#And I really dont want to try ambien

[chirsu]

No C-PAP. Don't even get to try it to see if it would improve my quality of life. He just diagnosed me with insomnia and told me to go seek alternative sleep aid elsewhere.

One thing he asked was if I took melatonin. I do, I even pair it up with benadryl and told him it doesn't help. My sleep is not restful, I can't stay asleep either, AND I feel horribly fatigued all day. After that, he just suggested doubling up on it (10mg would become 20mg), and I think... That sounds... Ummmm?

[catharsim]

UHHH 1-10: evens for Stavis odds for Luvina / 30-40 evens for pheck and odds for lawwe and century *maniacal laugh*

This is gonna be so long, here we go...

2. Who does most of the cooking?

Neither of them truly 'cook' because they can afford to always eat out, order room service, or in Mavis' case, have a personal chef.

4. Who says creepy paper and who says crepe paper?

I cant say I see either of them saying creepy paper unless maybe Mavis is drunk and slurring her words lmao

6. Who's the sun and who's the moon?

Mavis is a leo, so she is definitely the sun. And Stefan's penthouse is Cave Chic™ so he is definitely the moon 🖤

8. What are their cooking habits? Who cooks meals and who "cooks" insta-ramen?

See the first question. They've made a couple of things like popcorn and an attempt at waffles without catching anything on fire but that's about where their cooking adventures end lmao.

10. What are their love languages?

Stefan's is physical touch, acts of service (he's a virgo I dont make the rules), and a sprinkle of words of affirmation. Mavis' is words of affirmation and physical touch

1. Who sleeps on the left and right side of the bed?

I’ve always pictured Luca on the left side but it really just depends on where the bed is relative to the door, because he’ll sleep closest to that!��

3. Who's the little and big spoon?

Luca loves being big spoon but he also doesnt mind if Davi wants to be big spoon because it means he just gets to be near her #simp

5. Who screams and who kills the spider?

You know what, Davi kills the spider. With a palm strike. Luca wouldnt scream unless he tried to kill it and missed.

7. How do they share chores?

I think as of right now, Luca would do most of the household things like trash, dishes, etc and let Davi handle things like finances, making the grocery lists, and laundry/dry-cleaning as to not ruin her fancy clothes.

9. How do they handle arguments? What do they argue about?

Haha they used to love to argue before they gave in to their sexual tension sdnfsdfsd. Nowadays I feel like they try to communicate in a healthy way and apologize if their emotions get the better of them. I dont see them arguing about much besides maybe how much money Davi spends on designer stuff simply because Luca can’t comprehend being wealthy lmao. Or her dad being the antichrist.

30.  What are their nicknames for each other?

They call each other by their last names. Lucchesi (Beck) and Macmillan (Phoebe). Or sometimes, P and B. 

32. How are they intimate with each other in a nonsexual way?

Ah. They’re masters at grazing hands and the longing gaze. They vent to each other about their families and pass no judgement. Beck lets her take photos of him, even though he hates his picture taken, because he knows she enjoys it. Quiet embraces. Train rides.

34. What couple from another media reminds you of them?

Beck reminds me so hard of Tommy from Peaky Blinders, but I’m not sure Tommy and Grace’s relationship fit Pheck. There’s this couple on Tiktok that reminds me of them much more tho! Example here (just being goofy and weird with each other and looking good while doing it heheh )

36. Who wakes up and falls asleep first?

Well Phoebe sleepwalks so it’s hard to give an accurate answer lmao. I’d say that Beck is the one who wakes up first though, it’s engrained in him to always be up early, further proving his grandpa-ness. Phoebe would fall asleep first with the help of her Ambien I’d think. 

38. What do they love most about each other?

Phoebe loves that despite all Beck has dealt with/been through, that his big heart remains underneath the hardened and composed exterior. Beck loves Phoebe’s sense of artistic wonder and how she is unapologetically herself. 

40. Do they have any jealous tendencies over each other?

They were broken up when they were teenagers and ran in the same circle for several years, remaining friends. But they had to watch each other move on with different people and that definitely sparked jealousy for the both of them. Maybe more so for Beck I think, because his family was the reason they had to break up in the first place.

Lawwe and Century? Idk who those people are sowwy...

[dramarising-replacement]

The sequel to: Literally nobody asked for this and I'm doing it anyways This time as an update!

Why wouldn’t you be able to sell it? Some people like making money OP -yes, but that market would be too easy for rich players to exploit, so it's a no. while it could help so that newer players that get a good egg could possibly sell it for even more if the colors are matchy, i cant really think of a way to prevent it from just adding to gen1 only lairs with 1000 gems at all times.

I think this was supposed to be a joke or something. -somewhat! i know it would never happen, as it's complete bullshit that comes out of nowhere, but it was a semi-serious exercise in how to introduce mechanics to pre existing games. but yeah, mainly a joke, cause it's never actually going to happen, and i also dont really want it to.

Breeding eggs… What?- OP, tell me what u took last night -ambien, if i remember right. sure, technically i shouldnt have it, but parents know best amiright?

and yeah take nothing i have done seriously, assume i am either high or out of my mind.

why do people make overly long and elaborate site suggestions on FR drama sites and not, you know, on FR’s actual fucking suggestions forum -bc this is not an actual suggestion, its a fake one meant to have fun and maybe piss people off. i did not make that very clear in my post, sorry about that.

What a long way to say “I hate snobs”. -sounds like me! :)

The absolute irony of crying about G1 people being snobby while trying to make a dragon special by creating a subspecies is chefs kiss delicious. Nothing wrong with subspecies just that OP is talking out they ass. -i meant like. for lore reasons? yall make subspecies for pricing reasons? damn. i might have to change a few forum threads to lore-specific rq

I dont get why people gotta be so rude and downplay people’s disappointment:/ -im funny like that. and also a vindictive dick. but let's stick with funny.

Hey.. uh wasn’t A___ a regular normal user who had that luck cult form around them because they were pretty lucky their first week? They’re not just some ‘fanon luck god’. This should’ve been censored. :/ -shit, my bad. thank you for telling me! (this sounds sarcastic, but seriously, thank you.)

so this anon should support a way to make any dragon a G1 then, I mean I’d respect them if they did -thank you for the inspiration!

what about that egg i got from the coli and hatched myself on my birthday and it was a neat primal -you got a primal on your birthday from rng? congrats, that's really awesome! i wouldnt really say that other people getting primals now cheapens it, having a special day primal myself, but we're different people and all. congratulations on your special hatch!

do you guys have anything better to do lmfao -nope! rip me ig, but then again i'm a teenager w/ no job in a terrifying pandemic and maybe some people i know are dead of plague, which is a rather common experience now, so sometimes you gotta make long posts laughing over dragon games. it's fun and totally not unhealthy!

[blackwaxidol]

i in my body and in a manner of speaking, we, took something strong enough to see dragons and forget reality and in a frenzied moment in the shower all of us greeted her, whatever had become the body of which we left for a moment. she is a shy girl, but for a moment she puts on a stupid smile and continues to dance in her shower and then argue with towel placements from something else. i go elsewhere. and in 30 minutes i return to compel her to rest on the bathroom floor so she vomits in the toilet bowl and nowhere else. and i leave. we were the only two responsive, now it is just her. i leave until she makes a frenzied mess of herself on a draft asking where i am because i left. she closes the draft to get up and retrieve the earrings i intended to have because i want her to get those earrings and as i sit on this bed with my earrings in i wonder which part of the monotony and precision of threading metal through flesh brougt me forth. i had seen a name i recognised in words on a notifications upon here but i forget how this contributes. i am sure it does.

i cannot remember what happened today, was it my mother and me who talked back and forth on someone being trapped? or did i talk of it in some forgettable corner of the mind? my vision is doubling and i am sure my mother will find my lack of restlessness infuriating. i am still sad i think. but i feel very distant. clinically so. i did not know ambien could affect dissociative disorder, we did our best to try correcting the bathroom but the one from the shower tells me about the fight she had with an "Aleks" because he wanted to wash a foot individually and i felt his shame when he could not do it so i understand this event but never remember an Aleks before. i dont know these people and i dont want them there.

i want my friends but i am an anxious creature in spirit. at least i believe i have control again. i would just like to be treated wirh kindness or something, there is something i forgot that i hate and when i try to focus on what it is i forget it. ah... there was a question i wanted to answer with yes but i did not know how so i put it to the side in fear of honesty. nothing really is fine. i am disappointed in myself for losing hours of sleep to this nonsense i am disappointed in myself for losing days of interaction because i am terrified of it and i am disappointed with myself for wasting a very potent sleeping pill and i hope i do not make my mother sad because of it. i miss things. a few days ago i disappeared because i got anxious and then suddenly even more anxious. the first made me nauseous and scared and the second one made me cry so i ran off and my organs already hurt. i tried expressing what i felt in that time but i deleted the draft because it made me feel even worse. neuropathy and brain fog come in and i decide to just leave.

i forget the days, i come back one evening to read something that makes me feel a terrible sense of anger and betrayal and upset and after i am done being angry i simply begin crying my eyes out until i stop doing that. i forget everything else until now. i write many things in my notes. i realise they will likely not see the light of posting ever. i write more things in my notes. i realise it is all truly worthless. i sit i remember some things and i feel rage again and the need to defend myself because i am dreadfully afraid of being misinterpreted. i then feel fear because i wonder how many things are looked at and never let known to me. i sit here writing this and i'm having the most unusual tremours and then i begin crying.

all worn off now... i come here to say that i think it would be nice to be asked if i was okay. but the words themselves are enough to make me want to throw myself from a river. how can i respond but "fine"? it is impossible to use other words the scaffolding of my existence is to never inconvenience with emotion because the concept of being a human with feeling that is allowed to be upset at or towards or aimlessly so is completely unthinkable. i do not have the energy to do anything but cry and struggle to say things such as "i find the use of the verbalised actions to relay intent disingenuous and upsetting and i don't know how else to say this i just wish i could be talked to" it HURTS all of it HURTS. i HAVE to be fine because across all channels my clearer memories are that of being scorned for wanting any to express any kind of feeling and then being discarded for it. i can't do it! i can't be a person! there is... i write this in different lenses, one that has carefully and monotonously prepared words for itself to say and one that is purely emotional.

sometimes i do not have the... emotion or empathy inside me the human feeling to look or read something and respond to it. i see absolutely nothing i scan the words i see the image my mind is blank. and that blankness upsets me so deeply that i must run away and mourn the loss the selfishness i feel others find of me. i do not want to be selfish it hurts me the thought of it. but i cannot will myself to speak words i have no joy to speak and when i force myself to i think it is obvious it is forced. the enthusiasm shown is syllogistic to a robot waving hello. you know it is just doing it because it is told the human shape wants this response, but it feels no joy in doing so. i feel nothing i have days where i feel nothing.

and it culminates, i do not have the energy for the interaction either. i think perhaps i could look at it. but then i must indicate i have seen it with a like because this is an action i partake in and enjoy when it is shown to me. and if i like something so well thought and grand then it is only correct that i too make a response. but i feel nothing. and if i feel nothing i have nothing to say nothing to contribute no way to be a person. and i sit there and the feeling i do encounter is one of deep anxiety and worry and upset. every day that passes means i miss more opportunity and sometimes i am brave to attempt a few explorations of posts but can go no further and then i feel terrible again. i am upset again but i don't want to cry anymore i have done it too much today. it is 7:30. i wanted to sleep by 4 and at 4 i wanted to sleep by 2. earlier i felt more angry. i have such moments. i took the pill and thought "i hope it kills me" in a sense that is not suicidal but vengeful. i do not want to be vengeful. what would be the point? another voice points out that to die is to go ignored further and it agitates me. i do not wish to be transactory i want human interaction and i think perhaps i am so incompatible or broken that it is better to simply be left to rot and it breaks me. i cannot do this! i cannot do any of this!

the... whatever it is, it wants me to finish my piece so it can attempt to deliver the words it wanted. i let it now. whatever. goodnight.

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

[seeminglyseph]

/smothers face in pillows

Okay, it's definitely disorienting how little really sticks out to me in my physical world. I know this is grief, and it's isolation and it's ADHD... but I still feel like... oh the day is over, I don't have anymore go and I didn't get what I wanted to get done, done. It's like a day is just a few hours long and I slept through part of it.

But also maybe I need someone to go through with me that I have drawn like... a shit ton these past couple months. It is a lot, it is. It's not all good, but honestly I probably have spend at least 8 hour days drawing judging my worth by the product instead of the effort. I AM doing stuff even if it feels like I'm never doing enough. I try to put a lot of effort and detail into my work and I think that justifies the time it takes?

God sometimes I dont even realise something is a thing art school fucked up for me but legitimately thinking if I want to be a proper artist I have to work 60 hour weeks and my off hours.... ah my catholic guilt is showing again. What's that I need to suffer to prove I'm good enough?

One day I have to take a break from fandom stuff and really focus on the comic I've been trying to plan for like a decade. I think I'm getting to a level of skill that if I simplify my style some I can do decent drawings faster? I think I need to redesign some of them though because I may have better ideas idk

I took an ambien for the record to fall asleep and have as of yet not fallen asleep but like boy howdy. I sure am gonna try right now 'cause wow we're in a place.

[misterbitches]

In my opinion Oh-aew had some sort of crush on Tay (I have to write it this way the dyslexia jumps OUT if I spell it Teh) or like affection whatever even if he didn’t know it which you can see when it manifests now.

(I mean ok I know it’s been one episode but I’m always right)

It’s interesting that he said he can’t handle the pain of losing a friend like that again. I was surprised when he said no to being that close again and that’s when I think it was made clear just how much it meant in retrospect.

The argument was so stupid and I’m not gonna make this explicitly about living in a Society but the idea of choosing and being jealous as if you can’t exist at once. What happens if art is fun? What happens when we realize we all have the lights in us.

When Tay was like I just want him to do poorly there was no basis besides insecurity. It’s such a stupid way of looking at things but human and immature. There’s no explicit guarantee one is better than the other but “nobody can replace anybody else so it would be a shame to make a comparison” (this is a fiona apple lyric) comes to mind. We can’t get to where we’re going together? And obviously that’s not true since they all have their friends that they grew up with.

I also like how it’s not outright opulence. Rich ppl suck and i dont want that in my eyes. I don’t feel bombarded with wealth and a fairytale. As if this would be the sole key to tbe happy ending that all media proposes is a victory in their laziness to ensure and please capital.

But that’s also clearly because this show was taken with immense care at least on the crew’s side. But for the cast yea that too I mean everyone’s so dramatic but it has its flair, very Thai, and they use the vibrancy and the landscape.

But this is what happens when things aren’t made at a constant rate and you try to churn out many episodes.

I find a lot of these shows to be unbearable and I have a high threshold for “good” acting because I’m overly critical and terrible but it was nice seeing them even if it was so much crying. I really love things that capture youth since a lot of mine wasn’t pleasant. The ups and downs are natural for them and it will be ok. They have friends and their city.

Usually I abhor the editing on most of these dramas (these = overwhelmingly the BL genre tho that recent japanese show...love...something idk they meet walking a line was very pretty and digestible) but, if I remember correctly, it’s really good here. In fact I am positive—it does absolute justice to the story. And the writing underlines the subtlety. So much of the show is about being young and exploration and I love it. Honestly, when he was trying to imitate the instagram picture it was just...wow that’s so teenage. I was so embarrassed.

That brings me to something else wrt editing. So a lot of asian dramas are very dramatic which isn’t my favorite thing but it has a clear cultural place so it means a viewer has to adjust to differences and see the merits within an alternate scope. I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever like the dramatic music they put in. I hate those musical cues like no other. This is just my preference and it will always be. I don’t know why it’s so allurin from a creative standpoint; we know the stakes! But it wasn’t so distracting that I couldn’t continue. I think I found the whole thing extremely cinematic so the hyped up musical cues kinda threw me off.

All in all it was very enjoyable and further critiques are minor and something that time can work out like some acting but seriously thag’s mostly nothing and I saw that they had acting coaches in the credit. I think they may have been on set—I haven’t watched the doc—but that’s something people take for granted and I respect it. Seriously. Or if other shows do these ones actually understand how to get their characters from point a to b.

Acting is such a cool art and comes in different atyles but I feel like our responses to it are so intuitive so the deliveryno matter what method has to embody life qualities. I could go on about this but I won’t cause ambien but even if there’s a political approach to acting (Brecht) it is stil rooted in life. For ONCE the cast and crew fix things accordingly (this isn’t just a BL problem but I also wouldn’t classify this as BL I guess gorl IDK im going thru it)

I’m more critical than usual and I’m going through a major artistic crises lol so it was nice. There’s a lot of unrest in Thailand so I won’t forget that people are struggling. I think something that moght get people to look mght is how beautiful it looks and that brings attention to artists. Artists who represent their country, or believe in something, or care and maybe introducing people to Thai film. Art can give us access to whole radical landscapes.

Even tho i’m in favor of pirating always I feel that contributing monetarily means support and it’s a big thing for me (which is why I so often opt out because I don’t support something but should have access to it bc LIFE) and the point is yo contribut and encourage, right? Which is why I believe in sharing, it isn’t capital that drives us to something, we get attracted to the merits and contribute with capital but that means a level if absolute respect back. This means that while I can’t really pay a bunch for the episodes I think I will buy two. Which never happens.

Lastly this is probably one of the worst yrs in existence. I break down crying when I think of lives lost and black people abd being inside and just the pressure of it all. I wouldn’t say escapism tho that has merit but we get to see a fun youthful world that is just missing. It’s missing. As much as I love contemplating on the absurd, theres solace in watching people go about without external pain cementing them

[vv00rm]

Starkid/TCB moments that I think about a lot:

• aaaaaaaaahhhhh AhhhhhHhhhhhHhhh

AAAAHHHHH AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

• To honour. Hittin’ on her, gettin’ on her, Stayin’ on her, and if you can’t come in her, come on her, God bless America!

• Aiaiaiai they’re gonna do it, they’re gonna do it - Aaaaahhhhhhhh

• I’m severely nearsighted

• can’t even tell her bloods apart

• when i rule the world i’ll plant flowers! when i rule the world i’ll have snakes!

And Jane Austen novels! - and giants and thestrals and all my death eaters

• when you’re bound to VoldemOoOorT

• and I’m happy as a squirrel, long as I’m with mister Quirrrrrrrrel

• So, you’re Thomas Jefferson and I’m your Sally Hemmings, is that right?

• It’s going to be pretty hard to make that rollerblading date from Azkaban

• Is okay good? Quirrel! okay is wonderful!

• Hey Voldemort?

Yeah, squirrel?

Okay is wonderful

• YEAH SQUIRREL

• No one’s innocent

• I liked you better when you were dead

• you know you broke my heart

• and pretend to be the hero again? typical jerk! what happened tobthe man I knew? It’s a little late for an interview! feeling a lot of deja vu again!

• generally all of one step ahead

• that one bit in one more shot, where the overlapping themes happen. gotta have another, got to have another - gimme more, give me another - shot, shot, shot, one more shot - and another, another

• ring ring - the phone rings. i answer it. *runs across the stage*

• this is humanity’s eleventh hour. And i’ve prepared something for the occasion. * sits down more elegantly that i ever could*

• i have a little something for you. it’s in your breast pocket. That’s a grenade, it’s live i have the pin

• you poisoned me!

oh, get over it. i’ve been poisoning myself a little bit everyday since 1939

• we did all we could do to eliminate the jew, but nobody ever sanked us. so we never got the glory and you rewrote the story and a feel it from my vener to my shnitsel

• I’m grecel, im hans, im heidi, im vondjslshksbsks *the entire chorus of this song*

• Literally All of Torture Tango

• Lightning strikes a second time - back on top! A champion!

• Well, I think your a big dsyummy

• and you thought the threes of is wouldn’t hear? i dont think so! uh uh Uhh

• In fact, we’re gonna take on all of you RIGHT NOW *gets in that fighting position where on of them holds Nick Land up while Nick Lang holds his fists up*

• I’m better now. Im drunk

• Im sorry, I fell asleep because that was so boring

• Im obi wan kenobi amd im an alcoholic

• ambien - im on it

• FUCK YOU HACHETFIELD

• *all of Twisted*

• also all of if i believed

• but i looove, I Looooooove , I LOOOOOOOOVE being at your side

• * FUCK IT ALL OF KICK IT UO A NOTCH REPRISE*

• What do you say we tirn this funeral *pops up gummy ring* into a hweddin’

• I’ and arachnid of simple taste - i just want to eat brains!

• *thud* *thud* *thud* **thud* *opens door, revealing Joe Walker in a dress and extreme makeup*

• not exactly in a musical, but fuck it: SATAN IS A REAL MAN

• Ouch my Butt!

• Just a taste of What THE FUCK

• looking for a last name here-

audience member, momentarily: The DickRats

• What is this trip about? One, two, three! I’m a mONsTER

• the entire ‘ yeah, i loved my parents.’ ‘ but that didn’t stop me from doing what needed to be done’ bit

• This guy- pushes him- is a Sorcerer!!!

• Hey Ja’far?

Yeah?

Where do hippopotamus’ come from?

... Africa.

How’d you know that sorcerer!

• And you’re right about Deb, she’s a hardcore stoner

• What if I could promise more, than what I gave to you before, so when we don’t see eye to eye, i’ll always give your way a try-

*put down ring* *j-mills is sad* *holds up another ring* *j-mills is happy*

This is the dawn, the dawn of our time. We are womankind, with the gift of a greater mind

• Ducker pushes Emberly away to pray for zaz and j-mills

• i don’t wanna do the work today

• At night!! he sees!! he knows, when the rest of us don’t!!! Oh no!!! What’s that?!?! I don’t think we’re alone!!

• Let it out, let out-

- NEVEEEEEEERRRR!

• Hey mister business, how do you, How do you, How Do You Doooo.... WE GOT A DOUBLE FOR YOU!!! Hey, Mr buisness, and we’ll bring it right up.

•*all of MADE IN AMERICA*

• i just really love Joey Richter, okay

• MY MOM’S A BITCH

• mouthface: “dies” of dysentery: The Loord sent me baack~ *winks at audience*

• when i interact with a new object, im gonna poke it, the im gonna pick it up, wiggle it about, put it in my mouth. and if if it doesn’t try to get OUT of my mouth, its going down the hatch

• Dysentery World and Wagon is on Fire

• Wagon is On Fire is better and more dramatic than the entire les mis

• *all of AVPM and AVPS*

[fridasalright]

My depression's been really bad lately.

I can't really concentrate and I keep forgetting everything which really sucks when you're in the last weeks of college.

I can't keep anything down, anything I try to eat immediately comes back up and it all tastes like dirt.

I've also lost pretty much all my friends. Not that I blame them

All I've been doing is staring at my ceiling. For days now, I've just been laying in bed and watching the ceiling. I dont know what I'm hoping to find but I hope I find it soon.

Life just fucking sucks and I want it to stop. My antidepressants arent working. Ambien doesnt stop the panic attacks anymore. I dont know what to do.

[13solo]

IT TOOK A MINUTE TO MAKE A SECOND POST CUS IM LAZY BUT HERE ❤️

like i kiiinda mentioned offhandedly, their life in the human world was pretty shitty. rene’s mom died when she was a kid, and her relationship with her dad is literally so tumultuous its almost the entire reason she can’t stand lucifer, he reminds her too much of him. she’s suuuuper solitary, never really went out of her way to talk to too many people other than her apartment neighbor, sapphira (a sweet but incredibly eccentric old lady that rene didn’t realize was a sorceress until she came back from the devildom NFJGHJNJGSZDHJJHJJ)

i like to imagine that barbatos toyed with time a little bit during the exchange program so that the human exchange student wasnt effectively missing for an entire year, so her year-long stay at the devildom actually just was sort of the equivalent to a full nights sleep in the human world. because of this, no one was really able to realize she was gone Except her neighbor.

and for pets ok . i still dont really know the details or how i can make it work but i really, REALLY want to make the cute little pink sheep the game uses as a stand-in for mc her familiar that she meets near the beginning-ish of the exchange program and ends up bringing home with her as a companion. idk i just think its cute i fuckinglove that gotdam sheep look at it

she’d absolutely be freaked the fuck out by it at first though and kept trying to push it away but my mans was just like 🐏 and followed her everywhere so she just kind of ended up keeping it. im a grown man who does taxes but id be lying to you if i said that i didn’t partially get this idea from that fucking lion in stephens university

and the lilith question! i already went into detail in your other ask here, but to go into a little more detail; like i said, she’s the descendant of lilith’s human lover from back when she was still an angel rather than lilith herself. i toyed around with the human in question being adam from the old testament but um. i think the timeline of events is too fucky to pinpoint them as an actual figure so her ancestor is more or less another (albeit minor) oc that i still need to give some depth to since right now hes just kinda some dude

but her ancestry was something lucifer already knew about. after she was officially picked for the program he poured all his time and energy into researching her to make sure she wasn’t secretly a danger to his brothers and thats how he found out and he was pissed. he tried calling diavolo about it to cancel her involvement in the program but like since we all know how stubborn dia is it didn’t work and lucifer promised not to mention it to the brothers for her own safety.

belphie overheard the conversation though, and thats what culminated in lucifer locking him up.

i think lucifer being the arguably more level-headed of his brothers and the fact that he did genuinely like liliths man crush monday was what prevented him from going sicko mode over the whole deal, but he couldnt bring himself to trust rene exclusively because of this fact and its really the entire reason he was such an ass in season 1. he did try his best to keep his prejudice from getting in the way of his duty, but since she was sort of the living proof her ancestor did eventually move on despite everything lilith did for him, it was really hard to keep his cool around her, so thats sort of my attempt at explaining his hair-trigger temper in s1 mans needs a gotdam ambien

their relationship does improve but like i said its. extremely gradual. her being a shithead to him just fueled his anger and distrust even more, and his violent outbursts just made her want to keep being shitty as a sort of petty revenge. the body swapping arc was what eventually led to them having like a normal conversation that people have without ending up wanting to kill each other, and it slowly started getting better from then on.

belphie had like this similar internal war going on in his head throughout their meetings where he violently hated her for what her ancestor did, but also was really confused because their conversations were relatively pleasant (um. i use the word loosely) and they had a scary amount of shit in common. theres also this fact that he straight up told her once that he wants to ruin the exchange program and she literally encouraged him to do it and offered to help that made their relationship even more messy and explosive

also thank u so much for these like the prompts gave me an excuse to blab about them without feeling like an attention hog and also helped me open up about them more publicly im literally going to kiss you onthe fucking mouth

Alrighty!! I don't know if you've given these but I don't know them so mc's name and pronouns please!

What was their reaction to arriving in the Devildom? Their first impression of the brothers? Which brother do they like the least? What do they think of their room? What do they think of the food? Are they going full demon harem or are they only romancing one or two of the characters? (or none! Totally valid that way too)

Do they have any family? Close friends? Pets? Who's the first in their life to notice they're missing?

Do you consider them to be Lilith's descendant? If so, how do they react to the reveal? How did they react to dying? Do they ever forgive Belphie?

Are they particularly interested or invested in becoming a sorcerer? What's their favourite RAD subject? Least favourite? How do they like the uniform, and do they wear it sloppy or neat? Do they try to fight the demons who openly talk about trying to eat them?

How do they feel about bugs? What's their opinion on slime? Are they are germaphobe? Do they bite (non-sexual). How do they feel about being barefoot?

What's their happy place? How do they feel about crying? If they could have any superpower what would it be?

Do events play out like they do in canon or do they diverge? What does your mc need? What drives them? What's their greatest fear?

Do they have any hobbies? Do they spend a lot of time online? Do they engage with fandom? If so how do they feel about discourse?

Obviously this is quite a lot so just skip over what doesn't suit you!! And if there's anything else you want to say about them definitely throw that in too!!

NO LITERALLY THIS IS SO SWEET THANK YOU FOR TAKING INTEREST AND JUST INFODUMPING IM

but yeah these are a lot and i dont want to clog up peoples dashboards and im also way too shy about my cringe to disclose it in broad ass daylight anyway so im putting it under a readmore!

also tumblr ended up lagging insanely hard with how long this post became so im gonna um. break it up into different parts if you dont mind (theyre all readmore’d though i promise im not going to colors of the sky your dashboard)

top dollmaker

bottom dollmaker

their name is rene!! i alternate between using she and they for them, but that’s really just because im too used to mc being given they/them pronouns that it sticks lmao. she’s nonbinary though, dresses like an eboy and has a fuckugly mullet from (badly) cutting her own hair.

she’s way too laidback and apathetic, so when it clicked for her that she really was in an exchange program in hell and not having some weird dream she just kind of shrugged and accepted it, which wigged lucifer out a lot. her life in the human realm wasn’t the best, so as a sort of defense mechanism she ended up learning that the best way to deal with unwanted situations is to just passively let it happen.

as for her first impression of the brothers, she only really had interesting first impressions with three of them:

she hated lucifer pretty much immediately. his pride and the way he treats everyone around him intimately reminded her of a parent she has a bad relationship with, and as a result she kind of ends up being satan 2.0 where she goes out of her way to rebel against him and constantly tests the boundaries of exactly how much she can get away with, being an exchange student that diavolo wants protected at all cost.

her and mammon also fought like cats and dogs at first, but in a different way than with lucifer. if her and lucifer were a strict father and his unruly kid, then mammon was that kid that she constantly got in trouble for fighting with at the playground NGJMDSKAGNFMDSA. their fights were really childish and lacked any real bite.

belphie is the only other brother she had a really distinct first impression with. he was able to charm her easier than most demons because sloth is her biggest sin. instead of the attic meetings, most of her conversations with belphie happened in her dreams. belphie was probably who she was immediately closest too, but not in a good way. it was a really toxic friendship where they enabled each other’s worst qualities

the rest of the brothers she actually had a pretty normal acquaintanceship with? they werent really friends Yet, but they got along well enough and didnt get closer until their respective pacts.

but romance wise, she only has a canon romantic relationship with mammon. if it wasnt obvious shes um. more or less a self insert that ive kind of tried molding into being a (hopefully?) interesting oc in its own right, and im personally not super comfortable with the idea of dating family members at the same time (not that theres anything wrong with people whose mcs do date them all! its a personal preference thing for me), so she doesn’t ever canonically get together with anyone else.

however i am also a huge sap and i love literally everyone in this game so much so i do have a lot of “what-if” aus where she gets together with asmo, simeon, and belphie. theyre each sort of their different aus though instead of anything substantial

[revenge-goth]

addiction: a life update

so im gonna post an update on my life. not that yall want it or will even read it but i really need this rn soo. also theres a lot im not gonna iclude bc i wanna talk about addiction. theres a lot to be said about gow i used sex as a coping mechanism, my relapses with self harm, and my journey w medications and mental illness. ill save that for another time. also huge trigger warning for addiction, rape, and suicide.

----------

i started drinking back around 2013 when i was 15. from there, i became a high functioning alcoholic for the next three years. i would always start my day drinking, always took tumblers w alcohol to school. no one really noticed until around my senior year when it really started to become more of a problem due to having been in a really sexually abusive relationship. i did it to cope with everything. i was scared about the future since i never thought i was going to make it past 17 and my 18th birthday was slowly approaching. i was scared about college and growing up and what i wanted to do with my life. i remember being really drunk when receiving my awards and scholarships at a school district function. i remember i found it funny that a fuck up like me was representing my high school and seen as a really successful student while i was masking my drunken state.

by the time i went to college i was blowing through cash for alcohol, i stole from bars, i stole from frat guys. i lied a lot. i did a lot of stupid shit.

during this though, my following on twitter was growing steadily. my drunken thoughts and actions became peoples entertainment and was sensationalized by those around me. people would recognize me as sandia goth in public, people wanted to party w me, people wanted to hang w me, people loved that version of me.

in 2017 i started abusing pills after being raped at a party. i was really drunk when it happened and i dont really remember it. that night is one of those regrets i have to carry with me for the rest of my life. at first i would abuse sleeping meds. later on i started to abuse the fuck outta my antipsychotics. eventually i was prescribed ativan, a benzodiazepine, and that was the beginning of my downward spiral. i was constantly downing pills with a bottle of vodka every night. i was always really careless. i had it in my head that maybe taking all those pills and drinking would eventually end up killing me and that one night i just wouldnt make it home. i dont remember a lot from that period in my life. i remember vague things like stading out on my dorms balcony while all the color around me was extremely saturated and everything was shiny. i remember waking up after a really bad bender in my own vomit. i remember how disappointed my sister was. i remember staring at the bathroom floor.

i hit rock bottom that december, i had tried to commit suicide multiple times in my life but this time i felt like it was a lot more real and a lot more final. it didnt happen though. i dont remember christmas and in my drunken state i lost the christmas present my sister was so excited about giving me. looking back at pictures you could tell that i wasnt there at all and that my family was taking notice.

in january 2018 i checked myself into an inpatient hospital to get sober. i was terrified. i showed up to the hospital intoxicated. they ask you a lot of questions when you come in and i remember talking about everything and just laughing about it. the assessor was really creeped out. they made me sleep it off in a waiting room before they let me into the unit.

it helped a lot and i met a lot of people i wont ever forget. it was kind of weird being the youngest there and group was rough. i remember staying in my room and not being able to go eat because my heartrate was at 52 and i felt actually dead. the withdrawal process was really difficult and staying off was even harder. the first thing i did when i was discharged was drink a whole lot, get high, and had my friends drive me across half of the valley going 90 on the freeway while blasting lcd soundsystem with the windows down at 3 am.

after that i decided that it was time to really stop. my parents had cleared out the liquor cabinet and moved me to a room downstairs with no lock where they could keep an eye on me. they found my stash and threw it out. i also started smoking a lot of fuckin cigarettes. i was sober for about 5 months.

i started drinking again but just socially. a healthy amount. i was good except for a few hiccups here and there until march 2019 when i was raped, again, at another party. i was sober this time which really fucked me up. i remember everything and still have nightmares about it. i started abusing medications again and smoking a lot of weed. i was high for about three weeks before i became suicidal and called the cops on myself so i could be hospitalized. i would end up being hospitalized for two weeks. when i got out i started snorting ambien (which is fuckin wack and i dont recommend). that landed me back in the hospital two weeks later. i would be hospitalized two more times before being stable enough to not have someone taking care of me 24/7.

and we come to now. last week i relapsed. i got really sick though bc the wine i drank was spolied. it really scared me though because i thought my braincells were dying because of all the pills i had snorted (i literally thought this) but it was just the wine. it kind of scared me back to my senses though that that path is not the fuckin way to go.

ive recently gotten back to the things i love: music and art. i reopened my tumblr acct, found my sketchbooks from high school and dug up my old music. doing all of this, including doing a lot of research on my old icon gerard way, watching life on the murder scene and crying because ive been there, and seeing frank iero live, has (as ridiculous as it may sound to most that someone you look up to can be a saving force) made me consider getting clean for 2020. for real this time.

sometimes i miss her. the sadia goth everyine loved and looked up to. i lost a lot of friends when i got sober and even more followers. thats not important in the grand scheme of things, it was an empty sense of validation for me. whats truly important is that im not her anymore. im me. addiction prone, mentally ill, over medicated, lonely, sad, artistic, gives no shits, emo trash, goth icon, uses way too many gerard way references, astrology loving, empathetic to a fault, me.

i know that this is something im going to struggle with for the rest of my life, but i really want to go forward knowing that im trying my hardest and giving it my best shot. this is possibly my hardest feat, my biggest challenge in life, but im trynna make it and ill sure as fuck never let it take me alive.

xoxo,

-sandia goth

(alondra)

[katt-noir]

I can totally sympathise about your ambien troubles. Want to talk about awkward? When your SO starts talking to you about the amazing sex you had last night and you just give them a blank stare.

Ambien is soooooo weird because (apparently you act almost completely normal to everyone around you even though you are -essentially- sleep walking! And then there's the time I tried to cut into a block of cheese with the back end of a spoon - got frustrated - left it there and went and walked around my back yard. But yeah I really hate when uninformed people feel the need to give me life advice on something very important to me that I have been dealing with my whole life that they know nothing about (like my personal history and health) for a multitude of reasons -1) assuming I'm not careful with that stuff. When I a) rarely take it. And b) when I do take it I take it when I'm around someone I trust or I let my roommates know. Also it's PRESCRIBED to me.2) I've had insomnia since elementary school (since my babysitter/next door tried to kill my family in the middle of the night but that's a whole other story) and yes I've tried a buuuuunch of things and I won't lie in my younger days I did try some unhealthy methods to try and sleep. I have also done the Benadryl thing which A) doesn't work B) the research I have done on it (using my psychological studies background specific on addiction and also my healthcare certification) has said not to do that. As well as several doctors being like- no no no no no! 3) Heath Ledger didn't die from ambien. He died from an overdose of several drugs which he mixed all at once- ( oxycodone, hydrocodone, diazepam, temazepam, alprazolam, and doxylamine ) and yes while temazepam is a sleep aid like ambien, doxylamine is an antihistamine LIKE BENADRYL so his whole statement is ridiculous and hypocritical. And yes if he had messaged me privately (which would have been more respectful) or been nicer or compassionate with his advice instead of TELLING me what to do and assuming I didn't know what I was doing it would have been different. But again I take my insomnia very seriously as well as my health in general and I PROMISE when I want just random advice from strangers or internet friends I PROMISE PROMISE PROMISE I will ask for it. I have no problem seeking help when I need it. Otherwise unless you know something super magical and are going to be respectful and considerate when giving unsolicited advice- I don't want it.That being said if anyone knows a natural remedy for insomnia (preferably one a doctor recommended and worked for you) I would love if you messaged me! But keep in mind I have tried a loooooot. Unhealthy stuff and medication aside I've done exercising more, several diet change techniques that are supposed to help, I've stopped watching tv at bed time, I've done sound machines, I've done melatonin (which is controversial) I don't nap during the day, changed my bed and bedding. But to give you an idea of what my insomnia is like: in the past 5 years (because even though I've had it forever I dont remember the exacts beyond five years but it has always been bad) I have slept completely through the night a grand total of ONE time. Other than that my norm is waking up at least 3-4 times a night, sometimes every hour or half hour, and on the very very rare but very very blessed occasion one time.

[misterbitches]

They are in no way mutually exclusive. Since we are talking about Thailand specifically then we put it at the forefront. I recently learnes Thailand is like the only asian country not colonized which is fascinating ans means a lot for its manifestation as a country particularly post vietnam and the US and the west’s involvement.

I mention this a lot but as a nigerian lets say...the way that colonialism has affectwd my people; war, gender, etc is palpable. That isnt to say that before the introduction of white assignations of gwnder sexuality race etc that patriarchy wasnt present—and many of my people continue with christian ideology (which is also Very Bad cos religion)

Cultural relativism is needed to put things into context but there’s a baseline around the fact that respect needs to be given and oppression is oppression and we all mimic the ways to so. As an american I know that this country has immense power to continue it’s cruel agenda that other countries mist be interested in because to have power you must take from others.

Theway that we express and show gender and sexuality over here is different. On the surface we have less conservative mores but we have the same problems (or SEEM to have and illusion is a huge part of the process which is why i mention culturalism charisse burden stelley has really good long ass papers on american anti radicalism, anti blackness, and culturalism that really contnue to shape my view around the damage of capitalist presentation and the lies we accept when it seems we advance without improvement material conditions or acknowledgement of the powers that put oppressed groups there)

I am saying itms annoying cos all of the above! I try to balance it out. Theres some things that wouldnt be “0k” over here because we have more of a “loud” culture and also because people have risked their lives to speak for yrs in the US. We have more thinkpieces. We “share” more and in the west the different senses of propriety make the more outspoken more visible. Everyone is diffferent. That doesnt mean the US Is any better in terms of its patriarchal expression lets say it just “seems” less oppressive and theres years and years of a different history for it to manifest as such (and also the power that american imperialosm has unleashed, gives power to the country in a wha but im digressing ans im also blac so aLol

And i hate this place but wont move) holy shit tumblr for monile sucks. Anyway, i wish that ohr own biases kind of didnt have to make us so cautious because these conversations can be natural. There is nothing new or particularly.,.whats the term...egregious? In comparison in Thailand to lets say the west; some places may have more direct violence but it doesnt mea safety (IE i lives inthe UK and i had less of a chance of being murdered by cop there but BOYYYY OH BOY it’s racisté) and i dont want to deligetamize that.

The culture isnt annoying or stupid but the exact things that we see worldwide are and their reasons for existing. Theres sosooomucu beauty in the world and in history, human history, resilience, art and the people who fight for it. Theres a reason why things like this example (the wife thing) IS so bothersome in such a layered context!

Everyrhing is relative which means that even in that context it has to be measured. Now there’s ins and outs I cannot, and will not, dictate as an outsider and I would

Love to know more abt minority groups in asia, particularly thailand, or the ways in which oppressed groups feel more but we can discuss it through the lens in which we do know and are aware. Theres no judgement value here on who people are as a race or culture ratherthe ways in which we are all approving of the harm even while understanding bits and piecesz idk if this makes sense im

In ambien

The title of that book alone sounds fucking horrific and dISGUSTINGGGFFGGGGGG. Theres been a lot of informative pieces ive read about multiculturalism ans South Korea and how their rejection of such has lead to the ever burgeoning issue of not enough reproductiom now shit like that is fascinating and historically laden and ultimately sad and an eztreme downfall. To eschew difference and otherhood to affirm some sort of national identity whether from protection or otherwise (given SK’s history it makes sense too) but at what point do these things, practices,

Ideaa, tradition etc make us complacent? I wonder, for example,

For the average teenage thai girl viewer what a prevalence of this language does. I know how impresoonable I was and am as a teen, too. Why wre we so interested in reinforcement? Though there are bigger issues w bl or lets say thai dramas for sure it’sjust one of these things. I hope this made sense fuck im mad i hate this app also i agree abt the reading and fic thing mate lmao. Ty for answering

Btw sorey i cant link to the particular essay im talking abt—it waa somwonw’s thesis tho im sure when im awake and on a comp i couldnfins it. But gay men have long since expressed their issues w BL for aure so i know u can def find things if u google. My perspective as a cis black american woman (qu**r and fat which also changes my views) is simply from my own eyes sitting from my life. I cannot speak to a gay man’s experience or tie to the genre but what I can do is analyze with the information i know and the things i absolutely do not like that exist in our society thatunfortunately all feed into one another. My HUUUUGE problem with BLand media in general is how tantamount capitalism is to its existence which is obviously layered but money fueling prodctive output for BL Specifically isnsomething tbat i sse as such an impossible hill this is also how i fele about kpop and hollywood. I have no respect for the afofementioned industries and can only laud individuals that truly try to move forward but i have given up in any trust. For BL i think that this is my

Conclusion. In asia itis turning out to be a massive market that is so truly different from the real lives peeople have.

Igenuinely fear there is almost no way things wont get worse and therefore I have no faith in the mediums as effective ways of cultural connection in a meaningful manner. It’s a shame because it isnpresented undee progressive circumstances but i genuinely think

Its an imdustry that is not interested in transgression. Though i dont think any real transgression is totally possible and certainly not with a capital agenda there are simply

Some pieces of culture i do not think can ever be saved from capital’s true power lmao that sounds dramatc!!!!!!! Idk what im saying

Hey so I’ve seen spoilers for Tharntype s2. What’s the consensus? I mean I saw one that kinda made me go 😤 because some of you know how I feel about that word wifey. Just saying. Still saw some other things like that shower scene 😳 but uh 😐 that wifey thing kinda made me 😒 about it all.

Thoughts, anyone? Was still thinking I might actually wait for it all to air and watch it all on one go. Right now I’m kinda over the moon about Dean and Cas (Destiel) and so until SPN ends which is two episodes to go, I might not be able to handle anything else. Also, my obsessive mind has now made space for Buck and Eddie (Buddie) from the Fox show 911. I am an idiot who made a sideblog for them too.

Anyway, Tharntype…should I watch it as each episode airs and torture myself senseless or just wait for it all on one go?

Domestic bliss is what I wanted for them but I’m telling you that word wifey just gets to me. 😠

[viralhottopics]

Why One Mom Started Microdosing LSDAnd How It Saved Her Life

This post originally appeared on LinkedIn.

Do you remember the last time you had a really good day?

Well,Ayelet Waldman couldnt a few months ago. That is, before she started microdosing LSD.

As a lawyer, mother of four and someone terrified of drugs, Waldman is not your typicalbersmart twentysomething working in techthe stereotype of who microdosing usually attracts. Thetrend, which has recently gained popularity among professionals trying to increase their productivity, consists of taking a low dose of a hallucinogen (typically LSD or psilocybin), much lower than what would be needed to experience a trip.

For Waldman, however, enhanced productivity wasnt her goal. Sure, it would be a nice side effect, but the novelist sought out thisillicit, chemical form of yoga as an alternative to antidepressants in an effort to save her marriage and her life. When I went in to the experiment, I had really one goal, Waldman told LinkedIn. I just wanted to stop feeling so bad. I was profoundly depressed.

Waldman has suffered from premenstrual dysphoric disorder (a severe form of premenstrual syndrome), frozen shoulder,irritability, mood swings and insomnia. She has tried dozens of medications and substances in an attempt to treat her symptomsfrom Prozac and Zoloft to Ambien and marijuana. The list fills an entire half-page in her new book, A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life.Shes also talked to psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists and social workers. Yet, she still hadnt found a treatment that works for her, and she was desperate for a solution.

I am the mother of four children. I am, to my childrens gibe, totally basic. I wear yoga pants all day, I post photos of particularly indulgent desserts on Instagram. I am the mom surreptitiously checking her phone at Back to School Night, the woman standing behind you in Starbucks ordering the skinny vanilla latte, the one getting a mammogram in the room next to yours, the one digging through her too-full purse looking for her keys while you wait impatiently for her parking spot. I am a former attorney and law professor, a law-abiding citizen. A nerd. If a cashier hands me incorrect change, I return the excess. I dont cheat on my taxes, dont jump the turnstile in the subway, dont park in handicap spots. I write and lecture on the criminal justice system; I dont regularly commit crimes. But I was suffering.

When she realized that she was picking fights not only with her husband but also her dry cleaner, she decided to embark upon a 30-day experiment self-administering LSD in micro doses.

Waldman said she didnt set out to write a drug memoir. She wanted to use her book to send a message on both mental health treatment and the decriminalization of drugs (which is different than legalization or de-regulation).

Ive been doing drug policy reform for a long time, and I have been talking about the legal and social ramifications of the war on drugs for a long time, Waldman told us. I saw this book as an opportunity to do that kind of advocacy to both talk about my experience, my personal experience, but also talk about the larger issues.

As she points out in her book, at least 20 million Americans have used LSD, and yet there have been no definitive documented human deaths from an LSD overdose. (The same is true of marijuana, though these stats are overdose-related only. They don’t take into account injuries or deaths that can happen when someone loses inhibitions.) Incomparison, more than 300 people die in the U.S. every year from taking acetaminophen, and 44,000 end up in theemergency room, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A similar reality is true ofopioids. They are addictive and dangerousalso fatal at high dosesand yet physicians prescribe themregularly. Furthermore, one neuroscientist she talked tosaid that microdosing psychedelics is absolutely as safe as, or even safer, than conventional antidepressants.

Waldman also points out an important truth: There have always been drugs and there will always be drugs. Yet, stigmas abound and the research isnt adequate. Instead of prescribing medications that are known tocompromise patients abilities while criminalizing drugs that could help them, she urges the medical and legal communities to further research these substances and reform currentpolicies.

I cant say with authority that what I experienced was not a placebo effect because we havent had the research, Ayelet said. My argument is not I want to take LSD because it made me feel better. My argument is I want LSD to be studied because I think this is the drug that worked best for me.

When it comes to people microdosing as a productivity hack, Waldman has mixed feelings. Although she didnt go into her experiment looking for increased productivity, she does acknowledge that she felt more in flow while writing and was able to make more connections among the topics she was writing about.

“It’s no accident that I wrote the first draft of this book in that month, she told us. This book is, it’s a memoir of mental illness, it’s a story of a marriage, it’s the history of psychedelicdrugs, the neuroscience behind microdosing, the neurochemistry behind psychedelics. It’s about mass incarceration and de-criminalization. All those things don’t necessarily seem like they would work well together, but I think they really do. The unusual creative parallels that the psychedelic allowed my brain to experience are reflected in the book.”

However, she hopes the people following this trend as analternative to Adderalldon’t overshadow thebenefits that she, likeothers, have found through microdosing: finding relief from debilitating depression.

[A]s someone who came to this experience from a place of suffering, who has sought and failed to get help using established treatment models, and who, moreover, has little interest in the recreational use of drugs or even their performance-enhancing qualities, wrote Waldman. I hope that the therapeutic value of microdosing doesn’t get muffled beneath the braying of tech dudes trying to work better, stronger, faster.

This post originally appeared on LinkedIn.

Read more: http://ift.tt/2m5YCMK

from Why One Mom Started Microdosing LSDAnd How It Saved Her Life