And yet, how much do you want to bet that people will continue to blame sleep apnea on weight issues, despite the actual data showing the causal relationship is incorrect? (if anything, sleep issues -> weight gain, which we’ve known for years) This is why falsified data is harmful: how many apnea patients were told ‘oh just lose weight’ instead of getting proper treatment?
“Ring…huh. Let’s see…if, and I do mean IF I were to give up my oodles of freedom and wild nights of fun…I really think it wouldn’t matter. I mean, if I loved someone enough to tie the knot, I don’t think the ring itself matters. If the relationship was that far along they would know enough about me to find something I liked anyway. So…blue I guess. Something blue.”
Adriwyn sighed wistfully. ‘So much f’ preparin’ it in advance for y’, an’ bein’ set up to be y’ jeweller o’ choice.’ She gave a wry smile and sipped some brandy.
Can we stop acting like depression is all sad poems and love songs? Depression is being tired without doing anything, it’s not being able to eat when you haven’t eaten all day, it’s feeling guilty of things that aren’t your fault, it’s blocking everyone out because you don’t know anything else, it’s just hazy and weird and dark it’s not sad in a good way it’s not about being sad all the time it’s ups and downs and it’s a fucking mess.
“Serious answer…and you owe me a drink for this one.” she took a breath and drained her glass, slamming the empty glass onto the bar top. “The bravest thing I ever done…hmmm…Most would tell a story about some fight. An epic battle for something or other. In all truth…Once I bared my soul to someone. I put myself out there in the arms of someone that could destroy me and guess what. He did. I am not into the huge real life tales of heroism. Anyone can swing a sword. Real strength comes from within…and true bravery is even more rare. Now, where is that drink?”
‘Wha’s y’ poison, then, m’lady? Rum? Brandy? Whiskey? Bourbon?’ She waved to the barkeeper regardless.
“How about all of the above, and you tell me a story about the bravest thing you’ve ever done?” She flashes another smile and leans on the bar, her head propped up in her hand.
She chuckled and nodded to the bartender, sliding some coins across. ‘You ‘eard the lady, mate – an’ a brandy f’ me.’ She pondered a bit while their drinks were prepared. ‘Mm. “Dyin’ be easy – livin’ be ‘ard.” Can’ remember where I read tha’, but… aye, mos’ tales o’ apparent ‘eroism… from me, at leas’, ain’ all tha’ brave. Not to me.’ She fidgeted and sipped from her drink when it came.
‘Mm. Admittin’, weakness be a big one… but dealin’ with m’ weakness migh’ be more so. I suffers attacks o’ serious depression, m’lady – the sort wha’ ‘as a dark pit o’ despair poppin’ up inside m’ mind, suckin’ all the joy out o’ m’ life, an’ most other feelin’s, too. But I doesn’ lie in m’ blankets an’ wait to die. I gets up, cleans up, gets dressed, an’ walks to m’ shop. I fights the temptation every time I starts down the ‘Igh road, an’ some’ow I doesn’ take no ‘eader onto some spiked fence in the Ossan below me, but I gets to m’ shop, opens it, an’ deals wi’ people.’ She shrugged as she swallowed more brandy.
‘Mebbe mos’ o’ tha’ jus’ be strength. I ain’ so sure I’s a good judge o’ “brave”. Bu’ resistin’ tha’ pull to jump… there be a lot o’ mornin’s I reckons tha’ takes more’n jus’ strength.’
Adriellyn's Wandering Home 