Oct 24, 2020
Come to the decision that Cyrus dresses like Mako from LOK
seen from Nepal
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
seen from Russia
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Philippines
Come to the decision that Cyrus dresses like Mako from LOK
Some Low Blood Sugar Things
Shaking hands. Not seeming to be able to grab or keep a hold of things well without a lot of mental effort that during a spike, you probably don’t have the energy for.
Dizziness. And not, oh the rooms spinning. No. The room is zooming in and out around you and the floors moving and you can barely keep upright. Much less try and take a step to get from place to place.
Quick blackouts. Did you lose 30 seconds there? Have you been supposed to be a part of this conversation the entire time? What did you say?
Slow speech. Keeping your thoughts from coming out in an unintelligible mumbled mess takes great focus and concentration.
So does listening and understanding someone else who’s talking.
It’s like you hear or know the words. But it’s a ginormous puzzle you’re supposed to focus on and put together and understand the picture in no time at all. That’s expected. Normal. What did you say? Why aren’t you listening to me? Pay attention.
You’re trying. You can’t. Cuz you can either put all your focus on word puzzles or you can try and keep yourself from falling flat on the floor.
You actually kind of wish you’d pass out.
Stumbled steps. The floors moving beneath you remember? But also your limbs don’t want to function. Movements are slow. Sluggish. It’s like you can feel your blood slowly crawling through your veins. It’s not moving fast enough. Not enough to do anything at anything more than a snails pace.
Migraines. Somewhat minor. Caused by your levels being low.
Migraines. Major. Causing your levels to go crazy.
The pain medication for those migraines do it too.
Sometimes water helps. Sometimes it makes it worse. It’s a roll of the dice and you’re not in control.
It’s a pit in your stomach. A black hole that wants to consume everything. It will consume you.
The smell of food makes the shaking worse. You can’t still your hands. Drinks sloshing out of lids. Straws. Cans. People are staring. Wondering what’s wrong. Are you on something? Going through withdrawals?
It’s nausea at even the thought of eating.
It’s knowing that the only thing that stands a chance of helping is eating something to try and get your levels to a manegable level.
Or it’s going days without eating. Cuz your levels are stable. And you don’t have that black hole in your stomach demanding a sacrifice. You don’t have a reminder to eat anything.
And then after that it’s crashing. It’s spiking back down in the middle of the night. You’re anxious. You can’t sleep. You will consume everything in sight and it will not be enough.
It’s writhing in bed. Because your wrists burn and you’re shaking. But you can’t function. You can’t think well enough to force yourself to get up and raid the stash of granola bars you keep in your closet.
It’s laying there. Not even really comprehending what the problem is. Because you don’t exist. You’re just an entity laying there in agony as you toss and turn and keep your arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as you try to get the shaking to stop.
It’s peeling yourself up off the bed in the morning. Exhausted and trembling. Dizzy and stumbling and drowning yourself in whatever beverage you can get your hands on first. Water. That jug of orange juice in the fridge. Whatever.
It’s mouths dry and clammy skin.
It’s sweating so bad you’d think your feverish. Buts it’s freezing at the same time. You’re cold, and your face is flushed. And your hearts racing and you can’t catch your breath.
The room is zooming in and out around you right? It’s walking into things. Mysterious cuts and bruises from where you weren’t thinking straight enough to notice you slammed into the doorway.
It’s bending down to get into your car and smacking your head on the roof. It hurts. You should of seen it. Moving around your home should be muscle memory. It’s not.
It’s clutched heads and shaking hands. The shaking. Shaking. It won’t stop. Please just stop.
It’s turning down offers of small candies or mints because even though you need the sugar it’s knowing that that small an amount is only going to make things worse. It’s only going to tease the black hole in your stomach. It won’t fix anything.
It’s food falling off of forks and spoons because you need to eat something. You’re trying to eat something. But you can’t stop the shaking. You can’t still your hands long enough to get the food into your mouth.
It’s eating quickly. Not even tasting or smelling it. You look down suddenly and you’ve worked through your entire meal. You hope it’s enough to stabilize your levels some.
It’s ten minutes later and you swear you’re starving again. That your insides have resorted to eating you to continue functioning.
It’s rushing through your food so fast that you make yourself sick. That you have to fight to keep it down. Because you need to time to digest it. So the sugars can work through your system and get the shaking to stop.
It’s avoiding water cuz it makes the nasuea worse.
Stumbled steps and blurred words and thoughts. It’s bracing yourself on walls and counters to keep yourself up right.
The rooms spinning.
But it’s not.
The floor is a living breathing thing. It moves beneath you.
Logically you know it’s not.
But logic doesn’t exist.
All you have is the shaking. Your wrists burning and your insides twisting around inside you as they threaten to devour themselves.
It’s agitation. The smallest of sounds sounding the loudest. It’s snapping. Oh my god will you stop breathing.
You’re the embodiment of every snickers commercial.
You’re angry. And you have no reason to be. And you know it’s wrong. That there’s nothing to be upset over. That your brothers and sisters are just being children. That they’re allowed to make noise and exist. And that their playing or singing isn’t really that loud. But it’s all you can hear and you’re just trying to focus.
It’s wanting nothing but perfect silence. But even that’s too loud.
It’s raiding the fridge and the cabinets for food even though you’re in the middle of cooking a proper meal. Because you can smell it, and it makes things worse. And you feel like a feral animal that’s been starved for weeks.
Its feeling like you’re moving around with super speed and the world around you is too slow. Or it’s just the opposite. Either way, you’re stumbling. You’re knocking things over. Dropping them.
It’s feeling like you’re trapped in a bubble as the world continues on around you. You can see things happening around you but you can’t control them. You can’t process what’s going on. You can’t focus.
Or you can focus. But always on the wrong thing. Sounds are too loud. Or the lights are too bright.
It’s feeling normal for weeks. But then out of nowhere your levels drop again. And you’re at work. And you don’t have any change in your pocket to grab a soda, to try and help bring things back up.
And then sometimes it’s just shaking. A slight tremble. You can feel it. But it’s manageable. It doesn’t leave you grasping at straws to try and function.
Cyrus Rowan Doyle // Soulcode
• 5’2 but wears lifts and shoes to make himself appear 5’7. No one knows he does this.
• Fionn Whitehead
• genderfluid (he/him they/them) aromantic asexual
Jocelyn: You’re not a soldier, you’re a doctor.
Cyrus: Yes, but I’m an army doctor. Which means I can break every single one of your bones while naming them.
Game: you have eight different character options you can play as. This first ones named Cyrus—
Me: okay I’ll play that one!
Game: wait! I haven’t even shown you the others and you know nothing about his skills and powers!
Me: his names Cyrus
Cyrus: I’m cold.
Tessa: Just like my heart.
Cyrus: Now is not the time to debate which one of us is more dead inside.
Cyrus: Life is Gucci.
Jaime, signing: Over expensive and pointless?
Cyrus: ..yes.