#my dad is completely incapable of comforting me emotionally | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haikyuuvbc · 4 years

Text

Chapter 10: Sibling Day

It’s About Time!

Taglist: @jasminedesu @elianetsantana @thefangirl54

Growing up, you and your siblings had a deal: if any of you, for whatever reason, needed a day off from something, the others would make sure that it happened, no matter the situation. Miwa cashed in her “getaway” card a few times in high school, resulting in you begging Asahi to call her school and pretend he was the dad of the family (he had a relatively deep voice for a middle schooler), and this time it was your turn. You texted Miwa during class when Daichi thought you were finally replying to the GC. (you weren’t, and you refused to check the messages). Within the remaining 30 minutes of class, you see a teacher come into the doorway of the classroom, distracting your classmates. The man gestures to your teacher, interrupting his lecture. You’re already packing up your stuff because you know what’s happening.

“Miss Kageyama?”

“Yes sir?”

“You’re dismissed from school, we received a call from your sister.” You nod, and silently thank Miwa for being so dang quick with the follow-through. It was easier not to turn back to see the four pairs of eyes boring into you from your friends and instead head towards Tobio’s classroom, pulling him from school too, otherwise it would raise suspicion. Your brother raised his eyebrows but didn’t verbally question the event until off of school property.

“What’s going on?”

“I need a sibling getaway day,” you explain, “I’ll explain further but I need to leave school.” He nods, processing the information. You had never called for a “getaway card” before. Both he and Miwa had, but this is the first one you called. He knew something was wrong and his main feeling was grateful that you insisted he come with you. After dropping your bags off at home, you suggest going to a cafe that was a few blocks away. Tobio didn’t argue and let you lead. Along the way the setter messaged his captain and apologized, explaining that he wouldn’t be at practice.

Even after arguing with your brother you both enjoy your dessert immensely. After each of you has eaten your fair share, he looks at you expectantly. The seats at the café are comfortable, which you’re grateful for because the situation is far from comfortable. Sighing, you knew this was coming. You promised to share what warranted your first ever getaway day, and it was time to own up to that. He was missing practice, for god’s sake, and this was a boy who was serious about his practice. But it was also a boy who was serious about his sisters, which is something you and Miwa were always grateful.

“The background of this starts in middle school,” you start, and he gives you his full attention. “When Tooru and I were dating,” he cringes at this, wanting to forget you ever dated his senpai, but doesn’t interrupt, “His fan club was growing more and more every day. At first they didn’t mess with me because anytime I was near them, I was near Tooru and none of them wanted to seem ugly or rude in front of the person they admired.” The weight in your chest that had been haunting you since the movie night grew bigger as you continued your explanation. “For the most part at the beginning, they didn’t mess with me. When they found out that you were on the team, also a setter, Tooru’s fan club made a nasty accusation that I was only dating him because he was your senpai.” Tobio’s eyes widen, but he still stays silent.

“So they started calling me names, sending me nasty messages on social media, so on and so forth. At the beginning, it didn’t bother me too much. Later on, though, they started to say things like that you were only getting so much playing time because of my connection to Tooru, which of course was false because you’ve always been talented enough to stand on your own. But the words and insults started happening at my school. They made friends and connections with fellow students and I started getting bullied in my hallways. It was overwhelming.” You feel a sense of relief as you finally share this with your brother, and a sense of dread. You never wanted to drag him into this mess, but in a way, you’re protecting him with the knowledge rather than from it.

“What really pushed me over the edge is when they assumed that it wasn’t getting to me and they started to threaten to go after you. That’s when I decided a break up needed to happen no matter what, so I went to talk to Tooru about it.”

“Was that when you walked in the gym after he tried to punch me?” You take a deep breath, glad you didn’t have to be the one to voice that incident.

“Yeah. I had already planned on breaking up with him, but that gave me a better reason to do so. I was actually a bit grateful when Iwa informed me of it. I told Tooru’s fan club that we had broken up and they had backed off.”

“Wait, had?” This was the part you were really not wanting to explain, but you needed to.

“You picked up on the fact that I like Daichi,” you rush out, avoiding eye contact as you cheeks flush. Tobio takes a moment to process what you said, and he goes, nonchalantly,

“Yeah, you’re not super secretive about that.”

“Thanks. Mei, Asahi, and Suga agree with you on that, and they planned a get together on Sunday at the mall with the five of us and completely bailed on Daichi and I for the sake of an ‘impromptu date’.” Tobio is following along still, not surprised there’s so much info to catch up on. You’ve never been one to share. In fact, this situation has taken longer than you had anticipated, your drink melting in the process. Customers have come and gone, but you and your younger brother have remained in your seats. You continue on with the story, nearing the end.

“While it wasn’t an actual date, one of the fan club accounts saw us having fun and started sending me hateful messages about it. Pretty much saying the same things they said back then, that I’m only interested in Daichi because he’s your senpai, that I don’t actually have real feelings or anything, and the accusations hurt even though I know they aren’t true.” Tears start to well in your eyes and it’s obvious that it’s affected you more than you’ve ever let on. “I don’t want to deal with this again, and I don’t want anyone dragged into the mess, so I needed this day to process and accept that nothing’s going to happen between me and Daichi.” You say with such a finality that Tobio knows he can talk, although, he’s not sure how to share his thoughts kindly, so he does it how he always talks. Bluntly.

“That’s unfair to Daichi, Y/N, and you know it.” You give him a quizzical look, thinking your brother would be on your side. He continues in his normal agitated voice, “This doesn’t just involve you. He has feelings for you too, and I’m sure he’d be hurt if he knew you weren’t going to pursue something, even though you really want to, solely because of the fact that you’re scared.” This sinks in for a moment.

“You’re scared, Y/N, and that’s okay. Those fangirls were mean to you, are terrible to you, and I know it’s easier to run away, but since when are you someone who does something because it’s easy? Why are you trying to protect people without asking for their input?” He stares you down as he adds, “I appreciate you wanting to protect the people you care about. I’m so lucky that I fall into that category, but I’m not in middle school anymore. I’m not incapable of defending myself, and neither are your friends. If some Oikawa fan wants to say that I got where I am because of who you’ve dated, let them. We know the truth and that’s what matters.” Tobio may be the least emotionally intelligent one of your siblings, but it’s moments like this that remind you he is an expert in you and Miwa.

After the emotional talk was over, you both switched back to topics like school and volleyball, with you promising to help him study, learning that Hinata isn’t doing so great either. You offer to do a study group for both of them together, and he agrees, saying he’ll bring it up to Hinata the next time he sees him. Eventually, it was time to go home and explain what happened to Miwa, not because she would pry, but because you were tired of keeping this from the people you loved. On the walk home, Tobio brings up one more thing.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I really think you and Daichi would make a good couple, but either way, he deserves the truth.”

You sighed, but you know it’s the truth.

Prev Masterlist Next

#Haikyuu #Haikyuu!!#Haikyuu fanfiction #Haikyuu SMAU #Haikyuu Social Media AU #It's About Time #Daichi x reader #Daichi x y/n #daichi smau #Daichi social media au

86 notes · View notes

whatisahyunjin · 4 years

Text

Redamantia; part three

lee minho x reader

genre: arranged marriage au, angst, fluff

word count: 1.7K

masterlist

...

You sat on your bed, minding your own business while reading one of the many books you had related to your major. A knock sounded on the door, driving your attention away from it.

"Come in," you called out, setting down the book beside you.

Minho walked in and closed the door behind him. He situated himself on your bed without permission, looking interested in the warm environment of your room.

He finally turned his gaze to you, who had their eyebrows raised at him.

"I have to attend a business event with your dad. He told me to bring you along as a date," Minho said, wriggling his eyebrows.

You sighed. You would have to pretend that you were actually interested in the man in front of you for more than two hours.

"Fine, when is it?"

"Be ready at 5," Minho replied and left the room, whistling at your dumbfounded expression. Business event? Only two hours away? You had to look presentable!

So you spent the remainder of your afternoon looking through outfits and accessories until you settled for a beige coloured formal dress with a white belt on your waist. Some light make-up, fixing your hair and a pair of heels and you were done.

You prepped your purse, making sure to include your earpods as you knew how boring these events could be.

When all was done, you just sat on your bed, waiting for Minho to call you.

After a few minutes of scrolling through your phone, Minho barged in, this time without knocking. He stared for a few seconds as he took in your appearance, momentarily forgetting what he was there for. You did the same, for standing in front of you was your fiancé, wearing a blazer, the same colour as your beige dress, a t-shirt underneath that was tucked into his black trousers. his hair was damp from showering but he had styled it so that his forehead was exposed once it dried.

Once minho came back to his senses, he began ushering you out of the room, "I told you to be ready by five, y/n! I don't want be late to my first event"

"You're the one who's late! i have been waiting since four thirty," you almost yelled at him from the way he almost pushed you into the passenger seat of his car.

Minho just huffed and began driving to your destination.

The ride was a comfortable silence, the two of you had grown accustomed to each other's presence and both of you were pretty quiet people so it worked. You sat humming to the songs on the radio while Minho glanced at his watch every two seconds to see if you were running late.

You frowned at his behavior, he seemed to be really anxious about this event. It was nothing for you since you had already attended a ton of these.

The car approached a traffic light which had three minutes to go until it switched to green. Minho let out a frustrated sigh and began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. After a minute of just sitting in the traffic, Minho felt nervousness taking over him.

After the eighth time minho looked at his watch you felt worried as to what minho was feeling. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.

"It's okay, Minho, it's just an event. I've been to many of these since i was young and almost every time we were twenty minutes late. Just remember to speak casually and confidently to give a good first impression" you smiled brightly and booped his nose, hoping to put him at ease.

Minho's face grew red and the corners of his lips turned upwards as he gave you his first genuine smile. He relaxed his body and looked straight ahead, the traffic signal had just turned to green.

"Thanks"

…

You stepped out of the car and straightened your dress and minho hurried to your side to shut the door.

"I was going to open the door for you! what would these businessmen think if i didn't do that?" he mumbled, locking the door and handing the key to the vehicle parking guy.

You rolled your eyes and walked beside him, "Maybe if you had listened to me and hired a driver, you could've been there in time to open the door."

Minho hummed and offered you his arm. You contemplated a little and stood there staring at it.

"Come on, we have to look convincing," he said hurriedly, looking around to see if he could spot any people he already knew from your father's company.

You hooked your arm with his and Minho unconsciously smiled as he gazed your intertwined arms and then at your face. It was astonishing how you tried so little yet looked so breathtakingly beautiful.

"Oh my daughter y/n! and Mr. Lee Minho, my favourite soon-to-be successful businessman, welcome!" your father ushered you over as soon as you stepped inside the giant hall. So it was just daughter for you and so many grand words for Minho? You almost jerked your arm away from him.

The two of you sat at your parents' table, there were a few other people you knew as your father's business partners. They started introductions and marketing strategies and what not. Minho was engaged in the conversation while you were eyeing the food table that was five meters away from you.

Subtly, you stood up and walked away to get yourself a watermelon drink.There were rows and rows of snacks and meals and you couldn’t wait till dinner time rolled around. You leaned against a nearby table as you sipped your drink and took in the surroundings. Many paintings which probably cost millions adorned the walls and the spiral staircases made it seem more like a castle than a hall. Elegant men and graceful women in their thirties and forties chatted and laughed all around you about things you didn’t know anything about.

A finger tapped on your shoulder asking for your attention.

"Naeun?” you were surprised to see your sworn enemy there. Shouldn’t she be somewhere abroad, sipping her vine and partnering with big and handsome businessmen?

“It’s been a while y/n,” Naeun smirked, leaning on the table beside you. You scooted away while side-eyeing her. In the past five years she sure had grown into a beautiful woman. Even under the makeup you could tell that her features were pretty.

“What are you doing nowadays? Still in college I presume? I wonder who your dad will pass on his company seeing that you’re probably still incapable of handling it,” Naeun said, making you grit your teeth and walk away but to your annoyance, she followed behind you.

“You know it’s rude to turn your back on someone”

You turned to face her and looked her in the eyes even though you were a couple of inches shorter, “Mind your own business.”

Naeun opened her mouth for another snide remark when a voice caught both of your attention.

“Y/n your father’s looking for you, where did you run off to?” Minho entered your view.

“Minho, I-”

"Lee Minho? Fancy seeing you here”

Minho had stopped in his tracks as soon as he made eye contact with the devil in front of you.

“Naeun?” he muttered, unable to process the situation. His eyes drifted to you and he grabbed you by the arm to pull you beside him.

“You two know each other?” you managed to ask despite the tension.

“It’s nothing, y/n, let’s go,” Minho pushed you towards your father’s table.

"Sure it’s nothing when you fu-” One sharp look from Minho and Naeun stopped herself and instead smirked at the two of you.

"Well, we’ll see each other again. Congratulations on your marriage!”

...

You fiddled with your fingers in the shotgun as you waited for Minho to arrive. You wanted to leave early and felt bad to end his first business event like this.

"We should stop by a restaurant to have dinner,” Minho suggested, climbing into the car.

You just nodded your head as he began driving. He glanced at you every five seconds, you seemed upset.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, reaching for your hand on instinct but retracted it immediately.

You hummed, “I just didn’t expect to run into her at this event. If I knew she would be there, I wouldn’t have come at all.”

Minho felt guilty as he was the reason you had had to attend the event. “I’m sorry”

"It’s not your fault, it’s okay,” you mumbled, looking out the window.

“Rough history?”

"Yeah. You?”

“Same. Might as well tell you about it now, do you want to hear it?” Minho asked, parking the car in front of an expensive restaurant.

You and Minho sat in front of each other, sipping wine and stabbing at your steak.

“Talk,” you urged Minho to tell his story.

"You should know about this, because, well, you’re my future wife. But yeah, Naeun was my college batchmate, we hooked up and fcked, it was purely lust. But she got attached and asked me out, I rejected, a lot of drama, agreed to be friends with benefits, more drama, until I stopped talking to her completely.” Minho looked like he didn’t want to remember these memories at all.

“But the time I really hated her was in final year when she went around spreading rumours about me, really bad ones, like how I was only a top student because I hooked up with the female professors ans many other things. It really broke me emotionally since she had a huge influence and many people started talking sht about me.”

“That’s horrible,” you were surprised at this past of Minho.

“As of now, I am not upset about it but I really wanted to punch her face when I saw her back there,” Minho said nonchalantly with his mouth full.

You chuckled fondly at his cuteness but looked down in embarrassment when he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Knowing Naeun, if we meet again, she would probably bring up that she hooked up with you and what not just to make me jealous. I don’t think she knows that this is an arranged marriage,” you giggled at the thought. Maybe you could make a fool out of her.

Minho looked at you and chuckled, once again reminding himself that you were, in fact, not in love with him.

105 notes · View notes

batskulldrag · 4 years

Text

Phoenix by Fallout Boy

here’s chapter fourteen, sorry for dropping off the grid

Trigger warnings for anxiety attacks and panic attacks. As well as abuse mentions

Also innacurate representation of a court of law. I pieced this together from all my research. But it’s probably wrong

Chapter Fourteen: Burn from the Hamilton soundtrack

Patton buttoned the last button on his suit jacket. The deafening silence was not helping his nerves. He glanced over to Logan who was pacing dazedly from one side of their room to the other.

“I haven’t worn this since my last job interview.” Patton added to the void. “I’m surprised it still fits. I’ve had a lot of cookies since then.”

“What?” Logan stopped walking and looked over as if he had been snapped out of a trance.

“I was just trying to joke.” Patton dismissed it. “Are you ok?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re stimming.”

“My pacing has nothing to do with Asperger’s.” Logan said quickly and unconvincingly.

“I’m scared too.” Patton looked at his shoes. “Not only does Payton have a lawyer, but he is one!”

“So? He can’t alter reality.” Logan shrugged. “And we have all the evidence. We can stop him from so much as looking at a picture of Virgil ever again.”

“I guess.”

“And I know.” Logan walked over and untied Patton’s tie. “Who taught you how to tie a tie?”

“I never learned how. I was busy and my hands were tied.” Patton smiled.

“I’ll let you have that one.” Logan sighed, retying the tie.

They were interrupted by Virgil screaming. They both sprinted over to him, and Patton burst inside.

Virgil was on the floor beside his bed staring at his arms in horror. Both arms, his face and neck were pink and covered with hives.

“I’ve been nuked!” Virgil yelled in dismay.

“It’s ok.” Patton said more out of instinct than optimism as he ran to Virgil’s side. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Virgil, do the hives itch?” Logan asked, kneeling across from him.

“Yeah?” Virgil replied, confused. “What are they? Am I gonna die?”

“If I had to guess I’d say they were stress induced.” Logan felt his forehead.

“I can’t show up to court looking like this!” Virgil gestured at himself. “They’ll assume stuff!”

“What will they assume?” Logan asked seriously.

“I don’t know! They’ll assume that I’m too stressed out here or something.”

“It’s ok sweetie.” Patton cooed, stroking his hair. “They’re not gonna jump to conclusions.”

“He’s right.” Logan continued. “The only assumption they are going to make is that a young man, who was diagnosed with severe anxiety, is having a reaction to the stress involved in testifying in court.”

“How can you be so sure?” Patton could feel Virgil’s heart pounding.

“I can’t. And I’m not asking you to trust the court, I’m asking you to trust us. We’re not going to let Payton get his hands on you ever again.”

“Sure, but there are limits to what you can actually do about this.” Virgil’s breaths started getting shorter.

“And everything is in our favor.”

“He’s going to deny everything, he’s going to lie about you! He’s not just going to let this slide!”

“I know.” Logan pushed Virgil’s bangs back. “But he’s already been outed as a liar. And no one is going to believe his hearsay arguments so easily. Maybe people are inclined to believe the adult, but nobody believes the liar.”

“But we don’t know what he has up his sleeves.”

“Prison tattoos probably.” Patton chimed in bitterly.

“Payton had better have the infinity gauntlet under there if he wants to win.” Roman said from the doorway.

“How long have you been there?” Logan turned around suddenly

“I heard Virgil scream too.” Roman rolled his eyes. “I just didn’t have anything to add until now.”

“We’re going to find out that you’re just a ghost that haunts this place, aren’t we?” Virgil added.

“That’s the spirit.” Patton impulsively took the opportunity for a dad joke.

“Virgil.” Roman ignored Patton. “I have plenty of make up if you wish to cover up those irritants.”

“No.” Logan interrupted. “Make up would worsen the irritation.”

“I have baby lotion.” Patton smoothed Virgil’s hair back.

“Why?” Virgil looked dismayed.

# # #

“Boop.” Patton enunciated as he smudged a bit of lotion on Virgil’s nose.

Virgil didn’t seem too impressed with that. He just sighed and looked at his arms.

“Ok, Virgil, drink this and then I’ll give you one of your pills.” Logan added, placing a mug of warm milk in front of him.

“What’s this supposed to do?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“It’s supposed to settle your stomach and relax you.” Logan felt his forehead. “Given your history of throwing up when you’re stressed, I don’t want you eating anything heavy. But you shouldn’t be taking your tranquilizers on an empty stomach. And milk, especially warm milk is known to have calming properties.”

“Do you think I need one of the sedatives?” Virgil added, taking a sip of the milk.

“You did kinda break out because of stress, Kiddo.” Patton set the lotion down. “And you’re doing a pretty scary thing today.”

Virgil rested his head on the table and Patton started petting his hair.

“You can still change your mind at any time.” Logan added, putting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I can’t just duck out at the last minute.” Virgil mumbled.

“Quack.” Patton added, looking down at his anxious little baby hopefully.

Virgil didn’t even crack a smile.

“I’m gonna do this even if it’s the last thing I ever do.” Virgil sat up with determination.

“Ok.” Patton wrapped his arms around him. “But you don’t have to. Ok? You don’t need to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”

“I know.”

“Do you wanna take your bear with you? Or your hoodie? You know, to make you more comfortable.”

“I don’t need a security blanket.” Virgil looked disgusted at the thought. “Can you imagine? If Payton saw me walk up to the stand with a fricking teddy bear, he’d drop his bullshit and start reaming me out right there. I don’t wanna see that.”

“He’d lose the case in an instant though.” Roman added. “It is normally considered bad form to abuse your child in the middle of a custody battle.”

“That’s a valid point.” Logan somehow agreed with Roman. “Payton is completely incapable of hurting you anymore. His hands are tied.”

“Metaphorically?” Virgil looked up at him.

“No, they had him in hand cuffs last time I saw him.”

Virgil laughed at the idea.

“Ok, Kiddo.” Patton kissed him on the forehead. “You go get dressed. And I promise that everything is gonna be ok from now on.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I just can.”

# # #

The courtroom looked exactly like every court room from TV. Patton looked into the gallery and saw several strangers. Roman veered off from them and sat in the gallery as well. He shot them a thumbs up.

“Why are there a bunch of people here?” He quickly whispered to Logan as they sat down at their weird table.

“Most trials are open to the public.” Logan explained. “People can just walk in and sit down.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t know. Trials are open to the public barring a specific order from the judge. It’s in accordance with the sixth amendment, a fair and public trial.”

“I don’t know any of those words.” Virgil shuddered from between them.

Logan silently checked Virgil’s pulse and felt his forehead.

“Am I gonna live?” Virgil said flatly.

“Very funny.” Logan sighed. “In half an hour you can have another pill. If you feel like you’re going to have an attack tell one of us.”

“And if you feel like you need to take a break, just say so and we’ll tell the judge.” Patton rubbed his shoulder.

“And deny the spectators such an epic show?” Virgil sneered.

“Never mind them.” Patton shushed.

Virgil dropped his annoyed expression and stared across the room in numb horror. Despite his rash his face went pale and he started panting and wheezing.

“He’s here.” Virgil squeaked.

“Shh,” Patton wrapped himself around Virgil like a shield, making sure to block his line of sight. “It’s ok, he can’t hurt you. Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. He can’t do anything.”

Logan made eye contact with Payton and stared back at him with a blank face. Payton’s empty eyes were no match for the cold stoicism that Logan wore so well. This mere lawyer had no clue how to intimidate him, nor anyone else that realized that he had no power over them. Payton didn’t look away though, he had a lot of arrogance for a man with no real control, no real power, no permanent impact. Foolish sociopath.

“All arise.” The bailiff ended their staring contest. “The honorable Jack Douglass Presiding.”

Patton continued to insinuate himself between Payton and Virgil as they all stood to attention. Familial attachment was flaking off of his conscience like an old sunburn. The idea that Payton didn’t want to be his friend started to harden him rather than hurt anymore. All that he really felt was the determination to make sure that no one threatened his baby ever again. And if Payton thought he was going to sit over there and shoot death glares at an innocent kid, then he needed to get used to disappointment and fast.

“Thank you, bailiff.” The judge snapped him back into the room. “You may be seated.”

The crowd sat down on command. It was kind of impressive.

“Mr. Pent.” The Judge looked at Janus “Yesterday I asked you if you were really going through with this. I’m going to ask again.”

“The defendant is insistent on having this out in court your honor.” Janus answered professionally.

“Is this correct?” The judge looked at Payton and his lawyer.

“It is your honor.” The lawyer answered.

“Alright,” The judge replied. “Proceed with your case. Why do believe Mr. Foster to be an unfit parent?”

“We have documented evidence of both physical and emotional abuse as well as neglect.” Janus pulled out a folder.

“Interesting.” The judge looked at Payton. “Mr. Foster, how do you respond to these allegations?”

“The claims against me are completely fabricated.” Payton said coldly. “I have never laid a hand on my son, nor have I abused him emotionally.”

“Why would your brother make up something like this?” The judge countered.

“I assure you. I have no idea.”

“Let’s see your evidence.” The judge, his honor? Turned back to them.

“I have with me a portion of the fire chief’s report from Mr. Foster’s home.” Janus read. “It states that Virgil’s bedroom had no door, which caused the fire to spread to his room much quicker than normal, and that his window was nailed shut.”

“Mr. Pent,” His honor looked annoyed. “Do you have children?”

“I do not your honor.”

“Did you have a window when you were a teenager?”

“Yes, your honor.” Janus was somehow playing this straight.

“Mr. Foster,” His honor turned to him.

“Yes sir, I mean your honor?”

“Since staying with you, has Virgil had access to a functional window?”

“Yes, your honor.” Patton shook, he had no idea what was happening.

“How about a door, does he have a door?”

“Yes. Your honor.”

“Mr. Pent, how about you? Did you have a door when you were a teenager?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Mr. Foster,” The judge turned. “When you were Virgil’s age, did you have a functional window?”

“Yes, your honor.” Payton seemed confused as well.

“How about a door?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Why is it that your son has neither of those things?”

“Virgil was in the habit of bringing friends over uninvited and sneaking out at night, I removed the door and sealed the window to prevent this.”

None of the three had it in them to be surprised by this anymore. They barely had it in them to be disappointed.

“Firstly, taking off the door won’t prevent any of that.” His honor retorted. “Secondly, he nearly died in a fire because you nailed his window shut. You’re either abusive or stupid.”

“Your honor.” Payton’s lawyer added. “Neither of these examples indicate abuse, making the evidence irrelevant.”

“That is fair, he could just be stupid.” His honor nodded. “Unfortunately, that kind of ignorant endangerment is still grounds to call him an unfit parent.”

Patton saw Payton’s eye twitch, it must have been killing him that his current defense was ‘please, I’m very stupid’.

“Mr. Pent,” Judge Douglass turned to Janus “Give me something more relevant to your case.”

“Here we have documented images of the bruises Virgil sustained, and several hospital records detailing various injuries.” Janus held out the folder and the bailiff took it to the judge.

The judge looked over the documents quietly and stoically.

“Virgil,” His honor looked up. “You’re planning to testify as a witness, correct?”

“Yes…Your honor.” Virgil grabbed Patton’s hand.

“Ok, why don’t you come on up?”

“Yes sir. I mean your honor.” Virgil stood up and looked at Patton desperately.

“It’s ok, just don’t look at him.” Patton whispered, rubbing Virgil’s hand.

The bailiff took Virgil up to the box and they swore him in. The poor baby was visibly shaking.

“So, Virgil.” Judge Douglass was surprisingly gentle. “I’m going to start by asking you why your window was nailed shut.”

“Payton, my dad, told me he didn’t trust me to not sneak out.” Virgil said frankly. “So, he nailed the window shut. The door was a different thing entirely.”

“Well, what was the door about?”

“He found a journal that I was keeping for a class when I was about eight.” Virgil tensely rubbed his arm. “And he got mad at me for keeping things from him while also telling my teacher things that were none of their business.”

“If I may, your honor.” Payton’s lawyer added. “This is not relevant, nor does it prove abuse.”

“I disagree,” Janus argued. “It is important we know why Payton felt that there were aspects of their home life that were meant to be hidden.”

“In that case, maybe we should ask what secrets Virgil was willing to share with his teacher and not his father.” Payton’s lawyer countered.

“Absolutely.” Jan agreed. “Virgil, what exactly were you writing about?”

“I was eight.” Virgil looked around uncomfortably. “I mostly just drew pictures. I had maybe two passages about how my dad made fun of me whenever I wet the bed. and the rest was dedicated to talking about the Goosebumps series. I wasn’t allowed to read them, so I always figured that was why Payton was mad at me.”

“Taking the door off is kind of an extreme reaction.” Judge Douglass stated blankly.

“Excuse me, your honor.” Patton added timidly.

“Yes, Mr. Foster?”

“How would Payton know what Virgil was writing about unless he read the journal?”

“We’re just wasting time with this.” Payton interrupted. “Nothing I’ve been accused of so far is child abuse, in fact I admitted to removing the door. Because Virgil and I were having some trust issues, with just cause. And none of that is illegal.”

Payton made direct eye contact with Virgil while he was talking, and much to everyone’s surprise Virgil stared right back at him.

“Alright.” His honor stared at all of them. “Let’s move on to the allegations of physical abuse.”

Virgil bit his nails and pulled at his tie.

“Let’s start with how Virgil managed to get a perfect belt buckle mark on his back.” His honor’s eyes scalded anyone who looked directly into them.

“A question I have been wanting answers to as well.” Payton glared at Virgil.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t know how that got there?” His honor almost seemed to laugh at Payton.

“I can only speculate that Virgil bruised himself to frame me for abuse or that my brother put those marks there to further his own agenda.”

“And what agenda is that?” His honor spat.

“Since last month Patton has started a campaign to discredit me, starting by accusing me of lying about my past. I have no doubt that once he learned my son was in the hospital, he decided that the best way to ruin me was to accuse me of abuse.”

“Why?” The judge asked leadingly.

“I have no idea why. Perhaps because I managed to make something of myself while he’s still living in the house we grew up in.”

“You’re a member of the one profession that everyone hates.” Judge Douglass retorted. “You know what everyone told me about going to law school? They said don’t. As far as I’m concerned you made a mistake by pursuing law. Maybe other people are impressed, but I’m not.”

Payton looked like someone had slapped him.

“And the bruise in question was a month old when Mr. Foster was given physical custody of Virgil.” Janus pointed out. “At that time Virgil had no contact with anyone without his father knowing about it. In fact, by Mr. Foster’s own admittance Virgil had no secrets from him and no way of doing anything without his knowledge.”

“With all due respect, your honor.” Payton’s lawyer commented. “This only clears Mr. Foster from having caused that bruise. Virgil could have very well done it himself or received it at school.”

“Virgil,” The judge went gentle again. “Can you explain how you got this bruise?”

“Don’t bother asking him, we know what he’s going to say.” Payton snapped.

“When I want to hear from you, I’ll call you.” Judge Douglass pointed the little hammer at him. “Virgil, answer whenever you feel ready.”

Virgil looked as if he were about to be hit by a train. He shook his head and blinked repeatedly.

“Payton and I were arguing, and he grabbed one of my belts off a chair or something…” Virgil inhaled sharply through his teeth. “And he hit me with it.”

“Did he do that a lot?”

Virgil gagged and slumped back into his seat, breathing hard.

“May I have some water?” Virgil whispered.

“Of course.” Judge Douglass said gently. “Bailiff, could you bring him some water?”

“Your honor,” Payton interrupted. “With all due respect, you’re not really going to humor him, are you?”

“I’m interested in what you mean by humoring him.” Judge Douglass looked down at him.

“Humoring him in his so called ‘anxiety attacks’. He only uses them as an excuse, and now he’s using it as a pity ploy.”

“I’m really not.” Virgil panted, looking like he was going to faint.

The bailiff brought Virgil a bottle of water. He fumbled opening it. Patton started to stand up only for Logan to pull him back down.

“Are you feeling better?” Judge Douglass addressed Virgil.

Virgil nodded.

“Mr. Foster. The older Mr. Foster.” The judge turned again. “Virgil has been diagnosed with severe anxiety by two doctors and is suspected to have PTSD. The fact that you deny this is concerning.”

“Your honor, this disorder is merely him being overly dramatic.”

“Doctors would disagree.”

“Of course, they would, their entire business is based on humoring these people so they can take advantage. No doctor benefits from Virgil acting his age instead of behaving like a toddler.”

“Virgil.” The judge ignored Payton. “Did your father hit you often?”

“Not very often.” Virgil inhaled sharply. “Just when he lost his temper. Like if I argued with him or if I got bad grades. He, he, uh. He normally just grabbed my wrists. And kind of, squeezed them really hard. Sometimes he dug his nails in, but he didn’t like to leave marks on a body part that couldn’t be covered up that easy.”

Patton quietly rubbed his own wrist, phantom pains returning.

“Do you have a clear recollection of when the hitting started?”

“Payton started hitting me when I was around ten.” Virgil squeezed the bottle, crackling the plastic. “I don’t really remember why he started. I just remember that he slapped me one time. And then he never stopped.”

“What do you say, Mr. Foster?”

“I maintain my innocence.” Payton said harshly. “Even if you they can prove that Virgil was injured, they cannot prove that I was the one who injured him. Which I was not.”

“Virgil says differently.” The judge countered.

“Virgil is thirteen! He’s a child, and most likely has been coerced into testifying against me.”

“That so?”

“Yes.”

“Really, because so far, he not only says you hit him, but is saying why you thought it was ok to hit him all those times. The only case that is falling apart here is yours.”

A cold silence hung over them.

“Mr. Pent, please continue.” His honor sighed.

“Certainly, your honor.” Janus didn’t blink. “I would like to call the court’s attention an event on the fifteenth of August that led to Virgil being hospitalized. The official claim was that he fell down the stairs, but his injuries suggest repeated blows, inconsistent with a fall. There is also the fact that the defendant claimed at the time that Virgil was morphine intolerant, while recent tests proved that Virgil has no such allergy.”

“Mr. Foster, would you care to explain that?” Judge Douglass asked.

“The official reports say that Virgil fell down the stairs because he fell down the stairs.” Payton insisted. “His doctors didn’t feel the need to interrogate me at the time. Which is telling of this case’s validity.”

“And Virgil,” Judge Douglass asked softly. “What do you say happened?”

Virgil inhaled tensely and closed his eyes quickly. Tears leaked out.

“I got held back in school.” Virgil exhaled. “Payton yelled at me the whole ride home. When we got inside, he slapped me. And… and… he just started hitting me. I don’t remember much, but I do know he threw me down the stairs.”

Virgil wiped away tears with a shaking hand.

“Ok, why don’t you go back and sit with your uncles?” Judge Douglass said gently.

The bailiff brought Virgil back to them and Patton instantly took him into his arms.

“Now, as to Virgil’s supposed morphine allergy?” The judge asked.

“I may have suggested the allergy in error.” Payton said. “I thought he was intolerant because both me and his mother are.”

“Medical records from your family disagree.” Janus argued. “Your mother received a good deal of morphine while she was ill. Patton was on several morphine related opioids after an accident that ruined his teeth. And you yourself received morphine during a surgery. Not only that but, Hazel Drake, Virgil’s mother, has no such allergy listed either. Records also show that Virgil had never been tested for this intolerance prior to his so-called fall down the stairs. So, you would truly have no way of knowing if he had an allergy or not.”

Payton had nothing to say. Patton and Logan breathed a sigh of relief. Virgil looked at them nervously. He was chewing on his sleeve. They each took one of his hands.

“Virgil has also been diagnosed with both severe anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder since his stay in the hospital.” Janus continued, looking like a cobra about to strike. “So, I would like to call Dr. Emile Picani to the stand.”

Dr. Picani walked professionally to the stand and was sworn in.

“Dr. Picani, what was your diagnosis of Virgil Foster?” Janus asked coolly.

“Virgil is suffering from severe anxiety due to an extremely stressful home life and post-traumatic stress disorder resulting from physical and emotional abuse.” Emile began. “Over the course of our sessions I learned that Virgil had been wetting the bed throughout his entire childhood and up until now.”

Payton scoffed; it was clear that he didn’t think anyone would hear him. But all eyes turned in his direction.

“A very telling sign of emotional abuse.” Emile continued, ignoring Payton. “Virgil also reported daily panic or anxiety attacks, night terrors and a complete loss of appetite. The fact that he hadn’t been eating was obvious when he was admitted because he was roughly twenty pounds underweight.”

“Did Virgil mention any instances of abuse in any session?” Janus led.

“He told me that if he would wet the bed, his father would mock him severely. He also mentioned one instance, which we talked about earlier, when he tried to defend himself to his father and was hit with a belt.”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Payton’s lawyer stood up. “Dr. Picani is only repeating something he heard during this trial. There is no proof that Virgil told him this in therapy.”

“Overruled.” His Honor retorted. “The evidence that Virgil is suffering mentally still remains.”

“Your Honor.” Payton’s lawyer continued. “Virgil’s bed wetting could be a result of being rehomed after the arrest of his father.”

“We already established that it had been happening for a long time before that.” Janus said smoothly.

Janus moved gracefully, almost as if he was slithering.

“In that case.” Payton’s lawyer argued. “it could be the result of a learning disability or a ploy for attention.”

“Dr. Picani,” Janus looked back to the stand waving a gloved hand. “What such disabilities would cause bed wetting at this late an age?”

Virgil looked down and covered his face with his hands. Patton noticed that his ears were turning red.

“It’s ok, Honey.” Patton whispered, petting him tenderly. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Any disability that would cause bed wetting for this long would be apparent in other aspects.” Emile answers. “Low functioning autism, severe Down Syndrome or Locked-In Syndrome to name a few. Virgil clearly has none of these. And the bed wetting gets worse when he’s stressed out. I can guarantee that it’s not an attention ploy because prior to receiving therapy Virgil was avoiding fluids altogether so he wouldn’t wet the bed. This led to him being severely dehydrated when he was admitted.”

“Anything else?” Judge Douglass asked the room.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Payton’s lawyer continued. “Dr. Picani only has Virgil’s word that he had been having panic attacks or anxiety attacks regularly. The same goes with the night terrors.”

“Virgil nearly had a panic attack while he was testifying.” His Honor said deadpan. “And showed clear signs of having an anxiety disorder. As for the night terrors…”

He turned to Patton and Logan.

“Mr. Foster, Mr. Berry, has Virgil had any night terrors since staying with you?”

“Yes, your honor.” Logan nodded calmly. “He has had both night terrors and nightmares almost regularly. Both those and the bed wetting have decreased with anti-anxiety medicine, therapy and a less stressful environment.”

“Objection.” Payton argued. “We only have their word that Virgil has had such episodes. And there is serious doubt as to Mr. Berry’s credibility.”

“Why is that?” The judge asked.

“He is on the Autistic spectrum.”

“Mr. Pent, have you presented all the facts for your case against the defendant?” Judge Douglass looked to Janus.

“I have evidence to suggest neglect.” Janus added, coldly. “But I’ll make it quick.”

“Do it then.”

“Virgil was diagnosed with Strep throat when he was admitted. He had a severe case, due to not seeing a doctor about it. As Virgil’s guardian, Payton Foster would be responsible for taking him to a doctor, but it was revealed that Virgil had dealt with the illness for ten days. Virgil was also twenty pounds underweight. His father would have noticed this but did nothing. We also know that Mr. Foster, the defendant, denied his son pain killers based on an assumption of an allergy that he had never been tested for. There is also Virgil’s window being nailed shut and the fact that Mr. Foster, the defendant, had no smoke detectors in his home. Which led to Virgil’s nearly being killed in a fire. We also established that Virgil had a bedwetting problem that his father never sought medical advice for, and potentially mocked him for. Even if you doubt abuse, you cannot deny that gross negligence was at play.”

“Alright.” His Honor nodded. “Mr. Foster, you may present your case.”

#logicality #romile #parentalmoxieity #parental logicality #platoniclamp #pattonsanders #logansanders #romansanders #emilepicani #janussanders #sympathiticjanus #humanau #famILY

13 notes · View notes

shortmania · 5 years

Note

If Olga had children, what do you imagine they would be like?

Oh, I created a batch of those years ago. This pic’s from 2014:

To create OC kids, there’s a lot of junk you have to consider. Mother, father, family, parenting styles, income, environment, and all the ways these things might come together to form a person. And thinking about Olga as a mother has always been… fucking hysterical, honestly. Like can you imagine? Can you stand it? I’ve only ever been able to think about it in short bursts because it’s too much for me. It’s too much.

There’s also The Patakis to think about, and the ways Olga is likely to change as she gets older. Lucky for my sanity, I see her developing into a calmer, wiser, less chaotic sort of person. Less luckily, I don’t see this being a particularly significant development. It doesn’t matter if she’s 20 or 50, she’ll always be Olga Pataki and Olga Pataki is ridiculous. I don’t want to say she’d be a bad mom, but… she wouldn’t be a very good mom, either? She’d do some things right and other things very wrong. I’ll get into that, but lemme just do a quick rundown of the other basic considerations here: dad, income, and environment.

I created a husband for Olga around the same time I made these kids, but I never developed him very far past a few basic traits and a general backstory. So he’s very basic, but he works. Charles was a good friend from Wellington College (in England) who shared most of her English classes, was the only one to maintain contact with her after she transferred to Bennington, came from money, raised by nannies, bit of a nervous wreck but hides it well because that’s how he was taught–to be pent up and twitchy. His fam wanted him to be a lawyer or business man but he quietly rebelled by becoming an English major instead, knowing full well how useless a degree it is and not caring at all. He eventually goes on to be a successful playwright, though, and Olga performs in all his plays. So, income would be decent verging on very decent, and their kids would grow up somewhere teeming with theatrical opportunities. Probably somewhere really crowded and loud and pretentious.

Getting right into it then, from left to right, we have Angelique, Helena, and Genevieve, because Olga’s That Bitch. They attend(ed) a fancy private school because Olga’s That Bitch. They’re all very well-read, well-traveled and “well-behaved” because Olga’s That Bitch. But since Olga is, as specified, That Bitch, her kids didn’t escape her influence unscathed.

Tbh, I do think any kids Olga would have would be Pretty Good Kids™– barring her having any with an absolute scumbag like she so easily could, but that’s another question entirely (I write fluff and comedy, so these kids reflect that) – but. Hmm. I see Mom!Olga being extremely affectionate, extremely emotional, and frequently selfish; generally hella overbearing; definitely stifling. And she wouldn’t want to, but I can’t see her not on some level perceiving her children as extensions of herself, and thus incapable of coping with anything less than Excellence on their parts. Not to say that I think she’d be a monster. I don’t think she’d force them into things or demand they win awards or anything like what Bob or Miriam did to her, but being in the same room as her with a less than impressive report card would be… uncomfortable. And that’d be on top of her always being in their business, looking over their shoulders, and constantly trying to spend quality time with them. Even when they don’t want to spend time with her, and so help any of them that say as much, because Olga’s incredibly sensitive. So layers upon layers of bad, there.

Some rebellion would be expected, then, so Genevieve gets into the goth punk scene. She’s more casual about it as an adult, but Olga doesn’t understand her. Helena uses comedy and misdirection as a defense and smiles very big and very nervous when her mom’s lip wobbles at her a little too expressively. Angelique straight up hides from her. She used to be sweeter, used to gently comfort her mom whenever she inadvertently did anything that upset her, but it took a toll on her and she can’t handle crying, or disappointment, or criticism, and she hates explaining herself so she avoids ever needing to. She’s a little emotionally underdeveloped, as a result. Not good for anyone to avoid conflict.

I also see Olga babying the hell out of her kids, so that would be another reason for Genevieve to rebel and Angelique to be Babey. In some ways, it’d be good, like they’d be generally very sweet kids, but I’m not sure how emotionally stable they’d be. Better than Olga, at least. Their methods of coping with heartbreak and life’s little every day tragedies would be… interesting, though. I sense a lot of Beethoven’s 5689574th and other general dramatics. Dancing, ice cream, black mourning veils being broken out over the smallest things. Either that or just complete repression.

Since you asked specifically how I imagined the kids, I’ll go ahead and give a messy little bio on each.

Genevieve: I wanted to play with the dichotomy of the Posh Gifted Nerd archetype and the Cold Badass Rebel archetype. Bob has an influence on her in that he’s something of a military enthusiast (I guess?), and I see Genevieve being lowkey into that as a kid, until she gets older and learns more about what goes on overseas and how much carbon emission hummers give off. Incorporates a lot of her old camouflage into her goth punk looks as a mocking salute to that now. Proudly rides on the outskirts of society in her down time, but she’s the most academically-driven out of her sisters and was absolutely Valedictorian. Reads a lot of books, a lot of Smart Person magazines, and listens to a wide range of music (classical, alternative, showtunes, punk, jazz). Creative. Loves history, but especially the Georgian, Victorian and Edwardian periods of Europe. Super into black pearls and lace. Bit nihilistic, but cares a lot about everything. Always gets into very interesting conversations with Helga, but Olga has no clue how to talk to her.

Angelique: I already kinda rambled about her, but she’s my All Natural Girl. No makeup, no piercings, had to be talked into using conditioner, almost gave up shampoo once (bad month for everyone). Shy, sweet, sensitive. Concerned with the world at large. She tries to be an academic like her family but she’s really not. She dresses and behaves like a perfect little nerd, but school doesn’t interest her, and she feels hella guilty and self-loathing about it. All she ever really wants to do is watch trashy made-for-TV dramas, cook/bake and moon hopelessly over guys. DIY af, buys nothing new. Is Babey. Soft clothes, soft eyes, a little messy and chaotic. Constant low-level thrum of anxiety. Rumpled button-ups and over-worn sweaters energy, forever jeans, rarely in skirts because skirts are stressful. That character you forget and underestimate but shocks you with insight from time to time. Will probably end up a baker or smthn. The oldest of the kids, actually, though she rarely acts like it.

Helena: That girl who raids your fridge, chews twelve sticks of gum and paints your nails whether you want her to or not. No sense of personal space, very touchy-feely, always wants to braid hair and thinks makeup on dudes is the greatest invention ever. Goes against the dress code at her school very brazenly but gets away with it because her work is excellent and the teachers adore her. Attitude in spades but she’s a sweetheart. Lots of friends. Loves her mom to death but tends to avoid her without quite meaning to. More Daddy’s girl, though she avoids him, too. Parents are no fun. Thinks her Aunt Helga and Uncle Arnold are the absolute shit, because why would we want to live in a world where she didn’t?

And that’s my take. There are lots different ways Olga With Kids could go down, but Intense and Stifling are pretty much the two things I see as being universal variables in the equation. So, yeah. Maybe a little less fluffy than originally intended, but Idk. These are old designs. Other drawings and further information on these kids here and here. Shown pic here. I hope this was helpful anyway. Have a good.

10 notes · View notes

number9robotic · 5 years

Text

9-24-19 Update

The long-awaited sequel to my 9-22-19 Update!

(plugging my newest pic as an artist tax)

Short version: I’m in physical danger right now.

Long version: My relationship with my parents are breaking down significantly because changes to plans of my living situation, my inability to cope with my depression, anxiety, and other mental/emotional compromises, and the resulting inability to do anything outside my comfort zone like finding a proper job/source of income or going to school.

As a result, my mom over the course of a few days have been physically threatening me (in public, no less) to send me back to my home in Vancouver while also shaming me for ruining their lives, and I feel legitimately unsafe being in my own home because I don’t know what they’re gonna do to me. All while this happens, my ability to stay motivated as a creator is really being tested.

Fuller version is below this line because I don’t wanna flood the feed and my account with walls of unpleasant text:

Please read my 9-22-19 Update for full context and backstory, there’s a lot of text and I don’t wanna retype it all.

1. THE REAL-LIFE CIRCUMSTANCES GOT WORSE

Yesterday as I was in my weekly therapy appointment, my parents had a renegotiation with each other about that plan I mentioned for my dad to come here and basically repeat the process of my legal anchoring to LA away from my home in Vancouver. Even though I responded with a (resigned) “sure, I’ll do it for you,” suddenly my dad made a conscience decision and told my mom that he changed his mind, because he’s really concerned about my mental well-being and the complete stagnation of my life because of my time here in LA.

This... didn’t go well with my mom, because as usual, this is ultimately about her, I guess. Later that evening, she took me to a Starbucks because she wanted to talk with me about something important, partially as a result of her indeed getting her travel permit document that day. She told me she also talked to her lawyer earlier that day, who said that as it stands, while the case isn’t expected to be finished until April 2020 at the earliest, I’ve technically done all I need to do to be declared a resident of the US, and my job is effectively done. Combined with my dad’s newfound desire to not keep me here any longer, I was told that I could return home.

buuuuuuuuuuuut

She was VERY clearly not happy about this. Despite being the one who decided to talk about this publicly, she had a very loud meltdown as she was explaining this and decided to erupt all of her frustrations not just with herself, but also of me.

To summarize her very long and confusing tirade, she started to outright force at me “JUST GO BACK TO VANCOUVER! GET A TICKET AND MOVE BACK TOMORROW! JUST GO!!!!”, yet was simultaneously also venting about how much damage this would do to HER and her career; that my lack of presence is a sign of failure on her part as a parent, because she hasn’t been able to get me to go to school or a “real” job or even learn how to drive. Keep this one little bit of info in mind.

A third argument she was trying to convince me of is that the return to Vancouver for me is only going to fuck ME up, because she doesn’t believe that me returning back to a comfortable place where I’m familiar with and am actually able to get around using public transit (which is so much better than LA, it’s not even a fair comparison) would be better for me and my personal health. She also said that Vancouver’s ability to help me with my mental health is so much worse than that of LA... which... that’s incredibly laughable on so many levels, the least of which is the fact that we spent a several-month assessment process to apply for job assistance because of my autism, only for the result to me to deem me and my autism diagnosis as invalid, but whatever, I guess...

I responded by telling how incredibly irrational she was acting in her hysterical state (again, in a very public area) with her a bunch about what I felt would help me through this, which I’ll talk about later. Reason not now is because she promptly forgot about it and this morning, SHE DID THE SAME THING AGAIN. This time she invited me to talk at a different Starbucks, asked me about my future, and then had ANOTHER very public meltdown screaming about her and my life problems, but this time it was at a time before McDonald’s stopped serving its breakfast menu.

Once again, she slammed me in my inability/refusal to try anything that would apparently help justify me being here in LA, me ruining her life no matter where I go in the world, and also threatening to send me away to Vancouver. This time I just had to outright leave the conversation because she was getting violent this time; I’m currently typing this in a library and she hasn’t found me yet. This isn’t an entirely new feeling, but currently I am legitimately scared for my future and physical safety.

2. EMOTIONAL HEALTH AND PARENTING

I (re-)explained to her that my problem with all of these personal development hurdles -- my inability to try anything where it feels like the failure of which will be utterly emotionally devastating -- is because I flat-out do not have the ability to deal with it. The entirety of grade school and post-secondary have collectively been the most emotionally devastating times of my life to me, I failed my written exam that’s the first step to get a driver’s licence 5 TIMES, and I have a smattering of emotional, communicative, mental, and physical hinderances preventing me from finding work.

And here’s why that affects me so much: my parents are not emotionally supportive. Mom and dad have outright admitted that due to “Chinese parenting”, “it’s just not my personality”, “I don’t know how to help reassure you” they don’t wish to help me with my emotional problems directly, often times finding it to be the job of others they can then shunt that duty off to, such as therapists, psychologists, counselors, or others. This ignores the fact that my meetings with them are weekly, whereas my greatest exposure to other people come from them, my supposed “loved ones”. I feel like I should be able to go to them for emotional strength. I do not, either because they aren’t capable of or just simply don’t want to be that.

Just to note how little they care about my feelings, I came out to them as nonbinary a few months ago, explained to them what that actually means, that I don’t like my pronouns or birth name at all, and asked for them to respect that. They have yet to comply despite me broadcasting my discomfort constantly, because they simply won’t “get it”.

Yknow... as someone who’s failed a lot in life... I can safely say that the resulting emotional wreckage isn’t fun.

The thing about being emotionally wrecked is that without any reliable source to go to like family or friends, my only solution is to just wait for my depression to pass... which if anyone knows anything about it, you’d know it’s super-unreliable and can take either a week or a month for me to feel better again, and is incredibly destructive. What I’ve recently realized is how much it utterly fucks with my perception of time and continuity -- depression cuts off my ability to feel anything significant or optimistic, including my ability to perceive a future worth looking up to. As a result, I feel like I’ve wasted A LOT of time in the last few years because nobody has been able to help me with that, at least in my actual time of need.

I’ve made this point to my parents many times throughout the year, and I’ve been desperately trying to communicate to them that the easiest solution to my mental trauma? To actually be there emotionally as loved ones; to help me through that potential sense of failure that I’m so afraid of experiencing again, and for them to comfort me as their child.

This request has pissed off my mom on multiple levels: the first I established already is that she’s constantly claiming she doesn’t know how to/isn’t capable of doing it because “it’s just not me” or “I’m not white mom” or some other crap. The second however is where things got super-confusing: she was also offended that I would ever think that she doesn’t support me on that level, and shared me a bunch of wechats to our extended family supporting my minor hobbies, even though they’ve been sucking really bad (again, please consider my patreon, this is a super-hard time to be motivated as a creator)

So I was like... “You ARE capable of being emotionally reassuring! I want to actually hear it myself!” because she almost never expresses positive emotions; it’s either complete ambivalence or negative frustration. She continued to express negative frustration at this, and at that point I just gave up because at this point it struck me that she just outright doesn’t want to help me with it because she felt like she can shunt the duty to someone else... even though she’s pissed about having to pay them therapy bills to do so. Ugh...

3. EVERYTHING BITES

To summarize: this entire breakdown and my future is emotionally fueled not about my needs like my dad wished, but about my mom’s, who believes that it is far more simple for me to be sent back to Vancouver at her blatant behest, and for me to just “get over” my depression and anxiety to do all the shit she expects me to do which she also believes me to be incapable of doing, than to just... be a caring parent who expresses positive feelings.

And during all of this, she’s also shaming me as a failure who ruins her life no matter what I do.

I am... so exhausted... and it’s super-difficult to stay motivated as a creator these days as a result of it. Fuck, I barely feel safe returning home either in LA or in Vancouver, because I know my mom hates me for it.

I still don’t have friends, and I still have depression and anxiety... and I can’t even ask my mom to be there for me in my time of emotional distress... thanks.

#vent #art #artist #need help #artists on tumblr

6 notes · View notes

demifishblog · 7 years

Text

Harry Potter Fic Recs

EDIT 6/16/18: Part the Second

So I heard a call a while back for good Harry Potter fic, which is...kind of murderously difficult to find due to the sheer volume involved. I can't say I've made any significant dent in searching for the stuff, because it's fucking exhausting, but I do have some favorites that I cherish dearly. And being an extremely picky reader, hopefully this list will be helpful to others as well.

So. Fic recs. Yes.

Anything, anything at all, by @copperbadge; he hasn’t been in the fandom for years, but his oldies are definitely goodies. Stealing Harry is something of a fandom classic and really good for comfort reading, starting as it does on the happy ending and moving from there. My personal favorite is Cartographer’s Craft, however, which is just full of wonderful things.

Anything, literally anything, by @lullabyknellart. She has multiple long, chaptered fics in progress, and while it takes a while for her to update when she does it is glorious. Personal favorites include face death in the hope (time-travel, Regulus Black, and emotional-disaster Harry), and into the arena with your head held high (Harry and genderfluid godkid Teddy time-travel from apocalyptic future to non-apocalyptic past and proceed to fuck shit up).

@deadcatwithaflamethrower, because she is the bomb, delightfully prolific, and produces moving, emotionally and intelluctually rich fic while making it look easy, what the fuck woman. She also has a “I will take a hammer and fix the canon” approach to just about anything while managing to make it all jive with the original. Current works in the fandom are Swung By Serafim (complete, gorgeous, with the book-length epilogue that we all deserved) and work-in-progress Of a Linear Circle, which is a beautiful romance and also chock full of interesting medieval facts and “hammer to canon” fixits.

@waspabi has two excellent fics (I have not read the third because it’s rpf, but go check it if that’s your thing) in the fandom: Hermione Granger’s Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run, which is exactly as amazing as it sounds (” 'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work ”); and Stately Homes of Wiltshire, a post-canon fic where Harry is an Auror and, as anyone else could see coming, Hates His Job (but won’t admit it). Also there are poltergeists. Both are Drarry fics, but even if that’s not your thing I’d give it a go because @waspabi‘s Draco is unlike anyone else’s Draco, ever, and has rendered me nearly incapable of enjoying any other Draco because no one else’s can compare.

Aeturnum’s Leo Inter Serpentes series, which is just...so excellent. Rewrite of the whole series with Harry being in Slytherin, because Draco is significantly less of a dick. Narcissa is bomb-ass and divorces Lucius and Hermione is amazing and Snape adopts Harry and is a Good Dad, I cried okay, I cried. Everyone is so in character and it’s so well done and just. I inhaled the whole thing in two days, it was terrible. Only other Drarry I will ever accept.

@ink-splotch (dirgewithoutmusic)’s boy with a scar series. It’s a collection of stories, mostly au’s, including “Neville/Ron/Hermione are the Boy/Girl-who-lived”, Girl!Harry (once dfab, once trans), “what if Snape made up with Lily”, and many, many more. All are absolute gems, seriously, beautiful fucking writing, will kill you with so many feels. So. Many. Read them all. You will cry. You will be happy about it.

esama is an excellent author and writes many, many things, not all of which are everyone’s cup of tea, but each fic is unique unto itself so keep that in mind when scrolling their work. Just because you don’t like one doesn’t mean you won’t love another. My personal favorites include D.S.S. Requirement (the Room of Requirement provides a spaceship. No, really), Undone Wars (excellent crossover with Stargate Atlantis), and Mother May I, a Fantastic Beasts fic in which Newt recognizes Credence as an Obscurial on sight and basically adopts/kidnaps all the Barebone children immediately and forever.

And no Harry Potter fic rec from me would be complete without metisket’s side-splittingly funny There May Be Some Collateral Damage. It’s a crossover with Bleach, but no knowledge of Bleach is required to thoroughly enjoy this ridiculous piece of perfection. Seriously, I went into knowing that Bleach existed and what the main character looked like. Basically, Voldemort is deemed a grim reaper’s problem, Harry Potter becomes designated bait, and chosen for his bodyguard is the most reasonable maniac you will ever meet. Ichigo crashes through Hogwarts like a wrecking ball, everyone either hates or loves him (or in Harry’s case both), the twin’s perspective is entirely written in the plural and you will laugh every other sentence, I guarantee. Hate prophecies? Hate Umbridge? Need cheering up? Want to stab Voldemort with a dinner knife? This is the fic for you.

#fic recs #Harry Potter #fanfiction #holy shit that was actually fun #behold my Harry Potter hoarde #it is small #but it is good #Harry Potter fic recs #Harry Potter fic #fandom #@deadcatwithaflamethrower #@ink-splotch #@waspabi #@copperbadge #@lullabyknellart

2K notes · View notes

juushika · 6 years

Text

DS9 is the boy’s rewatch of choice, he puts it on to go to sleep to, and normally I hardcore ignore it (I did a complete series rewatch--like, first revisit since adolescence--in two huge chunks a number of years ago and it was absolutely exhausting, especially the second chunk which was just the last few seasons and was plot, war, and profound stress all the goddamn time; when I raised this issue with the boy he was like, oh, yeah, I sometimes skip some of the later seasons in my casual rewatches, and I was like, you think????)

but when I moved back here and had multiple overlapping sources of stress and then got sick, I started tuning in, in the sense of “lying on the bed as a profound lump, watching endless rows of episodes and existing only in found family alien feels land”

and then I scaled it back to ~1 ep a night that I watch when he’s falling asleep, and it’s literally my favorite part of the day

I love TOS/TNG/VOY/DS9 all (and haven’t seen any of the other two, and don’t regret that rn), and before this would probably have put Voyager at the top of my list, but tbh our joint rewatch of that didn’t hold up super well? the characters and premise are superb, still probably my favorite in concept; but the episodic nature hamstrings the plot, it doesn’t fulfill potential

(TOS and TNG do episodic way better, and I also love those casts)

but DS9 is sincerely a step above, insofar as its openness on overarching plot AND reliance on the occasional Star Trek traditional episodic/throwaway/standalone lets it fulfill a potential unreached by the other series while maintaining a profound, sometimes easy, watchability, notwithstanding the whole later season plot-war-stress thing

but the DS9 cast and tropes and speculative concepts--especially the speculative concepts--are so far and away my bag that I can’t summarize it even in an unedited ramble that I expect no one to read. religion with a real, provable, but not inarguable basis that confronts characters with a faith that they don’t want and raises uncomfortable questions about the faith they already have! symbiosis, a people who define themselves by--but do not all have access to--symbiotic relationships; how identity and loneliness operate in a symbiotic and multi-generational relationships! every ST show as that not-human character who constantly raises the question of what it means to be human, and I love them all, but Odo is the best, Rene Auberjonois’s acting is above superb. I don’t care a ton about Ferengi but I care a lot about actors who champion their roles, who make them more meaningful, consistent, robust than they were ever written/intended. Klingons!! I wish I were married to Keiko but she is 200% too good for me!

Like, I have a lot of Star Trek feels, I grew up on Star Trek, but nothing so consistently inspires that profound longing as does DS9, that sense of want to be there, of want to inhabit that

(especially the Trill)

anyway so when things went from “only bad because life is occurring to me, someone incapable of participating in the real world” to “legitimate nightmare hellscape of suffering” b/c of my dad’s diagnosis, I was like, is this a good idea? 1) if I use it as comfort watching now, will I forever conflate it with The Cancer Time? 1b) will The Cancer Time also make it impossible to successfully lose myself in it, thus ruining it twofold? 2) are feelings like this healthy--I mean, “how much escapism is healthy” is a question I’m historically shit at answering, but I don’t care about the answer rn; I have bigger issues to worry about--but is it catharsis or a trigger when you turn to something, aka Star Trek, which consistently turns out to be emotionally devastating? am I finding a productive outlet or just making myself more miserable? is there even any way to answer that question in this situation?

Janeway is my favorite captain because of Formative Sexual Awakening Reasons, and just because I love her, but Sisko is so important in ways I’m not best equipped to articulate: this dynamic, decisive, capable, formidable, profoundly loving Black man in a position of power. I have a complex relationship with depictions of bio/nuclear families for complex reasons re: my own family (like, you know, fucking everyone), I’m normally not really Affected by hearttugging family shit because there’s a wall there, if you will (I built it myself)--so I have always loved Sisko for his presence (so much presence! what a voice!) and for the acceptance and faith he shows in his crew; his relationship with Jake I can see as important but it didn’t have personal resonance.

it turns out that when your father is dying, all of the sudden stories about fathers are very easy to resonate with

the “complex reasons re: my own family” are about 95% the fact that I am a difficult family member to have because I am crazy as hell; small sins affect me hugely and I invite them by virtue of being me, so, like, family hurts, I am bad at having one, etc, etc

my father also profoundly, only, wants the best for me; hasn’t always known how to conceptualize “best” or “me,” but that changes nothing

I think what breaks my heart most is what I will never be able to give his memory; I won’t become a writer, or scientist, or undergo profound self-realizations or self-dedications, or self-sacrifices; I am unsure what legacy he leaves with me--nothing good, really; it’s the limitation of who I am. this narrative we are in together will not better me--I’m fragile, it can only hurt me

and I don’t know how that balances that desire, his desire, for my happiness

#this is 50% a lot of Star Trek feels and 50% a lot of personal grief and 100% unreadable #I don't normally vent? esp. about private things?? I guess this is one of those 'I may delete it later' sort of posts???#no one is under any obligation to read; I think I just needed to write it #Juu watches #/////#Star Trek: Deep Space 9 #Star Trek: Voyager #Star Trek #death tw

4 notes · View notes

adorkable--laughter · 7 years

Text

Friendship Day

Carry On Valentine’s Day Celebration

Word count: 1978

Baz’s POV

It was on Friendship Day that everything changed. Simon did this whole thing - he made me a card (full of hearts and lovey-dovey things written on it – he made it so incredibly difficult for me not to cross over the “just friends” barrier) and got balloons and everything. It was ridiculous, but he clearly put a lot of thought and effort into it.

He told me we’re going to have dinner together and that the whole night was a surprise. He promised I’d have a blast, and I didn't doubt him - I never did - but I still argued. We always argue. We argue and we laugh and we argue and we laugh and somehow, we’ve been side-by-side since we were 5 years old, since he threw a toy at me in the orphanage.

I remember being quite outraged the day we met. My mother always made me go play with the kids at the orphanage (she and my father owned it – the Grimm-Pitch Orphanage (frightening name for an orphanage, I know), but my aunt Fiona took over when she passed).

There was a new kid there that day, the same age as me, and I later found out that he’d been living in orphanages since birth, and had just been moved to this one (his third one) because kids were picking on him too much. Unaware of that fact, I went for my usual sarcastic approach (which my mom was very much unaware of, thank god), but he reacted differently than most kids. I must’ve said something of the sort: “Did mummy say bye before she left you?” I was such a bully and I hate myself for it. (Being upset that your daily chore is to play with other kids is the most absurd thing, I now realize.)

I didn’t expect to go home with a bruise on the side of my face that day because Simon decided to throw a Barbie doll at me. But then again, I didn’t expect a lot of things when it came to Simon, including the whole “Friendship Day” celebration.

I was convinced he made up the whole ordeal (who knew people are petty enough to make a day called “Friendship Day”), but I played along. I put on my nicest tight-fitted jeans and dark gray button-up (I even wore the fancy watch my dad gave me for my last birthday, my 18th), and I went to Simon’s apartment at 7:00 PM. He got the apartment as soon as he saved up enough money to move out.

He had wanted to move out almost right after he got adopted. I mean, he was ecstatic at first. He was 11 years old and lucky to finally be adopted, and though I was sad (way too sad) to have lost a friend I could play with every day, I was also happy for him. That is, until I found out what his adoptive father, David, was like.

I could only really see Simon at school once he got adopted (I was only 11 years old and incapable of navigating the world on my own), until one day he came to me, crying, in the middle of the night. He knocked on my window, and he was shivering so bad (he was only in a T-shirt and he had frozen tears covering his face), and when I let him in he couldn’t even explain what happened. He had a large purple bruise on the side of his face and even more swollen bruises underneath his clothing, I would later find out. It took him weeks to find the words and mumble to me, “He beat me up. My dad. He beat me up.”

“Was that the only time?” I had asked him, and he shook his head. “How many times?” I then asked, and he lifted two fingers sadly.

That pretty much marked the start of 5 years of pain for Simon and me. All I could do was be by his side at school and hug him whenever he looked lost, and let him in my room at night when he came, with tears and bruises and sometimes blood. It came to the point where he would sleep in my bed multiple times every week, and I’d wrap my arms around him tightly, wanting to protect him so badly. He’d shake and shiver, and he’d wince if I pressed the wrong spot while I ran my hands up and down his back soothingly.

My mother grew suspicious after Simon forgot to sneak back home before sunrise a few times (he was sleeping too peacefully in my arms for either of us to care). We should have told her about Simon’s adopted father. She could have helped, or at least she could have tried. She knew a lot more about the paperwork and the law and how much power we had to get Simon back, but we were silly kids.

She questioned me after finding Simon in my bed when she came to wake me up for school, and after a few times, I was so close to spilling it all, but it was too late. Everything shattered.

Or, more accurately, everything went up in flames. The Orphanage burned down, with her in it. She had stayed late that night, having to fill out paperwork for the triplets that had just been dropped off, and she had fallen asleep on her desk. Her office was in the basement, and the fire started upstairs where the stove was left on underneath the wooden cabinets.

All the other workers escaped with the kids, apparently having forgotten that their boss was still downstairs. My mother rarely stayed late, but still, if they had been more attentive, then they could’ve gotten to her before the ceiling collapsed and completely blocked her in. She’d been trapped, completely trapped.

I was twelve and I was devastated. My father continued to focus on work instead of me and I felt so alone. Except, I had Simon. He was always there for me.

I remember being so unresponsive to all his efforts to help me through my grieving. I turned cold and emotionless, and even though I didn’t physically push him away, I did push him away emotionally.

One year later, his adoptive mom died in a car crash and Simon was left alone with his adoptive father. One thing after another, things were collapsing. We’re lucky our friendship remained in tact.

We got through our high school years together, and when we turned 18, things started to get better. He was old enough to escape his adoptive dad and I was starting University, which distracted me enough from negative thoughts and emotions. Simon isn’t going to University yet. He needs to work full-time to afford the apartment and food and everything he needs to live. And there’s no way he can afford school fees.

I practically live at his apartment now. It’s much closer to my University than my house is, so I stay there during the week and go home on weekends.

He is my best friend, my only friend, and I think it’s our friendship that has kept us both alive this long.

Maybe that’s why I’m so nervous for tonight. Maybe that’s why my thoughts have been spiraling all over the place as I got ready and as I drove to pick him up and now, as I lift my hand to knock on his door.

But when he opens the door and I see his smile and his sparkling blue eyes and his messy curs and the way he dressed up just for me, I know it’s more than that. I know it’s because of my damn heart beating like crazy whenever we’re in the same room. I know it’s because I’m so damn in love with him.

I’m a mess because this whole thing seems way too much like a date, and I can’t handle it.

“Hey,” Simon says. So simple.

“Oh – uh – hi,” I respond.

“Come in,” he says, waving me towards him.

“Aren’t we going somewhere?” I ask.

“No, we’re gonna stay here.”

“Why did I have to dress up then?” He asked me to dress up special in the card he gave me this morning when he rang my doorbell at early-o-clock with balloons and a huge smile.

“Uh,” he blushes, “well, we’re dressing up for each other, not for others, you know?”

“Um… yeah, I guess.”

He grabs my arm and pulls me inside, shutting the door behind me.

“I made dinner,” he says.

“You made dinner?” I’m quite shocked. Simon rarely cooks for himself, he lives off of cheap pre-made meals and food that I make him (it’s a bit sad).

He nods. “I guess I wanted to show you, um… how much you mean to me, you know?”

I nod, robotically, taking off my jacket and putting it on the coat rack. When I’m done, he grabs my hand and pulls me to the dinner table, which has lit candles in the center. My heart stars beating way too fast.

He squeezes my hand before letting go and sitting in one of the two chairs, and I feel quite wobbly. We’re always very touchy, but tonight it feels like it has some sort of special meaning behind it.

I take a seat across from him and look down at the plate in front of me, which has a sandwich on it. He made sandwiches.

That’s so adorable. I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.

He pouts at me. “I tried very hard,” he says.

“I know,” I reply. “They look delicious.”

We eat mostly in silence, but it’s comfortable. We spend lot of time in silence, and it’s the most relieving thing ever. Talking gets exhausting after awhile.

We clean the dishes together, and then we sit on his couch together and play board games. We’re both sitting cross-legged, each at one end of the couch.

I always beat him at chess, but he always beats me at snakes and ladders, and it’s no different tonight. It feels nice and normal, until Simon pushes the games aside around midnight and looks me directly in the eye, intensely.

He scooches closer to me and grabs my hand, then starts drawing shapes on my wrist. My stomach twists and pulls and tightens.

“Baz,” he says.

I copy him. I grab his other hand and I start tracing his fingers. “Simon,” I say, and I feel broken all over again. It’s so, so bad, how he breaks me, again and again. He makes me forget how to breathe, he makes me forget how to move my fingers and how to say the alphabet backwards and how to be a sane human being.

He grabs both of my hands, tightly. And then he pulls. He pulls me towards him, and I’m falling.

I’m falling but I’m holding his hands, which makes everything okay.

He pulls until I’m in his lap and his lips are on mine.

He kisses me and he kisses me and he does it so passionately. He does it like he’s been thinking about it for awhile, like he’s wanted it for awhile.

I push him down so he’s lying on his back and I kiss him just as passionately. I kiss him until I can’t breathe anymore. And then I kiss everywhere on his face and his neck. I rub my lips against his skin and I even nibble some places. He wraps himself around me and we both look at each other like all the problems in the world have been solved.

“You’re more than just a friend,” Simon says to me, and I respond with my lips.

#Carry On Valentine's #Carry On Valentin's Celebration #carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #my fanfiction #fanfiction #original

64 notes · View notes

dolly-rose · 7 years

Note

(2) and she just looked at me and asked me one simple question. How old are your parents? I answered her, not really getting where she was going. She then told me, simply "They're responsible for their own lives, and you're responsible for your own and only your own until the point where you decide you want to have a kid. Then you'll be responsible for the kid as well." I disagreed with her, telling her that my parents drag me into their issues even when I try to stay away and she rebutted me

(3) She just smiled and said something along the lines of “Live your own life. When they see you’re doing your own thing, being happy, living your own life, they’ll start changing as well.” I didn’t trust her, tbh. I felt like I’ve always been there for my parents so they were used to me being there to listen and comfort and whatnot. I had some deeper issues so it took me a while to get on my own two feet where I don’t just jump up to help them whenever they come whining. I just started doing it

(4) And let me tell you, in the beginning it’s so hard. So hard to not just fix their issues when you know you could. But I realised that they can actually ix them, too. I just made them too much used to me being the one to fix them so they got spoiled by me. I fucking managed to spoil my parents, ridiculous, eh? But the more I’ve become independent in the way where I just listen without reacting and letting them deal with it all while I deal with my shit, they actually started getting better.

(5) It took me so damn long, though. So long to finally sever the damn phantom umbilical cord. I know how overwhelmed you must feel with parents who look to you for help, I know you must feel responsible for them in so many ways, but I just want to let you know it’ll get better. You’ll get better. And I say that because, and this was the hardest lesson I had to learn, the only person you can truly change is you. Others change as a reaction to your change, like a tidal wave. Take care of yourself

(6) Love yourself because you’re so damn lovable. And don’t put your life on any kind of pause or slow it down for others, because it will only harm you in the long run. On the other hand, you living your best life at the pace that is comfortable to you will inspire others to do the same. It does sound cheesy, but it’s proven many times to be true. If you need someone to talk to or talk AT, just message me, whenever you feel like it, okay? Be good to yourself!

I thank you kindly for your thoughtful advice, and I hear you completely. Although it looks like tumblr ate the first part of this ask, I’m pretty sure I got the gist of the situation. I thank you for sharing, and hope you do not mind that I am responding to this publicly, but I feel the need to make my own response public to see if there is anyone out there with the knowledge and advice that might help me more specifically. In response:

These are strategies I’ve tried to reassure myself with for years. But there are logistics to consider that I frankly need help dealing with, and due to a personal lack of finances, I am unable to seek professional help to help me answer these questions.

On my dad’s end, he will eventually learn to stop bringing me into his personal life on this level. In part he does still emotionally lean on me because I’ve always been the only person that knew how to understand my mother and calm her down. He discusses this with me to vent and also seek my guidance because we have always needed to respond very carefully as to not escalate the situation. (On the other hand, he also communicates these issues with me to warn me of what the situation is, because I am always the next person my mother will contact if she is in a foul mood.) My mother still had a lot of financial control and could put a lot of things at risk intentionally if we did not respond in a desired way. Consequently, her actions would then affect the entire family, regardless of my involvement. Losing our home is not something we can afford to go through right now, and this greatest thing at stake from my father’s end, until the divorce is settled.

Now, we have my mother who suffers severely from Borderline Personality Disorder, and is in need of intensive care. I agree with you, that this shouldn’t be my responsibility. But here is the reality of the situation; my mother is 60 years old, jobless (she lost 5 jobs in just one year), she is unable to maintain a job due to both mental health issues and physical health issues. She is in thousands of dollars of debt from medical bills, and a couple thousand from credit cards. Her boyfriend (who seems to have recently left her) was their only source of income, and since he’s only on disability himself, there was never much money around. She will be filing for bankruptcy this year because there are no other available options.

My mother is still covered under my father’s health insurance because their divorce has not been legalized yet. However, she only has until the end of March before that health insurance is canceled. The insurance however is a complete joke because our family is very poor and we cannot afford a lower deductible, so until we spend out $3500 in medical fees (money we do not have), we don’t qualify for much benefits. To just see a general family doctor, our co-pays are $100 and up. My mother who has no income other than the money I (had) been supplying her with, cannot afford to go to the doctor. For over a year now, she has stopped taking all of her anti-depressant medications, mood stabilizers, sleeping aids, etc. Recently, she has not had the money to pay for her other on-going medications for both hypertension and Diabetes type II. She’s become very physically ill and her IBS has been affecting her daily life to an extreme. However, with all of these things in mind, be aware that her doctor denied her his recommendation for disability when we asked.

I did take her to a social worker and we have applied to get her food stamps, cash assistance, and a medical card. We have not yet heard back to see if she has been accepted for any of these government aids, and because we live in the bankrupt state of Illinois, I am weary of both how long it will take for her receive a response, and what her chances are of qualifying at all since her divorce from my father is not final. (The divorce which we literally do not have money to afford at the moment. My dad already had to take out money against his 401k to pay 5 missing house payments so that the bank would not start foreclosure. Which in turn, my mother then stole the money that he intended to use to pay off those bills, and used it to buy crack cocaine for herself. She’s become an ongoing addict.)

My mother is literally at the point of being evicted from her trailer by her own sister. Her boyfriend has left her, and he was the one that paid for all the utilities. Knowing what I know about the health care system, I don’t think she will be quickly approved (if at all) for permanent Social Security Disability because it is rarely passed for people with Mental Illness, and her physical ailments are deemed curable as long as she has the money to afford the medications. My mother has no other family members but myself and my younger brother. I’m not at this moment allowing myself to consider the idea of letting her become homeless or forcing her to live in a women’s shelter where her health can only further deteriorate.

I would love to walk away from all of this and reassure myself that my mother will learn to change and that she will eventually be able to take care of herself. However, at this moment, I know that she is entirely mentally and financially incapable of doing any of those things. She’s been extremely suicidal and it’s taken every ounce of energy that I have to convince her that these problems are still manageable and there is hope that things will be better.

I love my mother despite all these issues because I understand how severe the disorder is, as I am a victim of it myself. In a few weeks she will have no other option but to move to another state to live with me, since I am the only family she has that will take her in. Opening my home to her means opening her to my care, and taking her on as a full-time responsibility. I still do not have the money to get her the therapy and medical help that she needs; I don’t even have the money to afford it for myself.

I have no idea what to do, but I just cannot with good conscience walk away knowing that she will be left either homeless or to commit suicide. I do not want these responsibilities, and I do want to live my own life, but it seems like my only way to live is to find a way to accommodate her life first until she is actually capable of doing it herself. Most unfortunately to all of this is that I have no assistance myself. I need help finding solutions, but I have no one to ask, and I have no connections to help me get things active. As I mentioned before, I also suffer from BPD and anxiety, and it’s been extremely difficult for me to find solutions to her problems when I don’t have anyone first helping me to solve my own.

I am truly and devastatingly in need of help that results in active decision making that will produce tangible results. I need to be productive and make sure these situations don’t escalate even further than they already have, but I just have absolutely no idea where to go or how to make those changes happen. I am not just frustrated with the situation, but also with myself, and I am endlessly terrified, but I simply know that doing nothing and walking away for my own benefit will result in consequences that I am not ready to live with.

If anyone has any advice for what to do in the state of these circumstances, I am willing to learn and find a way to take action ASAP.

#asks #help #please

4 notes · View notes

wanderingsoul · 5 years

Text

What Am I Doing with My Life? Sunday Morning Pondering's Amidst a Quarter-Life Crisis

So recently I did a thing, and graduated college. Yay, right? It still seems surreal, and honestly something that I thought would give a feeling of accomplishment has instead led me spiraling into questioning who I am, what I’m doing with my life, who I am becoming, and who I want to be. Not to mention the immense pressure to get a job and start life and look like a successful adult!!

All these existential crises have led me to a standstill, completely paralyzed, incapable of anything other than going to my very part time summer nanny job, and avoiding my life at the beach. I started the summer wanting it to be relaxed, and to “enjoy my last summer before adulting”, but honestly, I haven’t been enjoying it all that much. The whole not having a purpose and not knowing where I am going in life really puts a damper on things you know. Not to mention unhealthy coping behaviors like shopping, which I have been doing a lot of in my generous free time. Which then adds to the stress because I have less and less money! I know I am doing things that I don’t like, and I don’t like how I feel, and I feel generally aware of what would make these things better but I can’t stop! It feels that way anyway.

Days spent mostly alone feel refreshing and I love it, but also I end up procrastinating the many important and good things that I should be doing? And then I feel bad and don’t want to do any of the good things because I feel shame that I haven’t done them earlier! I feel like I am not doing a very good job of eloquently painting the picture, but you get the idea.

(Side note- Daniel Caesar just came out with a new album and its perfect)

Let’s talk life accomplishments – graduation. I graduated from a school that I did not like very much, with a degree that I loved for 1 year, and became to really dislike my last year. Social work is a super emotionally taxing career, and I totally get that, and in the beginning, I was all into that. I was fresh into soul searching, and I loved the challenge of having to analyze my behaviors and other people’s all at the same time. I had a very rewarding internship, and I truly felt like I was making a difference and learning so much about the world and myself. Then senior year rolled around, my depression got a lot worse, I worked a ton, felt completely useless at my internship, and lost one of my closest friends to her boyfriend. I also dealt with a lot of friend drama, and grew apart from my parents, which I hated. Also did not spend anytime exploring my spirituality, and reaching out to God. So, in almost all areas of my life, I felt empty. It was a hard year, and one where I was supposed to be planning long term, and finding my life passion and looking for jobs. I did pass my licensure exam to become a licensed social worker, but that did not make me feel much better considering I failed a class, and felt so checked out of my other classes I rarely showed up and hardly did any homework. Which was really unlike me, and something I had never done before. I just genuinely did not care anymore, and had no motivation to do well at all. Which was depressing, and made me feel not good about myself, which then became a vicious cycle of self-loathing, not doing anything, then more self-loathing. Gosh it was hard.

During this year, I didn’t really have anyone to turn to. That sounds dramatic, it really does. It’s true and not true all at the same time. My roommates were good to me, and hard to deal with, and fun and crazy. But I just feel like I don’t have a soul connection with them. Like some people you meet and you just know that these people get you and you feel like you could spend forever with them and not get bored. I don’t have anyone like that in my life right now. Which is why I think time alone doesn’t feel as fulfilling. Because time alone is not time alone solely for me, it’s to escape others. Time alone is spent being thankful for the lack of other people instead of the joy of just myself. Very close, but very different. I only had one best friend growing up, and I think it affected how I view friendships now. I know no one will compare to my one friend, so I get small parts of friendship in different people, never fully investing, never fully connecting because they’re not her. And that’s shitty right, not investing in others fully because of my childhood best friend?? It’s not her fault at all, I think I’m just a one-person kind of person. Which in case you didn’t know, is not how college works at all. College, in my experience is full of quantity over quality. And I know that’s everyone experiences college friendships differently, but that’s how it was for me. This has caused me to become very fickle with my friendships, and flit from one to the next, searching for that genuine connection in each person. One of my close friends pointed this out to me, and I can see it very clearly in many of my friendships. Which doesn’t allow me to be a very good friend to people that value my friendship.

Back to questioning what I am doing with my life. For some time in college, I felt as if I had a purpose in life. To be a social worker, to help people, to discover more about myself and the world. I felt passionate about what I was doing, who I was learning from, and what direction I was going. Now I feel burnt out, and I haven’t even entered the work force !!!!! What the heck is that even.

I think one of my (many) problems is that I am also looking for validation/happiness in places I won’t get any. I am not pursing jobs which could provide a purpose for my life. BUT then my brain instantly shames me for seeking purpose in my job instead of in Jesus. I want to connect back into my spirituality, and I feel like I could be at a good place to start again. But my dad, a while back, said something that really hurt me, and even though I instantly rejected it, has made me question. I always felt comfortable searching and questioning, and doubting, because I know that God had made my brain this way, and valued the intellectual. So I never felt bad about questioning my faith, or taking a step back, and evaluating. But my dad said that God won’t wait forever, and that eventually he will walk away from me. And I’m scared that is true. Even though I try to cling to scripture that says God will never leave me, part of me wonders if it has been too long. Have I been questioning so long and doubting so much that God has given up on me? I don’t think I can even handle the idea of that. Because even though spiritual fulfillment has seemed so unattainable these past two years, its always seemed like something that I can access again. Somehow, I will find time or have a moment, and I will be at a place where I can again reach out to God. Having him in the background has always been something that I drew immense comfort in. Knowing that he sees me, and knows how much I have been struggling, and loves me so much that he allows me to figure some of this hard stuff out. He doesn’t want to control me, but wants me to learn the value of His love and His validation. He is preparing me for himself, and calling me into vulnerability and relationship before him. (small tears).

So as I begin to process this spiritual awakening of sorts, I have to trust that this is all part of his plan. And it kind of makes it all seem worth it? Like this hardship means that something beautiful will come from the ashes, and that brokenness doesn’t have to be an end point, but rather a good place to start something.

0 notes

fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

Text

The Hard Truth About Rory and Lorelai’s Relationship on ‘Gilmore Girls’

http://fashion-trendin.com/the-hard-truth-about-rory-and-lorelais-relationship-on-gilmore-girls/

The Hard Truth About Rory and Lorelai’s Relationship on ‘Gilmore Girls’

s someone easily intimidated by the uncertainty of watching new TV shows, there’s something reassuring to me about binging on a series I’ve already seen a dozen times. I like the comfort of knowing what’s going to happen; I enjoy feeling a sense of closeness to the characters. So it’s no wonder that a few months ago, following a season-long depressive episode and a slew of anxiety attacks, I embarked on rewatching the entire Gilmore Girls series for the third time. But this binge session was a bit different than those that came before it: It ran parallel to my first foray into psychotherapy.

At a time when I felt deeply out of touch with myself, I found relief watching Lorelai and her daughter Rory engage in their pop-culture diatribes as their intertwining storylines unfolded in the small town of Stars Hollow. Yet at the same time, something else emerged from this binging experience: I noticed that Gilmore Girls and I have a lot more in common than deviated septums and Juicy Couture zip-ups. As I began to learn about codependency in therapy and understand how it has shaped my own relationship with my mom, I saw similar patterns of behavior between Lorelai and Rory on screen. Though our personalities and circumstances are different, there were times I felt as if I were watching scenes from my own life play out on my iPad screen.

The concept of codependency is fairly new to me. According to Melody Beattie, author of Codependent No More, “A codependent person is one who has let another person’s behavior affect him or her and who is obsessed with controlling that person’s behavior.” Codependency was once thought to be present primarily in families in which one or more members were alcoholics. But Beattie and other psychology professionals believe it is prevalent in all kinds of dysfunctional homes, specifically those where children are raised by caretakers who are not emotionally or physically available.

As a result, people who exhibit codependent behavior become what my therapist calls “emotional caretakers” — they often feel an obligation to take care of everyone else’s emotional needs over their own. This can lead to low self-esteem or the inability to take care of themselves, which can result in needy or controlling behavior.

Upon learning all of this, I began watching Gilmore Girls with a more critical eye, taking note of the countless times Lorelai attempts to control Rory’s life and moments where both women are at fault for hiding their true feelings from each other and their various romantic partners. This is textbook codependency.

In season one, when Lorelai realizes she doesn’t love Max Medina, the man she is set to marry in a few days, she takes Rory on a trip to avoid the issue completely instead of confronting him about it. Lorelai insists on keeping her reasoning to herself when Rory asks what’s going on. In season five, when Rory decides to take time off from Yale, Lorelai, who vehemently disagrees with the decision, tries to go behind Rory’s back and devise a plan that would force her to stay in school. She is incapable of respecting her daughter’s wants and needs, pushing the situation to such an extreme that the two end up not speaking for months on end.

Photo by Mitchell Haddad/CBS Photo Archive via Getty Images

Over the course of the series, Rory often feels so responsible for Lorelai’s feelings that she withholds information she otherwise wouldn’t. For example, she doesn’t tell Lorelai when she first has feelings for Dean in season one or the reason why Dean breaks up with her that same season. Lorelai also tends to unnecessarily interject herself into Rory’s love life, which at times pushes Rory away. In season four, when Rory sleeps with Dean, who is by then married to a woman named Lindsay, it causes a fight between Rory and Lorelai that inspires Rory to go to Europe with her grandmother for the summer to avoid her mother’s disapproval. Whereas I used to see these kinds of shenanigans as quirks of their complex mother-daughter relationship, upon this viewing I saw them as the unhealthy trappings of something more sinister.

It’s no wonder Lorelai and Rory experience some levels of codependency — for so long, all they really had was each other. When Lorelai was growing up, she felt disconnected from her parents, who preferred keeping up appearances rather than being actively involved in their daughter’s life. When Rory was born, Lorelai ran away from her family; Rory’s father, Christopher, was almost completely out of the picture. With such a small gap in age between Rory and Lorelai, the two end up acting more like sisters than mother and daughter, clinging to each other and trying so hard to be who the other person needs them to be.

Learning the behaviors associated with codependency and seeing it on screen via Gilmore Girls gave me a framework for better understanding the ways in which my relationship with my mother has been challenging. My own family fell apart when I was young. When my depressed father moved away when I was 17 to start a new life, I grew more and more attached to my loving, overstressed and overworked mother. As my dad was not emotionally or physically present for a good part of my life, I tried to fill the that void by relying too much on my mom. There have been periods of my life where I’ve called her several times a day to give her updates on my life and ask for advice on all kinds of random things, expecting her to be at my disposal no matter the cost and finding myself upset whenever she wasn’t. There have been plenty of times when I’ve kept important things from her out of concern that she’d react poorly or be upset with me.

My codependent tendencies have also resulted in a casual inability to make decisions on my own or take care of myself. Last summer, while in the throes of my depression, I relied heavily on my mom to help me move apartments, sending the 60-something-year-old woman on various physically strenuous tasks around the city, including the purchasing, shortening and installation of my curtains.

How much reliance is too much reliance? While I do enjoy my mother’s daily weather text updates and the fact that she sends me money whenever I am sick to buy fresh-squeezed juices, I’m a capable 29-year-old and I need to start doing things on my own.

Though on the surface my mother might seem like the ultimate caretaker who loves me just as much as Lorelai loves Rory, therapy has taught me that if I want to improve my relationship with my mom and become a fully independent adult, I must set stronger boundaries and start taking more responsibility for my life. And that means no longer living in fear of her reactions, being more straightforward about how I feel, and solving my own problems, one curtain at a time.

While the dramatic dynamic between Lorelai and Rory may make for good TV, the show doesn’t dive into the internal anguish that often dovetails with codependency. When I set out to rewatch it, I expected to be wildly entertained by the characters’ rapport, but I was surprised to find a new reference point for what constitutes an unhealthy mother-daughter relationship. I don’t see this as a reason to stop loving it, though. I just see it as a perfect excuse to keep binge-watching my old favorites: There are always new lessons to learn.

Photo by Warner Bros./Delivered by Online USA via Getty Images.

1 note · View note