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inkribbon796 · 4 years

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Egotober Day 19: Found and Lost

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Prompt: cap hat

Summary: It’s cleaning day in the base’s storage room, some things are found within the many boxes, others are lost.

A/N: While I was planning out Egotober 2020, Seán found his old hat, so I had to capitalize on the day where the plot was “cap hat”. In equally important news it’s the anniversary to the first Sanders’s Side episode. So enjoy.

Warnings: none

It was a rare day in the heroes’ base. It was storage cleaning day. Or it was more accurate to say that Henrik got upset at the state the storage room was always in and pitched enough of a fit that Seán muttered a “Fine!” and organized a group to go clean it.

The storage room was also known as the “garbage room” by several heroes. Since everything that couldn’t go in the normal rooms went in the storage room. The problem was that seasonal decorations also went in the storage room. And so did all the heroes’ medical and personal records.

So occasionally stuff was just left to pile up and build for years and years. Some boxes, i.e. anything that Henrik or Logan had to touch was clean and organized. Everyone else’s belongings were in a sliding scale of neat and tidy, or haphazardly thrown into a box.

Mark was ordered to move all the decorations and stuff that would wind up going back into the storage room. Iplier kept all the records in his room, but it resulted in a row of boxes going down the hallway and Henrik looking like he was going to have an aneurysm. He was only coaxed into calming down with the promise that I’d be gone by the end of the week. Everyone would come in and organize their stuff, and the storage boxes would go back in.

Nate, Logan, and Henrik had already done their boxes earlier that morning. Now Seán and Amy were in the storage room.

“That’s the last of it,” Mark walked in, dusting off his hands as he started walking off. “I’m gonna get myself something to drink, cause I don’t keep stuff.”

“Can you get me something?” Amy looked up at him.

Mark stopped and leaned back into the room, “Iced coffee?”

“Thanks,” she smiled back, Mark smiled at her before leaving.

Seán was mostly digging through boxes, sorting through boxes almost meticulously, trash going into a bag, papers going into files, and other stuff going into boxes.

Then he let out an audible gasp, “Ooh! Oooohhhh! I knew it was in here!”

“What? What is it?” Amy asked in interest.

He stuck his hand all the way to the bottom and pulled out a grey flat cap hat. A huge smile on his face and he slid it on his head. “Ahh, nice. I knew it had ta be in here.”

“Did you find it?” Amy smiled. “I thought you lost that thing out in town?”

“Nah, I put it in some box an’ then the box got moved out here,” Seán smiled, taking out his phone and looking at himself with the camera. “Ahh, I look like such a little kid.”

“Did someone find embarrassing pictures?” Mark smiled as he flew back in, an energy drink in one hand and a bottle of iced coffee in the other.

“Didn’t you lose that one when Anti tried to electrocute you?” Mark grinned as he handed Amy her coffee.

“My lucky hat can survive the frigid vacuum ‘a Dark’s soul,” Seán boasted. “I knew if I actually cleaned stuff out I’d find it. It was either here or in my garage.”

“You gonna wear it with your costume again?” Amy asked.

“I dunno, been a couple years,” Seán shrugged, taking the hat off and looking at it fondly. “Don’t worry, won’t lose yah this time.”

At that moment, arguing started to come down from the hallway. It was a couple seconds later that the Sides walked in. Logan with some folded boxes, duct tape, and several trash bags.

Virgil was right behind him with Roman. “Ughh,” the anxious Side began to complain. “We’ll be here all day.”

Patton had a huge smile on his face as he walked in with an old WWI-era camera. “We should be done soon.”

Logan had insisted on bringing the camera with them after Janus had threatened to break it several times. He didn’t like the camera, complaining about the humming being insufferable. A sound none of the other Sides could actually hear themselves.

“Most of this stuff is yours, Patt,” Virgil reminded. “I haven’t been here long enough to make a mess.”

Patton set down the camera, “And it’s all important memories, so it won’t take long for us to be done.”

Mark and Jack looked at the camera, something about it just not sitting right, like it was a black hole of attention, demanding that someone look at it, pay attention to it . . . pick it up . . .

“Falsehood,” Logan corrected firmly. “You hoard garbage of sentimental value, you need to let them go.”

“But— I—” Patton fumbled.

“Garbage?” Roman dug through one of the Sides’ many, many boxes to tug out some plastic flowers. “They’re not garbage.”

“Do not enable him,” Logan warned angrily. “This has been going on for too long.”

The camera just sat in the middle of the Sides, making the other three people in the room a bit uncomfortable. Before Mark could speak up, all their communicators were off. Some big catastrophe was going on in downtown Brighton. It was Wilford in one of his manic episodes.

“Oh look at that,” Patton said, “we have to go save the day.”

“When we all get back we are finishing what we started,” Logan told him as his suit began to snap around him and his visor came down. “Head out, I’ll take the communication chair.”

All four of the Sides raced out and the instant they were out of the room, the camera had less of a malignant buzz to it. It was almost like it was just a normal camera, but there was something wrong about it.

Jack, Mark, and Amy chose to leave the suit up. Figuring that it could be dealt with when they all got back. The base was safe, no one would steal stuff from the storage room.

Nate missed the summons, he was set to go on tour and was already late. But while he’d been cleaning out his stuff, he’d forgotten a little book of phone numbers he wanted to get from his stuff. They were all old numbers he’d been meaning to get around to being in contact with, but dreading doing so all the same.

But he needed to do it now, or they’d track him down. They’d find out about Mare, and Nate didn’t want to admit that he’d gotten attached to the demon. That they had a fragile partnership.

Those thoughts went out of his head when he walked into the room and he felt like something had hit him in the face. His ears popped with the pressure in the room and reaching up to check on his nose, he noticed that when he pulled his hand away there was blood on his fingers.

“Arrghhhh, what the hell,” Nate grumbled, his ears ringing.

Hmmmmm . . .

Nate looked around the room, trying to see if something had snuck into the base. He saw an old camera just sitting there in the middle of the Sides’ mess of stuff. He didn’t feel like something was staring at him, but he did feel like something was in the room with him, sleeping but it could wake at any moment.

The humming was almost sing-song-esq in quality. Like a song Nate had heard but couldn’t place it right now.

He saw that camera and his blood chilled, he could feel what it was, what it had been used to do. And he lunged for it, high stepping over things, snatching it off the table and racing to his box to dig through it until he found the old spiral bound pocket notebook, and raced out of the room and out of the base as if someone had lit him on fire. The camera in his hands as he got into his car and raced for the tour meetup spot to properly figure out where this thing had been.

He had to get this thing out of the base, he’ll if he could get this thing out of the city that would be enough.

Logan would walk back into the storage room later that night, crisis over and his heart plummeted when he saw the camera gone. He felt like something had been ripped away from him. Checking the camera he watched Nate walk in, get a bloody nose, and then run off with the camera in a clear panic.

Trying to call Nate resulted in only reaching his voicemail, but Logan tried not to panic, leaving him. Message to call them about the box he’s taken.

The next day, Logan woke up to a message on his phone that read: “It’s cursed, keeping it in containment. We’ll talk when I get back.”

Logan frowned, worried and remorseful, but he had to trust Nate would not do anything drastic, that it was safe with Nate. He texted back and asked for Nate to keep the object intact, and the singer promised he would.

With that, Logan regrettably admitted to himself that there was nothing he could do, and get his phone aside to get an early start to his day.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Egotober2020 #Jacksepticeye #Markiplier #Pebbles #Thomas Sanders #Natewantstobattle #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Amyplier #LAMP #Jack’s hat #cursed objects

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dear--charlie · 4 years

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Dear Charlie,

I haven’t written to you in a long time, it’s been over a year. A lot of stuff has changed but I can’t really say for the better. I’ve written and rewritten this too many times and I don’t feel like telling you all the bad shit that’s happened because it would be too much. I don’t feel like explaining all of the things that got me to this point because nobody cares. I guess the gist of it, as it always is with me, is that I’m sad. I’m so fucking sick of having to say that but there’s nothing else. A lot of the time since I’ve first written to you, I’ve been sad. All the contents of the letters I’ve sent you have been about me being sad. I wish there was something else for me to tell you and I wish I wasn’t running out of ways to say the same thing. I guess I can give you the short version, if that’s possible, about what’s happened.

The last time I’d sent you a letter, I had stopped taking my medications. I didn’t like how I felt on them because they made me feel like a zombie, even though I’d been on them for almost four years (I’m angry it took me that long to figure it out, but that’s another story). I stopped taking them completely cold turkey — no weening or tapering — and hadn’t talked to my therapist in months because she closed her practice (another different story).

I was manic after they were out of my system, so I thought I felt better. When I went back to school in the fall, I ended up spiraling about a month into the semester and barely ended up passing my classes. I’d be too depressed to leave my dorm or really do anything that wasn’t lying on my bed and staring at nothing. It might’ve been the worst depressive episode I’ve ever had, but I can’t really say that because this time I didn’t go to the hospital for swallowing four bottles of pills (even if I’d been planning it). Either way, I dropped out of college.

At the time, I just thought I’d withdrawal for the spring semester. I told my family how shitty I was doing — well, just my brother because he was the one who talked to me most when he’d drive me back to campus after weekends home — and they said that I should do whatever I need to feel better. They didn’t say it, but I think my parents were angry.

I’ve been living at home since. I got a new therapist and I’ve been seeing her for about six months. Recently, she had me book an appointment with the psychiatrist she works with and, let me tell you, having a competent psychiatrist makes it all the more obvious of how incompetent my last one was. Seven years of therapy, medications, and hospitalizations but I could never get a solid diagnosis that felt right until now. It took him a thirty minute session and the notes my therapist gave him — he had a diagnosis by the time I finished explaining my history of mental health. He thinks I have Bipolar Type II — I didn’t even know there was different types but, after he explained, it made a lot of sense to me. I know it might take a while to find a medication or three that can even me out. We’ve already tried one prescription and that ended up making me feel worse, but at least he knows his shit.

There’s other stuff I’m leaving out, either because I forget or I don’t feel like going into it, but that’s the gist. I know the last letter I wrote talked about Jack. Rereading it now makes me feel stupid and talking about it makes me feel weird, but I don’t love him anymore. It’d be downplaying it and invalidating to myself if I said I never loved him at all, but I do feel that way. Things are good with him though, we’re still friends and nothing’s really changed. We kind of just pretend that the whole “I got high one night and confessed to being madly in love with you over text at 3 am” thing never happened and, I have to say, I’m glad.

Everything else is pretty much the same, so I guess this is gonna sound like every other letter I’ve sent. Except, this time, I don’t have the energy to make it sound beautiful. I did that a lot, I know. I would type out every ugly thought in my head and tried use words so beautiful that maybe people reading would forget how horrible what I said was (if people could even stomach to read such depressing shit). I wish I had the energy, I really do, and I’m still going to try; it might not work, but it’s entirely possible that it never did.

You ever talk to your siblings and find out they’re way less traumatized by the way your parents raised you than you are? Because I did recently. My sister and I tend not to talk about personal stuff, but the conversation sparked up anyway. It turns out that, of the three of us, I’m the only one who has a constant, underlying resentment for our parents. I already knew it was different for my brother because he only started living with us when he was sixteen, but I didn’t know that it was different for my sister.

She forgives them for way more and gives them the benefit of the doubt whenever she can. I’ve never been able to do that, at least not for about ten years. I know she has different experiences than I do too, but I thought that she was angrier than she is. That’s just me, I guess. Her relationship with them is good, if not great now; her and mom are the closest they’ve ever been and she’s in an alright place with dad since she was stuck in Virginia for a few months during quarantine. I feel like I’ve never been in such a bad place with them. Ever since I started talking to my new therapist, I’ve started realizing how fucked up the way they raised me was and that it still manifests itself in the things I do. How do I not resent them after that?

She suggested having the three of us sit down with my therapist and talk about it — and that’s just about the last thing I wanna do, but it’s gonna end up happening because I don’t want to hate them. They aren’t bad parents. It’s hard for me to say that, but they aren’t. Lately, since I’ve started thinking about all this, it’s been difficult. I have a really short temper with them now, the littlest things they do can piss me off and it’s next to impossible for me to be in a good mood around them. This didn’t used to happen. Who can say if they notice too? You’d think they would pick up on a sudden, negative change in their kid’s behavior but, then again, they were oblivious to the fact that I was depressed until I told my gym teacher I was going to kill myself.

It can go one of a few ways — either they surprise me by acknowledging what they’ve done is horrible and apologizing whether they remember doing it or not, they cry and make me feel guilty, or they defend what they’ve done and we’re left off in a worse place than before. Either way, they’ll know how I feel and I don’t care for that shit at all. She suggested I write a letter and is holding me to the fact that I wanna do this before the month ends (except I forgot that mom’s going on a week-long vacation starting Monday and then dad is going on a different vacation the same day she gets back, maybe I’ll just do it separately, it’ll probably be easier that way).

The thing is…I feel like, even if they did apologize, I wouldn’t stop being angry. They’ve traumatized me in ways I don’t know if I can heal from and I’ll never know what it’s like to not live like that. What makes it worse, at least to me, is knowing that I’m the only one. They didn’t treat either of my siblings the same way they treated me. I’m the only one they first started calling a slut at age ten. I’m the only one they accused of being pregnant each month I’m the only one whose stuff they went through and journals they read. I’m the only one they accused of doing drugs for trivial shit like an empty ziplock bag under my bed or going to a costume party. I’m the only one whose messages they’d “sneakily” read. I’m the only one they instantly and consistently assumed was doing something wrong and then punished because of it. I’m the only one they shamed about their weight or humiliated after puberty started. I’m the only one whose interests got made fun of or invalidated when I got excited about them. I’m the only one who was (and still is) held to ridiculous standards for school, even after it was known that I was mentally ill. I’m the only one they’d complain about not having friends, but turn around and refuse to let go to a friend’s house when I’d ask. I’m the only one they’d get angry at for being depressed.

I’d still be angry if I knew they did that to my sister too, because that’s just a fucked up way to treat a child, but it makes me even more angry that it was just me. Because, what the fuck? I never gave them a reason to not trust me. Shit, the craziest thing I’d done as a kid was make a “potion” out of rainwater and berries in the backyard (and it’s not like that’s an exclusive thing, I know tons of people who did that too). The craziest thing I’d done as a teenager was want to die, but that was after all this had started — even if it wasn’t, that’s not an excuse, they shouldn’t be mad at me for having mental health issues.

But, I’m still dealing with the repercussions of all this. I can’t think about sex without feeling so guilty I want to hurt myself, I can’t see them near any my things without being paranoid they’re going to go through them, I can’t fucking do or say anything when I’m around them without being worried their reactions will be to humiliate or try to punish me. I’m twenty fucking years old and I still think like that.

So, I don’t want to talk to them. I know I’ll never stop being angry without an apology (if I can stop being angry at all), but that’s the thing about instilling communication issues in your child because they’re so afraid of how you’ll react that they decide never to share anything at all — they don’t wanna talk to you about anything! I don’t wanna talk to them but I know I have to, because my therapist said, eventually, I’ll hit a wall that will prevent me from ever moving forward with them. I already see it happening, but I’d be lying if I said that helps at all.

Love Always, The Reversed Star 07 | 24 | 20 P.S. yeah, I’m using a new pseudonym again

#dear charlie #The Reversed Star

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myfeels-havefeelings · 6 years

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Day 3 - Two Can Play at that Game

Azel regarded Callen cautiously. The young man had been known to cause trouble, with complete disregard for the wellbeing of others. He’s been in and out of the correctional facility many times, now. Too many times for someone of his age. But he supposed it was warranted, considering all he's said to have done. What Azel didn't understand was why they sent Callen to him.

“So... You’re supposed to be my new therapist or something?”

“I'm not a therapist, or anything of the sort. Please don't refer to me as such.”

Callen shrugged. “They made you sound like a therapist, my bad. So what are you, then?”

“Nothing you’ve heard of, I'm sure,” he answered dryly. “Since you’re here, and I doubt they’ll let you leave anytime soon, why don't you tell me your age and a few of the things you’ve done recently?”

Callen raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. “Shouldn't you already know that info? They gave you my file.”

“Yes, but I’ve yet to look at it. It’s better for you to willingly give that information out; to show that I do not have complete control in this situation.” Azel ignored the suspicious look he was given, reaching into his desk drawer to pull out a medium sized notebook. “This will be yours while you’re here. Please use it at least once a week, preferably halfway through or near the end. That way I can better monitor your thought process.”

“How are you going to monitor anything if it’s only once a week?”

“Well, Callen, you’re going to be here for awhile so there will be a lot to look over in the coming months. And you are free to write in it more often than that, if you feel it is necessary.”

Callen took the book, putting it in the bag he was given when they first decided to send him here. “Right. Well, you’re not going to see much progress. And I'm pretty sure you’re gonna end up dropping me soon, anyway.”

Azel hummed. “We’ll see. Do you plan on answering my previous question?”

Callen huffed out a laugh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk as he clasped his hands, chin resting on his knuckles. “Since you asked so nicely. I'm 22, and the most recent thing I've done is-”

“I would have appreciated a heads up about how volatile he was, Kara.”

Kara chuckled, the sound coming out slightly muffled through the phone. ‘I thought you would have guessed that, with all the statements and reports about him.’

“I assumed he was unstable, yes. But not like that.” Azel sighed, running a hand over his face. “Is there anything else I need to know, that you have yet to mention?”

‘Not that I can think of. Everything else should be in his file.’

“And you’re sure?”

‘As sure as I can be at the moment. Listen, I gotta go. A new order just came in, and I can hear you-know-who screaming about it already. If I remember anything, I’ll call.’

“Okay, thank you. And please don't antagonize her this time.”

‘No promises. Bye!’

“Goodbye.” He sighed again after hanging up, running a hand through his hair. This would be more of a problem than he thought. He should go through the medical records, at least. That way he would know what medications he was taking - if any. He doubted they kept him on them once they moved him out of the facility.

“So, you didn't change your mind,” Callen mumbled as he sat down, setting his bag at his feet. “I thought you would decide to drop me, after yesterday.”

“I've dealt with worse. How are you feeling today.”

“That didn't sound like a question, but I suppose I'm feeling fine.”

Azel nodded, opening the folder on his desk. “Are you sure? Because according to your medical records they had you on antipsychotics, and a mood stabilizer. So I would assume you'd be experiencing withdrawal symptoms by now, since they've taken you off of them.”

“That would only happen if I'd been regularly taking them in the first place. Which, obviously, I was not. And I thought you weren't going to look at my file?”

“I haven't touched your file. Your medical records are in a different category, though. As that is information that I constantly need to be up to date on, as it is crucial to your wellbeing.”

“And everything else?”

Azel waved a hand, “Knowing how much damage you've done, and what exactly you did, isn't something I necessarily need to be on top of. That's information you may share on your own, if you feel the need.”

Callen gave him a blank stare before rolling his eyes. “Okay, sure. So what's the other reason you brought up my medical records? That couldn't have been the only one.”

“There's the fact that you didn't need any antipsychotics, considering you never showed any signs of psychosis.” He flipped the folder around, pointing to the section he'd circled earlier. “And the fact that the dosage they had for your mood stabilizer was entirely too high, which ended up having the opposite effect.”

Callen glanced over the paper, frowning. “So they were trying to kill me.”

“Wait, what?” Azel exclaimed in confusion. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Whenever I had to take the meds it made my moods worse when they wore off, which gave them more reason to hurt me. They were trying to get it to the point where they would have no choice but to-”

“Stop,” Azel interrupted, holding a hand up, “that's enough. I get where you’re going. But I really don't think they were trying to kill you, Callen.”

“Then what were they trying to do?” he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest, voice tinged with agitation. “Cause that seems like the only plausible direction, with how they treated me.”

Azel wondered if he should look at Callen’s file, if only to know what all they did to the boy. But he decided against it; it’s not as if they would put corrective measures in the records. It would be too risky, and there would be the possibility that the facility could be shut down from abuse and torture charges. Maybe he should have Kara look into it.

“At most, I think they would have you constantly sedated and under watch for being too violent. But if you were taking the correct dosage as often as this says you were supposed to, you would have been catatonic since you were also on unneeded antipsychotics.”

“A living corpse.”

“No.”

“It’s the same thing. Either way, I’d be pretty much dead. They were trying to kill me!” Azel winced slightly at the yell, sighing internally when Callen knocked the folder off his desk as he surged up out of his seat. “It was their faults in the first place! I never did anything wrong, they were just too much of little bitches to handle the fact that I was stronger! If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't have been out of my fucking mind. I wouldn't have hurt those people! But are they going to say that? Are they going to take the blame? Of course not!”

Callen kicked the chair over in his anger, and Azel watched in mournful resignation as he practically tore apart his Peace Lily plant in the back corner of the room while ranting about all that happened. At least he was getting information out of the fit. He’d have to clean up and replace the plant. He huffed. And it was a present from his father, too.

“Did you get it out of your system?” he asked after several minutes, mentally mourning the loss of his plant.

Callen panted from exertion, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stared blankly ahead for a long moment before walking back over to the chair and setting it up, sitting down after. “Sorry. But that's what I mean. After they started me on the meds, I was like that after they wore off, but worse. And I felt threatened with them around me, so I lashed out.”

“Which is understandable,” Azel stated. “Please refrain from attacking my plants in the future.”

“No promises. So now what?”

“Now,” Azel started, reaching down to pick up the folder and the few papers that fell out, “we try to get you the correct dosage of the correct type of mood stabilizer. They were giving you a stabilizer for depression, when you needed one for manic episodes. After correcting that you should begin to have less fits.”

“And that'll work?”

“Let's hope it does, or you'll have to start working to pay me back for the damage.”

Callen snorted pulling his legs up, hugging his knees to his chest. “Sure. Hey, did you know I once skinned someone alive?”

Azel hummed as Callen began explaining the process, tuning most of it out.

This boy was going to be the death of his sanity.

Kara laughed at Azel's retelling of the session.

“So you just let him explain in extreme detail?”

“It was better than the alternative of possibly sending him into another fit. Have you found anything?”

“A lot, actually. I was just waiting for you to finish.” Azel stood, walking over to stand behind her.

“Here are the records of any treatments he received, down here are his hours in solitary confinement. Then...” She switched to a different tab, scrolling down. “These are all the times he was supposed to take his medicine, and the highlighted areas are the times he actually did. I also have video feed to go through.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, Kara. Can you email those to me? I'll go over them tomorrow night.”

“Sure thing. Have you figured out why they sent him to you, yet?” she asked, turning to face him. “I mean, it's been three days. You'd have to know by now.”

“I don't think the higher ups at the facility fully understand what I do. They certainly wouldn't have sent him here if they did. But it's their funeral, so I suppose it was a good thing it happened.”

Kara grinned. “Should I tell her? We can start preparing now.”

Azel shrugged, moving to grab his things. “If you want to. It won't be for a long while, but early prep never hurts. I'll see you tomorrow, Kara. Take care.”

“You too, Azel.”

Callen was wide-eyed with surprise, eyes scanning over the papers in front of him. “You... H-how... How did you get all this? I know this stuff isn't in my file because they never report these things. What... Did you hack in or something?”

Azel waved a hand. “Not me, but an associate of mine. She's very good at digging things up. We also have video files of how you and the other patients were treated. We can take all of this as proof, and set up a very good court case against them.”

Callen frowned, setting down the folder. “Just a court case?”

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“Well, not really. But won't they just be put in jail? It’s not as if they can really do anything to them, considering how much money they have. They could probably bail themselves out, anyway.” Callen’s face twisted in rage. “That's dumb. They shouldn't be able to do that.”

“Avoid the table if you’re going to hit something, please.” Azel pulled the folder back to him, closing it. “Now, have you written in the journal at all? It’s been enough days; I thought I should ask.”

The brunet shrugged, pulling the journal out of his back and handing it to Azel. “I had a fit, last night. And wrote in it. I doubt it makes much sense.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Azel muttered as he flipped it open to the first page. He blankly stared down at the jumbled, scratchy writing before huffing. At least his thoughts were very obvious.

It wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to

They shouldn't be allowed to taser kids

She was so small and they HURT her

They should be burned, exactly like they did to the others

BURN THEM DOWN

Don't hurt anyone. Don't. You’ll be hurt

HE WAS A BABY AND THEY KILLED HIM

They should all suffer

Azel continued reading what he could, only slightly worried at the repeated statements of burning the place down. He paused when the writing changed from chicken scratch to perfectly readable, the heading just above being ‘How To: Burning Bodies’. He felt he should stop, but he would have to read this eventually.

Callen fidgeted uneasily as Azel continued to read, glancing around the room as his leg shook, fingers tapping on the desk. Writing during his fit had not been a good idea at all, and he was regretting it more and my each passing second. He doesn't even remember what exactly he wrote; he just knows there was a lot of angry words. Maybe he should have looked it over before coming in today.

“Callen.”

“Hm?”

“Stop picking at the chair. Walk around if you need to, but don't break anything valuable.”

Callen was out of the chair immediately, restlessly pacing around the room. He ran his hands over the spines of the few books on the wall shelf, tugging the petals off a few flowers as he passed them. He should have read it over before bringing it in. He shouldn't have even brought it in in the first place. How stupid was he? There was no way they’d let him stay after reading that. They were going to send him back, and he’d have to sit through all their “treatments” again to be “corrected” of his behaviours.

He didn't want to go back.

Azel watched in quiet worry as Callen stood frozen, shoulders hunched with clenched hands. This couldn't be good. “Callen, come here.”

He didn't move, didn't even seem like he heard him, so Azel stood and walked over to him. “Callen,” he said softly, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “are you alright?”

“Please don't send me back,” Callen whispered.

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Cause- cause you read it! I don't remember what I wrote, but I was so angry, and now you don't want me here anymore cause I'm too dangerous. You’re going to send me back.”

“I'm not going to send you back, Callen. That would be counterproductive; I would be sending you back into a dangerous environment that would set you off again. Sending you there would basically be forcing you into a situation where you have no free will; I would never do that to anyone.”

“But... But then what are you going to do?”

Azel led him back over to his desk, having him sit as he picked up the journal. “This page here,” he started, flipping to the third to last written page, “is where you started writing a plan on how to burn down the facility.”

“I... Yes.”

“You did not finish the plan, but I would like you to put some more thought into it. This is the only alternative to putting them in jail, after all.”

Azel grinned at the feral look on Callen’s face at the statement, gently patting his back. “Once you finish it, bring it to me and we’ll go over it. Alright?”

“You’re... You’re really willing to help me burn that place down? You’re willing to help me get everyone out?”

“Of course. I wouldn't suggest it if I wasn't. And besides, the facility started it anyway. They should know other people can play their games just as well. And that's exactly what we’re going to do.”

Callen grinned, eyes shining with glee. “Thank you, Azel!”

“No problem, kid. Now go get some lunch, this session ran a bit longer than expected.” Callen nodded, putting the book back in his bag before standing.

He was finally going to put them down.

I’m actually keeping up with this, oh my gosh. This is part one of the bit with these two, and part two is going to be done with Day 4′s prompt. Thank you all for reading!

Day 1, Day 2 and Day 4 and the prompt list.

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hottaterbot · 4 years

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A Typical Day #2 (Bipolar type 1 with meds in my high mood)

I start my day a little groggy as my eyes open. Then I realize I’m awake. I jump up from my bed to wash up for the day. I go to the kitchen next and look for breakfast. The Trix or the Fruity pebbles??? I think I’ll go with the Trix! I almost forgot to grab my morning pills (I usually do in this cycle). The cute pill box that I bought for only a dollar. I painted it with blue and green nail polish and put some sparkles on top to make me feel better about using it. I gotta remind myself that my pills are good for me they are my friends. I open the slot for this morning’s pills. Out fall three little pills. One is 65 mg of iron because I have been deficient since the womb, sorry Mom (she got so sick from this). One is 1000 mg of vitamin C because my immune system sucks and needs some help. The last is a really good one. 100 mg of Lamotrigine because I need help keeping my moods stable.

Then it’s off to work. I get in my car, connect my bluetooth and put on some jams. I have a set playlist of songs to hype me up on the way to work. A mix of Lizzo, Taylor Swift, High School Musical and many others. I park and walk to the employee entrance. I pause before I go in. I take a deep breath and as I exhale, put on my mask, and open the door. I’m greeted by energetic friends. They remind me of these girls in middle school.

They were best of friend who spent every waking moment with each other. So excited to see each other everyday and so hurt so say goodbye when it was time to go home. I had almost every class with them and sat in the same seat on our bus. Despite my attempts to distance myself because it was honestly so cute it was gross. Ha ha. Jokes. Anyway, every morning they would run up to each other like some cute romantic movie. Just jumping around excited.

Yup. That’s what my coworkers remind me of. Don’t get me wrong though. I love them to death and I get excited with them but I just can’t reach that level of excitement. I finish my work on time and chat with some friends on my way to clock out. As I walk out the door I let out a deep breath and take off my mask. The mask that fights to stay calm and ignore the insanity around me.

The drive home I listen to the same playlist or various musicals. I come home to workout for about 1.5-2 hours. It feels good and I feel energized. I go to take a shower then get out to eat dinner. The chicken alfredo will do. Now it’s free time. To pass the time I will dance and sing around the house, rearrange the house, deep clean the house, or write a book in a journal. It’s 8:30 pm. I have until 9:00pm to visit my friend the pill box. I walk over and open tonight’s slot. Out fall two pills. One is a daily multivitamin because who doesn’t need extra goodness everyday. The second is 100 mg of Quetiapine because I am bipolar.

To those who don’t know what Quetiapine is:

In the words of WedMD, “This medication is used to treat certain mental/mood conditions (such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, sudden episodes of mania or depression associated with bipolar disorder). Quetiapine is known as an anti-psychotic drug (atypical type). It works by helping to restore the balance of certain natural substances (neurotransmitters) in the brain.”

This pill I take the most reluctantly. Sometimes I even wait all the way until 8:59pm to take it. I will at the dinning room table starring at it. A whirlwind of voices I can control coming at me from every which direction. From “those doctors don’t know what they are talking about you’re not bipolar” to “You haven’t had a bad manic episode in awhile, you don’t need that pill”. To shut them up I swallow the pill. About an hour later the Quetiapine tells me it’s time to go to bed to wake up the next morning we’ll rested and ready to go.

Wanna see a different side of me? Look for part 3.

#bipolor #my feels #blog post #my life #mental health

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freakishlemon · 7 years

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the gendering and socialization of work lately with regards to my growing frustrations with my youngest brother, so I’m throwing words at this screen. Might be interesting to you folks, might not, so I’m putting it behind a cut below.

((Read More should start here, mobile users))

So some basic background, I’m the oldest of 4 kids in my family and we live in a rural town that’s been start-stopping it’s way to suburbia sorta kinda maybe, so our upbringing is pretty squarely centered in this little corner of the world. There me (trans-masc genderqueer) born in ‘88, there’s my sister (woman) born in ‘90, middle brother (man) born in ‘92, and the youngest brother (man) born in ‘96. Myself and the middle brother both still live at home, but we are employed and are paying off loans or looking into continuing education, so we’re doing pretty well. My sister has been moved out with her fella and their co-owned pets and she started her own business last year, in addition to subsidizing her income with part-time bar-tending/restaurant gigs when she needs to. All three of us have completed the middle-class white person requirement of earning a Bachelor’s degree (yay debt :/ ).

My youngest brother has a chronic gut illness and had to have surgery on his intestines last December, which prompted him to really think about his college education (that he was failing) and opt to not finish school. I think that was a surprisingly mature decision for this brother. So he takes the time to recover from the surgery and he’s been back to his normal for a while now, so my parents have been prompting him to start seeking employment since about March-ish.

He’s still unemployed, which does not surprise me based on our location/job market/the incredible hell that is Finding A Job, but I find myself and I see my parents becoming more and more frustrated with him.

Now, my parents’ frustration I understand because they’re in their late 50s/60s and they do all those prior generation stereotype things like tell you to make a million follow up calls and go bother the management and just start asking businesses for jobs, which is what they know. The rest of us sympathize with that portion of my brother’s current position, but... it occurred to me that my youngest brother is doing nothing to alleviate this from my parents because he hasn’t learned how to deflect them.

Because he’s looking for his first job.

His. First. Job.

It hit me this morning that the way our society socializes work for afab folks starts so god damn early. If we define a job as Somewhere You Are Scheduled To Be To Perform Work, I started working at 11 at my local library as a volunteer. I outgrew the summer reading program for the young kids and there was nothing for the older kids. I had to be there for my siblings because I was too young to stay home, so I was shelving books or assisting at the Scholastic book fair. Listen, I worked at this library as a volunteer for so long that the retiring children’s librarian had me run the summer reading program for two years, then she retired and there wasn’t a children’s librarian for a year so I ran the summer reading program, AND THEN I TRAINED THE NEW CHILDREN’S LIBRARIAN ON HOW TO RUN A SUMMER READING PROGRAM. It was her first librarian job and I was sixteen.

My sister started doing the same thing when she aged out of the summer reading program. My brothers didn’t.

But if we count paid work, my sister and I took our first job together at 14 and 12 when we were offered a pretty sweet babysitting gig. We’d finish middle school, walk over to the elementary school down the street to pick up this first grade girl, and hang out at the library doing homework for an hour and a half until the girl’s mom could come pick her up. Three days a week, paid on Thursday like clock work.

And we both did things like that until we were old enough to be legally hired - babysitting gigs, pet sitting, helping older people with physical tasks (I mean, mostly my grandma just having us doing a day’s worth of chores for pizza and ten bucks, but it’s still work).

And we applied for jobs all through high school and if we didn’t have jobs during the school year, we went for summer jobs. The only time either one of us was without something for at least part of the summer was my summer before senior year of college when I was s c r a m b l i n g for an internship to meet my graduation requirements (the coordinator at my school was no god damn help and I’m still mad about it).

Neither of my brothers was prompted to find paying work until after highschool, except when family friends needed pet sitters and my sister and I were already working. They were only encouraged to do volunteer work during highschool because it was a graduation requirement.

I was unemployed for a few months after graduating college, which is pretty normal, and that’s when I learned to balance out the actual reality of job hunting and my parent’s expectations of it. And you know the easiest way I found to do that? Work around the god damn house. Do all the dishes. Sweep floors. Vacuum. Is there a junk closet mom’s been meaning to go through? Empty it out, clean it, and go through what needs to be done with the stuff, and then do it for her so that she only has to make the decisions without taking her two days off to do it herself. Shit like that. Honestly? Yep. Yeah mom, I put in nine applications today, one of the places I applied to last week should be calling by the end of the week, and look at your sparkling kitchen. Done. I acknowledge my advantage of being a physically healthy person to pull this off and the amazing support of my friend who would call me at six in the morning to wake up my ass to take a walk, talk shit out, and then start the day with a scheduled thing. I know that’s not in the cards for all of us, but even doing a few simple chores like wiping off the flat stove top did a lot to get my parents off my back.

(Once my sister started working for actual paychecks, she’s pretty much always been employed because she rocks at this stuff. When she got her at-time-dream-job-in-her-actual-degree-field at a photo studio for $50k a year, she had three part time restaurant jobs and still managed to have more of a social life than I’ve ever had. And then when she hated that job, she started her own business and is making it work. She’s a rock star. It’s amazing.)

So my middle brother was unemployed for the better part of a year after his retail summer job stopped giving him hours and he was searching for a job in his field-ish. He wasn’t socialized to pick up housework the way my sister and I were, but due to his recently-diagnosed-bipolar-flavoured mental illness (i’m not sure the exact diagnosis, but it’s in the bipolar type family) he would have manic episodes and needed shit to do to manage his brain so it quickly became a thing that mom would leave him a list of shit that had to be done around the house each day/week and he would get it done (less done on depressive days, but still to the point of acceptably done). He built the routine and when he couldn’t get calls back for interviews, he sought out gig jobs from friends and family, which is how he ended up in his current job. And even now after lots of balancing acts and sorting himself out, he’d on a pretty even keel these days, but if he’s got fewer work hours than the rest of us that week and mom leaves him a list, he gets the must-dos done.

My youngest brother was diagnosed with his gut illness at 9, which is a shit hand of cards to be dealt. Flare ups are bad and can lay him out for days. I know that’s a part of his life and is probably affecting how he’s looking for a job and all, but... it’s very frustrating to me that this is his first job hunt (or temporary gig hunt) and he’s 21.

He was prompted to get summer jobs while he was in college and relatively healthy, but it wasn’t enforced by my parents on him the way it was on the middle brother and certainly not the way it was enforced on my sister and I. It’s very frustrating to me that my mom will leave a list for my youngest brother with things like 1) empty dishwasher, 2) do your laundry, and 3) play with the dog outside for 20 minutes, and not a single one of those things has been done by the time my mom or I get home (we have similar work schedules). And my mom’s response is to just roll her eyes and grudgingly do it or ask me/middle brother to do it. She doesn’t make him do it. She’s never assigned him to make a simple dinner for the rest of us, the way she has middle brother and myself. She’s never assigned him big projects (clean the basement, vacuum the whole house, scrub out the refrigerator) the way she has middle brother and myself, even as something to be done over the course of the week instead of that day.

It’s just super frustrating to hear him snap at my parents when they pester him about getting a job because mom, dad, middle brother, and myself are doing full time jobs plus sometimes side jobs (middle brother is running a daily livestream and/or podcast, I’m slowly working fiber work business stuff into my life, mom’s starting a yarn dyeing business) PLUS ALL THE HOUSEWORK and he’s sitting there in his room all day filling out applications for a bit and then playing video games for fourteen hours.

Like... I’d feel less frustrated if I knew or suspected it was the gut illness or something that was kicking him all the time, but I don’t think it is. We learned to recognize that kind of stuff when he was in school because there were times when he could only do a half day or couldn’t go at all. Honestly? I just don’t think he knows how to work. Not the way my sister’s and my gendered upbringing taught us. Not the way my middle brother’s mental illness and brain coping taught him. We ended up as people who need stuff to do during the day. It just looks to us like he’s not trying when the reason he hasn’t emptied the dishwasher in two weeks without my mom standing there making him do it is “I forgot."

Just... ffffguh. Venting.

#real life stuff #frustrated #family things

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titandnene · 5 years

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Hey I need to say this to you Lauren.

I dont know the best was to express or say how I feel but I’m finally at a point where I need to explain myself fully for all I’ve done and why i keep coming back into your life. For the past 3 years my life has been a rollercoaster through stages of hell that I really need to tell you about because in the darkest parts of it the idea of what we were and you in general have been my only light. That’s the reason why I’ve been popping back into your life when I’m sure you would rather have it otherwise. The night that we first tripped togther really shows the power that I see in the universe and how horribly cruel honest and true to form it can be about life. Lauren it had to happen the way it folded out. And I learned that it always does no matter what you want. The beginning of it like the beginning of us was great but that moment when I was facing the door and immediately snapped back to look at you started a chain of events that no one was prepared for. That’s when I started to go “crazy” or my mind started to twist my life started to twist everything started to go out of whack. That’s when me being here with you and me always coming back into your life started to turn things bad in my life. I’m deeply sorry for making you cry during the trip but what you don’t know is what happened after you left. I started to plan out what I would think would be our life together. And that was also my first manic episode.

After your left I started writing on the table and in my note book about a surf shack that we were going to have and this fantastic life that was going to happen because I could see it all in that moment. I felt like I knew it all in that moment. But the reality was I was having my first manic episode. Mania makes me feel like that. Like I have the world and it’s story and the universe and it’s story and our story tied up together and I just have to talk it into existence and it will happen the way I say it will. I felt like I had so much energy and enlightenment just pouring out of me and people were on the same brain wave that I was. But it’s never the case.

I was writing and then I finished with the thought of the universe could be this place that I’m envisioning or I could just be crazy and loosing my mind. And then I sunk deep down into that hole. Thinking that my mind was broken and that I couldnt stop this train that was my brain. So I got in bed shut my eyes and just wished for sleep and it came and I woke up the next day fine like back to normal. Hoping that you would still want to be with me after what I did to you that night.

That in essence has been the last three years on repeat starting January 1st 2016.

It’s a cycle of slowing going manic. Mania brings in good feelings and somehow you get involved in my head. That then branches out to me trying to contact you because if this vision that I’m so clearly seeing. And then the destruction of that vision as the episode ends.

On that day I started to go crazy or manic. I dont really know how but by the 4th I was in the back of an ambulance loosing my mind. My universe was fracturing reality was loosening I thought that everyone was going to die and I was going to be alone forever. So they put me in the hospital and they were running test and I was like a wild animal because I had no idea what was going on and then the seeds of my psychosis started being planted. Because within all of that madness I had one light one person that my mom made me think of and that was you. I was talking about the color of your eyes. And then I saw a girl that I thought was you enter a room but I didnt see her face. But I assumed it was you. But the seed was the idea of you always being just in the other room waiting for me. It’s been a constant theme when I’ve become manic. After some weird things happening they wheeled me away to get a brain scan. As they were wheeling me away and I tried to get away because I thought that they were going to do something like “dissect me” or take away a part of me that made me me. That part is hard to explain but. This part isn’t. I accepted the fate that they were going to take all that away that I was going to not come back the same. I put my hand over my heart and said the name Sandy. This was the first solid root of my psychosis that revolves around us. Sandy was the name of a daughter that I saw us having. And it was basically me saying if they are going to take me away i hope she’ll live.

I made it out of the MRI alive and eventually found sleep and woke up the next day still manic. But thing about mania is when your in it you never know that you are. It’s a lobster in water that’s slowly rising in temperature. Once it’s boiling it’s adjusted so it doesn’t know the difference. You just feel normal.

The next day they had me admitted to a inpatient mental hospital. That’s where you called me and we talked. The first few days were a manic mess. I was going crazy I thought that there was a game that had to be played that was going to get me to leave. I thought that my life was going to be this road trip to all these places to save the world. You basically think that you’re jesus and an undercover spy and you have to solve the clues to get out. After seven days in there I got out. But because it was my first time with mania I was still kind of on a high. It’s like coming back from the moon. I made it into the atmosphere of earth but Not quite back to ground and even then not on target. I’m lucky if I hit the ocean.

So I went into a day program where you meet kids who are going through similar things as you. People with depression mania and everything. I meet some people it was nice the first time. But it was a rough start. What made it tougher was the fact that the day that I got out of the mental hospital was the day after classes began at HP. So even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go back. My parents wanted me at the house and monitored on my new medication making sure I sleep and don’t go back into mania. I think I still might have been smoking weed at the time I’m not completely sure but I picked up 2 classes at the school that I’m at now still went to group and truly fucked things up with you.

The last messages that we sent to one another I really regret. I didnt like how I was pushing you away and trying to bring you close. How I wanted an open relationship when I really didn’t even know what it entailed I just wanted to keep you for emotional support and fuck other people. I remember sitting somewhere and having that talk and hearing you cry on the other end of the line and that’s just not right. And then the last Facebook messages that we sent where I was a true asshole and manic because I was smoking weed and it triggers my mania. And how I ended the relationship with a saw and a sawed off.

The next parts is so I can round everything out and really get this psychosis out of me so take it or leave it I need to write it out.

My mom says I have a season when it comes to mania but really it’s just when I start smoking weed and loosing sleep and stop taking my meds. But the next time I got manic was almost a year to the day. If you want to really see when I get into the manic place look for when I contact you or try to reach out that’s how you know I’m floating back.

The next time was the long haul to the hospital. This time I spent 5 hours talking to myself and making up a fictional son named Steven that you and i would have. Back story lore the reason for his name and universal significance. The whole gambit of this kid. This was also a time where i you were still following me on Spotify and i would look and think that we were communicating through our songs.

Eventually i got to loud and out about everything and got sent back to the hospital and what I now call my restart button. Hospital around winter break then group during classes and then back to the grind until I pick up weed again and then restart. But the time I stopped is worth noting.

After I got out that time and spring summer started rolling around I picked up again but weed wasn’t doing me the same. Instead of making me feel good it started to make me feel like shit. I would get on myself about being stupid that I couldn’t do anything every time I smoked I would just fall deeper into a pit and I couldn’t stop. So the universe made me stop. There was one night where the next chapter of my mental illness would kick in.

I said I was done but my friend called me out and said he’d smoke me up and buy my ticket to go see a movie. It was the worst expierence of my life I had a panic attack that twisted my brain into developing a type of OCD that I now know as Harm OCD. It’s not fun. But what that leads me to is the cocktail that that and mania made me go through and how that lead to the mania endured birth of a 3rd child named staysea. Basically the mania brought on the fictional reality glasses that had been brewing since my last manic episodes and the harm ocd brought on the horrific thing that I did to our child in this other dimensional state which was essentially rape.

Harm ocd is not fun it’s something that i go through every day and regret every day for not listening to the universe when it told me to stop. It’s consistent intrusive thoughts that have to do with violence and sex. It’s like being mind raped by a demon. I dont want these bad things to happen but when I say stop this demon in my head says go and I have to visualize atrocities happen multiple times a day. It’s not fun. But I’m getting better at dealing with it.

After the movie theater I stopped smoking for a while and got better felt better I didnt go to the hospital that January and got through the year. I was finally getting over you coming back into my life in these fantasies and having to deal with it. I metaphorically burried the kids that we had I was getting better. But about a year and half i picked it up again. And I would have moved on and stayed out of your life if not for one moment that started this years run of come ups.

I was at my grandmas old folks home. And she has dementia but I talk to her and her roomate still and I was fiddling with a piece of paper and my brain had been starting to go into a manic space. And my grandmas roommate said something to me which was basically for me to try to reach out to you because “she’s the one for you.” This ticked off my mildly manic brain and then everything that I spent the last years settiling came up and I started to believe in The future that I made back then kids and all. All the past things that I made up started coming back. And I started to try to believe in a universe that follows some narrative that works like a book compared to one that just is.

I ended up having a manic episode and going back to the hospital for the entire month of January this time. I think that was after you messaged me on Instagram. I was pretty manic when I was messaging you but I still had some of myself together. But I got out and here I am now. Trying to come to you with some sort of explanation of my actions towards you.

I hurt you a lot over these past years. Far more than anyone really should. You’ve told me time and time again how you don’t don’t want to see me and just want me to leave but every time I’m close to letting go I pull myself back somehow. For that I’m sorry. This is something that I wanted to write you but never knew how to put into words right. I wrote another letter essentially saying hey I’m coming back down to HP in late April to see Haleigh but I don’t even know if Im going to anymore. I barley have the money and I would halfway want to see you but you don’t deserve to just have me in your face without notice or permission.

You remind me of a time when I didn’t have all this weight on me when life was easy. And I was happy with someone I loved. And how a life with them would be all I ever needed. And that’s probably why I go back to it always because that’s all I want.

But this letter serves you and me better. I think. Life has been really really rough for me and you were a life that I saw that could’ve been and I always regret not just staying loyal to you because of how much i cared about you. Just being patient with us. I just want to fix everything I did. But now moving on is best but I needed to say something like this explaining why. I am the way I am.

It would be nice to talk to you though.

I would want to be your friend or just someone who you don’t hate, someone who you can forgive.

I love you Lauren. You’ve helped me through dark Really lonely times. And the only reason why I come back to you is because there’s no one else who made me feel so loved and secure. I wish that I could go back and advise myself about how good of person you would be to be and to treat you right because of it. You were my ace, the one person who was there for me always. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a better person to you when I had the chance to.

Thank you for helping me whether you knew it or not.

Jordan.

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tgaoe · 6 years

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Andy’s 2017 Television Report

I love watching good TV. I still feel there’s a stigma associated with watching as much as I do, but I’m trying to own it. I love TV. I would much rather watch an old West Wing ep than go on a hike or do basically anything outdoorsy. So there that is. And here is an exhaustive list of everything I watched this year.

Not Enough Time and/or Motivation to Watch/Finish Ranked by Level of Intention to Watch/Finish

10. The Vietnam War 9. Godless 8. The Young Pope S1 7. The Handmaid’s Tale S1 6. Search Party S2 5. Rick & Morty S3 4. Halt and Catch Fire S4 3. You’re the Worst S4 2. Better Things S2 1. Broad City S4

Disappointing/Bad The Americans S5 Starts strong, has some nice character development, but the main story was inconsequential and frustrating, as were several side stories.

Preacher S2 Has cool moments and I still love the three leads, but the main plot left me cold. Not even close to as good as the debut season.

Sherlock S4 Stupid and infuriating.

Seasons I Liked, Ranked by Favoritism 32 Curb Your Enthusiasm S8 Same old show, wearing a little thin but still enjoyable.

31 I Love Dick Obtuse, intentionally discomfiting, wonderfully acted; Kathryn Hahn is a goddess.

30 Stranger Things S2 A fun time and not much more, which is fine.

29 Veep S6 Somehow exactly the same cruel, cynical show despite a somewhat significant premise shift.

28 Silicon Valley S4 More of the same. Not sure how much longer this show can sustain the whole “awkward tech bros overcoming impossible odds” premise. Hoping for some risks next season.

27 Vice Principals S2 A hilarious, surprisingly emotional comedy that will always be stuck in the shadow of its predecessor.

26 Love S2 Rock solid cast, writing with a nice balance of comedy, drama, and romance.

25 Bojack Horseman S4 I like this show less than everyone else who likes it, feels like. Still, no other televised depiction of depression rings truer, and remains funny without making light of serious mental illness.

24 Wet Hot American Summer: First Day of Camp Manic, inspired inanity.

23 Brooklyn Nine Nine S4/S5 Comfort food. Love everyone on the show. Every episode is the same and always will be and who cares.

22 Legion S1 In a year that hadn’t also included Twin Peaks: the Return, this would have ranked much higher for its crazy formalist experimentation, dazzling visual style, and sustained weirdness. Wish it had been more character-focused, and I hated the coda. Almost dreading season two.

21 Easy S2 Warm, human, real. Love the whole notion of a serialized anthology.

20 GLOW S1 Spending time with these characters just feels great, even when they’re behaving awfully. It’s the kind of show the predictability of which is a positive.

19 Big Little Lies S1 Reese Witherspoon projectile vomits pure green goop in this show. It rules.

18 Crashing S1 You love Pete or you don’t. I love him, have for years. The show is just more Pete.

17 The Good Place S1/S2 Quite possibly the most imaginative, innovate half-hour sitcom of all time; inspires equal investment in the characters and the ever-expanding mythology and mysteries, which is quite a feat.

16 Top of the Lake: China Girl Full review.

15 Fargo S3 By far the weakest season of the show, yet still one of the year’s best. Willfully disgusting and perhaps a bit too writerly, the last few episodes redeem some early rambling and formlessness. Ewan McGregor was not great in his role(s), and Carrie Coon’s performance was done a disservice by her appearing here and in The Leftovers simultaneously. But Mary Elizabeth Winstead and David Thewlis kill.

14 Ozark S1 Every 2-3 episodes contain enough plot for a full season of most other shows. It is wild. Characters at once inhabit archetypes and subvert them. I love how the main means of circumventing trouble is simply telling the truth.

13 One Mississippi S2 The best pure romance story on TV this year.

12 Future Man S1 Starts rough, slowly gets great. Consummately derivative sci-fi comedy. Couldn’t love it more.

11 Mindhunter S1 Spent most of the season deciding whether Jonathan Groff is terrible or magnificent here. Landed on magnificent, for the way he oscillates between ego states in response to story turns, negotiating his perceptions of both the concept of deviance and his sense of his own masculinity.

10 Dear White People S1 The number of characters this show balances is a miracle, and how it engenders empathy for all parties while maintaining its slick, ultracool visual style and exploring sensitive themes with the utmost nuance.

9 Mr. Robot S3 A vast improvement after the letdown of season two. Takes some weird risks that attempt retrofit current events into the show’s 2015 setting, and while not all of them work, the ones that do pay off massively. Plot mechanics are secondary to atmosphere, character, and theme. The cast is great as ever, and this year Bobby Cannavale joins the fray, which is never a bad idea.

8 Insecure S2 Continues to use top-notch production values and writing to explore lifestyles and perspectives previously ghettoized on TV, relegated to peripheral channels and the lowest of low budgets. Issa Rae’s performance is reliably loveable despite her character’s constant questionable decisions, but Yvonne Orji truly makes the show. Somebody cast her and Tiffany Haddish in something together asap.

7 Better Call Saul S3 Slow, methodical, pulpy, consistent. Another solid season of intricate, character-driven puzzle-piece storytelling.

6 American Vandal S1 The funniest entertainment of any type I consumed all year, and surprisingly thematically resonant as it progresses toward its conclusion.

5 Master of None S2 As funny, romantic, and charming as its creator. Tackles some surprisingly heavy subjects, has gained significant poignancy after cultural shifts that came later in the year.

4 The Deuce S1 An even seedier iteration of David Simon’s expansive storytelling style than The Wire, the period details of this show are casually perfect; unshowy and lived in. The Deuce convinced me that James Franco is one of our greatest living actors, on the level of someone like De Niro in his prime. Franco plays twins, and though they look and sound exactly alike, his slightly varied physicality always makes it clear who each is.

3 The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel S1 Such fun. A romantically stylized 1950s New York period piece starring a woman who should be, and might yet become, our biggest movie star. Nicely balances light comedy and light drama. Watching feels like cuddling up in a warm blanket.

2 Twin Peaks: the Return Mystifying, hilarious, infuriating, horrifying, wonderful.

1 The Leftovers S3 Not just the best season of television this year, but one of the greatest of all time. I have never been more satisfied by a finale. I refuse to write more lest I spoil anything. If you have not watched this show, watch it. The first season is flawed and difficult. The second is perfect, and so is the third. If this show’s premise even remotely appeals to you, watch it.

Favorite Episodes 12 “Amber Waves” The Americans S5E1 Bold start to an ultimately weak season. Features a ten-minute sequence during which a group of characters silently and methodically dig a hole, and somehow it is almost impossibly dramatic and exciting to watch. Here’s hoping the show picks up again for its final season next year.

11 “Chicanery” Better Call Saul S3E5 A courtroom episode rife with familial drama and series history exploited to maximum effect.

10 “Prodigal Daughter” Easy S2E6 A small, deeply humanist story of a high school girl discovering what she values, and how she wants to manifest those values. Lovely.

9 “Chapter V” Dear White People S1E5 Builds tension to a fever pitch using dialogue, editing, and camera techniques downright orchestral. Directed by Barry Jenkins, of Moonlight fame.

8 “Part 8” Twin Peaks: the Return Several professional writers called this David’s Lynch’s Tree of Life, and I can’t describe it more succinctly than that. Lynch traces the origin of evil in his universe in a way no person who ever lived would except him.

7 “Who Rules the Land of Denial?” Fargo S3E8 For the bowling alley scene alone.

6 “eps3.4_runtime-err0r.r00” Mr. Robot S3E5 A bravura, (faked) single-take episode that brilliantly uses transit time to build tension.

5 “eps3.7_dont-delete-me.ko” Mr. Robot S3E8 The opposite of bravura; Elliot walks around with a young boy for most of the episode, and it is even more kinetic and exciting than the one with the single take.

4 “Amarsi Un Po'”/“Buona Notte” Master of None S2E9/E10 Heartbreaking. Aziz Ansari’s tribute to the Before Trilogy, and, let’s be honest, the Elevator arc from Louie, is brutal in its exposure of emotional truth. The chemistry between the leads makes the whole thing work.

3 “Part 18” Twin Peaks: the Return The finale. Mystifying, infuriating, horrifying, wonderful. Decidedly not hilarious.

2 “Thanksgiving” Master of None S2E8 A deeply-moving short film exposing a type of hardship so specific that I’d never seen it depicted before. The ways Ansari marks the passage of time throughout this story… just astounding.

1 “The Book of Nora” The Leftovers S3E8 Perfect. There is a monologue here with more story and gravitas than entire seasons of other shows, great ones. Watch The Leftovers.

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tracedandreplaced-blog · 6 years

Text

The Beginning of the Bottom -bipolar entry 1

By the time a highway patrolman uncuffed and released me to my wife and her father at 3:30 am in a McDonalds parking lot, I'd been getting smashed everyday for 3 years. He explained the DUI arrest and trial process to them and finished up by saying "you really need to get him some help. Most people with that high a blood alcohol content can't stand, let alone talk, and he's been carrying on perfectly clear conversation with me this whole time. That's an incredibly high tolerance. He's been drinking heavily for awhile." I didn't know it at the time, but substance abuse affects around 50% of those with bipolar illness, which I would be diagnosed with three years later. I didn't know that when I drove into Seattle twice a week and stayed out til bar close, drinking relentlessly in goth clubs and metal bars, buying rounds of 40s for street kids and homeless musicians while busking on sidewalks for change, and driving home 40 minutes drunk every time, that I was in the midst of uncontrollable manic episodes. I didn't know that I wasn't in fact a God who would never die, or kill anyone on the road, or ever be forced to stop drinking, or have liver problems before turning 30, because I had actually been implanted with the souls of Charles Bukowski, Shane McGowan, and Dylan Thomas. God had told me so the first time I was pulled over. When I was let go with a warning for using my cellphone while driving. I very eloquently explained this minor lapse in judgement to her, and since the stink of booze on my breath had been covered by the city's best hot dog smothered in cream cheese, carmelized onions, ketchup, mustard, relish, and sriracha, she saw no need to even give me a sobriety test. I'd probably drank 15 beers. The aforementioned conversation with God took place whilst driving the rest of the way home.

There was no fear or danger in my life. When I was up, the God-self took over and I was invincible. When I was down I numbed everything with drink and felt no pain. The only time the sheer terror of sober mania or depression couldn't be avoided was the second half of my shifts at work, when the previous night's drunk wore off. Anytime I wasn't at work, I went from zero to .08 in no time flat. Then way fuckin past that.

I hid this from my wife the entire time. 3 years of completely soaking in alcoholism, plus around 3 years of the more amateurish binging that led up to it. I trained myself to drive, walk, and talk just good enough to avoid detection. When I would slip up every once in awhile and she commented on my slurring, I blamed the interaction of whatever anti depressant I was on at the time, saying I could never drink more than 2 beers without getting a very heavy buzz, which because of that, I never did of course.

Every month I got to take 200 bucks in cash out for my spending money. She thought I spent it on coffee and books, shows and black metal CDs. I spent it all on beer. This wouldn't have ever lasted a whole month, so I supplemented the 200 with what I considered booze money laundering. I was creative. I was good at it. And I know I wouldn't have been able to do it without the focus and determination of mania. Every time I got gas I'd go inside to pay for it and add in a six pack. Everytime I got groceries I'd get 20 bucks cash back. And buy beer. Every time I went to pick up restaraunt take out, I'd show up early and have a couple beers while I waited, added to the tab. I had 10 other schemes I employed on a regular basis. I would use whatever one best fit the day in question on every trip home from work and every afternoon on my days off. The messenger bag that went with me to work was filled with a six pack of tall boys covered in a couple books every time I walked into our apartment. I would then hide the bag next to my armchair and sneak them out one by one, draining them while my wife read or slept in the other room. I'd also go through the back up 6 I had hidden in the bookshelf next to the chair, as well as the two show beers I'd have from the fridge. On the days I'd hit the bar for a couple on the way home from work, or when I had some in the car, I'd have to make sure and open up a show beer right after walking in the door to explain my breath with the welcome home kiss that came next.

Most of the 200 cash went to the bars. Other than my trips into Seattle, I'd show up to my hometown bars at 1 in the afternoon on my days off. They were always during the weekdays since I worked retail and my wife worked nine to five, Monday to Friday. She didn't know I was there- if she called, I'd call her back from my car and convince her I was at home reading, or maybe out taking a walk. I once did a phone interview for a new job from the bar parking lot at 2 in the afternoon drunk off my ass. I didn't get it but I don't think she knew.

The only ones in the bars that early were a bunch of retired alcoholics and me. Id glom onto them like their new best friend and talk their ears off until they moved seats or left. Because of the mania, I thought I was the funniest guy in the room. I was the best looking (sometimes true), had the most charisma, and was all the bartenders' favorite customer. In reality they all thought it was annoying and sad. I'm sure they toasted when I left. I'd come home at around four and keep drinking all night. Those days off would see about 12 hours straight through beer goggles. If the day off and a Seattle trip crossed paths, it'd be 14.

There were probably hundreds of times I could've been arrested in those 3 years, especially in Seattle. I was a hurricane. I was a maniac. I was obsessed. And I was dangerous. I was so entirely different than I was just a few years before, which leads me to believe that's when my illness manifested. I was so incredibly responsible before. Not just that, I was scared; scared to mess anything in my life up. I stayed on the straight and narrow because I couldn't imagine loosing anything I had. But when the illness set it, I wasnt afraid of anything. I had nothing to loose because nothing was real to me. If it wasn't my mania or my depression, or a symptom of either, I just wasn't interested. Then something to lose came along.

The Highway Patrolman and I talked all the way from the substation to McDonalds. My blood alcohol was just under .2 but as he would tell my wife shortly after, I was lucid and well spoken. He asked me how I was going to come up with the nearly 10 grand this whole process usually takes through fines, lawyers, DMV hoops, ignition interlock devices, and monthly readings. Oh and don't forget about jail. He asked me how this happened to such a nice, put together young man. He asked me what this would do to my wife. I knew exactly what it would do to her and I told him. I also told him she was two months pregnant.

I haven't had a drink since a half hour before my arrest. I wasn't diagnosed with bipolar illness, the root of all of this, until 3 years later. The time in between was an absolute hell of adjustment to desperately unwanted sobriety. Plus, I had to spend all that time trying to figure out who I actually was, and what purpose I had, or didn't. I didn't find that out until my purpose became fatherhood. That changed everything, but I was still fucking crazy, and I didn't even know it. I just thought I was terrible at everything.

This isn't a story about alcoholism. It's a story about mental illness. I drank because it made my mania even more maniacal, and made my depression bearable. I guess maybe if you were locked safely away in a cell and couldn't hurt anyone, drinking might be the best medicine of all for this. But I could've killed a family on the highway. I could've gone to prison for a very long time. I could've ruined my marriage. I could've killed myself.

I didn't know why I was writing this when I started, but I see it now. I need to be able to look back on these episodes the next time I'm at the psychologist and think he made up this diagnosis, and that I'm some sort of fraud. The next time I feel like I don't need my medication because it's all been a charade, I need to remember this story. The next time I don't tell my wife if I'm in a really bad place because I think I'm a sane person just playing the victim for attention, I need to re-read this and realize how fucking literally crazy it all was, and is.

Or maybe I just needed a new frenzy because I'm manic again. Thanks for reading.

#bipolar #mental health #addiction #long reads #nonfiction #prose #essay #writers

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