#cw mental illness

[ismellpestilence]

I don't know. I guess the summary of my thoughts on this are: It's not a good thing to go into a fandom that cares strongly about mental health, no doubt full of people who struggle, and declare that people who do bad things can never make amends and deserve to die.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I am having some thoughts about, like, Killer struggling to understand himself. Why he behaves he does, his Stages, his soul, his Determination, his emotions, his thought process and beliefs.

Cause like Killer is a clearly a traumatized mentally ill person who is undiagnosed and unmedicated and not in any position to reach any diagnosis or treatment or support or help because he is isolated from the rest of Multiverse in many ways.

He does not trust himself and fundamentally doesn’t trust anyone else, and his situation keeps him in a toxic, abusive environment where he is operating in survival mode. He has never left it in who knows how long.

He doesn’t know what’s “wrong” with him. Just that something is. And he has to “fix it” somehow. Or be replaced.

Like he doesn’t know why his thoughts feel so disconnected and fragmented and like they aren’t even his. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t see himself looking back when catching sight of a mirror. He doesn’t know what he looks like when he tries to imagine himself.

He doesn’t know why it seems like the body has a mind of its own. He doesn’t know why the body cries about things that didn’t hurt. He doesn’t know why nothing and no one ever really seems real. He doesn’t know why certain things make his soul and body react and act in ways that he’d never do and care about things or people he doesn’t care about.

He’s fine and yet somehow something is still wrong with him. It was easy to ignore and not question it with Chara but it’s a problem with Nightmare now. It’s a problem with everyone. He doesn’t know why the body just can’t stay still, he tried to make it stop.

He doesn’t know why it’s so hard to pay attention and so hard to organize tasks and to remember spoken instructions and why it’s so hard to remember what someone just told him. He doesn’t know why his body always seems to hurt or where it’s coming from.

It’s easier to just not think about it but it’s hard to do that when that’s all everyone around him seems to have an issue with lately.

[ickypuppi3]

billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.

he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”

billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.

and everything’s perfect. sort of.

they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that’s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.

billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”

those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.

when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.

billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-

turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.

it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.

billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.

it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.

pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.

says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”

[shoyohnt]

when kafka said “what are you? I am miserable” and anaïs nin said “what are you? a chaos” and sylvia plath said “what the hell is tragedy? I am”

[askquarantinedredheart]

CW: Mental illness, assault against healthcare workers, blood

Volume 1: Isolation

First - Previous - Next - Last

Asks from @reversal-mushroom and an anon.

[queerly-autistic]

You really can't engage meaningfully with Ed's story in S2 without firmly centring his mental illness and suicidality, because that's inherently what the story is: it's the story of a man having a severe mental breakdown and going to increasingly erratic extremes in order to achieve his end goal, which is to not be alive anymore...and then it's the story of his recovery from that.

And so much of my frustration with the way I see this being talked about (or, in many cases, not being talked about) reflects my more general frustration with how we talk about mental illness and neurodivergence, so buckle in because this got long (also I am going to be discussing suicide here, as well as very brief mentions of psychosis and ocd, so please take care). There's this trend when we talk about mental health: we go 'oh mental illness isn't an excuse' or 'mental illness doesn't make you do bad things' or variations thereof. These are, in my opinion, some of the worst things to ever happen to the discourse around mental illness. It's reductive. Absolutely mental illness can lead you to do things that you would not have otherwise done, even things that you would be absolutely appalled by, if you were mentally well. What do you think mental illness is if it's not something that impacts your brain and how your brain functions? If your mental illness doesn't directly lead to problematic behaviour, then that's fantastic, but that experience is not universal. It's not an 'excuse' - it's an explanation for certain behaviours that's vitally important to acknowledge and understand in order to try and mitigate harm.

There's also this thing that happens with discourse around mental illness where we assume that what you do in the grips of mental illness is reflective of something that's innate inside you. You were violent whilst in the middle of psychosis? Oh, it's because you're an innately abusive person and this just reveals who you really are. You have Tourette's and one of your tics is a racial slur? Oh, it's because you're an innately racist person and this just reveals who you really are. Your OCD is rooted in a fear that you're going to murder your family? Oh, it's because you inherently do want to murder your family and this just reveals who you really are. It's bullshit. What you do in your mentally ill state is not some deep philosophical reflection of your true character, and the idea that it is is something that causes really deep, dangerous harm to mentally ill and neurodivergent people.

So, now that that's over with, back to Ed.

Ed was behaving in ways that were acknowledged in canon as being extremely out of character whilst in the midst of a severe breakdown. Fang himself said that he'd 'never' seen Ed behave this way; even Izzy, who actively pushed for Ed to embody the extremes of his Blackbeard persona, ended up concerned because it became so extreme and out of character that it was impossible not to be concerned by it. The crew who mutinied on Izzy within a day didn't mutiny on him for months, not until their lives literally depended on it, because it's heavily insinuated that they were hoping he would get better. Because this wasn't the Ed that they knew (the Ed that we came to know in S1 - an inherently soft man who is caught in a culture of violence and is tired of it).

The show wasn't subtle about this. It didn't bury the lead. As well as the constant reminders that he was acting out of character in increasingly alarming ways, this was very clearly depicted as a breakdown, an almost total collapse of Ed's mental health. We saw Ed detached and numb and completely dissociated from the world around him. We saw him in private moments of despair, breaking down. We saw him behaving erratically in the grips of mania. We saw him display absolutely textbook warning signs of someone whose made the decision to die by suicide. We saw him smile and say 'finally' at the moment when he knew he was going to die.

The show basically painted a giant neon sign over his head flashing 'THIS MAN IS EXTREMELY UNWELL' in bright lights, and if you miss that, then it's because you're deliberately avoiding looking properly.

(And, important to note, that most of the people that I've watched the show with outside of fandom discourse absolutely took away from these episodes what the show was intending - they saw how unwell Ed was, they were devastated for him, and they desperately wanted him to get better.)

When Ed steered the ship into the storm, and threatened to put a cannonball through the mast, his clear goal was to create a situation where the crew had no choice but to kill him. I've seen people describe this scene as Ed 'trying to hurt the crew', and I think that's very much a misrepresentation of what the show was depicting. It was very blatantly a suicide attempt. He wanted to die, and he didn't care what he had to do in order for him to achieve that goal. That doesn't make it good behaviour, and it doesn't mean people didn't get hurt, but it does make it a very different situation than if causing harm had been his main intent.

There is a fundamental difference between 'he is doing this because he explicitly wants to cause harm to the people around him' and 'he's doing this because he's suicidal and beyond the point of being able to rationally consider who might be getting hurt in the process of ensuring that he ends up dead'. One of those is a bad person who enjoys causing pain - and the other is a deeply unwell person who can be supported and helped to recover and be better (and should be, for the good of themselves and the people around them).

And on that note, the failure to engage with this as a mental health story is also, I think, why I've seen some people get so upset about the show not doing Ed's redemption arc 'right' - because this isn't a redemption arc, and it's not trying to be. One day I'll do a separate post about how much I love that the show explicitly rejected a carceral approach, opting to essentially put him through community rehabilitation rather than punishing him, and even mocking punitive prescriptive measures (that rubbish youtuber apology speech was supposed to be rubbish and unhelpful), but that's one for another day.

The fact is that the show is telling a story about mental illness, and that inherently means that Ed's arc is a recovery arc, not a redemption arc. And if you're expecting a redemption arc, then you've fundamentally misunderstood the story that they're telling (and the revolutionary kindness at the heart of the show).

I have a lot of feelings about this because I genuinely believe that it was one of the best depictions of mental illness and suicidality that I've ever seen. Within the confines of it being a half hour, eight episode comedy show, they told a story about mental illness that was surprisingly realistic (with the obvious fantastical over the top elements of it being a pirate show - and piracy is explicitly depicted as a culture where violence is heavily normalised), and that didn't shy away from the messier, darker, more complex elements of mental illness (particularly of being suicidal).

And then, most importantly, after all that, the show took me gently by the hand said 'you are not defined by what you do in your lowest moment - you can make amends, you can recover, you are still loved, and you are worth saving'.

[veersnz]

Indefinite Hiatus

CW for the text below: mentions of physical/mental illness, hospital

As some of the regulars have probably noticed, I’ve grown a lot quieter on here in the past few months. This corner of the internet has always been a safe place for me, to make friends and share the things I love. And I’m infinitely grateful for it. However, the past few months have been harder and harder for me and my motivation to create on here has waned overtime. Mostly due to my germaphobia and contamination OCD getting completely out of hand, to the point where the simple mention of germs or viruses makes me panic. This evidently makes staying in a place where contagion and mentions of illness are everywhere, a very difficult ordeal to say the least. This change in my behavior is mostly due to my own physical and mental health declining rapidly since the summer, to the point where I had to be in the hospital twice in the last 3 weeks. The consensus my medical team has come to is that I am probably suffering from lesions in my brain and/or brainstem from an infection several years ago, causing an array of worsening symptoms that have unfortunately forced me to put my education on pause for the time being. All of this has made me revaluate things and I have made the decision to take a step back from the internet for a little while for my own safety. In the meantime I will be admitted to the hospital to be in a safer environment and hopefully start a treatment and a possible rehab program. I do not know how long this will take but I am most likely looking at months of treatment. So to all of you, thank you for sticking with me until now, I will return in a little while, hopefully in a much healthier state. Thank you for everything ❤️

[cosmic-d1ce]

q!Phil's mental illness is portrayed so well

it's so clear that something is wrong, to everyone else and to himself but he will deny it forever. He won't admit something is wrong or that these things really are messing with his head

He can't. He just can't do it! it's nothing and he's fine and he isn't sure if he's a real person anymore but that can be fixed!!

He can just distract himself with small tasks and talking to people and accompanying Tubbo and Fit when they want to go somewhere. He can just venture out 300k blocks or go do dungeons or explore those places where he knows he really shouldn't go. There has to be something he can do. Something that will make him feel real again. Can't feel pain in a dream!

None of it was real so why does he feel like this? He's certain it isn't real, it couldn't be. But he doesn't feel real either. None of it is real. He isn't real. He's stuck in a never ending nightmare and he's never going to wake up and- god he needs to find something to do before he starts questioning things again.

He can check on Fit or go see someone else, it's a distraction, it stops him from thinking about everything. It stops the feelings and thoughts for a time but was that bird there a second ago? Is it real? Why is there a bird in a cage here?? What the fuck??? That's real, right? Yes. Okay, it is there. Why? He should take it home. He needs to go home. He'll catch up with the others later.

But he doesn't. He doesn't come back and nobody will notice and he knows that and it's okay it doesn't matter! He doesn't want to be bothered he needs to go to bed. He wishes his friends would check on him more.

He wonders how long it would take for someone other than Fit and Tubbo to notice if he disappeared. He doesn't want to think about it, he needs to go to sleep. He goes to the nest to sleep. It's nice out here.

[gor3sigil]

I have to share a story about why I HATE the term "trauma dumping".

So basically, we were at my at the time partner's house with friends of them and we were talking about mental health.

I don't remember exactly how we came to this but one woman started talking about psychosis and her sister who is schizophrenic.

She had a lot of preconception about this and, while I am not schizophrenic, I dealt with psychosis and hallucinations.

So I started to talk about my experiences with that, stating AGAIN that I wasn't schizophrenic but I thought it was an interesting point of view.

Some other people started asking questions so I answered them, asking here and there if it was okay for me to talk about it, and nobody, INCLUDING the woman who started the conversation in the first place, said anything.

And at one point I saw she was uncomfortable and asked her if she'd rather drop the subject.

And then, she BLEW UP on me saying that I was trauma dumping, that she felt like she was partaking in a conversation she NEVER ASKED to partake in (again, she was the one who brought up the subject), that I was being insensitive and over sharing shit and that she didn't like it.

Like, bitch, I asked a bunch of time if it was okay, you were the one talking about these symptoms without even living it and trying to teach people some crappy over the counter shit, but now that she wasn't the Main Character with the Knowledge it became an issue and I was the problem.

I know that I'm open about my experiences and tend to talk about it but I ALWAYS make sure that people on the other end are okay with me sharing this. This was just utter bullshit.

And online or IRL, I just noticed that the term "trauma dumping" is just the easy way out of a conversation that makes you feel uncomfortable while putting the blame on the person doing it.

You can absolutely put boundaries, but don't you dare guilt someone just to avoid being seen as an asshole and make yourself clean of anything. It's healthy to state that you are uncomfortable talking about things, but you can do so without making up shit about others.

[lightseoul]

still can’t get over my psychiatrist telling me distractions like writing and playing video games can only get me so far and that i have to start addressing the root causes of my suffering eventually

[paroroland]

since some of you wanted to read it, and i'm honestly not sure when i can finish the whole thing because of school 🙄 here is all the parts of Pink Fantasy Life so far! :3

i hope you like it!!!

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Greed | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: M | CW: Suicide, MCD, Mental Illness (referenced) Addiction (referenced) | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Eddie, A Stranger in the woods, Dark themes, how far would you go to get what you want?, and what's the real cost?, spooky

AO3 version if you prefer... 📷

Happy Halloween! 🎃

He counts the gold records lining the wall of his study; eleven of them side by side, one for each of their albums. They’re to be kept together even after he’s gone, his will has strict instructions on who gets them, on who can be trusted with them; Gareth, Wayne, his mother. For now though they stay on the wall, looking down on him. Judging him.

No one comes out to the bench since Chrissy died. Eddie thinks some students are afraid it was him and that they’ll be next, and others are afraid that it wasn’t him and they’ll still be next because if it wasn’t Eddie…

Hawkins is a very strange place, after all.

There’s no drug dealing anymore, he comes here to draw or write during lunch; the cafeteria feels claustrophobic and his friends are well meaning but the constant attention is grating his nerves. He doesn’t need to be protected, and he doesn’t need them carrying his books, he can manage fine on his own.

He sketches a boy in armour swinging a sword, another blood soaked at his feet. He has words for a poem to go with this one, he’ll add them later, maybe.

“You’re very good.”

Eddie spins, flinching at the pull in his side. A man stands behind him, his face shadowed by the trees.

“What the fuck, dude?” he pants. 

“I’m sorry,” the man replies. “I didin’t mean to frighten you.”

Eddie closes his notebook and slides it inside his bag. “I’m allowed to be here, it’s part of the school grounds, and I’m not—”

“Of couse you are. I’m not here to chastise you. I was hoping to talk to you.”

Eddie watches suspiciously as the man approaches the bench. He peers at Eddie over his glasses, but his eyes are dark, hidden by his hat. 

“Look, I’ve kept my nose clean since I’ve been back, man. I’m on time to class, homework completed, tests—”

“Oh, I’m not a teacher,” the man laughs like it’s absurd, and there’s a sharpness to it that leaches under Eddie’s skin. “But it certainly seems that you’ve worked very hard. It must have been a terrible struggle coming back to school, facing all of Chrissy’s friends. Your uncle must be very proud.”

The birds have stopped singing.

Eddie feels the first pinch of anxiety, can feel his heart kick up when he realises he didn’t tell anyone where he was going for lunch. 

“Who are you?”

“Someone who can help you.”

In the aftermath of everything, Eddie has been left with a healthy fear of pretty much everyone outside his immediate circle. People like to leave messages for him on his van and the trailer, and both have never been so clean. What people haven’t done is try to help him. So consider him unconvinced.

He grabs his bag, and his cane, and pushes himself up.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says sarcastically.

“It must be terribly hard,” says the man, motioning to his leg. “To be so young and to be left horribly injured.” He mouth stretches, a horrible attempt at a smile. “You have scars, don’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie spits. 

“Tell me, Edward, do you still play the guitar?”

He stops dead, never takes his eyes off the trees ahead of him.

Why are the birds not singing?

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“I’m someone who can help you. I’m someone who understands how hard it is to be different.”

The world is silent but Eddie hears his heart beat, feels his blood pump, the tippy-tap reminder that this is happening, that this is real. There should be cheerleaders out on the field, but he can’t hear them. Can’t hear the birds, can’t hear the wind, can’t hear the trees. 

“I don’t need any help,” he says, and he’s trying so hard to be brazen, to be the Eddie of before, not the scared boy of after, but it sounds choked even to his own ears.

“But you do,” croons the man as he circles Eddie, so close that he can feel the tweed of the mans suit on the back of his hands.  “I can return the things that were stolen from you. I can give you the things you have always dreamed of.”

Eddie breathes, ragged and harsh, and he knows the man can feel his breath on his skin.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you do. You want, Edward. You want so deeply, so much has been taken from you, hasn’t it? Since you were a small boy, life has treated you unfairly. You’ve suffered. And your uncle has suffered, think of what you could do for him? Think of what you could give him?”

“No, that’s—”

“You dream of Madison Square Garden, and of fame, and fortune. You dream that your mother is alive and that your father is dead—”

“I don’t!”

“You dream of a boy that you can never have. So brave and so handsome, but you know Steve will never be yours.”

His breath catches. He can’t know these things, he’s never told anyone these things. They’re secrets, they’re his, they’re private things. 

“Who are you?” 

“I have powers you can barely imagine, Edward. I can manipulate time, make what was dead, alive. I can give you what you covet. Your band are talentless shoolboys, but I can make them good. I can fix you, make you play guitar the way you used to, better than you used to. People will worship you, shower you with awards. I can give you Steve. You can have all of these things, Edward.”

This is ridiculous. It’s not real.

Tippy-tap.

He shouldn’t contemplate it because its lunacy. But…

What if it isn’t?

Eddie’s limbs shake and he let’s himself fall backwards to the bench. He swallows the acid in his throat. 

“How?” he asks, a near breathless whisper.

There’s no movement, the world is locked out, just the two of them in the clearing. He feels putrid, damp breath on the back of his neck, icy lips touching the shell of his ear.

“Bring me the girl.”

Eddie shakes his head, confused. 

“The girl?”

The man’s eyes flash and Eddie feels the sting of bites.

Edward Anthony Munson (July 23, 1967 - November 11, 2011) was the lead guitarist, co-founder and principal songwriter for the heavy metal band Corroded Coffin. He was known for his virtuoso playing and intricate guitar solos. Munson co-founded Corroded Coffin in 1982 with school friends Gareth Jones, Jeff Williams and Matt Morris. Corroded Coffin released 11 studio albums, 2 live albums, and 19 singles. Munson is regarded as one of the greatest guitarists of all time.[1] 

Munson struggled publicly with chronic mental health problems and addiciton from the beginning of the band’s success in the early nineties. He faced increasing ridicule in the last decade of his life for his often bizarre behaviour during interviews, most famously on Late Night with David Letterman in November, 2004.[2]  His obsession with the occult was cited as a major contributor to Corroded Coffin’s breakup in 2009, Munson making demands that decisions about the band’s future should be made using numerology. After Munson’s death, Williams was quoted in Metal Hammer magazine: “We thought if we ended the band it would help. But it was too little too late. The number thing was just…he was so far gone.”[3] It was also believed to have been one of the contributing factors in the breakup of his marriage.[4] 

Munson died at his home in New York in November 2011, from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head.[5] 

Born July 23, 1967, Hawkins, Indiana, US

Died November 11, 2011, (aged 44) New York City, US 

Occupation Musician · Songwriter

Genres Heavy Metal · Thrash Metal

Spouse Steven Harrington (m. 2006; div. 2011)

Instrument Guitar

Years active 1982 - 2009

Formerly of Corroded Coffin

*New York was 11th state to ratify the United States Constitution. Eddie was going to be 45, but 44 is divisible by 11... you get the picture 😆

That's it, seven more fics to add to the stash. Thank you so much to @thisapplepielife for putting this together, it's been a blast!

@the-unforgivenn I'm going to write you something sweet to make up for all the trauma!

[shaanks]

anxiety is the dumbest disorder, how's it gonna make me terrified to fail AND terrified to succeed. bbygirl what do you WANT

[dryococelas01]

I've been thinking lately about a particular character archetype that's been really emotionally resonating with me for a while. I've had trouble pinning down exactly why and thought if I rambled on a bit maybe that would help get my thoughts in order.

I'm gonna dub the archetype the Quixote, for reasons that will soon be obvious. Both of my examples are, funnily enough, created by games workshop.

Content warning for, I guess, severely altered states of mind, alzheimers/dementia, insanity, cannibalism and I'm not sure what else. This is a bit of a weird one to tag. I'll put mental illness as a tag even if its a fantasy mental illness rather than anything real.

So I'm gonna introduce the 2 examples first, so everyone's on the same page. They are Nemesor Zandrekh of warhammer 40k and the Flesh-Eater Courts of Age of Sigmar.

So quick Zandrekh crash course. He was part of a race called the necrontyr, they got forcibly uploaded into robot skeleton bodies by soul eating gods called the c'tan and got their souls eaten in the process, becoming the necron. In the process most of them lost all personality, with the nobility being allowed to keep between aspects and the whole of theirs. They then managed to turn on and kill the ctan, and went into a several millenia long sleep. Many of the ones who still had their personalities have odd quirks as a result of their uploads, the long sleep, too early wake ups etc.

Zandrekhs condition is that he does not see the world as it is. To him, his body is flesh and blood. The many aliens and armies he fights are necron rebels and separatists, the mindless robot armies he commands loyal troops.

He has a bodyguard, Oberyn. Oberyn takes care of him. He stands by as his Lord holds feasts of rotten food for prisoners of war he regards as enemy ambassadors, watches his lord attempt to shove food into the flat metal grin where his mouth was. If one of these PoWs or a noble under zandrekh, sick of his nonsense, tried to deal with Zandrekh, Oberyn deals with them.

He stands by him until the end. He knew and loved his lord before they were machines, and he does so now.

(Quick note: some people interpret this as romantic love. I don't but I can see why. To me I have strong recent memories of my dad and me taking care of my grandma whos mind has aged, and that's how I see it. We do explicitly as of the novel Severed have obyron describing it as love). (Second quick note: these 2 are explicitly based on Don quixote and Sancho, one of Zandrekhs old abilities was called something like tilting at solar mills)

That's your crash course on Z. Now the Flesh Eater Courts.

The FSC ars a faction of flesh eating undead ghouls. They are withered and rotten, riding giant bats and undead dragons into battle, devouring the flesh of soldier and citizen alike.

But much like Zandrekh, that's not how they see things. They have a form of infectious delusion.

They are Noble knights. The giant bats are magnificent pegasi, the zombie dragon is alive and majestic, their barren wastelands beautiful and fertile, the hordes of ravenous ghouls the loyal citizenry at their command.

When they invade a civilian village, tearing at their flesh, devouring young and old alike, that's not how they see it. They see a goblin warcamp, a chaos cult hideout, a Necromancers castle. They ride in on their noble steeds, their loyal armies at their back, and save the day. And after? They have a grand feast, peasant and knight feasting side by side on rich and expensive meats.

You get the idea

This archetype so interests me for so many reasons.

Lets start with them as a moral question.

Is The Ghoul Evil? The ghouls have taken part in the butchery of innocents, the slaughter of villages and destruction of homes. They've eaten people and serve the whims of a far less deluded master.

But they don't see it that way. Not only that but they are incapable of seeing it any other way, their senses and minds completely in thrall.

There are plenty of people who do horrible things and see their actions as good, but they have the capability to be different. A violent white nationalist will no doubt say everything they are doing is for some greater good, but they have the capacity to change, they can be something that isn't a voilent white nationalist and there is evidence in the world around them that their views are wrong and abominable.

The ghouls cannot not be ghouls, they can't see the evidence in the world around them.

They can't see their rotten fraying flesh, their sharp teeth. They can't see the farmer they killed, they taste delicious chicken instead of human flesh, drink wine not blood.

They are Noble heroes to their eyes. And there's no way for them to know otherwise. They are doing good, to their eyes.

So is the ghoul evil? I don't think so. Their acts are evil acts, but there is no evil intent to them.

It's a very interesting moral question to me. I'm curious on your thoughts, if anyone sees this.

When the veil lifts.

Nate crowley recently wrote a novella about zandrekh called Severed, from the perspective of obyron. In it he based zandrekh on his experience of a relative with, and I can't remember which, alzheimers or dementia (hence the / in the content warnings).

There is an amazing moment, at one point, that I'm just gonna quote.

So obligatory, spoiler for the novella Severed.

__________________

‘Well fought, old friend,’ said Zahndrekh, with companionable warmth. ‘You really ought to have rested more, but we need to leave. I must commend your rather… straightforward method of dealing with the sorcerer’s engine, and it very much appears to have done the trick. Doahht has gone off like a light, and its legions with it. But without the engine, I fear the stability of the planet itself won’t last, so we’d be much better off in orbit. Are you ready for a short jaunt up to the Horaktys?’

Obyron nearly said yes, but then he remembered the engine’s true purpose. Or what it might have been – it was so hard to recall now.

‘But… our souls, Zahndrekh. The machine… it could give us our souls back. It could give us our bodies. Please, lord, let’s at least take part of it with us, so we can know for sure.’

‘Oh, dear vargard, why do you hold on to such things? You must let the thought of this awful contraption go.’ Zahndrekh put an arm round him in consolation, and continued.

‘Let me pose you this thought, Obyron, in the hope it will bring you ease. What do you think caused you to hold true to me for all this time despite all the power you might have enjoyed through betrayal if it were not a soul? What can love, but a being with a soul?

‘Even if we all ceased to be flesh and blood millions of years ago, which of course I don’t be-lieve for a moment,’ – Zahndrekh actually winked – ‘wouldn’t it have suited us better to live in denial of that, as some fools might say I had done? Wouldn’t it be better, Obyron, just to accept our fate, and enjoy immortality for the everlasting life of merry campaigning it has proved to be?’

Obyron stared hard at Zahndrekh, unsure of what he was hearing.

‘You old bastard. You knew all along.’

‘I knew nothing of the sort, old friend. But since you seem to be labouring under some delusion that you’re a soulless machine, I thought I should at least make some attempt to set you straight.’ Zahndrekh stood up then, and patted his thigh for Obyron to join him. ‘Come now, soldier. Up on your feet, and let’s return to the flagship. If we’re quick about it, we can have this all cleared up in time for a truly astonishing feast.’

Obyron, ever loyal, obeyed his lord. He would have wept, but he had no tears.

__________________

With the authors statement I'd say this is a moment of clarity, not zandrekh having known all along as Obyron imagines. I've seen grandma having many similar ones.

Zandrekh sometimes sees the horrifying reality he lives in, sometimes the fog lifts. And he prefers the fog. There's a lot more to pick apart from that quote but that's what I want to focus on.

Age of Sigmar has a trpg called soulbound, in which you can play a ghoul. If I ever find a play group I will.

Imagine a scenario, out adventuring team has just butchered a village. The ghoul is huddled on the ground, lifting the arm of a murdered young man who tried to defend his home, ready to eat it.

For a moment, the veil lifts. The noble Knight, defender of his people looks around him.

His good freind, the hedge mage, is raising an undead abomination out of murdered civilians. The noble Knight he rode besides has lined up survivors and is draining them of their blood. The beautiful noble lady he traveled with and hoped to court has no flesh, she's a vengeful spirit.

He sees his claws, and sees what he's eating.

Imagine the horror that sets in in that moment.

He doesn't know if he's seeing the truth, or if he's gone mad. If it's the truth then he knows he's a monster, his friends terrors, the people he saved flesh eating ghouls and the people he killed innocent civilians. If its not the truth, then he's gone mad, he's being tormented by some daemon or spirit, he's cursed.

Now, the veil would likely fall shortly after and he'd forget that moment of horror, but let's say it doesn't.

Let's say our noble Knight has a choice. He knows the truth of the matter, and can choose between the veil falling again or staying lifted.

Does he choose to keep it lifted?

I like to imagine I would, that I'd accept the guilt and horror of my existence and past actions and try to be a force for good.

I know that I wouldn't. I would accept the delusion, because fundamentally the horror of what I am and have done would be too much. Reality would break me, so I would retreat and allow the delusion to take me.

I'd like to imagine my noble knight would stand up and become a force for good, redeem himself. He is a noble knight, after all.

Zandrekh sometimes sees past the veil, but keeps acting like he doesn't because the veil is preferable to reality.

It makes a wonderful character moment, something beautiful and tragic beyond my words.

Whenever I think of these moments the veil lifts something in me cries. There's something so tragic about, in the case of the ghouls, someone that is noble, is trying to do good, but is incapable of. Something sad but strangely beautiful about zandrekh choosing to retreat into joy and fantasy rather than face reality.

I don't know how to put it, it just touches something in me.

I don't know, there's a lot more I want to say but I can't figure out how to say it. Hope my rambles were at least interesting.

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

"The start of / the end of — a movie I've seen... before." [prev.]

Step 3 is finished ..•ᐠ.˙( ੭˘ ³˘)੭~`.•ᐟthank˙ .❤•˙. god ｡ﾟ･ﾟ✧˙..

Background below:

[CW: anxiety, depression, eating disorder, PTSD, survivors guilt, Attempted Suicide and Depictions of Self-Harm]

Song: Lizzy McAlpine - ceilings

—

Like a pearl, Ai grows into something preciously beautiful and refined with each passing day. She is not perfect, not as strong as you would expect, but there is something of a quality in her so fine that she is still coveted by those that have found her.

There's an air of grace and confidence in how she moves and acts, learned in part from all her passionate years of dance. Her voice is like crystal chimes, an instrument of music and always two steps from another sweet and tinkling laugh. She's warm and bright with stars in her eyes and love in her heart, influenced through the years in all the very best ways by her family and friends.

And she's not perfect. It's something that has to be said because many people like to think that she is - that the refinement of her self at this blossoming age has been something she never had to work for - but those people simply don't know Ai one bit.

After 13 Ai went through some of the hardest years of her young life. Learning to let people love her (that they could love her - that she was someone to love) learning to let herself change and fail without the fear that it would destroy everything she had grown to love as well. There were still things she had never expressed to her family, likely never would. They still didn't know about the full story of the car crash or why it affected her so, it was something she wouldn't even tell her therapist, and it put a lot of delay on her growth as people struggled to find the source of her ever present anxiety and guilt at simply existing in a world that her first family did not.

But there were lights to guide her: Only Cove, Cliff, Derek and Lee at first - sometimes Ma, when Ai was desperate, eventually mom and Liz as years moved on - but eventually Miranda grew, stubbornly, into the garden of her life and Terri and Jude quickly came with her. They curled around her walls like ivy, surrounded her lonely tower with life and beauty and wonder. With love.

And time passed, and Ai grew with them.

It was Jude that first heard the full tale of the car accident (Miranda was having a sleepover and he found Ai alone, crying in the kitchen after an especially terrible nightmare, he sat there with her all night - listened to her - made her feel safe). The next person to find out was Cliff, who had helped her moms go searching for the girl after an especially terrible fight (they sat in the grass, Ai tucked tightly under his one arm as she cried into his chest. Despite all her beliefs that he wouldn't - Cliff stayed. He said he would always stay). Surprisingly, she was never able to tell the story to Cove. Despite being her dearest, closest everything, Ai was always too afraid for his gentle heart to burden him like that. And so, with her world just a little more wider, a little more brighter, she continued to grow.

When her 18th summer came, Ai couldn't tell you what she had been expecting of it, honestly. Despite all her hard work, all her scholarships and diplomas and good grades, despite the money she'd saved and the plans she'd made. Despite the friends and family she had gained and, most of all, despite all of her growth - Ai suddenly found herself feeling like she did way back then.

Like she was 6 years old all over again.

Her world was suddenly so big and scary and irreversibly about to change before her very eyes and there was no promise she wouldn't be alone again when everything stopped spinning. She hated it.

So, she clung tighter to what she had grown and built. Pulled close everything she cherished, dug her nails in until it bled. She wouldn't expand on her plans when asked, she didn't want to think about them anymore. She just wanted to see tomorrow come and go as it had gone every other day before.

She didn't want to lose everything again.

And so, a Mr. Baxter Alexander Ward was - as he so often would be in her life - the wrench that completely shattered all her plans.

And she loved him.

That first day, that first moment, when he appeared in her life on a quiet sunny street - Ai couldn’t have known what Baxter was going to become to her - but what she did know, as she wrapped him up tight in that warm and welcoming embrace, was that she didn’t want to let him go. That she wanted to hold him close. That he was precious.

That feeling grew with each new day. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. He was new, he was change but he wasn’t a bad change. Baxter, like a memory - like a step in a dance she had almost forgotten to take - fit perfectly into a part of herself that she hadn’t thought to still exist. He was her fire, the spark of wildness of her youth that had her take chances and risks that would add gray hairs to her mother’s heads had they only known about it. He looked at her with that smile and all she could ever do was helplessly smile back, only ever take his offered hand at each and every single chance.

They danced and danced and danced until she was dizzy from the spinning and laughing and completely irreversibly in love with him.

And when he faltered, she was there to catch his hand and lead him back.

And they danced.

Into the ocean shallows, into the sprinkle damp grass. After the jingle of summers tune or wrapped up in his clothes, under sparkling night skies. They danced. In early mornings and late evenings, half asleep or a bit tipsy. Stumbling over a creek or on a ship at sea. They danced. Smelling of midnight sweets, dressed up classy or silly or comfy and warm. They danced.

Quietly and closely in the night as they kissed - they danced.

And she loved him.

And it broke her heart.

Song: Lauren Aquilina - Forest Fires

Unbeknownst to Baxter, when he left, he took much much more than just Ai’s 18th summer with him. Much more.

It was as if that fire he had set in her had spread to the very tower in which she lived. All the love and comfort and growth, all the work and hard won progress through every difficult year, all of it went up in a sickening black smoke. All of it burned away like car oil and ash and left her exactly as she had felt on that day when her world had terribly changed.

And Ai broke.

In the following months, the girl everyone had grown to cherish and love became a shell of her former self. The first weeks were the worst - having to watch her waste away with each missed meal and nightmare that kept her awake. Cove slipped through her window nearly every single night, only sleeping in his own bed when she was slipping through his window instead.

Though worried, her friends initially kept their distance on the request of her parents, who worried about her fragile state and wanted to give her time to process and heal. The moment Jude found out about this, he showed up at Ai’s front door and gave everyone a piece of his mind (ultimately, this was the day that the rest of the family found out about the full story behind the car crash). Now, more than ever, was the time they needed to be there for Ai.

The sudden reintroduction of all her dearly loved ones seemed to help things. She started eating, eventually even started to smile again. Found her long lost laugh. The mom’s stopped hearing her nightmares. With each day the world seemed brighter - better - like things might almost be back to okay.

Ai was smiling again.

And so no one expected her attempted suicide.

It was Cove who walked into the kitchen this time. He wasn’t as lucky as Elizabeth - Ai hadn’t missed the artery this time. He had never seen her covered in so much red.

It was little comfort that, while he tried to save her life, Ai's own eyes looked as terrified as his.

But she didn’t die.

No, she survived. She always survived. As little as she wanted to, as little as she believed she deserved to, Ai was still alive.

And she wasn’t alone. That was the part that surprised her most.

Despite the fire - the flames of Baxter’s light that still burned her alive - the world around her tower once again started to grow. Because her mother’s held her as they cried, and her sister wouldn’t let her go. Because Cliff and Cove did exactly the same, because they stayed and would always stay - despite everything they stayed with her. And everywhere she looked, she found another hand and another face that loved her (in Derek and Miranda and Jude and Terri and Lee and more) and the ivy that they planted stubbornly clung to her, and refused to let her go.

Continued to grow.

Ai was never quite the same after Baxter left. She never shone as bright, never laughed in that sweet and tinkling way that they all remembered - but Ai was alive. And maybe she was a bit more quiet now, and maybe she hid behind her hair most of the time, but she was still Ai.

Not perfect. Not as strong as you would expect. Yet still so so endlessly precious to all those who have ever found her. And loved.

[askquarantinedredheart]

Content Warning: Slurs, mental illness, Described assault

Volume 1: Isolation

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