#especially because i suffer from mental illness even more than i could ever convey to anyone and it was such a comfort.. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

Title: Bruised, Not Broken

Warnings: mental illness, memory and talk of near death experience, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty

“He’s struggling,” Esme says the following morning, as she leans stomach first against the kitchen island, cell phone pressed to her ear and an oversized mug of steaming tea staring invitingly up at her. “Badly.”

It’s eight thirty in the morning and she’s exhausted; a night full of broken sleep and attempting to fend off the monsters that accompany the reality of mental illness. It hadn’t been that bad in a long time; inconsolable, body wracking sobs that quickly transition into feelings of frustration and embarrassment, followed by a period of self loathing and disgust, finished off by intense rage directed at the mental illness itself and the people and experiences that directly caused it. It’s a hell of a thing to go through. Holding your six foot three, two hundred pound husband while he desperately clings to you and weeps like a terrified and wounded child. Able to do little more than offer verbal reassurance and attempt to comfort by running your fingers through his hair or rubbing his back. THAT isn’t the difficult part; the soothing comes easily and naturally and he normally responds quickly. Even the shame he feels afterwards is relatively easy to cope with. She can fend that off by staying calm and explaining why he doesn’t need to feel that way; somewhat convincing him that there’s no need for embarrassment just because he had a moment of vulnerability and weakness. Reminding him that he IS human; he’s allowed to feel hurt and pain and be frustrated and confused. But it’s the anger that takes over; all consuming and powerful and making it impossible to get through to him. She’d long ago learned that it’s best to just sit back and not say anything; let him rant and rave and vigorously pace the floor. Redirecting doesn’t work; he becomes defensive and accusatory and every little suggestion is taken as a personal attack or judgement. Silence IS golden when he goes off the deep end. Relegating herself to just listening and acknowledging what's happening to him and conveying understanding through body language and actions as opposed to words.

It always ends the same way. With pure physical and emotional exhaustion taking over. All the rage and tears expended and leaving him feeling empty and worn out; crawling back into bed and turning his back towards her in a silent request to just leave him alone. And she gives him that; a hand resting on the top of his head or upon his shoulder, yet no words ever exchanged. Staring up at the ceiling with tears of her own streaming down her face; a mixture of her own frustration and anger and pure and profound heartache. Not only hating to see the person she loves more than anything in the world hurting so badly, but detesting the fact she can’t do anything to take it all away.

“He always struggles at Christmas,” Ovi reminds her, and over the line she can hear the babbling of the littlest and the various voices belonging to characters on Sesame Street. It’s surreal at times; acknowledging just who he is now and how far he’s come. Easily remembering him as that scared and traumatized teenager and then having to remind herself that he’s a grown man; a wife and children of his own and well on his way to becoming a pediatrician.

“It’s different this year. It’s not just sadness. It’s frustration and it’s rage and it’s so much self loathing. I know we were told that this would happen; he’d go through these kinds of ups and downs. But he’s been doing so well and he’s been coping and hasn’t had a downward spiral like this in so long.”

“What is it he’s actually getting worked up over? What’s setting him off?”

“He’s been thinking a lot about Austin. He mentioned how it was bothering him how much Millie and TJ look like him. I mean, he’s always sad at Christmas. It’s always difficult for him. But it’s not like THIS.”

“Maybe he’s wondering what Austin would be like now. Or what he would have been like when he was Millie and TJ’s ages. And if he’s already down and out because of the holiday, adding that into the mix COULD make it worse.”

“It’s been years since he was THIS bad. You know how well he’s been doing. Everything’s been under control. He’s been managing it. Extremely well.”

“And he’s still going to therapy?”

“Religiously. By himself AND with me. And you know what a miracle THAT is. Him even agreeing to getting help in the first place.”

“Is he taking his meds? If he’s been off them or been skipping them…”

“I’ve checked. I went and counted them myself. There’s no extra. He’s been taking them. And I fucking hate that I even have to do that. Check up on him like that. He’s a grown man. He’s forty-seven years old and I’m treating him like he’s a child. I hate that I have to do that. I hate this whole fucking thing. This whole illness.”

“Unfortunately, he’s shown that he can’t be trusted. When it comes to meds. It’s a horrible thing to say, but…”

“This is just so unfair,” she laments, and lifts the mug of tea to her lips. “ That he’s suffering like this. He’s paid his dues, Ovi. And then some. Why does he have to KEEP paying? Wasn’t Dhaka enough? Wasn’t what happened twelve and half years ago a big enough price to pay? He doesn’t deserve this. This kind of pain. I’d rather see him physically struggling than this. Because at least I know that pain will subside. But this? I fucking hate this. And I can’t see Christmas being the only thing causing this. He’s never this bad.”

“How’d he seem when he got back? From Cambodia?”

“Tired. A little sore. But he seemed fine. He was glad to be home and in great spirits. He’s been...I don’t know...he’s been Tyler. Nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, it seemed like there was some underlying sadness, but I just chalked it up to it being Christmas and him always have a hard time.”

“Could something have happened while he was away? Could something have triggered it?”

“He didn’t tell me much. Just that the guys he took out were pretty much the biggest pieces of garbage he’s ever encountered. And that’s saying a lot; considering how many years he’s been doing the job and how many assholes he’s taken out. I guess they didn’t stop at just drug running and weapons trafficking. Apparently they abused women. And children. In the worst ways possible.”

“That could do it. Probably hit close to home. Hearing about someone taking advantage of kids like that.”

“He did seem rather vengeful about it. Satisfied, even. That he got the chance to take out people like that. And I don’t blame him; those people are scum and they deserve to put down in the most painful way possible. And he did say that it made him think about his kids. He kind of started dwelling on it; what would happen and how he’d react if anyone touched his kids like that.”

“That’s probably what did it,” Ovi concludes. “It’s probably been just eating away at him. It’s probably all he’s been thinking about; his own kids getting victimized like that. And you know Tyler. Once something is in his head, it lives there rent free. For a long time.”

“I try to get him to focus on other things; cut him off at the pass before he even gets down that rabbit hole. Usually it works; I can distract him and get him thinking about other things. And I thought it DID work. Guess I’m not as good at all of this as I think.”

“I think you need to cut yourself some slack. If anything, you do TOO much. You take too much on. You’ve got seven kids you’re taking care of. You’re dealing with Tyler’s issues. Are you taking care of yourself? Has anyone asked you how YOU’RE doing? Because that’s just as important.”

“I’m doing okay,” she lies, and swallows a mouthful of tea. “I’m fine.”

She feels anything but; weary to her bones and longing to be home. Six years ago, Australia had become her happy place; a beautiful home backing out onto the beach and the ocean in such short walking distance. There’s a bliss that comes with being there. The feel of the sand beneath your feet and between your toes, the sound of the waves as they roll up onto the shore, the smell of salt that hangs heavily in the air. It represents everything that is beautiful and good in her life; incredible little human beings she’d had a hand in making and a man that loves her more than anything in the world and practically worships the ground she walks on. Everyone seems happier there; content with the sunshine and the warm temperatures and the close relationship with nature. The pace of life seems slower; more laid back and relaxing and not possessing the amount of stress and tension that being in the States in the middle of winter seems to bring. And while she loves it in New York -the convenience that comes with a big city and the amount of activities to keep yourself busy that are available- she’d willingly give it all up if meant it would alleviate some of the suffering that Tyler’s mental illness brings upon him.

“You realize I know you’re lying, right?" Ovi says. "That I lived with you for years and I know exactly how you get; taking on the world’s problems and not paying attention to your own. You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep ignoring yourself because you’re so busy trying to solve everyone else’s issues. You can’t pour from an empty cup. You burn yourself out and you’ll be no good to anyone. Especially the kids.”

“I don’t have time to worry about myself. Or the energy. There are far more important things going on than what I’m going through.”

“So you’re NOT fine.”

“It’s stressful. It’s Christmas. I always get like this at Christmas. It’s all those ridiculous standards my mother put on us when we were young. Everything had to look and be perfect on the surface so no one really knew just how messy it all was underneath. I can’t get out of that; that line of thinking. And yes, I DO know that’s unhealthy, Doctor Mahajan.”

Ovi chuckles. “Let’s not go tossing that title around just yet. I’ve got a few more years to go. Especially when I’m going into a speciality.”

“Listen, if I want to call my kid a doctor, I will. I’m proud of you. I know how far you’ve come. Everything you’ve gone up against and battled through. I still remember fourteen year old you. Keeping you occupied in that factory; talking about movies and girls and school.”

“I still remember when you showed up. Wondering who the hell you were and thinking ‘how the hell is someone THAT small going to help us?’. Talk about not being able to judge a book by it’s cover. Tyler was right; it is the tiny ones you have to watch out for.”

Smiling, she takes a sip of tea and then perches herself on the edge of the counter. “Do you remember when we used to go into town and get ice cream? In Telluride? When you had your last period off in high school and you’d come home early and it would just be the two of us?”

“I LOVED that place. That was like a childhood dream come true! Walls of candy and thirty flavours of ice cream and these enormous banana splits and massive sundaes. Remember that time we shared that really huge hot fudge one? With the whipped cream and the peanuts on it? I think it was called the Beast or something like that.”

“The Behemoth,” she laughs. “I DO remember that. We sat outside and shared it. We even flipped a coin to see who got to eat the cherry that was on the top.”

“I am still mad at you for winning that. I really wanted that cherry. Those are some of my best memories, you know. The things we’d do together. When Tyler was away and Millie and the twins were at school. We used to have some fun. I used to love when we went bowling. And we’d eat french fries soaked in vinegar.”

“And those really horrible hamburgers. With the flat patties. And no taste. That seems so long ago. You were what? Eighteen? If that?”

“Just turned seventeen. And that IS a long time ago. I AM twenty seven now.”

“And you have your own wife and your own kids. And you’re a doctor.”

“Not yet,” he laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Let’s not pretend it won’t happen. We both know it will. And I am; proud of you. So proud. You have come so far, Ovi. To do as well as you have after everything you went through. You would have had every right to have issues.”

“I had two people that loved me and believed in me. That made me realize I could do whatever I wanted. BE who I wanted. If I hadn’t had you guys? I wouldn’t be where I am now. I probably would have followed in his footsteps. I would have felt obligated to. Scared and pressured into it. And it would have just kept that whole vicious and toxic cycle going.”

“I know we weren’t perfect. I know Tyler and I went through some shit that you had to listen to and witness. But all we’ve ever wanted is the best for you. For you to realize how amazing you are. How much potential you have. And all we wanted to do was give you a good life. Even if at the time we didn’t have the money you once had and sometimes it seemed we didn’t have much to offer you. All we wanted was to give you a family.”

“You did. And it never mattered what you could and couldn’t give me. Materialistically speaking. All that mattered was that you loved me. And I felt that. I ALWAYS felt that.”

“It’s strange, huh? How something so crazy and scary brought us together? How complete strangers can become family? It’s surreal.”

“It wasn’t the most conventional of meetings, but it certainly turned out pretty amazing. You know what I remember the most? About back then? When we did meet? I remember being on that bridge with you. And how you refused to separate from me. You said you wouldn’t leave me. And you didn’t. Even I was slowing you down, you never abandoned me. And you didn't treat me like you were doing a job or I was some kind of package. There was no money, but you still stuck by me.”

“We were in it together. I wasn’t going to sacrifice you to save myself. That’s just not who I am. I wasn’t going to leave you. In the same way I wasn’t going to leave Tyler there. There was no way I was doing that; taking off and leaving him there to die. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. My conscience couldn’t handle it. And selfishly, I wanted him alive. I wanted to get to know him and be with him.”

“Hell of a way to profess your love for someone. Willingly sacrifice your life to try and save them. Stick your fingers in their neck to keep them alive. Nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like that.”

“It was quite the ordeal,” Esme agrees, and finishes off the remains of her tea. “You know, sometimes it feels like just yesterday. Other times it feels like forty years. But if I close my eyes and I try hard enough, I can actually remember what it felt like to be there. How scared I actually was. I can hear the gunshots and the explosions and my own heart pounding in my chest. I can even still smell things; blood and gasoline and gunpowder.”

“I believe that’s something referred to as PTSD.”

“Listen buddy, you’re trying to become a pediatrician, NOT a shrink. Don’t go psychoanalyzing me.”

“I’m just saying maybe it’s time you worked on what’s going on in YOUR head. Instead of worrying so much about what’s going on in Tyler’s. I know you love him. I know you’d do anything for him. You go hard core Mother Hen when he gets like this. And I know you can’t help it and I know he appreciates everything you do for him. But you know what else I know? I know he doesn’t expect you to forget about yourself while constantly taking care of him. He’s a grown man. And he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“It’s easier said than done. I can’t just let him fend for himself. I can’t just let him spiral out of control and do nothing more than hope for the best. He’s my husband. The father of my kids. And it kills me to see him like this. To know he’s in so much pain. To hear him talk about himself like he does.”

“When he gets like this, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or saying. He just lashes out. He doesn’t mean it when he says he wishes he had died five years ago. Or twelve and a half years ago. That’s just his brain telling him this shit. Do you think he’s in crisis? Do you think he’d hurt himself? Try something stupid?”

“No. I don’t think he WANTS to die. I think he just wants this over. The pain he’s in. He just wants it to stop.”

“He’s going through a depressive stage. It’s to be expected. I mean, it sucks it’s happening right now. At Christmas. What’s he doing right now?”

“Sleeping.” She looks out towards the living room; Tyler fast asleep on the couch, on his stomach with the comforter from TJ’s bed tossed over him and an arm and a leg dangling over the side. The night hadn’t gotten any better after he’d fallen asleep. Tossing and turning and having nightmares; finally coming downstairs to take up residence on the sofa and give her the chance to get a peaceful, undisturbed rest. But she hadn’t been able to. Too worried about him and wanting nothing more than to go downstairs and join him on the couch, yet knowing his current mood, her actions wouldn’t be well received. “He’s on the couch right now. It was a rough night. Nightmares.”

“About?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Which means they were about Dhaka. Most likely about the bridge. He’ll talk to me about Nathan, but not about the bridge. He avoids that like the plague. More for me than for him.”

“Have you called his therapist? Told him what’s going on? Maybe he has some suggestions; things that can alleviate some of the anxiety and the panic. Help him sleep better.”

“If it gets worse, I’ll call. This could have been a one off. It might have just been a delayed reaction to being away.”

“If it wasn’t and he DOES get any worse? Call. Don’t hesitate. Or take him to the emergency. Or call me and I’ll take him.”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. He’s resting now. Which is a good sign. Last time he went into a depressive state, he didn’t sleep for a week. I’ll give it a couple days. At least get past Christmas. Once it’s over, he might perk up.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me. If he gets worse or you sense he’s spiralling out of control. I’ll be there. As soon as I can.”

“You have your own life. Riya and the kids. I can’t…”

“That’s my dad. I want to help. LET me help. It’s the least I can do. I’ve to go for now though; promised Mykayla we’d go see Santa in Central Park. She has some last minute gift ideas to drop in his lap.”

“Give her and Tabbi a kiss from Grandma Me. Tell them I love them. Riya too. I love you, Ovi. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll give them tons and hugs and kisses from you,” he promises. “And I love you too, mom.”

****

She’s sitting in the sunroom when he wakes an hour later; listening to him shuffle through the living room and into the guest bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Minutes later he’s heading towards her; yawning noisily and his eyes heavy lidded. And she glances up from the laptop resting upon her thighs when he pads into the room; clad in a pair of tattered and faded plaid pyjama bottoms and no shirt. And she can’t help but think about how adorable he looks; a giant of man boasting his fair share of tattoos and scars, his hair mussed from sleep and a sporting pout of both sleepiness and annoyance.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” she cheerfully greets, and tilts her head back to smile at him. “How you feeling?”

“Alright I guess.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and then rakes his fingers through his hair. “Can you stand up for a second?”

She cocks her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face.

He manages a small smile, then runs a gentle palm over her hair and adds, “Please?”

Obliging, she places the laptop on the seat cushion next to her and then joins him at the side of the couch; immediately gathered into his embrace and pulled tightly into his chest. And she climbs onto the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order for her arms to reach their final destination; wrapped tightly around his neck. For several minutes neither of them speak; eyes closed and their warm bodies pressed together, a forearm holding her in place and a palm cradling the back of her head. He feels so good; his body hard and strong and never failing to make her feel safe. It’s never been a worry of hers; whether or not he’d be able to defend her if someone hell bent on revenge was determined to hurt his family. And she rests easy at night knowing what he’s capable of and that he’d do whatever it takes -even giving up his own life if need be- to protect her.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gently tugs on the short, soft tresses, forcing her to pull back and look at him. She hates what she sees in his eyes; that darkness that betrays just how lost and confused and scared he actually is. A man that always has always been so strong and so fearless; fighting other peoples battles while refusing to address his own. And it breaks her heart. Knowing that the things he’s capable of -the fierceness and the tenacity and the sheer brutality he’s reined down on people- are some of the many reasons he’s now feeling so weak and vulnerable. So good at the job, yet suffering so badly because of it.

“I’m sorry,” his voice quivers with emotion. “I am so fucking sorry.”

She reaches up to push limp bangs away from his forehead. Trying desperately to keep her own fears and worries from betraying her. He doesn’t need that right now; her coming undone and weeping in HIS arms. It’s time for her to be the strong one; holding him up and supporting him and never making him feel like a burden. “For what? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“The way I acted. Going off the deep end like I did. I hate that you have to see that. Hear the shit I say. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“Tyler, you’re sick. It's a legitimate illness. And you know what? You’ve had an amazing five years. Barely any depressive or manic episodes. Things have been pretty stable and pretty smooth sailing. But we were told this could happen. That you could crash like you did. It’s just part of it. And you can’t help it. You don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re saying and…”

“I DO know what I’m doing. And what I’m saying. I’m not blacking out when it happens. I know exactly what’s going on when it’s happening.”

“It doesn’t mean you have control over it. Because you DON’T. It’s your brain. And when things go haywire, you can’t stop the things you do and the things you say. And you’re not to blame for that. You can’t control what is going on. And I know that’s what scares you the most; the loss of control.”

“I just hate that you have to be there. When it happens. That you have to see that shit and hear the things that come out of my mouth. I hate that it hurts you. That I hurt you.”

“You don’t hurt me. I hurt for you. That’s two entirely different things. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I know things were great and it seemed like it was completely under control. But baby, this is going to happen. Whether we want it to or not. We can’t stop it. It’s just the nature of the beast, unfortunately.”

“If I’d died five years ago...twelve and a half years ago…”

“Listen to me,” she pleads and takes his face in her hands. “DON’T go there. That is a very dark place and if you go there, you may never get back out. You are here for a reason. You’re here because you deserve to be. Because there’s people that love you. That NEED you. You helped me make seven beautiful little humans. None of them would exist if you weren’t here. Isn’t that enough? Knowing they’re alive because you are?”

“Of course it’s enough. But they shouldn’t have to live with this. YOU shouldn’t have to.”

“You are not the burden you think you are. It’s an illness. You can’t help what’s going on and you didn't do anything to cause it. It’s not your fault. Your brain didn’t do this to you because of something you did. It’s so many things. And you know what? It sucks. Huge. And I hate that this is happening to you. I hate that you are at war with your own mind every second of every goddamn day. But I won’t let you talk like that. I won’t let you say that you should have died. I won’t let you completely discount the life that you have now. Because I didn’t stick around on that fucking bridge and put my ass on the line so you could turn around and totally disregard that you were given a second chance for a reason.”

“I never asked you to stay. On that bridge. I never…”

“I stayed because you deserved to live. Because you’d paid your dues and you got your absolution. And you know what? Maybe part of it was selfish. Because I knew we could have something amazing if you stopped hating yourself long enough to let me love you. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say you really wanted to die that day? That you would go back and change that if you could? Even knowing you wouldn’t have what you have now. Someone that loves you more than they love themselves. Seven kids that think the sun rises and sets on you. Would you really go back and change everything? Would you really choose to die?”

“No,” he blinks back the tears that threaten to escape. “I wouldn’t. I would choose you. And my kids. Every day.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’m sorry you’re hurting as much as you are. And I would give anything to take that all away and make you healthy. But you are not broken and I won’t let you destroy what you have. I won’t let your brain destroy YOU.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. Take care of me like this. Do you know what this is like? How fucking embarrassing it is? That you have to take care of ME?”

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m your wife. I’m the mother of your kids. I have you seen at your absolute worst. I’ve seen you inches from death. This? This is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen and heard. You should never be embarrassed around me. I’m not going to judge you. And it's okay to be weak. To have vulnerable moments. You’re a goddamn human being.”

“I hate it. Being like that. Being weak.”

“Because you were told that it makes you less of a man. You had that drilled into your head from the time you were a little boy. And you know what? Nothing could be further from the truth. It takes a strong man to break down and admit they need help. You are the strongest person I have ever known. You do battle every second of every day with your own mind. And you always keep going. THAT’S brave.”

“I don’t feel it. I feel weak and pathetic and…”

“You are not any of those things. Look at everything you’ve been through. From the time you were a little boy until now. A weaker man would have given up a long time ago. But you? You fight back and you never give up and get back on your feet time and time again. That is strength, Tyler. The fact you suffer like you do but you get up every day and you smile when all you want to do is cry and you love your family with everything you have and bust your ass to make them happy even though you feel like you’re drowning. THAT? That is so far from being weak and pathetic.”

Sighing heavily, he glances away; swallowing noisily around the lump of emotion that sits squarely in his throat.

Pressing her fingers into his cheek, she turns his face back towards her. “I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And I fell in love with you knowing how messed up things were and what kind of torment and pain you were carrying. None of that matters to me. Because I know who you are outside of all of that. I know that you’re loving and you’re caring and you have a heart that’s even bigger than your body. I know how deep and powerfully you love DESPITE everything you’ve been through. I didn’t back away then, and I’m sure as hell not backing away now. So you can try as hard as you want to push me away, but you’re stuck with me, buddy.”

“That’s not so bad,” he chides through threatening tears. “I mean, I can think of way worse fates.”

“I will love you and take care of you until your last breath. And you know what? I’ll love you even after that.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“That’s your brain trying to convince you of that. And I know its voice is deafening and it seems impossible to ignore it, but you’ve got to try and shut it out. Concentrate on what I’m saying to you. Because what I’m telling you? It’s the truth. I’d never lie to you. So you need to pay attention to me, okay? And the things I say. I am way stronger and more tenacious than that voice inside of your head. Can you do that? Listen to me? Because I would never….ever...steer you wrong. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that. And I trust you. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t trust my own brain anymore.”

“Then just rely on mine. Rely on ME. To give you the truth. Can you do that?”

“I can do that. Or try, at least.”

“That’s all I’m asking for. Now…” she lays her hands on his chest and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “...you hungry? What do you want for breakfast? I know I’m not actually the top chef YOU are, but I do make a mean veggie omelette. And you do like my french toast.”

“I thought maybe we could go out. To that little diner a few blocks over. The one that makes those Belgian waffles you like so much.”

“With the strawberries and the homemade whipped cream? I definitely could go for that. Are you sure though? That you’re up to it? It was a pretty rough night and…”

“I’m fine. Or I will be. It’s sunny out. The fresh air would do me some good I think. And we only have so much time without the kids left and I really do like our alone time. Outside of the bedroom.”

“So you don’t like the alone time in the bedroom?” she teases.

“I never said that. I LOVE that time.”

“A breakfast date with my favourite human sounds perfect.” Reaching up, she combs her fingers through his hair, pushing the longer strands off his forehead. “I’m proud of you, you know that? How hard you fight. A lesser man would have given up a long time ago.”

“I’ve got way too much to live for. Besides, I can’t go offing myself and then have to bear witness to you dating another guy. Or worse, marrying one.”

“Never going to happen. You’re it for me. There won’t be anyone after you. You’re stuck with me until the bitter end, Mister.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Hell of a way to go if you ask me.”

*****

“I talked to Ovi earlier,” Esme says, as they sit in the back corner of the diner. Sipping steaming mugs of tea; joined hands resting on the table top; fingers laced together and his thumb repeatedly brushing against hers.

The booth is a safe distance away from the main hub of activity; crowds of people and excessive noise caused by the rattle of dishes and numerous conversations and boisterous laughter taking place at the same time. It’s important to avoid any and all triggers, or to at least find ways to lessen the effects of something that could bring on ‘an episode’. On the short walk she’d noticed the tell tale signs that depression isn’t the only concern; the hyper-vigilance associated with his PTSD quickly creeping in. Exhibiting anxiety if he felt pedestrians were crowding around him on sidewalks or when waiting to cross the street. Glaring at anyone he felt was staring at him or in somehow posing even the slightest bit of a threat towards her; jaw clenching as he tightly brought her into his side or put a hand on the back of her neck while drawing him in front of her. And the glances cast over his shoulder; eyes constantly scanning for anything and everything that could be considered suspicious or threatening, visibly tensing at every slam of a car door.

It’s both disheartening and worrisome; to see him regressing back to old behaviours after years of coping so well. Being off the street has helped; his shoulders not as tense, jaw no longer clenched, eyes not surveying the crowd with so much apprehension and simmering anger. But he still insists on being the one to sit facing the door; able to physically handle a threat if one came in their direction. And while she knows those chances are rare and his brain is far from thinking rationally, she doesn’t argue or try to change his mind; squeezing his arm and giving him a reassuring smile before switching seats.

Tyler doesn’t look up from the menu open in front of him. “About me?”

“Yes,” she admits, and refuses to allow him to pull his hand away from hers. “I told him what happened last night. About how you’re struggling.”

“Why? Why would you tell him? He’s got his own shit to deal with. He doesn’t need to hear about what’s going on with me.”

“I told him because he loves you. Because you’re his dad. And he worries about you. We both do.”

“He’s got his own life. His own wife, his own kids. Don’t bother him with that bullshit.”

“You and your issues are NOT bullshit. And you’re part of his life. You have been since he was fourteen years old. We took him in and we raised him and we gave him a family. And he loves you. He has every right to know what’s going on with you. And you know what? I have the right to have someone I can turn to. When I’m struggling.”

“I don’t mean to be such a burden on you. Make you struggle so much.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. I need someone I trust to help me, help you. And honestly, I need someone I can talk to. About all of this. Because it kills me inside that you’re struggling and you’re in so much pain. And I don’t want to put that on you, Tyler. Can you just accept that you’re surrounded by people who love you? That we’re trying to help? Let us love you, okay?”

Sighing, he nods in agreement. “Okay.”

“We’re just worried about you. We just want to help you.”

“I’ll be fine in a couple days. Once Christmas is over. I’ll act like everything is okay around the kids. So it doesn’t ruin things for them. I just need the holiday over with. I’ll be okay once it is.”

“I’m sure you will.” She hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. “It’s always a hard time. The holidays. And you know, seeing the kids so happy Christmas morning will help too. You know how cute that is; how excited they are, their faces all lit up when they see all the presents. It’s kind of hard NOT to smile when you see all of that. So that gives you something to look forward to, right?”

“You know what I’m NOT looking forward to? How many times they wake us up between midnight and five am.”

“It felt like every half hour last year.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been up until two in the morning putting together that stupid dollhouse we got for Addie and Brooklyn. Having to decorate every damn room and put out all those little forks and knives and plates and shit.”

“You were a pro. I was quite impressed how those huge hands of yours dealt with teeny tiny cutlery. And I have to say, you have quite the eye when it comes to interior design. Maybe you should be in charge of picking out decor for the house from here on out.”

“That’s not the deal. You pick shit out and I live with it. Or you tell me what needs to be painted and what colour you want and I do it. Or I carry heavy shit. I’m happy with that; our arrangement. What else did he say? Ovi?”

“He said that Tabbi is up on her feet and starting to cruise the furniture. Finally sleeping through the night. Remember those days? The relief that comes with THAT?”

“We didn’t really get to experience that until Takota and Brookie started sleeping through the night. They’re last so we didn’t have any babies after them to worry about. The rest of them?”

“One started sleeping through the night, another baby was born. We were pretty busy those first seven years.”

“You know, you could have always said ‘no’ a few times. You didn’t always have to put out every time I asked you to.”

“Are you kidding? And miss out on the fun? You can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.”

He grins. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“And Mykayla starts preschool next week. Can you believe that? Our first grand baby is going to be in preschool! It seems like she was just born. Kind of hard to believe, don’t you think?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact I have two grandkids.”

“For what it’s worth, I think we’re pretty sexy grandparents. You’re a damn fine grandpa.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“I don’t care. You ARE a grandpa. You ARE grandpa Tyler.”

“Makes me feel so fucking old. Way older than I actually am.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you’re the hottest grandpa around. I’d still do ya.”

“Yeah? Well I definitely wouldn’t say no to you. You’re kinda hot yourself. For a grandma.”

“What about when I’m the grandma who can barely see or hear and my hair is snow white and my body a total dumpster fire?”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

Smiling, she squeezes his hand and then smiles at the waitress who returns to refill his coffee and take their orders. For several minutes they sit in silence; his thumb sliding down to the base of her wrist and continuing its slow and methodical caress, eyes flicking back and forth as they constantly survey the surroundings and their fellow diners. She’s seen that look before; cautious and wary, as if expecting a threat to announce its presence any second. And it’s a side that she hasn’t seen in years; since extensive therapy began to help control the hyper-vigilance and paranoia.

“Hey…” she taps the toe of a boot against his shin in order to grab his attention. “...you okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages a smile; that half assed turning up of one corner of his mouth. “I’m good.”

“Really? Because you’re acting like an armed robber is going to come barging and start shooting up the place. Do you want to get our order to go? Eat at home? Where you’re more comfortable?”

“I’m comfortable here. I’m fine, Me. Honest.”

“You are NOT fine. You are far from fine. I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. I’m safe, Tyler. Nothing is going to happen. I’m with you. Which means nothing or no one can hurt me. I trust you. I know you can protect me if you have to. I am one hundred percent safe because I am with YOU.”

“What if I can’t? Protect you?”

“You can. You’ve always been able to. Nothing’s changed. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m here with you and everything is right in the world. Just try and relax, okay?”

“I’m not who I was back then. When we met.”

“I don’t expect you to be. And you know what? You’re better than you were. You’re stronger and you’re healthier and I trust you one hundred percent. There’s nothing you can’t handle. Nothing you can’t beat. Everything is fine. I’M fine. You need to just try and relax, alright? Nothing is going to happen to me. Not when I’m with you.”

The tension slightly lifts; the stiffness in his shoulders easing and the frantic bouncing of his leg finally stopping. But she notices the way his hand shakes when he lifts when he lifts the coffee mug to his lips.

“Do you want to go? Do you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack?”

“No. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Here…” reaching into her purse, she briefly rummages through it and pulls out a small vial of pills she’s grabbed from the stash in the lock box in the pantry; snapping off the lid and dropping two in her palm. “...just a couple. It’ll take the edge of. Calm you down. Take them. Please.”

He obliges, plucking the tablets from her palm and placing them under his tongue and allowing them to resolve. The silence that follows is nerve wracking. Feeling her own heart pounding wildly in her chest as she watches him from across the booth; an elbow resting on the table , eyes closed and his palm pressed against his forehead. And she’s unsure how much time has actually passed when he takes a sharp intake of breath; eyes opening and his forearm coming to rest on the formica.

“Good?” she asks, and softly runs her fingers over his. “You alright?”

“Better.”

“You’ll be okay. In a few minutes, you’ll be right as rain. You’re doing good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he attempts a smile. “I was thinking that maybe we should go home. Earlier than we were going to. Maybe a couple days into New Years instead of a couple weeks.”

“Is that what you want to do? Go home?”

“Yeah…” he struggles to hold back a flood of tears; uttering a string of profanities and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed. Just pretend that no one else exists but me. That no one else is here. Just listen to my voice. You’re fine. It’s just your brain, Tyler. Ignore what it is telling you and pay attention to what I’m saying. I’m okay. I’m safe. Because I’m with you. Nothing is going to happen. There’s no one following us, there’s no out to get you, there’s no one that’s going to hurt me. There’s no threat. Everything is okay. Alright?”

Nodding, he takes a deep intake of breath and then releases it slow. “I want to go home.”

“Home as in our place here or…?”

“Home, home. Australia. I want to go home. As soon as we can. I NEED to go home.”

“I’ll change our flight plans. When we get back to the townhouse. I’ll call and set everything up. We’ll leave on the second, okay?”

“But the kids might be pissed. They might…”

“I’ll think of something to tell them. They don’t need to know what’s going on. Don’t worry about that, alright? I’ll take care of everything. I mean, if you really wanted to, we could leave earlier. Ovi knows you’re struggling and…”

“I can’t miss his wedding. I’m the best man. That’s my kid.”

“And he’d understand. If you needed to get out, he would totally have your back. Believe me, he wouldn’t hold it against you if you couldn’t handle it here.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll suck it up and I’ll get through it. We’ll go to the wedding and we’ll have a good time and we’ll have our mommy and daddy only night. Then we can leave. On the second.”

“Okay,” Esme says, and reaches across the table to wipe away an errant tear that slips down his face. “You’re going to be okay.” she promises. “You always are. You’ve fought back against way worse.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

Smiling, she pushes her fingers through his. “Enough for both of us.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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wingedweasel · 4 years

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My thoughts on Disney Remakes

Get ready for a loooooooooong post. Sorry.

So let me start by saying I don’t have Disney+ and haven’t seen Mulan yet, so I’m only going off of what I’ve seen in trailers and the reviews of other people - both who liked it and those who didn’t. Warning, spoilers if you haven’t seen the animated or remakes of Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, or Mulan.

My opinion is that it seems like Disney really doesn't understand what to do with these remakes.

With Beauty and the Beast, they tried something different and added/changed some things hoping that it would make the story more enjoyable but kept it generally the same, and people didn't react as positively as Disney wanted. In The Lion King, they went the exact opposite and made it a shot for shot remake, and people still didn't react as positively as Disney was hoping. Now with Mulan, it's a completely different story and people are still not happy with the end product.

I don't think it's an issue with the audience being unsatisfied with everything no matter what. There is a little bit of that, make no mistake. There are people who will be unhappy no matter Disney did. However, I think it's more of an issue of Disney not realizing what people liked about the originals and enhancing that and failing to commit.

Beauty and the Beast tried to be more ‘real’ in bringing in PTDS and references to war, death, illness, and grief over losing a loved one, ramping up the sexism, and making Gaston more of a douche, but I think it would have been a better story if they made it more real/dark. One of the easiest things would be to make Gaston more of a threat and his followers either more blind in worshiping him - more cult like if you will - or having him have to work harder to get them on his side. The animates version had the almost cult like mentality of how the people of the village treated Gaston. If he said jump, they would have started jumping before asking how high. It was easy for him to get blind followers into charging the castle to kill the beast.

In the remake, there were times where, while Gaston was able to talk his way out of a problem, his anger or manipulative actions were kind of just waved away or people were only accepting of him and his desires due to peer pressure - which makes a good foil to the Beast before he was cursed. It could have been something the Beast could have recognized and wanted to changed because he sees that acting this way is really bad, wont get the girl, and doesn’t want to be like Gaston (or making it a teaching moment for Gaston if you want to give the villain a possibility of redemption, either works). Another thing would have been to capitalize on the fact Belle is just as much as an inventor as her father and/or she is secretly the one who makes gadgets the village uses and likes or what her father is going to sell. That way it shows she is smart, resourceful, and would be respected if only she just wasn't a gosh darn woman. At the end, when it’s revealed that Gaston is a bad guy and that Belle is the one who created everything, she would be able to get the respect and acceptance of the village she should have had all along. Instead she gets belittled for being able to read and is a senseless romantic because she like Romeo and Juliet? What? Honestly, I don’t think if she ever returned to the village and tried to encourage and teach the little girl to read again, she would have been just as dismissed as she was at the beginning. Her life wouldn’t have changed in any way if she did go back to her ‘provincial life.’

People know this story, as I said, so changing it up a bit with the background things but still making it about the message of it's the personality that makes a good person and how you overcome people not believing in you the focus would have made it better than just Gaston having PTSD, Belle wants to teach girls to read, and a potentially hidden gay character. In short, they could have made this a completely different movie and I think people would have been happy with that. Instead, they started to make changes, doubled back, and we got some lackluster kinda pro-feminism...thing. Also, get a singer for musicals. The singing wasn’t terrible, but still actual singers should be used in musicals more often.

The Lion King suffered for opposite reasons. It seems as if Disney saw that people didn’t like the changes they made to Beauty and the Beast, and went “Okay, not changes at all!” A shot for shot remake should only be done if you can make it interesting. You get bonus points for getting original actors, settings, and crew. Update the technology and it usually becomes better. This should have been an easy A+ since The Lion King did all this. However, it didn’t because it was too real - in a bad way. I haven’t seen the remake of the Jungle Book, but I have heard good things about it because of the way the characters were designed. They were interesting to look at even if they looked more realistic and not as cartoony as they could have done. The Lion King should have gone this root. The characters here were a bit bland looking. They’re just lions, which cool. They hyper realism of the CG was an interesting thing to do - in theory. The hyperrealism in something like Beowolf made it eye catching and was almost a character itself. In The Lion King, there wasn’t a whole lot of variance between everyone. All the animals all looked the same as one another. Sure in nature animals tend to have little variance within their species, but in movies 0 especially a kid’s movie - characters need to stand out from one another to be easily identifiable. Some of the quirks of the animated version could have been used to do this. Make Simba’s mane more reddish-orange, Scar’s mane should have been black. Some of my favorite characters were the lead hyenas. They all had a unique look - it didn’t hurt that Whoppi Goldberg was Shenzi. Now everyone is the same. Also, the mouth and facial emotes didn’t really work with the hyper realism. If they had made the facial features ‘looser’ and a bit more animated, it would have helped convey the expressions so much more and when they started singing, it would have looked more ‘natural’ for them to be doing so.

Nothing was really changes story-wise; they did add some dialogue and minor things like that, but not a whole lot else. It probably could have gotten away with making more alterations to the story - either by adding scenes or changing backstories or things like that - and people wouldn’t have been as mad as with other movies (as long as the changes made sense and added to the plot and weren’t changes just to be changes).

Now Mulan, on the other hand, seems to be split 50/50 sor far. It’s only been out for a short time, so not a whole bunch of people have seen it - myself included - but looking at reviews, it looks like Disney say the hate The Lion King got for being a shot for shot remake and went, “Fine, we’ll change everything!” And they did. I mean, they kept the general idea of a young woman taking her father’s place in the army to fend off an invading force and she somehow defeats the big bad (I think? I heard something about the Emperor fighting the big bad? I mean, it is Jet Li, so he has to have at least one fight scene, so...). I will say that from the previews that I have seen and all the reviewers agree that the movie is very pretty. It has gorgeous cinematography and the set design looks amazing. There were some other positives that a lot of people toted like even though Mulan has a love interest, it really isn’t that big a thing, and the fight scenes were very well choreographed, and some character interactions that were quite funny - things like that. Important things to be sure, but some of the biggest complaints were that Mulan in the animated version was shown to be resourceful, cunning, and proved that a woman could save the day just a s successfully - if not better - than a man (although why she had a fan when she went back to being a woman, I don’t know, but whatever). In the remake, it seems like strength and fighting prowess is all that is needed to be a hero.

Apparently, Qi is a thing in the movie and if you have more of it, it allows people - men - to be good fighters and do more athletic things better than those without it (I guess?) Women who have it are apparently shunned, which is part of one of the Witch’s backstory. She has Qi and uses it for dark magic...okay? Do some men not use it for evil? Is every woman who has it eventually turn evil? Speaking of the Witch, she is super more powerful than the main baddie. She is physically more powerful, has Qi, uses magic - some of which she uses to shapeshift? Like, why do we need another baddie? She should be the main villain. One reviewer said it would have been a great twist if she was just pretending to be the main guy using her shapeshifting powers and we only find out right at the end. Now that would have been cool. We get a strong female villain who plays off of the gender restrictions of the society and turns everything on its head by going, “I was a woman the whole time! All those things you said a woman couldn’t do, well, I was doing them and you didn’t have any complaints then!” Instead, we get another movie where the villainous woman is second to the villainous man simply because of gender stereotypes. Hell, even if the man was just pretending to be the main baddie and acting as her puppet would have been better.

I guess because she really isn’t the main villain, she gets to have a redemption scene and save the hero, but was that really necessary? Couldn’t she be bad and stay bad until the very end? Why not? Anyway, she sacrifices herself to save Mulan, and it’s supposed to be an emotional scene which causes Mulan to find her inner strength and gives her a power boost to defeat the baddie.

Mulan also doesn’t have a lot of cunning in this remake, apparently. She’s more physical than the animated version, but...wasn’t the point of Mulan to show that you needed more than physicality to save the day? The thing that I’ve seen most people complain about is this. In the animated version, Mulan and the other soldiers are given the task to climb a pole wearing heavy weights (I’ll Make a Man Out of You is one of the best songs ever, fight me). After a montage of her failing physical tasks, she is only able to succeed climbing the pole through her smarts. Not because she suddenly got supper buff and could lift herself up the pole. Yes, she gets physically stronger and becomes the best at everything during the finale of the song, but that just a result of training. You start off really bad and then become good. I believe what made this scene so powerful was that she was held back by the belief that she wasn’t ‘cut out’ for the army. She had to overcome her own mentality before she could start to be a better soldier. She does that by using her brain to find a different way to climb the pole.

In the remake, the task is to climb steps up a mountain carrying buckets of water. It’s not an easy task, as everyone fails, but apparently, she just keeps at it until she is physically strong enough to do it? No more effective way of carrying the buckets than just T-pose while holding them out to the side. Like I said, training makes you stringer. Practice makes you better. This is obvious. You get stronger the longer you work your muscles. There’s nothing special about that. Yes, the men were probably comparatively physically stronger than her, but they all struggled too. What’s the lesson here? Just keep at it and one day you will be big and strong? Okay, cool I guess. That’s something that is helpful, don’t get me wrong. Dedication and hard work are important. Being physically strong is one aspect of being a soldier - especially during the time period the movie is set in, but it’s not the be all end all. That’s what made Mulan stand out: she was at such a disadvantage she had to find a different way of doing things to succeed. Then the training kicked in and she became physically stronger.

It’s also good to note that in the animated version, she never relies on her physical strength to do something. Sure she is super awesome at the end of the training montage, but that’s all we see of her being physical. She uses smarts to defeat the army, the previous method of climbing the pole to get inside the palace, and deception to knock out the guards. No epic parkour, no breaking down walls, just her brain. In the remake, it seems as if strength is the be all end all. Mulan is supposed to be a role model for young girls and an example of why you shouldn’t listen to stereotypes. At least, she is supposed to be. And she is - in the animated version. Here, it seems as if the message is forget about being intelligent. All that really matters is that you be physically strong. I mean, even that hot mess of a movie Hercules taught us that this is wrong. You need more than just muscles to be a hero. Being able to fight isn’t what makes you a hero (it’s certainly part of it, obviously). You need a good heart and a good head, not a six pack.

With all that said, it looks like the Mulan remake suffered from trying to not be Mulan. It went too far in changing things. It added things that it didn’t need to add, and took out things that helped make the animated version well liked. The love story that wasn’t? They took out Shang, but added another love interest? Just keep Shang. Looking back, and even at the time I first saw it, it’s amazing to see the hero is a woman and she doesn’t need to rely on a relationship to reach her goals. The added bonus of having Shang was that he os believed to be the first LGBT Disney character. He respected Ping and thought him a friend before the big reveal and no one can convince me otherwise the looks Shang gave Ping during the training montage and after Ping gives Shang some encouragement right before they march out to the meet the main army are anything other than Shang thinking “Damn, I want some of that.” Add in the fact that he starts to act all flustered when he returned the helmet just shows that he had feelings for Ping, but now that Ping is actually a girl he can act on those feelings (this is both Ancient China we are talking about, not 2020...where being LGBT is still not always accepted...).

Okay, so what does all that mean for the Mulan remake? Beauty and the Beast wasn’t the best because it didn’t go far enough with its changes, The Lion King didn’t have enough changes, and Mulan had too many changes? Not exactly. Mulan, as a story, can work with being completely different from the original animated version. It probably mostly does. It’s more than like going to be a success on Disney+. But if any movie could have been a shot for shot remake, it should have been Mulan. Hell, making it not be a musical and adapting the story to account for that could work. It was the lessons that made the animated version so well liked. Also the humor, Eddie Murphy makes a great side kick. You have the yearning for ‘more’ and the feeling of not fitting in that Beauty and the Beast has combined with the self-doubt and acceptance despite origins of The Lion King. You have a kickass female hero who breaks all the gender rules of her society and saves the day by using her brain and not a sword. No magic to save the day - the ancestor spirts being the only mystical thing about the movie. Mushu isn’t overtly magical and he doesn’t really help do anything except be a convenient Zippo light two times in the movie - it could be argued that he, and magic in general, is a source of conflict since the other spirits all want to bring Mulan home. Also no stupidly forced romance subplot - or worse a love triangle. The remake just doesn’t have any of that, really. It’s basically just another action movie with the added flavor of a woman pretending to be a man in the army. It’s almost a ‘chosen one’ narrative since the aspect of Qi looks to be a major plot point - and source of conflict. There’s magic - and oh by the way, there’s a phoenix attached to Mulan for some reason...? - and what looks like a romance subplot (one where the guy isn’t Bi boooooooo). Mulan could have been shot for shot and would be successful. It can also be successful by making changes, but not many. We like Mulan the way it was. If you need to make changes or updates to it, fine, but don’t make the story so unrecognizable that it becomes a different movie. Mulan doing a whole bunch of fancy martial arts before literally beating the big bad and an evil Witch who turns into a bird are things we don’t want and the story doesn’t need.

Disney needs to stop messing with the original stories. We liked the old animated versions for a reason. Beauty and the Beast and The Lion King were two of the biggest box office hits and two of the most popular Disney movies today. The were huge successes and are still talked about 20+ years later. These remakes are just meh.

If Disney does change the story, change it in a way that emphasizes what was liked about the original. Otherwise, make it into a different movie and - more importantly - call it something else.

#Disney #Mulan #Lion King #Beauty and the Beast #remake #rant #film review

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thehiddenlawyer · 6 years

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Mother’s Milk

Before you read-- please keep in mind that I’m REALLY not mentally...stable enough to write coherently so y’know. Enjoy <3

Apparently, the only way to untangle what my brain’s going through is to realize that my experience of Mother’s Milk isn’t just from the perspective of Patrick a survivor of sexual abuse, but also the addict, the potential alcoholic, a potential mother, a lover of difficult men and situations (these last two are Mary), and the helpless outsider looking in (Robert), and someone who is completely horrified of messing up so badly that their preventive measures completely backfire and bring full-circle (Patrick again).

During my first reading of Mother’s Milk I found I didn’t connect to it as much as I had with the other books in the story and I’m not sure why. I think my brain focused so completely on Some Hope and the aspects of Patrick as the survivor trying to find his way into the world that Mother’s Milk was too abstract for me to understand.

I kept thinking, even after I reread the novels, that the reason I wasn’t able to connect to the fourth novel was because I’m not a mother, and I have a pretty healthy relationship with my parents. I think the world of my parents, they’ve given me more than I could ever hope for, they’ve sacrificed and have continued to sacrifice, for my sisters and I on a profound level. Like all parents, they’re human and they made mistakes, they’ve given me my fair share of baggage again, like all parents, no matter how careful they are.

So I have continued to read the book as a fan of literature and found myself enthralled with Edward St. Aubyn’s representation of motherhood and childhood, and the understanding of the child of his mother and father, and eventually his sibling. It’s such breathtaking, pure prose, an imaginative take on Patrick’s children. If you’ve read the novels you know that the perspective shifts a lot, that we see the point of view of different characters, not just Patrick. So when the baby narrator talked about his father who couldn’t stop talking in the hospital room, I remember my heart in my throat wondering if the baby’s father was Patrick!

Imagine my surprise last night when I watched Mother’s Milk and found that I connected so much more to this bit of the story than I’d imagined earlier. I still don’t think I fully understand what happened, and I don’t understand my reactions to a few bits of it—I just know that I reacted, and maybe as I verbally vomit all over this post I can figure out a few things through my exhaustive question for narrative exhaustion.

This was also the biggest deviation between the book and the show by the way, the book is so complex because it’s mostly cerebral, a lot of it is Robert’s understanding of his father and his father’s situation and the relationship his father has with Eleanor. The book shows Robert’s sympathy more, Patrick doesn’t fail as viciously as he does in the show. But the show does capture Patrick’s desperation to be a better father and to protect is children from the poison of his past and his own life, but he tries so hard that it backfires and he comes back full circle. There’s this gorgeous scene in the book when they’re in a shitty hotel room in New York (after having gotten kicked out of a few others because Patrick is David’s son and he has to get them thrown out of a few places first) where Thomas and Mary are sleeping in one room but Robert can’t sleep so he goes to the living room where Patrick’s supposed to be sleeping on the sofa bed but he’s in this manic state, caught between insomnia and drunkness and he simply absorbs his father’s verbal vomit. Robert tells Patrick to stop because he’s frightened and Patrick does, and he apologizes and winds up reading to his son instead.

While the books are filled with loving, touching moments like that, I think the episode really lacked that bit of humanity that Patrick has.

I’m starting to realize that I’m disappointed with this episode.

It conveys what it needs to convey, it highlights everything it should highlight, especially Robert’s understanding of Patrick but it does it contained in an hour long tv episode. I think they could make a full length feature film with Mother’s Milk with all the correct details and I’d watch it a million times.

The Addict

Through therapy and research and counselling, I’ve discovered that children who suffered trauma or specifically sexual abuse at a very young age tend to have addictive personalities. It’s a coping mechanism, it’s something comfortable and familiar, something easy to turn to when everything else is up in the air. If you take the alcohol and drugs out of the connotation of addiction, you’ll see that it’s simply repetitive, comforting behavior, something to blur the edges of reality not through chemical haze or a high but the simple psychology of doing something to distract you from your own thoughts.

I have a very addictive personality and it shows itself in a lot of ways. I call it stubbornness, my family and friends prefer to think of it as a healthy sense of curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. But once I get a…noun in my head, I have to pursue it and I have no control over it. And I say noun because it can be a person (BC, Nick Cave, AB, even people that I latch on to like @sobeautifullyobsessed) place (Fort Point in San Francisco, Baker Beach, Half Moon Bay, London, Molly’s flat) or a thing (alcohol, cigarettes, writing….writing is the biggest one) or an idea (Sherlolly, any idea I’ve ever had to write any story or a character that inspires my thoughts like Patrick or Christopher Tiejens).

It’s HARD.

I’ve tried my best to let go of these distractors because I can SEE I’m out of control when I’m in one of my “manic states”. When I’ve latched onto this noun so hard that’s permeating everything I do, everything I think, everything I say. These nouns distract me from work, from school. You’ve SEEN my posts where I should be studying but I can’t stop watching something or reading something or writing something. Through therapy and meditation, I noticed that I latch on like that when the past bubbles too close to the surface, where the violence and shame that whispers across my skin is a little too close to the surface and I need something else to occupy my brain for those moments.

That’s addiction explained in general, now I want to talk to you about alcoholism before I connect it back to Patrick.

I struggle with alcohol. A combination of my addictive personality and the chemical affects of alcohol have been a lure since I was a teenager, and I’ve been very painfully aware that it’s a rabbit hole waiting to swallow me up. I made a conscious decision when I was 16 that I wouldn’t touch alcohol until I turned 21, and once I turned 21, I tried to never buy alcohol for myself but in my family and my culture it’s always present so I’ve always been around it. When I moved it, I’ve been living with foot on solid ground and one in the rabbit’s hole. With my health crises, I swore it off completely and succeeded for a while to stay sober but I’ve been predictably failing miserably these past few weekends.

I’ve tried to never drink alone but I’ve done it several times and secret, which is a warning bell. The problem is always that it’s a secret, and I drink to pass out.

I drank A LOT last night during the wedding, I felt myself slipping away and had exercise some control and stop. I am aware that I was giggly and talkative like I always am when I’m sloshed—I don’t know if it’s a gift or a curse. No one ever knows I’m drunk, and I’m never a sad or angry when I’m around people. When I’m, alone that’s a different story.

And drinking helps you disconnect from you skin, lets you float away from things you don’t want to confront, things that you’d rather go unthought.

For someone who has lived through trauma (and let me enumerate for you what I have been through: sexual abuse by multiple parties as a child, becoming a refugee when I was 8 and being forced out of my home to come to a country where I knew nothing and no one and my parents knew nothing and no one, I’ve lived through life-threatening illness and recently, having survived law school, my body tried to kill me again and I’m still dealing with that bit of reality) you can see why drinking and disassociation and addiction is such a lovely thought for us.

I would much rather look at my life objectively. I sometimes like to imagine what it’s like hearing my story as someone who doesn’t know me, who hasn’t been around me. How can one single person experience being raped as a child, becoming a refugee, cancer, suicidal thoughts and addiction, and still function?

Well…you can, it just comes with a lot of extra little side effects that you probably aren’t aware of.

Like Patrick can be a husband, a father, a survivor of being raped repeatedly by his father with an indifferent mother, he can be a drug addict, an alcoholic, and a barrister.

He can be all those things.

The side effects are when you’re not careful, the smallest notion, the smallest idea or thought can push you over the edge.

I can sit here and have conversations about being raped and function perfectly but one day someone will something small and (I loathe this word) trigger me and I go down to a spiral. I drink, I seek my other addictions, because I need to not be me for a little bit, I’d rather just watch someone else deal with being me.

You can fight it and fight it and fight it. You can lay awake nights dreaming of that escape that you KNOW ruins your life and you someone make it through one more second without it until you just can’t. until one tiny thing pushes you over the edge and it’s a house of course that falls. You drink too much, you smoke too much, you neglect your responsibilities, you push away everything that is good about yourself because you need to wallow in the bad, to convince yourself that you are a shitty person because shitty things happened to you.

I do that all the fucking time, I’m doing it right now. I should be studying for the Bar, I shouldn’t be drinking, I shouldn’t be smoking, I shouldn’t be writing, I shouldn’t be reading anything that’s not related to the Bar. But I’m not, because it’s comforting self-destructive behavior, it’s something I know how to do, it’s easier than all the rest of it.

For Patrick, it’s the same. I’m not asking you to excuse any of his behavior, because I can’t forgive him for giving up on himself because I feel like he’s propelled me to giving up on myself too (I really have these past few days just thinking about Mother’s Milk and At Last) but this is urging you to understand why he fails so miserably, why he flushes years of sobriety down the toilet, why he can’t stop making his parents mistakes and adopting them as your own.

The harder you run, the easier it is to fall and that’s what happens to him.

Potential Mother

My ideas about motherhood are laden with trauma and feminism, they’re this psychotic, bipolar, schizophrenic blend of narcissism, selfishness, abject fear of failure as a mother, fear of lack of control over what happens to my child, hating the idea of becoming nothing but a stay-at-home mom after working so hard to become more…so reading and watching Mother’s Milk the potential mother in me is watching it in terror.

Because all I can imagine is finding the man I love, the man I adore, the love of my heart and soul, predictably attracted to his darkness and intensity, trusting him enough to let him father my child only to come to the realization that he’s not as strong as I need him to be, that I’m going to have to step up to bat and be everything to our child because he’s failing.

The thought of leaving that potential love in favor of my child’s wellbeing sickens me to my stomach. I can’t bare the thought and that potential mother shrivels at this unlikely hypothetical.

God I don’t even want to think about what that’s like.

I can’t bare to think what Mary goes through! (And yet I do, as @sobeautifullyobsessed has been reading via my extremely random ass prose)

So we circle back to Julia and what happens with Patrick and I again preface this with a few things- these are my thoughts based on my own background and prejudices, my own life experiences and my understanding of the characters in the novels and the show. This is my opinion based on addiction and personalities and trauma, my understanding love.

Julia is a very, very, very messed up individual. She every bit as pompous and unbearable git as Patrick is. The difference is that Julia enjoys the cruelty of their world while Patrick takes comfort in the routine of it- it’s a world he knows, disappointment and anger are emotions that he understands better than happiness or forgiveness. It’s easier to default to negative emotions rather than positive or productive ones (as I’ve been learning these past few days).

Julia should not have encouraged Patrick. And Patrick should have walked away.

But they didn’t because they’re both damaged individuals.

There’s no excuse.

There’s no excuse in claiming that Mary was being cold to Patrick, there’s no excuse in saying that Patrick was feeling lonely and bored and needing sex and Julia was available.

If he really wanted to, he could have found Mary, could have told her, could have confided in her.

GOD the way he clings to her in the beginning after he tells her he’s been disinherited, the smile on his face when he’s in bed and she tells him they’re going to pick up Kettle, the way they lay on the couch together and talk about needing a holiday from their holiday….he actively, consciously, with malice aforethought pushes her away. He’s confused between wanting her so much he can’t stand it and wanting to push her away just in case he makes the same mistakes his father did, same mistakes his mother made. And while attempting to run away from all that, he makes his own, fresh mistakes with Mary. He knows it too, he says exactly that while he’s on the poolside with Julia.

He could have turned to Mary but she’s new, the joy she could bring him, the promise of peace and forgiveness with her standing beside him is too much light for someone who knows darkness like an old friend.

He should have turned to Mary.

As for Julia—let’s go back to their relationship shall we. In the books, when they first meet, she’s underage and talks him into having sex with her. In the show, the only positive thing she does is show up at the end of Never Mind and put her hand over his forehead. In Some Hope she tries to break his heart and his best friends heart by forcing him to fuck her when he’s in no condition to make a rational decision Here, she does the same thing. She should’ve pushed him away.

A good person in her shoes would have pushed him away.

I cannot and will not deny that Benedict Cumberbatch the actor and Jessica Raine the actress have wonderful chemistry together and they’re so sexy together, they’re interactions are stunning, crackling with energy.

But but BUT the toxic relationship between Patrick and Julia should NOT be sexualized or idealized. Cheating on your devoted and loving spouse is NOT sexy. Taking advantage of someone with clear emotional issues, struggling with sobriety, hanging on to it by a thread, is NOT sexy. It can never be sexy, and it should never be sexy.

Christ my heart hurt for Mary. I’ve been seeing discussions on here and on twitter about when Mary knows that her husband is being unfaithful—she knows the second it happens. Watch her the morning after, when he stands next to her and says “now we can have fun!” The poor thing knows and she tries to excuse it away because she loves him, and she understands the pain he’s in, the confusion he’s experiencing.

In this love triangle, only Mary Melrose comes out in tact. Julia and Patrick…they mess up big time, and Patrick knows it.

And instead of stopping, instead of trying to find someway back to being a husband and father, he pushes Mary further and further away because it’s so much easier than confronting their life together.

God he wants to be with her so much but he doesn’t know how.

There’s a feeling of decapitation, like missing a limb, losing the words that you want to say but they’re not there, they’ve flown the coop.

I want to confess, I want to live in your heart, I want the warmth of your soul, the warmth of your smile but darling it’s easier to push you away now because what if I disappoint you again, what if I break your heart again? I need to cut you my love, before you cut me.

I’ve had that conversation so many fucking times man….

Love me but I need you to hate me to function.

Love me, be my escape, but I need to make you hate me because I don’t want to see disappointment in your eyes.

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

Guys, I’m completely certain I’m not making any sense because I’m really in a bit of a free fall right now and there’s no landing in sight.

I might add more to this, make it more coherent but this is all I got. And I’m not making sense.

#mother's milk #patrick melrose #benedict cumberbatch #edward st. aubyn #my thoughts #my opinions only nothing else

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dirtylevi · 6 years

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Allow me to apologize for this mass of canon angst ahead of time, but I have been sitting on this for a long time and I think I’m finally in a mental state where I can write this out without sobbing all over my keyboard. My disclaimer isn’t really necessary for this post, but regardless, you can look at it anyways just in case:

DISCLAIMER: This is my personal opinion. In no way am I stating what I say here is canon or completely accurate. if you disagree with my opinion, that’s perfectly fine! Everyone has a different interpretation, but if you are going to send me messages trying to argue points of view with me or send me hate messages; please do us both a favor and just don’t even bother with it. WARNING: Manga spoilers ahead. Mentions of death, decomposition stages, etc. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Also note that this is just... Rambling tbh. Like, the post is organized, but I don’t even like calling it meta because it’s really not??? Maybe it is, idk. Either way, it happened, it’s sad, and it’s getting posted god dammit.

Now then, you want know what really fucks me up the most about Levi’s incredibly horrid life? His early childhood. Knowing that not only did he have to watch his mother die from illness right in front of him without being able to do anything about it. But, also knowing that after she died, no one in the entire brothel gave enough of a shit to check on either of them despite knowing Kuchel was sick and dying, and knowing she has a little boy living in the room with her.

In the panel above, we see a woman behind Kenny, who I can only assume is one of the working ladies, and we see the owner of the brother informing Kenny that Kuchel “is no longer for sale because someone got her sick a while back.” This makes it pretty ovbious that it was common knowledge that she was dying in her room, with her son in there with her, and it was something people working in the brothel were well aware of for a long time.

But still, despite knowing, no one fucking checked on her. Not one fucking person working there took it upon themselves to just open her door to see if she was still alive or not. To see if Levi was eating or not. To see if they were okay. You could argue that this was for quarantine purposes, but that doesn’t negate the fact that everyone working there left Kuchel and her son, a child, alone to die while carrying on with business as usual.

The outright lack of human compassion Levi experienced right out the gate as a child is just astounding to me. Because you have to keep in mind that up until Kenny showed up, or up until Kuchel got sick, these are people Levi was around all the time. These are the people he took cues from as a child, and their treatment of him and of Kuchel were his first experiences of human emotions towards others outside of what he learned from his mother. That lack of outward compassion or even blatant noncaring is something I think shaped him into the very stoic character he is now. Because even Kenny, the murderous hardass in seek of power was far more expressive than Levi has ever been.

Seriously though, I want you guys to let all of this sink in for a minute:

How long had she been lying in bed like that before she died, and how long had her corpse been there before Kenny showed up? Allow me to answer this for you. A really long time. I’m not going to get into the gritty details of this, but let me just say that Isayama drew Kuchel to be in the Active Decay stage of death here, which is the fourth stage of decomposition out of five. This is made apparent by the tight, dry skin, exposed teeth, etc. She had to have been dead for at least a month for her body to be in this state.

I have people ask me all the time why I think Levi holds cleanliness in such high regard and fears germs and mold. I’m finally going to thoroughly answer this question:

Considering how neatly tucked into the bed Kuchel is with her head placed perfectly center on a fluffy pillow, and how well preserved her body is in these panels despite knowing she had to have been deceased for a very long time, I can only assume Levi did all he could to preserve her remains (i.e. cleaning her, tucking her into dry blankets to ward off insects, etc). So, not only did Levi grow up in an Underground dump full of people that were sick and dying, but he had to watch his mother wither away from illness too, and care for her despite her already being dead, and starving to near death himself in the process. Plus,it’s been shown that in the underground, it is not uncommon for corpses to be found on the side of streets and that it’s as normal as us seeing a streetlamp. The smell of death there must be something everyone living there is numb to if no one in the vicinity of a brothel noticed the stench of a month old corpse.

Overall, Levi’s living situation was very bad, but for at least a month, Levi lived in this state:

Huddled on the floor so his mother could remain comfortable in death, as he slowly starved to death while wearing nothing but her tattered shirt.

I’m well aware that there is no way Levi would have survived that long without water. Especially as a child. But without food? Yes. He could survive that long without food. However, considering the delirious state he seems to be in here, with his eyes bordering on death so severely that even Kenny questions if he’s alive or not, and how dry and shriveled his lips are from apparent dehydration; a few more days, maybe not even that long, and Levi would have been dead too.

I question how old he is in these panels all the time because you’d think a child would seek help in this situation, yes? But it’s very apparent to me that Levi did not do this. Mainly because the pimp of the place and everyone working there were blissfully unaware that Kuchel was already dead and had been for a long time. Most kids would have been scared, confused, and overwhelmed in this situation. Running to any nearby adult to help them in any way possible. Plus, dying due to starvation is excruciating and very slow. So why didn’t he seek help?

The only logical conclusion I can appoint to this reasoning from a child in a situation this severe, even if that child is Levi AckermanTM, is that in watching his mother die slowly with absolutely no offer of help from anyone aside from the pimp taking her off the paying roster; he had already concluded that no one cared enough to help him. That he was inevitably alone in this world, and that’s how it was simply meant to be.

Just picture Levi sitting in this room, tending to his mother’s corpse by himself in silence as he hears all the commotion going on in the brothel around him, knowing people are outside. Knowing that they know he’s there with his sick mom, and having them do nothing to help him or check to see how they were doing for months. Sleeping on the floor so Kuchel could remain in the bed, and simply allowing himself to rot away with her because he didn’t believe there was anything else for him to do. That there wasn’t anything else he could do.

Imagining him, Humanity’s Strongest, in a mind state like that, ESPECIALLY as a child just kills me. The situation and realizing how severely this must have affected him as an adult. I could go on and on about this, really because it is so incredibly soul crushing. So much of what this man has gone through has just been utterly horrible. But I think, out of everything, the earliest memories of his life... Watching his mom die and accepting death in turn because he believed that’s all he could do is the most saddening to me. To know the physical and emotional pain he’s experienced, and that Levi would have died thinking no one cared about him had it not been for Kenny reaching out his hand to him really fucks me up. Especially knowing the incredible man he grew to be.

C O N C L U S I O N

The trauma Levi suffered as a child is nothing short of sickening, and this only covers what he experienced in terms of his mother. The list of horrors this man has had to endure throughout his life is simply heartbreaking, and all of it shows in his personality one way or another as an adult when you really sit back and think about it.

He’s able to sleep easily and comfortably in a chair due to spending months slowly dying on the floor.

He lacks trust because, for a majority of his youth, he only saw people who thought solely of themselves.

He’s a verbal train wreck thanks to Kenny being his only outlet for learning how to properly communicate.

He’s bad at conveying his emotions due to being ignored emotionally.

He’s awkward in affection because he’s never truly experienced it in terms of what he can remember.

He’s compassionate because he knows from experience how shitty it is to be alone in your suffering.

He’s numb to death because he’s lived his entire life with it, but he understands and feels how devastating it is.

He’s violent because that’s how he was taught to survive and move things to his favor.

Every time I see Levi in the manga, I am just amazed by him to be honest.

He is the bastard child of a prostitute that was born in the rotting dump that is the darkened cesspool of the underground city. He is someone who, as a child, watched his mom sell her body, fall ill from doing so, and slowly die without being able to do anything about it. Then chose to slowly die with her because he felt like no one cared enough to help.

He watched Kenny - the only person to reach a hand out to him and offer him means of survival and validation as a helpless kid - leave without saying a single word.

He watched the only friends he’d ever made living in the underground, people he considered family, die right in front of him because he made the wrong choice.

He has watched countless innocents and comrades die, all while fighting for freedom and a better world.

He has basically watched everyone he has ever really cared for die without ever really being able to do much about it, aside from recent events. And even then, there is no doubt it has all affected him very deeply.

The fact that this man has managed to carry himself as far as he has in life, while bearing the weight of being a hero on his shoulders along with the lives of those lost is nothing short of astounding. He has helped so many and has done so much self-sacrificing for the sake of others and a better future, and the universe has given him little in return for everything he’s endured. And even though he has suffered so much since the very beginnings of his life, and even though he started in literally the lowest possible place in society; he grew to be one of the strongest human-beings in existence physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Kuchel would be so proud of her son if only she were still alive because regardless of everything, she brought him into the world out of love despite outside opinion, and now he’s one of the very few leading that world forward.

I wish Kuchel could have lived long enough to see her son grow into the man he is now, but knowing the way of the butterfly effect; his life would probably be vastly different had things progressed down another path. As sad and as angry as his childhood makes me, I understand the affect it had in shaping his future.

How bleak the world of snk would be if it weren’t for this incredibly strong and worthy man. I sincerely hope he experiences the true peace and happiness he deserves one day, and I hope he knows that his mother loved him dearly.

#snk #aot #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #meta #snk meta #long post #txt

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md3artjournal · 3 years

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7:39 PM 8/15/2021

So that VaatiVidya artbook is amazing.

This is the type of art I'm up against. x_x; I can't compete with that. I can't compete with artist alley. I can't make my living this way. But I also get suicidal when I return to "normal" lifestyles, so I can't just have a "normal" job.

If I could just compete on the level of web comic artists, maybe I wouldn't have to feel so bad about myself and my art. Maybe I'll never be on the level of videogame artists. But I could be like Marzi from Introvert Doodles, Sarah Andersen from Sarah's Scribbles, Emm Roy's Positive Doodles, etc. My dream is to be like kirakiradoodles---gods rest her good good soul ;.;! To just make cute, simple things, into adorable collages and calming/positive colors and just be CUTE. She's the farthest from some videogame concept artist, but her art makes me FEEL so happy and calm about life. Her and other web artists prove that you don't have to be an intricate digital painter. It gives me hope.

But then I also look at artist alley artists' also beautiful, simply stylized work. Like cosmically tiki. And I can see how little emotion my art holds. All my doodles are stiff and non-gestural. They barely convey emotion, let alone emotions! ;o;!!! I just feel like such a failure. At the very least, I don't belong in artist alley. ;_;

But the crazy thing is that my art, though objectively bad, even by my own observations, still makes me happy. I love seeing how far I've come compared to my old skills. And even if my art isn't as expressive with emotions and movement as most other people's art, it still can have a level of cuteness that makes me happy. And for such a long time, I've just wanted to be able to draw cute things. All my best art is realism, sharpness, and aggressive, chaotic brushstrokes. But all I've wanted is to make cute things! ;o;!!! I just want cute things...Is that too much to ask? ;~; And now, sometimes, fairly often, I can get it. I can make it. I don't think it's objectively good enough for other people, but *I* like it.

So maybe I should give up on artist alley and just be a hobbyist? But I don't know if I could sustain myself with a dayjob. I used to have an office job and tell myself that I'll just do the things to feed my soul and make life worth living, during my time off. But I spent all that time in traffic, exhausted, or stressing over running out of time before my next shift, instead. x~x I found myself "suicidal" for "no reason", even though I had all the financial stability that everyone told me was all I needed to live. And yet, I wanted to die. I used to go through life constantly attempting to die. I'm afriad to go back to that. I'm afraid to go back out there. Because I know me, and that's what I'll eventually do. Not that I should be afraid of death. I don't have any dreams, goals, or aspirations. But I'm just so tired and afriad of experiencing pain and fear everyday. Is that all life is? "Life is suffering", the Buddah says. Back in school, when school constantly made me wish I was dead, I didn't understand why I couldn't just leave being alive,since I had no goals or dreams to stay for. Then after my college years' botched suicide attempts, I realized that millions of years of evolution towards survival instinct, is not something easy to overcome. And I gave it my best. But I'm generally incompetent in all things AND coward. I knew that statistically men have higher suicide successes than women because they tend to use guns. I should have bought a gun if I wanted to be successful suiciding. But I realized I'm a coward. So I'll just drift through life, waiting to die. That's all I've been doing lately, during my 10 years hiding inside my house being a NEET, pretending to be an artist who "makes a living" in artist alley. And apparently not technically enough of a "hikikomori" to self-identify as one, without some rando on the internet telling me "I'm not a real hikikomori", I'm just "romanticizing mental illness", and implying all my feelings are invalid. I suddenly remembered that when I was little, I had these constant homicidal feelings and everyone who really knew me was afriad I'd grow up to be a serial killer. Nothing for years before that rando reminded me of my intense feelings to hurt other people, until them. But of course, I was only feeling homicidal when I wasn't suicidal. And both of those feelings were when I wasn't watching cartoons. That's the funny thing. There are things in this world/life that I like, but for most of my life, everything/everyone (I respected) has been telling me that those things don't count. "Cartoons aren't important." "Comic books aren't important." "Stop wasting time on that or we'll get angry." So if those things don't count, then there really is nothing to live for. I know objectively that they were probably wrong, since those things are the only thing I enjoy in life. So many times during childhood, I remember easing suicidal thought spirals, by remembering fandoms I loved or being afraid to die and not finishing a series. So even if the world was telling me that those things weren't important, I knew they were. But knowing and really feeling/understanding that are so different. It's hard to reverse a lifetime of conditioning, especially from people you respect. That's why the recent sentiment I've seen online has really struck me: Maybe life can just be "...wander through life finding interesting things until you die". That's the shard of Hope I need. Maybe it could even get me through a job, purely for getting money, so I could buy all the otaku/geek merch and time to enjoy geeky things.

I've always been obsessed with Hope. Was I aware it was because I was always so depressed?

I've always jumped at academic and psychological media studies, proving that geeky things---like videogames, comics, art, fiction, even daydreaming and Personal Myths, etc.---were important and significant in life. Was I aware it was some part of me was trying to fight back against all those voices in my head and all around me telling me that the things I loved weren't important?

Sometimes I think I should go back to school to study media's impact on psychology, culture, sociology, etc. Society especially needs it now, that social media, information systems, and entertainment media has becomes such an integral part of everyone's life, and are all using the same brain tricks as videogames or tapping into the same basics human psychologies as myths and folklore. But I'm so afriad of going back to school. The only reason I got through it before, was because I promised myself that once I was done, I'd never ever EVER have to return to ANYTHING LIKE IT ever again. I just hate the continual failure, every single day, at every single project, reminding me how I'm just not suited to this whole being alive thing and really should try harder at suicide. So I can't just go back to school and become some kind of media studies scholar/consultant. Besides, I'll fail at it, like I do everything else.

Why did I give up writing? That was the only thing I was confident at. ;_; I only became an art major because I wanted to be a writer who draws their own comics. Did studying art really take up so much of my time? ---Oh, now I remember. This was before always-on internet was a thing. Let alone, cheap. As soon as I was separated from my online writing community and my college dorms' always-on internet, I just lost all that encouragement to draw. And I probably wasn't reading as much anymore. Because after high school, I vowed off reading novels, in retaliation to all the crap they gave us to read for stereotyped reasons..."'We won't stereotype women', my ass...! Then why did you give us nothing but goddamned Romance novels to read in high school!? If you wanted our all-girls school to learn about prominent female writers, my brother's all-boys school a few minutes away was reading freaking Mary Stonecraft Shelley! Frankenstein! The first scifi novel, at a time when women weren't even given the intellectual credit to be anywhere near the science fields! But noooooo..."All girls love the Romance genre"...godfreakingdamnedbullsh...! Anyway, I switched to reading comics and fanfiction instead. So when I got disconnected from my fanfic/writer community, when I moved out of the college dorms, I must have gotten disconnected from reading/writing altogether. ;_; Good news: I got into manga; quickly absorbed a reflexive sense of storyboarding/paneling. Bad news, after the last Borders closed, I lost my habit of buying/reading new manga everyday, and lost even that skill. I guess I can't keep anything. Jeeze, no wonder I panic and obsess whenever I lose something, whether keys or a thought. But I'm still journaling-writing. And Tumblr-post writing. The other week, I thought about writing an article for a website, but my life experience is so idiosyncratic, I didn't know how to write for that audience. Apparently, I can't even write about my mental illness because it's not "real" compared to other people with the same mental illnesses I identify with. ~_~; I can't even write about struggling with the same doctor-prescribed regimens, because I've avoided doctors all my life. Too much anxiety there. Whenever a psychiatrist manages to trap me in an appointment, I can't think about anything except how to get out of there and avoid talking to another human being, especially about myself. No matter what tricks I have to pull to get out of there ASAP. Too bad I'm good at that. I should try NaNoWriMo more seriously this year.

#negative thought spirals #depression #life direction #artist problems #quitting art #venting #please ignore my idiocy

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littlebabycrybtch · 3 years

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ok ik bitches are still going to complain but i gotta rant to keep my shit together;;; ngl after being stuck co-raising two babies now i really feel genuinely Disgusted by unnecessary parent critique. like it actually makes me feel so viscerally upset and depressed when i remember nobody gets this or cares to and probably just wants to call out what im doing wrong, instead of lend me a hand to do it better. man im not treading lightly here the ‘no excuses’ mentality is literally Inhumane to parents and dehumanizes them as these superhumans, they arent, they are people trying to take care of themselves Plus One. there Are ‘excuses’ for not being perfect. just bc every child deserves perfect doesnt mean it can be given and that fucking SUCKS but that is one of the only times im comfortable saying; ‘thats just life’. you cant magically make life better for kids the way you think, you’re not a protector, you’re their Rock to teach them How to DEAL with what life brings, that means you’re allowed to struggle with it too. childcare is like this cosmic design to work you physically and mentally to the brink, fucking forget the normalization of how many people you think you’ve seen raise kids and done fine, it is harder than you can even fathom. they probably did not do fine behind closed doors. the parents with the best behaved and most obedient kids probably did harmful things to make them that way that will eventually come back to them, the parents with the happiest most well adjusted kids probably had the money to provide the extra care for that. there are ‘excuses’. idc if it fucking annoys you or w/e, i dont like being the bitch that says stuff nobody wants to hear, but you truly deeply cannot 100% understand unless you are raising kids, i dont say that to hurt your feewings or exclude you, i used to think that way, i say it bc when you see me passed out on the couch while my nephew gets into something dangerous, its because i got one hour of sleep that night while he kicked me in our bed for 4 hours. he cant help not knowing how that affects both of us, but i cant help being affected by it just cuz im supposed to be ~the big strong adult~, bc i am not a fucking xman. i CANT pretend it all away. while im sitting there napping im also waiting for my mental health meds to start working. im also dizzy from not eating. it sucks that he gets into shit sometimes. hes still gonna get into shit sometimes, and i can do my best, but if i sit here worrying that karens are gonna get pissed abt that and work myself even harder im gonna straight up explode. who does that help. who does me falling apart help. come babysit my kid for free if you wanna help me bitch!

parents are doing twice the work of a normal person while also teaching one of these people theyre caring for, how to BE a person. i used to be SO pro judging parents and im literally nauseated by the judgments now. “i cant believe this parent looked away and their kid got hurt, i cant beleive they just leave them there with a tablet or a snack or a toy while they nap, i cant believe they let them do that, i cant believe--” btich you literally have no idea how lucky you are that they are not both already dead. you are so lucky tehy are both alive and the parent isnt hospitalized for mental health or even physical exhaustion, or addicted to a stimulant (which includes caffeine), or using smth to relax like weed or alcohol (hello wine mom culture), or the kid isnt traumatized from watching their parent have repeatd breakdowns. that is literally better than most situations already. no matter how impossibly perfect the family could be in your mind, kids fuckin get hurt and they make mistakes and the PARENTS make mistakes bc theyre PEOPLE and yall this blows my mind that ppl dont realize this but,,,,, Little kids??? THEY DO NOT LISTEN TO THEIR PARENTS bc they essentially CANT..... for like YEARS there is a period they WILL NOT LISTEN TO YOU at ALL while they have the full autonomy and smarts and strength to cause horrible consequential problems, they are capable of learning how to circumnavigate your ‘babyproofing’ in new ways every single day, but they have ZEROOOOO MORALS OR CAUSE AND EFFECT SKILLS to understand RIGHT FROM WRONG, NO MATTER HOW OFTEN YOU TELL THEM!!!!! IT WONT CHANGE, ITS LITERALLY A PHYSICAL BRAIN THING THAT THEY CANT LEARN WHAT ‘NO’ MEANS FOR A WHILE YET!!! THIS CAN LAST FROM AGE 1 TO 4, SOMETIMES LONGER! THATS GENUINELY INSANITY INDUCING FOR THE ADULT WHOS KEEPING THEM IN LINE HUNDREDS OF TIMES A DAY, KNOWING ITS AMOUNTING TO ALMOST NOTHING UNTIL YEARS LATER!!!! IT DOESNT HELP WHEN PPL JUDGE YOU AND DONT BELEIVE YOU AND THINK YOU JUST ARENT ~TRYING HARD ENOUGH~! holy FUCK dude, idc if you wanna judge, im losing it bc i am being forced to keep my cool while a child whos pinching me and genuinely HURTING and BRUISING me laughs in my face bc he truly DOES NOT KNOW this, and there is NO WAY for me to convey it to make him stop at the moment!!!! thats maddening!!!

listen to me, neither of you dying or experiencing lasting damage is literally the goal every day, not just ‘raising them’, but that you both survive to the end of it. im appalled by how different the lifestyle is and the way ppl just... dont know that/REJECT that information so they get to judge. ofc tiny vulnerable innocent kids deserve the best, parents cannot always provide that if they want to Survive, bc they also deserve , basic understanding and humanity. you call out abuse all you want, theres a difference between the 'lesser of two evils’ choices, or even the genuinely Bad choices you can Accidentally make when at your wits end (which you should immediately correct anyways), and ever causing intentional physical or mental harm to the child, but the secodn yall start nitpicking or blatantly being ignorant to a struggle just so you get your blame validation in i literally cannot AFFORD to give you the time of day, im busy running on minutes of sleep, so if you think i have enough free time to entertain ur whining that my kids got a messy face and has been on his tablet in a highchair for an hour or w/e, idc, im using that time to shower for the first time in 2 weeks bc nobody else is gonna be there for me to let me do that shit :) so frankly put your money where your mouth is and help struggling parents whenever you can. i cant make shit better out of thin air.

“oh, but i dont have the money to help you.” YOU THINK IM AFFORDING CHILDCARE?? YOU CAN COME OVER AND HELP DIRECTLY WHILE I DO CHORES. “oh, but i dont wanna babysit for my friends, i dont like kids.” OH REALLY?????? OH YOU DONT LIKE KIDS??? BC THEYRE DIFFICULT MAYBE ??? SO MAYBE YOU SHOULDNT JUDGE WHEN ITS HARD THEN????? LIKE YOU RLY THINK JUST ‘LIKING THEM’ SUDDENLY MAKES IT EASY FOR ME?? YOU THINK ME FINDING MY NEPHEW CUTE AND LOVING HIM AND HIS LAUGHTER GIVES ME FUCKING SUPERMAN POWERS TO DEAL WITH THIS???????? “but You chose to have kids” rt in my case i literally didnt and would be homeless if not offering to help care for them but HEY COOL CONCEPT PRO CHOICE KINDA FUCKIN INCLUDES WHEN PEOPLE ‘CHOOSE’ TO HAVE KIDS EVEN WHEN THEY STRUGGLE AFTER, TOO LATE TO FUCKIN COMPLAIN NOW, JUST HELP A BITCH OUT. LIke... bro BRO b R O im losing it stop giving parents the inspiration porn treatment while disrespecting the actual struggles they go thru any time the child actually suffers bc they are unable to shield them from their struggle. can i be real, life literally will not go without struggle. you cannot raise them to have a life better than what the world is, you can do your best but you really cant MAKE it fair. once again this is not a ‘raise the perfect child’ contest you are just . trying to raise them at all. its messy. every single day you will have successes and failures, and you’ll be running on empty, and you’ll be doing that just to make it through to do it again tomorrow, while it slowly (AGONIZINGLY SLOWLY) gets easier each day. im tired of pretending lmao i dont wanna hear you bitches judge parents anymore, i dont wanna hear the stupid ass ‘im allowed to’ shit anymore dude!!!!! for gods sake i can agree with you when some shits just plain wrong but ill never apologize for standing up for myself or other struggling parents even if it makes you uncomfy, i can care about Both the child and the parent at the same time, ig i wont ask you why you seemingly cant. 😶 ESPECIALLY when things like classism and ableism tie in so often with these situations. not to mention racism like im white but hoooo if i hear one more story about a black parents ‘negligence’ in efforts of just trying to help their family, like leaving their kids somewhere during a job interview or w/e, vs the white parents that LET THEIR 10 YR OLDS WANDER AROUND MALLS BY THEMSELVES... im gonna scream. im gonna fuckin scream. its so unfair. fuck off, stop the spiteful ignorance, change this shitty hateful culture.

tldr; you Can care about kids while respecting parents, even when they arent perfect. you can advocate for children while also advocating for parents, and in fact, you should fucking try.

#vent/ //#might delete later ///#ok to rb but. i swear to god if this pops off and ppl whine...... literally L I T ER A LL Y come take care of my kids #NO BETTER YET BC ITS ACTUALLY FEASIBLE!! FOR EVERY COMPLAINT. 5 DOLLARS IN MY PAYPAL #SO I CAN AFFORD DAYCARE. LITERALLY IF OYU CLAIM ANY STUPID SHIT BC I ADMIT ITS HARD TO CARE FOR SMALL KIDS #U HAVE NO EXCUSE TO NOT PUT THAT FAKE BITCHY JUDGY CONCERN INTO ACTUAL RESULTS. THANKX #anyways on a real note again this is a vent moreso than a disc horse post thats meant to be shared around so #its not perfect its just. my feelings over the past couple years dealing w this man #really fuckin tired of it i really spent so many years 100% on the side of 'i have critical understanding i get to judge'#no i didnt. no you dont. its not comprehensible till you're pushed to your own limit with childcare. i hate being that btich #cuz nobody wants to hear it. but its the truth swallow it #long post //

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angwion · 5 years

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Benzodiazepines and the Gatekeepers

It's always hard to start treatment with a new psychiatrist. First, there's the wait. Then, there's the prolonged questioning during the first session. And then, there are the issues that can last for months (in this case, 7-8 months) as you try to get them to understand that you've been at this for over a decade, and you know what works and what doesn't.

My current psychiatrist, like many, is generally opposed to benzodiazepines (for those who don't know, these are your standard anti-anxiety drugs, like Xanax). They're a Schedule IV drug, which means a doctor's license is on the line if they over-prescribe. These medications can also have unwanted side-effects when used long term, like short-term memory problems (anterograde amnesia), decreased ability to reason and think logically ("adverse affects on cognition"), and general sleepiness, dizziness, and next day "hangover" effects.

They can also be addictive - the most heinous of words to any doctor. Of course, when one has experienced the horror of full withdrawal from an antidepressant, one wonders how those aren't considered to be addictive as well.

It doesn't help that the standard treatment for anxiety, panic disorder, and even agoraphobia is an antidepressant coupled with therapy. (I should note that I have been in therapy regularly since seeing this psychiatrist, and have advanced to EMDR sessions). Doctors like to follow standard procedure.

Antidepressants are also marketed as anti-anxiety medications, and for this reason I have been put through the wringer with countless SSRIs and SNRIs in the hopes of finding the one that will do both. I've experienced a wide range of awful episodes, from extreme withdrawals to serotonin syndrome that sent me to the ER with truly frightening, invasive suicidal thinking. My best experience with an antidepressant has simply been to not feel so depressed all of the time. It has never helped with my anxiety (in fact, it usually amps up my anxiety - a possible side-effect that is listed on every antidepressant I've ever taken).

When first introduced to psychiatry and psychiatric medications, I was stubbornly against them. I fought it until I was nearly agoraphobic, and even fought it a few times while totally agoraphobic, because I was convinced I could work my way through my issues on my own. What I didn't realize was that when you have a problem in your mind, your mind isn't so good at fixing itself - especially without outside help.

So, I finally decided that the side-effects of things like benzodiazepines were worth the risk when compared to years of being sequestered in an apartment, attic, or basement, unable to care for myself. Having a chance at living became more important than my stubbornness or my fear of medication.

That story began 16 years ago. Now, I find myself arguing with psychiatrists to even get these medications. The fear of over-prescribing has infected practitioners across state lines, causing them to worry more about their licenses than the welfare of their patients. In a way, I can't blame them. However, one would think that with a history as long and torturous as mine they'd eventually get the hint.

Without medication, I cannot function. I cannot do basic daily tasks, keep up with minimal hygiene, or even answer a phone, text or e-mail without experiencing a panic attack. I become a husk of a person, shivering and twitching in a constant flood of adrenaline that overloads my body, making it easy to sleep for 13 hours without feeling rested. Nightmares and occasional night terrors overwhelm my sleeping world, and panic suffuses my every waking moment. It is hellish. I would not wish it on anyone.

My unfortunate burden and mixed blessing is that I'm very good at enduring. I am also very good at hiding the worst of my pain, depression, and anxiety in an effort to protect myself from the outside world while avoiding feelings of shame and vulnerability. Over many years I've managed to open up more to my various psych doctors, but there is still a wall that keeps me from breaking down completely in front of them. Without this complete breakdown, most doctors simply do not believe what I tell them. I've had psychiatrists force me off of medication to see the disastrous results themselves before they begrudgingly put me back on them.

I have only taken one type of benzodiazepine in my life - clonazepam (Klonopin). In the past month or so, I've noticed its efficacy waning to nearly nothing. My anxiety beats it within an hour, or immediately, depending on how strong it is at the time. After missing out on various activities I wished to partake in, but simply could not bring myself to do because of the overwhelming panic that set in at the very thought of traveling on my own or being in a new, public location without my husband, I decided I had to confront my psychiatrist and get a real solution to the problem. I even brought my husband with me, as I've found that having a partner corroborate my "evidence" is more effective than going alone.

This turned out to be true. My psychiatrist was much more coherent and direct when speaking with my husband, whereas she is usually vague or simply silent after I speak. We finally got a solid answer: I will have to meet with the Medical Director to get a second opinion concerning my medications and possible alterations. Of course, as with most "new patient" appointments, I will likely be unable to see him for weeks.

I am nervous to meet someone new - someone of greater authority - and to present my case knowing that there is a possibility that they simply will not make any changes to my current regimen. If so, I'm determined to go outside of the university system to seek the help I need.

What is most frustrating, and most enraging, is that this is a continuing issue in my treatment with almost every psychiatrist I've met. Each one seems to think the they'll be the one to "fix" me so that I can wean off of benzodiazepines without permanently breaking down. Each one has been wrong.

I don't want to have to rely on any of these medications to function. I don't want to risk the side-effects, especially when it comes to my cognition; even more strongly, I don't want to waste any more of my life trapped by my mental illness.

I want to be able to go outside and enjoy the weather on a nice walk without panicking or never making it out the door. I want to wake up and get things done instead of distracting myself with the television, meditation, or an audio book just to get through the passage of time each day. I want to be able to go to new places on my own. I want to make friends and talk to people without a constant undercurrent of panic taking me out of the present, even out of my body, and skewing everything into a waking nightmare. I want to live.

I wish I knew how to convey this adequately enough to convince every single one of these doctors that I am telling the truth and that this is my experience. I wish that they could look beyond the procedure, the paperwork, the textbook expectations, and see me as a human being who is suffering, and who they can help.

I wish that people with mental illness did not have to work so hard to advocate for themselves every time they walk through an office door just to get some relief.

#benzodiazepine #depression #anxiety #agoraphobia #psychiatry #mental illness #medication

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x----tine · 5 years

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How Words Occupy Space: An Interview with Cristine Brache

By Monica Uszerowicz

01/23/2019

In the Spanish language, the word cazar means “to hunt”; the word casar, “to marry.” Cristine Brache, a native speaker, loves this because the humor — and maybe the pain — is immediately felt. Without a regional lisp, the two sound nearly or exactly the same. Commit to me; commit me.

I briefly met Brache, the Puerto Rican and Cuban artist and writer, last year. I’d wanted to speak for much longer, because some of the objects she’s made — a ceramic dunce cap, a handless clock, a keychain soliciting both pain and its cessation, the popular “Pain in Women” shirt — feel delicate and biting, like an ant tickling the skin. I liked her poetry too, its melancholy and how cutting it feels. In “Finding Her Way,” she writes: “staring out the windows she resented all the genitals of the world/and her breath/she resented her hair and her presence on the earth/longing for objectification/and loss of will.”

When we met, we talked for a long time: about our Caribbean matriarchies; about what it feels like to be a daughter of mothers who lived in-between places, felt in-between; about writing poems as children and how they were stupid; about how even now language can feel like a failure, but words themselves — the objecthood of them, their feel — engender playful struggle. “Language fails often,” she told me. “It’s all an approximation, as close as I can get to something that felt meaningful to me.”

We spoke again recently, following the November release of her first book POEMS, through CODÉTTE. In it, Brache sketches words like images: flowers anywhere but a grave (“we lay flowers where people die/But not where people live/Not where hearts are broken/Not on my mother or the months of May or June”), a body worth no more than its exact weight (“men like an hourglass figure/and its cream-colored sand/can exactly calculate/the amount of time it takes/for you to stop paying attention to me”). Women, as told in her poems, are subjected to hegemony and hurt, but Brache laughs at the men, all of them: “It’s what’s on the inside that counts/I should cut my tongue to relax you”; “resistance is just fear/it’s inevitable, like math.”

In February, her solo exhibition, Cristine’s Secret Garden, opens at Locust Projects in Miami. Here she’ll create a kind of simulacrum of a South Floridian backyard, with shrines and statues of saints — often stand-ins for Orishas, deities from Yoruba religions. Her Orishas are matriarchal figures in her life. They’re odes, she tells me, to the coping mechanisms we utilize to function, to stay afloat. Saints and orishas sometimes offer a balm to long-suffering mortals; Brache’s deities are goddesses of self-protection, exhaustion, ancestral trauma. There’s no deliberate through line between her visual art and writing, and it would be reductive to draw one, but here we speak about both.

MONICA USZEROWICZ: Tell me about the decision to finally publish your work in a book.

CRISTINE BRACHE: Lora, who runs CODÉTTE, asked if I wanted to do a book with her. I’ve been sitting on a lot of poetry, because I’ve been writing since fifth grade. But I am always wary of publishing bad poems — I think there is a fine line between a good poem and a bad poem, and I wanted to have something I could stand behind for a long period of time. It’s important to me, and I wanted to be careful with it.

MU: Upon reading your book, Chris Kraus wrote that you “work dually as a visual artist and poet, and this gives her writing a particular charge. Poetry, for Brache, becomes the default, the last resort, and a means of covert assault in matters of living where language has led.”

CB: I was so flattered; it’s really thoughtful. I cold-messaged her and was surprised she actually got back to me. There are so many more poems I don’t think I’d ever publish, and many of the poems in this book are so old. Getting that feedback made me feel validated. I know that sounds dumb. But I think poems are the one place I allow myself to be really unapologetic about how I’m feeling. Maybe with artwork, I consider the viewer — I don’t compromise what I’m doing, but it’s a different kind of interaction, walking through a gallery space, as opposed to writing for myself. It’s very private.

All writing, I think, especially if you’re writing about your experience and sharing that with people, is the most vulnerable thing. Art and performance can be, too, but my artwork — though I might say it’s diaristic — is very mediated. Reading poems — they’re not mediated at all. I write to feelings I had during a moment that was meaningful to me; to get to the meat of that pain or love or whatever emotion it is, you do it alone.

MU: The poems are places in which to exist differently.

CB: It’s this place for me I’ve always had where I can express myself without being accountable to another person about what I’m feeling or who I am. Because of where you’re born, or who you are — there are so many reasons why some people can’t be seen or heard, so at least I have this. I’m very protective of it.

MU: Intimacy and power often brush up against each other in your poems, the way they do in relationships.

CB: It’s everywhere — even when it’s not there, it’s there. That stuff is inevitable, even if it’s not intended. You can try your hardest to be thoughtful, and still say things that accentuate the inherent power dynamics between people. My work is about these power dynamics, but there’s more, too — I think I focus so much on it because it hurts to be on the bottom when you know you can be on the top. But you can’t be, because society’s not structured that way. There’s always this sense of having someone see you and own your identity, because they’re already projecting whatever cultural associations they have with how you look and who you are — so much that they don’t even let you exist.

There are so many inequalities — in the art world and everywhere else. It’s harder for women and people of color. It is so much harder. And it’s harder still to convey that to someone who doesn’t have that experience. You almost can’t even say it, because they get defensive. But it’s everywhere, and it’s so suffocating, and it’s really hard to endure. But we do it. You find ways to move around these power structures.

MU: I was thinking, also, about the wordplay in your poetry. It’s a really joyous kind of tool.

CB: I’m super-conscious of it. I love thinking about words: what they mean, their multiple definitions, how they cut you a certain way when you lay them against other words. I do it with objects, too — how they’re propped up against each other, how they occupy space. It’s the same process I use when I write. I’ve always been obsessed with language, eager to find where there are atypical connections that have standardized forms.

MU: I love how in Spanish “extraño” means “strange” and “te extraño” means “I miss you.”

CB: Extraño can mean foreign — not familiar to you. It’s something I like a lot about Spanish: to hunt is “cazar” and to marry, “casar.” That would make a good poem, see. I’m sitting on that for something.

MU: Last time we spoke, we talked about family — matriarchy, particularly, and how the work in your show is addressing it.

CB: My grandma and mom were both born and raised in Puerto Rico; my grandma moved to Brooklyn, met my grandpa there, and they eventually had to move back to Puerto Rico. There were a lot of issues with her being brown in the US at that time. I’m trying to observe how people code their oppression so that they can function. I feel like women, and people who are immigrants, or their children — all of them have to deal with the sense of protecting themselves. Santeria became illegal when the Spaniards colonized the Caribbean. So what did people do? They codified their religion with Catholic iconography and language. We do this all the time: women, poor people, basically anyone who’s not a rich, white man — we find ways to codify who we are so that it’s palatable for the culture, for the patriarchy, for where we’re at.

With the show, I want to honor these people and ask, given the variables that we have in an oppressive system, how can we empower ourselves? The exhibition uses Santeria as a template for these very detailed coping mechanisms. There are shrines, each one to an attribute. Like the Orishas in Santeria: they’re gods and goddesses of thunder, health, war. I wanted to give my shrines atypical attributes: vulnerability, vanity, mental illness, sadness, exhaustion. And collective trauma. Do we have gods for that?

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izzyovercoffee · 7 years

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RepComm for the fandom meme

send me a fandom and I’ll — meme

softly, with a lot of feeling: I’ve been waiting for this moment.

lmaoo not really but yes, yes really. I am here and I am ready for this.

Thank you for sending this B’)

Republic Commando

the character i least understand

Karen “What Is Abuse I Don’t Know Her″ Traviss

Ko Sai. I think, for the most part, she was written with very alien motivations, and it was fairly successful, at least in conveying that it was difficult if not impossible to relate with her on any level.

I’m sure if I spent more time thinking and writing about her I could maybe attempt to understand her character … but for the most part I don’t really “get” her, and I think that’s the point.

interactions i enjoyed the most

Mereel and Ordo are endlessly entertaining.

Any of the Nulls together, individually or clusters or all six in one room.

Mereel and Etain have had some very, very touching, emotionally deep moments — the kinds of scenes KT generally doesn’t allow any of her characters to have between two characters that aren’t romantically involved.

tbh this list is gonna be very long so to sum up: everyone with everyone else, when they’re allowed to be individual characters with separate personalities and motivations recognized, instead of twisted into very specific moral representations that KT pushes towards the end.

the character who scares me the most

Walon Vau is reasonably frightening, though really he should be. He is about as cold blooded of a killer as you’re going to get, and he doesn’t make threats, he makes promises. B’)

Plus he’s also very difficult to get into the mental space to write, because he’s a legitimate Bad Person, and trying to write characters like him can be difficult.

it’s also a good idea to maintain a healthy fear of the nulls, if only out of respect of their potential for sudden and extreme violence. They’re not as “unpredictable” as the text says, though.

the character who is mostly like me

mmm … actually, I’m gonna go with Kal. this is probably gonna garner some “whaaat? but you HATE him?”

Yes, I do hate him. but let me list some similarities lmao:

perpetual limp due to a bad ankle and persistent injury that never healed right / properly (partially kept as a constant reminder for a mistake)

short and angry, like all the time

compartmentalize everything and everyone

obsessive about caring for and protecting family, literally does everything for family

extremely secretive, to the point of never telling anyone the full story or full truth, everyone just get bits and pieces that seem complete. no one ever seems to realize this.

self sacrificing to the point of martyrdom, especially for family

these are all pretty negative, but … unlike Kal, I am actually self aware lmao and am working on these things, and have for the most part listened when other people criticize me so that I can continue to work on being better. it’s a daily process, you know, so I don’t hurt the family I care so much about.

Kal starts off terrible, and the writing implies that he might learn from it … but then instead of him learning and growing like everyone needs him to, the narrative instead makes excuses for him, everyone suffers, and Etain dies.

it’s unfortunate bc people like him exist, and you can’t coddle them if you want them to survive life. and yet everyone coddles Kal. Fandom, in general, coddles and makes excuses for abusive men. Full stop.

but like, here’s the thing:

He is a grown man. He is not a child. Don’t treat him like one.

I hate him partially bc the entire fandom excuses his behavior when it is, ultimately, inexcusable. He is not a child. He is a man, who has undertaken a huge group of extremely vulnerable people under his care, and he ultimately hurts them all. Severely. And TBH Kal deserves better than to be coddled and all his boo-boos kissed away by a fandom who says they care about the rest of the clan, but cannot see the sheer world-shattering damage Kal committed on them, regardless of intention.

You can like a character, and still hold them accountable. Fandom, somehow, seems incapable of this level of nuance, especially if they’re a father and shown as sympathetic in any way.

hottest looks character

Mereel, obviously. lmao

No but like, consider: he dyes his hair (and his skin, and his eyes) and has a full wardrobe for all situations.

He’s the (Daniel Craig) James Bond of the Grand Army of the Republic.

But I also headcanon Jilka and Besany to be incredibly fashion forward. Besany usually embodying the Career Professional woman, with very sharp, very perfectly tailored outfits that allow no room for nonsense.

Jilka also perfectly tailored, though her wardrobe is potentially more fun, visually, and incredibly flattering in all the right ways — but still very sharp, and very much professional when necessary.

one thing i dislike about my fave character

Mereel, light of my life, sun of my sky, salve of my wounded and broken heart, peace at the eye of my storm …

why are you like this?

lmao. On a more serious note, I can’t outright say I dislike anything about Mereel, but his inability to share what really goes on in his head with … well, anyone. The only time we see a truthful admittance to weakness is that single moment with Etain, when he admits that he’s still human. That he’s not perfect.

Every other time, and I know I say this a lot, but every other time … he deflects any serious conversation with a joke — and usually a joke that the speaker wants to hear (even if they don’t know they want to hear it). He doesn’t let anyone in, not even his brothers, and that’s … got to be a lonely sort of suffering.

The kind of internalized suffering I’m sure he’s learned from Kal, both in the how to do it, and the reason he does it. bc Kal does internalize a lot of his suffering and doesn’t share it, burying weakness while in the same breath saying that he’s experiencing it and letting it go. He doesn’t, it’s just a different sort of self-delusion and deflection, and Mereel echoes it to a painful degree.

And then, of course, there’s Mereel learning that he needs to do it, bc Kal only accepts a certain kind of visual presence of mental illness and suffering, otherwise the person is “damaged” in some way and will never be “okay” for whatever understanding Kal has given okay. (view, for example, how he sees Ordo vs how he sees Mereel. He sees Mereel as stable, bc Mereel is extroverted, outgoing, and “always positive.” It’s not something intentional, but it’s still damaging, to all parties.)

one thing i like about my hated character

I might hate Kal Skirata, but I also love him. He’s a fantastic character. He is so so so flawed. His flaws make him interesting, and he tries. He tries so hard. He cares so much. He cares too much, even. His dedication and his love for his family are all encompassing, to the point that he can even be blinded to their faults because he loves so strongly.

But that love is a sword. One might even say it’s a triple-edged blade.

Love, as bright and fierce and consuming as it is, does not make someone right. It does not make their actions excusable when it leads to hurt, or even someone dying needlessly. It does not make one’s choices correct.

Love does not excuse abuse. And I really wish fandom would, at the very least, make the attempt to understand that.

a quote or scene that haunts me

Yes, I know how the Kaminoans did it. They used our genes against us, the ones that make us bond with our brothers, make us loyal, make us respect and obey our fathers—that’s what they manipulated to make us more likely to obey orders. They had to remove what made Jango a selfish loner, because that makes a bad infantry soldier, and you can tell from the Alpha ARCs that the Kaminoans weren’t wrong. But there’s one thing I don’t know yet—and that’s how they controlled the aging process. That’s the key. They robbed us of a full life span. But we will not be defeated by time, ner vod.

—ARC Trooper Lieutenant N-7—Mereel—in an encrypted transmission to Captain N-11, Ordo

a death that left me indifferent

mmm, Sev, actually. Like, in the game? I went through the whole grieving process after I finished Republic Commando.

The way it was written? idk. It did nothing for me.

This probably is an unpopular opinion lmao but honestly, that scene? did not hit me anywhere. it just kinda left a bad taste in my mouth … much like Etain’s scene, except that I was actually pissed off about Etain lmao to the point that I still rant about it bc of how little sense it made.

a character i wish died but didn’t

I mean I could go the obvious route and say Kal, but I actually don’t wish Kal died. I just wish he’d learn from his mistakes and people would point out how he’s hurting his family lmao?

who do I actually wish died? any of the nulls, even if they don’t die die. They’re presented as these entirely Untouchable cast, to the point that no one really expect any of the Nulls to so much as get a paper cut — because how can they? they’re presented as close to perfect (obviously not in the mental illness department, but they do inhabit this space of being invincible).

and for any of them, even temporarily, to die would have had incredible emotional impact — moreso than Etain’s. It would’ve really brought home the threat on all their lives in a way that Etain’s death could never convey.

but I’m asking nuance of a writer who clearly overwhelmed herself with a cast much larger than she could handle in writing, and who started all these incredible thematic arcs only to abandon them, forgotten, over the course of the series.

my ship that never sailed

I have a lot of ships, tbh, but it’s kinda like … weird? to talk about? as if I expected them to sail and then they just simply didn’t.

I don’t have any ships that I expected to happen or be recognized and simply didn’t. I mean … Fi read as if closeted, so I was kind of hoping he would maybe realize he was attracted to men, but then of course he was paired off with his caretaker, and my god there are so many consent problems with that.

#ulvdakota #this def deserves the #long post for ts #jeez lmaooo #also thank u again for sending this im always ready to complain about repcomm #yessssss #v: star wars #izzy talks repcomm #memes #meme: send me a fandom #b: Republic Commando

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scriptshrink · 7 years

Text

Critique of a Certain Cracked Article - The Bad

Oh boy. So we’ve seen the myths about mental illness that Cracked got right, and the ones that were partially correct but mostly wrong. Now we’ve reached the ones that legitimately reduced the Shrink to incoherent screaming.

Lock and load, Shrinky-dinks. I’m taking no prisoners.

[Gif: The Winter Soldier loads a grenade into an attachment on his assault rifle while murderstrutting.]

[Cracked image: The charming psychopath is everywhere // Pictures of Negan, Walter White, Dexter, and Loki // They won’t stay charming for long. So many TV and movie villains are portrayed as charming ladies’ men. Even Walter White’s sex life improves after he starts cooking meth. There’s Negan, The Joker, Dexter, Patrick Bateman, Billy Loomis. The truth is, antisocial personality disorder causes a laundry list of symptoms that make a person impossible to be in a relationship with. // source is from the mayo clinic]

...Why is Loki up there? I am confused.

Anyways, people with antisocial personality disorder are very good at manipulating people. They can be very fucking charming, and very fucking good at it.

And I hate the phrase “laundry list”. Guess what? You don’t have to have ALL THOSE SYMPTOMS LISTED to get diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder.

You just need three. Let’s pull three from the list of criteria, shall we?

They lie, manipulate and con others for their own personal gain.

They’re impulsive and don’t plan ahead.

They are consistently irresponsible, don’t fulfill things expected of them, and / or can’t hold down a steady job.

I mean, that certainly describes an asshole, but “a person impossible to be in a relationship with”? Hardly.

[Cracked image - Adrian Monk suffers from OCD. // picture of Adrian Monk hiding behind his turtleneck // Actually, no, he really doesn’t. It’s easier to remember what Monk is not afraid of than what he is. He lists germs, needles, milk, death, snakes, mushrooms, heights, crowds, elevators, public speaking, and airplanes, to name a few. The thing is, that’s not obsessive-compulsive disorder. Those are phobic disorders, which are not related to OCD at all. Actual OCD involves a crippling dependence on repetition and rituals.// source is chicago tribune]

OKAY. First off. A fear of public speaking IS NOT A PHOBIA. It is a part of Social Anxiety Disorder (Performance Only).

Also, OCD does not fucking REQUIRE compulsions. YOU CAN HAVE ONLY OBSESSIONS AND STILL HAVE OCD. (See my demystifying post here!)

AND GUESS WHAT? ADRIAN MONK HAS COMPULSIONS.

Performing a ritual because of a fear (such as excessive cleaning / handwashing due to a fear of germs) is a COMPULSION.

Look at literally the first time you see Monk IN THE FUCKING OPENING CREDITS OF THE SHOW.

[Gif - Adrian Monk is walking down a street, and touches a parking meter without looking at it.]

You’d think, because he’s so germophobic, that he would avoid touching those things. NOPE. He has a compulsion to TOUCH ALL THE POLES that he passes when he’s walking.

Sure, he has phobias. BUT HE HAS OCD TOO.

One last note.

Those are phobic disorders, which are not related to OCD at all.

Hmm. Yes, that’s correct. Phobias are anxiety disorders, and OCD has its own category. I’m not sure why this is sticking out to me so much. But I’m sure it’ll be important later.

[Cracked picture - In Fight Club, the narrator has a split personality. // image of the narrator and Tyler Durden // That’s not how multiple personalities work. Those with disassociative identity disorder don’t just wake up and realize they’ve been living as another person. They don’t always know about the other personalities, and don’t black out and live as another person. Amnesia and fugue states do happen, but what you see in movies is writers combining them to suit their narrative.// Source is from mayo clinic.]

[Gif of Hades nearly being literally consumed with fiery rage, but calming himself down saying “Okay, fine, fine. I’m cool. I’m fine.]

It’s “dissociative”, not “disassociative”. We’ve had this talk in the last part, Cracked. Do a single goddamn google search so you know how to spell the goddamn names of things.

This part of the takedown comes courtesy of Maxx, one of @dinosaursindisarray’s alters:

DID isn't personalities, multiple or split or anything. That’s not just outdated terminology, it's also an incorrect description, because the alters aren't personalities at all, they're functionally other people.

“Those with DID don't just wake up and realize they've been living as another person.”

k, well, sometimes, they do.

Like, the person might not realize it as it goes on, but then something triggers an 'aha' moment (for some people) that make the symptoms more overt and noticeable, either to the person experiencing them or other people.

There could be a trigger that suddenly floods the person with enough memories to realize what's going on - memories of trauma, or bleedthrough from other alters, memories of that alter being out, etc, and then the person has enough to do research and be like 'something is /wrong/'

[For us], it was like, one day after a lot of stressful shit built up over a couple of weeks, I came out instead of Month and because I was tired and cranky. Her friends noticed and asked about it, I told the truth, and after she came back, her friends were like 'so this thing happened, what the fuck' and Month's blackouts and dissociation started making more sense and she was able to contact a professional to be like 'what the fuck is going on'.

The initial realization did happen sort of at once, which isn't entirely uncommon, especially with psych knowledge more readily available to people. (that can lead to people mistaking shit and thinking they have DID when they don't, cause misinfo, but it's still easier for people who do have it to figure out what the fuck is up and seek help than it was before).

“They always know about the other personalities"

The entire point of DID and OSDD is to keep shit hidden. Keep trauma memories hidden from the everyday life of the kid so they can function and not fucking die. Keep symptoms away from others around the kid so that they aren't abused worse. So this shit is supposed to be kept separate, and if you always know about what's going on, then it’s not happening.

"and don't black out and live as another person"

Yeah. Some people do. Like, full memory blackouts while another alter is out might not happen all the time or with every alter, but it can totally happen with DID. Not OSDD as much, I think, but still.

There are certain alters that Month has NO memory overlap from. Others that she only gets one or two things, others she remembers most of it like watching a movie, others that she remembers it like she was there but really out of it, etc. It's not necessary for every alter every time to be DID, but if there's any amnesia and blackouts between alters (and with trauma memories) then it's DID criteria.

"Amnesia and fugue states do happen"

Yeah, amnesia is that blackout thing you just said didn't happen. Might not be a full blackout but like, amnesia. not remembering. sometimes that means blackouts.

And fugue states are dissociative, but that's a separate thing from DID. Can it happen to someone with DID? Yeah. Does someone have to have DID for it to happen? Nah.

Writers do combine and add shit and dramatize the fuck out of the wrong things (see: m. night) to suit their needs rather than maintaining fact, but yeah. everything else is p much wrong

Thanks again to Maxx from @dinosaursindisarray for taking over for that one. That gave me a nice little respite! Now let’s take a look at the last one, surely it can’t be THAT bad...

[Cracked image - In Black Swan, Nina suffers from a host of conditions. // image of Nina // Real people don’t have them all at once. The film gave Nina the ballerina a cocktail of disorders, including anorexia, bulimia, cutting, and obsessive compulsive disorder, then had her descend into psychosis. The problem is that they’re incompatible conditions. People with psychosis lose touch with reality. Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia are too in touch with reality. // source is abc news]

[Gif of the only thing that can adequately convey my rage: Tsar Bomba, the largest nuclear weapon ever created, exploding and forming a gigantic mushroom cloud]

Okay okay okAY OKAY OKAY.

The only way I can get through this is to go from minor things to major ones.

You are right about one single thing here, Cracked. You can’t be diagnosed with anorexia and bulimia at the same time. Congratulations. If someone has symptoms of both disorders, it’s either Anorexia with the Binge Eating / Purging subtype, or OSFED (other specified feeding/eating disorder, formally known as EDNOS - eating disorder not otherwise specified).

Okay. Next up. Unless you’re counting when Nina stabs herself with the glass shard at the very end of the movie, Nina never cuts herself. She scratches herself. But I’ll give you the smallest amount of the smoking ashes left of my benefit of the doubt and say you meant “self-mutilation” here, not cutting.

Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia

OCD AND ANOREXIA ARE NOT ANXIETY DISORDERS.

Besides, you just fucking said with the Monk one that phobias are completely unrelated to OCD!! PHOBIAS ARE AN ANXIETY DISORDER!!! AT THE VERY LEAST KEEP YOUR FUCKING BULLSHIT LIES CONSISTENT!!!!!!!

On that note, where the fuck did you get OCD from in the first place??? There’s only two things I can think of that even vaguely qualify.

Nina’s compulsive scratching. But guess what??? THAT’S NOT OCD. THAT’S EXCORIATION (AKA SKIN PICKING) DISORDER.

Nina’s compulsive exercising. HELLO WHY YES THIS IS A SYMPTOM OF ANOREXIA.

People with psychosis lose touch with reality. Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia are too in touch with reality.

yhghgtfrrghyujuhnukjfgdcghgtfyughyhhjnyh

Sorry about that. I repeatedly smashed my head into the keyboard.

But oh my fucking god.

THE WHOLE GODDAMN PROBLEM WITH OCD AND ANOREXIA IS THAT THEY’RE NOT CONNECTED TO REALITY.

One of the fucking specifiers for OCD is WITH ABSENT INSIGHT OR DELUSIONAL BELIEFS, which means the person in question fully believes that their illogical obsessions are true, you fuckwads!

[[Shrink’s edit - a “specifier” is a possible subcategory of a mental illness. The DSM-5 also two other possible specifiers for OCD: “With good to fair insight”, meaning the individual recognizes that their disordered beliefs are definitely or probably not true; and “With poor insight”, where the individual thinks their disordered beliefs are probably true. It is a grading of severity, not a requirement.]]

Let’s look at a some fucking case studies here. Go ahead. Read them. I’ll wait.

Tell me, Cracked. Do these sound like people who are MORE IN TOUCH with reality?! Will a person really be transported into a mirror dimension if they turn on a light switch??? If they touch something, will their ‘power’ be stolen unless they touch it again multiple times??

Also, is someone with severe anorexia who still thinks they aren’t thin enough even as they’re FUCKING STARVING THEMSELVES TO ACTUAL, LITERAL DEATH “too in touch with reality,” Cracked???

[[Another edit: most people with OCD and anorexia are not at this extreme. But it is far more accurate to say that these disorders involve losing some touch with reality than saying that they are ‘too in touch’ with reality. Seriously though, what the fuck does “too in touch” with reality even mean???]]

Oh, and it’s not like there have been studies that don’t just say that eating disorders and psychosis can co-occur, but that they might be FUCKING LINKED TO EACH OTHER!!!

And now, my esteemed Shrinky-dinks, we come to the most horrendous part of this absolutely atrocious dumpster fire of an article.

Real people don’t have them all at once.

ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?!?!?!?!?

Guess what, fuckfaces?

COMORBIDITY IS EXTREMELY COMMON.

Let’s look at this one study of almost 2,500 women with severe eating disorders. Guess what they fucking found?

97% had more than one fucking mental illness.

Ninety fucking seven percent.

[Image: “I made a chart since Cracked writers apparently can’t fucking read.” // a pie chart with a very small portion labeled Only ED, and the overwhelming majority labeled More than one mental disorder.]

Schizophrenia and eating disorders may not be a super common combination, BUT IT FUCKING EXISTS.

PEOPLE CAN FUCKING HAVE MORE THAN ONE MENTAL ILLNESS!!

BUT I GUESS IT DOESN’T MATTER TO YOU SINCE THEY’RE SO CRAZY THEY’RE NOT REAL PEOPLE, YOU ABLEIST FUCKING SACKS OF FUCKING SHIT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH

[Gif - The Hulk fucking annihilating Loki by repeatedly smashing him into the ground, which is what I wish I could be doing to the writers.]

Concluding Thoughts

If I seem calmer at this point, it’s because I wrote it before the rest of this article. I have no doubt future Shrink will still be screaming into the void long after the queue finally gets to this post.

Let’s take a look at how Cracked introduced this article.

It's a losing fight, going up against the myths pop culture perpetuates. But, dammit, someone has to do it.

That someone is obviously not you. Your writers are willfully ignorant and unable to do even a simple google search of the names of the things they’re writing about to make sure they got the spelling right.

You have failed to do the fucking most basic research possible.

A monkey in a library could do a better job than you, as there’s an actual chance that in randomly throwing pieces of its own shit, a book might be knocked off a shelf and the monkey might fucking glance in its direction.

Because left unchecked, people go around spewing every dumb thing they learn from clickbait articles movies and shows that are really just using mental illnesses to advance a plot and make a buck from pageviews, instead of teach us anything useful.

You made a few typos. I fixed them for you.

So, dig in, because it's time drop a knowledge bomb on your ass.

How fucking dare you.

You are not “dropping a knowledge bomb” on us. This article is nothing more than a fucking whoopie cushion. We sit down, all excited to see myths about mental illness being exploded, but are instead given a bunch of hot air that sounds like people’s ass cheeks flapping together.

Fuck you, @cracked.

I hope your pageviews tank. I hope you have to take on so many advertisers that your readers can’t even see your content anymore. I hope no one ever submits to your ‘contests’ again, forcing you to have a staff member make up all the entries for you. I hope your heads get so stuck up your own asses that you don’t even notice that your website has been spreading malware to your readers like the cancerous bullshit your content truly is.

Oh. Wait.

Like my torment and suffering? Support me on Patreon.

#cracked #cracked takedown #shrink gets mad #misconceptions #myths about mental illness #debunking myths #lock and load #black swan #fight club #ableism #dinosaursindisarray #this is not psychological or medical advice #this is writing advice #best of scriptshrink

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moontheoretist · 4 years

Photo

Choujin Koukousei isn’t the first isekai anime I ever watched, thanks to what I can compare it in my head to any other series I watched till now.

From them all Choujin Koukousei has the best foundations for storytelling lied down, because even though it is about seven genius teenagers whose abilities and knowledge are far beyond anybody else in their world it doesn’t lose focus and always lies down the storyline in a way which makes you realize how deeply author focused on all topics mentioned in the series. It doesn’t though mean that this anime doesn’t have flaws. One of them at the start was portraying fatter people as evil and only recently we got more slim evil people to balance it out. There is also blatant sexualization of women and fanservice made for young boy audience, which I could live without off. The third though happened to rise its head from a place I didn’t expect it to even appear.

Dr Keine, the genius surgeon of the group was revealed as yandere type of character, whose desire is to make humanity perfect. The yandere trope is nothing new in anime as a medium, but in this case yanderism isn’t the problem. The problem is why she yanders in the first place and where she comes from. Even though I disagree with everything she stands for as a person who once wanted to be perfect myself and realized it’s not worth anything I still understand her frustration with human race. I just do not subscribe to anything she wants to do in order to change humanity. I also never believed in God myself, so it’s not weird for me that she came to the conclusion that “if just God made everybody’s minds and bodies proper and healthy there would be no diseases or wars”, hence why he is responsible for humanity’s suffering and should be despised. I very much feel that as an atheist.

The problem with Keine’s attitude and beliefs is that our flaws are exactly what makes us human. The potential to dehumanize others, start wars, murder and hurt other people just lives in us all, but it never just comes out of some evilness or improperness. It all comes from the place of unity and compassion inside the group. One group tends to despise and dehumanize other groups, especially if their values or look differs from theirs. That concept is called “otherness”. We can murder other people for the sake of our own goals, desires and loved ones, which means that empathy is our greatest strength but also the greatest flaw when we do not direct it at anybody else outside our own group. It is also exactly what makes people into terrorists. They all feel empathy and desire to protect what they and the people like them believe in. And to top it all, all of those people are also completely sane. They aren’t mentally ill, which excludes the idea that only mentally ill people are prone to violence. That’s bullshit, we all are dangerous and prone to violence, because it’s just how we are as a species.

So even though I understand Keine’s desire I cannot really stress enough how wrong she is about everything she does to achieve that. There are better ways to make people stop dehumanizing others, eradicate wars and violence than messing with someone’s brain, which was all on its own violation od someone’s human rights, because Keine manipulated a person, took their autonomy and flipped a switch inside their head to make them as she desired them to be. It’s very much an abusive technique pushed to the extreme and tossed into a jar with a nameplate “surgeon”. It’s interesting though that her inner face was revealed in the very same episode in which Shinobu showed Jeanne the evilness behind Azure Brigade. I think it’s supposed to convey that even Seven Lights Faith has a dark side and this dark side is military power (supposedly atomic bomb which Ringo made) and Keine.

The Healer Angel isn’t a machine though. She is a person, not much different from everybody she targets, because just like them she will cross the line and do morally ambiguous things in order to achieve her goal - help others. It though doesn’t make her much different than the guy she threatened, who did bad things for his Guild, for something he built, for his own goal - business. Yes, she did something horrible for a noble cause, because she did it to ensure that nobody else will suffer because of guy like him, but in the process she lowered herself to the same level on which he was and became the exact same. She may not want to murder people as she is a doctor and her work is to protect people, but she still did something unforgivable to another human person – changed them by force. Squashed their human rights and made them “proper”.

That is though not only problem with Keine as her desire to change humanity and make everybody into perfect proper humans is even worse. It’s worse all on its own, because it’s inherently ableist.

There are stereotypes, generally inaccurate, associated with either disability in general, or with specific disabilities (for instance a presumption that all disabled people want to be cured, that wheelchair users necessarily have an intellectual disability, or that blind people have some special form of insight). These stereotypes in turn serve as a justification for ableist practices and reinforce discriminatory attitudes and behaviors toward people who are disabled. Labeling affects people when it limits their options for action or changes their identity.

Keine is a person who wouldn’t be able to live in a world in which disabled and mentally ill people exist and are happy as they are, because it’s against everything she stands for. It would be impossibly hard pill to swallow for her as her desire basically boils down to eradication of disabilities, mental illnesses and “evilness” of humans by curing them by force and all due to the fact that she assumes it will make all human kind not only happy, but also flawless. The problem is that she doesn’t take into consideration the idea that she may be wrong and it’s not what those people truly desire.

It is just naive and narcissistic of Keine to think that she can change everybody, mold them to be as she envisioned them to be and reach perfectness of human kind in the process, because that’s not how world works. Changing people to achieve such a goal is also cruel all on its own.

Perfection of human kind means no flaws, which we can equate to the world in which only good, healthy and “proper” humans exists. It also means that humanity as a whole would never have to learn how to not look down upon disabilities, because they would just not exist. It just screams “I care too much about other people” at best and “Eugenics is great and just” at worst.

#choujin koukousei-tachi wa isekai demo yoyuu de ikinuku you desu!#keine critical

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thisisablogformyfeelings · 6 years

Text

Final thoughts of a neurotic ruminator by Alex

(also possibly borderline or avoidant)

I've done what my family has likely been dreading for a number of years, I'm sorry.

This letter is addressed to everybody I have ever known, and even those I haven't if you're curious.

Pre-preface - To my family

First of all: Mum and Kristy, that pain, anger, grief, whatever it is you're feeling. Please postpone that pain for now and read. Listen to what I have to say that was able to begin saying in person but could never bring myself to finish. I'm sorry to do this to you and so so sorry for Gabby I regret coming back home for the sole reason of how much I feel this might affect all of you more than if I hadn't, I know you won't ever believe me but beyond a certain point this was inevitable. Trust in my knowledge of myself, please.

Please cry as little as possible for me, I hate that I have to write so little for you and so much for the clutter in my mind. I have been guilty of this my entire life and, what I was never able to describe to you and I think and hope you may understand now, especially you Mum, just that one thing I could never quite get across to you. Why was I always struggling to be as considerate and curious and passionate in my actions as I claim to be in my thoughts? Everything you're about to read is why.

Sorry for everything, I love you all.

Everybody else, more distant people in my family that I have such a great disconnection with now more than ever, I'm sorry to you too, for what it's worth. I resent that our family is or was so dysfunctional. Kristy, you need to sort your shit out and stop getting on the defensive whenever you're told something is wrong. Whether you agree or not isn't the point, you need to take time to look in yourself and see what Mum has done for us. Forget that we're family and think of what would happen if such conflicts happened between you and a friend, you would send them packing their bags of course. You don't do this with Mum because we all love each other, you know that she'll always be there for you and if you want to continue that you have to be there for her too. Please, I'm begging honestly. Learn conflict resolution and consideration. Realise that there's no need to respond to things in a spiteful way because things are never initiated in a spiteful way. Unless you're a truly awful person then spitefulness only ever comes from misunderstanding.

Auntie Tracey, Kiayl, Katie, Auntie Rachel, Jon, Steve, everyone that I haven't seen for so many years as a direct result of suffering, confusion and failure. I love you and I remember the good times we had. I remember sleeping near the ceiling at Auntie Tracey's, I remember eating Auntie Rachel's homemade jam tarts, playing on the trampoline and swings at Steve and Lin's, I even remember Steve driving my curiosity by showing me Bill Bryson's A Short History Of Nearly Everything which, unfortunately, I never finished but absolutely loved choosing random chapters to read through. I remember Kiayl throwing down his amazingly molded “sandwich dregs” from the balcony in Spain. I, by far, remember all the good times I had with you more than any “bad”. I love you all. I wish you could all find a way to love each other...

Please god whatever you do, do not insult me and my existence by letting yourselves be overcome with survivors guilt. I'm very sorry that you won't be able to understand my decision no matter how much I write about it. The simplest of reasons is that I'm just not compatible, I've tried and tried and now some parts of me are broken beyond repair. I love you all and that's all that matters.

It's quite possible that if you tried hard you could attribute any actions as a causal factor to me taking this steps, but on the same hand you could ignore all of those and simply blame me for refusing to stop making mistakes and allowing my mental state to deteriorate even more, for years consecutively. In the same way that you could argue the butterfly effect, you might cherry pick any “negative event” from my past and choose that as the absolute cause and point of no return, but everything before and after that, positive or negative, would have to be treated in the same and equal measure. So please, remember this and do not blame anybody other than the person who took this action.. me.

Preface

Please forgive me for this is going to be a whole lot of inane self centered self pitying ego boosting crap and also a whole lot of narrow minded projection about the world around me. I don't mean this to be a statement on anybody around me other than the violent, manipulative and abusive people I've had to deal with during my time away from home.

Also forgive me for seeming neutral or unemotional in this writing, I'm writing this with a purpose and because of the time I've spent considering this I think I'm able to do it with a bit of decorum. I will use my words to describe my thoughts and emotions as accurately as possible. I can't possibly convey the physical feelings, the wretching and crying as I came to terms with this decision, the empty fake happiness combined with random outbursts of tears while I'm alone after coming to terms with it. I'm very sorry. I'm not really sorry to the world around me I'm sorry to say (phew), I don't think I owe it anything. I'm maybe sorry to those few friends who still really clearly care about me after everything, after all the ridiculous impulsive, self destructive behavior that really just "isn't me" that they put up with for years on end, consistently. I have always been exactly the sort of person I would avoid and be afraid to engage with yet others gave me the time of day and I thank you all so fucking much for that.

L........, or H...... I'll say this one time, I don't know how to pronounce your name and I never referred to you as it but god I love you so much, for you I truly am sorry that it came to this. You extended a greater offer than most would even dream about, after the torrent of abuse I put you through, you still came through and forgave me and got over your worries to stay with me and support me. Yet I still let you down. Although it's painful to recall specifics of how I ruined friendships and I only realised recently that I have done it consistently from long before I was "ill" or touched drugs or anything like that, I will do my best to explain everything I can. It feels that, although I wasn't aware for a long time, every time I broke a friendship and lost a connection with an area that pain become compounded with all the other friendships and places I had already lost. I remember many of these things intimately even now. The three weeks I spent in Hereford in 2012 right before I became impulsive and landed myself in hospital for the first time. Those weeks were extremely adventurous and exciting, I'm not sure what I was thinking and most of all I regret wasting my good friends during those weeks as I abruptly ended our relationship for no real reason from hospital. You would think I'd learn from this mistake, or that it was simply a result of the stressful circumstances, well I continued to do the same with every friend I ever made and only the really persistent ones stayed by me. I can't fix the impression I left on those people or myself, I desire to do the right thing and leave the world.

For those who don't already know, I'm a 23 year old unemployed person living in a rural area in England. I no longer do much with my days but I'm still well involved with my family. I'll probably write in greater detail on the things I've done up until now in this note. I wanted to start off by saying yes, this is my suicide note, and the reason it's so long is because I was inspired to write something lengthy by something a friend said to me. I realised that I've wanted a creative output of some kind for so long, I'm not an artist, I'm not a musician, I'm not really anything, but I've dreamed of creating something for a long time. Every time I have created something in the past it has subsequently been destroyed. During my first hospitalisation in 2012, the YMCA in Grimsby heartlessly threw out all of my belongings as I had no way to have them collected. This included things extremely sentimental to me such as the childhood teddy of my auntie who died when I was age 4 and items from penpals over the years that I held dear to me. Even non-posessions... friendships, homes, education and work, every one of these things has been destroyed for me. I've been wondering what this urge was that I needed to satisfy, and I realised it when the "something" that my friend told me was praise on the way I articulate my thoughts, I never thought that that in itself could be some kind of ability. I don't have much confidence in it and it is a little bit frightening to allow anybody into my head in this manner, I don't think it serves as much more than a release for me and some kind of deeper insight for people who knew me. This is the last true creation I'm going to leave behind, it's the only thing I'm barely able to do anymore.

I'm putting an end to the trainwreck that is myself. I may self deprecate a lot, but I can look at myself from a more external point of view and consider it a bit more objectively, so please don't misunderstand. I can see minor positive traits in myself heavily outweighed by other traits that have consistently held me back.

I've always been an interested and curious person, as the years went on these interests and passions have actually only grown surprisingly. Professionals have pointed out that certain drug usage can kill motivation and interest but it was always imulsivity that ruined me more than anything, I could never keep anything up for a long time or consistently. but really, I genuinely believe my interests have branched and expanded even since I dropped out of college and lived my life until I hit a point where my interests encompassed everything. I can't think of a topic that I wouldn't be interest to study and learn about. This makes the world a very overwhelming place, knowing that due to my circumstances and I understand how I work pretty well, I could barely become a "master" of one of these interests, let alone every single one. I could never do all the things in my life that I dream of doing, I wasn't ever able to dedicate myself to one thing because of this, I never knew what I wanted but I think a part of me always knew that I wasn't going to figure it out.

I love life more than any other suicidal person I've ever spoken with, especially if you only consider those who choose suicide due to mental illness and not some other physical condition. I consider that my choice to abandon my life and myself is down to a combination of emotional and mental "issues", my likely immature philosophical view of the world and my general beliefs on anything spiritual and metaphysical. I'm led to this decision after considering what life I might live and especially what might happen after I die, whether that be now, in 20 years time, or in 50 years time.

I've never really changed my view about the beauty in the world and my passion for certain subjects and even towards the end of my life I've learned to be passionate about many things. I'm simply in awe at the sheer absurdity of everything. I can't beging to comprehend it and it's one thing that makes me feel so incredibly insignificant and for me it justifies suicide in most situations. Contrasting with the views of many people who arrive at this point, I think reality and nature are far more incredibly than simply life alone, I don't really require any spiritual or religious beliefs to be in awe at the universe. One thing that bugs me is that I can never fully understand how the fabric of the universe works, what really happened before the universe? Considering what is really the real physical reality for such astronomical questions are the most interesting thoughts I've ever had. However, even if I did know, there would be a time where I would stop knowing and so would all other conscious beings. Despite all this, I admire and appreciate the people who want to and are able to live a full and happy life. Maybe there is a spectrum of acceptance, those who know the true meaninglessness and embrace the liberation it brings, those who hold onto some vague idea of an afterlife or something like it for some comfort in an absurd world, and so on. I still believe there can be true beauty and altruism in the human world but it's less common that I thought. There really is objectively much more suffering than I ever realised. I think the sheer visual beauty, awe inspiring vastness of the beautiful things out there in the world are incredible and while a part of me is sad that I can never experience them, thanks to modern technology I've already had a pretty good view of everything I'm missing out on. I never really lost my sense of humour and I can totally understand why people choose to live and not to live. I understand that many people live an acceptably mediocre life and actually find a lot of value in that, but it's not infeasible that not everybody isn't compatible. I only wish I didn't have to feel like I was comitting a great sin, no matter how much I tell myself that I have the right to die, the greatest effect any kind of stigma and judgement has ever had on me was to force me to internalise everything rather than vocalise it, I'm sorry to say. I spent a lot of time in my last few months singing and dancing with a sense of impending melancholy, being an idiot while babysitting my niece, letting out my inner child as much as possible and enjoying the tiniest of things. I think I've lived good enough.

I think this note satisfies my urge for a few important things: to be listened to, to have some creative output, for that something to be significant or maybe helpful for my family to come to terms with some kind of feelings.

My final wishes

I considered sticking this at the end but for fear of it being lost in this mess I'll start with it. First I'd like my resting place, whether cremated or buried, to be a place where my cats can be laid too. Considering my materialistic and non-spiritual views it is likely one of my most irrational desires but it means a lot to me. I want so bad to be with my babies forever.

I am not concerned with my material posessions, please do whatever you like with them.

I'm less concerned with any type of ceremony that may happen after I'm gone, but if there happens to be anything of the sort I'd love for some classical pieces of music to be played. I considered this for a long time, considered all types of music and songs that I thought reflect my feelings well or just meant a lot to me. I decided now that classical music allows people to reflect any appropriate feelings within a person without leaving anybody (listeners) left out. Thanks mum for helping me realise this. By no means do I know a lot about classical, far less than I wish I did, so I'll go ahead and request that, if any music is ever to be played, it be one of these famous pieces that I love, and I also give these to you as my final musical expression: Chopin - Nocturne op.9 No.2 and Debussy - Clair de lune or maybe even Erik Satie - Once Upon A Time In Paris for my goodbye, I would adore Howl's Moving Castle soundtrack/theme or the celestial beings procession music from for any sort of "celebration" or wake etc. Classical music allows me to appreciate the contrasting beauty of the world around me and human expression against the ugly selfishness that rears inside all of us and the true objective futility of life. Another that I love and would appreciate being played for me would be Gabriel Fauré - Pavane, Op. 50. One more, since I can't help myself, Erik Satie - Once Upon A Time In Paris is a lovely piece.

Most importantly, please just read this letter. Disregard the fact that my writing is atrocious and repetitive. Please accept that this is the best way I can be true to myself and explain as best I can, all I ask is that anybody who was affected by me read this.

Why? The right to die etc

Taking into account my existential opinions and my feelings towards death, the possible outcomes I can see for my future and the flaws in my life that I just have to live with. I have known and thought about suicide for over a decade but only the past couple of years have I considered it a serious option, besides a few "blips" in the past. I was always fed the usual platitudes and ever since I was a young child I've seen some sort of psych or therapist intermittently with large periods of no care at all, this was ultimately my own fault as I could never keep up with appointments. However, after long deliberation I believe I can firmly make the decision with my own autonomy to end my life. It is my right and I am taking back ultimate control and agency of my life. We are all born with nothing but our bodies and it makes perfect sense that it is the one thing that, no matter what, we must always be able to control. While it's probably true that I developed these beliefs due to the mental and social instability, it's also true that these beliefs are now a deep part of me. Whether I am to die now or some other time, I know that I will certainly die by my own hand and I've known it for a very long time. Please do not attempt to invalidate my beliefs or feelings by attempting to claim one was influenced by the other. Even if this is the case, my feelings and my beliefs are exactly that. If you were to invalidate any of them then what do you propose goes in their place? You can't replace a part of me with something you find comforting for the sake of it.

The process that brought me to this final decision, however, was a very long and gradual one, brought on by a direct result of the way I reacted to my life at certain stages, possibly childhood and genetic factors, and effects of the constant factors present between all of the major stages of my life. In hindsight I think at a young age something wasn't quite right with me, it's harder for me to think back at ages <10 years old and think how specific situations affected my development as I do not remember my thought processes during those times, but I can make educated guesses based on the person I am today and what I know about my past. I didn't really know it at the time but there were a lot of things that I didn't really like about my childhood, my mum and sister are amazing people and I love them to pieces, but I still feel that I didn't enjoy the majority of my childhood. There are some memories I remember fondly, holidays and things, but in between was just grey most of the time. I'm finding it hard not to just tell my whole life story here as I feel every little thing accumulated for me to reach this point and not any one of them could pinpoint the path leading me to this decision. Even if am event could be identified that had affected a significant portion of my life, such as dropping out of college, there were always other external and internal factors at play that would have led me here. I fear one part of my decision or thinking might be plucked from this letter and attributed as the true reason for my suicide. I'm leaving this in good faith that won't happen. I am, simply put, the result of a very unfortunate combination of circumstances and events. I wish so badly I could consolidate this feelings and reasoning into one concise all-encompassing statement but it's impossible for me to do. Some of the more material aspects of my life are likely solvable or able to be minimised with time but others are impossible to remedy. The ones that are possible to remedy would take me decades to start living even a fraction of the life I ever reamed of or to reach a place that I should already have been in right now had I not dropped out and taken to drugs, impulsive behavior and deviancy. What I will say is that the things I'm stating in this letter are not my reasons. They are simply an insight into how I might have developed into the person I am today. From an emotional perspective, I'm tired. Very tired and I don't want to reconfigure myself with medication, numb myself or unlearn things that I know now. I refuse to respond to or access treatment at this stage, at risk of sounding melodramatic, I can't live with what I've seen. I understand clearly that life is a rollercoaster but when things are looking up I can never see the steep decline coming on the other side. I would much prefer a neutral non-existance than a wildly and tiringly exciting life in which I never know what to expect. I want to go to sleep very comfortably one last time, and continue that sleep forever into eternity. I'm sorry for choosing to leave early but again, please don't be sad, death is not a bad thing. Nothing of value hasn't been lost that wouldn't have anyway been lost at some point in the future. Not a single thing lasts forever, no impression or mark, therefore it's okay for me to have made this decision.

One thing I resent is whenever I read suicide, mental illness, suffering, etc literature with clearly pro-life and optimistic attitudes it only ever seems to be from the perspective of a... developed country is maybe the best way I can put it. With the idea that suffering is transient and if you just hang in there everything will be okay and such other platitudes. If people would discuss mental health and suicide in a realistic way, from pop cultures about teen suicide being wildly innaccurate to optimistic generic literature that helps nobody by except teaching neurotypicals how to patronise depressed people with platitudes, I think that would probably make for some important discourse and perspective changing discussions. Having a sense of trust with someone who you can share your problems with intricately and be helped, this is what really matters, in my opinion at least for me.

I understand that people may not agree with this, using the right to die argument, you might say it's not applicable because I'm mentally ill, I'll come to this later.

Something that I've only recently forgiven myself for and tried to tell myself that I was just a victim of circumstance, I made certain choices of course but my choices must always have been linked to the past and therefore been accumulative. Because I found it hard to focus on one hobby or interest I never really developed a long lasting passion. When I went up to college I went in the direction of generic maths/electronics and well that didn't really work out. The past few years I've even lost my most of my passion for technology and "the nerdy stuff" as you probably realise. By dropping out of college and getting hospitalised, my life took a turn that I never expected, the drugs that I abused in subsequent years must have affected me to some degree too but all of my drug use was more of a response to rather than a cause of my suicidal tendencies. I think leaving college is the closest to an event, if anything, that could be pinpointed as the biggest change that lead me here. Immediately my vastly varying dreams of being anything I wanted came and crushed me into reality. I entered a world of real dread that I never knew and the same as back then, even now, I just can't accept being complacent. I can't just back down and say "well, it's not what I wanted genbut it'll do" even though I know that's exactly what I'm expected to do.

I've always explicitly told myself that I will give myself the room to "back out" if I felt it necessary, and refused to truly put any shame on myself for deciding I wasn't ready. I always wanted to make this decision correctly. I believe my mental disorder(s) are partially a cause for these feelings of course, but also partially a contributing factor for me still wanting to commit the act for sure. It's just another thing holding me back from living the life I dreamed of which never existed. One important thing I'd like to say that even if I were given the option to live my life again from the beginning but retaining all knowledge I have now, I would still choose to die, and I think this is an important part of my decision. I've developed a strong opinion that mental health issues can be a contributor to a rational suicide while not being enough of an affective factor to make such a suicide irrational. Of course, I'm biased on the topic but this is something I just feel is correct. A whole other question I ponder but won't explore too much is, "How mentally ill does a person need to be before they lose the ability to choose suicide rationally?".

Bioethicist Jacob Appel has criticized "arbitrary" ethical systems that allow patients to refuse care when they are physically ill, while denying the mentally ill the right to suicide. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophy_of_suicide

Yes, why must a person who suffers from mental illness be forced to live at all costs, even if the evidence points strongly to a continuing and extended period of physical or mental suffering?

Me, me, me

I've always been well aware that I have a degree of mental differences to most people, and that awareness grew stronger as I got older, and I suppose fueled a more real isolation for me too. I hate myself for all the times I reached out for help and got given it in buckets and yet I still consistently broke things. I never intended to be that way, I thought I would make a change and make some progress but I only ever leeched what I could, made myself comfortable for a little while, and then moved on to the next sucker.

Over the years I suppose I managed to internalise a great deal of what seemed like just intermittent negative thoughts, self views in terms of my mental and physical identity. It's something I tried to stop analysing so much as it never did me any good. I view it as just another thing that I wasn't very good at, having correct thoughts. It means very little now, the negative way I feel about my appearance and personality overall, as I won't have to live with it for long, but this is one thing I can't truly describe and if only I could let someone be inside my head and understand, I don't think I would need to detail my entire explanation in this letter if that were possible.

The more superficial parts of my reasoning: I don't desire to work for a decade attempting to earn back 4 years of time during vital brain development stages and hoping to reach a level that comes anywhere close to what I was led to believe my "potential" was. I don't think it should be required to earn the right to, at the very least, a comfortable life in a beautiful area with few troubles or worries but this certainly seems to be the case. It's almost like I have a case of existential laziness.

Through my experiences of death as I was growing up and the way it was presented to me as almost a positive thing every time (it's not sad because x is going to heaven, it's not sad because y is going to sleep forever, it's not sad because one day we'll all be together again) I think I developed much more of a neutral view towards death and therefore suicide too.

I hate the platitude that goes something like "Don't kill yourself because _____" and paints the hypothetical details of people when they find out you've killed yourself. Implying if I'm serious I haven't already been guilting and obsessing over this for a long time already? I have spent long days excruciatingly torturing myself over the situations that might occur after my death. I've vividly imagined how different members of my family might react immediately upon learning the news and in the following days, months, years. I've considered it so much that I've sobbed because there's no way I want to cause that pain to another person much less my flesh and blood and yet I still feel compelled to end it.

My most recent hospitalisation was just a week long, a year and a half ago. The week preceeding my 22nd birthday. I shan't speak about that too much here as I made a whole separate writeup for that experience, I had been under the influence of a large benzo overdose during my first days in that hospital so I was certainly struggling but I was also very well aware of what was going on around me, even during the effect of the benzos I never "blacked out" so to speak, I scrawled half of a letter on paper and then remember taking myself to bed. Hospital on the NHS was abusive and neglectful, I kept a handwritten diary so I can verify most everything in the writeup and even missed out some important and disgusting events and names of staff just because I'm not able to recall them absolutely clearly. PLEASE if nothing else, launch another investigation on this hospital based on what I've written, don't warn them, check the things that I have spoken about specifically, bug the hospital to measure the sound levels in the rooms near the staff room and down the bedroom corridors if necessary. It's a dangerous environment for mentally ill people to be in. See: https://pastebin.com/bm5Et0xW for the full account

Tech

Ironically, considering the subject of this section, this letter is the last thing I'm using my computer for and it will be posted online for all to see. I've never done a lot of reading on the affects of modern communication technology, television and the internet. So bare with me if I state anything obviously incorrect.

I'm terrified to see my little niece grow up in this age, I love her to absolute pieces but I'm not sure how I would handle seeing her sucked into social media shit after my own experiences. Even now, I try to be the absolute most fun uncle I possibly can but if the televeision on she finds it impossible to even glance at me. I could be jumping around the room, squawking pretending to be a giant bird and she won't bat an eyelid, it's downright scary to me because of how consistent it is. I got humiliated the one time I ever tried talking about instant gratification and never tried talking about it again but the way we expect things to just work. I've seen many examples of people of all ages getting irrationally frustrated when technology isn't working as it is intended. Just projecting from my point of view, it's concerning not understand how far this might spread and if it could be having a real negative effect on people.

Don't get me wrong, I don't claim that the advent of digital technology and communication is to blame for all the terrible things in the world. I understand that many of the issues we're facing today were just as bad decades or even centuries ago and being science lover I couldn't ever say that I'm for the destruction of modern technology. What I believe is simply that there are far more negative effects that the internet, social media, and increased levels of "connection" can have on an individual in different ways that it's hard to be aware of all of the risks. This is probably unavoidable however it seems many people don't want to be aware of some of the more common risks that apply to the majority. More recently since tablets and smartphones have been given to children at younger and younger ages and parental controls are getting lax, there are many innappropriate apps and videos on youtube and youtube kids app that appear to be directed at children yet have a more sinister undertone. See: http://reddit.com/r/Elsagate if you search far enough you find videos that can't possibly be explained by “algorithmic” due to the disturbing content. These disturbing images are being made with some kind of purpose, with extremely sinister or just as sinister as a “troll” online who wants to be edgy, it is just worrying. Another example being the “Call Monster Blaze” app released on google play store for children see: https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/call-blaze-and-the-monster-machines-app-warning_uk_5a698c70e4b0dc592a0f5458 Forgive me for being dramatic, but where does this behaviour end?

Those who become obsessed with a specific type of social media, become far too invested in it emotionally. It's easy for people to downplay cyberbullying and manipulative behaviour online, everyone thinks being a troll is funny nowadays and if you get upset on the internet you're a sensitive baby. Mentally ill people just shouldn't go online is a view commonly expressed.

This is the thing I regret the most, some of the people who hurt me so much. I may not have known it at the time, but in hindsight I can very much differentiate between my real friends and the ones who really hurt and isolated me effectively, I feel like a part of me knew along the way too, but I preferred to feel as comfortable as possible and just “go with the flow”.

Video games, MMO, etc, I learned to live entirely in fantasies and so even when I refer to the possibilities in my real life, I find it hard to get back into reality. I dream of the most fantastical possible life I could live in reality, and I resent and refuse to live now I know that's impossible.

So many little things get me thinking, I remember carrying a candle upstairs on a saucer and thinking how calming the flickering shadow of the flame was and just feeling a little bit of sorrow about how my life was just a screen and drugs. and it was probably still a more exciting life than many that are going to be lived strictly by the law and society's standards. Lighting a candle inside nowadays is exciting, nobody ever feels the need anymore. We have ambient hue lighting (trademark!!!) and alexa so we can emulate everything comfortable about nature without actually experiencing it. I don't know.

People

Anyway, I can't attempt to comment on the state of society, I pretty much think that the increase in communication, population and human activity in general isn't so amazing when contrasted with all the shit going on in the world, and it's so hard to see any real solution. How do we stop rapists? How do we stop false rape allegations? When is somebody going to solve world hunger with all that money in their pockets? Are people really just going to accept the levels of despondancy and complacency modern technology brings to some people? How do you combat real gross organised crime happening on the darknet? Technology evolves really fast and I'm certainly curious about what the sudden explosion of anonymous free speech and expression is going to bring. Politics is a mess. Pyschiatry is a mess. My perception is just too narrow. I can certainly understand why people are the way they are and why they'll probably never change, it is much easier to be complacent with some things and focus on being a partially selfish person, it is much more comfortable and our morals don't actually make us feel too bad for doing that. It's easier to not worry about the problems a technology based society faces along with the innate suffering they're under due to being alive. It's much easier to just indulge and live as comfortably as you're able. I wish everyone who continues to live the absolute best of luck in figuring out this mess.

I had been experiencing dysphoric feelings around my gender for a long time and during this I had also been reading a lot of anti-man or misandrist content online from the communities I identified with. At first I thought it was harmless fun but then I quickly realised that any male who refuted these "jokes" with a statement along the lines of "not all men" is quickly berated and humiliated for wanting to defend himself and being so stupid that if he missed the point he must actually be like "all men". There are many people who appear to be what I'll term "radical misandrists", people who believe they're genuinely on the right side of hate due to historical wrongdoings and evidence. I think these people are missing the point, it's had a large effect on my ability to identify as anything at all because nobody is safe. Transgender people are almost universally hated in some communities, especially online. Men are also massively hated in communities were trans people are more accepted. What happens if you get stuck in a limbo between these two? - I pose this to you and suggest that SJWs sort their methods out. You're doing it fucking wrong, excuse my language.

I'm sorry to use the term SJW (social justice warrior) but I am going to continue to do it. I used to resent the term but I really have learned recently that no matter which side you're on, you must appeal to human nature if you want your completely valid and correct views to be heard. The fact of them being true, good or virtuous doesn't mean that people should listen to you at all costs and you have a right to forgo social customs. If you want to be heard, in fact, it's more important that you follow them. What I mean by this is that it seems many SJWs go out into the world with the conscious intent to "educate" people, some of these people may be emotional, even irrational when faced with opinions that don't match theirs. After experiencing this a few times they quickly build a hard exterior and subconsciously become ready to get offended by people who don't already have the knowledge the require to respect your opinon. A person who has never been exposed to the concept of transgender people will struggle at first, if you go into an interaction understanding this, and understand that they may be literally unable to be respectful as they're not quite aware of what is or isn't respectful yet, realise that "ignorant" may actually be extremely well intentioned and you'll get a lot further with these issues. Most of all you may stop hurting genuinely innocent people that you don't realise you are hurting. A great portion of people who support womens' rights seem to gradually adopt a misandrist mindset and I've seen this in many of my old friends who I've drifted away from. It really does make males afraid of identifying as proud males. Nobody should feel bad about being proud of themselves, it serves no purpose, even if you may think it's the "wake-up call that men require" and I feel many people (not just SJWs) get so "proud" of their own beliefs that they think it's totally reasonable to incite hatred against the other. If one group is being hateful and violent then I should respond with the same, right? It's only fair, right? Pride is great, but not pride to the point that you forget other people matter. I hope that shit gets old very fast.

From what I understand, many worthwhile discussions are never had because there is this overarching sense of hatred combined with absolute belief in your own ideas. There may well be some incels (google involuntary celibate, you will quickly see the original idea of this combined with the sick attitude it evolves into, lookism, "blackpill" etc) with something smart to say but unfortunately they're massively, I won't say outnumbered but.. outvocalised by the ones who literally incite violence, rape and assault against women. Incels like to play up their own issues and completely ignore the fact that women really are more likely to be attacked by men rather than vice versa, it's just how it is, it's not a competition and compassion on issues like this are the only way to make real progress in my opinion.

Both sides of this debate that have a loud voice seem to be full of shit to some degree and I find it hard to see how this shit will ever get resolved with people so far up their own asses. Then there are the sensible people somewhere in between who get shut down by hatred from both of these groups, if you don't support them fully then you don't deserve to hear their opinions put across in a mature way and you can't be a part of "the fight".

Being a biological machine

The human body is just amazing, as are all other living creatures. The conditions that arose to bring about life are amazing. I am in awe at what the slow natural processes of the universe can bring around. I think it's bizarre and mind blowing to think about how something came from nothing. Unfortunately this awe does not mean that I want to be a part of that system.

Something that I don't want to dwell on too much is the fact that I suffer from adrenal insufficiency, it feels this illness has been used as a tool to invalidate my feelings many times throughout my life and not just on the topic of ending it. Similarly I don't wish to talk about my experiences within psychiatric wards anymore, where I thought I did when I first started considering writing a note or letter. There are many people still alive and passionate who can fight for such an issue, the abuse and neglect that goes on in psych wards is so widespread that, as I mentioned, a big change needs to happen, possibly in the way the CQC investigations and the PALS work (re: UK mental health care) and it's no longer an issue I wish to tackle here.

I remember going through phases where I would think that eating is a chore, my metabolism is incredibly fast, food doesn't go down well, I get severely crippling hunger pains if I don't eat well every day. I recall thinking about how releasing waste in itself is, ahem, a pain in the ass. I feel very conscious and aware of any amount of pain, mild aches, jaw and back pains, the state of my teeth, and I feel my body is already crumbling at a relatively young age.

Disregarding the sensation and awareness of the body aging, another issue that affects me personally are the many “defects” I suffer from. Under the care of the NHS such defects are labelled “purely cosmetic” and therefore not treatable. I hate knowing that the machinery and services are available to solve 99% of my cosmetic ailments but will be out of my reach for considerable time due to my past failures hurts me too much. I look in the mirror about once a month because of this. My teeth are crooked and I dreamt for years, since I was a teenager, of having braces to fix this but no matter how I put it across to the dentist I get told “you missed the boat on that one”.

I despise every part of my body in some way or another, even the sound of my voice being one of the biggest things. Every time I see my torso in the mirror I'm reminded of how horribly scarred I am by acne all over my shoulders, back, even down to my buttocks and legs. The treatment for cosmetic conditions like this is beyond expensive and if I were to focus my work on achieving them... well I would be solving about 30% of a problem and also wasting time that I could have spent living in a more productive way. Unfortunately I find it impossible to find a middle ground that I am comfortable with, I have tried for a long time.

90% of the life of a biological thing is about fending off pain and suffering by introducing the opposite things, but comfort is transient. Pain is default and constant if you choose to stagnate and I refuse to accept the fact that an “unfair life” is always a good one.

Friendship

Over the years I've had some really beautiful friendships with people but I think that, likely to due to an event in my formative years (same as with every other thing I'm talking about here) my expectations within a friendship became greatly skewed. It took me far too long to realise but my expectations from my friends were too high and I believe this is where my neurotic and impulsive behaviour started developing. I have realised that many people aren't as forgiving as I had wished, many people aren't as patient as I expected them to be, and I spent years questioning this. I used to blame the people who had left me for my suffering rather than looking into myself, I hated those people who knew I was suffering but preferred to live their "perfect lives" when really.. it's normal and natural. People distance themselves from "mental illness" and "failure" to protect themselves and their own success. I should've known and expected this fully, yet I continued, right up until the end of my life, to treat my friends as if they were therapists. I've always loved putting my thoughts down into words and attempting to make sense of myself, and I think many of my friends could never comprehend this either. There was a complete disconnection between my intentions and what my friends believe my intentions were.

I think a lot of people assumed I was attention seeking by talking repetitively and never changing for years, when all I've ever been trying to do was understand. What I'm doing, why am I doing, why am I the way I am, why am I so different? The way I thought to understand these things was by asking and relating to as many people as possible. I got incredibly obsessed with this to the point where I relied constantly on validation and explanation and would never focus on real material aspects of my life. I think, inadvertantly, I spent all of my time since I left home and possibly some before it too, simply thinking. I opted to think instead of live.

I think being this unusual type of person who hasn't ever really fit in taught me a lot about people and friendship. It taught me what it means to be individual and it taught me the difference between people who have friendships for the sake of it- people who just live life as they "should" and obtain friends along the way- and people who have friendships because they want them. People who genuinely care and want to understand what it means to be a different person and who is willing to consider that difference isn't a flaw.

To those people who never let me push them away, no matter how hard I tried, thank you to the stars and back, thank you so much that I could never possibly put it into words. To those people who did let me push them away, thank you too, you were just living your life. I can never blame you or anybody else for this. Life is something in which we're always learning, if you've never had the experience of something it's very hard to learn from it retroactively. I resent ruining as many friendships as I did, I feel as if people were attempting to form a valuable emotional connection with me and I breached the emotiona trust people were placing in me. I wish I could've experienced whatever it is I was missing that made me this way.

I remember every situation in which I fucked up, I remember upsetting and driving people away specifically. I'm still bitter over every single loving friendship that went south because I'm socially disabled. My issues never showed themselves immediately but there's something in me that doesn't handle groups of people at all. I do things wrong many times and I can't deal with the complexities of interpersonal interactions, and I don't really think I'm obligated to if I don't feel able.

Worldly issues and my passionate inability to change anything

It hurts me so knowing how much truly unavoidable suffering happens in the world, I find it irreconcilable knowing that if I were to learn to live any semblance of comfortable life I would be doing it at the expense of making any positive change to the world, reducing some sort of suffering, I can't do it, but I also can't dedicate my life to anybody else. Even then, as I have probably said many times now, it means nothing... if I choose to live a full life and dedicated every moment to other people or if I died instantly right now, it really does not matter. After considering death for a long time and almost making the link between my beliefs of post-death with the actual real event happening for me I learned the importance of living beings having an equal opportunity.

For example, being that there is almost no possibility of a god or an afterlife and consciousness is born from a biological physical mechanism, once a being dies it's over forever. That being's experience has ended. While this means that there is no meaning to life on the one hand, it also suggests the importance of having the opportunity to live that life to the fullest for those who would like to. The suffering that goes on in the world that could easily by solved with finance is more sick than I first realised once considering this, healthcare and starvation for starters, there is no real reason that people are still dying for "lack of funds". Each experience and life is unique and will only ever be lived once, every time a conscious being that desires to live is denied that due to human selfishness the world is plunged further into a hypothetical moral hell. I can't live on this planet knowing that I would focus largely on myself rather than dedicating my entire life to trying to improve or save those opportunities. I do not want to live in such a twisted world. I choose to sacrifice myself for being unable to do any of my percieved duties. I don't have the capacity or confidence to think critically when it comes to politics or most heated topics, vocal angry people generally tend to win over here.

Love

Essentially, for those people who want to live their lives to the fullest, with the most amount of satisfaction and fulfillment even after knowing all of this. You have to realise what is most important. You have to let go of all the inconsequential things that your impulses want you to obsess over. Forget about social media, forget about how many likes you get on pictures, forget about who thinks what about your life. Focus on yourself, look inside yourself, what is most important to being happy if you remove all of those other people from the equation? Family? Friends? Whoever or whatever you hold most dear to your heart. I truly believe the only important thing in the world of living, conscious, sentient humans, is to be considerate. Not just the word, being considerate isn't doing something nice. Being considerate is trying to understand the essence of another person and working out what makes them feel good and loved and appreciated. Being considerate is truly trying to empathise with those people who you "hate" for no real reason, realising that while your thoughts are your own, nobody is too good or too bad to be worth considering.

When you really learn to do this, it feels a lot better than getting angry, making digs, being sarcastic. It's very nice to be nice when people don't feel any kind of obligation and you do it for the sake of it.

True love and compassion, real attempts to understand one another, actually trying to see past the inevitable first judgements we make on people. I think these are what really matter. I truly believe people who focus on these things first and foremost, who can accept that there will always be suffering in the world but actually the majority of suffering in our world is not as "necessary" or unavoidable as people like to tell you, and that personal success is an equal goal rather than greater, will go on to live extremely satisfying lives.

People should be as weird or bizarre or crazy as they want to be, because the chances are you really do only live once. Consider how much of your life is already gone, consider everything you would like to experience in the only time you are able to experience things and just fucking do it before it's too late. You should make every choice with the knowledge that you can only make it once and the consequences will be with you until you die, and you don't get to “try again”.

Haters

I suppose it wasn't exactly the best idea to put this part nearer the end either, because I'm sure those who truly hated me won't get here or even read this letter at all. However, I do hope that maybe one or two people who I had disgareements with in the past may reach this point and listen to my perspective. I love you. I leave this life without any resentment for individuals. I do not blame any of you, I blame the human condition and how society is in general. Modern society, ancient society, no matter how they compare to one another, it has always been flawed. There will always be those suffering and on the sidelines and people require certain defence mechanism to live with this shit world.

I'm very sorry if I ever said anything bad to you, or did anything wrong. Please understand that I only ever acted out of emotion, irrational responses that I somehow thought might help me deal with the feelings I couldn't comprehend. I always wanted everybody to like me, I wanted to be everybody's friends and see the good in everybody. People have often misunderstood me and, throughout my attempts to make things right, simply preferred to keep their distance and never hear me out. I would be so passionate about this, resolving conflicts and understanding people's behaviour that I would make myself appear very neurotic, unable to let a situation slide and achieving the opposite of my goal: pushing people away even harder.

I resent the fact that there are "bad" people in the world. I don't believe there is such a thing as a bad person, simply those more vulnerable to the sicknesses of the mind and society. People can be twisted into something they never intended, even myself. I resent, most of all, that I can't fully comprehend how people end this way and that I could never change a hateful person. This change only comes from within, as a process of coming to terms with personal experiences, once again as with me.

All the bad things I did, I never intended, I never knew. I love you all and I hope you can attempt to forgive and understand me in the same way I have done with all of the individuals I've ever known.

Mental illness

I'll talk a little bit on my experience with mental illness. In very simple terms and from a professional point of view I think the opinion was generally that I suffered some form of depression from a young age and then from my own deductions I gradually developed some kind of anxiety.Part of the reason for my friendships perpetually breaking down I put down to the mild but persistent paranoia I experience in groups of people, possibly due to a full expectation of them to gradually grow to hate me. Like a self fulfilling social prophecy.

I feel there was definitely some underlying, unnoticed and untreated malfunction in my brain long before my life went to complete shambles. An odd case is intrusive thoughts, once I'd learned what intrusive thoughts were I recall thinking that I wouldn't want to experience them. Which quickly became "what would an intrusive thought be to me personally? What do I specifically never want to think about?" from this point without actively choosing, I think I began to have intrusive thoughts. It certainly felt like I had induced the process of having intrusive thoughts within myself. I think I broke myself. These thoughts were disturbing enough that I'd prefer not to go into detail, it happens very rarely but when it does it is very distressing, usually it's in the form of sentences and not images, but as time goes on the thoughts become more fleshed out and I simply cannot deal with this mess. I'm not sure if I'm unique in the behaviour I'm about to describe but growing up I always had a set of images or memories in my mind that I did not want to remember for some reason or another they had disturbed me, particularly scary images from tv shows, movies and music videos. Whenever I had a slight thought in the direction of remembering things that I didn't want to, my brain would spin in the opposite direction and force me to remember all of these things that I didn't want to. Admittedly I seem to have matured out of that (that being almost a defined set of uncomfortable stimuli I'd failed away somewhere in the back of my mind) a little now but it feels to be linked with the way I began my own intrusive thoughts.

I'm not exactly sure how to relate back and understand my behaviour around 2012-2014, the few years after my first hospital stay when I turned to drugs knowing how badly they were going to affect me, and the brief period before that hospital stay where I was acting incredibly impulsively and bizarre even by my own standards. I chose to go mute for a few days on a whim based on my partner making a comment about it and how much I dislike the sound of my voice. I can't explain what my thought process during times like that were, and it's in this way that mental illness has been a large but also external culprit in my problems.

I absolutely adore "women's" fashion beyond belief and towards the end of my life this was the biggest factor that played on my "dysphoria" in terms of gender. There are an endless number of dresses and outfits that I find adorable and wished I lived in a world where I could indulge in such fashion with no sense of it being odd, unusual, wrong, bizarre, laughable. Yet that part of me has always been a joke. Even discussing it here there is always a sense of "I'm fucked up for feeling this way" thanks to the way I've been treated for it over time, I can't possibly counter the number of times online that I have read statements such as “trannies are mentally ill and they should kill themselves”. There are other aspects to my gender dysphoria but when I try to analyse these feelings in-depth it seems I can pinpoint most of them to generic dysphoria that is messily combined with my feelings on gender. The one thing I absolutely know is that I do wish I was born female and I can't quite get over that feeling.

Whatever brought me to the my current experience of overwhelming dysphoria is a process I don't understand too well but I've considered that it may have something to do with the conditions in which I grew up, for example never having any sort of male figure. It's another thing I really don't like to dwell on too much, I struggled through feelings of "gender dysphoria" whatever that means for years since my mid teens onwards, I never quite came to terms with it and understood exactly what it meant for me personally. I came to the conclusion that I can't possibly understand my own identity, sexual, gender, or even in general. My dysphoria "spread" and became something that affects everything I do and feel about myself, my actions and choices. I'm sorry, but I refuse to sit through therapy on any of these deeply personal matters, especially after being severely humiliated the first time I brought the issue up with my GP. I also don't want to learn to live with the fact I'm a gender I wouldn't like to be, but that's a whole other can of worms, these aspects of me are far beyond understanding.

The best way I can link how my mental health affected me from a young age in similar ways right up until the present day is an independant psych report that was done on me around 2007. Reading it back now makes me sick, many of my current situations were predicted and also many of my negative behaviour and thought patterns were recognised way back then.

I think I have neglected to mention how many times I really have attempted to live my life. Although I was always the destructor of my own efforts, I always tried and went into something with full passion and effort. Trying to get onto courses and looking for employment opportunities in areas I thought appropriate. Every single time, without fail, if it wasn't for my self-sabotage something else would slap me in the face, completely out of left field and more recently I'm simply unable to go into thing with a full enough tank. I get worn down before I even begin. Once I realised focusing on my selfish desires in life wasn't going to work out for me I thought that I could learn from my own mistakes and “suffering”, maybe if I went into something with full passion and knowledge of my experiences then I could make a real positive difference to other people. I spent time considering what entertainment products could be invented specifically for patients on psych wards as an obvious response to my experience of not being allowed something as simple as a radio because of the power cables but that passion quickly dwindled because my own miserable life would overpower even my drive to help others. There is a seemingly endless list of completely unacceptable human-caused suffering and I can't see any world in which this no longer happens, no matter how much I or anybody else dedicates their lives to “helping” others, it's the same logic behind people not voting in the election. Why should I even bother when it will make no difference? It's the same pervasive despondancy that makes us all selfish and makes suffering accptable.

I do not desire to live a life where it takes such an astronomical amount of effort and "fighting back" just to live a very mediocre normal life rather than an outright negative one. After failing for so long and everything else.. conditions are no longer optimal, my brain is almost past it's prime age for learning, probably severely damage too, and I basically need a slipstream to get me going.

Summary

I've had varying dreams and I think a strong part of me always wanted to grow up like those adults I idolised as a child. The type that are incredibly charismatic, passionate, enthusiastic about teaching and life in general. I've always somehow achieved the opposite of what I wanted to and then my dreams also became skewed by the circumstances I was engaged in. I became twisted as a person and developed a dream of engaging in an almost hedonistic selfish lifestyle, spending half of my time dreaming about leaving my life and living the most extravagant life possible, always forgetting that I'm socially unable mentally and financially. I realised that I just have no desire to work my life away, yet I can't live my desired life without doing this. I will never wake up in the morning and be happy with the body I grew, there are some factors that are unchangeable in my mind and in my physical self and I refuse to even attempt to come to terms with this and live life as a compromise. My thoughts have fought a war of attrition on my mind and won.

I will attempt to summarise my reasons for ending my life one more time...

I am unable and unwilling to attempt to "fix" all of the effects my life has had on me mentally and physically. Through a long period of deliberation I have realised that I love to sleep more than anything and that if I choose to leave earlier, in the grand scheme of things my suicide will have almost no impact at all, just as my life also wouldn't. I've realised that the value of living my life and experiencing things in general is lower than I first thought. That low value is really just a subjective thing, but it's also my absolute truth. I truly believe that I can see and choose the level of value I hold in living my full life.

I arrive at this decision through a combination of my unexpectadly low quality of life, my mental and personality malformations, my inability and unwilling to change, the time that I have already wasted and the prospect of knowing whatever I do I'll never reach close to the levels that I originally wanted. Every aspect of me has been broken down in some way or another and it's been almost invisible to most people. Both my circumstances and repeated mistakes have caused dramatic and permanant damage to my quality of life.

In a completely non-depressing (hah, sorry) way I know that life is just the same as everything else in the Universe. It just is, it's random, it doesn't really mean anything and it's not a shame that I want to leave. As I mentioned before I don't at all believe people can't choose to live and assign their own values and meaning. I wish I could truly describe the truth that I feel isolated from my emotional reasons just as I wish I could portray my mental state accurately so that all of this typing wouldn't be necessary.

All that I can ask is that you respect my decision. I know there's nothing I can do to ease your pain and that this will stay with you until your final day, I'm sorry but that's not my fault, it's Life's.

Love you. x

Ps.

What I've written in this letter might seem superficial or pretentious, no matter what maybe you can glean just a tiny bit of insight into my mind. I think I have a clarity and inner peace now that is harder to put into words than anything else I have ever experienced. I likely won't even read this whole thing back other than just skimming. I wish nothing but good fortune on everybody, even if I believe that is impossible. I don't blame anybody at all, I was wrong to live my entire life expecting people to know what was going on inside my head. I had intended to write a lot more than this but I think I've almost got everything I need from it. It's hard for me to view the entire document in much more than paragraphs at a time so I'm very sorry if I repeated myself too much or said much stupid stuff.

Finally I want you to know that my passing was meticulously planned and researched for years and was definitely peaceful, don't worry about that.

This turned out to be more neurotic and empty than I could have hoped, a stream of pointless words with nothing substantial inside, just like the husk that I am.

If you're still reading, think you for validating my existence. Goodnight and goodbye.