btw y'all my notification checking compulsion used to be so bad that I'd go through every LIKE in my tumblr notes to see what posts people were liking. even if they weren't mutuals, if I didn't know them, if they were total strangers. I STILL go through all the tags, though that's more of an information-seeking thing. it can be hard to tell what's compulsive and what's not sometimes. but the likes thing was utter compulsion and I hated doing it at the time. it felt time consuming and boring but it also felt like something I Needed To Do because I Had To Know.
I had to break myself of my notification checking compulsions bc they were absolutely ruining me. that's when I turned off push notifications for every single social app a couple years back. For a while I just started opening my apps more to check them. But I also made a knowing effort to Not Do That, even in the face of the discomfort of not feeding my compulsion, and it worked! and then eventually when I did open my apps, I just started looking at the relevant stuff, bc I didn't want to waste my time. I broke part of the compulsion. It feels good to remember that I did that before I even realised it was OCD I was dealing with lmfao. That I AM very capable of facing my compulsions and telling them, No.
Another, deadly part of the notification compulsion is the dreaded Discord Server. I was in so many servers I didn't care about getting so many pings. I was making it my solemn duty to check every message in every sever every day. It was time consuming and not okay. In some cases the answer was simply to leave the server or mute notifications. In some cases, where I was still getting pings for certain things that I wasn't necessarily interested in for servers that I DID want to stay in for whatever reason, I discovered that the answer was, well... sometimes you just have to let your notifications fill up. It's really okay. Let them build up. Stare that compulsion in the face and tell it to fuck off.
if I ever send a screenshot of my discord, people tend to balk at how many notifications I have. or my texts, with unread (spam) messages. people will say "omg how can you live like this why aren't you checking your notifications why aren't you clearing them!" and holy shit sometimes I just wanna throttle em. because in doing this, not only are you feeding my compulsions, but you're creating your own! and if I say "well yeah I have OCD and I'm trying to break myself of the notification checking compulsion" I'll often get the response of "oh... well that's great but I couldn't live like that lol". MY FRIEND!!! YOU'RE PUTTING YOURSELF IN THE CHILLI!! FREE YOURSELF FROM THE SHACKLES OF COMPULSION!!!!!!!! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO IT!!
Waugh. My point is. You Can fight your compulsions. They don't have to rule your life. I have done it and I am doing it constantly. It works and it does feel better. You just have to be willing and able to tell yourself No and sit in that discomfort for a while.
Believe it or not, but after months of zero inspiration, I've written 2k words for it today 🥹. Feels great. I've also finally settled on the overall mood of this part and I think you're going to like it. There's still no end in sight, BUT I'm not dreading this fic anymore. That's a start.
Thank you for your patience & your wonderful DMs about the story & for sticking around! 🤍 Please accept this random snippet as a token of my undying love for you all (it's long lol):
[You’re in the elevator with your neighbor. He’s older and a sleaze bag. You have a soft spot for him.]
You press the lobby button again even though it’s already lit. “You okay? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
His smirk twitches, revealing something almost vulnerable. Almost. “You miss me?”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ethan. Just wanna know if I need to go back and get the Narcan.”
That earns a chuckle, hoarse and dry, but it’s something. “Relax. I’m fine. Just a rough week.”
“Oh yeah?” you ask. “‘Cause you look like you’re coming off a bender.”
“You’re worried about me,” he says, leaning closer, his grin faint but there. “Admit it.”
“I’m not worried,” you snap, but your tone lacks conviction. “It’s just… dude, you look like hammered shit. When’s the last time you even slept?”
He tries for a shrug, though it’s more like a slump against the cold metal wall. “Tuesday, maybe Wednesday? Hard to keep track.”
“It’s Friday,” you point out, your voice softer now. “You need to get your shit together.”
He leans his head back against the elevator wall, exhaling so hard you almost feel it. For a moment, you think he might actually tell you what’s going on, but then his eyes flick to your hand, and his brow creases in concern. “What happened there?”
You glance at the wrist brace, flexing your fingers instinctively. “Nothing. Just a stupid accident.”
“Stupid accident,” Ethan repeats, his voice softening just enough to catch you off guard. “You get in a fight or something?”
“No,” you say quickly, but his raised eyebrow confirms he doesn’t believe you. “It’s nothing. Don’t start.”
“Hm.” He looks you up and down, like he’s waiting for you to crack. “You wanna come over later and hang out? I got a movie lined up.”
You raise an eyebrow. “What, Buffalo ‘66?”
“If that’s what you’re into.” He snorts, sounding more like himself. “Shoulda told me sooner. You know how I live to please.”
You can’t help a half-smile, but no. Not going there. You clear your throat. “How’s your wife, Ethan?”
“She’s good, she’s good,” he sighs, casual as always. “Travelling, hitting the slopes, spending my money, getting her back blown out by some college kid. You know, the regular.”
You scoff. “Not gonna lie, that sounds pretty good. And all she has to do is stay married to you?”
He arches a brow. “You proposing, sweetheart?”
“Nah, I’d be a terrible trophy wife. I’d torch your suits the first time I found your secretary’s lipstick on your shirt. And key your dumb car. And step on your balls.”
“Keep talking dirty to me like that and I’ll drive us straight to the courthouse, baby,” he drawls, a little more life in his voice.
You roll your eyes but your lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “You always know how to cheer me up, you know that?”
He tilts his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nod and furrow your brow. “It’s funny, I talk to you for a minute and I realize that maybe my dumpster fire of a life isn’t that bad. Like, it could be worse.”
He gives a dry chuckle. “You’re welcome, I guess.” He notices your injured hand again, concern flickering across his tired features. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” you say exasperatedly. “Never been better.”
He eyes you carefully, his expression unexpectedly gentle. “You’re too young to have that look on your face.”
You bristle. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about life being far too short to spend it being unhappy,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. “Trust me.”
“Like I’m gonna take advice from you,” you say, crossing your arms as your pulse does that weird stutter.
Ethan offers a vague smile, and a muscle in his jaw tightens beneath the bruise. “I’m not saying you should,” he murmurs. “Just wish someone had told me that a long time ago, that’s all.”
