Apr 28
Burpy
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from China
Burpy
Trying to write today but....
I'm so hungover from yesterday. Apparently I told my husband to just leave me outside on the sidewalk to die. Obviously he didn't because he's amazing. He tucked me in and got me McDonald's this morning 😆
Fact is I realized an important lesson...
I apparently have plans to go with a friend for next weekend that I don't remember making so.. my resolution to never drink again didn't last very long....😂
Come back next week for more lessons on adulting.
Seeking a friend for the end if the world
Whoa Bessie
———
Steve wakes with his head hammering. The pillow feels like concrete beneath it. It’s like a wrecking ball’s gone a few rounds with his skull, then dragged him into the street to be run down by a garbage truck.
He must’ve groaned or something, because James nuzzles into his neck and sleepily asks, “you ok?”
“Hm?” Steve replies, trying and failing to roll over. The room starts to spin, then rocks sickeningly back in the other direction. “Ugh.”
“Still feeling rough?” James does the rolling over and gives Steve a pat on the back.
‘What do you mean, still?’ He fully intends to ask, but a hot belch rises from Steve’s stomach, tearing through his chest and bringing the taste of whiskey and bile to his tongue. Whatever’s going on, he does indeed feel rough.
“What happened?” Steve grumbles, swallowing hard. He feels like he’s going to vomit, but from the way his mouth’s feeling, he’s already done quite a bit of that. He doesn’t smell it on him, though, so that’s a good sign at least.
“I think we all had a few too many,” James says, half laughing as he sits up in bed. “You had a lot too many.”
A gust of cool air rushes in between the blankets, and Steve shivers. “That’s...” He scrubs the side of his face with his hand and tries to sit up too. “I don’t remember a thing.” He gets halfway upright when his stomach jolts. “I’m gonna throw up.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” James shoots him a half smile as Steve launches out of bed and bolts for the bathroom.
Steve trips over the line of the threshold where the carpet changes to tile, and he barely makes it to the toilet before he gags. Hardly anything comes up, but what does is so sour and bitter it practically makes his eyes roll back in his head.
“ ‘S ok, Stevie,” James says, approaching slowly and pausing in the doorway. “Just get it up.”
“I’m so sorry,” Steve chokes as soon as he has the breath. “I’m— this is—“ He pauses to swallow a sick belch. “I’m supposed to be here for you, not, you know.” He gestures helplessly at the toilet bowl.
“Hey, it’s fine.” James squats at his shoulder, but Steve gives him a shaky push away.
“No, it’s not.” His face contorts as he vomits again. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“But Stevie, I’ve already—“
“Just go.” Steve spits out thick strings of mucous and bile. “Please.”
“I,” James starts, “Ok.” He stands and hovers for a moment. “You sure?”
Steve makes a gesture that clearly means ‘go away.’
“Alright.” James turns, but catches himself on the door frame. “But don’t blame me when I send in reinforcements.”
“Huh?” Steve barely contains a dry heave. But James is already gone.
A few minutes pass, and Steve eventually gives in to the fact that there is indeed more that needs to come up. He retches emptily a few times, then nearly chokes on a tablespoon or so of thick yellowish liquid. His chest burns so much that he knows that’s not the end of it, so Steve sighs and shoves two fingers down his raw throat.
“Real glamorous, Steve-o,” a new voice says from the doorway.
Steve cringes. He finishes the current heave and scrapes his teeth over his tongue before grabbing a length of toilet paper to wipe his hand. Then he looks up to see Sam taking up the space James had just vacated.
“Sorry you had to see that,” Steve groans. “I just—it was stuck—“
“I got it, I got it.” Sam lifts his hands in innocence. “No accusations flying here.”
“I can’t believe I—“ Steve brings his wrist to his lips to hold in a hiccup. He shakes his head dizzily. “What’re you doing here anyway?”
“Being a responsible citizen and not drinking and driving,” Sam says, lazily leaning against the doorway. “Besides, your couch is comfy.”
“Mm.” Steve pushes himself further up on his knees. He wants to try for the sink, but isn’t sure he’s ready to be away from the toilet yet. “God, I’m just, I’m sorry you’re seeing me like this, that Buck’s seeing me like this—“
“It’s a hangover, Steve,” Sam says bluntly. “Not the end of the world.”
Steve gets shakily to his feet. “Yeah.” He reaches for the countertop to steady himself, then turns on the tap. “I guess it’s not.” He swills out his mouth and mops his face with a hand towel.
“You feel up to cold pizza?” Sam asks. “Cause I think your boy’s beating you to it.”
Steve can’t contain the gag that bursts from his lips, spraying spit all over the mirror and sink. “Why’d you even say that?” He chokes.
Sam laughs. “Cause you needed to hear it.” He breaks off grinning, then taps the door frame and turns to go, whistling as he walks back towards the kitchen.
“Right,” Steve tells himself as he goes about cleaning up again. “He’s absolutely right.”
Day 3: Self Induced
Casey leans over the toilet, gagging. His stomach had been turning for the better part of the day and he had headed to the washroom when the nausea had finally spiked. He had been kneeling in front of the toilet for the better part of the hour, just trying to bring up anything so his stomach would stop turning.
He leans against the wall of the stall, stuck in his own personal hell until he hears somebody opening the door. Casey stays silent, praying that whoever it is won’t notice and he won’t be sent home. Whoever it is finishes their business and starts washing their hands. They’re just about to leave when Casey’s stomach twists, sending him lurching over the bowl with a loud gag.
He doesn’t bring up anything but whoever it is stops nonetheless as Casey curses himself. They knock on the door of Casey’s stall.
“Hey, are you ok?” They ask and Casey realizes that it’s Severide. He doesn’t answer, trying to figure out how he can get away from this.
“Fine. I’ll be back,” Severide promises.
Casey relaxes slightly as he hears Severide’s footsteps leaving, the door closing behind him. His stomach twinges again and he sighs, leaning his head against the side of the stall.
Wanting to get out of the bathroom before Severide comes back, Casey sticks his fingers in his mouth, pulling them out as he gags. Nothing comes up and he tries it again, sticking his fingers in deeper. Again, nothing. Trying once more, Casey sticks his fingers as far as he can and keeps them in even after he feels his stomach crawling up his throat.
He quickly takes his fingers out as he finally throws up, vomit spraying from his mouth and into the toilet. His stomach rebels again, sending him lurching over the toilet. Somewhere in the background he could hear footsteps coming closer.
“Hey, I’m back. Open up, I’ve got some water,” Severide tells him. Casey doesn’t say anything, still leaning over the toilet as his stomach spasms. He coughs up a few more mouthfuls of bile before his stomach settles somewhat. Casey looks at his vomit covered hand in disgust before Severide's voice rings through the empty room.
“If you don’t open the door, I’m kicking it down,” Severide threatens and Casey sighs, unlocking the stall door. Kelly steps into the stall, a bottle of water and some advil in hand.
“Casey?!” He exclaims, shocked.
Casey nods as Severide shakes off the shock and hands him the bottle. Casey takes a sip to rinse his mouth out before taking a drink.
“How long have you been sick?” Kelly asks, crouching on the floor beside the captain.
“Been feeling like shit the whole day,” Casey tells him, reaching up to flush the toilet and stand up.
Severide grabs him around the waist, helping to support his best friend as he makes his way to the sink to wash his hands.
“You know I’m going to tell Boden, right?”
“Yeah…”
Casey leans over the toilet, gagging. His stomach had been turning for the better part of the day and he had headed to the washroom when the nausea had finally spiked. He had been kneeling in front of the toilet for the better part of the hour, just trying to bring up anything so his stomach would stop turning.
He leans against the wall of the stall, stuck in his own personal hell until he hears somebody opening the door. Casey stays silent, praying that whoever it is won’t notice and he won’t be sent home. Whoever it is finishes their business and starts washing their hands. They’re just about to leave when Casey’s stomach twists, sending him lurching over the bowl with a loud gag.
He doesn’t bring up anything but whoever it is stops nonetheless as Casey curses himself. They knock on the door of Casey’s stall.
“Hey, are you ok?” They ask and Casey realizes that it’s Severide. He doesn’t answer, trying to figure out how he can get away from this.
“Fine. I’ll be back,” Severide promises.
Casey relaxes slightly as he hears Severide’s footsteps leaving, the door closing behind him. His stomach twinges again and he sighs, leaning his head against the side of the stall.
Wanting to get out of the bathroom before Severide comes back, Casey sticks his fingers in his mouth, pulling them out as he gags. Nothing comes up and he tries it again, sticking his fingers in deeper. Again, nothing. Trying once more, Casey sticks his fingers as far as he can and keeps them in even after he feels his stomach crawling up his throat.
He quickly takes his fingers out as he finally throws up, vomit spraying from his mouth and into the toilet. His stomach rebels again, sending him lurching over the toilet. Somewhere in the background he could hear footsteps coming closer.
“Hey, I’m back. Open up, I’ve got some water,” Severide tells him. Casey doesn’t say anything, still leaning over the toilet as his stomach spasms. He coughs up a few more mouthfuls of bile before his stomach settles somewhat. Casey looks at his vomit covered hand in disgust before Severide's voice rings through the empty room.
“If you don’t open the door, I’m kicking it down,” Severide threatens and Casey sighs, unlocking the stall door. Kelly steps into the stall, a bottle of water and some advil in hand.
“Casey?!” He exclaims, shocked.
Casey nods as Severide shakes off the shock and hands him the bottle. Casey takes a sip to rinse his mouth out before taking a drink.
“How long have you been sick?” Kelly asks, crouching on the floor beside the captain.
“Been feeling like shit the whole day,” Casey tells him, reaching up to flush the toilet and stand up.
Severide grabs him around the waist, helping to support his best friend as he makes his way to the sink to wash his hands.
“You know I’m going to tell Boden, right?”
“Yeah…”
Me: I should write something to improve my english writing skills, so that I can actually keep up with native english/american people.
Also me: Oh the lyrics to "Hellfire" from the hunchback of notre dame were so good! Ima learn them now, just to be able to sing along to it in the shower and/or car.
WHy aM i lIKe tHiS?!
So, I've decided that I'm going to force myself to fall back into my depression and anxiety. I know that I'm super happy now and that this makes no sense, and it doesn't make sense to me either. I think of it as, even though I'm happy now, it can't be genuine. I never processed or rationalized anything, I just put it on pause and everything that is paused resumes eventually. I don't want hitting the play button to be explosive. I know how to manage everything better now, so this time it would be controlled. I'm just doing this to be able to process everything. I think it's a good decision for me to make right now. If I didn't think it would help, I wouldn't do it.