#so i get caught in a constant cycle of isolating myself

[nonbinaryhatboxghost]

8:00am. I successfully socialized for a while last night. Had some good Korean BBQ, caught up with some folks I haven't seen in a month or so, then I went home.

I'm going to try and write a longer entry here because I've been doing these brief scattershot posts that almost certainly don't convey a positive mental state. Which, to be fair, is accurate.

I'm not at my best lately. I've had difficulty finding energy for things outside of work because my new position (I've been in this position for almost three months and yet it still feels new) takes a lot out of me. I'm dealing with constant questions/clarifications from co-workers on a specific project that I was assigned to be the new expert on, I'm dealing with more consistent interactions with upper management, I'm staring at multiple computer monitors for hours every day (I have blue light glasses, so that helps a little), and while I'm no longer isolated in a screening room for 8 hours a day, I'm still working in a windowless room.

I have a retail therapy problem. I've definitely already talked about this, but I love physical media. I've been collecting CDs since I was in elementary school, DVDs and Blu-rays for almost as long, and lockdown finally made me cave and start collecting vinyl. And the thing about physical media, particularly vinyl these days, is that there is always a new thing to acquire that's only going to be available "for a limited time." So my already collecting-happy self goes into overdrive trying to acquire whatever new shiny disc relevant to my interests is about to be released. Today it was pre-ordering the Best Buy 4K SteelBook release of (the incredible) Prey and the mail-order exclusive "They Live" Blue with White Splatter variant of John Carpenter and co.'s upcoming album Anthology II (Movie Themes 1976-1988).

Now, do I genuinely want and enjoy these things? Hell yes. I was floored by how good Prey was, and I am still shocked that Disney has decided to start releasing some of their streaming titles on physical media. I am also a huge fan of John Carpenter, and own almost all of his music in one form or another.

But these are also not solutions to my current, to be honest almost-always-present problem: I feel isolated.

I have full brain servings of depression and anxiety. I became aware of the former maybe a decade ago, and discovered the latter was a bigger problem than I thought after I had my first(?) panic attack at work a few years ago. I've been in therapy since 2016, I've taken meds since 2018. I am doing better than I was, but despite all of the progress that I logically know that I've made, I feel stuck.

I've tried asking for help outside of therapy, but part of the problem is that despite being someone who wants/needs more attention and affection from folks, I have an instinct to isolate myself in order to not burden others with my problems. I've been fighting that instinct to mixed success. I suspect that I've isolated myself in this regard for so long that now a lot of folks don't really think of or invite me to hang because they're possibly under the impression that I don't want to interact with them. Or maybe it's the standard people growing apart thing. Or (and here is what the depression monster tells me) they find me boring/depressing/annoying/pathetic/etc.

Another thing is that I'm newly polyamorous. I'm currently seeing one person, who has needed to take some time for themself for a variety of reasons. I understand and respect that, even though I wish I could do something to help outside of leaving them alone for the time being. I also miss them. Part of the point of polyamory is not putting all of one's emotional eggs into one basket, and I'm always open to new connections. But with how I'm doing lately, I'm getting trapped in this vicious cycle of wanting to connect with someone because I want connection/attention/affection, then feeling guilty for wanting that and worrying that I only want connection/attention/affection as a distraction from how not well I'm doing, then my brain tells me that I shouldn't be with anyone until I've sorted all of my own stuff out and around and around it goes.

I'm a person, I have problems, and I don't want to put all those problems on another person. I once said to current partner that "my loneliness is not your responsibility." I still feel that way. But I also can't find a consistent solution or solutions to this loneliness.

I'm a very simple nerd. I like hanging out and chatting with folks, and I'm not opposed to going out and doing activities. But I don't really do things like bar-hopping or going to nightclubs. I'm very shy and don't really know what social space I'd be most comfortable in. Dating apps make me uncomfortable, and years ago when I was actively using them I had nothing but bad experiences. There's a local arcade bar that I go to for karaoke sometimes, which has been nice, but not really a space for making new friends.

I just don't know how to initiate hangs outside of movie nights. And despite watching movies with folks sincerely being one of my love languages, I know that can't be the only way I spend time with people. I'm open to new stuff, I just need help with the new stuff.

I'm looking into taking piano lessons for the first time since I was in 4th grade. I left the chorus I was part of a while ago, so I would like a new consistent music-related thing/structure in my life.

I have a close friend visiting next month and I'm really looking forward to seeing them.

I know that at some point next year I'll be traveling to wherever The Kingcast is hosting their next big event, and possibly with another friend who has recently gotten into King (and who has rapidly overtaken me in the number of King books they've read).

I'm hopefully remote-hanging with someone this week that I haven't gotten to hang with in a while.

And yeah, I have a 4K disc arriving in the mail today (The Nightmare Before Christmas).

I'm trying. I just wish I was getting better faster.

#personal

[keefwho]

September 21 - 2023 Thursday

7:52am

I know I want to follow through with some kind of ACT therapy based plan. Coming up with the plan is the hard part. It's gotta be something I can refer back to when I'm slipping up or losing my way. So far I haven't been able to figure out something that works but it's also because I usually don't have the bravery to face the truth that I am slipping up. Instead I tell myself I'm fine, I don't need to brush up on anything. I act like I've been cured just because things are going well. But obviously it's a slow downhill from there until I have a breakdown and realize I've been neglecting important practice.

In fact this sounds extremely similar to something I experienced with my art where I'd neglect to practice or try anything new until my art became static and dull. I'd slowly forget things I learned until I couldn't pull off making anything interesting to me. I'd catch myself and realize all I needed to do was get some fresh intake of visual information. In other words I'd enter a state of artistic reverb with myself, unable to breath. Maybe the exact same thing is happening with my mental health. I'm relatively okay when I'm exploring new perspectives and actively trying to understand my behavior. The problem comes when I act like I've learned it all and slowly degrade to a breaking point.

The art solution was solved with the awareness of the problem and by scheduling a mere 30 minute warmup time every morning where I specifically get out of my comfort zone. If I'm not struggling, I'm not doing it right. My mental state could benefit from a similar solution. I already have the groundwork made by trying to identify and jot down my objective thoughts and feelings every morning. This could be expanded upon to be time I take to do more focused exercises on different ACT topics. Or just some more reading. As much as I want to do it in the morning, I might save it for the afternoon since I have more time I usually don't know what to do with then. Mornings already seem kinda limited.

1:24pm

I've done some reading today so I have my intake of information. For a few days now I've been exercising a philosophy I like, I haven't had to remind myself to keep doing it. I just do it. It's to work myself until I'm tired. Because inherently I enjoy burning energy. It means I'm doing something, moving things around in this world. It means I'm expressing myself no matter what, even if it's just doing the dishes. I enjoy doing things that serve to benefit the greater good. I DONT value being able to enjoy relaxing and playing all day, only in smaller doses (at least right now). I want to create things and push things. I like momentum.

The things I read about in my act book support this grand sort of method of operation. I mean, ACT is the name of the practice for a reason. It's all about acting in accordance with my values. The hard part is overcoming the things that stop me from doing that, all my internal struggles that are holding me back.

Right now I feel like I'm in a sort of 'up' and I know it would be wise to utilize that. I used to resist the wave of up and down and limit myself for the sake of consistency. I've learned trying to keep anything constant is a bad thing, everything needs an up and down kind of cycle to exist. In the past when I'd naturally feel good and have the motivation to do a bunch of things, I'd stop myself because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it up when the down came back. But in doing so I missed out on a lot of productivity/joy. These days I'm better about recognizing that it's best to use the energy I'm given when I have it.

As usual a huge problem I've caught again is losing touch with who I am. I forget that I am a conscious being in an ever evolving world. I think because of my relative isolation as a child along with unhindered consumption of digital media, I have an inclination to view the world as a sort of video game and people like NPCs. Inherently I get the feeling that there is nothing beyond what I can see and that a lot of people are no more than very simple, meaningless characters. I do not like this about myself, it's not a good worldview and I feel really good when I break out of it every now and then. I want to see the humanity in people better. It doesn't help though that many people are afraid to express themselves and adopt an oversimplified personality to hide behind. And more or less being locked in this room doesn't help me grasp the grandeur of this world. I think that would change if I learned how to drive, I think I'd better understand the true freedom we all have to translate ourselves across the surface of our world.

11:01pm

This morning was leftover pizza and a granola bar for breakfast. Stream was good, sketching was fruitful and I made good progress on the last commission this month. Also finished another YCH and started sketching potential new ones.

I sorted a few boxes while cleaning today and threw some stuff out. Two places I'd consider untamed lands in my cabin are the top of the closet and the compartment next to the toilet. Both of these places could use a little cleaning out. To me they are like the 2 cabinets above most fridges.

Lunch was stir fry noodles. I was surprisingly starving while cooking it and after eating I felt kinda bloated. Something is up with my tummy today and I think it could be the apple oatmeal I made yesterday since apples naturally contain the kind of sugar I think upsets my stomach. I hung out in David's server for the first time in awhile and got cozy while I did my work. Eventually the call turned annoying because 3 guys were basically all making independent noise so I left. I almost finished my Princess Bubblegum picture so it should be done tomorrow.

After a bit of rest, I played Just Dance with Daisy. Usually I try too hard to match the hand movement perfectly but today I let go and vaguely copied the moves in my own way, whatever felt natural.

I kinda goofed around while she worked on her fursuit in call. I was a little self conscious today because in general I don't like how I look, especially my face and hair. I felt sort of ugly today but I knew that was an exaggeration and that it doesn't even matter if I am. I know I shouldn't have to perform for her either. We watched some Adventure Time and youtube videos. I tried playing Starfield but wasn't feeling it. Also tried to finish that Bubblegum pic but wasn't feeling that either. I took a short video to try and scan my vacuum cleaner which seemed to work fine so I might try a room scan tomorrow.

This evening I just felt like existing and I hope I didn't come off as boring or something. I really just wanted to chill in the same space until something naturally came up instead of always searching for something to do or a way to become stimulated. Maybe sometimes I want to do nothing and try to enjoy some simply emotional security.

I've been selfish lately. In a selfish phase if you will. It's much to complicated to fully explain this dynamic I stumble into sometimes but in a way I haven't been myself. I've been operating based on my feelings and have been focused on taking things for myself as a sort of survival mechanism. When I snap out of it I remember how real affection means giving without expecting something back. I remember to enjoy what I have and to be less afraid of losing it. I start to see the importance of my own interests and it's easier to pursue them.

#thoughts #act therapy #journal #diary

[existential-what-now]

Sometimes i wish i was social but i dont have the energy for it, dont know how to approach people, and too afraid of saying the wrong thing

#so i get caught in a constant cycle of isolating myself #and here goes all the other stupid tags i add to make myself feel better #text post #depresso #social anxiety #terrible at making friends

[fortunatelyfresco]

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

#moist von lipwig #narcolepsy #discworld #disabled headcanons #oh my god this got so out of hand #earned itself a title AND a subtitle #mr. cybulskis i'm sorry i fell asleep in your class every day it was at the exact wrong time and temperature and lighting

[ghostiezone]

hello hello hello good evening talk bout sad cwilbur thoughts?? i am sitting in front of u with my chin in my hands i wanna listen to rambling.

ok so im listening gto this song right. and like. not to be all sadboy about it but. i dont necessarily consider this to be a wilbur song BUT some of the lyrics r fitting so it works for this.

“like tv magazines and coffee beans, i have such simple needs” he really gets fixated on little things after he comes back. Little details he took for granted before spending 13 years in what was essentially a sensory deprivation tank modeled after his worst nightmares. But there are so many things, so many little tiny things that he never noticed before that he gets a little lost in it sometimes. The way the stars reflect off the river. The ants caught in a death spiral on the ground by the first step up to the van. The tiny bits of moss starting to sprout in stationary tires. the subtle shifts in the direction of the wind every time he steps outside. the texture of every individual loose thread in his sweater and how it feels when they brush his skin. it gets overwhelming. 

little too overwhelming. maybe he develops the mildest case of agoraphobia. ranboo hasnt been to the van for a while (and won’t be back for even longer, though he doesn’t know that yet), he hasn’t seen quackity and hasn’t had the energy to make the trek over to the desert (sand is too much. just the thought of sand touching his skin in any way when he feels like this is enough to cause a physical reaction). he doesnt want to leave. doesnt wanna go anywhere because he knows no matter what, some tiny thing is just gonna set him off again. but he wants to see people. limbo has left him with a warped sense of object permanence when it comes to people. if nobody’s around to see him as alive, how does he know this isn’t just a trick? how does he know he won’t wake up the next morning to grey walls and cold concrete floors and a numbness that seeps into his bones and realize that this has all just been another elaborate nightmare conjured up by his personal hell to torture him some more? is wilbur soot even real if nobody’s around to see him? 

“its not agoraphobia, its just a lack of air supply that keeps me up at night” leave it to wilbur to deny that anything’s wrong with him, even when he can’t sleep because he’s too busy hyperventilating his way through a panic attack because the knife slipped while he was cutting vegetables and barely grazed his finger. 

“i’m not momentarily out of my mind” << this is just a cwilbur lyric. i think i might use this as the title for a fic in the future lmao

“i dont need to be hospitalized to make me realize that ive got a problem, no i haven’t, let me be” the constant tug of war game in his mind of desperately needing to be around people after being isolated for so long and the self hatred in the back of his mind telling him that he doesn’t deserve to be around people after he hurt them the way he did. the struggle of pulling people closer because you’re desperate to be noticed, to be real in someone’s eyes other than your own, but having punished yourself for so long that the comfort becomes uncomfortable so you just push them away again in this ugly cycle 

anyway. thats all the significant lyrics, i just. holds cwilbur in my hands. this bad boy can hold so much mental illness in him. will never rid myself of the hc that he gets overstimulated by every little unexpected sensation. pain hurts Too Much, sounds are Too Loud, lights are Too Bright. everything is so much. makes him want to pull all of his hair out but he can’t even do that because it hurts too much. he forgets that he needs to eat or drink or sleep, so sometimes he’ll just unintentionally push himself to the point of exhaustion and that definitely doesn’t help with the mental burnout. when pillows are too soft he just lays on the floor of the van using his coat as a weighted blanket because it’s cold and hard and he’s used to sleeping on the floor of a train station. on nights he really can’t sleep he’ll go lay out on the grass and stare at the stars like he used to do when he lived in Pogtopia (until he realizes he can feel every individual blade of grass on his skin and the vague glow of las nevadas’ light pollution is too bright and he can hear the screech of phantoms that have been drawn to his lack of sleep and he gives up to go back to the comfort of cold hardwood floors)

#i am typing w one hand rn so forgive any typos please hgfdjh #not to be too meta either but this all came to me in the thought of #'lmao in canon reason wilbur missed the prison break bc he was busy having a panic attack in the burger van' #this went from me talking abtou the song to me just listing my pathetic cwilbur headcanons lol sorry #i cant write a full fic rn bc like. finals. but i needed an Outlet hsbdjfhds #uhh. #tw// unreality #for the limbo talk.. got kinda carried away sorry #when the prison sirens went off they echoed across the entire server #and wilbur didnt know what they were they were just Loud and Grating and he couldnt leave the van for hours after they stopped because his #*his ears were ringing too much #smile. i am going to bed now i hope u enjoyed #not art #dream smp #my writing #i guess??? i dont have a tag for hc talk oops #asks #numberstati0n #also @ aster before you yell at me for listening to autoheart again consider. i am coping hsbdhfbdkjfnsdfsdkjfj #not well! but its making me feel Something so its better than nothing #jjdfhbsd #hc talk

[hopeatemyneeds]

Who could betray me again if I had gathered all the early signs of the betrayals passed by my family, friends and exes? After decades of betrayal by a lot of people in my past, I had learned to protect myself with acute judgment. I knew what to look for, and I thought I healed the injuries caused by these betrayals. What I didn't learn is that emotional betrayal can result in TRAUMA. I had all the symptoms of complex post-traumatic stress disorder, but I mistook them for my discernment and armor. I didn't get over the betrayals as I thought.

What I did, however, was that I ruminated about the betrayals. I became entangled in the processing of my wounds with a constant rumination about betrayal. I thought I was actively healing from the pain and suffering created, by being lied to and cheated on. I thought my "triggers" were my body armor protecting me by discerning who was out to hurt me. I was emotionally "tough" and no one was ever going to hurt me again! My suspicions and hyper-vigilance were a symptom and I had no freaking idea.

Understandably, I was angry at being betrayed. With each betrayal, I lost sleep, lost my appetite, lost faith in myself because I couldn't see the "real" red flags. Going through the betrayals, had turned my gut-instinct upside down. I made a mistake thinking I'd recovered. What I’ve discovered, is that all I did was learn how to cope really really well. What I found out is, all I did was learn to really adapt. My coping was endless ruminatory thoughts, endless emotional reasoning, and constant isolation, believing that I was "working" on my recovery. It was a cycle I had created without being aware of it. The fact that I created the cycle only led me to enable more people to come and cause me more emotional harm. I would justify my cycles as being a magnet to narcissistic social paths. But next time, I WILL see the signs. Right. How could I ever discern red flags if I had never learned the trauma of betrayal?

The symptoms it caused were not something I knew how to deal with, much less heal. There wasn't a Google search to identify it, and that was something I hadn't heard of before. I simply didn't have the awareness. There was endless labels on what I could be, and one was I was a "codependent." I took the label for a short time, but it wasn't helpful.

I finally came up with the root of the problem, but now what? The bottom line is I suffered a childhood that created a lot, and I mean a lot of survival mechanisms. I managed to create a battlefield mentality. It was self-defeating and painful. I was deeply afraid of being hurt again, and I didn't want to be alone.

I never stopped wanting to be accepted, loved, valued and protected, but I didn't know that I was trapped by patterns. During these cycles, I gave myself a lot of credit for being loyal, trustworthy, empathetic, kind, generous, witty, funny, lovable and smart. There were many things about me that I gave freely to others, even though they didn't give me much in return. I carried on giving because it was given with good intentions. I give so much, surely people would appreciate it and would not take me for granted because I am unique! Ha! Yeah, it drove me into dark places and gave me the opposite of what I needed and what I wanted. None of this filled me and it left me empty with the unending hope of ever being met halfway. I was caught in a fantasy to be seen, heard and appreciated... So I clung to hope, silly me.

Fast forward to where I am now. I've been unpacking the long-term effects that have plagued me about my past traumas. I know there's so much more to learn, but it's not something that I dread or fear. I am eager to rebuild a solid sense of myself because I no longer doubt myself to discover what I really need and could give to myself. My sense of worth is precious and significant. Nobody could get intimidated by that, right? Precisely. If people really and genuinely support me, their response to this would be nurturing. Changing my mindset in a productive and healing way is naturally going to intimidate the types of people I used to attract into my life. That is one of the many reasons I have gone forward. I finally feel the sense of peace and security in myself, which I have longed for and need to THRIVE in the person I am meant to be ❤️ this is what I call LOVE.

#reflection #self awareness #self love #inner child #healing #emotional trauma #emotional betrayal #trust the process #trust in self #hopeatemyneeds #processing trauma #betrayal trauma #childhood trauma #ruminations #surviving cptsd #relationships #love #cptsd #cptsdrecovery #cptsd vent

[amateurasstrologer]

BY REQUEST #7 PLUTO IN THE HOUSES

Pluto is one tiny-ass, slow-ass bitch. That little mf-er takes its sweet time to bring the most serious changes to your life. There’s a lot of confusion about this sweet baby so let’s talk about it.

First: the placement of every planet supports the placement of every other planet. That’s the thing about those celestial bodies, they don't fuck with spontaneous bitches. No planet is out there getting wild doing its own thing contradicting all the other planets. They’re a complete crew and their cycles are all linked up. We can always talk generally, but you gotta look at your Pluto placement (and any other planet) in the context of the rest of the chart.

Now: Pluto. What’s up with that bitch anyways? Pluto usually brings to mind some shit about sex, obsession, a pheonix rising from the ashes, rebirth, some tarot cards. Alright. Let go of your Scorpio complex and listen up. Pluto does have to do with transformation - but it’s a transformation that’s so intricate, so extreme, by the time you get to the end of it you’re like, “damn am I even the same person I don’t even recognize myself.” Spoiler alert: you're not the same person cause Pluto is on some generational, evolutional shit. The Pluto way is slow as fuck - any major change is the result of sustained effort over a long period of time.

A Pluto transformation is total. This isn’t some shit you can do in a day and call it good - it’s the slowest, sweetest process of the Zodiac. So naturally, it’s bigger than just you. Bitches, we’re lucky if we live long enough to see a full Uranus cycle, so forget about Pluto. This is a generational process. Yes: Pluto affects you on a personal level, and yes: you can make serious change happen during your life, but this process a slow burn. It deals with transforming deeply conditioned behaviors that go farther back (and forward) than just you and your little life.

Finally: all this is why Pluto and Scorpio and the 8th house are a little family. They’re connected because they all deal with sharing in the deepest parts of life: and it doesn't get much deeper than the behaviors, patterns and experiences that get passed between us, acted out and carried through generations.

Particulars for the party people:

PLUTO IN THE FIRST (1) conditioned issues with self-image - your whole life is a process of changing how you feel about yourself. Until you put in work to acknowledge the serious shit you’ve been through, you’re gonna battle with extreme feelings of isolation and you’ll feel unable to move forward with your life.

PLUTO IN THE SECOND (2) conditioned beliefs about success - your whole life is a process of coming to terms with your personal history and finding a way to use it as motivation. Until you put in work to acknowledge your deep-ass familial/ social/ historical conditioning, there’s gonna be underlying feelings of dissatisfaction and confusion in everything you do.

PLUTO IN THE THIRD (3) conditioned social anxiety - your whole life is a process of changing how you organize your life and relationships. Until you put in work to acknowledge your feelings of inferiority and insecurity, you’re gonna be seriously anal about your surroundings and it’s gonna be hard for you to really feel at ease when you’re out and about.

PLUTO IN THE FOURTH (4) conditioned self-suppression and isolation - your whole life is a process of developing a rock solid connection with yourself. Until you put in work to acknowledge your tendancy to repress everything about yourself and project it onto everyone else, you’re gonna struggle to genuinely engage and share creatively with others.

PLUTO IN THE FIFTH (5) conditioned struggles with self-expression - your whole life is a process of coming to terms with your social influence and power. Until you put in work to actually acknowledge the effect your actions and presence have on your environment and the people in your life, your lack of self-awareness and self-control is gonna alienate the people around you.

PLUTO IN THE SIXTH (6) conditioned issues with personal responsibility - your whole life is a process of learning how to take sensible, direct actions to improve your quality of life (emotional, physical, or mental). Until you put in work to acknowledge that you’re responsibile for yourself, your choices and your relationships, you’re gonna feel like a helpless victim of your circumstances.

PLUTO IN THE SEVENTH (7) conditioned unaccountability in relationships - your whole life is a process of learning how to confidently set a positive tone for your relationships. Until you put in work to acknowledge your passive-ass, unaccountable way of dealing with others, you’re going to experience tension and dissatisfaction in relationships.

PLUTO IN THE EIGHTH (8) conditioned struggles with power and connection - your whole life is a process of developing compassion and acceptance for yourself and others and finding a healthy balance in relationships. Until you put in work to acknowledge your desire for power and control, you’re going to constantly feel dissatisfied, lonely and resentful.

PLUTO IN THE NINTH (9) conditioned belief systems - your whole life is a process of finding the right mixture of beliefs and principles to structure your actions around. Until you put in work to acknowledge that you’ve allowed some whack-ass, selfish beliefs to condition your actions, you’re going to struggle to maintain your sense of self.

PLUTO IN THE TENTH (10) conditioned issues with social roles - your whole life is a process of utilizing your influence to empower others. Until you put in work to acknowledge that being responsibile for others involves showing them how to be responsibile for themselves, you’re going to make people feel dependent on you and then resent the shit out of them.

PLUTO IN THE ELEVENTH (11) conditioned social carelessness - your whole life is a process of finding an appropriate social balance. Until you put in the work to acknowledge that you can be totally unaware of your responsibilities when dealing with others, you’re going to make the people around you feel constant frustration and exasperation.

PLUTO IN THE TWELFTH (12) conditioned self-delusion - your whole life is a process of becoming aware and taking control of yourself. Until you put in work to acknowledge that you get completely caught up and swept away by the collective mood (and then lie to yourself about it), you’re going to feel like life moves too fast for you and you can’t keep up.

Don’t forget: these are life-long themes that take opportunity on opportunity to actually deal with and refine. It takes sustained effort over a long period of time for Pluto to do its job. Just stick with it and you’ll be fine.

Peace, bitches.

XO BULLSHIT FREE ASTROLOGY

#astrology #pluto #pluto in the houses #first house pluto #second house pluto #third house pluto #fourth house pluto #fifth house pluto #sixth house pluto #seventh house pluto #eighth house pluto #ninth house pluto #tenth house pluto #eleventh house pluto #twelfth house pluto #bullshit free astrology

[thebibliosphere]

(If you’re in a difficult place right now or don’t have the energy, please ignore this ask. I won’t be offended.) When I have a bad health day, irrational fears start to take over. I’m a single mom to two young kids. How do you keep your head positive when your body feels like shit or if you’re having an episode or feel so weak you’re gonna pass out? It’s counter intuitive. A positive mind feels so fake when I’m in pain. And physical stuff is bad enough without the anxiety of failing my kids.

Heh, you caught me just as I was about to fill out my therapy work sheets so… yeah, here’s the thing, there’s no one size fits all  for this type of thing, but I’ve found EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) to be extremely helpful with helping me deal with my chronic pain and all the other shit in my head I have to contend with on a daily basis.

I’m going to put this under a cut cause it will likely get long, so if you’re on mobile and don’t want to read, you may wish to start scrolling now.

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My therapist specifically went out and got qualified in this type of therapy in order to help me, after she read some studies on how it’s being used to help people with chronic pain to better process their pain. It doesn’t remove the pain, but it can help some people to better manage it, which in turn lowers stress levels, which in turn lowers stress hormones, which in turn directly affects certain types of chronic pain, and can help to manage the stress/pain cycle many people suffer from. And considering my body is so fucked up that stress can tip me over into an anaphylaxis episode, I really cannot stress enough how important and vital EMDR has been to me in helping me manage that stress level.

It’s also been really useful for me in starting to overcome certain traumas and triggers, making my world slightly less traumatizing and anxiety inducing to live in on a daily basis. I really don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like the method gets both parts of my brain talking to each other again in a way no other form of therapy ever has, and suddenly it becomes easier to deal with the thought or memory, which then in turn makes it somewhat easier to deal with any new events normally associated with that trigger. It doesn’t make me feel numb or suppress or remove the memory, it just helps lessen the emotional response and better regulate it.

I’m still very much in the early stages of this type of therapy, but it’s helped me a lot so far in terms of lessening my intrusive thoughts, lowering my stress and anxiety, and also helping the “positivity” to feel less “fake”.

If anything it lets me acknowledge my feelings from a safe emotional space, so instead of “fake it till you make it” I have come to terms with the fact that I will sometimes have moments of absolute soul obliterating rage and grief, and rather than try to bury them or push past them, I will instead take the time to sit down cry my eyes out. Crying, as it turns out, can be quite good for you, it helps the brain balance out certain chemicals and is a bit like trying to hit the reset button on the brain.

So rather than put a brave face on it, I’ll lock myself in the bathroom if I don’t want anyone else to know and I will sob it out, and rather than feeling like a failure for those moments like I used to, I now know that’s normal. That’s part of the grieving process, which is something I will likely always be going through because of how my life is. I have no constants, only variables (far more so than other people), so coming to terms with that and allowing myself to experience it rather than constantly fighting it has been beneficial. Hugely overwhelming and majorly exhausting, but helpful.

Cause being positive doesn’t mean feeling no negative emotions ever, it means dealing with the emotions, all the rage, the anxiety, the pain, the loneliness and everything else in between, and letting yourself experience them without falling into a spiral because that’s all part of the human experience. Nothing is constant, everything is variable and as terrifying as some people may find that, for me it’s a great source of comfort. It means one day, with the right medical advancements, I might get better. It could mean the opposite too of course, but I’m not going to dwell on that. There’s no point, it’s all, to quote my favorite angel, quite ineffable.

And again, this is not a magic cure and it won’t be a good fit for everyone, it’s just what I’m currently doing to try and unfuck my own head, and it’s been very helpful, especially cause I can’t take any meds and sometimes regular talk therapy would leave me feeling triggered and escalate into an episode all by itself. EMDR has been bloody hard work, but it’s also given me my perspective back in some instances, and helped me move on from some things I thought I’d never come to terms with. So if you’re struggling and you’ve tried other things? Maybe look into giving it a go.

Also reaching out to support groups can be very helpful. I don’t know what your life or social situation is like, but a lot of the time we can feel very isolated and alone with our conditions. That’s precisely why I started blogging about my illnesses the way I did. I never wanted anyone to feel as lonely as I did, even if it meant having only one other person in the world who understood. Online facebook groups can be a good way of finding other people who might understand, and they may be able to point your toward face to face groups if you’d like the real world social interaction. You could also try googling for them.

If you have friends who are willing and able, opening up to them on what you’re going through and talking about your limitations can also be very validating and reassuring. I lost a lot of face to face friends when I got sick, but the ones who understood and stuck around? Who made accommodations to ensure I could be part of the social group? Literal life savers.

And you’re not failing your kids. You’re trying your hardest, all the time, even when it doesn’t feel like it. And that’s all anyone can ever do.

Take care, okay? And I hope things improve for you.

#chronic health tag #mental health #therapy #EMDR #nightgnome

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Day 8: Alternate Prompt: “Wake Up.”

(for day 8 of @whumptober2019 I decided to go with an alternate prompt, as I wasn’t feeling “stab wound”. So I went with “Wake Up”. This continues the events of Prompt 7, “Isolation”.)

Abraham doesn’t just leave him alone in the dark.

He leaves Daniel alone.

There’s a thing that happens in the cellar, a trick of his brain, that Daniel never knew about before. He had never realized it because he’d never been in darkness like this, darkness that is complete and total and without form. He didn’t know how big the cellar was when he was brought down here but he tries to learn, crawling along on his hands and knees in the dirt floor, knowing he’s smeared with it, filthy with it, and just not caring any longer.

It’s not like anyone can see him.

If he scoots along the floor far enough, he hits a dirt wall. There’s another dirt wall on the other side, the third is where the stairs are (and he tried climbing the stairs - the cellar door is securely padlocked, and all he can do by hitting on it is tire himself out). 

On the fourth wall, he knocks into the shelves that hold the water bottles and the apples, and they fall all over him, apples thumping into his hair and then to the ground. He gropes blindly to try and recover them all. Fifteen apples.

An apple a day, he thinks, and tries not to let out a half-hysterical laugh. Fifteen apples, but thirty-eight bottles of water.

An apple a day, a bottle of water or two a day, and pure and utter darkness.

He’ll run out of apples first, and starve. Then he’ll run out of water, and didn’t he read somewhere you die after like three days without liquid? Four? Six? He can’t remember, but he doesn’t want to find out.

So he makes himself drink just one bottle a day, too.

His brain, faced with such complete nothingness to look at all day every day, does the weird trick. In total darkness, with nothing and no one, Daniel starts to see. He can see shadowy, pale ghost-forms of the items he knows are down here, little white apples instead of the brownish-red ones, shimmery bottles of water. He can see the shelves, even though he can’t. He can see the bucket. 

When he holds up his hands, handcuffed still in front of him, he can see the outline of his fingers, static-riddled and transparent. Every time he looks, he feels the static, too, his fingers tingling as though he’s slowly disappearing in the pitch-black of being down here alone.

He can’t see any of it, but his brain wants there to be something to see, so it creates the forms out of nothing and Daniel tries to tell himself that he doesn’t need to be scared of the dark.

Except that, a day after Abraham put him down in the cellar, he and Nate leave.

He can’t hear exactly what they say, only that there’s an argument and he’s pretty sure he hears ‘Red’, so he knows it’s about him. It’s the first time he’s heard Nate fight back in any way since they got here, and for a second he feels sort of warmed that Nate would stand up to Abraham for him at all.

 He listens to the shouting, the crashing, hears a hard crack and then Abraham screaming how dare you goddamn hit me you piece of shit, I took him for you because I love you, then a hard thump against the ground, the thuds of Abraham’s boots, and eventually the familiar-by-now noise of Nathan pleading for mercy and receiving none.

Then he hears the slam of the door, more muffled pleading from Nate (but it’s clear enough, outside, to hear some words and he can’t please don’t leave him and I can stay by myself, I won’t let him out, I’ll take care of him and a little bit of he needs to fucking learn his place.

Then the truck, the truck that belonged to the cabin’s previous owner, starts up and the sound fades, and then… it’s silent.

For eighteen days.

The hunger feels like hunger at first, for the first few days, but he forces himself to stick to one of the tiny awful apples and a single bottle of water. 

After that the hunger feels like pain, and nausea, and dizziness, and then it just feels empty and stretched out like the sky when he drove through Nebraska and mostly he just lays there on the floor trying to get the energy up to go for the next apple. He has no idea how long days are, he’s mostly guessing based on how often he falls asleep and the bit of light he can see through the slightly-off-kilter slats that make up the cellar door. He knows the reddish sunlight means sunrise, the bright sunlight means midday, and yellow, golden light means afternoon. When it gets fully dark again, he eats his apple. When the sun is rising, he opens the next bottle of water, sipping slowly, making it last.

He’s not sure when he starts crying, but it doesn’t last, because crying dehydrates you and he can’t afford to drink more than the minimum he needs to keep going.

If no one ever comes back for him, he’s going to die down here in the cellar.

They probably went to town, or over to a casino Abraham mentioned being sort of nearby, just a ten hour drive. What if they get in a car accident? What if Nate and Abraham are too injured, or Abraham is caught by the cops but he doesn’t tell them where he is? 

He’ll starve down here. He’ll run out of apples in a couple more days, won’t he? Daniel starts making himself eat only half of the apples each day, no matter how it hurts to give himself even less to live on.

He’ll run out of apples, then he’ll run out of water. Then he’ll die, and rot, and turn to nothing but a body, just like Abraham calls him, just a body, just a dog dead in the basement, just nothing nothing nothing.

He’s so fucking hungry.

He’s going to die here.

He’s all alone and he’s going to die alone and if they would just come back, he could figure out what Abraham wants now, give it to him, and then he wouldn’t die alone in the dark.

The thoughts cycle, and cycle, and he stops even trying to fight it after the sixth or seventh day. He just lets them float around him, in and out of a brain that is rapidly losing the ability to think clearly or coherently.

He misses Nate.

He misses food.

He misses coffee, Abraham always has him make the coffee, and it’s the only chore he likes. He’s good at coffee. He cares about coffee.

He misses Abraham, eventually. 

He’s a fucking monster and he’s terrifying and he hurts him, everything hurts, but at least he’s a person, at least he’s got hands that touch, at least he’s sometimes kind when he forces Daniel to kneel on the floor when they’re watching TV, a hand on the top of his head like he’s a dog, petting gently through his hair.

At least he’d get to see Nate again, if he saw Abraham.

Abraham hurts him, but at least it was someone talking to him. At least Abraham feeds him. The rules at least were an interaction he had. It was something other than darkness, and being alone with only himself and his handcuffs and his shrinking stomach begging relentlessly for something, anything to eat.

“I miss you,” He tries to say out loud, but his lips are dry. He needs more water, but he’s afraid. He’s afraid to drink the water, afraid he’ll never see them again, afraid if he drinks too fast he’ll die of dehydration that much faster.

He’s going to die down here.

He’s so fucking sorry he talked back. He can be good, for a while, if that’s what gets him out of here, if that will bring Abraham back. He knows the rules; he can follow them well enough, if Abraham will just, just fucking come back.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispers to no one, on day eighteen, clutching onto a bottle of water, taking slow constant sips throughout the day. It smells down here from the bucket but it stopped bothering him a long time ago. “I’m so sorry, please come back, Abraham, please come back, I’m so sorry, I’ll be good, I can try harder for you…”

He sleeps.

He sleeps a lot now, it’s the only way to calm the hunger down, and so he’s asleep when the cellar door is unlocked in the middle of the night, somewhere I the time that day eighteen would turn into day nineteen, carefully opened to be as soundless as possible. 

He’s still asleep when the heavy boots make their way down the stairs, only shifting a little as his body recognizes the creaking sound of the old, weakened wood but is still too weak to wake up. He’s curled in a tiny ball in the dirt, still clutching the empty water bottle, breathing in low, weak pants. 

“Wake up.” A hand touches his shoulder and he jerks awake all at once, trying to scramble back but he’s too fucking weak, all he does is make himself dizzy and collapse back down again, and the hand curves around his jaw and his cheek and he doesn’t even try to push it away.

It’s a cold hand, but compared to the cellar, it feels so warm. 

Long fingers, too long almost, a pianist’s fingers. Abraham came back for him.

“Are you ready to come up, Red?” Abraham’s voice says, soft and sweet, a lover’s voice. The way he used to wish Nathan would talk to him. Daniel nods, holds his hands up, still handcuffed together, in a silent plea.

“No, not yet. We’ll clean you off first, you smell like shit. It smells awful down here. Are you sorry, Red?”

“I am,” He says hoarsely. “I’m so sorry. Please, please let me come up, let me, me eat, please.”

“What’s your name?”

Daniel swallows back the humiliation - he’s too tired, too thirsty, too hungry to care any longer. “It’s Red,” He says softly, still barely able to get above a hoarse whisper. “My name is Red.”

“Good boy.” A hand runs fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes, shivering, hating himself but God, at least someone is fucking touching him. It’d feel so good if it was anyone else. “Did you miss me?” 

“Yes,” He admits, and feels tears prick hot behind his eyes, trying to force them back. “Y-You left, I thought you, you weren’t coming back-”

“As long as I think you’re worth keeping alive, I’ll always come back for you,” Abraham says in the same tone someone else might profess their love. Daniel is taller than him, taller by a good four inches or so, but he picks him up anyway like he’s a child, carrying him easily up the stairs.

Daniel’s too weak to fight any of it. All he does is let his head drop down on Abraham’s shoulder, blinking rapidly, eyes trying too hard to adjust to even the dim nighttime starlight. 

Abraham is cold, but after eighteen days alone, to Daniel he feels so, so warm.

He curls himself even more against him, pressing into his chest and his neck.

He doesn’t see the little rectangular night-vision camera in the corner of the ceiling, hidden in the darkness, that was recording every move he made, every sound, every word the whole time.

#whumptober2019 #alt. no 8: Wake Up #intimate whumper #violent whumper #dehumanization #whump #daniel michaelson's story #recording #starvation #isolation #whump: isolation #dehumanization whump #defiant whumpee #well not so much right now #broken whumpee #in progress #touch starved

[elizawright]

My experience with Aspergers

OCD and Anorexia 1/2:

So here we go, I’m going to talk about my experience with OCD and Anorexia. This is going to be a tough one, I’ve been trying to put off writing this for days but it finally feels like the right time. So being Aspergers, I’ve always struggled with compulsivness and intrusive thoughts, it’s kind of a package deal, but only at a manageable level. After doing research I found it is extremely common for autistic kids to develop mental illnesses such as OCD or eating disorders as our brains are already wired to function similarly. It’s very easy for manageable compulsiveness to turn into full blown OCD. Like I mentioned before, since I was a young kid I’ve shown signs of compulsivness. I was very fussy with food, had to follow certain routines, every now and then have an intrusive thought and act out on it, but this was always at a level that was considered “normal” for kids with Aspergers. Well in year 8 it all changed.

Now I don’t exactly know why or what triggered it, it felt like it just appeared over night. I was struggling to make friends (I had just one friend for all of year 7 and I would consider the friendship quite one sided) and when year 8 rolled around I just kind of isolated myself from that. I began to get quite low moods and then as if overnight I had OCD. But to be fair, it wasn’t actually as fast as that. Having OCD or Anorexia I always describe the journey as if your riding a bike down a hill with no breaks. You start off pretty fast but over time you speed up and speed up, near the bottom it is almost unmanageably fast and turbulent. You’re shaking petrified you’ll fall off, and for some people they do fall off. Luckily for me, with both instances I was caught right before falling off.

So it began with small things, having a set routine to say at night, saying touchwood after everything I said, turning on and off a light switch 10 times. If I didn’t preform these compulsions I would have terribly distressing intrusive thoughts, I would love to share them some day but the web of them are really too confusing to put into words and honestly very personal. I used to feel shameful of the things that would pop into my head but I have to remind myself that’s not me! That’s the OCD parasite. And I still get them, every day, I’ve just become better at handling them through age and experience. I describe it as if I was a weight lifter. The weight (intrusive thoughts) always weigh the same, they will never get lighter, but the more you lift them and grow your muscles (the more you live with you ocd, get into recovery and spend a lot of time) you find it easier to lift the weight even though it’s still the same size. Does that make sense?

Anyway, like I said it extremely difficult to get my whole ocd experience and explain it into words, I would end up writing a whole book if I’m honest. So to keep it light I got worse and worse until I was no longer living. It was so extreme I couldn’t do anything, not even breath or swallow, without being consumed with ocd. I couldn’t work at school (I had to re write everything and would never be satisfied as I had gotten to a point where ther was no satisfactory number, it was just infinite) I couldn’t walk through doors I couldn’t look at things, touch people, table legs, ANYTHING!! It was extremely extremely distressing. I spent that entire year isolated spending lunch and break in a little room with one teacher (Michelle Garratt who is one of my biggest hero’s, she never gave up on me and supported me endlessly) I was nearly put in a school for people suffering from mental disorders because I was so bad. I didn’t just have normal ocd I had extreme high end as bad as it gets ocd. I get so infuriated when people who need there pencils in rainbow because they’re “ocd”, Because I suffers and was TORTURED by it.

So next I was put on medication. I’ve now been on medication for what I estimate around being 7 years. This was my turning point. The medication really helped strip back just a little bit of the distress to a point where I was still under constant torture but I had a small window of space I could reach for to help myself. I began making an effort to make friends which was tough at first because the girls were quite cruel. They obviously didn’t understand the state I was in, no one had ever educated them about disorders such as mine or about kindness. But I pushed and pushed until I got a fairly nice average friend group. It wasn’t the best, but at least I had friends now. And then I had to begin the slow very difficult, torturous journey of breaking the cycle. It took my 7 years to get to the point I’m at now. I will always have OCD, I still do, but like I said I’ve gotten better at coping.

I will go on to talk about my Anorexia experience in 2/2 of the post

[anothermisguidedmillennial]

On Isolating Through Covid19 Solo

I’ve written on here about going solo - travelling alone, dining alone, and the like. I never thought I’d be writing a post after two months alone in my tiny one bedroom apartment in Albany, NY. 

It’s been...an experience. At the beginning, I had a lot of confidence. I’ve lived my whole life coping with anxiety, so the thought of just continuing that in the comfort of my own home for awhile didn’t intimidate me. I also thought at that time that it would be a matter of a couple of weeks, not months. As time goes on, you’re less enchanted by nights in with takeout, zooming with friends, and staring at a computer screen for hours on end instead of being in a lively office space.

I am a natural extrovert, and even in times when I have intentionally placed myself into a situation alone (travel, or otherwise) I have always been able to react to the crazy world situation with someone else. When something absolutely nuts happens in front of me, I am used to being able to react with another human being in a totally Jim-Halpert-looking-at-the-camera-in-The-Office kind of way. When you’re experiencing a seemingly unending news cycle alone, there’s no one else there to say “damn, that’s wild.” You can reach out to someone else via phone or text, but you miss that terribly human moment of caught off guard eye contact. You miss the immediate contact. While the commercials remind us to enjoy this extra time with family, I can’t help but think about how far my family is, how far most of my friends are. 

I think a lot about what my mental health looks like right now, and what that’ll look like when we eventually cross over in a new normal. I’m finding myself being emotional over things that wouldn’t normally make me emotional, and struggling to focus on tasks that normally wouldn’t be an issue. I feel constantly guilty that I am leaning on others too much, that I am reaching out to folks in my life too often, because I am home alone, and they are not. Sometimes I get up with tons of energy and productivity, other days I can’t shake the feeling of dread and anxiety.

I know many folks who are quarantining with roommates, family members, spouses, little kids, and they run into a completely different set of challenges. Certainly, quarantine is not easy for anyone, and adjusting a group of people to being together constantly is a different challenge in and of itself.

I try to be grateful for what I do have - I am incredibly lucky to have a job I can do 100% remotely, for supportive family and friends, for a cat who puts up with my constant bugging, and for the fact that Animal Crossing New Horizons came out right in the thick of the pandemic (literally this is my only coping method at the moment). 

Overall, I find myself constantly repeating a mantra of just taking everything one second at a time. I’m not very good at that - I am a classic type A planner. I like to have everything figured out, and in a world of unknown, I have to trust that God has a larger road map that I just haven’t seen yet. In moments where I am most down, I try to play a favorite record or write out five happy memories. I try to find something to look forward to, even if it’s just a phone call with a friend. I try to remember that others are struggling and to find ways to help them as well as seek help for myself. 

If you made it this far, you are either my Mom or a really good friend who is already probably tired of putting up with my BS. Thanks for doing that, know that I love you, and I hope we can continue taking this BS day by day.

#covid #covid-19 #quarantine #millennial #another misguided millennial #self isolating #isolation #mood

[xxyvonxx]

“I realized that if my thoughts immediately affect my body, I should be careful about what I think. Now if I get angry, I ask myself why I feel that way. If I can find the source of my anger, I can turn that energy into something positive.” – Yoko Ono

A fact about life that we quickly learn is that energy ebbs and flows. Something else that we learn quickly is that outside influences can affect our energy state. Positive energy is absolutely contagious, but so is negative energy. It’s this understanding that allows us to be proactive in determining our state of mind and energy.

Energy also has a multiplier effect. If we are in good spirits and in a positive state of mind, we’re much more likely to remain in this state. But then again, the same applies for negative energy. This is why it’s so important to vigilantly guard ourselves from being sucked into a “vortex” of negativity.

For those that have been in a negative work environment, for example, they’ve felt the underlying tension and collective unhappiness that permeates a group of people. It’s no coincidence that over 75% of people disdain what they do for work – many workplaces are dreaded by the vast majority that occupies it.

Unfortunately, a cycle of negativity happens to nearly everyone. The great thing is that we can all learn to clear this energy. Ask any advanced practitioner of meditation or mindfulness – these people are masters at not allowing their environment or other circumstances to dictate their frame of mind.

With that said, let’s discuss some signs it may be time to clear away negative energy. We’ll also provide some advice on what one can do to counteract the effects of negativity.

HERE ARE 6 TELLING SIGNS IT’S TIME TO CLEAR NEGATIVE ENERGY:

1. CONSTANT COMPLAINING WHEN IN A CERTAIN SITUATION

Certain situations can invoke more toxic energy than others. The workplace is probably the most common environment where this happens. It can also be in a relationship or while in the company of certain people. These folks find complaining to be a form of relief and a way of “blowing off steam.”

Solution:Get out of the situation ASAP

Simply put, complaining drains our positive energy and replaces it with negativity. Whatever situation that may be causing us to take on a more pessimistic, gloomy outlook should be expelled from our lives. If the workplace happens to be the source of this negativity, refuse to become absorbed by the complaining of other people. If we find ourselves complaining, we should refuse to engage in such thoughts.

2. CONSISTENT FEELING OF BEING ANGRY OR ON-EDGE

When anger becomes a persistent emotion, it’s detrimental to our physical and mental health. The stress caused by feeling angry or on-edge surpasses that of any other emotion. Therefore, it’s important to either eliminate or minimize anger through taking some kind of action.

Solution: Become emotionally aware

We all have the ability to identify and label an emotion before it takes hold. We do this by actively monitoring our emotions and taking action if necessary. Taking ownership for our thoughts and feelings is the first step. Then, we need to relax our body and mind in order to ward off the “fight or flight” response. Finally, assess what prompted these feelings and take the appropriate action.

3. PERSISTENT FEELINGS OF ANXIETY AND/OR DEPRESSION

Feelings of anxiety and depression are among the most two commonly reported symptoms in the world. Physicians are seen by people suffering from anxiety and depression more than all other illnesses combined. Constantly feeling anxious or depressed is a force of negative energy that needs to be addressed.

Solution: Practice mindfulness meditation

While doctors are all too eager to prescribe some kind of anti-depressant or anxiety drug, it’s often not necessary. In fact, The Journal of the American Medical Association (or JAMA) published a groundbreaking study that found meditation to be as effective, if not more so, than prescription medication in the treatment of anxiety and depression.

4. INTERACTIONS WITH PEOPLE BECOMING DIFFICULT OR EXHAUSTING

When we’re in a negative cycle, normal interactions with other people can become mentally, physically and emotionally taxing. This is because we’re too wrapped up and engaged with our own inner monologue to accommodate the added stimulus brought forth through conversation.

Solution: Practice active listening

On the surface, this may appear to be somewhat of a strange recommendation. However, the practice of active listening is beneficial in a couple of different ways. First, the practice diverts our attention outward as opposed to inward, which is where the negative energy lies. Second, it can effectively replace the underlying anxiety encountered by making us more prepared (to respond, ask questions, etc.)

5. INCREASINGLY BECOMING MORE CRITICAL OF SELF AND OTHERS

Negativity has a deviously deceptive effect on how we view ourselves and others. The simple explanation is that negative energy requires a release and since we’re often among others, people become easy targets. When we’re alone, this negative energy can often cause us to critique ourselves down to every last perceived flaw.

Solution: Recognize and then stop

As with so many other forms of negative energy, criticism has a multiplying effect. When we’re actively criticizing ourselves or others, we’ll often just function off auto-pilot, effectively ceding control. In recognizing and labeling the presence of criticism, we take back this control. We can then refuse to engage with the fruitless thoughts and emotions that criticism summons.

6. SEEKING ISOLATION MORE FREQUENTLY

When caught up in a negative energy cycle, many people have the desire to isolate themselves from loved ones. While some alone time is healthy, it’s not healthy to experience a sudden desire for seclusion, especially if this was not the case before.

Solution: Knowing that people care

Perhaps the most unfortunate effects of being in a negative cycle are the feelings of separation from everyone else. This often results in family and friends becoming increasingly worried about the state of their loved one. Understanding and acknowledging the love and concern felt by those close to us is often enough motivation to reciprocate those feelings, as difficult as it may be.

[prism-perfect]

Tarantula, scorpion and nightingale

Today’s reading resonates something that always come ups in my mind and heart.

The Tarantual represents “crossroads, claiming life’s purpose.” It’s an inner struggle between your purpose and a past trance that brings you back to comfort. There’s a voice deep inside reminding you what you’re truly meant to do and then there’s that voice nurtured by past traumas that keeps you in stasis. The tarantula waits for you to choose what you know is truly for you. The description mentions dharma. From what I have learned, dharma has come to mean the truth of the moment and taking refuge in our body from the storm of thoughts that arise when we are triggered. I think this highlights my current journey. I’ve come to a point in my life where I recognize my patterns of comfort and survival which I used a lot as a child to keep safe. I still get caught in the whirlpool though. Im at a place in my journey where I think I have the tools to break free from sudden whirlpools but it demands constant work. I used to be very inconsistent, but my buddy the Tarantula is now here to guide me out of the web and into my dharma.

The Scorpion represents passion, competition and a preference for isolation. The Scorpion is very career driven and it only has enough time/energy for a small group of friends. That same drive that takes this creature where it needs to go, can also create this very powerful cycle of stuckness. The description says “the scorpion’s heat festers, and they focus on an unresolved event from the past...” This is who I’ve been. The past has been a sort of prision and comfort cell. A few months ago, I went to a training about adult learning and the presenter talked about how when we fail to grow, there’s typically this idea or notion that reverses that initial flow of intention. It creates this sort of powerful whirlpool where our energy is spent on sprinting forward and then returning and containing itself out of fear. I realized during that session that my childhood fears of being outed as gay, of attention being dangerous, keep me from moving forward in my adult life. And I do fester in this. My antidote, according to this deck book, is honesty and forgiveness. I take this chance to take a step forward and, in this written space, forgive those who I think failed to protect me or reassure me there was nothing broken about me. I forgive those who unbeknownst or knowingly said horrible things about gay people in front of my child-self and planted seeds of fear that grew to be strong vines in my heart. And I take a chance to be honest. Those conditions led me to cover myself up, to lie about who I truly am. As an adult, that has put me in situation where I end up being unhappy and making other’s unhappy. I have betrayed trust in order to be my true self in the shadows. And I’m not about to martyr myself. My decisions have their consequences; I know. I’m trying to be true to the moment and the duality in me. I’m also working on bettering certain relationships with the chisel and hammer of honesty and communication.

The Nightingale represents “(a) fearless voice, speech, communication, or song.” This birdie’s energy is that of expression, communication, creativity and song. “This card indicates a need to open the bridge between the heart and the voice.” The matters of my heart tend to morph or disguise themselves by the time they reach my mouth. Again, that old fear of speaking my truth and being rejected or attacked. I know that writing poetry and playing an instrument where such a refuge for me. When I played the sax, my whole body vibrate and expressed my truth in safe way, in away that stripped social expectations and codes and was appreciated for what it truly is. When I wrote poetry, I played with those social constructs, those fears,and created spaces where truth and deception, love and fear, want and rejection found equanimity. But that was years ago. I feel this card calls me to go back to that. If I practice singing or writing my truth like I used to, it may train me to do so in my day to day life; using my words without fear. I feel like starting this blog is a great start.

Basically, I’m at a point where hiding my truth isn’t helping at all. It keeps me stuck. My friend the tarantula is here to remind me to leave my web. The scorpion is asking me for relief of my traumas, to transform in the fire of my past, feel that burn with my whole body so I can exit the whirlpool of stagnation. The nightingale is telling me that expressing myself with honesty and beauty (compassion) is who I truly am.

Wake up from the trance > By feeling that fear and anger embodied > and use your Buddha-nature to express your true self and tell your demons the sweet truth so that they may wake up too.

#the wild unkown #animal spirit deck #animals #kim krans #tarot #tarot cards #tarot reading #past trauma #honesty #truth #compassion #tarantula #scorpion #nightingale #trance #prison #trauma #gay #song #beauty #communication #stangantion #leting go #buddhism #dharma #buddha #buddha nature

[breakingdownsu]

For Better or Worse

Another Orthoclase-and-Pearl one shot. I'm having fun with these characters.

Note: this is canon with my Breaking Down series, not so much with the actual show. In BD canon the Diamonds aren't actually Diamonds, it's an honorary title given after the only actual diamond, Diamond Core, sacrificed herself to save Homeworld. Yellow Diamond is also an Orthoclase, which bothers this Orthoclase big time.

Also, here is the obligatory request to check out my novel on Amazon if you like my work: The Hothouse Princesses by S.A. Hemstock.

…..

Pearl didn't know why Orthoclase had chosen her out of the many, many pearls she had destroyed or remodeled in her time. There was nothing really that special about her. The 5VO series hadn't been popular, or even unpopular enough to gain  cult status. They were just not thought about, and once the 6VOs came out the following orbit they were completely forgotten.

She had been given to a Topaz as a gift, an unwanted one. The Topaz had passed her on to a Lapis Lazuli that already had a pearl of her own and had no need of another. She shoved Pearl into the back of a closet for close to two orbits and finally remembered she was there just in time to sell her off to pay a debt.

The Carnelian she had been sold to collected unusual pearls, mostly limited editions and a few remodels. She bought Pearl for the sake of completing a set but had no actual tasks for her (all tasks were performed by her first pearl, who was older than most of the others put together) and in the end she decided Pearl didn't fit her aesthetic and passed her on to an Emerald she had met towards the end of the zoatox war.

The Emerald had scars from the war, some physical but mostly psychological. Despite wanting a pearl of her own, she seemed afraid of the one she ended up with. Most of the orders she gave were for Pearl to stay away from her. At times she looked at Pearl like she was going to shatter her if she got too close.

Eventually, Emerald's scars got the better of her. She shattered a pearl in a public square because it had been walking quietly behind her and she happened to see it in a reflected window image. She had turned around and cut it in half with her summoned ax. The pearl belonged to a Larimar that was connected with one of the Diamond's closest advisers, and so Emerald was arrested and sent to isopod instead of merely paying the fine that usually came with shattering someone's property.

Her apartment was raided and her assets seized, including Pearl. Because Emerald had been a commander during the war, they were concerned that Pearl had classified information in her memory and orders were given for her to be processed.

She made her peace with it. She was lucky, in her own way, that she had been so ignored. It could have been much worse. She gave her memories to the impound pearl, and happily sat on the crushing plate waiting for the press to descend on her and smash her into powder.

But it didn't.

Instead, she felt a sharp object poked into her waist and released her form instantly.

…..

“What was your old owner like?”

“Which one?”

“Well, how many did you have?”

“Four.”

“Yeesh, how did you manage to go through four owners and still come out almost perfect?”

“I was very lucky.”

“....”

“....”

“....okay, keep your secrets. You know I could just crack your head open sometime and have a look myself, right?”

“You won't, though.”

“How do you know?”

“You would have done it already.”

…..

When she reformed, she realized in an instant that her spike had been removed. For one thing, she could think of it as the spike instead of the nothing without being shocked.

It was horrible. Everything looked too big, too loud, too bright. Her thoughts were a jumble of floating words crashing into each other with nothing there to stop them. And even worse, the memories she had, the humiliation of being ignored and tossed away, the pain of isolation, the fear of Emerald losing control and shattering her just because she could, it all hit at once.

Distantly, she knew that the Orthoclase that was supposed to crush her had brought her somewhere else instead, and indeed she was there and trying to talk to her, but she screamed and dragged herself into the darkest corner she could find, screamed and screamed and cried and cried until her vocal cords cracked and didn't work anymore.

Orthoclase put a table in that corner, covered it with a blanket and left her to it.

…..

“Do you ever wish I'd remove the remodeled pearls' spikes?”

“No.”

“No? Never? Really?”

“Really.”

“But things are better without it, right? I mean, you don't want me to put yours back...”

“No thank you.”

“Okay, but you have to tell me why.”

“The spike makes it easier to do things that are unpleasant.”

“How does that work? As far as I can tell, it gives you constant mass-wide shockings. Doesn't that make things harder?”

“No, it just makes us unable to think about it for too long. It's easier to do some things when you know it won't stay with you.”

“Huh. Makes sense.”

“....”

“But...hold on, if you don't want me to put your spike back in, then working with me can't be that bad. Do you actually enjoy being here?”

“....”

“Right, stupid question.”

…..

When she did eventually recover from her cowering-and-screaming stage, Orthoclase sat in front of the blanket-covered table and introduced herself. She didn't seem to mind that Pearl hadn't managed to put her words in order enough to talk yet, she held the conversation entirely by herself.

“I remodel pearls,” she explained. “It's all pretty illegal stuff, so taking you out of the impound is just one more crime I've committed so big deal, right? Anyways, I need an assistant. Someone who's discrete and not afraid to get their hands dirty. Who better than a pearl?”

Remodels.

Pearl had met a few, in Carnelian's home. Some of them had lost the ability to use gesture-speak because of how they had been warped by the remodeller. Some of them had had their gems and masses whittled down to near-shattering. If pearls were capable of hate, then they hated remodellers above all else. They had the power to take away what little the pearls had to themselves.

“It's dangerous work,” Orthoclase continued. “We get tracer-rigged pearls sometimes, among other things. Though if I did get caught they'd probably just sell you on. Luckily, I've never been caught.”

She rattled on, oblivious to how Pearl was filling up with loathsome fury.

This gem was not just happy to desecrate pearls, but she actually expected Pearl to help her do these things to her fellow pearls.

No. Not me. Never.

She could never deprive a pearl of gesture-speak. She'd shatter herself first.

Or shatter her. She'd never remodel another pearl if I shattered her.

“Take your time,” Orthoclase finished, getting up. “We don't have any jobs right now, so whenever you're ready to come out I'll be waiting.”

I will bring an end to you, for the sake of all pearls.

…..

“Okay, so we have another one incoming. It's got an inner scribe, looks like Jade's work. She's getting sloppy.”

“Wasn't she arrested?”

“That was last orbit. She was released about....thirty cycles ago. Maybe she got banged up in there, who knows. Either way, this is amateur stuff. Poor thing's glitching like crazy.”

“.....”

“Okay, I know that look.”

“What look?”

“That look you always give me when you want me to block pain receptors. You can always ask, you know.”

…..

She planned to shatter Orthoclase when her attention was somewhere else, but Orthoclase was constantly in a state of readiness that belied her carefree, almost lazy manner. Catching her off guard was near impossible. There was really only one pocket of time when her focus was completely on something else, and that was when she was whittling a pearl's internal frame.

If she could grab the scalpel from her, one quick jab to the neck would cause her to release her form. Then she could use the tools in the workshop to shatter her gem. Finally she would destroy herself by getting into the chloride barrel at the back of the workshop. No way was she going back on the market.

But before the newest whittling project, Orthoclase left the workshop to pick up extra supplies. She left Pearl alone with the remodel job.

“Will you take my memories for me?” the pearl gesture-spoke.

“Of course.”

“Right, let's get this started,” Orthoclase said, throwing down her supplies on the operating table.

The pearl was sedated, half-aware of what was happening as Orthoclase opened her chest and stomach and Pearl held the folds of her mass away from the frame. Orthoclase peered inside and whistled low.

“This is a mess,” she muttered. “Definitely Spinel's work, she must have lost a chunk in iso-pod.”

“It hurts,” the pearl said, fluttering her fingers gently.

“Poor thing shouldn't even be able to walk, let alone work,” Orthoclase continued. “Let's get you back on your feet before we do anything else.”

Pearl paused, wondering if she had heard correctly. It was so odd to hear a gem sympathizing with a pearl that she nearly dropped the folds she was holding.

With a few tucks and solders, Orthoclase put the remodeled pearl back together. When she was finished, the remodelled pearl opened her hand and stretched her fingers. To any other gem, she hadn't done anything. To a pearl, it was like she was weeping with relief.

“Betcha that feels better, right?” Orthoclase quipped. “Get your owner to send you to me next time.”

It occurred then to Pearl that there were many other remodellers on Homeworld, but none as skilled as Orthoclase. Killing her would just leave the other pearls at the mercy of cheap hacks.

She abandoned her plan on the spot.

…..

Eventually, she learned Orthoclase's trade for herself. For a while she blocked the pain receptors of any pearl that came into the workshop in secret, until Orthoclase found out and then she did it openly. And now, Orthoclase directly asked her what she thought was best for the pearl they were working on.

It wasn't perfect. She hated that gems wanted pearls remodelled, but that would probably never change. She hated doing the jobs, but she hated the thought that some pearls had been send to gems that messed up their masses so badly they couldn't speak with their kin.

Moreover, Orthoclase respected her. She acknowledged her feelings and her opinions, and this shocked Pearl to her core. She didn't know how to feel; it made her uncomfortable, but it also made her feel warm inside. She was at war with herself.

Orthoclase made jokes and comments about not knowing what Pearl was thinking. She couldn't know that Pearl's mind was still such a muddle so long after having her spike removed.

#steven universe fanfiction #breaking down universe #illegal remodelling

[mrsslrss]

2017

I rang in 2017 drunk and crying. I left a New Year’s Eve Party where all my friends and I drank down the clock and M and I went home, and I had been obsessed with “Love More” for a few weeks so as soon as we got back to the house I put it on over the stereo. Anyway about ten seconds in I started sobbing and I couldn’t, for the life of me, explain why. (I wasn’t even sad! It’s just such a beautiful song!) M just put his arm around me and kind of half-laughed and told me it was going to be okay in a quizzical but very convincing way and eventually I stopped crying and the song played itself out. I think that about sums it up.

Anyway I think we can all agree that 2017 was a weird year in a grand sense, which I don’t feel compelled or equipped to speak to. But it was weird in a personal sense, too. The year started in that mass of feelings for me; I dyed my hair pink; I lost someone I cared about deeply, which hurt in a place I didn’t expect or understand. The other side of that month was the Women’s March: housing twenty friends from Boston and Brooklyn and elsewhere in a spirit of earnest and viable and real solidarity that nearly broke my heart.

In the spring I worked a lot, and eventually got to travel across the country and fall in love with a couple different cities: New York (Life After Youth, celebrating my 25th); Seattle (Bois Naufrage, fancy coffee, riding the bus); Austin (freeways, rental car, KUTX, wildflowers). In the summer, Keeper put out a tape – bittersweet timing, just before Sam moved back to Texas – and I got a few days on the Cape with the crew. I worked weekends and drank green juice and read novels. In the fall I got really into that Fever Ray song and memorized the opening passage of The Argonauts and finally made it to DIA: Beacon.

Overall, I think, it’s been a head-above-water kind of year for me, where I mainly got caught in a cycle of exist-process-react-exist without creating much. I spent a lot of time thinking about my feelings but still can’t exactly mark the growth. Sometimes stillness is a sign of change, though; maybe I’ll count that one as a win. So here’s a list of 10 things (big and small!) that I saw, heard, watched, made, felt and loved in 2017, that helped me get through the year.

The Heart Season: “No”

Before this year became the kind of dumpster fire in which you hear everyday about new ways that powerful, prominent men treat the women around them terribly, The Heart was talking about consent in a genuinely nuanced, genuinely feminist way. The “No” season was four episodes long, during which host Kaitlin Prest stared down specific instances in her own life where consent’s gray area reared its fucked-up face, and explored where the experiences left her – how they influenced her sense of self, how they shaped and informed her future sexual (and non-sexual!) encounters. And then she broadened the scope, ignoring the easier narratives – “yes means yes,” “no means no,” “consent is sexy!!!!”, rhetorical devices so exhausted and exhausting – and instead asked harder, realer questions about the intersections of desire, fear, gender, pleasure, and autonomy. It gave me language I didn’t know I needed and set a model for a kind of audio storytelling I didn’t know was possible. I wish they played this at every college orientation across the country.

Turning The Tables

What if we appreciated women’s art apart from maleness entirely? What would it look like to tell the story of popular music through only women’s greatness? That was, crudely put, the mission of the list of the 150 Greatest Albums Made By Women that NPR Music published this year. Being part of this project was huge: it meant absorbing massive amounts of history, rethinking canon, getting to be an editor(!), working with some of my biggest professional idols. Mostly, though, it meant devoting much of my working life to the intersection of radical feminism and rock and roll. What a dream.

Drag

I was drawn to art that felt genuinely subversive this year, but it mainly played out in moments of surprise: disappointment from expectations I didn’t realize I held being left unmet; utter radiant joy when this need I didn’t know I had was fulfilled. Maybe the most memorable time it happened was in June, at GAY/BASH, a monthly experimental drag show in D.C. It was the first time I saw drag IRL, which would maybe have felt subversive no matter what – but probably few things would have matched watching a drag queen in a red white & blue housewife dress penetrate the eyeholes of a Trump mask with a strap-on. Incredible! Tell me you can watch that and feel unmoved. My friends and I went back to GAY/BASH every month after that. The music was always perfect: The Knife and Paramore and No Doubt and Cher, etc. But mostly what felt so powerful was the company: being in explicitly gay spaces full of gay and queer people, where abject expressions of sexuality and of gender trouble felt neither like threats nor invitations to violence.

There was also, of course, Sasha Velour, the cerebral art-queen who was crowned this year’s winner of Rupaul’s Drag Race. I saw her on tour with other season 9 queens this summer; her lip-sync of “Praying” by Kesha was perhaps, no lie, the most moving musical performance I saw in 2017. She embodied and embraced the reality so many of us face as women and queer people: victims and victors, agents and acted-on, mired in both hope and fear on a near-constant basis. It was transcendent. 

Ramen

On a less serious note, D.C. is, like many cities, in the midst of a ramen craze right now, and if I’m honest I spent an inordinate amount of the year benefiting from it! And from the fact that a few places will even deliver ramen right to your house if you have the right app! (Also, there’s a lot to be said about cultural appropriation, the devaluing of non-Western food traditions, etc. in these contexts; I am trying to keep learning and will leave the explanations to folks smarter than I.)

Tank And The Bangas

I called this band the “best band in America” all year and I meant it. Their Tiny Desk concert was both an exhale (after the stress of running the Contest itself) and an inhale (before an unrelenting and enthralling month of tour with them). I saw Tank and the Bangas perform eight times in 2017; their positivity never got stale, their exuberance never felt forced, their passion never wavered. They sound like no one else I know. Goddamn, I love this band. The best band in America!

Therapy

I went back to therapy this year after not really going since childhood but thinking about finding someone to talk to and being jealous of friends’ casual off-hand remarks about their therapists for years. I went mostly because of this thing that happened last December involving some brutal unkindness from a loved one that was so vicious yet unexpected it left me feeling startled and knocked off course, like having been shoved from a great height and, after shaking off the dust, finding myself very alone. I thought it was a minor disturbance but it actually burrowed pretty deep into me and I wound up freaked out about a bunch of stuff, so long story short: I finally found someone to talk to.

I will save my breath about how mental health care should be accessible and de-stigmatized. I will say that therapy made my year better in a lot of ways; mostly, in that I had a dedicated time and place to work, patiently, on some things that felt really paralyzing. (It also taught me some useful concepts, like the idea of psychological safety and the Buddhist teaching of the “second arrow,” which I then snuck into some of my favorite writing I did this year. Win-win.) Nothing is fixed, obviously; therapy has felt mostly like a drawn-out emotional root canal all year, which is to say, I still nurse the same ache that sent me. But I’m grateful and I am learning and it’s starting to feel less self-indulgent to want to address my bullshit. I recommend therapy to everyone! If you’re interested in talking to someone, here are some affordable resources.

Iced Americanos 

There are precious few things that get M out of bed early: the promise of imminent skiing; a genuine emergency; and coffee. I’ve relied heavily on the third one this year to squeeze in a half-hour of quality time with him before I go to the office. Listen I know this is cheesy as h*ck but it truly improves the overall quality of my day! Anyway the iced coffee at our corner coffee shop is not for me but the baristas take great care with their espresso shots so I started getting iced americanos instead and now I have been converted to an iced americano grrrl, even in winter (true to my New England roots). And a morning-coffee-with-your-boyfriend grrrl. Gross! I can’t help it.

Creative collaboration

Madeline Zappala is both a dear friend of mine and a total badass artistic inspiration to me. I was so glad she asked me to help edit her magazine, Reflections on the Burden of Men – and that she (and her co-creator, Laura) accepted a short piece I wrote about being disgusted by sexuality, or maybe more so by the insistence that women perform it for patriarchy, feeling isolated from my body, wanting to not want what I want. Editing the writing in the magazine was a dream! And watching it come together was so instructive. Go get a copy! (Or just pick up some unsolicited dick pic stickers, a real thing they made.)

2017 was a pretty exciting year for Keeper, too. Between January and August – when Sam moved back to Texas and Keeper became a project with a less coherent identity – we played amazing shows and put out a tape and met a lot of really lovely people. I learned a lot.

Female solidarity

I never got the appeal of using the phrase “work wife” to describe a lady BFF in your office before this year (too close to “girl crush,” which, I maintain, is basically homophobic; plus, who wants to replicate the capitalist heteropatriarchy of the marriage-industrial complex in your office friendships, of all places?!) but now I have two and I totally get it. There’s really something special about working alongside women like me, and having them be people who are willing to take a lunch break or walk to Starbucks (lol) so we can encourage each other through weird career stuff, or vent about male incompetence, or gush about new music, or interrogate what it means to care about feminism or justice or epistemology or whatever in 2017, which is mostly what we did. Some of the most enriching and important conversations I had this year were these; we often joked about the positions of authority we’d have, the raises we’d get, the articles we’d be assigned if only the People In Charge heard the conversations we had around cafeteria lunch tables!

Of course, there was also the mere fact of having lived with three other women throughout this year, creating a home that was a constant space for frank discussions about shared oppression; there were days of 8+ hours of GChat sessions that formed a virtual safe space; there were the year’s albums that spoke to the bizarre, incredible realities of womanhood. And all of this happening in the context of women coming forward about sexual assault, women journalists reporting on it, all of us whispering #MeToo on the internet. It was a year that, for me, fostered a consistent and palpable sense of solidarity among us. I needed it.

The “Thief” music video:  

Lastly: this is, maybe, the most wonderfully terrible music video I have ever seen. I first heard about this on the now-defunct podcast This Week Had Me Like, which I sorely miss, and now it’s rare that my housemates and I go more than a month without watching it communally. It’s histrionic in the best way, nonsensical, totally delightful. Thank you, Ansel Elgort.

[shirlleycoyle]

The Climate Crisis Isn’t Just Taking Pacific Islanders’ Homes, It’s Taking Our Identities

According to traditional knowledge, in Southeast Asia at the end of the last Ice Age, “fenua imi,” the swallowing of land, forced people to relocate to faraway atolls in a region now called Oceania. About 4,500 years of global stability allowed for the island cultures to develop and thrive in ways specifically tied to the local environment.

Now fenua imi has returned.

Guam, my ancestral land, is one of 38 nations and territories in the Pacific Islands, including Kiribati, West Papua, Fiji, and New Caledonia, where Pasifika people like me have lived for thousands of years. In recent history, our homeland has been divided, colonized, and used as a pawn in U.S. war efforts. Guam’s geographic position and natural deepwater port, Apra Harbor, make it one of the U.S. military’s most strategic bases around the world, so military land seizures have remained constant since World War II.

"Fenua imi," the swallowing of land, has returned to Guam. Drone footage by Lynn Englum, Vanishing Places

It now faces near unlivable conditions because of the climate crisis: Dead arms of staghorn coral are beached; typhoons and super typhoons sweep through more regularly, building on Guam’s position in the most active storm basin in the world; drinking water reservoirs already contaminated with military runoff are becoming depleted as the dry season gets drier. Our subsistence way of life is threatened by nuclear wastewater spills, shifting fishing cycles, and salinated land. Since 1993, sea level surrounding Guam has risen 4 inches and is expected to rise by 3 feet in the next century. Low-lying islands throughout the Pacific could become uninhabitable by 2050.

Super storms sweep through the area more regularly. Photo courtesy of Raimon Kataotao/Humans of Kiribati

Lack of rain and extreme heat have caused some ponds to dry up or have increased the salinity of the water, killing hundreds of milkfish. Photo courtesy of RADIO KIRIBATI News/Humans of Kiribati

But the loss of these islands, atolls, and archipelagos is more than just loss of land: it’s a threat to the political and cultural future of Pasifika communities. It’s why, even in the face of rising seas, the loss of tillable land, pesticide pollution, and a simulated war zone, the island feels impossible to leave.

Already, island nations throughout the Pacific are preparing to leave their homes. In 2014 then Kiribati president Anote Tong purchased a large section of land on an island in Fiji for citizens forced to relocate because of the climate crisis.

During Cyclone Winston in 2016 water went over the seawall and flooded Kumi Village in Fiji, wiping out homes and making the rainwater catch undrinkable. “My fear is that the sea will come in and these sea walls won’t last,” said Kumi Village headman Timoci Ravasakula. “It’s important to be close to the ocean. Our village has always been close to it and we want to continue this.” Photo by Lynn Englum/Vanishing Places

This migration represents a cultural loss. The land our creators made for us, the land that our ancestors are buried in, is disappearing underwater with more and more centimetres of land slipping away every year. Five of the Solomon Islands have been lost since the mid-20th century, and sea level around Palau is rising at a rate three times the global average.

Tong has created a program to “migrate with dignity,” providing Kiribati citizens with tools to relocate legally and find work in an effort to protect their human rights before they become, as they are called colloquially, climate refugees. Citizens of Kiribati “would not be people running away from something,” Tong told VICE News. “They would be migrating, relocating as people with skills as members of communities they go into, even leaders, I hope.”

More and more centimetres of land are slipping away every year. Drone footage of Tarawa, Kiribati by Lynn Englum/Vanishing Places

The United States first occupied Guam at the turn of the 20th century as a result of the Spanish-American War. Besides a brief period during World War II when the island was occupied by Japan, the United States has maintained possession of the territory. By 1950 the CHamoru people, Guam’s native inhabitants, became a minority as the population of the island skyrocketed to nearly one-third United States-born after Guam was used as a forward base for U.S. attacks targeting Japan during World War II.

The military seized 82 percent of the land for military purposes. Gravesites and traditional medicine, thousand-year-old artifacts, and remnants of our family members were parcelled and razed. Those liberated from concentration camps, like my grandmother, were pushed into refugee camps. The land filled with Agent Orange, nuclear waste, and artillery shells. Our ecological future was placed in the hands of the U.S. military, one of the world’s largest global polluters.

Now, a third of Guam is home to military installations. Much of the coverage of climate change on the island has focused on how those changes will damage the bases.

Kiribati like much of Micronesia was part of the WWII Pacific Ocean theatre. Photo by Lynn Englum, Vanishing Places

While vying for environmental protections, the actual nationhood of Pacific Island states is also caught within an international fight for recognition. Guam is one of 17 non-self-governing territories recognized by the United Nations, but it’s in the middle of a plebiscite concerning the island’s status in relation to the United States.

Today, living in Guam can mean that live-fire artillery is one of the first noises a child can expect to hear, even from the womb. It can mean that our elders die at young ages and our aunties and uncles struggle with the illnesses that come from the fallout of nuclear testing. It can mean undrinkable water thanks to the runoff from the Air Force base above the aquifer.

A ship that washed ashore in Tarawa during Cyclone Pam in 2015, surrounded by sandbags in August as residents prepared for the highest tide this year. Photo courtesy of Humans of Kiribati

But leaving Guam means saying goodbye to the only home most of my family has ever known. Leaving Guam, in managed retreat or otherwise, can feel like admitting defeat in a 500-year fight for self-determination.

I moved to Washington D.C. this year to work on supporting Indigenous resistance movements while combating the climate crisis. I tell myself that living away from Guam—and outside the Pacific entirely—is a sacrifice I made to ensure there’s a safe environment to return to. But, I question that belief. Diaspora islanders like myself can grow up watching the rest of our family become strangers in our island with the influx of service members, while growing more isolated from those of us who have left for higher land.

Leilani Rania Ganser’s grandfather on Guam, 1978. Photo provided by author

War and the military incursions exacerbate the climate crisis, and the climate crisis worsens our humanitarian needs. This destructive cycle also regulates the immigration of soldiers to island bases in Micronesia, which itself has accelerated the environmental degradation of land Indigenous Pasifika have relied on for centuries for sustenance. This degradation then pushes Pasifika out of our islands and works to silence the sovereignty movements grounded in our ecologically minded cultures.

This makes managed retreat a question of Indigenous sovereignty or, put another way, makes Indigenous sovereignty a form of climate action. It underscores the necessity of listening to the Indigenous population of a region of the climate crisis and gives context to the global challenges Indigenous climate defenders face.

Leilani Rania Ganser is a Kānaka Maoli and CHamoru writer, activist, and survivor. Her bylines appear in In These Times, Foreign Policy In Focus, Korean Policy Institute, and more. Follow her on Twitter.

Humans of Kiribati shares stories about Kiribati and the people living on the front lines of the climate crisis. Like them on Facebook.

Lynn Englum has been writing on climate change and resilience issues for more than a decade. For the past year, she’s been travelling to places deeply affected by climate change. Follow her journey on Instagram.

Have a story for Tipping Point? Email [email protected]

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