#and i can appreciate the irony of being told i need therapy by someone who just said i make her want to kill herself by existing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gallickingun · 3 years

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ding, dong, the witch is dead!

honestly, who didn’t see this coming? lol. but, anyway. i guess this is goodbye! i’ll ramble more below the cut, but just know that over the next couple of days, i’ll be exporting my blog so i can keep what i want, and then this will be the only post left here.

thank you to everyone who i’ve had the privilege of meeting, and those of you who have been so kind as to leave lovely notes on my works, and interact with me over our silly anime crushes. i really appreciate all the kindness i’ve been shown in the anime fandom. some of my best friends i’ve met through this stupid app, but overall, it’s just not a healthy space for me. i’m not blaming anyone else for what this has become, at the end of the day, i created a hell for myself. i’m just tired of trying to rebuild, rebrand, whatever. i’m just tired.

that being said, obviously not everything can always be so lovely. i don’t care about the discourse or the drama or the whatever, but i’m just hoping this post will bring me some closure, and maybe some for those i’ve hurt, whether accidentally or intentionally. if you click read more and you’re upset with what you see, well, idk what to tell you, friend.

i hate that tumblr can be so insignificant, and yet so all encompassing all at once. yes, it’s “just tumblr” and “it’s not that deep” because at the end of the day, it’s just an app. but, unfortunately, behind this app and these blogs are human beings. which means you create real bonds and real friendships, and real feelings get hurt.

i came back to tumblr during a really sad, dark time in my life. and that was honestly my first mistake. i latched on to whoever would pay attention to me, craving some sort of friendship that i never needed before because i always had someone in real life. but i had just moved away from my family, and was starting the process of what would end up being a notsogreat divorce. i felt alone, and was struggling a lot with my self worth, so instead of choosing to be kind, i chose to lash out. regardless of whether or not that was in private dm’s of those whom, at the time, i’d considered friends, it was still inconsiderate and childish of me. i thought i had to be some hateful version of myself in order to prove to other people that i wasn’t as sad about myself as i truly was. the words i said in private were rude, nasty, and just... not who i want to be? and, without going into immense detail, some of those things i wanted to move on from and no longer felt, were then used as weapons and spread around to others who i never intended to see what i’d said.

please, please, PLEASE — be careful what you say. you really never know who is watching, who is going to manipulate you, etc. what you say holds weight, and even if you don’t intend for it to hurt anyone, even if it’s just venting.. i dunno. just, be careful, okay? check yourself from time to time, friend. make sure that you’re not allowing the overall negativity of the world, of your own mind, of others, to affect you to the point that you don’t recognize yourself.

if you don’t know about my lovely little exposed blog, well, you’d probably be the last to know. at least, it feels that way. although in the beginning maybe it was justified? in some right? i’m not sure anymore, really, but regardless—it turned into some sort of stalking experience. at one point in time, i received 35+ messages telling me how horrible i was, telling me to off myself, telling me that my ex did the right thing by leaving me “on the curb”, etc. my full legal name was being released, with the intent to doxx me i’m assuming? i was being told i was “being watched”, which i fully believe was happening, with the consistency of the updates. people who claim to hate me, still followed me with the intent of watching my every move to “see if i’d changed”. i only have received updates through friends, because to be perfectly honest with you, seeing your worst mistakes splayed on the internet and turning you into some shounen villain is NOT the best thing for your mental health. that, and some of the “truths” were half-honesties twisted because i’d be a hypocrite to post private dm’s debunking these things when i was upset with the very same people for posting such things. i’ve addressed some things, such as the racism, so i won’t go into that again, but some of these other instances are stretches, to say the least.

the irony of the whole thing is not lost on me. the very same people who say i only do things for notes/recognition, are doing those very things. those who say i only care about tumblr, are proving that by running a blog dedicated to exposing some twenty three year old idiot on the internet. those who say i use my friends are the same ones who literally lied to my face so they could collect receipts behind my back and then leave me when it got convenient. those who say i talk to “insignificant” blogs to appear invested are the ones calling those blogs insignificant, i never once believed anyone i’ve interacted with was insignificant, contrary to popular belief. everything they focus on ends up being nothing but hypocrisy in the end.

that being said, obviously i truly hurt whoever all is behind this blog. intentionally, or otherwise. and i know that sometimes what you do/say isn’t meant to hurt anyone, however, you don’t get to control how what you’ve done effects others. all you can do is apologize. but, i know a few of them, because based on the “receipts” they’ve pulled together, the stories are too specific to be anything but those people i’m thinking of. i don’t enjoy blanket apologies, but i’m leaving this hellsite, so it’s all i’ve got left.

i’m sorry for giving you the fuel to your fire for this petty agenda, i’m sorry for creating the monster of myself that allowed you to string along this storyline for what seems to be the better part of a year. i’m sorry that i gave you material to fixate upon, rather than providing you with friendship and something better to focus on. i truly hope you can move on now that i’m gone from tumblr, and honestly i don’t plan on coming back, lol. i genuinely, truly, deeply feel sorry for you, and pray that you can turn this obsessive focus from me to something more productive, something healthier.

the angry part of me wants everyone to realize that the start of this, the matchups/refunds situation, was born from this stalkerish behavior. it has taken me months to put the pieces together, because i truly didn’t think someone who i’d called my friend once would ever string together such a lie, or rather an exaggerated, adulterated truth, but i guess it’s what happened, in the end.

there are a lot of, uh, conveniently timed “releases” of receipts even though they were months after the initial occurrence of the offense. i can’t go into each one, because, frankly, there are too many. i just hope that in the wake of all of these horrible exposes of things i’ve done, others are able to reflect on their actions. telling me one thing while currently speaking to another individual and telling them another, blatantly LYING, etc. are all things that i’ve been accused of, and yet they’ve also been done to me. doesn’t justify what i’ve done, nor am i seeking some sort of absolution, however i just hope that these individuals can see their hypocrisy and move forward.

which leads me to my final point — regardless of how shitty someone is, disallowing them the room to grow, stunting their moral/mental growth, is truly the issue. i am not going to sit here and play holier than thou. i know i fucked up. i was a nasty bitch because i was angry at the world, and then that anger was fueled further by consistent situations where i made the wrong friends at the wrong times in my life. but the fact that this exposed nonsense has been dragging on since... july? august? i’m not really sure, but whatever. since it’s been going on, i have been battling with myself and my ability to do the things i love, talk to those i care about, etc. all because i’m afraid of saying the wrong thing, hurting the wrong person, etc. and in trying to avoid it, i’ve been doing the very same thing i hoped to keep from doing.

i never felt like i could apologize to those i wanted to apologize to because it might be received as disingenuous due to the nature of the exposed blog’s very existence “forcing” me to apologize. don’t get me wrong, some of those who the blog tried to coerce me into apologizing to can suck a dick, because there are people that i truly do not feel deserve my apologies, and therefore, will never get them. but, i do feel bad for those i didn’t get the chance to apologize to that i really wanted to. the last thing i’d want is for my apology to be turned into something it’s not, but hopefully everyone who has been affected by my actions can move on with my absence.

and to those of you who feel the need to make public denounces of my name, i hope it provides you the closure you’ve been seeking. truly, i do. but know that i never did anything i’ve ever done with the intent to get ahead or buy someone’s friendship or take advantage of anyone else. if i truly only cared about the things people say i cared about, i would have never made this blog in the first place. i would have leeched off the popularity of my main blog if popularity was all i cared about. i was searching for a home, which, in the end, i burned down myself. me, joking around about follower count and notes, was literally nothing but sarcastic banter that’s been taken out of context. but, i digress.

i am very thankful for those who i can still call my friends, who are willing and ready to have honest discussions with me about the things i’ve said/done and analyze them and help me move forward. therapy, medication, life choices, etc. all have been rolled into me deciding that i’m done letting a silly little app stunt my growth. if the internet was unplugged tomorrow, i know who i’d have and what would matter. i have REAL LIFE to focus on. i am in love and i have beautiful friendships that i want to foster with honesty and kindness. i can only hope that you all have the opportunity to have those very same things.

will i stop writing? nah, dude. no way. i’m just getting started. in my absence, in choosing to stay away from a place that makes me sick to my stomach with anxiety, i’ve delved into my original characters and i’ve written thousands of words that i haven’t felt the pressure to post about. i’ve learned that just because i’m doing something i love, i don’t have to do it for anyone else.

the internet is a funky place, folks. just be careful who your friends are, okay?

anyway. peace out, girl scouts. i wish you all the best 💖

#morgan.txt #tw mental health #tw suicide mention #tw discourse #tw drama #THAT’S ALL FOLKS! signing off xx

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zhansww · 4 years

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I’ve been wondering how exactly the misunderstanding of my last rambling post came to be and I think it’s cuz of one of two things; cuz I didn’t make it clear what I consider the word “queer” to mean or cuz I didn’t make it clear that the post itself was my own, subjective opinion. I’m not sure how consistent I’ve been with tagging it but I kinda differentiate between (what I think are) rational opinions I have vs emotional ones. The latter ones are obviously subjective and should not be taken as me, lecturing anyone or implying that everyone should feel the same. You either share the same sentiment or you don’t, there’s nothing wrong with it either way. And if my words in those posts seem hostile/condescending, it’s cuz I don’t feel the need to censor any of my subjective views/feelings. What I do think is important and what I try to pay attention to is not to let the negative emotions that certain things evoke in me control my actions. When I see something that I disapprove of in any way, I don’t hijack that post or report it. If my emotional reaction is particular strong, I’ll vent about it in my own post, not theirs. I considered this to be the decent thing to do but I’ve been told by at least one kind, respectful and open-minded person that I am actively making people’s lives worse with those posts, that my words are violent and that my behavior is that of an “unhinged monster” (the irony here is not lost on me). So I’ve been reflecting and I think the next time I feel a particular strong, negative emotion that makes me want to vent, I’ll put a disclaimer beforehand. And now, let me just actually clarify what my point was of that post. I believe that yz is real so I obviously do not assume they are straight. If they are indeed together, then they are queer - i.e. not straight - but that’s literally it. I have no theories or thoughts about what their specific orientation might be and I won’t ever speculate about that either. I wouldn’t mind knowing but unfortunately, they can’t be openly together right now but when they someday are, they’ll hopefully also feel safe and loved enough to share something like that with us. I know for a fact that figuring out your sexuality is a confusing and intimate process which is why I am opposed to speculating about it. I consider it to be too intrusive. But again; that is my subjective opinion based on my own experiences. I do not expect everyone to share this sentiment. One person said that I should expect such speculation and that might be true, maybe I should expect it but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Seeing certain bxg get mad at solos for assuming yz are straight but then turn around and assume they are [insert any specific sexuality except het] is hypocritical and disappointing in my opinion. I think it’s perfectly fine to have such emotional opinions as long as you don’t let those emotions cloud your judgement and lead to you, reacting in a way that is unreasonable and possibly harmful. I also think that everyone should be willing to have their rational opinions questioned but when it comes to an emotional opinion, it doesn’t have to make sense and it’s probably not gonna change either. To give another example; I hk disapprove of yz r/p/f. And that’s not me, saying it is inherently wrong and that no one should do it. In fact, you could try to make a case about how I should like it and approve of it but it wouldn’t make me change my mind precisely because this opinion is not based on logic but just on emotion. And again, as long my emotional reaction to something doesn’t lead to unreasonable actions, then the emotion itself is alright to have. And like I already said, I thought it was okay to vent those emotions in my safe space but apparently, it isn’t. No one should take those posts personally or like I’m talking to them or lecturing them. I thought that this was all obvious but since I got told otherwise, I will be more concise from now on.

You know, when someone starts a “discussion” by insulting you (implicitly or not), that’s usually a clear sign that they’re not even trying to understand you. I’ve seen at least one person reblog the reblogs and seemingly take some kind of vicious pleasure in seeing someone else sh-t on me. Something like that leads me to think that they already had a negative impression of me to begin with which is why their minds gladly misunderstood me and jumped to the worst possible conclusion. They also all seemed to either ignore my explanations or seemed intent on misunderstanding me, no matter what. To be clear, I don’t blame them entirely for it because I could have expressed my point better but for them to immediately think their misunderstanding is the right one - instead of asking me to explain myself perhaps - is also wrong. Mind you, I don’t expect those people to see or care about this post. The main reason I’m trying to clarify myself is for myself. I said I’ll try to be more concise in expressing my views (regardless of whether it’s a subjective one or not) from now on and I thought I should let this be the start of that. There was one reply in particular that ... affected me a lot harder than I thought anything could. I think it’s cuz my depression already makes me feel like I’m a waste of space 24/7. One thing I take comfort in, though, is the fact that, at the very least, the only one who’s hurting because of it is me, no one else. At least I don’t hurt others. But I got told otherwise. I got called an unhinged monster. The unhinged part is true but also being a monster... it made me feel like I’m less than a waste of space. Like, let’s say if normal people always feel like a 1, I always feel like a 0. Getting insulted like that made me feel like a -1. Instead of feeling like a read newspaper, that’s just waiting to get thrown in the trash, that insult made me feel like I’m the asbestos in the house, something that is actively harmful and you need to get rid of. Does that make sense? Anyway... I engaged in “discussions” despite my better judgement and now, I have to pay the price for it so I also decided that I won’t do that again. Hopefully, there won’t even be any more misunderstandings but if there are and someone hijacks my posts and insults and/or willfully misunderstands me, I will just block them. For my own sanity. And for the record, if there’s something in this or any of my subjective/emotional posts that can be misunderstood, that I didn’t make clear enough; please feel free to ask me about it. Please don’t immediately think the worst of me. And when it comes to my more objective/rational opinions, I am always open for discussions as long as we can remain respectful throughout.

I would also like to express my gratitude to anyone who reached out. I’m not sure if the damage can be undone to be honest (it doesn’t feel like it right now) but anyone who offered words of advice, understanding, support or kindness helped soften it. I cannot express how grateful and appreciative I am for it all, any replies or private messages. You helped make me feel less shitty and I thank you so so much. I’m definitely gonna save all the mental health advice cuz I really did not know how to deal with that overwhelming desire to... stop existing in that moment and I want to keep it in mind if (or when) I get affected this badly by something again. I intend to also reply to the messages privately ofc but for now, please accept all of my love and gratitude~

I’m gonna put the rest - which is more personal - under a cut and also tw cuz I’ll elaborate on my mental health/depression. This isn’t exactly something I want to share tbh but I think I shouldn’t shy away from it either. And I feel like I need to explain myself, just for anyone who cares to know.

—

If you compare life to walking on a path, then I at some point - I don’t even remember when - stopped walking and starting digging a hole for myself. It musta been years ago. Right now, that hole is so deep that I have no idea how to get out of it on my own, much less how to move forward. I think I always knew that there must be something wrong with me mentally. This isn’t something that is being talked about in my family, though, so I never extensively thought about it. Not until earlier this year, when my sister told me that she thinks I’m sick and I should see a therapist. My immediate reaction was to reject the idea but I really couldn’t do that for long. As of right now, I have been tentatively diagnosed (not sure if that’s what you call it in English) with depression but I haven’t actually found a permanent therapist and therefore also not started therapy yet. I have no idea what exactly is wrong with me and this not-knowing makes it somehow worse. I haven’t been properly functioning for the past two days - ever since I got called unhinged monster - cuz those words are burned into my brain by now and keep repeating themselves. It feels like my mind was given another weapon to slowly k-ll me with. It keeps reminding me that that’s what I am and then I start trembling and my breathing gets weird and it’s harder than usual for me to distract myself. And this is all so overwhelming for me, I have truly no idea how to deal with any of it. I don’t even know if I named it right, if it really is called a “depressive episode”. I’m hoping I’ll get to find out what exactly is wrong with me and how I can cope with it once I find a therapist. My lack of knowledge regarding what I myself am going through makes it all very confusing and difficult. Another reason why I kind of organized my thoughts and wrote them all down here is cuz I hope it will help me somehow, make my mind stop letting those really bad thoughts in. But in that moment when I felt especially f-cked up, any words of advice or kindness helped. I hope everyone who reached out knows that. Just... thank you. So damn much.

#long post #personal #about me #depression tw #text

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thethrillof · 3 years

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@mzkrazypouita

(put under a cut b/c the message was p long~)

Hehehe this is getting juicy. Also from the previous ask I was under a time limit cuz I had to catch a ride. 🤣

Okay, IF, Trans Eddie did get pregnant, he’d be moody and cranky.

S/O: You can’t have this, you’re pregnant.

Eddie: FUUUUUUUUUUUUU-!!!

Rerouting his cravings to the home cuz he’s petty that way.

Eddie: Can’t tell me what to do. If baby wants this, then they’re gonna get it. Try and stop me. I hate everyone.

Baby bump kick

Eddie: Don’t you start either!

Gotham will not be spared XD

~~~

Back to Ellen x Eddie Child (we gotta think of a nickname or something. I do have a name for my own Ellen X Eddie kid Oc, but I’m all for a random nickname)

This child is definitely both brain and brawn despite having a lean figure like their parents, so it’s definitely a surprise that they can throw a hecking mean punch. Of course, we see TB Riddler’s father for a glimpse. Possibly inherited strength from a grandparent…

Tho I do like the idea of a Calvin and Hobbes scenario of Calvin learning to catch the baseball with his dad cuz he wanted to get into sports and is accidentally beaned on the nose. (And then that goes into angst territory as that could actually use the “champ” trigger and Edward sees red for a moment. That’s all it takes.)

Either way, it’s only going to make Eddie feel even more awful than he already is and Yin comfort Eddie’s “I’m a horrible father” monologue even though their child is perfectly fine (either a black eye or a bloody nose, but it was just a fluke and has already forgiven the entire thing) Man, are kids sturdy AF

Even after the accident, Eddie looks at his child and there’s that same shining adoration of a child’s pure love for their parent. It doesn’t make him feel any better, but it does lighten his mood that his child still looks up to their father.

“Nice arm dad! 8D”

“…(nervous laugh)…let’s not talk about it anymore. Okay?”

“Okay! 8)”

~~~

Bully or Godsend?

There’s an irony in the “bully who bullies a bully”. It’s either just as bad, making things worse, or is seen as admirable depending on the situation.

Older child is definitely playing the bad cop of intimidation, using smarts to usually get what they want, or the usual “I’m your friend and you can trust me, just tell me what I need to know and I can take care of the problem for you. Nobody needs to know.”

Practically providing a service and having their own little posse of friends. Usually those that can’t protect themselves, or the usual outcasts + brawn and no brain but attracted to charisma and possible friends, but there’s always a leader of the pack and that’s where Ellen and Edward’s child is placed at.

Yin: I don’t know. On one hand, it’s nice to have friends. But in the other hand, I don’t like how they’re making friends.

Eddie: At least they’re making friends. What more do you want?

Eddie and Ellen possibly butting heads over this given their two perspectives + “I don’t want to be the bad guy here, but one of us needs to give them a good conversation”

Cuz Edward’s pretty darn vengeful like you said and just goes “I don’t see what the problem is” vs Yin’s own lessons learned and go, “you either don’t want to see or are to proud to admit it”

Course they don’t argue about it in front of the child. Feels like that could make things worse and try the “take turns to confront the matter” route to give their child a better perspective of things.

They know their child certainly looks up and adores both of their parents. There isn’t a “they like you more” debate. Yin’s got her own thing and Eddie’s got his own thing. There’s no competition or anything about it. So that helps things a bit.

Bruce and Ethan being more friends to Yin, but Batman being a possibly ally to Eddie about “You’ve changed. But you can’t let your own past cloud your judgements. Deep down, you know that, Eddie. Just keep an eye out.”

Edward’s not trying to create a little version of himself, only wanting to give his child the things he never had growing up.

Yin’s not trying to create the perfect child, only wanting that her kid do the right thing and recognize their actions do affect others

They most certainly can agree on that.

But, there’s always another concern. Is this usual kid behavior that just needs proper guidance…or could there be something more that they’re not looking into.

Plus there’s definitely prejudice against Riddler and comments like “no wonder that child is messed up” or “young Sheldon gone psycho brought up. Which is a downright awful to say to a child or about a child in general and definitely Eddie & Yin are not going to take that lightly.

High thoughts that Edward would hide this criminal reputation from his child. After all, people are hero and villain fans, even kids, and Eddie doesn’t want his child to look up to him in that light. Not like that. Never like that.

Ellen would definitely back up Eddie on that, especially since kids do dumb things for their idols. She’s probably seen it first hand as well in her work. Is their child like that? No…but…better to nip it in the bud. And even then, perhaps a good stern talking too by mom would do the trick.

“If someone told you to jump off a cliff, would you?”

“What if I told them to jump?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Look. I know you’re smarter than this and I’m not here to punish you about anything. You’re father and I don’t want you getting yourself into a mess that even we can’t help you get out of. Do you understand?”

Yin’s certainly got her way with words.

Bruce/Batman and Ethan could possibly be that heroic role models of “it’s good to stand up for others, but this isn’t the way to do it. Tell an adult. Do you understand?” Only to be confronted with something snarky.

“I tuned you out the moment you started sounding like a D.A.R.E commercial featuring McGruff the Crime Dog and El Kabong. Did my parents pay you to talk to me?”

Bruce/Batman and Ethan: … >.>

Cue Batgirl and Robin trying so hard not to laugh as they overhear that comment.

(not talkin about the preggo part b/c i’m not into that--i think u answered my ask about it but when i went to look, it was gone? either way yeah)

ehhh, not too into edward actually hitting his kid. ‘champ’ is a massive trigger but even at his worst he had a moment to snarl and think, even if that was thinking about “what nearby to grab as a weapon”. getting close or absolutely screaming at ‘em would be enough to shake him horribly :V Go Get Therapy Sir. if he hadn’t already.

bullying can be a tough thing for everyone to deal with! really can’t count on the school to do anything, either. i have the idea that maybe yin does try to reach out also through school somewhat only to get stonewalled by how useless they are and eddie being semi-smug (this situation sucks but he has experience, probably) about how he told her so in the middle of all this.

also man i sincerely do appreciate you sending these asks, especially since almost nobody talks about tb in general, but i’m burning out pretty fast on this topic--not a huge fan of fan kiddos, tbh v_v you might want to just make posts in the “the batman (2004)″ tag on your blog instead since i personally am not going to have much more to say about these things, and you’ve got a lot to say about ‘em!

#mzkrazypouita

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asoftervirge · 4 years

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Of “Love” & Murder (7/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: Logan Oxford: Esteemed Novelist

RATING: PG PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Anxiety, Logan being A Nerd, Philosophy Jargon, mentions of a previous Murder, mentions of Poisoning CHAPTER SUMMARY: Logan tell Patton how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And we’re introduced to Logan! :D This chapter is shorter than the Roman introduction, but it should still bring excitement for people to want to learn how xe died. That’s a weird sentence. lol And yes, xe not he. Logan has had a number of changes with this update and I’m very pleased with them, so I hope everyone else is too. Also, this chapter is PG, so that’s good! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me a Ko-Fi!

Patton squeaked and stood up straighter. For some reason, this person gave off a cold and aloof aura. Much different from the warmth and passion that radiated from Roman.

“You— You must be the second of Virgil’s husbands?”

“Spouses,” the second ghost immediately corrected. His lips curled into a slight scowl. It was pretty intimidating to say the least, especially with how tall he seemed to be. “While I do not completely mind being considered his…’husband,’ I would prefer to be called his spouse. Also my pronouns call be he/him, but I would prefer xe/xyr.”

“O-Oh!” Patton blushed, feeling bad he accidentally misgendered another person. “I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean—”

“Since this is our first encounter and it was merely an accident, I’ll let it slide.” xe told the confectioner while marching toward him, maintaining a good distance. “However, should we encounter each other again multiple times after this, and you still continue to misuse my pronouns, I can guarantee I will not be so friendly.”

Patton gulped. “Got it.”

Xe held out a hand for him. “Logan Oxford. Esteemed novelist and self-admitted astrophile.”

The confectioner didn’t know what half of those words meant. “U-Uhm,” he shakes Logan’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Oxford.”

“Logan, please. No need for formalities.”

He nodded. Now that he thinks about it, Patton has heard the name Logan Oxford before. His cousin Emile brought xem up a couple of times when he talked about therapy (while still keeping patient confidentiality, obviously). He mentioned how xyr essays were really good, but they seemed a little too…stuffy, for his personal tastes (like most scientists/doctors/philosophers/etc).

Now meeting xem for the first time, he can understand why Emile said that.

While Roman had on very bold, fancy colors: reds and whites and golds, Logan was a stark contrast to that. Similar to his own palette but not quite. Xe had on a dark blue dress coat with a white button-up underneath it, along with black suit pants and dark brown dress shoes. A little bit of gold was on his buttons and cuff links, but other than that, the colors xe wore were predominantly dark.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of differences between he and Logan. The novelist had dark eyes while he had baby blue. Logan had straight, gelled black hair while he had strawberry blonde curls. A medium build with a good amount of muscle as opposed to a soft curvy build with a bit of chub. A sharp face as opposed to a rounded one. Square glasses as opposed to rounded lenses.

Regardless, xe were a very clean-looking individual. Perhaps even handsome in xyr own right, much like Virgil was.

“I suppose you’re wanting to warn me about Virgil too?” he asks.

“Is that not why you’re here?” Logan responds. “Or were you just wanting to put your nose into the affairs of a relatively wealthy man?”

Patton pouted. He didn’t have to be rude about it!

“But yes,” the novelist says immediately after. “I am here to also warn you about the dangers of Mr. Virgil Nyx of 613 Rue Morgue.”

“Well take your time. I’m not here to rush you.”

“I appreciate your concerns, but my past before Mr. Nyx is easy to discuss,” Logan tells him.

The confectioner nods, listening to him attentively.

“Growing up as a child, my father was a firm believer of knowledge,” Xe began. “He always believed that it was an incomparably valuable, multipurpose tool, instrumental in identifying and solving any of the world’s problems.” Dark blue eyes casted themselves over to the books. “One of the things he used to tell me was, “If you are ever worried about getting hurt, then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon, and our greatest defense.” And so, with that, my ever-growing thirst began.”

Xe went on, “I scoured for any form of knowledge, be that books or even educative television, wherever I could find it, I absorbed it entirely. I read every book from both my father and Ye Ye, every book from the libraries— primary school, the public one, university— etcetera. All of it was not enough for me. I eventually received my Master’s in Philosophy and a Doctorate in Physics, wishing to expand my love of all things intellect and share it with the world.” He turns back to Patton. “Before my graduation, I had published a few theses that were eventually used at other prestigious universities; and afterward, I had written a book or two, which resulted in my rise to celebrity.”

Patton nodded. Then he asked, “Had you known about Virgil before you met him?”

“I was aware of him, yes.” the novelist’s lips thinned into a firm line. “I had heard about the…supposed suicide of Roman Scarlet, famed Broadway actor and beloved performer of the Storytime lounge. I had also heard of his brother’s desire to take Virgil to court without any proof of murderous intent, I believe he was even in contact with a lawyer despite this.”

The confectioner looked at xem in surprise. “Even when he didn’t have evidence, his brother had contact with a lawyer about wanting to see if Virgil could be charged with murder?”

“Indeed.” Logan nodded. “At first, I read it off as some silly story for revenge, not exactly understanding how that was actually the truth.”

Patton nodded. “So…Did you meet him at a book signing or…?”

Logan didn’t say anything of the longest time. When xe did, it was very vague-sounding. “When I met Virgil…well, let’s just say it was…a strange sense of irony.”

…

If he could, Virgil would have openly spat about how much he did not want to be here. When he became as wealthy as he is, he swore up and down that he would never return to this place, return to the old life he lived before he knew what it was like to have money.

And yet, here he was, walking into a familiar-looking bookstore. The name re-entering his mind like he hadn’t shoved it out oh so many years ago.

Catching his eye was the small clump of beings standing outside its old, paint-chipped door; maybe the line won’t be as long as he thought. However, he quickly (and unfortunately) realized that the clump of people outside stood at the end of a line that snaked through the entire store.

Everyone and their mother apparently wanted to meet Logan Oxford today of all days.

He should’ve expected this, and yet, he didn’t. Idiot.

Actual anxiety slowly began to seize his being as he continued to approach. Everyone seemed to have a book clutched in their hands. Most were the newest release that came just before the holidays, while some seemed to be personally chosen titles by the older audience, and then there were even books of essays that were held and gossiped about by students (or who Virgil assumed to be university students).

By the time the line actually started moving, Virgil felt sweat starting to coat his palms. He let out a noise of annoyance and shoved them into his pockets.

He was not going to let his stupid anxiety ruin this chance for him. He wasn’t!

Walking in, the little jingle of the bell above sounded like the heavy dong of a church one.

Virgil forced himself to look around. This cozy little hellhole remained the same even after almost a decade. (He even forced himself to wonder if the old owner was still here. Probably not. Maybe retired. Or dead.)

The lighting was still bad, but it gave the small interior of the store its warm glow; the carpeting was still old fashioned and had that untraceable smell to it; the chairs scattered about the store were all patchy and worn-down; the wooden tables had scratch marks and random-ass messages that people carved in with pencil; and there were still crazy knickknacks and antiques hanging from the walls or seen from the shelves.

For the widower, this place was a walk-in nightmare, like walking into someone’s grandmother’s house. But for the many customers who come and go daily, it was a little spot of comfort.

Silver-grey eyes eventually found the prize he was looking for.

Logan Oxford sat at a small table with a pen in xyr hand. The writer smiled very thinly up at an admirer as xe handed back their book from across the table.

A thousand little details flooded Virgil’s mind all at once. A full mouth that could be expressive if it wasn’t so clearly behind a reserved wall. A face that was as sharp as Roman’s but it was much more angular. Rich, dark eyes that almost seemed black: dark and mysterious, they looked like they were pulled from the night sky. Slicked back hair that would still be considered neat without all that damn hair gel.

Xe were more than attractive than the widower realized. Perfect for being his next target.

Just before it was his turn, he saw a stand full of Logan’s books, all new and old alike. Making sure no one was looking, he snagged a copy before making his way towards the novelist.

The novelist took the book without even saying anything, not even so much as a polite hello. Xe flipped it open to the first page and started to scribble on the first page with blue ink.

Virgil looked down at the book he grabbed and an idea sparked in his mind. He cleared his throat, but not loud enough to cause a scene. “Mx. Oxford?” he pretended to sound eager. “I know you’ve probably heard this before, but your philosophy essays are so fascinating.”

“You are correct, I have heard it before.” xe said. Dark eyes flashed up at him, a brow quirked and his expression monotone. “Do you have a particular question you’d like to ask me?”

He nodded. “Actually, I do…Do you believe that your field of study has been hindered by the teachings of Aristotle, or are you one of those science-y people who just nod and continuously say he’s right without any substantial proof?”

At that, Logan’s head shot up. “…beg pardon?” Xe were a little stunned by the question being asked of him.

“Do you agree with Aristotle’s teachings, yes or no?” Virgil asked again, a tiny bit amused as he made the novelist react in such a way.

Xe cleared xyr throat, trying to regain some composure. “W-Well,” he stammered. “In the case of Aristotle…the man was usually wrong. A lot. Most of his descriptions of the natural world are some variety of incorrect,” xe tell him. “Looking past his blatant sexism, his understanding of motion and forces is wrong, is astronomy is wrong, a good portion of his biology is busted, and science has in fact suffered for it. For almost 2,000 years to be specific.”

The widower hummed. (Truth be told, he hated philosophy. It was basically a bunch of old guys trying to preach certain ethics and ideologies that would eventually become outdated and criticized.) Nevertheless, he wanted to know what Logan thought about it.

“However,” Logan continued, a glimmer of something sparkling in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the 1800s when the atom was officially declared A Thing, that people began to believe his contemporary, Democritus, as opposed to himself.” Xe snort. “Not to mention, according to Cicero, his prose was apparently a flowing river of gold…when it actually was not. And it was because of him that we not only lost science but also a catastrophic amount of classical literature.”

“So in actuality, his works are basically glorified lecture-notes from his students?” Virgil smirks faintly. “I guess you know now why we should’ve listened to Gorgias instead.”

“Gorgias?” Xe ask, looking at him incredulously. “The man was, excuse my Greek, a pathological pain the ass. He didn’t care for objective truth and stated that everything was a matter of opinion, which was always bendable.”

“Exactly!” Virgil smirks more. “Everything is a construct, therefore we tried and failed. So now all we need to do is to hide under the covers until the sun goes away.” With that, the widower takes his autographed book and begins to leave the store.

“Falsehood!” A screech came from behind him, making him jump. He turns around to see the novelist get up and stride over to him, a sharp look in his eyes. The widower immediately stood straighter. Damn…that glare reminds him of a certain someone that he does not wish to remember right now. “Just because Gorgias was able to obliterate Stephanos of Thebes with straw-man arguments and casual fallacies, does not mean you can, Diogenes the Cynic.”

Virgil blinked. “…Diogenes the Cynic?” he echoed.

“Yes,” Logan says. “A philosopher who believed that all Sophists were liars, the Philosophers were too pretentious, therefore taking immense pleasure in poking fun at their logic.”

The widower pondered thoughtfully. “…yep. That sounds like us just now.” A glint of wicked humor shone in his eyes as Logan just looked done with him. “But in all seriousness, Mx. Oxford. You have to realize that philosophy can be a bit asinine, right?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment before breathing out. “I suppose so,” xe states. “All of the big, complex ideas simply come from those who are fallible and prone to…ridiculousness. For every Plato’s Republic, there is a Diogenes urinating at a banquet table.”

“There you go,” Virgil laughs. “I hope you really didn’t get offended by what I said. I like presenting counterarguments just to see how people react.”

“No harm done. Although I must admit, while I don’t particularly enjoy socializing with others all that much,” Hard same. “I would like to talk to you more. Maybe about science-based media— or whatever it is you’re a fan of?”

Virgil nodded, smirking internally. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I would like to challenge your claims on what you call cognitive distortions. As someone who has generalized anxiety, I wanna know what your psychology thinks about my over-reactionary mind.”

Logan hummed in interest. “Oh? I look forward to it then, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

“Mr. Nyx.” Named after the Roman Goddess of the Night, the novelist mused. Xe liked it. Xe scribbled something onto the back of a bookmark, handing it to Virgil. “Again, thank you very much for coming and I hope to communicate with you again soon.”

“See ya.”

With a finger salute, Virgil left the bookstore with a sigh of relief. He was quite glad that his anxiety didn’t make him look the a fool and that he was out of that atrocious place. He opened the book and saw the fancy penmanship of the novelist.

On the bookmark, was his phone number.

He smirked. Maybe he did succeed after all…

…

Patton listed as Logan finished telling him about xyr first meeting with Virgil. He had to admit, it was rather nice to not listen to any…graphic details about things he didn’t want to know, even if Roman told him in a vague manner.

“So how did you stay close with Virgil?” he asked, remembering the questions he presented Roman. “You gave him your number; did you call each other on the phone? Or did you both kept meeting at the bookstore.”

Logan shook xyrs head. “No. However, I would invite him out for some coffee if I was in the area. And every time we did so, we would always have little discussions that would turn into…not-so-little discussions after a period of time…”

Patton raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.

The novelist scowled. “We did not argue, if that is what you’re thinking! We…debated, that’s much more civil.” The confectioner giggled but allowed him to continue. “And, while I’m not a traditionally…emotional person…it was quite nice to have someone debate on certain subjects with me, even if they tended to hiss at me from time to time.”

Despite this slowly becoming a sad tale, Patton giggled again. He won’t lie, Virgil did act like a cat every once in a while. It was actually kinda cute (you know…despite the fact he murdered three people…).

“I would also take him to any conferences or panels that I would be invited to attend or speak at,” xe told him. “He would act as my plus one, if you will. I must admit, even if I could manage them on my own, it was…almost beneficial for me to have him around during those events.” Xe chuckled. “I say this despite the fact that he detested such things, as they tended to prompt his anxiety and cause him to rudely hiss whenever someone— and I quote— “reached his limits with stupid questions.” Not only that, he was not primarily invested in the actual subjects of said discussions and was more interested in the catering they served.”

That caused Patton to actually laugh. That also seems like something that Virgil would do, though he doesn’t blame him at all. In fact, if he were in his shoes, he would be a bit more curious in the food too.

Logan couldn’t help xyr lips from twitching upwards. “I shall confess, there were times where I myself have agreed with his sentiments.”

Unfortunately, the smiles and laughter had to end at some point.

“But what happened afterward?” Patton eventually asked. “What caused everything to go downhill?”

The little twitch of a smile instantly when back to a frown. The confectioner sees xem turn to grab a book that was suddenly on the table (when did that get there anyhow?). It was a very beautiful looking book: dark indigo in color with a title that he couldn’t quite make out, but he could see Logan’s name at the very top. Xe opened the book, flipping it to the very last pages before handing it to Patton.

‘ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS’ Baby blue eyes skimmed through the short paragraphs of text. Logan gave simple but kind words as xe thanked the people who helped xem achieve such a feat, such as his parents and former professors.

Then he followed to where the novelist had pointed a finger at.

“Lastly, I would like to give acknowledgments to my husband, Virgil Nyx.

While we have not known each other long, and have newly become married, but having your support throughout this journey was momentous for someone like me to complete this project. Your harsh and honest (almost too honest) criticisms of my work were what kept me going to make and achieve better than my means. And while I am not an emotional person, nor do I express my emotions often, I quiet enjoyed having your company while I wrote and rewrote my rough and final drafts… And I must thank you for bring me my favorite green teas and jellied biscuits whenever I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for hours on end.

This is the most I have genuinely praised someone so highly (and also a first), but it cannot be helped. I truly hope you see the appreciation and respect I fester for you.”

Patton couldn’t help but tear up. To Logan, they may appear simple, but they were also so beautiful.

“As you’ve read, by the time I had written my last book, Virgil had become my spouse.” Logan says. “We were married in a simple ceremony. Something that was vastly different from Roman’s grandiose nuptials.”

Patton giggled. It was amusing with how Logan was poking fun at Roman from beyond the grave. (In an almost magical way, he could almost hear an indignant noise in his ear).

“But,” Logan’s face grew sad, almost angry. “That did not last long, unfortunately. I had quickly fallen for Virgil’s rouses like the one before me. And, like him, I was met with an unfortunate end.” A deep, almost tired sigh. “To think, someone like him could have been two steps ahead of me in a metaphorical game of chess…I must say, it was truly a checkmate on his end.”

“Him murdering you, you mean?” Patton asked, fearing the answer Logan will give him. Silence. A very familiar silence.

Then, Logan nodded. “Yes. Although, poisoning is the correct terminology this time around.”

#Sanders Sides #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Analogical #Of Love & Murder

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astrozones · 4 years

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Sanders Behavioral Health, Chapter 1: Virgil Starts Freaking Out More Than Usual

Trigger warning: mental health stuff. Major mental health stuff. For the whole fic.

Group Therapy AU. Prinxiety and Logicality eventually.

Three hours.

Three goddamn hours of his life dedicated to therapy. Every. Single. Day.

Except weekends. At least he still had his weekends.

When his father had told him of the “amazing” news, Virgil was seriously rethinking going back to his old family.

Coming from an abusive home to a place where others cared about him was jarring, to say the least. Parts of it he adored. Not being punished for coming home a couple minutes late? He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful. But since his time at his new family’s house, he had been diagnosed with anxiety, depression, and a hint of OCD. And when his parents put him in therapy for the first time, he found it dull, but a good escape from his bad thoughts.

But when his therapist suggested Sanders Behavioral Health, he was apprehensive. Even more so when she told him that three hours of his day would be dedicated to working on his anxiety. His social anxiety, mostly. Virgil had stared at her in disgust, why would he ever want to go there? Why would he want to go somewhere that would give him more anxiety, on purpose, rather than stay at home scrolling through YouTube?

He was even more disgusted when his adoptive father had happily agreed to look into it.

Yes, Virgil wanted to get better. God, he wanted to get better so bad, to be away from the thoughts that plagued his mind. That’s what he told himself, at least.

Maybe he didn’t want to get better. Maybe he wanted to stay in his room all day because that was what he was used to. He was content at this stage, and so what if he was destroying his future and the potential for happiness? He was here now and he was content, wasn’t that good enough?

He would never say that to his therapist. If he did, she would tell his dad, who would in turn tell his mom, and they’d worry about him more. If this was the life he had to live, then so be it.

So here he was, in the lobby room of the building he had dreaded coming to since they made the first call to get him into this institute. He hunched over in his hoodie, idly scrolling through his phone, trying to collect his thoughts. What if he made a mistake? What if it turned out he had been faking it this whole time and they got mad? What if he did something embarrassing? Oh, god, what if they hated him? What if-

The lobby door slammed open. Virgil jumped in his seat, his father gently putting a hand on his shoulder. In stepped a boy that looked just about the same age as himself. Oh, for the love of-

“I HAVE REETUUURNED~,” the boy sung, arms spread as wide as he could with a binder in his hands. “No need to fear, your Prince is here!” Virgil pursed his lips.

“Yeah, ‘prince’, my ass.” he mumbled, looking back down at his phone. The boy spluttered indignantly, to Virgil’s confusion. That wasn’t even a good insult, so why was the boy getting mad at him? Oh god, oh shit, I already made an enemy-

“Roman, please just sign in.” The front desk lady said with a small smile. The boy, or rather, Roman, blushed, with an “oh, right” as he did as he was told.

Roman slumped down in a seat, turning to the only other kid in the room.

“So, Mr. Professionalism, I know it’s only my second proper day here, but what’s with the tie? You wear it every day or somethin’?” Roman’s posture remained slouched and easy-going, the opposite to the other, who was indeed wearing a tie. Tie guy’s posture was pristine and collected, his face not revealing any emotion, except a slight glare.

“I do not. I wear a different tie every day. It is unsanitary to wear the same thing every day. And when I sleep, I change into the proper wear. I would also like to point out that it’s pronounced some thing . With a g. Proper pronunciation is important, lest you confuse someone who is not as knowledgeable with our language. And my name, is Logan. Thank you.” Logan, apparently, finished his monologue with hardly a change in expression. Both Virgil and Roman looked a bit disoriented.

“Allllrighty,” Roman started, ignoring Logan’s hiss of “it’s pronounced al right ”, “Welp, glad to see I’m not the only one who’s early! Don’t you think the weather is great today? So sunny!”

“I do not wish to engage in small talk.” Logan said, returning to his book. Roman blinked at this, his head darting back a bit. He quickly returned to his confident persona and turned to Virgil.

Oh no , was his only thought before he was forced into conversation.

“SOO, Emostein, what’s your opinion on the weather? Since Necktie over there refuses to be nice, that is.” Roman said with a flourish of his hand.

What was he supposed to say? That he never went outside enough to appreciate the weather? That he would rather not say anything? That this whole thing was pushing him to the verge of a panic attack?

So, instead, he murmured, “Emostein?”. Goddamn it, that was dumb-

“Why yes! Like Frankenstein, but judging by your apparel, I had assumed you were emo and listen to My Chemical Romance all day. Am I wrong in this?”

Virgil shoved his head in his hands, blushing from embarrassment. “Ugh, no, you’re not. You don’t need to point it out, though…” He grumbled. God, he hated social situations. Even if it distracted him from the anxiety surrounding this new therapy group.

Whether he had bad luck, or the fates hated him, he couldn’t decide as the door to the rest of the building opened in perfect irony.

“Virgil?” The woman called with a smile. He hugged his few items closer to him as he stood up, making his way through the entrance. He glanced back at the lobby, where yet another kid was entering.

Then, the door was closed.

The woman introduced herself as Rebecca, or Becca for short. She led him on a quick tour of the building before the others were scheduled to come in, something he was grateful for. The place was smaller than he expected. She led him through the cafeteria (a cafeteria? what?), the doors of a couple staff, the bathroom, the check-up room, and the individual rooms. The individual rooms, as she explained, were for when you needed to focus on an ‘exposure’ and couldn’t handle distractions from other people.

Virgil quickly decided he liked these rooms.

Becca let him choose a room, and had him write his name on the whiteboard in front of it. As he did, he heard the entrance door open and a loud voice groan out, “UGHH, but I don’t wanna go in yet!”. Uh oh, people alert! He quickly slipped into the room, Becca joining him soon after.

“While you’re in this program,” she started. “you will be doing exposures, which means you’ll be directly facing the anxiety. It’ll be tough, but the goal is, when you get out of the program, you’re more used to these situations, and when you encounter them, you don’t freak out as much.” At that, she smiled, as if she hadn’t just diminished his already depressed mood.

“Does that sound good?” Becca continued, tilting her head to the side. Virgil stared at her as if she just told him the Sun was purple (not that he would mind that… purple was a very nice color.).

“Not really,” came his reply. “sounds terrible.”

Becca’s smile became just a little more stressed.

“I get your point, but I disagree. See, here and now, you’re not okay. Do you agree?” she stated flatly, and at his small nod, continued, “It’s because you’ve been in this slump for too long. It’s ruining your mood, and unless you do something about it, it’ll just get worse. If you want to get better, you have to do something about it.”

Virgil sighed. Yes, he understood, but he had the right to dislike this.

Becca explained a few more things about the program before handing him a small stack of papers and leaving him to mull over in his silent suffering.

He doodled in between the questions he had just answered as he waited for Becca to come back. Just the classic questions, ‘What do you want to work on while here at Sanders?’, ‘How would you describe your average mood?’, ‘What is (or are) your diagnosis?’, etc.. He glanced at the clock. 5 minutes. He tapped his foot. Fiddled with his hoodie strings. Kicked at the wall. 10 minutes. Hm.

Sanders Behavioral Health had a rule against phones being in the building, for privacy reasons… but, taking a glance around, he couldn’t see any cameras. And he had snuck his phone in by slipping it into his boots when no one was looking. Then there was the fact that no one was in the room with him…

Whipping out his phone, he quickly found a position where his phone was hidden enough that the average passerby wouldn’t notice and opened it up. What to do, what to do…

He scrolled through Tumblr, and responded to a few messages on Discord. He was in the middle of typing one out when there was a knock on the door.

Jumping, Virgil quickly turned to the door while desperately trying to hide his phone. He couldn’t fit in past his shoe in time, could he hide it in his hoodie so the visitor wouldn’t see it? Think fast befo-

The door opened, a stranger walking in. The stranger smiled.

“Hello! I’m Nurse Vicki. You’re Virgil, right? I need you for just a moment so we can do checkups, if you’ll come with me!” Vicki grinned, holding the door open wider. Virgil slid the phone into his hoodie pocket. There was a chance of it being noticed, but it would have to do.

When brought into the nurse’s office, she sat him down and started asking questions.

Are you suicidal? Yes.

Are you going to school regularly? No.

Are you eating healthy? Probably not.

And on, and on, and on, until finally, she took him to track his weight and vitals, and escorted him back to his room. Still no Becca.

The second Nurse Vicki left, Virgil quickly took his phone out and situated it where it wasn’t easily visible in his boot. Yes, it did rub against his foot painfully, but that was just the price he’d have to pay. Without his phone, he felt even more anxious. He knew it was stupid, but what if he got a call? What if he got hurt? What if someone else got hurt? Virgil needed the phone, and if that included sacrificing his comfort, he would do it.

Now, what was he supposed to do? 20 minutes had passed. He studied the vandalism done in pencil on the wall, but that quickly got boring.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

He drummed his fingers on the table.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

He thought about what he was going to do tomorrow- wait, no, that gave him more anxiety.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Sighing, he leaned back and studied the ceiling. Maybe he could fall asleep here. Or maybe he’d just get in trouble for that.

After what seemed like ages, Becca returned. Gathering up the papers, she led him outside the room.

“We aren’t going to start anything today, but I’ll show you the timers and computers. Here’s the check in sheet for them,” she motioned to the top of the computer cart, a basket with multiple stopwatches in it next to the sheets. “and the top row of computers are assessment computers, while the bottom are normal computers. Today, you’ll be getting an assessment computer.”

Stepping aside, she let him check out a computer. As he was writing down his name, another person came in from a second hallway. The loud boy from before- Roman?- glanced in their direction before doing a double take. Cringing slightly, Virgil prepared for Roman to burst out with a loud “hello!”.

Only Roman did nothing of the sort. Once Becca greeted him, he motioned awkwardly to the timer in his hands before walking down the hallway and turning into a staff’s room.

O ...kay?

He may not have known Roman for long, but that seemed entirely uncharacteristic. Pursing his lips, he finished filling out the sheet as Becca and him walked back. Well, almost. Becca stopped in her office for a split second before returning with a binder and a dazzling smile. Virgil sunk into his jacket with a ‘dazzling’ scowl.

Back inside the room, Becca gave him the binder and led him through all that it entailed, before signing him into the assessment computer. And once more, Becca left him to fill out the assessments alone.

Which was fantastic.

Another round of repetitive questions he’d answered a thousand times before-

In the past 7 days how often have you not able to stop feeling sad? Often.

--felt alone? Always.

--feel everything in your life went wrong? Always.

--feel like you can’t do anything right? Often.

--it was hard for you to have fun? Always.

He supposed a lot of this came from his past family. And, geez, these were not nice memories to go through. But being pushed around and starved for days on end was bound to take a toll on you, and it sure as hell did in the case of Virgil. It was part of the reason he wore hoodies all the time, to hide the- the- oh god he was not ready to think about this right now.

Shaking his head, Virgil returned to the questions, feeling worse than he had. He felt a tear trying to surface and quickly closed his eyes. Not here , he thought. Not now, I can’t. They’ll make fun of me for it.

And yeah, maybe it was illogical to worry about being made fun of for crying in a literal therapy building, but maybe Virgil wasn’t thinking quite right at that point. Maybe he wasn’t thinking quite right often.

Or maybe he was just stupid.

The last time Becca returned to his individual room was to bring him out to the cafeteria for something called ‘recreational therapy’ which included doing “fun things” with the other patients.

Great.

After putting away his computer, he was instructed to leave his new binder in the cafeteria and to bring a pen or pencil with him.

He didn’t have either and had to ask someone else for it. Oh, god…

Dodging around the others in the cafeteria, he made his way back to Becca and quietly asked for a pen, and, to his disappointment, didn’t get one. He turned around to face the 3 other patients, forced to consider the options as to who might have a goddamn pen.

The others were all the people he had seen in the waiting room earlier. Only one of them he hadn’t really gotten to know, which was the boy in light blue. He was talking to the loud one, ugh, what was his name again… Roman! Yes, he was talking to Roman. Listening in on their conversation he found that they were talking about… dogs? Well, Light Blue was nearly screaming about dogs while Roman was looking a little bewildered at just how loud this boy was about dogs. Which only left Tie Guy, Logan, to ask. If he didn’t have one, Virgil would have to walk out and ask a staff, so asking the scary one it was.

Glancing towards his binder, Virgil saw that he had 3 pens next to it, black, red, and blue. Bingo!

“Hey uh,” he started once he reached Logan. “Um, can I… uh, sorry, can I borrow a pen? Please?”

Logan’s gaze jerked towards Virgil, then back to his pens. “No,” he stated bluntly. “I only have one black pen. As you can see. ”

“But… I could just… use the red or blue one? I don’t really care that much about colors…” Virgil, to say the least, was hella confused. What was this kid’s deal? First the whole tie thing, now Virgil wasn’t able to use one of his three pens? There was no need to be so rude.

“No, you can’t. Red is for spelling errors and blue is for grammar errors. Everyone knows that. You cannot just use a red or blue pen for normal writing!” Logan nearly growled out. Virgil took a few steps back, was it okay for him to be around this guy?! Was he safe?

He felt a tap on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin. Whipping around, he was faced with Light Blue holding a pen. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Heyo! I’m Patton,” Light Blue said. “I couldn’t help but hear your conversation, so sorry for interrupting, but I have a free pen you could use instead! It’s no big deal to me!” Patton’s smile was nearly blinding as he held the pen out. Grabbing the pen, Virgil felt a little… unnerved. Maybe it was just the anxiety talking, but this guy seemed way too nice to be here. Maybe he was just about to leave the program?

“Uh, thanks.” Was the only thing he said in response before retreating to the corner of the room. He could see Becca hovering around the computer before telling them she would be back in a second.

Well ain’t that just fucking great .

“Ooh, scandalous~!” Roman yelled as Becca went to leave the room. “Leaving a bunch of teens unsupervised? Didn’t take ya for the type.” Virgil looked at him. If he remembered correctly, Roman had said this was his second day. So, why was he so… extroverted? He, along with Patton, didn’t really feel like they belonged in this group. Patton seemed too bright and happy, and Roman seemed too loud and confident.

“You is not pronounced ‘ya’.” Logan huffed. Roman turned to him looking a bit confused.

“It’s… not that different, though?”

“Every little thing matters, Roman. I’ve explained this to you before, so why do you continue to lack the capacity to understand it?” Roman spluttered at this, the insult obviously getting to him.

“I was just telling you my opinion, and you don’t need to… insult me over it! Believe it or not, I don’t like being called stupid!” Roman spat out.

Uh oh.

“I did not call you stupid. It seems as if you came to that conclusion yourself, yet I will not deny it.”

“ You implied it you-”

Before Roman could finish, Becca, in all her glory, opened the door and invited them to follow her. Well, maybe invited wasn’t the correct term, but Virgil was well on his way to a massive anxiety attack and couldn’t give a shit.

Once Becca had led them outside and had them all introduce themselves, she gave them a simple two-sided sheet of paper.

“Today, we’re going to be doing a people scavenger hunt! On the paper, there’s a bunch of questions, and it’s your job to find someone who fits the criteria! Once you do, they should sign your paper. Try not to use the same person for most of the questions! Sounds great, don’t you agree?”

“Yay.” Virgil muttered unenthusiastically, curling into his hoodie when both Roman and Patton turned to him.

“Miss Becca, there are four of us. Statistically speaking, it is unlikely for us to be able to fill out the entirety of this sheet, especially with questions like the 13th, which says ‘Someone who has red hair.’ As you can see, none of us have red hair. I must recommend that you reprint this paper with questions we can properly answer.” Logan attempted to smooth down his hair in the wind as he spoke, his paper resting on a clipboard, because of course Logan had prepared himself with a clipboard while the rest of them had to combat the wind attempting to blow their papers away.

“It’s okay, Logan,” Becca smiled sweetly. “You don’t need to answer all the questions before we go back in.”

“Yes I do, or the assignment is incomplete!”

Smile dropping, Becca motioned for the others to start as she turned to talk to Logan. And with that, Virgil was forced to communicate with the last two.

Already, Patton and Roman seemed to be chatting, which left Virgil to awkwardly stand by while they filled the paper out. Virgil could feel his breathing quickening, why did Logan have to be picky? He could be talking to him, which would be better than just standing here with nothing to do!

Roman turned to him once he had gotten the paper signed, smiling slightly at him before skimming his eyes through the paper. Wait, he took it back, he wasn’t ready to talk yet oh no-

“Do youuu….. Like mint ice cream?” Roman asked, looking up from his paper with a smile. Silently, Virgil nodded. After signing the paper Roman gave to him, Roman stayed, looking expectantly at him. What? Oh! He’s expecting a question quick choose one!!!

Looking at his own paper, Virgil chose the first question his eyes landed on.

“Do you, um. Do you speak another language?” He stuttered out. Roman brightened.

“¡Sí! Hablo español.” Roman was bouncing on his heels, grinning impossibly larger. At Virgil’s dubious stare, he seemed to deflate, a small blush growing on his cheeks. “Sorry, uh, yes, I speak Spanish.”

As Virgil handed him the paper, he had more time to stand awkwardly. Roman had hoisted his leg up and was now balancing precariously on one leg while writing against the other one. His tongue poked out from between his teeth as he tried to not fall over.

Roman had green eyes. While Virgil didn’t usually make eye contact, he couldn’t help but notice while this kid was right in front of him . Virgil had always adored green eyes in people, they may be more rare but they were so pretty and-

Roman glanced up at him, and Virgil quickly flushed. “Do you want me to fill out the green eyes question, too? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one of us who has green eyes, so… y’know… while I’m here, might as well, yea?”

All Roman saw was Virgil’s small nod, which Virgil was grateful for as his mind was screaming at the current moment.

Is this guy psychic what the hell how’d he know EXACTLY what I was thinking??? What???? No, Virge, calm down, he can’t be psychic- BUT WHAT IF HE IS????

Once Virgil got his paper back, he turned once more and was suddenly face-to-face with Patton’s smile.

“Heya kiddo! Have you been on a boat ride?” At Virgil’s shake of his head, he continued. “Hm, okay, have you been to a park in the past few months?

On and on the activity went. Surprisingly, Virgil quickly found himself actually enjoying the activity. Roman and Patton were easy to talk to, if slightly disorienting to the extreme introvert.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to hate him, because after about 10 questions with the others, Logan stormed back into the building, leaving Becca alone. Becca sighed.

“Sorry guys, but I legally can’t leave him or you without a guardian, so if you could follow me please we will go back inside.”

Back inside, Becca took them to the cafeteria, where Logan already was, meticulously rearranging his binder. When Becca approached him, he hissed out, “I will NOT be doing an assignment where I am forced to fail.”

The three looked at each other, Patton seeming to be the only one who knew what was happening. He gave them a sad smile.

“Logan came here before me, but he told me he has extreme OCD. Basically, he gets anxiety when things don’t go the way his mind tells him they have to.” Patton whispered to them. “I think he has a sort of… fear of failing, so he gets the bad feelings when he can’t finish an assignment. Well, more bad feelings than the average person.”

That made sense, Virgil supposed. While he was told he had a bit of OCD, he wasn’t exactly briefed on all the ins and outs, only diagnosed with it. So he had no definitive answer as to what exactly it was, but from what he had heard, that seemed to fit with the behavior Logan was showing.

A couple minutes passed, Virgil tapping his foot aimlessly. He stared at the ground as Logan continued to bicker, and as Becca desperately tried to calm him down. Eventually, Roman spoke up and told Becca that it was check-out time, which apparently entailed them filling out a sheet of paper before they were able to leave.

Thankfully, Becca told Virgil that he didn’t have to fill a check-out sheet today, which left him awkwardly tapping his pen against the table. He noticed Roman doodling in a blank space on the paper, mouthing the lyrics to a song Virgil couldn’t decipher. Patton was watching the clock after he had finished, which left Logan to be the only one still filling out the sheet.

Once they were finally blessed with the absence of silence in the form of Becca loudly exclaiming that they could start sharing aloud and dear God would Virgil have to do that tomorrow? They were finally allowed to leave.

After signing out and riding the elevator down, with all the other patients and their parents in the cramped space, they finally exited the building.

“So, what’d you think?” His dad asked as they walked to the car. Virgil simply shrugged in response.

And maybe, Virgil enjoyed it a little bit, just a little bit. But he wasn’t going to admit it after he claimed so adamantly that he would hate it the days prior.

The ride home was spent with Virgil telling his online friends what had happened in therapy that day, a task that would quickly become routine in his days at Sanders.

And maybe, just maybe, he was feeling a little bit better at returning the next day.

Maybe.

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lupinepariah · 4 years

Text

Jormag is Such a Mood

As I wait for episode 3 I feel like I'm twisting in the wind as I worry that ArenaNet might let me down with the coming story. I hope that this is the turning point for them that I wish for, where they'll stop relying on cheap shlocky shock value to tell their stories. After a while, it's easy to feel numb and cold towards X or Y character that one cared about dying because you sort of expect it. It's an unnecessary amount of suffering and death.

There's been an ongoing shift in the stories they've been telling and a strong message regarding mental health interwoven within. It covers topics like invasive thoughts, trust, and how we suffer because we're too afraid to talk (let alone talk to one another). I think that these messages are important and more relevant now and to their contemporary audience than ever before. Kralkatorrik's torment was a literal representation of the suffering that invasive thoughts can cause, it was also almost a treatise on how to combat them too with Kralkatorrik challenging them by stating the truth whenever they spoke, supported by the Commandrer and Aurene. It's just a shame that Kralkatorrik had to die.

I get why he did and that's not a bad message either. If a person is in an extreme amount of pain then allowing them to end that pain is compassionate and empathetic. In doing so, they humanised Kralkatorrik and completely changed how the Elder Dragons are perceived. In that moment, everything was made anew and they could tell stories with their dragons that they would've never had the chance to before. There might be other dragons out there who're decent people, or those who're just being tormented.

With Jormag, they remind me of a frustrated therapist. I mean, frankly, that's exactly what they remind me of. "Maybe you should listen."

What they're doing with the Commander is necessary to help those with cognitive dissonance to reach the same conclusions but it's also a frustrating bout of dramatic irony. The player's character is being stubborn, foolish, and quite frankly dumb. I appreciate what they're doing though, if indeed I'm right. I mean, they built up the trust with Aurene so that Aurene can convey things to the player. Not the player character, the player. Bangar, for example. Aurene told the player that there's no purpose in killing Bangar and that I find especially pertinent. This is why I have so much fragile hope.

Jormag sounds like someone who genuinely wants to help. Yet they're misunderstood, demonised, typecast, and no one wants to listen to what they're actually saying. Worse for them is that in the narrative there's a proper mind controller at play—be it Abaddon, Jormag's torment, the deep sea dragon, or perhaps even all of the above—and that isn't immediately clear to the player. You need a good sense for intrigue plots and general observational skills to pick up on that.

Anyone paying attention would've noticed how Jormag is constantly telling everyone that they want to talk, not fight. They're asking questions. They're being persuasive. What they're doing isn't mind control. Yet what happened with Rytlock and Crecia at the end of episode 2 was mind control, it was outright mind control. That isn't Jormag's power. What's even more odd about that is how they yelled about their voices not being their own, Jormag has no reason to broadcast that through them. There's more going on here.

There's so much frustration and anguish in Jormag's voice. I have to give it to the voice actress of Jormag for pulling that off so successfully, and to ArenaNet's sound direction team too. I mean, it's unmistakable. If you know what you're listening for, Jormag sounds very, very frustrated. They really want to help, they want to get you to listen because you don't know what's going on. They're just so opposed to suffering and that's something they reveal to you plentifully in their whispers.

I mean, look at how everyone needs therapy! I will harp on this because it's relevant.

Rytlock — He's always running away from his partner and son to find ways to be worthy of them without realising how worthy he is. This is why he tells us in Path of Fire that he needs a win. He's obsessively looking for ways to overcome his own self-esteem issues, Rytlock has very poor confidence and a lot of invasive thoughts regarding his own self-worth.

Crecia — From Crecia's perspective, Rytlock ran because he's unreliable and afraid of responsibility. She also questions whether she had any part in it, whether it was her fault that it happened. This has left Cre with some fairly bad abandonment issues and codependency, she's looking for anyone to be her rock and to help provide her with safety and emotional stability. Someone who won't run away, basically. This is something that Bangar is exploiting for his own benefit.

Braham — He's made a lot of mistakes. The spirits distrust him, he's been too cocksure and egotistical in the past and it's gotten him into trouble and each incident has only sullied his reputation further, and on top of that he has serious mommy and daddy issues. Yet he's a big, strong norn! He's a meaty meat-shield, he can power through anything. He doesn't have any need for emotions. This is why he's always falling to pieces and anything that the Commander does is just putting a band-aid on it and little more.

Marjory — In her relationship she has to be the strong one, she's taken it upon herself to be masculine in order to protect Kasmeer. The problem with this is that she's not facing her past or even talking about it. There are things in her past, deaths, that haunt her. Such as that of Belinda whom she's unable to let go. If you don't talk about your losses, you can't ever let them go.

Bangar — Riddled with feelings of inadequacy. He feels as though he's the least successful of the imperators who've all achieved greater things than he has. Smodur and Malice played a greater part in the treaty, after all, which Bangar stood against because it was Smodur's idea. Bangar is strongly opposed to Smodur as Smodur is the successful charr imperator that Bangar has always wanted to be. He wants to be important, to be remembered, and this has driven him to want to be Jormag's champion. Furthermore, his cognitive dissonance has fed into xenophobia. Since Smodur wanted a treaty, Bangar's hatred of Smodur festered into fears of what humans might do to the charr again, given the chance.

Ryland — Daddy issues. Daddy issues. He's Mr. Daddy Issues. I mean, he has a technological version of sohothin. Did anyone else notice that? There's so much in the way of daddy issues here. He recognises that his father is incredible but he feels like his father has no value for him, that nothing that Ryland could do would ever, ever be good enough for the great Rytlock Brimstone. He's turned to Bangar because he needed a father figure, he needs someone who'll be proud of him.

This is why Guild Wars 2 is driving me crazy right now.

I mean, we have a bunch of characters who're desperately in need of therapy. We have a game that's had some generally positive messages about mental health. On top of that we now have a therapy dragon who's just so frustrated that no one's listening to them, because all they want to do is help ease the suffering. They're tired of suffering. The culmination I'm hoping for is that we end up with Jormag on our side because that would make sense narratively. It's where they seem to be heading.

I mean, if we had Jormag with us? All of these poor babies could get therapy. Between Aurene and Jormag they could finally get the help they need. They all need to talk! This really NEEDS to happen! This is why it's so frustrating because I share Jormag's frustrations. I've encountered so many people in this real world of ours who need help, who need therapy, yet they snub this advice because they feel it suggests there's something flawed about them instead of realising that every living person needs therapy sometimes.

Tyria needs a source of therapy. Jormag freed from their torment would be an amazing way to handle that. I mean, Fraenir called it the Age of the Dragon. I want to see that! I'd love for there to be a Grand Dragon Council or somesuch, where the kindly dragons free of torment congregate to discuss how they might best help Tyria. Each dragon has something they could bring to the table. Jormag has therapy. Which Tyria needs so, so badly.

Plus, it would further the positive messaging about this topic. I want ArenaNet to please, please do this. It'd be an amazing way to tell people that therapy isn't a dirty word. Jormag is so perfectly suited to fit that role. I mean, everyone loves Jormag anyway and no one wants them to be evil. I don't think any Elder Dragon beyond Aurene has had the kind of following in the fan community that Jormag's accrued. They're incredibly popular.

I'm not going to be childish and dump the game if Jormag ends up being a reductivist moustache-twirling villain but I have to speak about this. It would be so, so disappointing and it would stab all the good messaging they've done regarding mental health in the back. It would undo the good they've done. Plus, it would make very little narrative sense. I mean, we're supposed to be easing off of this whole MURDER EVERYONE thing, after all. We know that killing Elder Dragons just makes everything worse. So why not let Jormag live?

Guild Wars 2 is dangerously close to becoming my favourite game. It's just time for hope to shine through the darkness. There's been enough death. There's been enough murder. And there's certainly been enough suffering. It's time for things to change. The best way to indicate that would be to have Jormag join forces with Aurene.

Then Dragon's Watch could get the therapy it needs, along with Bangar and Ryland.

So many people in Tyria need therapy.

Maybe they should listen?

#guild wars 2 #jormag #arenanet #please don't screw this up

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harryglom · 5 years

Text

Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?

One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.

The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.

Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?

She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.

Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.

Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.

"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"

This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.

"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"

She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?

Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.

"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.

"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."

She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."

I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for a moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grown too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Silvery upon the leaves, beams of gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis.

I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

#queer fiction #new poets corner #new writing #original writing #original story #short story #short tales #mental health #positive mental attitude #mental disorder #actually ocd #writers #weird fiction #weirdart #im weird #excerpt from a story i'll never write #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a book i might write #excerpts of stories

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mentalality · 6 years

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Anxiety and the Analytical Mind

I've always known I have a tendency to think a lot; I think my way through problems, I think about all the possible outcomes of a situation I'm worried about, I think about all the things I want to do with my life and haven't, I think about all the mistakes I've made and how I could've done things differently, I think about why I am the way I am. Yes, it IS exhausting!!

Of course, it's one of those chicken-and-egg-scenarios as to which came first; did I become an anxious person because I analyse everything, or was I an anxious person who figured the best way to deal with things was by analysing everything to death?

And therein lies the main problem with being this way; I'm now analysing why I analyse!! By trying to work out how I became this way, I'm putting all those cogs in motion again, tying myself in knots; the difference now is that I ask myself, "What is the purpose of this? Do I have to gain anything by analysing it?". The answer is so often "No - it's pointless".

That's one of the greatest lessons I've learned; it's all very well being analytical, but I don't actually solve anything or feel any better by thinking it through.

Through many of my posts I've mentioned self-acceptance, being kinder to yourself etc., but this is one area of my life that I've had to be hard on myself about. I've had to completely overhaul my cognitive style because it was an unhealthy way to live.

My mantra used to be along the lines of "I think, therefore, I am"; I knew I was a thinker, sometimes it even served a purpose (essay-writing springs to mind), but I saw it as something fundamental to my personality that was fixed, concrete, and immovable. To a degree I was even proud of it sometimes, because it gave me an air of the intellectual and I was glad to have that identity to cling to.

As I got older, I was sometimes aware of how anxious I got about things, but I convinced myself that it didn't matter how much stress it caused because it was the only motivator I had. At school, I found there was a correlation between how anxious I got about something and how well I did; it seemed to me that my anxiety made me care about doing my best.

The one term I stopped trying as hard my grades started to slip and it scared me so much I fell back on my anxiety to get me through. I had seen that other people appeared to do well without seeming to try very hard and I was getting tired of everyone's high expectations, so I thought it wouldn't do any harm to slack off a bit; I could at least stop getting worked up about it all the time, right?!

The problem with this was I never had any faith in my abilities or intelligence. Had I believed I was capable, I would have been able to give things my best shot without worrying about it, knowing that my best was good enough. But I never believed that, even when I would get high grades. By testing the water with trying less hard than usual, I proved to myself that I NEEDED the anxiety in order to do well. Had I not being such an over-analyser, I might not have come to that conclusion; but I always wanted to know WHY.

The quest for the "Why" in everything feels like a worthwhile goal. Intuitively it suggests that you have a curious nature and a keen intellect, because you want to understand. That can be true, if you don't let it rule your thinking.

In some ways, it can be a destructive force; wanting to pick everything apart and reduce it down to its smallest parts. Sometimes it can destroy any mystery or magic about the world, and that feels sad. The creative part of me tells me that there are things we aren't meant to understand, that there is beauty in looking at things as they appear rather than trying to discover why they are beautiful.

Take a rainbow, for instance; there's a scientific explanation for it, and whilst it's accurate and true, I would far rather marvel at the beauty of the colours and the transitory nature of the rainbow than dwell on refraction of light through water and the visible wavelengths of light the human eye can detect. I'm not trashing science, in fact, most of it I love and find fascinating, but not at the expense of enjoying a pure moment. Being able to truly enjoy what is around us is a big part of the human experience, and sometimes in order to appreciate things, we simply must STOP.

"What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare." - Leisure, by WH Davies, 1911.

I had a support worker for a while (a few years ago) who could see how much time I was spending worrying about things, analysing everything and living my life at double-speed. Even though I wasn't doing a lot with my time, my mind was constantly busy and I was mentally exhausted a lot of the time. I didn't know there was any other way to be; I couldn't see inside anyone else's mind and watch how their thought processes work.

This lady was very wise, very perceptive, and had brilliant ways to help you understand some fairly fundamental things about yourself. She told me I'd been living my life as if I was on a packed, rush-hour commuter train, hurrying everywhere & trying to get to places as quickly as possible. She said I needed to get myself on the equivalent of the German Bummelzug or Bummelbahn; the slow train that takes the long, scenic route to all the little regional stops and gives you a chance to sit back and take in your surroundings, enjoy the ride.

It was such a perfect analogy and it made so much sense. My support worker then got me to think about if there was any genuine joy in my life; did I do anything for pure enjoyment? I realised years of guilt and worry had stopped me from doing anything like that. We started to build more activities in that encouraged me to just "Be", to just experience some joy, to do things I could get lost in. That was when I started to see another way to live, beyond the constant anxiety and perceived weight of other people's expectations.

I'm not saying I don't experience anxiety anymore, I'm not saying I live without worry. I still have a tendency to think about things, to retreat into my thoughts and to try and solve things by analysing them. The difference now is, it's not a constant stream of thoughts. The medication I'm on calmed the physical feelings of dread and panic I was experiencing all the time, and made things feel much less overwhelming.

Over time, I then worked with my counsellor to manage the anxious thoughts better. She got me to regularly do a few new things to get me out of some bad habits. Before, I felt I couldn't do anything spontaneous because it hadn't been planned and all the outcomes analysed for possible danger (to my mental health). I would mentally prepare like that even if I was seeing someone I knew very well. My counsellor got me to explain what my thinking process was, asked me how it helped me cope, then suggested that next time I try not to prepare.

It took a while for the penny to drop, but I learned that all my preparation served no purpose, if anything, it gave me more to feel anxious about. Very often, the things I worried about never happened anyway. So we put up a marker; in the case of people I knew well, I didn't really need to prepare to see them, I should just go & enjoy myself. At first it was hard to break the habit of mental preparation for everything, but slowly it has become less of an effort to prevent it and now I hardly think about it.

Once that particular ball was in play, it helped other things to fall into place. Time after time I would outline my worries about an upcoming situation in therapy, then the following week we'd review how the event had actually turned out; each time my worries were unfounded. I started to join groups, clubs & do activities, take on new challenges, and each time I'd tell my counsellor how scared I was, she'd say "Just give it one session, and if you don't like it you don't have to go back", then the following week I'd report back that I'd enjoyed myself.

After a few months of this, she pointed out to me that I'd been quite brave, but also, she hadn't heard me say one negative thing about any new thing I'd tried out. She said "Every single new group or activity you've tried, the outcome has been so much more positive than you ever expected". My jaw hit the floor at this point, I hadn't realised; not only had all my worst fears never actually manifested at any point (which was always the best I ever expected), but I had actually really enjoyed it all - even being around other people. It was very clear to me then exactly how my anxiety and tendency to over-analyse had held me back in the past.

I haven't lost my insatiable desire to understand why things are the way they are, that's a big part of who I am. I see it differently now though. I try to use it in places where it has a purpose. I use it to write, to pass on the lessons I've learned about mental illness, mental health, cognitive styles, personality. I used it to get a degree in Psychology (the ultimate "Why" in the academic world). I use it in my counselling sessions to better understand myself and face some of the darkness from my past that I needed to forgive myself for. My mind is no longer my enemy, but it does need channelling effectively on a regular basis in order that I don't stray back into my old ways.

What does feel frustrating and unfair sometimes is when I think about the notion of ignorance as bliss. I feel as though people who don't over-analyse, who have less active minds, or perhaps even are less intelligent, have the deck stacked in their favour. Logically, it should be the case that the more intelligent you are, the more able you are to deal with the challenges life throws at you, but so often I've found that the opposite is true.

The even greater irony is that people I know who have never suffered from clinical anxiety will tell me it never occurs to them to worry about the things I've told them I worry about!! I was angry about this for a while, but these days I understand that you never know what challenges everyone faces, so it isn't fair to judge that someone "Has it easy" - there's often no such thing.

We are all just doing our best with the lot in life we've been given. There is no force that seeks to punish us, the universe isn't picking on us personally, there is often no rhyme or reason, so let go of these ideas. They may make intuitive sense, but I promise you being free of them will help you in the long run.

And don't spend so much time living in your head. There's so much world out there; so many experiences, so many people to meet and places to go. If you spend your time thinking and analysing it could all pass you by. Enjoyment comes from opening your eyes and looking around, taking chances and seizing random opportunities that present themselves (but you have to be able to notice when these occur).

Turn your analytical mind to your advantage to extract the lessons from your experiences, to notice the positive outcomes, to catch your mind's processes before they descend into anxious thought patterns.

Yes, my analytical mind has been fuel for the fire of anxiety in the past, but I choose to be different now. I choose to take control of it, re-direct my energies, and I choose to use it in a healthier way. Let go of the notion that because you are a certain way there is only one path to follow. Greater people than me have chosen to re-define what the world considers to be a defect in them, and turn it into their greatest asset.

Don't let the thoughts take hold of you and become a microscope on your life. Direct your analytical energies, don't let them direct you.

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sowhatisthisfor · 7 years

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BLISS: On why this is my favourite film of 2017 (so far)

It’s been awhile since I was this affected by a film. It’s just the month of May but I could already say that Jerrold Tarog’s newest movie, Bliss, could be on my top 5 films of 2017 – if not the first.

They say Bliss is not a typical Filipino film, or typical indie. But what is typical Filipino and what is typical Indie anyway? Heck, this is not a typical film, period. It’s one of those rare masterpieces that would haunt you and be with you forever – at least that’s how it’ll be for me.

Beware: Spoilers ahead! If you haven’t seen the movie yet, back off. Close this window now.

MY RATING?

In hindsight, Bliss is a film about different faces of abuse, but it is also many other things. It touches the fine line between dreamland and reality, and examines dreams or aspirations as mere illusions. I won’t go much further plot by plot and I won’t even summarize the movie, but i’ll just give 10 reasons why I think this is my favourite film of 2017 yet.

1. In general, why I love it:

Because it is wicked. It’s well-crafted. It’s a mindfuck. It’s deeply, as in deeply affecting… isn’t it obvious?

2. It brought me to tears:

The first time I watched this, I cried tears of joy during the end credits because of how lucky I felt for being able to watch such a brilliant film.

The second time, I was crying during the great reveal because I am that affected with Jane’s life. That cut to cut scene when Mommy J, Direk Lex, and Carlo were confronting each other outside Jane’s room while she was being molested broke me, I couldn’t stop crying even after I left the cinema after the credits rolled.

The third time, I was already crying halfway through the film because of how good Iza Calzado was in this movie. See next point below.

3. Iza Calzado:

If anyone out there would say that she wasn’t good for the role, show your face to me and I’ll erase it, no joke. In short, Iza Calzado was brilliant! She was so effective in portraying a spoiled actress, a burnt out individual, a clueless ignorant, a crazy paranoid, and a half-dead body. And don’t get me started on her stabbing scene cos that alone deserves a recognition. Give her that Gawad Urian already.

Jane Ciego’s stabbing scene

4. Its genre as a thriller:

A typical filmmaker would keep this genre to drama, but nope. This film is a thriller, and it’s good at that. Let’s not mention the greatness of it’s direction and editing – both done by Jerrold Tarog. It is a scary film not just because of its treatment and its technical expertise, it is scary because it’s what’s happening in reality regardless of how mundane it seems. Those unnoticeable little things that could little by little kill us. It shows demons people battle: ourselves, people who use us, industry we are enslaved with, paranoia, anxiety, insanity, misery, and lost of identity.

5. Sound design:

Okay folks, we know the film is brilliant… but let’s pause for a moment and give the sound designer his much-deserved appreciation. Those noises you hear in the background, those heart beats, those clinks, and other necessary sound effects… Without those, the movie won’t be as effective. I am amazed with its sound design that I concentrated on this on my 3rd viewing.

6. A glimpse at different abuses:

Most obvious of all is sexual abuse. In this film, we see the mysterious nurse, Lilibeth abusing her patients and I am sure most people hated her for that. We all feel for Jane. We all wanted to stop the nurse. I would say I once wanted to be in the film and hug Jane with all her innocence. I am pretty sure we were all shocked, stunned at those jump scares of monster hands that just come out of nowhere - a typical feeling of abuse.

Abuse of industry. In the film, Jane is a star who’s been an actress since she was a child. Here we will meet Direk Lex, the very demanding director who abuses his staff, shoot for 30 hours straight, who showed no care at all at the welfare of his injured talent. All he thought about is fame and money: to promote the film and to win awards. Also in this film, we see how Jane is already so disoriented of who she really is. Is she still Jane or is she just another character in a film? This reminded me of an interview with Mercedes Cabral when she said she needs therapy every after filming to separate herself from the character she’s portraying. In Bliss, we see the extent of how your craft can abuse you physically, mentally, and emotionally, and see how daunting it could be.

Abuse of power. Mommy J, Jane’s stage mom also showed how abusive being a demanding mother could be. She wanted Jane to be a star and to keep her value in the market. She uses her because that’s the only way she knows how to survive – or rather to fulfill her luxurious dreams. Same goes for Lilibeth’s mom who even for a short time exposure in the film, showed us how frustrated and physically abusive she was when she forced her daughter to do something she does not like and therefore fucked up.

Emotional abuse. Here, we also see Carlo, Jane’s husband who financially messed up and uses his wife for money and uses another girl who is already too desperate to solve their personal problem to boost his crashing ego.

7. A love and hate relationship with Lilibeth:

You have to agree with me that even though we all hated Lilibeth, it is imperative to point out that her character is very important. When I watched this film for the fourth time, I grew sympathy for her that I even had tears for her at one point. She is a powerful character that implies that abuse is a contagious cycle which even made this thriller scarier. See, Lilibeth wasn’t singing Ikot ng Ikot for nothing. When she was sitting, singing and dancing this with her hands – that’s something I cannot unsee, it’s haunting. Her backstory is as mournful as Jane’s and we all need to step back a little to realize that.

8. Jane’s recurring dream:

Now this is one of my favourite scenes. At one point while having a break from set, Jane told her screen partner about her recurring dream as a child. It was about her mom showing her a box and a key, and although her mom said that the box contains nothing, Jane still wanted the key to find out what’s inside. She even had to stab her mom multiple times out of frustration of having the key, and when she was finally able to open the box, it indeed contains nothing.

This, I think is a metaphor for the illusion of happiness and fulfillment. People tend to focus on their dreams, even when sometimes they are no longer sure if what they are dreaming about is theirs or someone else’s. It is evident from the start of the film that Jane strives hard to reach the top regardless of how she gets there. Even Jane’s teenage hit song, “ikot ng ikot” is about aiming something that ends up on a vicious cycle of no contempt – thus the fantastical music arrangement implying fake happiness is just a game of make-believe. She needs to fulfill the goal, if she has to stab her mom with the key, she’ll do it, yet she still questions if this goal is hers or not. Maybe her mom’s? Maybe because it’s what her fans expect her to be? Everyone had a piece of her identity, her sense of fulfillment. This is the illusion, the box. The need to reach that dream, to open that box, and in the end realizing that the box is empty and everything is just an illusion of happiness.

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Listen to Jane Ciego’s teenage hit song “Ikot ng Ikot”.

9. “Gusto ko lang matulog” I just want to sleep

It’s a very typical statement. Jane is tired of working and she just wanted to sleep. And towards the end of the film, we’ll feel this statement more because although she is physically dead, she is still mentally awake, but she can’t do anything about it. She can’t move, she can’t fight which is metaphorically shown through the wheelchair getting stuck at times. Jane would constantly utter this line throughout the movie, but at one point she would tell herself “wake up, wake up”, which gives us the perfect irony.

10. The awakening:

My friend once mentioned that she hopes Jane would never ever wake up because if she does and later on realizes all the abuses around her, she’d be more miserable. But to me, the awakening makes the ending even more powerful because it is about waking up physically, mentally, emotionally, and waking up from fantasy, realizing that what’s inside the box is just an illusion. What a great way to explain that indeed, “ignorance is bliss”.

Here’s a picture of Jane when her soul is being sucked… yep that’s right.

Obviously, my love for this film is exceeding. I’ve seen it four times, and I think I need to see it again.

See the trailer here:

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#blissph #bliss #movies #film #films

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askjennie · 7 years

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I would love some advice- is this Compete betrayal? Or something to work past?

Hi Jennie! I would really love some insight on this, I know its so long, sorry in advance, but Its been weighing on me a lot…

so a month ago, one of my 3 best friends in the entire world told me and best friend number 2 that she was starting to have feelings for best friend number 3’s ex-boyfriend- we’ll call him Q. Now, this guy is the literal definition of scum. He treats women with zero respect, is a manipulative, unsupportive, emotionally abusive person and treated my best friend number 3 like absolute crap. Best friend number 1 knew every single detail of their relationship and their break-up, and how she developed feelings for the guy bewilders me. Anyways, best friend number 2 and I talked her out of considering dating him, pointing out that he is an awful guy and totally not worth putting her friendship with best friend number 3 in jeopardy. (this is all through texts, as best friend number 2 and attend university in a different city).

Fast forward two weeks, and best friend number 1 tells all of us that she has decided to go ahead and date Q. We’re very shocked, and text her lengthly paragraphs explaining how this would be a bad idea, how he would only hurt her, and that this is before anything else a complete action of disloyalty to best friend number 3. Again, we talked her out of it, but this time she was being overly apologetic for the situation to the point of really attacking herself. Best friend number 2 and I call her, being worried about her emotional and mental state, and while she reveals that she has not been in the best place mentally/emotionally, it was not as serious as we though, and it all came back to how much she likes Q and is conflicted because she wants to have a relationship with him, but in the end she agreed it would be for the best of all of us not to be with him as she couldn’t really see the relationship being extremely succsessful and long-lasting.

During this, I made sure to call best friend number 3 to see how she was handling all this, -it’s important to mention that she has had a long struggle with mental illness, including suffering from an eating disorder that left her hospitalized at one point 2 years prior, and dealing with self-harm and even a suicide attempt 4 months prior to this, yet by this point she was doing really well in the recovery process- so when calling her to see how she was coping, at first she told me all she wanted was best friend number 1’s happiness, she was over Q, and there was no Jealousy there and she told best friend number 1 that she was fine with it. However, I knew better, best friend number 3 is so altruistic, almost to an excess, and would sell both her kidneys on the internet to make a person she loves happy. So after lengthily conversations, BFFn3 admitted that while she was over Q, BFFn1’s decision to date him gave her so much stress that it drove her to consider self-harm and suicide again.

Additionally through all the ex-BF drama, best friend number 2 and I both were struggling hard to keep up with very intense programs at uni, and were diagnosed with major depression, -and hearing BFFn3 say that she considered suicide again, (after we all struggled so much to help her get better mentally and saw her go from being in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, 3 hairs on her head, weighing barely 40 kilos, barely enough skin to stretch over her bones, and covered in scars to finally being in a relatively very healthy place), hearing that did break me. I went into a period of constant anxiety to the point of barely being able to think and fiction normally, and had to start taking antipsychotics to deal with everything.

So right after all this had built up, BFFn1 texts again and says that while she heard everything we said to her, (and at this point BFFn3 had told her she had an issue with the situation, stopped talking to her for her sanity, and told her their friendship depended on what she chose to do next) BFFn1 had made her final decision to go ahead and date Q. BFFn2 and I unleashed all our feelings, while not being mean or calling her any names or attacking her to much, we were very honest and told her that this decision was not okay, that she was putting BFFn3 and really all of our mental health’s on the line, etc. yet, at this point she started defending herself, played the victim, saying how she was at a really bad place in her life and he was the only thing that made her happy- however (i told her this) no matter how dark a place I was in (i’m taking antipsychotics for christ’s sake! I would never think its okay to put myself over the life and mental heaths of my best friends. By the end of the conversation, nothing we said changed her mind, and she chose to date Q regardless.

So now i’m here thinking what the hell happened to by best friend, I have known her for 15 years, since I was 3 years old, and we have never fought before, she has never been disloyal or showed the capacity to hurt me like this before. On one hand I feel completely betrayed and have less respect and no trust left in her at all - I can’t believe she would put herself before the lives and health’s of her best friends, especially knowing how serious it could become, implying that we’re selfish or not thinking about her by not being supportive, and pretty much defending her actions and showing no remorse for her actions. On the other hand, I feel guilty for being mad because she is in a bad place mentally, and I feel guilty for not supporting her in a critical time. Am I being a bad friend? Should I try to help her even though I can’t stand her actions? Should I be supportive? I’m really conflicted about that part…Also, what kills me is the irony if the situation, through this she says things like “I’m sorry for bothering you with this”, or “I love you and I’m here for you always”, and “I’d do anything for you guys” but how can I believe that when she clearly chose not to stop dating Q for us? I feel so betrayed, but she is also my best friend and has been forever…I don’t know if I could ever be friends with someone who did what she did to us, i feel our friendship might be beyond repair….but I still love and fear for her and I want her to be okay and I don’t know if I should support her or not…

And this whole situation has creating so much anxiety in me its keeping me from focusing on school, despite the meds, and I really need to get straight As to stay in my program, and its exam season too… i try really hard to get work done, but its impossible because I always come back to thinking about this and it’s wasting so much energy when I barely have any as it is, and I can’t afford to not have any energy left for school

Im sorry its’ so long! Any advice on this I would really appreciate! thanks so much!

Jennie: I don’t think it’s fair of you to put so much responsibility on BFF1′s shoulders. She is not responsible for your mental health, or for the mental health of your other friends. Yes, dating a friends abusive ex is a bad decision. Yes, she should have considered BFF3′s feelings about this, and worked out that she shouldn’t date someone who hurt her friend badly. But you need to allow her to make her own decisions, and you need to understand that she is not the sole cause of your depression, or your friends depression.

She did not cause BFF3′s suicidal thoughts. She hurt her, and that’s not good, but someone in a mentally healthier place would not have considered killing themselves because their friend started dating their ex. She did not cause your depresion, or BFF2′s depression. Friendship drama didn’t help you, and it added to the stress you were already experiencing, but again, someone who was entirely mentally healthy would not have been diagnosed with major depression just because their friend was making some bad choices. She is not responsible for these things.

That doesn’t mean that they’re your fault, or your other friends fault - mental illness isn’t anyone’s fault, it’s an illness, that could happen to anyone. You deserve treatment and support to manage and recover from your illness. But it’s not okay to act like your lives and your health are in the hands of BFF1. She just doesn’t have that much power. You are responsible for taking care of yourself, and making sure you get the help you need (which it sounds like you have done, because you’re on medication). BFF1 shouldn’t be made to feel like she has to stop dating who she wants to date so that her friends don’t kill themselves - because that is emotionally manipulative.

If she’s stressing you out that much, then maybe you need to get some space from her. It’s great that you care so much about your friends, but it sounds like you need to put yourself first right now. Take care of your own needs, seek out counselling or therapy if you haven’t already done so, and focus on getting through your studies. If your friends are good friends, they will understand, and encourage you to take care of yourself. You are not responsible for them, and they are capable of taking care of themselves as well.

Disengage from this drama. Let people date whoever they want to date, be there for your friends when you’re able to, but primarily, be there for yourself.

#advice #ask me anything #emotional abuse #depression #drama #friendship #mental health #advice blog #advice column #askjennie #submission

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harryglom · 5 years

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Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for s moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grew too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Silvery gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis. I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

#short story #original writing #original poetry #short #mental health #weirdart #weird fiction #queer fiction #lgbtqart #queerart #new writing #excerpt from a story i'll never write #writers #excerpt from a book i'll never write #free write

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