#i genuinely cannot believe how bad of a depressive episode this triggered

[neurodiversebones]

I want to hear the ed + recovery thoughts. I want to hear them so badly. I have post notifications on for you and saw your post within a minute because of how much I love your thoughts.

should i be sleeping? yes i have to leave for work in exactly 8 hours (i said when i started this . as im finishing it we are looking at 7 hrs 15 min lol) . but i Have to Talk ! also just letting you know you almost made me CRY with this ask you guys are all genuinely so sweet and kind to me i cannot believe it 💗💐☀ i love you all :-((

OKAY gonna put this under a cut so anyone who doesn't wanna see ed related content can SCROLL AWAY ! gonna avoid being triggering but . protect ur peace and all that <3 also i wanna put out there that this is mostly based on my own experiences with seven years of various eating disorders so if you are reading this and it doesn't fit your idea or perception of ed's that may be why !

ok so the three main characters i have ed-related headcanons for are brennan, angela, and cam (before anyone comments that it's only the women . there is no correlation i promise . i am projecting and these are my Projection Characters .)

i hc brennan as having arfid and orthorexia-- arfid developed for her from a combination of sensory issues with food as well as food-related anxiety from foster care (not always having enough to eat, rarely having any choice in what she ate, food-related punishments within abusive homes). being avoidant is an easy way to ignore the anxiety and stress that comes along with eating, between her sensory issues and the fact that she wasn't given an opportunity to develop much of a healthy relationship with food. orthorexia also developed as a control mechanism, but later in life (around college age). it was the first time since her parents left that she had control over her life, and that included food-- she became very obsessive about what she was putting in her body, because it gave her some of that sense of control back. her obsession with being "healthy" allowed her to feel like she was the one in charge of her body for the first time since she was fifteen.

in regards to recovery, she really didn't realize she had a problem for ages. since she wasn't medically unstable or engaging in super obvious behaviours, she didn't see herself as suffering from an eating disorder at all. it wasn't until sweets pointed out her disordered eating habits that she realized there was anything wrong with what she was doing-- she brought it up to booth, who agreed, which culminated in a fairly major argument as she didn't see anything she was doing as "bad" or disordered, just "healthy" and "in control". after a Real Conversation though, she eventually accepted that she might have some sort of problem and started looking into it more. she is definitely still in recovery, as it is a very slow process after so many years of disordered eating, but she makes an effort to engage in things that scare the disordered part of her brain. her favourite memory in regards to this was getting *real* ice cream for the first time in god knows how long when her and angela were out with the kids <33

my headcanons in regard to angela's ed are very connected to my headcanon that she has bipolar disorder-- many of us with bipolar really struggle with disordered eating and i specifically hc angela as having bulimia. it started when she was a teenager and first starting to experience bipolar episodes-- when manic or depressed, it's incredibly easy to fall into b/p cycles. when she was manic, it was like a form of thrill seeking, and she didn't have the capacity to care for the destruction it was causing, and when depressed, it felt like she was putting her awful feelings into something physical. it was hard to express her emotions through words, so she used her body instead.

i think she entered recovery for the first time in her late teens (around 17) when her mental health hit like . rock bottom and her dad decided that they needed to do something about it. she got the treatment she needed, and also took time away from school to tour with her dad-- exploring the country and having so much time to just sit with her thoughts (especially now that they were a little easier to manage with medication) is what made her start doing art really seriously-- if she couldn't express her hurt with her body anymore, she was going to do it on a page, and she created some of her most beautiful paintings during that time that she is still very proud of to this day. she still has slip ups to this day when she is struggling with her episodes, but with hodgins and brennan she is much more capable of talking through it before it gets to a dangerous point of relapse.

as for cam's ed, i feel this is the one i've talked about the most before bc she is my comfort character in this aspect? i headcanon her to have anorexia, specifically restrictive subtype. for her it's a control and perfectionism thing, as well as a "growing up masking autism" thing. cam has a very perfectionist and obsessive personality type, and it's mostly directed toward herself. everything she does needs to be perfect to be enough, and she needs to feel in control at all times. food is one of the easiest ways to do this-- if she can control her body and the food she consumes, obsess over numbers and physical changes and symptoms, it makes her feel a little more at ease in her life because she feels she has *something* under her control. as for the masking thing, she often masked with hyperfemininity growing up-- she was praised frequently for being a "good girl", and part of keeping up that image was looking the "right" way (aka, thin). if she could keep up this image, people wouldn't notice the things that made her odd or how unnatural everything felt to her. it's another control thing, but with another layer to it.

cam took a *long* time to start real recovery. she had phases where it got less severe, even some to the point where she barely thought about it, but restriction and denial was always still a part of her mentality and routine. it wasn't until arastoo came along that she felt comfortable enough to explain her pain and her thoughts to another person-- she was always too scared to unload on anyone else, so she kept it a secret essentially her entire life. arastoo was the first person she trusted to listen without judgement, and he encouraged her to talk to her other friends and loved ones about it (all of whom were incredibly understanding and supportive). in a similar sense to brennan, recovery is really difficult for her, having struggled for so incredibly long and having her disorder be a part of her daily routine for the majority of her life. however, she tries incredibly hard-- arastoo is teaching her how to cook (she never learned) and she's learning to find the joy in food through that, and allowing herself to relax around it a little more <333

that is all !!!! wow this is so very long lol . i hope you enjoyed this it was cathartic for me

#local girl with anorexia projects onto their silly little scientists to feel better . #anyway i feel like it should be more normalized to talk about ed's the same way we talk about any other mental illness . this was cathartic #temperance brennan headcanons #angela montenegro headcanons #cam saroyan headcanons #tw ed #mental health headcanons

[vaangoghs]

it's been like a week now so anytime my brain wants to stop being debilitatingly sad over this book, i'm ready and willing

#i need a distraction #or a hobby #i genuinely cannot believe how bad of a depressive episode this triggered #it's almost impressive #sarah says things #for the me looking back at tags one day this is about tsoa #ridiculious #wait. how do u spell ridiculious #is that how? #oh whatever

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.7

a poem begins in the lump in the throat

Chapter Six

This is the seventh chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Aaron went to Spencer's apartment and found him in a depressive state. Lots of cuddles and comfort ensued.

In This Chapter: Aaron and Spencer go to a museum with Jack, but it is definitely not a date. And Spencer's depression definitely does not get in the way.

TW: same as usual — as well as additional ones for a trigger scene and depictions of caring.

Word Count: 4.8k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

A poem begins in the lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. — Robert Frost

The day after Aaron had turned up at his flat, he’d rung Penelope who had not-so-guiltily confessed to sending him his way. He wasn’t upset though, quite the contrary. A kind, cuddly, caring Aaron showing up in the middle of a minor depressive episode was exactly what he needed, and the evening they’d spent together had burned its way onto the tissue of Spencer’s heart. It was one of the happiest moments he’d experienced in a long time, despite the weighty, persistent, downward tug on his mood.

He’s been over every day the team has been home in the two weeks since, Penelope taking over when he’s away, and as exhausting as Spencer has found human company in the past year, neither Aaron’s nor Penelope’s presence drains him in the way everyone else’s has. They accept his low mood, not blinking an eye when he doesn’t have the energy to respond to something they say or when he zones out and stares blankly at the wall for minutes at a time. He can’t even find it in him to care that both of them have seen him naked now.

Their company starts to chip away at the glacier of loneliness that had spread itself across his chest, inching its freezing border ever closer to the corners of his ribcage as he pulled away and watched everyone else do the same. Aaron and Penelope simply aren’t having it, and their determination to show him love and friendship and warmth is slowly but surely melting his isolation to a puddle on the floor, soon to dry out and be forgotten.

Penelope had come with him to his first psychiatrist appointment, though she’d sat in the waiting room this time, and it had been incredibly relieving to be able to properly let go of some of the heavy burden that had weighed so heavily on his shoulders all this time. He’d kept him on the same antidepressants Dr Reese had prescribed him, and although he hadn’t felt a huge difference yet, Dr Parker was incredibly reassuring and he was trying not to assume defeat so early in the game.

He did feel slightly better, though, as he came out of the dip in his depression that had come on the day after his day out with Penelope. Once Aaron had noticed his mood brighten and his energy levels increase slightly — evidenced largely by Spencer not immediately falling asleep on the sofa when he comes back in from work — he’d suggested getting out of his apartment and doing something.

Spencer was apprehensive at first: the idea of willingly putting himself in a position of proximity with strangers and unpredictable circumstances made his skin crawl. But then Aaron had proposed a quiet trip with him and Jack to the Natural History Museum, maybe a walk in the park if the weather was nice. Spencer had found it hard to decline.

The last few weeks had only solidified Spencer’s feelings for Aaron further, intensified by both his persistence in being close to Spencer and his relentless kindness, and he had begun to feel something like real, genuine hope stirring on the surface of his soul.

He’d caught Aaron looking at him a few times when he thought he was asleep or zoned out, and the softness on his face felt reflective of Spencer’s own expression when he looks at Aaron. He couldn’t imagine him being so insistent on taking care of anyone else on the team, and since he’d left the BAU anyway, he had no obligation to be so dutifully kind.

Yet, he shows up before and after work every day the team is in Virginia, no matter how far out of the way Spencer’s apartment is, making sure he eats, showers, has clean clothes. Making sure he knows he’s loved. (Something whispers deep in his heart that maybe that love is the kind he’s dreamed of.)

On bad nights when he was still working at the BAU, he’d hug his knees to his chest and imagine Aaron curled up behind him telling him how much he loved him, telling him that it was going to be alright. He could never look the man in the eyes the next day at work, but that didn’t stop him. It worked better than anything else he tried and now it’s a reality he can’t pinch himself out of.

Truthfully, in the weeks between quitting the BAU and Penelope forcing Aaron and herself back into his life, he’d desperately missed his time in Aaron’s apartment, playing with Jack and pretending his life wasn’t splitting at the seams. The idea of spending a whole day with them — without the added baggage of trying to box up his increasingly untameable depression — was something he actually looked forward to. It’s a nice feeling; admittedly one he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Penelope comes over the morning of the outing.

(“I’m not about to let you flush this down the drain just because you end up having a tough morning,” she’d insisted when Spencer told her she doesn’t need to. “I’ll come over and force you out of bed and into a nice little outfit if I need to. You are going on that date with Hotch. Sorry: Aaron.”

“Shut up,” Spencer had said weakly. “It’s not a date.”

“Irrelevant,” she’d sniffed and levelled him with a glare he couldn’t argue with.)

He’s pretty sure that her insistent and relentless protectiveness and aid is part of her very focused mission to make up the last year to him. In fact, he’s almost certain, considering every time she sees him he’s bombarded with yet another apology and a small present for him. He’s not sure how to get through to her that he’s already forgiven her.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks as she walks into the living room to see Spencer curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over him. He had actually made it to bed last night, but the only way he could pull himself out of bed this morning was to promise himself a few minutes on the sofa, exciting day ahead of him or not.

He shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he sighs, picking at a loose thread of his blanket.

“That’s okay,” Penelope says lightly, dumping her handbag on the armchair before breezing into the kitchen and setting the orchid she’s brought with her on the windowsill. He hopes she knows she’ll be the only person around responsible enough to water it. “We’ll find you something small. How does a little bowl of cornflakes sound?”

“Fine.”

She puts the coffee machine on before bringing him a bowl of cornflakes that is decidedly not little. He hates that her tactic works and he eats the whole thing. “Why do you always have to be right?” he grumbles as he polishes off the bowl and puts it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, baby genius,” she sighs exaggeratedly, sagging into her armchair. Spencer doesn’t know what he’d do without Penelope Garcia and her incessant dramatics. “It’s truly an affliction.”

“Mhm.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but Penelope’s saved by the coffee machine beeping and she stalks into the kitchen to pour him a cup. He has no idea how early she wakes up to make it over to his house dressed to the nines with a full face of make-up on at eight am. He smiles fondly at her as he takes the proffered mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says brightly, sitting back in her chair and sipping at her own cup. “So, how are we feeling about our date today?”

As much as Spencer does not appreciate her suggestive eyebrow waggling, he can’t help but smile at her antics. He also can’t help but blush. “It isn’t a date, Penelope, I’ve told you this.”

“Right, right,” she says drily. “I think I’d have an easier time believing you if you weren’t constantly sending one another heart eyes and weren’t clearly half in-love with one another already.”

Spencer decides it’s probably best to avoid mentioning that his feelings have definitely progressed past the ‘half in-love’ phase, and just looks down. “Jack will be there,” he points out instead, “and the Natural History Museum isn’t exactly a steamy date location, is it?”

“No, that’s exactly the point. It’s a Dr Spencer Reid date location.”

Spencer looks at her a little speechless for a moment. Unfortunately, she’s right. He’s privately thought about getting married in one of DC’s many museums, and science and history are two of the subjects even a casual acquaintance would know he’s fascinated by. Plus, it’s also something he’s bonded over with Jack.

All of that may be the case, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely cannot let himself consider this a date.

He’s already let himself fantasise enough about Aaron returning his feelings; not letting himself think of this as anything other than platonic is the only thing he can hang onto to protect his fragile heart. Getting his hopes up only to find out he’s wrong would crush him, and he can’t risk a devastation of such proportions right now. He’s barely getting out of bed in the morning as it is.

Penelope seems to catch on to his spiralling thought process and leans over to lay a hand on his knee. “Hey, I know it’s intimidating,” she says gently, “and you don’t have to think about it as a date if you don’t want to, especially if you’re apprehensive because he hasn’t said anything explicitly. I just don’t want you to doubt yourself. I promise you he has feelings for you, too, okay? You need to trust me on this one. That man is absolutely gone for you.”

Despite himself, he finds himself smiling at her as her words warm him from the inside out. Even if he knows he has to be careful with his heart, he can’t help the optimism his head conjures up at such a promise from someone he trusts with his life. “Okay,” he whispers shyly.

“Right,” she says, putting her half-empty coffee mug down on the table and gripping Spencer’s free hand to pull him up from his pathetic sprawl across the sofa. “Come on, you. Aaron won’t be long, let’s get you looking at least half-human.”

He only agrees because she lets him bring his own coffee mug with him to the bathroom. She’s a good friend.

Penelope slips out a few minutes before Aaron is set to arrive per Spencer’s request, and he sits nervously on the sofa, waiting for the doorbell to buzz. He’d chosen his favourite shirt and tie combo and gone with a lilac sweater under his smartest navy coat. He holds his scarf in his fidgeting fingers, ready to put it on once they get outside, but he still feels naked. Suddenly, everything that’s riding on this day out fills him with a sort of dread and he feels vulnerable, scared of all the endless ways this could go so wrong.

Before he can spiral properly though, his intercom buzzes and he rushes over to answer it, even though he knows who it is. He’s glad he does, because Jack’s voice crackles its way into the quiet of his apartment. “Spencer, Spencer, come out, we’re here,” he shouts excitedly, and even though Spencer winces at the feedback his high-pitched voice elicits, a fond smile still finds its way onto his face.

“I’m on my way down, buddy,” he says back, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, before patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet. He locks his door carefully and makes his way down to the front of his building. Apprehension balls in a pit in his stomach, but it loosens as soon as he approaches the pair waiting in the cold outside the front door.

Jack runs up to him and he crouches down to give him a big hug, wishing he had the strength and confidence to pick him up and twirl him around like he’s seen Aaron and Derek do so many times. Jack doesn’t seem bothered, though, an excited grin painted across his face as he pulls back from the hug.

“Hey,” Aaron says once Jack has let Spencer go and he stands back up straight. He presses a hand gently to the middle of Spencer’s back and the touch spreads warmth up to his shoulders as he watches the curve of Aaron’s smile. “How are you doing?”

“Rocky morning,” Spencer admits — he’s almost certain Penelope sends Aaron status reports, so lying is pointless. “Penelope helped.”

“She always does,” Aaron says warmly, keeping one hand on Spencer’s back while the other holds Jacks as they walk to the car parked a little way down the street. A little spark of excitement rushes through Spencer’s body as he briefly lets himself think about what casual passers-by might assume about the three of them. “You still up for the Natural History Museum?”

“Of course,” Spencer replies, as brightly as he can, trying to ignore the pull of sorrow still weighing his gut down. “Are you looking forward to seeing the dinosaurs, Jack?”

“Yes!” Jack shouts eagerly, letting go of Aaron’s hand to unzip his little puffer coat to reveal his long-sleeve t-shirt. A big, green t-rex stands out against the blue background, and Jack’s never looked prouder. “Dinosaur, see?”

“I do,” Spencer laughs. “It’s a great shirt, Jack.”

“Hey, let’s zip that coat back up, buddy, well done,” Aaron says gently and Jack does so obediently. “He insisted on wearing it,” he tells Spencer once Jack’s hand is back in his and he’s securely wrapped up. “He wanted to show you.”

They arrive at the car before Spencer can reply, and Aaron opens the passenger door for him to get in before strapping Jack into his car seat and setting him up with a few of his toys, including his favourite dinosaurs. It’s only a fifteen minute journey to the museum, and they pass the first half of it in a comfortable silence, but eventually, Spencer works up the courage to ask the question that’s been at the tip of his tongue the past two weeks.

“How’s work?” he asks, trying to be as innocuous as possible, though his awkward avoidance of Aaron’s eyes probably gives him away.

“It’s good.” He’s clearly treading carefully as he eyes Spencer for a brief moment before he returns his gaze to the road. “We’ve only had one major case since you left, and we muddled our way through it, got it solved. Everyone does miss you, though, Spencer. They really do.”

It’s a concept he still can’t really get his head around. He hasn’t been around for a year, not really, and they didn’t miss him then. It feels almost… convenient, to Spencer. Guilt is not remorse.

“Have you found my replacement yet?” Spencer surprises himself by not feeling any jealousy at the prospect of someone taking his position on the team. He’d long ago accepted how replaceable he is socially, and it’s not like the pool of talented, intelligent prospective agents is exactly small. He also has no desire to be around his old team; not as they were in the build-up to his resignation, not like that. He still has Aaron and Penelope, but he’s only just starting to trust that they’re not going anywhere.

“I think so,” Aaron sighs heavily. “As long as her paperwork goes through, she’ll join the team later this week.”

Spencer nods, not really knowing what to say to that. Aaron reaches his right hand across the console and rests it on top of Spencer’s clasped hands, the warm reassuring weight of not just anyone’s touch but Aaron Hotchner’s turning his insides into a melted puddle as his heart beats faster. He hooks one of his fingers over Aaron’s, a silent message to keep his hand there, and he doesn’t worry about what to say next. Nothing needs to be said.

Spencer knows the Natural History Museum like the back of his hand, so he directs them to the best parking spot before taking the lead and walking them into the gorgeous, open foyer. Jack bounces excitedly between them, so Aaron lifts him onto his shoulders to reduce the likelihood of a disaster.

“It’s not too busy for a Sunday,” Spencer observes, half trying to calm himself down in such an unfamiliar environment, “so we should be able to see everything we want to. Jack, do you want to see the dinosaurs now or later?”

“Now!” he shouts loudly, wiggling as happiness floods his little body. Spencer smiles fondly at the pair, and a little more of the apprehension he’d felt at leaving the house melts away.

“Well how could I refuse that request?” he chuckles, leading them towards the dinosaur exhibit. His breath catches when he feels the back of Aaron’s hand brush the back of his, and in a moment of bold and brash insanity, he interlocks his pinky with Aaron’s. After the moment in the car, he feels such an action is warranted, but as soon as he does it, panic sets in.

Before he can retract his finger though, Aaron takes Spencer’s hand properly. The feeling of Aaron’s big hand gripping his own in a gentle but firm hold makes his stomach dip, and goosebumps find their way up his arms and down his side. He’s never felt safer than right in this moment — never mind the crowds of people they’re passing through; the insecurity of being outside his flat; the uncertainty of what could happen — never mind all of that, because his hand is in Aaron’s and Aaron keeps him safe. He doesn’t trust much anymore, but he will always trust Aaron.

Jack babbles eagerly the whole way to the dinosaur exhibit, repeating some of the facts Spencer had taught him in his previous visits to the Hotchner household in a “did you know?” format, leaving both Aaron and Spencer chuckling fondly, trying to encourage him as much as possible.

Spencer shows them around the exhibit, acting as their tiny group’s personal tour guide, and Jack couldn’t be happier, insisting on walking instead of being carried so he can press his face up as close as possible to the displays, his breath fogging up the glass as he leaves fingerprints all over the cases. They spend nearly an hour walking around the exhibit, playing with the interactive toys and examining each and every display in a close-up fashion.

Once they wrap up their dinosaur exploring, Spencer brings Jack to a bench and asks him what his favourite thing he learned is.

“Uhh,” Jack hums, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that reminds him so much of Aaron it’s almost uncanny, “oh! They were terrible and they were stupid!”

Spencer’s confused for a moment before laughing as he manages to decode what Jack is trying to say. “Dinosaur does translate to ‘terrible lizard’, well done,” he agrees, “and you’re right, they weren’t much smarter than reptiles these days. Good job, Jack!” He raises his hand for a high-five, and Jack doesn’t waste any time in slapping his palm to Spencer’s.

“Can we get ice cream?” he asks eagerly, widening his eyes in a plea as he looks at Aaron who's been observing the unravelling scene from the pillar next to the bench.

“Go on then,” Aaron concedes, grinning at his son’s uncontainable happiness as he wiggles around next to Spencer.

They head to the museum’s cafe and all order ice cream, taking a seat in the middle of the canteen.

“This reminds me of field trips back in school,” Spencer muses, gesturing to the surrounding noise with his spoon.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks while Jack picks distractedly at a scratch on the table, licking his ice cream cone happily.

“Before I was identified as a gifted student and sent years up the grade school ladder, I was a fairly normal kid in a fairly normal school. We went on a field trip to a museum in first grade, and I loved every minute of it. I got to impress all my friends by sharing all my memorised facts about space, and we ate our packed lunches in a canteen like this. My mum was still on her meds back then, and she’d cut all my ham sandwiches into dinosaur shapes.”

Aaron’s smiling at him as he talks, and he realises that it’s probably because it’s the most he’s had to say in weeks, much less something anecdotal and personal. Spencer realises belatedly that it’s the sort of thing one might share on a date, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“I’m glad you have nice memories from your early childhood, Spencer,” he says, and his hand reaches across the table to find Spencer’s again. “It’s the least you deserve.”

He averts his eyes as he blushes, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention, and focuses on his ice cream for a few minutes before he’s cooled down a bit. “What about you?” he asks, meeting Aaron’s eyes again. “Any field trip memories?”

“I made out with my ninth grade girlfriend at the planetarium once,” he admits quietly, a mirthful chuckle finding its way into his voice.

“Maybe minutely better than dinosaur shaped sandwiches,” Spencer says, a little shyly.

“Ooh, dinosaur sandwiches!” Jack chimes in, suddenly aware of the conversation the adults are having. “Can I have some?”

Spencer’s phone vibrates just as Aaron goes to appease Jack’s enthusiasm for novelty shaped lunch food, and he pulls it out curiously. These days, the only people to text him are Aaron and Penelope, and Penelope had told him she was going out with a friend today.

Hey, pretty boy — Spencer’s heart sinks as he reads the first line of the message, tears immediately springing to his eyes — I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Hotch said something about personal stuff going on? Anyway, I thought I’d text you to tell you just how much we miss you at the BAU. Life isn’t the same without you, and it was hard to not even get a chance to say goodbye. Any chance we could meet up at some point? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, we can just go grab a coffee or something. D

Aaron must read something off in his face — it’s not exactly like he’s trying to hide it — and he immediately slides closer to him on the circular canteen bench. “Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says soothingly, “you’re alright. What’s going on?” He just slides the phone over to show Aaron the message, and he immediately gets it. “I know that must be overwhelming, and we’re in public which can’t be helping.” He glances over at Jack who’s looking worryingly at Spencer, clearly confused. “Why don’t we go back to our place? Jack and I will help you feel better, won’t we, buddy?”

Jack nods at that, pressing himself into Spencer’s side and wrapping his tiny arms around him. “Yeah, we make you feel better.” He reaches up and clumsily brushes a tear away from Spencer’s cheek before kissing it. It makes his heart warm that this is how Jack treats someone sad: he must be emulating the behaviour adults have shown him in these situations, and Jack only ever deserves the absolute best. Especially after losing his mom.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing himself closer to Aaron. Every time he’s upset he seems to lose his inhibitions around him, but he can’t help it. He needs the comfort only Aaron can provide, and after denying his starving heart the love and reassurance it's been begging for for so long, he can’t help but indulge himself now it’s finally an option.

They make their way back to the car and Spencer’s in such a haze of confusing emotion the only thing he can really ground himself in is Aaron’s arm wrapped around his waist and Jack gripping his hand on his other side, sending him worried looks. If he had the wherewithal to feel anything other than a deep sense of grief combined with rising panic he’d feel guilty for ruining such a nice day out, but as it stands he’s spared that particular brand of misery.

The drive back to Aaron’s is a little longer than the first journey of the day, but Spencer just clings to the hand Aaron offered him as soon as they got back in the car and tries desperately not to spin completely out of control and start hyperventilating in front of the five year old strapped into his car seat behind him.

Jack is asked to play in his room for a bit once they get home and he obeys, aware of — if not entirely comprehending — the tension in the air. As Spencer sits on the sofa waiting for Aaron to get back with a glass of water, the grief and panic clear a little. He hates himself for the relentless gravity of his depression: the way it pulls down even the brightest of days, the way he can physically feel his insides being sucked downwards into the blackhole of desolation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks gently as he sits next to Spencer on the couch, close enough that their arms are touching. Self-loathing is the only thing preventing him from leaning into his comfort like he did at the museum, like he did in the car. Instead he pulls away and curls himself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa. When Spencer doesn’t reply, Aaron takes a risk. “Do you think you might be so upset because somewhere, deep down, you want to see Derek too?”

He snaps his head up at that, surprised Aaron would say something so blunt and, as much as Spencer doesn’t want to admit it, truthful. After a good few moments of contemplative and patient silence, his thoughts are ordered enough to voice them. “I miss them all,” he admits quietly. “I desperately want to see Derek. But the Derek I left hurt me so much I wouldn’t know where to even start in trying to reconnect with him.”

Aaron nods in understanding from his spot in the middle of the sofa. Spencer longs for this pit of self-loathing to melt away so he can feel confident enough to crawl back across the cushions and share Aaron’s personal space again.

“That makes a lot of sense, Spencer,” he says, resting a gentle hand on his ankle, and it’s such a casual, intimate touch he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He settles on not moving even an inch, lest Aaron pull his hand away. “For what it’s worth, the others have started to piece together why you left. I know they’re all regretting how everything played out, and everyone on the team misses you sorely.”

Spencer ponders that for a moment. He doesn’t know how it makes him feel: it’s nice to be missed, and a sick sort of vindication flourishes in the less savoury side of him at the idea of the others realising the crippling, world-changing pain he’s been in for the last year, right under their noses.

He misses so much about the others, but that’s not new: he’s missed JJ’s hugs and Derek’s teasing and Emily’s friendship for close to a year now. Sitting at his desk in the bullpen next to Derek and Emily’s private bantering, sharing an inside joke he didn’t understand towards the end of his career at the BAU had cut deep, reminding him just how achingly alone he was.

“I don’t know where to start,” he says hopelessly, feeling like he’s repeating himself. Tears spring to his eyes again, spilling down his cheeks relentlessly, as though the second he’d let one fall, they toppled down his face like river water desperate to escape, unsure of when the dam will close again.

Aaron scoots himself over to Spencer’s end of the sofa like he can’t help himself, and this time he lets himself fold into Aaron’s warm embrace. He cries as quietly as possible, but it’s hard when he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than sob helplessly. He can hear himself; he knows he sounds like a broken, defeated man, but he simply doesn’t have the power to care.

As his sobs start to dry out, he sees that Aaron is crying, too. He’d noticed his wet eyes the last few times he’d cried in his presence as well, and he has no idea how to feel about it. If Aaron is seriously going to cry every time he does, though, then he’d better strap in.

“Why don’t you have a nap?” he suggests, wiping a tear from the sensitive skin under Spencer’s eye so tenderly it makes his heart clench. “Then afterwards, we can think of a way to go about this. Maybe we could start with a short text back. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, and lets Aaron help him get into a comfortable position on the sofa. A warm, soft throw is draped over him and Aaron half closes the living room blind, but the day is dark and grey enough already anyway. As he’s falling off to sleep, a hot water bottle is tucked under the blanket and he instinctively curls up against the warmth, but he knows that the real comforting soporific is the man reading quietly in the armchair next to him.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer looks forward to waking up.

Chapter Eight

Rereading Penelope in this chapter when I came to edit it made me want to take a second to recognise all of the unofficial carers out there <3 I've been a carer for both my mum and my grandmother at various times in my childhood and teens, and it's tough going. If you're looking after a friend or a family member, please remember how amazing and wonderful you are, and also remember that it's okay if it's too much, and it's okay if you need to cry or scream or break down. You are still just as brilliant no matter your emotional reaction to what is an exceptionally difficult situation to find yourself in. I love you, and I'm always here to talk to you about this (or anything that comes up in this fic!) <3

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @kuolonsyoja

[boycottyashahime]

Hello! Anti-Sessrin person here. You said if this couple becomes canon it will ruin Sesshomaru's character development. I would love it If you could elaborate on that because you're always so eloquent and smart. It's ok if you don't feel like it, though. Have a nice day!

I've actually been looking for an excuse to sit down and write out a cohesive post on my thoughts about this. Contrary to what the shippers want to believe, my interpretation of Sesshoumaru and Rin's relationship doesn't have anything to do with my moral objections to child grooming. I happen to think there's plenty of evidence for a filial interpretation in the text.

First, I'd like to preface my little essay here by saying I'm going off the manga alone. I haven't seen the anime in a long time, because I dropped it when I got a little tired of trying to reconcile the inconsistencies between the two mediums. So, if you read this and have an impulse to say, "hey, what about that thing in episode such-and-such...", keep in mind that I probably just don't remember what you're thinking of.

So, let's go back, alllll the way back, to Sesshoumaru's first appearance. Here's a guy who tears off a dude's head for no other reason than to get the attention of his subordinates to demand a boat. Here's a guy who's spent a long time looking just about EVERYWHERE for his father's remains, not to pay respects, but to plunder them. Here's a guy who feels ENTITLED to rob his dad's grave for treasure he deserves simply for being his father's son.

Sesshoumaru begins his journey as a selfish, spoiled, entitled brat. He doesn't fit the usual profile of a kid throwing a tantrum on the street because he wants the expensive toy sitting in the window; he's very posh and very reserved, but fundamentally, his motivation comes down to the simple fact that he wants Tessaiga. It doesn't even really have anything to do with respect and admiration of his father, otherwise he wouldn't have been so eager to rifle through dear old dad's bones to get at a sword when he had another heirloom right there at his hip. Only Tessaiga was representative of the sheer destructive force he wanted to wield, so he ignored the fact that his dad didn't seem to want him to have it.

This is important, because at first, Sesshoumaru doesn't seem to think of his father in terms of the guy's intentions or the steps he takes for the sake of his sons. Like most rich spoiled kids, Sesshoumaru views the Inu no Taishou in terms of his prestige and how that priviledge can be appropriated for selfish ends. Sesshoumaru wants Tessaiga not because he needs it, but because it's a birthright, and reinforces his legitimacy. When it's clear that Tessaiga seals Inuyasha's youkai blood, keeps him from going berserk, Sesshoumaru loses interest in Tessaiga - it's just a crutch for Inuyasha, and there's no prestige in taking it from him or using it for himself.

Sesshoumaru doesn't start to REALLY consider his father's intentions for the swords until later in the manga, when it comes out that Tenseiga was originally part of Tessaiga, and Inuyasha was meant to get the Meidou Zangetsuha attack eventually as well. It's at this point that Sesshoumaru starts to question if daddy actually HATED him, to give him a rather neat power disguised in a lame shell, but only to develop it so Inuyasha can have it instead, even after Inuyasha already got Tessaiga in the first place. It kind of looks to Sesshoumaru that Inuyasha gets all the powerful cool shit their father left behind, and that there might have been some favoritism coming down HARD on Inuyasha's side.

Above, you can see Sesshoumaru has two interlinked but distinct issues that are addressed throughout the story - his lack of compassion and empathy, and how tied his identity is to his father's favor and prestige. These two are somewhat separated in the narrative; there's a kind of pause in Sesshoumaru's development while a bulk of the middle of the story deals more with other characters and their development, but there is a little bit of a thematic connection between the two halves.

We'll start with the development of Sesshoumaru's compassion since, well, that's where the story begins working on his character. Right before Rin shows up, Toutousai let's Inuyasha's group in on the sword Sesshoumaru carries around and what it does, indicating that Tenseiga requires a compassionate heart to function. A bit ham-handed, but RT isn't very subtle most of the time, so we'll allow it. This sets up the next few scenes in which Sesshoumaru is unable to move and must play captive audience to a little girl doing the literal opposite of what he's used to. Sesshoumaru's habit is to show up and kill things, with no thought to the years of history, relationships, thoughts, emotions, etc that he's snuffing out. But while he's reclined injured in the woods, Rin demonstrates actual LIFE and the preservation of it, that part Sesshoumaru never gets to see. It's made all the starker by how BAD Rin is at caring for herself, let alone the strange monster she found in the woods. She does exactly nothing to help Sesshoumaru, despite how hard she tries, and is even injured by others in her attempts. She is the very picture of vulnerability, the opposite of the strong and capable Sesshoumaru.

This is a stark contrast, because anything less wouldn't be enough to create the necessary awareness of Rin's struggles that Sesshoumaru needs in order to use Tenseiga on here. And I know I've said this before, but I really cannot stress enough how obvious I think the symbolism is when Sesshoumaru uses Tenseiga for the first time; a phallic object gives life to a child, and the object's owner looks after that life throughout the rest of the story. He's not very good at looking after it, and it's clear that he's not sure about taking responsibility for Rin at first, because she pleaded for him to come back for her when he and Jaken left her behind to requisition a sword from Gaijinbou. To me, it's reminiscent of a teenager who knocked someone up, and ended up having to learn to give a crap about the result.

But, even if you don't accept that symbolism as particularly significant, Rin being a child, and human, and weak, unable to survive on her own, are important characteristics to how Sesshoumaru's compassion develops. Sesshoumaru is one of the strongest characters in the series, and he rarely has to worry about his own safety. And since he's in the habit of just murdering everyone he comes across if they're in his way, he's never had to worry about the safety of anyone else, either. When Rin comes into the picture, though, Sesshoumaru is faced with the uncomfortable reality of vulnerability in general. Through her earnest and incompetent attempts to foster survival in a world that can and does crush her, she's opened his eyes to how the disadvantaged, those without a powerful youkai lineage to rely on, have to struggle.

Rin herself has nothing to offer Sesshoumaru within this context of supreme vulnerability. She's not a friend, because she can't offer mutual support or use a skill to their benefit as a team. She's not a lover, because, well, she's a child and sexual/romantic attraction are conditions that wouldn't allow Sesshoumaru to extend his compassion beyond just her. As a mostly helpless kid, Rin has to rely upon Sesshoumaru and his power to survive, and Sesshoumaru employs his strength to keep her alive, getting nothing but a sweet smile out of it all. She gets all the benefits, he has all the obligations. This is PURE compassion - using one's advantages to another's benefit because you care about them, and not because you derive something from it as well.

This is why making Rin into Sesshoumaru's lover is a REALLY thoughtless take. It puts conditions on the compassion and muddies the message.

Moving onto Sesshoumaru's continued character development in the latter part of the story, the sword drama starts back up with slow, when Toutousai shows up and offers to reforge Tenseiga into a weapon. Sesshoumaru discovers that because he got angry enough to break his primary weapon in defense of Kagura's honor, he's triggered the next evolution of Tenseiga into something that can murder. Which is what he wanted at the beginning, yay! I want to point out here that Toutousai says Tenseiga noticed a change in Sesshoumaru's heart - anger for the first time for the sake of another. This implies that what Jaken said about Sesshoumaru getting tangled up in the fight against Naraku because Naraku kidnapping and using Rin to manipulate Sesshoumaru hurt Sesshoumaru's pride is actually accurate; he just really hated the thought of Naraku trying to use him, even if it was a failed attempt.

After going through HELL to develop the Meidou into a full circle (literally), Sesshoumaru then learns that the Meidou belongs to Tessaiga and Inuyasha, and that it's supposed to be handed over. Now, part of Sesshoumaru's angst over this idea, I think, is not just "did daddy love Inuyasha more?", but also the assumption that Inuyasha would have to KILL him in order to retake the Meidou Zangetsuha into Tessaiga. Thinking that your father meant for your little brother to kill you at some point to take your stuff is a pretty disturbing thought, to be entirely fair to him. This is why, when Sesshoumaru jumps into the meidou to take back control of the Naraku-possessed Tenseiga and breaks it deliberately, he spends the rest of the time in there moodily resigned to disappear. He genuinely believes that his father meant for him to die at this point, and even after they get out of there, he seems genuinely depressed.

This is Sesshoumaru's lowest point as a character. He's lost something he thought his father had meant for him, at his father's own wish, and he can't help but question why his dad would give him something just to take it away and give it to Inuyasha. It looks for all the world like favoritism, and since the Inu no Taishou is dead, there's no asking him what the hell the meaning of all this is.

This is all leading to one of the most infuriatingly ridiculous scenes I have ever seen in a manga - when Magatsuhi has crushed Sesshoumaru and everyone thinks he's been killed/absorbed, Magatsuhi is blown apart and rendered unable to reform by the shiny new sword clutched in Sesshoumaru's newly regrown arm. I could talk your ear off about how having Sesshoumaru stop being an amputee is erasure of consequences for his actions, or how being given back an arm is kind of a slap in the face for actual amputees, and where the mother f*ck did that sword come from anyway, but that's not what this essay is about, so I'll just keep all that to myself. The point of this is articulated by Toutousai when he says that Sesshoumaru had to let go of Tessaiga and his father's heirloom to stand on his own as a daiyoukai.

We've already gone over how Sesshoumaru is one of the most powerful characters in the series, who rarely has to worry about his well-being. He's just really strong without having to try. Sesshoumaru had already learned that he didn't need Tessaiga ages ago - he knew this when he learned that Inuyasha needed Tessaiga to keep from tearing himself apart eventually. But when he thought he had been passed down something from his father that was truly meant to be his, only to put all this work into it so that Inuyasha could have it, that embittered him again. It's not that he wanted the sword necessarily, but the thoughts and consideration of his father, who seemed to be putting everything he had into Inuyasha.

But his previous experiences protecting and considering someone (in some cases, multiple someones) weaker than him should have tipped him off. During the very battle in which he got his new arm and sword, he was actively helping those around him avoid Magatsuhi and keeping them close because he had a plan and the strength to carry it out. He was willing to take the extra step to protect Inuyasha and friends before trying to take care of Magatsuhi though, and that was the point. He put everyone else's needs ahead of his own, even Inuyasha's, and he did it without even thinking.

Toutousai just articulated what Sesshoumaru should have already intuitively known by that point. He never needed his father's heirlooms, the swords, his dad's power. They were unnecessary for him from the start. Inuyasha needed a leg up, because his own BODY could kill him after a while. But Sesshoumaru always had the capability of being great on his own. He just needed to finally separate his ego from who his father was and become his own person; stand on his own as a great youkai. While I don't agree with the execution, I can get behind the big lesson - don't rely on your daddy's wealth and influence to prop you up, and do the work to build a personality and identity of your own.

Which is ANOTHER reason why making Rin into a lover would be a thoughtless take. It would walk back Sesshoumaru's final lesson about being his own person apart from his father.

So, there you go. A comprehensive post regarding my take on Sesshoumaru's character development. I could add in a bit about Sesshoumaru coming to understand his father's consideration and the lengths he went to for the sake of protecting Inuyasha by having to give similar consideration to Rin, but I think this post is long enough, and that one statement on that aspect pretty much sums it up. Let me know if you would like me to elaborate on any of this, or if you would like to argue any of the points, I'm up for it. Might take me a minute to respond, mind you, but hopefully it won't take as long as it did to draft this behemoth.

Take care.

#inuyasha #rin (inuyasha) #sesshomaru #sesshoumaru #character analysis #character development analysis #i pulled out all the stops for this one #anti sessrin #i know this doesn't match the perfect prince characterization Sesshoumaru usually gets #but i just calls it as i sees it

[crackcrocs]

DEATH WILL ONLY BE THE BEGINNING #1

1. The backbone to my emotions

As someone who  cannot conceptualise  time in any way whatsoever, I want to say sorry to my loved ones. I'm aware I still need to send my friends messages every once in a while and remind them I still want to be their friends and I need to actively work on this. I need to overcome this fear stopping me from being present and accepting peoples love and support. I want to break free from me and I want to feel content being on this earth, I want nothing more than to enjoy experiences with my loved ones. I love you I love you.

I am a young charismatic, creative individual learning to do things differently so I don't always have the same outcomes. I suffer from a Cluster B Personality Disorder; under the same umbrella of mental health I also experience extremely intrusive thoughts on a daily basis, that can become obsessive and compulsively hyper fixated thoughts in an instant. I have anxiety, depression and a lot of the time I’m deeply dissociated to a point where I struggle to believe I’m even real, even when I do know I am real- I have no attachment to my limbs or body as a whole and only feel alive in a spiritual sense or when I self harm. I don't want to get too into my illnesses; as I’m not someone who really likes labels, just know that everyday is a battle and each personality that exists within me is different. I wouldn't say drastically, however its evident for me and living with so many different masks can be intense. Especially when you've tried to convince people that you're just one solid mould in the hopes they don't perceive you as an intense person. I am going to try to take you through a few of my altars and moods starting with the emptiest subconscious alters that I call the backbones of my emotions to the more powerful  energetic ones that haven't managed to yet consume me over the years. I hope this can give people an insight.

Overall I present a pretty confident front, I like to appear like I’ve got my life together even though I’m so far from it, sometimes I’m not sure ill even find the strength to go on long enough in attempt to get my life together, which is a real problem but it's the sad truth. Don't waste time reading this if you're easily triggered as this piece of writing will consist of real and genuine feelings. I’m in no attempt trying to create content for people who enjoy turning blind eyes and wishing they didn’t see this so I’ll give you a fair warning. I'm not responsible for your triggers, whereas I’m responsible for the things I’ve done. I might have cared too much at one point, but I will not hold myself captive to those situations nor will I regret them. I want the lies, deceit and hurt that I’ve committed against loved ones to end, my secrecy has done enough damage and its exhausting pushing people away even though that’s not usually the intent, truth is I am so embarrassed of myself. I'm private, secretive and mysterious but I’ll also talk about my childhood trauma after like 5 minutes. I guess this says I’m happy to talk about my trauma because it's what I know and am comfortable with, I just struggle to tell anyone the real suicidal me behind my problems. I hate that I’m so young and feel like a dead person already.

I tend to act out or distance myself due to fear which isn’t clear at first if you know me, but does become obvious. I might appear as someone with no care in the world, like I’m unbothered, but I assure you that's the African pride combined with the Leo pride. I also don't want people to treat me like a footstool, which has happened when I’ve come off ass too passive. I care so much and over think absolutely everything, it's literally my only way of thinking. I have little to no self esteem and I have no clue who confidence is unless under the influence of something, be it weed, alcohol or psychedelics (which I don't take much of because I enjoy them and don't want to abuse them) I mean I can function sober, I don't even like to be out of control high or drunk, but as Chief Keef once said, I hate being sober. #i'mTrash4thereference. Although I’m not fully healed and functioning yet, I’m a developed character with both positive and negative traits. At the moment I’m going back and fourth between 'just stop trying' and 'you cant give up'. Sometimes depression is kind of like looking at yourself through a window, there’s this part of your brain that understands it'll pass, but you���re so far into despair that its impossible to see the way out, its a lot like being trapped. I am having a bad patch right now, the difference between this one and the last one is I’m more self aware with less of a desire to go on. At least I’m no longer suffering from paranoia and thinking everyone's out to get me all the time or that I’ll get trafficked walking home from somewhere, but depression and mania are so bloody invasive and there’s always that little voice in my head telling me ill never be good enough. Executive dysfunction kills my motivation because I have so many things to do and I cant pick anything to start first, it gets worse when my depression gets worse too. I'm not lonely though; I have a few people who care for me- and while I'm trying to not involve them in the metal episode, they are around to talk to and that means so much. My friends are super encouraging even though I've only briefly mentioned that I'm having a sad time right now, and that's awesome.

I hate that no matter how much better I get there's still this deep desire to get worse. I don't feel like a real person. I just feel like a collection of what people want me to be and various mental disorders. It would be so cool if I could admit to the world I have a personality disorder without feeling disgusting and without fear.

I've had plenty time to reflect upon every bit of thought that created the barbed wire surrounding my logical brain, I want to feel okay to be alive, but I so strongly just want to die. I am tired of fluctuating from feeling extremely vigorously suicidal to passively suicidal; where I just don't have the energy to carry it out myself. It's gotten way past the point that it doesn't matter what kind of day I have, I think about killing myself all day. Sleep is an escape from life and I'm always tired and wanting to 'sleep'. Deep down I feel like I’m waiting for the right time to end my life and it's not the right time yet because I still have a footprint to leave behind, I still have journal pages I want to burn. I cant just jump off the highest accessible building or mall car park I could find just yet- I don’t just want to ruin others by hurting them with my death. It's sad to think I grew into this mindset, waking up wishing I was dead.

Being abandoned by many people in the past made me doubt people and think everyone was out to get me or wanted something from me, it made me feel hurt and lone. So I felt it would be better to let people down before they could hurt me so I wouldn't repeat the same cycle when forming new connections. It wasn't intentional but I could just silence myself due to fear.

I just found myself feeling immensely hopeless, like I was too internally enraged at the external world to be able to trust anything of it. I definitely do want to get better because I’m tired of feeling this way, it's so exhausting and I hate pushing people away from me like I’m poison. I need to allow people to accept all of me.

Before picking up these coping mechanisms when I was younger and more insecure; I wanted to be a part of the world, I had this strong urge to fit in. I had to learn how to manage my anxiety and socialising became more exhausting stemming from my fear of being 'odd' or 'different', I didn’t want to be called out for being different- it was not a compliment at that age, it always felt like a being the joker in the card deck. I was intensely afraid of being judged or labelled as such. Being told I was a 'weirdo' didn't help at all, that type of criticism is what got to me the most. People made me feel like I needed to change, like I was too African, even in a joking manner it didn't help- because although I was okay with who I was, I did feel like I had to change and westernise myself to fit in. I ended up hanging around with people that didn't care, doing stupid things I didn’t even want to do, dating people I didn't connect with. Eventually I got tired of people using me for entertainment, tired of catering to those who refused to understand. I still have to admit there were many periods that I lowered my frequency to be on the wavelength of others that did not match mines at all, I hate that I'm someone who always feels the need to explain myself so people don't think I'm a bad person and even though I don't owe it to everyone and now I am able to make better choices and I'm no longer easily influenced, it still hurts that i was ever around people that made me feel like I was over exaggerating my mental health or uncomfortable to a point where I learned to downplay it or the mention of it. Now as a coping mechanism I’ve become so facetious and sarcastic about my trauma it's a struggle to take myself seriously at times. Users and abusers belittled me to such a point where I felt they'd underestimated my intelligence and most of all humiliated me. It made me tired of justifying myself so now most days I’m just a mute, but I really do finally have good people in my life who deserve some sort of explanation and it's a shame they don't get to be experience a truly present consistent me. It’s just after having the wrong eyes on me, I don’t want anything to see me. I hate attention because I’m so embarrassed of myself I don’t want to be noticed. People looking at me make me want to kill myself.

I've been told to move past my rage, to let go and become a grounded and level headed person. I've been told there is hope for all of us. Must be nice to believe that, all I could wonder was what it was like to get angry without getting homicidal and suicidal. Even on most days where nothing extreme would happen besides negative emotions, my brain still travelled to a dark realm. I've come to a point where I want to live in my daydream universe wile I physically rot away. That's my business. Sometimes I feel as though all my friendships are on a timer, or more so it's that my timer is about to go off, so I subconsciously shy away and make sure i have no deep friendships. Just in case my head decides to do something stupid.

I don't want to have no friends, I want to have friends and I do value friendships so much more than entitled relationships, I just have a difficulty maintaining friendships because it's exhausting for me, it takes a lot of energy to be social and on a level that isn't just superficial where I can just let go and allow myself to fully be. Sometimes I have a hard time relating to other people, and thus I may feel I don’t belong or don’t quite fit in- causing me to feel irritated, paranoid or even in pain during social situations. It's not always this bad, and I don't mean for it to sound dramatic. It's different when In person and I’m really relaxed and comfortable with the company. However virtually socialising and expressing will always be extremely anxiety enducing and its something I need to overcome especially going into this new phase of Artificial Intelligence.  So if I start to drift away it most likely isn't a reflection of you. The cycle goes I need alone time to recharge then I realise how long has passed and I just feel so bad I haven’t gotten back, I tell myself I’m an awful friend for dissociating for so long, and then I don’t know how to explain that so my anxiety rises, mood drops and I spiral back into a pit of depression, often wanting to relapse but refraining from doing so. Sometimes I manage to get out of the pit, but by then so much has piled up I don't know where or how to begin again.

I don't feel like I could have a normal friendship as well as romantic relationship. It's hard for me to long term imagine myself being fully relaxed enough to let my guard down and not reluctant to express. I don’t think there’s any condition where ill just be came and enjoy a connection without worrying that the other person isn’t putting in as much effort, or they have an image of me, or that I’ve amplified the emotions and even though I feel them that way do they really understand me or love me as much. Silence is so upsetting and I hate the fact I do it when I'm afraid of myself or don't feel good enough. I never intent for it to become 'the silent treatment' because in reality its not treating anyone, it's more a reflection of what I’m internalizing and not wanting or being unable to project and express those feelings without feeling like party pooper, an attention seeker or 'too deep'. I don't mean to give people false hope, I love the people in my life so much and every one I’ve met on this journey. I'm learning to look at life through a different lens and the people who contributed to my suffering will not be the definition of me. People have led me to believe so much and strung me along, not letting me go- and I realised those entitled controlling abusive relationships were not serving me. I couldn't keep doing it. Now even though I want closeness I end up pushing people away or leaving them in the dark because of fear, especially of something new because I've never experienced anything good and true for a long enough duration of time to rid me of that fear. I also have fear of rejection or hurting, I fear becoming too emotionally invested and becoming co dependant so I end up wanting to avoid the pain than actually wanting to experience the joy and growth the relationship could offer, so I end it before it begins to avoid any possible pain. I feel like I don't deserve these connections,and sometimes the depression runs so deep I have to push people away in case I want to do something stupid- I don’t want them to feel at fault, or obligated to be able to handle me. Sometimes I really can just only be with myself and my thoughts so I hide but it may appear that I’m pushing others away because of my isolation and neglect.

With everyone I know, I get this feeling that they're too good for me, their energy is so radiant and loving but I feel so broken and don’t want to depend on that. I've had perfectly ideal people come into my life and I feel they’re too good for me because I have a lot of work to do on myself first, primarily I need to build up confidence and self esteem because it's the root of most my issues. I want to relate to people, share our deepest fears and wishes without fear of judgement. It's not that I don't want to get better, I simply cannot remember what it was like to have an actual honest to god normal personality. The feeling of being a mentally unstable chameleon is all I have  now. I AM my illness, that's the only identifier I have left. I can't remember normality.

I understand that I’m lucky and I’m not ungrateful for the things and people I do have, it doesn’t mean that my life doesn’t suck because of those lucky things. I often think about if someone created technology to transfer life to another, I’d happily give them mine because they'd live it much better than me, I’m not worth anything to myself. I never wanted to be someone to cause pain on the people I love but now I do, even if that’s just through silence. I just disappear when I haven’t been doing well and  although I know things get better, recovery isn’t linear and that not all my days are bad, I just have extreme chronic feelings of emptiness.

I struggle to trust people because I don't want to be hurt but I need people so much, I hate feeling unloved. It's so overwhelming because I feel everything so extremely as if I’m going to explode.

My sense of self and reality feels destroyed, my future and dreams are uncertain and it's hard for me to move on, sometimes it scares me what I’m doing to people without the intention of it, being too much or not enough- or at least feeling that way. It's hard for me to give myself a reason and it's not on the people around me to fill my empty void, I hate forcing people to be my friend or understand my illness. I cant expect anyone to want to- it feels like I’m holding their hand while they pull it away; and even though it's not the case I feel awful, I constantly feel like I’m in a more pessimistic head space. I'm worried people will realise I'm as pathetic as I say I am.

#LCZABIBU #deathwillonlybethebeginning

[timerogued]

JACK’S MENTAL HEALTH.  

TW  for  mental  health,  depression,  anxiety,  suicidal  thoughts,  the  lot.

jack’s official and clinical diagnosis were not completed until he was around the age of 24 but has suffered from the symptoms of his illnesses for as long as he can remember. his diagnosis was done professionally first by counsellors at his workplace, then by a doctor, and finally by a clinical psychologist. in his official notes jack is described as high functioning which comes into play a lot - this will be talked about a little bit later on.

his diagnosis are: clinical depression, anxiety (generalised and minor social anxiety), and minor psychosis. with reference to his psychosis, he has not had it checked out or determined as much as the other two so his counsellors are unsure if his psychosis is there because of his depression (which can develop if not treated correctly) or because of other underlying causes - aka. because of everything he has seen playing around in his mind and developing the psychosis on its own. ( psychosis can develop on its own but is more common under depression ).

DISCLAIMER: DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, AND PSYCHOSIS AFFECTS EVERYONE IN DIFFERENT WAYS. I WILL BE EXPLAINING / EXPLORING JACK’S MENTAL HEALTH THROUGH MY OWN EXPERIENCES, MY OWN DIAGNOSIS, &. RESEARCH OF THESE CONDITIONS.

DEPRESSION: the main symptoms that jack suffers with are bad self-esteem, constant manic-to-depressive episodes, lack of motivation, suicidal thoughts / suicidal tendencies, being irritable / sensory overload (which falls into his anxiety too), a lack of appetite, and a disturbance of sleep.

SELF ESTEEM: this does not just focus on appearance but also extends to having bad self-esteem about everything he does. jack can often be heard mumbling “i can’t do this” to himself and can slip through in conversation if his anxiety about something is high - and can be about absolutely anything. depending on how bad his days are he can feel like this about minimal things - ie getting changed, making food. if he drops a glass of water this can set him off because “fuck, i can’t even do this right!” it can also mean he has pre-thoughts about doing something. he’ll expect the absolute lowest of outcomes when doing work, food, anything.

on top of this he’ll often apologise for anything. remarks of “i’m sorry it’s not great”, “sorry i’m like this”, “sorry for being a downer all the time” with no prior conversation on the matter. this leads to an eager / want to please his peers and often doesn’t realise he’s doing it.

his self-esteem about his appearance does not affect him as much as it used to but small things still linger. when looking at a mirror he’ll often just stand in silence at his reflection - analysing everything about his face, an acceptance that he’s “alright looking” and will follow with a defeated sigh. however, he’s learnt to control himself from doing this and so-often will say a compliment to himself.

jack has learnt to almost deal with most of his problems. it’s not an acceptance or change about them but deals and carries on his life feeling like shit. he can often feel uncomfortable when in public or even at home when wearing the wrong type of clothes. ( self-esteem about his face includes the shape and the fact he always has dark circles around his eyes. he’s more inclined to hate his body - including his scars and the fact that he’s not exactly “in-shape”. again, he’s learnt to deal with this ).

to carry on with being uncomfortable, jack can be very hit and miss about compliments. someone has to be persistent for him to “accept” what they’re saying, but too many can draw too much attention to him and can make him extremely uncomfortable. if you want to compliment jack, don’t be too forward but be soft. he’s more likely to say thank you about it!

MANIC TO DEPRESSIVE EPISODES: when jack is manic he’s still depressed but takes a twist on it all; there’s laughter and jokes about what he’s suffering with. during these episodes he’s more likely to be accepting that his mental health is being ridiculous but will often follow them with a shrug. eg. “hey i feel like i want to die but whatever who doesn’t anymore lol”. this can cause adverse reactions on those around him - you are more than welcome to call him out and tell him it’s making you / the muse uncomfortable.

but be warned: once he comes out of his manic state it’s straight back into being depressed - but it shoves him right down to the bottom. he will mentally “beat himself” up for what he has said / done during these. this is a period when his low and irritable mood will be at full effect. this does not happen every day and he will tell when he feels like it’s about to happen.

MOTIVATION: there will be days / weeks at a time where jack will have minimal motivation. he will still do things due to him being “high functioning”. high functioning is defined as suffering with these issues and feeling the full effect of them, but still be able to go about their day. with jack, this affects him in the way of: he’ll still do things he needs to but gets little to no satisfaction from completing the tasks.

SUICIDAL THOUGHTS / TENDENCIES: he likes to believe he’s past his suicidal thoughts but during bad nights they will come flooding back. he does not act on them. suicidal tendencies come through with a lack of self-care: crossing roads without looking, looking for rushes that could potentially kill him, a willing to sacrifice himself without a second thought.

sometimes he can be irritable and suffer with sensory overload - this means he can often come across as nasty but he won’t act on it. he’ll probably just warn you that he’s not feeling great and any anger that comes from him is because of that. he will never take anything out on another person.

APPETITE: he has very little. he’ll eat one to two meals a day with occasional small snacks if necessary. he can and will go days without eating because he just doesn’t feel hungry or, due to a lack of motivation, can’t be bothered.

disturbed sleep and insomnia come under the psychosis diagnosis more than the depression but he has no average sleep. sometimes he’ll be out for an entire day, other times he’ll have breaks of being asleep, but more often than not he’ll find himself up until the early hours of the morning and surviving on 3 or 4 hours - then sometimes not sleeping at all.

PSYCHOSIS:  this can be determined as its own diagnosis or as an episode. jack’s still hasn’t been completely determined. an episode can be anything from only suffering with it once, to consistent suffering that could last years. psychosis has been defined as a “lower schizophrenia” and medically has been linked to the eventual development of the condition - however that is not all cases. jack suffers with: hallucinations, paranoia, and confused disturbed thoughts / speech.

HALLUCINATIONS: jack’s hallucinations are limited to shadows / silhouettes of objects or people and can often be seen as things rushing past him. hallucinations can include hearing voices that are not there which jack also suffers with. these voices used to affect him more but after much training and accepting that the voices aren’t there, he’s getting used to them. a big thing about jack’s hallucinations is knowing that they’re part of his mental health issues which grounds him big time. this does not stop them from happening and on certain days could affect him more by causing them to be more realistic or the belief that they’re there to hurt him.

DISTURBED SPEECH & THOUGHTS: disturbed speech and thoughts is when someone will switch topics during conversations or lose their train of thought during a conversation and can bring it to an abrupt pause. jack does both of these. as with everything else, it’s something he’s learning to control, but during bad episodes (manic, depressed and even affecting with his anxiety) it could appear more frequently. how to know when jack does this is that he’ll often say “uhh where was i going with this” or “shit. what was i gonna say?” literal seconds after knowing. he will give absolute no warning when switching topics. he cannot help this.

his depression / psychosis can be affected by the change in seasons. this is called seasonal affective disorder (abb. sad). his psychosis is worse at night which results in him not sleeping and will lead to extreme paranoia when he’s out in the dark. things he will be paranoid about is seeing people / shadows around him and thinking that they’re out to get him. when he’s in bed he can often see these faces come right up to him and he believes if he doesn’t wake up in time they’ll get him. there’s always the anxiety that something is behind him. behaviours he’s picked up from this is anything from double-checking an area he knows is safe, a build-up of anxiety around opening doors, and having to close windows / curtains at night for the fear that he will see something ( he often does ). this can cause nightmares and they can become very visual due to everything he’s seen from work / the streets / his mutant ability.

ANXIETY:  anxiety disorders can be different for everyone and can randomly be triggered. for most people anxiety can be physically and mentally draining which untreated can develop into anxiety and depression. to jack, this is his worst disorder that he suffers with because he can’t deal with the symptoms. there are two aspects of an anxiety disorder: the physical symptoms ( panic attacks etc ) and the mental symptoms. jack mostly suffers with the physical aspects but can feel the full mental side of them too. due to his anxiety being untreated for a long period of time he also suffers from minor social anxiety.

PHYSICAL ASPECT OF ANXIETY: jack feels like he’s always full of energy. this energy can come from excitement or happiness but can quickly turn into a panic attack if untrained. people can often find it difficult to separate anxiety attacks from genuine excitement ( i suffer largely from this ). this causes him to be restless and hyper-fixated on things going wrong around him. time can seem to slow down and during panic / anxiety attacks he feels like there’s focus on him and him alone. this will stop him from doing anything.

this can trigger for no reason. there will be random worry about anything - but it is more likely to happen when in a social situation. jack does not take medication for his anxiety (or anything) but drinks to “calm his nerves” before doing certain things. he is not reliant on alcohol. however, this can affect his depression the next day and turn into an endless cycle.

his panic attacks start with a twist-feel in his stomach before becoming restless in his legs and arms - usually shaking. this then turns to his breathing which becomes rapid and difficult to control, which then leads to his heart beating uncontrollably - when your chest hurts during a panic attack this is usually the reason. ( panic attacks can be confused with heart attacks - that is how serious the feeling can be ). these can last from a few seconds to at least 10 minutes. after a panic / anxiety attack jack will be very much on edge and anything could cause another. he can have up to 10 a day.

MENTAL ASPECT OF ANXIETY: having the boundless energy locked inside of you can cause extreme mental issues. it’s exhausting. anxiety can cause different reactions in different people, some can get angry, others upset. jack gets upset and will cry. this then makes him feel awful for the rest of the day. he’ll get migraines which in turn can make him more exhausted and his depression can be worse as a result of that. after an episode of panic jack will be extremely vulnerable depending on the situation. as he’s got older he’s been able to have one and go “okay that was an inconvenience. anyway” and continue on; this may not happen all the time.

he’ll often feel like a failure for having them, which in turn feeds his self-esteem and so the cycle continues on.

SENSORY OVERLOAD: sensory overload occurs when one or more of the body's senses experiences over-stimulation from the environment. it is more common with people who suffer anxiety and autism - however i can only speak for the anxiety side of it. bright lights, loud noises, they’re part of sensory processing issues that can be a key part in one’s anxiety. my own personal sensory processing condition means i cannot look at certain lights without me triggering an anxiety attack and if in the facility of a loud noise i will have an anxiety breakdown. jack also suffers with this but not to a high extent. loud noises can set off his anxiety but will not push him into an anxiety attack. however, constant subjection to them can have a serious impact on his mental health.

HIS MUTANT ABILITY: the sensation he has after activating his power is extremely similar to a panic / anxiety attack, and could actually trigger one if he is not focussing properly. during times of extreme anxiety it can set his mutation off and could send him somewhere in time he doesn’t want to be and if he doesn’t calm down - he might get stuck there for a while.

jack has seen many things with his mutation; whether it be for his job or normally, he’s seen a lot of death and has seen things happen that he cannot stop from happening. this can, and has done, trigger a mass depressive episode if bad enough.

sometimes his anxiety can work in his favour. jack is terrified of arriving late, doing something wrong, not submitting things on time - this does mean that he’ll be up to 15 minutes early before things, submitting things hours before they’re due, and making sure that everything he is doing is right (don’t get me wrong, this also affects him because if it’s not perfect then i can’t do anything right - feeding back into his self-esteem). in his own words: “hey it may cause me to have a mental breakdown but at least i did what i needed to!”

jack will see his mental illnesses in a humorous light and is extremely open about them. he’ll make / share jokes about what he suffers with - this can lead to suicide jokes so if you’re uncomfortable, tell him. he believes if he can’t make a joke about this then he’s not really moving on / accepting what he suffers with and ultimately can defeat him and is why he’ll make light of a situation ( even if it is inappropriate. because he’s an idiot ).

#wanted to geeeeeeeeeeeently place this onto here #as jack's mental health is SO damn important to me #and how i portray him! #so give this a read if you'd can <3 #mental health tw #anxiety tw #psychosis tw #depression tw #suicidal thoughts tw #headcanon. #ooc. » minoan enthusiast. #ask to tag :)

[sadisticscribbler]

Why Suicide?

Why do people kill themselves? I’m not talking about those who attempt suicide for attention, nor do I mean to belittle them, but what of the many more who chose to end their lives?

I am not asking some philosophical question here, but am talking from personal experience. You see, I have just found myself about to take my own life, and would have if I wasn’t disturbed just at the point of no return by a mundane phone call. Maybe because of my autism, but I had to answer the ringing phone which subsequently took me out of what I was about to do.

As a result I was left in some sort of limbo in which my body took me back home, and here I now sit talking to myself via this blog post. So how did I get there, and why do so many people find themselves where I did?

There is no simple reason… or rather there is no single event that in itself triggers suicidal ideation. Contrary to popular belief, suicidal thoughts aren’t caused by moments of depression that need to be “got through”, it is a more serious state of being. Let me explain: I was born suicidal.

As shocking and unbelievable as this might sound, it is true. I first attempted suicide before I was aged three (I drank bleach) which was not recognised for what it was… a genuine attempt to kill myself. I subsequently tried two more times in as many months, but survived them all. But what could have happened, you might be asking yourself, to make me want to kill myself? In a word: Nothing. Or in another: Everything.

For some context, I was born autistic; and I also had a very high IQ. Together, these factors, and the world in which I found myself, made this world intolerable. And it still is nearly sixty years later. The reason I have survived thus far is not because I have found some way to navigate this world, but in spite of it. No matter what experiences I have, it all comes to the same conclusion that I shouldn’t be living in this world. So why am I? For several reasons: external interference (such as my parents as a child), my Catholic faith, but more importantly my constantly trying to deny the inevitable. So what has happened now that these mechanisms are no longer sufficient to stop me doing the only thing available?

Until a few years ago I had responsibilities and family: both extended and my own wife and kids. Then I became chronically ill and unable to work. My parents and brother died and my family fell apart. And then my (now ex-)wife decided I was no longer useful to her and took everyone and everything away from me. I was left disabled and with nothing to my name. I had nothing and no-one… except for one very important friend who stuck by me. Last year she killed herself.

Like myself she was autistic and very intelligent. We talked endlessly about her decision to kill herself but I was unable to give her a convincing reason not to. This is because everything she said had been correct, and I could offer her (nor myself) any reason not to die. Unlike me she was an atheist and so the threat of eternal torment was not enough to deter her (as it had been doing for me). So I was unable to satisfactorily answer the question: What is the point of continuing to live? And my being unable to save her affirmed her conclusion in that, in my case, if I can’t save the life of my only true friend, then what is the point of my being around?

Before continuing with my journey, allow me to add her words herein as they show not just how I feel but how I and others, I suspect, see the world and why we can’t live in it. This is her final statement:

If you’re reading this, chances are my attempt to leave the world has been successful. If you happen to be religious, please pray for me to be treated compassionately in my next life, as I will be praying beforehand for this as well, as a relatively quick and painless death, despite my lack of religion.

Many people say suicide is selfish. To those, I would want to ask: is it not also selfish to expect someone to live, when existing seems to them intolerable?

None of us ask to be born, but we can decide when to die and in my eyes that right is fundamental; a human right, just like any other.

People stigmatise death, especially voluntary death, because to them it seems the most terrible thing they can imagine. To that, I say, what is so bad about death? The universe is so very old and will continue to exist long into the future, perhaps indefinitely. So why does it make a difference if someone dies at 20 or at 80, provided their life was not taken against their will?

As an autistic, I long for a world where autistic people can exist happily, but I’m not sure this can ever happen. I have pretty much given up on the world at this point. It’s not designed for people like me.

So who am I in this world? An autistic, chronically depressed, jobless, homeless in effect waste of space who was born into a female body but probably isn’t. Born to a teenage single mother, raised by a grandmother who is now dead and fated to a life where anything I attach to will be my undoing.

Dying isn’t something alien to me. I first began to think about suicide around the age of 7. As a child, I was intelligent and had a seemingly bright future, but that rarely translates into the adult world.

The only thing I really regret is losing the two people closest to me. Mostly, however, I am sad about losing hope, for it is only hope that keeps us going.

I’m also tired. To quote The Green Mile, “I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There’s too much of it. It’s like pieces of glass in my head all the time.”

Like my friend I am autistic, suffer from chronic depression with episodes of clinical depression, jobless, and as illustrated above: “a waste of space”. I also have a catalogue of degenerative diseases. So what is there left to hope for?

“Oh it’s the depression talking, and that can be managed” you may be thinking. Sadly no… and not just just due to the mental health teams (who spectacularly failed in my friend’s instance). Depression is not an aberration of thought that can be corrected with a shot of serotonin. Rather it is the cold hard truth of reality that serotonin (naturally produced or chemically induced) obfuscates. This is why it is nigh impossible to help someone resist suicide. And I speak from experience of trying to help others, as well as trying to convince myself. In the end, the only argument against ending one’s life is the I “haven’t done it yet, because I’ve managed to knowingly delude myself”.

But what of speaking therapies… can these help? I would say no. This is because that people like I already see the reality of a hostile world, that no matter how hard we try to improve our lot in life, the full horror of it is a mere hair away. Distraction is no solution. So speaking with a therapist can only succeed if he/she can ‘enlighten’ the person to the ‘knowledge’ that life isn’t all that bad… or that it won’t always be that bad. But what if you’re smart enough, or have experienced enough, to see that what the therapist has said does not change the reality that there is no reason to go on, and that continuing to suffer now is worth the remote possibility that a less terrible time might momentarily punctuate the pain.

But it cannot work… there can be no going back: Once a child realises Santa doesn’t exist, there is no way to recapture nor replace what it meant to believe it. And so, once we have seen the world for what it is, there can be no way back. All that is left is how long we can distract ourselves, and finding a reason to so. Sooner or later one or both of these management techniques will fail. And it might take only the slightest of not-so-bad problems to break it all apart. And this is where I find myself.

I cannot promise that what almost happened tonight to me might not happen again, but for now I am still here writing this post in the hope that someone somewhere might be able to find a way to keep going that I, and my late friend, cannot. So, what was my ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’? I have been trying to cope with losing the only, and most dearest friend on whom I leant very much, and whom I loved very deeply; as well as developing cancer to add to my list of debilitating and very painful medical conditions. The Catholic church has become victim to corruption and evil, including in the office of the Pope. So I truly am alone. The loneliness is immense and the daylight short. I am barely managing to live on my benefits, and it is not easy. And then I receive today notification that my benefits have stopped. So soon I shall be unable to feed myself nor have shelter. So is there any reason not to kill myself? I thought not.

I won’t be out on the street tomorrow, but the time is rapidly approaching. This would be the end of the line for me, so as my friend said, we may be unable to fit into this world, “but we can decide when to die and in my eyes that right is fundamental; a human right, just like any other.“

#Suicide

[trashcats-for-trashwriting]

In Light of Ardegi Allegations...

 I would like to take the time to share my personal story. First and foremost, I want to say I did not contribute to the anonymous messages sent to @/official-darkforest. Whether that is believed or not, well, I can’t force anyone’s hand. Seeing those messages made me think, though. If others have struggled, maybe I should share my experience. So, I’m going to try to recount events that led to my leaving the Ardegi server as best I can from my memory. I admittedly only have 1 screenshot that I will share below the cut; the rest is from memory and I want to try my best to present the most honest account I can.

EDIT: THERE ARE SOME ADDITIONAL NOTES AT THE END OF THIS. THE ORIGINAL STORY HAS NOT CHANGED BUT I HAVE ADDED SOME THOUGHTS.

I joined Ardegi last year and quickly created a gaggle of characters. For a time, I was really happy! I enjoy helping RP servers even when I am not a moderator, because it gives me something to do and a way to distract myself. RP has always been an outlet for me. I make my friends through RP and find creative freedom in RP. I offered to do things for Ardegi -- I made a map, which they still have permission to use to this day, I helped with a timeline and herb list -- and didn’t ask for anything in return.

I was, as I am in any RP, highly active. I was a full time college student taking online classes at the time, so I had a lot of free time on my hands. This allowed me to be available for RP for most of the day, all week. This led to me being involved in all the Clans’ plots as a reliable, active RPer.

If you follow the Ardegi blog, you may have seen mentions of Delilah of RustClan. I was approached by Admin Ken after pitching Delilah as a dark-minded character about possibly making her the next villain for the serverwide plot. I was happy and honored to accept.

I felt like I was friends with the staff team. The admins and moderators were easy to talk to. I became close to them, and sometimes would talk to them as friends in DMs when I had personal issues. I felt involved and included and genuinely a part of the server as a whole. During my time and talking to staff, they told me about past members who had been removed for a variety of reasons, and I was lead to believe that these members were bad for RP and that I should warn other RPs about them.

I’ve since learned all was not as it seemed, and that apparently these types of lies were unfortunately common. Additionally, I had friends who struggled to fit in with the Ardegi group. I was confused at the time. I had seemed to fit in so well, why were they struggling? Now, I feel as though it was the wool over my eyes that allowed me to fit in.

As a 21 year old in college, I admittedly suffered a lot of pressure, anxiety, stress, and depression. I still do, to a degree. Those of you who use RP and Discord servers may know that there is sometimes a channel called a “vent” channel. Sometimes it is preceeded with TW tags as well, because, in my experience, it is meant as a place to yell into the void and not have the void expected to yell back.

I started to go downhill in Ardegi after the new year.

In February, I was issued a warning by staff for godmodding characters. I had taken up the position of deputy in CliffClan and had told the currently serving medicine cat to assume they had healthy patients. In Ardegi, there was (at the time) a system for sick cats in CliffClan. It was complicated, a lot was going on, and the moderator who controlled the system was not easy to get in touch with, nor was the leader of the Clan. Rather than struggle with the system, I advised the medicine cat’s RPer that they did not need to do sickness rolls. I did not say the RPers wouldn’t request treatment still, but they no longer needed to do the complicated rolling system to see if treatment succeeded or failed.

This was deemed godmodding, and I was warned.

Shortly thereafter, I suffered an extreme bout of depression. I turned to the vent channel, which had been an extremely good outlet for me in the past, as I did not expect members to offer any support or aid. They’re not trained professionals. Vent is for yelling into the void, and so I yelled. I said I was not good enough, vented in an, admittedly, self-deprecating manner. I wasn’t looking for aid, I just wanted to yell.

A staff member messaged me after this occurred, and we started to talk. Believing that this was a personal discussion, not a discussion between a member of the RP and a staff member, I admitted that the godmodding warning had broken the dam of emotions I had been holding back for weeks. Stress from school had piled up, and as some of you with mental illness might know, it only takes one thing to break that dam sometimes. There’s nothing you can do about what breaks down the dam. You deal with it. You move on.

I admitted this to the staff member believing we were having a conversation as friends. I was wrong.

During these events, I was busy apologizing to the aforementioned medicine cat of CliffClan for my choice about the sick cats, and the staff member that had created the system. I was still in a bad place mentally, and I did not want to start confrontation or argument. I know that I can be hostile in the depths of depression, so rather than lash out, I wished to amend things professionally and without allowing for emotions to seep in.

Still struggling with a depressive episode, I turned to my personal Tumblr blog (not this blog) and vented. I have never forced anyone to follow my blog. I did not take the post I made to Ardegi and say “Hey guys, look at this!” In no way did I believe this post affected Ardegi. It was not a happy post. It was not a lighthearted post. It was sad and angry and depressing, but posting it made me feel better.

After I posted in my personal blog, I fell asleep. I calmed myself, recovered, and tried to start the slow climb back to stability. I was added to a group message with both admins and a moderator and sent the following message:

I don’t deny these points, but I felt attacked. 

1. Vent channels are for venting. As my vent was posted before the spoiler system in Discord, I had no way to black out what I said. The vent channel was marked as possibly triggering.

2. As mentioned, the things I said to a staff member were said friend-to-friend, not member-to-staff. I wasn’t saying it to make the staff member fix anything. I was just trying to talk to a friend and express what had happened.

3. My neutral-toned apology was meant to be professional, unbiased, and removed from the emotional state I was in.

4. My personal blog post was not shared in the server. I never asked the server to follow me.

I never abused or attacked any members of Ardegi. I was flexible with plots and RP. I adjusted my villain to fit within the standards of the RP (a RP that allowed the inclusion of the murder of a litter of kittens, in cold blood, before I was a member). I never asked Ardegi to be the professionals to help me. I used the appropriate channels to vent and spoke privately to a friend who turned out not to be a friend.

RP was my outlet. I believe that I never harmed anyone within Ardegi. Though it was phrased as asking me to take a willing leave of absence, the following line of deliberating whether I could stay or not was phrased in a way that...made me feel like I had no choice. I could leave quietly, or I would be forced out. I left quietly after expressing that I felt they had given me no choice.

Following my departure, friends within the server told me it was explained that I had left voluntarily. I shared the screenshot above with my friends and explained what I have explained here today. I cannot speak for my friends’ opinions, but I felt betrayed by Ardegi. They were lying to my friends and saying I had left voluntarily, making it sound like this was a choice I had.

I had no choice.

I could leave, or they would have made me leave. That’s not a choice, Ardegi, that’s an ultimatum.

I have since met some of the people that Ardegi’s staff spoke ill of to me. Those people, or rather person in my case, is not a bad person. They are nothing like what Ardegi led me to believe. After my own experience and sharing it with others, I really can’t believe in good faith that Ardegi hasn’t done what Anonymous users are claiming they’ve done. I know others they have hurt. Some members find a decent community there, but it’s not easy. From my experience, being in the leadership positions helps keep you in favor of the staff.

Make your own decisions. This is my testimony. I don’t want to cower and hide. Ardegi can say what they want about me; this is the story as I know it.

EDITED ADDITION BEGINS HERE

After posting this, I got in talks with Admin Ken of the Ardegi server. I had always considered the Ardegi team my friends before this incident, and so I was genuinely hurt by the message I had received. Ken and I set out to address our mutual concerns and try to find a common ground, and I believe we have achieved this.

Ken admits that the handling of my situation was not ideal, and that staff honestly panicked when faced with a situation of a member in deep depression. In Ken’s own words, 

“It was never our intent to just throw you out like that - our intent was to approach you and ask you to voluntarily take your leave, which we assumed you did - we didn’t intentionally lie to members about that.”

Knowing Ken before this event and having talked extensively, I believe these words to be genuine. I still believe that, 3 or so months ago, Ardegi did have some problems with how they handled my situation. I was not banned, but I left feeling as though that was my only option. Having talked to Ken, I realize now this wasn’t their intent.

Both sides admit their shortcomings. I should have handled my episode better, and staff should have handled the situation better. Ardegi has learned from this and is, in my opinion, trying to improve. Not all RP servers are perfect. 

Obviously, the biggest part of this is communication. Ken and I admit this should have been a talk had a long time ago, but neither of us was willing to make that first step for a long time. We have both apologized and want to try being friends again, which I think is a very positive outcome.

If you need to ask questions, you can message me here or at  bepbep_beaches#6020 on Discord.

#ardegi #warrior cat rp #ardegiwc #warriors rp #warriors #warrior cats #warrior cat oc #warriors oc #long #text

[stagekiller]

✧･ﾟ:✧!Headcanon time!✧:･ﾟ✧

  Here is something to warm you up for the contents of this post.

 If this face doesn’t spell out ‘ broski love me pls ’ I don’t know what does tbh. Either way:

 The life & crimes of Jerome Valeska, part II: One Bad Day

   I’m going to quickly get a thing out of the way before I start : Yes I am aware that the writers did our boy dirty & hadn’t written Miah in for half the show, then suddenly pulled the ‘twin brother’ twist ( which I usually find cheesy af & if it weren’t for Cam/eron’s AMAZING acting, I probably would have hated it ) I write my headcanons based on the show as a whole, analyzing Jerome’s behavior from S1 to S4 as if ‘Miah had always existed. And keeping that in consideration, here is my take on the Valeska twins.

Young identical twins often seem to have a telepathic bond, but there's no evidence that it's real. Their similarities reveal something about the likeness of twins' minds, not a link between them. This is one of many findings from research into twins separated at birth and raised apart. When such pairs independently read the same books, follow the same household routines, or enjoy the same hobbies, Segal writes, "they cannot be communicating because they are often unaware that the other twin exists—instead, they are reflecting their matched abilities, tastes, and temperaments."  ( X )

  I can’t stress this point enough but I feel like it’s often overlooked when talking about their relationship, so I’m going to attempt ( to stress it. until it breaks ) A quick re-watch of the Maze Scene gives us the following points:

 Jerome’s eyes when looking at Jeremiah are constantly fixed on his face & observing his expression: he is interested in Miah’s reactions

 Jerome appears to be genuinely excited to see his brother and on the verge of a manic episode.

 Jeremiah averts his gaze ( a sign of emotional distress, avoidance, perhaps guilt ) when his leaving home is mentioned and despite being held at gun’s point still taunts & insults Jerome, perhaps attempting to manipulate him even, which indicates that Jeremiah doesn’t really feel that Jerome will pull the trigger - perhaps he’s exercised similar control on his brother in the past, or perhaps he can read Jerome’s body language, being that as identical twins they share a special bond.

 Jerome’s primary goal is NOT to kill Jeremiah, but to bring Jeremiah to his level and make Jeremiah as he is: insane. He wants Jeremiah to embrace the darkness inside him - and if that doesn’t scream ‘desperate need for connection’ I don’t know what does. ( on that note, Jeremiah later displays the same obsessive behavior towards Bruce “ can you feel it ? The connection between us ! ” )

Prior to that scene Jerome displays the full extend of his obsession when he addresses his brother through the camera. His antics are obviously meant to taunt & scare his brother, but on a deeper level, his voice is full of emotion when he swears he would never hurt ‘Miah. And how do I know? Because, much like in the Maze scene & when referencing the fact no one ever helped him to Bruce, Jerome’s voice drops & becomes raspy as a growl when he gets emotional.

The same thing happens when Jerome references his life after Miah left. He has a short-lived outburst ( linking this to my headcanon about him displaying AS/PD traits ) and even raises his voice. Few people & circumstances seem capable of making Jerome lose his temper during S4. He has never went into an outburst after mentioning matricide to anyone else and always held a cold & aloof approach towards the subject * ( see Notes section )

 He keeps touching ‘Miah in an aggressive manner and exaggerates the word brother, using it at every chance he can get. These can both be signs that Jerome has genuinely missed his twin.

  Now that I’ve made my point about their relationship being one of complicated & twisted brotherly love, I want to get to the main point of this post:

   Jerome’s ‘one bad day’ wasn’t the day he butchered Lila. It was the day Jeremiah left.

“ I guess it’s like what they say. We all could go insane with just one bad day.” - Murder carrot

   In Jerome’s own words, his brother ‘ran away in the middle of the night like a coward’. The morning after Jeremiah left, Jerome would find his bed empty. Abandonment can be the root of many personality disorders as it is one of the most extremely painful emotions one can experience. Mix that with betrayal and the gradual worsening of his situation at home; Jeremiah might have likely been his only source of support during childhood, and with him gone Jerome was stuck dealing with the abusive household all by himself.

   On top of that, there was the betrayal. Jeremiah didn’t just leave, he threw him under the bus too. He used Jerome’s antics as leverage to pin things on him & make a good justify of why he ‘was at danger’ and had to be away from his maniacal brother. Sure, I do believe that Jerome had behavioral problems as a child and he must have been prone to violent outbursts too, but if he wanted Jeremiah dead, he would have killed him the second he came around that corner.

   The day Jeremiah left marked the destruction of Jerome’s future. He would be left behind in the circus, rotting away with their depressed, alcoholic, abusive mother & potentially his cruel uncle. And the thing was that these people did once mean something to him. In his own words: “ You turned everyone I’ve ever loved against me. My own flesh and blood ! ”

  He was left behind, abandoned, forgotten, alone.

  This played a key part in Jerome’s desperate need to be in the spotlight and his showman complex. Apart from ruining his chances at developing connections with people, because the sting of betrayal never faded, it made him afraid to experience that extreme sentiment again: he fears that he will be FORGOTTEN again.

   And that drives him to stick his face in the cameras & make public shows of his atrocities, drawing as much attention as possible, relishing in the fact that he’s making a name for himself in the process. Jeremiah was a victim just as much as he was a perpetrator: Jerome spraying him wasn’t an unfortunate coincidence, it was Karma.

  Now, I’m not saying Jeremiah is evil because every child has a reason to become what they become. And Jeremiah’s reason was purely to survive, as well as the fact he shared the same predisposition for antisocial behavior. They were, indeed similar. But the environment they grew up in molded them into different types of abuse victims: Jerome expressed it through his violent outbursts, Jeremiah internalized it and deal with it through insidious & manipulative behavior. They couldn’t both be explosive as kids, someone had to become more cold & calculating and control the other and that just happened to be Miah. So, I’m not saying that Miah is evil for throwing Jerome under the bus, I’m just explaining what my take on their story is.

Notes:

 To conclude, I want to add that I’m MORE than open to discussing headcanons with Jeremiah muns and of course I won’t try to force some of my own on them - this is basic rp etiquette, after all.

( * I am not saying he feels guilt, he is definitely unapologetic about killing Lila and has no remorse whatsoever, but he usually doesn’t care to explain his motive or how bad his life was before that. Even when addressing Gordon, he shrugged off the abuse as Lila ‘nagging’. Only Jeremiah and Bruce Wayne drove Jerome to talk about his bad past with such emotion.)

#{ headcanons }

[muslimnborderline-blog]

To everyone in my life

Ramadan Mubarak!

I am writing this following (long) post because it is both Ramadan, mental health awareness month and borderline personality awareness month. I am also writing this because I have been going in and out of pretty bad panic attacks for a couple hours and thought that this would be better than what I usually do. 

After a couple of years of being seen and treated for depression and anxiety, it was finally apparent that my mental illness did not stop there. I now know that I have Borderline Personality Disorder which means that I exhibit at least 5 of the following 9 symptoms for an extended period of time:

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment. Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in criterion 5.

A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

Impulsivity in at least 2 areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating). Note: Do not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in criterion 5.

Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures or threats, or self-mutilating behavior.

Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).

Chronic feelings of emptiness.

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

If you happen to have gotten very close to me, you are aware of how abusive and manipulative I can be in efforts to cut off relationships because of perpetual fear of real or imagined abandonment. I do things that cause harm to people without ever wanting to and without having control over. When I fall into this black hole that I cannot escape, I black out and come out of it being told that I said and did things I genuinely have no recollection of. 

I over analyze every single little thing that every says and does around me and play it in my head over and over again all day in the third person in order to disassociate and disregard my emotions, as I genuinely despise myself and care little about how I felt in any given situation, and judge and berate myself for anything I might have convinced myself I did wrong.

I self-harm (if you read the article I posted about Muslims and self-harm, that was written by me) and I do so knowing it is wrong but sometimes believe that I deserve to feel the pain that I inflict on others or because I am numb and want to feel something or because I am in so much pain that I just want to do anything to divert it, even for a couple minutes. I also feel so much pain and overwork myself constantly in order to feel like I am doing something worthwhile with my time, resources and privilege, even though I am convinced that everyone is better off not knowing me. 

I have been on and off medication for years and have in the past chosen to stop taking my medication because I felt like I did not deserve to get better, that I deserved to suffer.

There is a lot more to this and I encourage everyone to go watch the following videos or read the following pdf if you want to learn more but trigger warning since they depict issues that someone people might be triggered by:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZdjbLFPr5k

https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/borderline-personality-disorder/borderlinepersonalitydis-508-qf-17-4928_156499.pdf

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Dt9xJGPQBk

I have been seeing a lot of people posting about how they are hoping to be forgiven by anyone they might have hurt before the start of this blessed month. The difference between them and I is that I am fully aware of the hurt that I cause people and I hope that they can find it in their heart to forgive me, but I don’t expect them to. I feel like a monster every single day when I see the people I have hurt but still care for, either in person or in images and I have nothing else to say but thank you for being in my life.

Finally, I did not write this for pitty, I don’t want anyone to treat me that way. I just wanted to shed light on this issue and not live a life of secrecy anymore.

#borderline personality disorder #mental health #mental disorder #personality disorder #bpd #muslim

[daquantshell]

Alter Ego

Daquan’s Notes #9

Wednesday - August 26, 2020 - 10:00 PM

Everything is a sale, and there is always a comssion  

When I overdosed on amphetamines, my personality split in two.

Daquan Shell (Abraham Tomlinson)

and 

Theodore (Bundy Black)

You could say its PTSD, but I don’t particularly care for that label, since it has very negative connotations and implies that I cannot function, when the reality is I am not only a very high-functioning member of society, my level of self-awareness is much higher than that of the average person.

It’s kind of strange to be writing it down, but I’ve learned how to effectively separate these two aspects of my personality: my ego and my id.

Theodore definitely represents my id.

Its the part of me that confessed my love (or rather lust) for Jo even though the sensible part of me (Daquan) knew it would be a bad idea. Honestly, Daquan is kind of mad at Theodore for confessing. It was really out of character for him, she probably thinks i’m some sort of psycho now. I mean she hates me, which is the reason Daquan is suffering right now. At the same time, Theodore was right to confess. By confessing, it was like I revealed my true nature and intentions, and separated myself from the wave of fucking idiots who are usually attracted to her. 

I really hated that Ryan dude. What kind of asshole confesses his love to one woman, announces it to the world, then turns around and confesses his love to another woman? I genuinely hope Jo didn’t believe that bullshit narrative of him being abusive by a woman HE confessed to. That would be like me saying Jo “abused” me for not consenting to have unprotected sex with me.

Jo is dumber than I thought and that really depresses me.

I only find her physically attractive sometimes, but sometimes she just has this absolutely radiant glow that is genuinely fucking crazy. She’s like a goddess. I hate the fact that she’s actually taller than me.

When she starts to glow, it’s like a fire is lit inside of me. Like all I can think about is ravishing her and filling her up with my seed. It’s horrible. I know I’m a savage but I’ve never felt like this about any other woman.

Daquan still really wants to be with Jo in a lovey-dovey sort of way. Theodore thinks hes a pussy for that, which Jo actually agrees. I think Jo probably likes Theodore more than Daquan, which is the biggest deterrent to “me” and her having a proper relationship.

Theodore exists only to save Daquan from himself. At the same time, he makes sure that Daquan achieves the things he set out to achieve, otherwise all the work they have done up to this point will be have been in vain.

Theodore wants Daquan to get the Lamborghini, the wife, the house, and the kids, and to do so in a way that pays respects to Sarah, the first wife. Theodore would be okay with Daquan not getting married again, but Daquan still wants a companion to spend the rest of his life with.

Daquan hopes Jo is happy running around. Theodore thinks shes a dumb bitch, and hopes she’s miserable for rejecting Daquan (which she is, according to her podcast.)

The one thing they can both agree on, is she should make another episode, but she is too busy being a distracted whore.

At least she gives Daquan something to focus on.

The more he talks about Jo, the less time he spends talking to Jo. From a economical standpoint, it makes more sense to talk about a girl than to talk directly to her. This allows me to vent emotionally without charging her emotions as well.

She was too easy.

It wasn’t any fun!

I wanted to enjoy the hunt.

So I turned up the difficulty.

Now that she hates me, it’s a lot more interesting.

I look at her the same way I look a trade.

An Entry.

A Stop-Loss.

A Take-Profit.

And most importantly, a trigger

Fun Fact: All trades start in a drawdown, since the broker always has to get commissions. Her spreads are a little bit higher than I expected, but my stop-loss was pretty wide to begin with.

So it look like this trade has simply hit my SL

I risked a little more than I should have, but overall my account is still fine, and I have enough capital to place another trade, although I should make certain too look for a better entry point.

[swampgallows]

really feel like im gonna struggle to ever integrate into society. i struggle to chill w people my own age because a lot of them have careers n shit (i think... i guess? i dont really know actually lmao cause i dont talk to em) or theyre dating people and i cant really tell people what im up to because theyre condescending about it. “oh youre still into the rave thing huh?” yeah i’m “still into” it, sorry. you got two kids and a husband and youre living w your parents still too, that’s not a life i envy. id rather keep my ‘childish’ interests, thanks.

and i dont drink or do drugs so a lot of Adult Outings make me uncomfortable or are not right for me. and any time i want to find sober anything it becomes religious or recovery related, or it is considered exclusively for children. i have no problem being in the vicinity of alcohol but i dont want to hang w people while they’re using controlling substances because it sucks for everybody involved: they cant enjoy themselves because they feel self-conscious around me being the sober one, and then i feel bad for making them self-conscious but am also uncomfortable with them using substances around me. and of course i mean substances for the purpose of getting fucked up, not as medication. except in the case of weed which is a huge monumentally major trigger for me (whether i mentally prepare myself to be around it or not).

raves are the perfect blend for me. people who wanna get fucked up can, people who dont want to dont have to, and everybody is there to have a good time in their own way. they wear what they want, they dance how they want, and they generally dont infringe on anybody else’s good time with weird stuff like sexual advances or whatever. and if something like that is going down (like when RTC strips down and starts fucking on stage basically) you can always go somewhere else without having to sacrifice listening to the music or enjoying yourself otherwise. there’s generally outdoor areas (or people will let you in/out if it’s not the shadiest) to chill or if you need a breather, people are willing to help you, etc. i dunno raves compared to clubs or bars are vastly VASTLY superior. youd think id be able to stand the latter two since i rave all the time but i just cant (also because there is never any good music at clubs).

plus im not dating anybody and being ace is a shit and a half in terms of All of That, it’s another fuckin hang up on my perceived adulthood that im unpalatable or a freak or something is wrong w me if i’ve “gone this long” being single. sorry all the dudes who have been into me have been petulant children or massive abusive jerks and im not open enough about my bi-ness to be visible to women i dont think. either way im entirely de-sexed and this is the age where people are definitely fuckin, and fuckin with a PURPOSE. theyve all had like ten years of practice by this point (whether actually having sex or not, theyre just programmed to understand it) and so most people dont have time for a stiff like me who really doesnt give a shit about sex or ranges to even actively fucking hating it. i also havent developed feelings for anybody in a long time unless you count my tumblr crush (who im pretty sure has a partner anyway lmao and they seem pretty sexual actually so i dont think theyd, among many other reasons, give a shit about my dumb ass) and that can be really alienating too. 

my high school best friend got married yet to me i feel like the only development i’ve had since high school is Trauma and mental illness. like i developed dissociative episodes in the last few years whereas in high school i basically only had the chronic insomnia and hypnagogic hallucinations. i mean i certainly think i’ve developed AS A PERSON in HUMONGOUS strides since high school but i know people i knew then will just be like “oh you still do ‘the rave thing’ and play WoW, huh?”

like yeah, i dunno, FUCK ME for enjoying my interests. i quit wow when i needed to and im glad i did but it’s not WoW’s fault i entered a morass of suicidal depression in the years i wasnt playing. WoW had run its course at that time in my life. and at the latter end of that i was going to raves regularly, making the BEST lifelong friends i have ever had, and generally being part of something greater, part of a community that genuinely cared about me. i was working out further kinks with my ability to socialize and love and be open to people (as i will continue to do until i die) but i feel there is arguably a much larger capacity to love in me than before. so i still wear kandi, so i still wear black clothing, so i still prattle on about orcs and trolls. fuck off. at least now i dont hate myself and let myself get raped every day, at least now im not mindlessly swallowing and regurgitating actively racist rhetoric out of fear of confronting my parents’ hatred or by surrounding myself with the dregs of society, at least now i dont want to “sew up my vagina” because i detest my womanhood and the men who covet(ed) it

currently i play wow honestly like maybe twice a week. i went on a bender with diego my REAL LIFE FRIEND LMFAO (like what, stop enjoying time w your friends, it isnt grown up!) a few days ago and we played for like 6 straight hours which was pretty fuckin wild. i think about wow a LOT like TOO mcuh and all of my art recently has been wow-related but holy shit i am drawing at least 

since playing wow again (almost concurrent with when i had started my job) i did more drawing than i did in probably all 4.5 years of college, assignments or otherwise. i was drawing EVERY DAY, legitimately, even if they were just quick scribbles. and when i wasnt i was writing every single fucking day. and when i wasnt, i was READING. like FUCK me for having warcraft as a motivation to do fucking anything in my goddamn life. youre right, abandoning my interests and adopting ones i hate for the sake of appearing more adult is totally worth the mind-numbing soul-eating depression i crumble into without these silly safety nets.

like that’s all it is. it’s silly. raves are silly. video games are silly. “good luck getting laid” thanks i dont need it. “good luck finding someone who loves you” fuck you i have plenty of people who love me BECAUSE of the things i love, not “in spite” of them, not in some tongue-in-cheek “That’s our Swamp!” fashion. they say, “THIS IS GREAT. PLEASE MAKE MORE.” they say, “THIS IS GREAT. PLEASE TELL ME MORE.” they say, “THIS IS GREAT. PLEASE PLAY MORE.” (that last one is about music, not warcraft lol).

but i mean i do worry about it, worry about being “too insular” as some critical piece of shit idiot put it to the point of being unrelatable. I dont want to alienate myself from people of course, nor do i want to get so wrapped up in fantasy that i lose myself. and that’s something i was tearing myself apart about during my episode earlier, just that “I have to get off the internet” because while i think and do all of this stuff, “Me” is just sitting in my bed rotting. Even when im drawing or up at my tables mixing i know it’s still just me, in my house, sealed off from the world, and i started having panic because i was telling myself “i want to go home” over and over but i am at home, i’m in my bed, but i realized of course that home is not in this house. home is many places for me, but it’s also why im SO enthusiastic about wow again: it is home. and believe me im getting wary of just how fucking much i am eating breathing sleeping dreaming (literally dreaming) warcraft because while i dont know if i was ever “addicted” i, again, dont want to be so swept up that i forget im a person (and with dpdr that shit is way potent). that and uhh i got shit to do, but mostly... it’s not real. and i know im setting myself up for failure and heartbreak again by yearning for something that cannot exist no matter how much i set my mind and hands to create it.

i feel hurt physically by the fact that there are “only humans”. i mean there are infinite different kinds of humans, but it’s more of an existential quandary than a yearning for an orc boyfriend or something. it’s why we dream up fantastic creatures and aliens in the first place: we’re not alone in the universe, are we? are humans really the only sentient beings out there? we can’t be. we can’t be. “they” say either option—that we are, or are not alone—is equally terrifying but i dont think so. sure we might fear violence or eradication from not being alone, but to know that we are? out of everything we’ve charted and studied, that we’re it? that’s... that’s death. and of course there’s going to be heat death or whatever they say in 6 billion whatever i dont know, so whether we’re alone or not is irrelevant because it will destroy our universe and what happens when there is no universe? and so of course all of this was compounding into panic, of course, of course, jumping from a dumbass thought like “i guess im not as into overwatch because it’s sci-fi but also theyre all humans” straight into “INEVITABLE HEAT DEATH”. so like, really, does it matter that i care about wow lore more than i care about marriage?

i mean, i guess i should have a career, but i dont really know what i could be capable of doing. i dont know if it’s mental illness or discipline or what but even if like metzen himself was like “come work at blizzard!” i would still probably just collapse into a heap of worthlessness and fear. 

i dont know what i fear. i guess i fear that im wasting my time, and by spending my time in another world i dont have to worry about how im spending time in this one. and that’s really, really bad. i dont like that.

i have to make this world worth living in. i have been trying. but i havent gotten very far. in fact, i took some steps backward.

from the edge of the cliff, so... i guess that’s forward in some ways.

#blathering

[sexygarbage]

1:20am

Have I written about how I realized that I have a hometown murder???! I recently finished every episode of MFM that isn’t a live show and isn’t a minisode. So, now I’m going down the list of minisodes. Which, are just as entertaining, if not more so than the good ol fashioned shows. And every time I hear these hometown murders I am like so jelous that I don’t have a story to tell! I mean, people are writing about close encounters with famous serial killers or even unknown killers. Or like not even murder related but touching and thoughtful or about ghosts or the super natural. And I wanna be featured on it so bad. I was listening to them talk about a mother who had murdered her own baby or something and how it’s the lowest of the low in prison if you’re a mother who murdered your baby. And then it all came back to me. I had a middle school/high school friend named Barbara Ramirez Sufuentes who drowned her two twin babies in her bathtub like 4 years ago!!!!!!!!! I honestly thing I repressed this memory because at the time, she had started posting more on her facebook about them and also she had commented on a depressing instagram picture I posted of a bb gun to my head. She was like “are you okay? guns are kinda serious” And then she straight up murdered her two twin daughters!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! At the time, I just could not believe it. It was a numbing time, a depressing time. Me and Barbara had fallen out of touch. It was weird of her to even ask me anything about myself because we had not spoken for years. So, I’m sure at the time I just repressed it. I wasn’t into true crime shit just then. And when I was listening to MFM I re-remembered. I wrote to them but I doubt that it will get read because sometimes I feel as if I have to dumb myself down a little bit and I probably did that in the email, causing it to probably be boring and I don’t think it would make the cut :/ 

But! It was interesting to re-remember something from my past. Barbara was like one of those girls who were super intimidating and like really pushy. And you kinda just had to feed into their delusions in order to maintain peace you know. There was something about her that was always a little unhinged, or like off... I always thought that... which is why I wasn’t so committed to staying friends with her after middle school yanno. But upon my research, she was arrested on mothers day and she claimed it was a horrible accident. She started the twins bath and was listening to music very loudly and the next thing she knew they were dead... She was also seen smiling when she got arrested! She was found guilty and is serving a 6 year prison sentence. People in the fb comments were heavily debating. A lot veer into the side of it just being a crazy accident and then some people are too ragefilled about it. Also upon researching, I discovered a prison penpals website where she wrote an ad seeking friends while she was in prison. And it was very strangely written, she only said she was in prison for a crime that was due to recklessness on her part and that she hadn’t done anything wrong before that. She also used a lot of quotes and named the bands she listened to... It just seems so creepy to me. Because with all the red flags, it’s so obvious that she totally killed her babies and it was not an accident. But this was a girl I basically grew up with!! We might have even had a sleepover or she at least came to my house once or twice!! She was someone that I knew. Someone that I had study hall with, someone that influenced me as a kid and she totally fuckin murdered her own children!!!!!!! I mean, it’s crazy when I think about it now. Now that I am so invested in crazy shit like this and have heard so many fucked up stories. And the thing that baffles me is that when you’re in school, it feels already like a prison. And everyone around you can bond over the fact that you are all pretty much miserable. And Barbara was def not a student who stayed out of trouble. She was always in trouble. She was fuckin crazy! School is like baby prison. Prison is like real life adult serious prison!!!!!! Like, murderers, rapists, unfathomable, unforgivable crimes is where prison is! And I already empathize way more than I need to so when I realize the legitamcy of it all, it fuckin freaks me out. Ofc I didn’t write anything as poignant and personal like this when I wrote the email for MFM. But, I still shared the small barely interesting story. 

I keep thinking about it and I just wanna know that they read it. But I can’t count on that outcome. I’ve just listened to like 5 minisodes in a row and they have all made me laugh and cry and scream and get goosebumps. They make me feel so many emotions, and they trigger me and I begin to feel genuine feelings which is so hard to come by especially because the people close to me are a majority of sociopaths. And when I listen to the stories and the carmraderie and the sense of belinging, it just warms my heart. I mean I hate to be so cornball about it. But shit, I’m mostly having a bad day and I’m mostly secretly struggling and feeling out of place and uncared for and this just totally turns me around and I become intrigued, I am put in a trance where things are just not so shitty and the hottest of tea is being spilt in the most twisted of ways! It is everything I live for! 

So yeah, I’ve been emmersed in these crazy stories, I might be gong insane a little bit. I also wanna write about my thoughts on my therapist because I don’t write about it that often. Me hanging out with Coco so much and hating it is an indication that I, too, am quite insane. Because I have no where else to go. And so I keep going back to Coco when I know she makes me feel like shit. It’s not normal that every time I call Sas, we have to have a Coco complaints hour. I know it’s fun to talk about the dysfunction of others. But at a certain point, it is spilling onto me. And look, the situation is not easy for anyone. Idk if anyone would care, but I would be certainly sad if I just straight up ghosted everyone cus I couldn’t stand Coco. No, I love everyone else, that’s why I have to put up with Coco. And when I go to my therapist about it, I could be talking about so many other things... My committment issues, my daddy issues, so many other issues but all I wanna talk about is how many times Coco has rubbed me the wrong way within two weeks! And I tell my therapist how shitty I’m feeling, and it upsets him to know that I’m upset so then I feel even more shittier. And we know the only solution is to get rid of her but it’s not easy and it’s not realistic. And I’m kinda just looking for a scientific explination of my dynamic with Coco, of my reasoning for my own attachment. But we never get there. With my therapist, he never gives me a scientific explination as to why I am the way that I am with certain people. He praises me a lot, he tells me positive things about myself and shitty things about everybody else. And on one hand, I do need to hear good things about myself because not many people are praising me and I need validation. But on the other hand, I am uncomfortable about it and I don’t know how to make that clear. I just think my therapist is way too emotional. Way too empathetic. And way too on my side! I mean, I know I’ve been gaslighted to believe everyone should be mean to me, but I need someone who is unfeeling. Someone who will give me scientific explanations. I’ve been kinda wanting to break up with my therapist :/ Which sucks because I love him so much. And part of it is me. Because I just don’t know how to deal with someone who sees me for me. I only know how to deal with people who make me the butt of the joke or something like that. I’m not used to people being so nice to me and it freaks me out and it makes me uncomfortable. And I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. But idk what to do. Also, my therapist is good at taking this into accountability, but it is different to have a white therapist when I’m not white. And he’s like super aware of racial differences, super understanding. And sometimes I just feel like I need a person of color therapist you know. Maybe not straight up filipino because you know pinoys are judgemental and hella religious. But at least just another person of color and a woman, so we’re all on the same page. Like, my therapist is an openly gay trans man and you could not ask for a better sense of open mindedness and a radical stance on politics. But, I am already so emotional. My therapist cannot be more emotional than me. It makes me feel like I have to retaliate and so then I become unfeeling. 

And also, the thing about therapy is that your therapist is always gonna be on your side. I was talking to Sas about what Coco’s therapy is like and it’s true, you can just straight up lie the whole time. And that’s probably what Coco is doing. She is doing her mother teresa act, crying her crocodile tears and her therapist has to buy it, her therapist has to be on her side and tell her the things she thinks she wants to hear. But her therapist is missing a huge chunk of Coco herself because therapists will only ever get your side of your story. I have probably hurt a lot of people too, and it’s not supposed to matter to your therapist. But sometimes I just wish it would so I could know how much of a shitty person I am. The way Coco’s therapist would never tell her. I wanna know all the bad things about me. A stranger just can’t know that about you because ofc I’m seemingly nice, and so are the thoughts that come out of my mouth and into my therapists’ ear. Ofc, he’s not gonna tell me all the bad things about myself. Ofc it’s just me finding new ways to hate myself even when I try to get better about it... Sometimes tho I feel as if I don’t even need therapy when I know so much shit already. But that’s just me being cocky and stupid... Anyway, idk! Imma just ride it out. I still have writing. And I still have my podcast and other creative endeavors. 

Actually, you know what I think this is me just like dealing with the fact that therapy is really that hard. I mean, you tell everyone to go to therapy but it’s only if theyre willing to work at it. Because it is a constant constant battle. And it’s never gonna be easy. And it’s so hard for me to like not feel bummed out about it because life is so hard. And then sometimes I just feel like there is no hope at all. Even when I put myself in a position to see that there is.. 

[jenuine-reality]

Story of a bro/ken girl

I may look like a cheerful and well-travelled young lady who is also creative, extroverted and well-liked, despite my straight-forwardness and extremely feisty temper.

But the truth is, I struggle with very severe depression and not proud to say, the up and downs of depressive and mania episodes have further caused me with eating disorder, bulimia. I have lost quite a bit of weight due to this. Probably that’s the only one small victory that came out of all these miseries. 

The past few months was the worse period of my life.

I wallowed into a lot of self-loathe, anger and misery. And so much crying that ‘excessive’ would be an understatement. 

If depression was an actual person, he would be the motherfucking asshole who tells you that you are unworthy, unloved, and everything bad that happens is your own fault and you don’t deserve anything good in life. He is also the demon that would drain every single bit of your energy and causes constant fatigue. 

Every morning on my lowest period, I would wake up with paralysis and physical pain. I also struggle with daily functions like brushing my teeth, showering and even trying to get up from the bed seems like the hardest things in the world. I was incapable to function and only ate one meal a day. The idea of facing the world was terrifying and I remember isolating every single person I know because yes, depression also tells me that all my friends secretly hate me, nobody cares and eventually everyone would leave. I just could not see past the lies depression told me despite the fact that I am loved, I am needed and I am wanted. 

Various morbid suicidal thoughts went through my mind;  

“How long would someone actually take to find already gone from this world? Would anyone miss me for who I am? Would I just be known to the people as a coward who cannot face my issues despite the fact there are many people in this world have worse off issues?”

I knew I could not persist this anymore and decided to seek for professional help.  

I then started my journey of anti-depressants and jot down on an instastory journal of the process of doing so. As much as I would like to blog out my thoughts back then, the depression monster has occupied every single bit of energy I have left. Not to mention, the voices kept telling me “Why bother? No one would ever understand. They would just think you are just an attention-seeking whore.” 

I religiously took my medication because I genuinely wanted to be well. Or at least do the job of numbing the pain and grief I was facing. 

The anti-depressants were a double-edge sword. It did numbed a lot of my pain but also “zombified” me that I felt “nothing” and “empty”. Once the medication effect runs out, I felt that the monster got bigger and it would overpower me again. 

Being in a worse-off state, I took more dosages of meds, simply just hopping it would prolong the numbing effect. At that point of time, it didn’t cross my mind that I was involving substance abuse and I was getting addicted. 

There was one extremely dark night, I accidentally took 8 dosages where my prescribed medication was 2 dosages and the maximum was 4 dosages. 

“Fuck, should I go to the hospital?” 

That was the first thought on my mind. I know I have contemplated suicide countless times, but the feeling of knowing that I might potentially die at any moment from then is just heart-wrenching. How many people would I be hurting with my death? 

“They would get over it and you would just be part of another oblivion” 

That was what the voices told me so, and it really got into me. 

“Yeah... Why bother?” That was my second thought. I laid on the bed and stared at the white ceiling for a short while before I got knocked out and lose every single train of thought. It was definitely not a normal sleep. If I were to describe more aptly, I would say it is anesthetic sleep where everything goes to complete unconsciousness. The last conscious thought I remembered was, hoping the world would be a better place, people to be kinder and people I care about to never go through what I have to go through... 

But the next morning (or rather, afternoon), I did managed to wake up but with the most intense physical pain ever. Migraine, nausea and diarrhea all came at once. I’d skip the specific graphics about how I purge out because that is not the point, but fortunately, I did manage to get most of the undigested medication out. 

I don’t exactly know how long I was unconscious for but I knew it was hell of a  long time (<16 hours). I promised myself to never ever do this again, be it overdosing or intentionally/accidentally attempting suicide. The intensive pain is not something I want to undergo again, in my life. 

My almost-death experience had me decided to completely quit drugs and focus on changing my mindset, instead of relying on medication. Of course, it wasn’t an instant apperception and I could go on my difficult cold turkey days, but that would be another long story, meant for another day.

This particular experience have made me realised that life is too precious to give up on your own and I am more than grateful that someone up there have given another opportunity to stay alive. Cliche, but very true. 

Also, for my own good reasons, I will not share what was the recent trigger as the pain is still pretty raw and still bothers me up to today. 

However, since I have shed some light on depression, I do have another  confession and story to share - 

I have been depressed ever since I was a child, even before I even knew the definition of it.

I don’t think anybody is born depressed but with sad stories, background and toxic environment, it is all meant to be a tragedy to begin with. Mine has already started, even way before I was born. 

Both of my highly-educated parents hailed from Malaysia and I was birthed in Miri, Sarawak, where it was considered rural 25 years ago. The environment was so terrible that there are no gynecologists around and my mother had to take a ferry to head to hospital for me to be delivered by a midwife. Not to mention, my father was in Sydney’s ICU because he was extremely ill (he was an Australia PR and hence, he was able to receive subsidised medical treatment). 

Many people are surprised with the fact that I am not born in Kuala Lumpur instead, where my mother came from. Afterall, It is a city with actual proper medical facilities. I shall not reveal the full backstory because it involves my mother’s tragic background as well, but basically she was forced by her mother (my grandmother) to get out KL to give birth. Hence, she went to Miri instead even when my dad was not around (and my dad is from Miri). 

I believed she was in an extreme tragic state. With her husband being extremely ill, being a city girl her whole life but had to go to a rural area to give birth, and having an unsupportive mother who didn’t even allow her to give birth in KL.

My mum have never really admitted to me about her pre-natal / post-natal depression but moments she saw me acting up during my depressive episodes, she told me she shouldn’t have affected me when she was pregnant. It breaks my heart to hear her say that and sometimes, I simply wished I was never born... 

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately), she did gave birth to me after the hardship and my dad’s health condition did improved after receiving treatment in Australia. Hence, all of us moved back to KL and we have gotten a place on our own, to be part of a family. 

However, my family tragedies didn’t end here. 

My family was extremely poor with the debts my father incurred from his failed business ventures and he got ripped off a lot of money from his ex Thai-wife. Hence, my mum had to work extremely hard as the sole-breadwinner to clear his debts. My dad could only do freelance work because he was extremely ill. Many assumed I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Not only that is not true, I also remembered a lot of moments of being poor. It also scares me if I were to struggle to make ends meet when I am older. 

To make things worse for me (and my family), I have to go for an surgery operation due to an anatomy body part issue that was discovered shortly after I turned 6 months old. That not only had burden my family on the financial aspect, it also caused me to have severe body image issues due to the huge operation scar inflicted on my stomach. As this is a relatively private issue, I have never really talked about this to anybody though many assumed that was a scar from cesarean/miscarriage. I probably suffered a lot during those surgery days but it was a good thing I did not remember any. Though the scar on my stomach, is evidently that I did undergo this and it would affect my self-image to a certain extent, for the rest of my life. 

My earliest recognisable moments of my mum was when I was about three years old. Back then, she got headhunted by Citibank Singapore with a job with better pay (due to currency exchange rate) and better prospects. So, she had to leave Malaysia for Singapore to work. 

I remembered vaguely the day she got ready to leave. I did not know what was happening but I knew something was up, like the fact that she was leaving. I was bawling like mad and even took her handbag and begged her not to go. Though being upset, my mum still left and my dad let her do so for a better family life. I guess that was the very first time I have ever felt abandonment. 

Back then, my mother would try to come back every weekend, taking the Friday’s sleeper train in Tanjong Pagar (which is also where she worked and stayed) and returning to Singapore in a sleeper train on Sunday night. It was really very tough for her, but I did not understand the turmoil back then. Slowly, she just became a stranger... 

Life was still tough without my mother’s presence. My father had to take care of me while going for his medical followups. He would put me over at a kind nanny’s house who she took care of me alongside with other kids. She passed away two years ago and that really affected me a lot. Here is the link of my blog entry when she passed away in 2015 - https://dayre.me/jenuinejen/9tMSI3OBdD . I am thankful for her to give me love when I was a burden kid. To me, my father and her were my everything and my mother was just someone else who visits on the weekend. She did try to love and be close to me when is back, but I just couldn’t do so then. 

My dad and I would occasionally visit her in Singapore. I remembered we wanted to save some money and beating the traffic, we would take the bus from KL - JB and then walk across the causeway to Woodlands Checkpoint. For a kid, it was pretty much a long distance but I remembered I was so happy with my dad holding one of my hands and me carrying my favourite mickey mouse plushie on the other. When we reached Woodlands Checkpoint, he would be in the taxi stand asking if anyone is going to the same direction, so we can share a cab together with some cost savings. I find him extremely smart and awesome. It was a ‘grabshare’ and ‘uberpool’ idea of more than 20 years ago! I remembered the three of us would squeeze in a masterbed room that my mum rented. It was indeed one of the very rare childhood moments I remembered and enjoy. 

After more than a whole year of such a routine, my parents decided that this should not be how a typical family should be and it was an issue because I wasn’t close to my mum at all. I remembered the only time I was happy around her was because she could bring me to the female toilet when we were out. 

Our whole family then decided to migrate to Singapore when I was 4, for a better life-changing conducive environment for me to grow up in, as well as to reunite the family. My capable mum then, has earned enough to rent a pretty good executive flat over at Bedok. That was the biggest change in my life, affecting me up till today. I didn’t understand completely the importance of a family reunion back then but I was surely happy seeing my dad happy and I actually started to love my mum again, with her presence. 

However, good times don’t last. My dad got extremely ill again and could not function enough to hold a job and take care of me at the same time, so my family had to hire a domestic maid to look after me. 

My first domestic maid, Kak Kak T was from Indonesia and she looked like a young demure, meek and sweet lady who was just trying to make a living in Singapore. Indeed, she was, initially. However, what she did next was unforgivable and has caused me lifelong trauma... 

My dad had to head to back to Australia for his medical treatments and my mum had to work. Hence, Kak Kak T held responsible to look after me. My mum gave her money everyday to buy food. Instead she would just get a cream bun everyday for lunch and pocket the rest of the money, causing me to be malnourished. And, this is the only the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things she do. 

She also prostituted herself and brought along the men to our home and occasionally, it would be vice versa where she would bring me to their homes. 

Of course, being a 5-year-old kid, how would I know the concept on whatever they are doing? I only knew it was hell of uncomfortable. All the customers were foreign bangala/indian workers. They would simply locked themselves in the room for hours. and leaving me out in the living room, bewildered with a cream bun and watching Sesame Street, wondering when will Kak Kak T be out to bring me out of this awkward situation. 

Sometimes, Kak Kak T would bring me to her “customers” place instead. As mentioned, they were all foreign workers(possibly bangala/indians), hence they all stayed at rented rooms in a flat. I vividly remember there was this one occasion, it was in a Malay household. As usual, I would have to sit outside and wait for her. I remembered I was watching Malay cartoons with a bunch of Malay kids who gave me dirty looks, wondering why am I even there. Back then, I was just hoping that Daddy would return home soon so I would not have to succumb to all these un-comfortableness. 

I did not know what they were doing were wrong so I did not voice out to my mum. But that’s the second time in my life that I felt an extreme sense of abandonment. 

I thought that was already the worse coming from her, but what happened next was unforgivable ; 

Before one of her sexual transactions at our place, she was in the kitchen doing work. That particular customer was exceptionally friendly to me. I cannot remember the exact things he said to me but the next thing I knew, he was putting his hands over my clothes and started to touch me all over, including my private areas. 

That was the first time I got sexually abused. 

After Kak Kak T came out of the kitchen and saw what was happening, she screamed “Hey, you don’t touch her!”. He was like “okay, okay” and then got really frustrated, dragging her to the bedroom, leaving me out in the living room again. To think about it now, maybe she does have some conscience in not wanting me to get hurt. 

If you ask me, how I was feeling at that point of time. Besides being extremely uncomfortable, I do not have the capacity or ability to know what was it and feel anything else, like trauma. Unfortunately, that only hit me when I was older when I exactly knew what was happening. 

My dad eventually came back from Australia and I was already so different with all these events subconsciously affecting me. He could see that I am no longer the happy and cheerful, and even emotionally torn in some ways. 

If you are still reading my post up till this point, you might be wondering what could potentially be worse to happen that year right? Yeah, the tragedies did not end... 

What happened next was the worse and I guess that was the trigger to my child depression - 

My grandfather passed away, and my father got into a bacteria attack from the funeral and had to be admitted to ICU. My mum had to pause her work to take care of him in the hospital every single day. And yes, with all of that happening concurrently, Kak Kak T is still prostituting herself, bringing me to the homes of her customers. 

The last straw of the event was when she had a dispute with one of them (yes, the very same one who sexually abused me) on one of the nights at his rental room. I am not exactly sure what happened, but Kak Kak T came out his room crying and trying to get me out of his apartment. On the other hand, he grabbed me from Kak Kak T and refused to let the both of us leave. It was as though like a tug of war and that was the first moment I actually bawled after the countless events, and I felt scared and helpless. Eventually, he did let Kak Kak T and I go. I am not exactly sure why he did but I am guessing we were already making a huge commotion and getting his neighours’ attention. 

Kak Kak T and I just kept crying like mad while on our way home. However, she did remembered to threaten me that if I were to tell my mother about it, she will never buy me cream buns again. 

However, upon reaching home, I had a complete meltdown and told my already-distraught mother, particularly on that night’s event as well as how she always brought me along to other men’s homes and how one of the men had touched me. 

I do not know how she was feeling at that point of time but I am guessing upset and overwhelmed. Probably, also helpless because she cannot fire her maid at the moment because her husband was in ICU. Much later, I also found out that Kak Kak T has attempted to seduce my father and managed to seduced the tenant who was also staying with us. 

What the actual fuck, how many more traumatising events does she require to taunt me my whole life? You really can’t blame me for losing faith in the world at such a young age. 

Shortly after, my dad passed away before I turned 6. September 11th, 1997 then became the saddest day of my life. Life was pretty much haywire for my mother and I. 

I guess Kak Kak T got the best out of all of us. my mum brought her to the clinic for checkup and she was pregnant. Luckily for her, she was pregnant with my tenant’s baby, who was a Singapore PR and my mother’s colleague. He was willingly to undertake the responsibility and married her.  Also, luckily for us, the doctor was kind and did not report us to the police because that would imply we would not able to hire a maid for the rest of our lives.

My mum then became really depressed and wanted to take me to jump of the building, so we can end our lives together. Of course, she didn’t do so because she was an extremely strong-willed woman who also underwent many other difficult occasions in her life. Sometimes, during my most depressive days, I really wished she did it at that point of time... 

After my dad’s passing, my mum numbed herself with an overwhelming load of work to get over the grief. I remembered calling her during work because I needed the comfort from my father’s death. However, she did not provide to me. Instead, she told me that I have to get over the fact that my father is never going to come back and I should start to get used to life without him. The feeling of hearing that from your mother is terrible because I felt that she was trying to push me away. 

I was already not close to her ever since young. Hence, the emotional neglect from her after my dad’s death, really broke my young heart. I really hated my mum. On the weekends, I would call her office and leave voice mails saying that she is stupid and I hate her. It really felt like I have lost both parents at one go. 

My mum did fulfill her financial responsibilities as a mum, and she made sure the second domestic maid she hired, did not starve me like how Kak Kak T did to me. However, I was really miserable about the fact she chose to avoid matters and letting me, a 6-year-old kid to deal with her emotions. 

If you are still reading this at this point of time, I thank you for your patience to read on, because my childhood tragedies have not ended. 

My second domestic maid, Kak Kak S, who is another horrible and vile person. Due to the influence of pregnant Kak Kak T, who always revisits my home and got acquainted with her, told her to prostitute herself so she could end up like the lucky her instead of being a maid her entire life. 

Similarly, like Kak Kak T, Kak Kak S started to prostitute herself to foreign Indian/Bangala workers. The only difference is that instead of bringing me to their homes or bringing me back, she would either abandon me alone at home or letting me stray in the playground with other “wild” kids. 

The older upper primary kids would always pick on me because they knew nobody would come and save me and I was as tall and almost as big than some of them. Also, they did not like me because I was very entrepreneurial. I would save up money and buy those big packages of individual snacks, selling the individual packets to either other kids or I will go door-to-door knocking making sales, after school where Kak Kak S would then head to somewhere else. 

One of a particular “gang” leader, an Indian Da-jie-Da, did not like me very much and always trying to “find trouble” with me. If you are thinking, how possibly evil could primary school kids be? Then, you are extremely wrong. Because some of them are too young to even understand what is considered extremes (probably also the fact they also have fucked-up childhood/upbringing), they are evil to the maximum. 

I remember she would get her minions who would round me up at the void deck and forced me to eat sweet plastic wrappers. Yes, I had ate some just to please her but eventually I spit and ran to the playground and took a handful of sand and threw at her and her minions. 

School bullying was also pretty bad. There was this one particular fatty named Yan De, who would use his pencil to stab me and make fun of me not having a dad. I was terribly afraid of him and always succumb to his bullying and taunting. Back then, I did try telling my busy mum that I was facing these countless issues at school. However, my mechanism to all these, was pretending to be sick and try to skip school as much as I can. Eventually, my mother found out and told me that I cannot run away from my problems. I took it as the fact that I have to be of a bigger bully than them. 

My mother did tried to help me by informing my form teacher who was supposed to help me in return. She simply just scolded Yan De and asked him not to do it again and that was pretty much it. Obviously, the bullying from Yan De persisted and got worse, where he would tear my books and steal my stuff instead of openly stabbing me with pencil. And I retaliated by kicking his vital part and boxing him on his stomach, making a point that I am not someone to be easily triffled with. On these various childhood bullying incidences, it has pretty much caused me my extreme defensiveness, even up till today. 

Thanks to these bullies, I was already an obnoxious ah-lian who engages in physical fights before I turned 7-year-old. I could have be a sweet-natured, demure girl that both my parents expected me to be. However, with these environmental factors, I guess I’d never be ... 

At that age, I wish these people who hurt me, would go to hell. However, I truly wish they are better people now so they would not go to hell. 

As mentioned earlier, Kak Kak S prostituted herself and would abandon me to somewhere when doing so. However, during the one month school holidays, I told her to not do so because I was already facing all these various taunting and I do not like the fact that she is treating me like dirt too. 

That was one of the stupidest child decision I have ever made because due to her bringing me along ... 

I was exposed to my second sexual abuse,

third sexual abuse, 

fourth sexual abuse,

fifth sexual abuse ... 

Well, I could go on, but you have probably gotten the point. 

I guess I could be defined as a prostitute in a way. These perpetrators do give me some kind of reward after touching me. Sometimes, it is a packet of chips and sometimes, it is a can of coke. The biggest gift I received, was a masak toy set. Yeap, I was probably the world’s cheapest prostitute. If you are wondering, I did not have sexual intercourse with any of them, probably I was too young or the fact is most of the time, we were at the obscure HDB areas like the stairs or void deck and etc. 

However, what they did to me and what they made me do, was pretty much enough to cause me trauma for my entire life. Not too much about the graphical sexual activities, but more on the fact that I got exposed with such despicable, low-life which made me convinced that there are more bad than good in the world. 

Though I was quite sure then, that exploiting myself in that manner is probably not right but I just could not be bothered. Because to me, these foreign men had more kindness than the bullies. They were actually “nice” and “wanted me”. Sad to say, I even felt that they cared more about me than my mum back then. What a fucked up, illogical child brain thinking. I wished I have more brain capacity to think through back then so I do not have this regretful story to tell today.  

Eventually, Kak Kak S got fired by my mother because she was a conniving liar who stole her money and valuables. My mum probably also know that she prostituted herself but I did not voice out anything, on my end. We also moved to a nice condominium. I did not had to face the HDB kid bullies anymore and my subsequent domestic maids did not prostituted themselves. 

Since my childhood days, I was pretty much convinced that I was fucked up, damaged, unloved and unworthy, I remembered wanting to grow up as quick as I can because obviously, I wasn’t growing up happily like a typical child should be. Sure, my basic needs like food, housing and clothing are met but my feelings as a child were never a priority to anyone. My friends were always telling me how they wish to relive their childhood days and how I wish I could relate to them... 

The subsequent growing up years were not easy, I definitely have more fucked up moments along the years, seeking validation, especially I have discovered online dating when I was 14 years old. 

I guess I’d leave those stories for now because the entry is getting extremely long and you have gotten the point that, I am extremely fucked up. If you have known me for a long time, I am pretty sure you have read my teenage blogs with angry and miserable entries. 

You know, I am not exactly sure why I am sharing my deepest darkest secrets that I never thought I will share with people I could count with more than one hand, let alone sharing in such an open platform. 

I guess I feel compelled to do so for many reasons - 

Maybe it is the fact that I watched ‘13 reasons why’ during my most depressive period and realised that I should get some closure from the similar painful occasion. I may not have killed myself like what Hannah did but it did make me felt I was unworthy and undeserving throughout the years. 

Maybe it is the fact that I am sick of victimizing myself and letting it affect my growing up phase and I just want a relief of letting go my darkest secret and not let it further affect me anymore. 

Maybe it is the fact that I want to use my painful experience to share some insight, and spread awareness and letting the same people who are undergoing the same struggles with me, It is not something shameful when someone exploits your young vulnerability and innocence. It’s the other party’s fault, not yours. 

Maybe it is the fact that it is a bit of everything. 

Chris Cornell and Chester Bennington’s death at this year, has taught me that mental health does not discriminate. It doesn’t matter whether you are millionaire kind of rich or famous. When it hits you, it hits you. 

For those, who are struggling like I do, please do not give up. It isn’t easy but you have to show that it is worth it. 

I simply hope this post would serve as an awareness post. 

As long more people could understand the severity and aspects of mental health, then I think it is worth it for me to reveal my vulnerabilities and secrets. 

Be kind and have empathy. You do not know what exactly goes through on someone’s head though he/she might look good and not fit into the “norms” of a a typical mental patient. 

Remember that even the heaviest snowstorm would eventually end, and the darkest night always produces the brightest star.

Stay blessed and healthy. 

Jen 

#depression #mental health #mental disorder #mental health advocate #ptsdawareness #health #mental