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soft-boi-eli · 3 years ago

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Hello Hello!

I just wanted to say I love your fics!

ALSO!

Could I request a CC!SBI X Gn! Insomniac Reader! Where the reader is an insomniac (Obviously-) but is somehow a pro at MC!

Like they are basically god at the game! They also REALLY enjoy horror games! They don’t get scared easily and LOVE horror movies! They basically love anything horror/creepy-

ANYWAYS!!

The reader lives off of ramen and Monster energy drinks (For fun-)! They have a Twitch (Which has about 18 mil followers and 14 mil subs!) and a YouTube channel (Which has 20 mil followers!)

They mainly play horror games (Obviously-) and MC!

You can do headcanons or scenarios/images with the SBI! Maybe like playing a horror game together or MC? OR! Maybe some things they do together? Or when they meet up? Or-to many ideas Nightmare-

ANYWAYS!

I don’t really care! And don’t worry about taking too long on it!

ALSO!

Maybe we could be friends? Only if you want too!

Remember to eat, drink, and get enough sleep!

Yes. I lovesthese ideas and I'm gonna choose headcannons due to they are a bit easierfor me to write.

And yes I'm perfectly fine with being your friend! I'm actually happy to make friends on this app so yeah!

Pronouns:nonbinary

Tw: cussing. Insomia, mentions of horror movies. Mention of horror games. Fluff.

SBI with a horror streamer friend head cannons.

*Ahem* tommy wanted to paly a game with you so you choose a game that didn't look like horror until the middle. He screamed at the jump scare and it made both of your chats so happy.

When phil decides to play with you there is literally a silence after a jump scare. Everyone thought he had a heart attack and honestly so did you until he spoke up about accidently hitting his mute button when he jumped.

Wilbur. He's a bit better then tommy but more scared then phil would be. Any little noise won't get him but when it starts to get noticeable the noiseless to him. The jump scare, he'd fall out of his seat and stay on the ground for a bit. You ask if he's good and he literally doesn't answer. He's dead. You killed him. Congrats.

Techno. He'd handle them a bit better then everyone else. Not as good as you but heisnt very paranoid. He literally runs at the noises trying to get jumpscared. While you run after him telling him to stop because if he doesn't then you'd lose and die. And technoblade never dies.

If you all play together both tommy and wilbur pussy out. Techno last the longest and phil the second longest. While you remain the ruler of horror games.

Now how you all met was dream invited you to the dream smp to add to the chaos. Needless to say it got extremely chaotic due to you being on almost 24 hours. You first ran into techno. He seemed confused and skeptical.

You both found eachothers love for potatoes. You set up camp quote close to techno but not too close.

Phil popped in when he needed something for a build and noticed a new name. Talked to you in chat and asked to join your VC. You both found each other talking for a bit.

Wilbur was next. Wilbur got curious over the new person and just hoppedinto the same VC as you techno and phil. He was quick to realize that you were a famous youtuber. Mainly for your horror videos and your extreme Parkcore skills.

In minecraft that is.

Tommy noticing that all of you were in the same VC joined in with shouting. He was low key jealous that everyone was obsessed with you. Then he saw why.

You literally cracked jokes at his shouting.

"Is that an angry pomeranian? Nah nah. It's an angry child. Even better an angry blonde!" - you.

He was shocked and immediately started joking and laughing with you. He wasn't fully angry for long.

Now about your diet. When they heard that you had only eaten ramen and drank angry drinks they were concerned. You lived quite close to techno so when you guys met up he was shocked that you looked as healthy as you did.

He hated the fact that you literally didn't eat anything else.

You told him occasionally you have something other then ramen but you were just too lazy to really cook anything and that you didn't feel like burning the house down.

One month phil, tommy, wilbur, and techno decided to organize a month long sleep over so that they could celebrate your birthday. Phil being quote the father figure cooked different, but easy dinners every night just so you didn't eat only ramen that day.

When they actually arrived though you got a text from Phil asking about your address in your dms. Not think much of it you just sent him your location.

You were going to take a small nap. Just to bost your energy before you went and streamed later that night.

As you were sleeping there was a car heading to your house.

Phil, wilbur, tommy, and techno were all just existing in the car. And when they arrived to your house they didn't expect to actually see a clean house.

You woke to a loud knock.

When you opened the door in your half dazed state you expected a package. But to see four people standing on your porch.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

You were stuck there blinking at them.

Finally snapping out of it you let them in. Confused on why in the ever loving fuck they were here.

Phil explained they were here to celebrate your 21st birthday and they were here for a month.

You stared at them for a while. Confused on what to do since you haven't had people over in almost 2 years.

But you got use to it.

So when you got done streaming and smelled something other then ramen you were thrown off guard. Like what was that. I haven't smelled that in years.

But after the second day you got use to it too.

For your birthday phil literally made a feast.

Like he found your favorite food other then ramen and cooked it. With that he prepared everything you could dream of.

Your sleeping habits. Let's dig into those.

I'm in no place to talk as right now it's 3:05 in the morning. And here I am.

But when they are over they don't let you stay up till no 3-4 in the morning. They all know the importance of sleep.

But there are those nights where no once can sleep and it results in a late night stream. And streaming for hours none the less.

The amount of accidental all nighters everyone has pulled was immense. But that's what happens with jet lag, adhd, and insomnia.

Literally you get tired randomly. Sleep for only 3 hours. Wake up. Drink coffee, energy drinks, highly caffeinated tea. And don't sleep till late at night.

Pillow forts.

It's a must and it happens. Horror movies, pillow forts, and snacks. Like you all are in this massive fort, watching horror movies, one by one you all are falling asleep. You and techno were the last up due to technos active mind and your body not letting you sleep.

You two literally just vide there, changing the movies from horror to some silly animated movies, like how to train your dragon, frozen, Luca, and many others.

You two pull an all nighter and it's actually a bet to see how long anyone else takes to notice.

You bet an hour. Techno says all day.

You won. Philza notices the worse eye bags under both you and technos eyes and immediately starts scolding.

He is papa bird and he won't let anyone of his children neglect their needs.

"Did you even drink water at all? You guys should of been sleeping not binge watching horror movies all night!" -philza

You could only offer a smirk, along with a laugh.

"I think we did I just can't fully remember. Also we were watching animated films. Not horror. Surprised you didn't wake up to let it go." - you.

You turn to techno.

"You owe me 15 bucks pig boy!"-you again.

Handing you the money he rolls his eyes. "Yeha yeah. Rub it in." -techno.

Ah yeah they found a horror game that you were scared of surprisingly. It was actually surprisingly you hadn't played it yet.

Outlast.

You had been holding off that game until you finished your other one but here you were. Bored out of your mind.

So you decided fuck it.

That game teriffed the shit out of you. It was so good though.

When you screamed they all came rushing up due to the fact that you never scream.

They say you out of your chair, on the floor, blinking. They thought you were hurt.

But you sat up and looked at your computer.

"Damn. That was actually really good." When you looked behind you and found the boys all staring you smiled and waved.

"You need something?"-you

"You screamed. We heard a thud. We thought you fuckin died!" -tommy.

"No I'm alive. My soul almost divorced my body but it's still quite here."-you

That day made highlights.

The popular y/n actually got jump scared. The one person who never screamed at horror games screamed.

When they left you were sad yes but they were still your best friends. Ready to talk when ever you want.

Sometimes I think that you guys talk all through out the night. Them forgetting that you were actually in a different time zone.

Sometimes they pop into your streams, be it MC, horror, you just talking to your fans, or even the once in the blue moon, cheerful games.

They just pop in and start talking to you. And you talk back like they were there since the beginning.

Phil is now one of your moderators too. Along with tommy, wilbur, and techno. When they pop in they make sure no one picks on you.

And since you are now close to the SBI. You are now part of it.

You didn't choose the fans did. But they are your new family. No matter what.

Even if they disagree with your eating habit.

Or energy drink addiction.

Or insomnia.

Or you mainly playing horror games.

Or you basically living in your streaming room.

Or even the nearly 24 hour streams.

I could go on but I'm not gonna.

I'm tired. But I can sleep. 2 days and I get to have a tour of my new school.

And it took so long to finally get into it.

We have been going through a huge hassle even before school started to get me enrolled.

And then we had to get me into this program.

But now on Monday I get to go in. Get a tour. Then start either Tuesday or Wednesday.

Anyway hope you liked. It's now 3:50 and it's no proof read I'm sorry

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runeterrankhaleesi · 3 years ago

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hi! can i please get a matchup for league or valorant? i'd like to be matched with a guy, i'm a 5'3 nonbinary person who leans more towards being more masc, and some of my main interests are art and dance. i’m also chinese and trying to relearn some of my heritage/ the language! i would prefer to date someone else who’s also a person of color/not white so we could like share cultures and traditions and just relate to each other more. generally i think i’m a pretty funny person, i have a dry sense of humor usually and i also laugh at a lot of things.

i also have adhd so sometimes i’m all over the place but usually focus my energy on multitasking almost everyday. i’m pretty snarky/sassy and have a lot to say. usually though i go through some depressive episodes since i have bipolar/depression and i also have been through some stuff in the past that was traumatizing/unfair so i’ve been recovering from it for a few years. i would say that i’m pretty hardened by life and i know that life isn’t always fair and it’s just something i’ve come to accept. i think to me it would be super important that my s/o has been through some similar hardships as me, or at least is able to understand what i’m going through and support me especially since in the past i’ve had people do more harm than good.

i guess i would say my type are other people who are also hiding some sadness so we can like, mutually support each other, or people that are like the opposite of me that can lift me up. i can also be a bit impulsive sometimes and outspoken, and i’m also really stubborn and do what i think is the right thing to do. I would say i’m a pretty smart person when it comes to survival or whatever because i’m usually paranoid about things so i just follow my gut instincts. i love animals a lot, especially cats, and i also love spicy food, so much to the point my friends sometimes call me a masochist as a joke lmao. always drenching my food in hot sauce. generally i also am a pretty loud person, i’m clumsy and i bump into things and i have trouble keeping quiet. lastly, i’m also really really affectionate with my s/o, i would cling to them like a koala whenever possible. I looooove physical affection and i’m also touchstarved as HELL. thank you so much for doing this!

[A/N: Hello darling! Me and my matchmaker made your LMMU request for LoL because you gave us so much information that we found that you were perfect for one of the champions so we hope you like this. Thank you!]

I pair you with...

AKSHAN!

Why? Because...

Akshan aims to be "a jack of all trades" so he does everything he can to learn a little bit about everything, and that includes learning about art, dance, culture and etc. He would bring books back home to read during his free time, he'd also bring a couple of books for you if the topic is something you like or it's something he thinks you'll be interested in.

He grew up as an orphan in the streets of Marwi, Shurima. His only family is his late mentor, Shadya. Naturally, he grew curious and went to try and find his parents while looking for the killer of Shadya. It's a shame that he can't tell you anything about his family since all he knew was how to be a sentinel of light. But he would tell you anything about the history, culture, and traditions of Shurima and would bring you to every festival the country holds. You'd exchange jokes and laugh the whole time (Akshan has more of a "bad pun" type of humor).

And just like you, Akshan has gone through quite a lot, especially his near-death experience as a kid. He could never forget that and he could never ever forget how his mentor, Shadya, used the Absolver to resurrect him. Not to mention, the recent events of the Ruination has left him tired, depressed, and scarred. You'd help out each other through the trauma you've felt in your lives and comfort each other through tough times.

Even though you're smart and have great survival insticts, Akshan always makes sure to look out for you. He knows that you can take care of yourself but it wouldn't hurt to be careful, he doesn't want to lose another special person in his life. He's already lost one-his only parent figure-because of a mistake he made.

Since you both like animals, it didn't take long for you two to adopt a pet-a cat. Snuggling and petting the cat after a long day just takes off the stress and weight you've been carrying all day.

He's also a fan of spicy foods. What do you expect, he grew up in Shurima! You'd hold mini competitions and see who has the better and higher spice tolerance. It's funny since both of you are on the same level, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.

Don't worry, he doesn't mind you being loud. He thinks it makes you more fun, friendly, and easy to hang out with. You're not boring like Lucian who's face is always brooding, unless Senna's there.

Definitely calls you "koala bear" because you cling to him like a koala would to a tree. Finds it cute that you can't go on a day without getting a kiss or some type of affection from him. And loves the fact that you welcome him home with open arms. The thought of going home to you is what keeps him going during missions, thinking that it'll all be over soon and he could finally cuddle you and smother you in kisses.

💝~Happy Valentines Day!~💝

[You were matched together by @mellonzinho]

#runeterrankhaleesi #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #lol #league of legends #akshan #LMMU #love month match up

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kirksfattitties · 4 years ago

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asks you can smell the privilege and internalized ableism radiate from

(tw for ableism and other bigoted implications)

i’m bad at reading tone but even i understand that this is 100% you being condescending and trying to cover it up with smiley faces and false sincerity. and i don’t appreciate that.

before i get into deconstructing your shitty ableist argument, i want to explain the reasons i believe in self diagnosis (self-dx):

even professional diagnosis doesn’t start with a doctor diagnosing you. there has to be a reason for seeing the doctor. some people see a doctor in their adult life because they’re struggling, some people are taken by their parents, some people are referred or suggested that they see a specialist. whatever it is, you don’t just see a doctor and they magically give you a neurodivergency. people have neurodivergencies before they see doctors and even if they NEVER see a doctor.

the psychiatry system is flawed in MANY ways and to say that it isn’t means you’re denying the experiences of people with less privledge than yourself. also like psychiatry isn’t gonna suck your dick. you don’t have to be a bootlicker lol

in many places (hi hello i’m from america where our government tries to indirectly kill us by not providing us with adequate healthcare! i and many other people have many issues we can’t get fixed because simply our government cares more about the economy than us), seeing a psychiatrist or a therapist or going to a mental hospital or WHATEVER is INCREDIBLY expensive. and to assume that everyone has access and enough time/money/energy/transportation/whatever to do all of that is classist and elitist.

ANYTHING medical (including mental health) is biased towards white cis men. most studies are done on white cis men/boys. because of this, people who aren’t white cis men (or people who aren’t perceived as white cis men) are often not diagnosed. the system is racist. the system is sexist. the system is transphobic. people don’t know how to diagnose autism or adhd or personality disorders or other neurodivergencies or even mental illnesses in black people and other people of color, in women, in trans people, etc. and GOD FORBID someone be in multiple (or all) of those categories. saying “just go get diagnosed :)” is a privileged statement to make.

shocker! the psychiatry system is also ableist. if you’re already diasabled (whether it be mental or physical) and you see a doctor about ANOTHER disability? the doctor is most likely going to shoot you down. or at least be weary about someone having mutliple disabilities.

also most people who diagnose are neurotypical. they have never and will probably never experience neurodivergency so they can never fully understand it. they operate off of stereotypes of neurodivergent people and usually only stereotypical behavior of neurodivergent white cis men (which, as i mentioned before, is problematic for anyone who isn’t a white cis man). neurotypical diagnosers don’t know the neurodivergent culture and aren’t trained to recognize very common things (like masking for example).

a professional diagnosis can also be weaponized. not everyone can get a professional diagnosis because there are some neurodivergencies (such as autism and personality disorders) and mental illnesses (like depression) that can have legal and medical respercussions to have in your record. trans people can be denied medical and legal transition for being professionally diagnosed. people can lose custody battles for being professionally diagnosed. a professional diagnosis can be used as justification for taking away someone’s body autonomy (especially if that person is also physically disabled).

a LOT of neurodivergencies also have some type of symptom (or symptoms) that make it difficult to interact with people. troubles recognizing facial expressions, troubles understanding certain phrases and types of speech, paranoid about people, audio processing issues, being nonverbal in an environment that doesn’t accommodate for it, overstimulation, extreme social anxiety, discomfort in new situations, problems with eye contact, and a lot more. because like. for many nd people, interacting with people is very difficult and stressful. and hey. if you want to get a professional diagnosis? take a WILD guess what you have to do? FUCKING INTERACT with people! LIKE?? JEHDJJDKEKKDKDKDS. do you know how many professionally diagnosed nd people i know who made their appointment COMPLETELY on their own without help from a parent or family member or friend? LITERALLY ZERO! and i know A FEW nd people who have professional diagnoses! so if someone has social issues that prevent them from doing tasks like calling and making an appointment, showing up for an appointment, talking during the appointment, etc and ALSO doesn’t have familial or friend support (because newsflash! people who are friends/family of disabled people can still be ableist)? almost impossible to get a diagnosis! plus, the diagnosis process is TIME CONSUMING. not everyone can focus on a task for that long and not everyone can miss work/school for that long.

so those are the reasons i support self-dx. (although there’s probably more that i’m forgetting but i have adhd and it’s hard for me to remember things!)

so hopefully you now understand my reasons for believing in self-dx, and perhaps even you’re pro-self-dx now because before you were just uneducated on these issues and how they impact people who aren’t you.

but in case you’re still anti-self-dx and probably hate already-marginalized neurodivergent people, let’s talk about this horrendous ask (series of asks, actually) that i got sent. i feel like i can feel the self hatred and internalized ableism OOZING from this ask and into my inbox, so thanks for that i guess /s

“Sometimes people who self diagnose can take away from those who are actually nd, even sometimes from themselves.”

starting out strong with the ableism on this one by separating people into “self diagnosed” and “actually nd” people. self diagnosed people ARE actually nd

there’s not a limited number of nd resources. this isn’t a math equation of only x amount of people can be nd because there’s only y amount of resources. more people realizing they’re nd will actually MAKE more resources for nd people and will bring more awareness to being nd

even IF someone self diagnosed, and they go back on it later, what harm was done? they learned some coping mechanisms? they made some nd friends? neither of those are problematic and i think they’re both actually very helpful. i think nt people SHOULD learn more about nd people and stuff because i think that will lead to WAYYY less misunderstandings and WAYYYY less ableism

“There are many people who fake nds for attention,”

hey anon, what fucking world do you live in that nd’s are cool enough to fake having? because i would LOVE to live there. like, i literally had a post about my personality disorder (which i will not be specifying) i had to delete because people were sending my anons about how i was “scary” and “threatening” now that they knew i had the personality disorder i have. last year i left a discord server because the ableism i was recieving from not only the members of the server, but the mods as well. there are very few people i know irl who i tell about my personality disorder, but when i tell people about my adhd, they start treating me different. they infantalize me and make fun of me and use “jokes” about stereotypical adhd behaviors to alienate me and they even TELL OTHER PEOPLE without my permission. i was SEVERELY bullied throughout elementary and middle school for being nd. i have been refused job and educational opportunities as well as literal medical attention for being nd. people aren’t “faking” being nd, and if they were they probably wouldn’t be doing it for long because it’s not something that’s EASY to deal with.

kinda ironic that you’re saying people can’t diagnose themselves but that YOU can tell when someone is faking their diagnosis. that’s both hypocritical and a double standard.

masking exists. if you think someone isn’t “acting nd enough” they’re probably masking because they’ve been fucking bullied and harrassed. also you’re probably basing whatever you think nd is on stereotypes. not every nd person is sheldon cooper lol.

this is a side note but can we talk about how you’re literally just taking transmed rhetoric and molding it to fit nd people? like. you really come onto MY NONBINARY NEURODIVERGENT blog and expect me to validate your recycled “but what about the REAL [insert group] people?” ??? like grow up, elitist. you’re not better than anyone else just because you lick some boots 🥾 👅

“and claiming that self diagnosis (and this is just what I interpreted) is just as valid as professional diagnosis”

it is 😌

the only difference between self diagnosis and professional diagnosis is that a professional diagnosis can also get you medicine. not every neurodivergency needs meds and not every neurodivergency can be treated (at this time or even ever). for example, my pd (self diagnosed) doesn’t have a specific treatment but multiple symptoms of the pd (all professionally diagnosed) have specific treatments and medicines that work, so patients are given/diagnosed with/prescribed those instead. also, medicine doesn’t work for everyone! and sometimes people are allergic to or take medicines that will conflict with any new medicine.

“can really devalue the account of someone who actually has a disorder”

here we go again with that “self diagnosed” vs “actually nd” bullshit. literally just say you hate poor people n minorities and leave lol

someone having a different experience than you isn’t devaluing you, but if you’re the one who always has the spotlight maybe you should use your privledge uplift other marginalized people instead of feeling angry when everything isn’t all about you 100% of the time

“I have a second ask”

i don’t want it

“Plus it can be damaging for a person if they self diagnose wrong.”

how? what if they learn information that they wouldn’t’ve otherwise known like coping mechanisms that help them with their own neurodivergencies? that’s definitely not a bad thing

i think it’s funny that you bring up that people can self diagnose wrong and don’t even MENTION that doctors can diagnose wrong. like. you know. the people who GIVE OUT MEDICINE to people. i think it’s MUCH more dangerous when a PROFESSIONAL diagnosis is wrong. what are self-dx people with wrong diagnoses gonna do? read up on nd tips? maybe smoke some weed? drink some coffee? that’s about all they can do with a self-dx. but if a MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL gives you an INCORRECT diagnosis, they can ACTUALLY fuck you up.

“I was recently diagnosed with PTSD, a disorder which I would have never considered I’d have.”

that’s great about your professional diagnosis! i don’t know you but i’m glad you’re finding out about yourself and getting the help you want and/or need /srs

sorry if this sounds blunt, but honestly i’m not surprised you never considered you could have PTSD. based on your asks, you sound like you have a lot of internalized ableism you need to work through and a lot more research about neurodiversity you need to do. being anti-self diagnosis is a common belief among a lot of people with internalized ableism and a lot of these same people are the ones who have no issue with and even SUPPORT auti$m $peaks. many nd organizations that are run BY nd people (like asan) actually support self-dx.

“If I had of diagnosed my own symptoms and then started treating myself or taking precautions based on my self diagnosed "condition", it could of really hurt me.”

how? taking precautions to preserve your mental health is NEVER a bad idea. i’m not ptsd, but someone i care deeply about DOES have ptsd and has shared a lot of the precautions and coping mechanisms for ptsd with me and honestly they’ve been incredibly helpful. it’s almost as if different neurodivergencies and/or mental illnesses have overlap and that’s why there’s a whole community for us to be able to share these resources and information with each other!

the same person was rejected a formal autism diagnosis because of their ptsd, plus the fact that they’re transgender and the fact they have symptoms of adhd. it’s not really my place to talk about their experience with professional diagnosis, but i’ll send this post to them and allow them to add on their experience in a rb if they’re comfortable with that. but it’s almost as if their experience with the professional diagnosis process was unhelpful, harmful, ableist, and transphobic 🧐 and unfortunately this is a pretty common experience

“Also, by self diagnosing, I devalue the account of a person with the disorder l assumed I had.”

how? if someone thinks they’re nd, they have a legitimate reason for thinking so. either they have another neurodivergency than the one they thought they had, or they’re neurotypical and need to figure themself out and have a need for support. either way, they learned more about the specific neurodivergency, more about the nd community, and more about themself. i don’t see how that’s a bad thing.

if you think self-diagnosed people’s experiences inherently have less value, that is straight up ableism. especially considering that other marginalized identities and minorities have trouble getting professional diagnoses, you might also be bigoted in some other way. or at the very least, refusing to acknowledge your privilege.

“only one more I promise”

i don’t want it

“I understand that doctors are expensive and professionals can get it wrong,”

okay. if you understand this, then dm me your information so i can bill you for the cost of my professional diagnoses, the cost for my therapy sessions, the cost for my medicine, and the cost for transportation to and from all these places. PLUS the cost of the work and school i’ll be missing for these sessions. 🤲

“but self diagnosis can be really harmful to yourself or others.”

nah, you’re just ableist and a gatekeeper lol

“If you feel like you have a disorder, go see a psychiatrist, you may have it.”

[remembers when i went to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with two major symptoms of a personality disorder and said i had other symptoms of the pd as well but refused to diagnose me with the actual personality disorder because i was a minor at the time and he told me “kids don’t have personalities so they can’t have personality disorders”. i understand being weary about diagnosing children with personality disorders because they aren’t fully developed but this dude straight up told me that i didn’t have a personality. this man literally only worked with children so that means he literally never diagnosed personality disorders. this man was literally just lazy and didn’t care about his patients. this man also refused to believe me when i told him the medicine he prescribed me made my symptoms worse and even made me hallucinate. he ignored me and refused to change my medicine so eventually i just changed psychiatrists and they put me on a new medicine that DIDNT make my symptoms worse and DIDNT make me hallucinate. also i looked it up after our session and apparently ONLY people with my pd and related ones experience hallucinations on that certain medication. it’s almost like his refusal to diagnose me and ignoring my symptoms/concerns harmed me. this man also constantly misgendered me and told me that homosexuality and transgenderism should’ve still been in the dsm. like golly, it’s almost as if being queer and neurodivergent in an extremely conservative state is harmful and dangerous. and that psychiatrists aren’t immune from being homophobic and transphobic and ableist.] but yes :) perhaps i should see another psychiatrist in this conservative state :)

“I don't want to undermine anyone's actual experiences, but it can be dangerous.”

then stop undermining people’s actual experiences :)

no ❤️

“If you feel like something's wrong, go see a professional.”

the whole point of the neurodiversity movement is that there IS no such thing as a “normal” brain, so saying that neurodivergent people have something “wrong” with them is ableist.

💰 🤲 hand it over

“I don't want to offend, I just don't want anyone to get mislead or hurt. :)”

you absolutely meant to offend. you literally said that self-diagnosed people’s experiences aren’t valid and have less value than people who have professional diagnoses

i know more people who have been (and personally have been) mislead and hurt by professionals than by simply existing as a self-diagnosed person

also i want to say that being pro-self dx is NOT being anti-professional/formal diagnosis. i think that people should absolutely get a professional diagnosis (if they are able to without negative repercussions)! being pro-self dx is more inclusive of marginalized people (like people of color, women, lgbtq+ people, people with multiple disabilities, etc). pro-self dx is simply just saying that professional diagnosis isn’t the only option

(neurotypical people and anti-self dx people don’t add anything; pro-self dx neurodivergent people are allowed to add with their experiences if they want)

#asks #long post #nd adventures #ableism tw #sexism tw #racism tw #transphobia tw #misgendering mention #medical abuse mention #not star trek #homophobia tw

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xanderwithanx · 3 years ago

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Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

#long post #diary entry

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sadsapphicslut · 4 years ago

Text

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.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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lifeinthegladhouse · 4 years ago

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long personal post apologies to anyone on mobile, just...scroll on by...

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There’s so many things............I wanted to achieve in 2020, which is I’m sure what everyone has said. Somehow I still think 2017 was worse, but .... I don’t know. I was really alone then. I almost lost both my parents, this year I was safe with a better job, good partner, and only lost one (at least I got to see her once in a decade to say goodbye)....ultimately this brought me to heathenism in a weird and roundabout way. It’s hard to know she was really walking around with this poorly depicted Viking nonsense ‘false odin’ with cerberus (why?) going on, lord, she would’ve hated left heathens BUT ALSO wasn’t even a pagan to begin with (so she says, but being a pentecostal and having psychosis, while this does not a pagan make, made for a quite magickal and brutal experience). my mother was a trickster entity in living flesh. at first, i learned into having guides for the first time. i wondered if it was a coping mechanism, but i shrugged, because it was not my intention to see the numbers repeating, or the ‘loki’ every..single..day..for a week... in the weirdest fucking places... it was not my intention to lose my best friends in this city (which is not my final destination, ha) because they were too busy having poly drama, to, idk, support their friend, and then ghosted me, or came up with some weird passive aggressive bullshit. it totally dominated my 2020 - the pandemic, then mom dying, then the deities, then the loss. my card of the year was the hermit, i thought that was such a joke considering the pandemic. how could that then apply to me more personally? I haven’t had time or space mentally to recount the beautiful parts of the year because we’ve been stuck inside, inside during riots, inside during west coast smoke hell, inside where the spiders are. astoria was beautiful. it was god given. i knew what was real was real that day. it’s been seven months since mom passed, and i know her spirit has contacted me. it has brought me closer to my own spirituality which was accidentally rampant chaos magick that i was unaware of - introduced to me by ten years of tricksters who I never quite recognized. at the altar, id pull cards, i began to learn runes, and id ask, “were you always there? was that the presence that was always there?” I don’t know, much of the paranoid presence I felt my whole life ended when mom died. so much ended. i still want to write about it. again and again. because i forget that it happened, i compressed it so far back. everyone walked away and all that remained was my partner and the unseen. i would get straight answers on the altar, but never for that question. i never understood, and still hardly do, why loki came - was it to console me after the passing of my mother? somehow a veil had been lifted and my already wack ass intuition became 25% greater, somehow i felt seen and heard by others. at first, i was scared... i had always gravitated unknowingly towards tricksters and mercurial beings, loki came during the week of L*ghnasadh, after I’d been reading abt the ACTUAL “mercury”/hermes.... it was as if to be like, oh, you’re looking to NAME US FINALLY? THIS ENERGY, HERE _______. I was a little sheepish of Odin because of the association..... and I never quite got an answer. Sometimes still, I am struggling to understand this deity, however many a time loud and clear he and Loki have responded within the half-hour, be it some really weird ultra-specific shit to crop up, flickering shit, popping, knocking over. I turn to him frequently as, the more I read, the more I trust... this understanding of inarticulatable parts of myself - when I read about odr I was thinking of what this could mean for me, especially as a trans person, and it moved me. when I think about knowledge, and loss... when I think of the underdog vying that Odin (and of course Loki) represent, it is always with grace and honor that I am glad to be In It. I struggle tho, cos no matter how viscerally real my experiences have been, and no matter how little I would ever wish to disrespect them by denying faith, as a human who has run far from christianity and is skeptical of everything, every day, I’m like, ‘how much can I lean into this? is this ‘weird’ or delusional? am i acting like a child?” but, ..... I have learned from many smart and creative folks of the same ilk that we are not alone and the passage of time cannot destroy old gods so easily, and I am honored to be called to that. 2020.....that is.....to me, the year of death and rebirth. it was the only parting gift mom could give me. as she died, I told her I knew the lord had brought me there. I knew we had made it JUST in time, by many many strokes of good ‘luck’, to see her off. the last day we saw her was the last day she’d ever seen both her children together in her life. of course, she probably hardly recognized me. and she loved my brother more. had spent less time with him. oh lord, she did look at me with burning eyes of distrust and hatred, but that was not her fault. she was so ill. god she was so ill. dad joked, after she died, ‘maybe she’ll finally be in valhalla’, he didnt know what that meant. mom was a ‘devout’ christian woman of “god”. she was no pagan. she did not serve odin. but 2 months later when I discovered them, I heard his words ringing in my head, and I had to laugh. It’s been so hard...losing the queer comrades I had with me because of ? what ? exactly ? I still dn’t know, watching someone I spent 3 years being ‘close’ to basically patronize me that she always had reservations about us, never let me in, or get closer, like real friends, .... id cry and cry thinking, why, did i lose the one figure who brought me into this world, who i never had, for ten years, who abandoned me and hated every ounce of my being, and to confront this NOW in the middle of a pandemic, where i have zero way to the outside world to cope, and then to be left behind AGAIN by SO MANY PEOPLE, i felt Loki’s comforting presence. I’m trying to focus on the future again, that’s what 2021 is giving me. the “year” label, “when mom died” is over. even if that event forever changed my life far beyond that of a normal passing (?) I mean, it’s never normal when a mom dies, much less a woman like her, have mercy, it’s over. 2021 is the “year when we move to los angeles” its the “year when i start a REAL band again instead of be a side piece for a woman who cant get real with herself and her drum machine”, the “year when maybe ill take my adhd meds and hrt” we’re suspended in a stasis, there are big ups and downs. in two weeks i quit my med of 2 years, because it’s causing harm and i actually dont technically need to be on it anymore. im scared and excited. i need the change. i need the CHOICE.

#personalposting #long post #im SO SORRY IF YR ON MOBILE AND SEE ALL THIS #whatever its my blog ill write if i want to

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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I got several of over-the-years High School bullies Expelled, and the Principal fired.

OK, So, For Backstory: This is several years ago now, back when I was still in High School, living a HELL of a life in the bad sense. I had no friends, no support, nothing a kid in school really wanted. It was an international school in Germany, so it was full of entitled and elitist kids, which just made it worse. On top of that, I was being bullied by several people in my year, as well as a few from the year above me. Now, I'm a big, tough gal on the outside, 6' 3" tall and built like a fucking tree, but safety comes in numbers, and I wasn't violent, I just looked the part, so they abused that.

I was bullied daily for being too big, not looking good, being erratic (due to my ADHD), and several things I had done when I was much, much younger (like once biting a kid in self-defense, and using my thumb to bite on during times of stress which looked like suckling). I was also ostracized from pretty much all schoolyard activities, lunch groups, clubs, and anything else where people congregated. I lived life on the fringe of my school, but I eventually got comfortable with that, and made it my lot in this part of life to be alone, and to not expect or depend on friendships.

Now, One day, I realized people were actually talking to me, and acting like I was their friend or something, even though none of these people had ever said anything nice to me in my life, nor had I ever spoken to them before, so there was no reason we would be friends. I, being the guarded, paranoid teen I was, just kind of played it off awkwardly, and went about my business.

This went on for about 3-4 weeks, until I was cornered outside in the school yard, sitting by a tree, reading a book, by a guy from a year above me. I still remember the conversation that ocurred to this day, as I do the others, so I'll be writing them down for extra detail. Bully: "So, why the hell are you ignoring me?" Me: "Because I don't like you, have never liked you, and we don't even know eachother beyond you bullying me in previous years." Bully: "But that's in the past, so it doesn't matter, right? Why won't you just accept me, and stop ignoring me?" Now, being the lone, socially awkward girl that I was, I thought this dude was asking me out, and I fucking PANICKED that he was trying to force me into a relationship with him, so I closed my book and got up. He was taller than me, so that wasn't too easy. Me: "Accept you!? Are you fucking nuts? No, no fucking way, Uh Uh, I'm not dating you." Bully: "What? Dating? What are you talking about? I meant my friend request on (Let's call it Friends as English for the German Freunde, which was a social network site that I had never been on, and never would be)." So now, I just looked at him confused, and shook my head at that, but, being paranoid, I also said: "I didn't get that yet." To which he replied. "Oh, I'll send it to you again, then. Sorry." And then he just... walked off nonchalantly, like he didn't just corner me against a fucking tree in public. There was some people around, staring at me with wide eyes, and I printed all their faces into my brain.

Fast forward about a week, in which this same thing kept happening with several of my bullies and people I had never so much as known to even EXIST, simply because I never shared any of my classes with them. I grew more and more paranoid as time went by, until finally, I decided to look at the website to see what the fuck was going on. And THERE I WAS, at least, a profile for me was. There was school pictures in it, pictures that had been taken during class trips, pictures that my PARENTS had had on their facebook accounts, of me, with everyone else cropped out. There was my age, my height, my name, but no birth date or anything else. My heart dropped into my fucking shoes, I was destroyed... but then, there was a spark of revenge coming on.

See, I knew who the people that had started badgering me about this profile were. I knew which of my bullies at the time were most active on the social media platform. I knew the people they hung out with and called Their friends (I Was a very, very observant teenager due to always having to be on guard). So, I started compiling a list of all the pictures that had been pulled from social media, and otherwise been placed without my prior knowledge, with my dad, who did photoediting to make his nature photography really stand out, as well as him knowing a good bit of computer stuff.

I worked with him for two weeks to put everything together with time stamps and all. I didn't go to the counsellor, whom I had a terrible relationship with, since he had, on several occasions, told me to simply "forget that I was being bullied", and instead took it straight to my schools principal, a man who has publicly said, to my face, that "Maybe I should fail myself for the year, because I obviously wasn't cut out for this yet" (I had serious issues following a lot of classes because I was being attacked in them sometimes, and I didn't do homework which was a part of one's grades, because I just couldn't bring school home due to the stress it caused.)

The Principal LAUGHED IT OFF as a harmless prank. My identity being stolen and used on social media was harmless. He said this to my face, WITH my dad present in the room with us. While I sat there in stunned silence, my dad went on a rant that an identity being stolen wasn't 'harmless', and that this was no way a school's Principal should be reacting to news about a pupil's distress about that fact. The principal went on to say that if it bothered us that much, we could just MOVE SCHOOLS. This was the only international school even remotely close to where we lived at the time, with the next nearest one being AT LEAST a two hour round trip commute, so he would have known that moving wasn't an option, he just didn't care.

Me and my dad left the meeting, with my dad looking very angry, and with me feeling weak and defeated. Then my dad said: "Do you know who is behind this?" I told him I didn't know exactly, all I knew was the people who had badgered me about it first, and the people they were friends with. Then, my dad suggested we go to the police, and me being the angsty, terrified high schooler, was terrified at the thought, but at the same time, I wanted this to end, so I agreed.

Turns out that meticulously piled picture evidence of pictures I never made, nor wanted to be made, nor wanted to be posted, along with my vehement testimony that I never made nor wanted that profile, was enough for the chief of the station that we were at to be able to consider actually beginning to investigate into the identity fraud case. The testimony of my father against my principal was also enough to have the police work together with the School's Administrative Board to investigate the Principal for negligence.

I helped the Police with frequent descriptions of people who'd haunted me about it, and about the several smaller things I had heard the principal say, as well as what he'd said to my face on several earlier occasions (The "isn't fit for this school" statement.) I was relishing this ability to finally speak out about the things that I had felt, the things that had been said, the things that had been done, and was going into full, complete detail of EVERYTHING that my bullies had ever done even before this identity fraud thing. Somehow, this seemed to spur the investigating officer to look deeper, even pull in a cyber consultant to start tracking who made the account.

Cue two more weeks later. The person who first approached me, a guy who I share my Second Language English class with, comes up to me, and, in this barely sarcastic tone, asks me why I stopped being active on the Friends website. I told him I'd never been active there, and he walked a little too close. "Oh come on, you've been talking to people for weeks, and then a few days ago, you just stopped. What gives?" This set off all the alarm bells in my head. I told him the same thing again, that I'd never been active on the site, nor that I'd ever wanted to be, and left, elbowing my way past him as he tried moving closer to block my path.

Several days later, I'm called into the Director's office, over the school's intercom system. I call my dad on the way there, and he tells me he's already there. I walk there, dreading what was going on. Once I got there, this is what I saw inside: My dad, standing next to a police officer. The Director sitting at his desk. The Principal was infront of the desk, looking smug as all hell. Three kids, and their parents, were also in the room. One of the moms look like she was about to murder someone, one dad looked very defeated, and another mom looked super smug. I realized this was a Disciplinary meeting, and smiled. The Police Officer looked at the Director, who then looked at my dad, who gave a nod to me.

I was asked to tell my whole story again. I told all the stuff I said about the others here, the account online, the bullying, and the Principal's repeated telling me to my face that I wasn't fit to be in that school. The Police officer then talked about how there was evidence that these three kids had worked together to fabricate the account, and that the parents stood to being charged with negligence, with the kids standing to be tried as minors for identity theft, if I were to press charges. The Smug mom then tried to leverage me by observing that the kids had been nicer to me because of it, and that I should let them be kids. The principal just kind of... sat there, defeated, and was subsequently fired, and told to vacate his office, and the premises. My dad wanted to say something to the mom, but I beat him to it. I still remember the glee in my heart: "Well, I would also like to be a kid who's likeness isn't used online without me knowing, or wanting it there. I would like to not have to fear for my own life and people's thoughts of me, but you don't care about that, so why should I listen to you?" I then turned to the Police officer, and said that we wanted to press charges. More Police officers came in, and the parents and kids were taken away.

I stayed at school, and some people actually looked at me like I was a hero after that, while some resented me forever after that. I have never one moment regretted sueing those people, and getting the principal fired... and to this day, it is one of my proudest moments.

(source) story by (/u/TheMiningKnight)

#prorevenge #by /u/TheMiningKnight #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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getoutofthefire · 2 years ago

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*Sighs* I'm dealing with something recently from Priority Health Insurance. I sought a diagnosis for ADHD last year (which I did get) and I started CBT around the same time. My insurance covered telehealth visits, which is what my therapist and I do.

I was originally paying $10 per session once a week. That was more than fair, it was affordable and I could handle that. Suddenly in September, my copay went from $10 a session to suddenly $244.05 that I owed my therapist's office. I legit panicked and contacted my insurance company to figure out what was going on.

The lady I spoke with saw what I previously paid and what I was paying now and she assured me it was probably just a billing error and that she would send it to the claims department. Okay, that's fine. It happens.

Now the thing I would like to mention is that I would receive statements from my insurance company once a month in the mail, and it would have the last four sessions in it for me to look over.

Next month? Same thing. $244.05 for each session. I finally logged on to the website (I forget it exists) and looked at my statements and my previous bills *were not fixed*. Called again, given the same answer, and my claims were sent to the claims department, and I was assured it would be resolved.

As the weeks passed I got paranoid. I set reminders on my phone to check again at the beginning of November to see if it was indeed fixed and to see if one of my more recent therapy sessions would show up there. On 11/07/22 I found the statements are not fixed, and my newest session with my therapist is showing the same $244.05.

I called, again, and got a hold of someone that was much more sympathetic about my concerns and fears. She said she would go ahead and sent it to the claims department but she was going to ask them what exactly was going on and why my bills suddenly got changed.

I honestly didn't expect a follow-up. But the following Monday, 11/14/22 I get a call that I sent to voicemail (I didn't recognize the number), but I noticed there was a voicemail left and I decided to listen in. About 10 minutes before my therapy session.

It was the same lady from the week prior. I could tell that despite her trying to stay professional in the voicemail that she was actually upset. She told me that the claims department said that I had been billed incorrectly from the start and that my therapist was not covered under the network (despite the referral sent). I was given no warning nor notification that there was a mistake and that what I was being charged would change. Nothing. No notice in the mail, no email or phone call. They just straight up just went: "Oh lol oops, you were supposed to pay more from the start, here, we'll fix that and not tell you, you just got to deal with it!"

Of course, getting on the zoom call with my therapist I was in *tears*. I explained to her everything that happened. Rather than a therapy session she and I sat together and tried to work out my next steps. She helpfully sent an email of questions I should ask my insurance company, such if her practice can be covered if they filled out anything. And if so, can my previous bills be billed to the insurance company retrospectively so I don't owe so much.

She also got me in touch with her billing team so I could set up a payment plan if that fell through and there was nothing that can be done, or if I can fill out a hardship form since I have been with them for a year now.

I've heard nothing so far from my insurance company. My therapist and I made plans that if I got no answer by Friday we would cancel my next session to avoid me being billed more.

I made an appointment next week with an insurance agent so I can find an insurance company that will cover my therapy sessions and switch while open enrollment is still in effect. It doesn't change the fact that I have, at my best estimate, $2196.45 that I owe because of my disgusting insurance company.

I have anxiety, depression, complex trauma, PTSD, and ADHD.

The American health system makes it nearly impossible for people like myself to afford therapy, medication, and treatment. My ADHD medication will run out at the end of this year, I can only hope I find affordable insurance that will allow me to keep getting treatment but I am not holding out much hope.

Our health system profits off of us. It makes us choose to get treatment and be in debt, or not get treatment to avoid debt. They don't care about us, just what they can make off of us.

It's sick.

Our system is broken. It is cruel. It is dehumanizing, degrading, and it’s vile nature is so, so unnecessary.

We need universal healthcare today in America. We needed it 40 years ago. It’s cheaper, it’s simpler, it’s more efficient, it’s more effective and it is so, so, so much less cruel than what we have.

Additional sources/references:

Universal Healthcare Cost in America would be cheaper by trillions of dollars

The US has worse life expectancies than socialized healthcare countries

We have worse generalized healthcare results

We have the most expensive care

Our system is so cruel and unique that doctors from other countries literally can’t believe what happens here

I can’t tell you where or how to activate to help solve this. There are politicians, groups, and activists pushing for this in so many ways. I can tell you when, though.

Now.

#important #american healthcare #american health insurance #Priority Health Insurance #avoid priority health if you live in Michigan

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shamelesslymkp · 5 years ago

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my parents aren't being malicious when they do this shit, it's clearly a mix of learned/modeled behavior and adhd brains and whatever the fuck kind of ND my mom is, but it still hurts and is infuriating and like yeah, we're adults now, but also i'm the kid calling her best friend's mom because the library closed 20 minutes ago, the librarian won't leave a ten-year-old by herself, and neither of her parents are picking up the phone.

[feelings/trauma vomit below the cut, like seriously warning it's 1st person present tense]

[[MORE]]

i'm the kid gathering my brothers into the spare room at church after the service ended and nobody came to get us, dialing and redialing until i finally get a hold of one of them because apparently they'd both forgotten or thought the other one was coming to get us.

i'm the teen coming home to find out my dad's left. the teen getting woken up and hurried into my mom's car while my mom and dad say sharp biting things i don't quite hear, the one sitting next to my mom as she drives erratically, voice tight and sharp and a little frantic, a little paranoid, telling me i can't see my dad again, not till she talks to a lawyer, not until she knows he can't take us away.

i'm home from college and my brother nearly died a few months ago from the immune disorder he's developed, and i've only found out because of a throwaway comment that made me ask.

i'm graduating from college and my mom has a scar on her head because she at some point recently had brain surgery, i still don't know for what.

my dad's in geneva. the hague. some other country halfway across the world. he left last week and will be back mid next.

my mom's asking why i haven't visited gma yet and that's when i find out she's back in virginia.

on and on and on.

my parents forget about the tooth fairy. i replace my brother's tooth with a quarter. i wake my dad up to remind him about sinter klaas. i hide the easter eggs the year mom forgets. i'm in hs and i'm waking my dad up so he can drive my brothers to school. waking my dad up again because he fell back asleep. i'm in middle school and i'm standing next to my brothers' beds with my hands on my hips, refusing to leave them alone until they are actually out of bed and getting dressed. i'm dialing their numbers again and again and my baby brother's finger is bleeding and they're not answering and how do you tell if someone needs stitches, what do i do if he does and he's still bleeding and so i call 911 and they come and put a goddamn bandaid on him and my parents are mad i called 911 instead of them because ambulances are expensive except i DID call and neither of them answered

it's finding out a tradition's been cancelled after the fact. it's waking up on a weekend to a completely empty house with no note left behind to indicate where anyone went or even if they did, because maybe they don't even really exist or maybe they did and have suddenly stopped

it's always feeling out of the loop. it's my mother screening her calls. it's me getting yelled at for not picking up or replying to a text when i have to call my brother's cell in order to get a hold of one of them because nobody else in this family reliably answers their goddamn phone.

it's not knowing where they went, when they're coming back, why they're not picking up their phones. it's not knowing i was supposed to clean the kitchen, that i'm needed to watch my brothers, that my mom has a doctor's appointment.

it's not knowing if they're right and they did tell me, if i just forgot, if if if if if.

my therapist said a few sessions back that when i talked about my childhood she heard the words of someone who'd spent a lot of their early life in fear.

i . don't want her to be right.

#just talk to your therapist mkp #no seriously you may want to skip this one #it's a litany of semi-related trauma #so much trauma

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ariesfm-blog · 5 years ago

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hi ! my name is link ! i go by he / they pronouns , am 21+ & live in the cst timezone ! i’m an obnoxious aries & this is my idiot , max , who also happens to be an obnoxious aries because i believe in writing what i know JHGKFDLHLF . i’m really excited to be here , because plotless slice of life rps are my thing & i’m excited to get to know all of you & write with you !!! under the cut you’ll find misc. info & some wanted connections , but here are links to his stats page & his pinterest board , which hopefully will give you some extra insight . feel free to like this if you’d like to plot .but if you wanna plot on d*scord ( which is easier for me ) you can add me @ demogorgon ramsay#0039 !

( johnny seo, cismale, he/him ) who is that ? oh, it’s just MAXWELL “MAX” BAE the TWENTY-FOUR year old has been in beauhart for HIS WHOLE LIFE and is currently a BARTENDER. i’ve heard they can be CONFIDENT and HONEST, but also IMPATIENT and BRASH. maybe that’s why their anthem is SANCTUARY by JOJI and CAFFEINE JITTERS, DIRTY CONVERSE PAIRED WITH ALIEN SOCKS, PHONE NUMBERS WRITTEN ON NAPKINS makes me think of them.

misc. info : ( cw : mentions of death & drug use )

his mother died giving birth to him. though he doesn’t remember her ( obviously ) he still holds a bit of guilt & think it’s his fault that she died. but his dad is always quick to snuff that line of thought & holds absolutely no ill will towards max about it

all he’s ever heard is good things about her so he loves her or the idea of her really. he likes to imagine himself in the stories people tell him about her & it’s a comfort to him. it makes him feel like he kind of grew up with her even though he never got to meet her

his dad is a sweet person. full of laughs & kindness. also bad jokes ( this is where max gets his own humor from ). he’s the kind of dad that people wish for. he’s always been supportive of max no matter what & he listens to him whenever he needs it

when they were little they played catch & watched yu-gi-oh together. max still has all his yu-gi-oh cards stuffed in his closet somewhere. now they’re more likely to sit on his dad’s front porch & drink together while listening to music

his dad has never dated or remarried after his wife died because that was his soulmate & he doesn’t want to settle for anyone else & his dad has always told max to find that one person for him

max was miserable in school. he wasn’t good at it & none of it made any sense to him. so he struggled in graduating high school. & he tried college but he couldn’t stand it so he dropped out thankfully with no negative feedback from his dad

he’s kind of anxious & fidgety so it’s hard for him to pay attention ( anxiety & adhd nation make some noise !!! ) but if he gets focused on a project he’ll ignore his need to eat or anything else to work on it

he picked up making drinks from his dad at a young age ( imagine a twelve year old making cocktails that’s basically how it was ) & is really good at it so naturally he became a bartender. it’s not his dream job per se but he enjoys it a lot & makes good tips from it so he has no complaints about it

basically he’s pretty happy-go-lucky but he’s also an idiot & annoying about it. he can seem friendly enough at first but once you get close to him he’ll turn up that aries personality & get on your nerves ( but he’s also like a leech & will stick to you )

he’s really into aliens. he even has a ufo tattoo ! he will fight with anyone who doesn’t believe in them ( or cryptids or the supernatural in general ). the x-files is his favorite show & he wishes to be fox mulder every day of his life. he’s also a diehard boogara

he’s a big conspiracy theorist. he believes in lizard people, the illuminati & that queen elizabeth is a cannibal & that’s how she’s stayed alive for so long. he’s very paranoid about stuff. he’s one of those people who read the terms & conditions on everything so that he doesn’t agree to some company stealing his dna & selling it on the dark web. he also refuses to pick up the phone because he thinks the government is listening in on them ( he only makes calls when he’s high & out of it )

& he loves true crime. he’s always listening to true crime podcasts & watching true crime docs

he loves energy drinks & coffee. he drinks them so much that he’s shaking about 75% of the day but he never listens when people tell him he’s gonna get a heart attack

he’s messy. his apartment is messy. his hair is messy. his entire energy is just messy. but he thinks his personality makes up for it

he can kinda cook but honestly he’s lazy & just prefers to order in food 95% of the time. also he has a bad habit of forgetting stuff like he’ll turn the oven on then get distracted then wonder what the weird smell in his place is

for the most part he’s nice but he does participate in “friendly” dragging. if you’re friends he will clown you & sometimes he can hurt someone’s feelings even when he doesn’t mean to ( more than likely he will not apologize for it he’ll just ignore it til the other person gets over it hopefully )

always losing his headphones. he settles for those crappy $5 earbuds that you find at dollar stores so he won’t feel bad for losing them anymore. honestly he loses everything. who knows how many sets of keys he’s gone through

he’s super clumsy. always tripping, always running into stuff. he’s broken a million glasses at the bar

he’s pretty flirty, pretty charming. he uses it to his advantage at the bar, draws in customers in order to get tips & phone numbers

he’s a soft thot. he’s easy to sleep with but he’s kind & caring about all his partners

he’s a really good boyfriend & he falls in love easily, but he’s forgetful & accidentally negligent sometimes. like he’ll go days without responding to texts or checking up on people. he doesn’t mean to he just does

he loves pins, patches & colorful socks. everything he wears is covered in them. most of the things he wears aren’t even related to his interests because people just give them random things & he wears them anyway

he can never open jars his beefy arms are useless

a fan of punny humor. he’s the king of dad jokes

he’s that person who puts his legs up on the dash of the car or hangs them out the window

wishes he knew how to skateboard but doesn’t even know how to ride a bike

takes in random cats & dogs he finds on the street. sometimes he tries to find their owners & sometimes he doesn’t but it’s fine

he’s addicted to those edited audios that are like “( song ) but you’re listening to it in the bathroom at a party & you’re crying because you’re alone” & he’s obsessed with joji so of course those are his favorite

he’s one of those pansexuals who call themselves gay constantly

uses uwu in texts to be ironic & annoying. most of his words have w replacing certain letters to sound like a smol

he gets stoned at like three am & tries to call people & ask them stupid high people questions like “if two vegans fight is it still called beef”

he’s also never left beauheart or gone too far away. just a few cities at most. he has a bit of a stoner paranoia about it. like if he leaves the state something bad will happen to him or his dad or loved ones

he’s terrified of horror movies. especially ones with clowns. he refuses to watch them because he’s convinced that he’ll accidentally summon a demon or a ghost through osmosis or something JHGDLFKGHD

wanted connections :

rooommates ( one or two )

exes ( any gender. it can be messy or friendly. i’m willing to have max be the issue though with him it’ll always be baby issues since he’s nice & a tryhard JGHKFDHFKGFD )

hookups / fwbs ( any gender. singular experiences or regular type things )

childhood plots for those who’ve lived in beauheart ( childhood friends, first kisses / crushes, all that good stuff )

high school sweethearts

flirtationships that don’t go anywhere

one-sided crushes ( don’t mind who has the feelings ! )

mutual pining but they’re both idiots & have no idea

party buddies. conspiracy theory buddies. true crime buddies. any of these can be combined

tinder date ( it can go well or not )

frequent customers ( better yet, frequent customers that he flirts with. give me the cliche phone number on napkins plot)

maybe you don’t tip him for whatever reason & he’s had a bad day & he’s like “bro wtf”

teach him how to ride a bike KJFDHSLGJF

maybe you try to get him to leave beauheart & you have to deal with his crybaby ramblings about how something bad will happen

beef with him over the existence of supernatural things

be the person he calls at three am after eating too many edibles & deal with his stoned questions

try to make him watch a horror movie

for someone newer to town: be that person who makes a “your mom” joke & have to deal with that awkward “my mom’s dead” conversation

maybe he “accidentally” stole your cat or dog & you try to get it back but he doesn’t believe that it’s yours even though you clearly have proof

maybe you’re the person who always ends up finding the stuff he loses & you’re stuck in this constant act of returning & you’re tired of it

literally anything you can think of i’m probably down for it

#stories.intro #◟ * 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡! ⤿ ooc .

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poison-shark · 5 years ago

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Noa’s Siblings

[[MORE]]

Mateu Eduardo Ramires

Is 7 years older than Noa

Is Atlantean/ Portuguese/ Amazonian/ Japanese

Only exhibits the human and Atlantean sides

25 in season 3

ADHD

Has a deep resentment for his parents for being addicts, alcoholics, sub par parents, and also dying

Deeply respects Noa and treats her like an equal, despite the age gap, but still sees Aya as a newborn

Is very overprotective of both of them

Got mad at Aya for going to study on Themyscira and Noa for allowing it

Thinks Obachan is just a crazy old lady

His personality is a lot like their mom’s, but his morals are closer to their dad’s

Basically looks like he could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll

Looks a lot like their dad, but has their mom’s eyes

They’re a deep brown almost black

Noa is jealous of them, she hates her hazel eyes because they remind her of Ren

His hair is always a tangled mess

Is studying magic in Atlantis

Cried when he met Aquaman

Managed a way to get surface tv channels underwater and never misses a Coast City Clippers game or one of Noa’s concerts

Is frustratingly straight and sometimes forgets his sisters are not

“So meet any cute boys at school? If so, who is he? Where does he live? Who are his parents? What’s his number? I just wanna talk!”

“Noooooooo?”- Noa

*blank lesbian stare*- Aya

Is still super supportive and apologizes everytime

Even though she’s younger than him, Noa raised him

He didn’t realize at the time what was happening and how it was affecting her

Called Noa for every little thing his first year in Atlantis

But when he realized his little sister had taken care of him for the past 5 years of his life, including 1 year of adulthood, and he didn’t know how to do anything

He regrets putting her through so much pressure

Was not the person who realized this

That was brought about in a conversation with Queen Mera and Aqualad that turned awkward

Has not stopped apologizing since

It’s been 5 years

Still has not stopped

Reminds her he’s sorry once a FaceTime

Bonds with his sisters through surfing and basketball

Hates all lanterns of the emotional spectrum, but green

Especially red and blue

Has gotten really good at magic

Has always been good at magic, but like Atlantean party tricks his dad taught him

They used to cheer the girls up

Their dad had only begun teaching him serious magic a year before he died

When he got to Atlantis he realized just how far behind he was

Got specialized training from Queen Mera

Faced Atlantean “Purist” discrimination for his skin and fins

Caught up on five years worth of magic in a year

Is now training to be an Atlantean Ambassador under Garth

Is a social activist in Atlantis

No longer cries when he sees King Orin

Actually babysits the little prince every once in a while

Is protective of Queen Mera a views her as a second mother

Would never tell her that

She already knows and has already mentally accepted him as her other son

Is trained in combat

Not only by Mera, but also their parents

They were paranoid and knew their kids would be in danger, so they all knew some form of self defense, except for Aya

Dislikes superheroes in general except for Aquaman, Tempest, Wonder Woman, and the Green Lantern Corps

Loyal to his country, his heritage, and views green lanterns as space cops

Ren Elpídio Ramires

Dead

Died at age 7

Was best friends with Noa

Even though he and Noa can’t be identical twins they looked almost the exact same

But y’know with scales

Looks takes after all sides of his heritage

Shy boi

Also anxious

Like all the time

Despite the super strength and speed he was always super gentle and liked to take his time and enjoy life

Dyslexic

Always had trouble reading and writing, but loved stories

Noa used to read him to sleep from the top bunk

He was a really good storyteller and had just as much imagination as his sister

They would come up with grand adventures and Noa would write them down while he drew the pictures

They were comic books

Ren loved comic books

And superheroes

Specifically Aquaman and Wonder Woman

And of course the mighty and brave blue, red, and green lanterns of Sector 2814

Had trouble making friends in school so Noa made them for him

He had a really bad stutter

Got picked on a lot for a lot of different reasons so Noa got into a lot of fights

Loved insects

He cried when Mateu tried to force Noa into killing a spider (I know spiders aren’t insects don’t come for me)

Noa set it free outside

A cuddler and a hugger

No one is safe not even the mailman who he knows by name

Hides behind Noa whenever yelling happens

Yelling happened a lot some months, none others

Was terrified of Aya

Had never seen a baby before

She looked like an alien

Freaked him out a little that’s all

Warmed up to her soon enough

Cried when she cried

Her crying used to wake up both him and Noa at 2 am, who would attempt to wake up their parents to deal with it

Their attempts were waved off

“Let her cry it out”

They did not

Noa would remove the newborn from the crib and rock her while he fixed her bottle

He was too scared to drop her to hold her

Noa would burp and change her and they’d both sing to her until she fell asleep

Was the only other person in the house other than their mother who could handle Aya’s grip

I like to think if he hadn’t died he’d have joined the Indigo Tribe (lanterns of compassion)

Now for the sad part

Their parents had dropped them all off at Obachan’s house as she was their closest relative

All the little ones knew was that they had to go on a ‘work trip’

Thought Obachan was silly and old and reminded him of his mom

The first day was great

She fed them ice cream for breakfast and pizza for lunch and sushi for dinner and let them stay up late and eat wasabi candies for dessert

The next day was not so great

The twins woke up at 1 am puking their brains out and running high fevers

Obachan panicked and didn’t know what to do

She was drunk and didn’t want Akari to never see her grandkids again

The other day she didn’t know she had grandkids

She wanted her daughters trust back

Even if Akari did live Obachan would not have earned her trust

She decided she would drive them to the hospital like a good grandmother and left Mateu to clean up and look after Aya

She was uber drunk and exhausted bc even kind of dealing with two barfing 7 year olds is the most parenting she’d ever done

They came to an intersection

She ignored the red light

She didn’t see the flat-bed

The truck couldn’t stop

It t-boned the tail end of the car

The crash caused Obachan and Noa to fall unconscious and gave Obachan some serious neck and back issues

But the impact snapped Ren’s neck instantly and his limp body fell onto the middle car seat

Hazel eyes wide

The twins were still loosely holding each other’s hands when the paramedics came after another driver passed by and found them

The other driver involved in the crash was flung through his windshield bc he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt

Noa came to briefly while being carried into an ambulance

She looked at the lady carrying her and asked, “Ren?” Before passing out again

At the hospital when she had been treated for everything she woke up again with a start calling for Ren, her parents, Mateu, anyone, but mostly Ren

Obachan hadn’t woken up yet

The nurse who came in asked her for as much information as Noa knew or could remember

She answered every one and asked a thousand in return

The nurse finally told her that her brother had died

She threw a fit

They couldn’t calm her down she screamed and cried so much she puked again

They had to sedate her

When they told Obachan her first thought was of how Akari would never speak to her again

He was buried with his parents in the Coastville Cemetery

Noa visits by herself every Sunday and lays flowers down and talks to no one

Aya Emi Ramires

Well, that was depressing now here’s the baby!!!

Aya was 3 months old when everybody died

In season 3 she’s 11

She takes after her Amazonian heritage

Dyslexic and ADHD

Sees Noa as basically her mom

Doesn’t agree with Mateu a lot, but respects him

Also has their mother’s eyes which tortures Noa

Generally reminds both of her siblings of their mom and of Ren

She doesn’t know that, but that’s part of the reason they’re so overprotective

Noa raised her to have fun and enjoy life and not take shit from anyone

Is really good at sports

This is encouraged by Noa who is literally the captain of the cheer squad

Gets made fun of and picked on by a lot of kids both boys and girls for her strength and speed, her learning disabilities, being Japanese, and being gay

Yeah

Aya gets into fights a lot

Noa shows up to the elementary school with Obachan who pretends she can’t speak English

Noa’s former principal is now afraid of her

Aya’s outlet for anger is sculpting believe it or not

She’s pretty talented too

Isn’t really into superheroes except for green lanterns and Wonder Woman, Troia, and Wondergirl

Gets bad grades even though she’s incredibly wise beyond her years

Doesn’t get along with kids her own age

They bore her

Figured out she wasn’t straight pretty early on with a crush on Molly from Bubble Guppies when she was four

Noa also kinda normalized girlfriends with her sister talking about girls and boys at school she had crushes on

Realized she was probably a lesbian in 3rd grade when she realized she wasn’t growing out of her boys are icky phase like her sister had

Confirmed 5th grade lesbian

Does not like being treated like a baby

Eventually the question came up about what happened to their parents at family dinner

Obachan steered herself out of the kitchen right when she was about to enter it

Mateu curtly and accurately responded with, “They died.” Before tossing the dishes into the sink and sulking off to his room, slamming his door shut

Noa explained the best she could to the 5 year old, but it was hard for a 12 year old to form the right words

Also informed her of Ren in a very watered down way

Aya knows Ren existed and was Noa’s twin, but doesn’t know exactly how he died

She’s seen their comics though

Noa used to read them to her

Mateu used to stand outside the door secretly listening and trying not to cry

Is very affectionate with Noa

Will hug and cuddle her until she falls asleep

Noa forgot how rib-cracking Amazon hugs were

She’s glad Aya’s there to remind her

Aya mildly resents Mateu for leaving for Atlantis

More for leaving Noa to handle her alone

Is just as protective of her siblings as they are of her

Worries about them constantly

Especially Noa bc she’s human

When she turns ten she decides she wants to study in Themyscira where she’d be better accepted than her normal school

She was right

A lot of thought went into that on her part

Noa’s music career was skyrocketing, she had school to think about, extracurriculars, scholarships, taking care of Aya, taking care of Obachan, taking care of the cats, handling the shop, putting out new music, new videos, photo shoots, socializing with her friends, charity benefits

It took accidentally overhearing Noa have a breakdown to actually set her mind on the Themyscira decision

She brought it up to her sister who was heartbroken and the idea brought up a lot of Noa’s insecurities, but in the end Noa said yes

Noa set the whole thing up through her new friend, Garfield Logan, who was more than happy to help

Aya lives with their great-grandmothers on Themyscira

She was happy to see that they were 10x more stable than Obachan

She studies all the classics, receives combat training, has been learning Ancient Greek, and her skill with dealing with her learning disabilities has improved and even aided her in some subjects

She FaceTimes her sister everyday and Mateu every month when he checks in

She watches every one of her sister’s concerts even during training, and which she gets reprimanded for

Has asked her sister if she can meet celebrities

Noa says next time she visits she can meet whoever she wants

Her hair has lightened to a lighter brown from being out in the sun all of the time

Has entered both the dreaded horse phase and dolphin phase

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