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necroromantics · 6 months

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How To Write ASPD / Psychopathy

half educational, half ramble. dedicated to the creepypasta fandom.

(check out my how-to-write bipolar + ticci toby here)

What is ASPD?

Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) is characterized by a disregard for others rights and feelings. It's a personality disorder, which means the mindsets and behaviours associated with this condition are deeply ingrained and maladaptive.

The current DSM-5 diagnostic criteria states that to be diagnosed with ASPD, a patient needs to have a long-term (occurring since at least age 15), consistent, and persistent history of three or more of the following:

failure to conform to social norms; repeatedly breaking rules/laws that may be grounds for arrest

deceitfulness; lying, tricking others for personal gain

impulsivity or a failure to plan ahead

irritability and aggression; fighting, hostility, outbursts

reckless disregard for the safety of self or others

irresponsibility; repeated failure to comply to work or financial obligations

lack of remorse; being indifferent to or rationalizing having mistreated or hurt others

ASPD, by definition, can only be diagnosed in people who are 18+. Minors cannot have ASPD due to treatment and intervention reasons. A minor who exhibits traits of ASPD will be diagnosed with Conduct Disorder.

At it's core, though it may seem like people with ASPD are just hostile and insensitive and rude, is a defense mechanism formed in childhood, typically in response to an abusive environment. Self-preservation and a "dog eat dog world" mindset are very common in those with ASPD. Everything is about doing what it takes to retain social dominance, control, and ultimately safety. Boredom and risk-taking is also very common in people with ASPD, and many people with this condition have never had proper, healthy influences in childhood to teach them proper manners, social norms, morals, or how to regulate their emotions and aggression.

It is a chronic condition that affects about 1-3% of the population. Its very prevalent in the prison population as well. ASPD not only causes a person to potentially cause harm to others, but is a condition that very negatively impacts the patients themselves.

(Note: The term "sociopathy" is typically used to refer to an extreme presentation of ASPD. "Psychopathy" may sometimes be seem as a very very extreme presentation of ASPD)

What is Psychopathy?

Psychopathy refers to a set of traits/issues that might be seen in patients. It is NOT a diagnosis. If psychopathic traits cause dysfunctional behaviour in an individual, they will most likely be diagnosed with ASPD.

Psychopathy is now most commonly used in research settings to use it as a term that describes certain patterns and behaviours. It is something professionals study, not diagnose.

The traits related to psychopathy are:

manipulative behaviour; superficial charm, persistent lying, deceiving others

grandiose sense of self

lack of remorse or guilt; lack of empathy, callousness, shallow emotional expressions

reckless lifestyle; need for stimulation, parasitic (constantly takes from others), lack of realistic long-term goals, impulsivity

antisocial behaviour; poor behavioural control, early behavioural problems, trouble with the law in youth

Not all psychopathic people fit the criteria for ASPD, not all are disordered by their traits, and not all people with ASPD are considered psychopathic. But there is a very big overlap.

Psychopathy is typically only recognized in a forensic or research setting. It is often wrongfully used in the media to describe people who are serial killers, abusive, or used to dehumanize others.

Personally, I believe that media and creators need to move away from the terms psychopath/sociopath. They have far too much negative connotation that only exists to demonize people who suffer with unconventional traits. If you want to write psychopathy correctly, do your research on what it looks like in its presentation, and just drop the label.

What are some harmful tropes with ASPD/Psychopathy in media?

ASPD and Psychopathy have been tossed around in many different settings as ways to cheaply create an evil villain, or a cold calculated monster, or a reckless criminal. There has been only one instance in my lifetime of watching hundreds of movies and shows that I have seen an accurate, humanizing portrayal of ASPD. (That show is House MD by the way, I highly recommend if you want to see good representation).

So what are some of the tropes to acknowledge and avoid?

1. Psychopathic serial killer

Have you seen American Psycho? Great movie. Don't do that. While the character Patrick Bateman is commonly associated with the terms "narcissist" and "psychopath", he also is a satirical character who is a very dramatized and exaggerated presentation of some psychopathic traits.

I will be honest. A lot of real-life serial killers do suffer from various mental health conditions, but correlation is not causation. In the Creepypasta fandom we are surrounded by different characters who are almost all serial killers, and people like to make things easy and just throw the label of "psychopath" onto them and call it realistic. This is very cheap, and very harmful.

If you want to write a psychopathic serial killer character, then acknowledge how harmful, fear-mongering, and dehumanizing this trope is towards people who actually suffer from these traits.

2. ASPD synonymous with abusive behaviour

ASPD is a disorder that does cause people to do and say things that will harm others in some way. Cluster B personality disorders are commonly seen as 'social disorders', as in they cause dis-order in interpersonal relationships, and in response to society. Borderline personality disorder (BPD) for example may cause somebody to threaten harm to themselves in response to percieved abandonment, or to have intense fights due to emotional dysregulation.

ASPD in particular may cause someone to be insensitive towards others problems, lack morality, be aggressive or hostile, put others down, or get into reckless situations. This is why they are disorders. Because they cause significant and serious problems in the persons life.

It is not pretty, and it's not fair, and yes, people with disorders may cause harm to others due to behaviours associated with their condition. But there is a difference between causing harm, and abusing another person.

Lying to someone is not inherently abusive. Being reckless is not inherently abusive. Being an insensitive asshole is not inherently abusive. To not understand the nuance and the complexity of these situations is to completely demonize and stigmatize a serious mental health condition. You don't call people with BPD abusive for their actions inherently, because you acknowledge they are hurting and only doing what they know to cope with this hurt. Of course it's unhealthy. That's what a disorder is. That does not make someone abusive by default. Anyone with any condition, even neurotypical people can be abusive.

3. Cold, emotionless robot

People with ASPD can and do feel emotion. People with psychopathic traits can and do feel emotion. They get sad, disappointed, disgusted, happy, excited, jealous, hurt, angry. There is nothing in the ASPD criteria that states anything about emotional presentation or experience.

In psychopathy, it is mentioned that there may be a shallow emotional expression. This may also be present in ASPD. This means that while a person will feel emotions, it is either beat down or brushed off, or completely repressed. The emotional repression may come from childhood abuse where they were punished for expressing emotions, or expressing emotions had caused them harm.

Lacking emotions/emotional expression is instead highly linked to Schizoid Personality Disorder, and is apart of the criteria for said disorder.

Media protraying people with ASPD/psychopathy as cold, emotionless, calculating robots is another trope used to dehumanize people with mental health issues. It's used to make people with ASPD seem evil or not having feelings that could be hurt. In reality, nearly everything a person with ASPD does, is their dysfunctional way of protecting themselves from being hurt.

People with ASPD may lack the emotional capacity for things such as empathy and remorse, though. Its common that they are unable to care for, or feel upset for others suffering. They may also be unable to feel guilt. This criteria is seen in about 51% of people with ASPD and is associated with more extreme presentations.

Do you headcanon anyone to have ASPD?

Yes, but I don't like to use the label on them. I do write a lot of antisocial mindsets into my headcanons for Ticci Toby, and I heavily write ASPD into my OC, Tobin.

For Toby, his presentation of ASPD comes in the form of rebellion, not understanding/following social norms, recklessness, and a strong desire for power, dominance, and control. I write this as his subconscious response to the trauma he faced in childhood. As a child Toby was constantly put down and made to feel small and powerless at the hands of his father. In order to make sure his father abused only him and not his mother and sister, Toby would act out and be a troublemaker. I think that he would have a lot of ASPD behaviours and views on the world.

For my OC Tobin, he's pretty similar in presentation in regards to power/control, and not following social norms. He is very prone to justifying and rationalizing his behaviours to the point he doesn't feel remorse for the harm he causes. Tobin grew up in a very unstable and abusive environment where, like Toby, he did what he needed to do to get by. He never learned proper morals, norms, regulation, etc. But Tobin does care about others. He takes care of his little sister, and loves his girlfriend, and is very protective. Tobin is still a complex human being with more to him than just being an antisocial insensitive prick.

How can I write a character with ASPD?

Do proper research. Not on Reddit, or Quora, or WebMD. I mean go find trusted, scholarly articles and read real scientific papers and studies on ASPD. Do research into how/why it forms, the mindsets, the symptoms and their presentation, the neuroscience even.

Humanize your characters. While it's fun to throw around a bunch of negative and toxic traits to a character you want people to see as 'bad', it's lazy character development. Give them good, positive traits as well. People are very complex, and nobody will fit in to the mold of good or bad. Make them human enough where someone wont look at your character with ASPD and assume everyone with ASPD are monsters.

But also, don't water down the disorder. ASPD does cause harm to the patient and the people in their life. I've seen it a lot where people will try to fight against stigmatization by completely glamorizing the disorder. "People with ASPD aren't inherently bad! They don't actually hurt others or act hostile or say insensitive things"... Yes we do. And it causes many problems. And that is why its a disorder.

Personally I don't like to throw the ASPD label onto my characters even if I do write them to have ASPD because I feel like it just boxes them in. If you write a character with ASPD, try doing it in a way where a professional would be able to tell they have ASPD without you even mentioning the label.

Remember that ASPD is COMPLEX. It varies vastly in its presentation, its a disorder that is life-consuming and the dysfunctional beliefs and behavioural patterns are deeply ingrained and consistent throughout many different areas in someones life. It's a label to describe preexisting issues. It's something that is highly associated with childhood trauma, and drug addiction, and general suffering for the person dealing with their own chaotic mind.

The biggest problem I see that frustrates me is the way people throw around the terms "psychopath" and "sociopath", especially when someone just wants to add a layer of edginess onto their character. Remember that you are dealing with a condition that real people suffer from every day. If you can't handle it respectfully, and if you would demonize someone with ASPD in real life for acting as your character does, just don't write it in. Keep the label separate. We don't need any more stigmatization and misinformation.

I know this was very long, but it's such a multifaceted and complex issue and I've seen it enough times in the fandom to be frustrated enough to write this. If you have any questions, want more advice or information, please feel free to ask away in my ask box 🔥

#tombtalk #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #clockwork #ticci toby headcanons #creepypasta ticci toby #jeff the killer #creepypasta jeff the killer #eyeless jack #creepypasta art #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta oc #creepypasta fanfiction #aspd #antisocial personality disorder #cluster b #writeblr

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aestherians · 3 months

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Change and Loss

Word count: 1362

Expected reading time: 10-11 minutes

"If your otherkinity still serves you, it will never really leave you," is what I used to say - more as a reassurance than a statement of fact. I mean, how could I know for a fact that it was true? I didn't have any experience with losing a kintype. I still don't think I do; not really. And I always saw the idea repeated in the community - one time otherkind, always otherkind.

But I don't believe that's true anymore. I'm still a bison for sure. I've never doubted that. I'm still Ɐwhrayɐ the gnoll and I'm still Ben the shapeshifter… but I'm beginning to accept that those sides of me have changed.

"One time otherkin, always otherkin. If your otherkinity still serves you, it will never really leave you"… but what if that's not true? What if you still benefit from your kintypes, and they disappear regardless? What do you do if you lose a part of yourself, or if a part of yourself becomes unrecognizable to you? How do you keep living when you've lost yourself?

Sometime in 2023 the distress of always having to hide my true self became too much to bear alone. But I'm not a brave person. I think the better solution would've been to just bite the bullet and start expressing myself, but hindsight is 20/20. I've survived 25 years by hiding everything that makes me 'weird', and the idea of leaving my one dependable survival strategy behind was (is) terrifying. I went to a free self-help seminar ("Take control of your life!") but all it taught me is that I need a dependable support network before I can take control of my life. I went to my doctor to try and get a referral for a therapist (it's cheaper than just finding your own therapist). Instead he sent me to a psychiatrist for my 'delusions'. The psychiatrist told me my experiences, worldview, and self-perception were unusual but not harmful - they could only help if my goal was to get rid of my schizotypal traits (traits that weren't even significant enough to warrant a diagnosis). If all I wanted was to learn how to conquer my fears and express my true self, they couldn't help. It took months of visits to get the diagnosis: Traumatized by peer abuse, too poor to afford my own therapy, and too anxious and ADHD to even find a therapist in the first place.

I can't even say I was left at square one. I had started out hopeful. Nearing the end of 2023, I just felt helpless.

At the same time, my studies were drawing to a close. I completed my bachelor's degree in animal science and all it took was a diagnosis of ADHD so I could legally buy amphetamines, a compound-diagnosis of autism so I wouldn't get kicked out when I inevitably misunderstood exam questions and failed final after final, and 5½ years - almost twice the expected time for a bachelor's degree in my country.

It should've been freeing but instead it left me directionless. Helpless and directionless - that's how I entered 2024!

In the past, in the strictly structured day-to-day of school, my kintypes have been a source of comfort. Especially my Ben fictotype, which probably fell into the category of coping mechanism. I awakened in a time of intense stress and retreated to that world whenever my present life got too much. When crowds got me overstimulated or I missed an important deadline or fought with my neighbors or drifted apart from old friends, I thought about all the times Ben!me had gone through similar or worse. I cut off a friend in my present life after finding out he'd abused his ex - but in my other life I'd cut off a friend who tried to murder me, and things still turned out fine. I lived through it. I could live through it again. Every situation had a parallel in my other life.

I still don't know why that method failed me, but eventually it did. It's not that it didn't work, it was more that I suddenly had to put an effort into making it work. As if I'd always been able to enter Narnia and now suddenly I had to personally petition Aslan to let me back in. It started in the fall of 2023 but it wasn't until spring 2024 that I fully realized. Coping had never been an effort before, and the worst part is, I don't even know why it suddenly was.

My fictotype was drifting away, even when it still served me! This wasn't supposed to happen! Had I been lied to?!

I think our community has a lot of survivorship bias. Whichever mailing lists and newsgroups get archived, and whatever snailmail gets published, that's what our history is based on. The people who made archivable geocities sites get to write our story - not the people on closed forums or in private chat groups. People who leave the community don't tend to leave behind pristine essays on their fully archived websites explaining why they left. It does happen, don't get me wrong, but it's rare. And when they do leave behind messages, it's usually some variant of "I still love the community that fostered my awakening, I'm just an adult with responsibilities now and I don't have time for this."

But what about the people who don't love the community? Who 'unawakened'? Who aren't passionate enough to leave behind a final message? Do we ever hear from the otherkind who 'fizzled out' and became human - or at least lost a kintype?

You can understand my panic, right? I considered turning my fictotype into a copinglink, but my ADHD is so debilitating I barely remember to brush my teeth - no way I was gonna remember to do daily reinforcement exercises. Especially frazzled 2024 me (still frazzled as of June but I'm hanging in there!).

I was forced to accept whatever my come.

I'm still Ben, on some level, but I won't say "I'm thankfully still Ben," 'cause is it really that bad to not be Ben? Even if that facet had served me well and could still serve me? $1,000,000 could serve me well, but uselessly pining after it doesn't serve me.

I didn't prepare myself for loss because I really wasn't sure I was gonna lose a part of me - and, in any case, grieving preemptively is a waste of energy if you ask me. Instead a turned to the Bison - not my own bison theriotype, but the archetype of the Bison. When one woowoo solution fails, why not try another?

The Bison has always been a good teacher to me - better than any self-help seminar or psychiatrist. The Bison takes everything in stride. The Bison survives until it can thrive. The Bison ruminates on the present, it doesn't ponder the future. The Bison doesn't grieve or fret unnecessarily. It exists in the now. I exist in the now.

Of course, the chance that anyone reading this works with the Bison spirit is slim, but I think its teachings can help everyone - regardless of spirituality.

When turning to other worlds doesn't aid you, accept it, and turn to the present world. Let your worries pass through you, you can't see clearly when you're pent up with worry. You can't prevent the seasons from turning, all you can do is turn with them. Accept your lack of control, instead of trying to grasp at the uncontrollable. Sometimes change is unexpected, and you may not like it, and it might not even open up new doors for you. Not all change is good. But you cannot prevent every unwanted change, and you have to keep living regardless.

My fictionkinity doesn't have the intensity of my first few years post-awakening, but it also doesn't have the casual reassuredness of decade-old kintypes. It comes and goes, and when it comes it's like a whisper. And one day it might become too quiet for me to notice. One day it might not return.

But I think I can live with that.

#otherkin #therian #fictionkin #otherkind #fictionkind #therianthropy

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theresattrpgforthat · 8 months

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Games with an atypical division of Player/GM responsibilities? For example, in Fellowship, the players have final say in lore/world building questions, not the GM. (Not counting GMless games, which have atypical GM duties by default)

Alternatively, if that's too niche: any games explicitly designed for rotating GMs and/or 'West Marches' style campaigns.

THEME: Unique Player Responsibilities / Rotating GMs

Hello there! I hope to do your ask justice, although I feel more at home talking about the first half of your question than the second. I’ll ask my followers to supply some more suggestions in the tags/reblogs, and throw at you what I have!

Fae’s Anatomy, by Hebanon Games.

Fae’s Anatomy is a comedic storytelling RPG wrapped around a challenging logic puzzle, recreating the high-stakes melodrama of medical procedurals like Grey’s Anatomy, House, and General Hospital.

Anybody can be an expert in Fae’s Anatomy. The game is set in a world where all forms of magic, spirituality, and mysticism are science. Science? Just another form of wizardry. Quackary, superstition, and pseudo-science work, but so does chemotherapy, antibiotics, and sound medicine.

In many ways, I’d say Fae’s Anatomy feels like a typical ttrpg: you have one person giving hints and clues to the rest of the players, who will use certain skills and abilities to solve a problem. But the closest role to the GM role - the Patient - is simply different from the doctors in what limits them. The Patient is suffering from some kind of mysterious illness, and while they have a little bit of information available to their general illness, the app presented to them to help them run through the diagnosis keeps the solution obscured enough to keep them on their toes. The Patient also has to role-play their symptoms well enough to help point the doctors in the right direction. In some ways, it feels like Fae’s Anatomy is an elegant form of charades - and if you want to hear how this game plays, you can check out the special episodes that Lawful Great Adventures recorded using this game!

Apocalypse Keys, by Rae Nedjadi @temporalhiccup

The Doomsday Clock is ticking down and emotions run high as you and your team of DIVISION agents struggle to find the Keys before the villainous Harbingers unlock the Doors of Power and bring about the apocalypse.

As an Omen class monster, you are the only thing capable of holding back the apocalypse. Combat occult threats and investigate supernatural phenomena alongside your team of supernatural agents working for the shadowy DIVISION. But in a world that shuns monsters like you, only your deepest, most heartfelt bonds can grant you the power to stop those who seek to unlock Doom’s Door.

There are two ways in which Apocalypse Keys uniquely empowers the players in ways I consider slightly unorthodox. Firstly, there’s the fact that the lore of DIVISION, the shadowy government agency that holds your monsters leash, isn’t fully fleshed out at the beginning of play. It’s slowly uncovered with each mission and playbook advancement, with the players being presented with questions and workshopping the answers together.

Second is the mystery mechanic, which was popularized by Brindlewood Bay and The Between, and also made its way into games such as External Containment Bureau and Bump in the Dark. While the GM designs clues and thinks about what kinds of Harbingers might be responsible for this specific apocalypse, it’s up to the players to decide what the answer to the mystery actually is - and it’s the player’s roll that determines how accurate they are.

Brinkwood, Blood of Tyrants, by Far Horizons Co-Op.

Mask up. Spill blood. Drink the Rich.

The world is not as it should be. The rich feed, literally, upon the poor, as blood-sucking vampires who barely bother to conceal their horrific, parasitic nature. The downtrodden peoples of the world struggle under the burdens of rent, payable through the sweat of their labor or the blood of their veins. Evil has triumphed. Many have given in to despair. But all is not lost.

In Brinkwood, you take on the role of renegades, thieves, and rebels struggling for freedom and liberation in a castylpunk world controlled by vampires. Radicalized by tragedy, you have taken up arms and fled into the forests, where you were taken in by unlikely allies - the fae, forgotten creatures of myth - who offered a different path and the means to fight back against your oppressors. Masks, forged of old wood and older magic, are the final tool left to fight a war long ago lost. If you wear them, they will take their price, etching themselves upon your very soul. But they will also let you spill the blood of the rich and powerful vampires that now rule the land, and from that blood strengthen yourself and your movement.

There’s a lot of things about Brinkwood that I absolutely love, from the way the mask playbooks are meant to be swapped among the characters/players with every mission, to the slow but steady revolution that you build by fostering connections with various factions in the Bloody Isles. But for the purpose of this request, we need to talk about Your Exquisite Fae.

Your Exquisite Fae is the process by which the group collaboratively creates a faerie patron, otherworldly and uniquely powerful. It’s inspired by the game Exquisite Corpse, which has each player draw a piece of a drawing without knowing what the others have already created. In Your Exquisite Fae, the players receive answers to prompts written by other players but aren’t given hints as to what the context was - and then they elaborate on what those answers mean. For example, one player might state that the Fae has eyes that reflect the night sky, gleaming like a thousand distant starts. The second player might decide that those eyes see the deepest fears of the enemy, giving the group an advantage at finding weaknesses and secrets when spying on vampires.

Ars Magica, by Atlas Games.

Ars Magica is the award-winning roleplaying game by Jonathan Tweet and Mark Rein•Hagen about wizards and their allies in Mythic Europe. This flexible, deeply built world can support games that are historically accurate or fantasy-based, epic or small scale, political or personal.

Players work together to tell the story of their covenant — all of the magi, their companions, and grogs. This history can span decades. It might be heroic, tragic, or both in turn. The covenant could influence the entirety of Mythic Europe or the fates of a small corner of the world.

Spells will be cast. Duels won and lost. Houses may rise and fall. But magic is forever.

The last time I talked about this game, one of my followers pointed out that this was an incredibly complex game that was designed to accommodate rotating GMs. The game styles itself as a troupe-style game, which means you’re not just responsible for your mages, but also your companions and servants. If you want a game with complex relationships and big-picture conflicts, this might be the game for you.

Slugblaster, by Mikey Hamm.

In the small town of Hillview, teenage hoverboarders sneak into other dimensions to explore, film tricks, go viral, and get away from the problems at home. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s got parent groups in a panic. And it’s the coolest thing ever.

This is Slugblaster. A table-top rpg about teenagehood, giant bugs, circuit-bent rayguns, and trying to be cool.

It may look like a small thing, but during crew creation, each character playbook has specific roles in determining the crew’s resources and relationships. The Grit picks a faction that trusts the crew. The Guts chooses a faction that the crew has somehow annoyed. Each player draws a portal between the known multiverses, but the Smarts draws two. The Chill has final say over where you hang out when you’re not Slugblasting, and The Heart has final say over your crew name.

I’ve drawn direct inspiration from this setup in my own game that I’m playtesting, by giving each playbook final say over some element in the world, and I think it really boosts player agency and gives them control over the kind of story the group wants to tell.

Planedawn Orphans, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Planedawn Orphans is a campaign kit that helps you prepare a campaign for the fantasy role-playing game of your choice. It provides a flexible and versatile framework to start a campaign. The campaign kit will help you get started and provide structure and support, but some assembly is required.

Set in the Planar City, a strange melting pot that connects the vast diversity of the multiverse. You all play Planar Orphans stranded in this city, your original home worlds destroyed, corrupted or lost. A mysterious Patron has brought you together, provided you with a base of operations and tasked you to complete a Planar Key. This key will let you create a new plane for you and your fellow refugees. Your quest will bring you to exotic places filled with strange creatures and bizarre phenomena.

This isn’t a standalone rpg, but rather a campaign kit for whatever system you like - or even multiple systems! I’m recommending this toolkit because I’m actually planning to use it to run a series of rotating-gm games later this year, with a friend of mine. You’re building your own custom dimension by jumping into a series of vastly different worlds, and your home base is built collectively. There’s a lot of player agency and GM agency here, as players have plenty of control over their home dimensions (since they can’t ever go back) and the GMs can take turns designing custom worlds for the party to jump into. I definitely recommend checking it out.

Also Check Out

Asymmetrical Games Rec Post

#rotating gms #unique player responsibilities #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #indie ttrpg

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elysiuminfra · 1 year

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my I Need Money post (AKA, please consider helping me survive my abusive homelife)

Hi! I’m Cecil. I’m a 20 year old transgender artist from Louisiana, and I can make YOU art!

Art is my sole source of income, and I’m in a bit of a pickle. I am an adult now, and I gotta do adult things. like pay off debt. My sibling is 17. We are both victims of abuse and child neglect at the hands of our alcoholic parents. It’s not so great, but I’d like it to get better.

I’m disabled from medical neglect, and have no way to get my driver’s license. I am unable to get a job, as I live too far from anywhere that would hire me, with no way to get there. This is all I got, man! I got two hands and a warrior’s spirit!

My sibling is my pride and joy and I want to see them flourish and thrive because they’re awesome. They struggle with untreated bipolar disorder and a slew of medical problems, and I want to get them treated for it. I also need to take my two cats to the vet. I have debt I have to pay off, and I have to buy myself food to combat my increasingly declining weight. My clothes don’t fit very well anymore. :(

Art and design is my life-long passion, and I’d like to do it for the rest of my life, but I can’t if I can’t get on my feet. If you’d like to view more of my work, you can check some out here, or view some of my more professional work on my commission website here.

If you would like to financially support me, consider commissioning or donating! Even just sharing helps!

https://ckncommission.carrd.co/

https://ko-fi.com/cknelysium

On a serious note, things at home are not great. This is where I talk about what is going on in detail. Details of abuse and neglect beyond this point. Not required reading, but necessary for context. Photos included.

It’s not that I’m just poor, my parents both work full-time jobs, and they manage to pay the bills. I have food and a roof over my head, but I own nothing but debt, and can’t financially support myself. My parents have been neglecting my sibling for years, and neglected me the same. They do nothing to help us.

My sibling is showing signs of health deterioration, likely malnutrition, and they don’t seem to be concerned about it at all. My health is getting worse, too, because my parents have ignored me when I have stated I am getting worse. I haven’t been to the dentist ever since I was a child. I live with disabling chronic pain and intense fatigue, and I don’t even have a diagnosis, since no one will take me to the doctor.

My sibling likely not going to graduate because my parents have not supported them at all with their mental health, education, or support them just in general. They live in total isolation alongside me. My parents are also the reason why I can’t get a job- they won’t teach me how to drive, and won’t provide transportation. I am physically trapped in my own house, and the only people who can drive refuse to take us anywhere. They also will not help clean the house, and they won’t help fix our dryer or washer, which are both broken. They won’t take our pets to the vet. They won’t spare any expenses for things that need to be done. They spend most of their money on alcohol. In my state, we are currently experiencing what one would call abuse and child neglect. This is one of the only times I have ever written, in detail, what my home life is like.

Our washer and dryer, both broken. We don’t have any flooring in that room. The other is part of our living room floor. I am the only person who cleans the house in any capacity, and when I do it never, ever stays clean. The dirt is from my dad alone. I need to cover doctor’s visits, medication, food for my sibling, and vet costs for my pets. I would also maybe like to have a little treat every once in a while. I can’t physically drive, but if I am able to get the money for it, I can force my parents to take care of things. Due to the, er, abuse, I am also isolated from the world at large and have no support system. All things described on my sibling have been happening to me for years, but I’m technically an adult now, so there’s little anyone can do for me. Things aren’t so great, but I think they can get better through blood sweat and tears. Which is why I have to step up and try to do all these things myself! A difficult task, but I want to make art into something I could do as a job. Please lord have mercy, I want to wash my clothes. I can even save up for a car, and teach myself how to drive, so I can finally reach independence. Without financial support, I can’t achieve that at all. I am very stressed about everything. I’m very isolated as a result of not being allowed to go anywhere. I don’t have anyone I can confidently trust with my home-life situation. I have no resources either, as I live in an area with very little support for adult victims of parental abuse. I’ve never made a plea like this before. I just want to be able to live and thrive and survive on my own, and I just can’t do it at this rate. If I can go to the doctor, I can get healthier, and undo all the years of medical neglect and actually hold a full-time job making coffee like I’d like. I’m afraid both me and my sibling will never get anywhere in life, and I don’t want that for them. I don’t want that for me. I want to finally start living. Thank you for reading, and getting to the end.

#pinned #commissions

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borderlinebox · 2 years

Text

Lose My Mind

Summary: Sunato Banda had found his interest in you, a psychiatrist.

Pairing: Sunato Banda x Psychiatrist!Reader

Warning: AiB normalities, Urumi acting like she's manipulating you, a little bit botched jack of hearts cause I forgot how the game went, manipulation, deaths mention, not proofread!!

A/N: Apologies for taking a while to post!! Ive been busy lately with my university but Im slowly working my way through the requests!

Request from Wattpad: Can i request a psychiatrist reader x sunato banda please, I think it would be fun to see how they would interact :) take your time if u do decide to write btw <3

Feedback is highly appreciated!!!

"Please put on the collar and proceed to the room upstairs."

The same ai voice rang through the small room you walked upon in. It was clear to you that the game must've included something about trust or a guessing game due to the looks of the collar. There was a small, circular display of a screen on the back of it.

You gulp before placing the collar onto your neck.

There was no going back now.

Feeling the light cold from the contraption, you made your way up the stairs and into a room full of other people just standing there. They all had the same collar as you.

For the time being, you decided to do what you do best; observe.

Back in the real world, you were a psychiatrist. Which meant you would study harsh behavioral disorders based on your diagnosis. You were relieved on how much your job had helped your ass during games like diamonds and hearts. It also allowed you to understand others and be able to adapt to their personality.

Maybe you wouldn't call yourself manipulative, but you definitely had the great advantage and ability to.

Your mind suddenly went blank when your eyes stopped and stared at a man from the other side of the room.

Sunato Banda.

Yes, you've heard bout him in the papers before, in the real world.

And then, it seemed like you had been staring at him for a bit too long and he seemed to take notice of your gaze. Banda started to stare back at you, as if he was observing you like you did him.

When you realized this, you quickly gathered back your surroundings and looked away from him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that he had interest in you. A dark interest.

As soon as everybody filled out the game's player registration, the big tv screen in front of them turned on - revealing a jack of hearts card.

Everyone listened intently to the game's instructions.

And confirming your earlier suspicions; this is a game of trust. You could already tell, straight off, that most of the players in this room would go off and lie when the option and possibility is given.

Then most of them had gone off in groups or pairs.

Currently for you, you needed to find somebody you could trust. So you needed to observe everybody else first. You're too unbelievably close to finishing off this game - you needed to survive.

That poor boy with his one eye hidden decided to pair up with Sunato.. And it seemed like Sunato had already established his superiority over him.

You looked off to the side and found a boy who seemed like he was having a breakdown every two seconds sitting next to white-hooded other. It was rather odd and unique that they were paired, considering the fact that one of them looked calm and collected and the other was wild and shaky.

You really did feel bad.

But you couldn't do anything about it.

You felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to reveal a girl in a blue lollita dress - It was the same lady who suggested going in groups.

"Hey, you seem like you need a team... Do you wanna join our group?" She smiled 'innocently'.

Hesitantly, you looked at the group behind her. They were all so desperate in leaving this place alive that they forgot how to work smarter. Some were shivering, some were talking over others..

"Yeah, sure." You accepted and gave her a quick smile.

You had to accept naturally, otherwise they may suspect you as the jack of hearts. And it was too early for you to die.

She smiled. "Wonderful! My name is Urumi, yours?"

"My name is-" You were cut off by somebody asking if they could join the group and it seemed like Urumi had quickly forgotten about you.

You exhaled through your nose in slight annoyance. Then you darted your eyes off to the side and found Banda watching you again. His newfound lacky had disappeared into the small cafeteria.

Eyes narrowing at him, you were about to go and interact with him, get some non-verbal information from him at least, until Urumi touched your shoulder again with her bright, fake childish smile.

"Why don't we go to the cafeteria?" She persuaded in exaggeration, like a kid convincing for their mom to buy a toy for them. "We can have a group meeting there."

It felt like you had caught the eye of many people, like they knew who you are and what you can do.

You certainly know that you've caught Banda's eye, and now this Urumi girl seemed to be the most friendliest to you.

However you knew better than to trust someone like her, but you needed to follow her instructions for now so you wouldn't raise any sort of suspicion. You had to give her the steering wheel for now.

"Sounds like a plan." You answered her, giving one last glance back at Sunato as she continued to drag you away from the main room to the cafeteria.

"You're a club!" Urumi chirped happily, and the group members behind her agreed on with her.

Truth. The cogs in your head told you.

You were sure they said the truth. You looked around and smiled thankfully, "Many thanks." Bow.

After a while, it was time to answer your suit. You made your way to the cell of your choice and waited until the bot's voice said any further instructions.

"Please answer your selected suit."

"Club."

3 - 2 - 1 - Ding! Congratulations, you didn't die.

You sighed in relief and dusted off some dirt of your clothes before leaving your small cell. You guessed nobody had died this round, it's too early for the Jack to start their attack.

You opened the cell and were greeted by everybody else around you, and you were right; no one died. Your group got together in the center hall, all bowing and thanking their fellow teammates.

All of you started to tell each other their symbols once again until that one big bully decided to cause a scene. It was no surprise to you though.

He started threatening and attacking the poor man he forced to team up with him, pushing the victim onto the ground as they cried.

Banda was quick to pick the pitiful man up. "Are you okay?"

That struck you as odd. Surely, it did surprise you.

But then he leaned down onto the crying man's ear and whispered something to him. Despite his back was facing you, it was awfully obvious that he had a plan.

Seeing that the game was a hearts, and it needed you to evaluate how much you can trust one another; you also guessed that Sunato told the guy to lie.

It was only inevitable.

When the attacker was about to strike again, he was stopped by his words.

"Club! You're.. a club.." he cried, begging him to not hurt him anymore.

What a sad display in front of you. But it was the duality seen in reality. Where the bigger people fight the weak just to show the dominance they have over them. But it is a world that you have accept. You looked down in shame - not for yourself but for the humanity you live with.

"Don't wait so long next time." The bully chuckled and left.

He walked by you and his collar was in fact, not a club. Nobody decided to tell, letting the foolish man fall into his inescapable death.

After that, slowly, people died. One by one. It started off with that half-witted man, then the man who lied and so forth, so on. And it was all because of Urumi with her suspicions.

It was clear as day that she liked manipulating people using her childish charms.

You were thinking on leaving the group as you sat on those cafeteria benches.. But how were you going to do it without seeming suspicious? Well, you had no choice but to start avoiding her or tell her right away. But maybe next round, there was 20 minutes left and you had just done that group meeting. Thankfully, they haven't lied yet, or else you would have some serious problems.

"Hey."

You know that voice. You could feel your breath hitching and your nervousness starting to rise, but you had to keep yourself composed. Don't show fear.

You turned around to face him, "Banda."

He smirked darkly at you - A smile you've seen a thousand times on people like him.

Banda made his way to sit in front of you. He had his interest piqued at the very moment he had his eyes on you at the start of the game. He knew you were way ahead of the rest. The way you narrowed your eyes at people you were reading.

It also felt like he knew about you way before this game. Dare I say; world.

"I've seen you eyeballing me every time you enter a room." Banda taunted as his small, creepy smile never went away.

"You act as if you don't do the same." You remarked. "I know who you really are, Sunato Banda."

He grinned at you. "Feisty, I like that about you. Putting up a wall so nobody would know what you really think of others."

You only blinked slowly at him. What was he trying to get on about? Why were you even talking to him anyway?

"You'd be surprised." You shrugged his way.

And why were you entertaining him?

"You know, you're group is starting to become extinct rats. What are you going to do when they all died off?" Banda started making a good point.

"What? Am I supposed to say I'll ask for your help?" You asked suspiciously, a little offended.

"What else are you going to do?" He chuckled, soon turning to a dark point. "Just so you know, you don't have to trust in me. I have a feeling that my partner isn't telling me the 100% truth - and when your group dies down, you'd have no one to turn to."

"What are you trying to say?" You knew exactly what he was going to say.

"Why not help each other out? I do you a favor, you do mine."

"And what if you're the jack?"

"What if you're the jack?" Banda played along with signature smile.

Your eyes narrowed at him, a little pissed off. Two can play at this game. "Fine then," You crossed your arms on the table, "Suppose my group does die, and I do listen to your advice - What do you suppose you would do with me after? It's not like I'll easily trust a serial killer."

Banda sneered while placing both of his palms on the table and leaned closer to you, all up in your face with a snarl, "Sometimes, you make me lose my mind."

You leaned closer, "Too bad you already lost it."

With that you chose to stand up from your place at the table, not daring to look back at him. You could already tell he was starting to break character and the real, angry psychopath was starting to show. The true darkness and power that a man like him can hold over their victim. It was already on display at the very first second of this match - everyone was just blind.

But, much to his surprise, you turned around a little, not a full turn where your whole face was visible. You gave him a somewhat sympathetic smile - hard to know if it was fake or not.

"But, I'll be keeping your offer in mind." You chimed before waltzing your way out of the cafeteria with a racing heart.

Did you seriously just back-talked a criminal? Yes, Yes you did.

While you were busy feeling a little bit confident of yourself, which is quite suspicious and yet wrong in a game like this, you didn't notice a pair of eyes watching your back with dubiety.

After another round of this jack of hearts game, it felt like none of them was getting a speck closer into finding out who the jack might be. You gathered with your groupmates once again, waiting for your turn.

"So, what's my symbol?" You asked, trusting them.

"You're a... spade!" Urumi smiled innocently as she swayed lightly, her blue dress flying around lightly. Hand fiddling with the pink pocky stick in her hand.

Lie. Your head told you.

Your eyes widen in shock and terror as you processed the doom that you were in. For the very first time, you were being told a lie in your group.

After what seemed like hesitating more than confirming, the only members left of the group nodded their head and agreed on the symbol. The way they confirmed it was so transparent, you could tell how much of a lie it was, just because their tone of voice and their faces were all so fake.

But you decided to play along.

"Thank you." You nodded.

It didn't take long for the group to disband again, going their separate ways.

You went your own, really separate way alright. You went to Banda, much to your very own disappointment with your so called team.

"So you decided to finally come to terms, hm?" Banda played as he followed the lines of the brick walls in the small room in a hallway nobody would really bother to check, especially with a people of this amount left. He was very cocky.

"I said what I said, and I keep my word." You recalled, leaning against the wall with folded hands as you watched Banda slowly come closer to you, his index finger still tracing the dusty old grout.

Eventually, he got closer to you that he was practically 2 inches apart from your figure.

"Sounds trustworthy." He replaced his index finger with his whole palm, up against the wall. "Now I trust you'll tell me the truth?"

"I'll tell the truth if you do the same. I think you know that I'm more than capable to tell the difference between a truth and a lie. No matter how good you are, everybody always have a tell." You didn't meet his eyes yet, you stared off blankly into space but you were very confident and were true to your word.

Banda grinned at you, it made you look at him with your own blank eyes. "No strings attached?"

"No strings attached." You echoed back. Both you and Banda had agreed that both of you wouldn't try to control the other, just simply telling each other's symbols until the end of the game. After all, both of you know how many colors manipulation comes in.

"Your symbol is a heart." He answered.

Truth..

You walked behind him and read his collar, "Spade."

Sunato smiled once more at you, he seemed to trust your words. His partner must've answered the same so it was somewhat of a 100 percent chance for him to be alive this round but you knew that it wasn't going to be the end just yet. Someone was bound to lie some time.

Both of you then made your way to that cell room of yours, watching Urumi walk into her own as she smiled so sweetly your way before walking in.

What a bitch, you thought.

"Please answer your selected suit."

"Heart."

It was correct... The doors unlocked as soon as you realized you had survived. One by one, you heard doors open from the outside. You had counted the amount of players that were left, walking in their cells, so determining how many doors would be opened, it would tell you how many players had survived.

Unfortunately, another player seemed to have passed away. But it wasn't to your surprise.

The real surprise that was about to ensue was to Urumi, who was very shocked and quite pissed off that you were still alive. She had guessed that you had somebody else to trust other than her.

The way she watched you as you walked pass her through the cafeteria was just so full of hatred.

But the real threat to her was her groupmates. Not only were they losing faith in her - she was starting to lose trust in them. It was bound to be a lose-lose situation that would never seem to find its solution.

And as another few rounds went by, your conclusion was true.

Everybody from your group had disappeared, all with their necks blown off in the cells they all last departed to before their certain deaths.

It was a pity for all of them to have died. They wouldn't have had to die if only they were good enough to each other and speak nothing but the truth. But alas, none of them could trust the other.

Each round, usually when Banda's partner was long gone and off to the food section by himself, you would meet up with Banda where nobody else could see and exchange answers of the symbol on your collar and some other information both of you had gathered in safety of the other in the game.

You had told Banda that you had to team up with the white hooded boy with bleached-blonde hair who was formerly in your group but started phase out with the other guy with the yellow shirt. Both of which, you learned their names were Chishiya and Ippei. In order for you to not look suspicious in front of everybody else who was alive.

You couldn't help but feel bad for that one Ippei guy. He really was too kind for this world. It made you wonder how he got this far. Too bad he stranded in the Jack of Hearts game.

Sunato understood your reasons. For a serial killer, he was quite smooth with his words and made very good points from time to time. He was surprisingly a good person to chat with and pass the time.

Both of you learned each others aspects of being a serial killer and a psychiatrist, often play small and few rounds of a guessing game to figure out what the other thinks about or do or anything along those lines.

That's until what seemed like the last round came.

You were with Chishiya but Ippei had sadly passed away. He really shouldn't have been here in the first place. He didn't deserve it. You had a sure feeling that Chishiya was trustworthy enough to go through with your plan of surviving and you hoped that he didn't see you as a threat as well.

There was no real point in lying to him anyways.

In these few rounds, you've noticed how intelligent and observant he really was. It seems like the only last few who were left were the ones who stayed quiet and listened instead of going around and assuming others.

Both of you were sure that the jack was going to make the move.

Anyways, despite the fact you were with Chishiya, he told you not to tell him his symbol yet in order to get some answers from the people he seemed to suspect.

And as the plan went on smoothly, when everybody was gone from the small food section, you told each other your symbols and parted ways. You promised Banda that you'd meet up one last time in the same small room down the hallway.

"About time you showed up, I've been waiting here for 5 minutes." Banda turned around to you.

"And that's all the time it took for you to start losing your head up your ass, huh?" You teased back with unamused eyes.

He didn't really like that so he narrowed his eyes at you. Something he took from you, due to your little habit. "What happened?"

"Nothing much. I just had to do a plan with that Chishiya guy. Really helpful. You?"

"I also teamed up with another guy. Similar to ours. We both believe that we have many things in common." He answered willfully, everything coming out of his mouth was the truth.

It honestly stunned you, the fact hoe he actually was telling the truth about every word he tells you. You were just expecting more unsuspecting and cocky lies, same to everybody who had currently died at this game. Instead, you were met with a man who wanted to survive as much as you do. Maybe even as manipulative as you if you were.

"Reasonable. How sure are you that the guy you're with is the jack of hearts?" You asked.

"I mean considering the fact that you can tell the difference between a truth and a lie, shouldn't you know?" Banda sassed back at you, tilting his head with delight.

"I can tell the difference between a trustworthy prick and ally as well." You smiled at him exaggeratingly. You knew why he suspected his partner already but it couldn't hurt to know if your secret teammate knew why as well.

"When I said he was transparent from the start, I really meant it. He's clearly trying to act as if I have him under my control. The way he doesn't know the way I truly see him when he doesn't have a clue." Your partner says, all in the truth.

"Fair." You answered him. "I hate to say this for once but, hope you end up till end, Sunato. Just so you know, I really am saying the truth."

He nodded towards you before leaving the room first, never to be seen until the results of the last round.

Something tells you that you weren't the only one who felt and read the tension you had between the both of you. A deeper and more twisted and maybe even forbidden kind of tension. But it was the thing both of you had. But you couldn't say anything about it.

As the last few game matchers stepped into the last room of potential death, it took them almost a minute to find out who had won.

You answered your suit and you were more than relieved that your symbol was right and that you were ready to feel actual ground again and breath after this game. You could hear some laughter from outside, near your cell.

But despite trying to sound all so serious, you chuckled at his laugh. The jack was just right next door to you. How stupid.

One by one, you and the last other 3 players revealed yourselves to be alive as you told the jack of your clever plans and how much all of you had outsmarted him.

And in the end, before Sunato and that Yaba guy left into the cell to start their work, the last thing you saw was Banda's wink.

"We shall meet again, princess."

#alice in borderland #aib #alice in borderland x reader #aib x reader #sunato banda #sunato banda x reader #banda x reader #banda #aib sunato banda #aib banda #x reader #oneshot #box writes

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sygneth · 1 year

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I am not even sure if I will be posting this (though, if you're reading this, I did), but, nevertheless, I have a few points about Jean that I have to make. He is no saint. He is an asshole and I’m not gonna pretend that he is not. But there is so much more to it.

Let me start with the most obvious. He is said to have clinically diagnosed depression, with, apparently, no distinctive source, and, from what he says, we may assume he is under some sort of psychiatric supervision.

He was diagnosed seven years ago. Diagnosed with depression, which probably means he’s been dealing with it for a good while longer, only at a certain moment he decided to seek help/had an attempt/any other circumstance that lead this man to get a diagnosis. He is now 34, seven years earlier he’d be 27.

The reasons for such unspecified depression may be many, from some kind of a rare neurological defect causing one’s brain to be incapable of properly producing/transmitting/I’m-not-a-biologist-neither-is-English-my-first-language-so-I’m-not-gonna-dig-into-neurological-dysfunctions-further-but-you-get-the-point, serotonin, through a burnout, all the way to having other, undiagnosed disorders/illnesses as *checks Luiga’s tweets* Schizoid PD (I am not convinced that what Jean presents is a 100% textbook SPD example, rather SPD traits/behavior patterns? But I’m no specialist and even if I were, it’s hard to diagnose someone based on those few dialogue lines) and codependency tendencies. The doctors didn’t diagnose any other disorder, or at least he never mentions it, but looking at the world of Elysium, those disorders may not yet have been widely recognized, especially if not presenting themselves in the most typical ways/high-functioning. And Jean tends to be high functioning despite his issues. Yet, I assume that in Elysium, and Jamrock especially, the access and quality of psychological and psychiatric services are poor and probably limited. Not to mention education on the matter, which is probably low if not near none. (Just looking at how is alcoholism treated by *everyone* there, or the short mention of McCoy’s brother gives me a good 90’s/early 00s Eastern Europe vibe of mental issues/disabilities public awareness.) Now, keep that in mind.

Alright. Next up: a codependent, close relationship with an alcoholic.

Jean’s relationship with Harry is an interesting one. I found this interesting research on codependency among spouses of alcoholics, that states codependency is related to, among others, SPD traits. (That’s an, uh, disclaimer? I was just curious how that two may coexist, but apparently, they do.)

Back to the main thought.

As someone who has been in a close, codependent relationship with a person who had problems with drinking, I can tell you something. It’s more than hard to get out of one. You see a person you care about do stupid, drunken, dangerous shit, you may be angry at them, you may be furious, yet you will still feel responsible for them in a way, and you will take that responsibility and try to get them out of the shit they got themselves into. I’ll say more, if that’s an actual relationship, you will feel social pressure that you are responsible for your partner’s behavior and you’re the one to take care of them. If it’s your work partner, then it’s highly probable you actually will be held responsible for their behavior, so you’re even more likely to clean up their mess. And when you help them out, because you care, because you feel like you should, because you don’t want to be “dicked” for it, maybe all of the above, they will be grateful and they will praise you and love you and even if you feel like this is not the right thing to do, you will do it again.

It takes a lot of work and self-awareness to get out of something like that healthily. And if you have some psychological knowledge, it also helps a lot, to understand how to deal with it. And the only way to do it, regardless healthy or not, is by setting boundaries. If you can healthily set them, and make the other person respect them, that’s very good. But if you have some other mental issues in addition to that, if you lack knowledge on how people’s behavior patterns work, on how exactly addictions work and that, you are maybe having some problems with generally understanding relationships between people, how and why they work, it’s very likely that you won’t be capable of setting those boundaries and enforce them to be respected. It’s very likely that one day, when something will happen and you will realize how toxic and unhealthy this relationship is for you, you will panic and you will start to do anything to get out of it, like a cat drowning in a well. That you will start acting cold, maybe even merciless from a certain perspective, maybe you won’t let yourself believe in their pleading and assurances of change, because you will know that letting yourself *feel* sympathy for the person you had this relationship with may lead to spiraling back into the wheel of codependency. Maybe you have already tried this, and letting yourself trust them only led you back to the point where you started and maybe this time, you don’t want it to end up this way.

And you know what? There is nothing wrong with trying to ensure your mental well-being. “Before approaching the casualty, always make sure the area is safe.” YES because if you’ll get hurt trying to help somebody, there will be one more person to help. The same applies to helping people get their life together. If you won’t have a good mindset to help them, if they will only drag you down, maybe the area isn’t safe?

Moving on.

Now, remember when I said that the level of social and psychological awareness seems very low in Elysium/Revachol/Jamrock? About that.

You know what else I see, looking at the Harry-Jean-Dora-Kim situation? A bunch of people with self-awareness in terms of emotion, and emotional development of teenagers, but problems of grown-up people. And they are not to blame, the system is to blame. Harry seems to be very self-conscious and connected to his emotions, yet for six years he couldn’t find a healthy way to get over a heartbreak. He has tendencies to act violently, to randomly drunk-phone his ex to harass her (I mean come on, he was asking her if she is naked), not to mention a tone of other things.

What happens here to Jean, is his situationship/best friend, whom yeah, he decided to ‘have a break’ with, immediately gets over it, and starts to go out with someone else. Taking, that this man has probably understanding of his emotions on a level of a high-schooler, he WILL be salty. He will be mad at Harry and he will be salty towards Kim when he sees them in Whirling. (Not to mention that it’s probably how they just roll in the precinct, and I’m quite sure that Harry’s and Jean’s relationship has been japing on and teasing each other, and as long as they both knew how it works, it was all good, compare: this post. So yes, Jean will be angry with Harry and he will act like an offended drama queen partially because that is just how their relationship dynamics probably looked like for the last two (at least!) years, and partially because he is an offended 16-year-old drama queen, whose bestie told her to fuck off and found a new (boy)friend.

Is it good, that grown-up men have the emotional capabilities of high schoolers? No. Should we blame them, or the fact that their system seemingly doesn’t provide any prevention, doesn’t promote awareness, or offer any proper healthcare for that matter? I’ll leave that to you.

To add to all this, yes, the RCM’s fucked up system, hierarchy, and mentality don’t help. Yes, it would be better for both Harry and Jean and probably Kim too, taking for his PTSD, to get the fuck out of there and live peaceful lives. But you know, changing your whole lifestyle isn’t easy. Understanding that maybe it’s better to leave now and that it doesn’t mean you’ve “wasted” your years is a process, a long and hard one. I had to learn this. My close ones had to learn this. Some of them still didn’t, especially, that where I come from, there is this CEE culture of not letting yourself fail with peace of mind. You got to do everything the best you can, you gotta do it 120%, and if not, you’re a rotten piece of shit. Looking at how Harry treats himself, Revachol seems to have this in common with Central-Eastern Europe as well.

Another thing, we don’t even know what Kim or Jean did before they joined the RCM, and Harry was a gym teacher. Thinking that it is easy to just switch your job in, again, a place with a CEE mentality, is a huge mistake. At the age of 40-odd years especially. In the 90s, especially. We don’t even know if Jean or Kim have any other education on their account, besides being cops, so changing professions would mean additional education, and for Harry, how many places, realistically, would take in a 45-year-old gym teacher?

I generally see that many people seem to forget/not understand how CE European mentality works, and it shows. I am glad that we live in a world where awareness of things such as homophobia, ableism, misogyny and else is common knowledge. But it wasn’t here, not even those 15 years ago. I remember people using names of dysfunctions and disabilities as slurs. Grown up people. I remember my classmates and my friend calling each other faggots or laughing at each other for not being gender-affirmative enough. Half of us turned out to be queer, and nobody had a problem with that, because in those times this kind of language wasn’t necessarily indicating someone’s worldview, it was just a bad habit, a very common one. I am more than happy, really, that we got rid of this kind of narrative and are more aware of the weight of a spoken word now. But when talking about past or settings that resemble this past, let’s please not forget that it DID look different and take that into consideration. Please.

Remembering what we derived from and what a great progress as a society we did is important, as it shows the way we managed to walk, but also reminds us of what people had to deal with. And is a warning, because now we’re probably still all doing things that in 30 years will be so, so wrong.

So concluding this ridiculously long consciousness stream, I love you, DE fandom. Now, I have an interview to watch (probably not anymore) and a comic page to draw (as always). I’ll leave you with this here.

#deep dive into #jeanalysis #jeanposting #jean vicquemare #deep analysis #jean heron vicquemare #disco elysium #disco talking #disco elysium meta #if i only had this much passion to write my master thesis

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liskantope · 6 months

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I think you're very much over estimating how much professionals know about autism. Especially the average professional tasked with making diagnoses. They don't know shit dude

I definitely have the impression that your average run-of-the-mill psychiatrist or neurologist without a very specialized background in autism doesn't actually know that much about it or the intricacies of how to detect it, let alone (say) a therapist. I'm not sure if they're the ones who are even able to give diagnoses in the first place, given that the usual claim (which I've always understood to be correct) given by advocates of autism self-diagnosis is that getting diagnosed for autism requires spending thousands of dollars and many hours of time to be put through very involved tests as specialized autism centers that may be geographically unfeasible. (The only reason I'm entertaining the idea that autism could be diagnosed by non-specialists with far less trouble is that I do hear of various conditions being diagnosed that way despite the existence of rigorous tests in specialized clinics: I took a 15-minute ADHD test at a regular psychiatric clinic for instance*, and the ex I mentioned recently elsewhere got a Borderline Personality Disorder diagnosis from her therapist by request via what sounds to me like 10 minutes of the therapist asking her questions about herself during their therapy session.)

If we're talking about going to a clinic / testing center specializing in autism and going through a rigorous test evaluating whether the patient conforms to what the American Psychological Association has laid out as an intricate set of criteria for autism, then I have one question, which is probably going to sound naive, and which relates to the "diagnosis criteria is a poor checklist of stereotypes" part of the meme we were arguing over. Which is, isn't this then just tautologically the correct way to diagnose autism? Or in other words, isn't autism just defined according to a scientific model for which psychologists and neurologists have created their most official tests following their most precisely-set-out criteria? Of course, what is deemed "autism" could be modified by said scientists, which after all is the nature of science. Of course, people can argue over whether the current criteria cut autism poorly out of thingspace in ways that are biased due to differences in how autism presents across genders and ethnic/cultural backgrounds. Probably it is. But I would think that deciding that the formal diagnostic criteria for autism doesn't align with what autism Actually Is requires some delicate semantic heavy lifting, no?

And then, arguing that the larger swaths of non-professionals who are trying to determine if they have autism are still not on average even worse placed than the professionals with their perhaps flawed diagnostic criteria, in a world where the most common cultural conception of autism is still probably pretty close to "socially awkward, doesn't feel like they fit in, intense nerdy interests, personality of Sheldon Cooper", is another thing.

(I notice, by the way, that self-diagnosis advocates don't seem to mention whether the faultiness in professional diagnoses include a substantial number of people without autism being diagnosed as having autism, but it seems that should be a thing too if the professionals really "don't know shit"?)

I'm genuinely open to the idea that the dynamics around diagnoses and diagnostic criteria and how they're formed, etc., even on a philosophical level, is something I haven't understood or thought out well enough, though.

*and came out of the experience rather skeptical that the 15-minute test way of determining ADHD isn't BS

#autism #diagnoses #adhd #borderline personality disorder #big bang theory

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kabillieu · 2 months

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When my big kid was first diagnosed, one thing that upset me was that I thought in order to properly advocate for him I had to turn into a mama bear adversarial type of person with an encyclopedic knowledge of his diagnoses. I thought I would have to become a completely different person who rearranged my life around his therapies and doctors appointments and education. I did not want to be this person. I still don't. But that was the only model I could find for an "autism parent." If I did anything differently or if I was less intense about interventions, I felt like I would fail him.

Well, for better or worse, I could not be that person even if I wanted to. I am better at communicating with teachers and administrators now, but I am not a "mama bear" about it. While he did do speech and physical therapy for a while, we chose not to do ABA (which is the standard intensive autism therapy) because it never made sense with regards to how he is personally affected by autism. And then it turns out, among actually autistic adults, there is a lot of skepticism about how helpful ABA is. A lot of people find it abusive, in fact.

The only way I have changed because of my son's autism diagnosis is that I am a much more empathetic person now, with an expansive view of human social behavior. I see neurodiversity everywhere, and I think it is a wonderful thing that we are all so different and quirky as human beings, that we all bring different talents and gifts to the table of humanity. I believe in adaptive devices and supports. I believe in giving others the benefit of the doubt when they express truths about themselves. I believe that the way people experience the world is varied and complex, and that not only is that okay, it's natural and good.

I have a lot more empathy for myself. I used to think I had a lot of faults: a poor memory, poor spacial perception, an inability to articulate my thoughts when under stress, shyness, anxiety, etc. Now I see those traits through a lens of neurodiversity. My brain works differently than other people's, and that's okay because--while I don't have great recall for facts or statistics--I am a deep and curious thinker who is often perceptive and able to make thoughtful connections across various subject matter. I can write very beautiful poetry. I can be a kind person. I am emotionally intelligent.

Anyway, I tell myself mean things sometimes, I can't help it. But being the mother of a neurodivergent child has deepened my understanding of the world instead of hardened me to it, and for that I'm grateful.

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oneatlatime · 1 year

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Still thinking about The Storm

You know an episode is good when you're still chewing on it more than a week later.

Something occurred to me re: Zuko's scar that I'm surprised I didn't think of as I was watching: that scar is for life. That scar's context is for life. Every time Zuko sees his reflection, and possibly every time he uses his two main senses, he's going to remember where that scar came from, how he got it, and who gave it to him (I haven't caught it being acknowledged in-episode but there's no way he doesn't have reduced peripheral vision and a serious case of cauliflower ear AT MINIMUM). Unless he can find a way to redefine what that scar means to him, that's a trauma that will get repeated every time he's reminded of the scar's existence. That endless repetition will make it harder, or maybe impossible to heal and/or move on mentally.

It also goes a long way to explain why he's so snarly: everyone he ever meets, for the rest of his life, is going to see scar first, Zuko second. A good way to get around strangers' unwanted (at best) pity is to go on the offensive - if the sight of the scar is quickly overridden by a dominant personality, then people will remember Zuko as That Asshole rather than That Poor Boy. It's a way he can have control over how he is perceived, despite having an injury that practically writes a heart-wrenching backstory in the minds of anyone who catches a glance at his face.

I'm only 12 episodes in, but I suspect that identity and the self are going to be themes with Zuko. He's going to have to redefine what that scar represents to him. We see in his behaviour in the end of The Storm (saving the crew at the cost of catching the Avatar) that (one of) the lessons the firelord meant to impart by scarring him didn't end up sticking. He still cares about the "fresh meat," the common soldier. So maybe he's already redefined what the scar means in part?

I promise not to go too far down the rabbithole of applying real world science to cartoon characters, but indulge me a moment. Though scars in general are a fairly understudied phenomenon (in psychology, don't know about other disciplines), there have been some studies done into the mental impacts of facial scars and they are NOT GOOD, mostly in that they cause heightened levels of anxiety and self-consciousness that don't ever fully go away, particularly in scarred individuals with minimal or no outside support. There's a good study (x) done on people with facial lacerations (not burns) that concludes as much. To quote extensively from another study (x):

"The majority of respondents were unhappy with their scar's appearance due to their perceived stigma and psychological associations, and thus adopted different coping behaviours to hide or compensate for them. Often this made them unsociable and interfered with their communication skills, personal relationships, work life and leisure activities. Concerns about the diagnosis and persistent nature of scars were common, ..."

Sound like Zuko? Someone on this show did their research.

This is not to blame all on the scar; Zuko has plenty of other problems to bring him down too. No support beyond his uncle, an impossible task, and responsibility for a whole crew - and he's only sixteen. But these are things that, for better or for worse, are in some way temporary. His uncle won't live forever, and he always has the possibility of finding some other source of support. The impossible task became possible for the first time in a century during episode one. Once the task is done, he'll presumably return to the fire nation and no longer be responsible for his crew. And he won't always be sixteen. But the scar is forever.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #the storm #avatar the last airbender

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1ore · 4 months

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Hi, I've been following you since Ye Olde Esk Days and you've always been a huge inspiration for me as a fellow gender-questioning neurodivergent lesbian both in art and science.

I've been wanting to reach out because I'm considering enrolling in Enviroinmental Sciences (or something in that ballpark) in 1 or 2 years and wanted to ask how your experience studying it has been to you as a person with an artistic bakground? I am afraid my ADHD might get in the way of maths, and that I might not be "smart" enough to pursue a degree in STEM, despite the fact I've always been interested in scientific subjects and in the conservation efforts around the area (and the river) I grew up in. so, yeah, I don't really know what else to say xmx I hope this message wasn't too much, and thank you for taking the time to read it. Your art and its message has always meant a lot to me! (also, happy Pride month!)

ONE OF US! ONE OF US!

So, funny enough, math anxiety is part of what what led me to Environmental Science in the first place. My degree is a Bachelor of Arts in Environmental Science, not a Bachelor of Science, because IIIIIII didn’t want to take more semesters of calculus and organic chemistry than I had to 🤪 I struggled with math in highschool, and by the time I went back to school, it had been more than 5 years since I last took a math class. I was also more interested in the interdisciplinary parts of Environmental Science, so a BA let me put more credit hours towards classes in policy, law, social science, humanities, etc.

As far as I know, having a BA hasn’t held me back. I’ve been accepted into internships and other programs doing “real science” just fine. Maybe this won’t always be true, but I’ve figured out that I like teaching and engaging people in science more than I like being in academia, so that works out fine for me.

As for my experience with ADHD and math/science courses, I have euuuauuuehhh a lot of thoughts. This gets dense, sorry.

First, my ADHD came with a side of anxiety, which manifested as a compulsion to do well academically regardless of how much my mental health suffered. Doing busy work felt like hell on earth for reasons that were then mysterious to me, but disappointing my teachers felt Worse. So I became really good at, like, academic minmaxing, not so much learning or taking care of myself. It’s hard to articulate. I want to say I was muddling through these classes as a professional test-taker and not a student, and also not applying myself fully. But at the same time, I felt like I was well beyond my breaking point? This made more sense to me later when I got the diagnosis LOL. my capacity for doing the things I’m supposed to do, the way I’m supposed to do them, is lower than other peoples’. So either I do what I’m not supposed to do, or I do it “the wrong way.” <- meaningless.

I say all that because coursework is a poor metric of how “good” you are at science or math, or whether you'll enjoy doing them outside of the classroom. We know this LOL but I want to reiterate it. I learned how to get really good grades without learning how to reason my way through why xyz methodology is justified, or how to ask questions and be curious about what’s happening around me. It’s corny but it’s true. on one hand I still struggle with these, because I’m still working under the assumption that whatever’s going on in my head is the “wrong” way to do it. But ADHD does a lot of heavy lifting for us with lateral thinking and being able to make connections that other people can’t always see. If you want to do Science ™ (as in academic research,) this is an awesome tool to have in your toolkit.

There’s also a whole world of environmental work outside of academia that demands its own skillset, which coursework may or may not teach. Like, if you want to do hands-on restoration work or interpretive work or field technician stuff, this is less “can you spit out the balanced equation for photosynthesis on command” and more “can you operate a woodchipper” or “are you comfortable with public speaking and customer service.“ This is another part of what attracted me to envirosci--how wide-ranging the job market is. The backdrop of science is the same, but your day-to-day responsibilities can look wildly different.

Also, if it’s any encouragement, being an arts person has been a huge plus in my experience. My most recent employer told me outright that the artsy scicomm stuff in my resume is what made them think “oh, we need her.” Art and science are wives LOL a lot of the skills you hone as an artist are invaluable in science, especially if you’re doing any kind of communication work. (<- has seen some poorly-written papers and incomprehensible figures in her time)

Going along with that, back when I was yea high and wanted to do art professionally, I remember people telling me that you only go to art school for the professional connections. A lot of STEM careers are locked behind having a specialized degree, but I think this advice is still applicable here. Being a “good student” hasn’t helped me as much as abandoning my anxiety and sending cold emails, showing up at peoples’ guest lectures and office hours, participating fully and sincerely, etc. The stuff I did outside the classroom was more meaningful to me, in the end. (That said, I was lucky to have several classes that were more skills/training-oriented for things like GIS, field botany, conducting environmental assessments for NEPA, etc. You can swing projects for classes like these as opportunities to build skills or create portfolio pieces.)

OK. I thiiiink that’s everything I have for you? I hope that answers your question. If not, I can give it another shot. I'll also leave you with this answer from beloved mutual Heedra re: what Environmental Science as a major is like. I can't believe it's 6 years old because it's part of what put Environmental Science on my radar in the first place LOL

#for science #Thank you for reaching out! I AM ROOTING FOR YOU!!!#as a recovering 4.0 GPA-haver. muddling is the way to go. they say c's get degrees for a reason.#i know some of you are environmental science-adjacent so maybe you have insight to share too

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deluxewhump · 6 months

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Erik's Journals pt 2 (2011-2013)

Content Warning for entire series: institutionalized slavery of a minor (11-18), emotional abuse and manipulation, dubious comfort, pet whump, disordered eating, violence, guns, mutilation (off screen, no main characters), corporal punishment, sexual content/dubcon ( character is 18+), broken bones, death of a parent, unreliable narrator

2: What the Fates Allow

December 2011

Feelings toward my new pet that are paternal in nature have been growing for some time, but last night I felt them so acutely I feel compelled to record the instance.

I had just come home from a week’s absence. (I was in Stockholm with Mathilde and our cousin Karl, settling some family business and enjoying an extended visit.)

I was exhausted from jetlag, and I’d spent all that afternoon until it was dark with Keith in the warehouse going over the minutiae of that side of the business. Though I needed to catch up on emails for O&H, I found myself absentmindedly watching a movie with Carlo.

Besides the TV, the only light in the room was the warm yellow glow of the Christmas tree in the corner. Its thousand tiny bulbs reflected against the black panes of the bay window like Van Gogh stars. Carlo was on the opposite end of the sofa, wrapped in a beige quilted blanket.

It was pleasant to share the room with another person, even a quiet pet. Poor thing. He’d been alone all week but for visits from his tutors and the maid.

It’s not just any pet you could leave alone for a week and not worry about. I called him a few times, to say hello. He always gave polite, perfunctory answers to my questions, though they were meant to be conversational. To a warm “how are you?” he’d answer “well, Sir, and you?” My gently exasperated laughter did nothing but push him into longer, more uncomfortable silences. I could picture him standing in my study, the cordless receiver to his ear, tracing patterns on the sun faded oriental rug with his toe in the socks I’d bought him.

I was an uncomfortable business call to him. He gave me the same stilted, self conscious reports as when I called one of my lower management team unexpectedly. “Did Anna make you your Italian wedding soup yet? I put your favorites on the menu for the week.” “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

Eventually I would put him out of his misery and let him go. He is still adjusting. Despite my measured efforts to reassure him, he is so acutely aware our relationship to one another, my status as his master and head of the household that has become his fishbowl-world. I know he will grow more comfortable with me over time.

More importantly, I had no doubt he’d be here when I got back, lessons done and house clean, no trouble. His behavior so far has been exemplary, and I try to remember to praise him on it.

The movie took a sad turn (to ramp the ethos of the genre up to ten). The aging matriarch of the family was hiding a medical diagnosis, probably cancer, from her adult children so as not to put a damper on Christmas, and they had all just found out. I happened to glance over at my pet. In the soft light from the tree, I could see he was crying.

“Carlo,” I said without thinking, my voice infused with nearly amused concern.

He turned his head away from me.

"Oh, hey now." I patted the spot next to me. I regretted the tone my voice may have taken when I said his name. “It’s alright. Do you want to come over here?”

Without looking at me, he did as I suggested, curling up fairly close. He didn’t touch the tears on his cheeks, as if acknowledging them would be worse than ignoring them.

To preserve what he clearly considered as his dignity I said nothing further, but I wondered if it was just the tear-jerking tactics of the film with the doomed mother, or a mother-shaped ache of his own that had gotten him to cry.

I very much doubted if his mother hadn’t died that any of this would have ever become of him. As you can imagine, the trade is filled with orphans, runaways, drifters, and those with similarly tenuous ties to society. And even then, the state rarely offers up one so young as this one- still only a child. I put my arm around him.

“Things always work out in these types of movies,” I said. “Don’t you worry.”

He must’ve felt the affection in the weight of my arm, for he was bold enough to lay temple against me. The movie was coming to a relatively happy close a few minutes later, and I pulled back just enough to look down into his face.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded unconvincingly.

“You miss her, don’t you?”

This brought fresh tears, and he turned away again to hide his face from me, muffling a choked sob as he did. He said something that was lost in the tear-tight back of his throat, but what I think was an apology.

That unfamiliar, deeply personal ache, what I can only describe as something akin to paternal affection slipped painfully as a knife between my ribs. Gently, I turned him back towards me by his shoulders and held out my arms in an offer to hold him. He accepted, placing his cheek against my chest and letting me wrap my arms around him.

“Of course you do,” I soothed, rubbing my hand between his shoulder blades. “It’s not fair, is it? I know it isn’t. It’s okay to miss her. You’re home, you can feel however you need to feel.”

I shushed him rhythmically and repeated any comforting nonsense I could think of until the tears subsided and he sat up sniffing, wiping his face like someone who’s just tripped in public hurries to brush themself off, afraid to look and see if everyone is watching.

“You’re my pet, Carlo Holstrom. I know you know that, but do you know what it means?”

He managed a wobbly, obligatory answer, keeping his chin and eyes down. No, Sir.

”It means it’s my job to look after you. Just like I’ve shown you your jobs, I have one too. It’s to take care of you. Always. You’re not alone, and you’re never going back to a state home, or with anyone else but me. I know I have to go on trips sometimes, but I’ll always come back.”

”It’s like family, then?” he glanced up cautiously. His eyelashes were wet, his nose red. “I know the difference,” he hurried to add. “But, kind of?”

”Oh yes,” I agreed seriously, and with fondness smoothed down a stray curl of his hair. “It is just as binding.”

Jet-lagged, compelled by his innocence and my own apparent sappiness, I made a promise. “I can’t bring your mother or anyone else back, Carlo. But I promise you that as long as I’m living, you’ll always have someone in your corner.”

That night I pulled an extra quilt from a linen closet to drape over his bed on account of the cold temperatures the weather channel had called for. When he thanked me for it, he said thank you, Papa, from his pillow, already half asleep.

I turned out his light and walked down the dark hallway with a feeling like a physical weight in my chest. This boy was only here because of misfortune and the banal ugliness of the world compounding one onto another sure as misery loves company. And of course, because of my own casual participation in a thing as tainted and archaic as the pet trade. One day he would understand my participation for what it was. I was complicit in all the ubiquitous systems of the world that put him on that block for sale or slaughter.

Tonight I had shown him an ounce of human kindness, mostly because I have been pleased with his good behavior, and he had responded with generosity and trust tenfold. I know the difference, he’d said, assuring me he knew his place in the world. Papa, he had called his master, his captor. Half asleep. Like a lullaby.

I had forgotten how beauty is sometimes made, crushed under the oppressive weight of the ragged world like a diamond. How it can persist not because of, but in spite of. I had forgotten how painful it could be to witness.

3: Classically Trained

January 2013

In addition to English and math, I hired a piano tutor for Carlo, an old acquaintance who came recommended to me by a friend.

I know a little of the piano myself, just enough to substitute when Claude can’t make it, until Carlo advances beyond me.

Yesterday was one such day. Claude canceled late, citing a toothache. I sat down at the piano bench with Carlo after dinner in the music room, a shoe-polish black baby grand surrounded by the seeking branches of potted plants striving hopefully towards the windows. Outside, the nighttime sky was bright with a corona of blue-grey light, heavy with unfallen snow.

“Show me where you left off last time.”

He flipped forward in his scorebook to Schubert’s Der Tod und das Mädchen, everything about his manner careful and stiff. I thought at first he might be nervous to play in front of me, which was alright.

“Show me your placement,” I said gently, and he did.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He began to play, slowly at first like the first laborious push of a bicycle pedal, a timid touch gaining momentum on the mournful opening notes of the Leid.

At a transition, his thumb missed its intended note. Discord barked where the other notes sang, a dropped set of car keys among wind chimes. He froze. At this point I still assumed his behavior was just shyness of me, and his usual sensitivity to criticism.

“Pick back up from here,” I said, pointing to the last half note. “Slow down over that transition to C. Piano, not pianissimo. You’re doing well.”

He seemed not even to breathe, fingers still poised over the keys where he’d made his mistake like it was the scene of an accident. I noticed not for the first time he had been biting his nails, some of them down to the tender quick, leaving pink half moons on his fingertips. Momentarily, he did as I asked, tread slowly past the note where he’d faltered before. It seemed it was his relief and pleasure that made him lose his concentration next. He faltered again when he picked back up to speed, his small back as straight as an ironing board next to me.

This time I reached over to lay my hand on his, guide him over how the movement would have felt if he’d mastered it. He flinched from my touch. I pulled back.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said automatically. Eyes on his fingers, fingers on the mute keys. He glanced up towards his sheet music, then away as if shocked by static electricity.

I followed his gaze carefully. How had I not seen it before? Tucked behind the sheet music on the music rack was a long black switch like an antenna, metal alloy tapering to an end as thin as a pencil. At first I thought it must be a pointer, like a conductor's wand. After a slow moment of understanding it occurred to me it might just as well be an instrument of discipline and punishment. Like a nuns right-hand ruler, it was perfectly made for inflicting pain.

“What’s this?” I asked, drawing it out by the tip. I held it flat in my palm like a carrot.

He avoided my eyes.

“I asked you a question.”

He drew his hands into his lap, his shoulders losing some of their rigidity. “It’s a switch,” he offered, in case I was just stupid.

“Is this your tutor’s?”

A reluctant nod.

“What is this for?”

No answer.

“Carlo,” I said in low warning.

“To correct, Sir. Only when I make a mistake. Or don’t sit up right.”

“Where does he hit you with it?”

“My hands. Fingers.”

I sighed. I almost told him that he should have told me, but he probably assumed I knew about Claude’s methods, since I’d hired him. Communication requires trust. I am still working on that with him.

Claude is a decent pianist, but a twit. Julliard trained about a hundred years ago, which everyone knew by virtue of him letting everyone know. Roman Catholic, though no longer practicing. He fancied himself an outcast of the Church now, prone to Marxist commentary and mystical in ways he was sure they found threatening and lately sporting a bristly fundamentalist beard. Rasputin minus the charisma. Still, the sin and corporal punishment crowd often struggle to forget their roots.

But to presume to touch— let alone hit— my pet without asking my explicit permission? I’d given his manners too much credit. I would not soon forgive his overstep, making my own pet flinch from my touch in learned fear. I hoped his toothache pained him fiercely.

“That particular tutor won’t be invited back here,” I said, and tucked the switch into my jacket pocket. “He’s not fit to teach you.”

For the first time since I’d sat down beside him he dared turn his head to look at me. “What about when I make a mistake?”

“You try again, until you are making better mistakes on harder pieces. Mistakes and disobedience are not the same thing. And pain is excellent kindling for art, but not the kind inflicted on children with a switch. You understand the difference?”

“Mistakes are not the same as disobedience.”

I nodded at him to ready his hands at the keys again.

“From the beginning,” I told him. “Take a deep breath. Lower your shoulders.”

#whump of a minor #unreliable narrator #pet whump

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inside-black-moon · 6 months

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Today is a special day for me. Before this, I had never “celebrated,” so to speak, this day.

So, if anyone doesn’t know, today is World Autism Day and its main goal is to educate the public.

Speaking specifically about me, I received my official diagnosis last year. To be honest, this allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief. My difference from neurotypical people was finally scientifically explained and it helped me accept myself.

Do you know what my life was like? It was like I was a duck in a pack of wolves. I sincerely believed that I was also a wolf and refused to face the truth. But other wolves, for the most part, convinced me that I was a wolf, without focusing on the fact that I had no fangs or fur. And ducks don’t know how to howl like a wolf. What was most difficult about this was that the wolves expected and demanded from the duck the behavior and lifestyle of a wolf. A duck cannot hunt deer, a duck cannot run as fast as a wolf. And instead of howling at the moon, I'd rather sleep, I swear.

I tried in vain for many years to be like everyone else. But my body and psyche began to fail. The critical point was just that year, a few days before visiting the psychiatrist. And from that moment I had to start rebuilding my whole life.

The first thing I needed to do was accept the fact that I would never become a wolf. Yes, I can coexist with people in society, but not in the same way as most people. There will always be some invisible barrier due to the purely biological aspects of the brain.

Despite this barrier, I had very long-term close friendships with people - with one friend we were friends for 12 years, with another - 4. It was like a discussion club, an eternal search for something new, studying, self-education and mutual support in this.

The second important aspect for me was to explain to people close to me that I, in principle, am not able to do certain things due to the way my brain works. For example, most autistics have very poor vestibular function (this also manifests itself in clumsiness) and in my case I am very unfriendly with stairs and transport. But nevertheless, throughout my childhood I was forcibly forced to travel in public transport. What’s funny is that I lost consciousness, I felt sick, I fell, but my parents and I went to the doctors to find out what was wrong with me. And for many years of such trips, not a single doctor could diagnose me. Now only 1 person understands me and is tolerant of my characteristics. I didn’t announce the diagnosis to my relatives because I know them and I know their reaction. This will again be a situation where the wolves will force the duck to hunt the deer.

Fact - culture, level of awareness and tolerance greatly influence the acceptance or non-acceptance of autism by others. Sometimes it really makes sense not to tell some people about it because you might get rejected.

In my homeland there are big problems with this - culture and ignorance destroy even the hope that a person with autism can be part of society. The culture of “disdain for those who are different” and autistic people are equated with the disabled, the lower class, the scum, the biological trash.

They bully us, humiliate us, avoid us, wave their hand - “he/she is sick”, some believe that it is contagious, some believe that autistic people are doomed to live a short life, the majority are convinced that people with autism should (!) be permanently in psychiatric hospitals basis away from normal people.

This whole outcast attitude is depressing. Yes, there is a certain percentage of autistic people who cannot withstand such pressure and die - either on their own or due to diseases caused by overload of the nervous system. But there are also those who find the strength to swim against the tide and become outstanding people - media, famous, geniuses in their field.

Third - acceptance and study of yourself. At some point you come to the realization that you are not like everyone else, you do not fit into the general picture of society, the world, the universe. It’s as if you live on planet Earth, but at the same time you feel like you live on some other planet. Even the atmosphere is different, even the laws of physics. Everything is different, everything is not the same. Understanding this in time, before you run out of strength in stupid attempts to be like everyone else, is a great success. Time is our main enemy. I really spent most of my life living incorrectly; doctors of different specialties and ranks were looking for the reason for my “difference”. But all this was to no avail, because they were looking for the wrong thing. For most of my life I tried to play by rules that I didn’t understand and tried to somehow rationally explain to myself. How to be friends, how to communicate, how to live. But one fine day I heard a very good phrase - you think rationally, and they think emotionally. At that moment I was in a stupor - how is this “emotionally”?

This is one of the main and very controversial problems for autistic people - emotions. I think many people imagine a stereotypical autistic person who does not speak, sways from side to side and looks at one point. Yes, the spectrum of autism is very wide and such people also exist (more on this later), but believe me, even such autistic people have emotions, feelings and are even capable of love. But not like neurotypical people.

And now I will tell you about the magic of autistic emotions. Ooh, guys, believe me, you won’t find this in books about autism.

It’s as if our nervous system is not under the skin, but on the skin. We love not with our hearts, but with our minds. We love not through emotions, but through awareness. The best gift for an autistic person is something that will give him a pleasant tactile or visual sensation. Way back when I was in school, when I had a scientifically minded friend, we discussed the theory of the development of the mind. At that time, I was a volunteer and was developing the first “scripts” for the AI, according to which it would further train itself. My friend was working in parallel on another project, at a higher stage - he created learning algorithms for AI.

And we had an argument. My theory was about associative thinking. For example, if as a child you liked yellow color and free-flowing consistency, then there is a high probability that as you grow older you will like yellow rice, sand, and yellow beads. And this affects your overall lifestyle, hobbies and even food preferences. And the greater the variability of “favorite things,” the greater the variability of the “end point.” Following this concept, I trained AI.

Now I can say with more confidence that this theory fits perfectly into the mind of an autistic person. Many parents of autistic children complain of an unpredictable reaction to something - it seems like an ordinary sunny day, but the child screams endlessly and cannot explain what is wrong. And it turns out that a certain brightness of light irritates him. Therefore, this child does not need to be taken to the cinema, where there will be the same bright light. Often, even speaking autistic people cannot understand what causes sensory overload just because the world moves at a breakneck pace. We just don’t have time to understand what suddenly unsettled us.

I don't like bright light, by the way. And that’s why I became a big fan of various lamps, garlands, and fixtures.

The system of associative thinking is precisely the key to the emotions of an autistic person. For example, if your gift fits into the associative system of pleasant things for an autistic person, then it will be the best gift in his life. In turn, don’t be surprised at how accurately he gets the gift for you right. He will not only guess what exactly you want, but will also know what color and texture are ideal for your preferences. Because an autistic person cannot do otherwise - he does not know how to do otherwise.

Also in love relationships, family relationships. Any. If an autistic person finds common ground with someone, if that person intersects with this internal network of “nice things,” then these will be the most sincere, open, honest and considerate partners. Autistic people are not capable of behind-the-scenes games and intrigues - this is too difficult for an already overloaded brain. We see no point in lying, deceiving, saying one thing and doing another. But we expect the same attitude in return. And we are sincerely perplexed that it could be otherwise - that a partner or friend could lie (why?), be a hypocrite (why?), use it for selfish purposes (why?). And this greatly affects our psyche. We are naive and gullible. We are open and absolutely do not understand hints/sarcasm/innuendos/intrigues/conspiracies.

In a work group, autistic people work the most - they don’t waste time on intrigue, talking about the weather or the past weekend. But at the same time, they may be considered outcasts (because they avoid general conversations) or upstarts (you work harder than everyone else = please your bosses = you put yourself above everyone else = an arrogant egoist). Therefore, the ideal job for an autistic person is not in a large team, or completely without contact with people.

But unfortunately, the autism spectrum can be quite...severe, let's put it that way. I'm talking about those boys and girls who don't even live to be 20 years old. I'm talking about those young people who barely made it to 30 and, due to the lack of a guardian, ended up in psychiatric hospitals and their lives were reduced to 4 walls, belts on their arms and legs, and tranquilizers. And I'm talking about those who have lived to an old age, are left alone and create very serious and dangerous problems for those around them.

But society in my homeland equates all autists with one red line - these are sick people, these are dangerous people. Moreover, due to a backward healthcare system, autism diagnosed at an early age is reclassified as schizophrenia upon reaching adulthood. And autism is being treated as schizophrenia. This is a terrible mistake.

Throughout my life I have met several autistic people of varying degrees:

- One guy, he studied with me in the same class at school. We all thought he was normal, but also a little strange. He spoke exclusively in lines from his favorite films and at the same time perfectly imitated the voices of the actors who spoke these phrases in the original. This is how he communicated with other guys. Teachers rarely bothered him. What’s interesting is that he voluntarily chose a literature exam (one of the most difficult) as his last exam at school. He was the only one from the entire school who chose literature. He really had some crazy talent for writing and analyzing literature, even though he literally never spoke his thoughts in his own voice. On paper, everything was completely different.

- Another guy who went to school, but was separated from all classes. Sometimes our class crossed paths with him in the same office. He always sat somewhere in the back and everyone tried not to be distracted by him. But it was difficult - he could laugh, shout numbers, throw things. God bless the teachers who tried to teach him at least some minimal knowledge. He was over 20 years old at that time. After school his mother always picked him up and they walked leisurely around the city. I often met them together.

- The worst case... I confess - despite the fact that for personal reasons I have not communicated with this person for more than a year, I still worry about the life of his child with the most severe form of autism. I understand that this is not my child, not my responsibility, but... it’s difficult to explain.

There is a type of autism in which the instinct of self-preservation is completely absent and there is no speech. There are very few such children all over the world. They are unable to take care of themselves, they are hyperactive. They may not sleep for several days. But at the same time, parents/guardians should not sleep either, because such children require constant supervision due to the high risk to the child’s health. These children are monstrously strong physically. They can literally start beating themselves until they bleed and suffer a concussion due to sensory overload or any other discomfort. This could be anything - from a chafing tag on the inside of clothing to a vase standing “wrong” in the hallway. But they cannot say this because they are not able to speak. They see hallucinations, which can also frighten them. In some cases, with age (puberty), they develop epilepsy and most often this is the reason for the end of their lives. My mother talked about a similar family, where there was only a mother and daughter. Daughter with this form of autism. And the mother looks like a zombie - after all, she needs to somehow support her family and look after her daughter. It's terribly difficult. I've read stories of similar families. Most often, parents are afraid to inform others about this situation. This is both shame and fear... fear that people will turn away, that there will be very tactless questions and unsolicited advice. Believe me, in such a situation, to receive advice “can you get rid of this child?” It just blows your mind. Parents of such autistic people are in unbearable and hopeless conditions. The only thing that can save is outside help. Even a simple trip to the store to buy food for such a family a few days in advance will save them and make their life much easier.

But I really ask, if you know or suspect that there is a similar family in your environment - do not give advice, tactless questions, do not say “can I help with anything?”, but say “I can help. I can buy you food, fix something, do something, call and arrange for repairs, pay for something." This way you can save someone's family.

In conclusion, I would like to say that despite the diagnosis and the accompanying unusual features, all this did not prevent me from building a career, starting a family and communicating with people. Even write a book on learning to draw and an autobiographical novel hidden in a futuristic thriller-melodrama. All this did not prevent me from achieving certain heights in various types of activities - from drawing and journalism to photography and modding. This will sound strange, but I can enthusiastically work in the 010 editor (which I learned to use on my own) and with no less enthusiasm search for quartz stones on the beach to replenish my collection.

Warframe became a home environment for my high-functioning autism from the first minutes of the game. The alternation of completely different types of activities in the game helps to organize the endless stream of thoughts in my head, and team play allows me to be part of society and feel the absence of an invisible barrier between me and neurotypical people. This is a place where they won’t say “go away, you’re ruining everything” or “you’re not like everyone else, that means you’re worse.” My gift for incredibly fast reaction and analysis of the current situation allows me to be both in the support team and as an attacker. This is the type of player who saves everyone, including all companions, while killing a crowd of enemies and asks with burning enthusiasm - one more round? Yes? Yes? Yes?

Autism is a huge iceberg, which is 80% hidden underwater from the eyes of others. And if you have a bathyscaphe “desire for knowledge,” then a completely new world may open up before you.

I'm Irene Wolf, thank you for your attention.

#autistic adult #autism #warframe #warframe captura #warframe drifter #warframe excalibur

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 1 year

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The Blue Castle, chapter 11

It's interesting that Olive's greatest joy is to be a famous musician. I'd have thought it would be something like marrying for both love and money -- something Stirling approved and a subtle dig at Valancy. Clearly I underestimated her. Interesting also that Aunt Wellington, who married in, has a desire unconnected to marriage or personal ailments. She's portrayed as one of the clan's tyrants, but how many dreams did young, pretty, wealthy Mary Maiden-name-not-given give up when she married Wellington Stirling?

I have never been to Youth Group, but there was a discussion earlier in the tag about how Mrs. Fredrick's holier-than-thou response was the equivalent of someone saying their favorite book was the bible, and I can picture the scene so perfectly. I didn't classify Mrs. Fredrick as one of the clan tyrants, because her financial poverty seems to put her fairly low in the pecking order, but she is just as obsessed with one-upmanship as the rest of them.

We're going back once again to the incredible power of social shame. All it takes to throw the entire dinner party into an absolute panic is Valancy making two comments. Is she slightly rude to Uncle Benjamin? Possibly. Is she ruder to him than anyone has been to her? Definitely not. But the Stirling rudeness is done under the guise of "helpful" advice and commentary -- they're not criticizing, they're just saying -- and so Valancy breaking that social contract and being blunt is unthinkable. In three sentences, Valancy destroys the entire carefully constructed façade, and all power to her for doing so.

Credit to Uncle Herbert for trying to smooth things over in a way that's not trying to squash Valancy. Sure, he wants her to stop talking because it's causing a fuss at the party, but he does so by checking if she's okay, not trying to terrify and bully her back into submission. And frankly, I don't blame the poor man for wanting his wedding lunch to go smoothly. Having people fighting in front of you is deeply stressful, and on top of that you know that this will be brought up at every single anniversary lunch he and Aunt Alberta have for the rest of forever.

You know, I bet Uncle Wellington thought that Barney Snaith would be a safe topic of conversation, one that didn't concern Valancy and one that she had no interest in and thus would not be inclined to disrupt. Shame for him that he is completely wrong about that. Sounds like even Valancy didn't quite realize how much of an interest she had in the topic, until she found herself at liberty to express it.

"Generally when Uncle James lifted his eyebrows the world came to an end. This time it continued to function." What an absolutely delightful turn of phrase. I love it.

Is this the first time we've heard mention of Cissy Gay? Clearly she's a known quantity in the community, but I don't remember if she's been explicitly mentioned before.

And so Valancy makes her triumphant exit, leaving utter devastation in her wake. Once again, it's remarkable how little it took to bring the whole family to its knees. These are people who are very used to getting what they want, and what they want is strict obedience and social cohesion. Even the nicer ones have don't rock the boat engraved into them as their overriding motivation. They simply cannot cope with someone who simply does not care what the boat does in response to their actions.

“Well, that’s settled. In the meantime, Amelia, act as if nothing had happened and keep an eye on her. Don’t let her be alone. Above all, don’t let her sleep alone.” Valancy's fears that telling her family about her diagnosis would lead to them insisting on sharing her bed were spot on, I see. One assumes those fears came from experience, not simple projection or anxiety.

#blue castle book club #blue castle chapter 11

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autisticbooknerd01 · 1 month

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When Needs Outweigh Support

I can pinpoint, with relative certainty, the tipping point where my support needs started to exceed the support I could reliably access.

As I write this, I have the instinct to check my privilege. My parents became experts in my brain and in my needs, mostly from scratch. As a unit, we got very good at building a support structure for me. Factor in that I am white, middle class, and can at least "pass" as cis/het (as problematic as "passing" is), and I understand that, as much as possible, I was set up for success.

But.

We didn't have the context that I was autistic, and when you don't know the full picture of what's going on, of how you're different, you can't know the full picture of what supports are healthy and helpful, let alone access them. The way our society supports (or does not support) disabled folks is, quite frankly, imperfect at best, but with some of the existing support structures and accommodations, things could have been better.

I saw someone on TikTok, explain that late diagnosis for them was like driving a broken down stick shift chevette. They managed to build the tools they needed to more-or-less survive in this world, and even achieve some success, but it took years longer than it should have to realize that most people around them were driving Teslas, and that with the right supports, they could have been driving one too. That rings true for me, although every autistic person is different; don't take my word as law for the autistic experience.

Back to the point (lol).

It was the summer before my junior year of high school where my support needs started to exceed the support I could access. It was my second year working at my summer job. The first year, my older brother was one of my coworkers (because, nepotism), but this year, it was just me and two other people. One of my coworkers was safe, but she didn't speak fluent "Me" the way my brother more-or-less could, so I couldn't ask for support and be certain that I would receive understanding. My first summer of work, with my brother, was anxiety inducing, but this summer was so much worse.

It escalated over the next year, with friend drama and school trips, but that was the start. By the time I had an overnight sport camp that summer, I was pleading with my dad (one of the assistant coaches) to please let me sleep in his trailer, but he said no.

I wouldn't be diagnosed for another five years, but it would get somewhat better after therapy, and medication.

Still, imagine how much more "successful" (in air quotes because what the hell even is success) if I had the support I needed.

So many people don't have that. We (the general, societal we) have done a poor job honoring the dignity and lives and cultures of people who do not fit a very narrow definition of "normal" and "acceptable."

Fuck that.

#autism #neurodivergent #neurosparkly #late diagnosis #late diagnosed autistic #actually autistic

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chipped-chimera · 1 year

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Ugh ... I am low-key so worried about how the BG3 ending is gonna play out for Karlach that I'm considering stopping playing and just coming back to it when I can handle it. Some of this shit is just hitting too close to home and I'm not sure I'm cut out for it.

More personal context under the cut if you want.

I relate to Karlach's pain so much. Too much. To the point it makes me teary thinking about it. Both of our lives have been cruel.

It has been hard for me, despite a stable family upbringing that most would envy, in a lower-middle class family that for the large part has been financially stable. I'm also white. I know I'm lucky in that capacity - god I fucking know (and the thought that what I've gone through could be considered a 'lucky' position? What does that mean for others? It keeps me up at night).

But that didn't stop the pain crawling in. I wasn't diagnosed with Autism until 27. I wasn't diagnosed with co-morbid ADHD until I was 28. I wasn't medicated for ADHD until I was 30 (and that was AFTER being told by a psych who also invalidated my Autism diagnosis aka the context for fucking EVERYTHING in my life, I couldn't have ADHD because I could 'read a book').

Before that? I knew I was depressed at 13, but didn't want to burden my family so I did nothing - we may be lower middle class and stable but I knew that was only because my parents tried so fucking hard. We had camping chairs in place of furniture up until I was eight. I lived with the pain because I didn't want to burden them, and without the context of my neurodivergence I just blamed myself for the problem, not being good enough, not trying hard enough - not being ENOUGH. I held onto it until I cracked and couldn't take it anymore at 16. I was diagnosed with Depression and Generalised Anxiety Disorder. It's since been upgraded to chronic Major Depression and it's classed as treatment resistant.

Both of us have had moments of building ourselves up from nothing. Through therapy and medication I was able to feel a bit better, more positive as I left high school. Thinking maybe it was gonna be okay after all, out there in the world.

It felt like I'd slowly reached out into the light, tentatively, hopefully - there'd be something more, that I'd live out the dreams I'd had, the things I'd always wanted to do. I was still optimistic.

Instead it felt like that arm had been immediately lopped off.

The story is long and too complicated to tell without this being longer than it needs to be. But like Karlach, I feel I've lost years of my life. Like Karlach, it's been a decade - ten years. That I cannot get back, that I grieve keenly.

I have been isolated, and then betrayed by those I thought I trusted. First, by the systems that were supposed to help me when I was struggling - my own government's system as they hit me with a debt that I couldn't even pay, on a scheme which has in retrospect been found to be completely illegal, but has left me with lasting trauma and damage and no closure. Not even a sorry. Because I, with my undiagnosed Autism and ADHD and a growing fatigue issue where I was so exhausted from simply being alive I just couldn't fight it. So I let them take money out of my social security payment - which was and still is considered below the poverty line. I was punished for being poor, I was punished for arguably, being disabled.

And then, by the person I trusted most. The person I thought I loved, the person who made it felt like everything was okay - I may be struggling still but there was still a future! There was someone who cared about me, who would be beside me for the rest of my lifetime. He asked me to marry him. We were engaged for three. Years. We'd been dating for 10. I thought everything, despite all the shit happening to me, was going to be okay.

It wasn't.

I had landed some employment for the first time in 3 years. I was working more hours than advised by the psychologist who diagnosed me with Autism but I had no choice - I was literally on the minimum limit available to me, due to the barriers I still have to navigate to qualify for disability supports (again, from a government system that I no longer trusted and gave me the earnest impression that they preferred me dead than 'leeching off their system'). But I was not living. I couldn't handle even 15 hours a week, I was more exhausted than I'd ever been. I felt like a corpse. I spoke with my disability employment coordinator (no, despite what I said, being on disability EMPLOYMENT services does not qualify you getting onto disability support, just means the government will only hound me for a minimum of 15 hrs a week instead of 30 in order for social security, that's a whole other complicated thing) IN CONFIDENCE that I wasn't sure I could keep up with the current work format and hoped I could discuss some solutions. Next minute I find I'm locked out of the work facebook. I was fired, without warning and without protections because I was a casual. Because my employment coordinator told my boss before even discussing anything with me.

My relationship was suffering but I wasn't aware. I was too tired for intimacy, and probably two tired to see the signs. I'd gotten my Autism diagnosis at this point and maybe it was a bit difficult for my fiancée at the time to understand, but he came to terms with it. The ADHD assessment was booked. I had realized at this point pushing myself to be something I wasn't, thinking somehow landing work and earning money for myself would help the depression - it didn't. I was worse than I'd ever been. Then the moment came where I was handed a notice that the government would no longer give me any social security because my partner, on his meager chef's salary was earning too much. All because I'd tried to do the right thing by the government. I'd tried so hard to be good. I'd tried so hard to be ENOUGH.

I wasn't enough.

My fiancée came to me, my fiancée who I'd been talking to about our upcoming wedding plans now the pandemic was over, my fiancée who I'd been cuddling with on the couch last night watching films - he came to me when I was battered, and raw and broken and crying in bed - just said 'I can't do this anymore.' And that was it. It was done. As I processed it, I realised the root of it was, it was because I'd taken the mask off. I decided I wasn't going to try to be something I wasn't anymore, because I knew and it was backed up in countless studies - what I was doing was actively killing me. And he didn't want to deal with that. I wasn't enough, and yet I was too much.

It has been two years since then. My ADHD is medicated. I live in a stable, safe environment with my parents where I don't have to worry about my security. I have set firm boundaries that I learned while I was independent, and they respect them. But the wounds are still deep and it'll take a long time to recover, to get that trust in the world back.

When I look at Karlach, I see some of myself. Someone who has been used, abused and betrayed by those they trusted. Someone who felt abandoned by everything, that there was no hope, no way out. And yet in spite of it all - kept going. Who, deep in their heart kept something soft and safe. Held onto and protected what little shred of optimism left. Because if we don't practice kindness, who will? We want to be the kindness we want to see in the world, because fuck, have we seen so little of it. It is so easy to give up, to fall into despair when you've been through so much shit. It requires so much vigilance and energy and momentum to keep going, when you're wading through a battlefield of carnage and gore in your life, whether metaphorical or literal. We hold on and we are kind because we hope, one day, that kindness will touch us back. That despite it all we try our fucking hardest to wear a smile, and see the good in everything we can.

And I think that's why it hurts so much. Karlach is finally free. And happy. She feels loved. She's finally feeling some of that kindness again kindness that I know, that she knows she fucking deserves. And it's on a fucking time limit.

And that's what's fucking breaking me. I know she's supposed to be some kind of allegory for terminal illness. And I know this isn't my story. I know it's a story that is important to tell, and it will touch others in a different way. But for me it feels like all the wounds I've barely scabbed over are being ripped open again. Because this is not an ending she deserves at all. It makes me sit and wonder, is that all there is for people like us? Just brief windows of happiness in the pain until we die? Don't we deserve saving? Don't we deserve a happy ending? A peaceful one? Don't we deserve to wear that smile, that happiness without us having to fight for every second it with tooth and nail to keep it there? To believe in it?

I don't know the endings in detail for her. But i have seen enough in the vaguest sense to feel it won't be good, and I don't know if I'm ready for that. I have played games with sad themes, like I know Cyberpunk isn't that great either - but I think the difference is who it is happening to. It's somehow easier when it's you, as the player. But when it's someone else? When you know that pain so fucking keenly you would rip yourself apart just to let them escape that hell, it's hard to stomach.

Then there's the disability angle that bothers me so much. Currently her options, as she puts it, are burning up and dying or going back to Avernus. I understand why she's choosing death, like, fuck man I do. Why is it always death though? Why is death better. Why can't she get a replacement heart? Make it shit! It can be a shitty heart that still works, but needs tune ups, and maybe she can't fight like she used to but she gets to fucking live a happy life! Because a shitty, happy life is better than nothing at all. Because as it goes, it feels to me I'm just being told it's easier to just die than submit to the suffering again whenever a piece of media picks an end like this. It's either the cure-all or death, there's never room for something in between. There's never room for making peace with what you have lost and still reclaiming some of your life, grieving what you have lost but still finding something worth having and holding onto. And when you're in that limbo state yourself, it's a hard pill to swallow. And it's hard to let anyone else fall into it.

We both deserve life. We both deserve happiness.

Fuck.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #karlach #ugh why did i have to get stupid for her #ok i know why i got stupid for her #you provide me muscled woman for once? I AM NOT TURNING DOWN A MEAL I AM STARVING FOR #just ugh some of this shit though is hitting too hard #this is long #ventpost #if anyone reads this entire thing and has finished BG3 and doesn't think I can handle it pls let me know #probably gonna drop the game like a hot potato #despite what I said about wanting to finish it badly #idk just got to the bit where she was talking to me about feeling scared and I just ... couldn't #depression tw #trauma tw #I hate that this entire spiel? yeah? This is the /short/ version of my deeplore ok #ngl the disability thing makes me wanna write to larian because I'm sick of this 'better off dead' message thrown at us all #we deserve some positive fucking rep for once #ableism tw #maybe idk #kerytalk #keryplays bg3

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