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spencerspecifics · 3 years

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This is chapter two to that fic I posted a few months ago! I'm calling this fic "Technical Analyst". Enjoy :)

Technical Analyst (ch.2)

Chapter one here

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Derek started his search for more information at the beginning, the FBI database. He knew Spencer’s first and last name, plus his old division, he should be able to find it easily.

And he did, it wasn’t a lot of information, though. All Spencer’s personal information was blacked out, only could be opened by a unit chief or anyone else higher up. Which meant he’d have to go crawling back to Hotch to learn anything about the guy.

Damn, he was almost back at the start of his search, knowing nothing. But he wasn’t, he still had a bit of information on Reid, but not a lot, not enough. So he read all he could on the guy.

He’s a doctor, but in what, medical training? That seemed like the most reasonable answer, but if that’s the case- what’s a medical professional doing working on their computers? Derek wanted to learn more about that.

Past that, all Derek could see about him was his previous work in domestic terrorism. And he had an okay record. The chief unit agent had a few notes about him on the reports from their cases, such as; “While Dr. Spencer Reid is a bright individual, we found the information he does hold to not always be the most helpful. With that being said, we’ve set him on the research end of our work, to help him learn more and to help our field agents stay focused.” “Dr. Spencer Reid is an amazing researcher for the domestic terrorism unit, but he doesn’t socialize strongly with the rest of the group.” “Dr. Spencer Reid seems more interested in the scientific behavioral aspects of why our unsub’s do what they do, while that is helpful for de-escalation when we encounter our unsub’s, (which our other agents take care of, as Dr. Spencer Reid isn’t in the field much.) it is not necessary, as he is not a profiler, even though he has trained with SSA Jason Gideon. We have now set him on research full time.”

Derek kept scrolling, similar notes kept showing up, Dr. Spencer Reid was smart- but not always conventially, he was specifically interested in behavioral studies- so why wasn’t he with Garcia? Or on the field with the BAU? Not to mention he had trained with Jason Gideon, one of the BAU’s best agents. Morgan had only met Gideon briefly before he retired, and since then he hadn’t heard much of the guy (except for what Rossi would say once and a while.)

Derek had enough bread crumbs about the genius to put his next move together, he was going to ask the genius about his favorite behavioral cases (if he had looked over any, which Derek had a feeling he had). He was also going to try and apologize, Derek didn’t know if he upset the guy about the domestic terrorism unit question, but it was just plain curiosity. He wasn’t trying to upset or offend, he was just curious. He had no open cases, after all, what was he supposed to do? Finish logging his cases like a normal person? No, and he had already had that done (the last thing he had needed was Spencer putting them through VICAP, which he did at that insane speed of an hour). So Derek was making work for himself, investigating this genius he had never heard of before.

Spencer had made it back to his way too small office, practically shaking from an overwhelming feeling that he couldn’t pinpoint as he did his best to shut the door behind him (which sadly took a few tries, as his hands were shaking a bit too much for him to get a hold on the handle. He ended up pushing the door shut with the toe of his shoe instead).

Was it anxiety? Stress? Anger? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t angry at anyone, more at the bureau as a whole. He was mad he was demoted, but he had been living with that for six months now, the time frame for being reasonably mad had long been over by now.

But as soon as Derek had asked him why he was out of domestic terrorism, something flipped inside Spencer’s head. He never had to explain why he left before. Not to his mom in his letters to her, he just told her he was transferring to a different unit- to which she said that was good, and the less scary work he had to do was better for him (and for her piece of mind).

And when he had met Garcia, he didn’t have to explain himself, she never really asked. Hotchner or Strauss must’ve told her in advance why Spencer was now going to work alongside her and Kevin, but she kept her curiosities surrounding Spencer’s career path to herself. Kevin was the same as Garcia in that regard, he never asked. And Spencer wasn’t that close to Kevin, anyways. All their conversations revolved around computer work, or the occasional conversation about Doctor Who. But that was it, it never got personal.

Point is, Reid never had to explain to anyone why he was out of domestic terrorism. No one asked, no one dug deep. No one was curious. And Spencer couldn’t just answer Derek by saying; “They kicked me out because I didn’t click, I didn’t have any field hours. And because I wasn’t important enough to them to be saved. They let me go, budget cuts.” No, Spencer couldn’t say that.

It’s not that Spencer couldn’t admit defeat. He could, it’s just in this case, these people didn’t need to know about his defeats. He was working with them for a week. A week, that’s all. He didn’t want to tell them his life story, he didn’t want to tell them all the bad parts about his life. He didn’t want them to know about his failures, especially this one. It embarrassed him. The less the BAU agents knew about him, the better, in his opinion.

Spencer was standing in his office, still having not moved from where he pushed the door shut after he had entered. He just needed a second, he was still slightly shaking.

Maybe he should start seeing a therapist again. But maybe not, it’s not like he was having an attack of any kind. He was just overwhelmed. The thought of explaining why he left domestic terrorism was too much, the anxiety behind the explanation, then the embarrassment, not to mention his anger towards the bureau, and the stupid stress he felt of his daily job of being a glorified IT worker- it was just too much.

Spencer took a deep breath in. The shaking was slowing down ever so slightly, a good sign. He stepped towards his desk chair, sitting down while he kept trying to slow his breathing. God, he felt pitiful. He was shaking over having to explain himself, and while his reasoning was valid for not wanting to explain- this response his body was doing was not normal.

Spencer just kept breathing, counting off the digits of pi he could remember as he went. Numbers always helped him clear his head.

Spencer had continued counting, all the way to the forty-seventh digit of pi, before he fully felt calm again. Good, he breathed a sigh of relief as he tapped back onto his computers.

Now, hopefully, he could get some work done.

And Spencer did, he was able to help transfer a bunch of completed cases to Strauss, before another knock at his office door pulled him out of his work pace.

“Yes?” He said, turning around in his chair once again to see who was at the door. This time, it was Kevin who pushed the door open slowly as he entered, stepping in a bit to the room, but leaving the door open. “Hey, how’s your first day with the BAU going?” He asked curiously, just making small talk. He was probably trying to get out of work he was being told to do, either that or he was on break and bored.

“It, uh, it’s going okay. Nothing’s happened, really. I met agent Prentiss and agent Morgan.” He told Kevin casually as he turned back to his computer to finish logging in the files information, he knew Kevin wouldn’t mind if he turned away to do work while they talked. Kevin knew he was good at multitasking.

“Oh dude, Morgan-“ Kevin groaned, shutting the door behind him quickly as he entered the room to lean against Spencer’s desk, so Spencer could keep working and see Kevin. “Garcia loves him, and he’s a nice guy. But should I be jealous?”

Spencer wasn’t good in this conversational aspect. Ask him what the most poisonous frog in North America is, and he could answer you no problem (it’s the poisonous dart frog, no surprise there.) but this? Spencer couldn’t navigate this. So he took Kevin’s question scientifically.

“...I don’t think so. Garcia is a good person, she wouldn’t ever intentionally hurt someone. Especially you.” Spencer answered after a moment of thinking, turning to look at Kevin to gauge his reaction, “Right,” Kevin nodded in agreement, as that answer did make sense to him, “But should I-“ Kevin started, then stopped himself quickly.

He smiled down at Spencer sheepishly, “Sorry. I know you aren’t a therapist, my bad, man.” He apologized simply, Spencer just gave him a polite small smile in return, it’s all he could muster. “How did the meeting with IT go?” Reid asked, changing conversation topics easily.

“Stupid. I know how to fix my keyboard, so does anyone else here with basic understanding of computers. I bet the janitors could do it.” That elicited a small laugh from Spencer in return, as it was true. Fixing a keyboard definitely wasn’t complicated. It was just stupid nonsense that Kevin had to talk to IT, but that’s what they dealt with, day in and day out.

Kevin left quickly after that, he had just been on break, and before Spencer knew it kevin had to go running off to the child abduction unit to help them with their computers.

Though Derek had devised a plan on what he was going to say to spencer, he still had no clue how he should go back to the genius and start the conversation. He had no work related reason to go back, all of the files that needed to go through VICAP were sent.

Maybe Derek should get a paper cut, ask for the doctors help? No, a paper cut doesn’t require a doctors expertise. Not to mention he wasn’t even sure if Spencer was a medical doctor.

So Derek was stuck, looking over files at his desk that he most definitely was done with, as he messed with pens on his desk absentmindedly.

Emily noticed his mood shift into restless boredom pretty quickly, but she had her own work to do, too. So as she watched him tap away on his desk, she was doing her best to work. She had to get these cases filed correctly, after all.

Her urge to stay focused on work didn’t last long, though. Derek’s mood was just too much to not pay attention to, she would rather talk to him than do file work, anyways.

“Okay- what’s wrong with you? Drink too much coffee?” She asked him as she set down her case file onto her desk, Derek stopped tapping his pen to make eye contact with her. “Hm?” He asked simply, he hadn’t heard her, he was absorbed with thinking of what to do to get to Spencer and talk to him.

“I said,” Prentiss said, as she leaned forward a bit in her chair, “What’s with you?” Yeah, she was totally more interested in bugging Morgan than doing her cases. Derek just shrugged, he wasn’t about to tell her what he was actually thinking. That would just make her even more sure that Derek thought Spencer was cute, which wasn’t the case. He just was curious about the guy, and now he had struck a nerve in spencer, so he had to make it right and apologize. It was a normal thought process to have, but he knew Prentiss wouldn’t see it that way.

“Nothing,” Derek lied easily, gesturing to his finished case files as he spoke, “It’s just.. finished all my cases, and I can’t leave yet. So, I’m bored.”

Emily took his answer and nodded, “Wanna do mine?” She joked with him, gesturing to the short stack she had on her desk. Derek chuckled in response, shaking his head slowly.

“I don’t know ‘bout all of that.” He said, the stack, though short, had at least fifteen files, and as much Derek was bored (which was true, he was just stuck thinking.) he wasn’t bored enough to warrant work.

“Aw, c’mon, help a girl out. Here.” Prentiss said, grabbing a few off the top and passing them across her desk to his, setting them on the edge of his desk. “Just do these for me, please.”

Derek nodded, giving in. “Okay, sure. What’s left on these to do?” “I don’t think much, just finish filling out the descriptions on how we profiled the unsub, then get them into VICAP for me.” Emily specified, looking back to the rest of the stack of files.

VICAP. Derek couldn��t get them into VICAP, he didn’t know VICAP well enough. But Spencer did, and it wouldn’t take Spencer long. Perfect. He now had an excuse to get back to Spencer and talk to him more.

Derek just nodded, even though a small amount of excitedeness was now growing inside of him. Because now he had an excuse to keep talking to this mysterious genius.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He told Prentiss simply, she gave him a smile in return, along with a “thanks”, before turning back to the file she had sat down on her desk originally in favor of talking to Derek.

Now, all Derek had to do was fill these cases out. Easy.

And it was easy, as expected. Derek got them filled out no problem, writing the profile explanation had been something he’d been doing for years.

And it was always easy for him to do, it was just explaining the order of events- from ‘we spoke to local law enforcement’ to ‘we surveyed the area the victim was found in’ to ‘we looked at recovered evidence at the scene’, all the way to the end goal which usually was something like; ‘we figured our unsub was most likely a male in his 30’s with a menial part time job and bad temper’.

It was that, rinse and repeat. Except of course, every case was different. But the bullet points were all oddly similar.

But still, it didn’t matter. Derek had a reason to go back to Spencer now, to apologize, say “sorry I struck a nerve, doc.” And he wanted to. After all, he didn’t wanna piss off the computer genius the BAU was employing for this week.

So, Derek finished the case files as quickly as he could humanly manage, before making his way out of the bullpen. Thankfully Prentiss wasn’t there to ask him where he was going, as she was in a meeting with Hotchner. And double bonus, J.J. and Rossi were both at some profiling seminar for today. So the bullpen was practically empty. It was beautiful.

So, Derek made his way out of the glass doors, down the hall, back to Spencer’s office. He hoped to redeem himself of his earlier fuck up.

Spencer had his soundproof headphones on, totally oblivious to the outside world. After all, he had finished all his work for the day, now he just got to read, just as he had hoped for. So while Bach played through his headphones, his mind was focused on the thick Russian translation copy of the crucible. He was excited to see how Russian people viewed such an American phenomenon of the Salem Witch Trials.

He was ecstatic to say the least, translating the Russian letters to English in his head at lightning speed while he kept reading along. It was only when he was tapped on the shoulder that he got pulled out of his methodical pace. He pulled off his headphones as fast as humanly possible, turning around in time to see agent Derek Morgan back in his office. Crap.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-“ Derek started, gesturing at the thick book in Spencer’s hands. “Oh- um, you’re fine. Sorry.” Spencer spoke quickly as he set the book down on his desk, leaving his headphones wrapped around his neck awkwardly, Bach’s light piano melodies could be heard very softly.

“What’re you reading?” Morgan asked Spencer politely, “The Russian translation of The Crucible. I’ve already read The Crucible, but knowing the Russian word choices and ways they choose to phrase such a strictly American experience is something fascinating to me, I notice that their word choices often-“ Spencer started on a tangent, only stopping when he looked up to see Derek’s face in the classic stare many people gave Spencer over his lifetime. A mixture of ‘slow down’ and ‘what the hell’ and ‘all I did was ask a question, I didn’t wanna hear him rant’.

Spencer slowed himself down, “Sorry. Uh-“ he looked down at Morgan’s hands, there were files. Perfect. “Have work for me?” Spencer asked politely, Reid’s swift change in conversation seemed to surprise Derek as he gave him a perplexed look.

“Uh, yeah- these just have to go into VICAP.” He said as he handed them over to Spencer. There were only four this time, Spencer could probably finish these in fourty five minutes, an hour tops. That meant Spencer would still have plenty of time to read, perfect.

“Okay, I can do that.” Spencer nodded as he took the files from Derek’s now outstretched arm. Derek let his arm fall back to his side once Spencer had taken the files and set them on his desk, next to his now empty coffee thermos and computer mouse.

“Hey- I also just wanted to say sorry about asking about your work in domestic terrorism earlier. Wasn’t my place to ask.” Derek spoke up awkwardly, after Spencer had started to look over the files. Spencer looked back up at Morgan when he said that, though. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

He never had to explain himself before, and now someone was apologizing to him. Normally, people wouldn’t. What was Spencer supposed to do now? He hadn’t ever been in a situation like this before. He felt like his IQ was going back down drastically, and not just because Derek was an attractive male, standing in Spencer’s office, wearing a short sleeved t-shirt that showed off his muscles in a way no one should ever show them off.

Well, it was partly that. But Spencer was doing his best to ignore that part of his brain. But now his entire brain was in the pitfall. Not sure what to do.

So Spencer muttered a ‘thank you’ and nodded quickly, pulling eyes back down to the files and not on agent Derek Morgan, because Spencer didn’t know what to do.

They were stuck in an awkward silence, for what felt like forever. But Derek didn’t want to leave it his way, that’s the last thing he wanted. After all, Spencer was a friend of Garcia’s, which makes them acquaintances by default. Plus, this guy was gonna be running the computer tech side for the next week or so of the BAU. He couldn’t make it awkward, what if a case happened and they had to go out there and work together?

Derek was overthinking this, but only because he cares so much about Garcia. That was his reasoning on why. Not like his reasoning mattered, though. He still hadn’t said anything to Spencer past the awkward apology. He had to say something new, now. Either that, or he should just tuck tail and leave Dr. Spencer Reid’s office that was the size of a walk in closet.

Derek wasn’t about to dip out, though. So he spoke. “I saw in your file that you worked with agent Jason Gideon, what was he like?”

Spencer’s eyes went back up to Morgan’s again. “He taught me a lot, he’s very simple and to the point. I thought you knew him- since you’re on the BAU?” Spencer responded to Derek’s question with a question.

Derek shrugged as he made himself more comfortable, leaning up against the file cabinet that was behind him. He was hoping to stay for a while and talk, and it seemed he was getting that. Spencer watched him as he did so, “I only met him once before he retired, I’m more familiar with Rossi and Hotch.” He spoke in return.

“I’ve read Rossi’s books, they’re phenomenal. I’ve wanted to approach him and talk about his work on some of the cases he’s done- but I never get the opportunity to.”

“You’re working with the entire BAU, you’ve got the opportunity now. You realize that, right?” Derek asked Spencer curiously. Spencer nodded, “I do. But I checked his schedule, he’s at a seminar right now:”

Derek chuckled, he didn’t know Spencer well enough to make presumptions about the guy, and he had agreed with the BAU a long time ago not to profile each other- and by that logic, he had also agreed not to profile Spencer. Not that he’d want to, though. That’s just not fair.

But oddly, Spencer checking Rossi’s schedule sounded like something this guy would do. He’s too smart to be working as a technical analyst in a small ass office. Derek still wanted to ask him so badly ‘why are you here?’. But he knew he shouldn’t. So he redirected the conversation again; “What’s some of your favorite behavioral cases?”

Spencer hadn’t meant to keep Morgan in his office for over an hour, explaining in depth about his favorite behavioral cases. It just happened on accident.

Usually Spencer stopped himself when he rambled, but Derek didn’t seem to mind. And once Spencer started talking, it was near impossible to stop. It was only when Prentiss knocked on the office door, peeking her head inside- did Spencer realize how much time he had taken away from Derek.

“Hey, I was looking for you, Morgan. You finish those files?” She asked him innocently, “I did, just getting our new tech analyst to put them in for me.” He responded easily, Spencer looked back down at the case files. Yeah, he needed to do them.

“I’ll get started on them now,” Spencer nodded, “Sorry.” He told Derek after Prentiss had left, leaving the office door cracked open.

“No worries. I enjoyed talking to you. Hope we do more work together.” Derek told him with a small smile. Crap, Spencer didn’t like this guy one bit. He was too nice, too handsome, too charming. This was a dumpster fire of a situation.

Thankfully, this seemed to be the end of it, at least for now. These were Prentiss’ files. He could finish these and leave them on her desk. No more interaction with Derek Morgan, which is definitely what Spencer needed.

“I’ll see you, doc. Thanks again.” Derek told him, that smile still on his face as he exited, shutting the door behind him. Spencer didn’t respond as Morgan left, he was just feeling his face blushing red, goddamnit. He was going to curse at Penelope garcia for having such an attractive best friend. This just wasn’t fair. This was going to be a problem, a nagging, buzzing fly around Spencer’s mind until the week was over.

Thankfully this was just a week long ordeal. Spencer could handle that. He wouldn’t know what to do if he was a permanent worker on the BAU.

Reid brought himself back to focus, working on the files. Which he did at record speed, like always.

“Dude, I was looking for you for like- an hour. Were you with the doctor the entire time?” Prentiss asked Derek curiously as soon as he sat down in his desk chair again.

Morgan shrugged, “I gave him your files, we were just talking.”

“For an hour? About what?” Prentiss asked him, surprised because Derek wasn’t that big on long conversations.

“Spencer used to work with agent Gideon. He told me about that.” “No shit, really? That’s cool.” Prentiss muttered, definitely a tinge of jealously in her voice, “I’m gonna ask him for whatever tips Gideon taught him.”

“Maybe I know those tips.” Derek joked, wagging his eyebrows up and down as a way to piss emily off. She rolled her eyes at him, “No way you remember all he said. You were probably too busy staring at his face.”

“For the last time, he isn’t cute.” “Uh, yes he is.” Prentiss scoffed at Derek for such a weak rebuttal. Now it was Morgan’s turn to roll his eyes, “I’m done talking to you. I got your files done, Prentiss.”

Now, emily was sarcastic; “Oh and thank god you did four of my fifteen files. I never would’ve finished without you- seriously, thank you so much Morgan.”

Derek just continued rolling his eyes, deciding to roll around in his office chair to face the other way, facing his filing cabinent. “What’re you even doing?” Prentiss asked him, “Ignoring you.” He replied easily, eliciting a giggle from Prentiss, before hearing her reply; “Whatever man.”

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taglist: so far just @electricsockhead bc they commented a while back they wanted to know of any more chapters coming out. If you want to be on my taglist send me a message :)

#fanfic #fic #writing #Dr. Spencer Reid #Moreid #Derek Morgan #criminal minds #cm #BAU #Emily Prentiss #Aaron Hotchner #jennifer jareau #Penelope Garcia #angst #Spencer Specific Fics #Spencer Reid #criminal minds fanfiction #this is for the anon who asked abt this fic #I see u bb

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years

Note

Hi okay so I was hoping you could do a headcanon where Fred has a crush( or is dating) a hufflepuff ( or just a really sweet and caring person) and honestly just so much fluff

I gotchu

Fred with a hufflepuff reader

Warnings: Gets deep as hell my dudes

Note: Set in non voldy au

You were this little spark of a person

You were so sweet and outgoing that even Draco didn't hate your ass

Oh you were sarcastic as hell

But you were adorably sweet

Even the portraits knew you by your first name and they loved seeing you

However you never really interacted with people until they interacted with you

So Fred and George had only heard of you

But they never actually talked to you

Well actually, George had talked to you numerous amounts of times

See he actually reads

So he goes to the library for more than a nap (Fred, that definitely was directed at you)

So when you’re there George does talk to you.

When George does talk to you his internal thoughts are “Oh. Oh Fred would love her.”

So he constantly brings him up to you.

Finally one day Fred had enough of listening to George say “Dude, I’ve met your best friend” and he walked over to the Hufflepuff table and asked who the hell you were.

You rose your hand and then pointed.

“You must be Fred!” You said.

Fred nodded. “So you’re the girl everyone seems to know.” He said, sitting next to you.

“Indeed. George talks about you all the time.” You said.

“When do you and George talk?” Fred asked.

“We see each other in the library alot, plus we have potions together.” You admitted.

“Oh--” “Y/n, Draco’s done it again.” A girl whined. “Another fight? You’ve got to be fucking joking.” You sighed before getting up.

Fred out of curiosity followed you and saw students fighting.

Cedric and Draco to be exact.

“I swear to God I’m going to beat your ass Malfoy--”

“Both of you, stop” You said standing between them.

“Move out the way--” “Not until you give me a reason to let this continue.” You said calmly.

“He called a fucking first year by a slur again!” Cedric said.

You turned to Draco who was glaring at him

“Draco. Side bar.” you said

You basically used psychology with Draco asking if it was “Internalized anger being used on others to get a result he wanted because he couldn’t do that himself” and Draco ended up having a mental breakdown because it got deep

Fred gaped and George walked over.

“She use psychology again?” George asked.

“Yeah and it worked?” Fred said confused.

“Wait did you just say AGAIN!?”

So funny thing.

This is a regular thing to do with you

You knew people, you knew how to talk to them and you saw how their mind worked

There were very few people you didn’t understand but you were almost like a little psychologist in the making as you talked people through their emotions in a healthy way.

If we’re being 100% honest here, you were the closest thing to a guidance councilor for students.

You understood people, you could understand their actions

Fred began to notice you more, you were always with other students when he did, talking them through things.

Then he caught wind of some strange bonding sleep over thing happening.

He went to it just to figure out what the fuck it was

and it was really strange what you were doing

It was like a group therapy session with cookies and games.

“Fred? What brings you here?” you asked.

“Wanted to know what was going on... And this is weird. Helpful clearly. But weird.” Fred said.

“Mmm. Makes people closer and limits the real fighting amongst the students. Why do you think Draco’s here?” You asked.

“Does Sprout know about this?” Fred asked.

“She made the cookies and cocoa.” You said.

“ARE THE HOUSE ELVES IN ON THIS TOO!?” Fred gaped.

“And the portraits.” You nodded.

“What the fuck?”

So he sat through this and my god it got DEEP

Neville admitted that sometimes he felt alone and often pondered what would happen if he just disappeared

Harry (Yes he also came to this shindig) admitted that he honestly hated being recognized easily for accomplishments and honestly doesn’t like that people see him as just that

Draco added onto that saying he honest to God hated it when people said his last name rather than his first because it makes him feel like he’s constantly living in his father’s shadow

House elves were listening and making notes of the students who might need the extra support while occasionally chiming in with their own personal issues

Then it got to Fred and he just sat there baffled by the vulnerability of everyone else spewing their darkest secrets.

“Fred? Want to say anything?” You asked

“Not... Particularly?” He said.

You nodded and talked people through things, validating all of them and making them feel safe

Lot of crying

A LOT of crying

“Y/n... Do you want to say anything?” Draco asked.

You shook your head. “Nope I’m good. My life is good.” You shrugged.

“Everyone has their problems no matter how big or small.” Neville quoted.

“Using my own words against me. Dick.” You teased making him smile.

You sighed though and finally spoke

“I feel the constant need to fix other people’s problems because I don’t want people to have to feel the same existential dread I do.” You admitted making Fred gape

“Wow... Y/n, are you okay?” Harry asked.

“Yeah I’m okay. I just get depressed sometimes. It takes a lot of energy carrying some of the things that I do.” You admitted.

“We’re all here for you... It’s literally the least you could so after helping us.” Neville said.

You smiled and looked at the students who nodded and agreed.

“Thanks guys.” You said.

“I feel like we need to do something to cheer us up or something.” Hermione said.

You looked over. “Hermione when did you come in?” you asked

“Like thirty minutes ago after Luna got finished.” Hermione admitted.

“Have anything you need to talk about?” “Nope I’m good.” She said giving you a thumbs up.

“Mmm. Fred, you’re the master at cheering people up, what should we do?” You asked.

He rose a brow. “Uhm... Well shit uhhhh.” He paused for a moment thinking

“Stress bake?” A student suggested.

“We did that last time” Another student said

“Ooh we could prank Filch’s office.” Someone said

Fred looked over at them

“Mm... How many of us have any problems with Filch?” You asked.

Nearly all hands went up.

“Yeesh.” You winced.

“The only other teacher we don’t like is friggin’ Gilderoy.”

“That’s Quirrell’s substitute right?”

“Yeah he’s an ass.” Harry snorted.

“Yeah, he’s a narcissist.” You agreed.

“Oh I have an idea!” Fred gasped.

“Hmm?” You asked.

“Who wants to help me sneak hair dye into Gilderoy’s shampoo?” Fred asked.

“I’m down.” You nodded.

“Good luck!” Luna said as both of you left

You grabbed hair dye from a chest in the Gryffindor common room

You ended up dying Lockhart’s hair blue because according to Fred he needed some “Ravenclaw pride”

You two were walking while Filch was on the other side of campus and talked

“So how often do you have these sleepovers?” Fred asked.

“Every Thursday night.” You said

“Wow.” Fred said.

“What?” you asked.

“Does it usually get that deep?” Fred asked.

“Oh yeah. But it helps because the house elves get to see who need extra support y’know. Like who needs cookies after exams, or who needs to hear ‘You’ve done a good job this week’” You said

“Smart.” Fred nodded.

“Y’know Ron and George have come to this before.” You said

“Really?” Fred asked.

“Both of them said you always know how to make people smile.” You said with a smile

“Huh.” Fred nodded mindlessly

“They also said you could be a pain in the ass at times.” You added before walking into the common room.

“Did you do it?” Draco asked

“The trap has been set. Who wants to paint shit?” you asked

“Yes please!”

So you all ended up painting and laughing with each other

Fred was beginning to understand why you were so loved by everyone

You all had fun that night and Fred was slowly beginning to actually like you

like... Like like you

Fred would smile and laugh with you when you sat with the Gryffindors

He was now going to the library

He told you not to tell anyone he was there because “it would ruin my reputation”

You would smile and laugh at that comment

He did come to the Thursday meetings and usually acted as the comedy relief for the night

btw your prank on Lockhart worked

He screamed like a little girl

P R I C E L E S S

even Snape almost laughed at seeing that fucker walk around with blue hair.

Fred loved seeing that smile, hearing you laugh or hell watching you breathe was mesmerizing to him

You loved seeing him interact with the students and actually act as another therapist type person in the group

If someone in the group had continuous harassment from another student and talking to that student didn’t help, Fred would prank their ass

When you went to Hogsmeade it was a blast

You and Fred seemed to get closer and George was realizing “Oh... Oh they totally like each other”

You met Harry’s Mother who was there for something: LILY LOVES YOU.

SHE THINKS YOU ARE THE PERFECT CHILD

She asked you to look out for Harry because he does look up to you and you nearly cried that you became that good of a role model.

So you got cold at one point and of course Fred bundled you up in his scarf

He wrapped it around you himself and smiled at you

Your heart did a thing and you were like “Oh. Oh fuck I like this guy”

So you started acting a little weird around him

Ten times more jumpier that’s for sure

He said hi behind you in your ear once and you literally threw your book and it hit George

You nearly fell in the lake because he flirted with you

You almost smacked Snape by accident after Fred implied you were gorgeous

During one of the Thursday meetings one of the others noticed you acting odd when Fred sat close to you.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Draco asked

“Yeah! I’m good, everything is alright here!” You squeaked out

Fred rose a brow and noticed you were bright red.

“Y/n, are you sure you look like you’re losing air or something.” Fred asked.

“I’m okay--”

Fred felt your forehead and noticed the redness get worse and it dawned on him what was going on

“Oh my God, YOU LIKE FRED!” Ron gasped

“Wha-- N-nooooo” You lied

“So you don’t?” Fred asked

“No I do-- Wait fuck!” you whined as you became a blushing mess

“I ship it” Cedric coughed out making Neville snort

“Shit shit shit shit shit-- this was not supposed to happen this way” You whined.

“Can we talk alone?” Fred asked.

“Oh God.” You whined as he helped you up.

You two went to the kitchens because you didn’t want Filch to find you.

“If you’re going to reject me please just say it now so I can promptly toss myself into the OVEN AND BURN” You begged

“I’m not rejecting you Princess.” He assured

“What?” “I’m saying I like you too.”

You gaped at him and pulled a stool to you before sitting.

“Are you good?” Fred asked.

“Holy. Shit.” You gaped.

“So... Do you want to date--” “Yes.” You nodded enthusiastically

Fred chuckled and you blushed looking away before Fred extended his hand to you.

“Shall we?” He asked.

You took his hand and he pressed a kiss to your hand making you nearly die

“By the way I am totally kissing you later, just so you know.” Fred added

You guys came back and the whole group was watching you two.

“Well?” Harry asked

Fred said nothing, pulling you to him and kissing you making the whole group go insane

You were a stuttering mess for the rest of the night

Fred was never seen away from you outside of his classes

He was always there with you, smiling and whispering sweet little things in your ear.

You would smile and kiss his cheek, telling him that you were so glad he chose you

You totally stayed with him during the summer

Molly loved you

fourth year started

Remus was now having to be a substitute for Quirrell because his dumbass got sick again

Remus FUCKING LOVED YOU

You were so smart and so kind it was awesome as hell

You were lowkey his favorite student though

you all had more people coming to you on Thursdays and it began to get kind of crowded

You went to Mcgonagall like “Can we just make this an official club or something that uses the Great hall at night”

To your surprise it went through and now on Thursday nights you slept in the Great Hall

You all would have a blast and plus you and Fred were ICONIC

You two were like the mom and dad of the group

Let someone talk shit

Let them

Fred would fuck their world up REAL QUICK if they didn’t listen to you

Now that Harry was able to go to Hogsmeade you got to meet his family when they met up with him

Lily was excited to see you again

Sirius LOVED you and Fred, Peter thought you were literally the greatest human who lived and James LOVED YOU TO PIECES

You absolutely loved them and actually spent Christmas with them

The meetings got super fun at times

Deep

but fun

You absolutely adored everyone in the group and Dumbledore did notice a drop in students fighting both verbally and physically

Remus sometimes supervised the meetings and noticed you always listened to the problems

Occasionally you’d ask Remus if he had anything he needed to talk about

He always said no

You slowly began to put together that he was a werewolf though

it became crystal clear after he had to intervene during the boggarts lesson and you saw his boggart

You waited till it was just you and him and you asked how he was feeling

He realized you knew and you assured him that you wouldn’t say anything

He admitted a lot to you to be honest

He told you how he was attacked as a child and he told you he was always terrified he’d hurt someone he loved

You became determined to help him or any student that might need it and uhm

Became an Animagus

Mcgonagall registered you don’t worry

You could turn into a dog btw, you were like Sirius except your fur was white

Fred was surprised that his girlfriend was this wizarding BADASS

You literally became known as the “white wolf” and it was kind of epic

You actually did help Remus out occasionally

You were kind of sad when Remus left but you and Fred ended up staying with the Potters for the summer

Remus was so excited to see his favorite person

Fun fact: because you could turn into a wolf the Marauders called you “Pup” and it was adorable

Fred loved seeing you geek out over books with Remus

In his head he just knew already you were the one

The triwizard tournament went down with Cedric being the champion for Hogwarts

Cedric admitted to the group that he was TERRIFIED of this competition so you were all cheering him on

The other school did have a couple of students who checked out the group

The Durmstrang students were not a fan of emotions so not many of them stayed

The Beauxbatons however had a ton of students who did stay

That’s when the group discovered Fred also spoke French?

According to Fred “There was a book, I was truly bored because Y/n wasn’t out of class yet and I wanted to know the hype over books”

To which Draco gaped and asked “So you learned FRENCH!?”

You teased him and said “Well shit, and you do that while I’m gone for like an hour, I wonder what would happen if I left you for a week”

he pulled you into his arms and said “DON’T YOU DARE”

You got really close to Fleur and Gabrielle especially though

You taught them how to speak better English and they taught you French

That fucking dance class came around and the group quickly discovered: YOU CANNOT DANCE

“It is not my fault my chicken legs have like zero coordination” you whined against Fred

“Wellllll technically--” “Shut it.”

Fred of course asked you to go to the Yule and your response was “Babe, I’m dating you, it’s implied that I was going with you but I appreciate the conformation”

You came downstairs that night and HOLY FUCK

Fred nearly dropped at the sight of you

He actually almost cried actually

You kissed him and told him he looked handsome

He was whispering adorable compliments all night to you

George and you danced at one point and he told you “Y’know, you and Fred might not be married but you are definitely like a sister to me”

You almost cried

Fred gave you a promise ring later when you were alone and you nearly broke down crying because you truly loved this boy

You two being inseparable after that

Cedric was fREAKING OUT later because of the last trial

you calming him down

You watching it with the last group

“Honestly this whole competition has just been the audience waiting except for the dragons... It’s quite boring.” Draco yawned

I mean... He wasn’t wrong

Cedric won

You were so happy for him and he was super hyped that he won

But he did something strange

He gave the money to Fred and George

“Cedric we can’t take this--” “I owe it to you guys, please just take the God damn check before I go all Hufflepuff on your ass”

You and Fred going to the Burrow for the summer and having the best time

You meeting Bill and him telling Fred “She’s the one for you man”

Charlie also meeting you and saying the exact same thing

Fred sitting down and talking to his parents saying “Look. After graduation I’m proposing to Y/n, any objections?”

Arthur and Molly being COMPLETELY ON BOARD

Going to school and having a good last year

The group having dance parties occasionally to get the feelings out

You did do a strangely cathartic exercise with them of taking cheap plates, writing your darkest secrets on them and then LAUNCHING IT AT THE WALLS

Everyone being kind of sad because you and Fred were leaving after this year and they weren’t ready for you to go

Placing Neville and Luna as the next two to take over the group after you two graduated

Molly mailing you Christmas sweaters before you came for the Christmas break

You waking up on Christmas morning and sitting in front of the fireplace with Fred while he had his arm around you

Dancing in the snow with him just because you feel like it

Accidentally calling Molly mum and her hugging you telling you to just call her that from now on

Lot of crying when you finally did graduate

lot of it.

You going back to the Burrow and Fred listening to you talk about how “The future’s in our hands now, we can literally do anything” and him doing something

He proposed

You cried

Said yes, but cried

You and Fred got married that summer and the group all went

Ron told you he was glad to have you as an older sister and you SOBBED

Ginny told you the same thing-- you also cried at that

You helped the boys open the joke store and worked there until you completed a psychology degree

You became Hogwarts’ guidance councilor

Then you found out you were pregnant after nearly puking on a student

Fred coming to the school because he heard you got sick

Damn it, he was taking care of his wife

“Baby, are you okay!?” He asked.

“Uhm... Yyeaahh about that”

You told him

He cried

He was kissing your face and telling you that he was so happy

You have a daughter: Adelaide Molly Weasley

She is a damn daddy’s girl that’s for sure

But my god does she love her uncle George

Taglist: @amhyeah @newtaholic-staygold @bbeauttyybbx @fleurho

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley

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widcwed-rasa · 4 years

Text

Note: this is part of Rasa’s now annual tradition to write her feelings out and “speak” to her deceased husband through letters she seals and hides away. Nobody knows about their existence. Read it at your discretion.

Khatanga - October 24th, 2120.

My dearest husband,

Two days have passed since the anniversary of your death, and this year has been turbulent, to say the least. After years of watching my parents giving me sideways glances and whispering things behind my back when they thought I was out of earshot, I decided it was finally time for me to go away. They've been pressuring me to come out of my shell for so long that I believed giving them what they wanted would mean I would get a break. I was wrong.

This Khatanga experiment seems fucked up if you ask me. I understand why our parents are concerned about our safety, but throwing us all in the same place didn't sound like the smartest idea. I wish you could be here with me. You would understand what I'm talking about, though I can't say there haven't been interesting moments. I won't get ahead of myself here. Let me try to recount things as chronologically as I can.

Ausra and I made our way here together. I suppose our parents either assumed the two of us together would make this transition easier on me, or they decided she was ready to be pushed into a marriage. Whichever scenario, the result will probably be the same. And since Daina has recently arrived here as well, I imagine we'll soon all be facing the same circumstance, but so far, it's just been me.

I guess one of the first few things that happened after we arrived was stumbling into Maggie one night. You remember her, right? She's been a little crestfallen over the idea of seeing Matthias around here more often than anyone would have wished to see their ex. It's understandable, and her feelings are valid, I just don't know why anyone would make her suffer. To make matters worse, I believe Matty might be oblivious to it, which kinda makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. They don't have a clue how lucky they are that things ended when they did. I keep telling people that love brings nothing but pain. Nobody believes me. No one ever seems to comprehend why I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I've just been trying to warn them. Nevertheless, I did for Maggie what any good friend should do. Actually, maybe I've done a bit more than that, but you know me. I cannot see a pretty girl upset without lending them a helping hand— or whatever else they might require. You'll be glad to hear that we have rekindled our estranged friendship, and now it's probably at the best point it's ever been.

I think it might have been at the end of May. Or was it the beginning of June?! I can't remember it too well. Anyway, it was just shortly after our arrival as well when I received a letter from mama with news that would change my life forever. Not right away, no, because I preferred to block it all out and pretend it had never happened. I thought if I could simply ignore it, therefore it couldn't be true. My world of fantasy crumbled just weeks later, and, as usual, it happened in the worst way possible.

When I agreed to come to Russia, I thought my parents would allow me a breathing moment without having to hear about my next marriage. It's still too weird to consider it, or the fact that it's really in motion. Overall, I'm surprised they managed to find a family that was willing to take me in as their daughter. Let's be honest, the past couple of years have been far from my most gracious times, and it's not as if I'm making any effort to change that. So why? Why would anyone want to associate their son with someone like me? My therapist would say I put myself down as self-sabotage. Well, I never saw her in any great rush to marry me and prove me wrong!

Anyway, my parents have been able to settle the terms of my betrothal with Eamon O'Rourke of Ireland. He's not the first in line for the throne— thank goodness for that! Can you imagine what it would be like if I were the queen of any place? —, he's younger than I am by a few years— his twin sister is one of Ausra's best friends. Maybe I should try to see if she's involved in this somehow —, and he has this shocking head of red hair that's pretty much the first thing you ever notice about him. It seems a little bit like Ausra's hair, but with a little more of an orange undertone, like the sky during sunset after a long period of drought. And... I slept with his older brother a few years ago, a piece of information he took surprisingly well, I might add.

As it habitually happens to me, when we met, or more accurately, when he snuck up on me, I made a fool out of myself. First impressions have never been my forte. You would find the entire thing hilarious, and the problem is: so did I. Not hilarious, or funny, but you know I have this proclivity for smiling or laughing when I get nervous, and I laughed for long minutes. It probably felt even longer for him. He deserves someone a tad more tactful. Instead, he got stuck with me. Eventually, we sorted that out. We seem to have a lot of dark things in common. The sort of things that would make most people run for the hills without ever looking back. If he hasn't found a deal-breaker in the past couple of days, there's a chance all this darkness in me isn't triggering to him, and this wedding might end up happening. I'm scared. And don't give me one of those bullshit speeches about facing our fears. I want to be able to chicken out like the good coward that I am.

Since our meeting was far from ideal, I thought it called for reparation. So I looked for him during the masquerade event so we might have more of a chance to talk and get to know one another. We drank and asked a bunch of questions. As it turns out, we both prefer to live in the country, and we might move to Italy after we're married, and his sister also is. Oh, and he's a cat person. Do you think I could have a cat...? Our drinking game went better than I thought it would. Maybe it could be our thing.

While here, I also had the chance to spend more time around Maggie's brother, Ivan. Nothing about our rendezvous was expected, and I must say it took a peculiar turn. Maggie invited me for tea one afternoon, but she didn't show. Instead, Ivan came around for the same reason: meeting his sister there. We quickly came to the conclusion it wasn't an accident that we were both there. Maggie had pulled those strings. I'm still not sure why. Perhaps Ivan got to the bottom of that situation, and I should ask him. The idea of spending my afternoon sipping tea with someone I barely knew wasn't among my favorite activities, and I doubt it figured among his as well. There were probably more interesting things a crown prince could be doing, but him producing a flask of whatever booze from a pocket helped with our bonding process. Immensely. With a snap of the fingers, we became acquainted with the other one's flirtatious sides, building up a tension I didn't even know existed between us. He instigated my curiosity, and I hate to admit that he had me hanging on every word just to see what would follow. I'd like to think stumbling into me also wasn't the most conventional thing that's ever occurred to him. There might be some other buttons to push or undo there. I don't know which ones yet, and I might be willing to go ahead and do that. Eventually. It's something that will come to me.

Now, let me circle back to the masquerade ball we had... So many things happened. I don't even know where to start. A few days before the party, we received letters telling us that the organization had picked out dates for everyone. f I already had my doubts about attending, giving me an obligation while I was at it wasn't how anyone would convince me I would have a nice time. My pair for the evening was Prince Callister from Greece. A very superman sort of man. Seriously, the guy looks like some artisan sculpted him in marble. As polite as polite could be. In fact, if politeness ever had a picture in the dictionary, he would be there with a smile upon his face. After fulfilling our mandatory duty, I didn't want to keep him for longer. Life's too short for us not to do what we want to do, and the man is clearly besotted with his fiancée. What a rookie mistake. Therefore, he wasn't my type.

After I freed Callister from his obligation, I sought for things I could do while I was still there, otherwise, the evening would have been a waste of my time and a beautiful dress— Oh my God, I sounded just like Day! Never tell her that! —although terrible shoes. It was how I came across the Devil. Or, well, that's how he first introduced himself, and it led to such a frustrating experience.

He invited me to dance. I could never turn down something like that. Especially not when it already felt like something I hadn't done in forever. So we danced, and we talked, and we teased enough to feel like maybe we should have been doing something other than just dancing. We kissed, and things heated up quickly. The way he was touching me made it clear he wanted more. I wanted more. Unfortunately, being too honest sometimes has its problems. I told him there was a lot about the past couple of years that I couldn't remember, and he decided to use that information against me so he could leave me wanting more. He told me that was the best way to make sure someone was memorable. Can you believe that?! He dared me to find him afterward, which would be a lot easier if we had exchanged names or anything like that. Now I'm stuck with a vague sense of recognition, a challenge, and curiosity. It's terrible!

You will be proud to hear that I've made a new friend. And, of course, that happened in the least predictable way possible. She drenched the hem of my skirts with champagne. She was mortified when it happened. I was more along the lines of amused. Sure, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have found it as endearing if she wasn't stunning. And those eyes... Those eyes, I tell you. They look like they're staring right into your soul. Sarika is a sweet woman, and she's also been through a lot. No wonder we seemed to attract each other. There might be a couple of things I could teach her as well, after all, I've been doing this mourning thing for eight years now. I've picked up some stuff here and there. If people want to give me those pity eyes, the least they should expect is for me to use that for something. This can't just be the kind of situation in which only I lose. Sometimes we need to try leveling that playfield, and it's something I know I can help her. We might be the only ones who are truly able to understand how the other feels. She was even willing to be here with me when I just wanted the whole world to be gone. I like her. I'm keeping her.

The masquerade had some intriguing twists and turns, but I suppose running into Valentin of Austria had a riveting turn out. Maybe I've read him completely wrong from our first few meetings. When we first crossed paths back in spring, he seemed like the sort of man who held back a lot. He always seemed to dodge and skirt around things he truly wanted to do, and I don't know why he'd have such reservations. Anyway, I convinced him to steal a bottle of booze for us to share. It didn't take a lot of persuading, which is probably what led me to believe there are things he wants to do, but he's reluctant. During the event, when I saw him, there were two things he wanted to do: go up on stage and sing and kiss me. I wasn't going to wait and see whether I win or lose a bet to kiss someone, so I did just that before he even had the chance to finish his proposition. Still, he went on stage anyway for his rendition of Britney Spears. I thought it was an odd choice, but it isn't my place to judge. My karaoke songs aren't what others would call conventional either. Maybe I was a little upset over the fact that he had already gotten the girl, but I had to cut my losses. When does life ever go the way I want it anyway?! He sang. We kissed. It was a win-win situation. Making out with him had unanticipated results, and he was far more willing to move past the boundaries of decency than I thought he'd be. Sure, he first freaked me out when he talked to me about love, but once we pushed past that obstacle, everything was great. He might turn into a friend with benefits. We'll see.

I saw Eamon again the other day. You know how I tend to shut myself in around this time of the year, and there are far more people here than I would have wanted to deal with when I'm in my right state of mind. When everything goes south, I push everyone away. I can be especially hard to handle during those episodes, and it was worse when I felt suffocated in a place where so many people seemed to have such easy access to me. So I bribed a maid to give me the location of a spot most people wouldn't think of looking for me: Eamon's room. Most people know how I feel about our contract betrothal. Ausra's still under the assumption our meeting went fabulously wrong— I'll tell her about it eventually —so no one would have reason to look for me there. I had already been there before a few times. He was never there. It was just a calm place for me to be when the world became too much. I don't generally touch anything, just sit or lie down in the most complete silence until my demons are appeased, and I feel like circling back to my room. But this time, he showed up while I was at it. I cannot begin to imagine how odd it must have been for him to open that door and find a woman he'd met like yesterday sobbing on his bed. It's hard to tell how he'll respond to what he encountered now that he's had the time to process everything, so I suppose I'll just have to wait to find out what the future has in store there.

I feel like this concludes my reports on the most impressive things that have happened to me lately, which means we're reaching the end of this.

I'll see you whenever I have more things to tell, well, you know how this goes.

Truthfully,

Rasa.

P.S.: I saw a man with his daughter the other day. She’s seven. That seems to have brought me way too many feelings I wasn’t prepared for. So, fuck you very much for putting the plans of having children inside my head all those years ago.

#{These things I'll never say || letters}#{How do I get closer to you when you keep it all on mute || Ausra}#tbt:Daina #tbt:Eamon #tbt:Ivan #tbt:Maggie #tbt:Matthias #tbt:Valentin #{For the record it's between you and I || Gio}#{But now we're rocking on the dance floor acting naughty || Sarika}#tbt:Callister #tbt:Theo

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artofdigression · 5 years

Text

I’m 23 years old. The 2 years leading up to now have been a complete whirlwind, but somehow, in this time, an actual music career has begun. I’m a composer, a producer, a singer, a songwriter, a visual artist - among many labels.

I sit in front of my piano. I know how to play all of 2 pieces - Gnossiennes 1 & 2 by Erik Satie. I learned them by ear 4 years ago while working the reception desk of an art gallery that had two baby grand pianos hidden underneath the stairs. I would get bored when no one else was in the gallery and venture down.

In my studio, I have piles of introductory music books, minuets and ballads laying around - some given to me at a young age, some passed down by dead relatives who knew I had a ‘good ear’ - or were maybe too dead to give a shit about where their old sheet music went by the time I got my hands on it.

I decide, for what feels like the 100th time, that I will learn how to read music.

I had my first piano lesson when I was 10 years old. My piano teacher was nice - a young, lanky, 20-something music student who wore beanie hats and played electric guitar in a rock band. I thought he was pretty much the coolest and wanted to be him. Unfortunately, I don’t think he was particularly ‘stoked’ in the same capacity to work with me. I had very little enthusiasm for any of the mind-numbingly boring rudimentary theory curriculum, the limited repertoire I had to choose from (away in a manger or… the other version of away in a manger) made me want to rip my hair out, and reading sheet music would send my mind into kaleidoscope-vision.

I would also have kaleidoscope-vision in school. I struggled with school. I was a rambunctious little human. My attention span was uncontrollable (unless we were reading or drawing, then I absolutely paid attention). Looking over old report cards, there was a lot of ‘needs to stay on task’ and ‘could use help with organization’ - anecdotal pieces of advice I heard so much, I think the meanings eventually became hollow to me (or maybe the meanings were just hollow to begin with).

Getting me to sit still for 30 minutes was an excruciating feat for any adult in my life, so 2 hours? 3 hours? 6 hours? Good god, I wanted to climb the walls. When the teacher would start talking, I would look past their gaze - into Lala Land as adults disdainfully called it. (I still deeply hate calling it Lala Land, but, for continuity purposes, we’re going to reclaim the name in neon lights.)

Lala Land was great. Real life? Not so much. In real life, from third grade until high school graduation, my teachers (with the exception of 3 gems) were blatantly judgemental of me. They’d think nothing of admonishing me in front of my peers if I fidgeted or looked out a window.

Because the amount of physical energy I had was not conducive to a classroom environment, I learned to dissociate from my body. Because looking out a window meant I was not looking at a chalkboard, I learned to look past the chalkboard to find Lala Land, its neon letters burning behind my absent gaze. Past the letters, there would be a window. I could look out the window and its glass panes could evaporate and autumn’s leafy gusts of wind could sweep me away and I’d never have to worry about a messy desk or a missed assignment or classroom of judgemental eyes looking at me again. The next day’s fantasy would be the same, but different.

Children’s imaginations are often playful and fantastical. Take a kid with a traumatized brain, however - and imagination can give them a seemingly supernatural ability to create, in their mind, what they need for emotional survival. That was me.

There were parts of my childhood that were truly blissful, gorgeous, hilarious and nurturing. But I’d be denying you, dear reader, important context if I didn’t tell you that a significant part of my young formative years was steeped in grief, chaos and abandonment. I assure you need not build castles in the air in understanding that I was a child with a traumatized brain. And though I was surviving, trauma had created a faceless, nameless internal chaos for me that I didn’t truly even recognize until adulthood. Trauma changes the way brains function. That’s a lot for a kid to be dealing with.

In piano lessons, my teacher would sit with me and we would go over the theory of a piece of sheet music - that was my brain’s cue to look past the kaleidoscope paper, nodding “yes, mhm, got it.” But then, when he’d clap the rhythm of the piece, my brain would engage and I’d clap the same rhythm back, no problem. After that, he would play the piece for me as an example - this was where my brain would hyper-focus. I would retain, retain, retain, and I would play the piece back, not reading a note, but looking past the page all the same. This wasn’t a ploy to dupe him. This was a system of which neither of us were consciously aware. I was just 10, and playing piano.

Outside of school, I was different. I was encouraged to sing, I would go to my parents’ choir practices every week and sit in the pews of Saint Mary’s Church and listen to 30 voices reverberate through it. I would shoot the shit with adults and carry around books about Roman mythology and Egyptian hieroglyphs and I would talk about how I wanted to travel the whole world and I would make 1-page comics and I would dress up my dog and I loved the ballet costumes from Stravinsky’s Firebird and… I digress.

Outside of school, I was different. Music calmed my internal landscape enough for me to be myself. No - actually, music calmed my immediate surroundings enough for me to make sense of my internal landscape… Actually, both.

On a borrowed piano, I would sit and endlessly ear out songs (Carmen, movie soundtracks I liked, songs my mom sang, etc). I would walk into my Saturday lesson and proudly showcase the self-taught triumphs of Sunday through Friday for my teacher, only to be met with a brief pat on the back and the god-damn sheet music to 'away in a manger’ - which I still hated and still couldn’t read, but played anyway. After 5 months, I eventually made it clear to all parties involved that I was done with piano, and my parents finally gave into my weekly protests.

When I was 7th grade, I started playing french horn in the school band and, for whatever reason, continued for 6 and a half years. I still saw through a kaleidoscope when I got a piece of music, but there was one other french horn player in my class so I usually copied what she did - Unless we had different parts in which case I fumbled constantly through band practice until I finally figured out what I was playing. Band, generally, had a negative impact on my relationship with music. I think the only reason I stuck with it was because the feeling of playing music with such a large group of people triggered some kind of dopamine rush that my brain loved. I would get ASMR - auto sensory meridian response - also known as “that fuzzy, warm, calm feeling in the centre of your brain” - some folks experience it and some folks don’t.

A lot of changes in my home life happened in that 6-and-a-half-year period. After years of week-on, week-off pivots between my mother and father’s separate homes, my father permanently moved to Sweden when I was 13. My mother became my primary parent while dealing with the loaded blows of bankruptcy and multiple reckonings around her own life challenges. We moved into a home that had completely gutted walls and plywood floors (left unfinished by previous tenants with renovation goals too ambitious to finish). The situation was chaotic. So, so chaotic. But, from that time up to now, my mother was (and continues to be) an incredible support to me. She could see that I was struggling, and did everything in her power to advocate for me when I couldn’t advocate for myself. I can only imagine the feeling of knowing something is not right with your child and being told by everyone around you that your child is fine. Her support was integral.

When I was in 9th grade, she and my homeroom teacher (also a phenomenal support to me at the time) pulled some strings to have an initial psychological assessment performed on me - not technically “official” - as it was conducted by a student of psychology, I recall - nevertheless, it provided enough insight to validate that there was an underlying dissonance between what most of my teachers were saying about me (lazy, bad attitude, etc) and what was actually going on in my head, and that a formal assessment would be necessary to help me. My name was put on the waiting list for a psychologist that year. But, the entire island had only 1 or 2 psychologists available (Totally appalling). And so I waited... And waited... And waited... And while I waited, I continued to find refuge in my visual art practice, as well as learning other instruments on my own terms.

I refuse to say something cliche like “art and music saved my life” because creativity isn’t a sustainable singular lifeline for anyone, and believing so feeds into the highly problematic mental health stigma as it pertains to those who create for a living... But art and music did play key roles in tempering my inner storms. Now, as a musician, I allow my craft to be a teacher, not a therapist.

When I was 16, I went to my first voice lesson. I kept at it for a year, and… excelled? I totally excelled - personally and musically. This did wonders for my confidence (I attribute a lot of that to my voice teacher at the time, who had a really supportive and receptive approach to my weird energy levels and the idiosyncratic ways I learned). I did festivals, took a Royal Conservatory exam - and I was still excelling, which honestly shocked me at the time because I was so used to failing everything.

Oh, also, I could still barely read the music. Kaleidoscopic forever.

Many classically trained musicians describe the experience of being overwhelmed when they get a new piece of music (especially if it has theory components they may not be familiar with or something) - totally normal. But then, they concentrate, deconstruct it from the page section-by-section and eventually learn to play it with neurotypical grace. Deconstructing written music on the page to understand what was happening became a little bit less nauseating as I was exposed to it more. I WORKED at theory and understood parts of it, but only… theoretically. Being able to transcribe that (limited) understanding into playing? That never happened for me. The page would remain kaleidoscopic until it felt like my brain was just going to short-circuit and cave in on itself. It was weird, and trying to describe to anyone in band class (teachers and students alike) made me feel like I was on a different planet. So, when the heat was on (whether that was in performance or in private lessons or “sight singing”) I kept relying on my ears and refined my ability to hold my own in band concerts, private voice lessons, choirs, musical theatre productions.

Meanwhile, in high school, my academic life was still basically the worst. I had adversarial relationships with nearly all of my teachers. I barely passed each year. Emotionally, I also had a lot of anger seething below the surface of my consciousness. I had internalized so much of what so many teachers had told me - that I was smart but lazy, that I had a bad attitude, that I was disruptive, distracted, manipulative etc. - and having gone through some pretty drastic events that effectively destabilized my home life, this all had a profoundly negative impact on my self-worth.

One year later, I was 17, in 12th grade and school issues had not gotten any better (still muddling through - grades between 40% and 60%). I had just given up at this point… Except now, instead of having the teachers before, who were mostly unhelpful, but at least straight-up about being judgemental of me based on my “laziness” diagnosis, I had a haul of teachers that were giving me these new weekly out-in-the-hall John Keating-wannabe-motivational speeches, telling me how much “potential I have” and how “I’m wasting it away” by “not trying” in class (every hollow pull-up-your-socks/nose-to-grindstone idiom in the book. It was infuriating at the time). I’m sure most of them just wanted to help. But I needed someone to listen more than I needed someone to talk at me.

A helpful thing that DID come out of 12th grade (4 years after my name had been put on the list… shoutout to our provincial government for still not caring about investing in public mental health) was that I finally got access to a provincial psychologist. She came during the second semester of grade 12 and did extensive testing on me to find (surprise! but… not really) ADHD - which explained the colossal difficulties I was having in my academic life due to my chaotic brain not letting me get my shit together in the ways I was being told by neurotypical folks around me to get my shit together.

For those that aren’t informed about ADHD - it’s a form of neurodivergence that can manifest in too many ways to name here, but to fit an elephant in a minivan: There’s that part of the brain that naturally helps you regulate your attention/concentration/sleep/energy levels/appetite/feelings/working memory/pretty much anything remotely involving executive functioning… That’s nice, right? I wouldn’t know because apparently mine’s broken. There is also extensive research that directly links ADHD to childhood trauma, as well as biochemical imbalances in the brain.

I could get all in-depth about ADHD science right here, but this is my story, not an essay, and it would make for an even longer and more digressive tangent that would likely overshadow THE OTHER SIGNIFICANT THING the psychologist noted in my evaluation.

Amidst a bunch of my brain skills that were, statistically, above average for my age - like my working vocabulary and ability to retain auditory information - many of my visual processing skills - meaning, things like reading something and copying it down accurately or following written instructions without constantly needing to reference them - were shockingly below average for my age. The tests showed that this was something my brain had immense difficulty doing.

What’s an example of a visual processing issue in school? Well, I was always the last kid to finish copying text from the board (and I mean, like, multiple paragraphs behind my peers) before the teacher could move on to the next page.

What’s an example of a visual processing issue in music? Reading written notes and playing them on an instrument. When I heard a piece of music, however, I could learn it very quickly.

Knowing what was going on in my brain brought me a whole world of clarity and validation. I knew that I was going to lead an unconventional life because of it (whatever “a conventional life” means these days). I knew that most post-secondary education would be inaccessible to me as a result of my grades and probably be, at that point, more harmful than helpful.

Knowing what was going on in my brain helped me to understand what I didn’t need anymore. I didn’t need the validation of my teachers or my peers. I didn’t need a number on any piece of paper to determine my competence or ‘work ethic.’

Letting go of school was the best thing I’ve done for myself.

I graduated high school with nothing but a 64% average, and an ADHD diagnosis as my only tools in understanding how to get on a path to thriving as an adult human. liberating. frustrating. terrifying - but not really. mostly liberating.

Then, my ADHD became manageable and my life got easy and I had no self-esteem issues ever again.

… No. That’s not how life works. I’m 23 years old. I’ve been out of the school system for 6 years. I have deeply instilled productivity guilt (ie. I take on way more tasks than humanly possible to finish in ridiculously tight deadlines), I struggle with anxiety in thinking that friends and coworkers are saying negative things about my personality or quality of work behind my back (maybe my exes and high school math teachers are hanging out?? THE HORROR), my heart sinks into my stomach anytime any human watches me work over my shoulder (I’m a music producer, so if I’m working on songs with people, I become a blundering internal wreck when they understandably want to see what I’m editing). School did those things to me - which leads me into the accountability part of this long-winded ADHD realtalk.

I’d be withholding the truth from you if I didn’t say my teachers played key roles in aggravating my behavioural/emotional/learning difficulties by disputing them as personality flaws. My frustration in learning would be met, at worst, with punishment and put-downs (I remember not having recess for nearly an entire week somewhere in the first half of 4th grade - which I think is a cruel thing to do to any child, let alone one with energy levels like mine). I would be met, at best, with more hollow, invalidating advice - more ‘need to stay on task’ with a twist of ‘gotta give it yer all’ and ‘well, maybe if you actually tried…’

None of these messages sent to me were helpful. I’m still working to unravel those knots.

This is not a dig at those teachers who saw me as the problem child (rather than seeing me as a kid who just needed support and a different work environment. There were about 3 teachers in 10 years who understood that, and did everything in their power to help. They know who they are and I’m grateful for them.) I understand how frustrating it is to be pushed to your limit - especially within the bounds of a job that requires you to keep your shit together in some capacity. I understand that we that we all do our best with the tools we have at the time. There are no hard feelings - But, I encourage self-reflection and future accountability for your impact on the way you treat any child in your life - because they are just that: a child. Your impact can be profoundly helpful or harmful. You will never know what a child is going through until they feel safe enough to tell you. I didn’t feel safe with many adults - which is why most of my relationships with authority were adversarial ones. I’m not offering a solution. I’m just offering a glimpse into my experience. That’s all this is. Take it or leave it.

When a child is told again and again by the daily authoritative figures in their life that they have an attitude problem, that they are disruptive, lazy, manipulative, attention-seeking, a liar, a cheater (the list can go on but I won’t let it) - I guarantee you, the child will eventually believe it. And I did. I deeply internalized these labels to the point of identifying with them. I’m still working hard as an adult to remind myself that while many of my teachers accused me of causing chaos in my learning environment, I was simply (and unknowingly) mirroring my own internal chaos. The chaos I had created around me was a cry for help, not admonishment.

To further the accountability segment of this experience I’m sharing with you, though I can’t offer a solution to “fix” the institution of public education (because institutions generally don’t function unless they’re flawed to begin with), I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within trauma-informed and neurodivergence-informed teaching and the public school system being provided with the adequate resources to embrace neurodivergent students - to embrace traumatized students, not accommodate them. I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within mental health being taken seriously (with FUNDING, not lip service) by the Government of Prince Edward Island. That’s all I’ll say for now.

I don’t think my experience is special - far from it. In fact, I know that my experience is not, and never will be one-of-a-kind. I started writing this when I sat in front of a piano and tried to do what my brain would never let me do. I looked past the page and saw this part of my life staring back at me. I’m not even a writer, but I felt like I had to write it down. Looking back, I realize that I didn’t even begin to understand my own story until someone else told me theirs.

So - whether you’re a teacher or a student or both - if you’re struggling in the school system, this is dedicated to you. If you have been turned away and invalidated by those supposed to help you, you need to know that the labels placed upon you only hold as much power over you as you allow. Being pained by what you can’t control doesn’t make you weak, it makes you a survivor. Surviving is hard. Surviving is so hard, but you will begin to heal.

I’m 23 years old. I’m many things. I read music with my ears. I’m mastering the art of looking past what’s in front of me.

- Russell Louder

#adhd #music #neurodivergence

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i-want-to-be-manhandled · 6 years

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more trans ramblings (tramblings?) - to T or not to T, that is the question

so i’m writing this so i have some thoughts to show my therapist next week instead of scouring my brain for them but im posting it on the internet instead of keeping it in a word document or some shit cause i need some of y’all to relate and i’m already way too personal on here anyways. and also at this point this is my personal blog too, i’ve given up entirely on keeping it just for video games. tl;dr: please tell me i am not the only one with stupid amounts of doubt going against the stupid amounts of evidence that i am very transgender.

tw: long post, doubts, testosterone/hrt effects discussed in detail, (don’t read this if you know me irl and haven’t personally talked with me about being trans? otherwise go ahead), nsfw cause we’re talking about genitals but mostly towards the end of the second to last paragraph (i’ll strike the nsfw stuff), mention of rape but no discussion of it happening, lemme know if i missed anything

so as my last transpost said im very excited for my hysto that im nowhere near getting but im flip-flopping as to whether or not i want to go on t. i know i can get it fairly quickly if i decide i do want it. there’s a trans health clinic in walking distance from where i am moving in 23 days, i have 3 therapists who will write me a letter of recommendation for testosterone, and my mother even found me the trans health clinic so she’ll try to find me somewhere else to go if they don’t take me in for some reason. (having a supportive mom is great i don’t miss her crying about how hard it is to have a trans kid in january and february.) and i’ve looked thoroughly at the effects of testosterone and have sorted them into pros, neutrals, and cons. (posting it here again mostly bc i need to do it but i also need some of yall to relate and/or validate me and/or answer my weird questions)

pros:

voice drop. im so tired of having a squeaky voice which is exacerbated by me always being anxious, and my sister has a deeper voice than me and always tries to sing ridiculously low parts to stretch it for some reason which makes me feel insecure. and apparently my voice is “always squeaky” according to my dad and like? shit man i pass until i talk that’s just the tea.

i dont even care if i have a super deep voice, i actually think i’d rather be a solid tenor because that’s the vocal range of most of my favorite songs, but i want to sound like a man when i talk and not an 8 year old girl

side note apparently a lot of trans guys have male “internal voices” but mine just sounds like how i sound when i talk because i’m a very literal person and that’s why it took me forever to figure out i was trans and not having a male internal voice makes me dysphoric sometimes and even doubt that i’m trans at all... that’s dumb af i know it’s just my literal personality type not me actually being a girl

more muscle. i dont work out as it is right now but if i knew i’d see results the way i want them then i probably would. also im getting ripped during the school year anyways bc i walk everywhere with a 15-20 pound backpack strapped to me so i’m at least gonna look semi muscular which is what i want anyways. please give me strength quite literally i can barely lift bro

bottom growth. ik it’s still not going to be ~enough~ or whatever but i’d have... something? that would be nice.

side note would packers start to be uncomfortable with something there bc i wonder about that sometimes. not that mine is super uncomfortable now or anything (i just haven’t figured out how to make it sit right) but i wonder about that

NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS NO PERIODS

if im one of those guys whose periods dont stop on t i am actually going to perform a hysto on myself

fat shifting from hips, thighs and butt to my stomach. i don’t care if i have stomach chub or not, but i DO care that my hips are Like That and my things are Really Girly and i have a fucking Girl Butt TM like please just let me Not Have These Problems

having a more angular face. doesn’t happen to everyone per se but because of my facial structure as it is and also what my dad looked like when he was my age, i probably will get this change. i have actively wished for this since i was 13 and didn’t even know dysphoria was a word. hopefully it makes my lips a little thinner too or at least more masculine.

veins becoming more prominent. i have this one pic of me where it looks like i have Guy Arms and i just wanna look like that all the time ya know

lookin like a dude and passing? that counts right

neutrals:

facial hair. i know a lot of trans guys want this but i’ve never wanted one. i just want a jawline to cut a bitch tbh i’m never having more than stubble except the beard imma wear to my high school reunion

body hair. this is more of a pro-neutral ig bc i want it on my arms and legs but would prefer not to have a lot on my chest and stomach. fortunately i dont think my dad has a whole lot but i’m a pretty hairy afab person as it is i just dont wanna be a werewolf lmao

hair loss at temples. i just don’t care about my hairline enough for this to really bother me. maybe i will when it happens but *shrug*

scents of sweat/bo/urine changing? idk i feel like it will be weird, maybe gross if it turns out bad but honestly i don’t really care what i smell like as long as i don’t smell like a dumpster fire? i shower it’s fine lmao

rougher skin? i dont know if i’d like having rougher skin but i also dont like being an uwu soft boi so

acne. nobody wants it but like... i already have stress-acne right now and don’t really give a shit because i hate how my face looks anyways. not that i want a fuckton of acne because nobody does but im not gonna cry myself to sleep over it ya feel? it’s an annoyance but not really a con

cons:

increase in sex drive. not to be nsfw but masturbating is a chore as it is. it hasn’t been fun since i realized i had crippling bottom dysphoria and even then i can’t get off unless i’m completely distracted from my body (either through porn or being too tired to care). also i have like a 2% chance of ever having a partner so i really dont wanna have to deal with having the sex drive of a 12 year old boy when im 19, single, depressed, and dysphoric. im not even asexual but this is the worst con

emotional changes. yall know at this point i dont have the best temper, and i dont want t to exacerbate that. now, some of my friends have said that t has made them much calmer and actually less irritable, but the rest of my friends said t makes them angry. i have poor anger management and i know it. i don’t need it made worse. it’ll fuck my life up for real

increase in appetite. listen i have gastritis, ibs and acid reflux i cannot afford to be needing to eat more than i currently do

so as yall can see i have a fair number of all 3: 8 pros, 6 neutrals, and 3 cons. and what’s more, all of the cons are things that don’t have anything to do with my appearance (which my therapist and i noticed during our session a couple weeks ago and really made me think i should go on t). so then the answer should be clear: i should go on t, right? deal with having a fucked high sex drive and be pissed off because of it but finally be able to see my reflection in the mirror. so it should be obvious. what the hell am i waiting for?

the main reason i’m hesitant is i’m afraid i’ll want to detransition. even though i KNOW it rarely happens and the women who do thought they were trans because of unaddressed traumas relating to being female or have a personality disorder. i have neither of those things: the only female-related trauma i have is being slut shamed by my mom for wearing tank tops and any shirt that wasn’t a crew neck and one guy saying he’d rape me in 9th grade because he thought rape and sex were the same thing (for his sake i hope he’s grown the fuck up!! i’m not traumatized from this i just made my teacher not let him sit next to me in class and told him to stop talking to me. sadly this is the most sexual attention i’ve ever gotten), and the only mental illnesses i have are depression and anxiety (unless we’re counting dysphoria, which i definitely have). i also sometimes feel like i discovered it too late: i didn’t say “i’m not a girl” until i was 14, refused to explore my gender until i was 17, and didn’t fully accept i was trans until i was 18. and other dumb shit: i never tried to pee standing up so im not really trans even though i didn’t know what a penis was until i was like 9, ive caught myself twice recently wishing for longer hair which made me feel feminine and gross and dysphoric (even though i know hair length =/= gender??), and im not in danger of suicide if i don’t get testosterone and top surgery RiGhT nOw. the prospect of me detransitioning isn’t likely, when you look at all the facts, but the prospect makes me anxious because everything makes me anxious. i am the poster boy for anxiety. and yes, i know i would have said that even when i accepted that i was technically the poster girl but i would have said poster boy anyways because it was “gender neutral” and didn’t rub me the wrong way like poster girl would have. same reason i insisted on being a dude instead of dudette and only described myself with words that didn’t have a female equivalent in french class even if it wasn’t true. so what the hell am i waiting for.

like i know i shouldn’t be doubting at this point because it’s so, so obvious that i’m trans. just because i didn’t try to pee standing up when i was little or ask why i didn’t have a penis doesn’t mean i’m not a guy. i logically know this. like when i was 11 and i insisted to myself i had a male brain but knew i shouldn’t say that out loud because that was weird and i wanted to be a normal girl who didn’t have a weird male brain, and when i was 7 and at my friend sarah’s house and her room was super pink and girly and i literally thought the sentence “is this what i’m supposed to be like?” and when i was 14 and cut my hair into the Typical Queer Girl Pixie Cut and my hair was just??? gone like i wanted it to be when i was 9 and ended up with a bowl cut instead, and instead of looking in the mirror and thinking i looked like an owl when i was 9 i smiled at how “androgynous” (masculine) i looked, and when i was 11 and only hung out with boys at summer camp and they treated me like one of them and the girls were really mean to me but it was the best summer i’d ever had, and when i was 15 and my friend chris joked that i was the “guy” in my lesbian relationship and i was so fucking happy, and when i was 15 and starving myself because i loved my “angular” figure and jaw, and when i was 16 and wearing a dress to winter formal because my ex met me in one and i wanted to be cute for him but i picked the dress that looked like a suit because it looked very “queer” (masculine), and when i was 14 and literally went “hmmm im gonna bind my chest just because i wanna know what it would look like” and it made me so euphoric and i knew in that instant i wasn’t a girl but repressed it for 3+ years because dealing with it would just be too hard, and when i was 11 and knew it was going to be my last day going to school without a bra on and just being so ashamed even though i wanted breasts so i’d be a normal girl, and when i was 16 and wearing that backwards snapback all the time and my friend said it was what tops did and i was so happy that nobody would consider me a bottom or whatever stupid shit because i couldn’t imagine myself being penetrated ever in my cisgender gay life, and when i was 16-17 and scouring the lesbian section of pornhub for pov/strap-on videos bc i wanted to know what it would look like to fuck a girl with a dick without watching straight porn because i’m 100% a gay female because the word lesbian is too girly im not a trans guy or anything haha, and when i was 14-and-onwards wondering why it felt so empty between my legs and why it felt like i was supposed to have a dick lmao im totally a girl though haha, and when i was 15 and had to google how to masturbate bc i couldn’t figure it out naturally and still felt like i was doing it wrong, and when i was 15 and looked at my vagina in the pocket mirror i got from selling like 30 boxes of girl scout cookies in 2007 and my first thought was “that is not my body,” and when i was 16 and actually very upset that i couldn’t ejaculate when i orgasmed. trans who? what the fucking hell am i waiting for

seriously. i was 7 and looking at my 2nd grade yearbook photo thinking “that doesn’t look like me,” and i was 13 and looking in the mirror saying “that doesn’t look like me,” and i went through all of my adolescence waiting for “puberty to turn me into a girl” and then i was 17 and done with puberty and crying because my body was still wrong. i can’t believe how hard i tried throughout my whole adolescence to be some facet of “normal girl” so i wouldn’t get bullied and be dateless forever and thinking “puberty hasn’t turned me into a girl yet” and not stopping to think about what i was if i wasn’t a girl until puberty was done, i realized it wasn’t going to happen, and it was too damn late for me. now i’m 19 and don’t leave the house without either a binder or a sports bra/baggy layers combo and i’d wear my packer everywhere if i could figure out how to get it to sit right (and also get it past my parents lmao). like if anyone else rattled off that list of trans shit i wouldn’t question them for a second. but because it’s me and i’m like “what if i’m transwashing my memories? what if i’m gaslighting myself?” i’m still not on testosterone and please validate me. tell me other trans people doubt themselves, no matter how obvious it is that they’re trans. tell me it’s okay to doubt hrt, even though you know it will be so much more likely to help you. tell me it’s okay to be afraid of detransitioning, even though it’s okay if i DO decide to detransition and it’s so unlikely anyways considering all the evidence of Me Not Being A Fucking Girl.

if you read this all the way to the end here’s an awkward hug and some brain bleach im not even drunk or high i can’t even blame substances for this behavior

#kieran screams into the void #to t or not to t #that is the question #i think i should go on t after rereading this post #but im still a lil skeptical bc of that anxiety ya know #also pls laugh your ass off at my dumb high school self #im here to provide the most quality entertainment #it took me 3 hours to type this

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feministfocus · 3 years

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The Victim Impact Statement of a Girl Who Never Got to Give a Victim Impact Statement

By Adelaide Lyall

To my assailant, who never had to hear the consequences of his sexual assault because the criminal justice system failed me:

On October 15th, 2016, you and three of our other friends came over to watch a movie. I was fifteen and we were both sophomores at Waynflete. You and your cousin had been texting me for weeks seeing if I would kiss you, or suck your penis, or let you touch my boobs. I had avoided all the questions and I was a bit nervous. Everyone came upstairs to my room to hang out and then they left me alone in the room with you. You got in my bed and confirmed that if we did “something” we did not have to be anything afterward. I felt really small. You kissed me and within seconds, you shoved your hand into my underwear. I panicked (I was on my period and not ready for a boy’s hand to be touching my vagina) and said “not yet.” One minute later, I felt your finger try to insert my vagina again. I said no. My mom walked in and we jumped apart, but she did not notice anything odd about the situation.

You brought me upstairs and started kissing me again. You did not notice how I was shaking or that my eyes were glazed. I felt a wet thing on my leg. I didn’t know what the thing on my leg was. I didn’t want to look either. I had never seen an erect penis or had any sexual experiences beyond kissing. I had never taken a health class and didn’t really know what an erection even meant. You whispered in my ear and I don’t know what you said. I was so scared. I moved my hand and felt it because I was terrified of what you would do if I didn’t. You whispered “faster faster” in my ear. I moved my hand and you moved it back again and again. Finally, I stood up and convinced him to let me go downstairs.

The next day, we were paired up as lab partners in Chemistry class. You sneered at me and told everyone that I was bad at giving a hand job. You made me out to be small and defenseless. I was so ashamed of myself. I was ashamed that I had denied you my body, I was ashamed that you did not think I was “good” at hooking up, and I was ashamed that I had come upstairs with you and let fear make me touch your penis in the first place. That night I called my sister and told her what happened. She said that a similar thing happened to her in college, but it was pretty normal. In this moment where I was discovering who I was sexually, my body did not feel like my own. My brain told me that what happened to me was not valid enough to report, but my body told a different story. I felt nauseous. I was dizzy and could not stop shaking all night.

I snap-chatted you: “You should’ve asked before you put your hands down my pants.” A week later, you violently manipulated another girl to give you a blow job. And a few months after that, you forcefully inserted your fingers in another girl’s vagina. And a year after that a girl said she was so afraid of you after hooking up with you that she would not be in the same room as you. My friend told me years ago you were a bit too physical with her when you were making out. Then, you kissed a girl when she was drunk and stole her phone so no one could find her. In the next few years, the impacts of your violation drowned me.

I lived like Chanel Miller wrote in Know My Name: “She tried to believe she was unchanged, to move on until her legs gave out” (290). After your attack, I could only fall asleep while listening to Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins. I was so anxious in my own bed that I needed a dream world to get me to sleep. I held my hands together, intertwined, so I could pretend someone was holding me. I struggled with eating and lost weight. The next time a boy tried to kiss me, in December 2017, I shook so violently that I had to lie and say I was always cold. The impact of your violation was a thousand tremors. It was my fear of walking alone, even during the day. The way my heart raced when I saw a man on the street because if this is how it felt to have a hand pushed into your underwear how does it feel to be raped?

I tried to get you help in the spring of my senior year. I heard about your other assaults and I told a Waynflete administrator about what you were doing in vague terms. I said I wanted you to go to therapy because your violence was getting out of hand. But you kept hurting people even after that. In the fall of 2018, I was sitting in math class next to you, watching Christine Blasey Ford give her testimony to the Senate. It was ironic. I looked at her, then I looked at you, and I realized what happened to me and the other girls was not very different from what happened to Dr. Blasey Ford. A few days after that, I was laying with my boyfriend at the time before bed and I heard “faster faster” in my ear. I felt the wet feeling on my left thigh. I felt the wave of panic and the shaking start. That week, every time I would close my eyes while sitting in my bed the flashback would start again. It felt so unfair that even in math class you had all of the power. I saw you and my anxiety would start, while you just got to live your life like I wasn’t suffering.

That Sunday, I called my advisor and told him what happened. I was in my bedroom all alone and I felt so awful and like I just wanted you to stop causing this kind of pain. I knew you were going to college next year and I didn’t want you to rape a woman when alcohol was involved. I also knew this was going to be harder for me than it ever would be for you. The school would have to call the police, my parents, your parents. The next day, I sat across the Waynflete administrators. I told them about what you did to me in detail. Even though you are the one who exposed your penis, talking to adults about it was so humiliating. I felt like a tiny ant about to be stepped on. They told me that I should not talk about it for now. They inundated me with questions: Do you want him out of your classes? Do you want to do a restorative circle? Do you want to press charges? Do you want to talk to SARSM? I called my therapist and he let me come there instead of going to math class. I was shaking, crying, my eyes blurred.

Instead of taking accountability for your actions, you fought me at every level. Your family would not let Waynflete tell me anything about the consequences of your actions. Instead, they told me I shouldn’t talk or I would be “berated in the hallways.” I pushed back hard as I could because I knew as an affluent, white student I had the privilege to create space for future victims who had more to lose by standing up than I did. You will never understand the pain of putting yourself and your hurt in the open and being told nothing can be done about it. It devastated me. I was a straight-A student with near-perfect attendance. After you, your family, and Waynflete did not take my pain seriously, I missed dozens of school days. You sat calmly in physics class, while I could not get out of bed for weeks. I had never had an anxiety attack before and that winter I had an anxiety attack every single day after school. My boyfriend drove to my house every day and held me while I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I wore big clothes so I didn’t have to see the body you betrayed.

A few months later, when I was volunteering, I found out your defense attorney called them asking about the program. You were surrounding me in pain and humiliation. I met with a defense attorney who connected me with the police department. I spent hours looking through the text messages I sent that night:

“It was awkward because he stuck his hand down my pants in the first minute without asking”

“He stuck his hand down my pants and tried to finger me without asking and I had a tampon in so i told him to stop TWICE”

“Shouldn’t he ask b4 he puts his hand in my underwear”

“I just don’t know”

I went to the Portland Police Department and reported my assault to an officer alone in a dark closet-like room. I showed him evidence, but it wasn’t enough. I was told if I wasn’t physically restrained there was not much they could do. He called me a few months later and told me you had not given a statement and they would not be pressing charges. You weren’t held accountable, again.

Although what you did to me would be considered less severe by many, it felt severe to me. When you assaulted me, a hand job seemed like the most intense action on the planet. When I was that young, even seeing a penis without consent was traumatizing and shocking. I still shut down when I watch a movie about sexual assault, or read a book that discusses rape. I still sometimes leave my room in the middle of the night and sleep in my sister’s bed because of flashbacks. When I write about it my eyes get heavy, my fingers are led, and I can’t function for days afterward. I never got to stand in front of you in a courtroom and tell you the impact of your actions. Most survivors of sexual trauma don’t. But even if the assault does not fit the DA’s criteria, the impact matters.

Note from GLI Staff: If you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted, help is available. Visit https://www.rainn.org/resources. There is an online chat hotline, Spanish online chat hotline, and telephone hotline (800-656-4673). They will provide you with confidential 24/7 support.

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mikecardenmpreg · 6 years

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recovery, etc.

so its been just about a year since i got back into therapy and i just want to say this because i didnt make it clear enough when it happened. when i went in for my intake session last december, they wanted to hospitalize me. like. that day. right then. they didnt even want to finish the interview. they just wanted to admit me. because people reporting numbers like mine were in hospitals on suicide watch. they did not want me to leave the premises. i had to assure them that i wasnt going to kill myself (even though i knew that wasnt a promise i could make). i had to sign a CONTRACT promising i would not kill myself before my first therapy session. the intake specialist was skeptical but he let me go (though he had no idea how i was able to function on a daily basis - jokes on him though because i wasnt functioning at all). he had a look in his eye that told me he wasnt sure letting my leave was a good idea. when i went to my first therapy session with ann a few weeks later, she also wanted to hospitalize me and again i found myself assuring someone i didnt know that i wasnt going to kill myself (and that still wasnt a promise i could make). a year ago i was so sick that i was nearly hospitalized for my own safety and for the safety of others. i smiled and joked and laughed through it all. i reblogged relatable sad posts. i tried not to make it seem like it really bothered me. but i was barely hanging on.

i got my diagnosis on december 13th. i didnt talk to ann much but i told her just enough for her to deduce i had bpd. its something i knew for at least two years. i sat with my knees to my chest the entire session, uttering a few words here and there, picking at the fraying knees of my jeans. she took notes. she told me my numbers were concerning, that people with numbers like these are generally in inpatient care. i stared. nothing behind my eyes. i was a shell. she said “hopefully next time we meet youll be more comfortable with me and we can talk some more”. i felt like an asshole for sitting there and wasting her time. i thought i was a lost cause. i thought there was no way i was gonna get better.

and for the longest time i didnt. i was hurting so much. i was separated from all my friends and still dealing with the aftermath of not one but two absolutely devastating (at the time) rejections. i wanted to kill myself so badly but didnt have the means to do it efficiently and effectively (ive always been too scared to actually try to kill myself in case it didnt work - something ive told my therapist). i felt like the biggest fucking loser. i remembered the summer of 2012 and thinking (back then) that there was no way i could feel worse than i did then. i was wrong. how i felt in december 2016 through january-march 2017 was the worst ive ever felt in my entire life. looking back its mostly static. dont remember a lot of it. all i remember is being angry and suicidal and wanting to hurt everyone around me.

in april i started dbt. it took awhile for me to get into the class. ann had me take other classes to help cope with my other problems (anxiety mostly) and helped me process some of my issues until i could get into dbt. borderline is a little out of her area of expertise but she knows how to listen and is very very good at validating all my little hang ups (i love my therapist).

it took me a few weeks to see the value in dbt. for the first few months all it did was dredge up old shit and trigger me until i was hollow and numb. every week it felt like i was being ripped open and flayed. every week i got to relive a different traumatic memory. every week i disassociated to keep myself safe in this room of strangers (who were also disassociating to keep themselves safe). (disassociation is not a healthy coping mechanism)

but then i went on medication for my depression and anxiety and the combination of that, dbt, and regular therapy sessions actually began to like work? like? thats wild? and i started to see changes in my life because i was learning how to communicate appropriately and deal with my trauma effectively. and i stopped dwelling on the things that made me feel bad and started diving in to the things that made me feel good. i started spending more time with friends and reaching out and actually putting an effort into being a better friend. i started being honest and open with my parents about my progress rather than being super secretive and hiding things. and somehow the constant stress dreams and nightmares and violent thoughts and suicidal ideations stopped. i was finally able to enjoy things again. i was even able to spend time with my parents and actually enjoy it. hell i even looked forward to seeing them and talking to them (which is a really fucking big deal).

there have been slip ups along the way. things have happened that have really bent me out of shape. but i was able to deal with those things and recover. last december i was prepared to ruin every relationship i had. i told my parents to not come to my graduation. i almost deleted all my friends phone numbers and unfollowed them on all social media so i never had to speak to them again. i was ready to isolate myself from everyone so that when i killed myself (which i was getting ready to do) i wouldnt hurt anyone.

im not gonna say that i cant believe that person then and the person i am now are the same people because i can absolutely believe it. there are times when i want to go back to my old ways because regressing is a lot easier than constant progress. and getting better doesnt always have 100% positive results. ive learned a lot about myself and others along the way. ive had to sever ties. ive learned that some people arent capable of change. ive learned that sometimes taking a break from the people you love the most is the best thing you can do for yourself (and for them). ive had to have hard conversations because getting better has forced me to learn that you gotta actually work for what you want.

i havent been perfect this whole time either. i still havent learned how to value my own feelings over the feelings of others or how to accept that other people care about me. im sure some day i will. a year of therapy isnt going to fix everything. but some day ill have a breakthrough.

the whole point of this though is that if i can make it through my darkest moments and turn my shit around....anyone can. but its important to know beforehand that its a process. nothing happens overnight. nothing happens in a month. recovery is something you have to work at day and night for the rest of your life. its something you have to want. it doesnt come easy and its not pleasant. its not all soothing baths and flowers and handwritten journals. its crying and screaming and addressing your past traumas and welcoming them into your home like theyre family (and then accepting that they happened but not letting them dictate your every move). its being honest - brutally honest - with not only yourself but with others. its letting go of people you love and learning to exist in the void of loneliness (until the people you love learn to accept the new you). its showing up every week (or month or whatever) and saying something for once, even if you think its stupid, even if you think its irrelevant. recovery is ongoing. im about to finish my first year. i still have a lot of work to do and im actually kind of excited to do it? which is cool considering my contingency plan has always been to kill myself.

anyway. i just wanted to say that. i dont pat myself on the back very often but ive accomplished a lot this last year. and not gonna lie but ive referred to myself as “most improved patient” in my head multiple times these past few months. im in a pretty okay place right now. im glad im still here (despite the world getting worse literally every day). im glad i have people i can share that with. and i hope some day soon i can return the love and support ive been given tenfold :)

#suicide mention #long post #very long and personal post

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brokenhayatim · 4 years

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we might be dead tomorrow

[now playing the maze by manchester orchestra]

yesterday on a call, i had a moment of real possibility in having the decompression surgery. my neurologist last week said it was what she recommended and that chiari could be the cause of it all. so once i had it, they would most likely be gone, along with my headaches, then the meds i take would no longer be needed. it all hit me hard today and im feeling many emotions at this person who barely considered doing it for months. for god sake, i was in the hospital for it, a situation i never thought i would be in. (inshallah never again)

you know some part of me loves being told i have a high pain tolerance, a big part of me loves being poked with needles (!!) and loves looking at my mri’s. oh story time, the day my neurologist said something was different, aka wrong, i smiled in the chair and asked if i could look at it and went “ah cool!.” she gave me the wildest look but described all the brain anatomy stuffs to me. I told my therapist of this moment and he went “.oh...you were happy?” [types some notes on his computer] and i realized, normal people don’t do that and i probably said that badly with no shame. i wasn’t particular happy, but i was nowhere near sad or scared, i was excited. i think my dissociation makes me almost see everything as not mine. those aren’t my scans so i can be exhilarated and so curious about everything. or it could be that pain just isn’t something i worry or care for anymore. months later, i laughed bc something else being wrong with me, it’s almost fate. sometimes i wish i was terrified, but i didn’t care for it. i already had bad headaches, so what?

over these last few months though. it’s like i’ve made room in my home for it, i’ve become familiar with it, not so much comfortable, but so familiar that it doesn’t matter in the big picture. a secret: sometimes i feel really impressed and good when i tell of my imbalance issues, (vertigo), numbness in my limbs, the tinnitus and the nausea. sometimes..i wish i had more. i feel proud of myself when people have headaches, like i know the worst of that pain, and i’ve been through it. i don’t know if it’s because i want to be validated in having it or if it’s just how i am like that. i wish i could tell my sisters and everyone a whole list of symptoms, but all of them seem so useless and mediocre. i sometimes want that attention from just collapsing; but ironically, i hate being bothered and cared for with it. i found meaning in it all, i found a whole part of me within it all. i had headaches for 6 years before i, simply, told my general physician, and since then it’s been 5 (way too long of) mri’s and an EEG (that was certainly a moment). i wished, back then, i had seizures too. we called one of my pain symptoms “brain shocks” for years with that creative name and made it into this freeze “game”, and i just mentioned that two years ago in a visit. half of my identity is just on having headaches, of being in pain around people. and i’m stupidly fucking (sorry last day of ramadan) scared of losing that. i’ve taken more medications pills than i can count, and i know their purpose pridefully well. i’ve given advice based on that pain, i’ve helped someone with that pain. i’ll never be ready to lose that. i think of it and i imagine myself more empty. full of nothing.

the reason i’m writing this though wasn’t all that. i woke up and just felt this aching shame and sobbed, still am i can barely see, in my bed (so much snot). i’m so scared, more than anyone can possibly try to understand, of it all being gone. of never having to take a pill for this anymore (i still have dat mental illness so not those), or of never needing the knowledge of different types and locations of headaches. i’ve began to feel prideful in having a neurological condition. it makes me something, i have something i can tell. this is the thought that started the spiral. i feel something with this pain. what will happen when i can’t feel this anymore? what will i turn to next? what does the loss feel like? (is that corny or shallow bc it sounds so??) my therapist asked me ‘why i didn’t want to rid it?’ and i was like ‘i genuinely don’t know’ to which he replied ‘i think you do’ and i was all sIR i legit don’t know pls tell me. i made up this random guess and stuttered through it, it felt out of body almost, leaving my lips. what if getting rid of this physical pain forces me to submerge myself in my emotional pain and deal with that? i feel like i have none pls..me?? i’m chill sans the moments like this. (he also says my tether to pain is like penance, some kind of self punishment i feel i deserve..so lettuce chill bro). but the physical pain of headaches, the imbalance, the dizziness, even the numbness in my legs, i always feel something. it’s something i can remember in my head then move past. and when i remember it later, it’s intoxicatingly satisfying and i want it to happen again. i wish i collapsed or had to crawl to my room more often. i like..want to boast about it?? i remember that moment vividly being a ‘this is it’ one too. i was home alone crawling to my room bc my legs gave out and i needed my meds for my pounding headache, and i genuinely thought i was gonna die there on the floor. that moment of me hating and scared of it though is so fleeting, only lasting the day probs. and a part of me will always hate it. that’s normal. but that’s not strong enough to overcome me. it’s bittersweet.

“it’s not the same, but it’s similar to people losing their limbs, or injured so badly they’re forced to give up their career, or an addict quitting using drugs.” sure, but you can notice, you can see all that. this is all in my head. unless you see my mri’s you would never even guess. it was why i wished my diagnosis was something with seizures, at least that’s something noticeably neurological that i can recognize myself. (am i a bad person? baby no doubt.) my old roommate once said she didn’t even know i had headaches often because i never complained or mentioned it. i would just go to the pantry and take my pill as you would with a cookie. and i’ll never be any other way, and i never was. i grew up closing the bathroom door when i threw up, washing my face after crying and walking back in the kitchen to my mom. i grew up missing moments of laughter and joy with my sisters to just lay in a dark room in pain, being checked on at the some time in the night. even to this day, i will sit in lectures when my head is pounding and i know i’ll throw up soon. anyways, my three sisters were talking about one of the other’s qualities and how amazed they are bc ‘they would never’. one of them had actually gone to class, and i softly mentioned how i am like that too, i think i’ve missed three classes in my four years (minus calc bc the class was more confusing than teaching myself). i said i’ve sat through night classes with headaches and with no meds for three hours and they were like mmm. i almost felt jealous that she always spoke of her small and big achievements, and i speak of none. no one even knew my major till this year. why, allah, why am like this? what made me too reserved and careless of myself? my education is the only thing that makes me feel worthy in the eyes of others...so mine, and i never even share it. it’s that, perfect on paper, that’s how i want to be. (because i know i’ll never be otherwise) i get up in a week of seclusion & sobbing and head off to class, sometimes i cry in class (iconic moments truly, your glasses hide wonders). last year i was sitting in this three hour class with excruciating (and i don’t use that lightly) pain in my head to the point where i had to cradle it with my hands and nearly bang it against the table from thrashing, i was in the middle of the room so i did a 10/10 job at playing it off. i never went to the bathroom or even home early...because i had another class after..which it persisted in. i had never felt that before in my entire life. another day, i silently cried like you wouldn’t believe in the bathroom stall (after uncharacteristically leaving the room) then wiped my tears, fixed my makeup and went right back into class. anyways does that even matter? am i even strong? i want to be so badly. for real this time, not this image. and i’m not. i’m barely enough as it is.

odd tangent: i don’t care enough or at all about the people i should and i lie to make em feel good and feel better. i know people that love me would still, with this loss of pain, but i doubt myself, and i underestimate them yeah. i say 'them’ like i care what half the people in my life think or care about, it’s just noor and rose. i love rose but i don’t bring these things up, i don’t normally update and i don’t think i’ve ever opened up about my trauma enough for it to mean more than anything superficial. we have this beautiful relationship, yet i don’t find purpose in telling her if need not be, maybe one day. it’s different with noor. i babble all the damn time about everything and feel myself have no filter with these things. i mean, i mention noor to rose too, as if she’s a mutual friend. i care for them both. i love them both in different ways, both ways that are rare for me. rose wasn’t the first person i’ve met or cared about, but she was the first person i remember loving the way i do. i wish i could describe how i feel for noor simply, but i can’t. there was a long-while where she was more important to me than my family, even my sisters (i know, i was like uhmmm). i’ve written something, poem or prose, of almost everyone that was close to me aka 4 peeps (let’s not get wild here). and yet, i’ve written nothing of noor. i’ve written for her yes, but not of her. i tried and it’s arguably the hardest thing to do and i’m quite adequate at writing, if i do say so myself. i tried once in 2017, i stared at the screen for so long just backspacing bc nothing made sense. she’s my emotional support high school sweetheart that renders me powerless with my own words. (does that help?)

back to our scheduled program: physical pain. it’s been maybe 10 years now that i’ve made a home for it. sometimes the lights go out when it gets bad, and sometimes i decorate with flowers when it excites me and brings something new. the house is probably the ugliest thing you’ve even had to lay your eyes upon, but it’s the best i got and it’s mine to come home to. i wouldn’t give her up without a fight. and i think that’s what my mind has been doing for so many months. trying to save my home, trying to keep every symptom of pain that i have. one day i’ll have to move out or i just die in here. both are changes i just can’t seem to make. i feel like i’m running out of time to sell it and move out, to do something and get rid of the pain. and, i feel like i’m making a mistake choosing to die in here, ignoring it and having it stay or get worse. if it gets worse, i’ll need help and the day i stop feeling like a burden to people, especially my family, let me know would ya. i don’t even often know how to ask for help if i wanted it - and then there’s being cared for that’s a nope to me. i can handle every moment of my pain from all my symptoms and condition, and yet i’m the weakest person in so much. i’m not a person that fears much, most times i find it impractical honestly. i reminded myself of that on my bedroom floor last year in february, during a moment of weakness. (also yes i use a lot of home analogies in writing ok) note: i’ve been mulling through this surgery decision for maybe a year on end now.

do i wish i was scared and worried to feel an ounce of normalcy? of course. but i’m not, i wasn’t even relieved with the diagnosis that day, went out and got pizza broo. even when i thought i was going insane. because what does it matter if it doesn’t change the pain? it’s kind of strange, but when i think of all this physical pain ( is it mental too idk??), i hear this voice in my head that smoothly and confidently says “gimme all you got.” i daydream of how much more i can take, what different things my brain and body can devise before i crack. and, obviously this voice personified does this...with finger guns.

#what's good in the hood #eid mubarak to me!#asiya's thoughts

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clamsuup · 6 years

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November 1st

I did officially lose another friend. I didn’t plan on writing this since it is a bit personal, but heck all the previous posts have been just as if not more intense. It's also because my therapist suggested that I write about this specific event. So here it is.

This friend was someone I met earlier this year and to my surprise, we clicked immediately after hearing many stories of one another from our mutual friend. Let's just call that mutual friend, D. (I've stopped being her friend a couple months ago because she had shown me her true colors. Oh the pettiness.)

This friend was someone who was incredibly sweet, caring, thoughtful, and so spontaneous. He understood my situation and did not mind covering for expenses since I was (still am) still searching for a job. As months go by, our friendship only grew in such a way that I have never experienced this kind of friendship before- that even when personal boundaries were crossed from both parties, we still remained platonic friends. However, since a week and a half ago, this friendship slowly dissipated.

He asked me if I could talk and I made a quick assumption that something was wrong and he needed my ears. I dropped important matters from work to be by his side. When we got to the destination, he brought up all these issues that were actually about me. The way he brought it up was absolutely ridiculous as I thought more about this later in the night. I'm not going to go into details with this part, but let's just say this so-called friend brought up about past incidents that were not relevant to the current situation and I immediately (subconsciously) felt defensive. Why? I absolutely do not tolerate pettiness from those I call, "good friends."

Now, this went on for a good hour or so. I let him speak while I sat there in anger. Fuming in anger to be correct- while my anxiety heighten. I had to step outside to calm myself and refrain from interrupting. This person continued, but the way he spoke, my god, his tone was just blatantly awful. By awful, it's one of those moments when someone addresses an issue to share about but the way it was delivered centered around one thing: blaming.

Yes, I was wrong for raising my voice quite loudly when it was my turn to speak. I really should have stepped outside one more time to compose myself but to be even more honest than I already can, I usually can keep a calm demeanor with many people whom I come into conflict with (with the exception of significant others and family members). But with this one, I could not contain and so I spilled. I certainly was not yelling (this person interpreted that I did), but I was speaking very loudly of my thoughts and feelings. After explaining everything and even apologizing, this person did not say a single apology at all. So much for saying, "I know I have my part in the doing."

The Following Day I called this person to meet up because I needed to "say some important things." Look, I'm that type of person who has to say everything on my mind in order to find a solution and to give myself a peace of mind. Unfortunately, for the most part, I become misunderstood because of this. That I try to win every argument or I just want to be right. Those who actually know me (and that's counting only 3 people) would know that I don't have the intentions of attacking or be hurtful. Shoutout to those three people in my life.

Well, on this day I spoke again and ended up being the one who talked the most. I basically was repeating myself again, something I usually don't do and absolutely hate doing. As I explained and expressed that I felt blamed for all of this person's own doing, he did not get it. I could see right in front of my very own eyes that everything I said in a non-attacking way just kept flying past his face. When it was his turn to speak, he repeated a few things that were completely unnecessary and quite honestly, did not make sense. It led up to the point that he confessed that he liked me and felt he was just "one of the many other guys." Quite entertaining, isn't it? I clearly stated numerous times over the past months since the start of the friendship that I had always seen him as a friend. I really thought he understood that and I thought our friendship became more meaningful- but no.

Throughout the conversation, there were three main repeating themes: he was not actively listening, he talked about things that did not make sense or relate to one another, and lastly, blaming on the other person. Again, I brought up the same issue that I felt like I was being blamed for this person's own doing. As for him confronting his feelings for me, it was absolutely ridiculous, especially when he said, "I was so angry yesterday that I told myself 'she doesn't deserve the truth'". This person completely did not make any sense at all because I didn't do anything disdainful to be withheld from the truth. Ridiculous. Moving on, he mentioned that he felt "finessed" and the conversation kind of left off there since he had to leave. I did say that I need space and with that, I felt he just did not take this seriously. Especially when he smirked and smiled here and there throughout the conversation.

I was furious and livid over the weekend the next four days. I was tempted to contact him to further resolve this situation, but I made myself wait. So I waited- until Tuesday night after my presentation.

Tuesday Night

I met up with him later than expected and brought along all the things that he had given me as "trinket and treasures" as he called it, and the guitar he lent me. When I returned his things and retrieved my book, I stated that there was still something I had to say. I brought up about the fuming anger I felt the past four days and I suppose that caused him to become defensive.

I don't want to go into great details on this, but let's say that I repeated the same points I was trying to get across from both times I had met him. In return, these were amazing things he said to me: 1. "You know what? You are a self-centered person, C. I was just too blind to see." 2. "You are a shallow, self-centered, selfish, and cold person." 3. "You have so much hate in you, C."

All of this sounds so familiar. It is so familiar that it is all so laughable, and it really is. All these statements came out of his mouth while I was telling him how I was feeling in both a calm tone and also raised tone (different times of course). The first line is so amusing already because I am very transparent with all my friends. I tell them what kind of person I am and you know what? I’m way pass that point where using my weakness against me is really going to hurt me. Please dear, I've had enough of that from my previous significant other and my own family members. This girl has grown skin that is tough like fucking Browser's shell.

It's just disappointing and pitiful that this person said awful things and made attempts to use someone's weaknesses or flaws to hurt them just because he was hurt. That does not give anyone- anyone validation as to why they say hurtful things the way they do. But he did. The last part was really great too. To tell me I have so much hate in me, I actually find this all so amusing aside from feeling very frustrated. Furthermore, he had the audacity to say I had painted a bad image of him. I redirected the conversation and pointed out that it's funny because he was the one who was painting ME as a bad person. In response, he said this: "No?! I never said that." You awful person. You telling me all those already is painting a bad image of me.

Now lastly, there was a part when I literally repeated something he had said minutes prior. I said the same exact line and directly asked him if he agrees with what I said that he had said, yes or no. That prompted him to immediately say, "Wow. Wow... you're really good. You are REALLY good, C. You're so good at twisting words around."

Amazing ladies and gentlemen. Amazing. Once again, I have been misunderstood. That I came with the intention to just express everything on my mind in a non-attacking way and in return, I received an attack from an immature and ignorant 34 year old child. To quickly conclude this, I couldn't handle it anymore because I suppose my subconsciousness knew that this will just go in a circle where this stupid shit will only talk back using anything against or accuse me. I was opening my car door to leave and I said something very hurtful: "No wonder why you are the tomorrow guy." (I messed up on the saying, it's supposed to be "not the tomorrow guy"). I hear through the muffled glass while he was laughing, "You messed up the phrasing."

Let me tell you something. I had tried to understand him and I even said in one of the days we talked that his feelings are completely valid. Obviously, EVERYONE Is driven to feel something and it always takes TWO. But the moment I pointed out that I was being completed blamed, he constantly attacked me. He repeatedly said that I just love to have the last to say and went on to say very malicious things with full intent.

This. This is why I am incredibly selective with people. This is why. And to end this on a more optimistic note, I'd like to share a quote.

"Love is understanding we have the power to hurt one another, but we are going to do everything in our power to make sure we don't."

- Rupi Kaur the sun and her flowers

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icharchivist · 7 years

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So after all this time i finally motivated myself to complete my inscription for next year (I’m aiming to back to the English Litterature, Civilization and Translation cursus i dropped two years ago, I validated most of the first semester already so it’ll be maybe easier to go back slowly with only 4 hours a week on the first semester and then going back into studying normally)

But hhh The reasons I kept procrastinating is hitting me in the face right now again.

In order to make my inscription I have to enter all my scholar summary since High school and... It’s painful.

High school was my best scholar moment in my life, the classes were good, it wasn’t too exhausting, and for the first time in a long while I had also a very good group of friends (which are still to that day the people i consider my best friends.)

But it was also the time I was with my ex for a while and all the stuff that got out of that (I lost all the friends I had before High school, it was emotionally draining, abusive, stressing and isolating ect..), had a very low self esteem, was were my s/uicidal thoughts became ways more important than before (.... that’s the time of my life my own teachers collectively started to ask me to contact a therapist, lmao, and it reminds me that once we were talking about emotional abuse from parents in english class and it was the only time in the year I had bellow-average notes because I couldn’t, I was realizing stuff with that course, and my English teacher noticed and as a result when she met my mom she agressively went to her to tell her I was wonderful and I was like??? okay)

My relationship with my father had got worse and worse every years, and that was the year I was starting to refuse to talk to him and he was sending me texts with pictures of serial killers from movies with “I see you” as comments and it was freaking me out. My Italian teacher was a friend of my dad so I couldn’t for the life of mine focus in class because of that until I told my main teacher who told her, and my Italian teacher cut ties with my dad and went much more gentle on me.

Meanwhile it was the time also where my mom had a violent depression fall out and was the worst influence I could ever get. I had to take care of her, she never listened to my problems. When I told her I was dating a girl, she got so violently homophobic telling me it wasn’t okay that I refused to talk to her furthermore about it and it probably made it harder to realize I was stuck in an abusive relationship. And also the time I opened to her about my s/elf h/arm after i broke up because I was at my worst, I desperately needed help, and she told me “You know I have mor eimportant stuff to think about”, before trying to tell my dad “it’s your fault if our daughter is s/uicidal” and then get my dad use it in a trial against my mom to say that, considering I was “mentally unstable” because of my mom he had no reason to give us the money he was supposed to help out with.

My parents are wonderful ahah. And yet despite all of that I still consider it my best years, because my friends were wonderful. It was barely acquistances when I was in relationship, and after all of it, we became so close and they helped me out in ways no one had this far. I took years to tell them what happened in details tho... Was so scared they would hate me if they knew what I’ve done.

Because I fucked up a lot, I did so much mistakes, and the amount of energy it took me to rebuild myself, to be completely different than I used to be... It took me so long to deal with the guilt, i’m not sure I’m even over that. (If you wonder why I always love characters’s guilt all the time, especially when it’s on things they had no control over but cant help but feel they did, it’s like, story of my life.)

And having to prepare all this file all over again bring me back to that. I have to fill all the teachers appreciations, and it range from “Chloé is not working hard enough” to “Her analytic skills are making her work extremely interesting”. When I read the progress over the years I can’t help but cry.

Back in high school I was almost completely unable to work on my classes because I was handling too much at once, but the classes were okay enough that I could get through them without really working too much, mostly using my analytic skills to try to get through most of it instead of knowledge. And for the most part, in the course of the years, it worked. And in the scholar resumes, I read the appreciation on all of it and i’m shaking. It’s not like anyone was giving me this kind of compliments back then, and at the same time the rough appreciation makes me think how I’ve always been kinda average too. I could make it out okay with analytic skills and with english, but it was never groundbreaking either.

Still passed tho, still graduated from high school with a mention, I did had very good grades on some stuff.

And then Uni happened and I couldn’t carry on with the stress. I /had/ to work, it was supposed to be 10x times bigger work than Highschool and I didn’t work hardly enough in highschool to handle it. And by the middle of the second year, with my father sueing me, my problems with my step dad, and a lot of other things suddenly hitting me in the face, I broke down and I still hadn’t recovered yet.

And having to work on all of that again? is so frustrating.

My breakdown eventually could have been predictable. In High school, my teachers pressured so I’d see a therapist but my mom always insisted not to because otherwise it’d “mean I was crazy”. All the problems that I thought would get better got worse in worse over the years.

I wonder if things would have been different if i followed the advices I was given in high school.

Nowadays everytime I end up thiking about school I end up thinking about those stuff and it’s draining. It’s frustrating. It’s not even half of my life problems. And it’s draining.

I need to focus on filling my file rather than about the past, but with how I have to fill all the appreciation of the teachers, it brings me back ways too much and it’s genuinely painful.

No wonder i procrastinated it for so long huh...

#d/ont mind #i put myself in situation with bad intruvise thoughts all the time lmao #s/uicidal t/houghts mentions and s/elfh/arm mentions #nothing big but just in case #i'm fine #just remembering a lot of bad stuff all at once and it's a little overwhelming #i'm okay #ichapersonal

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xseildnasterces · 4 years

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i'm a loser baby (so why don't you kill me).

Well, it’s been a while. Quite a lot has happened since I last wrote here. I guess I got bored of writing every day when nothing much was changing and the expectation I put on myself to write made me not want to, so I gave up on the daily diary entry and instead I will go back to writing when I feel like it.

Birthday:

Yep, that’s right, like many other people this year I celebrated my birthday in quarantine. Unlike many other people though, I did so alone, thousands of miles away from the people I love. However, my birthday made me feel very lucky to have such an amazing bunch of people in my life - it really, really did! I didn’t even cry on my actual birthday which is amazing considering that’s all I’ve seemed to do over the last few years. (We will ignore the bit when I did cry the night before when I received a message that said ‘happy birthday btw’. Yeah, that hit me pretty hard and I lay on my yoga mat surrounded my candles and cried away the internal pain I felt on reading that email.

Thankfully, my family and friends went out of their way to make me feel loved and special. I got all my lovely cards from my family, even K which was a surprise, O sent me a huge delivery of cupcakes from my favourite DC cafe, C sent me a bunch of UK chocolate and R sent me a super cute little care package which I loved. I felt so incredibly lucky to have people in my life that made such an effort on my birthday when they were all so far away. We all chatted all day, video called and just had a really nice time. H sent me flowers and chocolate and L even drove around and dropped off a cake they had baked for me with a candle in it! It was so cute and made me so happy. Everyone at work sent me happy birthday emails and messages, and I just felt lucky, and considering I was physically alone, I still had a wonderful day and it was so much better than I had expected. I was glad to not have FB active because it took away another way for me to feel sad when certain people didn’t wish me happy birthday. It made me realise even more who was a valid and important part of my life, and who indeed wasn’t.

Work

I am hating work right now. I have lost count of the times I have sat crying my eyes out after receiving an email, after a meeting or a phone call and wished I could find another job. I’m not the only one who has noticed that I am criticised openly more than anyone else in our team, and I feel that no matter what I do I cannot do anything right. I could go on and on. I have my APR on Monday and I have never dreaded anything more in my life. I am absolutely petrified. Cue no sleep this weekend and major anxiety all day until my meeting.

Friends

R and I are trying to video call once a week which is great. We spend so long on the phone together and just laugh our heads off for hours. It makes my day every time I see her face and we chat. Neither of us care what we look like and can be so unbelievably open about everything and anything. She is, and will forever be, my day one. J and I video call at least once a week too, he always cheers me up beyond belief and he’s great to talk to about work issues but also just general chitchat. Another person I am very lucky to have in my life. L and I talk most days on and off and it’s nice to have someone here in a similar position to me. H and I talk a lot either work related or non work related and F always comes in to say ‘hi’. She told H that she loved me the other day and if that isn’t adorable. I also have frequent email and WhatsApp chats with various people I have worked with over the years and it’s so interesting to hear how everyone is dealing with this in lot’s of different countries. (Much better than the US and UK... which comes as no surprise).

Parents

Thankfully my parents are doing okay. Luckily the UK has had some wonderful weather so they have spent a lot of time in the garden together and gone out very early for long walks together. What cuties. My dad is still working but wearing a mask and gloves every day and they have brought in some measures to ensure people are protected in at least some way. They also get their temps taken before entering the factory. My mum is still off work and my grandma is still shielding inside - which reminds me I need to write all my birthday ‘Thank You’ notes and send an especially long one to my grandma.

Sister

K is still in Bangladesh. She hates it. I hate her husband and wish she would divorce him and come home. He goes out every night to play sport or eat with his friends and when she asks to go he tells her that she is fine at home. Personally, I wouldn’t be putting up with this, and she shouldn’t be either but ‘love is love’ and she’s in love. Unfortunately. She has incredibly low self-esteem and I’m pretty sure she thinks that she would never find anyone else. She’s so young and wasting so much of her life and I just hope she doesn’t live to regret all of this as much as we all think she will.

Yoga

I have lost count of how long we have now been in quarantine but apart from one or two days at the beginning, I have done yoga every single day. I could not be prouder of myself, and what’s more I am already feeling better for it and enjoying it. I’m currently in the middle of a 30 day plan that I am following. Some days are awfully painful and I’m working muscles I don’t think have ever been worked before, and other days I am perfectly fine and can do everything that is requested. I’m excited to see my yoga practice grow, to improve my flexibility and becoming more connected with my personal well-being. (Yoga is exactly what I am going to do once I’ve posted this). I’m also doing plank before bed. So far I am only holding for a minute but I’m proud of myself for doing this each day. Plank is also part of most of my yoga flows, but I also want to build on this.

Health

IBD is a major bitch. I had an online appointment with my IBD Dr here in the US the other day and I am being scheduled for a colonoscopy over summer. I also have to have bloods taken next month and provide samples. They are trying to distinguish whether it is Crohn’s or UC because at the moment it is still diagnosed as IBD-U which means undetermined. They are currently leaning towards Crohns and that there is a good chance that my whole digestive tract is affected, so that’s pretty rubbish. In other news, from doing so much yoga I have developed a small cyst between the joint on my wrist. It’s so annoying because it is completely in the way during certain poses and causes pain. For now I have to just see how it goes. Some peoples disappear over time, but not if you are constantly using it - which I am everyday. If it gets bigger or causes me more pain then I may need to go in for hand surgery with a specialist.

Therapy

Therapy is going well. Last week though I just wasn’t in the mood. I had so much going on at work that I just didn’t want to address anything else. We spoke about work but I didn’t feel like I got anywhere or made any progress. I also realised afterwards that I avoided talking about anything else which is frustrating because I have been doing so well. I’m still finding it hard online and look forward to being able to connect again in person. A couple of weeks ago though I did have a really good session, even if I did find myself crying during it. We discussed identity and sexuality and my therapist said how much more alive and happy my body language was when I was discussing being part of the LGBTQ+ community and feeling a part of something, meeting people and taking part in events like Pride. I expressed that I was finally reaching a place where I was proud of how far I had come, and trying to be proud of who I am despite the hurdles I have overcome and still have to face. I explained how this happiness and feelings of love just became tainted with other aspects of my life and how I felt that I couldn’t celebrate that part of myself (which is my whole self) because of other things, and again these are things that I need to work on. I love that when I talk about certain people she instantly can see and understand by my body language and emotions how much they mean to be and how special they are to me, and I think it’s important to have a relationship like this with your therapist.

COVID-19

I had to add this topic, but honestly, what a mess. I can’t even express how much of a car crash the UK and US Press Briefings are each day. Trump now says the virus will just ‘go away’ without a vaccine, and the UK are talking about opening the country and putting measures in place that should have been in place two months ago when every other European country put them in place. The whole thing is a joke. People celebrating VE day yesterday make me so angry. In my whole 28 years of life, I have never heard of anyone having VE parties before, yet now, in lock down, people are doing the bloody conga down the street. What? Is this even real? Put simply, people have used it as an excuse the flaunt the rules. After the US idiots protesting over the lock down, people in the UK have now started to do the same in London. Absolute morons. I have nothing else to say on the matter.

Skin

My skin is an absolute disaster. I have no idea why, but clearly being inside does not work wonders for my skin. I am breaking out every single day with new spots and my face looks like the moon full of craters. My jaw and chin is covered in massive potholes and my head has a bump on it like I’ve just been hit with a hammer. I have zero idea what is going on but nothing seems to be helping. Is clear skin too much to ask!?

05.05.05

This week marked 15 years since J died. 15 whole years. No matter how much time has passed, thinking about that day takes me right back. I remember where I was, in which classroom, who I was sat next to, the empty seat in front of my desk where J should have been sitting, the cries from her cousin when she was told the news, and then the complete and utter shock as us, a class of 13 year old were told that they were never going to see their classmate again because they had passed away. I remember standing outside and a teacher asking if I was okay whilst I cried in the arms of a friend. I will never forget that day. I cannot believe it has been fifteen years. Fifteen years since I saw her little face and joked about wearing pigtails. It’s unbelievable really. Time is passing fast. Much faster than I think any of us realise, so we really must not take life for granted, or the people we hold so dearly in it. If right now wasn’t proving it to you, I don’t know what will... life is short, so incredibly short.

[Blog title: I'm a Loser Baby (So Why Don't You Kill Me) - Beck].

#me #personal #diary #life #life update #update #thoughts #feelings #emotions #emotion #thought #feeling #journal #I'm a Loser Baby (So Why Don't You Kill Me)#beck

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cohesionarts · 7 years

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This just in from Cohesion Arts

New Post has been published on http://cohesionarts.com/2017/03/20/harvey-and-the-lionel-trains/

Harvey and the Lionel Trains

I think I’m goin’ back To the things I learned so well in my youth I think I’m returning to those days When I was young enough to know the truth Now there are no games to only pass the time No more electric trains, no more trees to climb Thinking young and growing older is no sin And I can play the game of life to win

–– Carol King

Harvey, Arthur, and the 736 Berkshire

For Christmas in 1955, my father bought, set up and gave to my older brother an elaborate set of Lionel trains, tracks, and accessories. In our family photo albums, there is just one photo of Harvey operating the trains, my brother Arthur looking on in gleeful fascination as the cast iron 736 Berkshire electric locomotive “steams” by; Just out of the frame, circles of chemical-pellet induced smoke are puffing out of its little smokestack.

In the 1950s, Lionel trains were the quintessential under-the-tree expression of America’s post-war prosperity. The Lionel Corporation had found a way to flourish during the war, by retooling their assembly lines to manufacture servo motors for military equipment instead of electric motors for toy trains. Once the war ended, the company repurposed those servo motors in the first post-war generation of its marquee product.

Our family was sufficiently prosperous (the family business produced ceramic household tile at a plant in Keyport, New Jersey) that our parents could afford to give their kids the very best: that Berkshire locomotive with its smoke puffing stack and whistling coal car was top-of-the-line, but that was just the start of the layout. Arrayed within the circle of tracks were equally high-end accessories:

– A cattle loader with a vibrating surface that propelled little rubber “cattle” into a plastic cattle car;

– A milk car with a solenoid-powered mechanism that ejected little metal milk cans onto a little metal platform. The milk cans were cleverly made with a tiny magnet underneath so that they would stick to the metal platform when they came flying out of the milk car and not fall over;

– The log loader that carried wooden dowels up a conveyor belt and dumped them on to the waiting “log car” below;

– A light tower with a red-and-blue beacon that rotated just from the heat rising from the little lightbulb within;

There were several crossing gates and switch tracks to reroute the train from one circuit to another. It was all very elegant – lavish, even – and no doubt very costly, but the Schatzkin family could easily afford it.

All of this mid-century amusement was mounted atop an 8×8 foot table that was actually two standard 4×8 plywood sheets to which my father – an amateur carpenter of sorts who kept an extensive wood shop in our basement – had added a strip of smooth molding around the edges and then clipped the two sheets together with brass hooks. The whole assembly lay atop two folding aluminum tables which were also de-riguer household items in the 50s.

Engineer Arthur at the throttle

For that Christmas, the trains were set up in a (more typical 50s) wood-paneled room behind the living room that was called “the playroom.” There is only one other photo of the trains in our family albums; In it you can see 7-year-old Arthur gingerly pushing the throttle forward on the state-of-the-art transformer. You can also see some of the accessories that came with the trains.

After Christmas, the trains were taken down and reassembled in the basement. I honestly don’t remember a whole lot about them after that. What do you want from me, I was only five years old and this was all more than 60 years ago…

But I do remember that one morning in 1956 or ’57, the whole set up just disappeared.

In later years, our mother would occasionally tell the story of what happened to the electric trains.

One night, the story goes, my parents went to a dinner party at the home of the Connie and George Selby (their their actual name was Seligman but at some point in the 50s they Anglicized it to “Selby” – my parents suspected they wanted a name that didn’t sound so… well… Jewish).

George Sr. went by the nickname of “Dink,” so – dumb as it sounds – we’ll just call him that. Dink and Connie had a son, George Jr., who was Arthur’s age. They also had an elaborate Lionel train set in their basement. I have some vague memories of seeing the Seligman/Selby’s trains, and of being envious of how much more intricate their layout was compared to ours. There were multiple trains navigating through realistic scenery, the tracks rising and falling through multiple levels on plastic trestles. Maybe this is how the Jews kept up with the Joneses in mid-50s surbubia – with dueling Lionel train sets; the gentile neighbors who lived on either side of our house all had Lionel trains, too.

The way my mother told the story, they were George Jr.’s trains but… Dink didn’t really let his son play with them. Dink ran the show and George Jr. was pretty much relegated to watching the trains go by.

The spectacle of a 30-something-year-old man commandeering his nine year old son’s electric trains was enough to send my father into a fit of pique.

And so, the story goes, my father came home that night so incensed that he went straight into the basement and dismantled the entire Lionel layout that he had set up for Arthur, and stuffed everything – the locomotive, the coal car, the milk car, the cattle car, the transformer and all the accessories – into a cabinet. The next morning he announced that “if you want to play with the trains, you’ll have to put them back together yourself…”

Which my brother never did.

The Lionels stayed dismantled and stashed in the cabinet in the basement where my father put them for several years.

They still hadn’t come out of those cabinets when Harvey died in the fall of 1958. He was 37. Arthur was 10. I was 7. Our little sister was 4-1/2.

Fast forward with me now, all the way to 1959:

ca. 1960, photo by Monroe Edelstein

I’m in the third grade and for some reason that I will never recall I went down to the basement and got my father’s Lionel trains out of the cabinet where he had left them. Without any instruction or coaching I put the tracks together and connected all the wires and for the first time in years the Monmouth Avenue Railroad was running again. Hey, look, there’ the old 736 Berkshire, and the milk car and the cattle car and the log loader, and the crossing gates, and the little blue plastic man popping out of his miniature green-and-red gate house, swinging his little plastic lantern…

After that, the trains became “my thing” until we moved from Rumson to Maplewood in the spring of 1962. Before that move, my mother hired a noted photographer to come to our house to make portraits of the family. The photographer asked what I was interested in and I showed him the trains in the basement. He posed me with that cast iron locomotive.

I told my therapist parts of this story last week.

We talk a lot about my father.

More than anything my father longed for a creative life. Like me, he was a writer and a photographer, but he spent his (short) career making tile for kitchens and bathrooms. He was never published – unless you count the time that a letter he wrote to Macy’s was used for an ad in the New York Herald Tribune – but I’ve got a trove of his comic short stories in my basement that are still funny.

Almost 60 years after he departed from this planet, I still wonder how my life might have been different if he’d stuck around – at least long enough to see that <I> was the one who was destined to play with his electric trains.

I think he would have approved. And we would have had something to bond over, at least for a few years.

My mother often said of my father that “you were just getting to an age where he could do things with you…” when cancer dispatched his 37-year-old soul. I have only a handful of actual memories of him. One, in particular:

It’s October, 1955. I’m four, not quite five years old. The Russians have just beaten the US into space with the launch of Sputnik, Earth’s first man-made moon. One cold autumn night, my father took me – just me – out to the nearby high school football field to see if we could spot Sputnik wandering among the stars. We never did see the satellite, but the moment left an impression that remains vivid to this day. Now every time I look up at the stars… I’m back on that football field with my father.

I wish he could have been around for the moon landing in 1969. I think we might have watched it together. Oh, sure, there was a lot of other stuff going on at the time; I shudder to think what he, a World War II veteran, would have thought of his sons’ resistance to the draft and the war in Vietnam. And then I think: Maybe it is fitting that only the good die young. That way we never have pictures of them as angry, bitter old men yelling at us from the other side of the “generation gap.”

And I remember when I showed my mother my first personal computer in 1979. As I showed her how I could enter text and then wipe it off the screen with a single press of the “delete” key, she said, “your father would have loved this…” Really. He was what we now call a gadget freak. From Lionel trains to computers… we would have had that much in common.

I have been struggling of late with the whole idea of… approval. Of claiming and manifesting my creative instincts. And trying to not feel undeservedly pretentious about saying even that.

Creative types. We’re wired differently. And we go through life seeking validation and approval from – ironically – the more conventionally wired. I have spent my entire life doubting my creative instincts, even when they are clearly manifest. Like every writer (?) I finish one thing and wonder if there’s anything left. It hasn’t helped that my greatest success as a writer was followed by my most disappointing failure. Is it any wonder that infinite doubt ensues?

There was an odd little series on Netflix this year called “The OA” that, among other things, addressed the theme of the “invisible self.” In an early episode, the principle character, a young woman named Prairie, cautions a companion to be gentle with his own inner forces:

“You don’t want to go there,” Prairie cautions, “until your invisible self is more developed anyway. You know, your longing, things you tell no one else about?”

All this business about my father and his electric trains came up when I was telling my therapist that lately I, too have been feeling… invisible. It seems at times that I am just unwilling or unable to inhabit my own soul. Like there is some creature inside me that I am the only one who can see – and not altogether clearly at that. And that the people around me – even the people closest to me – want to reflect back on me… not my invisible self, but theirs.

And the soul recedes.

I realize it’s mostly pointless at this point in my life, but still I can’t help but wonder: If my father had been around to see me set up and run those electric trains…. would he have approved? Would he have seen a reflection of himself, and in that reflection beamed back a glimpse of the invisible me? Maybe that glimpse, however brief and fleeting, might have provided enough recognition and approval that I wouldn’t still be longing for it 60 years later. His validation in that moment could have left a lasting impression, much like that cold night when a young father and his little boy scanned the heavens for a dot of light drifting among the stars.

When my family moved in the spring of 1962, the trains were dismantled again and packed into a box. Never mind that I didn’t get to pack the box; I was at summer camp when the family moved – but hat’s whole other story.

Once I arrived at the new house, I don’t think I ever took the trains out of the box. By then my interests had shifted: I wanted slot cars, and my parents – that would be my mother and her new husband, aka my stepfather – told me I couldn’t have both. We sold the Lionels to a family from Newark for all of $75.

I’m sorry, Daddy. I don’t have your Lionels any more. But I still wish you had been around when I started playing with them.

youtube

#creativity #doubt #validation

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