I have no idea what’s happening on campus right now, I just hear the muffled, filtered noise of music coming from what I imagine is a few floors below.
There is also an unusual, steady breeze….
Inside a building… on the third floor… yeah.
Between the louder sounds of my iPod, and the interference of the headphones dying out so that if I tilt my head a certain degree the sound cuts out of one ear and not the other, well, I’m having a dandy old time!
My back is sore from sitting upright (well, slouching upright) and my mind is tired from all the stress. Stress on what?
Paperwork. Do you realize how much paperwork is involved when it comes to a new job? Jesus. I found MORE levels of paperwork I didn’t even know were around and got through about half of it so that the other half I can make joint decisions about with my parents at home. Gosh.
My phone keeps whacking into my chair too, for reasons I don’t know why or how but it is, and it’s annoying.
But yeah, paperwork and the surmounting level of homework to catch up on and get on top of while I am OUT for the next two weeks — because job orientation thingy.
Boy, I was stressin’ out a bit earlier, I calmed down though, although I am pretty scared when it comes to this whole job thing and the stress involved and what it’s going to be like and worrying about future things and things that just are not helpful to me in the moment. Which is, to say, THIS moment.
I did more research in the last week about the facility I’ll be at and all of the bullshittery about its past, and it’s calmed me…that’s not the right word…but it’s helped give me perspective (ironic that perspective is an article I wrote about this week) and also creep me out MORE about what on earth I’m getting myself into.
A lot of it is just the unexpected, the UNKNOWNs about it. The orientation should help a lot, but even that is making me anxious because I don’t know what to expect from that either. OH BOY!
Apparently it’s starting this coming Monday for two weeks, 8a-5p every day. Every. Day. For two. weeks. O_O
Even my parents are skeptical that the orientation, excuse me, is that long. But then there’s the fact that I’m missing schoolwork stuff. Sigh.
One of my professor’s has excused me at least, so that’s good.
That takes off some of the worries and anticipation and such.
I just gotta remember to keep breathing, telling myself it’s okay, everything’s going to be okay and take it one moment at a time. Yeah, that makes sense. Okay. I’m still anxious but I’ll work on distracting myself until later tonight where I’ll put up some articles.
Yeah, that’s all I got for right now. See ya peeps later!! đ
⤠⤠â¤
PS I just feel that I’ve gone in over my head for this job and I’m gonna miss seeing doggies as often… I don’t know maybe it won’t even be … Gotta think of it positively and with hope. It’s going to work out. It’ll be okay.
Summary: A one-shot that explores the depth of Lokiâs character and all the dismissive practices he engages in to keep himself separate from Thorâs unconditional love. These are the lies Loki tells himself and still, the two share a moment together.
Word prompt: Blur from WordPress. Written February 19th 2017.
Nails: Clipped, borrowed, burrowed
Hands: Fisted, angered, sore.
Eyes: Green, emotional, blurred
Mind: Lost, misunderstood, damaged.
Heart: Beating, alive, desperately seeking to be loved.
His soul: Together, yet crinkled around the edges.
Who is he? No one: nothing–and everything.
Identity: Murky, unknown, once a whole–now, glued together with separation.
Where does he belong? Uncertainty laces through his veins, he does not know; once with Asgardians, then with Jotuns, now withâŚno one?
Amongst the mortals he walks. He strides forward with purpose, although unsolidified worry halts his progression. Where is he going? What is his purpose?
He fears, deep down, that there is not one.
Again, he walks: eyes darting down the alleyways, analyzing for a threat that never comes. Without purpose, he shrivels inside. His broken spirit leaks out into his relationshipsâŚthe few he even has.
His âbrotherâ seeks him. His âbrotherâ wanders through the realms, day and night, looking for his lost sibling.
He guffaws. He is not âlostâ, he is âbetterâ, âstrongerâ, âincomprehensible.â He is everything to these mortals–everything they fear so dearly. Trudge through him they will not, for they know his power over their puny lives.
Even though he fails to use it, powerlessness creeps over his shoulders, dragging them into poor posture. Hopelessness crowds his vision, despair lingering on the words half-formed on his tongue, but his mouth does not produce them. Talk is cheap; he has nothing left to say, with nothing of importance.
He is not of importance. Why his elder bothers to pursue him, he feigns ignorance.
Caught in a whirlwind of emotion, tumbling with expectation, he had embraced his exile. No more âfamilyâ to pretend he belonged to, no more of a âcultureâ in his life that he could never measure up to, no more âgreedâ and âmeadâ and âcrystallized brute strength.â
No, instead he could wander the realms, although he always managed to be pulled back to this one. There was something about Midgard that got under his skin. Maybe it was the almost victory, the almost ruling he would have had had the Chitauri stepped up their game, had the loathed âAvengersâ been weaker and broken–his lips curl in distaste, he spits to the concrete at the memory–just as they were meant to be…
Maybe, but maybeâs were for fools wishing for a yesterday that never comes.
He is âbetterâ he reasons. He is âmoreâ–more than the nothingness, the shadows that reign about him.
But he knows better. He knows he is the opposite–a sliver of the would-be king he once was. The void had done him ill. The Other had crippled his mind. Thanos had ruined him. Or was it that Thanos ruled him? The distinction seemed to matter, for the exhale came out long and hard, annoyance seeping into his betrayed soul.
Oh, how he had been betrayed! Lied to, disowned, unaware of his true heritage, lost to the void, mourned by his brethren, but did they ever search for him? He chortled on his spit. Of course not! What type of âfamilyâ did he truly grow up with? So quick to accept his fate that they didnât even bother to search for him!
But how could they? A thought sneaks its way into his peripheral vision.
How could they have known?
He bites his pink flesh, swallowing hard and attempting to ignore the kindness, the compassion, his mind is so readily available to give to him.
Maybe they didnât knowâŚMaybe it was impossible for them to knowâŚ
âBut if they truly loved, they would have known!â
Again, the rage inside dissipated. They would have known, if they loved him, they would have known he was alive. They wouldnât have given up hope, they wouldnât have surrendered to the thought that he was taken by Valhalla. They would have searched for him, day in and night out; they would have LOVED him enough to believe in him, to believe in his strengths, his mind, his magic–HIM!
He saw it often enough with the mortals! How–no, WHY–was he any different? When one of their kin, often the younger children, disappeared, they searched endlessly for them. They put up these pathetic slices of paper with a photo of their missing ones, and they went into the square shaped black box, speaking out about their loved one, casting hope into the abyss, sharing a light through the bleak darkness.
Where was his light when he required it? Where was his lighthouse when he was caught in the void?
Because he never saw it, he never tasted freedom, he never wished for his âbrotherâ more than ever before.
But no one came.
They all just accepted the fates of the nine realms: Loki was gone and he would never come back.
Well, he had shown them. He had shown that they were wrong, that he had RETURNED, that he was alive and he could not be vanquished. He was âbetterâ, âstrongerâ, and it would take more to get rid of his spirit.
The trickster kicked at a clump of white snow. It knocked into the side of a gray Sedan, promptly leaving an indent and serving him with its high pitched howl.
Dragging in a breath, he rolled his eyes. The mortals needed to invest in better security measures.
If he had smiled then at the proud sticker boasting about its love for the Man of Iron plastered onto the Sedan, he would fervently deny it.
âŚ.A flicker in the window above him caught his green eyes. He looked up, shoulders squaring back, and mischief glinting in his teeth.
There he stood: Thor.
Thor with his blue eyes of shock and confusion, Thor who had just ravished Vanaheim searching for his brother, only to find him mischievously staring back at him a thousand yards below.
If Thor noticed the dent in Mr. Starkâs newly replaced vehicle, it never passed his facial expressions. If Thor had heard the grating noise of the alarm system accosting his ears, he didnât bat an eye at it.
All he saw was the one he never gave up on. All he saw was his little brother, looking up at him with barely concealed contempt.
They shared that moment together.
Until Loki gave a curt nod, and spun on his heel. A lyric from a passing car cementing the moment into his brain:
âAnd if my blue skies fade to black, and if there is no turning back, youâre gonna see me standing tall, âcause you know that Iâm a warrior.â
A/N: It’s been a long while since I wrote any type of fanfic, and I have a lot of unseen works behind the scenes, so I thought I’d pick up this prompt and write for a while. This is what came out. I’d like to think it’s more complex and unique than it may actually be. Song lyrics/background song used: “Warrior” by Trisha Paytas. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review! Thank you for visiting! â¤
So, I decided to take action against Douche Canoe since he texted me again on Tuesday. I’ve come to realize I’m pretty damn proactive and that I don’t take anybody’s shit. đ I engaged with conversation with him, unfortunately, and it freaked me out a lot but I also emailed people on campus about the issue.
So that, on Wed I met with an official on campus to file an informal complaint about the harassment and also met with an officer from public safety where Douche Canoe received an email from the university official to stop contact with me. The informal complaint is just a record of that, and if he continues (he hasn’t yet) they will get more stern about it.
Pretty much, that situation has been handled! YAY!
On top of that, I have some AWESOME news!
I think I may have mentioned to you guys that over the winter break, I think at the end of December 2016, I interviewed for a Recovery Treatment Assistant job (essentially an MHT or mental health technician, AKA the people who work on an inpatient unit who check off what you’re up to) at a nearby hospital annnnnd I found out yesterday that I got it!!! đ
I’m super happy and excited and honored and albeit, a bit anxious! Mainly because it’s a full time position and I’m in school still, so I’m HOPING they will work with my availability until May where I can switch completely to full time over the summer until the fall semester again.
Worst case scenario? They can’t and I don’t get the job. But I’m hoping it can work and am going to pretend it will going forwards.
The training is TWO weeks long, like early 8am to 5p every day. PHEW! I’m hoping to do the one on March 6th as the week after is spring break and so I’ll only miss one week of classes.
The pay is good, I could get benefits, and I’m thinking and hoping that I’ll enjoy it! It’s such an honor to potentially work with other people through their own recovery journeys. đ I could gush about it more but….
I also have another NAMI IOOV type thing tonight! So, I’ll be off for a couple hours this evening doing that. đ So, that’s all I have time for for now!
I have to continue packing up my stuff for this evening so, it’s time for me to sign off.
It was great updating you guys (I also saw my new therapist today, yipppeeee! and it went well!) and I’ll be sure to be active again over this long weekend. đ
It makes me genuinely happy and laughing that this exists. I also have been thinking of doing the douche canoe drawing above, but with the canoe facing upwards, in a nice, natural setting of nature.
This post is brought to you by the RAGE I feel regarding a certain DOUCHE CANOE in my life. Very much so someone I do NOT WANT in my life, yet, their persistence is noted well here.
(I’ve personally sent this person the meme above) within my message of LEAVE ME ALONE, I want NOTHING to do with you and DO NOT CONTACT ME FURTHER.
I am ready, at high levels of anger (now mixing with deflated tiredness), to see this man at my campus and fucking YELL at him, MAKE A SCENE and just be done with it. UGH.
The rage has brought me a thirst for water…. I may have to fulfill that need soon.
Any who, douche canoe is just one of those ignorant morons who believes that homosexuality (and thereby bisexuality) is a choice and culture has to do with it…
Yeah, NOOOO!!
Please oh please, douche canoe:
He also likes to objectify women and do the dirty with them. He asked me outright if I’d perform a sexual act on him and my answer was a resounding: NO!
I decided I wanted zero things to do with him. So we didn’t speak for 7 months.
Unnnntillll, Douche Canoe came back!
Saw me at school one day, he said. And I proceeded to think to myself, Man, maybe I was being too hard on him. Until I realized how he’s a tad homophobic and I’m just not interested in dealing with that type of bullshit in my life. So I changed my mind and told him I didn’t want to hang out with him or whatever (I deleted all the messages) and told him goodbye.
And that was that…..
Until he texted me today about that Austin Powers reference about a dick in the sky, except he said it was ‘Superman’.
*rolls eyes*
No, buddy, not in a million years.
Again, I deleted the messages, but then he struck number two in there with a LOL.
For no reason.
So he has one more text left before I call up my network and BLOCK HIS ASS.
Pissed off Raquel doesn’t play nicely. She’s HARSH. Not cruel, but harsh. If that’s what the message takes…
I told him he was a douche canoe (included the meme) and told him flat out I wanted no contact with him and I did not and do not want to even know he exists. OUCH!
And laid it down with two more goodbye’s.
The ball is in his court now.
We’ll see what happens.
And remember folks,
*Images brought to you by Google. This post is going to look especially hilarious once I update you guys on my Valentine’s day plans XD
I recognized my first insecurity about a week prior to the start of this semester. My first fear was that I was running out of topics and concepts to write about–which are particularly illogical as I have plenty of ideas left to go. But this insecurity bit at me–leaving a mark on my skin as if to say it owned me.
My second doubt came one evening while I was heading to catch the train at South station. It wormed its way into my brain, expressing the questioning wonder if I would be able to complete college.
The bigger worm behind that doubt was if I was going to be able to survive through graduate school.
The next drop came when I got lost trying to get to my new therapistâs office. Annoyingly, I got lost right around where I needed to be (and I have since learned the way), but it cost me an appointment and having to reschedule for two weeks later.
I proceeded to sob in the parking lot as the snow came down to keep me company, as depression came flooding into my vision and negative self-talk seemed like the ultimate truth. It was then that I recalled why being a student last semester was nowhere near my list of concerns. It all made sense then, and I struggled to shake the shock of its pain for the following three days.
My next âScarlet takes a tumbleâ came with a round of procrastination. The procrastination led to some rule breaking–no, demolishing–of my student identity as deep shame made me want to isolate myself and be deprived of sensory information for the rest of the day.
A nap settled my disgruntled mood, but the next wave of insecurities came for me early in the evening. It began gradually, a doubt again about my limited amount of content to come, then to my wondering if my articles were even interesting to begin with. Shadows of doubt dangled in my vision as I wasnât sure anymore if my articles even mattered. Maybe, I thought, maybe they never did.
Yet, on the surface it was not merely a question of my articles worth, but of my own worth as a person.
This part occurred to be as the doubts swam in my mind heading to the train station. My brain swung left and right at me and naturally I reacted in a way that I think anybody would–I cried.
For some reason, when my brain spouts its cruel words and lies, I am aware of the fact that what it is telling me is NOT the truth. And, in part, I think that is part of the problem. Because I realize it is not the truth that I am being told, and yet I feel powerless to stop its assault. I am not even sure if voicing these doubts is a form of reassurance seeking, or if I am meant to just keep them to myself and let go of them so I can move forwards.
But, in part, it feels like I cannot move forward. I fear my articles have become like journal entries, no longer with a point but merely to update myself on my life.
Who cares about my life? I wonder. Does my story matter?
The words slice through my very soul and I am left wandering in the nothingness of negative self-talk and depression, and I am sure that OCD is hanging around the vicinity, as well.
Naturally, these doubts exhume a deep level of emotional pain. At least, I can say that my crying spell helped and I was able to move forwards by writing the beginning of this article.
What is my conclusion?
The fear is that there is not one. Yet, maybe that is not such a bad thing. When I am well, I hold strong beliefs in the idea that my story matters, I matter and the reader, out there, whoever they are, matters too. I can have these doubts and insecurities, and they do not have to rule my life. Easier said that practiced, yet true all the same. I can remind myself that my feelings are temporary, and as the most common and most heard response I get when I voice my suicidal thoughts to people, I can also remind myself: âDonât do that.â
And of course, the factors I have outlined here are not the only concerns engaged in this thick black ball of spider web goo. Yet, that exploration is for another article.
Ultimately, I have to believe that what I do matters. It matters to me; to you and to people I do not even know yet. I hold purpose, and so do you.
Living life with a chronic illness is definitely not easy. But I do my best to push through all the barriers this illness puts in front of me! In my heart and mind, I believe maintaining a positive outlook on all situations in life will carry us through to much better times! I hope you find the information that I provide both helpful and inspirational!
RecoverytoWellness 