#anyway as ever i am VERY open to critique of my image descriptions

[withthingsunreal]

[ID 1: tweet from Paul McCallion @OrangePaulp]

not to victim blame, but you can simply choose not to be queerbaited

[/end ID 1]

(in fairness this tweet is dated Jun 14, 2021 and therefore may not actually be about Marvel specifically. or it might be. idk.)

[ID 2: tweet from kira @BlackSailsTheme]

"wahhh i got queerbaited by owen wilson in loki" ok well everyone else got queerbaited by owen wilson in night at the museum. grow up.

[/end ID 2]

[ID 3: tumblr post from @andhumanslovedstories]

People accusing the MCU of queerbaiting has always seemed off base to me because queerbaiting implies a level of emotional character interaction that the MCU has overall staunchly refused to feature. Nobody is even friends

[/end ID 3]

i love people who are continuously surprised that there aren’t men kissing in marvel

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

kisses 21 jm!

For the prompt “we’ll face this together” kiss. TY SAHAR!!! OKAY I accidentally had one (1) jonbinary idea and then it ended up being SO FUCKING LONG (like 2.5k long) so uh. yeah. Warnings for descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of kidnapping and self loathing, and Jon getting pretty close to a panic attack. Also disclaimer, although I am nonbinary, I’m not transfem, so if there’s any critiques surrounding that, don’t hesitate to let me know. Stay safe y’all!

Jon’s face itches as he faces the mirror like an old foe. It’s long held an image that hurts him to see; aged by unfathomable horrors and dotted with marks like a canvas before a child’s paint tipped fingers, and these days he can’t even be sure that his reflection looks away from him when he turns his head. But, the devil it holds at the moment is the simple reflection of his short beard, and his face itches at the reminder of it.

It isn’t a physical itch. It lurks under the skin, poking and prodding at his senses, rubbing him the wrong way as he lays his cheek on his pillow, leaving a distracting echo when his chin brushes against Martin’s during a kiss, scraping at the inside of his skin as he stares at himself and takes in the sight of it covering his chin.

He scrubs his fingers over his eyelids. He isn’t ignorant, he realizes the discomfort he feels is most likely somewhat gender-related, but it’s… his relationship with his gender is complicated. In a lot of ways, it’s been such a mundane concern recently that he’s somewhat lost track of where he stands with it, but he remembers how it felt to first wear a skirt into the archives, all those long years ago. How gentle Sasha had been with him back then, even if the memory pinches the back of his head and grins with too many teeth and a short haircut that he knows now was wrong. But the Stranger cannot take that act of kindness away from her, even if it took away the face he remembers sharing it with.

He had felt like he was becoming something new, then, staring at a new path, freshly paved in his life, open to the possibilities of self discovery and certainty. Then his life had been riddled with worms and his friends had been carved out, one by screaming one, and he was on the run and set alight and kidnapped and disabled and nearly killed and kidnapped again and nearly killed and—

Jon remembers, vaguely, a flash of what had happened in the month he was… gone. He doesn’t remember most of what happened in that place. Probably for the better, he tells himself, but he does recall one thing. One very simple thing, really; that he hadn’t been able to shave, and he remembers the itch being all he could focus on for days at a time.

One of the first things he had done after stumbling through Michael-now-Helen’s door-not-deathtrap was drag himself to a sink and shave his face raw, burned hand be damned. His skin had suffered afterwards, nicked and irritated beneath its smoothness, and he had taken some strange, morbid comfort in the blemish he was able to inflict, after so many days of hearing hollow voices sing of its beauty.

This is a dangerous line of thought, he realizes, hands pressed against the bathroom sink, his heartbeat starting to pound in his ears. He desperately does not want to think about that, not here, and preferably not ever again, if he can help it.

He tries to bring himself back to the here and now, grounding himself in the feeling of porcelain under his palms, but the victory over his mind is a hollow one, unfortunately, as it brings him right back to the itching under his skin.

He’s not sure if this itch is exasperated by his own self consciousness, or by the lingering sting of the Lonely that threatened to separate him from himself, but it builds until its all he can feel in his skin, on his face, and he finds himself lunging across the counter, knocking things over in an attempt to hunt down Martin’s razor.

Jon had lost his own somewhere in the chaos of living in the archives, but he’s sure he saw Martin trim his own short beard when they first arrived at the safehouse, so it must be here, he thinks, ripping open drawers, it must— aha!

His fist closes around the razor, hidden under the sink next to a small bottle of shaving cream and Martin’s testosterone shots, and he barely gives a thought to what he’s doing before raising it to his dry cheek, just needing this thing off, and—

“Jon? You know that’s not how to do that, right?”

Jon whips around like lightning, his back to the sink and the razor clenched in his fist against his chest like a talisman, breathing heavily.

Martin had been smiling slightly as he entered the bathroom, but the expression quickly falls from his face as he takes in the panicked look on Jon’s face, and the erratic motion of his free hand, clenched into a fist at his side and twitching in an attempt to calm himself. Martin steps forward quickly, outstretching a hand.

“Jon, love? Are you alright?”

Jon fixes his eyes on Martin; kind, beautiful Martin who still goes a bit grey at the fingertips and the eyes when anxiety seizes him, Martin who has always been there, always been there, ever since the beginning. Jon anchors himself as he looks at that familiar, beloved face, and tries to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” He manages, because this all feels very silly now. He’s a grown person standing in the center of a bathroom, clutching his boyfriend’s shaving razor like it’s a weapon, for God’s sake, all because of what? Some facial hair? Good Lord, he’s being ridiculous. “Probably, I just… um.” He trails off, gut sinking as emotions spiral through him, too fast to pin down and name.

“Okay,” Martin says gently, shuffling a step closer. “Why do you have that?” He gestures to the razor in Jon’s hand, and Jon twitches, holding it closer.

“I need to borrow it,” He explains, stumbling. “I can’t- I need-“ He makes a frustrated noise and tries to get his thoughts to align. He inhales deeply and tries again. “I need to …shave. This-“ he gestures jerkily towards his face. “This is too much.”

Martin nods carefully, eyes glued to Jon’s face. “Too much?” His question is as gentle as his eyes, and Jon has to glance away for a moment, overwhelmed by being seen.

“It’s… complicated,” He begins, the fist pressed to his chest beginning to lighten up. “It… it just itches, all the time. Like- like a thousand ants under my skin, w-which is ridiculous because it doesn’t actually hurt or itch or- or anything, it just…” he glances back to Martin’s eyes, furtive and desperate for him to understand. “I need it to stop.”

“Oh,” Martin softens even more before Jon’s eyes, his face melting with understanding and sadness. “Oh, Jon. I didn’t realize you were having dysphoria.”

At the word dysphoria Jon glances sharply up, uncertainty fraught on his face, and Martin backtracks quickly.

“Or- s-sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. Is it-”

“N-no, Martin, it-it’s fine.” Jon waves Martin’s nerves aside and finds that he finally has a decent enough hold on his own to lower the hand that had been pressed against his chest. He turns around in the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. “It might be dysphoria, I don’t…” He hesitates, chuckling slightly. “I’m not quite sure I know it well enough to place it. Gender hasn’t exactly been… a priority these days.”

Martin nods and follows him deeper into the bathroom, setting down the lid of the toilet so he can sit on it and listen to Jon blunder through his feelings.

“It might be? I mean… I know I’m not a man, per say, but it… I mean, it could also be so many other things at this point. It’s just- I know it’s stupid to overthink, but—“

“Hey, hey,” Martin cuts him off, extending a hand to brush against the side of his knee. “It isn’t stupid, Jon. You don’t have to have a label or a reason in order to be uncomfortable. It’s- you’re allowed to call it just that; uncomfortable.”

Jon nods, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap.

“I know. It just hit me so suddenly, I-” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead, careful to avoid brushing any of the hairs on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Martin murmurs, and his hand rests more solidly on Jon’s knee. “Is this alright?”

Jon nods mutely, and lets himself expel some more of the tension in his shoulders as he focuses on the motion of Martin’s thumb sweeping softly over his knee.

“It reminds me of the circus,” Jon breathes after a moment of silence, and Martin’s hand stills against him, attentive and horrified. “When- when they…” He inhales sharply, willing his voice not to break. “Well, I couldn’t very well shave it,” He clenches his hands into fists again, still holding the razor tightly in his right. “Got it off as quickly as possible once I could.”

Martin exhales. “I remember that. I thought you just… I dunno, just really nicked yourself. I didn’t think about… yeah.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees, keeping his gaze on the hand on his knee. “I-I mean, I definitely did, nick myself that is. I wasn’t really thinking about doing it properly, I suppose.”

“Like just now?” Martin asks, kindly, gently, not judging. Jon feels his chest pinch anyways.

“Yes.” He admits quietly. Martin leans down to press a careful kiss to Jon’s knee.

“Okay, well, this time we’ll do it properly,” Martin raises himself from the toilet seat, reaching down into the cupboards to pull forth the shaving cream and a towel, and holds them out towards Jon.

Jon blinks, looks at the objects and then up at Martin, unsure of what’s being offered. “Sorry?”

“You still want the beard off, right? Let’s just make sure you don’t upset your skin,” He cracks a humorous smile. “Then it’ll actually start itching.”

Jon takes the can from his hand, but still frowns. “Us?”

“I- yeah,” Martin shifts his weight, fidgeting with the towel. “I can help, if that’s alright with you. You don’t… always seem to handle mirrors the best? And I’ve helped shave another person before so… yeah. If you want.”

Jon’s world stutters to a blushing halt. Martin’s right, he doesn’t like to linger on his face in mirrors even on the best days (of which today is certainly not one) and as much as he’s accustomed to doing this himself, what Martin is promising is intimate; an extension of vulnerability and the promise of a care that he hardly takes with himself. The more he considers it, the more finds himself tentatively wanting it, and he nods carefully. He trusts Martin, he’s decided a thousand times by now.

“Alright,” He agrees, and smiles.

Martin smiles in response. “Alright. Do you want me to um-” He gestures with the towel in his hand, and Jon nods.

Martin makes quick work of running the towel under the tap until it’s warm, and then wringing it out so it’s ready to actually use. He takes his seat again and tips Jon’s head back with a hand to lay the towel gently overtop, letting the warmth seep into his skin. It’s more effort than Jon usually puts in, or used to, when he did this more regularly, but he finds it’s a nice feeling, and he almost misses it when Martin takes the towel away again.

“Right,” Martin continues, looks pointedly to the can of shaving cream in Jon’s hand and Jon hesitates.

“Ah. Maybe not that part? Th-the actual shaving is fine, but-”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Martin nods, not questioning, and reaches forward instead to gently take the razor itself from Jon’s fist so he can use both hands to get the shaving cream on his face. Jon surrenders the razor, forcing himself to trust it in Martin’s hands, to trust that Martin won’t just leave him hanging.

He tries not to think too hard about the feeling of the cream on his skin. It’s a far cry from lotion, so it doesn’t bring up any sense memories, thankfully, but it’s still an uncomfortable texture, and he focuses on the sound of Martin’s breathing to keep himself from slipping.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long; soon enough Jon’s finished, wiping his hands on his trousers, and then Martin’s shifting closer, taking Jon’s face in his hands like it’s something precious, something to be loved and cared for. He is very close, his dark brown eyes nearly black with focus as he gently reaffirms that Jon’s sure about this, and then the cool razor swipes across Jon’s cheek.

Jon’s heart lurches in his chest, a messy combination of nerves and gratefulness, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all, and just watches Martin focus with gentle certaintly as the blade passes over his cheeks again and again in careful, confident strokes. His fingers whisper at Jon’s chin when he tilts up his head and swipes the blade carefully up the top of his throat, brow furrowed and tongue poking out of his lips in concentration.

Jon holds his breath, wills his heart to still, but it’s alright, with Martin it’s always alright. His hands are warm as they cup his cheeks, tilt him this way and that, thorough in their task, and his fingertips are gentle as they lift his chin and brush away foam and ghost over his throat. He never even comes close to nicking him, and Jon feels a great warmth unspooling in his chest, stinging his eyes.

“All done,” Martin finishes triumphantly, his face breaking into a grin as he hands Jon the towel again, lets him wipe off his own face.

There’s no coarse texture as the fabric touches his face, no itching or discomfort as it drags over his chin, and the steady drumbeat of wrongness that had pervaded him for weeks finally, finally dissipates, unblocking his lungs and releasing the tightness from his shoulders. He runs a hand over his chin, and finds a shy smile quickly taking over his face, affection and relief filling him up from the inside out and spilling onto his features.

“Thank you,” He breathes, and Martin matches his smile with one of his own, and nods, nothing but respect and affection in his eyes.

“Any time,” Martin says seriously, before reaching out to take Jon’s hand and slowly bringing it to his lips, giving Jon ample time to pull away. “You don’t have to struggle with this stuff alone,” He murmurs against Jon’s knuckles. “It’s easier together.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jon’s response is quiet, and Martin kisses his hand then; gentle, and full of reverence. Jon finds that he could melt right into the floor and be happy for the rest of his life.

He reaches up to pull Martin down into a kiss, gentle and insistent and grateful, lacing his hands in his hair and sighing against his lips at the sensation, noting how nice it feels to kiss his boyfriend without his itching skin pressing at his thoughts.

The kiss stays chaste, and eventually Jon pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed, reveling in it. “Together, then.” He affirms, and Martin smiles.

“One way or another.”

[scriptshrink]

Critique of a Certain Cracked Article - The Bad

Oh boy.  So we’ve seen the myths about mental illness that Cracked got right, and the ones that were partially correct but mostly wrong. Now we’ve reached the ones that legitimately reduced the Shrink to incoherent screaming.

Lock and load, Shrinky-dinks. I’m taking no prisoners.

[Gif: The Winter Soldier loads a grenade into an attachment on his assault rifle while murderstrutting.]

[Cracked image: The charming psychopath is everywhere // Pictures of Negan, Walter White, Dexter, and Loki // They won’t stay charming for long. So many TV and movie villains are portrayed as charming ladies’ men. Even Walter White’s sex life improves after he starts cooking meth. There’s Negan, The Joker, Dexter, Patrick Bateman, Billy Loomis. The truth is, antisocial personality disorder causes a laundry list of symptoms that make a person impossible to be in a relationship with. // source is from the mayo clinic]

...Why is Loki up there? I am confused.

Anyways, people with antisocial personality disorder are very good at manipulating people. They can be very fucking charming, and very fucking good at it.

And I hate the phrase “laundry list”.  Guess what?  You don’t have to have ALL THOSE SYMPTOMS LISTED to get diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder.

You just need three.  Let’s pull three from the list of criteria, shall we?

They lie, manipulate and con others for their own personal gain.

They’re impulsive and don’t plan ahead.

They are consistently irresponsible, don’t fulfill things expected of them, and / or can’t hold down a steady job.

I mean, that certainly describes an asshole, but “a person impossible to be in a relationship with”? Hardly.

[Cracked image - Adrian Monk suffers from OCD. // picture of Adrian Monk hiding behind his turtleneck // Actually, no, he really doesn’t. It’s easier to remember what Monk is not afraid of than what he is. He lists germs, needles, milk, death, snakes, mushrooms, heights, crowds, elevators, public speaking, and airplanes, to name a few. The thing is, that’s not obsessive-compulsive disorder. Those are phobic disorders, which are not related to OCD at all. Actual OCD involves a crippling dependence on repetition and rituals.// source is chicago tribune]

OKAY.  First off. A fear of public speaking IS NOT A PHOBIA. It is a part of Social Anxiety Disorder (Performance Only).

Also, OCD does not fucking REQUIRE compulsions. YOU CAN HAVE ONLY OBSESSIONS AND STILL HAVE OCD. (See my demystifying post here!)

AND GUESS WHAT?  ADRIAN MONK HAS COMPULSIONS.

Performing a ritual because of a fear (such as excessive cleaning / handwashing due to a fear of germs) is a COMPULSION.

Look at literally the first time you see Monk IN THE FUCKING OPENING CREDITS OF THE SHOW.

[Gif - Adrian Monk is walking down a street, and touches a parking meter without looking at it.]

You’d think, because he’s so germophobic, that he would avoid touching those things. NOPE. He has a compulsion to TOUCH ALL THE POLES that he passes when he’s walking.

Sure, he has phobias.  BUT HE HAS OCD TOO.

One last note. 

Those are phobic disorders, which are not related to OCD at all.

Hmm. Yes, that’s correct. Phobias are anxiety disorders, and OCD has its own category. I’m not sure why this is sticking out to me so much. But I’m sure it’ll be important later.

[Cracked picture - In Fight Club, the narrator has a split personality. // image of the narrator and Tyler Durden // That’s not how multiple personalities work. Those with disassociative identity disorder don’t just wake up and realize they’ve been living as another person. They don’t always know about the other personalities, and don’t black out and live as another person. Amnesia and fugue states do happen, but what you see in movies is writers combining them to suit their narrative.// Source is from mayo clinic.]

[Gif of Hades nearly being literally consumed with fiery rage, but calming himself down saying “Okay, fine, fine. I’m cool. I’m fine.]

It’s “dissociative”, not “disassociative”. We’ve had this talk in the last part, Cracked. Do a single goddamn google search so you know how to spell the goddamn names of things.

This part of the takedown comes courtesy of Maxx, one of @dinosaursindisarray’s alters:

DID isn't personalities, multiple or split or anything. That’s not just outdated terminology, it's also an incorrect description, because the alters aren't personalities at all, they're functionally other people.

“Those with DID don't just wake up and realize they've been living as another person.”

k, well, sometimes, they do.

Like, the person might not realize it as it goes on, but then something triggers an 'aha' moment (for some people) that make the symptoms more overt and noticeable, either to the person experiencing them or other people.

There could be a trigger that suddenly floods the person with enough memories to realize what's going on - memories of trauma, or bleedthrough from other alters, memories of that alter being out, etc, and then the person has enough to do research and be like 'something is /wrong/'

[For us], it was like, one day after a lot of stressful shit built up over a couple of weeks, I came out instead of Month and because I was tired and cranky. Her friends noticed and asked about it, I told the truth, and after she came back, her friends were like 'so this thing happened, what the fuck' and Month's blackouts and dissociation started making more sense and she was able to contact a professional to be like 'what the fuck is going on'.

The initial realization did happen sort of at once, which isn't entirely uncommon, especially with psych knowledge more readily available to people. (that can lead to people mistaking shit and thinking they have DID when they don't, cause misinfo, but it's still easier for people who do have it to figure out what the fuck is up and seek help than it was before).

“They always know about the other personalities"

The entire point of DID and OSDD is to keep shit hidden. Keep trauma memories hidden from the everyday life of the kid so they can function and not fucking die. Keep symptoms away from others around the kid so that they aren't abused worse. So this shit is supposed to be kept separate, and if you always know about what's going on, then it’s not happening.

"and don't black out and live as another person"

Yeah. Some people do. Like, full memory blackouts while another alter is out might not happen all the time or with every alter, but it can totally happen with DID. Not OSDD as much, I think, but still.

There are certain alters that Month has NO memory overlap from. Others that she only gets one or two things, others she remembers most of it like watching a movie, others that she remembers it like she was there but really out of it, etc. It's not necessary for every alter every time to be DID, but if there's any amnesia and blackouts between alters (and with trauma memories) then it's DID criteria.

"Amnesia and fugue states do happen"

Yeah, amnesia is that blackout thing you just said didn't happen. Might not be a full blackout but like, amnesia. not remembering. sometimes that means blackouts.

And fugue states are dissociative, but that's a separate thing from DID. Can it happen to someone with DID? Yeah. Does someone have to have DID for it to happen? Nah.

Writers do combine and add shit and dramatize the fuck out of the wrong things (see: m. night) to suit their needs rather than maintaining fact, but yeah. everything else is p much wrong

Thanks again to Maxx from @dinosaursindisarray for taking over for that one. That gave me a nice little respite! Now let’s take a look at the last one, surely it can’t be THAT bad...

[Cracked image - In Black Swan, Nina suffers from a host of conditions. // image of Nina // Real people don’t have them all at once. The film gave Nina the ballerina a cocktail of disorders, including anorexia, bulimia, cutting, and obsessive compulsive disorder, then had her descend into psychosis. The problem is that they’re incompatible conditions. People with psychosis lose touch with reality. Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia are too in touch with reality. // source is abc news]

[Gif of the only thing that can adequately convey my rage: Tsar Bomba, the largest nuclear weapon ever created, exploding and forming a gigantic mushroom cloud]

Okay okay okAY OKAY OKAY.

The only way I can get through this is to go from minor things to major ones. 

You are right about one single thing here, Cracked. You can’t be diagnosed with anorexia and bulimia at the same time. Congratulations. If someone has symptoms of both disorders, it’s either Anorexia with the Binge Eating / Purging subtype, or OSFED (other specified feeding/eating disorder, formally known as EDNOS - eating disorder not otherwise specified).

Okay. Next up. Unless you’re counting when Nina stabs herself with the glass shard at the very end of the movie, Nina never cuts herself. She scratches herself. But I’ll give you the smallest amount of the smoking ashes left of my benefit of the doubt and say you meant “self-mutilation” here, not cutting.

Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia

OCD AND ANOREXIA ARE NOT ANXIETY DISORDERS.

Besides, you just fucking said with the Monk one that phobias are completely unrelated to OCD!! PHOBIAS ARE AN ANXIETY DISORDER!!! AT THE VERY LEAST KEEP YOUR FUCKING BULLSHIT LIES CONSISTENT!!!!!!!

On that note, where the fuck did you get OCD from in the first place??? There’s only two things I can think of that even vaguely qualify. 

Nina’s compulsive scratching. But guess what???  THAT’S NOT OCD. THAT’S EXCORIATION (AKA SKIN PICKING) DISORDER.

Nina’s compulsive exercising. HELLO WHY YES THIS IS A SYMPTOM OF ANOREXIA.

People with psychosis lose touch with reality. Those with anxiety disorders like OCD and anorexia are too in touch with reality.

yhghgtfrrghyujuhnukjfgdcghgtfyughyhhjnyh

Sorry about that. I repeatedly smashed my head into the keyboard.

But oh my fucking god.

THE WHOLE GODDAMN PROBLEM WITH OCD AND ANOREXIA IS THAT THEY’RE NOT CONNECTED TO REALITY.

One of the fucking specifiers for OCD is WITH ABSENT INSIGHT OR DELUSIONAL BELIEFS, which means the person in question fully believes that their illogical obsessions are true, you fuckwads!

[[Shrink’s edit - a “specifier” is a possible subcategory of a mental illness. The DSM-5 also two other possible specifiers for OCD: “With good to fair insight”, meaning the individual recognizes that their disordered beliefs are definitely or probably not true; and “With poor insight”, where the individual thinks their disordered beliefs are probably true. It is a grading of severity, not a requirement.]]

Let’s look at a some fucking case studies here. Go ahead. Read them. I’ll wait.

Tell me, Cracked. Do these sound like people who are MORE IN TOUCH with reality?! Will a person really be transported into a mirror dimension if they turn on a light switch??? If they touch something, will their ‘power’ be stolen unless they touch it again multiple times??

Also, is someone with severe anorexia who still thinks they aren’t thin enough even as they’re FUCKING STARVING THEMSELVES TO ACTUAL, LITERAL DEATH “too in touch with reality,” Cracked???

[[Another edit: most people with OCD and anorexia are not at this extreme. But it is far more accurate to say that these disorders involve losing some touch with reality than saying that they are ‘too in touch’ with reality. Seriously though, what the fuck does “too in touch” with reality even mean???]]

Oh, and it’s not like there have been studies that don’t just say that eating disorders and psychosis can co-occur, but that they might be FUCKING LINKED TO EACH OTHER!!!

And now, my esteemed Shrinky-dinks, we come to the most horrendous part of this absolutely atrocious dumpster fire of an article. 

Real people don’t have them all at once.

Real people don’t have them all at once.

Real people don’t have them all at once.

ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?!?!?!?!? 

Guess what, fuckfaces?  

COMORBIDITY IS EXTREMELY COMMON.  

Let’s look at this one study of almost 2,500 women with severe eating disorders. Guess what they fucking found?

97% had more than one fucking mental illness.

Ninety fucking seven percent.

[Image: “I made a chart since Cracked writers apparently can’t fucking read.” // a pie chart with a very small portion labeled Only ED, and the overwhelming majority labeled More than one mental disorder.]

Schizophrenia and eating disorders may not be a super common combination, BUT IT FUCKING EXISTS.  

PEOPLE CAN FUCKING HAVE MORE THAN ONE MENTAL ILLNESS!! 

BUT I GUESS IT DOESN’T MATTER TO YOU SINCE THEY’RE SO CRAZY THEY’RE NOT REAL PEOPLE, YOU ABLEIST FUCKING SACKS OF FUCKING SHIT.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHH

[Gif - The Hulk fucking annihilating Loki by repeatedly smashing him into the ground, which is what I wish I could be doing to the writers.]

Concluding Thoughts

If I seem calmer at this point, it’s because I wrote it before the rest of this article. I have no doubt future Shrink will still be screaming into the void long after the queue finally gets to this post.

Let’s take a look at how Cracked introduced this article.

It's a losing fight, going up against the myths pop culture perpetuates. But, dammit, someone has to do it.

That someone is obviously not you. Your writers are willfully ignorant and unable to do even a simple google search of the names of the things they’re writing about to make sure they got the spelling right. 

You have failed to do the fucking most basic research possible. 

A monkey in a library could do a better job than you, as there’s an actual chance that in randomly throwing pieces of its own shit, a book might be knocked off a shelf and the monkey might fucking glance in its direction.

Because left unchecked, people go around spewing every dumb thing they learn from clickbait articles movies and shows that are really just using mental illnesses to advance a plot and make a buck from pageviews, instead of teach us anything useful.

You made a few typos. I fixed them for you.

So, dig in, because it's time drop a knowledge bomb on your ass.

How fucking dare you. 

You are not “dropping a knowledge bomb” on us. This article is nothing more than a fucking whoopie cushion. We sit down, all excited to see myths about mental illness being exploded, but are instead given a bunch of hot air that sounds like people’s ass cheeks flapping together.

Fuck you, @cracked.

I hope your pageviews tank. I hope you have to take on so many advertisers that your readers can’t even see your content anymore. I hope no one ever submits to your ‘contests’ again, forcing you to have a staff member make up all the entries for you. I hope your heads get so stuck up your own asses that you don’t even notice that your website has been spreading malware to your readers like the cancerous bullshit your content truly is.

Oh. Wait. 

Like my torment and suffering? Support me on Patreon.

[jasonmcgathey]

This has already been a fun, if sprawling and chaotic, section to tackle. Expect frequent changes as I continue to add to and revise the sections. It’s probably going to take a while to get a handle on this page – so just maybe, if you can, try and avoid these orange construction cones and blinking arrows straight out of the Spring-Sandusky interchange mess. If it looks a little skeletal, know that I am working on this as my current main project, and continue hoping some brilliant idea will help me organize it a little better. Until that lightning flash of inspiration arrives, maybe a series of alphabetized districts (with a couple I’m making up just now) and/or major roads is the best way to go:

Arena District (north of Spring, west of High)

Brewery District (south of the interstates, west of High)

E. Broad Street

W. Broad Street

Downtown Proper (area with most of the government buildings, etc, between Broad, the Scioto River, the interstates, and S. 4th Street)

German Village

N. High Street

S. High Street

Uptown District (everything north of Broad that isn’t covered elsewhere)

    -Arena District-

Nationwide Arena

North Market

  -Brewery District-

Though downtown as a whole has been plagued by this to some extent, the Brewery District is unique in that I feel like for 20 plus years now, there’s been this trend of bars blowing into here with a ton of hype, and being packed to the gills in what has always been a happening district – in other words, a theoretically sustainable business – but then the masses stop showing up overnight, a few months down the road, and the place is toast before you know it.

Banana Joe’s – an early lesson in how the night of the week is everything. We came here on a Friday and it was one of the most insane crowds I’ve ever witnessed; a Thursday journey maybe two weeks later had more in common with a funeral home.

Brewmasters Gate (485 S. Front St.) – this would be an excellent example of what I’m talking about. This opened as a positively cavernous club in the early 2000s, and had to be just about the most popular place in town for a good six months. A bunch of us drove down here often during the summer of its heyday, during which time it was unfailingly jam packed with young people throwing down, spilling out to the spacious patio and even the sidewalks. By the following summer, nobody came here, and you were looked at kind of strangely if mentioning it. I’m not sure exactly when it closed, but it didn’t seem to stick around very long after this. Strangely enough, the place survives and has maintained the same name, though it appears this is now just a hall people rent out for events.

Tommy Keegan’s – stumbling across this entry in my journal, from early 1998, is an especially striking example of why I’m glad to have taken so many notes. I actually forgot all about this enterprise and haven’t heard mention of it since.

Tommy Keegan’s looks vaguely like one of those modern faux Irish pubs or something, with its painted cement floor, its dark and generally unfussy atmosphere. Being located underground doesn’t hurt, either. The front, larger room holds most of the bar’s occupants, including some annoying, talent-challenged goober playing acoustic guitar and singing near the door. It’s hard to imagine he would receive much encouragement or tip money even if warbling at the campus BW3. But apparently, they pay him to come here.

The back room is a bit more subdued and we make a bee line for it. They’ve got one of those giant hoppers dispensing free popcorn back here, and even while knowing in the back of your mind it’s only going to make your thirstier, desiring ever more beer, which is why they manipulate you such, in the moment you just don’t care and grab some anyway. Or at least this is what I do.

It’s Keisha’s birthday and we started out with a much larger posse, but the war of attrition has whittled us down to these seven survivors: the birthday girl and Pam, and then Damon, Paul, John H, this Mike guy who’s kind of cool, and me. But somehow there’s this random kid just hanging out by these pool tables, of which the bar has a couple back here, and by some convoluted turn of events he winds up being partners against Paul and me in a few games of standard billiards. Damon is absolutely on fire for some reason, and they totally smoke us from start to finish. But we’ve already exhausted what limited kicks are to be found at Keegan’s, and have agreed to strike off for Victory’s next.

“Stay and play a few games with me!” the kid begs Damon, “we’ll make some money!”

“Ah, we gotta go,” Damon returns with a laugh.

Victory’s – I’ve only actually set foot inside of Victory’s once prior to this, nearly a year ago, that night of Maria’s birthday bus. And while it feels impossible to have memories down here from a year ago, which were pretty crazy yet not really referenced at all since then – neither in my thoughts nor discussions with these guys – I guess it’s another example of how the proverbial moss is growing beneath us, and we’d best keep moving if wishing to avoid entrapment by it.

So the layout here is much different that I remember, but then again, I’d been pretty blasted that night, a singular experience thus far in my Columbus residency. There are two front rooms with one long, connected bar that runs in the middle of each. One side is basically a chill out zone, while the other is encumbered with a dance floor to boogie upon, and a stage for the band. In the back, which is kept much darker, there’s an elevated second dance floor, this time under the purview of a nearby DJ booth, while beyond here the pattern repeats with that exact same scenario out on an exterior patio. The patio is not presently open, however.

Damon and Paul sit off to one side which allows them the perfect vantage point for drinking, smoking, watching and critiquing the band all at once. They call themselves Jonesy, though I’m not exactly sure of the spelling, and these guys do a fantastic job mixing 80’s covers with a few more recent selections, from the likes of Nine Inch Nails. So good, in fact, that these two are debating whether this band isn’t just miming to a tape. Featuring keyboards and electric drums, both elements you don’t see a whole lot of in this city’s live scene, they also boast an impressive live show, although it might actually belong to the bar.

The rest of us are out on the dance floor, hopping around to the music, hoping for a cheap brush of fate with one of these ladies. John breaks away from us to scout the perimeter for any fresh prospects. During this interim I do enjoy the inevitable wayward interactions with Keisha.

“I thought that was so hilarious earlier when my friend got kicked out of the bar, and you were like, gee, that’s terrible!” she’s shouting into my ear at one point, laughing hysterically.

John returns with even better information than this. “There’s a couple outrageously hot chicks on the other dance floor,” he tells me. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

We stroll off to the back room and step up to the elevated floor, casually work our way toward these two honeys. And yes, they are quite exceptional in appearance. Just as we’re about to zero in on them, however, these two dudes swoop in and throw their arms around the girls, clearly some sort of flag panting move. Damn. So the ladies are claimed, but whatever. As more ammunition mounting in this war chest of whatever you want to call it, Keisha and Pam have actually followed us back here, with Mike in tow right behind them. So they climb onto this platform with us, and we continue dancing in this dingy corridor.

-E. Broad Street-

Columbus Dispatch

Columbus Dispatch (62 E. Broad) – Home of the city’s major daily newspaper. I don’t feel like Cleveland bests Columbus in very many categories at all, but this is one exception – The Plain Dealer has always been a better paper. A lot of people, including some of my friends and I, were vaguely horrified when the Dispatch bought up treasured weekly independents, The Other Paper and Alive! True to form, they soon axed The Other Paper, citing overkill. In fairness, however, I will say they didn’t really seem to tinker with Alive! much, far less than expected.

-W. Broad Street-

COSI

Center of Science and Industry. It’s an okay spot, though much less exciting than one might imagine. A trip to the zoo or the Ohio Historical Society easily offers you much more bang for your buck. Only recommended if you’ve never been and are burned out on all the other similar options in town.

Emma digging into chocolate cake at Spaghetti Warehouse

  Spaghetti Warehouse – Treasured destination over the years, mostly because my daughter Emma is somewhat of a spaghetti maniac. Our most notable visit here was probably her 4th birthday party, which featured a memorably random cast of family members. Up above are some photos of her attacking chocolate birthday cake at that party. Maddie appears to be enjoying herself considerably just watching her sister in action. As the name would imply, it’s a great old building with a warehouse vibe, the highlight being this train car with highly in-demand seating.

  -German Village-

The original Max & Erma’s was opened down here in 1958 (739 S. 3rd Street), before becoming a franchise in 1972. Sadly this spot went belly up in 2017 and an operation known as Wunderbar currently calls this address home. But as a consolation prize, there’s no shortage of great restaurants and taverns both, mostly within walking distance of one another, down in this district.

  -Uptown District-

Mitchell’s Steakhouse

    Downtown Columbus This has already been a fun, if sprawling and chaotic, section to tackle. Expect frequent changes as I continue to add to and revise the sections.