#detrimental to my mental health and is forcing me to lean too much on friends

[russilton]

I understand the point you're trying to make about George and homophobic comments but can you stop likening the very real oppression that Lewis is the victim of to some ignorant twitter comments on a white driver with a girlfriend?! Lewis is literally attacked in real-life by the kkk fanbase of that vile sport, ex champions throw around violently racist and homophobic slurs towards him without any pushback, stewards publicly wish for him to burn in his car (yes this has happened more than once), his literal championship was stolen to make space for their "great white hope" (in their words), other drivers have victim-blamed Lewis for years of racist abuse. This is the level of oppression that Lewis has dealt with in the sport, don't ever compare his situation to anyone else. I know you won't post this because white queers hate addressing their racism but you need to stop talking about Lewis if you insist on using him as a prop for your ship. You remind me of Barca fans who claim Gavi is oppressed due to sports heckling while a whole stadium chants racist abuse to Vini. In the wake of the discourse centering the racist abuse that black athletes face in Europe, it's asinine to compare a black athlete's situation with a white one. On that note, I have yet to see you speak up on the racism and homophobia that Lewis is subjected to, but you're always prepared to paint your cishet white fav as oppressed.

I spent a very long time trying to figure out how to answer this ask, most of the day if I'm honest, because while I’m always willing to learn, I also think some of the things you’ve said here just aren’t true, and the fact that I’ve made you feel that they are means I need to be clearer with what I’m expressing.

At no point did I ever, ever, ever intend for it to sound like I was saying what George is dealing with currently is anywhere close to what Lewis deals with on a daily basis. And I don’t think that’s what I said at all, but if it came off that way, it’s something I want to change.

For the sake of transparency, I've made an edit to the original post to clarify my point. I understand now it might have come away belittling to seem like I was equating a more isolated incident to something larger and much more complex, and I'm sorry for that, it was just the only incident I could come to at the time.

I’m not looking for anyone to come to my defence here, because I’d rather speak for myself, nor do I want to make it sound like I've never made mistakes. I've made plenty, on here included, and i've done my level best to change and listen. But if you believe I have never spoken about the racism Lewis faces, have you been around that long?

I talk about it often, and as blatantly as I can while also making clear that as a white guy, I’m not the voice that should be listened to, and that it’s better for me to promote POC speakers or link to them instead. I'm sorry you if it appears like I'm not doing it enough, Ive been trying to listen instead of speak, which is what i've been told to do in the past on here by other anons. When asks have crossed the topic, I've been blunt about the systemic racism in f1, and why it serves F1 to suppress Lewis' voice. But again, there is a limit to what I have said myself, because I don't think its right to make myself the centre focus, when it should be more informed voices.

The only reason it may seem like I do more speaking myself when it comes to homophobia around Lewis AND George, is that it's something I HAVE experienced firsthand, and can more effectively talk about. The vitriol Lewis faces for self expression and the homophobic stereotypes that pour out with it are things I've been open about before, and Lewis' own changing views on gender and gendered clothing are something I'm deeply proud of him for.

But i also need to say I want to be able to talk about multiple issues at once without it seemingly like one is standing over the other, or should detract attention. It's both true that Lewis faces abuse that the officials surrounding F1 and even Mercedes itself will sweep under the rug or belittle, AND that the torrent of Homophobic abuse George is facing needs to be addressed no matter his sexuality or relationship status due to the effect it'll have on his fans.

I care less about how George feels as someone who isn't routinely oppressed and able to easily access support, and more about how formula one continues to absolve fans of extremely bigoted behaviour under the umbrella of calling them a bad outliers rather than addressing the root issues of the sports own willing ignorance and allowance of hateful behaviours from stewards, marshals, team staff and even other drivers. It's not about how the drivers feel, but how minority fans are pushed out in favour of the toxic cesspool f1 has happily encouraged the growth of in order to rake in their money, rather than address. There is not a single f1 comment section on any team, or official social page i would willingly step into, because It is never anything but filled with the worst voices that f1 just.. ignores. Until they're booing Max Verstappen on track, and we're all demanded to be nicer to him, even as he continues to stoke the kinds of fans that have called me every slur in the book and told me to off myself. There is a reason I only interact with F1 on tumblr of all places, it is legitimately the only site I feel safe to do so.

I was a Lewis fan before I was a George fan, and I think I will always find a closer home in him than I will with any other driver. No driver has stood up quite as vocally for issues both close to home for me and issues the world over. No other driver has stuck his neck out the same way or made me feel quite as allowed into a traditionally cis het white space. I only became a motorsport fan because Lewis made me feel like there was a space for people like me.

[mimzy-writing-online]

Hello. I had a question regarding your post about blind characters. I have a character in my WIP that must cover their eyes.. but it’s blind. He may need to tell people he is blind to explain why he covers his eyes though. I was wondering how I might write this character without offending. Thank you :)

I think I want to start by explaining the “covering blind eyes” trope and why it has become a harmful trope. I think understanding why it’s hurtful helps everyone learn how to handle it better.

I would guess that the “blind people wear sunglasses” trope comes from Hollywood for the specific reason of 1. wanting to signal to the audience that the character is obviously blind and 2. avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief by preventing the audience from catching the sighted actor look at visual stimuli (because disabled characters are almost always played by able actors).

But this changed the way the public expects to experience blindness. If watching a sighted actor wear sunglasses and say he’s blind is all the exposure to the blind community a person has had, that’s the only model of blindness they’ll recognize. If they meet a blind person in real life who doesn’t wear sunglasses, it’s going to break this built perception and cause an uncomfortable cognitive dissonance. 

And then there is the common “cloudy-white blank gaze” that pops up in media. It stems from the fact that cataracts is the most common cause of blindness and the appearance of severe cataracts is a cloudy film in the eyes obscuring the iris and pupil. It can also alter what color a person’s eyes appears to be, making them appear paler and grey in the beginning and then as the cataract advances it becomes more yellow/brown and alters a person’s vision to appear more yellow tinted.

There are lots of other eye conditions that makes the eyes look visibly different. Albinism for instance affects the color and structure of the iris. Eyes might be congenitally misshapen. The muscles might be weak or not work and one or both eyes point significantly outward. Someone who was born blind and experienced no visual stimuli might also have weak muscles around their eyes because they never had a reason to focus their eyes on anything.

And unfortunately humans have the habit of feeling uncomfortable when they meet someone who looks very obviously different from the norm, whether that’s a personal style choice (hair color and style, tattoos, clothing choices) or something they can’t help (a visible disability, skin color, scars). 

To the paragraph above, @gothhabiba replied with:  “it's very weird & ahistorical to claim that racism or ableism are some kind of natural "human" trait.. like frankly it's apologia”

You’re right, I wasn’t thinking beyond that generalization or assumption.

Perhaps a better way to put it is: I was raised in a society where I was taught from childhood to think that there was only one kind of human being to be. White, cis, straight, abled, conservative. That’s a very western thing and that’s a thing I’m going to constantly be unlearning.

Racism and ableism and homophobia aren’t innate, that’s a western thing that was forced onto the rest of the world by colonialism. And because western media created this idea that the world is white, abled, cis, straight, and Christian-value leaning, it taught people to think that was the norm so that seeing someone different from that archetype would cause a cognitive dissonance, which causes discomfort.

And instead of working past that cognitive dissonance to learn more and realize there’s so much more to life than media taught you, society encourages you to ignore that cognitive dissonance by sticking your head in the sand-- or TV screen.

So combine these two tropes or common beliefs together and you get something a little dangerous: the idea that blind people cover their eyes because they look obviously different and they’re ashamed (or should be ashamed) of that.

And if you’re someone who’s just gone blind or who was born blind and you have little to no contact with the blind community, then this societal belief that you should be ashamed of how your eyes look becomes detrimental to your self-esteem and further builds internalized ableism.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve read or watched a blind character cover their eyes with sunglasses because they were ashamed of how their eyes looked. And I distinctly remember a few times where a sighted friend of the character was trying to convince them to stop wearing sunglasses because there’s nothing wrong with looking different--which is true, but it plays into this fantasy of being the perfect abled ally who saves the blind character from being miserable. 

In an ideal world, the character has no reason to believe looking different is a bad thing or diminishes their worth or makes people dislike them. And if they develop this belief, it’s more likely that someone more involved in the disabled community, most likely someone disabled themselves, will set them straight. Or that the character will learn to accept themselves on their own, looks included.

But there are some perfectly valid reasons for any blind person to wear sunglasses. They might have an interest in fashion and sunglasses complete the look they’re going for. They could want to protect their eyes from UV rays while they’re outside. They may experience light sensitivity and sunglasses reduces any discomfort or pain. Those are incredibly common reasons to wear sunglasses whether you’re sighted or blind.

But there are some more complicated situations.

In your words, your character must cover his eyes. You never specified why, so my primary guess is that he has some kind of power that is unpleasant or has devastating affects and the only way to prevent it is to keep his eyes covered. My primary guess stems from this post where an anon and I discussed a retelling of Medusa, a hypothetical blinding of oneself to avoid ever killing anyone ever again, and what I think I would do if I was in that scenario.

So how do you write a blind character who must cover their eyes and avoid some of the complications?

1. Your character must always have the ability to say “fuck off, it’s my business, I don’t have to tell you why I’m blind or why I cover my eyes.”

Most blind people really, really don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of why they’re blind and how they feel about it and what it’s like being blind with a stranger they’ll never see again or a new acquaintance they don’t know well yet. You have exceptions to that rule where sure, educating the public about blindness is a thing you want to do and you’re committed to helping your community, but I still have days where I don’t want to talk about being blind or disclose my medical crap.

And if someone doesn’t respect their right to their privacy or pushes too much, the blind character is allowed to be angry, is allowed to tell them off and complain without anyone else in the situation vilifying them or saying they’re “overreacting” and “should have just disclosed private information because big deal or whatever.” If they are angry, that’s their right, and it’s not unreasonable, it doesn’t make them a bad person.

2. Your character should not be ashamed of being blind or of covering their eyes. It is a part of their life, they’re used to it by now, even if they weren’t in the beginning.

The shame and internalized ableism is something that should be written about, but that’s for an own-voices story with a blind author. I don’t think an abled person will ever be able to understand how much society expects you to hate yourself and your disability because “being disabled is a tragic thing that ruins your life” and how that does affect your mental health, self esteem, your relationships with others, your medical care, and what kind of accommodations you can get.

3. It wouldn’t hurt to have a few sarcastic lines in response to uncomfortable conversations.

Stranger: so what’s with the...

Blind Character: what’s with what?

S: the... you know

BC: you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific

S: Your eyes?

BC: They’re... eyes

S: but you’re...

BC: Blind?

S: uh...

BC: yeah, I’m blind. *walks away*

Or this conversation:

S: *to some other character* so why are his eyes covered?

(author’s note: which, honestly, that’s fucking rude. At least have the guts to ask me yourself)

BC: If I look anyone in the eye they instantly perish.

*awkward silence*

BC: instantly.

Friend: It’s truly tragic

BC: *melancholic* that’s how I lost my sister. *chokes up* She was so young

Or this conversation:

S: Why are you wearing that?

BC: It’s called fashion Karen!

Or this conversation:

S: are you like... blind?

BC: yes?? why wouldn’t I be?? Wait, are you sighted? Are you one of those sighted people? You poor thing! What caused you to gain your sight? Do you have a car? A bike? Were you born sighted? What’s it like to see color? Do you miss not having to see 

God, I want a chance to try that last one. I haven’t interacted with a stranger in almost a year. One day...

4. Honestly, it’d also be cool if someone’s reaction to your character covering their eyes was like, “cool sunglasses,” or “cool *insert random character, even one you made up* cosplay,” (which is ten times funnier if this character is a notable figure in modern society like an actor who people might cosplay). 

5. You know, if he’s covering his eyes with some kind of blindfold, he should totally have custom blindfolds for his moods. Like, I have a mask that says “suck it up buttercup” and another that says “not today” because sometimes that’s the mood. And sometimes the mood is one of my floral masks, and sometimes the mood is my cat mask.

So, just some thoughts. I hope that helps.

Edit: a commenter said: “op, unless i'm mistaken this kind of reads like anon meant the character ISN'T blind but lies about being blind to explain covering their eyes? it seems like they made a typo on the word "isn't"”

So my original response to the question was based on the assumption that the character is blind. However,

If the character is not blind, then do not under any circumstances have them lie and say they’re blind to escape a mild inconvenience. 

It’s better to have the character actually explain the situation or straight up leave the conversation or invent a more ridiculous lie than to perpetuate the very real stereotype and misconception that there are people who fake being blind and therefore it’s okay to discriminate or harass them if you even suspect they’re faking.

Do not under any circumstances perpetuate that stereotype. Do not harass someone because you don’t think they’re blind enough.

[hualianff]

Ice Skating AU

The road to the Olympics was quite lonely for figure skater XL. XL’s parents supported his dreams at the expense of his health and mental wellbeing. XL’s coach, JW, purposefully isolated XL from other competitors, which further distanced XL from the peers who were envious of his talent and achievements.

After the Olympics–XL winning silver, much to the public’s pride–he suffered from detrimental injuries as a result of being overworked and malnourished; JW had put him on a strict diet and training schedule that was ultimately unsustainable. It took over a year for XL to successfully settle a lawsuit with minimal media coverage and monetary consequences. 

Three years have passed since he retired. XL currently owns his own rink, teaching kids and adult skating classes on the side.

When XL competed, everything was so stiff and uptight. It got to the point where he wasn’t enjoying it and came to resent the sport in the end. When XL teaches, however, he gets to laugh with his students. He happily lends them a hand when they need it (unlike JW, who was harsh and trained him as if he were a machine). He celebrates with a student every time they land an improving pirouette, relishes in the pure joy in their eyes. 

That’s how ice skating should be. Challenging but always fun. 

Now, XL truly loves the managing and teaching aspect of the new role ice skating plays in his life. Owning a rink also allows XL to occasionally indulge in his old skills and routines. With no pressure to perform for anybody but himself, XL is free.

HC, a film grad school student, is forced to take a skating class after losing a bet with HX. HX’s partner, who had come up with the consequence on HX’s behalf, suggested a place called Wings, claiming they are “just trying to promote a fellow friend’s business.”

HC almost didn’t follow through with the penalty. He already knew how to skate. (His natural ability to quickly pick up any athletic activity is envied by all his friends.) Upon seeing just who the teacher was, however, HC reconsidered.

After all, losing a bet is no joke.

HC attends the evening class. He wears tight-fitting jeans and a maroon, long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. The film student asks for extra help on his form despite knowing there’s not much to fix. 

Understandably, XL is a bit baffled how this one tall, handsome stranger keeps asking to be guided into the correct position and spotted while skating across the rink when it seems he’s capable of balancing on his own. But XL is in no way complaining! And if XL happens to stare directly at HC’s small yet perky ass as he skates behind the taller man in case HC crashes, no one has to know. 

One week passes. Then another. And another. 

One month later, HC keeps coming back for classes.

“San Lang, you don’t have to pay for any more classes. You already skate well enough on your own!” XL informed his newest regular with a knowing smile. 

“But then I won’t get to see Gege as often,” HC insisted with that charismatic smirk of his. XL hoped his face didn’t give away how flustered he was on the inside.

“W-well, the rink is not very busy one hour till closing time. You could always come in to practice. And I can watch you from the side!” XL said, looking off to the side. “Free of charge,” he added.

HC tilted his head, pondering. “Hmm, that sounds lovely. You’ll skate with me too?”

“Haha, sure! If there’s no one else on the rink,” XL laughs. 

HC nodded. “Fair enough. However, I will be paying the amount I owe Gege. You cannot convince me otherwise.”

“San Lang-“ 

“No exceptions, Gege!”

They’re so close, XL realized. HC leaned forward on the counter which is the only barrier separating them from touching chests. XL allowed himself a couple glances at the muscled pec straining against the fabric of HC’s shirt.

“Well, San Lang can pay me back in a different way, m-maybe?” the former Olympian suggested. HC quirked an elegant eyebrow. He really was too pretty for XL’s poor heart to handle. 

“Oh? What does Gege have in mind?”

Ignoring how suggestive HC sounded just then, XL built up the courage to utter one word: “Dinner?” 

Much to XL’s surprise, HC visibly malfunctions by choking on his own spit, as if he hadn’t expected XL to be so forward. HC clears his throat right after, sputtering a measly, “O-oh?”  😳

XL doesn’t say anything else. He stands motionless while waiting for the younger man’s answer. 🥺

Luckily, XL doesn’t have to wait more than ten seconds before HC composes himself, standing back and placing his palms on the counter, satisfied.

“Dinner is perfect.”

XL: 🥰

HC: 😇

Things only got better when HC came around. Suddenly, XL wasn’t alone every night he closed. HC diligently visited every night he could when school and work permitted. They skate together as promised, HC commenting how generous XL is for offering special “private lessons.” XL is positive HC makes these innuendos on purpose and selfishly hopes HC doesn’t say them to anyone else but XL. 

Funnily enough, XL has made his own fair share of innuendos–though completely unintentional. 

(XL while skating with HC: “You’re doing so well, San Lang. Go faster!”

HC, raising an eyebrow: “Gege likes things faster?”

XL: 😳😳 “EEEK, I mean the speed you’re going at. I-it’s too slow-“

HC: *nods* “Whatever Gege wishes.” *winks at XL before zooming away*

XL, chasing HC: “Wait, how are you moving so quickly!?”)

(HC falls ill on a Friday when he would normally visit the rink. With no meds and a killer headache, HC texts XL to cancel their lesson. 

XL: “San Lang, do you need medicine? I’ll come for you”

HC: “Gege 😳😳���”

XL: “TO***** My finger slipped 😅”

HC: “Gege is getting quite bold now, isn’t he?”

XL: “San Lang!”)

***

It all boils down to a game of tag that got a little too competitive. It’s HC’s turn to tag XL. They’re zipping around the rink like flashes of light, the sound of their laughter echoing throughout the open space. Where XL is elegant yet sharp as he evades his pursuer, HC is aggressive and heavy as his skates dig into the ice in his haste catch XL. 

“Gege is too fast for this poor San Lang. It’s too unfair,” HC complains, though he has no reason to as he gains up on XL for the third time.

“Ahhh, no no noooo!” XL shrieks as he’s chased into a corner by a sneaky HC. In his attempt to turn around to escape, XL is crowded against the clear divider between the rink and the lounge space by a smirking HC. One last duck is countered by HC rushing forward to lightly secure his hands around XL’s waist. 

XL’s breath quickens as HC slowly leans down, a certain tenderness behind his eye that makes XL positively melt inside. 

“Caught you,” HC mutters, his long braid falling haphazardly down his right shoulder. XL shyly looks down, pinned by HC’s inquisitive stare. A large hand comes to gently grip his chin, lifting his head to meet HC’s face. “Do I get a reward?”

“What does San Lang desire?”

HC’s eye flickers down to XL’s lips. XL’s eyelids lower in understanding. And relief. Then, under some unknown source of confidence, XL lifts his chin invitingly. 

“It's your reward to claim,” he whispers. HC’s face splits in shock before morphing into an awed expression. He cautiously nudges XL’s nose with his own, making XL instinctually smile. 

“Gege has indeed become bolder,” HC utters.

He promptly seals their lips, which curiously meld together before separating. A tentative peck. XL is the one to slant their mouths together again, pulling HC down by the lapels of his jacket. They experiment as they press together, pull apart, then meet once more in delicious bliss.

XL hums as HC takes control of the pace. The taller man holds XL close, caressing his waist as they languidly make out against the divider. XL whimpers as HC cups his cheek lovingly. There’s a warm brush against the seam of XL’s mouth. He gladly parts his lips, welcoming the sensual slide of HC’s tongue inside. HC doesn’t let up, eagerly licking along every hollow and crevice of XL’s mouth.

When XL playfully nips at HC’s upper lip, HC firmly presses XL against the divide, grunting as he’s provoked. Another cheeky nibble has HC pulling away, raising a challenging eyebrow at XL. Using the diversion to his advantage, XL surges up to wrap his arms around HC’s shoulder, running the flat of his tongue over HC’s lower lip before coaxing him into another sweet kiss. HC smiles approvingly, allowing XL to lead. 

HC gradually shifts their weight so he skates backward, guiding them around the rink as they unhurriedly explore each other’s mouths. The scuffling of their skates paired with the slick sounds of their kissing serves as their own music and rhythm. XL surrenders to HC’s movements by resting most of his weight against the taller man. 

“I knew you knew how to skate this whole time,” XL murmurs against HC’s lips. HC chuckles as he traces XL’s cupid’s bow, then places a chaste kiss to XL’s cheek.

“Always so perceptive, gege.”

“Hmm, it’s hot,” XL says without thinking. HC smiles in amusement as he switches to skating in circles, gaze never leaving XL. 

“What is?”

“You skate with the confidence of a pro,” XL answers. He steals another kiss to HC’s lips, eyes crinkling as he smiles happily.

“Good thing I had the best teacher.”

“Oh, stop it, San Lang-“

“Make me.”

XL puffs his cheeks out in faux annoyance. But he can’t hold back a beaming grin as HC mimics his expression, over-exaggerating the pout that makes him look like a child whose candy was snatched out of his hands.

“If you insist,” XL sighs. He gives no other warning as he pounces, winding his legs around HC’s waist. HC effortlessly catches XL by underneath his thighs, pliant as XL crashes their lips together, hungry for much more. 

(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi)

[ciggylungz]

Worship me- Chapter.1

Worship me- Chapter 1.

word count- 3.3k

Summary: Harry is the typical bad boy in town, and Y/n is an innocent Catholic school girl, with a few skeletons in her closet

Warnings: mentions of abusive family, arranged marriage, some major angst and triggering themes

(this in no way is meant to be offensive, I grew up catholic and in a very bad household it was very toxic and detrimental to my health mentally and physically and I endured a lot of harm from the hands of the catholic church. But please remember that is only my experience and I support anyone with whatever religion they chose to practice, and please keep in mind this is fiction and meant to be taken as such. Xoxo H)

__

 The sun was just reaching it’s full peak as Y/n finished putting on her school uniform, she always hated how early she had to get up for school and it didn’t help her parents forced her to get up at 4:30 each morning to pray and read the page of the bible her father had picked out for the day. So, by 6:30 she was already knuckling at her eyes while buckling her black Mary Janes and rushing out the door with an empty stomach since her mother always said ‘fasting in the morning showed devotion to god’ which she truly didn’t understand. She didn’t understand a lot of the things her parents pushed on her and her siblings, some of it even scared her but she knew better than to open her mouth about it, she knew all she’d get in return is a tongue lashing and her faced shoved into a bible while she got spanked by her father. She found herself growing more and more scared as she grew older, her home seemed to get more hostile as the days went by but to her it was normal, it’s all she ever knew so she never questioned the things her parents groomed her for.

She tried not to drag her feet on the sidewalk while she made her way towards her school, she knew it would scoff her school shoes and her mother got very angry the last time she came home with scarred leather on the toes. Y/n truly felt exhausted today, she felt sad, tired, a bit overwhelmed and very hungry since she wasn’t allowed any food after 6 in the evening and then she had to withhold breakfast from herself in honor of god. She was really starting to feel the negative affects of some of these practices, her body getting thinner, her energy dropping quickly and the shivers and headaches were constant. Yet she kept her mouth shut, because ‘That’s what nice girls do’, and y/n didn’t want to be bad she wanted to be praised, she wanted to be adored and loved. But no matter how submissive she is to her parents; she never seems to get any of what she needs. She even kept track in her diary of how many days it had been since someone told her they loved her, today marks day 128.

She could barely hear the chatter of her peers as she made her way through the corridor, her head was already beginning to pound in her temples and her exhaustion was like a weighted blanket draped over her. She didn’t realize she was walking straight into the wall until she felt a palm press against her forehead stopping her from smacking her head into it, her knees still knocked into the navy blue tiles that decorated the bottom half of the walls causing a small ‘umph’ to escape her lips as she shifted her sleepy eyes to the person attached to the hand. There she saw Harry, his left eyebrow was raised slightly in a questioned manner while he looked down at her.

Y/n knew Harry, they were friendly with each other and she really liked him. He was the only person who really payed her any mind, and while she knew he was a bit of a trouble maker he was always kind to her. They shared a science and English class together, their desks lined up next to each other in the cramped classrooms of her private school always making their knees knock together and elbows to push each other’s work off the desks by accident, something rather annoying but the pair got along well enough it never caused his notorious attitude to flare up.

“You okay? Walkin’ like a zombie today kid.” He popped his gum between his teeth loudly, making her eyes blink on reflex before she brought her palms up to rub them slightly. “I’m really tired…sorry I didn’t mean to bother you”. Harry had no idea why she was apologizing, but he noticed it’s something she did a lot. Even when there was nothing to be sorry for and it always made him feel a bit sad, it was odd to him since the usually group of friends he hung with was very much the rough and tumble, unapologetic type.

“What are ya’ talkin’ about? Didn’t bother me, was making sure you didn’t hurt yourself, love.” While Harry was not a soft or sweet kid typically, he was always gentle with the girl. He called her pet names a lot and tried to keep his usual rough tone out of his mouth while he spoke to her. She was a sweetheart and he truly appreciated how pure her aura and personality is and he never wanted to do anything to jeopardize that. It was rare for him to ever be around a positive person if he’s being honest.

She simply shrugged and nodded, a yawn escaping her mouth before she looked up at him with hooded eyes, his own narrowing a bit just having a gut feeling something was off. She looked frail almost, he’s never seen her look dull and he didn’t like it. He was used to her being warm and bubbly, so seeing her look so down made his jaw clench. “Hey, look at me Y/n. What’s wrong? Can tell somethings up, want to talk to m’ about it?” her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit at his proposition, she wanted to talk about it but she knew she couldn’t. Her parents had forced into her mind that if she opened her mouth and told people about her feelings or things that went on at home, that god would hate her and she was scared of that. She was too deep in their game to see her parents would be the ones under gods harsh gaze, not her.

So she fought against the thoughts begging to be verbalized and gently shook her head, “No no, it’s okay…we have mass in a few minutes. Wouldn’t have time to talk anyway…it’s alright.” She shot his idea down, which concerned him further but he let it be, listening intently as she spoke again. “C-could I have a hug?” she was shy, she knew her parents would be very angry if they found out she had been alone with a boy, let alone having any physical contact even as simple as a hug or a high five. She hated that rule, and right now she knew the chances of her getting in trouble so she took the chance. She could feel her nerves prick her palms as he waited for his response, yet she felt a bit relieved as he opened his arms and let her press herself into him. She noticed a sense of security warm her while his broad arms hugged her small figure, he stroked her back slightly frowning to himself when he could feel her spine against his thumbs. Only then did he notice how thin she seemed to become since he first met her when she was a freshman and he was a sophomore last year, the girl one year his junior seemed to be shrinking instead of growing which made him a bit alarmed but he knew it wasn’t a good time to pry. Even as calloused as he is emotionally, he still has the ability to read people and what they need so he decided to just give her the comfort she requested, keeping a protective palm resting on her back as he walked into the school’s chapel with her.

Harry loathed the Catholic school his mother forced him to attend, he wasn’t exactly a bible thumper like the nuns and teachers that were breathing down his neck 6 hours out of his day. He didn’t like how the priest looked at his female classmates, or how they used the idea of God to scare people into submission rather then painting him as a warm, forgiving figure that he really should be made out to be. The only reason Harry was still attending the hellish school was because it made his mother happy and feel like her son was safe, and staying out of trouble for at least a good chunk of the day. Harry loved his mother; he knew she wasn’t fond of the trouble maker reputation he seemed to make for himself as he grew into young adulthood. And so, he did her the solid of attending and giving her some peace of mind.

Harry made sure to go into the same pew as Y/n letting out a grunt as he leaned down to his knees on the small padded strip meant to help their knees not hurt as bad yet it did very little to create a barrio between his knee caps and the hard floor beneath.

He mumbled a snarky ‘I’m not the one usually on my knees’ to himself, getting a glare from one of the nuns walking down the aisle doing a head count for student attendance but he only flipped the bird to her when her back was turned. Y/n was struggling to keep her head from resting on the pew in front of her, she was truly struggling to stay awake at this point finding herself jolting a bit every few seconds as she started drifting off, only able to fully get her composure when the head priests voice boomed through the speakers in the chapel, making her flinch and assume her earlier position while he read out a few verses, instructing them to bow their heads and pray along with him. Harry of course mocked the priest while Y/n robotically followed along as much as she didn’t want to, she was too sad to think about the weight of the words from the sacred book and her knees were aching yet she was too afraid to not say it, the fear crawling up her spine when she thought about what her parents would do if they found out she didn’t recite the prayer with her peers.

__

 Somehow Y/n managed to make it through her four class periods, she admittedly had retained nothing she was taught that day and by this point it was 2 in the afternoon and her head was pounding so bad she thought her skull might crack and her brain would eject itself in protest to her lack of hydration and nutrients coming in. she was in agony, and Harry hadn’t left her alone all day because he could read her like a book. To be honest he was scared she might keel over and die from how unwell she looked, and so he caught up to her while she was walking out of the school snagging her elbow, eyes watching as she barely responded to his sudden grasp and shifting so he was facing her. “Hey, hey love let me drive you home. I’m not taking no for an answer you look like you’re going to pass out.”

Y/n was too tired to fight, so she allowed herself to be guided to his car and put into his passenger seat. She smiled slightly with droopy eyes when he buckled her seatbelt for her, softly closing her door walking around the car to get into his place behind the wheel.

A soft grumble emited from her stomach, catching both of their attention and causing her cheeks to blush slightly, “ ‘m sorry, I’m a bit hungry..” Harry nodded while fumbling with his keys, “when’s the last time you ate?” she hesitated for a beat before deciding to be honest, “Lunch yesterday…didn’t have dinner and my parents make me fast every morning so I haven’t eaten.” The boy snapped his heads towards her, eyes widening and heart starting to beat faster in worry “Wait, really? So you haven’t eaten in-“ he paused to do the math in his head, they eat lunch at 11am while at school so now at half past two it had been a really long fucking time. “- 26 hours? Oh god, Y/n that’s not good, that’s not healthy. Here I have some water and a few protein bars left over from practice yesterday.” He popped the glove box open to pull out his snacks, handing two bars to her and grabbing his water bottle from the cup holder to hand to her, cracking it open for her and holding it for her, tipping it against her sleepy lips, seeing as her hands were shaking just holding the cereal bars he didn’t want her to accidently slosh the water all over herself. “thank you” her voice was quiet, but he heard it letting her drink a few more sips before she started to slowly eat the bar, her eyes closed and head resting against the window as she chewed with all the energy she had left. “You not sleeping either?” Y/n shook her head “Not really, have to get up at 4 every morning…went to sleep at 1, so I only got 3 hours…I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I really don’t feel good Harry”

Before he even turned the car on, he was making a mad dash to hold a rouge plastic bag under her chin while she spewed up the food she’d just eaten. He guesses since she hasn’t eaten in so long, the snacks upset her sensitive stomach. Y/n whimpered when the stomach bile forced it’s way out of her mouth into the bag the burning waking her up a bit and causing her to choke on it a bit. Harry didn’t make fun of her like she thought, she fully expected him to kick her out of his car and she wouldn’t blame him. She felt horrible, and very embarrassed yet he kept one hand holding the bag and the other used to tip her forwards do he can rub and pat her back keeping her from aspirating the vomit giving her gentle comforting words while he fished a napkin out of the console to wipe her mouth for her. “It’s alright kid, get it out. Stomach is upset huh? You feel warm too, jeez Y/n I’m sorry you’re not feeling good. How about I stop and get you a ginger ale and take ya’ home so you can get some rest?” she nodded slowly letting a few tears spill over her waterline only to be dried by another tissue held in Harry’s hand. “It’s alright, don’t gotta cry you’ll be okay I promise.”

__

 Harry kept true to his word, getting her a soda and taking her home giving her his number so she could text him if she needed him. Y/n tucked the slip of paper in her sock before exiting the car, she didn’t want her parents to take it from her so she made sure to hide it. “Thank you, I’m sorry your car smells like puke now..” Harry chuckled a bit “It’s alright, it’s smelled worse before. Not exactly the cleanest car in town hon”

The banter was soon finished as he dropped her off, driving off leaving Y/n to go back in her home. Greeting her parents before telling them she wasn’t feeling well and heading upstairs to take a nap finishing the remainder of her soft drink as she tucked herself under her blankets letting herself drift off.

__

When she woke up, it was nearly 10pm and she still felt like she needed a year long slumber to recover, but she knew she didn’t have a chance since her mother had woken her up to do her nightly hour of praying. She was beginning to hate the night routine; it was painful and tiring and she felt vulnerable and small.

When her father noticed her sluggishness he took it as disrespect, not having a care as he yanked his daughter by her underarm to stand bringing her downstairs harshly tossing her onto the couch. He gave no regard to her tears as he screamed at the girl, telling her horrible things and forcing her to hold her knuckles out for him to crack a ruler down on. She had bitten into her cheeks so harshly trying to stop the sobs that she could taste the blood in her mouth, but she didn’t dare speak as she took her punishment. She didn’t understand why he was giving her such a harsh treatment when she hadn’t done anything wrong but none the less she internalized it and made herself believe she deserved it.

“How many times do I have to tell you to sit up straight?! How many times do I have to beat it into you?! You think any man is going to want you when you’re such a sloppy disrespectful girl? You bring shame onto this family Y/n!”

Y/n didn’t miss the bile rising in her throat as her father used an arranged marriage- one she didn’t even want- to guilt her into submission. Her father believed in marrying his daughters off young, usually for a hefty payment. He’d done it to her two older sisters, Alexis when she was 15, and Cassidy when she was merely 13 years old. It wasn’t legal marriage by any means, but the girls didn’t know that. The men her dad basically sold his children to were predators but of course Y/n was made to believe it was normal for her dad to marrying her off to a man 20 years older than her. ‘Gods plan’ he called it, but it was scary to her. she didn’t want it, it made her feel violently ill thinking about having to marry a older man who always made her very uncomfortable when her dad would bring her to meet them. The way they looked at her gave her chills, the requests they made regarding her purity, the services she’d provide them with, it made her feel so objectified she sometimes wished to not wake up some mornings so she didn’t have to feel like she’s one day closer to her fate of being a predators indentured servant, used as a pawn and play thing.

The one time she had hinted she didn’t want to be married off, her mother denied her food for 3 days and made her take cold baths to ‘cleanse her’ of her ‘greedy wants’. Y/n truly felt terrified, she was shaking in front of her father while her brain was going into fight of flight. Her feet raced up the steps when her father dismissed her, and as she locked her bedroom door she remembered the slip of paper in her sock.

She knew the risks of reaching out to Harry, her parents knew of the boy. Everyone in town did, hard to forget a street brawling, angsty teenage boy who has been caught more than once by neighbors shit faced drunk or smoking weed with his friends and of course it caused floods of gossip through the rather conservative community yet she decided the risk was worth it if it gave her a sliver of hope to escape the nightmare she felt she was in.

Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she typed in his number, writing him a text

‘Harry, it’s Y/n are you awake?”

His response was quick, maybe 30 seconds after she’d sent hers

‘yea, what’s up? You alright? Feeling better?’

A fresh wave of tears were building in her eyes, shaky fingers typing out her next message

‘no, Harry please help me. I’m scared please.’

[sleepy-and-anxious]

WIP: Good For Something | World Building: Familiars

“A familiar,” He continued, “They’re sort of like your platonic soulmate.”   My eyes widened and I found myself leaning forward eagerly, taking sips of the milky coffee in front of me. “They’re your most trusted ally on an almost instinctual level. It’s hard to explain.” He said, his eyes scrunching up slightly as he went deep into thought. “When you’re with them its like you belong. They’re a person you know completely without trying. Someone who will always stand beside you. They’re a comforting presence. Like Hepton said, they’re your best friend.” He sighed, meeting my eyes, “It’s one of the strongest bonds you can have with a person.”

Origins

Familiars are another phenomenon which occurred after the Mystics Curse. It is believed that in killing her fellow Gods, she altered the human population as well. The souls of cursed individuals were split into two bodies as to balance out their Æthic auras in order to not place too much strain on the human body. What resulted from this was the creation of Familiars. Two people of true cursed equal. 

It is not something found within the pure population. 

Most individuals spend their entire lives searching for their familiar, though few are lucky enough to meet and experience a Surge.

Surges

A Surge is what occurs when Familiar’s meet and make eye contact. A Surge occurs when the soul calls to its other half when in close proximity. This results in the two Cursed individuals æthic auras Pushing out without aid or training in an extreme show of force, causing a lot more damage than when one of the individual’s Push on their own. Surges are called so due to their unpredictable and powerful nature. Though, as like Pushes, a Surge will have harsher effects when experienced with individuals with more powerful curses. 

The Surge is felt by all Cursed people within a mile radius. 

Surges are joyous occasions that are often talked about like other meet-cute situations such as meeting partners, first kisses and other such life events. 

Curses

Familiars have affinities to each other’s Curses, allowing them to more easily use the other’s Curse if they have access to a Cursed Crystal made by their Familiar.

Familiars are evenly matched in magical power often sharing compatible Curses of even strength, which many believe is the reason individuals find it easier to wield their Familiar’s Curse. 

Continuing after a Surge, the æthic aura’s of the individuals will calm and they will find their auras and Pushing easier to control when in the presence of their Familiar.  Not only does this become easier, but their overall physical ability (strength, speed, stamina agility) and their Curse become stronger when in the other half of their soul’s presence. This became very useful during the Boarder War’s when Noble would deploy soldiers in Familial Pairs in order to gain an advantage over the Southern population. A stipulation of becoming a member of the Queen’s Guard is that one must join and be paired with their Familiar in order to best protect the crown.

Tags

When one finds their Familiar, that person becomes their next of kin - It is believed that nobody will know what is in a person’s best interest more than the other half of their soul. Often, Familiar’s will wear dog tags around their necks with the name and contact identification number of their Familiar on it. This is mainly for medical emergencies when the next of kin needs to be contacted. However, over time dog tags have become iconic and an easily recognisable way of knowing someone has met their Familiar. They are often worn on show. 

Health

Familiar’s are often soothed from being in the presence of the other. They will also find the Push of their Familiar comforting rather than debilitating. A Cursed individual can force a feeling of calm and ease on their familiar by placing their foreheads together. 

It is well documented that long term separation of Familiars can have a detrimental effect on an individuals mental and physical health. If separated from their Familiar for more than a month, both sides of the soul will begin to feel lower levels of mood and may begin to experience chronic pain. 

Hi guys! I hope you enjoy my post about Familiars! I’m a sucker for strong friendships and it’s one of my favourite parts of my universe! Sorry this one took so long to get out

Tag list: @tawnywrites @reinkings @lachiffon @danafaithwriting @mademoiselleink @moiraaward @infinitelyblankpage @bird-police @jasmiinitee @cavewriter @type-writings @hell-yeah-fantasy @eternalwritingstudent @corishadowfang @punny-alien @alextriestowritestuff @xyrinnia @theprissythumbelina @kaz3313 @montagues-existence @hojasdeoctubre @byrdwriter @elliewritesstories @frank1ewrites @lisa-scank-de-alejo-writes @dantedevereaux @sunflowersfor-amy @chaos-reign @through-thesilver-lining @leapwriter @nathanielbooks @yuutfa @damnwrites @reeseweston @calicowrites @starlitesymphony 

[jouchi-josei]

lot of feelings.

i managed to write this a couple weeks ago. (i don’t remember if it was before or after i ghosted everyone. hah.)

this is the raw truth of what i felt in those moments, writing what i’ve been so desperate to say. whether the sentiment behind all of this is still present now doesn't matter.

save your time from trying to help me: i’m kind of already a lost cause.

spend your time reaching out. to those who feel like they have no one on their side. to those who aren’t comfortable enough to speak up. to those who aren’t as lucky as i.

i was supposed to cover “Words Fail” from Dear Evan Hansen and post it, but lately, i can barely get out of bed without being in extreme pain, both emotionally and physically.

///// suicide & extreme hopelessness trigger warning //////

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKP9UdIcXFk

“Words Fail.” Not only the title of the song, but a reminder. A reminder that no matter how hard you wish to explain yourself through spoken or written word, there is only so much that can do to express your true self. As someone who is lucky enough to be able to explain themselves through words at a decently comprehensible level, not being able to do so is so disheartening. So exhausting. So… isolating.

Before coming to Japan, I rarely experienced that. I always had a particular metaphor or analogy that could help others understand where I’m coming from. When I looked at people, I could see it click in their minds: they understood me on some kind of level. Some kind of understanding was enough for me. I managed to do that through word alone.

But… I lost that. I couldn’t explain the crippling loneliness, the lack of motivation, the overwhelming insecurities, the inability to get out of bed. I couldn’t explain why my depression was so bad.

People kept asking me, kept advising me, kept… trying.

Long after I stopped.

Rather than taking the time to try and explain myself thoroughly, I merely answered with an, “I don’t know,” because trying to formulate a proper response was too fatiguing.

My suicidal ideation is as heavy as it was the weeks following my last suicide attempt. And I mean that: it is. People have been fighting to keep me afloat, and I do not want their efforts to be for naught, but it’s been real difficult when I have not only a lack of a will to live, but a strong desire to die. Lack of a positive + presence of a negative = overwhelming negative.

When I was physically separated from my amazing support system and suddenly couldn’t avoid my problems by sleeping, I was forced to spend more time in my own head.

I was forced to really see myself. Discover more about myself. And the longer that that happened, the more I realized how much I hate myself. How disgusted I feel when I think about my being. I merely avoided it by focusing on other people. But being here forced me to confront myself straight-on. And what an unsightly thing it is.

I mess up a lot. Over and over and over again. And I was forced to come to terms with: even if your heart is full of immense regret and you swear to never do it again, people still might not give you a second chance. And they’re not obligated to. You just have to recognize that you messed up. And decide to do better next time.

But I’m also at the point of: why should I forgive myself when they won’t forgive me either? Why should I cut myself loose so easily?

They’re good people. Amazing people.

I’m the mess up.

I shouldn’t share something people have told me in confidence. I shouldn’t betray someone’s trust like that. I shouldn’t... use "coping” as a fucking an excuse instead of just owning up to the fact that I messed up. I hurt people I care about. And I need to take whatever repercussions come along with that.

My friends have called me out on this, but I didn’t do anything about it until recently. Like, mad recently. And the only reason I decided to do something about it was because my defenses were so broken down, I was forced to recognize that, even if I had no ill-intention, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt others.

My mom would do the same exact thing to me. Air out my dirty laundry for everyone to see. And I mean, literally everyone.

Like mother, like daughter, I guess.

(Don’t want to be, though.)

There are times where I wish I didn't have my heart open for everyone to see, I wish I didn’t “lead with the worst of me”. I wish I could stay quiet and not be vulnerable with people. Because now there are people who have parts of me I wish I could take back.

But no. That’s not who I am.

Inauthenticity I despise more than anything else. Of course, I could always just keep my heart tucked away, for only a select group to see, but my extreme trust issues say, “Share everything with everyone all the time! So no one can talk about you behind your back and use it against you! Because you don’t trust anyone ever! And that’s why you’ll never really love anyone!”

And yet, part of me has been terrified to talk about it: my suicidality. Because I’m so scared of being pulled back to America. I’m scared of whether my efforts of fighting for Japan will end up being futile.

The main thing that I’ve been fighting for for my own sake was Japan. The opportunity to study abroad was actually taken away from me back in January. Due to my mental illness and my “risk factor” of being abroad, UT decided to pull the decision from me. They offered me to study abroad in the Fall semester (those of who know how studying abroad in Japan works know that that would be impossible). They asked me how I felt over the phone. Was I meant to respond in a chipper voice, excitedly accepting their choice? (spoiler: I didn't) And they didn’t even offer me any kind of chance to try and prove I was stable enough to go abroad.

I had to find the solution myself, without their help.

I don’t… want to prove them right. UT screwed me over. Took away the one thing I wanted for myself.

I fought for it still.

And now that I’m here in Japan: a country that has no easy access to mental health professionals, xenophobic towards any and nearly every kind of 外人, and where my voice is lost among the overwhelming crowds…

I question whether I should be here or not. But America also holds a lot of bad memories for me too. Which one is better to lean towards? Who knows? People ask me whether I want to stay or to leave? I don’t know what I want. All I know is that I want to die.

But I’m tired of faking it. Faking that I’m living a luxurious life in an amazing country. Faking that I’m having a good time when in reality, I spend more time crying and wanting to die than I don’t. Faking that I’m capable when in reality, I am so weak.

I’m done “pretend(ing) that I’m something better than these broken parts; pretend(ing) I’m something other than this mess that I am. ‘Cause then I don’t have to look at it, and no one gets to look at it. No. No one can really see.”

(Please do listen the song simply for that portion [^] Please.)

So, here I am: extremely suicidal in a country where I feel like I don’t belong. Here I am: too exhausted to try and carve a me-shaped space into this place. Here I am: having an identity crisis of who is Kamea versus KayCee, and questioning why it feels as though there is such a huge discrepancy between the two. Here I am: resisting the everyday urge to self-harm, not even for my own sake. Here I am: seeing all of the mistakes I made and wishing so badly I can undo all the hurt and pain I caused. Here I am: wanting so badly to just disappear and never return. Here I am: wishing I didn’t have an overwhelming love for my friends.

Because if I didn’t, I’d be long gone.

But no. No, I had to care about people and have a love cultivated and nurtured for them and have a desire to witness their lives with all their accomplishments and failures. Witness how far they go even if I may not be a direct part of their lives anymore. How badly I want to see my friends (all of you) go off and do great things. Because I know that you all will because you all already have. Pride swells up in my chest as I see all that my friends have done and do. And I love all of you, overwhelmingly so.

But.

I wish… God. I wish I didn’t.

I wish my heart didn’t burst every time I saw someone I loved. I wish I didn’t look at people and think, “Yeah. This is okay. This is worth living for.”

I wish I didn’t have that.

Because then this would finally be over.

But no. I had to care about people and have people care about me. They reciprocated in ways I never thought they would. My friends have made such strong efforts and put their trust in me even long after I begged them not to because I’m as ephemeral as they come. I am fleeting, and all I will do is leave destruction in my wake.

As much as I wish I could disappear in a puff of smoke, my friends would probably see my leaving as detrimental: a destructive explosion rather than a raincloud fading away to let the sun shine.

My friends held their hands out to me and I made the mistake of reaching back. And now, they won’t release me any time soon.

How badly I wish they would. Because I am a bomb with the timer counting down. Because I’ve shown such horrible sides of myself and yet they love me through all of it. Why? Is it because I’m a project person and humans feel this integral need to help/fix people and they are using me to fulfill that craving? Or is it because they care about me? Wholly and unconditionally?

God, I don’t understand at all. I don’t deserve their love or their trust, but I have it. I don’t… understand.

I don’t know what to do. I used to say, “I’ll figure it out” rather than saying, “I don’t know.”

But… I’m at that point. I don’t know. Nor do I think I will ever.

I know that talking about this is what's keeping me alive. Having this conversation, even if people aren’t “ready” to have it, is important. Because I never EVER want anyone to feel the way that I do. But I know that there are. Some of them may even be reading this. My heart aches for you.

Talking about it is my lifeline right now. Sharing my voice and my story just in case someone may need to hear it.

But... I’m also tired of talking about it.

I hope... that people can still do it. Be a leader in pushing mental health awareness. Be a leader in showing that talking about suicide is not taboo. Be a leader in fighting against those who try to silence you, including yourself.

Even though I won’t anymore. I am tired. Exhausted. Done. It’s a waiting game for me now.

10 years since my depression manifested. 5 straight years of everyday, non-stop suicidal thoughts. Some people may see that as a short amount of time. Yeah. You're right. I'm weak. And tired. And over it.

I put in as much work as I can. I’ll just cheer from the sidelines from now on.

Good luck to all of you. To all of you who still have that drive to continue forward. I believe in you. And I know you will accomplish great things.

I wish you all the best.

^

i wrote the ending of this post the day that i managed to complete my plan of suicide, details and all: i was... just waiting for the energy.

it never came.

so, i’m... still here.

[kadobeclothing]

Why I Stopped Trying To Be A “Morning Person”

Rise and Shine?Before COVID-19, our days were defined by places to go and people to see. Without either, we’re experiencing an almost-inverse agenda where schedules feel obsolete and free-time abundant. Still, even with all the external encouragement to maximize our loosely shaped days with self-discovery and self-care, what I haven’t opted to do is become an ultra-early riser. In fact, sticking to my usual routine amidst the stress has brought normalcy to the unnatural. 

“I’d developed an early proclivity for wandering around the house in the dark long after I was assumed to be asleep.”

When I was a toddler, my parents “lost” me (at least) twice, and through no fault of their own. I was a two-year-old who, according to them, had learned how to leap out of bed—they gave up on the crib—and land on my feet like I was a gymnast. I’d developed an early proclivity for wandering around the house in the dark long after I was assumed to be asleep. Unbothered by the fact that I couldn’t reach any of the light switches, I’d amble around our home—for what exactly, is still unknown—and once satisfied with my aimless search, would find a new place to rest my still-developing head. My parents woke in the mornings to discover their baby, well, gone. I was in our living room behind the bar; yes, a heavy, free-standing hunk of wood that held the house’s liquor. Or I was found under my bed, in the corner, covered with dust and needing to be dragged out by my legs. My disposition for the dark has lasted well into adulthood. Even now, when I ask my boyfriend to stay up with me for just a little bit longer, he laughs with a wobbly and incredulous shake of his head.But my innate affinity has begun to feel more like a source of shame than a badge of honor. As the pursuit and performance of self-care permeates our news cycles and social media feeds, I see friends and public figures alike hitting the gym before work. Time-stamped still-shots of the sunrise populate Instagram Stories. Multi-step morning routines are shared like checklists.

“My disposition for the dark has lasted well into adulthood. But it’s begun to feel more like a source of shame than a badge of honor.”

Circulating articles further substantiate these habits, detailing how CEO-level success is often contingent upon waking with (or before) the sun. Of Mark Wahlberg’s daily 2:30 a.m. routine, Business Insider wrote as if an applause: “It has gotten results for Wahlberg, who was the highest-paid actor of 2017.” As much as I try to mimic these methods, dressing in the dark to go to the gym or sitting at my desk to make a list of everything I’m grateful for, I feel like that same toddler. Like I’m being forced to fight what comes naturally. I end up feeling like my early hours are more frantic, not less. And I feel like a failure because of it. 

“Comparing ourselves is pretty much an instant ticket to self-loathing and regret.”

— Carlota Zimmerman

“Having very successful people brag about their magnificent discipline can be extremely discouraging to people who are at the beginning of their own journeys,” says career coach Carlota Zimmerman, J.D. “It can make someone think, ��Well, I like to sleep in…am I lazy?’ Comparing ourselves is pretty much an instant ticket to self-loathing and regret. Whatever it is you’re trying to do, give yourself the permission to do it your own way, on your own terms.”Find what works for you (no, really)Mindset coach Antoinette Beauchamp calls this approach Intuitive Scheduling. The method allows you to schedule your days according to tasks that bring you the most ease and joy.“To put it simply, it’s all about creating a calendar that works for you, not against you,” she says. “And avoiding a ‘should’ mindset is crucial in finding [those] routines. Intuitive Scheduling goes hand-in-hand with understanding what your needs are, personally and professionally. If you’re tired, make space for rest. If you know you need to eat five times a day, make sure you always have snacks handy. If you know you get burnt out from meetings, schedule them further apart from each other.”

“Instead of trying to fulfill a tight regimen…before I leave for the office, I wake naturally, opt for just one practice, and luxuriate in the rest later.”

What works for me is completing my day’s must-dos first—work, errands, housekeeping—so that my evenings are left free for what I want to do, which is lean into my self-care without a schedule. Instead of trying to fulfill a tight regimen of minute-to-minute meditating, journaling, exercising, and more before I leave for the office, I wake naturally, opt for just one practice, and luxuriate in the rest later. Doing this has allowed me to be more mindful in the moments I need it most. Instead of my mind involuntarily wandering during a morning Savasana, I’m unburdened when doing the same pose in the evening because my tasks are already done. Writing down what I’m grateful for at night means I’m keeping an eye out for those precious moments during the day (and becoming more present-minded in the process).As a gentle reminder, Beauchamp says, “[Your schedule] may be different every day. While routine can help you set up consistency, flexibility allows you to stay in alignment with your nature. By giving yourself permission to intuitively shift and go with the flow, you give yourself more space to find motivation, gain confidence, and discover your own version of productivity.”

“By giving yourself permission to intuitively shift and go with the flow, you give yourself more space to discover your own version of productivity.”

— Antoinette Beauchamp

Don’t fight your circadian rhythmI was born at 10:58 p.m. On Halloween, no less. To be honest, I’m surprised I didn’t come out in a witch’s hat eager to salvage the holiday’s last hour. For years, I’ve claimed this as the reason for my night owl-ness. And while I’ve only found one study to support my theory, circadian rhythm has been proven to influence whether or not you are a “morning” or “night” person. Our bodies’ internal clocks are affected by factors like genetics, gender, sunlight, and age, and they can regulate functions, including body temperature and the levels of hormones in our blood. Regardless of the variables, our individual circadian rhythm determines when we are most alert and when we are most sleepy. Living in misalignment with our natural body clock can negatively impact our health. “As with genetics where people are built differently, this applies to sleep patterns too,” says Dr. Giuseppe Aragona, a general practitioner and medical advisor. “Circadian rhythms play a part, but when all is told, if a night owl is constantly fighting against their body’s natural instinct by waking up early each morning, this will have a cumulative detrimental effect on their health, awareness, mental capacity and, of course, their ability to succeed in their job.”

“Embracing my tendencies instead of combating them feels like I’m detouring out of a race I didn’t want to be a part of.”

Embracing my tendencies instead of combating them feels like I’m detouring out of a race I didn’t want to be a part of. Projects and pleasures are balanced in a personalized way, and I am subject to the Midday Slump a lot less because of it. Wake time aside, abandoning a one-size-fits-all approach can be freeing for all of us. “It’s not survival of the fittest,” says Aragona. “It’s being in tune and listening to your body to eke out the best performance.”Do you consider yourself a morning or a night person, and why?

Share in the comments below!RELATED READING

Danielle Cheesman was born and raised in New Jersey, where she lived until moving to Philadelphia to study journalism at Temple University. She has spent her years writing and developing editorial visions for music, art, and lifestyle brands. Now residing in Los Angeles, you can usually find her taking pictures, making playlists, or cuddling her pup. Say hi on Instagram! Source link

source https://www.kadobeclothing.store/why-i-stopped-trying-to-be-a-morning-person/

[superiortechnology]

The worst first day

A drabble for @mingohomo, @josai and @itsalwaysmiyukikazuya This is what my morning looked like yesterday. Sorry Oikawa, I must project.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His eyes fluttered open and reality instantly kicked in.

The first day of classes.

The first day of practice.

He stared across the room, blurry eyes landing on the alarm clock near the foot of his bed. He couldn’t make out the numbers well, so he was forced to roll over to his left. He reached for his phone, body stiff from sleep, and silenced the incessant ringing of this alarm.

He sighed deeply, the irritation flowing away in a wave of expiration. He pulled his phone closer to his face, squinting his eyes at the numbers displayed.

7:40. He could afford 5 more minutes.

And of course, just as he felt himself drifting off, the horrible music that he’d been groomed to hate after years of having the same alarm rang once more sending a new surge of cortisol through his veins. Snoozing always seemed like such a good idea, but he was too well aware of just how detrimental to his health it really was.

Fuck it. I’m up.

He forced himself into a sitting position and struggled to keep his eyes open.

Maybe the late night practice wasn’t such a good idea. He wasn’t used to being up this early anymore. Summer had consisted of so many late nights, hitting serves until the sun came up. All of the begging for the gym key at end of last semester had definitely been worth it though. He felt renewed and ready for the season.

He reached across to his nightstand and pulled his glasses onto his face, clearing the fog from the room. He could see the clock across the room clearly now, not that it mattered.

Throwing the blankets across his body, Tooru attempted to psych himself up to get out of bed. He reached down to the floor and pulled on his warm sweatpants. It was amazing how cold it was already for September.

Once he was on his feet, he peered out the window. It was remarkably light out for how early it was, but the rain was pouring. Not completely abnormal for September, but definitely not desirable either. Luckily the bus stop wasn’t far from his house.

Bracing a hand against the wall, he all but stumbled to his closet where he pulled on a dry fit shirt then wrapped himself in his team hoodie. At least he would only need to get half dressed after breakfast.

He dragged his backpack that he’d mostly packed the night before into the kitchen and set his lunch bag inside, zipping it up. He’d learned long ago that getting ready for school the morning of was not an option, and more often than not he would forget something, so he typically got ready the night before.

He tossed a piece of toast in the toaster and poured himself a cup of black coffee. He was taking in the warm aroma from the mug clutched in both hands when his eyes fell on the microwave clock, and something clicked in his mind.

FUCK!

A split second longer of staring and he was bolting back to his room. He threw his glasses on the counter and tossed his dry toothbrush in his mouth at the same time, grabbing for his contact lenses and sloppily forcing them into his eyes. He finished brushing his teeth, clenching his eyes against the burn of unwashed lenses then threw on a pair of shorts before darting back downstairs.

He was supposed to be up at 6:40 not 7:40! Practice started at 8!

FUCK FUCK FUCK! He thought to himself and he pulled on his rain jacket, wrapped his toast in a napkin and threw his backpack over his shoulders.

The adrenaline coursed through his body as he ran out the door, locking it quickly from the inside and began to sprint down the road. He didn’t have time to bus today. The bus only came every 20 minutes and he’d missed the last one.

What an impression to give off on the first day as a senior

His first day as captain.

He was mentally kicking himself, staring way ahead of him as he felt something sticky and filamentous across his face. He let out a loud cry and grabbed at his head, ripping the spider webs from his skin as frantically and as quickly as he could, all the while spitting onto the ground. He threw his toast on the ground in the fray, though he didn’t care as he wasn’t going to have time to eat it anyway. He scratched and clawed at his hair, his hood, his face and his shoulders as he felt a lump grow in his throat and tears burn at the corners of his eyes.

FUCK!

It was all so stupid. How could he be so stupid? How could he fuck up his alarm. And how could he run through that stupid cobweb. There were ALWAYS cobwebs there and he ALWAYS avoided them.

Idiot! He screamed to himself internally

But he kept running, all the while feeling like something was crawling down his back, scratching at his jacket and his shoulders, running hands through his hair.

Finally he could see the gymnasium in the distance, and he kept his pace despite the protests screaming from his lungs and knee.

He made it to the familiar door of the gym and doubled over, panting. At least he was warmed up. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he found that he was only twenty minutes late. Even so, he hated it, and his mind was racing.

Definitely off to a good start, he shot sarcastically at himself.

“You’re late, Oikawa,” the words rang in his ears as he opened the door, finding himself standing directly beside his coach.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, bowing and dropping his bag beside him.

“Not a good way to start the season,” he muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice.

“Again, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I’d tell you to hit 100 serves, but somehow I doubt that would be much of a punishment.”

“I’ll do it if you ask,” he said, finally getting his breathing under control.

“It’s fine. But next time I will ask that if you can’t show up on time, don’t bother showing up at all.”

“Yes sir,” Tooru replied, cringing inwardly.

“Get changed and hit the court,” he said.

He didn’t need to be told twice, and he darted into the changeroom.

“You’re late,” a voice said from behind him as he ripped off his running shoes.

“Thanks tips,” he replied, not needing to turn around to know who it was.

“You’ve never been late for practice. You’re always early. Everything ok?” His best friend asked, his voice completely absent of it’s usual wit and forced malice.

Tooru turned back to face him. Hajime was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest, a light sheen of sweat across his brow.

“Yeah, I just fucked up my alarm.”

“You seem stressed,” Hajime commented.

“I ran here.”

“Idiot,” he commented. “Anything I can do?”

“If you see a spider on me, don’t tell me, just kill it.”

[contrastbalance]

music becoming visual

This edition of contrastbalance is primarily about music becoming more and more visual, part of the reason I want physical copies out. Everyone featured in this entire thing has a strong image in some way – some are bold and some are enticing. Some use it as a stand alone statement, others to create something as eye catching as they do ear catching. Others use your eyes as a horizontal platform, ingraining into your cheekbone to reach being one step more relatable over the process of rolling out releases and 5 steps away from their ephemeral counterparts.

In early 2014, everyone’s favourite adopted artsy sibling Dev Hynes gave a stellar Ted Talks. The lecture’s focus was his understanding of the neurological condition of synaesthesia, and also featured a beautiful soundscape using keys he associates with certain colours. His projectile talent becomes far more transparent, opening up to the sniper focused audience, all while the speaker is reminiscent of Grace Jones mixed with a Lemony Snicket character.

Chromesthesia is the more particular type of the condition where colours link to sound, another known carrier is Pharrell. In an interview with Psychology Today he talks about over-active parts of his brain being forced to temporarily halt. He states “you ask any great rapper or writer or musician, and they’ll tell you their craziest ideas come from the shower or the plane because in both places there is sensory deprivation.” Williams linking his heard with his seen when meeting minds is integral to his much covered juxtaposition, which everyone knows he’s interested in creating. He sees his music the same as he does with getting dressed and everything else in between, drawing variation from a multicultural background, he is maybe someone you wouldn’t expect to be interested in what he is.

When A$AP Rocky was a can of spaghetti with the little sausages bursting onto a line of bridesmaids in 2011, what people who make music wear was at one of it’s highest points of fast changing scrutiny. He and the Mob were seen in the places to be, alongside the elite likes of Jeremy Scott, Michele Lamy and Kris Van Assche.

He had grown up bouncing between Harlem and Soho, at a young age mixing with people who inspire inspirers. Tales of acid-induced friendliness at SXSW give some sight into his individual and groups’ participating stabs at hedonism – but he has mixed in plenty of the high-brow sensibility to brilliantly market himself as someone standoffish when it comes to actually being a designer himself, a lane that has distracted musicians from every corner and status. He said in an early interview with SBTV “I’m not a designer, I’m not a fashion designer, I could consult like ‘yeah that’s dope but maybe you should fix this collar a little,’ but I don’t know the first thing about designing, I think that’s disrespectful to the culture. For me to just take advantage of it due to my fame, come in and pretend I can design – that’s not what I do.” Genuine interest and admiration saw designers, models and everyone hanging on in between every side of water huddle around Mayers, safe in the knowledge that artists are very aware of creative processes of those adjacent to them in other fields. He’s in the same vein of Bowie in terms of recreating himself.

While he’s admitted that Long.Live.A$AP leaned too much on the logical option at the time of trying to jump into pop minefields, At.Long.Last.A$AP showcased his genre-blending abilities. Following and probably coinciding with the hardship of losing one of his closest friends, fellow inspirer-of-inspirers A$AP Yams – seemed like he was having fun after making something he was sure he wanted us to hear and see. From the outside he’s the most pertinent visible link between underground music and wide arrays of fashion, and didn’t need to capture considerable numbers in pop audiences to do so.

Donald Glover’s creations always seem to meet at a drunk yoga class. The casual nature in which the creations are born is easily recognisable and even portrayed on-screen. Where Rocky and other massive acts could be described as embodying the more material, often recent and biographical side of rap, those like Kendrick Lamar, Chance The Rapper and Glover prefer telling interpersonal stories that drop listeners in the midst of varying turmoil.

Moonlighting as Childish Gambino, a dad and a guy who seems to place a lot of emphasis on changing his facial hair, Glover lives a really quiet life. His first exposure to the public eye came after Tina Fey was shown a spec screenplay for The Simpsons by David Milner, intrigued, she dug up some of the short films Glover made while at New York’s Tisch School of the Arts as part an improvisational comedy group, and she subsequently hired him to write for 30 Rock at just 23. After an 89-episode stint as Community‘s Troy he was written off the show, later stating that he casually asked to leave because his “heart wasn’t really in it. They, thankfully were just like ‘yeah’ and they let me go”, to Vibe Magazine, which wasn’t imparted to public knowledge at the time – leading many to boycott the show confused about the demise of a character and actor that had quickly impressed and maintained the sole reason for them to bother watching.

Not until 2013 and the rollout of because the internet would he post pictures of handwritten notes on Instagram, one stating “I didn’t leave Community to rap, I don’t wanna rap. I wanted to be on my own.” He says he was “mildly inconvenienced” by the resulting phonecalls.

Ambition to create using so many different artforms, even ability to do so at the level Glover consistently does is one thing, balancing all of them into your waking hours with a newborn is different. In August 2013 work began with FX on Atlanta, around following his short-lived recommencement with Community, around finishing because the internet, around shooting self-written short films featuring tripping pornstars, around the Deep Web Tour, recording and releasing STN MTN and then a day later Kauai.

Atlanta premiered on FX on 6th September 2016. It follows around Earn, who dropped out of Princeton to return back to Atlanta and become a full time slacker, part-time Airport salesman, part-time parent, post-retirement-occupation-time boyfriend. He realises first what his cousin is doing, then an episode length later that said cousin Paper Boi is on the brink of rap stardom and takes on an impromptu role as his manager. In the past few years the city has reached previously inaccessible heights in recognition as a culturally rich paradise for particularly African Americans – while the pressures of rubbing shoulders with some of the country’s artistic, business, innovative and sometimes underworld elite is present in the feel of the series, it’s Glover’s real-life cool in the face of doubt that makes the show so fluidly, deftly written, quaintly shot and highly addictive. “I tried to, I just wanted to make Twin Peaks with rappers,” he offers on The Ellen Show.

There is a brooding undercurrent that’s gained the critical acclaim and also a commissioned 2nd series just 2 weeks after it first aired. An all-black cast is few and far between, but been done – and all-black writing team is a less talked about issue in conversations about opportunity. President of FX, John Landgraf says of the pre-production meetings; “with Donald, he didn’t always articulate his vision in a way that we could see it, but his passions and ambition were clear.” There’s so much scope for a quirky show with (to many viewers) unconventional dialogue to go so wrong, just look at Bored to Death.

The issues that Atlanta portrays Earn tackling are those held varyingly stagnant over long spans of time in different lights by different people – police brutality, parenthood, mental health, institutionalised fear, gender identity, exploitation, flawed or complete lack of ethics in the entertainment industries, attitudes to firearms over racial lines and also portraying Justin Bieber as a black teenager in a charity basketball game – at no point does the show make an effort to not seem like it was written by an all-black team looking outwards. Glover downplays any political role the show may play in a Wired interview, while giving some insight into the casual first steps towards the brilliance the show exudes: “I like it when black people are hit with a certain light, like purple. It just felt good to play around with the look of the show.” An incredibly curious person, no one could’ve written the dialogue for Van and Jayde in the restaurant in the ‘Value’ episode without having experienced a defining moment while leaning over fumes from a squash based appetiser.

Gambino reached what you could call the 2nd phase of marketing with Awaken, My Love! reaching almost 200 million Spotify plays. The album was first played alongside a full band and 6-part choir at PHAROS, a Joshua Tree installment that Glover curated with Wolf and Rothstein, Microsoft and Miles Konstantin. The latter developed the PHAROS Earth app, purchasable for $99, locked to the phone and owner acting as a ticket to the 3-day wilderness based festival, that Glover would state would be his only live performance in 2016. The app was to make sure no tickets could be accordingly resold for such an exclusive event, and after the phones were checked for eligibility at entry they were placed in magnetically locked bags that were handed out – to halt any leakage from the cult event to the outside world. The event placed so much emphasis on first hand purity, as broken down into 5 sections upon purchasing the app – “tribe, ritual, experience abstraction, architecture, language.”

Another peek at Glover disillusionment, this time with technology was displayed by a complete clearance of his Twitter and Instagram accounts at the end of 2014, only returning with a Tweeted countdown in June 2016. “Be helpful. Do not be a detriment. No irony” the app also stated alongside the 5 human experience intuitives. In September fans appeared at Joshua Tree in the “vibrancy colour” of blue, that acted as another entry requirement. Wading through a mixture of Brokeback Mountain sets and a party in a garage ambience the crowds saw an artist in full control of everything they were seeing.

Due mainly to cold callers from Birmingham we’re probably now in the stage of evolution where we know not everyone is going to have a fully suitable voice for their chosen direction in life. Expectations naturally make up reaction and Rick Astley had all you shallow bastards annoyed. If you do listen to people’s music based solely on physical appearance you’ve probably got a relatively neo-nazi dad and you’ll frequently set fire to the family balaclava lexicon so you won’t have to accompany him on his shopping list. Album art is the forward-thinking way to live up to or fail to with regards to listeners expectations that they made with their eyes.

They act as a documentation of what they entomb and the location of the graveyard, modern graphic design actively swingy-chairs into the shins of people holding wine who don’t move out the way. When previously artwork was revealed ahead of release to moonwalk dropping breadcrumbs, that was a linear step like most steady marketing – today the rules often get told as you consume the experience. It lets you in for an all round view of a possibly new genre of image and you can easily find the cover you want to see, it might not match what you wanted to hear but you remember what you saw and go from there – much like casinos in the UK.

The hopefully budding romance of Zack Fox and Thundercat is communicated to the “here for this” spectators vibrantly through the covers of the deluxe vinyl copies of Drunk; feline optical illusion, trap mixtape reminiscent kaleidoscopes of viagra, guns and horses, also a seemingly constipated album artist. The visuals are a cue to using humour to help push through dark moments, it’s just as abstractly debilitating and distracting as that is. In an interview with Creative Review, the mystic force formerly known as Bootymath summarised: “I definitely just wanted to capture my sense of humour, which some would consider absurd or psychedelic. When life is just punching you in the back of the head, you start laughing at shit that doesn’t even correlate – it’s a coping mechanism but it helps create timeless inspiration. I wanted to inject those experiences and let designs be bold and confusing.”

If the Drunk covers would be for the Peter Saul fans, Bonobo’s Migration is probably whispered to those into Dan Flavin. Simon Green’s 6th album cover was designed by Neil Krug – responsible for visuals accompanying sounds from Lana Del Rey, The Weeknd and Tame Impala. The art dads know Bonobo from scenic and melancholy drives drowning out your wife in the boot, and the story of how the album art came about is equally as Californian-style ritualistic.

The consistency of the crispness Krug captured definitely affected his sleeping pattern horribly – he would drive out into the Mojave in the middle of night to have a chance to capture the divinity in the area’s sunrise. Picturing the desert came from Green’s recent life choice of moving to Los Angeles, while finalising tracks he would drive out to find required portions of solace. In an interview, also with Creative Review he says, “You can hear things in a new way just from moving environment. The car test is a classic thing. Producers will say, ‘take a drive with the music’. I like to go up to the mountains – there’s lots of really weird and wonderful landscapes around where I live – and just spend time with the music. It’s very inspiring… it can spark an idea that you might not have had if you’d just been sat in an air conditioned studio.”

The intensity of the supposed subject and the serenity it’s happening in narrate Krug’s skill as a press photographer and the same contrast correlates very effectively as something that could stand without explanation. The cover designer says in the same interview: “Once Si and I sat down and talked I knew the artwork needed to be something other than just landscape images. I thought, if this is going to grab your attention and create a narrative – you need something else in there – but what’s in there can’t be too loud or comment too much on what the music is. It had to stand out in an unusual way.”

Another past-time visual components to music can choose to aim at is discourse on identity. 2016 was a massive year for image around music, particularly in acknowledging vulnerability in places it wasn’t seen previously. I was losing my mind watching a reaction video of Frank Ocean, and the channel owner states “he doesn’t know how to market himself apparently” – yet the singer has had strangers from passing by cars shouting “Frank where’s the album!” If people verbally assault you for more of just you, you’ve created a demand for yourself in infinite ways for constant consumption. Beginning with Endless, Ocean perfected the unorthodox rollout of artistic identity that included two albums, a magazine, a seemingly for-view-only clothing line, pop up retail locations, a music label and apparently a racing team. The most adored gift to date was in the shape of Blonde.

Forever a mystery in an information age, Ocean’s most revealing statement came from that Tumblr note, which in turn made you a chiropractor studying the backbone Channel Orange, just as expected after that he money-danced into the abyss. He stands so close to the likes of West, Knowles, Mayer that reflections off of royal-like jewels fully expose his complete innocuous desire to go and live and them come tell us about it, although he seems to be making that arthouse full time. Post Channel Orange activities forced him to enter into the wilderness, absolutely no interest in TMZ harassment. He has all the cliché qualities to live as a genius like those who handed the torch to him, including the inhuman work-rate; Blonde‘s clear perfectionism required it’s creator to work for at least 17 house a day at the height of production and there’s rumoured to be 150 versions of ‘White Ferrari‘. Apart from a casually released ‘Nikes‘ video, none of the tracks have received even slightly the treatment you’d expect to see for as a single.

Since the album was released at the end of August 2016, Ocean has already given a short interview while wearing Vans in the White House, a longer form conversation in the New York Times, had a filmed interview about the making of possibly his last stab at an “album format” and even released one and been featured on another song – he seems all set to fire himself off to the moon.

What made Blonde all the more enticing was the visual attitude around the release – in the most unconventional cyclical portrayal he maybe could’ve thought of. There is a consistency throughout most of the imagery and what it’s getting it. Self reliance is the quality many align with Ocean’s character. In the New York Times article he revealed that since Channel Orange and the following borderline unwelcome attention, his label and management situation had grown all the more murky, and he had been in the process of buying back his masters from Def Jam. His deal with the label was covering two albums – after they indefinitely shelved his would-be solo album Nostalgia, Ultra he released it himself, Channel Orange followed just over a year later. Personal privacy requirements aside, the label still needed a second release, so Ocean slapped them with the carpentry tutorial that was Endless on the 1st of August 2016, to end the “seven year chess game” – less than 3 weeks later Blonde was released on his label Boys Don’t Cry.

His possible last album-album will be remembered as a great one – widely played and picked apart for years. Blonde lends from many corners, musical and lifestyle. Vulnerability is also set into specific genres, a recent champion of divulging is the Seattle based synth-pop artist Perfume Genius. An artistic contradiction with shared qualities of an 8-year old child prodigy, his music has been growing into larger sounding forms. His melancholic intimate pianist base-point works well bouncing off of lyrics about his past substance abuse issues, his sexuality, his living with Crohn’s, modern wellbeing concerns of gay men inside masculinity and domestic abuse.

Along with the growing mechanics, the nature in which the recordings take place has majorly shifted. Just like the growing catalogue of projects which is set to extend in May, Mike Hadreas is experiencing strength in numbers in terms of albums, fans and relationships – namely with Alan Wyffels, who alongside Mike is 8 years sober. Perfume Genius could very well be in the same philosophical field as Zack Fox, using humour to patch up some past, some continuing difficulties, struggling to not look back with angst upon death threats from school days and even a hate-fuelled beating that forced him to elope with a lifestyle from Seattle all the way to New York. In that city Mike fell into the common grounds of coming of age searching, ending up with you shaking next to a radiator. “When you are a drug addict and alcoholic, you function in crisis mode all the time. Learning and Put Your Back N 2 It was Mike processing those things. Too Bright was a lot of anger. And this album is like, ok, we’re on the other side” Alan tells Fader.

He seems absolutely focused on intense personal growth, which is admirable for a 35 year old. Also in Fader, Mike says of rehab – “I didn’t talk at all for the first four days. I was so terrified. Then there’s something so freeing: there’s lots of group therapy, and you’re just around people all the time because you’re all locked together. By the end of it, I was facilitating the discussions.” His ability to let loose is maybe most striking on his first album’s 3rd song, ‘Mr Peterson‘ about a school teacher who groomed and took advantage of him and subsequently committed suicide.

The new album is said to be a triumph of overcoming personal demons, but fears about growing hostility in his native country are just as scary as we move into increasingly accepting mindsets and heightened security measures see people referred to as “eggshells.” The response of strength in numbers also has Perfume Genius looking to create his new album in an innovative-to-himself manner, creating the melodies before the lyrics. His growth from nihilist to domestic bliss he admits doesn’t feel fully solid, but at the time it’s being focused on by the man himself and those observing prove important – that ascending joy with a gay backdrop is what the outlying masses need.

I take credit for the words and absolutely zero of the photos.

[themindfulword]

SELF-DOUBT: The terrorist living within our souls

A flower in a field full of flowers will blossom, and regardless of how beautiful the flowers around it are, it'll grow to be as beautiful as it can be. We too are designed to grow into our full selves. We learn with time and experience how important it is not to focus on pleasing others, but to become our own source of motivation. All too often, I've fallen into a trap, believing that those people who use their talents to accomplish great things are of a different breed than myself. In the past, I've found myself using phrases such as, “It’s easy for them because...” or "I wish I could do that." The truth is that I was either too frightened to take a risk, or I was intimidated by the accomplishments of others, believing that successful people were superhumans who didn't have the same worries as I did.  This lack of self-belief kept me trapped within myself, and I found myself living a life less than that of which I was capable. I'd hide in the excuses created by fear, and avoid taking the risks that I knew were required to live the life I desired. It isn’t security, but the illusion of security, that robs us of ambition. The biggest risk we can take is no risk at all. This year, I finally made the decision my heart had always desired, and I left the life, culture and routine I knew to jump into the unknown. I bought a one-way ticket to Nepal.

17 Days in a Nepali jail

During my time in Nepal, I found myself facing many uncertainties and overcoming challenges almost daily. I was building strength and growing constantly. However, everything I believed in was put to the test when I found myself locked up in a Nepali jail for 17 days. I was thrown into my personal worst-case scenario. I had my freedom taken away from me, and found myself in conditions I'd only ever read about. I was kept in a cell that measured about 1.7 by 3 metres. It was occupied by six to 14 people, and an assortment of insects that would happily crawl over my face during the late hours of the night. I couldn’t understand what was happening around me, as the only English-speaking person in there, and I quickly learned about the minimal human rights conditions that exist in these scenarios. We were kept in the cell for 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with no exposure to natural light or exercise. Being 7,000 kilometres from home, I was also unable to speak to anybody about my situation.

The strength of the human spirit

It was during this time that I had to really dig deep and harness my inner strength to remain calm and sane. I learned how strong the human spirit really can be, as I had no choice but to be calm and remain resolute in my beliefs. This was a time during which I was confronted by fear and uncertainty; it was a discovery moment. I learned lessons of the self, of empathy, of faith, of perseverance and of hope. The first few days were the scariest ones I'd ever faced, as the guards would use force, but I learned how to use empathy. I had to go deep within and understand that the guards themselves were also trapped behind bars every day. They'd have to witness the suffering of their fellow human beings, and even inflict it, regardless of their beliefs. The system is constructed in such a way. I had to remember that they might also be unhappy. With this understanding, I was able to dispel any anger or hate that I could possibly harbour against them, and harness empathy to relate to them on a human level. Eventually, I was able to use this compassion to create positive relationships with some of the guards, which also positively changed the treatment I received.

Bringing light to others

I leaned on my faith for the strength to see each day through, and to understand why I found myself in this scenario, as well as how I could use it to bring some light to those around me. I prayed, every day, that my friends and family were holding themselves together. I prayed for the return of my freedom, and I prayed for the wisdom to learn from the experience. Each day, I wrote about how I was feeling, the gifts I was receiving and the growth I was going through. I tried to form relationships with the other inmates through an understanding and connection deeper than language, and find ways to share and contribute to their lives while I was there. I formed a brotherhood with my fellow inmates, and we shared everything with each other and ensured that we were all kept safe.

Everything in life is temporary

Although I wasn't sure how long I was going to be locked up for, I knew it was a temporary situation. I wouldn't allow myself to feel like a victim of circumstances by dwelling on the past, but instead, I decided to be fully present and feel every moment. I formed some deep connections and relationships and even learned some Nepali phrases. The experience gave me more perspective on what's important in life, along with where to place my energy, what to value and the beauty of the people in my life. I now have a better understanding of the value of time and of the freedom of making decisions. We spend so much time worrying about the little things that don’t matter, that we hinder our potential to reach the great things we're capable of. I harbour no ill will, no anger and no hate, just love and appreciation for having been given this great gift to propel me forward in life. I've also had my values and character tested, and I hope that I've been able to come through stronger and more humbled. I've had my faith strengthened, and I truly believe in the power that's guiding and looking after me as I pursue this uncertain path.

Staying in Nepal

After being released, I had a choice. Many of my friends and family wanted me to return home. I had to explain that this choice wasn't meant for me, and that the gift of perspective I'd gained wasn't something I wanted to let go of. I've remained in Nepal to contribute to society, working with several projects to help maximize their impact, while taking with me the lessons I've learned. Situations like mine are the very situations that could serve as fertile breeding ground for the seeds of self-doubt or fear to grow. What happened is personal to me, but we can all relate to feelings of fear or inadequacy that can lead to us making decisions we feel we need to, rather than those we want to. We'll all face moments in life that push us to our limits—physically, mentally and emotionally—and these are the perfect moments for us to realize that we're in charge of our own destiny.

What I learned

We must stay true to ourselves I learned that, during this time of extreme trauma, losing myself and my beliefs would've been detrimental to my physical and mental health. It would've been easy and understandable to become filled with anger and hate towards the police or Nepal. By showing compassion and gratitude, however, I was able to secure my physical well-being. I showed gratitude for the food from a bucket that came twice a day. I showed gratitude for cleaning the toilets when asked to, or taking the rubbish out to the bin in the courtyard. It was in these small moments of appreciation that I understood that I still had it better than others in this world, and the guards were no longer inclined to physically push me around. During the dark times, when my mind would see no hope, I'd recite mantras. To sleep at night, I practiced meditation techniques. This stopped my mind from running away with its thoughts and creating scenarios that didn’t exist, and thereby allowed me to step back from the trauma and show compassion and understanding. Know it will be difficult Whatever we desire—a dream job, to travel the world or to increase our confidence—new relationships will be difficult. If we prepare for this, though, we'll be preparing ourselves to succeed. I came to Nepal knowing that I'd left all the personal and professional security I had behind in London, England. This has allowed me to embrace the joy of the journey, including all the new connections, experiences and moments that have come with it. It's also allowed me to appreciate small victories and pleasures, and live each day to the fullest. Days were once a procession, as I waited for the weekend to come around, but each one is now an adventure full of new opportunities for me to take.  Happiness is in the pursuit

Sometimes, life's journey is long and difficult. We face obstacles that might break us, scare us or make us feel weak. Sometimes, it can be difficult to see the gift or the reason why we're faced with certain situations. So many of us stop ourselves from pursuing something we love or desire due to worry.  Once we worry, we play out the worst-case scenario in our heads and don’t take on anything. We stop ourselves from reaching what we're capable of. Sure, there are moments when things become uncomfortable, but this will happen regardless of whether we seek safety or risk. If we're pursuing something we love, we'll find ourselves motivated beyond comprehension. We'll attract people who will help us along on the journey, and we'll find ourselves in situations that we'd once only dreamed about. Self-doubt truly is a terrorist living within our souls. «RELATED READ» TEMPTING THE DEVIL IN THE NAME OF GOD: The heavy hand of fate » image 1 Pixabay 2 Pixabay 3 Pixabay 4 Pixabay Read the full article