gut she ended up expelling most of it anyway. This time, she wasn’t sure what it was, only that she couldn’t stay in bed like this any longer. She’d lose her mind with boredom.

She was sure the House was sleeping now, too, and wouldn’t play any music if she asked it to. In fact, she was sure it would be grumpier the next day, acting more stubborn and cocky than usual.

Nesta tossed the covers off and got up, making her way to the bathroom to wash her face. Maybe some fresh water would help. 

Once that was done, she put on her slippers and padded to the common library. It was by no means the library, but it was a smaller collection of books that happened to be there on each floor to avoid traipsing up and down the steps every time in search of a particular novel.

A touch so fatal, read the first title, piquing Nesta’s interest immediately. She’d always been a romantic at heart, and she simply loved the House’s extensive erotica collection. It seemed that it, too, had been starved of good smut to read, and a companion to share its niche love for literature with.

Picking it up off the shelf, she situated herself in an armchair, curling her legs to her chest, and began to read. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t know how long she was sat there for, only that the words flew over the page and her mind was filled with images of knights and dragons and castles. Stolen kisses, lingering promises and fleeting touches had her melting, and she couldn’t help it as her heart soared.

She was nothing and no one, simply enjoying the literature that was in front of her, indulging herself and her desires in something so frivolous and silly her past self would have chided her for it. 

But the Cauldron had Made something in Nesta. No, she thought. Not Made. Uncovered. For the part that had adored books and music and dance had been with her, in her since she was a child. The only difference now was that she had the opportunity to fulfill that aching want of knowing a character in a book deeper than she knew herself. To explore worlds that might otherwise have been out of her reach, to think and grieve and laugh and sing with each individual.

Starry night bled into blossoming dawn, the sun creeping steadily over the horizon, and still Nesta did not stop.

A/N: I used an unofficial map of Velaris and this is another one that I thought was cool (but didn't use)

When following old friends you don't see or speak to IRL anymore, Facebook seems to accelerate time when it comes to the "cycle of grief". The newsfeed is literally "lost a spouse, grieving publicly, back in love, remarried", all in the same day.

PSA:

If you’ve never met someone with OCD before it can be confusing when you first hangout with them. It can be really rough for the person with OCD to have people questioning them about why they’re doing something or why they’re asking you to do something you think is weird. It’s okay to ask questions about the disorder and their compulsions or whatever, but it’s not okay to question the disorder itself, and it’s definitely not okay to ask the person if they’re joking.

A lot of people see OCD as a disorder revolving around organization, color coordination, etc. This can be part of it for some people, but for many people that is not the case. And for people who do obsess over those things, it’s not quirky. It’s not being a clean freak. It’s a disorder that takes time out of their life and is constantly nagging at them.

For most people, however, that isn’t part of it. I’m one of the messiest people you will ever meet and in no way fit the stereotype. That doesn’t make my disorder any less torturous or valid. So please, be understanding of the disorder and respectful of how difficult it can be for those struggling with it.

So when I turn the ac dial in your car back and forth eight times, be patient with me. When I turn to look at something and then have to do a full 360 a couple times, be patient with me. If I ask you to please stir your straw six times counterclockwise, be patient with me.

It may be difficult to understand, but please try your best to be accommodating. It may be a bit rough for you; it may get in the way sometimes. If you ever get aggravated at our compulsions, please try to remember how hard it is for us. We hate it too.

How to Survive Fourth of July With Hypervigilance:

Independence Day can be rough for Americans living with hypervigilance related issues. The loud noises can make your heart race and your head spin. It may even feel hard to breathe. You’re gonna have to be strong. Fortunately, there are some things you can do to help.

Put in your earbuds. Listening to music will not only drown out the sound, it may also help you calm down. Music has been shown to help reduce anxiety and stress levels by up to 65 percent.

Use noise reduction headphones. If you want, you may even be able to see the fireworks! Just make sure you slip on a pair of noise reduction headphones. They can reduce the noise by more than 70 percent!

Spend the day with someone you love. Just being around someone we love can help steady our heart rates and calm our breathing. While it may still be rough, spending the time with a loved one is likely to make it a little less torturous.

Take a shower. It’s gonna be a long shower, but the noise of the water will drown out the fireworks.

Cuddle with a furry friend. Pets can be hugely therapeutic to people struggling with any sort of mental health issue, and even more so for those struggling with anxiety and ptsd. (Note: this may not work if your pet is just as panicked about fireworks as you are.)

But most importantly, especially for anyone struggling with any past trauma, remind yourself that you are safe. Do something that requires you to interact with your environment to help yourself stay in the here and now. It can be hard to stay in the present when faced with certain triggers, especially if you are alone.

You are strong and you will make it through this. Everything will be okay. I promise.

I don’t know if you guys have heard but Eugenia Cooney seems to be making a recovery!!!

This is a recent photo of her posted by her hair dresser! For those of you who don’t know who Eugenia Cooney is, she is a YouTuber who has not been on the internet for quite some time now, as she has been recieving treatment for an eating disorder she has denied having for years. Everyone who watched her videos and/or followed her online in any way felt extremely helpless, as we were watching her wither away more and more day by day. So many fans and other people online reached out to her and she ended up making a tweet saying that she is taking a break from the internet and working with a doctor privately. Several people sent messages to her friends and family who confirmed that she was recieving in-patient treatment. It was amazing news to hear because she looked like she should have died from starvation a long time ago. I will not post pictures of her before here because it could be triggering to some people but feel free to look her up online. She is still not officially back online but did consent to her hair dresser posting this photo. Her steps toward recovery are a huge inspiration for anyone who has struggled with an eating disorder. I hope that once she is back online she will continue down this path toward recovery and keep being an inspiration to anyone who has ever struggled with an eating disorder. There is hope- and Eugenia is proving that.

Important PSA

Don’t punish your kids for having mental health issues. That’s what happened to me and it resulted in me giving up on getting help. When you punish or get mad at your kids for having issues and/or needing treatment or hospitalization it makes them stop telling you what’s wrong. And I know it’s hard. I’ve had loved ones in hospitals plenty of times. But it’s much better to have someone living but in a hospital than have someone dead.

People make it weird by acting weird. Nobody was looking at you when you entered the room but if you be fidgety and nervous then viola! You've made people look at you and made it awkward. Seriously. I've had this experience so many times. Even when you've done something wrong, just apologize and say that "I'll do better" and watch the reaction of the other person. While if you act all guilty and just stare at the ground, of course it's going to piss someone off and this was something i realised really late. So, the next time you have any thoughts like:

what if it looks bad?

what if they think I'm weird?

what if they talk bad about me?

what if they talk behind me?

In most cases, you're the one in this situation and your brain is indirectly controlling you into doing things that actually prove your thoughts so in other words, you're messed up by your own mind.

i cannot hate myself into a version of me i will love.

“A friend once asked me what the meaning to life was. Must there be only one? Meaning weaves itself through the giggling of a child as he buries his face in my chest. Meaning smiles down on me as I wish the dog on the corner good morning and good night each day. Meaning plays peek-a-boo with my kittens as they chase their toys and deposit them loyally by my feet. Meaning is here. Meaning is everywhere. It is simply up to us to see it, to recognize it, to hope for more.”

—musings part 2 (4/10/2021)