#and then my brain snapped and i had what i learned as a manic episode | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thevirgodoll · 4 years ago

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How can you be confident while struggling with depression?? I really want to be better and do better but my depression makes it so hard :(

Honestly first I got medication from my psychiatrist after it got to a point to where just therapy wasn’t doing it for me. This may not be for everyone but it was for me. Second, I had to reshape my entire life. I had to accommodate my mental illnesses instead of invalidating and treating it all like a burden.

LISTEN WHAT IM ABOUT TO SAY YOUR DEPRESSION WILL CHALLENGE BUT IT WORKS!!! CONSISTENT WORK MAKES CONSISTENT RESULTS!!! NO MORE CLOWNERY!!! ITS NOT YOUR FAULT!!! <3

•taking my medications consistently for two years now, I’ve changed some but I’ve started to settle on what works for my bipolar and ADHD

•not feeling guilty for bad days because they will be there...letting myself cry, letting myself be manic, letting myself just be - free of judgment...no matter what I feel sometimes

-> always being honest about how I feel no matter how scary it can get

•getting proper sleep...we always say this but I do my best even in manic episodes, it’s a game changer (one of my medicines puts me to sleep so that’s another thing to look into lol)

•staying hydrated so my brain can try its best to actually function

•scheduling reminders during depressive episodes, having a schedule in general during weekdays

•monitoring my moods with a mood tracker app

•organizing my week productively with Notion app

•dressing up even when I’m not going anywhere to feel good

•having a consistent morning and night routine to keep my mental health stable

-> with that routine comes meditation, yoga, tea, skincare, hygiene

•journaling digitally on Notion and physically in a diary

•got my puppy a year ago...he’s gonna be 2 next year... so I have something to truly wake up for so I always take him out on a walk for fresh air, lovely sunlight, feed him, play with him, pet him...I’m gonna tear up because it’s the fact he relies on me to keep going so this is one of the most important bullet points (he literally knows how I feel all of the time and watches me all day long and he’s only a year old)

•taking breaks and self care days when I need it, trying not to push myself too far, but knowing some days I will (& not pressuring myself to make every single day productive because I am fighting to do the most every single day)

•knowing what i’m good at ... making sure I partake in my hobbies after my productive tasks are complete...if I don’t relax doing my creative hobbies (music, writing) it is a bad day for me!

•keeping my environment clean...scheduling Sundays for cleaning - laundry, sheets, deep clean, and other days for dishes and what not

•having a beautiful environment, my glam apartment is just as lovely as I am and makes me feel calm and relaxed especially with online school

•observing my thoughts and counteracting them with positive affirmations...because I know I’m beautiful and not defined by my battles I can live and be successful each and every day

•rewarding myself for little things I do for myself

•nurturing my younger self/my inner child, continuing to do what I loved as a child and validating what I felt as a child and moving beyond it

•focus so much on myself that nothing else really matters, I am the most important person to myself and I know that I’m special, these are truths depression can’t take away...take time to learn yourself and I say that because you have to relearn who depression took from you...that person is in there somewhere you just have to look!

•working on my thought process, it’s been a certain way for so long that I can snap out of it most of the time — ask yourself why you think things and you will get to a part of your brain that is irrational and realize it must be addressed...journaling can help with this!

Sometimes depression feels like screaming into the void for a long time without anyone listening but I hear you, don’t give up!!! We are all holding on to the silver lining of life. It’s up to you to find it inside of yourself and the little things around you!!!

#answered #mental health #the mariah gif bc she also has bipolar and came out on the winning side<3 #and that’s how dramatic i’m speaking rn lol love her #advice #bipolar #adhd

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

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An Officer’s Loyalty (Part 3)

Pairing: Medic X Reader

Words: 1408

Warnings:

- Swearing

- Some Gore and Body Horror

- Surgical/Medical Situations

- Some Slight Nudity (Half Nudity)

Enjoy!

The cool of the underground seeped through your uniform, even past the extra layer that was Medic’s coat. Probably the most high-tech part of the building, the basement level was a labyrinth of concrete, a dull grey with only a singular, painted red line that ran continuously across the walls on either side. It was quiet for the most part, save for the occasional groan of pipes and the flicker of the lights.

You had passed by many doors, but hadn’t been allowed to take in your surroundings properly. You had all but lost track of where to go when you passed the sad excuse for a kitchen. Your ‘escorts’, Heavy and Medic, had kept a quick pace as they led you into the depths of your new home. The belly of the beast, if you will.

Before you had left the billiard room and your interrogation behind, Medic had insisted that he take you to have your surgery completed first.

‘Vouldn’t vant to forget und zhen haff jou’re heart explode on zhe battlefield!’

It had been the first time you had heard him speak in his usual, manic glee since he had first found you and Spy in the mine shaft. It had been unnerving, but you didn’t feel like it was safe to, so quickly, go back on your agreement.

When he had started guiding you out of the room, Heavy had been quick to follow. You had never seen the two apart for long; perhaps because they had a history before their careers at Mann Co. or when they would have had to learn English for the job. Considering how often Medic’s tongue dipped back into his maiden language, you suspected he hadn’t spoken much English before his work at Mann Co.

Heavy hadn’t said much at all since you arrived, but he seemed less agitated by your presence. You still noticed how his eyes would occasionally glance at you if you trailed behind, but he didn’t do much more than slow his pace ever so slightly.

Finally, after too long trying to follow Medic’s quick footsteps, you came to two large doors, with a painted red cross upon them. Medic pushed them open easily and gestured for you to enter. You hesitated, on account that you had been expecting the medical bay.

Not a bloody slaughterhouse.

The medical bay still had some utensils here and there; a bonesaw or three, pliers, syringes, and a surgery table with a different kind of medigun attached to the roof, hanging down like some James Bond torture device. The drawers were in a disarray, buckets of blood, bones and feathers dotted the linoleum floor, and an open bird cage filled with pigeons and the occasional bird shit made you feel sick to your stomach. The remnants of the medical bay, surely, were not where you would be having this surgery?!

Heavy nudged you inside, and Medic moved about the surgery table, going to wash his hands in a bloodied steel sink. Heavy offered you an almost apologetic smile, as he took to sitting by the door and crossing his arms.

‘Bitte, haff a seat.’ The German rolled his head to one side, to gesture to the operating table. You let out a scoff.

‘You’re kidding.’

Medic turned to look at you, almost confused by your unwillingness to sit or lay down upon the surgery table. You looked back over the steel table, eyes landing on leather straps at about where ones ankles, wrists and neck might be. You cocked a brow, gesturing to the straps.

‘And, what surgery might need those? Or did you run out of anaesthesia?’

‘Oh, zhose!’ He almost laughed, the smile returning full force to his face. ‘Das is nozhing! Scout vas just moving around too much during his surgery, so I had zhem installed. Ve don’t haff to use zhem if you don’t vant to.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question about the anaesthesia.’

‘Ve don’t use it.’

What?

‘I said it before, and I’ll fucking say it again; ‘you’re kidding me?!” You stepped back, closer to the door, your legs shaking. Heavy had stood, but he didn’t seem threatening. He just seemed encouraging. You shook your head. ‘Like Hell I am going to let you cut me open like that! I’d rather be killed!’

‘Doktor does not use anaesthesia because it is not common.’

‘Excuse me?’ You turned on Heavy, giving him the most furious glare in your arsenal. Too bad that due to your lack of stature, it was nothing intimidating. You would have liked to see the big man show a hint of something other than indifference or great ferocity.

‘Vas Herr Heavy means, is das I do not often haff access to anaesthesia.’ You turned your furious glare back on the German, and much like Heavy, he didn’t even blink. ‘Razher zhan using it for all surgeries, I haff zhe medigun dull zhe pain instead, und save zhe anaesthesia for vorse injuries.’

‘How are your employers this…’ You dare not finish your sentence. The administrator had cameras everywhere, and you did not doubt that she, or rather Miss Pauling, would find a way to sneak a camera or bug into your opponent’s base.

‘And�� you expect me to let you cut me open in this…’ You gestured about. ‘… In this mess?’

‘Vell, I haff never been too picky, und after zhe first surgery, I haff had few complaints. No one has gotten sick because of it.’ He assured. ‘If it vill make jou feel better zhough, I can keep zhe gloves on.’

You held back a retch. Your chest had tightened and you felt your lungs compress, as if trying to expel all oxygen. You felt some form of small relief when there was the snap of red rubber gloves, and Medic gestured once more to the table. You looked between Heavy, the way out and the crazed doctor, contemplating your options.

‘Do I need a surgical gown?’ The Medic laughed, a great guffaw of something almost sinister. You didn’t join him.

‘Nein! Of course not!’

You stepped hesitantly towards the surgical table and took a seat on the cold steel. You were shaking, goose bumps shuddering their way up and down your skin. You removed Medic’s coat and then, having thought about it, removed your own. The medical bay was even colder than the halls, and you brought your arms around you in a sorry attempt to trap as much heat as you could.

As Medic approached, you laid down, gripping onto the edges of the table. You didn’t want to give him an excuse to use the straps. Looking up at him, you could swear you had been thrown through time and space and ended up in a Twilight Zone episode. Some creepy, fucked up, science fiction-horror show, where you were the helpless victim. You hated it.

He reached up, first switching on the red, translucent beam of the medigun that hung above your head. The scarlet, smoke-like tail sunk low and into your chest; you could feel a warmth behind your ribs and a numbness run all across your body. Your fear still gripped as tightly to you as you did the steel table when Medic pulled out the saw.

He didn’t wait for you to shakily undo the buttons of your shirt, or remove the bandages underneath. He placed the bonesaw down and replaced it instead with surgical scissors, cutting the cloth open with a few quick snips. Despite the warmth of the beam, the cool of the room was enough to tense your body for the first blow.

The medigun’s powerful, relaxing beam did little to make the initial incision any kinder. You watched in terror and pain, eyes already filling with tears, as the saw split your skin straight down, from collar to naval. You tried not to scream, but you couldn’t hold back your cries when you witnessed the doctor holding your own heart in his hand.

Your head was spinning and your vision becoming dotted with black smudges. You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and a wet glove against your cheek before your brain overheated from the pain and stress.

You would have considered it embarrassing that you had fainted and your old team would never have let you live it down. You didn’t feel shame though when your world went dark, however.

Instead, it was anger boiling in your blood.

~~X~~

I just wanted to thank a couple of readers of this little series for their words and just wanted to say how thankful I am that they have been enjoying it!

One reader helped to motivate my interest in continuing the story when I was suffering major writer’s block, after they messaged me asking if there was more to come. I had no idea that anyone really read my Tumblr stories anymore, so I wasn’t expecting to continue, so I really appreciate the little boost.

And then the other was one reader who, after they reblogged the post, gave me a good laugh and reminded me how much I love this series, the Medic and this fandom simply by adding some amazing tags to the end! This was a little while ago, but I only just realised, and I loved it!

Thank you though, to anyone who takes the time to read my works. I truly appreciate it, and I am glad you have been enjoying yourselves reading them!

#fanfiction #fanfic #TF2 #Team Fortress 2 #Medic #Heavy #Medic X Reader #Canon X Reader #HarcourtHolmesII

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manicdepressivemom · 4 years ago

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My biggest fear

Hold on because there is some hefty (potentially triggering) backstory here.

When I was 7 years old, my mom had her first manic episode with psychosis (bipolar disorder). To everyone around her, she was fine one day and very much not fine the next. I was a shy and reserved child, but my early years had been relatively unremarkable.

But one day she picked me up from a friends and we drove for two days before she pulled into a house in a state we’d never been too. She began carving something into a truck parked at this house before she and I were placed in the back of a police car and taken to the station.

After that she was forcibly taken to a psychiatric hospital. I don’t recall how long she was there but she came back in a depressive haze and barely left bed. By third grade, I was quite self sufficient out of necessity.

For years she would cycle and drink. She was verbally and physically abusive. She began counting me as an inconvenient causality in a war against my dad. Once he was gone, I was the new enemy.

Once I graduated high school, my own teenage angst gave way to hypomania. I felt electricity in my veins. I was an ethereal being and made a point of getting blackout drunk whenever possible. As I began college, this euphoria left me and I crashed into my deepest depression.

I had my own stay at a psychiatric hospital. I was diagnosed bipolar 2 and given a wide variety of drugs. Those drugs brought with them side effects like hallucinations, delusions, excessive drooling, and shaking hands. Eventually I gave up on the drugs and strived for stability through life style change. I’ve managed to be relatively stable for many years. Stable enough that I haven’t destroyed my marriage, at least.

I asked family years ago what happened to my mom, and someone said she’d gotten into a bad batch of drugs. I held onto this rumor for dear life.

Until my first son was born. He was angelic. Soft, black hair, round cheeks, and plump lips. And I was suddenly certain that I was unsafe.

I spent the first few days in the hospital certain that someone would notice I wasn’t fit for motherhood. I kept my lips tight during discussions about PPD. I accidentally set off a door alarm during a walk around the ward and felt sure they’d come take him away from me.

Once we got home, the fear took hold. I washed my hands until they bled. If someone found out I wasn’t washing my hands many times while making his formula, someone would take him away.

I had images pop into my head of him hurt. I won’t go into this here because it triggers me; and I’d hate to trigger anyone who made it this far. The images scared me. I dared to google them a time or two but worried that researching too much would let someone know how unsafe I was.

I walked through doorways with painstaking care. I refused to carry him down the stairs and I absolutely couldn’t hold him over the concrete driveway. He cried. I cried. I knew I was a monster, and he probably did too.

We survived and our second came along. The images that had never gone away intensified. All knives must be kept put away. Don’t look at the power tools. And definitely don’t let a single soul know.

Recently I overreacted. I asked my husband if he liked a 99¢ goodwill painting for the kitchen accent wall. He said no. I opened the back door, flung the picture outside, and yelled for awhile.

After several hours of not talking, I had a breakdown and we decided my reaction was probably a trauma response to a recurrent issue in my childhood.

My obsession with thrifting crashed, and was replaced by an all consuming fire to learn about ptsd. I read books and blogs. I listened to podcasts and journal. Every minute of my existence was obsession.

So I called a therapist. And we spoke a few times before they decided Cyclothymia and ptsd. Somewhere on the bipolar disorder spectrum.

And all my fear that I might one day snap like my mom felt more confirmed than every before. I’m a good enough mom. But so was she. And then she was abusive. Then she hated me. And here I am at 29 untangling all of this.

I asked my dad, my dearest alley, had mom done drugs? Please tell me drugs triggered it. I can avoid drugs. But now, that wasn’t it. He thinks she was stressed. He traveled a lot and she had an affair. I can avoid an affair, but I can’t avoid stress.

There is no amount of practical thought that can relieve me of this fear. For all I know, my mom saw the same things. Me, hurt, by her own hands. And then she couldn’t control those thoughts anymore.

Or maybe she never had any sign. She just woke up one day in a different reality. A world in which my dad was the devil, and I had the devils eyes.

I can’t think my way out of this one.

My greatest hope is just that my husband won’t pity me at all. I hope that, if I begin to unravel, he takes the kids and he runs. Don’t ever give me another chance to hurt them the way she hurt me. God they deserve so much better.

Even then, he might not know before it’s too late.

I can’t trust my brain or my body. It doesn’t matter that the correlation between my moms mania and my hypomania is weak. It doesn’t matter that I love my kids. Because she loved me too. I believe she still loves me dearly today.

But I’ll never be certain that I won’t become her one day. And as long as I’m here, I can’t know that I’m safe.

#cptsd #ptsd #childhood ptsd #complex ptsd #bipolar disorder #cyclothymia #cyclothymic disorder #anxiety #harm ocd

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thebestoftimes · 5 years ago

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You've heard of people hating Lucas, but now I raise you: Why do people like Robbe?"(Not that I do NOT like him, I just want to read your response)

This shit got long.

Hello! I am so glad you asked! I think Robbe tends to get overshadowed by Sander’s character (not that Sander doesn’t deserve all this attention because he does) but Robbe himself is a very unique take on the Isak character and, in my view, is one of the most likable Isaks for reasons I’ll get into in a second. So I’d love to explain his appeal and even why people might NOT like him (for totally valid reasons).

As always, all of this is is based on my own opinions and perceptions. Some issues with his character will be brought up that have warranted criticism from the LGBTQ+ community (which I am apart of) and should not be dismissed as a matter of inconsequential opinion. Listen to queer voices. Anyways.

I’m just gonna say the most prominent thing I think about when it comes to Robbe: he’s the nicest Isak. We all joked that he must not have been based on the same character as everyone else BECAUSE he was so nice. He does his homework, does his chores, is very apologetic (to a fault), easily forgiving (also to a fault), and just has an overall very sweet demeanor that differs from the usual trademark Isak grumpiness seen in characters such as Isak, Lucas, Matteo, and a bit of Martino. He does do that Isak thing of being defensive and snapping at people when he’s stressed or tired but he doesn’t do it often and it normally immediately followed by an apology. He’s just so damn nice. Britt was awful to him. Awful. And he still promised to keep her updated on the search for Sander and thanked her for her help in that. He dealt with the worst heartbreak and still provided Zoe a shoulder to cry on when she needed it. He broke things off with Sander because, yes, he suffered from horrible internalized homophobia, but also because he felt terrible about what he did to Noor. Noor just told him off for a sort of small thing and he really sat there at the bar wallowing because he argued back his own feelings in their relationship. Also. Only Isak to actually break up with the Emma character after the first kiss. He lied about the reason but he tried okay. He has the closest relationship to his mother (besides Martino) and was sad for her rather than frustrated by her. This, coupled with his behavior at the hotel, OHN, and Dinsdag 07:27, illustrates quite a gentle disposition for a teenage boy.

He does have an uglier side in comparison to the other Isaks. When he lashes out, he lashes out. He says stupid shit that he doesn’t mean using language he’s surrounded by on a daily basis that he has in his head that is okay or is harsh enough to work. It isn’t okay. It was never okay. People were angry and forgave him and some were angry and stopped watching and are still angry and all those people are valid. I’m queer and him snapping at Sander made me sick to my stomach but I was more angry at how he felt rather than what he did if that makes sense? Like he felt so ashamed of himself he felt the need to do something…like that…. just made me feel terrible about the whole thing. He is learning though and I’m glad Milan was there to help him learn from his mistakes. He could be careless with feelings. His own, Noor’s, Milan’s, Sander’s, etc. I think one of his biggest changes was him learning to be more cautious with his own feelings in terms of what limits he’s willing to push himself to and what is acceptable to say and not.

I love him because I ache for him. Before a conversation I had with Cas (who would probably be more than willing to explain in more detail) about Robbe vs Lucas and a scale of being miserable, Robbe was the saddest Isak to me (spoiler alert: I ended up tying them). Shitty friends, no parents, severe IH, a boy he thought was playing him, the homophobic attack, and then he has all these people telling him that the one good thing in his life meant nothing. The Isak character believes the Sonja character because they all have this inkling of insecurity in their relationship- this idea that Even’s feelings for them cannot possibly be real. It was apparent to me that Robbe had the most insecurity in his relationship out of all the Isaks, due to all that mess with Sander and idk just the shitty luck in his life, making him more vulnerable to believing Britt when she said that he was a delusion of Sander’s (gag). I say all this in a way that might sound critical of Robbe and, in a way, it is— because to everyone watching it was so painfully obvious that Sander loved him more than anything in the entire world. And yet I could still relate to Robbe terribly. Despite all evidence suggesting otherwise, your brain clings to one piece of reality that voices even the smallest of fears. Insecurity is not logical. It blows everything out of proportion. I wanted to shake Robbe for breaking up with Sander in Ep9 but I also knew I would probably feel the same way.

He has this sort of down-to-earth relatability that maybe isn’t as sad as Matteo’s but is endearing. He fixes his hair before answering a facetime call, he curls into a ball because he’s overwhelmed by his own crush (THAT REALLY GOT ME I DO THE SAME THING WHEN I’M HAPPY), he listens to loud music when he’s stressed, he deals through life with a “this might as well happen” attitude (seen esp with his relationship with Noor) and has the really large capacity for love yet no outlet until he meets Sander. Tbh, the fact that he and Sander fit so well together that it’s downright soulmate shit would have probably made me suspicious too. I think in his relationship with Sander, a lot of people liked how good he was to him (that one cursed clip notwithstanding). He’s very attentive and really takes interest in Sander when he’s talking or getting into his own interests. He laughs at his jokes and listens to his Bowie playlists and puts up a fight to stay with him during Sander’s manic episode. Robbe needed a break from his own misery and Sander needed a soft place to land and I think many people really enjoyed how the Isak character was put into a very caring position. He’s clingy (in the cute sense of the term) and genuinely enjoys Sander’s presence but he’s also capable of being a reassuring and calming presence to someone who needed it.

Bonus reasons: he’s a silly billy, kind of dorky, really smart (like really smart wtf), always down to have a good time, very patient, and he probably gives really good hugs and forehead kisses I just Know It.

If you want to discuss Robbe further feel free to ask more or get other takes from Jenna, Neve, Sophie, or Courtney.

#wtfock #jess writes #plus he's a cutie #but i try and keep looks out of analyses like this because i think it detracts from the way the characters are written #Anonymous #long post

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badlydrawnmanic · 5 years ago

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time for eating soup episode 2 thoughts everyone

• the opening theme is a heckin BOP • i just realized that the way the episodes aired, there’s no character introductions to the siblings or anything, it’s just... hey these guys exist and do things, it’s to the point where aleena has to introduce herself in the opening of episode 2 • “queen aleena here” sounds like the opening to a weird vlog • pewpewpewpewpewpewpewpew • the romance between sonia and bartleby is just so forced • sonia’s bike is cool and so is manic’s hoverboard, reminds me of the extreme gear and it sorta has a similar aesthetic • SONIC IS A DICK HE JUST WHOOSHES BY THEM AND KNOCKS THEM OFF THEIR FEET AND LEAVES THEM SITTING IN THE DIRT BE NICER FFS

• an ad popped up and i thought it was part of the cartoon, my brain is mush • PEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEWPEW • the swatbots shoot down a thing that lands directly on top of them and the guy in the thing comes out perfectly fine • imagine being in dingo’s position where your asshole friend could just turn you into a football at any second. can dingo control it at all? is he okay?? why does this happen to him

• there is no transition to this frame, it just snaps directly to this when she gasps and i choked on my soup

• did aleena just wear a cloak at all times??? also argus (?) looks like a weird older half-sibling rather than the head of the royal guard or whatever • the roboticizer is kinda terrifying ngl • sonia’s heckin STRONG • come on sonic just let manic steal robotnik’s shit • “argus-bot” ffs be more creative • robotnik looks like the mayor of halloween town • what do the medallions even do, how do they mess with the roboticized peoples’ programming, i know plot reasons but wouldn’t it be better to just like... delete their old memories or something • i forgot the medallions need to recharge for plot reasons • “too bad we can’t access his human memories” excuse me what? human?? i get it but that is not human that is a member of the goof troop if anything • some of the background characters are fine but others are just nasty • SONG TIME HERE WE GO • the visuals are more coherent here but a bit random and they still have the sickening transitions and some scenes that don’t appear anywhere else in the cartoon regarding sleet and dingo • apparently i don’t remember this song as well as i thought i did • wish there was less la la la na na na in all these songs, it’s like they don’t know what to do • again, middle of the road, i think i like the previous episode’s song more when we’re talking exclusively about sound. like... 5.5/10 i suppose • at this point why don’t they see something orange with a purple accent/glasses and go into attack mode? they don’t learn do they • dingo’s crush on sonia is pretty creepy, i think me and a friend had some headcanon things to give dingo depth and make him not a heckin creep tho

• what is this animal... • sonic acts like he’s disgusted by water and not like... afraid of it, then sonia is condescending acting like he doesn’t enjoy bathing or like... suggesting that he doesn’t drink water? no man he’s afraid of drowning???

• look at him. he c: • how old are they supposed to be? these two adult men are hunting down like... 10 year olds probably • manic just wanted to be cool and help in a way he knew how but dingo is stinky and terrible and now they’re in trouble again, though his siblings apologize for blaming him which is good to see, i thought they’d be more harsh • howcome when sleet turns dingo into argus he’s the correct color and stuff? he’s always orange and gross and has his little purple glasses but not here. guess they wanted to get more use out of his model sheet • OH NO MANIC BROKE HIS BOARD • aww manic and sonia get sonic to be brave with the water for a minute • how does dingo not die from getting crushed to hell by rocks • argus says he’s “going out with a bang” and then just... throws sleet off a thing into the water, i thought he was gonna explode or something • dingo goes rawr a few times when chasing sonic • manic walks strangely • i like how manic says “ma” for some reason • sleet calls dingo “muffin brain” which is funny because haha they’re adults but can’t swear because it’s a cartoon for kids, let sleet say fuck

• i was about to post this but then this image showed up after the credits with a logo of something called TFI, then the cookie jar logo. i have no idea what tex avery has to do with this cartoon. yet another mystery

#sonic underground #not an ask #ooc #sonic underground rewatch!

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back-in-wyoming · 4 years ago

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Hey guys. Been a while. Hope you’re all doing ok. ***Trigger warnings under the keep reading line.

I want to update all of you, especially in regards to what plans I have for this blog which is that I’m deleting it and everything related to it. If any of you want some of the names I have set aside, message me and we’ll make it work.

If you want to keep in contact, we can talk.

This post will be taken down in 24hrs. After that, blog deleted with everything else.

TW: Sexual assault, mental illness, abuse

I don’t use this space much anymore because around five years ago, I started having flashbacks to traumatic instances I experienced young. And once that started to unravel it was hard to function.

I distracted myself with things I thought were important because I couldn’t handle seeing anything else in focus. It wasn’t until recently that I could put some sort of timeline together. I do have flashbacks, not enough to call it a chronic issue or anything but they happen. I was almost fired from my job at the time a few times for being late as my nights and days slowly reversed and I couldn’t physically get up in the morning. Around that time, I don’t believe I really knew how to communicate kindly with others or truly consider the consequences of my actions. I distanced myself from myself, not assuming real responsibility. I was clingy. Overly sensitive. Always fearful. Angry. I couldn’t see myself in focus. I can sit here and say I never learned how to take responsibility, that I grew up with parents who had unchecked mood disorders, addictions, and unhealthy behavior and coping mechanisms and it would be true but that alone can’t unburn bridges or close a gap of five years silence.

I thought I understood myself then. I thought I knew emotions, especially my own. I didn’t. And I didn’t realize how risky I had become, throwing myself away, stacking to try and loose weight quick, drinking to the point of blacking out and doing it again as soon as I had the chance.

Four years ago, Dec. 2016, I was sexually assaulted in my home. I shut down entirely for a month or two. Went through the motions. I was taking writing prompts knowing they were never going to be written. I thought I could restart somehow, like I’d snap out of it, that I’d feel something again. My partner was instrumental in helping me survive the winter and spring.

The following year, we lost the house.

My mother wound up in the hospital and has been in and out. Her addiction to narcotics nearly cost her her life twice since moving. We went through a long process to get all of her care localized finally after her latest stint in the hospital mom for overdose and encephalophy and dad for some kind of obstruction in his intestines (second time having that). During that time, I had one car, two jobs to get to, and all of the medical paperwork and doctor visits for both parents.

I had a nervous breakdown a week or two before COVID-19 really kicked up which is when all of the above happened. I checked myself into a partial hospitalization program, left for being accused of lying, and found a better therapist whom I adore.

It was after that I was diagnosed with bipolar I a.k.a. manic depression. For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, it’s a mood disorder marked by intense highs and lows with the highs potentially triggering psychosis depending on the severity of the episode (unfortunately, I do suffer from mild paranoia which does tend to be triggered by Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria). People with bipolar I are distant, very in their head, unpredictable mood wise sometimes. It’s also been discussed that I may have PMDD as well. Basically, my brain is just trying to outright off me at this point. All of that said, the second reason I’m making this post is because I wanted to apologize to anyone I hurt during that very weird, confusing, and anger filled time in my life only to be followed by years silence.

I didn’t forget you.

You did nothing wrong.

You didn’t deserve that. No one does. I don’t expect for this to make anyone forgive me. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get a message across but never considered that I don’t know how to make that right. I don’t think I can.

Even if I had the chance, I’m not entirely sure I’d know what to do with it. I see old friends and they’re good. Like, they’re really really good and happy and I just... didn’t quite get there. And I dragged people down and I’m terrified of responding to messages. Terrified of fucking up, terrified of writing even the smallest responses because I just can’t... handle things. The what if’s. The fear. It’s embarrassing. Shameful. For me. I feel slower than everyone else. Learning things too late, things that I personally feel I should’ve known and remember by now.

It’s just really... hard. To not apologize. To feel sorry for existing. Looking back, it is hard to not feel those things. To just want to erase it from existence because you miss it and it hurts and you put the space there, not anyone else. Because you didn’t really say anything of worth when you had the chance because right when you needed someone, they were already driven away by all the shit you put them through.

you can’t blame them.

and i guess this blog is really one of the last remaining archives, for me, of that person who just pushed and pushed and pushed and didn’t know when to stop.

i want to be a better person. i’m doing my best. and i apologize for all those years of silence. i hope you’re all taking care of yourselves. be safe.

#an update from the desk of t #trigger warnings written in the post pre post writings

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themummersfolly · 5 years ago

Text

I will probably not enter this in the contest I wrote it for, but I’m proud of it anyway.

@aerialsquid, @ardenrosegarden, you will probably like this. It involves ghosts and extinct cephalopods.

The Ordovician Testament

I guess it all started the day we opened a new fracture at the Dakota site. I was a consulting geologist, monitoring pressure gradients in the wellbore while they pumped slurry in to widen the crack.

“We’re about ready to start extracting,” the site manager told me. I nodded.

“You know what the downside is to this process? No fossils.”

“What, like dinosaurs?”

“No, no, we’re in the wrong place for that. See right here,” I pointed to a chart, a map of the wellbore. “We’re right on the edge of the Ordovician shale. The fossils in this layer would be shellfish, trilobites, corals…”

“You collect ‘em?”

“Sort of. But that’s only part of it. Think of what we can learn from them, the picture they paint of the way the world was during that time…”

I could see the manager’s eyes glazing over. He didn’t care that much about geology, as long as it wasn’t working against him. As long as the well kept producing.

At last, the oil started to flow.

“Hell yeah!” The manager grinned. “This is a good one!”

I grinned back. The company had gone out on a limb with this site; my team had been pushing for it, and it had paid off.

I was still thinking about the nice fat end-of-year bonus we’d be getting when my vision started to change. Everything in the monitoring station took on an electric glow. I blinked. It didn’t go away; in fact, it was getting stronger. A faint tension appeared far behind my eyes.

“Hey, Greg, I’m gonna punch out early today. I think I’m getting a migraine.”

The manager glanced back at me. “Yeah, sure. We should be good for a while. Be careful.”

Halfway down the highway, the pain set in. I pulled into the first motel I saw, managed to hold it together long enough to book in, stagger to my room, and collapse.

-------

To this day I haven’t had as bad a headache as that one. I was in that motel room for three days: two of them trying to fight off the pain, the third too wrung-out to move. When my team members called to check on me, they told me to go to the hospital. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have.

As bad as it was, the pain wasn’t the worst part. Whenever I fell asleep, I saw colors. Bright, vivid, solid colors, blinding primaries, rapid-fire pastels, swirling psychedelic neons. It sounds nice, but at the time it was like being kicked repeatedly in the brain. My head was full of colors that gave me no peace and made no sense.

And the mood swings – one minute I was bawling my eyes out, the next, I was ready to rip the lamp out of the wall and throw it across the room. At one point I was up for about twenty-four hours straight, bouncing from rage to depression to manic glee, faintly aware than there was something wrong with me.

About 3 am on the third day of my stay, the pain broke enough to get a coherent thought through, and that thought was that I might have been poisoned. My next thought, which occurred maybe forty minutes later, was that the worst of it was over and I might as well try to get some sleep.

This time, I dreamt of an ocean.

-------

I didn’t have any more symptoms after that, although as soon as I was up I made an appointment to get checked out. Everything came back normal, and the doctor gave me a referral to a neurologist if I kept having migraines. I didn’t call, but I held on to the number. The pain and hallucinations were gone, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

In the following days and weeks, I kept coming back to that thought. Every now and then, my head would fill up with colors again. And I kept dreaming about oceans. Not like I was at the beach or sailing or scuba diving; I was disembodied, submerged in a sea I didn’t recognize. When I was awake, I would get flashes of sights and smells, like when a memory jogs, but in response to the most random things. And I was remembering things I had never seen.

Come to think of it, I was having a lot of intrusive thoughts, and I had a growing sense that I wasn’t alone. In the middle of the night, I would wake up thinking something had brushed past me; a search of the house would show it was empty. At work, on the long drive to the site – I felt like if I looked over my shoulder fast enough, I would see… something.

“I feel like there’s another mind inside my head,” I said.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” offered Greg.

I didn’t really want to see a shrink. But when invisible tentacles wrapped around me in the shower, I decided to bite the bullet.

“Stress,” the psychiatrist said after talking to me. She suggested I take some time off work. But she wanted to schedule a follow-up, soon. She was worried.

I had some vacation time, and the nearest airport was advertising cheap flights to Mexico. If I was having a nervous breakdown, might as well have it in Puerto Vallarta with a drink in my hand. On the flight the intrusive thoughts seemed to slack off; but during the final approach, when I looked out the window and saw the Pacific, my vision exploded with purple and teal. Ocean, ocean, ocean! I had to reach for the airsickness bag.

-------

Whatever this is, it’s connected to the sea. I spent the first day of my trip lying in my hotel room with the blinds drawn, going over and over the past weeks. I wasn’t in any pain, but the thing in my head – I was increasingly sure that it was something separate from me – whatever it was had gotten more agitated since I arrived in PV. This all started in a rented room like this… Had anything unusual happened around that time? Did I eat something, or interact with anyone who acted strange? No, the only thing that had happened was we’d opened a new fracture at the wellbore…

I sat up straight. That was the day this had started. Either that headache had done me permanent damage, or oil wasn’t the only thing that had come up the wellbore.

I squeezed my eyes shut, shouted mentally at the source of the colors and visions. Hey! What the hell are you?

-------

A neighboring hotel had a hypnotist doing nightly shows. Expert in multiple personality disorder, said his brochure. Underneath, it listed another of his specialties: contacting past lives.

This is insane, I thought as I knocked on his door.

I’d called ahead, asking if I could meet with him privately, since I didn’t want to work out my issues in front of a crowd. The fee was a little steep, but he sounded intrigued by my symptoms and offered to meet me before a show.

If he was a quack, at least he was professional about it. He explained up front what would and would not happen and what might happen, and then he put me into a trance.

You are completely safe, nothing can hurt you. You allow all thoughts to exist. You float through all levels of consciousness like a warm, peaceful…

OCEAN.

I was disembodied, submerged in sunlit waters. Beside me rose a coral reef; below it spread meadows and forests of seaweed. Sea-pens and sea-lilies sprouted everywhere. Below me, rustling through mud and algae –

Trilobites?!

They were trilobites. Little Asaphus kowalewskii with its eyestalks – I had a fossil of that one in my collection. And a Paraceraurus, all horns and spines, blindingly iridescent.

And off in the murky distance, the outline of a gigantic, drifting cone.

This sea hadn’t existed for over 400 million years.

-------

“When I snap my fingers, you will return to the waking world.”

On cue, I opened my eyes. The hypnotist stared at me, his face sweaty. His assistant had her phone out, poised to make a call.

“You should have told me you are an epileptic!” he started.

“What?”

“When you were in the trance – you slumped down, you were making faces. When I spoke to you, it was like you couldn’t understand me. You tried to speak and a noise like an animal came out! Do you remember anything?”

“Yeah, I… I was in an ocean. Like the one in my dreams, only I could see it clearly this time.”

The hypnotist stared at me, chewing his lip. “Can you describe this ocean?”

“Shallow, lots of light coming through the water. It was full of extinct creatures.” If I concentrated, I could picture it clearly.

“Extinct creatures – perhaps a manifestation of your oneness with all life, past and present –”

“No, no, a real ocean with an ecosystem that’s been extinct for millions of years. Like the fossil record came alive, like I travelled back in time or something.”

He and his assistant exchanged glances. “How are you feeling now?”

“Okay – a little loopy. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten.”

He motioned to his assistant. She put down her phone, dug in her purse, handed me a candy bar.

“I’ve never seen a case like yours,” he said. “If you’re willing, I’d like to see you after tonight’s show. There are a few things I can try that might make sense of this.”

-------

The hypnotist’s assistant walked me down to the hotel restaurant; I think she was afraid I would have another episode on the way. Once I had eaten, I stretched out on a couch in the lobby, but didn’t sleep. If I let my mind wander, I could see subdued colors at the edges of my vision, could feel tentacles drifting loosely around me.

The hypnosis show was over around 10 pm. When the last of the audience had filtered out, I went in for my second appointment.

-------

“You are completely safe and at peace. You are alone in a comfortable room. No one who enters this room can harm you.”

“Okay.” In my mind’s eye, the room looked a lot like the hypnotist’s hotel room.

“There is a knock on the door. It is the source of the visions you’ve been having.”

There was water outside the window, ocean water. A school of finless, heavy-headed fish swam by.

“Remember: nothing that enters this room can harm you. You are completely safe. You open the door and invite your guest inside.”

I did just that.

“What do you see?”

“It’s – it’s an ammonoid. No, it’s an older species. An Ordovician nautiloid.” Awake, I might have been scared. But in the trance it was no worse than coming face to face with a noisy neighbor. Big eyes, with square pupils like a goat’s, stared at me over a mass of gently swaying tentacles; behind them, a shell curved away in a loose spiral. It drifted in, swimming through the room as if still in the water.

“You are completely safe. You can ask it any question you want.”

So I did. “What are you?”

The creature’s eyes turned purple. On the mantle covering the end of its shell, a rippling hounds-tooth pattern appeared.

“It’s changing color. I think – I think it’s trying to communicate.”

“You are one with your guest. You feel its thoughts and feelings as your own.”

He was right. Desire to be understood. Identity. The colors, each with a concept attached to them.

“It’s the name of its species,” I realized. “Purple is happy, blessed. The other pattern – it’s more complex. I don’t quite get it. It’s one of the Blessed Somethings.” Another wash of thought. “It has a question for me.”

“What is the question?”

“It wants to know if I’m – if I’m a squid? A nautiloid? No, it’s asking if I’m a person, like a sentient being. Yes, yes I am. Are you?”

A pale blue swirl of annoyance. Of course I am.

“You can ask your guest any question.”

I mulled it over. “How did you get here? Inside my head, I mean.”

In response, a riot of colors and patterns.

“I don’t understand. Can you show me?”

One long, smooth feeler reached out to the window and touched the glass. I followed it and looked out.

The seaweed was gone, and most of the algal mat. All the coral had turned gray. Overhead, the surface of the water creaked and groaned: ice. The sea was cold and sour.

“Ordovician extinction,” I said.

Death. Empty shells. Only the mindless drift-feeders were left.

The new fracture had been near the top edge of the Ordovician shale. “You were trapped there. We let you out.”

Affirmation. Confused affirmation.

“What do you want?”

The colors turned muddy. It had no idea; it hadn’t asked for any of this.

“Can I talk to you again sometime?”

Affirmation, and relief.

-------

There were six days left in my vacation. I decided to spend them learning to meditate.

The hypnotist offered several theories about what was going on, mainly “past life regression” and “ancestral memories.” My theory, and the one I was going with, was that we had somehow turned loose an ancient ghost, and I was being haunted. Actually, it wasn’t all that frightening once I came to that conclusion. The whole thing had been accidental; far from being malicious, the thing in my head seemed apologetic when I told it all the trouble it had caused.

It wasn’t hard to reach a state of mind where I could talk to my guest, as I’d started to call it. Before the flight home, we’d even worked out a way to share space in my waking mind without causing problems, and my strange dreams had stopped. The biggest hurdle was communication. My guest used a visual language of colors and patterns; emotions and simple nouns and verbs were easy, but more complicated concepts tended to get lost in translation. Playing around with the paint program on my computer, I found out I could transcribe our conversations… sort of. And when I got home, I pulled out my fossil collection to show it.

Stone. I was showing my guest a fossil ammonite shell. When I closed my eyes, I held it with tentacles instead of fingers, turning it over and examining it. Old. Very old.

“Millions of years younger than you. From the Jurassic period.”

City-builders, too?

“What?”

Nautiloids, cities, construction. Descendants build, maybe?

I sat back, mulling over the images and color-words. “Wait – you build cities?”

Not self. Too small. Nautiloid-kind, city-builders. City-dwellers.

“City-builders, like a civilization? 400 million years ago, in the ocean?”

Annoyance and confusion. How was this a question? It was surprised enough that I was a land-dweller.

“We never found evidence of intelligent life before us – none that we recognized.”

Confusion. Denial. It wasn’t possible, there had been so many of them all over the world.

“Maybe we didn’t know what we were looking at. Or maybe… it’s been almost half a billion years. Not much survives that long.”

Denial. Denial. But then: Understanding. Yes, time eats all.

Red was the color of Nautiloid grief. Red like an ancient sunset filled my mind for the rest of the evening.

-------

“Will you show me?” I asked one day. “I want to know about them. About your kind, what they were like.”

I closed my eyes and saw them. My guest’s family, or something like a family. They were the group that had raised it, but none of them were genetically related. Many weren’t even the same species; as I saw more and asked questions, I learned that my guest was one of several intelligent nautiloid species. It showed me straight cones like wizards’ hats; loose curlicues; tight curlicues; talkative, half-naked little things like cuttlefish darting around. Not only had they existed at the same time, but they used the same color languages, lived and worked in mixed groups, raised their young together. Their civilization was founded around the idea that each species was necessary to the lives of the others.

My guest showed me things it had seen, things it had heard of. The civilization of the nautiloids had lasted nearly a million years, in all its various iterations and divisions. I saw shining cities of gel and silica stretching up the walls of continental shelves; I saw the ocean floor vents around which their technology centered. Household items of cast cement and water-fired clay, delicate metallurgy that had long since corroded away to nothing. They had domesticated the giant drifting orthocones, they hunted the arthropods that tried to prey on them. They had learned to live in all corners of the ocean and at all depths. They had even begun to explore the barren, alien land.

But then the cold had come. And not every species had been able to weather it.

Food animals disappeared first. Then disease began to spread as hunger and cold took their toll. Those that lived in the shallow reefs suffered most. Attempts to build shelters were too late; within a few years, whole segments of society were extinct.

Symbiosis. If the surface-people do not farm, the depths-people cannot make. If the egg-raisers do not nurture, the city-makers cannot build.

“Did anybody make it through?”

Unknown. Maybe. Not self, but maybe others.

-------

They had a written language, if you can call it that. My guest taught me. Strands of colored fiber, knotted, strung with shells and beads. We had to make a lot of substitutions; some of the modern materials weren’t exactly right. But a nautiloid would have found it readable. My nautiloid did.

I would sit up late into the night, stringing yarn together while my guest dictated. It was a book, but it felt like a rosary, like a prayer that could be handled. Do not forget us. We lived. We mattered.

I had gotten used to my guest. It had a name for me; I don’t know what it meant, but it looked like dark blue tie-dye with a spray of stars. I had a name for it: Shelby Squidsworth. We would talk about geology, the species that had come after the nautiloids, what might come after humanity. It was fascinated by life on land.

When the book was finished, we celebrated with a trip to the beach.

Descendants? It wanted to know. I sat on the sand, drying in the sun.

“Your descendants, you mean? Do you have any?”

Maybe. An image of my Jurassic-era ammonite. All stone, maybe. All empty.

“There are still creatures like you today.” I concentrated on an image of a nautilus, of squid and octopi. “They’re not as smart as you guys, not in a city-building, history-recording sort of way. Not that we know of. But they might get there.”

Maybe. Images of its family group; it missed them.

I dug my toes through the sand. “Did your people believe in an afterlife?”

Yes. A whirl of colors; I didn’t grasp the meaning, but it seemed to comfort my guest. I wondered why it was with me and not there; quietly, I hoped, but it noticed.

No burial. No rites.

“If you got a proper funeral, would you be able to rest?”

Maybe. Hope.

“Tell me what I need to do.”

-------

400 million years ago, when the nautiloids laid their dead to rest, they would separate the body from the shell. In deep-water countries, the shell would be painted and displayed by the family group; in shallow waters, where my guest was from, it was floated on the surface or pushed onto land, to dry and crumble in the sun. The body was ritually eaten by family and close friends, so that their loved one could remain with them in a way and strengthen them.

Old custom. Dawn-of-time custom.

“My people don’t really approve of cannibalism.”

Amusement. Different species. Have comfort.

I bought a big ceramic shell online, and about a pound of calamari from the store. It was as close as I could get; the spirit of the thing was what mattered. I ate the calamari alone, in silence. I had the sense that my guest ate, too, for all the other nautiloids who had died alone. Then, with the ceramic shell on a little raft I’d built, I drove to the beach and waded out past the surf.

“Do you think humans and nautiloids go to the same afterlife?”

Maybe. Hope.

“I’ll see you later, then. Godspeed, good friend.”

I laid a garland of knotted yarn over the shell: a nautiloid benediction, written out. I knew a few of the words humans use, and I said those as well. Then I pushed the raft off, away from the shore.

When I climbed out of the water, I was alone in my head.

-------

“You’re different,” Greg said. It was my first day back at the site. “You have a good vacation?”

“Yeah. I had to attend a funeral right at the end, though.”

“Man.” Greg winced. “Family?”

“A friend.”

“That’s rough.”

“It was time. And the service was just the way my friend wanted.”

“Timing still sucks.” Greg shuffled. “Oh hey, you’ll like this: the museum was running an exhibit on ancient sea life. I had my daughter last weekend, so I took her to see it.” He handed me a flier. “She wants to do her school project on these nautilus fossils. I told her you could help her with the research.”

“I don’t know how much I can help, but I’ll try.” I smiled at the picture on the flier.

My friend’s book was coiled neatly in my backpack; I had already started the translation. I doubted most people would want to read it, and even fewer would believe it. But it would be there, at least for a while: a faint, brief echo of a people long gone. A chance for them to be remembered.

I can only hope that when my time comes, someone will offer me the same kindness.

#writing #my writing #sci fi #science fiction #prehistory #paleontology #sapient cephalopods #who's to say there hasn't been intelligent life on this planet before?#there wouldn't be any evidence one way or the other #very little survives that length of time #ghost stories #funerals #cannabalism #sort of

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blankie-greenie-anon · 7 years ago

Text

Notable stuff from Boueibu HAPPY KISS episode 4

When I was watching the episode on Monday, there was another dude in my class. I was surprised when I came back from the toilet and he was just sitting at the very end of the room. I had to ask him if he was chill with me using the projector, which he was. Since he was there, I couldn’t use the highest volume. What sucked even more was that the video was projected onto only half of the screen. Well, it’s Wednesday. I’ll be watching it on the big screen again.

This episode began with the opening theme, instead of a brief conversation.

Kyoutarou has mastered the art of falling asleep in the bathtub without drowning himself.

The topic of the first-years argument is whether there’s buried treasure on Mt. Binan or not. Taishi is on the side of the former while Ichirou is on the latter.

Taishi outright said that he had a sense of adventure, and that TV ratings prove that there are more like him.

When Taishi attempted to subtly change the topic of the conversation, Ichirou quickly caught on and called him out on it.

Karls seems fond of staying underwater.

Karls was not aware of what the first-years’ argument was about even though he was inside the bath when the episode began. This could mean he was hanging out in the bath while the boys were in school.

Karls thinks one should make gold out of magic than dig it up, hinting that he might have such a power, or it may exist in his world. Either way, he’s still unaware that magic doesn’t exactly exist on Earth.

Kyoutarou woke up from his sleep upon hearing about the treasure on Mt. Binan. He claims that something about the topic snapped him out of his stupor. Technically, hearing outside conversations while you sleep is a form of parasomnia.

Regarding the first-years’ debate, Ryouma and Kyoutarou took neutral sides, but in different ways. Ryouma didn’t want to be involved in the argument whatsoever while Kyoutarou had no problem being a part of it.

Yonekura Kingo was so infuriated by the Defense Club’s conversation that he ran out of the bath, suds and all. When the boys came out, wrapped in towels, Yonekura Kingo had somehow dried off the soap and was fully dressed.

Ichirou attempted to tease Yonekura Kingo, and was embarrassed when he failed.

While watching the telly, Kyoutarou was the only one to take a seat.

According to Yonekura Kingo’s backstory, his father was unavailable throughout his childhood. When he contracted pneumonia, his father was digging in a cave where phone signal could not reach.

Yonekura Kingo’s first words were: “Buried treasure! Hit the motherload!”

Yonekura Kingo has changed schools eight times because he cannot stay back while he lacked another guardian–his mother, who divorced his father.

After hearing Yonekura Kingo’s backstory, Taishi looked sad, holding his hand to his face. Ryouma and Ichirou, on the other hand, looked agonized.

It’s not really specified, but the events of the episode seem to happen in a single day, which means the boys went for a bath and then returned to school.

According to Yonekura Kingo, one should watch television responsibly.

Yonekura Kingo was willing to accept the Edelstein’s offer to become a monster, not that they stated that part out loud.

When Taishi and Ichirou argue, they won’t stop until a solution is found.

Ichirou evidently reacted negatively upon hearing about the time capsules buried in Mt. Binan.

When nervous and/or hiding something, Ichirou visibly trembles.

The time capsules are buried during the graduation of elementary school students and are to be opened once everyone turns twenty.

Apparently, Kyoutarou is normally napping in the afternoon.

Karls was playing with a football as the boys were talking. He said that the boys had a better chance of making people happy at the mountain than in the class.

Karls, in episode one, shows that he can sense when someone was unhappy. In this episode, he doesn’t show any reaction after Yonekura Kingo was transformed into a monster, but encouraged the boys to head to mountains anyway, where they later encountered the monster.

Upon arriving at Mt. Binan, Kyoutarou’s first action was to demand the truth from the TV producer.

The TV producer didn’t believe there was treasure, but couldn’t say it outright.

Taishi believes in miracles. He’s quite passionate about them.

The TV producer said the show needed more workers and requested some youthful passion from the boys, which Ichirou then refused by saying he had none and added that he doesn’t believe in buried treasure.

Kyoutarou was the first to start digging. His reason: To find gold, get rich, and spend the rest of his life chilling.

Taiju’s family sponsored the shoot. It’s possible that the Unazuki family’s company involves construction work.

Taiju was glad that his company didn’t have to hire more diggers.

Martha was surprised to see the Defense Club actually expending energy on something.

Ata seemed annoyed, believing that the Defense Club had nothing better to do even though they’re working hard.

The first time capsule to be encountered were the first-years. Kyoutarou described it as “Tai-Tai and Chirou’s year.” This could mean Taishi and Ichirou have been together since they were children.

It seems that Nanao is willing to tease people other than Ryouma.

Ryouma excitedly supported Nanao’s sadistic side, despite him usually being on the receiving end of Nanao’s teasing. Perhaps Ryouma was happy that Nanao was teasing someone other than him.

To prevent Ichirou from taking away the time capsule, Taishi grappled him into a bear hug, though his hold wasn’t powerful enough.

Kyoutarou was the one to take out Ichirou’s letter. When Ichirou pounced him, Kyoutarou simply tossed it in the air, which Ryouma enthusiastically caught before getting tackled to the ground by Ichirou. Later Taishi got the letter, by then, Ichirou was too busy holding down Ryouma to stop Taishi.

Ichirou’s letter said he was considered a ‘cheerful idiot’ and was embarrassed by that. He wanted to change his image by middle school. However, he met Nanao, who encouraged him to stay as he was. Ever since then, Ichirou forever and remembered admired Nanao.

Nanao only recalled speaking to a child, but never recognized him as Ichirou. He was also a bit ashamed of himself for embarrassing Ichirou after learning what the latter wrote.

Ichirou intended to find the letter and erase it completely.

As a child, Nanao by unknown means acquired every dark secret of his classmates and addressed them all in his letters. Some weren’t secrets, but literal insults.

Ryouma was aghast that Nanao wrote all those letters, but Ichirou praised him nonetheless.

When flustered, Ichirou reacts more dramatically than Ryouma. The former is prone to blushing, blabbering contradictory phrases, and flapping his arms.

Kyoutarou seems to be the one to encounters all the capsules. Maybe he has sensory powers.

When he encountered the third capsule, Kyoutarou only took one thing out.

Mr. Yonekura dug up a dirty old boot. He called it proof that buried treasure existed.

The Buried Treasure Monster was a dude dressed in only a fundoshi with koban for fingers and a treasure chest for a head. His teeth was also rows of koban and his glasses were still there.

The TV producer was unfazed by the appearance of the monster and ordered the cameraman to keep recording, much to the monster’s chagrin. The producer even wrote about it on social media.

Ryouma says that TV is for people to switch off their brains.

Karls ordered the Defense Club to transform, even though he is fully capable of making them do so without saying anything.

Somehow, Kyoutarou figured out that Yonekura Kingo was just upset that his father was working hard for nothing. So far, Yonekura Kingo has complained about his father being too busy digging for gold to be around his life, being forced to move around so often, and how he hated it when people watch TV irresponsibly and also that the producers simply did whatever they can on TV for ratings. It must have been the mention of television that Kyoutarou realized Yonekura Kingo was upset that these TV producers are exploiting his father’s love for treasure-hunting for ratings.

One of the boys mentioned that they had heard of the story similar to Yonekura Kingo’s somewhere.

Karls told the Happy Kiss to make Yonekura Kingo happy, and then said to Mr. Yonekura to do so, too.

For once, Taiju was clearly angry that things weren’t going the Edelstein’s way.

Furanui displayed another power: Forcing monsters to become more vicious than they actually are.

The monster’s power involves spewing koban at his enemies while laughing manically.

It never seems to occur to the Happy Kiss to literally protect themselves with their powers, though it’s possible that in this episode, they were afraid of hurting the monster.

Karls had to duck once to avoid a flurry of koban.

As usual, Karls finishes things off with the Happy Powder, despite the fact that everything has been recorded live on camera and the TV producer even tweeted about a monster appearing on TV.

The buried treasure on Mt. Binan was a hidden hot spring. The town will work together to make a big bathhouse and the credit shall go to the Yonekura family.

Yonekura Kingo no longer has to move around. He can finally stay in Binan City with his father.

Nanao was the only to catch Kyoutarou sneaking the thing into his pocket.

The thing turned out to be a childhood photo of Kyoutarou, Ryouma and Ata joyfully playing in the dirt.

When asked about his relationship with Ata, Kyoutarou answered that he felt that they were close before. When Ryouma pointed out their relationship has become strained, Kyoutarou seemed confused.

The way it’s said, it’s as though Ryouma wasn’t as involved with Ata as much as Kyoutarou, hence why he only refers to him as ‘Ata-kun.’

Kyoutarou knows Ata’s number, which was how he sent that photo to him. It’s unusual for a child to have a phone, so the two of them must of been friends up until middle school, where kids would normally be given phones by then.

Ata was so shocked by the photo that he broke his tea cup. He later displayed rage.

In episode two, Ryouma told the first-years that they often visited Kurotama Bath out of habit. Seeing the childhood photo, it’s likely that as children, Kyoutarou, Ryouma, and Ata got dirty every time they played and washed off at Kurotama Bath, creating their habit.

Kyoutarou’s message to Ata was: “This was in the time capsule.” He didn’t say who put it in, meaning it must have been Ata who placed that photo inside without them knowing. Otherwise, Kyoutarou would’ve said he was the one who put it in, or that it was Ryouma

#BGA blabs #Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu HAPPY KISS #Boueibu HAPPY KISS #boueibu hk #The Happy Kiss List

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metalornothng-blog · 7 years ago

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Forming/Retaining Memories with Mental Disorders

First and foremost, I’d like to address something really interesting that I truly related to when I read it - RAPID CYCLING. What led me to this revelation of the concept “rapid cycling” was researching “What is Bipolar Disorder?” Now why would I be randomly wondering about BPD? Because I need answers and solutions to these horrible mood swings ruining my life and relationships. What does this half to do with memory? You’ll see.

I remember being diagnosed as a child with “rapid mood swings”- highs then lows swinging so fast they leave me dizzy and with spotty memory of what just occurred.. something as simple as my morning trip to Starbucks, posting an IG story ranting about something I find amusing, then taking a break to sit on the couch and *boom* mood swing I’m overanalyzing and being really hard on myself, suddenly unsure of what I'd even just said or done as if I’d been in some drunk frenzy. Sure if i think hard enough i know exactly the events of the day but sometimes i even confuse it with the day prior, or another day before that. It leaves me pretty disoriented most of the time.

So sure, that didn’t affect anyone but me but here is a perfect example of how these mood swings are affecting my relationships- I just finished a modeling job, I’m driving home in a great mood, and then *boom* here comes the negative thinking, the overanalyzing of my work, and the bad mood. And maybe that bad mood makes me lash out at my friends or family. Maybe I text all angrily for a good five minutes in my car in my garage and then I get out of the car and stand up and suddenly *boom* I’m fine. I no longer care and life goes on. But no one else is fine. My friend is left with all these angry words I didn’t even mean and honestly I’m pretty embarrassed that i have these weird outbursts that half the time aren’t things im rude enough to ever voice and i’d rather not remember so I don’t scroll back up and I block it out and I’m left thinking things are suddenly back to normal since I’M back to normal. This doesn’t only apply to cell phone interactions by the way it’s just a relatable example, but for you it could be yelling at your mom, saying hurtful things, slamming the door, taking a deep breath and suddenly walking back out trying to apologize.

So now here’s an example of how it affects me in daily life with people i DON’T know and that i’m TOO nice to (haha!) So, I’m leaving a modeling job, I’m in an ecstatic mood and I get to the counter to buy cigarettes and end up gushing to the cashier about the beautiful day and we get deep into conversation about cigarette prices and then my tattoos by now fifteen minutes has passed and he’s trying to give me his phone number and I’m immediately annoyed and discouraged and by the time I’m stomping out of the store I’m angrily muttering “can’t a girl just buy a pack of smokes? damn!” And instantly my good mood that spurred the conversation which confused the dude into thinking I was flirting has sailed out the window and I’m blaming myself and angry with the world. And as I overanalyze our fifteen minute conversation to figure out where I went wrong I realize I sounded like I was a full on tweaker babbling about sunshine and how wonderful Cali is and pouring out my life story to someone I’ll never see again. What. Just. Happened?!

What is rapid cycling?

“Rapid cycling is defined as four or more manic, hypomanic, or depressive episodes in any 12-month period. With rapid cycling, mood swings can quickly go from low to high and back again, and occur over periods of a few days and sometimes even hours. The person feels like he or she is on a roller coaster, with mood and energy changes that are out-of control and disabling. In some individuals, rapid cycling is characterized by severe irritability, anger, impulsivity, and uncontrollable outbursts. While the term “rapid cycling” may make it sound as if the episodes occur in regular cycles, episodes actually often follow a random pattern. Some patients with rapid cycling appear to experience true manic, mild manic, or depressive episodes that last only for a day. If there are four mood episodes within a month, it is called ultra-rapid cycling, and when several mood switches occur within a day, on several days during one week, it is called ultra-ultra-rapid, or ultradian cycling. Typically, however, someone who experiences such short mood swings has longer episodes as well. Some individuals experience rapid cycling at the beginning of their illness, but for the majority, rapid cycling begins gradually. Most individuals with bipolar disorder, in fact, experience shorter and more frequent episodes over time if their illness is not adequately treated. For most people, rapid cycling is a temporary occurrence. They may experience rapid cycling for a time, then return to a pattern of longer, less frequent episodes, or, in the best case, return to a stabilized mood with the help of treatment. A small number of individuals continue in a rapid cycling pattern indefinitely.” See: http://www.dbsalliance.org/site/PageServer?pagename=education_brochures_bipolar_disorder_rapid_cycling

So it sounds like I’ve figured out what these rapid mood swings are called and I feel better that there’s a name for it. And clearly other people are dealing with this too. This next paragraph hit home-

“Characteristics such as irritability, tendency to cry, racing thoughts or impulsiveness may cause social problems. Because people with bipolar disorder are often unfairly judged, they may lose opportunities to develop friendships or romantic involvement, or have trouble achieving their career goals. These struggles may contribute to self-esteem problems.”

So while I’m sitting here writing this I pulled open my text messages and saw one that said “Let’s go get our belly buttons pierced!” I remember writing it but I don’t even want a belly button ring. Perfect example of making impulsive decisions while rapid cycling. And because I just read it I remember it but I honestly had no memory of wanting to do that today. So yes, that definitely applies to me, but this but this doesn’t explain the MEMORY LOSS/BLOCK part of things which made me decide to search “Bipolar and Memories” which lead me to this eye-opening article:

“Of course, it’s common to engage in out-of-character behaviors while manic. I accept that. However, it’s much more difficult for me to accept the fact that I have absolutely no recollection of performing so many of these actions. I suspect there’s a lot more I don’t remember from that time period, as even five years later, I keep learning new things. I can’t tell you how many times my husband has said to me: “Do you remember when …” and I don’t. It’s as though someone has stolen my memories, and I don’t like the idea that such a thing is even possible. Memories aren’t like alarm clocks or artwork—you can’t just replace them.Coping with the reality of losing so much time and having done so many things (often highly embarrassing things) of which I have zero recall hasn’t been easy for me. I recognize that my amnesia may well be my mind’s way of protecting me from myself, from reliving painful events, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept." See: https://www.bphope.com/bipolar-disorder-missing-memories-i-did-what/

The article ended up with the author babbled about forgiveness and that people still love her. Good for you, I’m losing friends by the minute.

So I continue my search. So what I’ve gathered so far is that people with BPD experience rapid mood swings all day long just like me and people with BPD experience states of frenzy with memory loss (amnesia).

What is amnesia?

“Amnesia is a deficit in memory caused by brain damage, disease, or psychological trauma. Amnesia can also be caused temporarily by the use of various sedatives and hypnotic drugs. The memory can be either wholly or partially lost due to the extent of damage that was caused.[2] There are two main types of amnesia: retrograde amnesia and anterograde amnesia. Retrograde amnesia is the inability to retrieve information that was acquired before a particular date, usually the date of an accident or operation.[3] In some cases the memory loss can extend back decades, while in others the person may lose only a few months of memory. Anterograde amnesia is the inability to transfer new information from the short-term store into the long-term store. People with this type of amnesia cannot remember things for long periods of time. These two types are not mutually exclusive; both can occur simultaneously.” See:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amnesia

So maybe I have BPD and anterograde amnesia with a drop of retrograde because The best way to describe my memory would be snapshots- shorts clips but no seamless video footage. I can’t remember my child hood, I had several best friends in 7th grade and don’t know their names, they don’t even have bodies or faces in my memories. Entire years, schools, individuals- wiped out. Or even getting lunch with a friend two weeks ago seems like years ago. It hurts. It makes me feel heartless. I didn’t choose to be this way but if there was one thing I did that might have screwed me, it was learning how to block things out. My mom loved to scold me with this weird expression on her face of pursed lips and a finger wagging in front of my nose. I hated it so I’d tune her out and go somewhere else in my mind. I began to do this so much I eventually lost control of when to snap back from my happy place. My sweet mind trick on my mom turned into this full blown out mental disorder called “ADD.”

What is ADD?

Apparently “this is an outdated term. The term was once used to refer to someone who had trouble focusing but was not hyperactive.” OK cool so it’s ADHD now. Inattentive ADHD means a person shows enough symptoms of inattention (or easy distractibility) but isn’t hyperactive or impulsive.

For example- It got really bad in high school to the point that I’d be trying to listen to my friend’s story and she’d say a word that either sparked a memory of mine and I’d be so excited to share it I’d blurt it out and interrupt her because i literally didn’t even hear her talking anymore my memory was so loud and needed to resurrect itself from the dead. Everyone started to hate me because i came off as super obnoxious and spacey. I didn’t always interrupt, I’m actually pretty aware now and I apologize or manage to hold it in til the end. But THEN people probably think I’m just waiting for them to finish talking so I can talk about myself some more. And while that’s not true at all, it truly is hard to hear the rest of their story with mine pushing so hard to get out. Then I found this psychology study on ADHD and memory differences and the outcome:

“We know that these individuals with ADHD are just as capable in remembering information, but what is selected to be remembered could be an issue. The brain areas associated with planning, memory, and decision-making are also implicated in a number of other psychological disorders. Decisions about risk-taking, substance use, and other problematic behaviors may be impaired in children with ADHD compared to their non-ADHD counterparts. A recent analysis looking at the long term outcomes of children with ADHD found that as adolescents and adults, they are more likely to try smoking and marijuana, and more likely to develop substance abuse or depending on nicotine, marijuana, alcohol, cocaine, and other drugs.” See: https://www.psychologyinaction.org/psychology-in-action-1/2011/02/12/adhd-and-memory-differences-in-what-is-remembered

Oh did someone say substance abuse? Hello, it’s me! But more importantly, they mentioned selective memory.

“A study found that repressing these memories for long enough can lead to us erasing them completely. Using EEG scans, scientists noted the parts of volunteers' brains which became active when actively trying to forget something. They were also able to pinpoint the exact moment a memory is 'forgotten', and claim that long-term suppression of a memory is a sure fire way of permanently erasing it.

The study authors say that mastering the technique could be useful for people who suffer from depression or post traumatic stress disorder.

Mr Waldhauser, a researcher at Lund University, said "We know that 'forgotten' or repressed feelings often manifest themselves as physiological reactions.” See: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/science/science-news/8620360/Selective-memory-does-exist-say-scientists.html

So maybe my elite human brain is just protecting me... They did mention depression and PTSD.

“Depression has been linked to memory problems, such as forgetfulness or confusion. It can also make it difficult to focus on work or other tasks, make decisions, or think clearly. Stress and anxiety can also lead to poor memory.

Depression is associated with short-term memory loss. It doesn’t affect other types of memory, such as long-term memory and procedural memory, which controls motor skills.” See:https://www.healthline.com/health/depression/depression-and-memory-loss#outlook

Several reoccurring symptoms of PTSD include fearful thoughts, flashbacks and bad dreams. These symptoms can become problematic in a person’s life. Some of the avoidance symptoms include difficulty remembering the traumatic event and avoiding reminders of the experience, such as places, people and objects. Hyperarousal symptoms may also arise, such as feeling tense, being startled easily and having trouble sleeping. While it is normal to experience some of these symptoms after a terrible event, symptoms lasting more than a few weeks may be signs of PTSD.\Post-traumatic stress disorder causes short-term memory loss and can have long-term chronic psychological repercussions, according to the American Psychological Association (APA) and the NCBI. Fortunately, psychotherapeutic intervention and treatment can alleviate and often eliminate short-term and long-term effects of PTSD. See:https://www.psychguides.com/guides/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-symptoms-causes-and-effects/

#bipolar #bpd #mental illness #rapid cycling #memory loss #adhd

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freakishlemon · 7 years ago

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the gendering and socialization of work lately with regards to my growing frustrations with my youngest brother, so I’m throwing words at this screen. Might be interesting to you folks, might not, so I’m putting it behind a cut below.

((Read More should start here, mobile users))

So some basic background, I’m the oldest of 4 kids in my family and we live in a rural town that’s been start-stopping it’s way to suburbia sorta kinda maybe, so our upbringing is pretty squarely centered in this little corner of the world. There me (trans-masc genderqueer) born in ‘88, there’s my sister (woman) born in ‘90, middle brother (man) born in ‘92, and the youngest brother (man) born in ‘96. Myself and the middle brother both still live at home, but we are employed and are paying off loans or looking into continuing education, so we’re doing pretty well. My sister has been moved out with her fella and their co-owned pets and she started her own business last year, in addition to subsidizing her income with part-time bar-tending/restaurant gigs when she needs to. All three of us have completed the middle-class white person requirement of earning a Bachelor’s degree (yay debt :/ ).

My youngest brother has a chronic gut illness and had to have surgery on his intestines last December, which prompted him to really think about his college education (that he was failing) and opt to not finish school. I think that was a surprisingly mature decision for this brother. So he takes the time to recover from the surgery and he’s been back to his normal for a while now, so my parents have been prompting him to start seeking employment since about March-ish.

He’s still unemployed, which does not surprise me based on our location/job market/the incredible hell that is Finding A Job, but I find myself and I see my parents becoming more and more frustrated with him.

Now, my parents’ frustration I understand because they’re in their late 50s/60s and they do all those prior generation stereotype things like tell you to make a million follow up calls and go bother the management and just start asking businesses for jobs, which is what they know. The rest of us sympathize with that portion of my brother’s current position, but... it occurred to me that my youngest brother is doing nothing to alleviate this from my parents because he hasn’t learned how to deflect them.

Because he’s looking for his first job.

His. First. Job.

It hit me this morning that the way our society socializes work for afab folks starts so god damn early. If we define a job as Somewhere You Are Scheduled To Be To Perform Work, I started working at 11 at my local library as a volunteer. I outgrew the summer reading program for the young kids and there was nothing for the older kids. I had to be there for my siblings because I was too young to stay home, so I was shelving books or assisting at the Scholastic book fair. Listen, I worked at this library as a volunteer for so long that the retiring children’s librarian had me run the summer reading program for two years, then she retired and there wasn’t a children’s librarian for a year so I ran the summer reading program, AND THEN I TRAINED THE NEW CHILDREN’S LIBRARIAN ON HOW TO RUN A SUMMER READING PROGRAM. It was her first librarian job and I was sixteen.

My sister started doing the same thing when she aged out of the summer reading program. My brothers didn’t.

But if we count paid work, my sister and I took our first job together at 14 and 12 when we were offered a pretty sweet babysitting gig. We’d finish middle school, walk over to the elementary school down the street to pick up this first grade girl, and hang out at the library doing homework for an hour and a half until the girl’s mom could come pick her up. Three days a week, paid on Thursday like clock work.

And we both did things like that until we were old enough to be legally hired - babysitting gigs, pet sitting, helping older people with physical tasks (I mean, mostly my grandma just having us doing a day’s worth of chores for pizza and ten bucks, but it’s still work).

And we applied for jobs all through high school and if we didn’t have jobs during the school year, we went for summer jobs. The only time either one of us was without something for at least part of the summer was my summer before senior year of college when I was s c r a m b l i n g for an internship to meet my graduation requirements (the coordinator at my school was no god damn help and I’m still mad about it).

Neither of my brothers was prompted to find paying work until after highschool, except when family friends needed pet sitters and my sister and I were already working. They were only encouraged to do volunteer work during highschool because it was a graduation requirement.

I was unemployed for a few months after graduating college, which is pretty normal, and that’s when I learned to balance out the actual reality of job hunting and my parent’s expectations of it. And you know the easiest way I found to do that? Work around the god damn house. Do all the dishes. Sweep floors. Vacuum. Is there a junk closet mom’s been meaning to go through? Empty it out, clean it, and go through what needs to be done with the stuff, and then do it for her so that she only has to make the decisions without taking her two days off to do it herself. Shit like that. Honestly? Yep. Yeah mom, I put in nine applications today, one of the places I applied to last week should be calling by the end of the week, and look at your sparkling kitchen. Done. I acknowledge my advantage of being a physically healthy person to pull this off and the amazing support of my friend who would call me at six in the morning to wake up my ass to take a walk, talk shit out, and then start the day with a scheduled thing. I know that’s not in the cards for all of us, but even doing a few simple chores like wiping off the flat stove top did a lot to get my parents off my back.

(Once my sister started working for actual paychecks, she’s pretty much always been employed because she rocks at this stuff. When she got her at-time-dream-job-in-her-actual-degree-field at a photo studio for $50k a year, she had three part time restaurant jobs and still managed to have more of a social life than I’ve ever had. And then when she hated that job, she started her own business and is making it work. She’s a rock star. It’s amazing.)

So my middle brother was unemployed for the better part of a year after his retail summer job stopped giving him hours and he was searching for a job in his field-ish. He wasn’t socialized to pick up housework the way my sister and I were, but due to his recently-diagnosed-bipolar-flavoured mental illness (i’m not sure the exact diagnosis, but it’s in the bipolar type family) he would have manic episodes and needed shit to do to manage his brain so it quickly became a thing that mom would leave him a list of shit that had to be done around the house each day/week and he would get it done (less done on depressive days, but still to the point of acceptably done). He built the routine and when he couldn’t get calls back for interviews, he sought out gig jobs from friends and family, which is how he ended up in his current job. And even now after lots of balancing acts and sorting himself out, he’d on a pretty even keel these days, but if he’s got fewer work hours than the rest of us that week and mom leaves him a list, he gets the must-dos done.

My youngest brother was diagnosed with his gut illness at 9, which is a shit hand of cards to be dealt. Flare ups are bad and can lay him out for days. I know that’s a part of his life and is probably affecting how he’s looking for a job and all, but... it’s very frustrating to me that this is his first job hunt (or temporary gig hunt) and he’s 21.

He was prompted to get summer jobs while he was in college and relatively healthy, but it wasn’t enforced by my parents on him the way it was on the middle brother and certainly not the way it was enforced on my sister and I. It’s very frustrating to me that my mom will leave a list for my youngest brother with things like 1) empty dishwasher, 2) do your laundry, and 3) play with the dog outside for 20 minutes, and not a single one of those things has been done by the time my mom or I get home (we have similar work schedules). And my mom’s response is to just roll her eyes and grudgingly do it or ask me/middle brother to do it. She doesn’t make him do it. She’s never assigned him to make a simple dinner for the rest of us, the way she has middle brother and myself. She’s never assigned him big projects (clean the basement, vacuum the whole house, scrub out the refrigerator) the way she has middle brother and myself, even as something to be done over the course of the week instead of that day.

It’s just super frustrating to hear him snap at my parents when they pester him about getting a job because mom, dad, middle brother, and myself are doing full time jobs plus sometimes side jobs (middle brother is running a daily livestream and/or podcast, I’m slowly working fiber work business stuff into my life, mom’s starting a yarn dyeing business) PLUS ALL THE HOUSEWORK and he’s sitting there in his room all day filling out applications for a bit and then playing video games for fourteen hours.

Like... I’d feel less frustrated if I knew or suspected it was the gut illness or something that was kicking him all the time, but I don’t think it is. We learned to recognize that kind of stuff when he was in school because there were times when he could only do a half day or couldn’t go at all. Honestly? I just don’t think he knows how to work. Not the way my sister’s and my gendered upbringing taught us. Not the way my middle brother’s mental illness and brain coping taught him. We ended up as people who need stuff to do during the day. It just looks to us like he’s not trying when the reason he hasn’t emptied the dishwasher in two weeks without my mom standing there making him do it is “I forgot."

Just... ffffguh. Venting.

#real life stuff #frustrated #family things

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farsightedwriterofyathings-blog · 6 years ago

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Heartbroken

Why is it that the one person who loves me most is also the most mentally disturbed? To the point of obsession.

Seriously, I have all the luck.

This man and I were in a relationship many many years ago. He decided he wasn’t good enough for me and left. He never bothered to ask how I felt about it and he left me in pieces having to learn to open my heart and trust someone else. Then for Thirty years, he carried my photo all over the freaking world. No contact. Claiming all the while, I was the only one he would ever love. PTSD, Social anxiety, hoarder, he contacts me and wants a life with me again? WTF? Say What?

So, I let him back into my heart - FOOLISH FOOLISH FOOLISH. I let myself believe his love is true but his mental state is somewhat scary. One moment he loves me more than anything and the next - he doesn’t want anything to do with me because he has this completely warped memory of some stupid thing He claims I did in College some thirty years ago. Only the people in his memory were not there in real life nor the place he claims it happened didn’t exist. But he goes to this Dark place - did I mention mentally disturbed - Bi polar I suspect with Depression.

I am not a time traveler. Even If I could go back in time and fix it - the Event Didn’t happen.

He brings up the fact that he proposed three times during these disturbed depressive moments. Honestly, I only remember one proposal and it was not really a proposal it was a statement of fact, “I will marry you!” That is not a freaken proposal. Not even close. I do remember laughing and saying, No way. But it was not serious nor was there ever a ring offered.

Thirty years ago - I did love him with all my heart but he was reckless. He was in the Navy, he had wrecked on a motorcycle and then went out and purchased one. He was drinking. A lot. He told me that when he got out of the Navy he planned to be a truck driver and go back to the tiny town in Missouri and live there.

I was a 4.0 engineering major, I wanted to fly for the Navy. We met in the Navy. I did not want to be a housewife with a husband who was on the road all the time. I imagined a life of scrapping to get by wearing a housecoat and having four or five snotty nosed kids all in diapers. It was not the kind of life I imagined for myself at the time and looking back still not the idyllic painting of a perfect future.

He decided one day he wanted nothing to do with me. - Did I mention he claims to have passed out at some party he attended and someone put hickeys all over his neck? He claims still he was passed out and has no recall of participating in that but the evidence was all over his neck and chest. He came to see me the next day and I believed his explanation at the time.

He didn’t call or write, he cut me off completely. Even when he shattered his ankle and was stationed 30 minutes from me - he never contacted me. Not for 30 Freaking years.

He claims he loves me more than anyone. He claims his love is unconditional and he claimed he would wait for me forever.

So Monday, It starts with the accusations AGAIN of this memory he claims that I went to some hotel with some guy while he waited with my friend in the car for three hours thirty freaking years ago. A) I loved him so much he was the only man I wanted.. B) He claims he was in a car with Leslie my beloved sorority sister - who was (love you Leslie but as you are no longer living) kind of slutty, so I would not have left any MAN I loved alone with her for any small amount of time let alone 3 hours. (He claims she offered herself to him) C) He claims this Man was, in fact, someone I didn’t date until 5 years after the time period. The Man I dated and married five years after we broke up.

Here is the most ironic part. Now he doesn’t want to talk to me, see me, have any kind of contact for a year and then he still wants to marry me but I am supposed to wait an entire year before I contact him.

Clearly, he has taken the train to Crazy Town.

I do love him. I will always love him....but I am not going to wait a year or a minute to spend my life with someone this destructive.

This thing he does is abusive. It is a form of mental abuse and I won’t tolerate it. Why should I. When he is happy and loving. He is so sorry for hurting me and then he snaps - flips a freaking switch and makes me apologize and explain for something that didn’t happen plus I never know when he is going to snap. To date, he snapped in November, December, January and Now in March. I could only imagine if I did marry him and this happened and then what?

To make matters worse, I suspect he has some dementia issues. We talk and he forgets conversations and will bring stuff up - stories he told me over and over. He told me that for the last 20 years or so he couldn’t sleep unless he drank himself silly at night and went through a bottle of alcohol each night. I think his brain is pickled. He said he stopped all of that when we started talking to each other but there have been many occasions when I spoke to him and he sounded inebriated but he claims it was Nyquil - which it could have been but he got really defensive about it.

He wants me to run off and live with him. When I went to see him once in Missouri, he would not let me into his home. He said he was ashamed because it was full of trash. He had not taken out the trash in ten years and left it all over his house. When we face-timed, there were occasions where I could see the trash all over just piled up. Roaches on the walls behind him and on his headboard. When he came to visit - his truck was full of trash - and bugs.

I think what scares him most is that while he would like a life with me, he doesn’t want to leave his home and he will not let me live there until the trash is taken care of and it is livable but he cannot let anyone help him because he is embarrassed about it and ashamed yet he cannot bring himself to do it. There is always some excuse - not feeling well, hip hurts and he cannot move.

I understand he loves his family and doesn’t want to move. Even if they will never see the trash heap where he lives.

I cannot and will not let myself become a victim. He is like a drowning man and he will not use the life buoy I have tossed to him and if I jump in to save him he will kill me trying to save himself and more likely we will both drown.

I should be crying - I am upset but I also feel like I have dodged a bullet. after living through all these multiple manic episodes, I was prepared to just wait him out and wait for him to come crawling back and apologize. Again, but his words this time were so very ugly and hurtful - I know he is lashing out because of the darkness surrounding him but deep down. He probably doesn’t really want this to work and probably doesn’t want me and this is him pushing me away for good. I am not chasing him. I am not begging him, after the last time, I felt the need to guard my heart. How many times can I beg to be forgiven regarding something I didn’t happen.

The closest memory was this time I tried to get him into a fraternity party at Sigma Nu and I asked my classmate to let him into the party and he said no, so I left the party. It was ten minutes not three hours. And Leslie was a Sigma Nu Little Sister so she would not have been in the car with him she would have come in with me to the party to help me ask.

And I will always love him. I cannot help myself on that score. He was my first love. We shared so much. I am sending this blog that no one reads out into the universe because I have no one to tell and my heart is hurting once again but I want to remind myself that I do not deserve to be treated with such venom especially because I know in a few days he will be very sorry but I cannot let him back into my life. Now now, not in a few days, not in a week, not in a year not ever.

For safety I have blocked him from FB, and my phone and I am not sharing my location with him on google maps.

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sanaseva-archive · 8 years ago

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Hiii! I love your writing, and I was wondering if you could do a follow up to 'Then we talk' like Isak and Even discussing how to be better at communicating with each other if something the other does doesn't sit well with them, and also discussing why Isak never just yells and fights back in a loud way and why he hates it when Even yells, and like discussing Isak's childhood. I mean I get it if you can't but it'd be awesome to read that. I hope you have a great day!! x

Hi! Thanks. x

This is going to go into some headcanons that I have, which are always included in all the fics I’ve written, evident or not. This is also going to take away some of the free interpretation. If you don’t want that, please don’t read this answer.

Let’s start with Isak.

As I’ve mentioned, time and time again, I relate to him. Watching S3 was cathartic for me–and I’m 21 years old.

The thing is, I started to watch S3 up to the ~latest episode~ and then I watched S1, whilst keeping up with the updates on S3. That’s why it still burns an unsatisfied fire inside of me that Isak is coded to have a little sister that we know nothing about. (It says Terje, Marianne, Isak og Lea on the family house sign, shown when Eva is there to confront Isak. There’s a link to an image of this in one of my fics, iirc.)

So what I imagine is:

Isak grows up with a mother who is psychotic from time to time. I imagine her shouting about God, Jesus and how the Devil will come and take them all away from her. I imagine Terje trying to calm her down, but she won’t listen. I imagine Lea starting to cry because of this utter chaos. I imagine Isak never being able to react to this; he takes care of Lea and takes the role as a big brother.

Why?

Because this is me, in essence. I didn’t grow up with a mother who has psychotic episodes. I grew up with a mother whose stress levels were easily stepped on, to which she reacted. I grew up with a mother who exploded on no one particular in the family, but the family as whole, for something stupid as her running Pinball game on the computer was closed. I remember shouting, nothing at me, but upstairs, and how my mother threatened to divorce my dad, for something he couldn’t possibly take blame for, because it would be absurd for him to apologise for something that the dsl modem broke down.

(I realise that my mother definitely has been verbally abusive towards us, if not manipulative. I also realise that during these moments, she were so stressed she could hardly think. Years later, I realise that she could barely work during this period because she was so stressed out. That does not excuse her behaviour, but it explains it. And I accept it, some wouldn’t. And that’s okay.)

So I have that headcanon, that Isak hates yelling and shouting, maybe loud noises in general, when it’s not prepared for. I imagine he can still go partying, which is usually in loud rooms, but that he doesn’t like it when people raise the voice around him or at him– because he will get the uneasy feeling he used to have as a child.

I also headcanon that he has rejection issues, because his dad left him alone with his mother, and most likely brought Lea with him (because Isak would not leave Lea alone with his mother and move into the Kollektiv). You might say it’s because of the crush he has for Jonas, but I also believe it plays a role in there too; when he keeps intruding on Eva’s and Jonas’ ~alone-time~.

I don’t think that Isak particularly knows that he is getting a panic attack. I don’t particularly think that he understands why until it passes. Much less do I think that he has shared this information with Even previously.

I do imagine, however, that this is something they discuss then, whenever then is. Later. When they finally talk.

I imagine it going something like this:

Even: I’m sorry I shouted. I was frustrated and felt like you didn’t listen to me.

Isak: I’m sorry I hurt you. I know I will never understand what it’s like [to be bipolar and be manic/depressed] but I need to know what you want me to do. The only experience I have is with my mum, and what she is, is not the same as what you are. Her needs aren’t the same as yours. You must understand where I’m coming from, too.

Even: I understand, and i’ve thought about it. I have these things that are Not OK and I need you to respect that at all times. Is that OK?

Isak: Alright, of course. Thank you.

Even: Why didn’t you shout back? You usually stand your ground. When we’re teasing, that is. Why did you ask me to stop?

Isak: I just don’t like when people yell or shout or are being loud. It’s because of [headcanon above].

Even: I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.

Isak: How could you know? I never told you that. Frankly, I didn’t really know up until now.

What we’re seeing is, the worst moment you could see. You’re seeing someone who isn’t portrayed as angry other than the biting line he gave Sonja (”Stop controlling me”), and you see him being very angry. Notice however how he never talks down on Isak. He simply thinks Isak doesn’t hear where he’s coming from, and he obviously doesn’t like to feel controlled– something I imagine he’s doing right now. Whatever Isak has said or done before this, hurt him.

Isak, however, is starting to panic, because Even is loud. So he tells him to stop. That’s from where we see it. He doesn’t particularly understand what’s going on with him, and he wants it to stop. His hands feel cold and are shaking. His heart is racing. He hears his boyfriend, and he thought he had done something good but he had upset his boyfriend instead. That is a painful feeling in its own.

There are a lot of unsaid emotions going on. The boys have history of their own. And you rarely decide to argue, do you? So it most likely came out of the blue, thus you respond, and get more upset with each response you get from the other. That’s not an ideal way to make the other understand what you mean and to let yourself understand your partner/friend/other.

That’s why I had Even suggesting a breather. Because he knows he can’t continue this right there and then– he’s too upset. And he obviously sees Isak being genuine if not quite hurt that Even would think [that?] of Isak. That Isak isn’t sorry that he hurt him etc.

And Isak agrees because he wants to calm down himself. He can’t keep talking when he’s hands are trembling and his heart racing. What he wants is a discussion at the dinner table, and calmly explain what he feels, what he thought, what he did. And Even listening to that, and explain what he feels, what he thought, what he did. And thus reach an agreement.

As I said; we’re seeing the worst moment in an argument, because it’s an angst prompt filler. It’s supposed to hurt, make you react, and have you thinking. We’re seeing, what? 1.5 minutes of their lives. If someone took 1.5 minutes of my life, at one of the worst moments, I must look scary. If someone took 1.5 minutes of my life, at a moment I start to feel triggered by something, I will look timid and pale. I don’t think it’s particularly fair to judge someone out of 1.5 minutes of their lives.

I do realise they are fictional characters, and I do realise that it was written harshly. Some things are blown out of porportion, exaggerated, because Isak is coded as having a panic attack. The way you see the world while having a panic attack is– different. Even the things you hear are different, in some situations. I’m not saying Even isn’t saying what Even wrote, though, but I want you to understand that from one point of view, it’s different from the other.

Now, before I end this, I will say this:

It is annoying and frustrating that people think they can fix me. I am unfixable. Even is unfixable. Isak’s mother is unfixable. Magnus’ mother is unfixable. My mother is unfixable. When people do small things, like telling me it’ll get better or, I don’t know, dodge the realness of it all, I get pissed. Because you can’t take that away from me and change it. You can’t rewrite my brain. You can’t expect those moments, when my anxiety reaches the peak, to go away.

One thing that I was incredibly bothered by with my first girlfriend was how she kept saying it’ll get better and it’s okay. It’s not getting better, even after like 8 years or something, and it’s not okay. I understand that it’s different from everyone.

Isak has a clumsy mouth, as seen how he casually says he doesn’t want mentally ill people in his life. We see Even back off and act on his own, and Isak not understanding what went wrong. I can definitely see Isak saying something rather tasteless, which sets Even off, because Isak didn’t thnk. Or that Isak has done something, like asked people to watch Even during a depressive episode, and Even being annoyed by that, thinking that Isak thinks this is going to stop happening.

As stated before and also in the series, Even does not want to be controlled. If he feels controlled, he might snap. He talks to Isak about it, and he bites Sonja off because of it. It’s not a far reach that Isak could accidentally make Even feel controlled, or a mental charity case or something.

But I imagine it’s a fixable mistake. They both need to learn and talk about it. They both need to learn setting boundaries.

However…

If I had written something like Even calling Isak and idiot and worthless and Isak taking that– sure, I can see how that would be awful and definitely abusive. Here I’m writing two young men, in the heat of a moment that I wanted people to interpret on their own.

1.5 minutes. I tried to act it out in my head watching the time. I think it might be around that time.

Thanks and take care

#-#--#---#----#sora writes #anonymous #owlpost

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fuckignvehk · 6 years ago

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So, because I have officially gotten away from my family permanently, I'm going to sit down and write a post about why I have acted the way I have over the years. Not as an excuse, but hopefully to give an explanation. I'm going to preface this with a trigger warning for:

Rape Incest Pedophilia Abuse (of SEVERAL varieties, ranging from manipulation, gaslighting, and mind control, to sexual abuse, and physical abuse as well as several other things) Neglect Poverty Possibly others?

I am also going to preface this again, as, I'm going to list off the mental illnesses I know I have, which are the following:

C-PTSD, which stands for Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is caused by repetitive and intense emotional, physical, mental, or sexual abuse, usually a mixture of them.

Bi-polar, which is a disorder associated with episodes of mood swings ranging from depressive lows to manic highs, of which will result in severe paranoia, anxiety, inflated ego, and hallucinations among other things

BPD, which stands for Borderline Personality Disorder, which is a personality disorder that typically includes the following symptoms to name a few:

Inappropriate or extreme emotional reactions. Highly impulsive behaviors. A history of unstable relationships.

Depression, anxiety, and paranoia, which I will not bother to explain because they are common enough that you should know at least enough about them to understand

DID, which stands for Disassociative Identity Disorder, previously known as multiple personality disorder, which is a mental disorder characterized by at least two distinct and relatively enduring personality states. This is accompanied by memory gaps, beyond what would be explained by ordinary forgetfulness. One of these alternate personalities is a traumatized 3 year old girl.

Now that all of that is out of the way and explained, I'm going to start pretty much from the beginning.

I am unfortunately one of those people that can genuinely say that my trauma started almost at birth. I was born a month early, due to one of the valves in my umbilical cord having not developed, resulting in me after a certain point, to rapidly lose weight in the womb. I weighed 4 pounds and 14 ounces. About half the size I SHOULD have been being born. After that, I had an allergic reaction to a medication my mother was taking while breast feeding, resulting in me ceasing to breath for a good while and almost died. By the age of 3 or so, something happened, assumably incestuous rape, which resulted in my personality to fracture so heavily that the one originally in this body retreated, and was locked away while someone else came to the front, for the rest of her life. From that point on, the only time she came out, to my recollection, was doing extreme times of fear, paranoia, and danger, which resulted in her either hurting me, or someone around us. Her name is Amber. My birth name, my dead name. The last time she came out she asked for her mom and dad, and asked why her mom hates her. Most of my life is a blur, and the few things I can remember are not fantastic.

By the age of four I promised myself I'd never forget my age again after accidentally holding up five fingers only to be ridiculed for it and jeered at the whole party. There were no children at any of my birthday parties save one or two later on in life. It was always adults, usually my mother's friends. As such, after cake and presents, my presence was ignored and shaken off. This is an ordeal I deal with throughout my whole life. From a frighteningly young age I have been plagued with chronic nightmares so aggressive that I would wake up as a toddler having panic attacks, running through the dark of the house to my parents room, begging to sleep there that night. Only to be told to go back to my room, and not wake up my mother again lest I have my ass beat red. I still have these chronic nightmares to this day. Even medication doesn't help, all it does is trap me in these nightmares until morning, back to back to back. After 2nd grade, my mother and father got a divorce. I went with my mother, and lived in this small town named Millen(sp?) for the extent of 3rd grade. In this time. I was traumatized in many ways. One of which was by an upperclasswoman of 5th year, who promised to be my first friend if I let her do something 'special'. This was the first time I was ever raped. Not long after that we got a kitten whos back legs had been snapped at our doorstep. I instisted my mother let me nurse it back to health. She refused, and instead told me she was going to take it over to my grandparents, who lived right next to us, so that my grandpa could kill it. I can still hear the kitten mewling as she took it away, and I can still hear the sound of the 2-by-4 crushing it's skull with a single hard hit. I can also remember the cousin my family would talk about me allegidly crushing on, and talk of us getting married one day. My cousin.

After 3rd grade, on the way to my dad's house for the summer, my dad went into cardiac arrest on the freeway, and we ran into a semi truck 6 or 7 times before veering off the road into a tree. My mom and I moved back in with my dad after that, my mom taking up our cat at the time, along with her litter of kittens who were no older than 2 or 3 months, gunny sacked them, and dropped them on the side of the road during the move. While we had these cats, she also got a dog. She took care of the dog, and bought cat food, but she never bought litter. The cats lived in my bedroom. It eventually got to the point that I had to move to the living room, leaving all of my things in the bedroom, because so much cat piss and shit had piled up in there that it was making me deathly ill. I ended up getting strep for the first time not long after that. Not long after that is when I started abusing the kittens, mixed with anger at them, as well as having learned that if an animal is not wanted, to just kill it, which, for my already traumatized brain, resulted in torture. The dog she had, always got more attention than me, so I ended up hating her, resutling in frequent abuse towars her on my end. This didn't stop until around the time that I was 11 or 12, when what I believe was another mental break happened, and my personality was once again reformed into someone new. Realizing what I had done, I forced her to puke up toxic paint I had force fed her, and never spoke of it. That dog, who's name was sweetpea, died last year, just before I'd moved out. I was the only one with her when she died, after my brother had strangled her, irriparibly damaging her throat, causing her to starve to death.

After moving back in with my dad the first time, my mom and dad fought, all the time, until one day my mom grabbed me up from my room, dragged me to the door, paused, looked at my dad, and told him 'take a good look, because it'll be the last time you ever see your daughter. I hope you drink yourself to death.' and left with me. A month or two later my mom got a call my dad is in the hospital. He tried drinking himself to death. When he woke up, he asked where his mother was, who had been dead since he was a young adult. He had developed aggressive Altzimers and Dimensia. We moved in with my dad again, along with my uncle, his girlfriend, and their daughter moving in. Each person in the house abused me in different ways, save my dad, who was also abused. Through the years my family brainwashed me into hating my father, along with harassing, bullying, and poisoning him, as well as traumatizing him for their pleasure. After a falling out between my mom and her brother, he, and his girlfriend and daughter are kicked out, and my brother moved in, along with a guy named Ken. I was around 14 or 15 or so at this point. Through the whole time Ken lived with us, he sexually harassed and aggressed me, which to everyone else was deemed a girl crush on my part, which I got in trouble for. During a camping trip, while everyone else was making sexually charged jokes, I made one towards him, only to get punched full on in the jaw. My mother looked at me and told me I deserved it for being so disrespectful to an adult. I never did so again.

After a bit, my mom, brother, dad and I, moved to texas for 4 years, which is where I met someone else that would abuse me through my life, up until recently, along with being abused by an online friend and love interest, of whom would abuse me until the age of 18 or so. After those 4 or so years, we moved back to oregon. While we had left our house, my mom moved my uncle, aunt, grandma, and grandpa in. By the time we got home, my childhood home was destroyed. I lived then, in a garage, for the next 4 years, with no insilation in the ceiling, with an abusive older brother and mom, later being left with ONLY my brother. I took showers maybe once or twice a month, when we weren't having water problems. I was rediculed for my weight, had my disabilities denied, being gaslit into beliving I was making it all up, and had my food restricted by my aunt from any food in the house. Needless to say, moldy and spoiled food is not a stranger to me. Near the end, before I'd moved out, we had several people move in and out. I had my bank account back in oregon irriparibly messedup and locked due to being pressured into allowing my uncle's girlfriend, both of which did and still to this day do have warrents out for their arrest, to use my account to cash a check that turned out to be a fraud. I never got that account fixed. We also had a couple with a 13 year old move up for a bit, both parents doing heroine until they were kicked out for theft and threats. After that, another couple moved up in a trailer, along with a 3rd person with a larger trailer. The male of the couple one day came up with a gun, looking for his girlfriend, telling us that he just wanted her so he could blow her brains out for cheating on him with my uncle. After that ordeal, she started sneaking him up onto our property. I warned my mom about it, only for her to tell me I was making it up and hallucinating. I reconnect with my abuser from highschool not long after this, as well as having lost MULTIPLE friends during this time. He buys me a bus ticket up to portland, to live with him, and the moment I get there, I am cleaning the whole house save his roommates room. I'm also cooking and doing laundry that had piled up long before I got there, all of which was saturated in cat urin. I took care of his 6 rats and dog as well while I lived there. If I did not clean the dishes, make him lunches, and wash the laundry (in several cases having to fold and put it away as well), I was guilt tripped as he sat and cried, telling me how tired he was from taking calls all day at his work. Or guilted with the phrase of 'so I had 2 cigarettes for lunch again today'. At night, every night, he told me how much he missed his ex girlfriend, who was someone who claimed to have DID, and integrated, as well as the fact that he was in love with this new personality as well. I was also informed of how she had replaced me as his best friend, and been better to him than I had the whole time we'd known each other, that I'd never live up to her. When told to stop, and that I didn't want to listen to it anymore, I was once again gaslit and guilted into being a venting tool. 2 weeks in to living there he jumped off a building trying to kill himself, knowing full well that he left me in an apartment whose lease was up at the end of THAT month, leaving me less than 2 more weeks to find a job, and somehow get enough money for a down payment on an apartment with a roommate, while also figuring out how to pay for transportation, and food. His boyfriend did not help me pack ANY of my abuser's items, and the one time I blew up on him about it, he guilted me and told me to walk, in the dead of night, to the McDonalds so that he could just pack it all up himself, only for him to never come over at all, because my abuser woke up. I asked to go see him too, and I was told I was not allowed to. The only time he contacted me was to see how packing was going, or to have me walk to his work, (as well as having to take a trimet train, with no money to get a pass to do so, resulting me on riding it illegally) just to buy him cigarettes because he was to young to do so still as he was not yet 21. I was rewarded with sandwiches that hadn't been sold that day, and a coffee with some cakepops. Through all this time, he, as well as my abuser's other partner, and been complaining about me, and claiming that I was being abusive and inconsiderate.

By the end of it I ended up having to move at the end of the month to Wisconsin, with someone I had never met in my life, on a whim, because my other option was to live on the streets of portland in the middle of winter. I lived in Wisconsin for a month, where once again I did a good portion of the cleaning, and all of the cooking, save dishes most of the time. 2 times I had been left there completely alone and isolated, taking care of his 2 cats, because he checked himself into a mental hospital. I spent thanks giving (a holiday I don't celebrate anyways regardless) alone, as well as that entire week. After all was said and done, he forced me to get onto a plane back to my abusive family, where I lived for the month of december up until the 22nd of January, where I once again ran away from him, to a stranger I met online no more than a month before hand, to get away from my family.

Despite everything here, I have left a MAJORITY of my abuse details and major points out of this. In that time of trying and failing and trying again to move out, I lost everything. Literally everything. I have cut contact with ALL of my family, I lost my family childhood home, and will never get to go back because even if it wasn't for association, my family can no longer hold onto it, I've lost all of my clothing, my books, etc. I am now at the point where, while I am in a much better situation, I am now having to deal with processing 21 years of nonstop abuse through my whole life, and can only sit and hope that a box that I was harrassed about the whole time after moving away from portland, is eventually shipped to me with my remaning belongings, including my herbal books, a few religious items, clothes, a mortar and pestel, and my computer as well as drawing tablet.

As of now, I am still looking for a doctor to get my first checkup, as well as a dentist to deal with cavities, the beginnings of gum disease, and all of my wisdom teeth forcing themselves out of my jaw into my mouth, which does not have enough room for them, resulting in a severely crooked top one, and two impacted bottoms. I also need to find a therapist, and psychologist to help me process my trauma, and a gynacologist, which I have never seen either, as the only benifit I've gotten from hospitals is emergency room care, and my vaccinations that were REQUIRED as a child.

#tw abuse #tw rape #tw incest #tw pedophillia

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titandnene · 6 years ago

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Hey I need to say this to you Lauren.

I dont know the best was to express or say how I feel but I’m finally at a point where I need to explain myself fully for all I’ve done and why i keep coming back into your life. For the past 3 years my life has been a rollercoaster through stages of hell that I really need to tell you about because in the darkest parts of it the idea of what we were and you in general have been my only light. That’s the reason why I’ve been popping back into your life when I’m sure you would rather have it otherwise. The night that we first tripped togther really shows the power that I see in the universe and how horribly cruel honest and true to form it can be about life. Lauren it had to happen the way it folded out. And I learned that it always does no matter what you want. The beginning of it like the beginning of us was great but that moment when I was facing the door and immediately snapped back to look at you started a chain of events that no one was prepared for. That’s when I started to go “crazy” or my mind started to twist my life started to twist everything started to go out of whack. That’s when me being here with you and me always coming back into your life started to turn things bad in my life. I’m deeply sorry for making you cry during the trip but what you don’t know is what happened after you left. I started to plan out what I would think would be our life together. And that was also my first manic episode.

After your left I started writing on the table and in my note book about a surf shack that we were going to have and this fantastic life that was going to happen because I could see it all in that moment. I felt like I knew it all in that moment. But the reality was I was having my first manic episode. Mania makes me feel like that. Like I have the world and it’s story and the universe and it’s story and our story tied up together and I just have to talk it into existence and it will happen the way I say it will. I felt like I had so much energy and enlightenment just pouring out of me and people were on the same brain wave that I was. But it’s never the case.

I was writing and then I finished with the thought of the universe could be this place that I’m envisioning or I could just be crazy and loosing my mind. And then I sunk deep down into that hole. Thinking that my mind was broken and that I couldnt stop this train that was my brain. So I got in bed shut my eyes and just wished for sleep and it came and I woke up the next day fine like back to normal. Hoping that you would still want to be with me after what I did to you that night.

That in essence has been the last three years on repeat starting January 1st 2016.

It’s a cycle of slowing going manic. Mania brings in good feelings and somehow you get involved in my head. That then branches out to me trying to contact you because if this vision that I’m so clearly seeing. And then the destruction of that vision as the episode ends.

On that day I started to go crazy or manic. I dont really know how but by the 4th I was in the back of an ambulance loosing my mind. My universe was fracturing reality was loosening I thought that everyone was going to die and I was going to be alone forever. So they put me in the hospital and they were running test and I was like a wild animal because I had no idea what was going on and then the seeds of my psychosis started being planted. Because within all of that madness I had one light one person that my mom made me think of and that was you. I was talking about the color of your eyes. And then I saw a girl that I thought was you enter a room but I didnt see her face. But I assumed it was you. But the seed was the idea of you always being just in the other room waiting for me. It’s been a constant theme when I’ve become manic. After some weird things happening they wheeled me away to get a brain scan. As they were wheeling me away and I tried to get away because I thought that they were going to do something like “dissect me” or take away a part of me that made me me. That part is hard to explain but. This part isn’t. I accepted the fate that they were going to take all that away that I was going to not come back the same. I put my hand over my heart and said the name Sandy. This was the first solid root of my psychosis that revolves around us. Sandy was the name of a daughter that I saw us having. And it was basically me saying if they are going to take me away i hope she’ll live.

I made it out of the MRI alive and eventually found sleep and woke up the next day still manic. But thing about mania is when your in it you never know that you are. It’s a lobster in water that’s slowly rising in temperature. Once it’s boiling it’s adjusted so it doesn’t know the difference. You just feel normal.

The next day they had me admitted to a inpatient mental hospital. That’s where you called me and we talked. The first few days were a manic mess. I was going crazy I thought that there was a game that had to be played that was going to get me to leave. I thought that my life was going to be this road trip to all these places to save the world. You basically think that you’re jesus and an undercover spy and you have to solve the clues to get out. After seven days in there I got out. But because it was my first time with mania I was still kind of on a high. It’s like coming back from the moon. I made it into the atmosphere of earth but Not quite back to ground and even then not on target. I’m lucky if I hit the ocean.

So I went into a day program where you meet kids who are going through similar things as you. People with depression mania and everything. I meet some people it was nice the first time. But it was a rough start. What made it tougher was the fact that the day that I got out of the mental hospital was the day after classes began at HP. So even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go back. My parents wanted me at the house and monitored on my new medication making sure I sleep and don’t go back into mania. I think I still might have been smoking weed at the time I’m not completely sure but I picked up 2 classes at the school that I’m at now still went to group and truly fucked things up with you.

The last messages that we sent to one another I really regret. I didnt like how I was pushing you away and trying to bring you close. How I wanted an open relationship when I really didn’t even know what it entailed I just wanted to keep you for emotional support and fuck other people. I remember sitting somewhere and having that talk and hearing you cry on the other end of the line and that’s just not right. And then the last Facebook messages that we sent where I was a true asshole and manic because I was smoking weed and it triggers my mania. And how I ended the relationship with a saw and a sawed off.

The next parts is so I can round everything out and really get this psychosis out of me so take it or leave it I need to write it out.

My mom says I have a season when it comes to mania but really it’s just when I start smoking weed and loosing sleep and stop taking my meds. But the next time I got manic was almost a year to the day. If you want to really see when I get into the manic place look for when I contact you or try to reach out that’s how you know I’m floating back.

The next time was the long haul to the hospital. This time I spent 5 hours talking to myself and making up a fictional son named Steven that you and i would have. Back story lore the reason for his name and universal significance. The whole gambit of this kid. This was also a time where i you were still following me on Spotify and i would look and think that we were communicating through our songs.

Eventually i got to loud and out about everything and got sent back to the hospital and what I now call my restart button. Hospital around winter break then group during classes and then back to the grind until I pick up weed again and then restart. But the time I stopped is worth noting.

After I got out that time and spring summer started rolling around I picked up again but weed wasn’t doing me the same. Instead of making me feel good it started to make me feel like shit. I would get on myself about being stupid that I couldn’t do anything every time I smoked I would just fall deeper into a pit and I couldn’t stop. So the universe made me stop. There was one night where the next chapter of my mental illness would kick in.

I said I was done but my friend called me out and said he’d smoke me up and buy my ticket to go see a movie. It was the worst expierence of my life I had a panic attack that twisted my brain into developing a type of OCD that I now know as Harm OCD. It’s not fun. But what that leads me to is the cocktail that that and mania made me go through and how that lead to the mania endured birth of a 3rd child named staysea. Basically the mania brought on the fictional reality glasses that had been brewing since my last manic episodes and the harm ocd brought on the horrific thing that I did to our child in this other dimensional state which was essentially rape.

Harm ocd is not fun it’s something that i go through every day and regret every day for not listening to the universe when it told me to stop. It’s consistent intrusive thoughts that have to do with violence and sex. It’s like being mind raped by a demon. I dont want these bad things to happen but when I say stop this demon in my head says go and I have to visualize atrocities happen multiple times a day. It’s not fun. But I’m getting better at dealing with it.

After the movie theater I stopped smoking for a while and got better felt better I didnt go to the hospital that January and got through the year. I was finally getting over you coming back into my life in these fantasies and having to deal with it. I metaphorically burried the kids that we had I was getting better. But about a year and half i picked it up again. And I would have moved on and stayed out of your life if not for one moment that started this years run of come ups.

I was at my grandmas old folks home. And she has dementia but I talk to her and her roomate still and I was fiddling with a piece of paper and my brain had been starting to go into a manic space. And my grandmas roommate said something to me which was basically for me to try to reach out to you because “she’s the one for you.” This ticked off my mildly manic brain and then everything that I spent the last years settiling came up and I started to believe in The future that I made back then kids and all. All the past things that I made up started coming back. And I started to try to believe in a universe that follows some narrative that works like a book compared to one that just is.

I ended up having a manic episode and going back to the hospital for the entire month of January this time. I think that was after you messaged me on Instagram. I was pretty manic when I was messaging you but I still had some of myself together. But I got out and here I am now. Trying to come to you with some sort of explanation of my actions towards you.

I hurt you a lot over these past years. Far more than anyone really should. You’ve told me time and time again how you don’t don’t want to see me and just want me to leave but every time I’m close to letting go I pull myself back somehow. For that I’m sorry. This is something that I wanted to write you but never knew how to put into words right. I wrote another letter essentially saying hey I’m coming back down to HP in late April to see Haleigh but I don’t even know if Im going to anymore. I barley have the money and I would halfway want to see you but you don’t deserve to just have me in your face without notice or permission.

You remind me of a time when I didn’t have all this weight on me when life was easy. And I was happy with someone I loved. And how a life with them would be all I ever needed. And that’s probably why I go back to it always because that’s all I want.

But this letter serves you and me better. I think. Life has been really really rough for me and you were a life that I saw that could’ve been and I always regret not just staying loyal to you because of how much i cared about you. Just being patient with us. I just want to fix everything I did. But now moving on is best but I needed to say something like this explaining why. I am the way I am.

It would be nice to talk to you though.

I would want to be your friend or just someone who you don’t hate, someone who you can forgive.

I love you Lauren. You’ve helped me through dark Really lonely times. And the only reason why I come back to you is because there’s no one else who made me feel so loved and secure. I wish that I could go back and advise myself about how good of person you would be to be and to treat you right because of it. You were my ace, the one person who was there for me always. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be a better person to you when I had the chance to.

Thank you for helping me whether you knew it or not.

Jordan.

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