#am I living the dream or am I schizophrenic

[ewwap]

Irl ghost/entity NSFW experience???

Ok I've had some crazy experiences recently and idk where to talk about it so I'm just gonna ramble about it here

About a year ago I woke up with something/someone rubbing my back. It was really comforting. I was asleep and then woke up but didn't open my eyes, and it took me a while before getting the nerve to turn around and see nothing. It stopped after that and I was kinda sad it did.

That happened again once or twice in isolated events a few months apart until I noted my furniture moves slightly?? It's very slight, like my swivel chair turning slightly where I question if it's really moving.

Sometimes lights will flicker or dim for a second when I enter rooms, sometimes randomly when I'm in a room.

Then this morning, I woke up and was doing that thing where I was awake and still had my eyes closed--and for some reason, I had the feeling someone was in front of me? He talked to me (I don't remember what I said) and I reached forward, like kinda in front of my head, and there was a dick. Like, I felt a dick. I opened my eyes and there was nothing, but I felt it. And it didn't alarm me, the presence actually made me feel safe ngl. I don't know what came over me but I started stroking it, feeling it, and teasing him--sometimes I would open my eyes just to see I was jerking off the air. He was about to come when I stopped, and dude, I asked him to fuck me. Did I say it out loud? Maybe, I don't know.

And I felt it. I felt him enter me, I felt him moving in and out of me. It felt really good. I was just ass up feeling a phantom dick. I kept asking him to rub my clit, and sometimes I would feel, like, this ripple of please on my lil dick, and I felt like I was gonna come and then it would stop. This happened for a while until I fell asleep again, and I woke up very horny.

Idk why I'm adding this last part, but all of this started before I began to develop sort of a monster kink. And now that I have it this happens.

Tumblr, am I going insane? I hope not cause, to be honest, I welcome this. I probably am though, or more likely I was dreaming. But the thing is I don't feel things in my dreams, I felt this. If he's real I challenge him to appear while I'm fully awake but goddamn I think I'm going insane.

[hiiragi7]

Dissociative realities, meeting again and again...

Growing up, I never knew anything to be real. I lived in a foggy dream, reality seeming to be an abstract concept that I did not ever experience. It kept me safe and distant; if nothing is real, neither am I, neither is the horror I was living through. If it's all fake, then, nothing could hurt me - if even "I" do not exist, nothing mattered much at all.

My survival was pathologized a variety of things; diagnosed anything from Schizophrenic to Bipolar, finally Dissociative Identity Disorder. It didn't matter much what the doctors called it. They gave me pills for what they called a disconnect from reality, took my blood on a regular schedule within their all-too-white hospital walls, myself spending my days staring out at the world from behind thick glass while I stood on top of a plastic anti-suicide chair. All I could see from there was a parking lot, and yet I yearned for it; we were not allowed even short trips to the outside world.

How was I meant to be connected to a reality I was kept from? I could not understand it, and it only reinforced what I already knew; this reality was not my own, it was not one I belonged to. It was not my home.

I was born an artist, and so I found my most vivid realities somewhere in the space between my hands and my work. Here is where I found fragments of my own story, viewing reenactments through the eyes of others who never shared my name. I expressed it all through gory, twisted, horrifying tales. I did not know a happy ending, and so neither did my creations.

How ironic it was, that I knew these creations so intimately, the details of their selves down to their dominant hand, all the while with no concept of myself. Who are you? What do you like? What do you dislike? What does being alive mean to you? Questions I could answer in an instant for my art, but would struggle for a single word for myself. I was never good at introductions.

And yet, I was found introducing myself over and over, each time sure it must be the first time. My friends, too, introduced themselves back to me, although they knew this had happened many times before. This is something I will always be immensely grateful for.

I whispered, "I don't know you. I'm scared. Who are you? Who am I?" and my friends would reply in gentle tones, reassuring me, sitting as close as I would allow them. As I grew older, I met many others like me; others with DID, others who could not remember themselves nor others.

We found each other in a dance, meeting each other over and over again. You're my best friend, you're a stranger; I hold so much love for you I can barely contain it, I don't know you at all; We have so many memories together, I just met you today.

Over time, something shifted in me. I don't know you, and yet I know you are familiar, you are safety and I love you. I don't know you, and yet I have this sense we have known each other a very long time. I don't know you, and yet all I want is to be close to you, to talk to you until both our voices are hoarse. A deep knowledge grew in me, one which cut through my dissociation - an understanding that you are my best friend, you are my lover, you are a precious somebody to me even when I have lost the details, even when I have lost your name. I know you on a level I cannot put words to, and I love you.

This understanding then expanded to myself, to the individual fragments and pieces of me so long dissociated and unknown to each other. A love encompassed my whole being, and I could finally begin to know myself. I met myself over and over, much in the same way I had met those outside of me again and again. I began to understand, each of those inside of me is someone I have known before and will continue to know again, these someones are myself. I began to see their faces in my artwork, in old photos, in stories others have told me, and then even in my own memories.

Through loving others, I learned to love myself. Through love, I have found a reality which is not only my own, one to belong to; it is one shared with many others, it is community, it is everything to me. The love of those precious to me became my own.

[avatar4life]

Twilightzone

Reader was walking to school after getting her backpack and saw something she immediately hated: Jacob with short hair

'well, there goes my small liking of him' she thought as she saw Bella go towards him. Reader decided to ignore that weird situation and just prepare herself mentally for another day at school. When she reached the gates of the school she turned around and saw Edward and Jacob glaring at eachother with Bella in between them 'ah so it's one of those situations' she thought nodding to herself "let's hope they don't compare dick sizes at the school's parking lot" she mumbles not knowing the boys were able to hear her as she entered the building. When she was at school she noticed out of the window a figure in the woods, looking at her with glowing eyes (yes I'm making this mfs have glowing eyes cause I find it cool) 'well, there goes my sleep schedule for the next two weeks' she thought as she decided to ignore that figure 'maybe I'm schizophrenic ' .

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During another day she was sleeping while Jacob was rambling how much Edward wmis a danger to Bella and how much he will be actually be the best choice and be able to protect her. She suddenly woke up with a snort and looks around confused as he continues to ramble 'ah this bitch still rambling. Take a hint and stop it...I need to stop falling asleep when people are rambling ' she thought '....mmmm, I would go for a hamburger, or a kebab, yes a kebab. God I love kebabs to an unhealthy amount.' she thought as he finally stopped talking "thanks for listening to me" Jacob said to reader, who looks confused but fakes it "yup, don't worry. You can count on me for anything" she said before packing her stuff and leaving "bye Billy" she said to Jacob's dad. She passes by the house where Jacob's friends live 'I wonder if that hot girl I saw hanging out with them is living there too...am I gay? But I do find a few guys good looking, the few that are in Thai forsaken place anyway ' she thought but shrugs her shoulders and leaves for her house.

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It's been days and reader came back from a sleepover from a friend's house and found Bella with rough clothes (this is after the fight with Victoria, you can't tell me this mfs don't have torn up clothes after a battle). Reader looked at her confused "what the hell happened to YOU?!" She asked but Bella just shook her head and batter her eyes a few too many times before replying with just a simple "nothing" and went upstairs.

Reader looked at the direction her sister went and scrunched her face "...Ew. that was...Ew" she said to herself before shaking her head and going to her room. Once she arrives there she thought about something she saw a while ago:

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She was asleep before waking up to go to the bathroom, trying to keep her eyes closed to hold onto the feeling of sleep in her, not wanting to be fully awake. after the bathroom she walked past Bella's room and then opened her eyes as she stopped confused, before walking backwards and looking into her room, more specifically her window. She was holding onto her blanket around her body as she reached the window and looked out of it "what the hell??" She mumbled as she saw two figures, human figures, looking at the window with glowing eyes '...what kind of drugs did I ingest today, this can't be normal. What are those? Definitely not human' she thought but didn't have the strength to stay awake and find out and decide to get out of the room immediately 'Bella can deal with whatever that is, as long as they're not after me, I'm good to go' she thought as she went back to her bed and sighs in relief and goes back to sleep, hugging her pillow and putting herself in fetal position (it's comfortable ok?!) and falling back asleep

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'oh yeah, wonder what that dream was about? Ehh, who cares. Time for a nap!' she thought as she puts herself into her comfortable pajamas and went to her bed 'good thing I took the bigger bedroom ' she thought before putting her bonnet (it's for everyone, it protects your hair from humidity and such, also does not give bad bed hair) and falling asleep, not realising someone is watching her: Cullen.

This is finally part 3 of the Twilight zone.

Ok byeeeeeee

[misty-caligula]

This is my big one for s2e6 and it’s the thing that made me bolt upright in my chair, really just ... kicked me in the chest. For context my point of view on the show is a non-supernatural one, I do not think Lottie is psychic I think she’s delusional. It’s okay if you do not, but that’s the context for my take:

I have a strong suspicion that adult!Lottie’s being played, and I really do not like it.

Full disclosure, I have a history in the psychiatric world as a patient, I’m not schizophrenic but I am psychotic and I am well managed and very stable but like... I know what this shit is meant to be like, from about 15 years of personal experience. So back in s2e4 I was immediately .... confused. By Lott’s new psych. She seemed... just off.

I thought to myself “Hey, you know, psychiatry is one of those things that is so often misrepresented in all forms of media, I’m probably just reading too much into it.” But then I rewatched (and rewatched) and the more I did the more it felt... deliberate. What got to me was that ... her normal psych has gone on sabattical and been replaced, and the new one is trying to tell her not to suppress her visions with medication but try to understand them and what they’re trying to tell her.

A real psychiatrist simply would never talk like that. Would never suggest that. As far as psychiatry is concerned, Lottie is schizophrenic, her visions are delusional. And delusions/hallucinations are less ... they’re less like dreams where you might think “Oh I’m going to keep track of what I’m dreaming about and see if it means anything” (which, incidentally, is also not a thing a psychiatrist would usually do, but that’s besides the point) but are more like... a damaged computer, throwing up random, unsorted and unrelated data. Our brains are pattern finders, we desperately try to make connections in what we experience, and when our brains start misfiring and giving us bizarre and nonsensical data we still try to connect it. Delusional thinking doesn’t ... say anything about you, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the brain trying to sort nonsense into piles of organised nonsense.

From a psychiatric perspective a delusion or hallucination is a symptom no different to a ... headache or a rash. It’s a non-desirable issue to be treated and ideally cured, not ... explored and looked at for some kind of deeper meaning. And this isn’t even talking about like, trauma, and processing it through therapy. Lottie’s psychosis manifested long before the plane, she’s been on medication most of her life. It’s not something she can just... ignore, or choose to fight, or try not to have. More than that, by actively engaging with it it damages her coping mechanisms that she’s developed over the years to ground her in reality when she’s not certain.

Anyway. This all just seemed.... off. Wrong. And Lottie’s reaction is to say “There’s no meaning, because they’re not REAL.” Because she’s spent a LOT of time in treatment, trying to build a solid foundation of reality to live on. She’s clearly very distressed by the idea of losing touch with that, and her psych is NOT helping. It all seemed very... off.

I thought through options of what was going on. Maybe... maybe her new psych isn’t real? Maybe she’s talking to the wall? That was my best theory with so little to go on. But it was not a very satisfying answer, and didn’t really fit the general themes and style of the show anyway... I was confused.

Fast forward to ep 6 and we get more time with the new psych. Lott is now CLEARLY agitated. She can’t sit still, seems very anxious. She starts talking about “the visions” and “this feeling even about things that I know are right infront of me, it’s like it’s pointing me towards back then.” Her psych says “Is it possible that your fear of the past might be actually your fear of your illness?” Only THAT IS NOT WHAT LOTT SAID. She didn’t SAY she was afraid of the past, she was afraid of “a feeling about things I know are right infront of me, pointing me back towards then.” What does she mean by that? Finding random queens in a pile of papers? Visions of dead bees? The reality is that she’s not afraid of the past, she’s losing touch with reality. In psychiatric wording, she’s struggling to hold onto “insight” i.e. the ability to determine what’s real or not.

Lott kind of misses this disconnected thought though, and instead she says “That’s not the problem, I’m not worried that I’m ill, I’m worried I never was.” This shows a complete LACK of insight, she’s forgotten that only very recently she was terrified of her illness and now she’s suddenly thinking that maybe 30+ years of treatment were all for nothing? Maybe she was just never sick at all?

Then she goes off on a tangent, she says “With Travis coming, Natalie and now Misty’s here too. It’s like it sent them here, to show me.” “To show you what?” “That it WAS real. And that I wasn’t the only one who felt it out there, that it was all of us, that it was a part of us.” “What is...it...Lottie?” And she goes off about the god of the wilderness and the terrible things they did.

But... okay so Lott’s losing her objectivity here, which is ... not uncommon for a psychotic person to deal with. And she’s developing a belief that she was never sick, that she was never delusional, that it was always real. Now only 2 episodes beforehand she’d come to the psych on an emergency basis to increase her meds PRECISELY because she was afraid this would happen. She’s TERRIFIED of getting to this exact point, being this exact way. Because it leaves her absolutely out of control of herself, her own mind.

But listen to what the psychiatrist is saying. First she says to her face that Lott’s psychosis is “controlled.” But... no it’s not! She’s having hallucinations, she’s CLEARLY delusional, and showing all kinds of signs of psychosis. She’s definitionally out of control.

Then she asks probing questions not about her mental state, but about the details of her delusions, about the god of the forest. She STILL hasn’t increased her meds and she’s acting like it’s not at all weird that she’s saying stuff like “I think I’m not sick and never was.” Which, to a psychotic person or a psychiatrist is SUCH a red flag, because the next immediate question to raise if a schizophrenic or bipolar or otherwise psychotic person says those words is “...are you taking your medication?” Because believing that you’re not delusional is one of the core hallmarks OF BEING DELUSIONAL.

Literally the definition of a delusion is a belief without evidence that you hold against all odds even in the face of contradictory evidence. If you are sitting there saying EXTRAORDINARY things and requiring zero external evidence to back up your claims and ABSOLUTELY certain in those beliefs no matter what... that’s delusional. Of COURSE you think you’re sane, if you lack insight you simply cannot tell what you’re thinking isn’t rational.

It’s like you are so certain that gravity exists, you can feel it, you can see its’ effects, and you comfortably put your life on the line for gravity a hundred times a day. If someone told you gravity wasn’t real you’d think they sounded mad, and if they told you YOU were the one out of touch, and that actually gravity wasn’t real, you could just look around and go “Uh... obviously you’re wrong.” But if you’re getting bad info into your brain you could be relying on something with JUST AS MUCH certainty and have absolutely no idea or capacity to tell that it’s actually completely wrong, no matter how many times you were told or shown. Medicated psychotic people regain their insight and can say “Sometimes I think things that don’t make sense, and I can tell that they’re not real, and I’m glad I don’t make choices based on that false information.” Unmanaged psychotic people say “I don’t know why I should take some pill, I’m fine, nothing’s wrong at all.”

I just canNOT fathom how any psychiatrist in the world would sit with a known schizophrenic patient who’s describing having active visions, who believes that a god they found in the middle of the forest is sending people to them so they can all be magically healed by them, and not IMMEDIATELY say to themselves “Hmm, this person is clearly having a psychotic event, is clearly in a tough spot, and needs their meds adjusted and maybe we should look into their wellbeing in the short term.”

All of which led me to suddenly jump up in my chair and shout “OH MY GOD” at my poor friend who was watching with me. Because I think that Lottie is being manipulated. I think that someone’s been fucking with her meds. I think that someone got rid of her real psychiatrist and replaced him with a plant. I think the new psych is either trying to encourage her to become a more invested cult leader, possibly the cult is becoming like... more intense without her knowledge and they’re trying to turn her into a saint by removing her meds and encouraging her delusions. OR someone is trying to work out what REALLY happened in the woods and they’re manipulating her so that she’ll tell them the full story while she’s vulnerable and confused.

Either way, I’m 99.9% sure someone’s deliberately fucking with her at this point, and it’s actually really pissing me off because I can’t stand seeing vulnerable people, esp mentally ill people, being manipulated and used. It’s a HUGE thing for me, and ... aaaaaah whoever’s behind this shit I hope they meet Shauna on a very bad day.

[schizoem]

TW: REALITY CHECKING, SCARY BELIEFS

I fear I'm faking being on the schizospec, although my psychiatrist thinks otherwise. I hope this isn't taken in the wrong way, but I don't seem schizophrenic.

As in, I've never been hospitalized for it, how do I know I'm having hallucinations, my delusions?

I feel as though I've been lied to. I was diagnosed with GAD and panic disorder... but I don't think I have those disorders... I feel that my anxiety and my depression are caused by psychosis.

I literally couldn't leave my house because If I did then the Earth would lose gravity and we would just fly up into the sky. Or other times I was too afraid to move because I knew I suddenly turned into a huge spider and If I moved and looked down, I would see my legs.

Since I was thirteen, I started thinking existential thoughts and had these beliefs, "I'm not real" "the world is not real", "what if I died or I'm in a coma?" (Sometimes I can hear the heartbeat monitor). I hear people say my name, and I ask those around me, and they tell me they didn't hear anything. I hear a voice that says, "HEY!" Really loud every now and then. I see bugs out of the corner of my eyes. I feel like I am not in my body but rather in my eyeballs and my brain is in my eyes.

I can't look around corners or outside my windows in fear that the alien creature is watching me. He is always there. He clicks his tongue, and I can HEAR IT! I hear constant ringing in my ears, my head. What if God decided he was done with the Earth and just poof! The existence ended. It's just abrupt.

I can't watch certain movies, videos, or content that talks about existential ideas. What if I'm dreaming all of this? Every morning, I pinch my skin to see if it hurts to know if I'm dreaming still or not. One time, I told my teacher to stop reading a book because I had woken up that day and I felt super off and not real.

The "panic attacks" I get, I become stiff and can't move at all, it feels like I'm slipping between dimensions and reality is shattering and I'm gonna find out that I'm really being controlled like a Sim. Someone is making me do these things. My family is not my family, I've been adopted even though there is proof that I belong to them. I don't know who I am, my name is not me, I am not me. I share bodies with someone else. I feel that I woke up at age 13 and I don't remember anything before then.

Anyone who is on the schizospec, is this familiar? Does what I experience seem to be the beginning phases of schizophrenia or other spectrum? I'm so paranoid about faking and thinking I'm just making it up, but I live daily, so paranoid of my brain and the thoughts I have. I'm not asking for a diagnosis, and I'll speak to my psychiatrist about this, but I feel safe asking the Schizospec community because you are the ones who live with the disorders.

Thank you if you respond. I sincerely appreciate it.

[msbutterfly5294]

A Break In Reality - From A Schizophrenic :

TWs : Hallucinations , Delusions , Self Unalive , Harmful Thoughts + Feelings , Severe Mental State

Howdy , I am msbutterfly and I am a schizophrenic . For context : I am female and twenty years old .

I wouldn’t like to post something like this regarding my mental condition , however I would like to call to attention an event that has happened earlier today and some notes to those who have a loved one who suffers much like I , or who suffer along with me .

The best way to put it for those who don’t have schizophrenia is that you’re dreaming but you’re in reality . Everything is distorted and you , your loved ones , your environment , your everything is a dream , none of it is real. . . But it is .

And. . . Recently , I am living in the delusion that I’m being experimented on in a psychiatric hospital . They made my room look like my room , they made my house appear like the one I live in now , they somehow made my loved ones real so I can continue “ living ” peacefully while they experiment on me . No thing I have , everything I have built , none of my dearest people. . . All of them are false . They were made to keep me from waking up , because once I wake up. . . They have to unalive me . There are cameras that show up randomly , they always follow me and just me . When I point them out to family , they become worried because it disappears the moment I point to them . They don’t see what I know is there .

. . . Earlier today , I received a message from my little sister ( she’s seventeen ) . She said she loved me , I told her I love her too , she responded she was in the hospital , so I text her back asking what happened , and after my message was sent , I called her . She picked up and I asked her what happened . From there , she explained she didn’t text me and she wasn’t in the hospital . I looked back at the messages from her to explain what she sent , and they weren’t there .

They didn’t exist .

My little sister is fine , by the way . Concerned , but safe .

I texted my darling . He was also concerned when I explained that I had visiting hours and he can’t call until sixPM . He called anyways and once he saw that I was at home , he was relieved .

I am msbutterfly and I’m a schizophrenic . I suffer from a variety of chronic mental conditions , the most destructive is the schizophrenia . I see , hear , and feel things that aren’t there ( visual , auditory , and tactile hallucinations ) .

And these recent occurrences aren’t every event that has happened with the mental condition .

To whoever has it , you aren’t alone .

To those with a loved one who has schizophrenia , we need you .

It’s scary , sometimes it’s life threatening to ourselves and-or others , sometimes it makes you want to distance yourself , other times we scream and want to unalive ourselves because we finally come back to reality for a moment we see the hurt that our loved ones feel because of us , every now and again you may feel overwhelmed or even ashamed because of how we behave and how we think and feel. . .

The delusion I have of being in a mental hospital may be true , but I think I’m real and this is reality. . . My loved ones are real . They said they’re real . That this is reality. . . I pray ( as a non-religious entity ) that this is reality , that they are real , because if this is a dream. . . This is beyond fucked up . To make my loved ones so real and so beautiful as they are only for it to be a lie .

We need you , our support group , our friends , our lovers , our family . We are just as human as you , even if we aren’t fully here ourselves .

Thx you to those who read every word here . Thx you to those who still care and love . Thx you to those who. . . Remind me that I’m human , despite the suffering .

[wide-eyedbrowns]

yellowjackets team (alive by season 2) rating and ranking

1. Misty - 9.5/10

i said she was annoying but like i get her now. in both the crash and adult timeline, she has the best story and characterization. maybe because her actresses are so great, but definitely her whole arc is unrivaled.

2. Nat - 9/10

her storylines in both arcs are extremely good. definitely the most important yellowjackets member along with misty, i love their little tandem. i just don't like her purple era but she did find a daughter there!

3. Shauna - 9/10

make up your fucking mind girl! one minute she's against lottie's weird cult shit, the next second she's chasing natalie so she can kill her for food and say the wilderness chose! however her craziness post-birth must be a sort of post natal psychosis. adult shauna makes up like 7 points of the 8.5, she's the better shauna for me because she's a straight up loser with an equally loser husband.

4. Coach Scott - 8/10

high ranking out of pure pity like i am so worried for this man. i hope he's still alive and he's experiencing time-traveling hallucinations or whatever, since time traveling is a pretty big theory. i wish he does survive and all the paul scenes are his present scenes but he's gone off the rocks and thinks he's still in the wilderness. this dude is the only one not extremely or supernatully fucked up bc he didn't participate in the cult thing hopefully. BURN THEM CABINS DOWN BAYBEEE

5. Lottie - 7.5/10

when your schizophrenic dreams are misinterpreted by the rest of the group and you're forced to be the face of cannibalism 😂😂🤣🤣. robbed shauna of her cannibal crown. was just being un-medicated then the rest of the team decided to honor her like a god. there were times were she was annoying but you realize she quite literally has done nothing but every single sidekick of hers decides to speak for her and it just goes wrong every single time.

6. Taissa - 7/10

tie. extremely curious about the bad tai and the man with no eyes, which serves as the only "supernatural" event in the series shown that is not in the wilderness or post-wilderness. it would be fucking crazy if tai was the one who bought "It" in the wilderness instead of it like actually already being there, like maybe that was their home? with all the cult symbols or whatever. sometimes i do just find her boring im sorry, she's just like shauna she's extremely indecisive and it's pissing me off! only 7 bc FREE SIMONE ❤️ joking

8. Travis - 7/10

i pity this man so much but sometimes he's boring and his season 1 arc had me skipping scenes. but his brother went missing, "died", came back, then actually died and then no one said "sorry we had to give up your brother to the wilderness, it was either nat or him and the wilderness chose him! we honestly could've atleast tried in helping him get out of the ice cold water but we were hungy". like can we please give this man a break? i wouldn't be surprised if him and natalie refused to hunt for them, if they're all just going to pick cards and eat each other, why hunt for deer, right?

9. Van - 5/10

i feel like one of the only people with a dislike for van's character like. lottie dickrider, i get you "owe" the wilderness for letting you live like you're obviously the favorite but the way she treats the other yellowjackets pisses me off, especially when she straight up said to travis she wasn't ashamed for sacrificing javi? why is she a stronger indoctrinated christian than lottie? i wish they reveal more about her because to be honest her character's a bit of a blank slate, it would be amazing if they start showing a more deeper relationship between her and whatever's in the wilderness. i feel like, in both the show and the fandom, van doesn't have much to her character without tai. her only storyline without tai is with her mother, which we were shown barely 30 seconds of.

10. Mari - 3/10

i just need her gone

11. girl with the shoulder length hair aka pit girl contender number 56 - 2/10

i remember one line of hers and she was rude to shauna and i just didn't like it

12. lesbian w the cap - 2/10

rude to shauna! dye your hair black and i'll give you a bigger role as possible pit girl number 57

[lime1991]

My dsmp Tubbo and Tommy canons (I can do whatever I want and these are canon facts to me)

Tubbo:

-smoked cigarettes a lot during the Schlatt administration to get away from all of the… everything. Fundy was the one who started this for him.

-hates alcohol because of Schlatt and Wilbur. Before being part of Schlatt’s cabinet he had to deal with Wilbur being drunk and mentally ill too.

-is Wilbur’s adopted brother, calls Phil by his name instead of “dad” even though he was literally raised by him. Also doesn’t call Wilbur his brother unless it’s brought up in some way.

-Tommy is his best friend. He is Tommy’s favorite person. Their conversations are very monotone.

-has breathing problems due to smoking. Has tried to quit, but can’t. Instead smokes weed every so often because it’s better than nicotine.

-has bipolar disorder, when he’s manic he wakes up at 5 am and does yard work. When he’s depressed, he can’t get out of bed for days. He knows he’s bipolar, many people do, but it still was a reason his marriage fell apart (not his fault)

-he did not get custody of Michael when he and Ranboo divorced, because he didn’t fight for it because doesn’t think he can really raise a child with all his personal issues (in a “I would never have kids because I’m too mentally ill and traumatized” way)

-bonded with Quackity during the Schlatt administration, is maybe the only one who knows to what extent Quackity was fucked up by Schlatt. They have a weird relationship that’s similar to a mother and son. Don’t question it.

-I’m a fan of dadschlatt so in my brain Tubbo is Schlatt’s biological son, and they only find this out when they’re working together and Schlatt grills him on his family history and it strangely matches up with that one time Schlatt decided to leave the girl he accidentally impregnated and fully skip town. So when Schlatt and Quackity get married Quackity is basically Tubbo’s stepmom.

-he and Wilbur are like 12 years apart, when Fundy is born, Wilbur is 20. When Fundy and Tubbo meet for the first time, Fundy is 8 and Tubbo is 16. And, yes, Tubbo went to live with Wilbur when he turned 16 for reasons and was like “Wil who the fuck is this child” and Wilbur is like “oh that’s my daughter” ???

Tommy:

-trans girl.

-met Wilbur before she met Tubbo. They lived in the same place. When Tubbo went to live with Wilbur he was immediately bombarded by a strange hyperactive fifteen year old.

-Tommy’s parents left her. She didn’t believe that they did at first, but they did. (By the way I’ve decided L’Manburg was a commune) Because her parents have left her alone on the commune, she’s sort of raised by all of the adults and herself. This is how she knows Wilbur.

-has bpd and severe abandonment issues. Originally attached herself to Wilbur before meeting Tubbo and becoming close with him. During the Pogtopia era, Tommy goes insane and completely attaches herself to Wilbur again.

-When Wilbur dies during war, Tommy’s whole personality switches and instead of being majorly depressed she pretends that it didn’t happen and stays completely delusional for like a month.

-during Exile, she had time to think about herself and her identity and it’s when she comes out to herself as trans. Dream is also the first person she actually comes out to. And I can’t decide if Ghostbur is a hallucination or not, but Tommy doesn’t know either it’s ok.

-very delusional. Like, schizophrenic. Genuinely believed during Exile that Dream was her best friend and wasn’t like beating her and destroying her stuff every single day. Dream doesn’t understand if she’s being serious when she’s like “hi bestie” so he keeps doing worse and worse wondering how much it’ll take to break her.

-gets therapy and takes antipsychotics now. Always brings up the stories of the wildest delusional episodes she’s ever experienced. During exile she was certain she had like 5 girlfriends at once.

-when she ends up trapped in jail with Dream she almost kills herself before Dream does it for her. The pain of being trapped with him again was worse than emotional. Worse than ptsd.

-has complicated feelings towards Quackity, will never forget the time she watched him and Schlatt argue. She’d never heard a “loving couple” sound that angry before. Though she doesn’t know every little detail about the relationship.

[mysterytheater]

"You may not be interested in absurdity," she said, "but absurdity is interested in you."

Shower of Gold by Donald Barthelme

Because he needed the money Peterson answered an ad that said "We'll pay you to be on TV if your opinions are strong enough or your personal experiences have a flavor of unusual."

He called the number and was told to come to Room 1551 in the Graybar Building on Lexington. This he did and after spending twenty minutes with a Miss Arbor who asked him if he had ever been in analysis was okeyed for a program called Who Am I?

"What do you have strong opinions about?" Miss Arbor asked.

"Art," Peterson said, "life, money."

"For instance?"

"I believe," Peterson said, "that the learning ability of mice can be lowered or increased by regulating the amount of serotonin in the brain. I believe that schizophrenics have a high incidence of unusual fingerprints, including lines that make almost complete circles. I believe that the dreamer watches his dream in sleep, by moving his eyes."

"That's very interesting!" Miss Arbor cried.

"It's all in the World Almanac," Peterson replied.

"I see you're a sculptor," Miss Arbor said, "that's wonderful."

"What is the nature of the program?" Peterson asked. "I've never seen it."

"Let me answer your question with another question," Miss Arbor said. "Mr. Peterson, are you absurd?" Her enormous lips were smeared with a glowing white cream.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean," Miss Arbor said earnestly, do you encounter your existence as gratuitous? Do you feel de trop? Is there nausea?"

"I have enlarged liver," Peterson offered. "That's excellent!" Miss Arbor exclaimed.

"That's a very good beginning. Who Am I? tries, Mr. Peterson, to discover what people really are. People today, we feel, are hidden away inside themselves, alienated, desperate, living in anguish, despair and bad faith. Why have we been thrown here, and abandoned? That's the question we try to answer, Mr. Peterson. Man stands alone in a featureless, anonymous landscape, in fear and trembling and sickness unto death. God is dead. Nothingness everywhere. Dread. Estrangement. Finitude. Who Am I? approaches these problems in a root radical way."

"On television?"

"We're interested in basics, Mr. Peterson. We don't play around."

"I see," Peterson said, wondering about the amount of the fee.

"What I wanted to know now, Mr. Peterson, is this: are you interested in absurdity?"

"Miss Arbor," he said, "to tell you the truth, I don't know. I'm not sure I believe in it."

"Oh, Mr. Peterson!" Miss Arbor said, shocked. "Don't say that! You'll be ..."

"Punished?" Peterson suggested.

"You may not be interested in absurdity," she said, "but absurdity is interested in you."

"I have a lot of problems, if that helps," Peterson said.

"Existence is problematic for you," Miss Arbor said, relieved. "The fee is two hundred dollars."

"I'm going to be on television," Peterson said to his dealer.

"A terrible shame," Jean-Claude responded. "Is it unavoidable?"

"It's unavoidable," Peterson said, "if I want to eat."

"How much?" Jean-Claude asked and Peterson said: "Two hundred."

He looked around the gallery to see if any of his works were on display. "A ridiculous compensation considering the infamy. Are you using your own name?" "You haven't by any chance ..." "No one is buying," Jean-Claude said. "Undoubtedly it is the weather. People are thinking in terms of?what do you call those things??ChrisCrafts. To boat with. You would not consider again what I spoke to you about before?" "No," Peterson said, "I wouldn't consider it." "Two little ones would move much faster than a single huge big one," Jean-Claude said, looking away. "To saw it across the middle would be a very simple matter." "It's supposed to be a work of art," Peterson said, as calmly as possible. "You don't go around sawing works of art across the middle, remember?" "That place where it saws," Jean-Claude said, "is not very difficult. I can put my two hands around it." He made a circle with his two hands to demonstrate. "Invariably when I look at that piece I see two pieces. A you absolutely sure you didn't conceive it wrongly in the first instance?" "Absolutely," Peterson said. Not a single piece of his was on view, and his liver expanded in rage and hatred. "You have a very romantic impulse," Jean-Claude said. "I admire, dimly, the posture. You read too much in the history of art. It estranges you from those possibilities for authentic selfhood that inhere in the present century." "I know," Peterson said, "could you let me have twenty until the first?"

Peterson sat in his loft on lower Broadway drinking Rheingold and thinking about the President. He had always felt close to the President but felt now that he had, in agreeing to appear on the television program, done something slightly disgraceful, of which the President would not approve. But I needed the money, he told himself, the telephone is turned off and the kitten is crying for milk. And I'm running out of beer. The President feels that the arts should be encouraged, Peterson reflected, surely he doesn't want me to go without beer? He wondered if what he was feeling was simple guilt at having sold himself to television or something more elegant: nausea? His liver groaned within him and he considered a situation in which his new relationship with the President was announced. He was working in the loft. The piece in hand was to be called Season's Greetings and combined three auto radiators, one from a Chevrolet Tudor, one from a Ford pickup, one from a 1932 Essex, with a part of a former telephone switchboard and other items. The arrangement seemed right and he began welding. After a time the mass was freestanding. A couple of hours had passed. He put down the torch, lifted off the mask. He walked over to the refrigerator and found a sandwich left by a friendly junk dealer. It was a sandwich made hastily and without inspiration: a thin slice of ham between two pieces of bread. He ate it gratefully nevertheless. He stood looking at the work, moving from time to time so as to view it from a new angle. Then the door to the loft burst open ran in, trailing a sixteen-pound sledge. His first blow cracked the principal weld in Season's Greetings, the two halves parting like lovers, clinging for a moment and then rushing off in opposite directions. Twelve Secret Service men held Peterson in a paralyzing combination of secret grips. He's looking good, Peterson thought, very good, healthy, mature, fit, trustworthy. I like his suit. The President's second and third blows smashed the Essex radiator and the Chevrolet radiator. Then he attacked the welding torch, the plaster sketches on the workbench, the Rodin cast and the Giacometti stickman Peterson had bought in Paris. "But Mr. President!" Peterson shouted. "I thought we were friends!" A Secret Service man bit him in the back of the neck. Then the President lifted the sledge high in the air, turned toward Peterson, and said: "Your liver is diseased? That's a good sign. You're making progress. You're thinking."

"I happen to think that guy in the White House is doing a pretty darn good job." Peterson's barber, a man named Kitchen who was also a lay analyst and the author of four books titled The Decision to Be, was the only person in the world to whom he had confided his former sense of community with the President. "As far as his relationship with you personally goes," the barber continued, "it's essentially a kind of I-Thou relationship, if you know what I mean. You got to handle it with full awareness of the implications. In the end one experienced only oneself, Nietzsche said. When you're angry with the President, what you experience is self-as-angry-with-the-President. When things are okay between you and him, what you experience is self-as-swinging-with-the-President. Well and good. But," Kitchen said, lathering up, "you want the relationship to be such that what you experience is the-President-as- swinging-with-you. You want his reality, get it? So that you can break out of the hell of solipsism. How about a little more off the sides?" "Everybody knows the language but me," Peterson said irritably. "Look," Kitchen said, "when you talk about me to somebody else, you say 'my barber,' don't you? Sure you do. In the same way, I look on you as being 'my customer,' get it? But you don't regard yourself as being 'my' customer and I don't regard myself as 'your' barber. Oh, it's hell all right." The razor moved like a switchblade across the back of Peterson's neck. "Like Pascal said: 'The natural misfortune of our mortal and feeble condition is so wretched that when we consider it closely, nothing can console us.'" The razor rocketed around an ear. "Listen," Peterson said, "what do you think of this television program called Who Am I? Ever seen it?" "Frankly," the barber said, "it smells of the library. But they do a job on those people, I'll tell you that." "What kind of a job?" The cloth was whisked away and shaken with a sharp popping sound. "It's too horrible even to talk about," Kitchen said. "But it's what they deserve, those crumbs." "Which crumbs?" Peterson asked.

That night a tall foreign-looking man with a switchblade big as a butcher knife open in his hand walked into the loft without knocking and said "Good evening, Mr. Peterson, I am the cat-piano player, is there anything you'd particularly like to hear?" "Cat-piano?" Peterson said, gasping, shrinking from the knife. "What are you talking about? What do you want?" A biography of Nolde slid from his lap to the floor. "The cat-piano," said the visitor, "is an instrument of the devil, a diabolical instrument, You needn't sweat quite so much," he added, sounding aggrieved. Peterson tried to be brave. "I don't understand," he said. "Let me explain," the tall foreign-looking man said graciously. "The keyboard consists of eight cats?the octave?encased in the body of the instrument in such a way that only their heads and forepaws protrude. The player presses upon the appropriate paws, and the appropriate cats respond?with a kind of shriek. There is also provision made for pulling their tails. A tail-puller, or perhaps I should say tail player" (he smiled a disingenuous smile) "is stationed at the rear of the instrument, where the tails are. At the correct moment the tail-puller pulls the correct tail. The tail-note is of course quite different from the paw-note and produces sounds in the upper register. Have you ever seen such an instrument, Mr. Peterson?" "No, and I don't believe it exists," Peterson said heroically. "There is an excellent early seventeenth-century engraving by Franz van der Wyngaert, Mr. Peterson, in which a cat-piano appears. Played, as it happens, by a man with a wooden leg. You will observe my own leg." The cat-piano player hoisted his trousers and a leglike contraption of wood, metal and plastic appeared. "And now, would you like to make a request? 'The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian'? The 'Romeo and Juliet' overture? 'Holiday for Strings'?" "But why?" Peterson began. "The kitten cries for milk, Mr. Peterson. And whenever a kitten cries, the cat-piano plays." "But it's not my kitten," Peterson said reasonably. "It's just a kitten that wished itself on me. I've been trying to give it away. I'm not sure it's still around. I haven't seen it since the day before yesterday." The kitten appeared, looked at Peterson reproachfully, and then rubbed itself against the cat-piano player's mechanical leg. "Wait a minute!" Peterson exclaimed. "This thing is rigged! That cat hasn't been here in two days. What do you want from me? What am I supposed to do?" "Choices, Mr. Peterson, choices. You chose that kitten as a way of encountering that which you are not, that is to say, kitten. An effort on the part of the pour-soi to?" "But it chose me!" Peterson cried, "the door was open and the first thing I knew it was lying in my bed, under the Army blanket. I didn't have anything to do with it!" The cat-piano player repeated his disingenuous smile. "Yes, Mr. Peterson, I know, I know. Things are done to you, it is all a gigantic conspiracy. I've heard the story a hundred times. But the kitten is here , is it not? The kitten is it not?" Peterson looked at the kitten, which was crying huge tigerish tears into its empty dish. "Listen, Mr. Peterson," the cat-piano player said, "listen!" The blade of his immense knife jumped back into the handle with a twack! And the hideous music began.

The day after the hideous music began the three girls from California arrived. Peterson opened his door, hesitantly, in response to an insistent ringing, and found himself being stared at by three girls in blue jeans and heavy sweaters, carrying suitcases. "I'm Sherry," the first girl said," "and this is Ann and this is Louise. We're from California and we need a place to stay." They were homely and extremely purposeful. "I'm sorry," Peterson said, "I can't?" "We sleep anywhere," Sherry said, looking past him into the vastness of his loft, "on the floor if we have to. We've done it before." Ann and Louise stood on their toes to get a good look. "What's that funny music?" Sherry asked, "it sounds pretty far-out. We really won't be any trouble at all and it'll just be a little while until we make a connection." "Yes," Peterson said, "but why me?" "You're an artist," Sherry said sternly, "we saw the AIR sign downstairs." Peterson cursed the fire laws which made posting of signs obligatory. "Listen," he said, "I can't even feed the cat. I can't even keep myself in beer. This is not the place. You won't be happy here. My work isn't authentic. I'm a minor artist." "The natural misfortune of our mortal and feeble condition is so wretched that when we consider it closely, nothing can console us," Sherry said. "That's Pascal." "I know," Peterson said weakly. "Where is the john?" Louise asked. Ann marched into the kitchen and began to prepare, from supplies removed from her rucksack, something called veal engagé. "Kiss me," Sherry said, "I need love." Peterson flew to his friendly neighborhood bar, ordered a double brandy, and thrust himself into a telephone booth. "Miss Arbor? This is Hank Peterson. Listen, Miss Arbor, I can't do it. No, I mean really. I'm being punished horribly fir even thinking about it. No, I mean it. You can't imagine what's going on around here. Please, get somebody else? I'd regard it as a great personal favor. Miss Arbor? Please?"

The other contestants were a young man in white pajamas named Arthur Pick, a karate expert, and an airline pilot in full uniform, Wallace E. Rice. "Just be natural," said, "and of course be frank. We score on the basis of the validity of your answers, and of course that's measured by the polygraph." "What's this about a polygraph?" the airline pilot. "The polygraph measures the validity of your answers," Miss Arbor said, her lips glowing whitely. "How else are we going to know if you're ..." "Lying?" Wallace E. Rice supplied. The contestants were connected to the machine and the machine to a large illuminated tote board hanging over their heads. The master of ceremonies, Peterson noted without pleasure, resembled the President and did not look at all friendly.

The program began with Arthur Pick. Arthur Pick got up in his white pajamas and gave a karate demonstration in which he broke three half-inch pine boards with a single kick of his naked left foot. Then he told how he had disarmed a bandit, late at night at the A&P where he was an assistant manager, with a maneuver called a "rip-choong" which he demonstrated on the announcer. "How about that?" the announcer caroled. "Isn't that something? Audience?" The audience responded enthusiastically and Arthur Pick stood modestly with his hands behind his back. "Now," the announcer said, "let's play Who Am I? And here's your host, Bill Lemmon!" No, he doesn't look like the President, Peterson decided. "Arthur," Bill Lemmon said, "for twenty dollars?do you love your mother?" "Yes," Arthur Pick said. "Yes, of course." A bell rang, the tote board flashed, and the audience screamed. "He's lying!" the announcer shouted, " lying! lying! lying!" "Arthur," Bill Lemmon said, looking at his index cards, "the polygraph shows that the validity of your answer is … questionable. Would you like to try it again? Take another crack at it?" "You're crazy," Arthur Pick said. "Of course I love my mother." He was fishing around inside his pajamas for a handkerchief. "Is your mother watching the show tonight, Arthur?" "Yes, Bill, she is." "How long have you been studying karate?" " Two years, Bill." "And who paid for the lessons?" Arthur Pick hesitated. Then he said: "My mother, Bill." "They were pretty expensive, weren't they, Arthur?" "Yes, Bill, they were." "How expensive?" "Twelve dollars an hour." "Your mother doesn't make very much money, does she, Arthur?" "No, Bill, she doesn't." "Arthur, what does your mother do for a living?" "She's a garment worker, Bill. In the garment district." "And how long has she worked down there?" "All her life, I guess. Since my old man died." "And she doesn't make very much money, you said." "No. But she wanted to pay for the lessons. She insisted on it." Bill Lemmon said: "She wanted a son who could break boards with his feet?" Peterson's liver leaped and the tote board spelled out, in huge, glowing white letters, the words BAD FAITH. The airline pilot, Wallace E. Rice. Was led to reveal that he had been caught, on a flight from Omaha to Miami, with a stewardess sitting on his lap and wearing his captain's cap, that the flight engineer had taken a Polaroid picture, and that he had been given involuntary retirement after nineteen years of faithful service. "It was perfectly safe," Wallace E. Rice said, "you don't understand, the automatic pilot can fly that plane better than I can." He further confessed to a lifelong and intolerable itch after stewardesses which had much to do, he said, with the way their jackets fell just on top of their hits, and his own jacket with the three gold stripes on the sleeve darkened with sweat until it was black.

I was wrong, Peterson thought, the world is absurd. The absurdity is punishing me for not believing in it. I affirm the absurdity. On the other hand, absurdity is itself absurd. Before the emcee could ask the first question, Peterson began to talk. "Yesterday," Peterson said to the television audience, "in the typewriter in front of the Olivetti showroom on Fifth Avenue, I found a recipe for Ten Ingredient Soup that included a stone from a toad's head. And while I stood there marveling a nice old lady pasted on the elbow of my best Haspel suit a little blue sticker reading THIS INDIVIDUAL IS A PART OF THE COMMUNIST CONSPIRACY FOR GLOBAL DOMINATION OG THE ENTIRE GLOBE. Coming home I passed a sign that said in ten-foot letters COWARD SHOES and heard a man singing "Golden earrings" in a horrible voice, and last night i dreamed there was a shoot- out at our house on Meat Street and my mother shoved me in a closet to get me out of the line of fire." The emcee waved at the floor manager to turn Peterson off, but Peterson kept talking. "In this kind of world," Peterson said, "absurd if you will, possibilities nevertheless proliferate and escalate all around us and there are opportunities for beginning again. I am a minor artist and my dealer won't even display my work if he can help it but minor is as minor does and lightning may strike even yet. Don't be reconciled. Turn off your television sets," Peterson said, "cash in your life insurance, indulge in a mindless optimism. Visit girls at dusk. Play the guitar. How can you be alienated without first having been connected? Think back and remember how it was." A man on the floor in front of Peterson was waving a piece of cardboard on which something threatening was written but Peterson ignored him and concentrated on the camera with the little red light. The little red light jumped from camera to camera in an attempt to throw him off balance but Peterson was too smart for it and followed wherever it went. "My mother was a royal virgin," Peterson said, "and my father a shower of gold. My childhood was pastoral and energetic and rich in experiences which developed my character. As a young man I was noble in reason, infinite in faculty, in form express and admirable, and in apprehension …" Peterson went on and on and although he was, in a sense, lying, in a sense he was not.

https://www.jessamyn.com/barth/gold.html

[morbidology]

‪22-year-old Matthew de Grood was a student at the University of Calgary. The son of a city police officer, he dreamed of attending law school. In the early months of 2014, Matthew started experiencing some bizarre delusions. He believed the world was going to end and that he was locked in a mortal battle with werewolves, zombies, and vampires. 

He started to post about his concerns regarding the end of the world on his Facebook account. Matthew believed that there was going to be a war of good and evil and on the evil side, according to him, was the Nazis and Barack Obama.‬ ‪

‬In the early morning hours of 15 April, 2014, a party was underway at a home near the University of Calgary. It was the end of the school year and students were in a celebratory mood. Approximately 30 guests showed up, one of which was Matthew. 

At around 1:20AM, Matthew heard voices in his head, telling him to kill. He grabbed a kitchen knife and started to indiscriminately attack his fellow schoolmates. He killed five people - Joshua Hunter, Kaitlin Perras, Jordan Segura, Lawrence Hong, and Zachariah Rathwell‬.

‬‪During his trial, his defence lawyer contended that Matthew believed his victims were werewolves and vampires and that he had to kill them because they threatened his life. Two experts found that he was suffering from severe untreated schizophrenia. 

Much to the upset of the family members of his victims, Matthew was found not criminally responsible for the murders. “There will be no peace for us. Our wounds will never fully heal because every year our families will have to wonder what will be the fate of the man who destroyed so many lives,” said Hong’s brother. Matthew was sent to a secure hospital where he shall remain until he is released. 

In 2017, it was reported he was granted more privileges such as being allowed to walk around the hospital grounds while supervised. After receiving his treatment plan for his mental illness, Matthew release a statement which read: “It breaks my heart that the good times they had with their loved ones are over. They may not care that I am schizophrenic. The act of killing five innocent people and putting their families through that agony is unconscionable. To them, I am either a very evil person or a psychotic individual who is dangerous and can’t be trusted.“‬ ‪

‬ The tragic case of Matthew de Grood poses the question: Would the outcome have been different if somebody took heed to his warning signs?‬

[witchesofvaliant]

Hi and welcome! It's only fair to do a "quick" blurb on who we are and thus, what the blog will focus on.

To start off, we're called Valiant System, a DID system (which will be briefly explained later) with autism, ADHD, BPD, and some kind of schizophrenic symptoms.

We're 25, and I'm a Capricorn sun, Libra moon, and Aries rising. I'm also an ENFP, and am a transmale pansexual living on East Coast, USA.

My name is Castle, the core and usual host, who takes on all these traits most and is usually the one talking.

With that said, let's get to the core of it all, the reason this blog exists, which is for our practice as a witch. Sure, we may include some other random things, but my focus with this is to use as a diary for our practice, and to allow others to enjoy another source of possibly helpful information.

Our practice primarily consists of Chaos Magic as a Hellenic & Infernal Polytheist with a collective belief in omnism, but a few other alters do work with other pantheons and deities. Deity work is our focus, along with divination, energy, dream, and astral work, though I want to get into spirit work eventually as well.

As for what a DID system is, a system is a group of individuals, called alters (or headmates/parts), who all share the same body. This disorder is caused by trauma and unlike other forms of plurality, does not originate voluntarily nor purposely and tends to bring some level of dissociative amnesia between alters.

The core of a system is usually one or more alters that resonate deeply with the body and/or its memories, while a host is an alter that is able to handle the majority of daily life for the body, and tends to there the most.

Not all systems have a core or a host, nor do they all define it the same way.

I recommend researching more on DID and plurality in general, but since this is not the focus of this tumblr nor this post, let's move on!

Finally, if you'd like to know more about us, our hobbies, or just find us elsewhere on the internet, feel free to check out my socials:

Cardd: valiant-system.cardd.co/

Discord: @valiant_system

Reddit: reddit.com/u/entropicsilence

Now, enjoy the content, and don't hesitate to comment or msg me here or on my other socials!

[kichijouji]

Dreamed somehow I was visiting my mom in my own hometown from far away (IRL my mom lives in oregon at the time of writing this, but my brain treated this as normal). Mom was going to drive and go get something from her apartment near bergfeld park (something to do with a previous dream scenario that I do not remember at the moment) and I wanted something to eat. I told her I remembered there was a Cici's pizza nearby (not accurate to real life), and she told me "please be careful, do you know where home is" and I scoffed because, well, this is Tyler, of course I know where home is. After talking a little more, I told her "I love you", she said it back, then she drove off. I boarded a train (despite tyler not having a rail system) to get to the Cici's pizza (only a few blocks away, for some reason, despite it being across town).

The train seemed halfway like a Big Lots store and a collection of reenacted cursed images. I tried to find a charging cable to buy (on clearance)(dream memory: all my previous charging cables had somehow....burned/got wet when I plugged them in), and angered a couple that was having a dramatic fight (they were both arguing and occasionally dancing to music that sounded like Blinding Light by The Weeknd) right in front of the shelf the charging cables were on. They stared at me and made threats under their breath while I made my way down the other train cars, partaking more weird shit the passengers were doing (one guy drinking a Dr. Pepper can full of beans, a group of people filling a balloon with watercolor paint and water, a woman stealing flowers from various vases across the train, among various things).

Then I woke up because one of my cats (Katchoo) was throwing up on my desk.

What confuses me is the fact that, because I believe in alternate worlds, and that we visit them while we sleep in dream form, why is THIS reality the most coherent and "normal"? There doesn't seem to be any particular reason why when I "wake up", that this current reality is the one where I have the most logical and timeline- based memories, where I can record my experiences in the other worlds, where I feel more "awake".

The reason I subscribe to the belief that dreams are alternate realities isn't just because of the "brain in a jar" idea (to me, whatever you are experiencing is your current reality, even for dreams or schizophrenics, and you have to navigate each one the best way you can), it's the fact that I CAN read clocks and signs and books in dream worlds, and I have memories and knowledge within those worlds.

The problem is, I wouldn't be able to TRANSCRIBE what I see on a clock face, or computer screen, or street sign, or a book, onto paper in THIS reality (this has led me to believe The Voynich Manuscript might be the product of someone's journey to another reality, albeit being somehow awake and physically present in the other reality while they did so). I can READ in dreams perfectly fine, even in places that are unfamiliar or "made up", despite being unable to write down what I read when I wake up or draw a picture of what exactly I saw on either a digital or analog clock. The memories I have within dreams fit perfectly within the timeline of the dream I am having and are coherent to the situation at hand, but often I'm unable to remember them when I wake up.

The only holes in my theory are experiences of other people's dreams, studies done on sleep and dreams, and sometimes my own experiences. For example, if I fall asleep watching a movie, that will influence my dream, which leads me to wonder if I'm not always visiting other worlds in my sleep. But it could be that because my body from this reality isn't physically there in other worlds, that the noise of this reality is just bleeding through to theirs. Other people experience being unable to read words or numbers in dreams at all. I don't know if I'm just spacial or if they are mistaking the fact that they can't transcribe written words from dreams for being unable to read at all. Sometimes I am a completely different person in other worlds in places I do not recognize upon waking up and remembering the dream. Sometimes I'm just me, in the "normal" world with things slightly changed.

[theburninggalaxy]

hey bitch heard you wanted statements. i was a weird and fucked up child with a weird and fucked up life. i will say tho that these arent like full stories, some of them are longer some of them are shorter. just a general tw for mentions of DV, child neglect, bullying, bugs (infestation), puke, clowns, drowning

- so ive lived in a shit ton of differant houses. most of them falling apart or milatary housing. we get lots of bugs in our house. im deathly terrified of bugs. hate them. they bring diesese and rot and illness. now one day in 8th grade i have to go take out the trash, and throw some cardboard boxes in the garage. so i open the garage, and there are just these black dots flying everywhere. so i throw the cardboard and run. a week later i find fruit flies in the freezer. dead fruit flies. soon we find them in our food. in our vents. no where was safe. they were in my dreams. one night i was puking and sick, i found a dead fly in the vomit. that infestation was the only time there were bugs in our house that werent dead. i still have nightmares.

- i qas never a good swimmer. but my grandmother loved taking me to the pool and my uncle had one. so i went swimming alot. ive nearly drowned nine times. im pretty sure the vast and buried want me dead and gone.

- in sixth grade i wouldnt be able to sleep because i would see a 9 foot tall woman in a gown looming over the foot of my bed

- in elementry school up until 4th grade i would bike to school every day. most of the time it was pitch black in the morning, even though i would leave at 7. multiple times people would try to get me into an alleyway woth them or id see extremely tall people watching me behind electrical poles. i didnt think anything of it at the tome, or when i saw person in my closet.

- i would pick at my skin alot as a kid and i got multiple infections that way. i named them. i have a scar on my arm from harold.

- i would play with spiders and theyre corpses, i would put live spiders in my hair amd carry them around there as a kid.

- my mom thinks imike a chamgeling or something

- my mother used to tell me she thinks im gonna be a serial killer one day

- i woke up one day to find my bedroom door open at 4 am. ny dog was staring into the kitchen from my bed (you can see into the kitchen from my room). i heard drawers ope ing and shutting. i only got a glimpse of what was causing those noises but it was way too tall and had way too many arms to be human. i didnt sleep for the rest of the night

- my mother conviced me im always one step away from fucking losing it. she thought i was schizophrenic, and has tried (and failed) to gaslight me on multiple occasions

- ive seen myltiple ghosts, and nearly died like alot of times

- i would run through the woods pretending a giant monster was chasing me and trying to eat me. a few times ive heard sticks break and leaves crunch behind me while doing that

- you (probably) saw me explain all the stranger and slaughter stuff to you by now

looking back im probably marked by more than seven entities (idk how many this is just the tip of the ice berg) but yeah i was a fucked up kid

That's a lot of events, and especially for the abuse I'm sorry and that shouldn't have happened. Out of curiosity, what entity are you aligned with? /nf

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

My internet provider was straight up playing me before because it took 3 hours to download the ep last week and with the new internet, 20 minutes this week, so anyway I took random notes while watching and just gonna post a couple of them in one hit before scrolling my dash:

1. “Anybody can get a guy to bang them once.” Oh, can they, Dennis? Can they?? Sounds like a man speaking from experience, huh.

2. Jack to Charlie regarding “play dates” together and him saying “You don’t remember,” oh that hurts my heart, Charlie having to repress memories of him. And then the extra creep factor with the fucking ice cream truck, good lord, I’m starting to think Jack murder is more and more possible this season.

3. “Don’t mind my friend, he’s schizophrenic.” “I am, yeah.” I know it’s like a joke here, but I like schizotypal Charlie headcanon so I choose to see this as a win. (Spider in my ear vibes though <3)

4. Dee and Mac asking “why” and “how come” Dennis has a system to get men and him shhing them, oh yeah it’s all coming together, he’s used this system fr, and the truth and something else is gonna come out, baby.

5. Love The Waitress is Getting Married vibes from Dennis helping Mac and Dee on their dates the way they tried to help Charlie.

6. Girl, how did Dennis get that bottle open over that guy, this man lives off of beer and air, he’s a weak, frail Victorian maiden who would absolutely get Mac to open jars in their apartment constantly.

7. MOMMY ISSUES DENNIS REAL. Okay so we’re all in agreement we’re gonna transport Den “back to a time when he was a snot nosed little bitch who depended on the most important person in his life for absolutely everything, the person who inflated his ego, who made him feel powerful but also powerless, the person whose validation he’s been seeking his entire life.” I’m SCREAMING. “The way to make a guy fall in love with you is to make him feel like you are his mommy.” GIRL, WHAT THE FUCK, Freud would like a word, I could write a whole essay on this scene alone, but I’m sure someone else already has, but oh my god they’re bringing up how Barbara’s influence really messed with him, inflating his ego, making him the golden child and holding him up to these perfect standards, but he’s trying to maintain that perfection even after she’s gone and realizing he can’t, making him powerless. He just wants the illusion of power! he doesn’t want to have to work for it this much. Head buzzing with incoherent thoughts but there are thoughts here I may come back to just aaahh.

8. On another note, I really liked their acting in this one, especially the S.I.N.N.E.D. scene, their deliveries were all great, they seemed to be having fun and it was sooo cute.

9. A boy in love with Johnny so he can’t be with anyone else, but Dennis is Johnny, Dennis catfish real, Dennis controlling anal beads real, what fever dream is this fucking episode, a boy in love with Johnny, Johnny dennis Dennis Johnny, I’m losing my mind.

10. “I’m Dennis, I’ve always been Dennis” and Ireland’s “You’re you, you’ve always been you” parallels and Mac’s need for solid and clear labels of identity, but Dennis’ continually vague notion of his own self, and Mac remaining completely clueless this whole season, not seeing what’s right in front of him, the blowing jokes, Dennis and his system for men, Dennis is Johnny, while Dennis is starting to realize maybe what he wants and continuously gets more aware, and it leads to mental health day, aaah idk!! So much!

11. I love how everyone was deep dive analyzing the Frank Dennis scene and it was just him telling him he got anal beads in his ass 😭

12. The chess opponent looks a lil like Donald to me.

13. Full ass blast 😭 I hate how this show makes me insane regardless of that.

[dyingroses]

@one-time-i-dreamt that people were stealing girls to turn them into assassins. Like Black Widows. I did not want to be an assassin. So I pretended to be schizophrenic so they wouldn’t take me. But they were like ‘she could just be pretending’ but I kept up the bit. Even though it would make more sense that they would just kill me or use me as target practice then let me go, this was a dream so logic is weird. Anyway I kept it up into my teen years and they still hadn’t killed me or gotten rid of me they actually seemed to have like a soft spot for me, didn’t make me do the killing training didn’t beat me even when I said weird delusions or wandered off because of “internal stimuli.” They were even like, “Elisabet is one of our most physically talented pupils, if it weren't for her being schizophrenic she'd be a really great assassin.” Meanwhile I'm in a meadow saying at golden hour picking flowers and talking to "internal stimuli" they call me over and I tell them something slightly creepy like, "Be careful the dinosaur empress thinks your pregnant" and flip my way over to them with a new flower crown which I put on their head and saying "It will stop the worms."

But I really just wanted to get the fuck out of there. Because it sucked being kidnapped and all that and it was way too much work to always be acting. But I was like there is literally no way I am getting out of here because security is so fucking tight. I tried to escape at one point and shouted at the trainers and staff that they didn't know me at all and how I have been tiring myself out putting on an act to deal with the horror show they made us live in, and I was surprised I hadn't actually become schizophrenic due to trauma I had been through. I didn't manage to escape and in my attempt got really hurt. The news spreads that I was faking and everyone is super surprised. The higher ups are really angry but more so at the trainers it seems. The next scene two personnel from the evil organization are shot by the head of the evil organization but one is shot non-fatally and made to follow the head.

And then I woke up.

[fugengulsen]

'BLIND WILLOW, SLEEPING WOMAN' REVIEW: ANIMATING THE STORIES OF HARUKI MURAKAMI

When it comes to contemporary Japanese literature, and its popularity in the Western world, very few authors can boast of having the same influence as Haruki Murakami. Known for his unique take on magical realism, Murakami has written several fascinating novels, such as Norwegian Wood and Kafka on the Shore, among many others. While most readers are familiar with Murakami’s literary experiments, there have been some notable film adaptations of his works as well. Ranging from Naoto Yamakawa’s charming adaptation of On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April Morning to Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s modern masterpiece Drive My Car, the cinematic medium has proven to be an interesting destination for Murakami’s creations. The latest addition to this lineage is Pierre Földes’ recent animated work Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

Adaptations are notoriously tricky, and translating Murakami’s dense, literary magical realism to the screen is an undoubtedly arduous task. However, Földes found the right approach by deciding to use animation to create a hybrid amalgamation of various short stories written by Murakami. Incorporating narrative strands from six different shorts, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman is a surprisingly moving meditation on personal and collective loss.

Set during the aftermath of the devastating 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan, Földes’ film primarily focuses on the lives of two employees at the Tokyo Security Trust Bank. While one of them copes with the disappearance of an unhappy wife who runs away, the other embarks on a schizophrenic adventure with a Nietzsche-quoting frog to save Tokyo from another natural disaster. It’s a strangely hypnotic collection of vignettes that sucks you into a surreal world built with cascading layers of realism.

During a conversation with IndieWire, Földes explained that he was initially drawn to this incomprehensible depth. The director said: “I had no idea what I was going to make of it, but it’s actually important that I have no idea because I wasn’t trying to take this and model it exactly to my idea, or taking it and adapting it exactly. It was more that I am attracted to this, and I don’t know exactly what is attracting me to it. There’s something deep to them, and because of that depth, I feel there’s room to explore these stories and to find these things in myself.”

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman works as an ecocritical allegory, featuring the idea of a worm that lives underground and absorbs the violence and destruction of the Anthropocene before eventually lashing out. It’s also a commentary on hyper-capitalist frameworks, showcasing how the corporate lifestyle slowly sucks out every inch of your soul and erases your identity. Although these themes are obviously important, the most interesting aspect of Földes’ film is the animation style.

With a delightfully unfinished quality to it, the visual language of Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman functions like a hallucinatory dream that we cannot wake up from. It’s just as solipsistic as a dream as well, regularly portraying background characters in public spaces as translucent figures who move as ephemeral entities. However, there’s a glaring incongruence between the animation, the world it depicts and Földes’ screenplay.

The English-language dialogue feels out of place in the film, almost as if it’s a broken bridge between two separate registers of reality. Even though it will probably be a good introduction to Western audiences who aren’t fond of reading subtitles, the awkward implementation of English within a specifically Japanese macrocosm just doesn’t work.