#and then ill feel alone in that anger because everyone is so hungry for consuming content content content these days

[bubblez-bubble]

Everyone in Fairy Tail represents a disorder and/or an illness (either physical and/or mental). And Fairy Tail never happened, it's a hospital, and Fairy Tail takes place in one of the patients minds as part of their disorder.

Here me out.

This is going to be a tribute to National Suicide Prevention Month as a reminder everyone has their own battle to face and never assume you know what's going on from the outside looking in. (Also disclaimer: none of this is canon. It's a fan-based headcanon and some representation may be off, but as someone who studies psychology and personal/mental health in their free time in an attempt to better understand myself, I'm going to try to be as accurate as possible and try to give as much detail as I can.) If you or a loved one is struggling for any reason, don't be afraid to reach out and seek answers or help. Your silence is not worth a life. Especially yours. If you're like me and seeking professional medical help is out of your reach for any reason, be it financially or otherwise, contact your local suicide prevention hotline for free accessible 24-hour help. You may be fighting what feels like a losing battle, but you don't have to fight it alone. And just remember, everyone is fighting their own fight. So please don't give up and just hold on tight. And know if you don't have anyone else in your corner, I will be.

Now onto the headcanon.

For now I'll just be doing the main team (post nirvana), but let me know if you'd be interested in seeing what the characters may represent.

Also I'll be doing brief break downs of these characters. If you'd like a full synopsis on a particular character let me know!

Natsu- Binge Eating Disorder and Intermittent Explosive Disorder

First let's look at the definitions.

Binge Eating Disorder or BED is when a person unhealthily over consumes excessively large quantities of food in one sitting or during a single meal.

Intermittent Explosive Disorder or IED is a mental disorder that can cause frequent, sudden, or impulsive episodes of anger. It can be categorized with road rage, domestic abuse, THROWING OR BREAKING OJECTS, TEMPER TANTRUMS, FREQUENT VERBAL ARGUMENTS, FREQUENT PHSYICAL FIGHTING, and PROPERTY DAMAGE.

There are two things Natsu is most known for in universe: picking a fight whenever and where ever and always feeling hungry. In almost every meal we see him have seen him eat, he eats in exaggerated large quantities. And yes you can argue that it's because his magic is so demanding plus his physical upkeep (training) is probably the reason for this. However, none of the other dragon slayers indulge like this, with the exception of Sting and Rogue during their guilds annual eating contest. He's also extremely prone to losing his temper, picking fights, and destroying everything within about a 20 mile radius. Which you could say that this personality trait compliments his magic, but that part actually ties into the headcanon itself. Let me explain. The person who's imagining all of this from the hospital sees Natsu's disorders and decides the perfect way for him to fit into their little imaginary world and by being a fire wizard. Fire perfectly compliments Natsu's anger issues and gives him a reason to eat so excessively in this person's mind so his body can keep up with the extra calories it's constantly burning.

Erza - PTSD

PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a mental disorder that can develop after a person experiences or witnesses a traumatic event and vary based on severity. It can often make its victims irritable, hostile, hypervigilant, self-destructive, and even socially isolated or feeling awkward. It can cause flashbacks, severe anxiety, a feeling of mistrust in others and can even cause feelings of guilt and/or loneliness. It can bring about nightmares and insomnia and can cause emotional detachment and an increase in intrusive thoughts or impulsive actions. Two of the most common causes of PTSD are military trauma and abuse. And perhaps Erza experienced both.

Erza is a strong willed character who often has flashbacks of her time in the tower of heaven. She can often find it hard to trust others for a time, but sympathizes with those who felt the same pain and torment she did in the tower. She usually tries to remain calm but can at times have extreme outbursts of anger and always seems to be weary and hyper aware of her surroundings. It's rare to see her let her guard down which she seems to do very well with the women and not as well with the men (with the exception of Natsu, Gray, and Makrov). This attitude seems to shift after Alvarez as she seems more distant and hostile with new females introduced than she is with the new men introduced afterwards. This could be due to Erza being abandoned and nearly killed by her own mother which was revealed in the Alverez arc.

Gray - OCD

OCD or Obessive Compulsive Disorder is usually defined as a need to be clean all of the time as well as everything around you. Depending on the severity of the disorder it can make you feel as though nothing is ever clean enough from the floor you're standing on to the CLOTHES YOU WEAR.

Gray is often seen without his clothes straight down to his skippies and in some instances even without them. Yes its explained in Gray's flashbacks to childhood that this is because this was how his master, Ur, trained him as a child and that those teachings were drilled so deep into his head that he just strips subconsciously. During a fight or when using magic. But what about normally when he's just relaxing. If it were instilled him that hard, then shouldn't Lyon be the same way? But to our knowledge, he isn't. The only time we've seen him do the same is in battle. The truth is Gray continues to do so because being trained to strip down to the bare minimum for battle gave him a comfortable feeling that he hadn't felt before and for the first time in his life, he started feeling comfortable in his own skin. Now as an adult, even if that's not the case anymore, it still happens subconsciously usually when he starts feeling some levels of stress. It's often common for those with OCD to comply to their urges, subconsciously or not, when they feel some kind of stress. It could be anxiety, excitement, rage, etc.

Wendy - Neotenic Complex Sydrome

Neotenic Complex Sydrome (NCS) or forever baby sydrome is a rare condition that makes one appear as if they aren't aging at all. In most cases this can make a grown person appear to be a toddler or even younger. In some less severe cases, it can cause an adult to simply look like a child.

Wendy is the only character in Fairy Tail we never see grow or change except in experience and power. Even after 2 whole years after the Tenrou incident she doesn't grow "even an inch" according to Wendy herself. Even Auska, the youngest member of Fairy Tail seems to be growing over those 2 years, but Wendy remains the same. We do see her as a child and she has clearly grown from childhood, however, Sting and Rogue were meant to be the same age as Wendy. In Anna's flashback we see all 5 dragon slayers as children and despite Wendy most probable to be the oldest, (W - Feb 27th, S - April 25th, R - unknown other than he was born the same year as wendy and Sting, so I say most probable to be the oldest because she was born at the start of the year and it's likely Rogue was born later in the year), she's still the smallest of the three. You can argue that girls are inherently smaller than boys, but that's not always the case. In fact as children it's quite often that girls are actually bigger than boys. And it tends to be true that your age shows better as a child and less so as you get older. So if Wendy was born first, shouldn't she have had the most time to grow and be bigger than Sting and Rogue?

Happy - Therapy Animal

Happy doesn't so represent a disorder as he does the hospitals therapy animal. More often than not, Happy gives comfort to those around him as a therapy animal would do in a hospital. He's particularly close to two of the patients, Natsu obviously as he seems to know just what to tell Natsu to get him to calm down long enough to listen when he notices things are starting to get out of hand. And the other will make sense when we get to them. In the hospital outside of the imaginary world of the other patient, Happys just a normal cat who goes to each patient to comfort them and help them come to terms with their disorders. He can even at times experience their disorders with them to create a visual for the patient about what their disorder is and how it can affect them and those around them. Which could be why we often see him indulge himself with eating when he's with Natsu specifically.

Carla/Charle - Doctor

Like Happy, Carla more plays a role than has a disorder. She's the hospitals doctor. She's the most realistic of the bunch and is the only one that has two forms. Human and exceed. Her exceed form would protane to her being a doctor trained to only one profession. As we know she grew up with Wendy, so in the hospital, it's quite possible that she was Wendy's doctor growing up and was the one in charge of her treatments and that's why she's so protective of Wendy. She later would become the doctor for the whole team as Wendy was now healthy enough to be introduced to other people with little to no consequence and it would be much easier to group the patients that spend a lot of time together with the same doctor. But of course she would have to further her education and training to be able to handle the other conditions of the other patients. So she evolved. And that's how we got human Carla/Charle. Because now she's trained in more than one profession so she has more than one form.

And last but most certainly not least...

Lucy - Schizophrenia

Schizophrenia is a mental disorder that can cause hallucinations, delusions, or even cause the patient to recede into their own mind that can cause disorganized thinking and behavior.

The story of Fairy Tail is told from Lucy's perspective. I've seen the theories and the headcanons that the story is simply one that takes place in Lucy's mind as she's writing about it. And that's what got me thinking about this whole thing. The 7 years on Tenrou was a 7 year coma Lucy herself endured and when she woke up, everyone she knew when she went under was still there, including Wendy who hadn't changed at all hence why she had to be at least one of the wizards to go to Tenrou Island for the s-class trials, despite being a newcomer, the youngest member of the guild, and a child. In order to make this happen, Lucy had to imagine her with a rare magic type to ensure her spot on the s-class trials and since Little Wendy wants to be a doctor as an adult, her magic reflects that making her the sky dragon slayer and a healer. While this doesn't explain why no one else aged in her mind, it could be that she just didn't want to think time kept moving for her friends so she froze them in time along with her so she didn't have to feel she missed on their adventures. In her mind, when time stopped for her, it stopped for everyone in the hospital, at least all of the patients. Because Wendy never ages she assumed that because Wendy hadn't aged, neither had anyone else. Now wouldn't Happy as a normal cat be noticeably aged. Nope. The original Happy died a long time ago and was replaced with a similar looking cat who they've also chose to name Happy for those who can't or find it hard to adapt to change. Or it could be they simply chose to replace Happy when he got old for that same reason. To keep the illusion that nothing was changing for those who couldn't handle it or have a hard time doing so. So in Lucy's fantasy, nothing changed for any of the patients in 7 years while she was under. The entire story is an adventure Lucy is imagining while the hospital undergoing treatment. And as someone with schizophrenia, she sees the treatments and medications as an enemy that needs to be defeated that they're all fighting together. And Zeref (at least in the OG series) is a phsycatrist, who became one to initially help his younger brother watching his parents struggle to take care of him and his needs, which made him the number one enemy in Lucy's mind. The demons from the books of Zeref were pych students in training, including Natsu, who has been a patient so long as well as her friend that Lucy can't accept it and continues to see him as one of her friends who's just fighting off his demon side further complicating their relationship in universe. Her celestial spirits are her imaginary friends that help her and tell her how to fight off the medication and treatments, and when she sacrificed Aquarius for the Celestial Spirit King, she was actually choosing to start to get better by giving up her most beloved imaginary friend and taking the medication. She later decided she couldn't go through with it and chooses to "find Aquarius" again. Her magic also correlates to her real life personality as gazing at the stars and finding the constellations was the only thing that made her feel "normal" and was one of her favorite things to do, so she named her imaginary friends after the constellations and her magic to do with summoning them to help her fight her enemies.

I know this all seems far-fetched and I tired to be as sensitive to each disorder as I could giving enough descriptive details trying not to make this too long. I did extensive reasearch on each disorder before decidibg to share this and even share a few of them myself. But this has been brewing in my head for years and I feel the most comfortable place for me to share is online with a bunch of strangers. Again if you want a full synopsis with extensive detail on any of these characters or any of the others from the show, then let me know! I'd be happy to go into this deeper if anyone's interested!

And remember, if you ask for help, you aren't burdening anyone. This post is also a reminder that everyone is struggling with something even if you can't see it. Don't be afraid to reach out if you're struggling. There is another way out. Don't give up. You are strong. You are loved. Your life is worth more than your silence. 🧡💛

[waterberry-strawmelon]

i want to be excited about the new pjo book but at this point in my life i just feel too cynical/overly critical of blatant cash grabs that i’m just expecting it to be shit :///

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

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Akita and Zane talk after the battle in 'Awakenings'. The conversation... doesn't go as either of them expect.

Prompt: memories, from @ninjago-bingo​‘s warm board:D

Trigger warnings: implied self harm (one or two characters dig their fingernails into their hands), discussion and introspection about most of the crimes the 'Emperor' committed, a lot of talk and introspection about murder.

Word count: 4682 (I've literally been writing this for like a month lol, kinda disappointed it ended up fairly short:/)

"We have to talk."

The girl with red markings on her face - Akita, he heard Lloyd call her - unsheathes her short dagger, eyes narrowed to slits.

He glances around the throne room, hands pressed to his head. The memories were still trickling through; strange islands and a forest of snow, a dungeon and... a noodle factory?

"Alright," he says quietly. She bears the same red marks of the bear he can remember Vex convincing him was a criminal, many winters ago. That could only mean-

It wasn't you, he reminds himself. It was the scroll, and the actions of a power hungry traitor.

You gave the order, his now infallible memory supplies, and, honestly, he has no rebuttal for that.

"Alright," he echoes meekly, trying to muster some emotion into his voice. "I know-"

"No," she cuts him off roughly, her eyes scanning the room. It is just the two of them now - the samurai had fled once they had recovered from the strange trance he had put them in. Vex had been locked in the dungeon by Lloyd, who was helping any of the samurai who could not quite remember their old lives.

He had ruled for sixty years. Some of their families might dead, some by their own hands.

They know this. He knows this.

Irrationally, he wishes there was some way to fix this. A spell, or a way to turn back the clock; some way to yell at a younger Zane to just scout the cave-

There is no way backward; only forward, out of this winter - and, possibly, into another one.

He stares at the girl in front of him, taking in her tattered clothing, the ease with which she holds her weapon. She's not afraid to fight.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Emperor," Akita says definitely, forcing out the words. "But you will give me one, or you shall never see the light of day again. My brother-"

His heart lurches, eyes widening. Brother.

"Knows that the dungeon has many empty cells," she finishes sharply, barely contained anger flashing in her eyes.

He keeps the facts brief, concise. Once this is all over, he can dwell on them - agonize over what he should have done; use it to be better next time. Atone for his mistakes, even if he can never truly make up for them.

"A snake capable of sorcery used a magic scepter to blast me and a vehicle to this realm. I was sent here sixty years into the past, which is why it took my friends so long to find me. I was also holding a similar magic scepter - one which amplifies the holder's power, but if held for too long, it corrupts one's mind."

"I know what happens next."

How-

"I watched your message to your friends," she replies curtly, by way of explanation. "I did not know that you and the Emperor were one and the same. Continue."

"Vex interrupted a process I was using to try and fix a- vehicle, which caused me to lose my memories. He told me that I was ill. He said that he was a great friend of mine, and that this realm belonged to me. He convinced me that Formlings were warmongers, and that the rightful king had overthrown me. Just before he almost killed Lloyd, he said something that caused my memories to return."

She frowns. "I do not understand. How does one lose their memories so easily?"

Akita stares at his metal skin, her eyes widening as if noticing it for the first time.

"I am not quite like you-"

"I know," she interjects, eyes brimming with anger. "I am not a murderer."

"I was... created," he replies, quietly. "Out of extra materials. I can act like others, but I do not always understand emotions in the same way."

Akita frowns again, raising her dagger. Her voice grows a dangerous edge; sharp and cold. "You never realized that your actions were wrong?"

They're entering dangerous territory. Some part of him wants to derail the conversation; stick to the facts and leave his emotions out of this.

But he owes her an explanation - he owes everyone an explanation. He owes them so much more, if only he could give it to them; erase the past and leave their quiet realm in peace.

"Before I came here, I would never have done such things - if I had my memories, I would never have done such things. Vex convinced me that they were the only way I could defend my throne. I did not know that they were wrong. The moment I realized what I had done, I tried to help your side. The right side," he finishes, ignoring the temptation to stare down at the floor instead of into her blazing eyes.

An indecipherable expression crosses her face. "You never talked to another? One of your... army, perhaps?" "Vex gave all the orders. He just asked me for approval. I never left this room." "And you approved them," she muttered, but it seemed to serve more as a reminder to herself than it did to him.

"What was your life like, before you entered our world?" Akita asks suddenly, suspicion still coating her voice. He blinks, the question unexpected.

"My friends and I can control and create different elements," he began, hesitantly. Carefully. "We were taught to fight. We protect our city from those-" "You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"Those who cannot protect themselves," Zane finishes, guilt making his vision hazy.

He quickly blinks away the tears, all too aware of her persistent gaze.

"Two more questions," she says quickly, glancing behind her. "This room makes me uncomfortable. And so do you." The accusation is clear, but her eyes are not quite as cold as they had been earlier.

"What do you feel now?" Akita asks roughly, taking a step back. "You mentioned earlier that you do not feel emotions the same way that we do. Explain."

I could lie, he thinks, fleetingly. What if my feelings convince her that I am the Emperor even more than I am Zane? A voice at the back of his mind points out that he is - was - the Emperor.

He knows this.

He knows that he will have to acknowledge it once they are back home.

He knows that he cannot dwell on it now, or the winter will go on - inside his mind instead of outside it.

"I feel... guilt," he begins. "For the terrible crimes I have committed. Horror, at my own actions. Anger, towards that traitor. Relief - that I am no longer under his influence." An eyebrow touches her forehead, ever so slightly.

"How guilty?" It is almost a challenge, her voice rising in pitch threateningly.

"I will spend the rest of my life working to atone for my mistakes," Zane answers sincerely, resisting the irrational urge to squeeze his eyes shut. "However, I know that nothing I can do will ever undo them. But I can help others from people who- who... seek to manipulate them," he finishes quietly, a remorseful sigh punctuating the confession.

Akita says nothing; lips pressed in a hard line. Her blank, steadfast gaze meets his. The dagger clatters to the ground.

He draws in a breath sharply.

Picking it up, she squares her shoulders defiantly. "My people will know that... that there were two prisoners within these walls," she sighs, the weariness in her voice all too evident.

Yet he does not miss her glare; a barely contained anger that lurks just beneath the surface.

Akita straightens her spine, frowning menacingly as her hand tightens on the dagger.

He resists the irrational urge to take a step back.

"My brother and I will never forgive you," she snarls.

You do not have to, he would like to say. But he suspects that she already knows this.

"Come near either of us again, and I will make you long for death."

She shifts to her wolf form, baring her teeth - but when she stalks closer, he does not back away.

Suddenly, he is all-too-aware of the fact that the throne room is currently empty - bar the two of them.

He does not move.

It is not as if she could harm him - titanium is not easily damaged (yet, some part of him wonders if that is a blessing or curse), but they have faced enough villains for him to know how it works.

The villains die at the end; rightfully so.

Why should this be any different?

"You will pay for your crimes," Akita growls, shifting between her forms as if it is second nature. It probably is. "Emperor."

Her dagger clatters to the ground once again.

He does not move.

Why should this be any different?

---

"What's taking her so long?"

"Who?" The Samurai asks, the confusion on his face only amplifying.

"No- nothing," he mumbles, wincing. The adrenaline is wearing off - and with it, the fleeting distraction from the pain coursing through his chest.

Broken ribs? Probably. But he's got bigger problems to worry about - his minor injuries don't really matter when there's a warrior (because after all that she's been through, he thinks that she deserves the title - even if it's one she would never have wanted) seeking vengeance, someone who could tear apart this castle, brick by brick if she wanted to, alone with his brother.

His brother - who'd taken hers; encased her village in a tomb of ice, leaving behind no one but a teenager consumed with blinding anger - rightfully so, he admits, a bit wearily.

What happened to you, Zane?

Are you even... there? The person who used to stay awake with me when all I saw was the building crumbling before my eyes, night after night? The one who swore to protect those who couldn't protect themselves?

Are you still there?

"Can I, er, go inside?" he asks no one, trying not to breathe too hard. The Ice Samurai he'd been trying to help had vanished, most probably to try and get answers from someone else.

He owes it to these people to help them - if he'd just been faster, stronger, better, Aspheera could never have-

Not now, Lloyd!

He should probably open the doors - try and diffuse whatever fight they'd gotten into. Akita reminds him of Kai; both of them fiercely protective of those whom they care about, yet sometimes clouded by rage so thick they can barely see out of it.

But he's hesitating - there's always the possibility that her anger; prison of its own, might extend to him.

Not that he even has the right to condemn her for it, though.

Unwillingly, a fleeting thought presses itself to the forefront of his mind; beautiful white hair, a soft voice coated in honey-

Broken ribs, he reminds himself stubbornly, grimacing at the flare of pain as he draws in a breath sharply. She's gone, she's gone, and it's-

He bites his lip until the tang of iron fills his mouth, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

Not now, Lloyd!

Slowly, carefully, he pushes the door open. It creaks softly - but he doesn't think anyone hears it.

Oh, no.

---

"Akita?" a voice questions, hesitantly. He's half-leaning against the door, blonde hair almost completely hiding wary eyes all but squeezed shut in pain.

She stiffens, ignoring the part of her that learns to hunt, murder, the- the monster-

Blinking, quickly, she allows her mind to embrace the sharp, cold air on her fur, and her harsh, ragged breathing - until she can almost feel the shift in her heart, trading instinct for a different type of clarity, white fur for skin and hair.

Grabbing her dagger, she halfheartedly swipes it at the boy who makes her cheeks redder than they usually are, the boy who travelled across the ice seeking a murderer-

Well. He is in no condition to help anyone - they both know this.

But he does not have the right to interfere with this conversation - her feelings do not matter when his friend is-

"Leave us," she snarls, fingers digging into the hilt of her dagger. "What makes you think you have the right?"

Her voice grows colder, but she can't quite keep the tremor out of it.

"You did not find your village half-dead, or spend months mourning your brother," Akita snaps, frustration seeping into the words. Why does he always have to make everything so complicated?

"I know," he replies, hesitantly, eyes flitting between the room and the door. "But... this isn't the right thing to do, Akita."

"Do you think it was right for your friend to seize power from our rightful ruler? Do you think he was right when he imprisoned an innocent child for so many years?"

She doesn't bother to keep the venom out of her voice, ignoring the fact that the light brown of her skin has almost faded to white where she grips her weapon.

Taking a step closer, she bites her lip.

If he will make this his fight, so will she.

"The girl I told you about," Lloyd interjects. "H- Harumi." He forces out the name, as if the very mention of it ails him.

She raises her eyebrows. "What are you going to do? Distract me with stories about your girlfriend while he," Akita glares at the Emperor with a sigh, "escapes?"

"No," he replies softly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, she doesn't miss his poorly concealed wince.

This is the friend he seeks?

There's a fragile silence, one of which she refuses to shatter. Nothing he can say will erase the horrific actions of this- this power-hungry ruler who has abused the gift he has been given; persecuted their lands, and forced innocents into lives ruled by fear and hatred.

"I- er-" Lloyd starts, visibly uncomfortable with saying... whatever it is he is trying to say.

She does not interrupt, but does not take her eyes off the Emperor, either. He has not moved or even contributed to their exchange yet.

Good, she thinks fervently. She does not need to force herself to try and feel sympathy for a man she has hated for so many long winters, one who has taken a piece of her heart and locked it away in a tiny prison cell.

"Did I ever tell you that- that... I watched her die?" he asks, aiming for a casual tone.

The hurt subconsciously laced into it makes something in her heart twist, as if it had been pierced by a shard of glass.

Outwardly, she does nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

For all the days they have spent trekking across the ice together, it suddenly dawns on her how little she actually knows about him.

"No," she replies carefully, dragging out the word. "Why?" "She-"

Akita can almost see his internal struggle - anger and fear and indecision and something she can't quite place her finger on meshing into another thing entirely.

"She- tried to murder," Lloyd flinches at the word, nails digging into his palms, "my friends. And I was forced to watch, helpless," he whispers, so softly that she has to strain to hear it.

"But when she- she died in a crumbling building, I- was... the one who caused it to fall."

"Your point?" she snaps; voice as sharp as her blade. He is the only thing standing between her and the Emperor; between the growing hatred she had allowed to fester for all this time, because one day she would finally make him pay-

Her friend visibly winces.

Too late does she realize her mistake, a fact that leaves her a bit sick to the stomach.

That's nothing compared to the bout of nausea that accompanies another realization, juts a second later.

How could I let my anger hurt another - one who did not deserve to receive it? Am I truly any better than the one whom I have condemned?

Well. The logical side of her mind points out that it is her choice to forgive, for such unforgivable acts; that the anger that had doused everything in its hue, every day, was to be expected-

"I apologize... for my conduct," she says quickly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "You have never hurt me. I did not mean to hurt you." "It's okay- this- this isn't my fight anyway," Lloyd replies quickly, fingers wrapped around the door handle - but she doesn't even think he's aware of the fact. "I just- I just wanted to share something with you, something I wish someone would've shared with me, because-" He's rambling, words practically coated in a jumble of shaky nerves. "What is it?" Akita asks softly, losing a little of the stiffness in her tone.

"Murder- it isn't right," he repeats, hands pressed to his forehead. "But... it'll hurt you more than it will anyone else. I can't go a week without seeing her fall in my dreams, over and over again. I should've been glad, I guess... she'd hurt my friends and I so many times. But- but I'm the one with the nightmares, and all this- guilt. And I care- I care you, Akita. I know that I'll never understand how you've been hurt by- by the Emperor... just, think about how it'll affect you." Akita's eyes widen incredulously, but he's not done. "Just- don't let someone else make you hurt yourself." His voice is about a pitch higher than normal, but neither of them really register it. "Sometimes, the best kind of revenge is refusing..." Lloyd trails off, his eyes squeezed shut (a second later, he opens them again, blinking profusely), "to let anyone... make you hurt them."

Irrationally, she wants to break something.

That advice offers... an entirely new perspective. One that she had never thought of.

One that is- is unwanted, she insists fervently.

And now his fingers are pressing into his hands again, so tightly that she almost wants to yell - stop it, idiot, you're hurting yourself! - at him. "Because... it might haunt you lot more. And if they- they- really want to hurt you?" Both of them ignore the erratic, painful looking way his breathing starts to hitch just then.

"Don't give them... the satisfaction of it - by- your own hands."

Her mouth drops open.

No words come out.

What?

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Lloyd slowly - a bit too carefully - push the door shut behind him. It creaks softly, but neither of the two left standing in the room really hear it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, far too many emotions almost crashing through her mind.

"You seek to rescue your friend. I seek revenge."

Blinking the world back into focus, her mind whirls and whirls; the storm unrelenting.

"I seek revenge."

What exactly did that mean to her?

She...

She did not quite know the answer now.

---

Akita does not speak for some time, her thoughtful expression plainly clashing with one of anger.

He does not speak, either, although it is for a different reason.

Lloyd's words have forced him to face the reality he has been avoiding ever since he smashed his scepter on the ground - ever since the decade-long winter had ended.

"And if they really want to hurt you? Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands."

"If they really want to hurt you."

There is only one whom Lloyd could have been referring to.

"You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Somewhere within his mind, he is aware of the fact that the second his memories returned, the staff lay in pieces on the floor; all of that corrupted ice shattering into nothing.

He is also aware of the fact that sixty years of tyranny will leave behind much more than an altered climate.

If they even get back to Ninjago, what will have become of his city? It took his friends decades to find him - what could have happened during all that time?

Friends. Does he even have a right to call them that?

He is not quite sure - or even sure if all of them will be as forgiving as Lloyd.

The Green Ninja had always strived to find the best in people - to believe that anyone could make up for their mistakes, that they would want to. It had been to his friend's detriment, once - yet Lloyd had never quite given up on the world, in the same way that many of them had. Maybe it was some sort of childish naivety - or maybe it was just in his nature to hope, even after all they had been through, that everyone had some good inside them.

Yet, he had never met anyone who shared his friend's mindset - or at least to that extent.

Kai knows what it is like to have a sibling kidnapped, taken from them for no rhyme or reason - other than the fact that a cruel ruler who seeks power and exploits those around them for it will stop at nothing to get what they want.

Cole knows what it is like to die (well, almost, his logic points out) - to be imprisoned within yourself; a husk of a person, unable to live your life to the fullest.

His mind flashes to the thousands of innocent villagers he had frozen in icy prisons, practically caskets-

Irrationally, his hands begin to shake.

He chooses not to focus on that.

Nya used to hunt down those who hurt others, he recalls - and then squeezes his eyes shut.

Is she not quite similar to Akita in that regard?

The realization leaves him more gutted than he thought was possible. Had he really become the very person his friends worked so hard to stop?

He clenches his fists, the titanium covering his fingers grating together.

At least I am no longer holding the scroll, he thinks, fervently. Before long, the memory of a clear, quiet night pulls itself to the forefront of his mind.

The echo of a whispered confession; a brief explanation mixed with tears and shaking hands. A voice usually so bright, silenced to the shaky murmur of "I watched her die, Zane, and it was all my fault, it's all my fault-"

It was then when he had learned of- of an alternate timeline, his processor had inputted seamlessly. Another reality, wiped from their minds and the press of time. One that only existed in the memories of two of his best friends.

One that resulted in poorly concealed winces, seemingly arbitrary flinches, Nya throwing out any dresses she owned and Jay practically shaking with fear when he was asked to do certain chores. One that resulted in scars that ran far deeper than those of venom or sword. His memories had been useless then, too, his mind points out. How could he have let two of his best friends suffer for weeks on end, when he was able to upgrade or encrypt his memory drive at any time? When he was a n- robot, and should be able to recover memories that had been deleted or erased? The others could never be afforded that opportunity - yet, he had let the team down when it mattered most. If he could not be there for others, try to help them protect them from a force unable to ever be completely defeated, would he ever even halfway fulfill his purpose? He had pondered all of those questions - had ignored the pang in his heart when many pieces of the figurative puzzle clicked into place, for many weeks afterward. He had almost immediately vowed to be better - to ensure that his purpose did not go unfulfilled.

His purpose, he thought bitterly, as he squeezed his eyes shut. What had become of it now?

Another question to ponder, he supposed. And the realization that Jay - one of his brothers, one who was always equipped with a weapon and a joke too - would forever know what it was like to be kidnapped, held hostage, simply because a power-hungry figure cared less for another than anyone ever should.

Akita's brother had been scarcely less than a child - after his imprisonment. How could he have strayed so far from his original goals - how could he have strayed so far from what he had supposedly fervently stood for?

---

Lloyd's words still ring in her ears, his weary tone not quite matching their crazy implications.

She rubs her temples, frustrated. This was definitely not what she had come here for! She had come for vengeance - vengeance for the terrible crimes the Ice Emperor had committed, against her village, her brother, even her-

But what was the point of revenge if she was the one left scarred? a small voice in the back of her mind points out, doing nothing but adding to her indecision.

I cannot do this, she insists fervently, thinking of her brother's worn face - and the years he had spent imprisoned; a lone figure silently mourning a sister he did not know still trekked the ice.

Just as she had been mourning him, she thinks sadly. The pang in her heart may have lessened since she had realized that he was still alive, but it was still horrifying to think that he had lost decades of his life - she had lost decades of hers, too, in a different way, she muses - saddened, alone, imprisoned.

But is this what he would have wanted? For her?

He had always been the calmer, logic-based one. She was always running into fights, the one fueled by emotion and anger.

Well. She spares a moment for the future.

The Emperor would leave their world - possibly, to haunt another. She would remain here - with her brother and her village, the woods and the towering peaks of the mountains.

I only have this one chance, she reminds herself firmly. She fixes her eyes on the strange blue ones of the Emperor, and sees a future ruled by that one decision.

Her gaze flits towards the doorway, and she sees a future there, too.

She sighs, dropping her eyes to the ground.

But Katuru would want me to- to-

Be happy, she realizes, jarringly.

Taking a deep breath, she bites her lip.

"Will taking your life make me happy? Will it make up for the years of pain we have endured at your hands?"

Her voice rings out, hesitant yet determined.

"I wish it were so," she confesses wearily, ignoring the ache in her hands. She's been gripping the hilt of her dagger for so long, the blade's almost pierced her skin. "Alas, it is not."

The Emperor meets her gaze, but not completely - out of guilt? Fear? Anger?

She does not have the time to ponder meaningless questions.

"I despise you with every fiber of my being, you coward," Akita snarls, some of the anger she has become so accustomed to bleeding its way into her words. "But I will not tarnish my hands on someone as worthless as you, when you presently pose no threat to me."

The words spill from her mouth, but she almost wants to stuff them back inside at that very second.

This isn't why I came here! This isn't what I was supposed to do-

Another voice cuts through the one in her head, a weary confession from someone she knew nothing and everything about.

"Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands.

The next words she utter fill the room - steady, unwavering.

"Leave our world, and never return. Never. You have treated my people as if you are a monster, yet you say that you are sorry. As if you could ever care - after everything you have done to us!"

Akita sheathes her dagger, indecision still weighing heavily on her mind.

"I hope that you are as haunted by your time here as we all are," she spits, walking towards the door. She does not look behind her, but packs as much bitterness as she can into the last word she utters before the door closes behind her.

"Emperor."

---

A/N - I know this wasn't great, but honestly, it was really interesting to write and challenged me to think about certain things quite a bit. If you did read it, thank you so much!:D

[durmstrange]

Bilingual - Fred Weasley

Welcome to my next Fred blurb!  This one was requested by anon and I’ve never written anything like it so I thought I’d give it a go.

Enjoy!

word count: 2,338

On a particularly sunny day, you sat on the ground with your legs crossed and a book in your lap, reading over your Potions content for the next exam you had coming up in just a few short days.  Silently, as you flipped the pages of you book so slowly, a snake you had come to know well, and would almost consider your pet, slithered up your arm and back down as slow as could be.

You didn’t mind it.  The feeling of the scales on your skin was once intimidating, but it had become like a second nature to you over time.  In fact, you found yourself missing the sensation on occasion when the snake, or any snake, really, was not there.  It was a foreign feeling you were no longer used to.  

As you sat alone, you were fully aware of the looks you were getting from the passing students.  You were beyond used to it by now.  After all, what fifteen-year-old student walked around with dangerous creatures on their arm?  After the fiasco in your fourth year with the Chamber of Secrets, you were used to being alone and you were used to the stares you got from others.

As time passed, you noticed a shadow looming over you as you read, causing a pulse you did not realize you had in your forehead to begin rhythmically thumping, and you looked up, beyond irritated with whoever was blocking the warm sunlight.  

“Aye, you know you have a snake on your arm, right?”  A comically confused voice asked as you squinted up at him, making out the quizzical face of Fred Weasley, a boy who was in your year but in Gryffindor house.  You had very little contact with him, and had even been the victim of one of his pranks, once.  Even through your anger, you found yourself amused with his joke, and had kept tabs on him since.

This question had caught you so off guard that you couldn’t help but to chuckle as you placed your hand on the ground, the snake slithering off quickly to get away from Fred as if he were the plague.   “I do, but thank you for the concern,” you told him airily once the snake scurried off into its hole not far from the tree.  Just as quickly as Fred started the conversation, you ended it as you returned your eyes to the book in your lap.  At least, you had thought.  

Fred remained looming over you, an insanely amused look on his face.  You knew he was not about to give up from the look on his face, and for some reason, you were not too irritated with it.  “Does it not bother you?”  He continued to questions and you sighed lightly, closing you book and squinting up to him once more.  Why was he standing right in the way of the sun? You could hardly see him and in the fall weather, the sunlight provided you with warmth that would otherwise make you wear a jacket.

“No, not at all.  Why would it?”  An ironic smirk began to form on your face as you tilted your hear to the side.  It was moderately surprising that he was one of the few people who did not know who you were.  Doesn’t he and his brother know everyone?

Fred laughed loudly as he reached his hand out to you to help you up.  “Well, for one, people are typically terrified of snakes.  And for seconds, if they aren’t, they surely don’t let the snakes crawl all over them,” he said as you placed your hand in his.  He pulled you up and you straightened your shirt out as you chuckled.  

With a charming smile on your face, you shook your head at his words.  “For one,” you began, imitating him, “snakes do not crawl, they slither.  For seconds, they have the tendency to not hurt you if you are able to speak with them,” you told him with a nervous smile on your face, ready for him to give you hell for your ability.

For a moment, Fred did not seem to understand. He had an odd look on his face as you stepped into the sunlight once more, sighing at the warmth returning.  Then, just seconds after his face was struck with realization, words fell from his mouth that you made you positive that he didn’t think about beforehand.  “No way! Wicked!  Parseltongue?”  He spoke far too excitedly for you to keep the laugh from forming in your throat.  “You have got to help me collect some snake venom!  Do you realize what properties it has?  It can coagulate just about anything and in small, microscopic doses, it is actually really good for you!  Not to mention is can make the consumer dizzy and hallucinate…” He rambled on about snake venom, which was oddly surprising for his character.

You laughed until your stomach hurt and finally put your hand up, stopping his talking as his face turned pink.  “All right.  You need to take a breath or you might pass out from getting too excited.  Besides, you don’t even know my name!”  You hit his arm lightly with your book.  The smile on his face seemed like it was so blissful but so foolish.

With a reddened face, Fred laughed.  “Sorry about that.  I’ve never met a parseltongue other than Harry Potter, but he is known for everything, so it is exciting to meet someone who is, you know, average.” With the smile remaining on your face, you lifted an eyebrow to him.  His face reddened even further as he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I mean—not that you aren’t special, or anything, but you really, surely are, but I mean average as in...” He paused and stopped in the middle of his sentence, signing. “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly and gave you a slight frown.  

“It’s fine.  I am actually used to people subtly insulting me,” you replied back with a crooked smile on your lips.

Fred’s eyes widened.  “No, I wasn’t meaning to insult you,” he explained hurriedly with a panicked look on his face.  With your smile only growing further, you nodded.  “Let’s start over, yeah?”  he offered you with an embarrassed look on his face.  

You held your hand out to him.  “I’m (Y/N),”   You introduced yourself as he took your hand.

Again, Fred looked surprised.  “You’re (Y/N)?  The one who everyone thought was the Heir of Slytherin in fourth year?”  He questioned, drawing connections all together.  You felt his tone change, something you did not care much for.

With a roll of your eyes, you nodded.  “The very same.  Foolish, actually.  I am half-blood anyways and my magical father is the least intimidating or menacing man in the world,” you explained as you checked the old watch on your wrist.  It was getting close to dinner.  The slight pang in your stomach at the thought told you that you were hungry.

Fred hummed and nodded, but the look on his face told you that he was still so fascinated.  “So, were people mean to you, like they were to Harry?”  Fred continued to question without skipping a beat as you began walking slowly, him following your pace, and his eyes holding so many questions he wanted answered.  

You huffed, an angry, unforgiving noise, and looked away from Fred.  “Like you wouldn’t believe.  Bunch of fools, if you ask me.  Why is it that I am prejudiced for being bilingual when someone who speaks French and English is not?”  You asked Fred with an irritable tone in your voice.

He smiled a foreign smile to you and chuckled lightly. “When you put it that way, it does sound rather foolish,” Fred agreed and put his hands into the pockets of his pants.  “I suppose I own you an apology, then.  I told Harry on multiple occasions that it had to be you and not him being the Heir of Slytherin, given you were in Slytherin and all,” Fred explained to you and his eyes ducked to the ground.  With him trying to look away from you, you noticed how pretty his eyes were for the first time in this conversation.  

With a laugh, you shook your head.  “No need to apologize.  I’ve gotten it enough that I almost believed it at one point.  Fortunately, that is all behind us now.  Given that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back and all, as the true Heir of Slytherin,” you spoke so casually that it almost made Fred hesitant to be around you much more. Could this all be a sham and you were evil, truly?  He pressed his lips together and stared hard at you.  

“You believe Harry, then?”

Again, you chuckled, and leaned closer to Fred.  “Of course!”  You whispered to him.  “Between you and I, my father works with the Quibbler and a lot of the supportive opinions published come directly from him,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice down for anyone who could possibly be listening.  Fred hummed in reply, something that made you frown.  He didn’t believe you.  “You are being hesitant because I am in Slytherin, aren’t you?”  You asked him.  He did not respond.  “Well, if you doubt my character, you can ask Luna Lovegood, who has become close with Harry, about myself and my family, given that I have grown up with her,” you snapped, suddenly angry.  You were ill with the fact that he could be so thick.  You were a person after all, and the Slytherin crest was just something you were forced to wear.  “It is a shame.  I had really actually enjoyed speaking with you.”  You finished with one last biting sentence and stormed off, not even hungry for dinner anymore.

~.~

A couple days after your run-in with Fred Weasley, you found yourself to still be cross with him and his attitude.  What right does he have to judge you solely on what house you were in?  Or, was that it at all?  Did he judge you on everything, from being a parseltongue to your house, down to the clothes you wore and the way you spoke?  All of it made you feel sick and your stomach felt constantly unsettled as you went on with your life the same.

At times you were in the Great Hall, you sat as far away from Fred as you possibly could, typically alone and hidden in the crowd, with the idea that if he saw you less, the more he would forget about you.  You secretly had wished that you had never met him at all, but you were unable to turn back time and you had to deal with it regardless.

During dinner on a Friday night, you sat with a book in one hand and a fork with green beans on it in the other.  You were consumed in your book, like usual, and you were trying hard to ignore the world around you while you read.  This had become normal for you for dinners.  On occasion, you would sit with Luna or another fellow Slytherin who was a reject like you, but mostly, you filled the social aspect of your day with books.

As you ate slowly, a voice tore your attention from the words of the library book.  “Do you ever stop reading?”  Fred’s voice asked, causing you to look up with wide eyes as you swallowed the partially chewed food in your mouth, nearly choking on it.  You stared at him with a slightly irritated but mostly alarmed look on your face.  “Can I have a word?”  He asked you as he nodded towards the doorway of the Great Hall.  

With a sigh, you set your fork down and pushed your plate away from you.  You strangely knew you would not be coming back to your food.  You marked your page with a strip of parchment and stood, following Fred out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall.  He came to a stop and you about bumped into him, but took a few steps back away from him.  

“I was rather rude, wasn’t I?”  Fred asked with a small, sheepish smile on his lips and you stood, clutching your book to your chest, and simply nodded.  “I would like to apologize for that.  I did some thinking, and talked to Loony Lovegood like you suggested, and I came to the realization that I had branded you with a dark image without even knowing you and I hate myself for that.  It drives me bonkers when people put assumptions to my person given my last name, and I should not go the same to you for who you are.” Fred explained with a frown growing on his lips.  His shoulders hunched forward and there was a look on his face you had not seen before. You knew too well that he regretted the way he acted and because of this, you gave a small nod.  Fred raised an eyebrow, and the small smile formed on his lips once more.  “So, can we start over?”  He asked hopefully and gave you the biggest, sweetest puppy eyes you had ever seen. You loved his eyes.

With a small chuckle, you nodded.  “Yes, we can, but keep in mind that this is the second time we are starting over.  Next time, I won’t be so forgiving,” you teased with a wide smile on your face as you looked away, trying to hide from his stare.

Fred smile, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and drawing you close to him. “Luckily, there won’t be a next time.  I think this is the second start to a wonderful friendship,” he promised you as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Technically third.”

[y-the-youthful]

Chapter Six

It took me twenty years but I finally updated the story as well. I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I did.

CHAPTER SIX

A minute ticked by in silence, the flickering of candlelight bouncing shadows across naked walls. The very air itself was dark with the anticipation of haunted beasts stretching forth to tug at the planchette held between her toughed hands. If she stared long enough, she could imagine that the trembles in her fingers were the planchette trying to move, but as the minute ticked by her own insecurity faded.

With a sigh, she pulled away.

“I knew I was being absurd.” As her fingers were about to pull away from the surface there was a sharp, jagged movement straight towards the ‘no’. The planchette had been ripped from her fingers and stood firmly on the word as though it had always been there. The nearest candle popped, wide eyes staring in disbelief at what she had just witnessed.

She tenderly set her fingers on it again.

“Is there someone here?” Stillness took hold of the room once more as she waited with bated breath for a response. Then, like the dragging of nails against a chalk board, the planchette dragged across the Ouija board. She knew it would say yes, but still dreaded the moment when it settled on the word. She furrowed her brows, forcing calm within herself as she tried to remove herself from the chill in the air. “Do I know who you are?”

It pulled back, only a centimetre or two, and then pushed back in. She knew who she was speaking to. She knew of only two deceased people within Wammy’s House and was fearful of her confrontation of both. If her hands were not holding onto the planchette they would be clenched, white in their dread and in their suspense.

“Are… are you Z?” She watched it pull away, and when it paused, she did not know where it would go. She was more afraid of a confrontation with A than Z, even though she had no involvement in A’s death. It pushed back into yes and she dared not let out a sigh of relief for that meant that she was confronted with the boy she had a partly involvement in the death of. “How have you been?”

She immediately wanted to smack her head for asking such a foolish question. He was dead, it was clear how he was feeling, and she wished she could take back the words, but he responded swiftly:

W E L L

“How…” She struggled, gulping and running her tongue along her lips. “How is it on the… other side?”

Q U I E T

C O L D

D A R K

“Quiet? Are there… are there not a lot of people there?” She had heard of many deaths in Wammy’s House before it became Wammy’s House, so she was confused when such a thing was said.

O N L Y S H A D O W S

O N L Y T A L K I N N O T E S

They could not talk to each other? They could not even see each other? What a terrifying thing, to be utterly alone in such a house with only the company of shadows.

“Can you see the living?”

W H E N S T R O N G

“Strong?”

H A P P Y

S A D

A N G R Y

She felt the crawling of bugs along her arms at the final word. Anger. It was a word she knew much of, having been filled with so much anger her entire life, but with it came anticipation.

“Which are you feeling right now?” She dared to ask. There was quiet.

F E A R

Fear? Fear of what? For what purpose did fear consume Z? Z had never been known to be fearful in the past, it was because of his lack of fear that he was taken from them so young.

“Why are you afraid?”

A

No letters came after it, and when Yoriko slowly breathed out she could see that it had grown cold enough to see her breath once more. Like the chill of when she first left the house, and the consequences there after, she found that the lead weight that settled into her stomach was very difficult to be rid of.

“Why are you afraid of A?” It came out a whisper, a prayer, a hope that it was a lie.

A N G E R

Answered her. She wanted to pull away, burn the Ouija board, and declare it all a nightmare then. She was good at forgetting things, her talent was in not remembering her experiences at Wammy’s House, of suppressing dreadful memories until they tore themselves free of her brain like floaters in the eye.

“Why is he angry?”

F O R G O T T E N

She and B were the only ones that knew A alive that knew him as more than the outer statue he appeared to be, and B was far from the house where he could not be reached. And she… she only remembered his funeral when she stood at the doorstep, and only remembered that he killed himself when she stood before his door which was then her door. She did not remember the scene until she saw it only a few days earlier and did not know that she had stumbled across the body only seconds before his death until that memory came to her in the form of a wicked prank.

She was finding herself doubting it to be a prank. She felt it to be a dangerous omen, and she could not tell if it was A that did such a thing, although her mind resisted the prospect for he was not often cruel.

“Is it important to be remembered?”

W H O L E

M O R E F R E E D O M

“More freedom? What does that mean?” The candle closest to her blew out and she jolted, pulling away from it in her shock at sudden black space.

M O R E R E A L

W E C A N L I V E A G A I N

E N J O Y F O O D

H U G F R I E N D S

B E S E E N

The words blurred together under a blanket of shaky fears for while she ought to feel joy that she could help them in her torment, all she felt was the static of something pressing against her like the stare of a hungry wolf.

‘If I am to be the sole person that remembers them in this place…’ She thought with grim dread. ‘Will peace come to them?’ She would not ask it.

“Is A in this room at this moment?”

H E F O L L O W S Y O U E V E R Y W H E R E

“Goodbye!” She declared sharply, pulling it to goodbye as the remaining lights vanished. She was left in the lonesome dark of early morning with no rising sun in sight, and the terrible chills of a room she now knew she was not alone in.

The cold did not leave her, and when she rubbed her arms all she could feel was the goosebumps that had risen all along them. It was without looking behind her, without acknowledging what she knew to be there, that she pulled away from her chair and ripped open her limited bedsheets, throwing them over her head like a frightened child trying to hide away from the monster in the closet.

With her eyes pressed shut, she could feel the urge to scream take hold of her as the floorboards creaked, creaking closer and closer, until they settled in front of her bed. She did not feel a weight on her bed, but she knew it was there and it was watching her frightful form.

She felt it press its cold dead hand against her hidden shoulder and she prayed that it was not A for it was easier for her to pretend that the experience had been a hallucination, and this was nothing but a lucid dream haunting at the corners of her very mind. That the chill that sunk into her beating heart was a creation of her own and no harm was to come to her, that the pressure of a head against her ear, what she knew to be lips, was her imagination and nothing more.

That she had made up the voice, that she did not recognise the rasp of a voice neglected for weeks up to death, that the melodic tone and the slight adenoidal undertone was only from her faint grasp of where he had been from, but the reality shook, and she knew that it was madness in her that pursued her there.

“Wake up.”

Someone tore the bedsheets from her, and she screamed, shielding herself from an attack that never came. Wide-eyed, ragged, and in a cold sweat. That was what Beatrice saw when she stared at Yoriko more exposed than she had ever been, and in that brief moment Beatrice was aware of the fact of just how terribly young Yoriko was; twenty-three and only just settled into her new life where her life knew no peace before.

“You look a mess, girl.” Yoriko merely stared and Beatrice set the blankets down. “It’s almost eleven, everyone was worried about you. If you are ill, you can sleep in, but otherwise.” She did not continue the sentence, and Yoriko found her cheeks flushed red as she fumbled to put on her glasses.

“Y-yes, of course, Beatrice.” She went in pursuit of her clothes, wishing that she could find the rest of her clothes so she could wear something different, but stilled at the sight of the Ouija board sat at the end of her desk. Beatrice had not noticed it for she did not curse it nor tell her to burn the thing, but Yoriko knew then that what she had experienced had been no nightmare.

“Are you alright, Miss Kaneshiro?” She pressed a smile onto her face, flat as an ironed shirt.

“Yes, I am well.” Yet all she felt was horror.

[fandomshatelgbtqpeople]

I'll never forget what my girlfriend said to me when she and I were talking about LGBTQ+ representation in the media: "I'd never thought beforehand that my mom would have a problem with me coming out. It wasn't until I read and watched those stories that I started to wonder if maybe, like all those parents, she would kick me out, too."

This is just one of many problems with LGBTQ+ representation in the media. It's getting better, and I can't argue with that. But it's still not where it needs to be. And people are finally speaking out about that, which makes me both excited and nervous. Excited because maybe, just maybe, it means that people are taking notice of the problem. And nervous because I'm worried it's just a passing phase, and it won't sustain the momentum it's picked up.

Bury Your Gays is a trope that exists across all media. It basically means that LGBTQ+ characters have a tendency to die rather than lead happy lives. In addition to Bury Your Gays, LGBTQ+ characters are often: relegated to the background, fetishized, stereotyped or tokenized, kicked out, abused, beaten and bullied extensively. Queer characters, especially before the 2000s, were likely to be trauma survivors, and to have their trauma closely linked to their queer identity. Their family members shunned them, so they developed mental illnesses and wound up homeless and alone. They committed suicide. They ran away from home.

Why does this matter? I think my girlfriend's quote just about sums it up. These representations affect real people. They are the only thing we have to cling to when we're trying to compare our lives to someone else's. In many situations, such as when a queer person lives in a very small or isolated area, they may not know any other out LGBTQ+ people. The media may be their only solution when it comes to looking for advice and someone to relate to.

While I was in the process of coming out, I didn't know very many real-life out LGBTQ+ people. I had two places to turn for support and resources: my online community, and queer media. I read Autostraddle and AfterEllen. I watched LOGO TV. I devoured books with queer characters, like Annie On My Mind.

There were good times, here and there. The L Word, as a show mainly about queer characters, had its fair share of representation, so not everyone led miserable, depressed lives. The problem was that I was coming out as a teen, and The L Word is about adult women, and really aimed at adult women. There weren't very many TV shows featuring queer teens when I was coming out. I watched South of Nowhere and Degrassi, and I learned how damn hard it is to be gay. How your family kicks you out, sends you to ex-gay therapy and bans you from seeing your significant other. How being LGBTQ+ will tear your entire world apart.

That's why it's so important that mainstream media is covering this issue. We, the LGBTQ+ community, have been outraged for years. Autostraddle, AfterEllen, queer blogs, and other LGBTQ+ publications have taken issue with our media representation for years. And that is important. There's no doubt in mind that actual queer people should be the ones taking the most offense with a lack of representation or with problematic tropes, and that we should be at the forefront and our voices should be heard. But I also think we need allies in this fight. We need non-queer people to be angry, too. We need mainstream publications to cover this. To showcase the issue to a broader audience, to an audience that has never thought about this problem before. That's why the recent coverage byEntertainment Weekly, Vanity Fair and Variety is so crucial.

I feel the tides beginning to change when it comes to diversity in media. Social media and the Internet is a huge part of that. Just look at the #WeNeedDiverseBooks and #OscarsSoWhite campaigns as an example. #WeNeedDiverseBooks grew so much as a hashtag campaign that it demanded a nonprofit be founded. Several studies in the publishing industry have been released. Just last week, in my graduate course on Principles of Management in Publishing, we spent roughly thirty minutes discussing how the industry can change. #OscarsSoWhite sparked boycotts and encouraged The Academy to institute real change in adding diverse members to their board.

This is the kind of momentum I want to see, and I don't want it to stop. I hate being angry. It's tiring, honestly, and sometimes I just want to consume media in a vacuum. I don't want to think about how Pretty Little Liars has de-gayed Emily Fields, or about Lexa's death on The 100. But sometimes I have to get angry, because those strong emotions incite reactions. People respond to anger about a lack of representation in the media, just as they respond positively to fantastic representations. I remember how the Internet exploded when Clarke and Lexa got together, how absolutely overjoyed so many fans were. This past week, too, I've seen a similar reaction about the relationship between Alec and Magnus on Freeform's Shadowhunters. Fans are excited to see characters like this; they're hungry for it.

The most important thing we can do to institute change is to not be content. We need to keep showcasing those strong emotions. We need to show how thrilled we are, as consumers, when diverse characters are represented, when diverse actors are used to play them, when diverse writers and producers are at the helm of a project. We need to show how angry we are when the reverse happens, and like with the #OscarsSoWhite and #WeNeedDiverseBooks campaigns, we need to continually demand better. As part of a business, the media wants fans to be happy, so they continue consuming. We need to prove that if there are more diverse representations, and if those representations aren't pandering or based on stereotypes or problematic tropes, we'll use our spending power to support it. And if there aren't, then we won't.

It's long been a stereotype in the media industry that readers won't pay for diversity. That's why things like #WheresRey happen, and why books about characters of color or disabled characters aren't marketed the same way other books are. But we can break that stereotype if we go about instituting change at every level.

If you're a maker—a current or aspiring journalist, novelist, filmmaker, television producer, or beyond—you can be a part of this change. Take a hard look at the diversity represented in the stories you tell, in your portrayals of events, in the worlds you create. Take the time to ask yourself if you're including a fair representation, or if you're tokenizing: if you've got just one queer character, or just one character of color, or just one character who uses a wheelchair, and if they tend to fit stereotypes or be relegated to the background. Take the time to ask people of the communities you're representing to act as beta consumers of your work, so they can point out potentially problematic tropes you may have missed, and so they can offer advice and insight into a world you may not be personally familiar with.

If you have the power, allow diverse makers to create. Hire journalists of color at your news organization. Include books by disabled writers, about disabled characters, at your children's book publisher. Hire a transgender film producer, and produce more films about transgender characters or real people. Publish that personal essay by an intersex writer. Look for mentally ill actors for your documentaries, even if the film isn't centered on mental illness. If you aren't in a position to hire these people directly, support their work when it is out there. Do everything you can to show the industry that this isn't a trend, and it isn't going away.

As consumers, we're responsible for showing that we do care about representations, and not just the ones that personally affect us. I'm queer and disabled, so it's clear why I care about those experiences being shown. But I'm also able-bodied, white, from a first-world country, college educated, and not a religious or ethnic minority. I cannot ignore the lack of representation for communities I'm not directly a part of. None of us can. This is all of our fight, and it's time we stand together.

[books-and-or-wine]

Fourth Post / On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

It is February, which means I made it through dry(ish) January! Which also means I’m back on my shit. This review is brought to you by:

As for the subject of this week’s review, the novel du jour is my February book club read. I always wanted to be in a book club, and after moving to Vancouver I was lucky enough to meet a friend who (a) wanted to start one, and (b) had enough friends who were interested in joining that it actually became a thing. Which was great, because I had literally 3 friends in the city at the time, so I wasn’t much help in the recruitment department... I mean, I still only have 3 friends, but now I also have ~*BoOk~cLuB*~. 

ON EARTH WE’RE BREIFLY GORGEOUS by OCEAN VUONG

**Spoilers ahead, read with caution**

The Premise:

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous traces the life of “Little Dog”, a Vietnamese immigrant living in Hartford, Connecticut. The story is told in the form of a letter to his mother and spans from his childhood up until early adulthood. While this story is a work of fiction, my understanding is that Ocean Vuong drew heavily on his own life and experiences in its telling. 

We read about the relationship between Little Dog and his mother: a single-mom who suffers from PTSD and fits of anger. She cannot read or write, nor can she speak English very well. She relies on Little Dog to help them navigate their new life in America, and while their relationship has problems, she ultimately wants what’s best for him.  

We read about the relationship between Little Dog and his grandmother: Lam suffers from schizophrenia, and often confuses the present day with the past. She recounts her life in Vietnam during the war, getting pregnant with an American soldier, and eventually escaping the war-torn country with her young family. Even though her mind is half-gone, she is always loving, supportive and kind. 

Finally, we read about the relationship between Little Dog and his lover: a red-neck, white boy who can’t or won’t accept the fact that he is gay. Trevor is tragically addicted to opiates after an accident in his teens led to an OxyContin prescription. The dynamic between Little Dog and Trevor is far from healthy, and borders on abusive at times. 

Through this all, we get to read about and experience Little Dog’s inner workings; his reactions to these people, these relationships, and the circumstances of his life. At its heart this is a coming-of-age story, over the course of which Little Dog matures and grows into his own person -- flawed, damaged, and briefly gorgeous. 

The Pros:

In reading this book, it is instantly apparent that Ocean Vuong comes from a poetry background. His writing style is highly poetic, ethereal, and is a “delight to the senses” (if I may be allowed to use one cliché phrase in this review). I do mean that in the literal sense of the phrase though -- the images, the sounds, the textures, the scents, the feelings... Vuong describes all of these elements to create a highly sensory experience for the reader. His hybrid style of poetic-prose is a big part of what makes this book so special.  

For example, a passage that grabbed me early on in the book reads:

“You once told me that the human eye is god’s loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.”

How beautiful is that!? It leaves such a sad, hollow feeling in me to think about -- which is not necessarily a feeling I’m looking for, but the fact that Vuong can write something so powerful that I am made to feel that way is a testament to his talent. 

Speaking of the feels, I was in tears on more than one occasion in this book. All of the characters in this book carry a sadness with them, and for good reasons. Everyone has a tragic past, and it seems like those pasts continue to haunt them presently. Through this darkness, though, there are moments of light and beauty and love. Little Dog seems to reflect on the difficulty of experiencing such highs and lows, at page 122:

“Do you remember the happiest day of your life? What about the saddest? Do you ever wonder if sadness and happiness can be combined, to make a deep purple feeling, not good, not bad, but remarkable simply because you didn’t have to live on one side or the other?”

This book was definitely not a deep purple sort of book, but it was remarkable all the same. I couldn’t help but become emotionally invested in the lives of these characters, and the words Vuong used to so vividly create them. 

The Cons:

I was initially doubtful this book would appeal to me, as it doesn’t fit neatly into the categories of books I am typically drawn to. While I am now glad to have read this book, one thing I did find challenging about it was the sheer number of issues it sought to address. Over the course of only 243 pages we read about:

1. war;

2. PTSD and other mental illnesses;

3. racism and the immigrant experience;

4. homophobia and the gay experience;

5. abuse;

6. addiction and the opioid crisis; and

7. death;

.. to name a few! You could have a whole book about just one of these topics, let alone all of them. 

I do think Vuong’s writing style enables the reader to consume these serious themes more easily than one otherwise would; because his prose is so beautiful and light (the words almost seeming to float off the page) it counterbalances the weightiness of these topics. But all the same, for my personal tastes, I think I would have enjoyed this book more if Vuong had focused on a few of these topics rather than overburdening the reader with so much to process. I appreciate that in real life some people do have tragedy upon tragedy befall them, and that their lives are filled with a heaviness that they didn’t get to choose. But this is supposedly a work of fiction, and the beauty of fiction is that, as the author, you do get to decide what happens to your characters. So maybe cut them some slack?

The Final Take-away:

This is not a book I would have chosen for myself to read, but that is one of the best things about being in a book club -- it exposes you to authors and stories you might not otherwise be. Despite my initial reservations, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous was an excellent read. “Gorgeous” is really the perfect word, as everything about Ocean Vuong’s story-telling was beautiful. Even the ugly bits. I don’t think this is a book for everyone -- it can be a bit abstract at times and deals with a lot of frankly depressing material. But if you have any sort of appreciation for the beauty of words and all the journeys they can take you on -- including those journeys into dark, difficult places and feelings -- then I’d give this book a try. 

[haleyroachstafford]

good friday//father forgive them

It is the guy who beats his wife every time he has had too much to drink

It is the mother who chooses drugs over feeding her babies

It is the government worker who tells the man with seven scared and starving children that maybe his visa will be approved next year as he hurries to his lunch break

It is the man who preys on children who are too young to defend themselves

It is the person with mental illness who opens fire on an elementary school

It is the person who forces himself on another and takes something from them that is meant to be sacred and pure

It is the man who plants a bomb in a building full of people who were only in the wrong place at the wrong time

It is the person who senselessly drives drunk and takes a husband from his wife and a father from his children

It is the police who shoots a young boy whose only crime is wearing his hoodie and playing his music too loud

It is fearful people who brutally murdered an innocent man, who put nails in hands that had only been used to heal, it is those who put a man on a cross that actually belonged to them, it is those who have given into a culture that is hungry for blood and violence

I watch the news. I hear the horror stories. I see the violence. And I look around and know that we have created this evil. We have created the murderers, the addicts, the sick. We are responsible for the pain that causes people to hurt another human. We belong to each other. My liberation is tied up with yours.

It is the wife who smells the alcohol on his breath and says into her pillow

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the child who visits her long absent mother in jail knowing right where she will go when she’s out and as she walks out she begs,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the father who just wants a job so he can provide but instead is watching his daughter become more dead than alive and he goes between cursing a country that won’t let him in and asking God,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the young man who testifies against the predator so that another kid won’t walk through the hell that he has, but before he steps onto the stand he prays

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the parents who stands in the back of the funeral service for the sick man who just shot and killed his little girl and whispers with tears streaming down their faces,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the woman who sits in a small, white  room with a young girl who has just been raped because she remembers experiencing the same terror because her “dress was too short,” she holds the young girl's hand and thinks,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the man who last remembers running into a burning building and the next moment is coming to in a hospital room with no arms and no legs and first mutters,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is the wife who sleeps alone now. Consumed by unwelcome anger at the drunk driver she prays the only way she can, in a guttural cry, screaming,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is a community who could respond in anger and violence because, when will this systematic racism that is taking precious lives end?, but instead they join hands and say,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

It is Jesus, who looks down from the cross at those who have put him there with their fear and anger and hate and resistance and as his eyes- full of warmth and love and light- meet mine he whispers,

“I forgive you, for you know not what you do.”

We don’t want to believe we are equal. We don’t want to be the same as the rapist, the terrorist, the pedophile, the serial killer. We don’t want to acknowledge that we carry darkness in us, just as they do. Or maybe, that they carry light in them, just as we do. We don’t want to remember that they were created in the image of a good God.

But if I believe that I am forgiven I have to believe that everyone is. If the scandalous, indiscriminate love of Jesus does not make me nervous or squirm in discomfort then I am not doing it right. I am not getting it. I am forgetting that Jesus’ love should feel unnatural because I live in a world that focuses on getting even instead of clearing the score card. I am not remembering that with Jesus’ dying breath he freed the rapist, the pedophile, the terrorist from damnation just like he freed me. The only thing that keeps me in bondage is if I am unable to forgive and love as radically as he.

We are all the main character in a scandalous, irrational, romantic love story. We are forgiven because we belong to a God who overflows with mercy- a God whose capacity for love and compassion can never be measured or comprehended.

But we also must remember that even our inability to forgive is graciously forgiven. We must remember that although Jesus is on the cross for our sin, it is because he chose to be. It is because of love that he wanted to be there. In the end, it is not because we are dark that Jesus is on the cross it is because he always looks at our light and his love for us holds the nails in his hands.

It is because he wanted to go before us in this hard and holy work of scandalous love. He wanted us to see that forgiveness walks beside us on every step of our journey. We can wander, but it is there. We can even try to kill Jesus, but he will use his dying breath to forgive us. And if it still does not click- which it won’t- he will rise from the dead and forgive us again.

We live in a tension. Our identity is beloved. We are chosen. We are precious. We are forgiven. We are whole. We must know this and we must own it. But we must also own that we are broken. That our brokenness has caused a broken world. That we have a duty to choose  to live in the belovedness of being broken, instead of the shame of it. We must use our brokenness and our belovedness to heal.

A couple years ago my grandpa died. He was the sweetest man. He loved Jesus deeply. He spent a lot of time with him, and was very much like him. He was slow in a world that teaches us to always be in a hurry. He saw people in a world that teaches us to only see ourselves. He listened to people's stories in a culture that teaches us to consume things. He died because of a mistake made during a surgery.

It felt unfair and unjust. He should have gotten to be at my wedding. He should have lived so much longer. Something special and irreplaceable had been taken from our family and we were hopeless to do anything about it.

It was so easy to get angry. To feel like that someone deserved to suffer. To feel hate. To want things to be fair. To want vengeance.

And then I am taken back to my last moments with my grandpa’s body. It was 4am. It was obvious that no life was left in the body I had known my whole life. In a body that had hugged me and held me and scratched my back and been at every soccer game and graduation. It was my grandpa. But it wasn’t. And we stood around the body that had been the holder of the best soul we had ever known and we sang amazing grace.

Amazing grace how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now I'm found.

Was blind but now I see.

But my grandpa was not there to hear us. He was probably holding God’s hand and recalling the doctors we had trusted with his life and saying,

“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

“Father, forgive us;  we know not what we do.”

[livingwithbpdsince1997]

A Day With BPD

It’s 5am. I still haven’t slept from the previous day. All my thoughts of the day, and the following day, and the day after that, and a year from now, and 5 years from now, and 20 years from now, are cycling around my head. What if I’ve left it too late to have kids? What if my mother disapproves of the choices I’ve made? What if my partner is not the one suited to me, and I’m just settling because it’s mostly good? What if my therapist disapproves of my choices? What if I’m really unlikable and nobody ever actually likes me, and instead just tolerates me because I’m useful? What if I turn out just like my mother – narcissistic, abusive, unloved by her children, disapproving of every action they take? What if I die alone? What if I die in my sleep tonight? And that’s just the common ones. There's so much more I could list here.

It’s 2pm. I’ve finally woken up. My dreams were all nightmares, or just manifestations of my shame, guilt and anger, so I’m not even well rested. And I’m already hating myself for wasting the day. I’m already hating the fact that I’m still exhausted, and I don’t have the energy, because I should be normal, right? It’s just a mental illness, not a physical one, right? And now I feel like crying because I’m so dysfunctional, I can’t even take some well-deserved rest on a day I’m not doing anything without beating myself up about it. Now my bladder is screaming at me, and the bathroom seems so far away. That makes me angrier and more upset because I can’t even get a two second break from my bladder.

Once my bladder is sorted, I think about eating food. But no! BPD doesn’t want sustenance! It marks all the places I’m flabby and pokes at my stomach as if to say “Are you sure you need more food? You’re already overweight anyway...”, and when I go to brush my hair, I can see it in the mirror. The chubby face, the stomach that hangs over my pants, the thighs that wobble like jelly when I walk, the faint stretch marks that seem to become darker and darker the longer I look. Why should I eat? I’m big enough as it is. Maybe not eating will force my body to break down some of the fat.

It’s 3pm. I should shower, brush my teeth, and at least put clothes on. But I don’t have the energy for that. My boyfriend isn’t coming around. I’m not seeing anyone today. I’ll get away with it for today. So, I let my BPD win... for now. I wash armpits and face with a baby wipe, put antiperspirant on, brush my teeth quickly (because 2 minutes seems like hours, and 30 seconds-1 minute is better than not at all). And then the shame starts. “You can’t even keep yourself clean, you failed as a human, you should be in the shower getting clean, you didn’t brush your teeth for long enough, you’re still not dressed, your dressing gown isn’t clothes, why are you doing this to yourself, your boyfriend is going to think you’re disgusting...” my thoughts whisper to me, a constant background noise.

Now it’s 4pm. Yes, just getting myself “clean” and in a dressing gown took me an hour. My TV goes on. But I can’t concentrate. Nothing captures my attention. My life is just constant boredom, looking for any relief. And at the moment I finally lose myself in a game or TV series? The shame comes back. “You’re wasting your life, staring at screens, consuming content by binging, rushing through video games, all so you don’t flip out and break things.” Because that’s the flip side to boredom. Stay bored too long, and the anger comes out. I get angry that I can’t concentrate, I get angry that nothing is good enough to keep my attention, I get angry that I can’t do video games, I get angry that nothing on Facebook is interesting today, I get angry that all I do is sit in my room because anything else is too taxing.  

It's 5pm. I hate that I can’t live a normal life. I think about the working week, when I’ll have to go to therapy, and I want to cry. I have to quit because getting up at 7am after not falling asleep until 5am is too little sleep, and the 45-minute train costing £8.30 is too expensive and too loud and triggers me to have sensory overload, which leaves me at a risk of disassociating in public. Then the 20-minute walk makes me want to cry. It hurts too much, and I go further into sensory overload due to the traffic, and the sounds of the shops, and the smells, and the constant, constant chatter of people. Then I’ll arrive at therapy and everyone is crammed into a small room, and there’s chatter, and several people are trying to get my attention, and.... it’s not even worth it. Constant sensory overload for 5 hours is not going to help, no matter how useful the therapy will be. And now the shame starts again. “What if you’re just being lazy? That’s what they're going to think. They’re going to think you’re lazy and just don’t want to do it because the sensory overload and lack of sleep makes you exhausted and you still haven’t bounced back from it nearly 5 days later.” But I know it’s the right choice, and of course that increases the shame. I feel ashamed that I’m making a choice for myself, and not for what other people want and think. I’m ashamed that I can’t attend the appointments because it’s too difficult for me. I’m ashamed that in order to be better, I have to not attend therapy and find a different way to go to therapy.

It's 8pm. I realise I got lost in my thoughts. Maybe I disassociated, I don’t know. I still haven’t eaten, because I don’t want to get fatter than I already am. My stomach rumbles, but I try to ignore it. I look at the TV and just keep staring at it. I change to a music channel and attempt to do physical things, like read a book, do crochet, do puzzles. But now I’ve noticed my stomach, it’s all I can think about. So, I make food. Just a small amount. Oven stuff, because if I attempt to stand and cook, I’ll just end up criticising myself, putting myself down because if I can do it today, why don’t I do it every day? Oh, yeah... because I don’t have the energy. Once the food is done, my anger comes back. Why can’t I just live normally and make food everyday like everyone else does? I could cook pasta, or curry, make my own shepherd's pie, instead of living off frozen shite every day. I pick at my food, not really hungry anymore, because I know it’s not helping my weight issues.

It’s 9pm. I realise I’ve not spoken to anyone today, and maybe social time would be good. So, I message my friends, message my boyfriend. 5 minutes passes. 10 minutes, then 15 and 20. No response. Now the abandonment creeps in... “I told you they don’t like you, they’ve read your messages and not responded, they’re obviously too busy for you, they don’t want to hear about your sad pathetic life where you don’t do anything and you’re constantly upset, who wants to hear you go on and on about your sad life that’s going nowhere? Not a single one of them wants to hear it, and that’s why they don’t like you... You’re sad, pathetic, and destined to be alone.” After about 10 minutes of this, one of them replies. IMMEDIATE EUPHORIA – Of course they like you, they want to be your friend, of course your boyfriend loves you! But after a brief conversation, you’re being ignored again.

It’s 10pm. Everyone is either working, or getting ready for bed. More mindless Netflix/YouTube binging or playing video games. Show after show after show after show after show. Video after video after video after video. Battle after battle after battle. Quest after quest after quest. 11pm comes and goes, as does 12am, in the same boredom induced catatonic state of repetitive things.

1am arrives. Now the paranoia starts. What if someone breaks in? Did I lock the door? Should I lock my bedroom door? What if I get food poisoning? Did I cook that food long enough? What if my life is really going nowhere? What am I really attempting to do? And then the existential crisis comes. What is our purpose on Earth? Why do we live? What is the purpose of life? Why do we only get so long on Earth? What happens when we die? A circling thought process, doomed to repeat for a couple of hours.

Now at 3am, I’m ready for sleep. But my mind just won’t shut off. So, I take my medication, or I smoke a joint and get high and just wait. And the next two hours are hell. From 3am to 5am, I get into my comfy positions, I listen to meditation app, I relax and try to fall asleep. But my mind just won’t stop still. My thoughts keep racing, and suddenly...

It’s 5am. I still haven’t slept from the previous day. All my thoughts of the day, and the following day, and the day after that, and a year from now, and 5 years from now, and 20 years from now, are cycling around my head. What if I’ve left it too late to have kids? What if my mother disapproves of the choices I’ve made? What if my partner is not the one suited to me, and I’m just settling because it’s mostly good? What if my therapist disapproves of my choices? What if I’m really unlikeable and nobody ever actually likes me, and instead just tolerates me because I’m useful? What if I turn out just like my mother – narcissistic, abusive, unloved by her children, disapproving of every action they take? What if I die alone? What if I die in my sleep tonight? And that’s just the common ones. There's so much more I could list here.

And that’s just one day in the life of someone with BPD. Imagine going through that every single day.