#but i spent 20+ years trying to empathize with and understand my father

[soft-pine]

this is some really personal shit that has to do with how i analyze and interpret john.

when i was a child, my father dragged me around the country from motel to motel talking about how he lost my mother and his single-minded focus on getting her back. i was his best friend. i was his only confidant. i wanted him to be happy all the time. i felt responsible for when he was sad - both with whatever the current situation was and in all the sad moments of his long sad life. when i wasn't with him, sometimes he would go for weeks without calling and i would miss him and think i did something wrong and then sometimes he would tell me what that wrong thing was and i would try to do better. i sat patiently and quietly on the couch in his strange friend's dark house filled with fishing gear while they talked and talked and talked about the ways the world had screwed them over. i never knew where we were driving to. sometimes i would sleep in the car for hours and we still hadn't gotten there. he wanted me to show him a terrifying and confounding amount of respect. he would cry and i would kneel on the couch next to him and try to envelope his whole body into my arms in a hug. i loved him ferociously and protectively. he wanted my singular loyalty and got it. it's so hard to even summarize it all. each moment is just so full of ...

he hurt my feelings and i loved him. i got mad at him and i loved him. he got mad at me and i loved him. i felt deeply sorry for him and i loved him.

and when i watched supernatural oh boy let me tell you.....

and i know it's not chic or whatever to compare john to your dad. I KNOW THAT. but not to garishly bear my open bloody heart on the internet. it's just. i watched this fucking show and i was like... i know him. like. i know that man.

and i'm kinda screwed because we all are analyzing things from our own experiences so when i'm interpreting all the little clues left about john throughout the show, it all feels so familiar. and i don't actually have a way to separate my experience as a child with that kind of father from the way i'm analyzing and watching spn. and so i'm stuck saying, well john just is really similar to my dad. and, yeah, of course there are differences. but i guess all i can do is commit to bringing as much nuance and care to any and all creative endeavors or analysis as half a lifetime of therapy has taught me...

[the-cookie-of-doom]

📖 alternate dimensions/time travel for Steter (me trying to narrow it down, did it work?)

alternate dimensions/time travel for Steter (me trying to narrow it down, did it work?)

NOW we're cookin! (Pasted it bc as soon as I opened the answer window, your ask disappeared. Might be because of the heading font?)

I've got exactly 1 AU that fits this desc: Survivor's Guilt. (Technically 2, but the second is more of a reincarnation type story)

This story has presented an interesting problem for me, because it's technically Pitch (Peter/Mitch), except Mitch is still Stiles; just Stiles from the future. Obviously he can't tell anyone he's from the future, so he falls back on an old nickname that predates Stiles; this one drawn from his actual name. His parents usually shortened Mieczyslaw to Mitch.

So: Stiles for younger self, and Mitch for future self, but they're both the same person.

The future... does not go well for the pack. They all get killed off one by one, until Stiles is the last one standing 10 years in the future. After he buries the last one, he can't take it anymore. He's the human, he never thought he would be the last one to survive. it's not fair. So he performs some forbidden magic to tear a rift in reality and travel back to the beginning, before it all started. Unfortunately it's not an exact science, so he ends up part way through season 1, once things have already kicked off. And his younger self is damn stubborn; he has to change his plans from staying away from the supernatural at all, to keeping himself and his friends alive.

I'm going to put the rest under a cut and just copy what I have from my notes, because it's much more organized!

Stiles is determined though. Mitch gets there shortly after Scott has been bitten, and the wolf is out of the bag, and Stiles is so fiercely loyal that he won't abandon his best friend. Mitch wants to grab him and shake some sense into him, but he's a stubborn asshole and that won't work. He tries to intervene in other ways when it becomes clear that Stiles will not be put off this course, tries to keep him far away from Derek. And hindsight is 20/20, he's able to prevent a lot of things. But a lot of things still work themselves out anyway, interdimensional lynchpins that will always happen. The Hales will always die, Scott will always get bitten, Stiles will always foolishly fall in love. And Mitch hates it, having to watch Stiles make all these same mistakes over again, because he's already lived them. He's seen the consequences play out, felt the pain of everyone he loves dying horribly, leaving him the only survivor because surviving is what he does, like a fucking cockroach.

The best he can do is try to teach him everything he knows, all the knowledge he's had to pay for with pain and blood, in hopes that it will prepare him for what's coming. And along the way, something starts to unfold between him and Peter and that is just... so complicated. Mitch doesn't want to deal with that, he knows he shouldn't get involved, he's fucked up enough with everything he's doing here, falling in love with Peter is the last thing he should be doing. 10 years ago, when he was still Stiles, bright-eyed and not destroyed by the world, the kid he sees running with wolves like it's no big thing, Mitch wouldn't have even considered it. He remembers how much he hated Peter, always suspicious, watching with a careful eye. It's a distant memory, like the ghost of once-familiar perfume. More fresh is the memory of his grief, when Peter picked the wrong moment to start being altruistic, and got himself killed for it.

But he's not sixteen anymore. He's not the same optimistic kid mooning over Derek's bad boy with a heart of gold schtick, thinking he can fix him and heal the damage done by Kate (and god help him but he did, somehow). He's older and jaded and bitter, and Peter is everything ne needs and doesn't want but does, desperately. Peter, so damaged that being with him is like looking in a mirror, because Mitch has lost everything too, can sympathize with Peter now in a way he never could before. Peter would do anything to get his revenge, and Mitch would risk everything, break every sacred rule of magic, to save the ones he loves.

Peter gravitates to Mitch, drawn to his pain like a moth to flame. There's something so familiar about him, but Mitch keeps everything hidden, doesn't let any of them get close, and Peter has always loved a challenge. A good mystery is just what he needs to focus on, to temper his more murderous impulses. Now that he's older, Mitch is less Stranger Danger and more reluctantly attracted, and it's so easy to let Peter in. To not be alone anymore, after so long. Of course Peter puts it together. He doesn't say anything at first, but he watches, sees the way Mitch and Stiles interact with the world, the way they mirror each other. Mitch isn't nearly so spastic, doesn't talk as much. he's not an anxiety-ridden teen anymore, he's a broken confident adult. But they have some mannerisms that are impossible to mistake, and Peter wonders how no one has put it together yet. Then he remembers that these are stupid puppies; Scott can't be bothered with anything that isn't up Allison's skirt, Boyd and Erica only have eyes for each other, Stiles is too busy not listening to Mitch to hear the way their verbal tics are exactly the same, and Mitch does his best to avoid Derek, the only other one who may notice. It hurts Mitch to be around him, because somewhere, that bright-eyed kid that's dead and buried still loves him, and the pain of losing him will always be an open wound. Scott thought it hurt to break up with Allison, but he doesn't know true loss. But he will. They all will in the end.

Mitch and Chris get on well of course. Chris is the one that trained him into the killer he is now, almost like a second father to him. Aside from Peter, Mitch spends time with Chris, warns him about the dangers Gerard represents, especially towards Allison. Chris isn't one to blindly trust, but he does investigate into the situation when dear old daddy comes kicking around.

And when Mitch sees his dad the first time... It's some innocuous meeting, maybe they're in a bar. They strike up a conversation, John offers to buy a round, and it takes everything in him to maintain his composure when all he wants to do is collapse into John's arms and cry, because the only thing worse than losing Derek was losing his dad, holding him in his arms as he bled out, hearing his breath stop, seeing the light leave his eyes. The nightmares of that night still haunt him.

-

Mitch is gonna feel so conflicted about his attraction to Peter, especially at first. Bc part of him still remembers what it was like to love Derek but there is no way he's touching that with a 10 foot pole even if he's not the same kid that was in love with him, and maybe he wonders if he's just trading in for another Hale? that wouldn't be fair to anyone.

And like that is the least of his concerns, who knows what's going to happen if he starts something with Peter now. But he's been so lonely, starved for touch and affection. And Peter knows, he more than understands. He spent 6 years in a coma, longing for the same thing. He wants to give that to Mitch now, to both of them, if Mitch will just let him

it's a clusterfuck trying to deal with it, and Mitch is trying to fix things, but he doesn't know how. he's not omniscient. All he knows is that something went wrong, Y caused Z but he had no idea about X. He only knows the things he was directly involved in, and there are layers of schemes, unseen factors that will be uncovered this time around as fate continues to set itself straight even as Mitch keeps messing with the timeline

eventually Mitch has to admit that he wants what Peter is offering, desperately. He's not as cold as he pretends to be, and it's stupid to keep denying them both. He's already breaking every cosmic rule by coming back here to change things, and the universe keeps laughing in his face. So he may as well go all in here.

and maybe, briefly, Peter wonders if Mitch still loves Derek. But he doesn't; Stiles died along with the rest of his pack, leaving Mitch in his wake. Everything Stiles was is gone in him not everything, he's still fiercely loyal, hopeful beneath his jaded pessimism, enough to challenge the universe itself like Icarus on his waxen wings nothing left but the memories.

Mitch is reliving his own mistakes getting involved with Peter, just like Stiles is with Derek, and god knows what the consequences will be this time. But they can't be worse than any he's already suffered, the total destruction and devastation of everything he held dear, leaving him a burnt out shell of a man. Peter can empathize. Can't take his pain, but can maybe help to dull it, help shoulder the burden of it, show Mitch that he doesn't have to be alone anymore

And I think I know how stiles figures out Mitch is him: something happens. One day Mitch and Peter are just doing something, it’s a pretty normal day. But then something seemingly innocuous happens and Mitch has a moment of oh shit realization and he just takes off running because Stiles is in danger

Because you know, he doesn’t know the exact dates that things happened, especially in the beginning. It was so long ago. But something will happen, some small thing burned into his memory, and he’ll remember. And he doesn’t get there in time of course, the damage has been done. Leaving stiles with a wound to perfectly match a scar Mitch has from the same incident.

Mitch does manage to avert enough to change the future. But that means he doesn’t become who he is. If the pack doesn’t die, Mitch never comes to be, he never has to come back in time to change things, never falls in love with Peter. So he ceases to exist. But even though he fades away, the memories of him don’t.

-

"We did it," Mitch gasps suddenly, eyes wide like he can't believe it. Something in him shifted, something intrinsic. Like a damn had broken and all of his suffering was washed away by the cool waters of relief and happiness, the kind he hasn't felt in years. Not since before he lost everything. "Peter!" And Peter is watching him with pure, unadulterated excitement, because they've averted the catastrophe that would have befallen the pack without Mitch's intervention.

And then Mitch starts to fade.

Peter is grabbing for him, but his hands pass right through like Mitch is just a ghost, and then there's less than that. His very molecules are ceasing to exist. He doesn't exist anymore, Mitch realizes. "I'm sorry," he tries to say, a second too late.

Peter is left standing there staring at nothing. An empty space. There aren't even any ashes to prove that Mitch had ever been there, vanishing between one heartbeat and the next.

Peter doesn't realize what's happened at first. Doesn't want to, his fast mind lagging behind. "No," he whispers. Everyone is staring at him. Stiles is looking on with mounting horror, Derek mirroring him. It's the Sheriff who catches him when he collapsed, arms strong around him. "No, no!" It's all Peter can say. This can't have happened, it's all a mistake. Mitch will come back to him, he has to. It can't end this way.

Distantly, Peter knows he's crying. John is too, Peter can smell his tears. Of course he is, he just watched his son fade out of existence. Of course, he still has Stiles, still gets to watch him grow. Peter has no one. Derek comes to him, followed by Stiles. He's crying too, on the ground with him. Derek has a hand on his shoulder. Melissa is covering her mouth with her hands, eyes glistening. Even Argent's stony mask has broken as Peter falls apart in front of them.

Peter throws his head back and roars, so loud it shakes the trees around them. The earth quakes, the preserve trembles in fear. But the world keeps turning, the universe continues on, ambivalent. What is one human life in the grand scheme of things?

Everything, he is everything.

[nozomijoestar]

Transcribed and formatted for readability the master thesis between me and @wlwclem​ on the nuances to NaraTrish together and as individuals being why we love it and respect it not being CompHet- we spent way too much Big Brain Energy on it to not share 

tw: brief mention of F-Slur when giving an example on toxic masculinity being bullshit, sexuality is briefly discussed in a non sexualizing way and in no graphic detail

*insert IM TRISH KIN BUCCIARATI joke here*

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:45 PM

JDDBSJDBD YES bc ofc she gotta be Reassuring but at the same time his Himboism Knows No Bounds One of the lines in EoH u can give her is “Go get me an Italian Vogue magazine too while you’re at it” and I’m like. Queen

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:46 PM

JDHDHDF BDE Narancia whipped Narancia stands no chance

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:46 PM

OH FOR REAL one of HIS victory lines is something about getting all the stuff for her lmao And this is like even if she isn’t in the battle, Always Thinking Of His Queen

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:50 PM

Trish decides to test the limits of this and his ability to recognize them by asking for impossible or nonexistent items/feats and when he continues to try for her without question she realizes she has too much power and must restrain it fjdjjdjfjf Can't turn into Dad

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:51 PM

JDBDBSJS The color palette changes while she has an inner monologue while she watches him try to make her happy

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:53 PM

"Oh my god Bucciarati was right...he's too loyal for his own good I need to stop even if it's a little fun"   Meanwhile Narancia: growing more and more frustrated with himself for perceived failure to someone he loves

epickinnienaranciaYesterday at 11:55 PM

She stops for the most part but does it every so often bc it’s cute

nozomijoestarYesterday at 11:56 PM

Lucky to have a freak like dat I feel like the only thing that can counter this self defeatism Narancia can get (bc his younger childhood...ofc he's fucked up and anxious and paranoid abt not being enough or abandoned) is Trish having to open her own repressed self up and love the shit out of himLike those reassuring lines she has in EoH and her moments in the anime/manga Bruno fucking does it as his father figure and Narancia admits it gives him strength

December 19, 2019

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:04 AM

Yes, he feels like he has to prove his worth and like he’s worth having around otherwise he’s useless, i def feel like he would not like talking about the stuff that happened in the past with everyone bc he would feel ashamed and stupid or st, he needs to be told You Are Enough and her to open up too so they can lean on each other

nozomijoestarToday at 12:12 AM

Honestly no jokes for a second I feel like this is also abt breaking toxic masculinity bc it's fucking Italy in the early 00s just out of the 90s...it was RIFE rifer than even now with that shit like in much of the world then too, the idea that a boy becoming a man and men in general need to strictly follow dumbass self harming rules

 especially abt not opening up and only having real priorities for earning money, honoring family, and procreating as much as possible whether it's marriage making a family or "having sexual conquests" in promiscuity, anything outside of this bullshit image can't be tolerated and you might as well be a woman or "a fag" if you don't assert some fictional narrative of trying extremely hard to have power in everything bc that's all that matters is the ridiculous idea of Alpha Males applied to humans 

Narancia being a 80s- 90s kid with the childhood he had did not give him much fighting chance at all in this context and time period  esp just bc he happened to be born with a dick and thus saddled with these harmful expectations society made that could've only further repressed his recognition of not beating himself up and his own emotional needs on top of EVERYONE ever betraying him Where was he supposed to go? He can't go anywhere unless he meets Bruno

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:18 AM

yes i agree..... like, males being looked down upon for opening up, being societally forced to shoulder the burdens and “man up” and just deal with it and fix everything. And then already having a toxic support system with his “friend” betraying him and his dad Sucking Major Ass, all he’s been taught is deal with it but hasn’t been given the tools to know how, and if Bruno didn’t meet him he honestly would be so stuck, what person (esp in that time period) is going to go out of their way to help an uneducated young male?

nozomijoestarToday at 12:20 AM

Even if it tragically ends with his death in canon I feel like the time he spent with Bruno's bois, Giorno, and Trish was huge in making some of that crack little by littleBc he has moments where you see how sweet he actually is, his "real" personality if you will underneath all the unresolved anger when he's with ppl he sees love him and give him hope When Giorno said No One Is Going To Hurt You Anymore that just made me cry harder

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:23 AM

Yes! Like, ofc he gets angry, has unrepressed rage and reactions to things, he hasn’t had any type of emotional support in SO long and it’s not like it’s 100% fantastic in that regard with buccigang (which don’t get me wrong they are family but they are still in an aggressive gang and go off and give each other lots of shit)-YEAH AND THE FUCKIGN PLANT GROWING TOO IM

nozomijoestarToday at 12:25 AM

Trish is legit I think the one person aside from Giorno who would treat him without even the gang's aggressiveness Narancia is my fav in VA even if Bruno is the best written VA character bc he's me, this kind of shit in my life is why I developed PTSD undiagnosed since my childhood that only kept getting worse until only this year have I gotten any true help I know exactly how he feels 

Esp when you think your whole life exists to serve others never yourself NaraGio shippers I see y'all argument even if I don't follow it tbh, Gio was again the only one besides Trish to consistently care for Nara in day to day and when he was in danger and esp during the Clash and Talking Heads fight Gio was the one dude present like No Narancia It's Ok Please Tell Me What's Wrong You're Clearly Stressed

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:31 AM

yeah although i haven’t experienced it i can still empathize and try to understand, i think there’s so many layers of protection and walls that most people never truly look past it to see the root cause or true self YES that fight was so frustrating bc they were all like Narancia stop being an idiot when something was clearly wrong and he was obviously in distress!!

nozomijoestarToday at 12:32 AM

Also Gio was the only one who first asserted that No, Narancia did the right thing in fighting Formaggio

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:33 AM

Yes and with that whole interaction the gang often uses Narancia as the scapegoat essentially and just give him shit for every little thing without trying to understand his POV

nozomijoestarToday at 12:33 AM

The Clash fight tbh I feel was an ass pull set up to give Narancia his big bad ass loyalty proving moment even if it's a great fight that beginning part is...only the Trish and Gio interactions rly make sense fjdjdjI wish him and Giorno hung out more or I guess more like talked more bc you can't rly hang out when you're getting assassinated every day hfgdg

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:36 AM

Yeah hdkdb, even with Fugo, even tho he found him and brought him to Bruno, he still calls him a dumbass, stabs him with a fork and shit, and then with Mista even tho I feel like they are Like Bros, he destroys Narancia’s radio for no fucking reason and also has a pattern of taking shit Narancia paid for without paying him backI def agree with that, I feel like Giorno interactions were lacking in that there really weren’t many one on one meaningful things so it’s hard for me to grasp his personal headspace and relationships a lot of the time

nozomijoestarToday at 12:37 AM

However to be a little more fair to the Bucci gang the manga version has Narancia trying a lot lot more to get their attention in logical ways that unfortunately Talking Heads completely ruins, he tried writing to let them know what was happening and TH warped the text into him saying vulgar things bragging abt his dick being a powerful Stand

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:38 AM

Yeah I was gonna add I wasn’t sure if the manga had other stuff, tbf

nozomijoestarToday at 12:38 AM

I think this is also Shounen Tropes of the 90s at play too the "child" character was often written as the comic relief dumbass Narancia suffers it so it does add a layer of Not Good to his relationships The trope still exists tbh Anime cut out him writing I assume bc it's too sexual It's already pushing it having him whip it out and piss in front of everyone jfhdhd

epickinnienaranciaToday at 12:41 AM

Yeah you right, it’s like the i want it to be that deep meme, like Araki obvi doesn’t have him only as comic relief but if he delved into his character more there would’ve been so much more that could’ve been done and shown YEAH DJDBDJDJF I WAS SURPRISED THT WAS ANIMATED

------------------------[ CUT INTERMISSION ]-----------------------------

nozomijoestarToday at 12:51 AM

Ok but to get back on track with where I was trying to go even opening this all up is how it's critical to NaraTrish in a mutually beneficial way

nozomijoestarToday at 1:01 AM

Nara is no incel he's a King obvs but he is also at heart a confused scared kid uncertain of anything in the world beyond what's closest in his grasp and without someone actively believing in and validating him he can't fully achieve awareness of healthy dynamics and even the problems within the ones he already has with his gang and Bruno- Trish doesn't have to babysit him and be the stereotypical The Woman Only Supports And Gives Up Her Body bc thats never her and couldn't be her and Narancia wouldn't make her that way bc even when he kinda touches on that (giving in a bit to the idea that men are the main protectors of women) when he gets too fixated on wanting what he thinks is for her wellbeing he does snap out and acknowledge he's wrong bc 

Trish by her independent nature and tremendous Will proves those stereotypes are bullshit, not even factoring in their first meeting as already making a huge impression on his beliefs of what girls can do- Trish knowing how to challenge him by staying true to herself yet having the compassion to help someone suffering and with fewer chances from birth than she had would not only win him over but give him something even Bruno can't, self sustaining confidence, bc Trish isn't part of a chain of command, she's just a girl in love with a boy who wants him to be happy and that concept while foreign to him for so long once it kicks in he could actually learn to build himself For himself and For someone who wouldn't use him for some greater schemes or dirty work, 

I love Bruno ok he's one of the best characters in anything ever but his flaw in his ability to help motivate ppl is tied to that fact that he's bringing them into a dangerous strict order of command to Serve not entirely in a place/way that lets them just be themselves and realize organic loving relationships with anyone and themselves SO

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:05 AM

they’re healing...... being shown love without a position of authority or any obligations is so powerful for his growth

nozomijoestarToday at 1:25 AM

That all being said, Everything Trish does he's paying attention to, she keeps him alive during the Grateful Dead fight not because she needs him to serve for a cause ( a cause might I add even Bruno the near saint he is was ready to let Nara go right then and there for bc death is in the job description) but because she doesn't know him well yet and shit he even swung a knife at her when they first met over who was in the bathroom, but he's a person suffering and in pain and to let him die even if it's Expected Of The Mission is garbage to her even if she respects Bruno down the line as a father compared to fucking evil Diavolo,

 Trish constantly goes out her way to do these things for Nara bc Trish instinctively knows he's the most vulnerable mentally and her sense of compassion and justice (likely something Donatella made sure to instill in her before her death by cherishing Trish and spoiling her even as a single mother) will not stand to not help someone when she could've- and he reciprocates it even if in disbelief bc he can tell This Person Is Safety, This Person Is Like Me Yet Not, A Better Me I Want To Be, by the time he's about to die someone with his fragile mind was actually gaining conviction about taking control for himself on his own terms and he would risk even those chances to defend the person who actually helped him arrive there (along with Gio) in the first place, 

I think by the end of his life he rly did love her or start to, it being romantic or not is up to individual interpretation to which you know I'm in the romance camp, point is he found someone who truly taught him strength without him fully realizing it and did so without belittling him, if anything instead treating him only with love and kindness and patience (not being a door mat for him, but like, not treating him like ass like everyone else has their moments of either), I think anything Trish asks of him, this is all why he's so willing to do it on top of feeling deep  empathy, I've written in my character notes as well that like this goes even further to sex being one of the most intimate things there is, like I kno we jest and jape abt Teens Doing Dumb Shit bc we're clowns 

but the sheer vulnerability you have to have esp in a first love situation to be willing to go through with that for the first time ever takes a lot of trust and courage, aspects I think Trish was able to give him and would solidify in asking something seen as so important for many people from him, the headstrong Trish wants to be vulnerable for him and the slowly confidence boosted Narancia wants to accept that faith and trust and love and exchange it with his own of the same for her, it's not horny teens 100% it's two hurt but hopeful kids on the verge of having to be adults wanting to find another piece of identity in how they are with someone else, obvs it will forever be offscreen bc pedos deserve to be skinned alive 

I just feel that the components that would fuel them to do something teens try to do to feel more adult and bc hormones are a lot more based in growing maturity than pure lust, I think this is what I fully mean by Writing About Teens Exploring Love And Sexuality; Not Fetishizing And Reveling In Showing The Act Itself Especially For Disgusting Titillation, I think this and not explicitly writing the sex are the difference between child porn and creating realistic characters

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:36 AM

Yeah, it is going to sound like a dumb take but the topic of sex and sexuality itself is not inherently sexual, by which I meant it isn’t the focus — there’s SO much more to it and in this case especially it can be like the ultimate sign of love, trust, intimacy, compassion, trying to make your way as a teen through a harsh world, like I can go on. Nasties Dont Interact but the shying away from the mere mention of it in a non-sexualized context is unrealistic. 

 Yes The Grateful Dead fight i 1000% agree is so important in both his personal growth and the development of their relationship, I think it’s an important parallel that he is dumbfounded about her going to such lengths to keep him alive without the sense of duty/obligation versus Trish’s feelings and outbursts of confusion on why Bucciarati and his gang even cared about her, protecting her to the point of death being on the line.(edited)

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:44 AM

all these elements of complication and similarities between their characters is why ive gotten so passionate about both them and their relationship (whether romantic or platonic it’s really fucking strong and good), the story of two kids making it through adversity, learning to unshoulder their burdens and lean on others, the Found Family™️, and learning and growing together is just so much more fucking deep and complex than the mainstream bs that exists. 

now im not any type of elitist hipster but esp in male and female relationships portrayed in what feels like basically fucking everything are just like CompHet Bullshit and they’re together bc They Are Just Supposed To Be (not to mention the toxic masculinity culture within that where the women barely have character arcs and are just seen as objects anyways) But what I’m trying to say is that in this the relationship is real and it feels earned in a way that just isn’t there in so much other media out there(edited)

nozomijoestarToday at 1:48 AM

Honestly if we tweak this just a lil more this is basically Guts and Casca One of the greatest and saddest romances ever written

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:48 AM

i still have berserk bookmarked just haven’t gotten around to reading yet

nozomijoestarToday at 1:48 AM

If VA was a Seinen it's p much Berserk In Italy Also big brain...galaxy brain...everything you said was a fact signed sealed and delivered(edited)

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:51 AM

Wow we’re actually in sync and using the brain cell to its fullest extent tonight

nozomijoestarToday at 1:51 AM

When I say she's his world and he's hers this is what I mean, not comphet hdhdhfhYEAH HFHDG

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:52 AM

(also my phone autocorrected “and” to “ANF” bc of twdg..... it also sometimes changes it to “AMD” bc I work in technology. My Phone Knows My Interests Are More Important To Me Than One Of The Main Parts Of Speech. Iconic)YESSSS they’re just SO GOOD there’s so much to articulate!

nozomijoestarToday at 1:55 AM

She was his Queen, and god help anyone who disrespected his Queen

epickinnienaranciaToday at 1:55 AM

JDBDHE SHIT THE FUCK IP DKDBEBDJFBBD

nozomijoestarToday at 1:56 AM

Buy my silence $8000 a month

[theyearoftheking]

Book Eighteen: Rage (A Bachman Book)

“Maybe he had forgotten or never knew that little boys grow up remembering each blow and word of scorn, that they grow up and want to eat their fathers alive.” 

As you can see, it’s day bajillion and fifteen of the quarantine, so I thought I’d break up the Bachman books into individual (but shorter) posts. I’m reading out of a book that lumps four of the five Bachman books together into one collection, so it feels like cheating to count each individual story as a seperate book, but it does say, “four early novels” on the front, so I’m going to count each one, and get caught up on my Goodreads goal. Yeah... I just admitted to that... we’ve unlocked a whole new level of nerd, I fear. 

I think we all know Richard Bachman was an alias Steve used to publish some “meh” books. I did enjoy his author blurb, “Bachman was a fairly unpleasant fellow who was born in New York and spent about ten years in the merchant marine after four years in the Coast Guard. He ultimately settled in rural central New Hampshire. where he wrote at night and tended to his medium-sized dairy farm during the day. The Bachmans had one child, a boy, who died in an unfortunate accident at the age of six (he fell through a well cover and drowned). Three years ago a brain tumor was discovered near the base of Bachman’s brain; tricky surgery removed it. And he died suddenly in February of 1985...”

It’s got to be fun to write an author bio about your alias. Give it a try. Mine would read as follows: “Rebecca Jay was born in California in 1990, and grew up on the beaches of sunny San Diego. When it came time for college, the allure of east coast winters and seeing snow was too great, and she attended college at the University of Maine. She received a degree in journalism, and moved to Chicago where she met her husband; a successful financier from an affable family. After a whirlwind courtship, they married and had five children. Rebecca works from home as a writer, and splits her time between Portland, Maine; and Minoqua, Wisconsin. She and her husband can be found traveling the globe with their brood of shockingly brilliant, bohemian children: Poppy, Maisie, Cash Jackson, Sanger, and Sawyer (twins!). 

I don’t know. I just threw that together. The idea of me having five children in this current state of affairs would push me straight into full-blown alcoholic territory. But it was fun to think about the amazing alternate life my alias is living. Buuuut this actual life is pretty cool too. I mean... I’ve spent the past twelve days not having to put on a bra or wear real pants (sup, leggings? The real MVP of the Coronavirus!), I get to finally catch up on all the Netflix garbage I haven’t had time for (Love is Blind is terrible. Of course I’m obsessed), I’m forced to eat healthy meals at home, I have no excuses for not working out, and I get to spend lots of time with my roommates, who I love dearly. 

Ok, so Rage. 

Rage is a weird-ass story that combines The Breakfast Club, with Lord of the Flies, and some Stephen King darkness. It’s bizarre, but compulsively readable. It was slow to start, but really took off about 20 pages in. It’s the story of high school student, Charlie Decker who takes a classroom hostage with a gun he brought to school. It lacks the terror most associate with high school shootings, and instead his classroom of hostages end up having honest conversations with one another, and breaking down the impressions they have of each other (like I said, Breakfast Club shit). At one point, a hostage leaves to go to the bathroom, and ends up voluntarily coming BACK to the classroom, instead of fleeing. 

Charlie himself is a troubled kid, who just a few weeks ago got in trouble for beating a teacher in the head with a pipe wrench. When he explains why he did it, the whole classroom of hostages empathize. Like I said, it’s weird, but it’s an interesting twist on the hostage/school shooting topic. 

Now, let’s address the elephant in the room... if I hadn’t known this was Steve writing under a pen name, would I have known it was really him? Yes. But also, maybe no. Here’s my take:

1. Steve tried to disguise his writing style by using short, choppy chapters instead of the long prose he’s known for. 

2. The novel itself is very short, unlike the tomes Steve typically pens.

3. How many authors set their psychological horror novels in Maine? Dead giveaway.

4. Steve tends to re-use turns of phrase, or images quite often. One of those turns of phrase is, “blue chambray work shirt”. How many other authors out there have characters wearing these hideous shirts? Not many. Just sayin! 

Kudos to the Bangor Daily News for catching onto the whole Steve is Bachman! fiasco. 

No Dark Tower references, because “Richard” doesn’t understand about all things serving The Beam. But there was one Wisconsin reference, “She took a Polaroid picture of it to sending to Uncle Tom, who lives in Wisconsin.” 

All and all, this was a quick, strange little read. Next up is The Long Walk, which my husband is still raving about, years after having read it. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 15

Total Dark Tower References: 12

Book Grade: C

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Different Seasons: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Christine: D

Keep social distancing, washing your hands, and living that quarantine life, Constant Readers.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[islamcketta]

What a week it’s been. Seven days ago at this time, my husband was with our dog, Rocky, at the vet for what would be his second to last visit and I was trying to decide how to tell our four-year-old son that the dog wasn’t coming home. The dog did come home, and we spent a tense 48 hours watching for the inevitable before we could get the second, final visit. And somehow, on Monday I did find the words to tell my son that Rocky was not coming home. He covered his ears and did not want to talk about it. As heartbreaking as this conversation was (as well as subsequent ones where I tried to make sure he knew he could talk to me when he was ready), it’s nothing compared to trying to explain racism to a small child, even as I’m still learning about it myself.

But the time for change is now. That’s why I finally took Ijeoma Oluo’s So You Want to Talk About Race off the shelf in my bedroom where it had been waiting too long to be read.

When my son was born, a friend insisted I read Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. An excellent book, and a hard read in that early parenting time when my empathy for all humans was almost shattering, I learned a lot from Coates. But my reading of that book did not fix our society and really, it did not fix me either. And I won’t say that I’m fixed now that I’ve read (most of, I’ll finish the rest this afternoon) Oluo’s book, either, but So You Want to Talk About Race engaged me in a conversation I needed to have with myself and Oluo gave me both the language and the understanding necessary to try harder.

A Lexicon of Racism

Too much of my experience of the world these days comes from Twitter-sized synopses in which I either smile or rankle before moving on and forgetting. And while I’ve had a superficial understanding of the concepts of white privilege, intersectionality, and microagressions, I haven’t really put the work in to know what I could do about any of it besides feel guilty and try to not say ignorant things. Oluo helped me take that next step by unpacking what the words mean and what they look like in everyday life. She opens up ideas of how white people can start to confront and dismantle them in their own lives and in the lives of the people around them. She also speaks directly to people of color.

Two of the most impactful things Oluo helped me understand are the power dynamics of racism and the ways I’ve been failing to properly empathize with the experiences of people of color. They are not unrelated, but while I cannot dismantle the white supremacy inherent in our institutions (today anyway), I can breathe in her “basic rules” of determining if something is about race until they are a part of my body:

It is about race if a person of color thinks it is about race.

It is about race if it disproportionately or differently affects people of color.

It is about race if it fits a broader pattern of events that disproportionately or differently affect people of color.

Do any of those rankle? As a student of sociology, I had no trouble accepting the last two, but I really struggled with the first. Which meant I had to ask why. Where I’m at now (a few days into this process) is that I’ve been so gaslit about my own experiences (as a woman) that victim blaming is part of my body. My mechanism for feeling better about myself is trying to control every aspect of every situation so that I can never get hurt so if someone else gets hurt then clearly they failed to control something. Except that argument is as full of bullshit for people who are subjected to the abuses of a racist system as it is for women who are raped, assaulted, or harassed.

And the passing of a counterfeit $20 bill is never, ever a crime that should be paid for with a life.

The Beauty of Vulnerability

“Acknowledging us, believing us, means challenging everything you believe about race in this country. And I know that this is a very big ask, I know that this is a painful and scary process. I know that it’s hard to believe that the people you look to for safety and security are the same people who are causing us so much harm. But I’m not lying and I’m not delusional. I am scared and I am hurting and we are dying. And I really, really need you to believe me.” – Ijeoma Oluo So You Want to Talk About Race

I haven’t read White Fragility (yet), but I do know that when confronted with my own racism I more want to hide in a corner than confront my bad actions and I’m certain I’m not alone. In So You Want to Talk About Race, Oluo does the reader the kindness of opening up her own vulnerability. She both unpacks moments when she was not representing the values she espouses and experiences when she has been victimized by institutions and individuals. I’m deeply grateful for this approach, because by being so open and vulnerable with her readers, she made it much easier to be open and vulnerable back. Although she often says (correctly) that it is not the victim of racism’s job to educate the perpetrator, this choice is helping me examine both the problems with the system and also the ways in which I have perpetuated those problems.

The Structures of Power

As I mentioned, institutionalized racism was one of the hardest parts of this book to get my head around, I think because I was raised to believe in this American ideal of founding fathers who were looking out for all of us and who set up this great nation around some very laudable ideals. And now I have to interrogate all of that. We all do.

The police in my brain are here to “protect and to serve” and that’s a comfortable place to return to when I want to ignore one more abuse or death at their hands. But I remember the way the teenagers in my home town were hounded by the police—and we were white. When you entrust someone with a job, you have to be very careful how you frame that job. Even if you think about little things like quotas for traffic tickets. That’s not the police looking to stop people who are breaking laws, that’s a worker trying to check off a list of tasks and they’ll enforce traffic laws at whatever level they can until that list is complete. Now add a government and a legal system that was designed to protect the property of white men. I don’t know enough about what makes the police act as a military force against people of color (though I’m thinking about it); I do think they are acting to protect a status quo that should not be protected.

I don’t need to watch the video of George Floyd’s death to know that kneeling on the neck of a human being (ever, not to mention until they die) is not ever okay. But when John T. Williams was shot down in cold blood by a Seattle police officer, I used personal knowledge of his behavior to make excuses for the officer. When the pregnant Charleena Lyles was shot and killed three miles from where I lived with my almost two-year-old, I was sickened yet did nothing. In truth, those cases formed a pattern where the police failed to place the value of a human life above the value of their own inconvenience.

It’s beyond time that we confront what is wrong with policing in this city and this country, that we dismantle the current system, and that we instead build something that serves everyone. Something that treats human lives (of all colors) with value. I believe strongly that this starts early in life when we must give all children the same opportunities. I also believe that we have to stop treating 12-year-olds like Tamir Rice like it’s too late for them because their bodies are big. That no one should die for selling cigarettes, as Eric Garner did, or for being in a house where drugs were suspected of being sold, as was the case with Breonna Taylor. Black lives are human lives and black lives matter.

What I’m Telling My Son

The day my (then two-year-old) son asked for a Playmobil tactical van, my heart sank. But he thought it was a police car and he wanted it and I wanted him to have what he wanted. Now he asks me to turn off NPR when they use the word “dead.” Mostly I do, because there are a lot of details he does not need to know. But this week is different. As will be all the weeks going forward.

This week we talked about why people become police officers, that some people want to help others and that’s good, but that some people want power over others, and that’s bad. We talked about skin color and things that make people look different but that’s only how they look on the outside. We talked about how he needs to stand up for his friends because sometimes they won’t be able to stand up for themselves. Later, I’ll probably have him sit through the Sesame Street town hall on racism. Because while we try to surround him with diverse books and friends of all colors with a wide variety of life experiences, it’s not enough.

So I’m going to keep reading, Oluo’s book and others, and turning that knowledge into action. There are a myriad of good anti-racism reading lists out there and I also recommend this podcast and essay. As always, I’m open to your suggestions. Let’s take our hands off our ears and change the world with the power we have. We’re stronger than we know.

The post So You Want to Talk About Race (I Do) appeared first on A Geography of Reading.

[inanawesomewave]

SOCIOPATH WALKS INTO A THERAPIST’S OFFICE, PART 2

The last post I did about the therapy I’m currently receiving seemed to get a lot of response, quite a few of you have got in touch and reached out to talk about your own sociopathy, or the sociopathy of someone that you care about, and especially about the care or lack of care that you have as someone with a personality disorder, specifically antisocial personality disorder. So, I thought I might make this a regular thing -- I love hearing from you all, and I think it’s probably a good idea to be honest and personable, so here’s instalment two of my therapy journey. We got really into it today. I had been quite tentative about how much I was going to reveal to my therapist about the true nature of myself, the parts of my personality that, whilst I’m not ashamed of and may even hold some pride in, would be considered unacceptable, or ugly, kind of shamelessly defective. There’s a shame there, not in myself, but in how I have to be perceived, and that in itself is a ridiculous and sociopathic conundrum that even has roots in narcissism -- I should get to be who I want, and the public image that I project should be justified and accepted at all costs. I can see objectively how that stubbornness and wilful ignorance forms a sizeable chunk of my ASPD, and that feeling alone made me understand why people say that sociopaths and psychopaths do not want or benefit from therapy. I wondered if the truth was we’re just harder nuts to crack, and we need someone we can trust, and gaining the trust of a person with perceived authority over our care and therefore autonomy and natural freedom is very hard for us. I wonder if the fact is a lot of therapists don’t want to try, that the abhorrent parts of us cloud their desire to effect real, compassionate change. The slog must seem like a thankless one when your job is to stop a sociopath from being a sociopath. You’ve got to work from the foundation up, but that’s what my therapist does. And I won’t lie, sometimes it feels like low-hanging fruit. I have to put my cynicism aside, because hearing “are you really angry at [whoever I’m angry at today], or are you angry at your mother?” over and over again does get weary, but for all the work I do talking about how childhood abuse, neglect and trauma are the biggest predictors of cluster B personality disorders, and however aware I am of my own rotten beginnings, there’s still a blind spot in me that would much rather blame something vague and mythical; The Human Condition, or even just The State Of Things, I’d rather rage against any and all minor authority or threat than accept the fact that everyone I end up being like this with, bears some striking resemblance to my mother. You can see how I’d be pessimistic though; oh, you’re a psychologist and now you’re telling me “it’s your mother”? Cool way to get into obscene amounts of debt and break your back in further education for years only to end up spouting the one Freudian cliché that every layman knows to be ubiquitous in psychotherapy. But, in my case, it’s just true. And maybe you’ve had that too, a father or mother who was narcissistic and abusive, and now you’ve ended up like this and you fucking hate anyone you think may be even slightly trying to manipulate and control you until you see that threat everywhere and must always attack. And maybe it’s your father, or maybe it’s your mother. The difficult thing we come to talk about in therapy is narcissism. Namely, my own narcissistic traits. I narcissistically thought I’d got out scot-free, and that sure I was confident and assertive but not narcissistic, there’s nothing in me that’s narcissistic. Hell, I’m so great at being not narcissistic. I’m the fucking best at being modest. Come give me praise for how great I am at not being a narcissist and fuck it, in general, I deserve it. So maybe it really is there.

After some gentle coaxing I gave him some examples of some of the things in the past I’ve done and said that maybe even I will concede might have been unreasonable, it was posited to me that I might have just been blazing through not necessarily on narcissism, but on grandiosity, an inflated sense of my own importance. I told him how just the other day I’d got into a very vicious, very visceral slanging match with someone I have known to be a malignant narcissist for some time, someone who is the partner of someone I love, and how the gloves fully came off and his partner, my friend, had to hear the full force of my sociopathic fury, and looking back, it might have been narcissistic injury. He spoke to me like I was small, weak, like talking to me like that was normal or acceptable. My outrage was first at his own behaviour toward my friend, but it quickly became about the attack on my ego and my battle to the top. I spoke to my therapist about how, after that argument, I switched into a familiar mode -- predator. It was like my mind was prowling, shooting off in all directions. I didn’t know fully what my prey specifically was, what point I needed to prove, but I needed to prove it. I have a burner facebook, and logging into that just to keep tabs on everyone I don’t like and have ancient grievances with for a couple of hours felt like an uncontrollable, necessary, cathartic compulsion, and it felt horrible and it felt fantastic. Like a narcissist, and like a sociopath, today I learned that my predation of anyone at all after a slight to my ego is fragile. Because we sociopaths wear all the masks, and the most well-tended-to one is one of absolute control, power and authority. And we don’t have as much control over that as we think we do. Sociopathy is a mask that eats into the face. What came next was a crack in that mask and through it bled the black sludge of horrid and bitter self-awareness -- when people tell me they wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of me, that I’m not to be fucked with -- are they humouring me? Have I been pathetic all this time? Apparently not, but fucking hell my fellow paths, think about that for a moment if you fancy looking into parts of your mind that you’ve spent a lifetime pretending are absolutely not there. I have blind spots, we all have blind spots. I don’t know about you, but that’s mine, and it’s the only thing that’s made me feel anything closely resembling true shame in quite some time. And I seek out narcissists. I hate them and love them. I’ve had several significant friendships fall apart because I’ve always known they were narcissistic but one day I realise I despise what I thought I loved about them. From the neurotic and overbearingly bitter grandiose dominatrix I thought I cared for, to the hypochondriacal self-autobiographical, self-confessed empath (lol) I spent years trying to have friendly affection for, I knowingly and willingly give such large portions of my time and energy to instantly-identifiable narcissists, and by the time I come to hate them, it’s a mystery to me why I was drawn to them to begin with. But it’s really not a mystery, is it? My mother used to tell me a story that her father told her as a child, something of a fable: A grasshopper could fall in love with a blackbird, but where would they live? Like will always go with like. But before I had time to really spiral about the possibility I might be just as bad as my own worst enemy, my therapist told me that I may currently be occupying a middle place, that true narcissists can’t access: that is, the space between self-aggrandisement and self-loathing. I mentioned to my therapist that I’d written two books, and he reassured me that if I were a narcissist that would have been the first thing I told him, and he wouldn’t just be hearing about it now. So I guess that’s something. But I did still tell him.

It’s funny when someone asks you questions about yourself, when you’ve spent a lifetime being so self-analytical and playing the part of your own biographer, because when it’s time to answer the tough questions, you realise you haven’t practiced for this, or the way you feel about recounting those stories is not what you’d anticipated -- by which I mean, I was very aware of what I was saying. And sometimes it’s beneficial to talk out loud to someone who makes a career out of being impartial, and can’t judge you, because then they can start joining dots you never thought to, but were glaringly obvious. My early to mid 20s were a chaotic binge of drugs and alcohol, but I think the thing I chased the most was the company of older, wealthier men, with natural privilege and dominance. Subconsciously, the goal of these relationships, with hindsight, seems to have been to assert my own dominance, or encourage submission, from this specific kind of person. All these relationships followed a very similar pattern, but it wasn’t until today that I realised that they were vehicles for my revenge on the people who could have helped me as a child, and whilst we know that sociopaths use people, and it’s never a good thing to do, we never think about why, even as sociopaths. Today I learned that we are all angry, vengeful, spiteful and bitter, but just like narcissists and borderlines, we’re protecting ourself from that truth by rewriting our own narrative. I never consciously masterminded those relationships, and it’s neither a good or bad thing that this was, seemingly, just my natural state of being, but I wonder if all sociopaths are a little less self-aware than they first thought. I guess they wouldn’t know the answer to that question. I didn’t, until today.

And none of it felt like bragging. I had no pride in what I was telling my therapist, just as I had no shame. But imagine you’re in court, and your charges are being read against you, but in your voice, by someone with your face. It’s just destabilising enough to spur off lots of chains of thought, but not so much that it’s causing distress. This may still be relentlessly sociopathic, but knowledge is power, and, even if what you learn about yourself isn’t what you’re expecting, I still see it as extremely beneficial that I know as much about myself and my processes as possible. Maybe next week I’ll find out why that is.

[mysoulbalmmh]

Hard things break, soft things bend. What would you share with the world if you could be truly vulnerable?

This is probably my favorite affirmative quote because it has a deeper meaning for me.

TL;DR - I spent so much of my life trying to be ultra tough so I wouldn't get hurt. It broke me. Now that I'm safe and healing, I'm relying on vulnerability to connect with the world and seeing it as a strength instead of a weakness.

Long read: TW death, tough emotional themes.

You see, I spent a lot of my life being tough.

My first memory of this need to be hard and emotionless was watching my father die.

While everyone around me sobbed, saying their last goodbye, I didn't shed a tear.

Not because I didn't care. I was the saddest I've ever been in my life.

But as I looked around, I realized someone had to be tough in order for us to survive. And somehow, at age 6, I figured that person had to be me.

From then on, I pushed my feelings down. I eschewed childish things (I can vividly remember telling my young self "no more Happy Meals" because they were not for big kids).

I stubbornly did the hardest things possible and wouldn't ask for help. I got in physical fights to prove how tough I was and landed in detention or the principals office weekly (sometimes daily).

As an adult, I took on jobs, sports, and challenges that pushed me FAR beyond what I was realistically capable of.

I stayed in relationships I shouldn't have because I could "handle" anything.

If you haven't guessed it yet, all of this ridiculousness led to frequent meltdowns in private (and sometimes public).

Because inside, I'm as soft as a puddle of puppies. Deeply emotional, highly sensitive, and incredibly empathic. Stuffing all that down was a recipe for disaster.

In my late 20's the emotional levy finally broke and all of my bravado got washed away.

You'd think it'd feel better to not have to carry the burden of strength. You'd be wrong.

I was no longer the strong, brave, determined girl who could take on anything. Sure I was getting better, but I'd lost my entire identity in the process.

I felt weak, vulnerable, exposed, imperfect, unsafe. And I was angry about it. How was I going to deal with this unkind world without the armor of toughness I'd always worn?

The first few years after my hospitalization were some of the hardest in my life. I lashed out at those who loved me. I was convinced that now that they could see the real me, I'd be abandoned.

I stubbornly tried to use the same crappy coping mechanisms as I had before (overworking, controlling, pushing myself in sports).

But they just, didn't work anymore. I kept losing jobs because my mental health wouldn't let me keep up. My husband was at his wits end with me over my controlling behavior. My body just flat out said NO when it came to sports.

I was totally, utterly broken. And that was my lowest point.

Something had to change. And since I couldn't rely on toughness anymore, I had to figure something else out.

I gradually found that being vulnerable and radically honest with others and myself worked astonishingly well. While it felt natural, affirming, and sustainable, being vulnerable was difficult.

It was hard to tell the truth after a lifetime of lies about myself. I struggled with it daily.

At the beginning vulnerability seemed a lot like weakness. How was I supposed to humble myself in front of people when they could hurt me?

How would people view me, the one with all the answers, when I didn't know something. I knew they would attack.

I was terrified. I screwed it up. A lot. But I kept trying anyway.

And some people did hurt me (that's where I learned about boundaries). But for the most part, when I revealed my true heart, even previously "difficult" people seemed to be softened. They started to listen. I started to learn from them as well.

These days, I'm still a work in progress. But I don't walk with the unsustainable weight of toughness so much. And life is vastly better for it.

Things I can do now that I lead with vulnerability

-I can ask for help (most of the time)

-I can have wonderful, affirming talks with people I would have avoided before.

-I can have difficult conversations and not be afraid

-I can tell people how I feel and create understanding instead of resentment or anger

And so much more.

Hard things break, soft things bend.

So finally, why does this quote mean so much to me? The first time I came across it was two days after I got out of the hospital. I was raw, tired, scared, angry, and emotional - all the things I didn't want to feel.

I tried so hard to push the feelings away like I had before.

But when I saw this quote just by chance, something clicked. It all made so much sense. It made me think of bad storms I'd seen in Florida, my home. Trees that bowed in the wind survived to live another day. Trees that were incapable of bending were torn out by the roots.

And it hit me. I was being torn out by my roots. My behavior was keeping me stuck. It was time to try something new.

That was the day my life truly changed for good.

How about you? How do the powers of toughness and vulnerability play into your mental health journey? Who are you without the mask you've created?

Much Love,

MB

Image description: A big lined crystal patch sits against a magenta background. It has a circle around it and the words "hard things break, soft things bend" and "vulnerability is strength" underneath it. Two hands holding moons appear on either side.

[lolcat76]

Six Senses prompt: Regina soothes Robin after Roland throws a particularly big tantrum that ends in the dreaded "I hate you!"

It’s an adjustment, thethree of them trying to figure out how to live in a small house in Allston.Robin misses his carefully chosen granite countertops; Regina misses her carvedbanister. She has to relearn every step of the new house, every squeak of thestairs, every bubble in the wallpaper.

Robin has to organizehis cookware a good six times before Regina feels comfortable with how he setsit up in her new kitchen cabinets.

Roland has to adjust toa small yard with no trees to climb, and an even smaller bedroom in hisfather’s new house. He doesn’t seem to care that the new house is less than 20minutes from his mother’s house; he wants his window seat in his father’stownhouse and the trees in Regina’s backyard.

He wants nothing tochange; he’s had enough change in his life. Regina can empathize. The part ofher that counted out every step from her bathroom to her bedroom hates the newhouse.

The part of her thatloves Robin loves that she wakes up next to him every day. She doesn’t knowthis house yet, not as much as she wants, but she knows which area rugs mighttrip her up. She knows which drawer knobs are loose. She knows that, soonerrather than later, Robin is going to have to fix the leaking toilet in theguest room because the constant sound of water running through the pipes whenshe can’t sleep at night is enough to drive her slowly insane.

A little thing like aleaky toilet isn’t enough to tarnish Robin’s excitement over the new house. Theparquet floors on the ground floor aren’t quite the cherry wood he laid by handin his townhouse, but he likes them nonetheless. Parquet, cherry, cedar…shedoesn’t really care. They all sound the same under her heels, and she lovesthat he’s making an effort to clear out those tricky rugs so that she won’t betripped up by her own flair for interior design.

He knows that she likesto hear the reassuring click-clack of her heels against the floor, a reminderthat she still occupies time and space. She’s still adjusting to the new count ofsteps, but every day she comes home, she taps her fingers against her thigh asshe makes her way to the kitchen, relieved that every day it takes exactly 127steps to get from the front door to the refrigerator. She might make an attemptat dinner, or she might dig through the menus tacked to the fridge, closing hereyes and pulling one at random so that he can order them something to eat.

She might find him inthe kitchen waiting for her, and she might find that she doesn’t need to worryabout it, because he’s already taken care of it. He worries about their newlyinstalled dishwasher far more than she does. She knows how to load adishwasher. If he wanted the fancy kind that operated on a timer, well then…hewas going to have to learn how to set the timer himself.

Relationships are aboutgive and take, she reminds herself. He gives her grief about loading thedishwasher; she takes his freshly washed t-shirts and sleeps in them. And,because he insisted on having the washer and dryer installed in their mastercloset, she doesn’t have to go far to dig them out.

If it were just the twoof them, she’d happily take the quirks of the house, but they have Roland everyother weekend. He hates the house. He hates the parquet floors. He hates hislittle bedroom, because it doesn’t have a window seat, and he hates the yardthat doesn’t have trees he can climb.

Robin has endlesspatience for his son, and Regina loves children, so why the two of them bickerconstantly on the weekends when they have Roland rocks her to her core.

Three months into livingtogether, and she’s sick and tired of hugging the edge of the mattress on theweekends Roland spends with them. She’s not the kind of person to wade intoparenting issues – no matter what Emma says – but she’ll be damned if she letsRobin’s son hold her hostage in her own home.

She already has too manythings holding her hostage these days. And the leaky toiled may keep her awaketonight, but at the moment she can barely hear it over the wheels turning inhis head. It’s either get up and try to fix the toilet herself, or get Robin toadmit what’s got him sulking on the other side of the mattress.

“Robin,” she says as sheprods him with her elbow. He grunts and digs his face further into the pillow.

Nice try. Even a blindwoman can see that he’s trying to avoid her.

“ROBIN,” she snaps, andthis time she knees him somewhere in the vicinity of his kidneys.

Her aim is still good,if his yelp of surprise is any indication. She silently thanks years of playingfield hockey, then pulls his arm until he’s face-to-face with her.

“I’m awake,” hegrumbles.

This close to him, shehas no trouble reading his body language. He’s wound so tight she’s surprisedhe doesn’t spontaneously shoot from the bed.

“Roland hates it here.”

To his credit, Robindoesn’t argue. Once again, Regina feels that old familiar guilt settling in herchest, making it hard for her to breathe. She counts out her breaths – threecounts in, four counts out. She’s just getting her anxiety under control whenhe pulls her into his arms.

“He doesn’t hate ithere. He hates me.”

Admittedly, Regina isbiased, but she doesn’t see how that’s possible.

You don’t see anything, that snippy little sarcastic voice in herhead says.

Very funny. Also verytrue.

“How can he hate you?You spent a good three hours tonight reading Shel Silverstein to him. And Ican’t see much, but I can see enough to know that Roland spent the entire threehours picking his nose.” She was pretty sure, anyway. “And you didn’t once tellhim to knock it off.”

Robin grunted. “You’reasking me how a child can hate a parent? You? Asking me? I think we both knowwell enough how that happens.”

Also very true, but notin the least bit funny.

“I didn’t ask you how achild could hate a parent. It’s late, and I’m tired, and I don’t want aphilosophical discussion about child rearing. I asked you how your son could hate you.”

Robin sighs, and she’sthrown by how…utterly sad a simple exhalation of breath can be. During thecourse of their relationship, she’s gotten used to his relentless good cheer.As annoying as it can be, he always finds that silver lining, and the fact thathe’s lost in the dark gray clouds now…well, it scares her. “Tell me,” she says.“What happened?”

Robin doesn’t answer,but merely turns away from her and punches his fist into the pillows that shebought for their new bed in their new home. Pillows that were guaranteed by thesalesperson at Macy’s to hold their shape, no matter how much frustration hetakes out on the synthetic goose down. He pounds the pillow into submission andrests his head on it, curling away from her.

“Robin,” she says, andthis time it’s a whisper. “Talk to me.”

“I tucked him intonight, and he told me that he wants to go home. To his mother.”

She can sympathize. Can’tsay that she’s felt the same, but Marian is no Cora, and Roland is no Regina. Ina fairytale book, though, she can understand a child wanting his mother.

“Is that such a badthing?”

He huffs, then throwsher very expensive pillow to the floor. “Is it such a bad thing that my sondoesn’t want to sleep in my house? Yes. Yes, Regina, it’s a bad thing.”

Funny, she thought itwas their house, not his, but she’ssmart enough to know that now is not the time to argue that particular point.

“And when you were hisage, I’m guessing you felt the same.”

“It’s different.” Herolls back onto his stomach and throws an arm over his eyes, clearly done withthis discussion.

“Is it?”

She knows it is, wellbefore she feels his body shift on the bed and lean a little closer to her.Regina knows she’s skirting on the edges of sleeping in separate rooms for afew nights at least, but she can’t take much more of Robin’s tossing andturning and weary moans.

“I didn’t want to sleepin my father’s house because he didn’t like me, not because I didn’t like him,”he says, and he sounds so much like his son that she just wants to pull himclose and let him rest his head on her chest until he drifts off again, lulledby her fingers combing through his hair, but that will hardly solve theproblem.

“And did your fatherever ask you why? Did he ever bother to listen to what you had to say, or didhe just slam the door and then go to sleep next to your mother and keep herawake all night?”

Every muscle in his bodytenses against her, and she’s afraid she’s pushed him too far, but he lets outa long breath and relaxes into the space next to her. “I’m afraid of what he’sgoing to say,” he admits.

“He’s already said hehates you. What could be worse than that?”

Despite his anger, fearand frustration, he chuckles. “Not much,” he admits.

Regina settles a littledeeper into her pillows, tucking her body against Robin’s. “He doesn’t hateyou. He hates this. I hate this. And I think if you weren’t so damn cheerful,you’d admit that you hate this. Change is hard on all of us, but on a littleboy, it feels like the world is ending.”

“I don’t hate this,” hesays, but she wraps her fingers around his lips, silencing him.

“Yes, you do, or elseyou wouldn’t be hanging off your side of the bed to avoid me on the weekendsyou have Roland.”

She expects him toargue, but when he doesn’t, she moves her hand from his mouth to slowly strokethe line of his neck from jaw to collarbone.

“It’s ok to hate change,”she whispers “God knows I do.”

“Yes, but you didn’thave a choice,” Robin says. He’s gearing up for a reasonable, well-thought-outargument, but she doesn’t want to hear it.

“Neither does he,” shepoints out.

He’s quiet for a longtime. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think he fell back to sleep, but shecan feel the tension in the shoulders that lay pressed to her chest. He’sworking things out in his mind, trying to find the magic answer that will makethis situation better for them all.

There is no magicanswer, she wants to tell him. They’re just going to have to stumble through inthe dark and hope they don’t get tripped up on the edges of the rugs they’velaid down to make their little home pretty.

And if they do, they’rejust going to have to believe that someone will be there to catch them whenthey fall.

[anonforlackofabettername]

Music ask! 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30.

5. A song that needs to be played loud.

The Phoenix by Fall Out Boy. If you aren’t shouting at the sky while stalking down the street listening to this song I don’t know what you’re doing with your life but you obviously aren’t making the right life choices. Its a fucking bop and just full of this feeling like you’re full of aggression and the only way to let it out is to sing/scream at the top of your lungs. Definitely needs to be turned up every time it comes on no matter how loud your music originally was. Put on your fucking war paint. Listen to it here.

10. A song that makes you sad.

Idk if this song is really sad and it isn’t the first one that came to mind but a song that I think is solemn is No Place in Heaven by MIKA. Again its not really a cry song but its the song about a queer man wrestling with his G-d and his religion because common religious doctrine condemns him. “I’m down on my knees/I’m begging you, please/There’s no place in heaven for someone like me/Won’t you open the door/And try me once more?” Its just a really solemn and sincere song. I don’t know how I feel about the afterlife or about G-d if there even is one (proud jewish agnostic here) but I can empathize with this. I can understand the insecurity, the wish to be better, to be accepted, and the need to know definitively even though you already know there’s nothing good waiting for you when you finally get your answer. Its such a vulnerable song. The singer is pleading with someone-his Father, G-d-singing please please please tell me I’m lying, tell me I’m wrong, tell me you love me, because I already know you don’t and I want to be wrong just this once. Listen to it here.

Oh, have a better cry song since I was looking through spotify for some of the other questions. It’s Over Isn’t It? from Steven Universe. Its just this really sad song of this character who is mourning a relationship that’s been over for 10+ years (which is nothing when you’re 1000+ but whatever) but was so central to who she was that she’s had to completely redefine who she was in that person’s absence and even now still doesn’t know how to do it sometimes. (see Do It For Her for an example on how Pearl still isn’t fucking over Rose and how she’s tied her self esteem and sense of self into her relationship with Rose). Listen to it here.

15. A song that is a cover by another artist.

First thing that comes to mind is Halsey’s cover of I Walk the Line (originally by Johnny Cash). Its a really great cover. It takes this classic song and reinvents it in her style just fitting beautifully as a bonus track on Badlands. I fucking love Halsey so I guess she had to come up sometime. Listen to it here.

Oh, here’s a freebee that just occurred to me while I was looking over this for posting. Another cover that I fucking love and didn’t think of because it’s not your usual cover is the Austin Lounge Lizards’ cover of Brain Damage (originally by Pink Floyd). It’s a fucking country blue grass cover of a Pink Floyd song. How weird and awesome is that. Listen to it here.

20. A song that has many meanings to you.

The Entertainer by Scott Joplin. This is a weird one b/c I don’t really listen to a lot of instrumental pieces but this one has a couple different connotations for me. The first time I remember hearing it was on the old player piano at my best friend’s house on Lake George. My family and his used to go up every summer and there’d always be at least one afternoon where we spent an hour or two in the front living room of the boat house looking out across the lake and putting in one scroll after another for the piano to play. The Entertainer was never my favorite (mine was Does Your Chewing Gum Lose It’s Flavor) but I remember @astranyx liking the song and the scroll they have is cool cause its from a live performance. So there’s that association. Reminds me of being young and spending time with my best friend and brother (love you bro) and the lake is full of fond memories. And then freshman year I was sick and studying for my intro to psych final and I was fucking exhausted and my head was full of cotton b/c sick and the only drugs I had was nyquil. So its like noon and I’m sitting on the cuddle couch by myself just feeling miserable trying to focus and not succeeding and two people are behind me at the piano in the lounge just learning the song. Just plunking out dun-dun-dun dun-duh over and over again and you could tell they were still learning with how hesitant they were playing but I shit you not it was one of the most soothing things. I just put my head back on the couch, gave up on studying for ten minutes and let myself drift to the sound of them playing. It was so soothing and meditative. After that the song has been close to my heart and just listening to it reminds me of that experience. So there’s these two equally meaningful memories whenever I think of this song. Listen to it here.

25. A song by an artist that is no longer living.

Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. I was actually thinking about this earlier since the covers are more popular than the original but I actually really love the original. It’s a really great poignant song filled with all sorts of imagery by a Jewish man making reference to our history. Listen to it here.

30. A song that reminds you of yourself.

Ummmmm…. Ummmm….. So the first thing that comes to mind is Smile by Mikky Ekko which was last semester’s fun new depression song. Cause damn did it fit the headspace I was in. You know when you’re depressed and you know you’re depressed and you know you’re gonna get worse-like you feel yourself on that downward spiral-but you can’t course correct out of it so you just grin and bare it as you brace yourself for the pit you’re about enter because its got to get worse before you can get better right?“Smile the worst is yet to come. We’ll be lucky if we ever see the sun.“ Yeah that feeling. Felt it a lot last semester. Not as much now that I’m back and have my support systems back in place but as I type this I can feel the mental illness version of the jaws theme getting louder as my next episode gets closer and closer to happening. I feel like I should pick something happier but honestly I’m kind of at a loss. I listen to songs that are fun to listen to or I can use as headcannons for other characters not myself.

Music Asks

[figjelly]

Dear Therapist.

Every Wednesday (except for the last Wednesday of the month), I write my therapist. I’ll post them here. I’ve been working with this therapist for three years, seeing her once a week. Recently, I decided I wanted to try to reduce my number of visits to once a month but I wanted check-ins. We agreed I could email her. Trigger warnings for everything under the fucking sun for these posts. If you don’t want to be sad, please click this link. Read more after the cut:

I've been mulling over the purpose of keeping in contact with you in-between our face-to-face meetings. Too many hours were spent agonizing over how to optimize the therapeutic value of writing before I realized the answer was simple:

I simply need someone to talk to. Sure, that fact is confounded by chronic and acute issues (e.g. dealing with my current life situation) and events that have reverberated so strongly against myself that they still cause significant disturbances (e.g. my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood); however, underneath all of those things, is the need for attention.

I'm human. It's natural.

The problem with talking to other people is the work I have to do in order to pretend I genuinely care about someone else's problems or feelings. This is not to say there are times I don't genuinely care--I would just rather the burden be permanently removed from my responsibility.

But with a therapist, I'm allowed a brief respite and can pick and choose whether to engage in that work (the work of keeping up my end of a relationship, caring about another's feelings or thoughts, thinking about the consequences of my actions, etc).

So, that's the point. I get a tiny break from those responsibilities and some attention. Seems reasonable.

Then another few hours were spent on how to work within that need. I finally decided on something pretty mundane: storytelling. I've not given much thought on what to story to tell but I've settled on:

Why Ash Has Fought Against Embracing Writing and Art

My mother earned an AFA in her late 20s from a local community college in Louisiana. Before this, I drew and wrote quite a bit but her work and her descriptions of her art classes had me simultaneously enthralled and terrified. I wanted what she was experiencing so badly it hurt but I never believed I could do anything like it. My mother never gave me any indication or support that I could but didn't discourage me from drawing or other acts of creativity. Although, I can never be quite sure if this was actual support or extreme apathy. By the time I really got into creating, she was in the thick of her anorexia and the abuse in our household had grown so thick that it crept out the cracks of doors and windows. Opening the front door, I usually held my breath and had to count 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 until I reached my room-- the safest place in the house. For me anyway.

During this time. we owned a short, squat coffee table that had an oval top and an elevated slat underneath where we kept our photo albums. I spent one Saturday cutting up old copy paper into the shapes of buildings and taping them to the edge of the coffee table. It was a tiny, paper village that looked in on itself. If I gave it a name, I don't remember what it was. I never imagined people or weather or anything; it was just a tiny place I created and I was so pleased with it. My mother let me keep it up for a day or two. I think my father yelled at me about the tape on the wood. Either that or he never said anything about it.

It's strange how both of those memories seem equally likely. I tend to talk a lot when there's silence because in my experience, silence is always a prelude to something worse. I can never decide which was worse: the silence that usually lingered in public family spaces with my dad or the constant, angry din of my step-father. I suppose there is no sonic safe space for me. This probably explains why I cling to music in which silence and not-silence live in harmony with one another--nay, depend on one another to make sense.

While Paper Village was around, my mother was always on the couch. She worked as a page at one of the libraries and, coupled with lack of calories, she had nothing to give by the time she came home.

Like I said, I'm not sure if her strange encouragement was real or if it just took too much energy for her to give anything but positive reinforcement. Engaging with her children would have taken more than she had to give because she was too busy eating herself alive, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Or maybe she just allowed other things to eat at her and all she had to do was lay there and suffer.

I can empathize. To an extent. I know that feeling, wanting to be consumed from the inside out.

We inherit our parents's trauma although we'll never fully understand it.

I hated my last nurse practitioner from the outpatient behavioral realm of the hospital. I just expected more of her and instead I heard the same things over and over again when it came to self-mutilation: "You did it to feel alive."

I don't think that's true. I don't think that's true for either me or my mother. "Alive" is to simple a thing to describe wanting to be eaten whole. There is disconnection between the mind and the body, the space between my brain and my body and my thoughts become universe-wide gaps and I'd be gasping for air in the vacuum of space and I just needed something, something, something to tether me back.

So, perhaps I shouldn't hate her for using a shorthand for something she cannot begin to fathom.

Except for that stupid, trite plaque that was painted teal and proclaimed in white, curvy letters: Success is not for the lazy.

Never mind. I still hate her.

I can't remember if my mother was laying on the couch when she told me that one day I'd write the "next great American novel." It certainly happened before the age of 10. And I certainly remember thinking, "Nope."

I stopped drawing my comics after she became excited and entertained ideas of me publishing my work. It was silly. A lot of my comics featured a cat who was a superhero and who saved the world from silly things like a slushie floods (blue raspberry-flavored because I have and always will hate that flavor). She said I should write a full story and illustrate it. She suggested a tour of Egypt since I was into Egyptology at the time. I was excited. I drew. I wrote. It wasn't great. I was 8 or 9, why would it be? I showed it to her. She then said that I had to work harder because it wasn't good enough.

Ah, there we are. A more-than-likely formative moment.

I stopped drawing the cat. I stopped drawing the comics. If I drew, I kept things to myself. It was easier. I kept my writing to myself. Then, at the age of 14 or 15, after my stepfather searched my room "for drugs," both my mother and he had me sit down because they'd found all the notebooks I'd hidden. They yelled. They demanded to know what all of it meant. I was 14 or 15. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

My propensity for coming up with overwrought and over-thought explanations for things isn't an accident. Well, not entirely one of pure ontological origin. They wanted to know what I was doing, what it all meant. It meant nothing except I'd created it.

But it wasn't enough. There had to be more! There was meaning underneath all of it! An abnormal psych college textbook was omnipresent in our home. While it sat on the bookshelf, it loomed over me while both of them demanded to know what it all meant!

"Yes, hello?" Present Me answers, exasperated with the amount of phone calls I've been forced to deal with lately. "Oh, it's just you. Go back to the 1940s, psychoanalytics."

But I was 14 or 15 so the next day, my face still red and my mind still detached from my body, I put all of my notebooks and sketchbooks in my backpack and discretely trashed them all in a school dumpster.

There is still a tinge of pain in heart whenever I think of a pink journal I had with an orange kitten on it, looking up at me from the trash. I remember thinking to myself, "This has to be done."

I am good at doing what needs to be done.

So, you've never asked, but it wasn't like I never wanted to be a writer and/or artist.

I just didn't want to say any of the things I've written aloud.

Because sometimes I think about the Paper Village and the pink journal with the orange kitten on it and it's too much. I'm starting to tear up even now. I'm just infinitely adaptable. I've got a mind that is passably good at most school subjects but not quite what anyone wants. I hit that wall with the PhD program. I'd been found out for the fraud I am. "Go back to your Paper Village!" is what I scream at myself when I wonder if my adviser sabotaging my quals was something everyone agreed to. "Ash is a fraud. Put out the hit." Except it doesn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that didn't quite eat me whole but left me a pile of ashes.

But then I remember all the times I'd tried getting back into art, taking an art class here and there in college, and thinking, "But they know I'm a fraud too!"  And I imagine everyone gathering around in a much more atmospheric location for clandestine meetings and agreeing, "Ash Brandt? She talks about her Zoology classes during Drawing I. We can't have this. She's far too interested in Biology for this. Put out the hit."

And it didn't happen quick and bloody. It happened slow and snotty and with a fire that left me mostly burned, licking my wounds all the way to a Liberal Arts, BA because I could never get anything right.

Or, this is all bullshit I put together because, if anything, I know how to tell a good story.

Until next week.

[avannak]

Hi every time. I watch httyd 2 And watch the bonding with mum scenes I just feel very unsatisfied because if that was my mum I don't think I would be so easily at comfort with her. Don't get me wrong I actually really like valka but I feel like the moment valka would try to give him some advice he would be like " you don't know me you've been gone for 20 years" or something along that line.

I get that. To be honest, when it was all speculation for HTTYD2 I was really looking forward to some strife there. In the very early stages of learning that Valka would be a part of HTTYD2, I went wild with conflict scenarios, which you can see in the beginning of my #valka tag.

Hell, even before HTTYD2 and I only knew of Valhallarama from the books, my movie turnover version of her involved a woman who Hiccup had vague childhood memories of – most noticeably her absence. A woman who chose to stay away because of a passion and a personal purpose, which Hiccup would find as reason enough to hold some resentment for her (bear in mind, I still love Valhal’s representation of mothers). Hilariously, though I had plenty of drama posts about it, this also helped develop Arrested Hooligans, giving Hiccup and his returned mother a Micheal/Lucille vibe.

But that wasn’t the case here. Valka absence was explained by something Hiccup could relate to so well it was almost painful. And that’s on top of the fact that he was really starting to struggle with who he was, and who he should become, once more. He had to take the next terrifying step into an unknown future but he still had a hundred uncertainties, particularly about himself, holding him back. Meeting his mother, having so many of those questions answered, was a much needed salve.

And here’s the thing - Hiccup’s not really a bitter person. Or, rather, if he can somehow personally relate, he’ll find forgiveness. And Hiccup, better than anyone, would understand why Val made the choices she made, and the pain and isolation she experienced, and the bitterness towards Berk, and the hopelessness and the cage of it all and the depression… Hell, he was going to do the same thing. The “it was better for everyone” – not just himself, but for everyone, loved ones and dragons alike – if he had taken his unnaturalness, his unvikingness, and left. It took Astrid, the olive branch, and a fast-paced unveiling of the war, to get him to stay.

Do not mistake Hiccup embracing the idea of having his mother back in his life, and listening to her, and being willing to learn from her, as Hiccup forgiving her absence, no strings attached. He understands and empathizes why she stayed away – better than anyone else in the world, perhaps – but he also understands the consequences. For example, how his father suffered. 

In fact, now that I’m here talking about it, I started to wonder how it was possible that Hiccup didn’t really know anything about his mother. Then I realized that Stoick spent most of Hiccup’s life worried. Worried that Hiccup was just like his mother. Worried that his odd ways and ideas wouldn’t prepare him to face a dragon in battle, as had happened to Valka. He didn’t want to encourage Hiccup to be strange, he didn’t want what Hiccup knew of his mother to be tarnished by the village’s opinion of her, so he probably avoided speaking of her altogether.

But then everything changed. With dragon nature revealed and vikings working in tandem with the peaceful beasts, Stoick may have started to slip little sentences like “you’re so like your mother, she would have loved this…” which started to put Hiccup’s heritage back to the forefront of his mind, questions he stopped asking in childhood returned, and suddenly he’s on top of Itchy Armpit mentioning not knowing his mother to his fiancé.

Bah, either way, even if Antag!Valka was a thing, Hiccup still would have been willing to listen and learn from her. That she wasn’t, and that she was so relatable to him (on an extreme spectrum opposite of what he shares with his father), he was more than willing. He’s not going to deny himself a family, or a mother, particularly one with a wealth of information he’s desperate for (not to mention seeing how happy his father was). Despite that, I still like to imagine that caution remains, and that Hiccup can still see her flaws clearly, and that there will be moments, or situations, when all is said in done, that he pulls away.

[justarturo]

Farewell to the first man I truly loved.

Sometime ago, 5 years or so, I started an internship in the HR deparment in a globally known toothpaste company. It was my first job ever and as an anxious person it was really challenging for me to adapt and evolve at the begining of this trip. However I was blessed with 3 wonderful people. People who I love so much until today.

My boss, an estoic, serious, but loving man; his best friend, a fierce, powerful, stubborn woman who craved love and understanding from others, and their other best friend. A childish, kind of goofy, confident man. They were 47, 48 and 33 years old respectively, I was 20. Huge age gap, however we became truly good friends.

My boss, who I will refer as J, was my role model, we clicked on immediately and worked as perfect as any of those swiss clocks they mention in movies. We were an odd pairing. I was a hardworking, anxious, emotionally vulnerable young man, he was an emotionally distant, kind of lax and lazy adult, however as the only members of our team, we delivered some of the best results the area had gotten in years. We were truly a team, and thats how we became friends, and in some way our relationship evolved in work father-work son.

My female friend, who I will refer as Y. Was my confident and ally inside the HR department. She was the administrative assistant and I, as the HR intern, had to work very close to her. We shared secrets, gossip, defend each other in the line of duty and gave each other strength. And up to today, I can tell you with certainty we still do.

My other friend, whose name is V, was introduced to me by the other two people mentioned. At first he didn’t belong to HR but to Supply Chain, however he welcomed me to the company as if he had already known each other for years. I was dazzled by him. His personality, although a little childish, was confident and secure and that truly did a number in me. I decided We should become friends, no, best friends, no, the best of best friends. He was not shy, he was not quiet, he was everything I was not. As he wasn’t in the HR department, it took me a little longer to get to know him better, but after a couple of months, we started to become best buds. And with the company of Y and J, I felt as if I had belonged, not only to the company, but to the group since forever. Truly one of the happiest times of my life.

When I was with V, we laughed, helped each other, we cried, we talked honestly (or so I thought) we shared meals, even when we kind of argue, we would shake it off in no time. Now i know I loved him, I still do, at least the first facet of him I knew.

At the time I had not even came to terms with mt sexual orientation, and I did not consider myself a gay man. Buried deep inside my unconscious I knew I liked men, however this had been a personal struggle I had chosen to repress since I was 17. But when I was with V I did not even had to try to come to terms I was just happy to be close to this awesome man i admire so much and be good friends to each other. I was so happy when he told me his wife was pregnant. I truly was excited, he desired so much to become a father that when that wish started to become reality I was so happy for him. I met his wife at his birthday and loved her, I even remember thinking! OMG she is so nice and smart, we have so many thins in common. Now I dont know if thats good or not. U decide.

For almost two years I was the happiest and most hardworking boy inside the company, but then my worst nightmare came to life, I was moved from HR to Customer Development (Sales) deparment. I was crushed. I missed being J’s right hand, my job, my tasks, my projects, etc. J, Y and V were still my friends but I felts as if something had been ripped from my heart. I got depressed and anxious, I had at least one Panic attack per day, followed by several deppresion episodes, in which I would cry inside a meeting room, hidden frim everyone else. J and Y were so supportive and understanding, they even cried with me. But V was not. He could not empathize with couldn’t or wouldn’t. He claimed that everything was fine and I should be thankful and shake those concerns of mine off of me. He tried to make me happy with presents and meals, but I was truly truly sad. The thing that upset me the most was that a few days before my “promotion” he attended my college graduation with Y. He was so happy for me, he hugged me so hard and I remember hugging him so hard too. I felt so safe. He even bought me an Apple Watch as graduation present. He spent at least 10 Thousand mexican pesos, which is not cheap, to buy me that present. To be fair, his family is loaded, but still, its a lot, he could have simply bought me dinner or some clothes, but he decided to buy me the recently announced Apple Watch. I still have it btw, I treasure it as the last piece of our relationship.

After I was promted everything went spyralling, and we kinda grew apart. He tried to make me happy but failed to acknowledge my pain, I refused to let him try to make me forget and move on, and failed to acknowledge his attempts of helping me. We started to argue more and more often about stupid shit. Truly. We are both, prideful stubborn guys. And that really started to mess up our friendship. At the time I started to notice this very attractive lad in the Marketing deparment named F. I was truly infatuated by his appereance. He was truly a 9 in the hotness meter, and decided to get closer to him. Opened up about my orientation to two other friends outside the company, but decided to keep it hidden from J, Y and V, and truly anyone else. I asked this guy out even tho I knew he was in a relatonship at the time. Luckily for me, he was an asshole, so I just moved on. Soon I decided to quit the company as I was truly and deeply depressed. J and Y although sad, were supportive, but V was truly not. He got mad, we argued several days in a row, he said I was being stupid and a lot more shit. The week before my departure, we had came to terms, or so it seemed and chatting it slipped that I liked the F dude and that I had asked him out. Shockingly for me, he was TRULY supportive, he said that it was ok, that There was not anything wrong with me and he was glad I’d told him. It shocked me because he came from a very traditional catholic family, who usually mock gay, women, etc. You know.... catholics.... anyway. I thought this would help us to still be close or even closer after I left the company. However it did not change the fact we grew apart

After I left V started to avoid long whatsapp conversations, long phonecalls, dinner plans with Y, J and me, and if he accepted to attend, he would usually be quite passive agressive and throwing shade to my decisions and current life outside the company. As I was depressed I did not even fight against or for him. I just let it go until One day In a casual conversation he said “i was sad, but now I’m over you”. It hit me like a bomb. First this comment made me realize how much I loved him, truly, and discover how much I craved him in my life. Not only as my friend, but as a man in my life. Second it deeply saddened me to discover this as he hAd discovered he was no longer interested in having a deep connection with me. It was then I knew we were like a couple. An emotionally built couple. We had built a relationship between him and me that was as intense and meaningful as any of my other friends with their respective partners. There was nothing sexual about it, at least not consciously, but we loved each other. Sadly, it was not an authentic love, it was a possesive selfish kind of love.

Nowadays we talk twice a year top. Sometimes I miss him more, some other times I’m able just to remember to what once was and what could have been without hurting much, as I have evolved now to a more mature and empowered paychologist with a clear pad for my personal and professional life. I do not regret leaving the company, I only regret that we could never speak up and open up and letting him now I wasn’t quitting on him. Maybe it could have been different if I had. Nowadays, I’m somewhat afraid to let people in and to try to build and seek for a relationship with other man, because it truly hurts looking back. And hopefully writing about this will help me give closure to the V & A never happened relationship and ruined friendship.

I loved him. I think I still do, but I love myself more.

Ps. Forget my spelling and grammar as the post advances, My eyes were a little watery when I got deeper into my memories.

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/jeffrey-dean-morgan-negan-walking-deads-return/

Jeffrey Dean Morgan on Negan and 'Walking Dead's' return

Jeffrey Dean Morgan has always been a very busy actor, but as 2015 came to a close, his career warped into light speed hyperdrive. Most fans remember him fondly from his twelve episodes on "Supernatural" playing John Winchester, but while he was shooting the CW record-breaking show, Morgan was also filming "Grey's Anatomy." Both shows put him on the map where fans would recognize him. He frustrated "Supernatural" fans as the Winchester Brothers never could seem to unravel all of their father's secrets, but who could resist that grin? You'd think that would have been reaching the pinnacle of his success, but that was only just the beginning that kept Morgan busy becoming that guy you sometimes got confused with actor Javier Bardem. His luck was getting better as he landed quite the juicy role on the New York set of "The Good Wife" where he played Alicia Florrick's funloving cad who loved flashing that devilish grin at his co-star Julianna Margulies. He was on that series for nineteen episodes, but things were changing as AMC's huge hit show came calling for him to play the over the top bad guy Negan. During his "Good Wife" time he was also jetting down to the Georgia to sink his teeth into that pure evil role for the Season 6 finale of "The Walking Dead." Not to mention getting acquainted with Lucy. After years of fans wondering who would play the role, Morgan had landed Negan, that grinning, swaggering bully who, with his co-dependent worker bees, began terrorizing Rick Grimes (series star Andrew Lincoln) and his crew. While Morgan didn't know who he would be killing, he knew that it would be a "Walking Dead" favorite meeting their end at the end of Lucy, Negan's barbed wire wrapped baseball bat. That scene was a two-night shoot, but the producers weren't about to film who was killed this early in the game as it was of utmost secrecy...although it did slip out before the premiere which we had to report. It wasn't until May 2016, when Season 7 production started (just four weeks after that season horrifying Season 6 cliffhanger) when they were back filming that same bloody night did Morgan learn of the shocking reveal. He knew that he would be getting hate mail and plenty of online hate once it aired. Then 17 million fans watched the Season 7 premiere to witness two of their most loved characters, Abraham and Glenn, get their skulls pounded beyond recognition. The reaction was as expected and then some as many felt the show had gone too far. The scene with Glenn's eye was extremely gruesome, even for "The Walking Dead." The producers said they needed to establish Negan as one hardcore nasty guy that could tear tough guys, Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon, down to levels they'd never felt before. This one scene divided fans, and they are still split on their feeling of Negan. Some feel he's too cartoonish now, while others can't find themselves wanting to hate Sam and Dean Winchester's father. Some "Supernatural" fans aren't ready to let go of Dean Winchester yet. Ratings have dropped since the premiere episode with some wanting Negan gone, but for that group, Morgan's going to be around for a while yet to keep the carnage going. Producers have said the violence won't be as extreme coming back, but it's not just the violence that makes Negan's actions so uncomfortable. Playing such a polarizing character can be a blessing for the actor who plays him, but it can be mixed. "There are people out there who hate my guts, and I hear from them, too," says Morgan with that knowing laugh in a recent interview. "But overwhelmingly the fans have welcomed me as a part of this weird, dysfunctional family. "The relationship this show has with its fans," he adds, "is unlike anything I've experienced before." Morgan officially began acting in the early 1990's, but he's not forgotten his very first role and the struggle that all actors go through on their way to landing that role that changes your life. "It was in third grade, and it was a fairytale, the guy that falls asleep forever ... I remember I played the character that was asleep the whole time. I was the big leader of the show, mind you. But I spent the whole time lying on the floor asleep. It was awesome. That was first little theater thing in third grade. A friend of mine, Billy Burke, was my roommate in Seattle for a big portion of my life, and he's an actor—he was in all of the Twilight movies, and now he's on something called Zoo—and he was doing a movie in Seattle, I think it was the late '80s, and I was an extra as his best friend. That was my first time on a movie set. I had no intention of being an actor ever. I was an artist—I fancied myself an artist—I sold paintings at bars to pay my rent. And then four years later, I moved to Los Angeles and met a casting director named Eliza [Roberts] and went from there. Then I spent 20 years struggling trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to make a living and feed my dog. And now we're doing okay. Now we're Negan." He's played many memorable characters on tv shows that got fans worked up. John Winchester had so many secrets, some "Supernatural" fans and critics would get rather frustrated trying to figure out exactly what he was about. Morgan is still such a fan favorite that "Supernatural" Executive Producer Andrew Dabb let it be known that John Winchester could return to Sam and Dean's world. “I don’t really worry about that because by the time he comes back, I’m sure [Supernatural] will have been on for 20 seasons at that point, and The Walking Dead will be long over,” he says with a laugh before noting that “Jeffrey’s an amazing actor… He plays such a great bad guy. But at the same time… if you give him really good material, he can go back to being someone we know and love and someone we can empathize with. “I have full faith in him as an actor,” the EP adds, “and I’m excited to see [him return as John] if it ever comes to pass.” Since he's played his share of villains, some people have forgotten that he's also played many good guy roles too. "If you look at my résumé, I've more often than not played a very solid, decent human being. I've got back-to-back things that are super villainous right now with Desierto and this. I love playing a villain. I think that there's something freeing about that, and it's a different kind of challenge. More than anything, for me as an actor, it's about challenging myself and doing as many different things as I can. I don't know that I feel comfortable playing a villain; as a matter of fact I probably don't feel comfortable, which is why I like it so much. It's just an opportunity to try something different. And Negan, in particular, is unlike any character I've ever played. I don't ever look at these guys as villains per se; I always try to figure out, I wouldn't say the justification of them, but look for the reasons that Negan is Negan. I have to understand that, otherwise I don't think it works if I just play him as a bad guy—I think that's pretty one note and it would be boring for you as a viewer, and it wouldn't be that fun for me to play. So I just try to get into that character's skin as much as I can, and understand why he is who he is. Negan is a trip though, man. He's a brutal son of a bitch, but there are also parts about him that I find kind of endearing. We'll see if the audience responds to it. I think that the first episode is going to be rough, and people aren't going to be real fond of me or Negan, and I think as time wears on and you get to know him a little bit more and understand his way of thinking, there could be a shift in that. Maybe they'll love to hate him as opposed to just hating him." His many credits include love-her-and-leave-her freelance gumshoe Jason Crouse on "The Good Wife," a memorable stint on "Supernatural," two seasons as the harried Miami hotel mogul on "Magic City," and - keeping "Grey's Anatomy" devotees sobbing - as Izzie's bedridden lover who was desperately awaiting a heart transplant. Not one of these roles prepared him for "The Walking Dead" fan base. "It's a life-changing experience," says Morgan, who comes across much like you would expect with an easygoing manner and quite the magnetic smile. "I can't walk down the street anymore. I got to look in my rear-view mirror to make sure I'm not being followed home. Now, that's all part of my reality." Morgan was quick to learn that "Walking Dead" family can work as tightly, sometimes ever better than, the CIA when it comes to keeping things under wraps down in the depths of Georgia. "Everything," he marvels, "is shrouded in secrecy. We kind of live in a bubble. I hang out a lot with Reedus—Norman—we spend a lot of time together. Literally, we go to a fucking gas station in the middle of nowhere and within three minutes of us stopping to get gas, a couple of phone calls that people make, and there's 100 people blocking us, and we can't get out. We take pictures with everyone, and I've never seen anything quite like that. That being said, we do live in a bubble, as long as we keep our motorcycle helmets on and go about our business. " Since Morgan knew he was entering a very tight-knit cast that would soon be minus two major ones, he also knew there would be a shift in the dynamic upon his arrival. "Obviously, they're such a tight cast, and we've all heard stories about it and read about it for the last six years—even I had heard it was like that—and they certainly are. I knew that immediately walking in, and knowing what I'm about to do, there was a little bit of separation at first, but it was very brief. I can't tell you how great this cast is as far as bringing me into the fold, regardless of what my character has done and done to this show. They've totally embraced me and been nothing but supportive, on and off camera. Look, we've had some hard times—just as actors it's been hard—and I understand that there's been a great deal of pain for these guys as people. They're losing a friend that's been with them for a long fucking time. So it was a hard time initially, at first especially, and this year we've had some speed bumps as far as that kind of stuff. But I'll tell you, as soon as we say cut, there's lots of hugs going around for everybody, and we've managed to get through it. But it was a little a weird going in initially when I didn't know anybody really. I was careful not to be a dick, I guess. [laughs] Like, "Don't say anything inappropriate, Jeff." Now I can be inappropriate and tell jokes, and it's fine, but I was careful going in, because it was a fragile time for everybody, and I was very aware of it." That one horrific kill scene that Negan strutting and brandishing his bat, "Lucille," as he taunted Grimes and company with "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe": Each character was separately filmed being kill which was to help keep the "real" victim's identity a big secret, according to Morgan. Morgan learned that "The Walking Dead" producers also enjoy the art of misinformation too, "we leaked footage of me killing Maggie," whose quite vibrant and ready to take over. "That's a lot of time and effort to go through to try to save your story. But the cast and crew, they're all used to living in this world. "There's a real sense of family when you go through an experience like this," Morgan says. "It's why the cast is so tight. We put ourselves in this bubble while we're shooting - and while we're NOT shooting. Even now, I have to watch every word I say. I'm still not used to that." Speaking of family, have you felt Norman's pranks yet? [laughs] "No. Little stuff, but that's really the two of them, Andy [Lincoln] and Norman. I drive a motorcycle, and Norman will respect the motorcycle more than anything else. We're more in cahoots than anything else at this point, although I do kind of feel bad for Andy. I feel like I need to get Andy's back and help him get Norman at least once real good." Like many actors coming on the show, Morgan was a huge fan of the "Walking Dead" comics as well so he was well-versed in Negan before he even knew he'd be part of the family. "I'd watched the show for years. It was one of the few shows that I would DVR and pay attention to; I've been working so much the last few years that I don't watch anything very regularly, but that was one of them. I've also been involved in lots of comic book stuff; I've done numerous films based on comic books and TV shows. I remember five years ago when they had written the role of Negan—when [Robert] Kirkman first introduced Negan in the comic books—I was at a Comic-Con actually, I think it was in San Diego, when somebody came up to me and said, "Have you seen Kirkman's new book?" I said, "No," and they said, "There's this character Negan. You should be Negan." Probably three or four months later, I actually did pick up a copy of The Walking Dead comic book, which at that point I hadn't read; I had only followed the show. I picked up the introduction of Negan and thought, "Oh yeah, that would be fun to play." Cut to five years later, I was doing The Good Wife and got a call one night from my agent who said, "The Walking Dead is offering you the role of a villain." I said, "Well, what's his name?" And they were like, "You know, they won't tell us, it's a secret." And I knew immediately—I knew because I watched the show and knew where we were—and I'm like, "It's fucking Negan! And I'm going to fucking do it." [laughs] And really that was it. Then it was just about working that last episode last year into the schedule that I was doing on The Good Wife, and clearing a couple of days so I could go do it. We managed to do that and now here we are." Many fans still don't realize that Negan's backstory is he was a high school teacher and ping-pong coach. "That's right. That changed; Kirkman originally had said he was a used car salesman previous to the zombie apocalypse, and that made sense to me too. Then after I was cast, Kirkman decided he would do a kind of prequel—Negan's life before the apocalypse hit—with a little background on him. He became this PE teacher and ping-pong coach, married to a woman named Lucille, and it gave a good foundation for me to work on. I kind of like the ping-pong coach aspect; it somehow fits, and I don't know how because Negan is a weird character, but it fits." "I find him fascinating," Morgan says. "The most important thing to realize is how smart he is. That's easy to forget, because you see him come on with his bravado and the smart-ass quips. But whatever you're thinking, he's already two steps ahead of you. He's always poking at your rib cage and wearing that grin. Remember those assholes in high school? He's that guy! But on this show, you can't run home to mama. "He's a larger-than-life character," Morgan sums up with pleasure. "Still, at some point, Negan's gonna have to get his head cracked by Rick. I can't say when, or how, or even if I know. But he's gonna HAVE to!" This really makes Morgan light up as he knows it's going to be a killer scene to shoot shrouded in plenty of "Walking Dead" secrecy.

Movie TV Tech Geeks News

[theliterateape]

Sixty Is Hard to Accept

by David Fink

Every time I turn an age ending in a zero, I write an essay about lessons of the decade. I wrote one at 30 and, unfortunately, I didn’t save a copy.  I wrote another at 40 and I don’t have a copy of that one either.  I do have the one I wrote at 50.  In brief, 20s was about making tons of mistakes and trying to figure out who I am. 30s was picking a direction and eliminating things that don’t work for me.  40s was about changing directions and trying to avoid becoming bitter.  This is really simplifying those pieces, but you can read a version of the essay I wrote at 50 at https://www.literateape.com/blog/contributor/avoiding-being-defined-by-the-aging-process.

Sixty.  It’s hard for me to accept. When I was a kid, 60 sounded so old.  Sixty meant grandparents, retirement, nearing the end of life.  But what do kids know? In reality, I believe that I haven’t yet peaked. On the other hand, life is not a continuous upward journey nor a plummet. Every decade has benefits and challenges.  Hopefully, one of the achievements of aging is acquiring more clarity and understanding of life.  After some thought, here are a few things I learned about life in my 50s.

My first big realization is the value of joy.  I used to think pleasure was not something you should seek. It might even be a sin. It is temporary and unsustainable and superficial. I have always felt moments of happiness but I would let them pass by and move on. Maybe I didn’t fully appreciate it. In my 50s, I tried to bask in those moments of pleasure as there is value in recognizing joy and naming what brought it.  If you can identify a few things that incite joy, you are more likely to live fully in the moment when they happen and maybe recreate the feeling when you need to be uplifted.  Friends have told me big and small things that bring them joy: spending time with friends and family, having sexual experiences, driving on a newly surfaced road, peeing when you really need to pee, wearing a new article of clothing, experiencing a great performance or piece of art, immersing yourself in literature that really speaks to you, checking off the final item on a “to do” list, and laughing spontaneously.  Some smells that bring me joy are the ocean, coffee, or freshly baked brownies-- an endless number of things can bring each of us elation.  Some personal examples: sharing food with someone I love (romantic or, more commonly, platonic,) having a new experience, traveling, feeling sun on my face during an unseasonably warm fall or winter day, playing with my dog, and singing (especially with others.) Creating something of which I’m proud as part of a team (The Acorn Theater and Outspoken are two of my favorites,) writing an essay or a story that I think is good, and a sincere compliment, even if I deflect it, makes me happy.  

Try to notice and remember these moments in your life. There are so many negative things that happen all the time, so be mindful not to let them obscure the good things.

Another way to feel better is to master self-care through creating boundaries and limits with certain people.  I began to learn about emotionally protecting myself as a teen when some of my angst-filled hormone-riddled friends would talk to me about their sorrow.  I began learning to listen and empathize but not to get sucked into their drama (I was also angst-filled and hormone-riddled.) Most of the drama was about parental ignorance or adolescent crushes. I’m glad I’m far away from those teen-age mood swings. However, through them, I started to learn about creating boundaries, but I still had a long way to go.  

It wasn’t until my 50s that I had to force myself to avoid relationships with extremely toxic people because they caused me pain. I often joke that I had a feeling once, didn’t like it, and never had one again. But that is not true.  I have a lot of feelings.  I often mask them using sarcasm or humor. Sometimes I will express them through words alone saying that something is funny as opposed to laughing.  I rarely cry, though my eyes tear easily. 

Men in particular avoid acknowledging having feelings. In our culture, men often mask their emotion because feelings are considered feminine or weak. Even though I know this, when I work on a personal story, I often need to be coached into including my emotions. It is unusual for me to communicate my feelings to others but when I do, it is sincere and open. It is also a clear indication that I trust you and I’m willing to be vulnerable around you.

I have empathy for others. I’ve lost a parent and many friends and relatives, ended relationships, been bullied, and survived trauma. This empathy has allowed me to be manipulated into trying to fulfil the needs and wants of others. During my teenage years, no one was trying to harm me.  In my 50s, I have known people who have shown gaslighting, addiction, narcissism, and sociopathology who did things that could actually damage me.  My relationships with these people were already established and our lives were enmeshed before I saw this behavior so cutting them off often was not an option. I cannot forgive malignant behavior. Sometimes people will deliberately try to deceive me and if I suspect what they say is untrue, I’ll file it away in my memory until I can confirm that it was a lie.  Once that happens, the liar has forever lost my trust. My relationship with such a person will be significantly limited and will only have interactions that do not require trust.  

Compartmentalization is a hard lesson and I have a lot of battle scars, but in the end, my travails gave me strength.  I continue to learn healthy ways to interact with predatory damaged people-lessons I will continue to learn and use as long as I live.  I pay attention to behavior as well as words and when I am confident a person is deceitful or conniving, I get to decide how close that person can get to me emotionally.  

Many non-toxic people in my life come to me with distress. Sometimes I absorb and then release their pain. I am learning to recognize that I cannot cure all that ails others, and when necessary, to separate emotionally from their issues.  It is often a struggle to do this but worth the effort.  One of the challenges is separating with firmness and kindness, instead of anger. I put this into practice when I ended my twenty two year long relationship. However, if I think you are a true friend and ally, I will do almost anything for you. I will speak with honesty and vulnerability.  I am far from perfect and will continue to recognize and work on improving myself without wasting energy on problems I can’t fix.  

The last thing I want to talk about are thoughts concerning G-d.  I have spent a lot of time pondering this.  For me, G-d is an energy that connects us.  I have experienced so many coincidences that I stopped believing there is such a thing as a coincidence. Things that happen yet don’t make scientific sense I renamed G-d.  

Medically, my mother should not have lived past the age of 30.  Yet, she is living a full life at 84. She got to see me turn 60. Living to see a child reach this milestone is a rarity in my family. 

I introduced two friends of mine who are mothers and within a short time, in front of me, they discovered they share the same sperm donor, so their kids are half siblings. 

 I believe there is actually no such thing as a stranger.  Only people who haven’t figured out how they’re connected.  G-d is what connects our planet.  I once met someone in Europe who asked if I knew a Wendy in the United States.  As it turned out, I did know that specific Wendy.   

Now, does G-d care what I believe? G-d doesn’t care. What really matters to G-d is how a person behaves.  And if this is not true and you behave graciously in fear of judgement, well, that’s ok.  The results are positive.  

Speaking of G-d, I was raised Jewish and there are parts of the Jewish culture that I think are particularly helpful.  One is that it teaches you not only how to mourn, but also for how long and how to stop mourning.  Deep mourning lasts for a month except for the loss of a parent which lasts about 11 months. I like the idea I learned from my culture to not only mourn a loss but to honor the deceased.  I think of my father and other loved ones who are no longer with us and try to honor their memories by thinking of them, talking about them, lighting a candle in their honor, or making a donation to a charity with them in mind.  

My other favorite part of Judaism is the concept and value of “tikkun olam,” which means it is everyone’s obligation to repair the world.  We live in a broken place and we must all try to and heal and fix it.  

The idea of G-d, at the very least, no matter what your religion, should let you know there are more important things than just you.  It should give you hope when there is no other hope. Finally, it should get you to behave in a manner that is good for society.  

One of my nightly prayers is to recognize my gifts and use them to make the world a better place.  I hope to give more than I take in my limited time on this planet.  Thinking about it nightly helps me to make better choices. I try to treat people with kindness while remaining firm in protecting my emotional self.  I live in the moment and embrace and appreciate feelings of joy and pleasure. I try to find pleasure when it will benefit my spirit. And I try to act like I’m part of a community by contributing and nurturing while also accepting nurturing when offered.  Now, let’s see what I learn and how I can continue to grow in my 60s.

[justanotheranimal]

Staying

Hmmmm I feel like the longer I stay in, the less you want me. You defend him so much. You say he's a friend and I understand that. But I can't even think of one time I've ever picked another girl before you. Edible Arrangements, I asked, you said no, I stopped there. My exes, I said thanks, take care, I stopped there. My classmates, let's go bar hopping, I said no thanks, I got a phone date with my girlfriend tonight (even though I didn't because you were out with your friends). Why do I even try anymore? I get it, he's a friend. But you have failed to see everything that I've done for you. If he's so important to you, then you should just leave me out of your life.

You say you don't know why I'm hurting. You're blind. We've been together for this long and you can't tell? The way I talk to you, the way we text, the way I ask to call you or how many times I try to talk to you. Yet, you say that I just brush you off and that I don't care. You're so selfish that you cant even see how much I'm hurting because I'm trying to make things a little better for you. I'm honestly growing tired. I love you so much, but I think we're beyond the point where simply "loving" each other can save us. You just don't understand. Think for a second how you would feel if we got into an argument about a girl. Then the next day you see on my social media that I've deleted almost every picture of us. But wait, you can't do that. You're not exactly one to empathize or sympathize for someone else. You're not one that accepts fault ever. There's always someone else to blame. I'm raising my voice or I'm talking to you in a way I shouldn't be. Even if I used a nice tone and nice words, you'd still fail to accept fault. I always told you that your pride will get in the way. And I truly believe that it will. Maybe not with us. You think you've had a hard life, well your life is only beginning.

How many times have I asked for your attention? How many unanswered questions have I asked? How much time did I give up just to talk to you? How many times do I try to talk to you even with my busy schedule? You claim you're busy. Yeah. Your 8 hour days with an hour lunch. Try 6 day weeks from before sunrise to after sunset. Try that with knowing that your significant other is sad and wants your attention. Then after doing everything you can for them, they turn around and tell you that theyre still sad. Then to top it all off, she tells me that she called other guys. I don't even remember the last time I talked to another girl on the phone. Why? Because I don't think you'd be happy to hear me tell you that I called another girl and told her that we should catch up and hang out sometime. Especially when you've been trying to talk to me and set up a date for a few weeks now. And yes, I said a few weeks. You're so busy and so inattentive that you don't even know I ask you for date nights. It's sad really. That's why I'm sad. I get it, long distance is hard. But you're not the only one affected by it.

You tell me that we spend more time with my friends and family than I do with yours. Bullshit. I've spent more time with your father than I did with my dogs, family, and my own friends. I try to do your brothers stupid little group every week even with how little time I have. I went to visit your mom with you even though I was exhausted and really didn't want to see her. And your stupid business? I put hours into that just so I could help you. And what do I get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing but an argument because you thought I was attacking your character. What kind of bullshit is that? You want to run a business but you cant handle criticism. Well, my bad for wanting you to be successful. For wanting to help you. For not wanting you to do it alone.

The longer I stay in this relationship, the more I feel unappreciated. You fail to see how much I put it. And yes, you try and put in some effort, but not nearly as much as I do. I'm so confident in saying that, that I'll tell you to your face.

And what happened to, "I'll go to church this Sunday." "I'll call you when I get home." "I'll let you know when I'm done." Lol why don't you just go back and read all those times you told me you'd do something, but you didn't? Yeah it seems petty, but let's be honest. It doesn't fucking take much to send one text, to dial a phone number, to take one hour out of your week for church. And lately you haven't even been picking up my calls when you're driving. Your car has Bluetooth. And I can't think of anytime where I didn't answer when I was driving. I didn't give a damn who I was with, I'd always pick up and let you know if I have to go.

Everyday I wait for you to get off work to talk to you. I can't remember the last time you called me first. I can't remember the last time you tried to text me. I knowing for fucking sure that if I didn't text you in the morning that you wouldn't even text me. I guarantee it.

So what makes me want to stay? I'm lonely. I feel like I'm tossed aside. Im exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'm broken. I'm hurting. I feel like I'm a second option for you. You say that you hate the fact that I could be gone for 20 years, but you never gave me a chance. I'm telling you that it's not that bad, but what do I know? You never listen to me. From day one, you never listened.

So again I ask, why do I stay?

Because I made a commitment to you. And right now, my promises to you are the only things that keep me from walking away.

I'm beyond love now. It's not pity. It's not fear of having to start over with someone new. It's not because I'm scared of being lonely...

It's because I made a promise that I intend to keep, no matter how much hurt you put me through. And you? You tell me that I'm the perfect guy for you and the "man you want to spend the rest of your life with." If this is how it feels to be "that man," then honestly, I'm not sure I want that. But I'm foolish enough to want it. I guess that means it isn't you're fault that I feel like this, but mine.

[coolbluebirdtimetravel-blog]

An influential person in my life essay The Most Influential Person in My Life Essay Example for Free

Since an early age my mom and my father decided that living together was not the best for our family. The Most Influential Person in My Life Essay. Get custom essay sample written according to your requirements. My father is quite person who dedicate all his life studying and achieving all his goals, He is a professional engineer who actually work in a big company in fort Lauderdale . At first understanding their problem was not easy for me, but thanks to that I was able to get proper knowledge from both. He doesn’t spent a lot of time with me or with my brother and sister but he was always a good example to me that a person who I want to be. We will write a custom essay sample on The Most Influential Person in My Life specifically for you for only $16.38 $13.9/page. We will write a custom essay sample on The Most Influential Person in My Life specifically for you FOR ONLY $16.38 $13.9 /page. We will write a custom essay sample on The Most Influential Person in My Life specifically for you FOR ONLY $16.38 $13.9 /page. I remember several years ago I was like 20 or 21, I had a conversation with my father, and in the middle of that conversation there was a phrase that I won’t never forget . He said “ Whatever you want to be, try to be the best, if you want to be a doctor you have to study a lot but you have to try to be the best one , but beside doctor you work as waiter you have to be the best waiter. These tips inspired me during my life to achieve several goals . One of the most important things that my father has taught me is to be responsible and independent because it will help me when I live on my own. My father and I live together for about 11 month when I was in Italy, and there I had the opportunity to know him very well, it was a wonderful experience because we were like friends, like brothers and we have fun and enjoyed a lot of time together. I’m here in Miami because of him, he was really an influential person who convinced me to moved here in the United States and I will always thank for that For me, my father is an example of a successful person, He treated everybody fairly and was a good teacher to the people who asked for his advice. Let me end by saying that I continue to make myself more and more like him daily. What if we consistently tried to empathize with others? According to Jessica Lahey, empathy is “the capacity to care, to feel what others feel, to understand what others are facing and what their lives are like.” If we were able to empathize with others, no matter our own mood or stress level, the world would be a much better place.... View more ...