on the limit

…what…

what invisible demons are you fighting anon what are we talking about

Now take this logic and apply it to things like ADHD, autism, clinical depression, and other less visible/divergent disabilities. You cannot think your way out of feeling.

“Carlos Alcaraz is finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. After almost four months away from competition due to the right wrist injury he suffered during the Barcelona Open (Conde de Godó), the tennis player from Murcia is facing the decisive phase of his recovery with a very clear objective: to return to the courts at the Cincinnati Masters 1000, the last major warm-up tournament before the US Open.

The latest news from the world number two's camp is encouraging. Although Carlitos is not on the official list for the Canadian Masters 1000 , an absence that initially raised concerns among fans and experts, the decision is the result of a carefully designed medical and athletic plan. There have never been any shortened timelines, and there won't be now, when the worst is over.

Alcaraz's team has chosen to focus all their efforts on arriving in the best possible condition for Cincinnati, a tournament that begins in mid-August. Before that, he will need to be medically cleared, and the plan is for Dr. Ángel Ruiz-Cotorro to grant it this week. He saw him last Friday in Barcelona, and the impressions were very positive. The wrist is healthy, completely healed, and they will gradually increase the training load.

From the outset, both the player and his team emphasized that the absolute priority was to avoid any relapses that could jeopardize the rest of the season or even pose a serious problem for the future.

During these months, the work has been constant, although away from the spotlight. In the first phase, rest and specific treatment for the wrist predominated. Later, physical exercises, continuous running , and track movements without putting stress on the injured joint began. Controlled drills followed, and in recent weeks, training with a higher intensity has commenced, although still under medical supervision.

The decision to also withdraw from Montreal fits perfectly within that conservative strategy. The schedule left little room between his return to competitive play and the start of the Canadian tournament, so the risk of returning without sufficient match fitness was high. Cincinnati, a tournament that begins on August 13 (in exactly one month), offers a much more favorable scenario to gauge the true state of Alcaraz's wrist.

The tennis player from Murcia wants to be at the US Open. And his goal is to return to fight for the title in New York. He knows that playing several high-level matches beforehand in Cincinnati would be the best possible preparation. However, no one on the Murcia team wants to set a definitive date until they've confirmed that the wrist responds without discomfort to high-intensity training. The next two weeks will be crucial, and medical clearance will depend on his daily progress, without taking unnecessary risks. For Ruiz-Cotorro, the diagnostic tests are just as important as how Alcaraz feels when he starts hitting the ball hard again.

Whatever the case, Alcaraz remains eager to compete again. After a long absence, the player from El Palmar is confident that Cincinnati will mark the beginning of a new chapter in a season that started brilliantly before injury halted his progress. If everything goes according to plan, the US Masters 1000 will be the stage chosen for the highly anticipated return of one of the biggest stars in world tennis.”

“Chopping carrots with Ilya,” Shane sings under his breath. “Making salad with Ilya.”

Yuna smiles softly from the dining room. This is one of her favorite things about her son. From the time he could (barely) talk, he made up little songs about anything and everything. The first time he’d done it, he’d been strapped into his car seat and watching cars go by. When he’d caught Yuna’s eye in the rear view mirror, he’d smiled with all 8 of his little teeth and waved.

“Dwiving,” he’d sung, all of 18 months old and barely able to say the word properly. “Dwivin’ wi’ Mama. Wuv Mama.”

Yuna’s not sure if it’s Shane’s way of processing the world around him, just A Thing some people do, or something special about her baby boy. All she knows is that from the first time he’d made up a little tune about Driving With Mama, everything turned into a song. When he’s comfortable and feeling at ease, Shane turns little things around him into music.

Learning to tie his shoes? “Daddy’s teaching me to tie my shoes. One lace over the other. Make the bunny ears!”

Gearing up for practice when he was 8? “Going to practice. Gonna be great. Gonna score a goal!”

Studying for a science test? “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. Everyone says it because it’s true. Moving on—organelles and cell walls.”

Gearing up for his first Metros game as captain? “Taping my hockey stick. Going out on the ice. Gonna kick some ass.”

It’s something so uniquely, adorably, perfectly Shane.

Today, though? As Shane’s in the kitchen preparing a salad for lunch? For the first time, someone else sings along. For the first time in Shane’s life, someone hears the tune and lyrics that only exist in his head and joins in.

“Making salad with Shane,” Ilya croons along, hooking his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulder and wrapping strong arms around his waist. “Preparing lunch with my love.”

Shane smiles and sings back as Ilya nuzzles his neck. “Being domestic with my boyfriend. Thinking of boring things we can do together.”

Ilya laughs and kisses his ear before finishing the song. “I love to be boring with yooouuuu.”

Shane pauses on the other line, breath catching as he holds back overwhelming emotion.

“Mom,” he croaks. “I…fuck.”

Yuna stays calm. She mentally takes stock of the situation. Ilya’s fine—he just texted her, a few seconds before Shane called, to warn her of the incoming storm. David’s fine—he’s sitting right next to her, confused and alarmed as their son has some manner of episode on the phone. She’s fine. So what’s—

“—wi’ Dada!”

…oh. Oh.

It’s soft at first, but picking up in volume. Tiny pit-pats in the background accompany the most beautiful little voice Yuna’s heard since Shane made up his first song, Driving With Mama, from his car seat all those years ago.

“Eating,” the little voice sings in the background. It’s garbled by what Yuna assumes are half-chewed remnants of an afternoon snack; probably organic peanut butter on apple slices. “Eating wi’ Dada. Eating wi’ Papa. Dada on phone! Who on phone, Dada?”

There’s wet laughter in the background, further from the phone. “Oh God, Shane. It’s genetic. She’s a little you!”

More tearful laughter, this time from Shane. “That’s not—she’s adopted, Ilya.”

“I don’t care what the papers say. She is you. Listen to her, she is perfect. She must be part you, sweetheart.”