having thoughts about Arthur, Francis, and Antonio being relatively young teenagers when they start colonizing the world, like Antonio only being around 15 or so physically, Francis somewhere around the same, and Arthur only being like 13. this is not a "feel bad for the colonizers because they were babies UwU" this is a "being an adolescent and believing wholeheartedly that you are correct in your perceptions of the world and those around you and being encouraged by the adults in your government, but still not being mentally old enough to understand the full weight of your actions and then later refusing to acknowledge the full realities of the atrocities you committed at such a young age and the tragedy of that because it's hard"
I'm talking about thirteen-year-old Arthur deciding he's mature enough to take care of a literal child and is startled by how much he's forced to physically and emotionally grow up in the process of trying to raise Alfred only to watch him later follow in Arthur's imperialist footsteps. I'm talking about Francis being a shitty and distant parental figure to Matthew because he was too immature for the responsibility, shedding it at the first opportunity and still not understanding the full extent of the harm he's caused as an adult. Antonio taking on more and more kids because he likes having people who look up to him and don't call him on his shitty actions, who are little enough that he can just ignore them if/when they do and say things that he doesn't like, pretending that he's being a perfect parent to feed his ego and letting the fact that parenting is difficult excuse his shitty actions so he doesn't have to think about them too hard
like also imagine how it changes the dynamic during the revolutionary war if Arthur is barely 18, still a teenager in most regards himself, fighting against a physically 13 year old Alfred and the amount of cognitive dissonance happening for him to say that Alfred isn't old enough to be independent, when he himself was trying to raise a child at the same developmental age
just them being young and thinking that they're doing terrible things because it's all for the right reasons and not knowing how to confront that as adult, especially when faced with their adult children who reflect all their actions back at them
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not putting under cut bc i feel like thats weird idk but jsyk im doing more mental health musings here
u know something i find really interesting is like. okay i’m on my 4th therapist right now, right? which sounds like i burned through a lot and i guess i kind of did but really she’s my 3rd, the first one stared at me blankly for one session diagnosed me with GAD and “a mood disorder” with 0 other specificity and then recommended i go somewhere else. but the other two that followed were at that same place and i guess i just find it interesting how ill prepared they were with dealing with like... complex mental health issues?
because i mean, i don’t think either of the people i saw were bad people. but like. i told the first one about this one time where i was in one of the lowest mental states of my life (and at the time it was the worst i had ever felt) and my friends had been laughing at me during it, right. and so i gave them the finger. and my therapist laughed and was like well if someone gave me the finger i wouldn’t want to talk to them either. and then my second therapist said i hadn’t dealt with any “major trauma” and would watch me have dissociative episodes and do absolutely nothing but go like “i know sweetheart i know” and then the session would just. End.
and it’s like, they were helpful when it came to things like my school stress, or ... well i guess just that. it was very basic things they could help with, it was like a school counselor. and that kept me from making these realizations about my mental health because they did not know anything more complex and couldn’t talk to me about it.
my fourth therapist has been different, obviously, treats me like a person. it just so happens she’s the only private therapist i saw, and also the most expensive one. so like. fuck.
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AND SEVENTEEN DAYS UNTIL PRESEASON OH MY GOD LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL !!!!!!! LIFE MIGHT ACTUALLY REALLY SUCK AND I MIGHT WANT TO D1E A BIT ALL THE TIME BUT PRESEASON IS BEAUTIFUL !!!!!!! I!!!! LOVE!!!!! PRESEASON!!!!!
preseason is a gift. proof that there may be a god and that life may be okay. those invited (our student leaders, our graying athletes, the freshmen who have no idea what they’re getting into—trust me i was one of those kids—on campus faculty, and the football team. ), god what an incredible mix it is. an amalgamation of wonderful delightful people every time. it’s such a quiet campus but you know you’re not alone and 70-80 people are in just the same boat as you and it’s comforting.
((most of them are just starting their summer reading just like me, too.))
we throw ourselves at each other and at our rooms and at our teachers that first day, just how it normally is but easier on the social anxiety. we get the afternoon to set up and then we have meetings to go over the rules so that way they wouldn’t have to give it to us again when the rest got here. it felt like we were the guinea pigs, the men at the birth of time. the ones who knew how everything worked before the rest of the world and were—more often than not—the reason that the rules would be changed for the rest of the group. if you’re lucky, you don’t have practice until day 2. i normally don’t possess such fortune.
practice. the only thing any of us have to report for. for my team, that was 10-11:30 conditioning and 3-4:30 field work every day, and twice in that week we had 7-8:30 to continue our progress. it’s exhilarating, the only way to describe it. but maybe that’s because i’m an addict and my drug of choice is the same as it was when i was 10. sprints are no fun but we’re together and we’re laughing, and i get so drunk off the buttercup yellow and fluorescent green swimming through the air around me that i don’t care about how i’m going to puke up a dining hall muffin or how my shirt is an entirely different shade from sweat or how my ankle definitely didn’t hurt like that before.
we indoctrinate the new people with our questions of your favorite smell and then tossing you the unwashed pennies (even though we’re a team that cheers when you make a bad shot because we just can’t get enough of each other), and we reminisce about the games of old and the teams that brought us to tears last year—how 10 called me a bitch for elbowing them and 4 laughed at me getting carded because that’s absolutely something 4 would do god what a prick but it’s okay i think they graduated—and the injuries that took people out and how they’re just not allowed to happen again.
and the playing. holy shiting fuck. being one of the callout defensive players on the team, i take it as the time to introduce myself to everyone and get my bearings of who i’m working with; who’ll listen to advice and who’ll give me that furrowed eyebrow look for daring to question their stance; who’s a baby deer walking on ice for the first time and how can i help make this just a little bit easier for them; who’s getting of play time and where will coach put them; who am i getting paired with a lot and how can i adapt to their play style.
((since being drafted as sweep, this is my goalie. and after one week of hours on end with each other, both of us with the same goal in every drill and joking beside each other when the offense are being run into the ground. last year, she became my son by day three and by day 5 we scrimmaged in matching bathing suits and i turf burned all down my arm, and even though we didn’t win she cites that as the moment i became her person.))
((this year? i’m not allowed to get concussed because she needs me. she needs me out there. i missed her first season and she told me i owed it to her and that we needed to form the same synchronization we barely brushed last year before the accident. for this one green, sky blue, and red-orange week of the year, that kid is my everything. her thoughts are my thoughts, my calls are hers. i promised her we would have it this year, so whatever may happen to me and my destructive tendencies both on and off the field, i’m giving it to her.))
i get pads and pads of paper and i draft roster after roster, trying to get into the head of my former advisor while giving advice she’ll never hear to as many people who will possibly listen to me. i wave my hands around over orange chicken and jasmine rice and blue gatorade and chick fil a milkshakes and talk only of the future, the school year, the season, my family and my team-family and ways that things are green and shiny and bright.
((something a coach said to me last year will always stick with me. when conferencing with me about my role on the team, she said that during the season but especially during preseason, my eyes never sparkle more.))
my favorite day is when it rains. every year there’s always one. the day everyone dreads but i ADORE. last year the power went out, and it got me out of everything but practice. i didn’t mind, though. i never could on rain days.
we’re all outside going through the same downpour and it’s cold and your tank top is sticking to you in the wind, but the air is hot so it’s refreshing. and it sucks to be out there in the rain with your soreness and your slightly off shots and your feet slipping all over the turf (or getting mud in places you’ll talk about only in the locker room) but your heart is absolutely glowing because you’re doing what you love with amazing people in the greatest place you’ve ever been and even if you eat shit 5–10–20 more times, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. because life is good. there’s something in life to look forward to, and it’s you and your team against the elements: training and fucking up and learning from it to grow and to be the best. your eyes are still shiny and you’re alight with heart fire.
because that’s really what preseason is about: heart fire. finding something that makes you feel good about yourself and feel strong and confident and together to just set you ablaze.
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