#and make me so terrified that I isolate myself like crazy and refuse to date again

[bpdohwhatajoy]

He’s literally the most evil person I’ve ever met. He couldn’t just be my most abusive ex and leave it at that. No. He has to keep triggering me over and over by reminding me of his presence. I have blocked him so many times on so many different things and yet he’ll keep making throwaways and alts.

#ryan.txt #fucked up people #abusive ex #trauma #traumatized #cptsd #ptsd #it makes me feel fucking gross #the way he is literally trying to stop me from healing #my ptsd has been so bad ever since him #and he’s intent on it getting worse #he did so much to me #that apparently wasn’t bad enough #it wasn’t bad enough to worsen my ptsd to a state where it’s the worst it’s ever been #and make me so terrified that I isolate myself like crazy and refuse to date again #no that wasn’t enough apparently #he can’t let me move on #he can’t just leave me fucking be #he’s miserable and he’s still trying to drag me down just like he did when we were together #he wants me to post about him on Reddit so bad I know he does #he only cares about being remembered the worst thing to him is being forgotten #so I’m not gonna post on there about him #it’s what he wants #I have to keep remembering that #I almost relapsed on checking his Reddit #but despite it all I stayed strong even though the urges are clawing at me #I’m strong

[cassyapper]

OKAY IVE ACTUALLY PLAYED TWO SESSIONS SINCE MY LAST POST SO IM GONNA COMBINE THEM HERE SORRY FOR THE LENGTH BUT,,IVE COME SO FAR I DONT WANNA STOP NOW

this is gonna be very messy cause i WILL be jumping back and forth as things come back to mind so uhh pls enjoy this absolute ramble <3

anyway. i continued playing omori and boy do i have some Thoughts

so first session; i went through the pyre(something i forgot the full name sob) forest/sprout mole village/sweetheart’s castle in one go and let me TELL YOU. DOING THAT WAS FUCKING INSANE I WENT NUTS holy shit.

so anyway.

pyre forest!!!! the lil race against the big spider coming after u for disturbing the smaller spiders mechanic was very fun i had a lot of fun figuring out the best routes to take. i know normally mechanics like that lead to ppl getting frustrated cause u have to keep retrying but i had a lot of fun!!!! sum annoyance but good natured type, th kind that just makes u try harder u know? i just enjoyed it JKFN;FN; candles in the foggy forest....now That is an aesthetic

the rare bear scared the fuckin shit out of me i remember it didn’t attack me straight away so i was like “aw (:” but then when i press x on him it takes me to a BATTLE SCREEN AND SUDDEN THAT MF IS TERRIFYING I WAS LIKE WHWHWHWHWKJDNJ. very funny i honestly wished i recorded my reaction

also omori is afraid of drowning...................................i am breathing heavily. i think whatever happened to mari is related to at least one of the things omori is scared of. so either heights, spiders, or drowning it seems. spiders doesnt seem super likely as a contributor to her death, and while falling from a height is more realistic, such a senseless way of dying doesnt seem to rlly fit ? with the vibe i get from the kiddos in the real world. which makes me think maybe drowning/otherwise suffocating is how she died...but we’ll see. also due to the forgotten library part, we know omori explicitly feared spiders/drowning before mari died so it’s also probable im jus talking out my ass here but still,,,,thoughts

also this motherfucker?

literally fucking terrifying. IT’S BODY IS MADE OF SUCC’D SPROUT MOLES...i still have no idea what exactly it was doing to them but jesus h christ!!!! evil and fucked up. do not feel bad for curbstomping it

sprout mole village!!!! very cute, im v excited to send that one dude his brother’s care package. i like how, when theyre not lost, sprout moles can be real endearing lil guys,,,theyre not my fav lil enemies but (:

also for some reason omori is the first game ive played where i really care about getting achievements ? so i literally did the back and forth on my save file just to get all the season sprout mole achievements JKDJFJ;. i ended up sticking w spring tho before moving on for real cause spring is my fav season irl (:

also i felt SO BAD for cutting down that one sprout mole’s chistmas tree he was just trying to celebrate but i wanted to see that present and coincidentally becoming a christmas ruiner was an achievement so all’s fair in love and war i suppose

ALSO. th fuckin plant monster thing under the scientist sprout mole’s room. major little shop of horror vibes from the design, absolutely adored it!!!!! originally i did  just cut the wire holding the piano over it, ending it in one go, but i was very curious abt it so i reloaded a save file to actually fight it and

i know it only spread that gas to make the kiddos happy cause being happy reduces attack i think ? it decreases attack/defense but seeing the kiddos smile so much was nice (:

however

omori...sunny....son boy.........u good ?

and now. sweetheart

the way the sprout moles completely adore and depend on sweetheart gives me such awful evil vibes and combined with such a luxurious background was fucking incredible

sweetheart herself, speaking of. bitch (sorta affectionately, certainly not derogatory)

i talked to every sprout mole in the audience before taking my seat and i literally dont know why. even when i picked up the pattern of where the unique dialogue could be found (usually the sprout moles farthest right) i still talked to all of them......just in case ? i have no idea. i dont know why i did that. i feel it’s important that i note it tho

LMAO SO WHEN SPROUT MOLE MIKE DID THE MINUTE OF SILENCE FOR YE OLD SPROUT MOLE

I LITERALLY FELT SO FUCKING BAD LMAO I WAS LIKE OH MY GOD NO!!!!!! I DID THAT!!! I KILLED HIM!!! OH MY GOD!!! I WONDER HOW AWKWARD OMORI KEL HERO AND AUBREY FELT IN THE AUDIENCE HOLY SHIT THEY HAD FRONT ROW SEATS TO SPROUT MOLE MIKE’S MOURNING!!! MY GOD FJKFN;;

also sprout mole mike describing 3′7″ inches as ”towering” was the FUNNIEST shit i have ever seen. also i have to wonder, since sweetheart made up the whole show of sweetheart’s quest for hearts in the first place, if she was seriously down to marry a sprout mole if one suited her fancy. jus v funny to me honestly. SPEAKING of sweetheart’s dating patterns I NOTICED THOSE FEM SKELETONS IN THE DUNGEON!!!!! BI SWEETHEART!!!! SHE’S JUST AS DOWN FOR GIRLS AS SHE IS BOYS

i know TECHNICALLY not everyone is in the dungeon for failing to be a good enough suitor but STILL...COME ON. THIS WAS BEFORE WE KNEW THAT. SWEETHEART BI I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

anyway

when the lights when out and lightning struck the third contestant, i knew Immediately something was gonna go down. and when the mustache sprout mole was like “oh yes!! u!! in the striped pjs!! u absolute beast ur perfect!!!” i KNEW hero had just been selected as the replacement i was goign completely fucking nuts i was like OH MY GODNFNG; HIS HEART IS ALREADY TAKEN BY MARI!!!!!!! STOP

i ended up taking so many screenshots during this part cause i was going feral so here take a glance just cause i love, uh, hero

OUR HERO IN SHINING ARMOR DJLBH;KFJB

also GOD FUCKING DAMMIT IM SHORTER THAN HERO

hero shaking on the stage when he was introduced...oh my HEART....IM SO FOND FOR THIS BOY WTF!!!!! DKJDN;N

this is not really NEWS to me since it’s implied hero is tall but like come ON..... sorry just every time i find out a character is explicitly taller than me i need to huff about it, moving on,

HERO FUCKS

sorry i just have so many screenshorts during this aprt cause i was going fucking crazy but

literally terrifying! sweetheart bathes in that shit!! christ!

is blood good for ur skin? i imagine, so long as like...gore isnt in it and it’s solely blood it cant be BAD necessarily......but good ? regardless very fucked up. besides the fact that well, uh, BLOOD, blood is also sticky as hell. ur telling me sweetheart willinglhy bathed in that shit? disgusting. at least thin it out

anyway I HAD SO MUCH FUN DOING THE PUZZLES AT SWEETHEART’S CASTLE....FROM THE DUNGEONS TO THE KITCHENS TO THE BALLROOM TO THE LIBRARY TO THE GARDENS JUST EVERYTHING!!!! IT WAS SO FUN I ENJOYED FIGURING IT OUT SO MUCH IT WAS LITERALLY DELIGHTFUL...I LOVE THIS GAME SO MUCH THE GAMEPLAY IS SO FUCKING EPIC I LITERALLY HAVE SO MUJCH FUN.......OH MY GOD I JUST. INCREIDBLE!!!! FUCK

also the lil sir maximus bit.........i honestly felt really awful over having to kill them ): i think i even tried running once but it wouldnt let me...it hurt man ): they were just a family....

um but anyway,

i think it was rlly sweet how aubrey protested to the wedding cause she was worried abt sweetheart,,,like i cant rlly explain it idk how to put it into words,,like sweetheart is clearly not mentally well and having an episode, and aubrey being the only one to say “hey what ur doing is self-destructive and isolating” just mmmh. she cares a lot,,,and *i* care aubrey

also sweetheart’s battle theme fucking SLAPPED...SO GODDAMN HARD IM STILL QUAKING OVER IT....FUCKING BANGER YO!!!!!! INCREDIBLE

ah but alas

BASIL........I NOTICED THAT IT WAS HIS GHOST/SHADOW DURING THE EXIT FROM OTHERWORLD AS WELL BUT JUST FUCK

im so worried about basil ):

and it being so obvious that none of the others can see...........them asking omori if he’s okay.....oh my god. i go nuts

and then...the forgotten library part

i literally cried, again, oh my fucking god

these kids loved each other so much they ADORED the time they spent with each other and im QUAKING to know WHAT HAPPENED TO MARI......HOW DID THE FALLOUT GO. I NEED TO KNOW I NEED TO KNOW I NEED TO KNOW

i know there are multiple endings to this game and on god i am not QUITTING until i get the happiest ending there is for these kids im literally a goddamn fuckign mess oh my god

MARI SHWOING UP IN THE LIBRARY AT ONE POINT AND LEADING OMORI...........IM LTIERALLY GOIGN INSANE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HE LOVED HIS SISTER SO MUCH HE’S SO CLEARLY LOST WITHOUT HER I CANT FUCKING DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. I NEED TO KNOW I NEED TO KNOW I NEED TO KNOW

GOD

okay sorry i just. ive said ti before but the grief in this game is so real and palpable and it aches, it aches so bad. also the white egret orchids in the library...i see u

but regardless.... session two real world electric boogaloo

LOVE that kel is like “so i need to run errands but u wanna come with me right? of course u do!” like fuck i rlly do. kel is just so delightful i would literally do anything to spend time with him

ALSO i noticed u can just refuse to open the door both times kel’s knocked now and it makes me wonder....if u could choose to ignore kel ? and then venture out urself or just ? i wonder what would even happen if u chose to not open the door. im CERTAINLY not doing it myself at the very least not this playthrough but i am curious...i bet that’s how u get a bad ending, by not talking w kel

but anyway....

aubrey and her gang not saying anything in the pizza parlor........i jus think abt that is all

ALSO!! pet rocks!!!!!!!!! LOVE this lil thing it’s so cute. jus rock paper scissors it babey

speaking of lil bits, love all the mini quests in the real world...it’s just rlly fun and builds up this cute lil town........it also makes me think that whatever happened to mari cant have been anything except an accident, bc no one comments on what a tragedy it was to omori. like if it was murder, there’s no way such a horrific situation wouldnt engulf the town for a bit and sweep over it for weeks at least, but that just doesnt seem to have happened. this is def me reading too into it tho;; point is neighbors nice (: also i got the seashell necklace and i go apeshit

ALSO......THE FUCKING...........CHURCH. I VISITED WITH KEL ON A COMPLETE WHIM CAUSE I WAS CURIOUS IF THE PASTOR WOULD TALK MORE ABT AUBREY BUT NO. INSTEAD HE TALKS ABT THE WEIRD VIBE FORM THE GRAVEYARD HE’S GETTING!!! AND THE DUDE WHO CHILLS IN THE GRAVEYARD SAYS SHIT ABT THE SPIRITS GETTING READY FOR SOMEONE TO JOIN THEM!!!! BITCH WAHT THE FUCK

THERE’S NOF UCKING WAY THIS ISNT ABOUT BASIL. THERE IS NO!!! WAY!!!! I SWEAR ON GOD IF BASIL DIES I WILL LOSE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ESP CAUSE THERE IS LITERALLY NO OTHER WAY HE COULD DIE EXCEPT SUICIDE THAT’S WHAT IT HAS BEEN IMPLYING OVER AND OVER I GO NUTS I GO APESHIT NO NO NO NO!!!!!!!!!!!!

FUCK

OKAY SORRY I JUST. HHHHHHHHHHH

baby has acquired baby

kel’s family is rlly cute,,,,v heartwarming. i trust them

i do worry abt like...the stark difference between recognizing kel’s accomplishments and hero’s...i just idk. i just keep thinking abt that bit in kel’s story abt hero’s depression when his parents focused on hero and ignored him, and i just. kel’s family is good People but i worry if kel has a good support system...i jus........): i am watching

ahh THE BASIL MISSING PART MADE MY HEART LITERALLY FUCKING DROP..I WAS SO FUCKING PANICKED I WAS LIKE OH MY GOD THIS IS IT BASIL IS DEAD

THANKFULLY HE WASNT BUT HOLY GOD HOW THAT WHOLE SITUATION PANNED OUT MADE ME GO NUTS!!!!!!! BASIL...AUBREY...HER GANG.......FUCK OH M YOGD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

THANK G O D I SNOOPED AROUND KEL’S HOUSE BEFORE LEAVING I WOULD HAVE H A T E D TO FIGHT THEM ALL AT ONCE IM GLAD I WAS ABLE TO JUST PEPPER SPRAY THEM JESUS CHRIST

oh my god kim like asking for aubrey all concerned before deciding to trust her and leaving.....kim i diagnose u with lesbain

the whole fucking. basil almost drowning scene. i seriously feel like ive changed like as a person over it. i am thinking . i am thinking. i am only evee thinking about mari and how omori just loved her so much and how the thought of her gave him strength. th pic of her ghost holding omori’s hand in the water made me cry

MMMM BUT. HERO!!!

I DIE I DIE I DIE HE’S SO PRETTY FUCK ALSO HIM PICKING UP BASIL WOOOOOOOO THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT’S WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT YEAHHHHHHHH

god i feel so bad about leaving aubrey tho. shes so clearly not okay and she so clearly did not mean to push basil in and oh my GOD I JUST...PLEASE....PLEASE CAN WE JUST TLAK TO HER I NEED TO TLAK TO HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I NEED TO FUCK

the ghosts of omori and aubrey on the swings made me cry out like i had been physically assaulted

AHH BUT THEN TAKING BASIL HOME AND WHILE HE’S IN HIS BED HE JUST SAYS “oh sunny...there’s not way out of this...is there?” I LITERALLY GO BUCKWILD APESHIT INSANE STUPDI!!!!!! BASIL YOURE PUTTING UP A LOT OF ALARMING FLAGS HERE!!! PLEASE DO NOT FUCKING DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!

FUCK. CHRIST. HELL. SHIT. THIS GAME IS DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAZY

GOD

oh my god but the day ending with hero and kel sleeping over at omori’s house...im kdnd im jkdim im not uhm okay THEY BUILT A BLANKET FORT PLEASE..I LOVE THEM

goddd hero going into the piano room....playing sum........and then asking omori abt the song he and mari used to play on violin...and then THE TITLE SCREEN MUSIC STARTS PLAYING....HI. HI HELLO HI YOU CANT FUCKIGN DO THAT HI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOUFBJFGJNGN;EJNE; IM GOIGN NUTS

also the name omori comes from the piano.............interesting...i wonder why sunny likes being called omori in the dreamscape...

god but omori not having a srs hallucination cause he’s w his friends and he feels safe...im gonna sob

However. i did glance into the bathroom mirror. AND INSTEAD OF THE EYE MF IT’S A DISTORTED AS HELL GHOST MARI???IM SO FUCKIGN SCARED. IM SO SCARED. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK? CREEPY AS HELL!!!

ohh my god this GAME

so finally i ended up in whitespace again. do NOT like that omori is completely alone in the world!!! what the FUCK!!!!!!!! I AM SO SCARED AT ALL TIMES. im literally about to go play sum more tho after dinner so i will see what happens. god i jsut......this game is so fucking good it has me by the balls dude. SO glad i decided to play it bruh

anyway thanks for reading all of this if u did, it’s an absolute monster ik and ur a real one

#cass cries #omori #omori spoilers #more like cass goes CRAZY this is so long #also id dint proof read this sorry </3

[viktor-noctis]

The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll McSh*tFace

This is my review for the film: The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll McShitFace.

Enjoy.

Tagging @christopherleefan because I think you might enjoy this? Also, I wrote a fic for Taste of Fear (or Scream of Fear for us Americans), and you can expect one for this film as well.

Pre-face: Okay, okay……………………………… Let me compose myself.

………..

………………..

……………………….

……………………………..

Alright, hit the play button.

London 1874 – I paused just to be sure this was the actual date when the book was written.

It was originally published in 1886.

We’re off to a roaring start.

Ew. Children.

Playing in a garden, yep, this is about what I remember.

Little boy shoves girl’s flowers to the ground, and McShitFace talks about “dumb human animals” when referring to children. We agree on that, at least.

“Play out when they cannot speak out.” Jekyll McShitFace suggests they’ve mentally blocked the ability to speak, due to the fact that they are letting another part of them be free to express itself…. What a load of garbage.

You resigned? Here I thought they fired you for being a creep. The fact that Ernst believes he really is a genius makes me want to punch something.

They’ve been married for six years??

No servants, no friends, and Jekyll has cut all professional ties to study the mind… Like a madman. Yeah, I can see Kitty hating this.

Beyond Good and Evil? Beyond the reach of society?

“A very dangerous man, my friend.” No shit, Ernst. Jekyll is suggesting the ‘higher man’ is the one within, while Ernst suggests that the weaker man maybe the ‘evil’ one. Or what we deem ‘evil’. Jekyll, like some, has come to some crackpot conclusion that by drawing out the ‘evil’ man, the ‘weaker’ man within him, that he can isolate and destroy him… Or something to that effect.

Jekyll never answers Ernst when he asks if he’s used it on anything other than a monkey and I find that telling.

Paul is here. Ernst is leaving.

Jekyll is quite charitable to Paul, if nothing else, and Kitty is putting up a marvelous front. Kitty even tries to get him to spend time with her here, but I have a feeling she knows where this is going. She’s probably done this a million times. This is another for the till.

I can tell Kitty is tired of this. Jekyll spends night and day in the lab. All the time. Yeah, that’d wear on most women. Considering the time period, this is all very strange. Then again, this is a ‘Strange Case’, or it was supposed to be.

Kitty telling him about Jekyll shouting to himself in his room, along with a strange voice that wasn’t his own, for an entire night… “Married to a man of great talent.” Ernst, my dude…

Kitty’s asking if he is insane enough to be sent away. Ernst says he isn’t: “we must both try to help him.” Right.

Christopher Lee! Damnit, he’s so tall. How tall is this actress?

They’re so cute. Terrible, but cute.

The top of her head reaches his nose or so. He’s a damn good kisser…

Kitty looks lovely in blue.

And is an extrovert.

Jekyll is an introvert.

Still hate him.

Don’t bash the girl for liking to go out. Or ask her to: “take the evening off”.

“I need you tonight, Kitty. Stay.” That’s not creepy. After years of being ignored, that’s not creepy in the slightest.

Okay, this might be just me, but… I see Kitty’s perspective. I sort of see Jekyll’s? It’s a grey area. I’ve paused it to explain my reasoning –

Kitty, is an extrovert, as I’ve stated. She gets her energy from going out, being around people, and having a good time. That’s great. Good for her, you have fun girl, and take your boytoy (he really is, as often as he gets in money trouble) with you. Jekyll is decidedly not. To say they are incompatible would be an understatement.

Kitty is the type of woman who glows under attention, who craves it from both her partner and others. But mostly, her partner. Enter Paul, who’s proven to be attached to her mostly through money, but there’s so much more there. Again, I love these two, because they’re so terribly flawed, but so clearly in love.

Jekyll, meanwhile, cut all attachment to “live like a hermit in the center of London”. Ernst’s words straight from the beginning of the film. I bet you Kitty was stifled, for years, before Paul came along. Now, not much is revealed of the how Jekyll became friends with him, when he did, or even why he did, but I want to bet it was during University or something. That seems the most likely theory, given Jekyll’s nature.

The Jekyll side is a bit more convoluted. Again, I don’t think Kitty is being unfair here. There’s no telling how long she stayed lonely, cooped up in that house (reference back to when Ernst talked about no friends, no company, and no servants), and was just… bored, sad, and upset.

Ernst even mentioned the house being ‘in ruins’.

She calls him selfish for making it such an issue. I get the feeling he sort of deserves it. Also, she’s in love with Paul now, so that adds another layer to their relationship not working and being incredibly strained.

“I’m not going to insult my friends for the sake of your whims.” Is what her argument amounted to. Again, the movie is making her sound like the selfish one, but you really have to take into account the history, nature, and aspects of each character. In doing so, I don’t really think she is. I think she’s in love with another man, bound to a farce of a marriage, and is doing the best she can by not staying near her creepy husband.

And yep, human experimentation time.

Yeah, go ahead McShitFace, sit at your desk and wait to become The Literal Worst.

Party time. I’m shuddering. Too. Many. People. Ew.

They’re both terrible.

I love them.

Awful.

Paul complains of being bored, and yet she is bored doing the things he likes. They jab and jibe. He looks at another woman. They jab and jibe some more.

They’re bickering like they’re already married.

Get a room.

Terminate their relationship?

They bring up their attachment, again, always with the money. Kitty likes a man free of shame, Paul thinks he might lose her to a man who had even less. Hahahaha. You nerds. You’re in too deep and you both know it.

The Literal Worst has arrived. And he’s uglier than ever.

The Sphinx? That’s the name of this trash heap ballroom?

Hyde looks like a Tool. Barely two minutes on screen and he’s got the Creep Smirk going.

Hoes do not stand together, I see.

Paul and Kitty smiling at each other, having a grand old time. I love them.

Hyde showing his true colors already, by eyeing up Kitty, while dancing with another girl (though I’m pretty sure she’s a prostitute. Or just a woman who gets around, living off other men’s money). Wow, he also says some not-so-nice things to her before heading after Paul and Kitty, who’s having a hell of a time. Paul can also be a jackass –

“Don’t drink too much tonight, my darling.” She says it with such tenderness, while taking the glass from his hand.

“Cunning little kitty cat. Rather a dull husband than a drunken lover, eh?” Paul’s already slurring. He’s entered cad mode. Feel free to kick him to the curve, my dear. He deserves to nurse his hangover by himself.

She just looks disappointed.

Kitty’s creep alert is going off. Listen to it, honey. Run. Run, far away.

She’s trying to take Paul home.

Then going to dance with Hyde. Fuck. Kitty, listen to your Creep Radar.

Friendship with Kitty? Honey. No. Run. “Can I trust you?”

?? Kitty. No. Do not trust the creep.

Prostitute girl is back, claiming Hyde tried to force her, and some dude wants recompense. Kitty just wants to go home. Paul refuses to leave, to help Hyde.

Has common sense become a commodity that only Kitty is buying??

“Give the lady a few sovereigns, and there’ll be no trouble.” Yeah, sounds like a prostitute. Kitty bids them all goodnight. Paul looks sad to see her go. Should have thought about that before you acted the bastard.

Hyde tells them to go to hell and take the trollop with him. Dude dives at them, Paul knocks him out… And Hyde keeps hitting him. Paul stops him, telling him not to kill him, and then asks him if he’s ill.

“Let me alone, Jekyll. Let me alone.” Dumbass. Jekyll voice coming out of Hyde. That’s not creepy. Paul looks amused by the creep show. Hyde leaves the place, screaming, and being weird.

Lots of voice changing. This actor is actually really good. Jekyll realizes what he did, because Hyde says: “I will be back, Jekyll. I will return.”

Jekyll: “Never. Never.”

So he knows this was a bad idea?

Goes into Kitty’s room, whose reading, and she starts talking about her ‘party’. She wants to go to sleep. Jekyll still comes closer, being a creep. Creep Radar is blaring.

“I need you, Kitty. I need you desperately.” And he comes in, trying to kiss at her, mouthing at her neck. Like a creep. I know this is a parallel to later in the film (yeah, it’s terrible), when Hyde is in control, but I still hate this.

I had to pause during the next scene to do a deep character analysis –

Kitty pushes him off, telling him she’s tired, and even says “please”. As if she should have to beg him to keep his damn creep hands to himself. He still has a wild, crazy look in his eye, and asks: “What are you really like, Kitty?”

“I’m your wife, that’s all I am.” She answers it with such evenness, barely disturbed, and it reminds me of what Paul said to her –

“From perfect wife to perfect mistress, and back again to perfect wife.”

This movie has a lot to do with the masks we wear. We change them, depending on who we’re talking to: family, friends, strangers, lovers, etc. All the different relationships we have require a mask, shadowing the core of who we are, because letting someone see everything of ourselves is too terrifying to consider. We don’t show our true selves out of fear, pride, or some other convoluted mixture of emotions.

However, every mask has a basis, a template of origin.

I feel as if, at some point, Kitty really did love Jekyll. She must have. She married him not for his intelligence, not for his money, but because she genuinely loved him. Kitty loves too deeply, too strongly, and has all the hallmarks of a woman who has been burned by that depth of attachment.

“It’s my fault, a woman who shows her feelings always loses dignity.” Kitty says this during the first bit of the dance she has with Paul, which reveals so much of her character. She doesn’t look at him when she says it, the pain of her admittance is too much, and she shies away from anyone witnessing it. Even Paul.

Her relationship with Paul is strained right now. It’s weird. It seems like neither of them knows where it’s going, too afraid to continue, but even more horrified by the prospect of letting the other go.

When speaking of breaking their ‘arrangement’ (look up ‘affair’ in the dictionary), Kitty suggested Paul wouldn’t be able to get along financially without her. Paul rebuffed her, saying that Jekyll and he had been friends for years, and she was just his dutiful wife… despising him.

There’s an ease between them that feels years old, yet I doubt it was from the get-go of hers and Jekyll’s marriage. No, she probably did hate him quite a bit, in the beginning. But there’s a thin line between love and hate, one that can be crossed with loneliness. I like to think it was physical at first, a build up of tension between a woman caged in a house, and watching this man go out and spend her husband’s money.

It was probably Paul who convinced her to come out with him one evening. Fuck it. Jekyll wants to stay in his lab all night? Well, why should you stay too? Kitty probably said no at first. Why would she go out with this smarmy bastard, who gambles, who sleeps with anything that has legs, and drinks himself silly? But then there’s the wanting, the listening to her husband tinker away, watching life go by without her…

She probably went to Jekyll. She tried to talk to him, have dinner with her in the house that night. Without any servants, she’s learned to cook. He makes a point of trying to be nice but talks about his work… Always his work. She asks him to kiss her, as if that’s something she should have to nearly beg for. And what did he do? On the verge of some great breakthrough?

“Not right now, Kitty. I’m busy.”

Kitty, who is strong, vibrant, and beautiful, is not enough to stir a man from the wake of progress. From pride.

Humiliation and defeat, a loathing that breaks through love, stuffs her chest and nearly throttles her on the spot. Retreating, glassy eyed to her room. She probably cried, mourning her broken heart.

After that, she demands to go with Paul.

There’s probably a touch of shock, then a knowing smirk. He’s probably seen lots of women with husbands who ignore them, falling into his kind of life, dancing and drinking and laughing their nights away.

He’s not ready for this one.

Alright, hitting play again –

“But the woman inside of you, is that woman my wife?”

No. No, she’s not. She belongs with Paul.

Stop shaking her. She’s right. Get out.

Take your: “Who am I?”s and get the fuck out.

Cut to Paul being a cad again. Ugh. Go home to Kitty, you absolute tool bag.

He and Hyde are sitting at a table in The Sphinx with two bimbos. Wonderful.

Hyde is a creep. I will say that no less than ten times in this review. I probably already have.

The fuck is this?

They’re doing something weird.

Really weird.

A snake charmer dance.

Am I to assume they wish us to believe that snake is venomous?

Okay, to be fair, all snakes and spiders are venomous, but the potency of their venom varies in such a way that they effect most human bodies on different levels. I say ‘most’ because you can be allergic to something, and receive a far more harrowing experience than 98% of the population.

However, that does not excuse the fact that the creature in question is a ball python and is therefore basically harmless. Minus some swelling and bruising.

I had to pause to write that, okay, playing again –

Yeah, this poor animal is being abused by being forced into a ‘sensual dance’ with this woman. ‘Tigress’, they call her, kill me now. Paul says she’s exclusive to the elite. Kill me twice over. This dance is the worst. That poor snake is confused.

Paul is looking worriedly at Hyde as he stares, transfixed, at this woman. Dude, he wants to get bitch slapped, let him.

Christopher Lee’s eyebrows are doing things to me. Paul is the real eye candy in this shit show.

UGHASDKFJASDKFNAMSDKFJNASDKF

Jkljasdfklajsdklfansdkfnj

Klasjeirkmaskdfnjkasdjf

Klasdmfnkasndf

JKLASJDKLFNASKLDFNJ

UGH

SHE

SHE PUT

THE SNAAEK

HEAD

IN

MOTUH

WHY? WHY? WHY would –

WOULD uuo –

That poor animal.

Tell me that was fake.

She did not really put that poor creature’s head in her mouth.

This is abuse.

Not to mention, really gross. Salmonella, and a million other diseases could potentially exist on the skin of a reptile. Do not handle reptiles and then touch your face, or eat, or put any part of their body inside your mouth. Wash hands after handling, thank you.

Disgusting.

And people are clapping. And cheering.

Is this what passes for ‘exotic’ in the 1700s????

Maybe it’s my modern cynicism, but I am not impressed. I am shuddering in revulsion.

Mostly because of the snake in mouth bit.

Gods.

End me.

I’m about to shriek.

“Forget it, dear boy. She’s not in the prep-school class. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Paul. Paul.

Have you ever considered:

She’s blind.

You’re gorgeous.

And you have a gorgeous woman waiting on you at home.

Why do you bother with the bimbos?

Girl on the right is pretty, okay, she’s like… an 8. Chick on the left is… also pretty, but like a 7.

Kitty is a damn 16, she blows them out of the water. There is no competition. When you’ve already had it all, why bother even looking at anything less? She gets bumped up to a 30 for the fact that she has a brain, she snarks, she jabs with the best of them, and is not afraid to leave you to your well-deserved hangover.

I will fight for Kitty’s honor.

Paul. I’m about to throw down.

He calls the dancer over – Maria – and I can already tell he’s going to –

Yep. Be a bastard.

“She only uses Christian names in bed.”

He deserved that drink to the face.

Even Hyde looks surprised. Then impressed.

Pft – HA! I have to quote this:

“Well, ladies, it seems that I must entertain you both.” He says, while soaked with what one can assume is scotch. “I trust that you will not be too disappointed.” Girl on the right looks like she expects to be disappointed. Ms. Left has her game face on.

“Oh, we’ll just have to manage.” Left is already up and at it.

“Somehow or other.” Right is playing along for now.

“Thank you for your confidence.” Paul’s reply does not sound confident in the slightest. He follows them through a curtain doorway. I’d say, ‘poor bastard’, but he doesn’t deserve my sympathy right now.

Hyde is creeping on Maria now.

“Keep away from him, he is dangerous.”

Yeah. To medium sized rodents.

Actually, considering Hyde is nothing more than a big, smelly, greasy, slimy rat –

Nah, wouldn’t want to give the poor thing indigestion.

“Your friend talked to me like a common whore.”

I assumed you two knew each other? I don’t know, they are weird and vague on that. Alan says he’s tried, then claims what names she uses in bed, and she did throw the drink on him afterwards. I’ve no idea.

I will give this to Hyde: He is a smooth talker. He is also, however, still a bastard.

And the makeup they used on this actress is not flattering at all. I’ve seen pictures of her, and she was beautiful. They somehow made her look hideous. ‘Impertinent’ is a word, though not quite the one I would use for this piece of garbage.

I love putting subtitles on. They’re so dumb.

(Soft sensual music) my ass.

Of course they shag. Why wouldn’t they?

She’s given him an in, now… “You do not buy, you do not beg.” A man who ‘takes’. No, do not give him that.

“A nice, cold wife.” I’m so furious.

They do have a servant! An old woman. Probably a concession after years.

“Mr. Hyde.” Creep.

‘Nanny’.

“Lately, this house has become unused to visitors.”

“The wife of a recluse…”

Trying to sweet talk a woman in love will not go over well for you.

Paul’s??? Paul’s friendship. What a save.

“The question of trespass hardly arises. Mr. Allen has no property rights in me.”

And as for Henry: “Henry leads his own life. He doesn’t seek my approval, and I don’t seek his. Is that wrong?”

OOOOOOFFFFF.

Sweet talk till you talk like that.

“To the boredom of being a neglected wife, and the humiliation of being a rejected mistress.”

It almost felt like she was into the flirting till he said that, but I still get the feeling she wouldn’t have slept with him. You can enjoy flirting, some people do it for a living, but not the act that comes after. As I said before, Kitty wears many masks. This one is short-lived. Hyde has insulted her, and the change in her demeanor is like a switch.

Kitty loves too deeply, to be reminded of her first failing, and the possibility of her loss of Paul is a kick in the teeth. Is she not worth loving? Is science, money, knowledge, other women – is she just no match? Can she have nothing out of this?

“I must say, you are honest. A trifle obvious, perhaps, but honest.” And too close to the surface, too close to the proverbial nail. Kitty is genuinely afraid of losing Paul, and it shows. She’s clinging onto something she feels she can’t hold onto, whether for her already damaged pride or because she doesn’t want to be hurt again. Her face only really started to shift when he said mistress.

“My great affair has already begun.” She’s pulling herself so easily from his arms. He talks about great love since he felt her in his arms, and she just turns away with this casual walk of a knowing woman.

“It was well advanced before ever you appeared on the scene.” She looks almost proud, though there’s still this edge to her. She expects it to crash and burn. She’s just waiting for it.

“I wonder what is the special quality in a man as weak, unscrupulous, and utterly unreliable as Paul Allen?” This really bothers him. Hyde is essentially Jekyll unchained, a copy of the inner, dark urges of one man laid bare, and given free run of the place… And he’s a total rat bastard.

And Kitty is smiling. Kitty is overjoyed.

“I don’t question your description, Mr. Hyde.” She’s radiating with delight. Even that description of Paul in all his awful glory stirs nothing but happiness in her.

“Well then, but why…” And he’s reaching for her, stroking his fingers over her back. It’s this odd mimicry of how Jekyll tried to hold her that night. Ugh.

“I merely happen to love him.” Yes! SHE SAID IT!

“Love? Love is an idiocy!” And she’s laughing again. I’m beginning to believe Kitty uses laughter to cover her pain. Hyde/Jekyll McShitFace uses rage.

“An idiocy of mine, perhaps, but a fact.” Then we get this beautiful close up of her face, the vindication with which she says it has me living –

“I love Paul Allen.” Love, you must be so blind and so wonderful.

(Ominous music). As Hyde descends back to his basement to turn back into Jekyll. Back to the sewer, your garbage monster.

Ernst is here. Okay, something weird is happening again. Jekyll has a heightened metabolism. Probably from sustaining two rat bastards instead of one. I’ve no idea how much time has elapsed, but quite a bit I’m guessing. A week? A month? Another year? Nah, probably more like a week or so.

Jekyll’s life is “burning out at a much faster rate.”

Kitty is fed up with being Paul’s ‘bank clerk’. Yeah, let’s bring Henry into this. ‘Let him deal with life’s little problems and leave us its gaiety’? You are a cad. Why do you love him again, Kitty? You can do better.

She’s sick of being used.

“How can you talk of our love in this way?” Love? Is this the first time you bring it up to her? While asking for money? Aklsjdfkasjdf

Men are annoying.

“You hypocrite!” Thank you.

Debts of honor, my pale ass.

He’s going to Henry.

Ernst knows he’s addicted to something. He says it’s more damning, whatever it is.

At least Paul is honest. Jekyll is being cold to him now. He knows about him and Kitty now. He goes back to his work desk. ‘Going away’. Right. Run.

Paul gets nothing. Notes something must be wrong with him.

Kitty is worried about Paul now.

And fuck – Jekyll is giving full power of his shit to Hyde. His estate, his money, his assets, everything goes to Hyde. This happened in the book, of course, but this completely cuts Kitty off as well.

Also, he even says he’s using Hyde to ‘learn all he can’. You pretty much know it all. Kitty, your wife, is in love with your ‘friend’, Paul. It’s not that hard. You’ve effectively been gaslighting them from the beginning.

“For do I want to return to a life of frustrated isolation and loveless misery?”

I.

I have…

So many problems with this statement alone.

You left your wife, even said it yourself, neglected. For years. So much so, that she’s alone as well. Of course she searched for something beyond you, when you chose to isolate yourself first… And you know what? I’m happy for Kitty, she found something, someone to love and love her in return. Is it perfect? No, but –

Anything and everything can be traced back to you, you sorry sack of literal shit. I’m about to lose it. He’s reaping what he’s sewn, and now he’s trying to escape it.

I’m so pissed off.

He drinks more stuff. Great. The return of The Literal Worst is upon us.

Wow… Never heard Christopher Lee say that before –

“Damn bad luck you’ve been having, I hear, Allen, old man.” Some man comments on the state of Paul’s life, which has gone to hell in a handbasket.

“Damn bad luck.” Paul’s agreement seems to taste as bad as the cigarette he’s smoking. I wonder how many are his, in that overflowing mound of ash and stumps, at the center of the table.

“Oh, well, luck’s a bitch, old boy.” Not sure that was a saying yet, but maybe this is the one that starts the trend.

“Oh, I shouldn’t think so.” Paul looking like he’d like to swallow down the rest of the decanter on the table, with Hyde being the creep that just walked in. “I’ve always had the best possible luck with bitches.”

I just about spit my tea. Not even kidding.

“Almost always, anyway.”

You’re terrible. Kitty should leave without either of you.

How is this review over 4K words? Who’s still reading this?

“Women aren’t a weakness they’re a recurrent necessity.” Paul. Paul. What are you doing?

‘Oldest mistress’.

Paul. You’re awful with money and it’s obvious.

They’re going to go out on the town. Like bastards. Hyde is The Literal Worst.

Snap shots of London’s underbelly during the 1700s… Brawling, lots of drinking and bad singing, and… smoking? Opium? Hooka? Who the fuck knows anymore.

Paul’s out. Hyde is doing the 100-yard Creep Stare.

Paul is out making debts again. ‘Honorable’ ones, at least.

Now he’s out of ideas. It’s been a week. He spent all that money – 5,000 in a week. Ouch. “But you, are a fool.” We agree on that. That is the only thing Hyde, and I will ever agree on.

“And I’ll try Kitty.”

Ha.

Haha.

You can see the wheels turning unpleasantly in Paul’s head. His brow is doing that furrowed thing when he’s confused.

“What the devil do you mean, Hyde?” You know what he means, you just don’t want him to go on. You’re hoping he doesn’t mean what you think he means.

“Well, that should be simple enough for even you to understand.” Again, insulting people while mixing in kind words, though his next ones are far from kind: “I am telling you to obtain your mistress for me.”

Paul is rising out of his chair. His brow is still doing that furrowed thing, but it has gotten even deeper. The rage is coming, a wave that was slow to foam, but quick to rise.

“You unspeakable devil.” There’s still some disbelief, but there’s no denying the shock.

Hyde is doing the creep laugh with a – “How very amusing.” Now you can see the anger, it’s chiseling its way into his features, hard and sharp.

“Paul Allen, breaker of every law in the moral code, is shocked into morality.”

Full blown: I’d punch the ever-living hell out of you. I’m about to.

“You vile, disgusting degenerate.” His lips are quivering. He’s barely holding it together.

“Be rational, my friend.” You’re pushing him far beyond ‘rational’. “I’m asking for the temporary loan of a proven adulteress, of whom you yourself have grown somewhat tired.”

First of all: fuck you. Second of all: Kitty already said he has no property rights to her.

“You go back to hell!” Paul. Punch. Him.

Oh… Wait… Yeah, he’d probably get in trouble for that. And then be sent to jail. And I doubt he wants to be in there while Kitty is out here with this lunatic. Yeah, running out before you lose it seems wise.

Still should have throttled him a bit.

Now what is The Literal Worst doing? Going back to the house…

And sneaking into Kitty’s room. You creep. I’ve never wished to jump through a television screen more.

They only have one servant, ‘Nanny’, is her name.

He’s blackmailing her. With Paul’s notes. Fuck. ‘Buy him back’.

She’s laughing. Yes, that is Kitty’s response to being uncomfortable.

“You utterly repel me.” YES! Go girl! She laughs as he storms out, tossing the notes away. Then she closes and locks the door, pressing her back to it. She was probably more than a little terrified.

Hyde assaults a homeless man, shoving him down, and steps over him. That was in the book… Then back to some cesspit that Paul showed him.

There’s something weird going on here with Hyde and this girl.

Cut to Kitty and Paul snuggling. And kissing. This is the quality content I came for. He’s wearing the same shirt from earlier… Which means he probably took a good long walk, had a small conniption, and then went straight to her.

“Why does love make us behave so hatefully to one another?” Yeah, well, Paul has been the terrible one here.

“Because we’re cowards, my darling. We want everything.” I’m not sure what Paul’s deal is, why he is the way he is… He could just be an ivy league guy who grew up, not knowing how to handle money, he might not come with as much baggage as the rest of them.

Why can’t they just be happy and cute?

Go away? Start a new life? Yeah, do that.

Right now.

Leave.

Before Jekyll McShitFace gets back.

Ah, they planned to mug Hyde, using the girl as a means to dupe him. Seems about right. Also deserved.

Ah, Kitty is leaving Jekyll. About bloody time. Also, the wrong time, considering the whole Hyde business.

Jekyll has destroyed his drugs, though admits that Hyde’s grip is too powerful. Right. As if Ernst didn’t warn you it was an addiction. “No degeneracy is low enough to satisfy him.” You mean you, right? Because, he is, after all, you.

The kids are back in the garden. This can only end well.

Oh, they’re leaving. Good…

Paul and Kitty are making out again. Good for them.

Jekyll shoved a kid. Bad for him.

Same little girl who’s always trying to give him flowers. Yeah, he’s losing it. Rushing back into lab to pen a last will and testament one can hope –

Nope, no such luck.

‘Exorcise him’. Right.

Handwriting switch. Interesting.

Paul admitting to Kitty he’s in trouble with Hyde.

If looks could kill.

Hyde lures them with an invitation from Jekyll, about their last evening together being ‘gay’.

Kitty doesn’t want to go, she’s frightened. Listen to your gut.

Paul wants to stay, because they think he’ll settle. Kitty agrees.

Fuck.

Cabaret. Ugh.

Someone get me out of here. Lots of underwear. This is painful.

Hyde making plans to meet with Maria before meeting with Paul and Kitty, who’s dressed for a funeral. Paul. Don’t. Go. Of course, he does.

Up to Maria’s room. Piss it.

More cabaret. I’ll hand it to you ladies; you can cartwheel and front flip. That is impressive. Also, I’m completely serious, because the amount of muscles it takes to do that are insane. Flexibility is also key. Congrats ladies.

Paul meets with Hyde.

“Surely we can keep Kitty out of this.” He knows something’s up and didn’t want to involve her. Smart, but also stupid.

“Hardly.” Hyde’s reply sets my teeth on edge.

Paul. Don’t go into that room. To meet him in private. Fuck me. Backwards. Paul.

A ball python. How dangerous. Paul. There’s a table right there. Squish the fucker. I mean, I’m against animal cruelty, but in the case of the story, that thing is supposed to be deadly. Squish. Squish. Otherwise, leave him the fudge alone and he’ll leave you alone.

Kitty… Don’t go with the creepy man. Listen to your Creep Radar.

Paul’s dead. Kitty doesn’t deserve this. Don’t –

I hate this. I hate this. Paul is literally dead in the other room.

I’m writing so much fix-it fic for this, you won’t believe.

This review is 18 pages long. If you’ve made it this far, may the gods have mercy on you, because my wrath at this point is endless.

Maria is in Jekyll’s house. He told her to go back to that house, put on Kitty’s clothes –

“The pattern of justice is complete.”

Rot. In. Hell.

Paul and Kitty deserved better. They deserved each other.

Kitty waking up, gods’ I hate this. She’s a wreck. Her hair, her clothes… You can tell she’s about to be sick. She’s barely holding it together. There’s a fucking note… A note leading her to the snake… She finds Paul dead. She’s already shellshocked. Out onto the balcony…

“Paul.” Her last word.

She plummets over the balcony, through the glass roof, and –

Cut to Maria saying: “I love you Edward.”

“I can’t love.” We can agree on two things. Those two things.

“I must be free.” Right before murdering Maria.

Jekyll finally takes back over, rightfully horrified, and runs back to his lab. With three corpses under his belt.

What an interesting mirror effect…

“Why must you destroy?”

“I must be free.”

Then we go back-and-forth, about who murdered, who revenged, and who was wronged. They weren’t in Hyde’s way, but Jekyll was. He doesn’t ‘feel’. Yeah, right…

Hyde is every dark, terrible impulse Jekyll has had, given life and form. His desire to be free, to run rampant, has been a desire of Jekyll’s since the beginning. Free the beast so he could kill it… Then proceeded to twist it to gaslight his wife, his friend, and everyone else. He was living a life, a lie, a sham. The desire for freedom from persecution for our desires, to be allowed to do what we want, when we want, without judgement has been an overarching theme in all of society. People are persecuted for what pronouns they want to use, for how they eat, how they dress, how they talk –

However, because Hyde is merely a reflection, one can assume his desire for freedom is mirrored in Jekyll’s continued desire for the same. Jekyll wants to continue to exist, so Hyde must desire to exist in turn. He’s still composed completely of Jekyll’s desires.

He says he doesn’t feel, yet there is a desperation, a fear in his voice when he says: “You must lose, Jekyll.” Because he’s afraid he won’t. He’s horrified by the idea of being trapped forever, of their relation being found out…

Cut to Inspector being on the case at The Sphinx.

Wow, a lady in gentleman’s clothing runs The Sphinx. Nice.

Jekyll trying to leave a letter to Ernst. Yeah, that’ll go over well. He calls a street cleaner over to take his note to Ernst, but of course, Hyde has to upset that plan.

Again, I give props to the actor for the massive amount of voice switching, and playing the ‘tortured’ scientist, and the King of the Creeps.

Hyde is about to kill this street cleaner. Mate, why did you come into this guy’s house to randomly move something for him? He shoots him in the back, of course…

The Inspector arrives! Not in time…

Hyde is about to torch the place. Of course he is.

He puts up a performance for the police, saying Jekyll is nuts… Whole place is on fire, with street cleaner acting as a sub-in for the body of Jekyll.

I swear, if this fucker gets away with this, I will riot.

Is nobody seeing the Creepiest Grin of the Century?

No, of course not, they’re trying to fight a raging fire.

And of course, there’s a court hearing over the whole thing. Jekyll went nuts. True. He was addicted to drugs. Also true, though it’s not any kind ever seen before. Sought vengeance for imagined slights. True again.

“Fortunate to have escaped – “

Screw you.

Death by suicide. If only.

Do not tell me this is how this movie ends.

“A fine man. A fine – “

Shut up Ernst.

“The higher man.” Shut your face hole, Hyde.

Jekyll is coming out.

“I must leave immediately.” Oh no, you don’t, you bastard.

“Help me.” Keep talking, Jekyll. Get out of there. Confess. You deserve it.

Lots of struggling here. Again, props to the actor.

Inspector, Ernst, and everyone are watching. Do it now, you bastard.

He turned back into Jekyll!

Finally! You did something useful!

He looks really old. Apparently being Hyde aged him decades.

You can still rot in hell.

“I have destroyed him.”

“And yourself, my poor friend.”

“Only I could destroy him.” Dramatic pause. “And I have.”

He’s arrested.

Abrupt Hammer Horror Ending.

Kitty and Paul deserved better.

This review is 20 pages long, over 6K words, and it took me 4 hours to get through it because I kept pausing and rewinding to quote.

You’re welcome.

#The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll #McSh*tFace #I'm So Tired #Christopher Lee #This Took Way Too Long #Movie Review #Kitty and Paul Deserved Better #So Much Fix-It Fic To Write

[baseballiscruel-blog]

For World Mental Health Day

I wanted to write this out because, for one, I have a difficult time openly talking about it, and two, because I feel the need to be honest about my experiences so that anyone who comes across this may better understand me as a person. A lot has happened in my life since I last wrote one of these. I just wanna say - this is a very personal letter and there’s negative connotations that go along with what I’m about to talk about so please try to keep an open mind and respect that I’m being honest and up front about my journey with mental illness.

I’ve always dealt with darkness; it’s been a part of me since as long as I can remember. Sometimes I’ll sit in a group and make what I think is a funny comment, and the response will be, “damn, girl, that’s dark.” I’ve never really seen things that way. And part of my fear in openly discussing this is that people often are unwilling to confront the darkness - so when someone tries to be open about what’s real to them, it’s often dismissed as morbid or “too real”. And when that happens, no matter the context, it causes you to feel like an outsider. Because when you live with that darkness, coexisting in the same space for your entire life, it’s a piece of you. And people aren’t always able - or willing - to understand that.

I got a lot of different diagnoses growing up - useless details that I’m not going to get into. A lot of bullshit therapy that made me give up on therapy altogether (for awhile). To get to the main point, my moods were never... normal. Like, everything hurt my feelings or I was so numb it scared the people around me. Numbness is a constant in my life - I either feel things completely or I don’t feel them at all. I never really understood it, and growing up, it was always the same thing; “You’re so sensitive, you’re so overdramatic”. I honestly never understood it. I was reacting with what I felt and I couldn’t understand why every time I reacted to anything it was, in some way, an “abnormal reaction”. Doctors said a lot of different shit - and there was a day, must have been in 7th grade, where one of my close friends and I were hanging out. We got back to my house and my mom walked outside and made a comment about the shoes I was wearing. It was hateful, but nothing serious enough to justify a fit. But I started crying; I completely lost it. I felt so worthless. I couldn’t understand how one simple comment could rip me apart like that. I saw my friend again a few days later (which, yes, was horribly mortifying if you were wondering) and she said to me, “Rach, I think this is a lot more complicated than you’re able to see right now.” I brushed it off; who the fuck wants to think their abnormal in 7th grade? I had headgear in middle school, like I was already NOT doing well in the normal department, adding an extra bit of crazy to the mix was not at all what I was willing to accept.

In high school, my moods got worse. I was always angry, sad, or numb. And the important thing to note here is that, when it comes to what I feel, I can rarely understand the meaning behind it. Imagine this: you wake up, every day for a week, so angry you can’t see straight. But you don’t know why, or who you’re angry at, or why the rage is so overwhelming you can feel it in every inch of your skin. That’s what all of the moods are like. My friends would say one thing wrong, or they’d give me advice which I deemed as “not good enough”, and I’d treat them like absolute garbage. There was a never a middle ground for me; someone was either the greatest thing in the world, or the worst person I’d ever met. And I could think those things about someone in the span of an hour. Yeah, I know, it’s fucking exhausting. And what’s most exhausting about it is the not knowing “why”. My best friend, who still to this day stands by me and is the absolute rock in my life, got it the worst from me. She tells me now, “it was like walking on eggshells. I never knew which rachael I was gonna get or what was gonna set you off.” I‘ll forever be sorry for that. No mental illness excuses meanness or cruelty; it may explain your behavior, help people to understand why you do the things you do, but it is not an excuse and you should never use it as one.

When I was 19, during a family christmas, my sister came up to me and said, “look, Rae, I think you have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). I think you should go see a specialist.” And I remember my response so clearly: I was infuriated, so I glared at her and said, “You can go fuck yourself because I’m not crazy”. I really truly refused to look inwardly at the situation. But my sister was there my entire life; she saw every reaction, every detail. And as I got older, the sadness got worse, the moods themselves got more unstable. I want to paint a picture because this is difficult to explain to someone who does not directly experience it - and I have difficulty opening up about this topic because when someone doesn’t understand you or what you go through on a day to day basis, it can be isolating. So, imagine your experience with heartbreak: That heavy weight on your chest, where every movement genuinely fucking feels impossible and every inch of you hurts. I feel a degree of that almost every day. Stay with that feeling - remember it. Now picture yourself in a bar with your friends, talking, casually having fun. And someone looks at you, and innocently says, “oh, you look like “so and so” celebrity!” But you don’t like that celebrity - and that celebrity isn’t necessarily what you would define as attractive. So in half a second you’ve taken that comment to mean that you’re unattractive and that you’re worthless. And that feeling - that heavy ache in your chest - fills you. That’s what it’s like for me. It only takes that much. And I’m an extremely logical and rational person - Even while it’s happening I can step outside of myself and say, “dude chill out - you know that didn’t mean anything. You’re fine. You know that didn’t mean anything.” But the connection between my thoughts and my feelings has always been weak, to say the least. Because my moods control everything - my ability to rationalize the situation does nothing to change how much pain a single comment can cause me, or how numb I can become.

So, my senior year of college comes around and a lot happened that year; I had my first heartbreak, I was trying to figure out what the fuck I wanted to do after I graduated, (I felt hopeless bc, like, wtf am I gonna do when I graduate???) I dated someone else... it was just a mess. I was all over the place. And then March of 2018 came around, and my sister told me that my aunt was diagnosed with BPD in her 20s and something, idk what, in me snapped. You can be genetically predisposed to BPD. Why I never knew my aunt had it is another question entirely, but in that moment I genuinely said, “fuck it - I give up on everything else, nothing is working” and I went to see a specialist in nyc. There’s a checklist, a list of requirements, you have to meet to be diagnosed with BPD. I’m just gonna say... I passed with fllyyyiiing colors. And no, because I absolutely know what you’re thinking, this is NOT the same as being Bipolar. Not the same. Separate the two. The name “BPD” is misleading; it refers to, in the easiest of terms, unstable moods and behaviors. It’s defined as a personality disorder because the way I feel and experience the world is, in fact, a part of my personality; I can’t ever change it. What I can do is learn how to cope and manage my feelings in a world that wasn’t necessarily built for someone like me. Marsha Linehan once said, “People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.”

I didn’t really process this diagnosis well, if I’m being honest. It’s one thing to have a doctor tell you that you have depression or anxiety (not to in any way minimize those things) because we have, in society, been working to normalize those forms of mental illness. When you think of a disorder, for example, like being Bipolar - do positive images come into your head? Probably not. Because there are extremely harmful and negative connotations that go with any form of mental illness outside of what society has deemed as being somewhat “normal“. So, confronting this was difficult for me. On the one hand, for the first time in my life things made sense; why I always felt like my reactions were wrong, why everything I feel is so unbelievably heavy, why I never seem to understand the meaning behind my moods or their constant fluctuation. But, on the other hand, it was devastating. For a long time it felt like everyone was going to dismiss me, abandon me, that I was never going to be able to be happy. Because, for those of you who have BPD and truly know what every day is like, looking at your future and saying, “holy shit I’m gonna feel what I feel for the rest of my life??” is a terrifying thing to confront. Because who wants to be in pain all of the time? Who wants to be angry for no reason? Who wants to push everybody away because they’re afraid they’re going to get abandonded? How is that life? How is that living?

People still ask me why I decided to leave NYC. Yeah, a big part of it was that I have student loans and I wanted to save up and become a functioning and independent adult before moving back to the East Coast. But, the biggest reason was because of my diagnosis. There is no place like NYC; and it was always my intention to move back (which I am doing, by the way). But if you don’t know who you are every second of the day, that city will rip you apart. And I could barely talk to anyone outside of my circle about what I was dealing with. So I moved back to Chicago. I got a good job, I’m working on getting my shit together to become an independent ”real” adult. But, the most important thing was for me to get my head on straight. And there are very bad days - there will always be very bad days. But I’m learning how to cope with my shit in ways that are far less destructive than what they used to be. And, sadly, sometimes that means deleting my twitter for 6 hours, or doing a bunch of other confusing shit that probably doesn’t make sense to any of my followers. And I’m sorry for that. And I’m always going to be sorry to all the people in my life that this negatively impacts. This is not in any way an easy thing to deal with - trust me, I deal with it every day. And to the people in my life who have stuck by me, I can’t ever explain to you what and how much that means to me. I’ll forever be sorry for the bad days: I’m sorry to all the people I project my pain on, and I’m sorry that it’s still so hard for me to open up emotionally, in a real setting, about this.

But one day I will - and every day I work on myself I gain a little bit more insight, a little bit more hope. To the people who care about me, have faith in me on the days I don’t. I know this is confusing. I barely understand it, too.

And lastly, to the people who will write me off because of this, or the people who judge anyone with a mental illness that they don’t know about or understand - try to be more open. We’re all human, we all face different struggles. And the more open and real we get about mental health - the better we’ll all be for it.

Thank you for listening to my TED Talk. I hope that this, in some way, helps you to understand me better. Mental Health awareness matters because, newsflash, most of the people you’re going to meet in this life are just as fucked up as I am.

Lots of love,

Ræ

[dentalrecordsmusic]

DRM Unplugged: Exploring Musicians & Mental Health with [Anonymous]

In this guest blog series, Dental Records Music News invites any and all alternative musicians to share their experiences with mental illness in order to shed light on the issues and hurdles they must face in order to create and perform. If you would like to read more and follow our series, check out this link. You can also check out PunkTalks.org for information on getting help and support if you are a musician who is struggling.

The following is a guest post by an alternative musician who chose to remain anonymous. This is their story.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Here we go.

I grew up told I was smart, kind, and handsome, like most products of the self-esteem generation. The kids at school thought I was weird – but I always brushed it off, knowing that I was creative, and being weird was okay. I was a precocious, chubby little boy with straight A’s and very proud parents.

The first time a stranger took advantage of me sexually I was around 12 years old. I’d never kissed anyone. No valentine in my locker. No notes handed in class. No sweaty palms on first dates. I was instead manipulated into sexual activities with nameless, faceless, adult men. The abuse continued repeatedly for years. But because I was a boy, I couldn’t conceive of myself as a victim of anything. The behavior was my own – I was a weird, sick kid. I took responsibility, and hated myself for it.

I tried to compensate with musical pursuits. Over the next couple years, I identified with that, playing guitar, and with the personality my parents raised me thinking I had. I used elements of my identity to try and make up for what I believed to be a shameful flaw of my own, blaming myself for the abuse and never considering otherwise. I assumed I was a perverse but kind-hearted, eccentric, to-be genius waiting to bloom. I don’t know how much I believed it – but I needed other people to. I needed witnesses to the qualities I believed were the saving grace from my otherwise unacceptable personality flaws. I needed to tell myself something to keep myself thinking my life was worth living – I needed others to tell me that too. When they didn’t, I fell apart. I wrapped myself up with that as my friends came and went. A couple stayed, most left as I became more and more unpopular. I became certain I was just too different, too complicated, to be understood by the masses.

I retreated further into my confused identity, and further into the grooming. My self-esteem continued to fall apart, and I became more and more isolated. I started to act out in school, my grades began to plummet. My home life became strained. I would lie about having done my homework – and when my ma would catch me, she would scream and yell at me for being “manipulative.” During the aftermath of one particularly bad episode of my acting out and abusing my fellow classmates, I told the school counselor that I thought about suicide sometimes. I was sent home with Ma, who threw shoes at my head and sobbed “everyone’s suicidal, [name].”

What was wrong with me? I was some kind of sicko who couldn’t handle a little suicidal ideation. I turned to food. Now I was obese. Ma would hide food in little stockpiles because I would “eat everything that isn’t nailed down,” and I would proceed to find it and eat it in minutes. I was further branded as a sneak, a liar, a manipulator. I believed every word of it – after all, I had known I was messed up in the head since I was 12 years old.

I began to have obsessive, compulsive thoughts. Disturbing, intrusive images would come into my mind, terrify me, and then refuse to leave. The more disgusted I was by these thoughts and the more terrified by them I was, the more trouble I would have shaking them. Failing to process that if I were the sicko I was terrified of being, I wouldn’t be terrified. I saw a therapist. He diagnosed me with “pure-o” obsessive-compulsive disorder. There was talk of medication, Ma had taught me that psych meds were terrible, evil things that destroyed your personality. I didn't want to lose what I thought at the time made me special. The treatment went no further.

There were times I had no friends at all. I would often invite mockery from people with talk of suicide. I took up smoking. In the mornings, I would wake up before anyone else so I could scrounge for cigarette butts on the ground and use my lunch money to binge eat the snack foods in the cafeteria. I didn’t get to hang out with the kids I wanted to, and the kids I used to hang out with didn’t want to hang out with me. I sat at a lunch table with kids I barely got along with. I had mood swings. I got physical. I was mocked and sexually humiliated by classmates. I left them with bloody mouths.

I finally got a girlfriend – from out of town, of course, as I was understandably not well liked at home – I lost my virginity to her. One I sort of still had, and maybe didn’t exactly. I cried when we were done. I think it was because I knew then that my childhood was over and never going to come back.

My mood swings and narcissistic need to overcompensate for this snowballing tangle of self-loathing and sickness grew. I would steal liquor from my parents' bar and drink it from a water bottle in school. I began to fail classes.

My area’s culture was certain that anyone who didn’t go to college was a loser – my parents didn’t raise no loser. But I was not destined for college, and I didn’t want to go.

The extracurricular pursuits I involved myself in in school saved me. My talent hopefully overcoming my ugliness. I left to go to school begrudgingly and desperately depressed and developed an eating disorder of sorts. I ran a pro-ana blog on Tumblr and lost weight alarmingly quickly. I dropped out. My latest out-of-town girlfriend and I pursued drugs together, mostly hallucinogens and alcohol. We broke up several times and abused each other mercilessly.

The next few years were an escalating series of self-destructive actions. Trying to numb the pain of every year leading up to them. I was arrested multiple times. I kept hallucinating. Nobody knew. I became physically dependent on alcohol. I got in several car accidents. I tried therapy a couple of times and gave it up each time. I begged for money on street corners. Ate out of the garbage. I argued with homeless folk who’s corner was who’s. I developed a vaguely alt-right worldview. I binged and purged. I shook and panicked and hallucinated. I screamed about god at passing people on the street. I harassed and bullied and abused strangers and friends alike. If I had friends. I spent a short while believing I might be the reincarnation of Jesus. I may have tried to convince others - I'm not sure, there are years of my life that have nearly been erased. I tried to convince people inanimate objects were intelligent and conscious. I was an animal. I was what they call crazy.

It was terrifying, confusing, and it hurt like hell. After years of this madness, I started fighting. I battled through the alcoholism, shaking and hallucinating. I waded through the depression, treaded water over the waves of panic attacks. I relapsed and relapsed, I got worse and got better and got worse. I finally kicked the booze and constant drug use and began to take on the psychiatric illness that had been adding fuel to the fire. I started regular therapy and was prescribed a series of powerful psych meds.

That’s over now. My whole life has changed. I’m better now. I got help. I got some helpful diagnoses. I got sober. I got medicated. I’ve made public apologies for my past toxic behavior. I’m supposed to be better.

But I’m not. Because I’m still me.

I still have to wake up every morning inside the same head. It doesn’t matter that I’ve finally got a good job. It doesn’t matter that I’m fairly popular. It doesn’t matter that I’m in a relatively stable relationship and in therapy. It doesn’t matter that I’ve tried to make up for the wrong I’ve caused others, that I’ve worked and run charity events. It doesn’t matter that I work to be better every day. Because I still live every moment as [name] and from the outside, I know most people would say it doesn’t seem like that bad of a deal, but they’ve never been inside.

There’s this gaping hole inside me. This bottomless pit that wonderful things fall into but never pile up at the bottom. This endless void I feel behind my eyes that aches and groans and wants to consume everything around me. Every thrilling rush, every comforting reassurance, every scrap of love, every numbing distraction.

My life keeps getting better. If you knew the circumstances of my life you’d shake me and shout “wake up, [name] and get a hold of yourself! You’ve got an amazing life!” And yet I feel as empty and bottomless as before. That hole is a maelstrom that swallows me up and drags everyone around me with me. I’ve hurt people – broken their hearts, their trust, their faith. I’ve made people feel disposable and every bit as alone as I feel. And I’ve done it all by accident. Not even knowing what was happening. Am I still what they call crazy?

Every day I wake up looking out from behind these eyes, take the drugs that stop me from cutting my arms open again, flying into rages, riding waves of mania, and ranting and raving my suicidal ideations… and I’m still me.

I’ve told so many people that they are not their illnesses. But I think I may be mine.

About half the time I trudge along trying not to think of all the things that haunt me. Working to not give in to the grief of a past I never had a chance to have, the shame and guilt of the past I ended up having, the terror of the future I may have made for myself. The other half of the time?

I am certain there is no hope.

About half the time, I know for sure that I will kill myself.

No matter how much better of a person I am now. No matter how much nicer or more considerate or selfless I am. No matter how much I struggle to avoid inheriting my lineage’s malignant narcissism. No matter how many promises I make. No matter how many habits I break. No matter how many people I make peace with. No matter how many sins I atone for. No matter how many people I try to help. It’s still me doing those things.

I’m told to take my medication. I’m sick. I have a sickness. Ma reminds me that the real me is the person without the medicine. I don’t know much about who that is. After the substance abuse/alcoholic phase of my life and before the heavy mood stabilizers, there was only about a year of “the real me.” He was not the animal he was before – but he was still a piece of shit who ran around threatening suicide left and right and didn’t care enough about the people in his life. I don’t want to be him.

I’m better on the medicine. I’m less of the jerk who made your friend cry when he broke his heart. I’m less of the guy who dumps his partner just to beg for them to come back days later. I’m less the guy who abandons his friends and less the guy who is so consumed with his own misery he can’t bring himself to spare a minute for someone else. But I’m still me. And I hate me. And I’m fairly certain most people around me hate me too. I fit in nowhere. Still rejected by even the rejects.

My identity, my behavior, my beliefs, my feelings – all of those things are changing. But one thing stays the same, and that is the me experiencing all of those things. About half the time, I’m sure that thing needs to die. Everyone who knows me will have seen it coming, and probably find it totally fitting. They’ll be heartbroken, some of them, but nobody would be shocked. I’m the boy who cried wolf at this point. I’ve been threatening suicide in public and to my peers since I was a kid. Nobody listened.

Maybe I’m diseased. Maybe I am the disease. Maybe those two things aren’t mutually exclusive. Guess I caught it from my parents. Guess I caught it from the kids at school who shunned me for being fat or “goth,” or too weird - or who I shunned with preemptive self-defense attacks. Guess I caught it from the years of nameless, faceless adult men manipulating me as a little boy.

I have no advice for sufferers. I have no tips and tricks. I have no hotline numbers or cute memes. I’ve seen them all and they never helped me. I’m not looking to make an argument about the importance of removing the stigma against mental illness or whatever. This isn’t my bullshit “what life is like with anxiety” Buzzfeed article. This is just what I felt like saying tonight, but couldn’t tell anyone. Because it would hurt them to hear it, and do me no significant good anyway. And if I told people with my name and face attached to my words, it would be even worse.

Part of me wants to say that if only I had been born female, maybe I wouldn’t have been raised to think that it’s not possible for me to be sexually abused. Boys are told they can’t be raped. They’re called names for not wanting sex (by men and women alike) and they're shamed if they say no. Consent seems implied by having a dick in our culture. It’s a terrible thing nobody seems to talk about. I couldn’t say that without being anonymous either, I’d be attacked by everyone in my social media bubble.

The other part of me says shut up [name] you were asking for it and you’ve just developed a shitty personality cause you can’t handle how much of a gross fat ugly unlovable disgusting stupid narcissistic worthless piece of shit you are. This is all your fault and you’re not sick, you’re just human fucking trash. You should’ve been naturally selected out of the gene pool is all – and when the poor innocent souls who raised you were burdened by your accidental conception they were kind and misguided enough to avoid aborting you. They paid for it by you bringing your problematic, troubled, toxic existence to the world.

If you’ve read this whole thing, I’m sorry for putting my miserable little life on you. It’s so not a big deal to anyone but me. Which maybe is the point.

Yeah. That’s the point.

Nobody gives a shit. Nobody wants to hear it. We share our condolences and contrived pop culture grief when some TV personality offs themselves and pat ourselves on the back for copying and pasting the suicide hotline number on facebook, but we don’t care. We tell each other to reach out to one another when what we really mean is “reach out to me!” And of course, nobody reaches out.

The point is that I am so unhappy all the time. I am so confused and hurt and lost and scared and angry and ashamed every waking moment and nobody cares. I’ve told so many people so many times in so many ways how horrible things are and how hopeless it seems about half the time. None of them have done anything except for a “damn that sucks” now and again.

If I said all this without withholding my identity it would do nothing for me. I’d get in trouble, most likely. For making people worry, for being self-centered, for having an abusive past, for the fact that I once actually identified as alt-right, for scaring people. A handful of people might reach out and say they appreciate me and that they don’t want me to kill myself. And then it’d be over. Nothing would change. Because they’re suffering too.

Look at how fucked up and complicated and messy my life has been. Look at how much there is there. How much flawed nonsensical misery and obvious illness is there. There’s so much to be said, but nobody wants to hear it. If only people listened. Maybe none of this shit would’ve happened. None of the abuse, the isolation, the loneliness, the eating disorders, the borderline/bipolar/ocd diagnoses, the drug and alcohol addictions, the constant thoughts of suicide, the ugliness I lived, the pain I caused people. But nobody wants to hear it.

It’s not a stigma against mental illness. It’s the fact that nobody wants to hear it. It’s the fact that we’re too desperate to be heard to hear each other.

Nobody’s listening. Everyone just wants to be listened to. So forget me. Just like everyone forgets everyone. I’ll keep my cries for help anonymous. Because then it could be anybody!

Thing is it really could be.

If you or someone you know is a musician and struggling with mental illness, check out PunkTalks.org.

If you would like to contribute to this ongoing series about musicians and mental health, you can send us an email here.

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#drm unplugged #mental illness #feature #musicians #ocd #abuse #suicide #borerline personality disorder #bipolar disorder

[theconservativebrief]

“Don’t you dare go back to that doctor” my mother growled into the phone. “He’ll put ‘bipolar’ on your record, and then you’ll never be able to get a job.”

I nodded into the receiver. “Okay.”

I never went back. Seven years later, I woke up in a psych ward.

Growing up, I thought I was emotionally healthy. I had a large Chinese family on my mother’s side (my father is white). We were a lively, loud, tight-knit group consisting of around 20 blood relatives and 3 million nonblood relatives. Everyone knew each other’s business. Distant family members inquired about school, commented on my weight, and asked if I had a boyfriend. The only time it was “quiet” was when the Mahjong table came out, and the only noise you’d hear was the click-clacking of tiles.

But when I look back, I realize that we shied away from the important topics. Mental health was rarely discussed, but when it was, it was always in a negative light. At no point did any of my relatives tell me having a mental disorder, theoretically at this point, was unacceptable — I could tell by their hushed tones, and their quick dismissals, that mental illness was not an option.

I never questioned it. If relatives felt comfortable enough teasing me about my grades or weight, then surely they’d be ok with talking about mental health? The reality was not even close.

Most people know the stigma associated with mental illness. But there’s even more stigma within communities of color, and within Asian culture, it’s particularly bad. It’s like Russian nesting dolls of shame.

Scientific research shows the severity of mental health issues among Asian-Americans. Studies have found a few common causes — shame, fear, and avoidance, all of which have roots in the culture and the “model minority” stereotype. One could argue most people, regardless of race, are reluctant to discuss their mental state, but studies show Asian Americans are three times less likely than white people to seek mental health treatment. Another study carried out in 2011 showed that Asian Americans typically avoid mental health services because “opting to utilize such services requires admitting the existence of a mental health problem and may cause shame to the family if personal issues become public.”

For the first 27 years of my life, I kept my deteriorating mental health under lock and key for one straightforward reason: I was scared of embarrassing my mother. I believed I would be seen as broken or defective and bring shame on my family.

Any Asian person, especially women, will tell you about the pressures of growing up in many Asian households — the high expectations, the keeping up appearances, and the toxic model minority stereotype that continually hums in the background of your life. There’s an expectation to stand out for the “right” reasons — meaning good grades, a fancy job, high salary, good social standing, and having a husband or wife. In my family’s minds, having a mental illness can prevent you from achieving those things. And if you’re not achieving everything, then why are you even here?

Asian women in particular feel the need to prove themselves. Historically, we’re on the back foot since birth because Chinese families have long favored sons over daughters. Those attitudes have changed over time, but the feeling still lingers — we weren’t born the first choice, but we’ll work twice as hard to prove we deserve to be here. On top of all of that, we’re pressured by society (and Chinese culture) to start a family at a much younger age than men, meaning we’re on a shorter timeline to achieve anything. No wonder Asian-American women have a higher lifetime rate of suicidal thoughts than the general population.

My depression started in my teens. I didn’t think it was a problem: I assumed it was normal to feel low and isolated for long periods of time. From the ages of 13 to 18, I had several anxiety attacks. A few of my friends knew, but I rarely talked about it, and never to my family.

I managed to hide all of this from my mother, except for one incident when I was 17 and going through an incredibly low period. Like many people with a mental illness, I showed no visible signs of anxiety or depression. But I retreated into myself, finding it hard to communicate or perform basic tasks like showering or brushing my teeth. I knew I felt sad, but I didn’t know anything was “wrong.”

My mother became frustrated I wasn’t my “usual” self. And because there wasn’t anything physically wrong with me, she took me to the emergency room to see a mental health professional. I sat on a chair in a windowless room, my mother next to me, while a specialist straight up asked me what was wrong.

I refused to say what was wrong. My mother was in the room, and I didn’t want her to know. I could tell she was annoyed I wouldn’t talk, and even more annoyed she had to bring me in the first place. As my silence deepened, I remember her saying, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but her breath smells.” She was disgusted by me.

The specialist asked her to leave the room so he could talk to me in private. He said he couldn’t help me unless I told him what was wrong. I couldn’t. After hearing the disdain in my mother’s voice, I was too ashamed of embarrassing her. I didn’t want to let her down, so I said I was “fine” and left.

My mother and I didn’t talk about it again. And, unlike my grades, who I was dating, and my physical appearance, it wasn’t brought up at family gatherings. Maybe my relatives knew I was “down” and simply chose not to discuss it with me. Perhaps they just didn’t know how. After all, this stigma has been around as long as mental illness. At the time, I didn’t care; I was more interested in maintaining my reputation within the family than my mental health.

It comes back to this specific Asian brand of shame and pride. The shame prevents us from talking about it within the family, and the pride covers up the shame for those outside the family. According to an article by psychologist Ben Tran, this particular behavior has a name: “hiding up.” Hiding up is the act of both keeping your mental illness hidden from the community and not doing anything to treat the illness itself. It’s a dangerous combination.

The problem with “hiding up” is that the behavior became so ingrained that I continued to do it when I left home. By the time I went to university, my commitment to the cover-up was unwavering. Meanwhile, my mental state felt like it was tearing at the seams. I went to see a campus doctor — this time, my mom wasn’t there, and I told him as much as I could. He told me he suspected I was bipolar, but that I would need to see a psychiatrist for a proper diagnosis.

I left the appointment feeling a mix of relief and terror: relief that I wasn’t crazy in thinking I was crazy, but terrified of making that phone call. I never worked up the courage to do it. It would take another eight years and a life-threatening situation before I’d finally receive a diagnosis for bipolar II from a psychiatrist.

I was 27 when I first tried to kill myself. I was admitted to a psych ward, then transferred to a psychiatric hospital. I was incapacitated my first day in the ward. One of the psychiatrists called my mother to tell her what happened. When I asked how she reacted, he said she was angry. The first thing she asked was, “Why did no one tell me?”

I was transferred to a psychiatric hospital in November. There, I called my mother to talk about Christmas plans; I’d booked my flights a couple of months earlier and was excited to come home for the holidays. She was curt on the phone. She said I couldn’t stay with her, making up excuses about the broken heating in the house. It quickly dawned on me that these were flimsy cover-ups for the real reason — she was ashamed and didn’t want me around. My mental illness had become impossible to hide from the rest of my family.

I ended up staying with a friend and her family for the holidays. I didn’t see my mother, nor did we have any contact during that time. There was a smattering of communication in the subsequent months that quickly petered out. Our relationship hasn’t been the same since. I realized I couldn’t have someone in my life who couldn’t accept my mental illness, even if that person was my mother. We’ve been estranged for over four years now, and my contact with the rest of the family is patchy at best.

To be clear, I don’t judge or blame my family at all. If anything, I empathize with them. I’m sure they’ve had struggles of their own that they’ve had to repress. Maybe they were scared. Maybe it wasn’t that they didn’t want to talk about it, but instead, didn’t know how. I have no idea what they’ve been through — not just because they refuse to speak about it, but also because I didn’t ask.

The stigma associated with mental illness is so deeply entrenched in Asian culture; it’s unrealistic to think people can change their minds that easily. But this pressure to hide our problems away has dangerous consequences. The shame is killing us — older Asian-American women have the highest rates of suicide compared to any other race.

If we want to see change, it needs to come from everywhere both big and small. In 2017, a new bill was introduced to reduce the mental health stigma in the Asian-American and Pacific Islander community through specific outreach and education. And while it’s promising to see changes come from the top, those of us who are living with mental illness can make the most impact. By continuing to share our experiences, we can give people the strength to come out of “hiding.”

Amanda Rosenberg is a writer based in San Francisco. You can find her work in McSweeney’s, the Establishment, Anxy Magazine, GOOD, Huffington Post, Quartz, and the Mighty. She’s an editor for Slackjaw and is currently writing her first book — a collection of essays on mental illness.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at [email protected].

Original Source -> Hiding my mental illness from my Asian family almost killed me

via The Conservative Brief

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