#if i can do this ??? if i can unhealthily stuff my emotions in myself while relying solely on nicotine caffeine & thc constantly so i can’t | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

letterstothemidnightsociety · 4 years

Text

THAT’S RIGHT BITCH! It’s October and I am still watching and inexplicably blogging about Supernatural - a dinosaur of a television show that’s been on the air longer than most children I know have been alive.

I know I’m An Old because I don’t think kids these days understand the struggle it was watching television before streaming. We had to wait for episodes. Hell, I don’t think kids these days even really have to wait for seasons. I mean, Voltron premiered on Netflix in 2016, capped off their seasons at 13 episodes a piece and, oh yeah - aired seasons 5 - 8 all in 2018. Was I mad about that? No of course not. Do I also say phrases like “kids these days? Yes, so who even knows if what I think is relevant anymore.

Alright, so speaking of seasons, last time I looked at pilots and pilot seasons and how the streaming era is changing everything we know about starting a TV show. But once you’ve got your pilot down, now what?

Not this kind of pilot. Also, based on the prerequisites for demon possession, we’re all agreed this co-pilot’s like, an alcoholic, right?

There’s a rule in TV (sort of) that the first six episodes (some might argue the first season entirely) should be a kind of rehash of the pilot. The pilot sets up your premise and once you’ve got your pilot down, your job as a TV writer is to re-establish that premise over and over again. You’re building your world, you’re writing it’s rules. You’re setting up a template, a formula for how your episodes are gonna play out. This helps your audience get to know the characters, get familiar with your world, get comfortable spending time with them. Essentially, you’re getting your audience to trust the show that they’re going to be tuning in to for at least the next 20-some-odd episodes.

I’d also argue that this is important so that later, you can break that format later. I’m not saying you should break the trust your audience puts in you, and that’s probably a real fine line of distinction. But if you break your rules right, it can hit the audience with a big emotional sucker punch. Or, it can stand out as a real breakout, tentpole of an episode - I’m thinking specifically about Ghostfacers! In season 3, or Once More, With Feeling, from Buffy. Those episodes work, really work, because they deviate from the formula, but they only work because we know the formula so well. And these aren’t big changes to the way episodes are done, they’re just shifted ever so slightly that they felt new again..

So what is the premise of the first four episodes Supernatural? What’s the formula they set up for the rest of the series?

Brothers. I said it in my last post, I’ll say it again, Sam and Dean/Jensen Ackles and Jared Jared Padalecki are what makes this show. Full stop. I think we could have gotten 5 seasons out of a show starring two other dudes. I do not think this show could have gotten 15 seasons with two other dudes. So from the pilot through Phantom Traveler, we learn that Sam and Dean have a sh*tty home life - their mother was killed by some mysterious evil thing and their father raised them to be little demon-hunting child soldiers while they look for the killer. Oh yeah, and Sam’s girlfriend died the exact same way which we will never forget because Sam’s gonna have a dream about it almost every episode from here on out. We set up the tension between the brothers - that Sam got to go to college while Dean stayed with their dad like a good boi. We learn that everybody hates each other probably because they are deeply and unhealthily codependent love each other so damn much.

Next we get the basic rundown of the season arc:

Dad’s on a hunting trip and he hasn’t been home in a few days. The Winchester brothers are looking for him and by extension, looking for answers as to what killed their mom/Sam’s girlfriend. We also get the basic rundown of every episode: dad is a mysterious and elusive sonuvuabitch, so every episode they go about, say it with me now:

“The family business.” I would also accept “Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can,” but why can’t I find a gif for it?!?

Backtracking on this but you know what else gets hecking established with the Winchesters? Sam is the cute one with the people skills and the puppy dog face, so you’d naturally assume that he’s the soft one. No. Not the case. Dean is the Sofffft Boi. The SOFTest boi. Dean wants Sam to talk about his feelings, Dean wants Sam to not keep things bottled up, Dean is the one who desperately wants to keep a hold of his family and also is just deeply broken and traumatized on the inside and oh no, I told myself I wouldn’t do this but I did it anyway. Sorry not sorry. This watch, I’m really picking up on the fact that Dean is, weirdly, the Mom Friend in this first season. Like, he’s basically a Trailer-Trash-Teen-Pregnancy Mom who’ll give you spaghettios five nights a week and a shot of whiskey so you’ll quit yer bitchin’ and go to sleep faster, but he’s the Mom nonetheless. Later in this season and in other seasons, I think you even see him do his dumb-baby-best filling in as the Mom when John went off the deep end. Anyway, I have a lot of feelings and we don’t have time to unpack all of that so I’ll just move on.

RUDE.

Next we set up our Supernatural Bag of Holding - what’s in it? What are the mystical artifacts they use to kill those evil sons of bitches? First up is The Car. Damn, I am not a cars girl, but that 67 Chevy, it does things to me.

This car has some weird pavlovian trigger for me, it’s not NATURAL.

The journal.

John Winchester, you journal the way I imagine a psycho killer journals and I would just really appreciate it if you could be ANY MORE ORGANIZED THAN THIS.

The Trunk Full of Weapons - I love that in these first few episodes (and possibly the rest of the series???) they give this HELLA conspicuous look every time they open the trunk full of weapons. It’s hilarious EVERY TIME.

No, you’re not being obvious at ALL, guys.

The Fake ID’s - from credit cards to impersonating feds, these boys are not afraid to break the law to save some lives and I feel like that’s...that’s the theme of the show maybe? They’re here to save people and they’ll do what they have to to do that? In a world that clearly establishes a dark vs. light/good vs. evil dichotomy, the Winchester make it their job to live in a world of grey? Basically?

Next on the checklist for this first season of Supernatural - it’s spoopy. *Spoop mileage may vary.* I said it last time, but I’ll say it again: this first season aired at 9:00pm at night. That means it’s primetime stuff for the 18 - 25 year old crowd, but they don’t want to risk some 13 year old watching it and getting too scared before bed. 9:00pm is X Files time slots, Fringe time slots. 9:00pm says you’re gonna get something a little more gruesome and gory and shocking than at 8pm. 8pm is for Friends. Vampire Diaries aired at 8pm its first season. 9pm is for the real adult content (but not too adult because the audience is still mostly children).

SPOOP!

But yeah, let’s look at the real horror vibe that you get off of these first four episodes. We talked about La Llorona from the first episode - this is a legit ghost that they fight. The kids at the end that literally drag their mom to hell? Pretty spooky stuff. The Wendigo in episode 2 is a literal monster of the week and so for me personally, it’s not that scary, but it is a cannibal monster that eats human flesh. Dead in the Water has vibes from both Jaws and Friday the 13th. Everything from the lighting to the sound design let’s you know this is a horror show, or as horror as you can get on network television. Listen to the scenes just before somebody dies and you get a nice creepy “Come play with me” whisper coming out of the water. I’m a little spooked just thinking about it now. Yes I know I’m a chicken, and I’m OK WITH THAT. And if we go past my season 1 disc 1 into episode 5, Bloody Mary is STILL terrifying and I STILL watched that episode with half my face covered. That’s where I am these days. It’s 2020 and the world is a nightmare but imagining Bloody Mary creepin’ out in my mirror does not need to be a part of it.

SHE F*CKIN CLIMBS OUT OF THE MIRROR GUYS! I DIDN’T KNOW SHE COULD DO THAT!!!

Then we get Phantom Traveler and our very first case of black-eyed-demonic possession. Watching this episode now, it’s like watching someone’s home movie of their first steps as a baby. They’ve never even done an exorcism before guys! They have to read the exorcism rite out of the journal! It’s so cute!!! Let’s not think too hard about how they got that full sized bottle of holy water past TSA in a post-9/11 world. And try to ignore how poorly these special effects have aged - the smoke from the demon possession?? OMG! THIS EFFECT! I’m pretty sure I could make that effect with my first ever graphic design software on my, like, 2009 mac book pro. So cute and soooo good! I’m gonna leave that CG plane alone, they’re doing their best.

SO cute and SOOO good!

You want to know what my favorite established staple of Supernatural season 1 is? The extras. LOOKIT these guys -

Wendigo you have Cory Monteith who later goes on to star in Glee.

You have Alden Ehrenreich, Debatable Han Solo, doing a lot of face work with very little dialogue.

You have Gina Holden who is in SO. MANY. Spooky-type things! My personal favs are Blood Ties and Harper’s Island, but she’s in Fringe, she’s in the SAW franchise, she’s in the Final Destination franchise, she was in some deleted scenes on an episode of Teen Wolf! I LOVE seeing Gina Holden, anywhere she pops up.

And speaking of Harper’s Island, you’ve also got Callum Keith Rennie who played John Wakefield in Harper’s Island, a show that was A+ Great and I highly recommend if you like Agatha Christie and/or murder mysteries.

Honestly, Rennie looks like he’s about to murder a bitch in this episode of Supernatural, it is not a stretch to believe he’s a psycho killer.

Dead in the Water you’ve got Amy Acker, a regular in Joss Whedon and Whedon-adjacent type shows.

Good LORD, this wardrobe was SO 2000′s WB and it PAINED me.

And finally in Phantom Traveler, you have Jaime Ray Newman who also shows up in a lot of the shows that I like to watch. She was in Eureka, she was in Midnight Texas, both kind of terrible shows that I love because they are terrible, but she was ALSO in Bates Motel and Veronica Mars, which are generally considered to be more quality, so there’s that.

This still implies that they actually LIT scenes, which is a SURPRISE TO ME.

Point is, seeing these actors in Supernatural back in the early 2000’s felt like I was seeing the start of their careers. That may or may not have been the case, but as a viewer it was exciting to see them pop up again in other things.

So what about TV now? Do we still use those first 6 (sometimes more) episodes to re-establish the premise? Well, it certainly hasn’t gone away. Look at any network show that still produces 22 - 24 episodes a season and you’ll still see that the pilot season just keeps re-iterating the premise established in the pilot episode, specifically in anything that’s procedural - that’s you’re monster/problem-of-the-week shows. Think sitcoms like Brooklyn 99 or Superstore or dramedies like Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist. The reason being that these shows play in the traditional model of television - on a network, once a week. They are not releasing episodes all at one time or relying on their audiences to stream a whole season in one sitting. These are shows that still assume that someone out there is going to tune in or stumble across their show one night while they’re surfing channels (lol) and need to be told, no matter what episode they’ve just turned on, what the premise of the show is. They need to be formulaic so that people can pick it up anywhere at any time.

But what about shows that don’t follow this traditional model? I mentioned in my last post that seasons are getting shorter and shorter, so when you’re writing a show that only has (8) episodes instead of 22, how much time do you really want to spend establishing the premise? Because of these short seasons, you’re also dealing with shows that are more serialized and less procedural than their predecessors - meaning, you’re dealing with a show that focuses on a season long story (think Game of Thrones or Stranger Things where each episode is an important chapter that you can’t skip) vs. a procedural (think the shows I mentioned above or any cop drama really) where each episode is it’s own contained story, neatly wrapped up at the end. These are shows where you can skip an episode and still know where you are in the show no matter where you start or stop watching. Supernatural is a little bit of both - procedural with their monsters of the week AND serialized with a season long arc. We’ll talk more on that in a later post.

Not only are we getting shorter seasons, but we’re also dealing with shows that are not released over long periods of time. A few streaming channels, like Disney+ and HBO Max, make a deliberate point to slow-drip their seasons, but most streaming channels will release entire seasons in one shot. You don’t need to worry about your audience missing an episode because they have 24/7 access to all the episodes all at once. And for the most part, they’re designed to be binged. They start at full speed and they don’t slow down to keep driving you to the finale.

Do I think the procedural is ever going to go away? No. As much talk as there is about dropping the cop drama from TV all together, I think audiences still love a good mystery series. And you can’t just think of procedurals as cop dramas either - a procedural also covers most if not all sitcoms. New Girl, Letterkenny, Parks and Rec, Superstore - these all have a premise that doesn't change from week to week. They may make tiny shifts away from what they set up in the pilot, but by and large, you know what you’re getting into any time you turn on an episode. I think we as an audience still like that kind of familiarity. We may be seeing a bigger swing towards more serialized content, but that doesn't mean that the procedural is dead and gone.

So that’s what we’ve got for Supernatural - two dudes, driving around in a car full of spears and hand guns, killing bad guys. Some day, they may even find that father that’s missing. What could possibly go wrong? A lot. Stay tuned.

#Supernatural #Supernatural Season 1 #Supernatural Rewatch #Sam #Dean #Winchester #Pilot #Wendigo #Phantom Traveler #Television #History of television #Dead in the Water #Jensen Ackles #jared padalecki

5 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1042

survey by egooverdose

Apple Cinnamon: Do you like anything with this flavor? I don’t recall doing so...I like some cinnamon in my desserts, but I think if you threw some apples in there I might back away.

Berlin: What is a foreign country|city you would like to visit? My dream vacation overall is Morocco or Iceland. If we’re talking in terms of what is probably more accessible to me at the moment, I’d love to go to Thailand.

Bill Kaulitz: What do you think of his hairstyle(s)? Oh my godddddddd I haven’t heard this name in a HOT MINUTE lol Andi was completely bonkers over Tokio Hotel and also unhealthily obsessed with Bill’s twin, Tom. When she showed me photos of Bill, my 11 year old self definitely thought his hair was a tad bit too wild but I didn’t judge it or hate him or anything like that.

Bleak Landscapes: What is your favorite type of landscape? Looking into mountains has always had a calming effect on me. That’s why it’s my desktop wallpaper.

Blogging: When was the last time you updated your blog? Idk, by the time I finish and post this survey it probably would turn up to be around half an hour since I posted the last one.

Body Language: Can you generally tell how someone is feeling by his or her body language? Are you good at this? I’ve usually had a good eye for it, yes. I’ve seldom been wrong about it; though to be honest, it’s easiest and quickest to tell when someone is upset, than any other emotion. My radar is strongest for that haha.

Books: What book would you recommend, and what makes it so good? I’d recommend to turn this question over to other survey-takers who read way more than I do and have better books to suggest.

Cairo: Is there any place with an ancient culture that fascinates you? All ancient cultures fascinate me but if given the choice, I would jump at the chance to visit Pompeii.

Carbohydrates: How many grams of carbs, approximately, have you had today? I don’t count those or any of the other stuff in food, so I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Coffee: What is one hot beverage that you like? Mmm, never been a big fan of hot drinks. There are drinks that are meant to be hot, like hot chocolate, that I would order because there’s no other alternative; but what I’d do is wait for it to cool down until it was room temp. I just really don’t like the feeling of something hot touching my mouth, especially after I completely burned the roof of my mouth eating freshly-cooked takoyaki.

Cold: When was the last time you were cold? Right now. Christmas weather has finally made itself at home and I’m not complaining about it.

CSS: Do you know any programming languages? Nope. Not my territory at all.

Emptiness: What is something you like when it is empty? How about full? Nothing relieves me more than seeing my to-do list with all the items crossed out by the end of my shift. If we’re talking of full, it feels great when my gas tank is that :D

Endearing Stereotypes: What are some stereotypes you think are funny? I don’t really find stereotypes funny; I think a great deal of them silently reinforce a lot of hurtful thinking for most groups. One stereotype I’ll hand a pass to, though, just because I’ve lived and continue to live through it and because it feels nice to poke fun at it once in a while, is the ridiculous strictness of Asian parents. That’s a lighter stereotype that’s easier to have a chuckle over; Sindhu Vee’s stand-up work on Indian parenting (”Did you put two spoons of chocolate in your milk? Fine, I am going to go beat myself up. Enjoy your milk”) has me rolling every time because it’s so relatable.

Explanations: When was the last time you were confused about something? This morning when I had a slight, harmless misunderstanding with a client. It was resolved relatively quickly.

Expression: What is your favorite way to creatively express yourself or do you even do this? The most creative thing I do nowadays is embroidery, but even the ones I work with already have a template. I’ve never been creative enough in that I can craft things from thin air.

Fog: Do you like fog, or do you find it bothersome? It’s extremely bothersome when I have to drive through it, but if I’m staying in then it can feel super cozy seeing fog. Fuck, I miss going to colder places :(

Foreign Cultures: What is your heritage? Are you interested in learning more about it? I’m fairly certain I am pure Filipino, maybe a very thin chance of having Spanish blood if my ancestors got into inter-marriages with foreigners but I highly doubt the possibility. I’m already Filipino, so I already know a great deal about my own history.

Foreign Music: Do you listen to music in other languages? Name a band? Yes. English. I’ll go with my fave, Paramore.

Free-Writing: When was the last time you wrote just for the sake of it? September. I didn’t really keep my journaling habit that I thought I was gonna get to develop, and I ended up writing only two entries.

Germanic Languages: What language do you think sounds the most beautiful? What about powerful? Spanish or Italian. Idk if there’s a language that I think sounds powerful.

Germany: Do you think Grammar Nazis come from there? :D Ba dum tssssssssssssss

Hello Kitty: Did you ever watch the animated show? Nah, I wasn’t into Hello Kitty and Sanrio in general. My cartoon show of choice was Spongebob.

Hoodies: What is your "comfort|security" clothing item of choice? My favorite pair of mom jeans that I probably overuse at this point.

Horror Films: Do you like watching scary movies by yourself, in the dark? Not anymore, but I did this a lot in high school when I had been more into my horror movie phase.

HTML: Do you know what HTML stands for? Do you know any funny acronyms? Hypertext Markup Language. Not really. Most of the acronyms I use are slang or shortcuts and aren’t really supposed to be funny per se.

Icons: Do you collect any icons, graphics, or quotes? What sites do you use? No.

Imaginative Streaks: When was the last time you created something? I created a deck for work yesterday, if it counts.

Irises: When you see that word, do you think of the flower or the part of the eye? I thought of the eyes first.

#survey #surveys

6 notes · View notes

hailene · 4 years

Text

𝚁𝚊𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝚁𝚊𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚎| 08

��𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

(𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮– 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴, 𝘕𝘊𝘛, 𝘉𝘛𝘚, 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦, (𝘎)𝘐-𝘋𝘓𝘌, 𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘰, 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬)

Genre: angst, racing!au, college!au, gang!au, underworld!au

Word count: 3.6K

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

00| 01| 02| 03| 04| 05| 06| 07| 08| 09| 10| tba

It was no surprise anymore that THE 8 was about to come in the first place. However, it still amazed me, how he could drive so smoothly and calmly, despite being so young. What has he been through that made him grow up so hastily?

What was actually a surprise, however, was the fact that he didn't stop after crossing the finish line. Nor even after a few meters. He went on for a second loop. And so did the matte black car running behind him.

I frown confused at the sight, suddenly becoming more aware of the gasps and confused voices echoing from near the track. I wasn't the only one who didn't know what was going on and that made me feel somehow better.

I turn my head to look at Joshua who looked, as always, unbothered. But there was a spark of concern in his eyes that I could have missed if I had blinked.

"They doubled the stake," I hear him saying. "The average time for a lap is twelve minutes. The one who finishes this one in less than nine minutes gets double points. The other one loses the same amount."

"Why just the two of them?" I ask.

Joshua shrugs.

"Nobody else is willed to lose so much... There are just two people able to win against THE 8."

I turn my head to look at him. There were so many things I didn't know. And even if I had Joshua telling me about them, I couldn't understand.

"And one of them is driving in that black car," he adds.

I feel an unsettling pang of fear in my chest as I remember the first time I came here. Chris Bang, or Bang Chan if you wish, Joshua had said. Don't let yourself get tricked by the appearances.

I didn't truly know anybody, not even Joshua, who was spending more time with me lately than my own sister was doing. But even so, something in my guts was telling me that this is not something THE 8 would normally do. Technically speaking, we do things in a different way only if there is something disturbing our sense, triggering a spark in us.

So what was the triggering factor here?

I don't know much about emotions and the way they work, because I've always only truly known my own. But is anybody truly unreadable? Triggering factors don't usually work on our reasoning– that's what structured plans are for. If you want to change something logically, you plan it.

But there is no plan. Joshua looks as surprised as I am. Everybody looks as surprised as I am.

Triggering factors work on the way we feel. Because that's something we can't control.

I don't know these people, I can't try to get in their minds. I am not able to.

But can I trick myself into thinking that I am in control by taking wild guesses at how they feel?

I can. And I will.

This is not the first time THE 8 surprises me. Sure, that might happen because I don't know him. But a few days ago, when he had to drive me home, he did something unexpected. Or better said, he didn't do something that I was very much expecting. He didn't question it. He didn't question what Jeonghan asked him to do, nor did he whine. He did it willingly.

I'm scared to believe that these people can be involved in friendships. Even those might be shallow. So I would rather believe in things like loyalty and respect. In trust. And trust is not a gift to be given.

It's a battle to be won.

Jeonghan means something to THE 8, he did him something good. And he won his trust. That's the only tint of emotion I was able to notice at him, other than polite smiles and curious eyes. The only thing connected to the way he feels. And if I follow the line, this emotion of his can be triggered only if something happened on the other side. The way the biker boy feels can be changed if something happened to...

"Joshua," I call and my voice comes out shaking "where is Jeonghan?"

He doesn't answer right away, his lip curving into a small smile. How can he smile right now?

"Well," he says "you already know that, don't you?"

In that instant, I could have sworn my heart stopped. I wasn't familiar with this, with worrying this much for someone who was not family. It took me a few moments to realize why I was feeling like this, why my mouth went dry and my heart clenched. It was guilt. I hadn't seen Jeonghan ever since the night we went to the underground garage...

"He's fine," Joshua says, looking at me sympathetically. "Don't worry."

Don't worry.

How can I not?

"Where is he?" I ask, avoiding Joshua's gaze and not paying attention to roaring engines that seemed to get closer and closer.

"Home, probably," he shrugs.

I hated it. I hated how Joshua treated things so lightly and I was worrying about every single little detail. I hated how I couldn't be careless, because I wasn't raised to be like this. I hated how I wasn't able to do something.

"Can we pay him a visit after this?" I ask Joshua, finally looking into his eyes.

He looks back at the racetrack, but my eyes stay glued to his figure, as if rushing him to give me an answer. But he is annoyingly calm.

"There is no reason for us to," he says and in that moment I feel the genuine helplessness of not being able to convince even that one person that seemed to be on my side.

He checks his phone and sighs.

"Thirty seconds left, otherwise they're both losing," he says looking lost.

I couldn't care about the race happening in front of me. I didn't know what happened to Jeonghan, as I didn't know a lot of things. However, unlike other things, not knowing what happened to that angelic-but-devilish boy seemed to bother me unhealthily much. The sound of the race cars and the expectant cheers of the supporters were echoing in my ears, but I couldn't focus on them. My mind was slowly drifting away, engulfed by a cold panic. My hands were going numb and my heart was beating as if I had been running for the past half an hour.

If not even Jeonghan, who always seemed to have everything under control, could avoid a bad situation, what am I doing here?

Would he be alright now if we hadn't gone to that underground garage?

Why is racing so important to them?

And why is it so dangerous?

Why do I have to act like I don't know them?

Why has Yuri hidden all of it from me all this time?

Why can't I know what is happening?

Why am I here?

I close my eyes shut and in the next moment, the crowd bursts in loud cheers... but everything felt distant to me, as if I was somewhere far, far away from this arena.

One, two, three...

"That was close, six more seconds and it would have been a double fail."

I open my eyes again, trying to focus them on something, anything. But my head was hurting and all the sounds around me were ringing like screeching noises in my ears.

"We should leave now."

Inhale. One, two, three, fo-...

A pang.

My eyes close again and I shake my head lightly as if trying to get rid of all the trembling and the pain. When I open them again, everything is a blur. My head hurts. My lungs burn.

"Emma?"

Suddenly, everything goes silent. And I feel myself falling in a dark abyss.

The first thing that I see when I wake up is a familiar ceiling. I blink a few times, trying to figure out where I am and how I got here.

"Oh, you're awake," I hear a low voice calling somewhere in the room.

I turn my head to my right, only to see a tall figure shuffling around something that looked like a small table. I flinch in pain when a twinge crosses my head. Have I been shot? What an exciting experience... except it hurt like hell.

"Don't move too much, I bet it still hurts," the same voice speaks.

I try to associate the voice with a face, but I couldn't really think at the moment. The figure steps closer to the night lamp on the wall next to the bed I was lying in, making their features discernible.

Wonwoo?

He looks at me and shots me a warm smile. Soon, I realize we were in the bedroom I was sharing with Yuri at Joshua's house. How did I even get here?

"You passed out," he says calmly. "Probably an anxiety attack."

I frown. I have never had anxiety attacks... at least not ones that made me faint. Why now?

"It might be some stress and fatigue combined," Wonwoo says. "It's late now, but when you wake up, you'll have some meds to take, okay?"

Is he the doctor of the squad?

I nod wearily and rest my head on the pillow. Wonwoo watches me in silence for a while, he was still wearing his silver-rimmed glasses that made him look really smart casual. He didn't seem to be talkative and to be honest, I didn't mind at all.

The door of the room opens and both Wonwoo and I turn our head towards the entrance to see the newcomer.

"Thank God," Yuri whispers before rushing towards the bed and engulfing me in a tight hug, making all my bones hurt even more.

"Liv, she's kind of... fragile right now..." Wonwoo says and my sister lets go.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," she says worriedly and I shake my head as if telling her that it's okay.

She sits on the side of the bed and looks at me carefully. I hear the door closing and I figure Wonwoo must have left us alone. Yuri's eyes looked puffy, her lips redder than usual. She was wearing the same clothes as the ones I saw her wearing when we headed out. I guess I haven't been unconscious for that long.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, caressing my hair with her left hand.

"Stop saying that," I try to say, but my voice comes out as a raspy whisper.

Her other hand finds its way to mine and her thumbs starts drawing circles on my skin. She's not my sister for nothing.

"I neglected you and I didn't take time to talk to you lately, not realizing how difficult all of it might be for you... that's why I'm sorry," she says, still caressing my skin soothingly. "The reason why I never told you about Seventeen, the racing and all this stuff... is because I really thought you would hate it... I really thought you would judge me so hard and be disappointed in me... and I wanted... no, I needed you to be safe. I will never be able to guarantee this for you, now that you know about this world..."

"If you were that scared..." I speak "why didn't you leave, why did you let yourself... be caught up in all of this?"

She looks at me sympathetically. My sister is beautiful, I have always known that. And I'm not saying it just because she's my sister and I am naturally praising her. Because it's not just about her looks. I can't put my finger on what exactly makes her such a beautiful person, but I guess it has something to do with the reason why I couldn't bring myself to be mad on her. She fights for her beliefs even if everybody around her is disapproving. If she hadn't done so, she would have never come to the US in the first place.

But I think I knew, ever since I came here, that she was different. She was brighter, funnier, a bit louder... her existence was more intense. At that time I thought it was some kind of American effect. But no, it wasn't that. I know that now.

"Love has no limits," she sighs "does it?"

As soon as he found out about my anxiety attack, probably from Joshua, Seungkwan came over. To be honest, I wasn't expecting anyone to visit me, because I could feel the tension in the air... nothing was calm anymore, not after the race. I didn't expect anyone to take their time in order to come over. I didn't expect anyone to take time to care.

So as soon as I saw Seungkwan standing in the doorstep of Joshua's kitchen, a smile spread on my lips.

"Poor little thing," he beams "do you really have to eat Joshua's porridge? Disgusting-"

"My sister made it, it's good, actually," I say while he steps closer to the table I was eating at.

"That's a relief, his porridge is just... ugh," he says, visibly shivering.

I smile. He sits across from me, watching me carefully as if I was made of glass and I could break if I moved.

"What happened?" He asks.

I shrug.

"An anxiety attack, thought you already knew," I say, sipping on my soup.

He shakes his head calmly.

"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about what caused it."

I look at him carefully. There was no humor on his face, not even curiosity. As if he knew, but he just wanted to make sure.

"You look like you already know," I say, slightly confused at this new expression I was seeing on Seungkwan's face.

He smiles lightly.

"I don't, I'm just trying not to make you feel uncomfortable," he says and I narrow my eyes.

This was so unlike the person I thought he was. Maybe he was just playing the calm guy in order not to scare me too much. Well, this new face was scarring me even more.

"Uncertainty," I whisper. "And the inability to understand... anything."

I can feel tears polling in my eyes and I try to blink them away but to no avail. I look at the bowl of soup in front of me and I suddenly don't feel like eating anymore.

I am facing it now. I am afraid. I am constantly afraid, even though I have no idea what I should expect from this world. Maybe that's exactly why I am so afraid, that whatever will hit me, I won't be ready for it. I had to faint because of an anxiety attack out of the blue to realize how terrified I am.

Nobody ever tells me anything. People might try to make me understand, but without trying to understand me. There are so many people surrounding me, but I feel alone. And it makes me even more scared.

"H-Hey, don't cry..."

I raise my gaze to look at Seungkwan. I see him incredibly blurry and only then I realize I've been crying. I wipe my tears with my hands hastily and sniff. I could taste the salty tears in my mouth, making me feel somehow refreshed.

I cried. I barely ever cry.

"I'm sorry," I say getting up from the table in order to put the bowl of soup in the fridge for later.

"They don't like us," I hear Seungkwan saying as I open the door of the refrigerator.

They?

I put the bowl in the fridge hesitantly and turn around to look at the dark-brown haired boy sitting at the table in front of me. He was staring blankly, a trace of sadness clear on his face.

"Whom?" I ask and he closes his eyes, as if breaking out of a spell, a smile spreading on his lips.

"The other racers, the other gangs," he explains. "They don't really like Seventeen."

I frown and go to sit at the table across from him again.

"That's why we have to take care of ourselves a hundred times more than anybody you might see at one of those races," he continues. "It's not that you're not able to understand, Em... it's that they don't want you to."

I frown and he looks at me carefully as if he was scared of my reaction at his words.

"I'm so tired," I begin "of being held back from understanding something just for my sake-"

"Who said it's for your sake? Liv? Sure, it might be for your sake as well, but it's mostly for ours, can't you see?" Seungkwan smiles bitterly. "You're a weak point-"

"That you can't let anybody else know about," I finish, smiling ironically. "Yeah, I see, now excuse-me but I'm busy being a liability."

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that-..." he begins but I was already leaving the kitchen.

I go upstairs in my room and close the door shut. I fall on the bed as hot tears start streaming down my face, low whimpers and sobs escaping my lips. I didn't like the state I was in, but I just couldn't help myself. I cried and cried, as if making up for all those years when I didn't even shed a tear. I cried until I feel asleep, drained of energy. Even by closing my eyes like this, I felt as if I was cowardly running away from the reality.

So maybe they're right. I don't deserve to be anything but a liability.

I knew I should have eaten more the other day.

It was four in the morning and my stomach was grumbling in pain, making me wake up. Yuri was sleeping beside me peacefully. The house was drowned in silence, which wasn't surprising. I was the only one awake and that, somehow, felt relaxing.

I get out of the bed silently and leave the room, walking as noiselessly as possible. I go down the stairs carefully not to stumble because I didn't want to turn on the lights and I had to struggle a lot in order to see what was ahead of me.

I stop in my tracks as soon as I get downstairs, frowning at the sound of some low voices coming from somewhere close-by. I look at the entrance of the living room and step closer, careful not to make any sound.

"...of letting Chan do whatever he likes," I hear somebody saying and I frown.

How comes there is someone awake at this hour? How comes there is always someone awake?

The voice sounded familiar, but there was some sort of emotion in it that I couldn't quite figure out.

"I know, but that wasn't a wise thing to do," I hear a second person talking and I can tell who that is almost instantly, a warm wave of relief washing over me.

Jeonghan.

"Do you want the investment that much?" He asks and I hear a huff, probably coming from the other person.

"You know I would have raced a lot more often if I had wanted it," the first person talks and it clicks to me who they are.

THE 8.

Somebody sighs.

I step closer to the entrance, leaning against the wall and holding my breath. It was rude to eavesdrop, but I was scared to just pass by and go to the kitchen, since they would probably see me.

"I just want-..." THE 8 breaks off and sighs. "Nevermind, we just have to finish this."

What's going on?

There is silence for a few moments, making me realize I was barely breathing, my heart beating so fast I was surprised they couldn't hear it.

"You haven't been wise either lately," I hear a third person speaking, startling me, since for some reason I was expecting only Jeonghan and THE 8 to be in the living room.

But Joshua is naturally silent in this kind of situations, no wonder he hasn't said a word until now.

"And you know what I'm talking about," he continues and I could sense some sort of scolding in his voice.

It somehow reminded me of that day when he told Seungkwan that he was being rude for not introducing himself to me, except now, there was no playful undertone. It was rather madness, coldness.

But with a calm surface. Because Joshua is always calm.

"Some things you can't control," Jeonghan says and for the first time, I hear him hesitating.

"Then take better care," Joshua says sharply and I flinch. "If you keep playing prince charming, somebody will get hurt and you know that."

Somebody sighs again and I'm almost sure it's Jeonghan. What are they talking about?

I cross my arms over my stomach, feeling the hunger consuming me. I was dizzy and I wasn't sure why exactly, but I knew I hated it. People were even more worried about me and when you're worried about someone, you keep them away from anything that might hurt them.

But Seungkwan told me it's not for my sake. It's for theirs. They're not worried I might get hurt, they're worried they might.

"I'm not playing," Jeonghan murmurs and I can almost feel the tension rising in the room.

Even though I couldn't see them, I knew they were all tensed and serious. That was probably why I felt so anxious, trying my best not to give away that I was here as well.

"Then stay away," Joshua says.

For once, I had an idea of what their words might have meant. But it couldn't be true. I couldn't let myself believe that I was right. I wasn't even meant to hear any of this.

Exactly, I think to myself.

I shake my head lightly and step back noiselessly, going upstairs and entering my room, just then letting out a heavy breath that I didn't even realize I had been holding.

5 notes · View notes

confusedcuriousjungleambivert · 4 years

Link

This is my contribution for the Nanbaka Secret Santa Event of this year! My giftee was @darkthiefofamestris and I hope you will like it at least! You can also read it under the cut. Enjoy :D

A pill for the heart

Nico wasn’t a big fan of waking up. When he was younger he didn’t have a roof over his head and sometimes found himself wishing to not wake up. Then he ended up in the medical reform school, where his trypanophobia implemented its roots. He couldn’t have a good night’s rest, having nightmares about the horrifying needles and medications he had to endure only to escape few days before it came. But even then it wasn’t good, going back to being a child on the streets.

But then he met (or, better said, re-met) with three other boys his age that made his days happier. And together the four of them ended in Nanba Prison, becoming cellmates. Slowly and surely, they became like family to him. And one of them became even his lover.

Even if his blanket was puffier and warmer, his mangas and animes came more frequently than before and his medicaments became strictly oral, accompanied with his favorites flavours, waking up didn’t become a treasured moment in his day.

But because of Uno it did.

Their beds were always right next to each other, even before they became an official couple, but only recently did they start to only share one, cuddling under the same blanket in a mess of limbs and long hair. Sometimes Uno left his hair unbraided for the night and Nico really enjoyed having it around him, with a sweet scent of coconut shampoo embracing him (sometimes it got in his mouth and it wasn’t that funny anymore, especially when it got tangled in his uniform’s zipper, but it was comfortable nonetheless).

It was all worth it, though. Now he got to wake up in a sweet embrace and look sleepily at the one boy he felt closer than with anyone else he had ever met. Sure, it still felt weird to have someone’s hot breathe into your face or that close to it, but in Nico’s sleepy state it didn’t matter that much. He usually woke up for a few minutes during the night, not used yet to long periods of rest, found himself looking up at his boyfriend and fell asleep back with a small smile on his lips, safe and happy.

Yamamoto coming in their cell in waking everyone up, though, made it all harder to like waking up. Nico hated exercising, especially so early in the morning.

“Good morning, my friends! It is time for our morning workout, hahaha!”

Every prisoner groaned, despising that time of the day. They were still teenagers, after all, if they could they would have slept all morning. Nico especially, nuzzling back in Uno’s chest, trying to hide under the cover.

No luck, though, as Yamamoto grabbed him by the collar and held him up like he weight nothing.

“Come on, inmate 25! Some exercise would do you good, you are young at heart and your body has to be prepared for the responsibilities of adulthood!”

“Wah, Yamamoto, I don’t wanna, it’s way too early in the morning! Why do you take me up and not Jyugo-kun, we are the same age and he’s weaker than me!”

“Number 25, stop whining!” a familiar voice came from down the hall, followed by the heavy steps of Hajime. “Yamamoto, put number 25 down. He’s going to come and take his medicine first. Now come.”

“Yay, Hajime saved me!” Nico jumped out of Yamamoto’s grip with a new found force and energy, fueled up by his happiness.

“Awe, that’s not fair, why does Nico get to always play the medicine card?” Rock complained loudly, being shaken by a laughing Yamamoto.

“Because we all know what happens when he doesn’t get his medicine.” A shiver run through Nico’s inmates spines at the same time and Hajime frowned, everyone recalling the limited memories they had with that side of Nico. They hoped they would never see it again.

“Nico, bring me something sweet back from the doctor, okay?” Uno screamed after his boyfriend, dragged by Yamamoto before he even had the time to braid his long hair.

“Okay!” Nico waved at the pile of boys dragged by a normal Yamamoto, skipping along in the other direction with a pacing Hajime. “Which medicine is today, Hajime-chan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it for my low sugar level?”

“I don’t know.”

“My short term memory loss?”

“I don’t know.”

“My blood cells problem?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, do you think they discovered something new?” Nico gasped, momentarily stopping in his tracks, little stars sparkling in his eye. “What if they discovered something out of this world in my DNA, like in that new manga I started reading?” he gasped again. “This means I will have to burden the big responsibility of saving the planet from a great force they have never anticipated! Wait, but does this mean that I will have to train myself? Ugh, I hate training myself, especially with Yamamoto, he has no limits! But also, I heard that in the new volume the protagonist’s love interest will be kidnapped and used as bait to lure him out.” His arms franatically fly around, planting his feet in front of the guard to stop him. “Hajime-chan, what if someone kidnaps Uno?! I am still weak, I haven’t trained yet!”

“That would be impossible, no one escaped Nanba Prison before.” He moved the inmate around with ease, making sure he wouldn’t try anything out of his normal behavior.

“Ah, that’s right, only Jyugo is still playing around. Oh, then if he can escape Nanba will he become some sort of celebrity? Will tv people come here and take interviews? I always wondered how it is like to be famous. Have you ever appeared on TV, Hajime-chan? Though I guess your brother is more the type to do that, he is very cute and would make a wonderful TV host.”

“Inmate, stop talking about my brother. We have arrived.”

“Huh? Where were we going again?”

“To get your medicine. You obviously need your memory ones.”

Nico giggled at Hajime’s unintentional joke. He had to admit, he was always looking forward to his medication time because everything tasted so good and he felt better after he took his pills. He could take one of his pills and then eat a strawberry from the cake Rock gave him to try while escaping prison and he couldn’t tell the difference when it came to taste.

He was always wondering what flavor he would get that day, maybe lemon or something more salty, like caramel, or maybe even tiramisu. He was once afraid he would get obsessed by the pills unhealthily, but the doctor knew how to make each one feel like enough for his tummy.

In the infirmary, the doctor greeted by announcing that today he had to take a new special treatment made especially for his heart. Nico was a little puzzled, he couldn’t remember what heart problems he had, but then again he couldn’t count on two hands half his affections. Nonetheless, he took it and left out an ecstatic noise at the cherry flavor. The doctor run some more tests and then let him go.

On the way back, Nico skipped happily, ranting about everything and anything that crossed his mind. From his favourite flavours to the next coming anime he wished to watch immediately.

And then he felt like his left foot hit something and he hit the ground, face first.

“Inmate, watch your steps! You almost squashed Kuu under you?”

“Kuu?” Nico asked, confused. “Hajime, I can’t see no Kuu.”

There was an indignant ‘meow’ and a little stab of claws on his leg, but Nico still couldn’t see anything. He shrieked and jumped on Hajime out of fear.

“Hajime, I think Kuu is dead and his ghost is hunting the jail!”

“What are you babbling about, idiot? Kuu was just here and left because you tripped over him.” Hajime was silent for a few seconds, inspecting the way Nico was looking around frantically. “Please tell me you are not having any side from the treatment.”

Nico gasped in shock. “It could be! But I was never blind before! Or… partially blind? I can see you and the walls and I could still see everything at the infirmary when we left.”

“That damn doctor, didn’t he say anything about side effects?”

“Not in a while.”

Hajime sighed and took the inmate off of him. They walked back to Nico’s cell, everything going normal so far since the incident with Kuu. Hajime really hoped it would be the only surprise of the day.

“Inmate, we have arrived.”

Nico stared at a wall, his eyes empty of any emotion. He stared for a good few seconds more and then turned to the guard. “Hajime, this is a wall.”

Hajime face palmed, feeling a terrible ache in his stomach.

“Hey, Nico, that’s not nice, man.”

Nico looked around. He was sure the sound came from straight ahead, but he could only see a the wall.

“Yeah, is that a way to talk to your boyfriend? At least say that my muscles are hard like a wall, damn it!”

“Uno, you barely have muscles.”

“Look who’s talking, mister I-Can-Only-Escape-From-Jail!”

“Where is everyone?! I can’t see anyone!”

“They are right in front of you inmate, try to walk forward and you will get into the cell.”

Nico tried Hajime’s advice and made a few steps. It looked like he did nothing, to him the wall was at the exact same distance as before. He turned his head at Hajime, who made a hand gesture to press him on. Nico tried again. The same result. “What the-“ he thought to himself. He tried taking more determined steps. Nothing. And then he started running. It felt like was running on the same patch of earth and not at the same time. The wall even started to get more far away. He tried running faster, but he was already becoming tired.

“Nico, are you okay?” asked Jyugo’s voice.

“Yeah, you look a little sick.” Added Rock from somewhere, somehow feeling like from everywhere.

“What happened?” asked Uno.

“I dunno!” shouted Nico in desperation. “I just went and took my heart medicine and now I can’t see some stuff!” His breathing became sharp, sweat forming on his forehead. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped working out with Yamamoto. “Ah, I shouldn’t have taken the pill!”

“What pill?”

Nico opened his eyes and jolted up, trying to catch his eratic breathing. Looking around, he was in his cell, early in the morning, with all his sleepy cellmates looking at him worried.

“Nico, did you take some weird experimental thing again?” Uno asked, a little angry. “I swear to God, I will go to that doctor and give him a piece of-“

“It’s okay, I just had a weird dream.” Nico laughed a little, calm now. “Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten so many trusted cherries before sleep.”

“Weird you should say that,” started Jyugo.

“Yeah, Hajime came by some minutes ago and left us this package for you from the doctor, saying he and his wife went on a little vacation.” Rock opened the little zip bag slowly. “He said they are for some heart things and they smell so sickly of cherries.”

“No!” Nico jumped up from his bed and started running around, as away from that bag as possible. “I am NOT taking them!”

“Nico, don’t!” the trio looked all suddenly scared, remembering what will happen if Nico doesn’t take his medication. “Nico, you know you have to take them!” said Uno, running after him with Jyugo and Rock. “Please, for me?”

“No, keep those away from me!”

Just a normal morning at Nanba prison.

#nanbaka secret santa #nanbaka #uno #nico #rock #jyugo #hajime sugoroku #kuu

8 notes · View notes

light-of-being · 4 years

Text

a very fkin long and incomplete exposition of my flaws as a human being

I've not really spoken about the probably most consequential event in my recent life (the ending of a long term relationship), and that's because I haven't really thought about it very much. At least, not in a clear-headed space not entirely filled with rage, fear, or initially, longing. So, I've mostly just been waiting for the intensity of those responses to wear out before I can go back and make sense of things in a sorta 'safe' way.

(These days it's mostly anger and/or hurt. Sometimes twinges of hatred, but those fizzle quickly. I know that attitude isn't 'true'. I tried to hate him, I really did. Things would be so much simpler that way — an obvious villain of pure evil, a mistake worthy of contempt. Put him behind me as someone I regret meeting and consider everything only as a flashing warning sign of what to avoid next time. But real life never is that easy, is it.)

Regardless, reading about miscellaneous psychological ~stuff, I realised that I know for sure now that there are sides of me that only come out in a close relationship, as they postulate. It's unfortunate that my exposure to this was only in such a toxic environment, and I'm not sure if or when closeness has any chance of happening again.

I suspect, based on what I have/haven't felt with him vs others, that I can (at least at this stage of my development) only really feel 'seen' by an antisocial/narcissist/schizoid (or something in that general direction), just hope to god it's a mature one next time. I might want to interrogate and possibly change that fact, I'm not sure it's at all a healthily arrived preference. But...

there is a degree of normalcy and social belonging in others that becomes a wall

I can relate superficially, cognitively and even 'deeply personally' (tho is all y'all's deeply personal shit necessarily relational?), have a good time and even feel 'connection' but there are parts that seem simply insurmountable.

The lack of relating to many things is the unifying factor between me and the specified groups: the shared experience of not having shared experiences

But yet, a more acute awareness of superficiality, and the drives and mechanics of human interactions, attitudes, identity and constructs, not taken for granted as default but built from the ground up (Most often out of either necessity or a desire to manipulate them, but still).

Actually, most straightforwardly, the shared experience of experiencing oneself as an outsider to society — whether people personally, accepted norms or expected attitudes towards self and other.*

Anyway, that was a whole semi-tangent I went off on (useful and relevant to the initial thought but not the point I was planning on).

Important point was...ah yes, insights!

...into how I behave under genuine relational circumstances. Due to aforementioned toxicity, I'm not sure how generalisable they are to relationships overall, but they should generalise to feeling-states.

(a) Fear. Defensiveness.

Switches off my brain. Obvious? No. I have been actively strategic while having a gun pointed at me. I thought I had that down. Turns out, I cannot dissociate myself out of an argument most of the time.

Turns out, just the fact or even prospect of arguing activates panic and brain goes out the window. Which is really fucking stupid as an occurrence because how many of these could be prevented with a bit of mindfulness and thoughtful responding. But getting emotions to chill out for long enough to do that is tough.

(b) I am a stubborn dumbass. Kid me argued until they were attacked so harshly that they absolutely could not continue. The alternative presented was to just keep silent, one I did not then and do not now accept. Discussion where both parties partake in good faith have generally been fruitful, only neither of these situations were that. Both involved one person trying to dominate at all costs. To which I suppose keeping silent for the moment and then running tf away is an appropriate response. Idk. I'm not sure if this is a 'normal situation' to which I respond unhealthily, or an 'abnormal situation' in which you just do your best to survive. Arguments are normal. Idk if other people have a less aggressive approach that is less outright terrifying, in which I can modulate, but it does seem like people want to prove you wrong and get angry, which I perceive as aggression.

Which brings me to boundaries. Can I shut things down when I'm overwhelmed. In the present case, the answer was no. They both didn't stop and the fact that I asked for this was interpreted as admission of defeat.Oftentimes, getting out of the situation was more of an ordeal than dealing with it. [We stayed at a hotel the one time and he did things that made me very uncomfortable (in like a “things that I shudder at thinking about even now” kind of way; not sexual btw which this has made it sound). I thought I was as clear as I could’ve been by saying, “I’m going to legit have a breakdown if you keep doing that” but apparently it came across as a joke (gotta improve on communication as well). He stopped and apologised when he realised I was crying, but later blamed me for not being more assertive and laughed at my ‘exaggerated’ response and “meltdown”. At this point I wanted to leave and go home, but he withheld [my copy of] the key. He insisted and manipulated and coerced for discussion, said I could have the key if I “really wanted it, but do I actually want that”, until it was just easier to give in. The helplessness and feeling trapped of that evening haunts me to this day, and I want to be very sure to never be in any situation where that is even a possibility again no matter what.]

I need to get better at knowing what is and isn't okay and being strong enough to enforce that.

(a) Attachment is a bitch. Utterly unfamiliar sensation, one I don't know my way around at all. The rarity of relation makes it seem so fucking precious, so fucking necessary to protect even to my detriment and his. Dare I tip the boat or will it sink. Should I be the dancing monkey to keep it from sinking. Should he.

(b) The feeling of giving a damn what someone thinks of me is also foreign and difficult. It also seems hella intensified by virtue of not existing elsewhere. Disapproval feels devastating. Criticism becomes attack. Everything feels like a continuous effort to establish worth. I'd imagined acceptance could be taken for granted, but I questioned it the whole way (obviously doesn't help when he demands changes).

(c) I have trouble distinguishing between personal issues and insecurities and legitimate reason to be upset. I think this is typical. But with trial and error, one can probably pick up on what you carry with you across differing people and circumstances. I don't have that data. I have nothing to compare against. I also suspect some parts of this is him treating legitimate reasons as being my distorted perceptions, which I'm pretty sure did happen for a few things that I believe are 'objectively' shitty.

I trust. Too. Fucking. Much. I take shit at face value. This is very often dumb and...bad in literally every sense, but I don’t yet know how to identify preemptively when that's the case. I also fail to be adequately 'suspicious' I guess to be alert to minor inconsistencies later on. Lies are especially devastating. I built my reality around you using that fundamental premise. Now you tell me it was false all along. Where does that leave me? I go back to substitute and nothing makes sense. I don't know if the initial statement was a lie or the claim that it's false was. I don't know if everything I remember is just distorted somehow. I don't know what to do. (aside: gaslighting? I’m inclined to say “effectively, yes”. The best explanation I have is that for many things he rewrote the narrative in his own mind and does not remember the things that blatantly contradict it. For other things, I cannot see that being possible and am forced to think it’s just pure lies). All of this could have been prevented if I accounted for people being dishonest.

(a) I lose sympathy. Genuinely did not ever expect this to happen. Enough hurt, enough deception and I stop trying to understand why. I assume malice. I expect malice in future interactions and misread situations as a result. In the beginning I made fucktons of effort to be understanding of things far from my typical range (hello, admissions of past violence and present homicidal ideation. Hello, talking someone out of real intention of ruining a person's life over a minor slight). Honestly, I think I overreached. Some of these things were not things I should have tolerated, accepted even. When I started walking on eggshells to not have him ruin my life, too, that was probably when I should've gotten out. He claimed that the people he cares about are exceptions. That's probably true, otherwise I would currently be in a ton of shit. But at some point I did stop believing it.

(b) I don't really think that most of the things that happened were malicious. Some, he admits, were. But mostly he wasn't out with the intention to hurt me, but he also didn't make the effort...not to. Even with me repeatedly complaining about things, he was defensive or dismissive, considering me talking about an issue to be me creating issues in his life. This is super shitty, his damage is caused by a stubborn ego fixation and sheer passivity, thoughtlessness (he has agreed to all of this in our final conversation), but it isn't exactly intentionally malicious. If he genuinely didn't believe there was a problem, that is an issue, and the fact that he utterly failed until the end to even consider the possibility of a valid complaint, is a very real flaw. He is bad insofar as "he is lazy and incompetent at being good". Which I can understand but nevertheless protect myself from. Ideally, sooner. At the point where I start feeling like someone is being shitty more often than not, something needs to happen. A discussion, a reconsideration, a run-as-fast-as-you-can... Something.

Idk. This isn't everything. But yeah.

* These 3 PDs are often used in illustrating the idea of pathologising difference: few of the criteria are about subjective distress and many about extrinsic value judgements of what a person should be like (lol, my clinical psych final had an essay question on this). I don't necessarily agree but it does speak to a shared thread of...something. That said, this characterisation is tbh still too broad for my liking. Importantly, it is definitively applicable to autistic people but I do not in general relate to that in the same way. Some specific manifestations of it, yes, but I have seen far too many excessively... 'human' autistic people to include the whole category. There are probably folks in the PD categories who are also like that but I think much less common.

#personal #emotions #reflections #relationships #personality disorder #possible tw abuse idk #if you're actually interested in reading probably best to do so tomorrow #not sure why I'm posting now in the first place #will reblog when I update #also needs links those are important

6 notes · View notes

inaudiblemon · 4 years

Text

hare your self-care!

I was tagged by my good friend @sunidelphia, so here goes:

🌿 Favorite comfort food: Ice cream makes my tum hurt, but it’s so good. Ramen (not the instant kind, the well-made restaurant-quality stuff) can also fill one with warmth in ways other foods cannot.

🌼 Favorite alcohol (or hot drink!): I’ve really been getting into sour beers lately, but I haven’t settled on one yet; otherwise, there’s always No Boats On Sundays ciders and Nova7 white wine.

🌷Favorite relaxing activity: Painting miniatures has been a really calming thing in the past few months, even if I’m not good at it yet. I also believe in the holistic properties of singing. A good ol’ walk does some good too, provided there’s music to listen to.

🌸 Favorite fluffy/feel-good fic: Apart from the fics my friends write, I don’t really read any; It’s not a fic, but last year, I discovered the manga Komi-san Can’t Communicate, which features two dorks, one who is a commentary on shonen manga protagonists being bland dudes but somehow “special” (as in, he’s really actually ordinary and not special at all, and his “special-ness” is being hyper-aware of other people’s emotions), and his beautiful classmate whom everyone is intimidated by, who is actually incredibly sweet and shy, but has debilitating anxiety and has trouble talking to others, ipso facto, comes off as standoffish, stoic and intensely silent. The whole story is about them making friends with all their classmates, and each of their classmates are also dealing with their own issues and mental health conditions, and, all of it is acknowledged meaningfully and they all help each other in really wholesome ways!

🌻 Favorite calming scent: Wet on a rainy summers day, be it pavement or earthy smells

🌺 Favorite relaxing (or uplifting) song: Those are two entirely different moods and entirely different playlists, my friend. For relaxing, Dance by Tim Baker always succeeds at putting me at ease, but it’s also a very melancholic, beautiful song about enjoying the dancing moments of life with someone special, and that gets me in the feels. As for uplifting, I’m taking liberties with interpretation, but Danny Don’t You Know by Ninja Sex Party never fails to pick me up and make me believe in myself, especially with how fucking ridiculous the harmonies are when we get to “C’mon you are a star tonight” in the crescendo of the last verse. Chills every time. I will cry so much if I ever see that part performed live. Also the song is literally a love-letter to awkward kids who grow into themselves being weird and accept themselves as they grow older, where the lead singer and I share the same name and it feels very personal.

🌵 Favorite white noise: The quiet crackle of the needle from a record player or birds chirping in the distance

🍄 Favorite book to get lost in: Honestly, I’ve always had great difficulty re-reading books, especially since I already struggle with reading books to begin with (said the graduate student)

💐 Favorite chill-out TV show: Community, no questions.

🌹 The best advice you’ve ever had: “Become the adult you needed when you were younger”. Having not had the best of times growing up/being where I’m at since the last while, it always felt important to fill the gaps in what it is I lack(ed) by becoming the solution. I recognize that this was/is a trauma response, and that I shouldn’t feel responsible and shouldn’t take the burden onto myself for a lot of those things, but I also want to avoid unhealthily latching onto others in hopes that they’ll be the friends/parents/mentors/partners I needed growing up. It’s a balance: I need to be those things for myself (and for others too, in healthy doses), at the same time acknowledging I need a good support system composed of various people who love and care for me, as I love and care for them too.

I tag no one, but anyone is free to do it if they please :)

1 note · View note

chiseler · 4 years

Text

The Greatest Bad Writer in America? Weird, Forgotten Harry Stephen Keeler

Harry Stephen Keeler (1890-1967) enjoys a peculiar kind of fame as a writer. Or "paper-blackener," to quote him. The prose of his mystery novels and pulp stories, written from the 1920s into the 1960s, can be simultaneously balled up, discombobulated, lyrical, cryptic -- even going "utterly blooey" at times. This is from The Riddle of the Traveling Skull, published in 1934:

For it must be remembered that at the time I knew quite nothing, naturally, concerning Milo Payne, the mysterious Cockney-talking Englishman with the checkered long-beaked Sherlockholmsian cap; nor of the latter's "Barr-Bag" which was as like my own bag as one Milwaukee wienerwurst is like another; nor of Legga, the Human Spider, with her four legs and her six arms; nor of Ichabod Chang, ex-convict, and son of Dong Chang; nor of the elusive poetess, Abigail Sprigge; nor of the Great Simon, with his 2163 pearl buttons; nor of--in short, I then knew quite nothing about anything or anybody involved in the affair of which I had now become a part, unless perchance it were my Nemesis, Sophie Kratzenschneiderwümpel--or Suing Sophie!

Viewed through the appropriate lens, Keeler's manifest flaws become avant-garde virtues, as he seems to stretch the novel towards some new form, possibly the radio play or podcast. Neil Gaiman is a fan: "My guiltiest pleasure is Harry Stephen Keeler. He may have been the greatest bad writer America has ever produced. Or perhaps the worst great writer. I do not know. There are few faults you can accuse him of that he is not guilty of. But I love him."

Among the various devotees keeping this "forgotten author" alive, no one has proven more steadfast than Richard Polt, who chairs the philosophy department at Xavier University in Cincinnati and founded the Harry Stephen Keeler Society. http://site.xavier.edu/polt/keeler/

Richard, give us an introduction to Keeler and his work -- and tell us what led you to dedicate so much time and energy to keeping his name alive.

I ran across Keeler by pure accident in 1996, and from the start I was thrilled by the feeling that I was onto something truly weird and forgotten. I’ve always enjoyed digging into some corner of culture, going deep enough that I discover things that just aren’t in sight of today’s conventional wisdom, and finding connections that I would never have found otherwise. That’s exactly what the world of Harry Stephen Keeler has done for me.

Keeler (1890-1967) was a lifelong Chicagoan. His father died when Harry was an infant, and his mother married a series of other ne’er-do-wells who also kept dying on her. Meanwhile, she ran a boarding house for vaudevillians—so Harry was exposed to a wide variety of theatrical types in a city that was teeming with immigrants. He studied to be an electrical engineer and worked for a while at a steel plant, but his real passion was writing. His mom feared that he was going insane, and had him committed to the asylum at Kankakee, Illinois in 1911-1912. But he was released, and managed to make a living publishing quirky little stories with twists. In 1919 he became the editor of the pulp magazine 10 Story Book, which published short fiction and pictures of half-clothed girls. He also edited magazines such as the Chicago Ledger and America’s Humor.

Keeler’s stories began to get more convoluted, and by the late ’20s he was publishing mystery novels with Dutton in the US and Ward Lock in England, including The Spectacles of Mr. Cagliostro, which drew on his experience in the asylum. Things were looking up, but the Depression cut into book sales at the same time as HSK’s novels took a turn for the bizarre. He typically built his novels on the skeleton of an old short story from his youth, or several of them woven together. Sometimes his wife, Hazel Goodwin Keeler, would also contribute a chapter. This all became the occasion for gloriously implausible tales, chock-full of long-winded speeches in dialect; caricatures of every ethnic group from “Swodocks” to “Celestials”; near-future technology such as intercontinental 3D television; and, inevitably, a surprise ending that sends your synapses on a rollercoaster ride. This stuff appealed to an ever narrower audience. Finally, Dutton dropped Keeler in 1942. He was published by the bargain basement Phoenix Press from 1943 to 1948. Ward Lock cut him in 1953. Then he wrote for Spanish and Portuguese publication at $50 a title—or just for himself.

There were definitely some bitterness and frustration in Keeler’s old age, and when Hazel died in 1960, he went into a tailspin. But then he married Thelma Rinaldo, his one-time secretary from America’s Humor, and as he put it, he caught hold of “the greased pig known as the will to live.” Harry collaborated with Thelma on some late novels that have been published only in recent years.

There are two perennial questions about Keeler: Was he mentally ill? And was he a bad writer? Most people’s initial reaction is that he was a terrible writer who had mental problems. But you can also make the case that he knew what he was doing and was very good at it; it’s just that he had an eccentric sense of humor that requires a special sensibility to appreciate. I’m inclined to this latter view, although he does keep me guessing. I suspect that he had some traits that we would classify as belonging to the autistic spectrum, such as a prodigious memory for facts combined with a superficial grasp of human emotion. A Keeler story is not about interiority; it’s about a complex plot that plays games with the reader’s mind.

Describe Keeler's trademark concoction, the "webwork plot." “Web-work” or “webwork” was Keeler’s term for a highly complex plot, which weaves together a number of strands. He introduced the term in 1917 in a series of articles for The Student-Writer, which he then expanded into a fairly long treatise, "The Mechanics (And Kinematics) of Web-Work Plot Construction" (The Author and Journalist, April-November, 1928). Keeler never claimed to have invented the term or the concept; he gave credit to now-forgotten pulp writers such as Bertram Lebhar. But he did consider himself to be a skilled practitioner, and his fans would surely agree.

What’s most delightful in HSK’s theoretical writings on webwork is the diagrams, which show graphically how various characters and objects intersect at key moments in the story. "Mechanics" distinguishes 15 types of “elemental plot combinations” and presents a mind-blowing diagram of Keeler’s 1924 The Voice of the Seven Sparrows. It’s a very tortured plate of spaghetti.

Some of Keeler’s novels (including Sing Sing Nights, Thieves’ Nights, and the series Hangman’s Nights) get their complexity from a 1001 Nights structure: a framework story embraces several stories told by characters. Other Keeler novels get their complexity from endless digressions and red herrings, or tons of factoids that may or may not turn out to be relevant to the main story. Often, the action is told or retold by an unreliable character, instead of being shown to us directly. Inevitably, there’s a big surprise at the end that makes you see the whole plot differently in retrospect.

If you take away the surprise ending, webwork looks a lot like the contemporary literary genre sometimes called “hysterical realism”—the massive, weird, convoluted stories of writers like Pynchon. Keeler pioneered the formal analysis of this kind of tale. If you have a mathematical mind, you’ll appreciate his advice for getting a webwork started:

In conceiving a story or inaugurating a plot which involves threads weaving with threads, if the thread A, or viewpoint character, should figure with the thread B in an opening incident of numerical order "n" (with respect to the incidents in the conditions precedent) there must be invented a following incident "n + 1" involving threads A and C; an incident "n + 2" involving threads A and D; an incident "n + 3" involving threads A and E; and so on up to perhaps at least "n + 4” or "n + 5"; and furthermore "n" must cause "n +1"; "n + 1" must cause "n + 2"; "n + 2” must cause "n + 3" etc.

I’ve tried it—it works!

What's it like living in and among Keelerian natterings over the long haul?

Like one of Pynchon’s paranoid plots, or like Borges’ fantasy encyclopedia that ends up colonizing reality, the Keelerian world has many unsuspected strands that create a webwork in which I am now enmeshed. I’ve read more obscure authors because they imitated Keeler (John Russell Fearn) or were friends of his (T. S. Stribling). I found out that my own great-grandfather, Wells Hastings, wrote a mystery novel that can fairly be described as webwork. And I taught myself some Dutch in order to read the 2010 novel De Sciencefictionschrijver, by Harold S. Karstens—a story about a man who becomes unhealthily obsessed with Harry Stephen Keeler and starts a correspondence with Richard Polt. Yes, Keeler’s world is absorbing—to the point where I have now been absorbed within the covers of a fictional exploration of that world, to be discovered, like Harry himself, by future eccentrics.

by Daniel Riccuito

3 notes · View notes

bettsfic · 5 years

Text

life update i guess

ultimately things are not terrible but. there’s just a lot.

i’m working too much to get anything done at my house, which means it’s just sitting there, un-lived-in, while i continue paying the mortgage. it’s not even on the market yet. i had my realtor do a walkthru and start the paperwork, but we’re still maybe weeks out from putting it on the market, and potentially months and months out from sale. the houses in my area have all taken 6+ months to sell.

my mom wants to get back with her alcoholic husband. i can’t even begin to dip in to this situation because it is so totally fucked, but tldr i am really tired of women prioritizing the shitty men in their lives over their female family/friends. i felt bad about eventually moving to mississippi and leaving my family, but now i don’t.

and now the job.

yesterday i worked 9am to 10pm and friday i’ll be working 7am to 5pm. the frightening thing is that this is considered the “slow time” of the year, and i’m not even fully onboarded yet, meaning my duties aren’t all implemented yet. so, first problem: the work-life balance here is not reasonable.

the second problem is the disability accommodations issue. HR will not afford me temporary accommodations (like moving cubicles, working from home, etc -- things i think are perfectly reasonable but which they will not budge on without a doctor signing off on it), and i can’t find someone to assess me until mid-july. moreover, i don’t have time to be making calls and find someone who can get me in sooner, because the job packs my calendar every minute of every day. AND the day i have my appointment scheduled is a day i have a mandatory cybersecurity training. so it might be pushed back further. there’s also a chance it’ll take multiple sessions to sign off, so i’m looking at august/september before i get any accommodations, which is the “busy” season.

the question becomes -- can i last that long without accommodations? my cubicle is in the middle of major foot traffic, with my back to the room and a fuckton of noise. i have absolutely no privacy. but mostly i’m not in the office at all, so i don’t know how big of a deal it really is. i can stand it for a few hours at a time.

those are really the only problems. my accommodations are delayed, and i am encouraged/forced to work 45+ hours a week, and it’s making me feel like i’m handing my entire life away. like last night was the first night fireflies were out, and i wanted to stop and look at them and take pictures, but i was with a group of volunteers and had to consider propriety, and moreover had to move things along so i could go home and sleep. i haven’t had the time or energy to keep revising baby, and i’ve stopped querying agents. everything feels like it’s on hold.

as for the neutralizing stuff -- it’s summer, which for me means depression, so there’s a chance if i didn’t have this job, i would be falling into terrible habits. sleeping in until noon, eating one big meal a day, not getting dressed, only getting a couple things finished in the afternoons, spending too much time on tumblr, getting overly (unhealthily) engaged in fandom. potentially working toward another breakdown. but also, i feel like i’m working toward a different kind of breakdown with this job. and it’s possible i wouldn’t do any of these things because i’m living in a better place now.

now for the good things!! i do get to teach with this job (but rarely). i finished up a series on health and wellness, in which i taught a group of 11 to 14 year old girls about emotional validation and teamwork. it was so much fun and i really, really loved it. unfortunately i don’t know how frequent these opportunities are.

i also get to hang out at camp, which is fun for now but i have a feeling it’s going to get old fast. the days are long and hot and there are just so many girls. on tuesday i had a big group of 7 to 9 year olds, which i’m much less familiar with as an age group (they are too young to have seen harry potter, and too old to baby talk at, so i’m lost). friday i’m going to a residential camp and i have no idea what that will be like.

i get to work with volunteers, who are generally amazing and kind and organized, and have the best intentions at heart. these are women who (like in fandom) prioritize community and the greater good, and put love into everything they do. unfortunately, my job is basically to deal with the few bad things peppered among the good -- volunteer disputes, mom entitlement, “my daughter’s cookie reward sleeping bag is broken and i need a new one RIGHT NOW,” etc. there are two moms i know who have a restraining order on a third mom, and i’m grateful i missed that whole thing, because dealing with it would have been my responsibility.

i am constantly driving into the sticks, which would be a negative for most people but is amazing for me. the places i serve are all out in the middle of nowhere, these tiny towns with only a couple roads apiece, and take an hour or more to get to. i get great mileage reimbursement and fabulous future writing fodder. moms and kids and small town drama -- this is all the stuff i love to write, and i’m getting a lot of great aesthetic from it, but no energy to write anything that isn’t fic (which is energy-filling for me rather than draining).

and my favorite thing is that i am doing Good Things. i really love this organization and believe in it, and working here is the first time i’ve really felt like i’m making the world better instead of worse. the more i learn about it and everything it does, the more i love its structure and purpose. the people who work there are such good and kind people, and the work they all do is genuinely, unequivocally amazing.

there is just a lot of it, and it doesn’t pay well.

no matter what, i’ll only be there a year (i’m doing a phd in mississippi but deferred my acceptance), and they don’t know that, and i feel bad for deceiving them. i feel bad for joining these volunteer communities with the assumption i’ll be around a while and make friends. and as much as i need the health insurance, it’ll take a long time to find doctors and get appointments for all the specialists i need, and then i’ll be moving out of the state and having to find new doctors anyway.

so my options are thus:

stick with the job for a year

pros: no stress about paying mortgage while house is on the market, ability to buy stuff i need and pay off my car, save up for big move, structure/keeping busy over summer when i’m normally really depressed, ability to do meaningful work i believe in, really good health insurance

cons: no time/energy to write, guilt over deception of coworkers and volunteers, a potentially unmanageable amount of stress, poor work/life balance, not a lot of teaching

resign and return to alma mater to teach comp next semester

pros: summer off to work on my house/writing/freelance work, don’t dread waking up every day, may potentially be able to move to mississippi in winter and start the phd spring semester

cons: no income over summer, no health insurance for the rest of the year (and will have to re-apply for medicaid), lack of structure may make me more depressed, i hate teaching comp (and i would have 3 sections of it, god help me -- but at least i’d be teaching)

this is the pickle i am in. i know this is a lot to read but mostly i wrote it for myself, to see it all written out. half of me thinks it’ll get better and right now i’m only intimidated by the workload because i don’t have an expertise in the job yet, and once i do, it’ll be a breeze, or at least more good days than bad ones. this is also the part of me that wants a backup plan post-phd in case i can’t do academia anymore and my writing career tanks. the other part of me is like, this is useless, you’re a writer and a teacher, why are you bothering doing anything that’s not writing or teaching? and that is also the part of me that’s like, lol you are not a neurotypical person, you are always going to struggle in these types of environments, and you have an environment available to you in which you do not struggle, so go for that instead (even if the pay is shitty and has no benefits).

i just don’t know.

#sns

41 notes · View notes

theclaravoyant · 4 years

Note

Predictions for B99 season 7?

Sorry for taking so long to answer this! I was finishing a rewatch to refresh myself on Season 6 and forgot about it.... This is a mixture of predictions and hopes because I hope they don’t take the obvious path with a lot of things that might happen!

To be honest I am really curious to see what happens as there’s a few things happening at the end of S6 I’m not sure how they’ll resolve, like Holt’s new position. At first I was like “Terry should become Captain!” but he still has to pass his lieutenants exam so he’s not high enough ranked yet. Maybe that will come later when Holt becomes Lord High Commander of All Justice.

Holt will probably be reinstated as Captain eventually - it’s happened several times before - but I kinda want them to do something else with it? Like, he goes straight to being Commissioner or something. It’s just happened so often we know new Captains never last. It would be cool to see a slight twist on it.

I’m almost certain Jake & Amy are going to have a baby. Personally I’m kinda bored of pregnancy storylines in general bc they seem to be so inevitable & escapable and I don’t particularly connect with or enjoy them so I struggle to get as on board/excited as some people do about it BUT they will be happy about it and I will be happy for them, and Jake is going to have an opportunity to be a great dad and I’m so proud of him bc he’s learnt a lot about responsibility etc over the seasons that will allow his fun dadding to also be functional dadding.

We’ll have a Halloween Heist but it won’t be on Halloween it’ll be some other holiday. I’ve heard some people floating Cinco de Mayo? I’ve absorbed a few bts bits and pieces but haven’t gone looking so I’m not sure how certain it is but I did see a tweet of the channel ‘forgetting’ when Halloween was. Maybe that means they’re going to do it on a different day (bc oops, they forgot).

I hope Rosa and Jocelyn stay together. They seem quite serious and had some solid talks last season about Rosa ditching her all the time for work and that sort of stuff. It’d be sad to see them put so much effort into something to end up ending it anyway, especially if it’s ended off screen/hand-waved like with Ashleigh(?) moving to London. However, I also like Steph’s idea of dating at least one man and one woman and it being shown/treated with equal seriousness/screen-time etc (eg. Pimento & Jocelyn) and then having a third partner after them which would live true to the multi gender attraction but still allow Rosa to end up with someone based on chemistry. Having her end up with a man (and subsequently being accused of not being queer enough etc) would reflect Steph’s own journey as well thus far so for that reason I would have some extra appreciation for that.

I’ve also heard some people say they want her to date a guy again because she’s ‘only dated girls since she’s come out’ but imo that’s not true; we don’t know the gender of everyone she’s dated since she’s come out there’s a few she’s been deliberately ambiguous on. However again I do see the point because historically rep-wise if bisexuality isn’t portrayed as some distant laughable phase it can get washed over to appear as though oh they’re lesbian now rather than bi. However, I think Rosa’s ongoing bisexuality can be reinforced in other ways though like checking guys out or remarking on their attractiveness, or talking other genders she has dated in the past or would never actually be able to date like celebrity crushes, or about other bi people, bi social events/spaces or friends, or bi stereotypes (eg promiscuity - what if she’s serious enough w Jocelyn to consider marriage? that could bring up issues with her parents, strangers, etc.), or talking to Holt about their differences in experience as homosexual/bisexual, rather than necessarily dating another guy. There’s a lot more creative scope for it that I feel gets overlooked.

(and not to be a mildly bitter enby but I also notice that nobody I have seen asking for her to date a guy again has brought up nonbinary people. In fact I haven’t ever heard anyone bring up nonbinary people in relation to Rosa’s bi rep or those people she specifically used they/them pronouns to talk about and didn’t reveal their gender when Boyle asked. Maybe Rosa should date a nonbinary person or talk about nonbinary people she’s dated in the past? this could also potentially lead to a discussion on the misnomer that bi ppl are trans/enby exclusionist by nature)

I am also intrigued to see Holt + the Commissioner position and how it will play out now that Wunch is Commissioner. On the one hand, it doesn’t make sense to ~come to terms~ with it etc a) he has genuine reasons to deserve and desire to have a position of power and b) when his worst enemy has like, the One Thing He Wants In Life -- but on the other hand, he’s got a comedically unhealthily desperate drive to be Commissioner which, while comedic, is still unhealthily desperate. On several occasions over the seasons he’s referred to it as stuff like, what defines him as a man and what tethers him to the earth etc etc. I think it would be good for him to find something else instead and/or it would be good writing to make him choose between the position and something else very important to him eg Kevin. He has been known for ditching Kevin in the past very frequently for police things (and has even admitted that he feels bad about this and that not getting the position made him regret it). Will we get to see Kevin’s reaction to this? Maybe Kevin is like ‘you know, you do ditch me a lot and i don’t love that.’ especially following the safehouse. but maybe he’s like ‘wtf are you talking about you’re the best police officer in the universe and you deserve everything’. Maybe a little bit of both? That whole ‘with the right people we can handle anything?’ KEVIN is the right people. I do hope he gets the position, or equivalent emotional fulfilment eventually, I just think they could do more with the journey and especially the relationship.

So... those are some predictions/hopes of mine! If you want to discuss or share yours with me feel free to hit up my ask box

#brooklyn 99 #rosa diaz #captain holt #peraltiago #life of a fangirl #ask me stuff #srsly tho i'm not looking to judge anyone else's hopes/predictions just sharing some of my own im chill #Anonymous

2 notes · View notes

marshmallowgoop · 5 years

Photo

I can’t think of anyone else who does this kind of year-in-review compilation for writing, but I put one together for 2017 and would like to continue to do so. It’s just nice to get a sense of what I’ve accomplished in 12 months, especially when I feel that I haven’t accomplished much of anything.

Unlike last year, though, I’m including all kinds of writing I’ve done this time around. My non-fiction work is important to me, too.

Mental health talk and text versions of these snippets under the cut.

To cut right to the chase, 2018 was rough. No matter all my flowery pep talks trying to be positive and uplifting, my feelings of inadequacy skyrocketed. I drenched myself in my own self-depreciating “humor,” and I ridiculed my hopes and dreams. Every time I felt my work was poorly received, I’d tell myself, “Well, what did you think would happen? That people would actually like what you do?”

But I never wanted to stop “keeping on.” I wanted to continue what I loved no matter what, and I threw myself into my writing. There would be days where I wouldn’t eat or do anything else until I’d finished an essay. I spent practically the entire month of November sleeping on my couch because I never wanted to “go to bed” until I had written more, posted more, done more. My head became filled with a constant mantra of, “You’ll never be enough.”

And I wanted to prove myself wrong. I wanted to be something—even if that something was just being happy with myself. But all the proclamations that I’m “getting better!” and “improving so much!” never did much for my confidence. What good is progress, after all, if I still feel like I’m nowhere?

Still, I tried to be productive about my failure. So I wasn’t satisfied with what I was doing. What could I do to be satisfied? I took different approaches to my content. I asked for advice, opinions. But that feeling of being nothing remained.

And yet, I’d always say things like, “I’m okay. I’m just frustrated.” Or, “I felt better after I binged some Netflix, haha.” I wanted to be helpful, inspiring. I wanted to tell people that it’s hard, but it gets better. I wanted to come off as the happy person I so wish to be, and I felt guilty every time I revealed any of my insecurities. Nobody wants to hear that stuff. Everyone suffers. I’m not special.

So maybe that’s why I feel it’s important to say now that I’m not okay. I’m hurting. I’m in pain. There are times I hate myself so much that I can think of nothing but how I’m ugly both inside and out, that I’m selfish, ungrateful, a total bitch.

And I want to be better! Of course I do. And I want to continue to work to be better.

But right now? I’m not okay. And running away from that fact and trying to hide it won’t help me or anyone else.

It was a rough year. I feel I made a total fool of myself more times than I would care to admit. But I also created a lot of art. I shared a lot of art with the world.

And you know what? I am proud of myself. I did impact people with what I did. I answered over 100 asks! I added more than 17 pages to my “replies” tag! I’m not nothing, and I need to stop treating myself like I am!

On to a better, healthier 2019!

Texts

January

Yes, DARLING goes way further than I’m comfortable with, but in doing so, and in doing so seriously, it tells the viewer in no indirect terms that the relationship between Hiro and Zero Two isn’t a joke. This ain’t another Ryuko and Senketsu, where all the blatantly suggestive themes between a human and a non-human are easily neglected and there’s the insistence that the relationship is akin to that of a child and their parental figure (yuck), because unlike Ryuko and Senketsu, there is 1,000% the sense that this series intends for its leads to be like that. There’s practically no other way around it. Just look at the title.

DARLING also doesn’t seem to be following in the footsteps of a run-of-the-mill monster movie, either, where a relationship between a human and a non-human is treated as something terrifying. There have only been two episodes so far, but I would say that there is something genuine in the relationship between Hiro and Zero Two already.

February

So, I don’t have a “bad” section this week. While DARLING might have tonal problems as a whole, as far as “Your Thorn, My Badge” is concerned, there’s little to complain about. The episode is serious, and it stays serious. For the first time ever, there’s a distinct lack of gratuitous fanservice, and other issues that plague the show are also wonderfully absent. No awful cockpit set-up can be seen here, abuse from a woman isn’t depicted as funny, quirky, and cute, and what’s unsettling is portrayed as unsettling.

March

Senketsu’s story—intentionally or not—has easy parallels to stories of marginalization and “otherness.” Like Akira Fudo of Devilman, Senketsu has the body of a “monster” but the heart of a human, and consequently, he can’t fit well in either world. No matter how silly Kill la Kill is, there’s something incredibly worthwhile in a narrative where someone who feels worthless and as though they don’t belong anywhere finds love and comes to understand that they matter. The fact that Senketsu’s story gets so neglected is beyond disappointing for exactly this reason.

But the erasure is also disappointing because Senketsu’s story is plain good. Throwing out everything I just wrote, isn’t it sweet, for a girl to decide that she cares more for a kind, compassionate person than what anyone thinks of her for being with him? Isn’t it heartwarming, that she would push herself to be as strong as she can be to return him to full health when he’s injured? Isn’t it worthy of praise, that there’s the depiction of a relationship built on communication and respect between the two, without either of them unhealthily idolizing the other even though they are both among each other’s first friends, and where they openly discuss their thoughts and feelings and concerns together? Isn’t this all something to be celebrated?

April

To make matters worse, the almost-final version of the script (as included in The Complete Script Book) doesn’t even include that tiny moment of Ryuko’s grief in the end at all! To quote:

街(数ケ月後)

可愛い服を着てマコとデートしている流子。ソフトクリームを買おうとショップによる。そこにもう一人の手が伸びる。買っているのは皐月。彼女も私服だ。驚く流子とマコ。はにかむ皐月。三人、笑いあう。その姿は屈託のない１０代の少女だった。

Incredibly rough translation:

City (a few months later)

Mako wears cute clothes on her date with Ryuko. The two go to buy soft-serve ice cream. Another person’s hand extends, and it’s revealed that Satsuki is buying the ice cream for them. She’s wearing normal clothes, and Ryuko and Mako are amazed. Satsuki is shy. The three laugh together. It is the image of carefree teenage girls.

May

Of course, as I’ve said before, I do think it’s important to talk seriously about media, because media is important. Media constantly impacts and influences us. #TheDiscourse definitely has a place.

But the goal of these kinds of discussions should be to improve. We should strive for better and more inclusive media. We should strive for better and more inclusive fandom. When #TheDiscourse instead becomes more about who’s the most morally superior and who’s the most garbage, it’s failing at this goal. Instead of being about bettering our art, #TheDiscourse seems to, more often than not, be about bullying other people under the guise of righteousness. And it’s utterly repugnant.

June

But what bothers me most about the argument isn’t really the argument itself. What irks me more than anything else is how this widely held belief emphasizes a disheartening trend: whenever something as popular as Kill la Kill comes along, there’s perhaps an eagerness to accept some of the most negative interpretations possible, almost as if there’s a desire for something awful.

And, sure. Maybe I’m just “reacting in shock and horror” to interpretations that are separate from my own. It’s not like there’s anything inherently wrong with a negative view of a work. It’s not like any of my more positive readings are “more correct.” I can’t claim to “get” a piece of art more than anyone else does.

But I can’t help it. I wish things were different. I wish negative interpretations weren’t seen as “more valid” simply because they’re negative. I wish more people weren’t afraid to disagree with popular negative interpretations for fear of sounding like they’re “reacting in shock and horror,” as though there’s really something so wrong about being passionate about art and finding a negative interpretation of art to actually be negative in itself. I wish for more nuance. I wish for more discussion.

July

I mean, just imagine this. You’re fighting a battle whose outcome will literally decide whether or not your entire planet explodes into a billion pieces in like two hours. It’s not only your life on the line. Everyone you care about have their lives on the line, too.

To make matters worse, it ain’t going well for your side. You’ve been rendered basically immobile by a cheap attack from these world-destroying baddies… and so have all your allies. Things are looking pretty grim, to say the least.

And then one of your big-name enemies goes and does it. She laughs at your efforts and taunts you and—get this—she says something that totally insults your OTP.

Now, a normal person would probably not be thinking about OTPs during a fight to save the Earth from turning into confetti.

A normal person is not Mako Mankanshoku.

August

But I find Grosz’s thesis compelling in regards to Kill la Kill because, in a lot of ways, Ryuko and Senketsu do rather embody typical positions of men and women in fictional stories both East and West… except, the roles are reversed. Ryuko is the unruly, aggressive, and hot-blooded protagonist just as a man often is, and Senketsu exhibits many traits that are traditionally associated with women; he’s sensitive, emotional, and a considerable worrywart. Further, while I find the term “love interest” both degrading and unfitting for Senketsu in a series that Word of God denies any romantic intention for, I have to admit that he fits many of the conventions. In an anime with a cast primarily composed of women, the fact that Senketsu is arguably coded as male makes him, just as the standard heteronormative “love interest,” the most narratively significant character of another gender in the show (for just a few other examples, see Ran from Detective Conan, Sam from Danny Phantom, Katara from Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Tuxedo Mask from Sailor Moon). Whether I’m watching an anime or an American cartoon, I don’t think I’d be too surprised to see a scenario like the one from the end of Kill la Kill’s thirteenth episode, where a man tells a woman that he’s afraid of losing control and needs her to be there for him so that he doesn’t.

September

The official website for Kill la Kill the Game: IF is now up.

As of this writing, the site details gameplay mechanics and other general information regarding the game. There are also short bios and new game-specific artwork provided for the four confirmed playable characters: Ryuko Matoi, Satsuki Kiryuin, Ira Gamagoori, and Uzu Sanageyama. The “Video” section features the trailer from Anime Expo 2018 and the original 30-second commercial (which now has English subtitles available).

The “Top” page also includes a link to the Arc System Works Event Portal Site, where any potential players can download a detailed Play Guide for the game. Additionally, the site provides a schedule for the upcoming showcase of Kill la Kill the Game: IF at Tokyo Game Show 2018:

October

She catches their reflection in the long mirrors that line the gym walls and asks how in the world it all works.

He does not know what she means.

She holds a hand to her hair. The strands are bright and red, leaping into the air like fire.

His voice is a low rumble. The sound fills her as though it is her own.

We are one now, he says. Your skin is my skin, and mine is yours.

The words remind her to once more return to herself.

But when she looks to the glass, she still sees him.

November

Gridman is also quite stunning from a directorial and visual standpoint. As I wrote up some notes for the premiere while waiting for my multiple-hours-delayed Greyhound bus (hey I can’t not recommend that service enough, but those of you who were in full-out cosplay at the station are so much stronger than me), I made sure to mention how much I enjoyed the focus on scenery and environments. A lot of anime will rely heavily on stale shot-reverse-shot conversations in which the characters hardly move, but Gridman mixes things up. When the characters talk, viewers get these wonderful glimpses of their world. Sometimes, you’ll hardly even see the characters at all! This choice feels so fresh and different, and I was particularly taken by how the opening moments of the show are just about entirely background shots.

Takeuchi mentions in the interviews that Gridman director Akira Amemiya is incredibly skilled at what he does, and everything in a cut—from objects to angles to facial expressions—all have meaning. I think I could definitely see that from episode 1, and it’s a real treat. That’s exactly what visual storytelling should be doing.

December

Jiro’s Mubyoshi is neat, but Ryuko’s? It’s sweet as all heck. No matter Houka’s complicated info dump about what she’s doing, the actual scene simply plays out like one of the purest expressions of love. There’s a reason that there’s nudity here, and it’s not for fanservice or titillation. It’s to signify the closeness of Ryuko and Senketsu in this moment—to say that, right here, the two of them are uniting as one.

And it’s beautiful. Intimate. Absolutely heartwarming. Ryuko openly shares a part of herself that even Senketsu hadn’t known before, and he adores it. He loves being with Ryuko so much. He loves her so much.

And Ryuko? Shy, closed-off, keeps-her-distance-even-from-her-family Ryuko? She’s completely unabashed. Senketsu has always paid attention to her pulse and breathing and so on and so forth, and she doesn’t even hesitate to reveal more. This is her sound, and she wants him to listen. She wants him to hear nothing else. She trusts him, fully and completely—and this trust is so breathtakingly powerful that Houka even unzips his hoodie in awe of it.

#just before 2018 ends over here!#goop makes a personal post #long post #ramblings #happy new year y'all!

19 notes · View notes

viampythonissam · 5 years

Text

Intro, continued...

It was then I became obsessed with death and the occult, desperately trying to make contact with my grandfather through anything possible. Being clairaudient, I was expecting to hear a message from my grandfather all throughtout the whole funeral and mourning period, but to no avail. So in my desparation, I went into research, and stumbled upon things such as the ouija, seances, and many more. I even considered dabbling into necromancy, just in order to hear from him again. His death broke me so much that I was for the most time wishing I were dead too. I had suicidal thoughts but somehow something has prevented me from attempting. It could be I'm too chicken to hurt myself (getting hurt by other things besides self-infliction doesn't scare me though) or the thought of my mother crying over my dead body is another thing that would crush my heart.

I started questioning my religious beliefs then. We were Roman Catholics, and we go to church, but not too often. I am very religious though when I was a child, having been schooled in a private Catholic school, and I know all the prayers by heart; but it all changed. I felt resentment for praying so hard but never getting answered. That everything happens for a reason. A reason still so vague to me to this day, which I continue to believe was the same reason of the breaking apart of this family and eventual downfall. The family is in ruins, and the family home is crumbling apart. My father's only brother, my uncle Aldrin, died a little over two years after my grandfather; and his widow and only child, my cousin, was estranged ever since then, because of inheritance issues. My father decided to sell the house, my childhood home because of this; splitting the family fortune already so that we can all go off our separate ways and stop the bickering. The only thing that's keeping him from doing so is my grandmother who is still so attached to the house built by my grandfather.

At 16, I eventually traversed my way into the craft, dabbling on it. There was a kind of pull into these mystics that appealed to someone like me. Was it power? Was it danger? Mystery, perhaps? Or maybe I just got all too familiar with the unknown for me to be comfortable chasing after it? This craft, shunned by my faith since the dawn of time and even killed tons of people because of it, felt like home to me; learning it felt like retracing my steps back from where I came from. There was a sense of calm, relief, and freedom learning the ways of the earth, elements, and spirits and those who came before. Its unrestrictive nature was a stark contrast to the repressive and dominating teachings of the Catholic scriptures. Wherein Christianity demands a million things to do and not to do to save your soul, the craft only ever wanted you to do anything you want, just as long you harm none, even yourself. I have a lot of arguments to make against my old faith, that's why I consider myself an agnostic in all fairness. That's a topic for another day.

When I got to college at 17, I applied for nursing school under my father's wishes. It was in my misfortune to be enrolled in a school with a toxic environment of sorts: unhealthy clinic hours, unreasonable school workload, toxic Christian classmates who bombarded me everyday with bible verses and inviting me to join Sunday worship thingies. I am very respectful of other's beliefs and opinions but I really have a bone to pick with the Born Agains because upon knowing I am interested in dark movies and occult, they've started telling me that the Devil has a grip on my soul and that I should stop it so that my soul can be saved. They're even worse than the Mormons and Witnesses who knock on your door at certain days. I'd just ignore it and they'll go but BAs will stop at nothing to guiltify me of being possessed and that I need deliverance. It was also the time my parents went to Australia for work because of the failing finances due to to my late grandfather's hospital expenses, my uncle meeting his untimely demise, and my uncle's greedy widow who already demanded their inheritance even though my grandmother was still alive. My best friends of highschool also attended different schools and pursued different career pathways which left me feeling more isolated and unsure of myself. These issues fed my undiagnosed depression and relapse of suicidal thoughts all throughout my 4 years in nursing school. It was a mix of emotions, a rollercoaster ride of disappointments, achievements, first-time experiences, full independence. All without a proper support system. Nevertheless, I grew wiser while treading the craft, and for the first time since I lost my grandfather, I felt safe and sound and complete.

Then I met my elementary school sweetheart again in my final year and we became a couple. He was a sweet guy, smart and responsible. We had our similarities, our quirks, but we also had differences. I was already quite a learned witch, studying tarot and palmistry as my supposed-to-be expertise, when he told me how he wanted to be baptised as a Born Again (he and his family are Roman Catholics as well). He told me how he was deeply affected by the one time he went to a worship service of his friend's church. This struck a chord in me, a subtle reference to my beliefs. At the time, I have fully believed he is the man I'm gonna settle for, the one I'm gonna marry. He's everything I have hoped for then: he's finished school, on his way to a very decent career on a ship as a marine engineer. He's from a good family as well. Well-mannered, and not to mention that we've got a pretty long history way back when we we're 10 or so. He even made a subtle proposal of a civil marriage before he hops on board the ship. I know it was betrayal of myself, but I love this man so much so, I am ready to submit myself to him.

Worst decision of my life. I started to try and mingle with Christians so I may understand just why I needed to be saved. I joined worship services and sang with them against my own beliefs. I taught myself to be like them just so I could fit in, so that I may have friends. In return, they've burned all my books and tarot decks. Even my Slipknot t-shirt that my grandmother bought me was not spared from the Christian pyre. Said that it's to release me from the grip of the Devil. They even did deliverance to me. For a while I thought I was given a new lease on life and that this is the only right thing to do. I was easily convinced since it was the most trying time of my life so far: I was killing myself reviewing for the nursing licensure exams, my parents are already coming to get us and live away in Australia for good, my bf and I hit rock bottom and broke up (the girl who is the 3rd party confessed to me that they're having an affair, and that she was so guilty she can't sleep at night knowing we are good friends and they're doing this behind my back, also I've noticed red flags about him that made me doubt him a bit. I factored everything and the dots connected like a damn constellation so I've called it quits), and I was caught in an identity crisis because of inner turmoil. Maybe it was a time of personal upheaval and the mix of situations was too much for me to handle. Maybe it was a good thing though that I never got baptised because my life just got much more complicated after that.

So I did pass the licensures, ex and I never got together again, I went to live to Australia, but I never recovered from the inner turmoil thing; which made me spiral down again the depression lane, this time in its dangerous, ugliest and darkest recesses. I was fighting with my parents which I never did before, I was angry all the time. I started drinking then and I was exhausted all the time I just want to sleep. All the activities I've enjoyed before like sketching, playing the piano, afternoon strolls, and cooking for the family, I've totally lost interest in. My health deteriorated and I cut off and isolated myself from my friends overseas, ignoring their messages and emails. I tried to cope up by immersing myself in Christian songs and scriptures but it was not enough. I was still empty and numb. I was like a zombie, waking up just enough not to get late for work, then go home after, eat unhealthily, play video games, chug a bottle or two of beer, surf the net for worthless and trivial things, and sleep very late, like around 3 to 5 am, only to wake up again a few hours later for work. This was a vicious daily cycle that went on for 4 years. The only reprieve I had was my video games, and my sombre playlist, just enough to block the deafening screams of suicidal thoughts and ideations before I go to sleep. There was also a time I was going home from my internship waiting for the train home, that I thought of just jumping on the train tracks to end the struggle and pain. I was more than ready to attempt as I felt braver now. That was the time I lost all fear for death. Hell, I was ready to buy a rope at Bunnings too as well. But at the back of my head, the same sad picture of my mother crying over my dead body stops me from doing such thing. They said the deliverance was supposed to stop these things, but guess what? It was it that brought it back. It was supposed to keep the demons away, but it did the opposite, and felt so trapped in a cage of deceit and lies. I was supposed to be saved, but why did it felt like I was dying?

It was then I pondered over everything that's happened in my life so far. Where did I fall, where did I stand tall, where did I pick myself up? I thought long and hard enough and decided to start off where it began to crumble: back home. Retracing my steps back to Manila, now 25, I found my old stuff in my old room, before things happened. It reminded me of my simple life and my freedom and innocence. Back when I had complete control of my life. Back when I was the master of my fate. I let the people around me convince me that the man from the sky take the wheel, and it damn well crashed. A head-on collision with a destructive force. I decided to go back to my roots, the one where I felt best. And embracing it tighter than ever and promising to never betray it anymore for any reason.

My ex is now preparing to marry his girlfriend of 3 years. We met accidentally and forgave him already. I'm happy for him and that hopefully his happiness continue on. My old friends are still my friends, but there's already a notable gap between which I do not intend to close at all anymore. I do have new friends now and I keep a healthy distance from them whilst making a worthwhile connection. I am now preparing to enter med school in August and become a surgeon someday. The old house is in shambles, and I realized that a house is not a home, but the family that lives in it. I miss my parents and that my family will always come first, but I am happy to be more independent now and live by myself while studying medicine. Things are well between me and my cousin (my late uncle's child) and that I have forgiven his mother already for the hurt and trouble that they caused us. We see each other as he visits me and grandmother here at the old house every 2 months. When BAs, Mormons, and other religions try to do bible study to me, I am now assertive to tell them that I am agnostic and that I am firm in my beliefs. I am now recovering from my self-destructive ways and more optimistic and living healthier. Love is around, but it felt to me that I have lots to undertake first before I commit myself to someone again. I have backlogged so much that my time has to be devoted to the craft, my family and myself first before anything else. I am trying hard to pick up all the pieces and it seems things are finally going back in its right place. And the craft, after all these years, welcomed me back with open arms without any questions, like a mother does to her child. The sun, moon and the stars never shone brighter before, the day I returned home and answered its longing call.

Now. I have to let this off my chest now once and for all. Pleasure. Why is it a sin to pursue whatever makes you happy? Why must you endure pain just so you can be saved? Isn't that a crooked logic? Why must you be averse to your own will just so you get into a good place in the afterlife? I am only human, I am flawed, but it isn't my fault because I was born and created this way. Why must I be punished for something that is natural for me? If being free and happy costs me a one-way ticket to Hell, then I'd best be off. If my witchcraft, which teaches the opposite of your tyrannic religion, is a surefire way to deliver me there, then I'll make sure I will be a remarkable witch and enjoy my lifetime, and be very ecstatic to march down the fiery highway to Hell after I am gone. But I will never again submit myself to a narcissistic, psychopathic religion who has to kill millions of innocent people, and shun and humiliate people who think in contrast, just to justify and preach the existence of their god and its scriptures. My argument does not end with this and I will not back down anymore in defending my faith.

The craft is my world, and nature is my home. I am a daughter of those who came before, of those who are truly enlightened, of those you can never ever kill. I am a witch, and you can never take that away from me again.

*** Sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading, if you did. I hope you had something to take from my story and may it help you with whatever is botheringvor troubling you right now.

May the journey of life be kind to us all. Blessed be! ❤

1 note · View note

havingacrisisabtdeanw · 3 years

Text

It happened again.

I did it on purpose, sort of. I ate what I ate for dinner on Monday night, and truly was so full that I felt like I was going to burst. I was also very very tired. That was around 6 pm. Around 9 pm, I still hadn’t gone to bed and I was getting more awake. By 10:30 I was hungry again and very wide awake. I got high, then ate half a protein bar, and managed to go to sleep around midnight. I woke up at 6:30 am with severe indigestion.

I am so angry. I had severe indigestion for a lot of my childhood and I didn’t understand why - I thought it was just another part of my childhood sucking (because there were a lot of reasons my childhood sucked). But no. I had indigestion so frequently because I was fucking hungry so frequently. I don’t think I woke up without indigestion more than a third of the days I was in high school. Sometimes it was from not eating - either we didn’t have food or I was too stressed or some combination thereof - but sometimes I had eaten. I just didn’t know that eating dinner does not mean I won’t go to bed hungry.

I think I’ve proven that now - that I can eat dinner and be hungry in time for me to go to bed only a couple hours later. I can think of it as though I have a superpower - like my metabolism is just that fast, and maybe that would take the edge off the frustration. But I don’t want to be hungry any more. The desperation I feel if I let myself access my emotions around this hunger, this discomfort, is so completely overwhelming I’m staving off tears just by writing about it. I don’t know h o w.

I have an appointment with a dietician, who hopefully will help. I made the appointment while I was at work though, which might have been a mistake because as I was scrolling through bios of people who specialized in “weight loss” or “vegetarianism” I felt like I was going to explode. It felt like every person my whole life who has ever complimented my diet, or my too-FUCKING-skinny body was over my shoulder being like “see? why are you doing this? you’ve already got it made you skinny bitch. why aren’t you seeing one of those people so you can drop the quarantine weight you gained and go back to being so skinny you shiver in every passing breeze?”

I have gained weight in quarantine. It’s literally the first time in my life that I’ve managed to gain weight beyond 100 lbs, and I’m so fucking torn between being ridiculously happy and loving my body and wanting to gain MORE weight and get BIGGER and more MUSCULAR and feeling like I’m losing a part of my identity, that no longer in groups I can be like “well I’M not even 100 lbs!” and have people go “oooh!” and no longer can I shop and feel a horrible, vindictive kind of triumph that I can expect to only fit in to the smallest size of clothes.

It’s practice, and it’s a process. It’s training myself to look at my body in the mirror with appreciation (and realize that maybe I like that I look very masculine now...), it’s taking the thoughts about clothing size and direct them instead towards “get a medium just in case the smalls don’t fit you, it’s okay to need bigger clothes.” It feels so stupid because I should be able to just believe all that stuff anyway, like obviously it doesn’t make sense to attach personal value or identity to body weight. But listen, I grew up in the same culture as everybody else and just because my body was like the bodies I saw on screen doesn’t mean I didn’t get fucked in the head about it, it just happened differently. Being skinny made me feel safe. And sometimes in my life, that feeling of safety really fucking mattered. The fact that my body is changing means I’m losing that.

These concerns are not enough to stop me from wanting to change my diet, god fucking no. Being hungry is crazy making. I literally feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t sleep, I can’t work, and all I can talk about to people is how miserable I am. It fucking sucks, and no amount of societal brainwashing could overcome the immediacy of “holy god I need to eat r i g h t now.” The previous paragraphs were to the point that interacting with anything regarding “diet” or “nutrition” culture feels like a trap. I am not immune to slipping into unhealthily restrictive eating habits that go beyond my current issues, and at this point even seeing the bio for a dietician who helps people become vegetarian to lose weight makes me feel horrifyingly validated in the small part of my brain that believes that these 10 quarantine pounds are something I will get around to losing eventually.

I DON’T WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT. I am happier and healthier now than I have EVER been in my life. But everything is so fucking complicated about it, and when hunger makes me feel like I want to die it’s hard not to give in to the more toxic thought processes that I still very much fall into automatically.

The nutritionist I did find specializes in sports nutrition and eating disorders. Apparently she suffered from disordered eating herself after joining a running team. I think these mindsets should fit what I’m looking for. I come from sports culture, which has a lot of unhealthy and destructive mindsets/practices regarding diet and exercise that I definitely have been affected by. And whatever the fuck I experienced as a child definitely constitutes growing up with food insecurity, which has led to me having disordered fucking eating. So hopefully I can keep myself alive until then. I might have to back off some of my work responsibilities because I’m so fucking drained from all of this. And also from not getting good sleep because guess what? You can’t really sleep when you’re hungry!!

#tw eating #tw disordered eating #ugh

0 notes

tinymcfae · 3 years

Text

Small little talk before bed:

I think we all have that one person we cling to. We all have that one person we post stuff for just in hopes they see it and talk to us. We might all have someone in our past we just can't let go of.

The emotional attachment we create between us and the other person is almost like creating an addiction to them. So when they treat us like shit or toss us away, it hurts. But when they come back, we always get excited. I tell myself. "Imma make them wait for my reply." And then when they message I'm so quick to answer. Sometimes your feelings aren't reciprocated in an relationship, and when you have made an attachment to this person you think you need to try harder for them to reciprocate those feelings you have for them. You unhealthily try to please them or ignore your feelings in order to make them happy or talk to you. This is toxic. You can't make anyone feel the same way or treat you better by sucking up or going out of your way to impress them. Sometimes they ignore you or have you hanging on by a thread and pull you in every once and a while when they feel you are on the edge of walking away. They'll make excuses about why they treated you how they did and blame it on things but never take responsibility or properly apologize for treating you a certain way.

And I'm not talking about friendships where one friend is busy or life gets in the way and they went silent. Sometimes people step back when they're stressed out and it has nothing to do with you and your friendship, but just them feeling down. And that's okay.

I'm talking about where you're blatantly ignored or always the last option. Where others are a bigger priority.

I never realized that I was killing myself just to make someone talk to me and chose me. I had put this person so high on a pedestal that, nothing else mattered as long as I had this person. And it took them tossing me away for me to realize what the friendship really was for me: an escape. I had so much self hate and anxiety and depression. So when this friend and I created something to do, I got addicted to that and not the person. But because they gave me that escape, I idolized them. I prioritized them over everything because I needed that escape. I needed it so badly I became toxic as well. It created this toxic relationship that neither of us were happy in. sometimes you aren't addicted to them, it's what they did for you. Which is toxic as well. It's only when I put myself first that I realized, wow, they're not as great as I thought. I can find better coping mechanisms that won't have me feeling worse than I already did and not let myself become as toxic as I was.

I also learned how admitting and being honest with your faults is so freeing. Once you acknowledge your toxic traits and work on them, you feel so much better.

My Point is, you matter. And you don't deserve to be last option or a sometimes. You deserve more than that and I hope all of you don't settle for less ❤

Anyway thanks for reading if u made it this far.

#toxic #thoughts

0 notes

thewayiremember · 4 years

Text

EPISODE 17 - THE END

Nothing bad’s happened yet, I know that, I can feel it. Not now, when I finally remember, when I finally know what I’m doing.

I still can’t believe it’s Nathaniel. I know that I wanted our paths to cross again, to have another chance of getting to know him, but that is not what I meant. I imagined we would meet under more friendly circumstances, maybe he would come and visit me in my new summer job, that’d be funny. This is not funny. Never in a million years did I want it to get so complicated. Trying not to blush when I see him would be a big enough problem for me. Or trying not to melt under his touch. Not this!

And he has to be okay, he just has to. If something has happened to him, I… I could never forgive myself. I can prevent this, and I could have prevented it sooner. If only I… Oh, why did I have to forget? And if I hadn’t been refraining looking for answers at the beginning maybe I would have already figured it all out somehow? Now I kind of wish I really could travel back in time.

Despite Bobbie having Nicole already filled in on the story through the phone, she still seems to be pretty confused when we finally meet her at the lake fifteen minutes later. I don’t blame her, I was listening to Bobbie’s explanation with half an ear and if I were her, I wouldn’t have understood most of it, either. But I don’t have the strength to tell the story again because I’m too worried and have a huge lump to my throat. She’ll have to fill in the gaps herself.

We head straight to the grave. Well, not grave, it’s not a grave, yet. But the clock is ticking and Nathaniel’s brother already had plenty of time to act. Maybe I should have called the police. I wouldn’t have to tell them about what happened those two weeks ago, I wouldn’t do that to Nathaniel, because as messed up as it all was, I understand why he did what he did. I just don’t know how dangerous it might get and I’m worried that we should have thought about getting some help.

But it’s too late for that, now. The wind is strong and as we enter the forest the trees seem to be hurrying us up. The branches wave theatrically pointing to the putative crime scene while we follow an angry song of the wind bells. We take the shortcut and the bushes cut through my skin but that’s the fastest way to get there, so I ignore the pain.

We’re a hundred feet away, but I can’t see anyone. Is that good news or bad news? It could mean that nothing’s happened yet, but it could also mean that it’s already over.

We’re fifty feet away and I want to scream, cry, and laugh at the same time. In my head, I do it.

We get there, and I clench my fists, ready for Daniel to come out nowhere, to attack us all like one death isn’t enough for him. But that doesn’t happen. The scene is surprisingly calm and for a second I cool down a bit as well. It definitely doesn’t look like a crime scene. Looking around I remember everything so vividly now, that I can almost feel the pain. I look at the ground, at the place where I lied, helplessly waiting for it to end. I turn around to where the pile of dirt I mistook as a body that night should be, only to see that it’s not there.

No, it can’t be! I can't be too late! You can’t be dead! But I look down at the hole that is now fully covered by soil and I feel completely defeated. It looks freshly done.

I look around for the shovel, hoping that he left it here after he was done with Nathaniel, but not wanting to waste any more time I give up and start digging into the soil with my hands. Bobbie and Nicole join me a moment later and judging by their faces they’re both as horrified as I am. But there is no hesitation.

With each handful of dirt I remove I feel less and less present. Like I’m looking at myself from above. That’s my way of running away. Nicole is screaming something at me but it sounds muffled and I can’t understand her, and I’m too ashamed to look up and face her. Well, you were right! Happy? From the beginning you wanted me to find out and for so long I would just tell you that I didn’t care, that it’s not my responsibility and I was mad at you for not letting me move on. But you were right, as always.

I’m here Nathaniel. I’m sorry I’m too late. I should have been there for you like you were there for me. But I wasn’t because I was stubborn and selfish. Even though I couldn’t remember, I knew someone was in danger, and I didn’t care. For a long time, I cared only about my own feelings and my own trauma, and when I finally took more interest in someone other than myself, it turns out it was too late.

I didn’t have a chance to tell you I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. You did what you thought was right, and that’s okay because you helped me the best you could. And I’m fine. I’m fine, and you are not. And that’s on me.

I don’t know when I stopped digging, but it must have been a while because when I open my eyes I see Bobbie and Nicole looking down at something in awe.

“Ian, look!” Bobbie says as he struggles to pull something heavy out of the pit. A large wooden storage chest with dozens of raggedy superhero stickers on it. It looks very old. It’s signed at the top with child’s handwriting – Belongs to Daniel Blake. He’s hesitant to open it, scared of finding a dismembered body, so I draw the chest closer to me and open it myself.

“There’s just a bunch of random stuff in here.”

“What? What do you mean?” They sound relieved and confused, and I… I don’t know how I feel because I don’t know what to make out of it.

Old toys, a couple of stuffed animals, some drawings, and at the top of that pile, a picture of a family. I examine the picture for a while, while Nicole is going through the rest of the stuff. A normal, happy family, one might think. A father playing LEGO with his son, smiling from ear to ear, and a mother nurturing a baby in her arms. They are lucky to have loving parents like that, one might think. But by looking at that picture, one could not tell the loving parents are about to leave and never come back. So when I look at their smiling faces I don’t see joy, I see giving up on their own children. There’s no love in that picture and no kid deserves that.

“I don’t understand.” I look down into the pit and... there’s nothing there. “Where’s Nathaniel? He… he didn’t bury him in here? But I remember him saying… That means we still have time! We have to go to the cabin.” They don’t say anything and think I can’t see them exchanging looks. “You’re still on board, right?” I ask.

“Yes, of course we are,” Nicole quickly said defensively. “We’re just… Maybe you got it wrong, Ian? Maybe you’ve…”

“What? Overreacted? I’m not wrong, Nicole. I know what I’ve heard, cause unlike you, I was there. And God, I wish you were right, cause no one in this world wants him to be safe more than I do. But I’m not wrong, and we have to hurry.”

Of course, I want them to be right, and once more for it to be just a big misunderstanding. I want to be the fool again, who got it all wrong like he always does. I want Nicole to say “I told you so” with her cocky tone of voice. I want it to be over and rest.

I’m out of breath when we finally reach the cabin. The car is parked outside, and the gateway is slightly ajar. It looks like someone’s inside. We walk into the yard and I can’t tell if what I’m feeling is a sense of calm, or if my legs suddenly felt weak. For some reason, the cabin seems to be welcoming us inside. The lawn is perfectly mowed, a couple of apples are lying under the apple tree, waiting to be picked up, and pushed by the wind the rocking chair is swaying peacefully on the porch.

I stick my ear to the door before knocking and try to listen to what’s going on inside, but I hear nothing. Maybe it’s already over? Nathaniel’s lying on the floor, drowning in his own blood and his brother hovering above him, figuring out how to dispose of the body. Or maybe he already took care of that too? I’m not nervous anymore, maybe because I’m totally resigned. While running here, to the cabin, I kind of started accepting that I’m too late and that I failed and that it’s just the way it is. So with my emotions contained I knock on the door three times and just wait for whatever happens.

But half a minute has passed and no one opens the door. Well, the car is here, so even if they’re not inside, they can’t be far. But I give the knocking another try and the moment my knuckles touch the wood, it disappears from my reach and at the door, with a soft pressure mark on a cheek, like he has just woken up from sleep, stands Nathaniel, alive.

“Ian?” he says while rubbing his eyes trying to fully wake up. My throat feels tight and I fail my attempt to answer. “You got my letter,” his voice is shaky and I open my mouth to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about me going to the police and that I have something important to tell him, but he stops me and continues. “Please, before you say anything, I just want to tell you that I’m sorry, for what Daniel did to you, and for… for what I did. And that you have no idea how happy it makes me to know that you’re okay.” I think he noticed tears coming to my eyes, because he pauses for a second, and adds “Because you are okay, Ian, aren’t you?”

“More than ever,” I want to say, but I didn’t come here to cry, so I just say “I’m okay. Is… is your brother home? I need to talk to you about something.”

The already subtle smile, now, fades completely out of his face. He lowers his head and clears his throat. “He, um, he’s not going to be here for a while. So, do you want to come in?”

I turn around to Bobbie and Nicole to ask if they could give us a minute alone, but before I say anything, they tell me not to worry and to call them whenever I need them.

Not until he opens the door wider for me and exposes his body to sunlight do I notice how worn out he really looks. His face is unhealthily pale and skinnier than the last time I saw it. He gestures me to follow him into the living room and I notice that his left forearm is still encased in a cast. Somehow it makes me feel guilty. Here I am, perfectly fine like nothing ever happened, and he, a person who did the best he could to help me is suffering the most. And he doesn’t deserve any of that.

Inside, the cabin looks even bigger than from the outside. It resembles more a wooden house than a hidden hat in the middle of the forest. Every furniture in here looks handmade, everything in here looks like it has a story to tell. The dark wood makes this place warm and welcoming. It makes you feel like you’re home, even if you’re here for the first time. I look at the embellished with photos fireplace and wish it were winter-time right now, just to see it burn.

“You wanted to tell me something,” Nathaniel says after we both sit down at the table. “Ian, if it’s about you going to the police…”

“It’s not about that,” I cut him off in mid-sentence. “Look, I… I think your brother’s trying to hurt you. That night I walked over to him because, well, you know, he was very angry and it seemed like he was yelling at someone. He kept saying that he was going to kill you, Nathaniel. It came to me when I read your letter this morning and I was worried that… I might have been too late.” I try to explain to him what happened that day before he arrived, but he doesn’t respond to anything I say and the silence between us starts making me uncomfortable. “And where is your brother, anyway?” I ask him a question, so it’s his turn to talk.

“Daniel is sick, Ian. It’s difficult for him to control his emotions. That night he was angry at me because I lied to him about something very important. And I think he had the right to get angry at me. I certainly don’t blame him for that. Sometimes it is challenging, it’s true, but one thing I can promise, and it’s that Daniel would never hurt me.”

“He was digging your grave, Nathaniel…”

“And judging by your dirty hands you went to visit it right before you came here, didn’t you? Well, then you would know that he wasn’t trying to burry me, but simply his memories of his parents. After reading all those emails between me and our parents he realized that they were never planning on coming back, or even on paying a simple visit. He gathered all the things that reminded him of them and went to bury them. And he never meant to hurt you, either. I know it’s not an excuse, but he didn’t know what he was doing.”

I lean my forehead against the table and shield my face with my arms so that he doesn’t see my eyes getting watery. “Where is he now? Is he okay?”

“He decided to go back to the hospital. He said this time he’s not coming back until he knows he’s ready. But I believe in him and I know he’s going to be back in no time.” His unsure tone of voice doesn’t match those words. I have an urge to grab his hand and to comfort him, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. We don’t know each other, after all. Not really. “He waited for me to come back to bury those things together, and to say goodbye. He left a few hours ago. He wanted me to give you something. I haven’t sent it, yet, so I might as well give it to you now.”

He brings me an envelope from the kitchen. It’s addressed to me. Daniel’s handwriting isn’t as neat as his brother’s, but still better than most people’s I know. In the letter, he apologizes for hurting me over and over, but… I don’t think I’m mad at him. I don’t think that I ever was. If anything, I feel sorry for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to not be able to control my own anger. It’s a dangerous burden to have. He finished his letter by saying “Nothing will ever excuse me for the pain I have caused you and my brother and I know the fact that the villain got away with it unscratched is the biggest injustice of all. I just hope that one day there will be a way for me to atone.”

That is right. You got away with it unscratched…

“Nathaniel, can I ask you something? Not once did I hit your brother back that night. So he didn’t bleed… and I didn’t bleed either. And yet, there was blood all over me. Who’s was it?”

For a second he seems very confused and looks like he really struggles to remember when in my opinion it should be pretty memorable when someone bleeds this much. But a subtle sigh escapes his mouth before he says “Come on, I’ll show you something.”

I follow him upstairs, to the room behind the navy blue door. The delicate smell of paint greets me immediately after I follow him inside. The room isn’t big, but because there is no furniture whatsoever, it seems to be more spacious than it actually is. Dozens of paintings lying around, leaning against the walls. Some of the smaller once are displayed on top of the once that are covered by white fabric.

“I like to paint,” he says. “I always have. It helps me organize my thoughts. Whenever I’m stressed about something or just simply want to relax, I come here and paint the things that bring a smile to my face and the things I find… beautiful. It’s a good way of reminding yourself that even if something goes down the wrong path from time to time, there are still plenty of things that are worth persevering.” We walk up to the easel standing beside the window. In the middle of the canvas, a thick layer of orange paint forming a sphere, surrounded by even a thicker layer of red smears of paint. Random handprints all over the painting.

“It was supposed to be the Sun,” he says. “I know, abstract paintings aren’t my thing, I guess. I knocked over the easel when the paint was still wet and the canvas fell straight on me. Then I noticed that Daniel was gone and… you know the rest. I didn’t have time to wash it off. So… you weren’t covered with anybody’s blood. It was just paint I smudged you with while trying to get you into my car.”

“You know, it amazes me how all of it seems so obvious once I know it. But I didn’t know almost any of it until today. Until I read your letter, I couldn’t remember. It’s shocking to me that to know my own story I needed other people to tell it for me. Because when I tried doing it on my own I was an inch close to losing my mind. You know, when I woke up at the hospital I was convinced that I traveled back in time to fulfill some sort of mission, and that’s embarrassing and I don’t know why I’m telling you that.” This makes him laugh so hard that I instantly turn red. But I don’t care. I’m just glad to hear that beautiful sound.

He wants to know all about the last two weeks of my life, so we spend a while on what turned out to be a very engaging conversation about my struggles. I’m being more dramatic than I should be, just to make him laugh again.

“Well, I should get going. My friends are going to be worried.” I walk over to the door but before I grab the doorknob, a familiar picture catches my eye on the wall on my right. A painting of Martha’s ice-cream truck and a guy, who looks a lot like me, inside of it. Is that me? Did he paint me? I mean, I can see that he did, but why?

“Do you like it?” he asks when he notices me staring at it. I do like it, but I don’t know what to tell him, or how to tell him because for some reason I forgot how to speak.

I clear my throat and say “So, those ice-cream cones must have been pretty good if they made you smile so much that you decided to paint them, haha.”

He gets a little closer to me. “Well, yes, and no,” he says. “Something else on that painting used to make my smile every time I saw it.” He seems embarrassed but gets another bit closer.

“Used to?” I ask, and I catch myself staring at his lips. I feel weak in my knees. God, how does he do it? Is it his voice? His skin? Is it those eyes that seem to be looking into my soul? What is it about him, that makes me grow flowers between my ribs? Does he feel the same way about me or am I reading the signs wrong, again? I never truly believed I would meet him ever again, and yet here we are, only inches apart. I thought I would be nervous but it feels natural, like its meant to be. Would it feel natural if he didn’t feel the same way?

I slowly lean my face closer to his, and I can feel him doing the same, but before our lips could meet, Nathaniel pressures his cast against my body and hisses in pain. I step back and try to come back to reality.

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t respond, but the way he twists his face tells me he’s hurting. I try to comfort him, but how do you comfort somebody with an aching, broken bone? For a while, we both don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry about your arm.” I manage to break the silence. “Did dr. Gramm tell you how long will it take to heal?”

“It has broken in four different places so… it will take a while. But I don’t complain. It could have been a lot worse.” He looks up at me and adds “Do you want to sign it? The cast, I mean…”

“Sure,” I say. He grins and hands me a marker. God, I would kill for that silly grin. “What should I write?” I ask him.

He hesitates for a second and smirks. “You never gave me the note,” he says.

“What note?”

“The one you wanted to give me the next time you saw me. Well, now’s the next time you see me.” Noo, he remembers! He bursts out laughing at the sight of my frightened face. He’s talking about the note with my number on it that I wanted to give a year ago the next time he would buy ice cream from me. And the only way he would know about it is because I told him that when we were still in the hospital. But if he remembers that, then…

“Oh my God, what else do you remember?” I ask him, still horrified.

“Not a lot, unfortunately. Judging by your face you must have said some hilarious stuff.” He pauses for a moment and adds “I remember you said something about liking me...”

No! He remembers the worst part! I try to play it cool but I know it’s far too late for that. I lost my dignity when I was talking to him at that hospital like he was my Sleeping Beauty.

“Well, do you still feel that way?” He’s not laughing anymore. If anything, he sounds sincere, kind of making me feel like I can trust him. Like he won’t make fun of me for that.

“Yes,” I reply, weirdly confident. “The first time I laid my eyes on you, you made my heart skip a beat. And when I woke up at the hospital and saw you, a year later, I realized those feelings have never passed. I would randomly catch myself thinking about you, wondering what you might be doing at that moment, hoping maybe someday our paths would cross again. And I can’t say this is what I imagined it would be like, but they did cross, didn’t they?” I pause, hoping he wants to say something, too. Was he thinking about me, too, sometimes?

I keep looking at him, waiting for his reaction, to ignore it, to laugh it off, anything. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he nods his head and says very seriously “Well, I’m happy to hear that.” He is? He points to the marker in my hand and holds up his broken arm and I write the exact same words that the original note said.

I like you. And then I write down my number.

July 29 (TWO WEEKS LATER)

I chose not to look for any job this year and spend the rest of the summer chilling. No sense of responsibility whatsoever. Feels nice. It’s not like I don’t do anything at all, I do plenty of things. They’re just things that don’t bring me any income. Well, I’ll be regretting that decision later.

The other day I went to visit the homeless lady who had helped me, to properly thank her this time. Her name is Mrs. Mary. She told me that afternoon she was about to have a job interview as a florist since that used to be her passion before her life got a bit… complicated. I offered to pay for her haircut and some new clothes as a thank you, and I’m glad she took my help. It wasn’t much, but after that little makeover, we were both pretty sure she was going to get the job. And she called me today with good news. She was delighted.

I haven’t told my parents about what had really happened, yet, and I’m not sure I will. I just don’t feel the need to do it. And they seem not to care, which works for me because I basically live with Bobbie now. In the last two weeks, I slept in my room maybe three times. He and Nicole made me promise that I would never try to think on my own ever again. I was a little offended, but we all know I’m not the most independent guy.

And when it comes to Nathaniel… well, I don’t know, are we a thing, now? No, I wouldn’t call it a thing, I don’t think we’re there, yet. To be honest, I don’t know where we are, but I think it’s going somewhere. We did have our first kiss, and it was… let’s just say it was quite nice.

He’s not going to Australia this year. He still can’t fully wrap his head around those recent events and he said he wouldn’t have enjoyed it. “Next year will be the year,” he said. Well, I want him to be okay and to make peace with it, cause that’s the only thing we can do, but I’m happy he’s staying. I’m not letting him go anytime soon this time.

Not for the third time.

1 note · View note

funkymbtifiction · 7 years

Text

Hi, Charity! I have been having an identity crisis lately. (Yet another of many in the past year of a lot of self discovery and doubt). I spent quite a while thinking I was either enfp or infp, after retyping myself several times from intp to intj to infj and then xnfp. But recently I became convinced that I am an infj and was right in my typing when I first learnt about the underlying cognitive functions (intx was pretty much just from online tests). I know this sounds very vague so far and I’m not giving any details of why or how.

Hey, Mar.

Wish your e-mail address had worked, so we could have this talk in private. :)

Since you were vague in your descriptions of Ne/Ni, I wasn't able to tell which one appears to be dominant, but here’s a few thoughts reaped from the post:

I struggle with seeing myself clearly, but I don’t know if it’s because of Fe or because I’ve had a tough family situation growing up where I was basically not allowed to have an identity separate from my caretakers. I am easily swayed by other people’s opinions and start to doubt my convictions but again, don’t know if it’s Fe or poor self-confidence (or both?).

It could be Fe if you allow other people’s emotions to cloud yours, or it could be the Ne-dom problem of being unable to see yourself clearly. Every single Ne-dom I've ever known / talked to, myself included, had a hell of a time finding their own type and still cannot see themselves very clearly, because Ne is so busy gaining 'outside perspectives' 24/7 and has such poor self-awareness (inferior Si) that it tends to believe whatever idea anyone throws at it about themselves, even if it doesn't match who they are. The idea just sticks to them and them being a Ne/Si, they cannot properly filter it out (Si: Hey, I’m not like that!).

I could especially relate, among other things, to that sense of impending doom and being stuck in the same situation I am currently in and no hope for a better future. Not being able to imagine a better future for myself and seeing only all the ways in which I am stuck and will be stuck stresses me out quite a lot, actually. Sometimes I obsess over it.

All intuitives feel that staying stagnant is a literal hell, so this could be Ni OR Ne. But Ne/Si tends to have a more generic 'I'm not sure what I want, but this ain't it and I hope this isn’t all I ever have from my life' approach and NiSe tends to think, 'it's time I stop fixating on this single vision and DO SOMETHING TO MAKE IT REAL” followed by fear it may fail and then they’ll have nothing, since no other dream / career / ambition has outlasted this one.

To the point that sometimes I can only find solace in fantasizing about meeting that one person who will save me from my troubles, as unrealistic, unhealthily codependent and disempowering as it sounds.

Free amateur psych advice: other people cannot save you, because other people are just as imperfect as you are. This is common in a fearful N user, who tends to idealize and fantasize about a hero coming to rescue them, because they are so uncomfortable interacting with the sensory world on their own. The answer is that you have to save yourself, since no one else will. :)

An aspect of why I believed myself to be an enfp is that I could relate a lot to your more personal posts (especially about writing) or whenever you’d offer personal examples to illustrate type. Or in doubting my introversion because sometimes I would talk to a person and get so energized by that human connection.

What kind of energy? Emotional (Fe) energy? Or I MET SOMEONE FULL OF GREAT IDEAS AND NOW I'M WIRED (Ne) energy?

Right now I’m in the middle of rewriting a novel. It changes with each draft. People change. Motives change. Ideas change. Hell, I decided to change the murderer because another possibility will clean up the plot better so now I’m having to rewrite entire sections and leave other characters out / fill the holes they leave behind. I’m fine with it. It’s fun and somewhat easy. It energizes me. That’s high Ne. “This was fine last week but now it bores me and I have a better way to approach it, so it’s all gonna change and continue changing until I find something that works.” I sometimes joke that me being me, as a Ne, I’m not ‘done’ with something until I can read it twenty-six times in the editing process without wanting to change something at its fundamental level. I know I found the RIGHT idea, after using and discarding a bunch of alternate possibilities.

(My INFJ friend basically writes her novels in head, figures them all out in advance, then sits down and writes it out and changes very little in revision. Ni.)

I struggle to see if I do actually perceive the emotions of those around me and can easily step into someone else’s perspective and I’m observant of the unspoken agreements in a social situation, or if I’m delusional and I just like to think I’m an empath because it makes me feel better about myself.

Perceiving them (Ne) or feeling them (Fe)? When you are in a group, are you watching people so you can SPECULATE on their emotions (Fi) or are you immersed IN their emotions and sometimes lose yourself in the process (Fe)? Are you GUESSING at their feelings (Fi) based on a sense of inner self (”Are they bored? She looks bored. Can’t other people see she’s bored? I would not want to be bored, so we need to keep her from being bored. How are other people not see this?” Fi thinking can actually mean, “Because this would bore ME, I’m projecting being bored onto her when she’s not actually bored.”)

Side note: intuitives often over-estimate their own skills because their intuition / imagination is fantasizing an ideal self, instead of using their real self. And coming crashing down to earth and realizing they were wrong / are not very good at that / really are not a God is somewhat crushing to their ego.

One thing that really made me lean towards infj as a possibility is realizing that, at least for me, writing is a way of expressing and externalizing my feelings.

Why is this specifically shifting you toward INFJ? INFJs do not have a corner on writing. This is equally if not more common in the INFPs. Every Fi-dom poet of the last five hundred years can testify to externalizing their feels in writing.

MY emotions get so tied up inside myself that until I get them out on paper (Te) I cannot organize them or even figure out how to say how I feel -- and that's crucial, because Fi/Te types may resort to metaphors, ducking conversations, or intense internal monologues that may never be voiced (because it takes time to organize their thoughts before they speak on an emotional level) while Fe/Ti types can usually simply sum up their feelings vocally when asked, since that's what Fe/Ti does.

So, are you externalizing to get others' feedback on your feelings and affirmation (FeTi) or are you writing because you know no other clear way to restructure and share your abstract (hard to describe) feelings (FiTe)?

Before, I believed I had Fi because I have strong beliefs about individuality and personal integrity and I passionately hate the kind of group-think that leads to lack of personal integrity in favor of what the majority wants. But at the same time I strongly believe in equality. In fact, I believe what makes us equals is (as corny as it sounds) precisely that we’re all unique and irreplaceable and have a unique purpose for our life, that nobody else could fulfill quite like us.

You should ask yourself: do I pass immediate moral judgment upon hearing new information like a Fi-dom or do I internalize / interact with the ideas before I judge their ethics like a NeFi or do I try and fit the new information into my internal worldview and see how to use it to motivate people in a NiFe way?

Another reason for me thinking Fi is that somewhere along the line I had convinced myself that I hated people and I took on the identity of a misanthrope.

Um. Why would this connect to Fi in your mind?

I have been struggling big time with having too high expectations of myself and with my overall perfectionism, which more often paralyzes me instead of making me work harder. I am studying again after a few years, and the deadlines are just killing me. They feel like life or death. I obviously don’t know how to work with a schedule, I did 90% of the workload of two weeks in the first two days and then felt burnt out and spent the next week and a half distracting myself by researching random non academic stuff just for personal amusement, like mbti and the enneagram, and how to make pumpkin pie, and the relationship between veganism and the tv series Hannibal. Procrastination is definitely something I’m good at. It’s two days before the deadline and I’m struggling with that 10% of work that I haven’t done yet, and after spending the whole day stressing out about it and not being able to write a single sentence of my essay on cave art from the paleolithic, I am writing this instead. At least, just by writing this, I’ve already gained some clarity on what’s going on inside my head, which is always helpful.

I’m 90 pages into a book on perfectionism from a psychological perspective at the moment, but Jordan Peterson has wise words for this sort of behavior: finished is better than perfect.

I too am a perfectionist, but for me it's more spewing ideas out on the page (Ne) and then anxiously trying to formulate them into some kind of structure that has an overall point (Te) and then agonizing over the details in case I got something wrong that will cause people to throw out my good ideas in favor of the misinformation (low Si) due to Ne placing unrealistic standards on this situation due to being combined with perfectionism, which is fear based (if this isn’t flawless, people will judge it harshly and not listen to what it says).

I’m sorry I could not give your type based on what you wrote, but hopefully I explained enough about my thinking process and gave you good enough questions that you can find your type by being honest about your mental processing leading to behaviors.

- ENFP Mod

#question #enfp #infp #infj #mbti #submission

55 notes · View notes