You know how cucked most men are nowadays when they cite income tax as a reason John Harbaugh wouldn't come to NY as if they themselves have ever had to make a decision over that much money.
It really is the most beautiful story.
This is outstanding. Did you make it?
Really getting sick of year 10 of everyone zeroing in on a single Republican the way Wayne Knight stared at the dilophosaurus in Jurassic Park hoping it wouldn't eat them.
Weebing during Tales of Arise
Need a pitcher that pours itself like those
Don't forget JC Tretter
That's the collage I am now - my mind, my body, my goals, that stench, the damage, the pills, the weed. Glued together, open to interpretation, but never a real person. I'm never beating this thing, and really, I never beat anything. It all beat me and eventually broke me.
I'll be spending the rest of my life encountering new people, even daily, who are sociopathic enough to want in on me just by watching me be myself. I firmly believe that if you can profile an abuser, you can profile a natural target. Once an abuser rips up their victim, others want in on the body.
That's really the worst part of the disease: trying to move on knowing that loss. Loss of time, loss of identity, loss of dignity, loss of innocence, etc. - Sure I survived, and do all the necessary work now to keep going, but I know that stench is there, and always will be.
I could not have been less emotionally prepared to be a full-time surgeon, and I had the polar opposite impression of myself because my real development had been displaced by 15 years. You can work on it, but there's no way of getting that back. Ever.
You can't do your parents' job and grow up at the same time. They'll tell you you're mature or responsible for your age, but they all want in on the fun. They want in on the good deal your parents got, catching a whiff of the servile stench they put on you. I was, am, and always will be stunted.
A prop created by everyone who should have protected him and didn't. A landfill of everything people didn't want to deal with and emotions they didn't want to feel, one that will even disappear for you as needed. None of it tempered me as I thought it did, all of it weakened me. I was never normal.
And worst of all, once I started addressing childhood trauma, I had to renegotiate my entire life story, and not for the better.
The kid who played dad to his siblings and vowed to beat the odds and become a doctor was not that. He wasn't a hero; he was a victim of emotional abuse, a piece of meat.
I had to leave a narcissistic boss, which is its own fucking journey. I had to leave two jobs in eight months to get away from people who could tell I was ripe to be manipulated again. I had to replenish my Vitamin D from almost nothing from being inside so much. I discovered weed in my late 30s.
And anyone who thinks treating this shit is as simple as taking a pill or even simply leveling your mood, think TF again. You need a fucking suitcase of shit to beat this thing and remain productive in your life, and that's IF you don't get picked off socially by some vulture along the way.
Depression was not in my head, it was in my body, and it was tearing me the fuck apart. What I was thinking and what I was feeling became two different worlds. My body had an almost insatiable drive not to exist anymore. It wanted out, even when I wanted in.
Perhaps this is because my physical symptoms well preceded my suicidal ideation, but it blows my mind that people would do anything less than everything possible not to feel this way. If you think RFK playing with SSRIs is a good thing, you're an asshole, and you CERTAINLY do not know this feeling.
A 35-year-old doctor wearing adult diapers at work and hoping he just needs some rest. It's laughable looking back. It was only after I had a clean colonoscopy that it was suggested I look into other reasons this could be happening, and that's really when the "mental health journey" began.
Of course, even as the victories happened, my body was telling me a different story. The kid who beat the odds and became a surgeon was just a rag doll beginning to rip at the seams. The pain in my face progressed to digestive symptoms, and at one point, I lost control of my bowels and leaked mucus
I always told myself to just fight through it. Beat the deadbeat dad. Fix the complication. Put your head down and work full-time through college and spend as much time away from home in high school so your parents don't have to see you & be reminded of how much you cost. I'd beat it all one day.
I would describe it as a bad day at work (which it is) and play it off to loved ones, but I knew something physiological was set off in me that I couldn't control with my mind. I felt tingling on my face. I could feel my eyes in my skull in a way I never did before. I felt my whole body slow down.
I'll never forget the day my eyes sank for the first time. I had two nasty complications in the same week when I first started operating (which now with 11 years experience really weren't disastrous), and having a rough start had overwhelmingly convinced me almost instantly that I was a bad person.
Coming to terms with having PTSD and the depressive episodes that come with it, that there's no going back to normal no matter how well you do with it, that the identity you grew up with was really just a bunch of wreckage, and that nothing was ever really there when you start to clean it up.
you know what, just have a depression day who tf cares?
Xenogears is grad school for FF7
Clout chasing-ass bird
Super Bowl Confetti Made Entirely From Shredded Concussion Studies theonion.com/super-b...
A lot of people will casually ask me how hard it is to operate on people, and honestly I reply that it's really well within my means to offer solutions if I can first clear the hurdle of convincing them they're aging.
Gerontocracy hurts, but it's also deeply representative of their generation.
lmao
