Tag Archives: nestinghawk

(I feel awful saying this but I’m used to waiting for long time , being forgotten and maybe even neglected. But every time I get an answer it feels that much more precious. I have been where you are and I know how it feels. Still am actually but I have one of my better days now. You aren’t horrible person nor writer, you do what you can and that’s it. No ones expecting or forcing you to do more, at least not here. If you can’t eat then maybe you can drink something. At least a little bit. <3 )

My husband is making me eat some soup.

It’s my own expectations. I expect better out of myself, not to do the things that annoy me when other people do them.  I know that I’m older, more experienced, than a lot of the folk I interact with, so I set my self-expectations accordingly higher — and I guess beat myself up more when I fail.

(I do care! I’m certain others do as well. You are wonderful and kind person believe it. I know how you feel but you are strong and you can get over it. I know it will often come back and that there’s no way to make the feelings go away for good but we will fight and we will win. The people that care for you will help you every time, you aren’t alone. We have good moments as well so hold on to those! You are very dear to me.)

I don’t understand how you can even say this — I’m neglecting you horribly, you send me the memes (you’re the only one) and I just let them sit there and I don’t reply to our thread and

I just feel like a horrible person (and kind of a horrible writer) right now. I wish this headache would go away.

(Panic attack) “Summer! It’ll be okay, you can do it. Take deep breaths, sweety. Copy me, like this.” Clint takes deep slow breaths trying to get you to calm down. When he notices you can’t he lifts you to his lap, holds and kisses you while blowing air to your lungs. He will also apologize for kissing you without permission when you feel calmer.

My muse is suffering from a panic attack and can’t breathe. What does your muse do?

It’s never been so bad before. Maybe it’s because it’s her own fear, not someone else’s; she can’t shield it out. It shakes her limbs and rips ragged holes in her breathing, and the buzzing in her ears nearly drowns out Clint’s words.

It helps so much when he pulls her into his arms, when he forces her to regulate her breathing. She can’t gasp for air when his mouth is on hers, she can’t concentrate on the panic when he’s distracting her, so she just clings to him, closing her eyes and letting him take her mind away.