#for context this was after she went through a lot of physical therapy her her arm

[0gata]

My skills could not draw this idea properly 💀

Either way, here's my first finished full body drawing in years yayayay

[inevitably-johnlocked]

What's Been Going On.

Hey gang.

First off, before I make a cut, I just want to thank y'all for your patience and understanding the past couple months with my... distinct lack of interesting posting. I really appreciate it. I spend so much time here that I tend to eventually burn out and then feel bad when I physically can't provide y'all with new stuff. I love this blog and the community here, and I'm grateful that y'all are so understanding.

The TL;DR for those who aren't able to read below the cut due to the content warnings: I've lost 2 relatives in the past couple weeks, and one of them hit me very hard. I am sad, but I am trying my best to carry on. It will hurt for awhile, and I'm not okay right now, but I will be... I always am.

Below the cut, cw for descriptions of deaths, cancer, depression.

So, as I mentioned, I lost two family members in two weeks, almost exactly a week apart from each other. One, my youngest aunt (dad's sister) who I wasn't close with but I saw occasionally, from a sudden heart attack. The second, a little over a week later, was my uncle (dad's brother and my godfather) after a LONG battle with various cancers but the final one was leukaemia, and he passed away this past Monday. This is the one that hit me like a freight train because I was very close with this uncle.

For context, PRIOR to all of this, I haven't been sleeping well since just before the time change for some reason – so about a month or two. I just can't sleep through a whole night anymore, and it's frustrating and leaving me exhausted for weeks on end (the insomnia is important to note and it will be relevant in a sec).

Last year I think it was, maybe the year before, my uncle was diagnosed with throat cancer. He had undergone months of radiation and it went into remission. Then about a year or so, it came back as a different cancer, but I can't remember which one it was. Half a year ago, he got leukaemia, and was undergoing chemo and blood platelet replacement therapy for a few months.

On Remembrance Day weekend (November 11), the family found out that there was nothing more they could do for my uncle's treatments. This was devastating news for all of us to hear. Of course we hoped he would be okay until after Christmas, but his prognosis was already less-than-2-months after that revelation.

A week later, my aunt passed away suddenly. No pre-conditions other than probably being overweight and a heavy smoker, but my cousin (her 17-year-old daughter) found her in her room. I am closer with the cousin than the aunt, so I was texted by one of my other aunts at 2am Friday morning to talk to my cousin, since I have gone through a traumatic sudden-death of a parent and this cousin trusts and relates to me. And the only reason I saw the text was because I was already awake due to my insomnia. I called the cousin and stayed on the phone for 6 hours with her to ensure she was going to be okay. I took the day off work to sleep.

Exactly a week later, my uncle was rushed to the hospital with a brain bleed and pneumonia. I was texted by a DIFFERENT aunt, this one being the one I am closest to and knows how close I am to my uncle, last Thursday. I found out on the Friday I took off of work that he wasn't going to get better, that the bleed was essentially killing him slowly.

This uncle, for outsider understanding, essentially became a second father to me after my dad died and I moved to be closer to his family. He became the parent my mother wasn't. This uncle ensured I was always okay, and would drop everything for me. So to say I was devastated to learn that I was losing him forever brought up a lot of core memories from when my dad died is an understatement. First, my aunt dying young, like my dad, from a sudden heart attack, like my dad. Then my father figure in my life dying shortly after? Lots of turmoil this past couple weeks for me.

On Sunday, November 24, I said my final goodbye to my uncle, and he passed away on the 25th. It hurts so badly that I want to scream non-stop. I took that Monday off to grieve, and worked from home the rest of the week to sit in my grief alone. One of the things I am so grateful for was that I was able to say goodbye to him, and to tell him how much he meant to me, how much I love him. It gave me a sense of closure that I didn't have with my dad when he died. One of my biggest regrets about my dad passing is that morning he died, I never said "I love you" like I usually did because I was running late for work.

I did not want to make that mistake again. I got to hug my uncle, and tell him I love him so, so much, and I got to thank him for always being there for me when dad died. That he helped me through my grief when I finally did break three years after he died.

I let him know he was loved; I am so grateful for that opportunity.

I miss him so much it physically hurts.

Just because his death was inevitable, it doesn't make it any easier. It feels different than my dad's death, for sure, in the sense that I lost dad too young and unexpectedly. But it still hurts to lose someone I love even if I know he's leaving us. I am just glad he's not suffering anymore; he was in immense pain when I saw him last.

So, this past week, I have been sitting in my grief, crying at mundane things because they remind me of him or things we did together. I've played video games to distract my mind, and tried my best to work on this blog, albeit at a minimum.

The surprising thing I think about this whole ordeal is the immense support I'm getting from my coworkers, and my employer's understanding about my situation. I have a job that's primarily digital, so they've let me take as much time as I need to feel up to working fully again, and I am just EXHAUSTED, but I want to try to go back to the office on Monday, to get back to the routines that make me feel comfort. Work has said that if I'm having a hard time I can go back home, which, again, is so generous. I was at a different job when my dad died, and they didn't want me gone more than a week. This has been literally 2 weeks non stop of me working / not working / working from home..... I just cannot wait until Christmas break so I can finally just REST. I am extremely lucky to have the job I have, and I am very aware of that. The fact that they're letting me have more grievance leave than normal for a non-immediate family member boggles my mind, but again, I am grateful.

So yeah, that's what's been going on with me the past couple months. It's been chaotic, I'm tired, and very very lonely. AND to top it all off, I'm feeling my seasonal depression seeping in earlier than normal because of all this stress and anxiety, and I just... ugh. I need to get back to routine.

This is also why I'm doing the Christmas cards this year... because I want to have a bit of happiness this holiday season in what will probably be even more depressing than normal. My Dad's death-iversary is on January 11, and will be 17 years since his passing. It will be harder to cope with this year more than ever now, I think. Best I can do is continue to talk to my therapist to keep me from sinking further, and not bottle everything all up like I did 17 years ago.

Thank you all for your patience and understanding. I haven't been "feeling it" these past couple months, and I know it shows in the lack of content I've been posting or producing. But I am so grateful to this community for understanding without the context y'all didn't have before now, and I hope you guys understand that I won't feel like myself again for awhile.

I'll try my best, though.

Love y'all. 💜

[isa-ah]

sure why not. nightmare rankings with context lets go

the first one ive had by far the most times.

the second was the most disorienting thing ive ever experienced.

the third the most emotionally devastating.

and the fourth the most physically reactive ive ever been to a dream.

the short of it: my mom got knocked up at 15 so i was raised by my grandparents exclusively. my grandma had breast cancer and my grandfather had really bad diabetes so i was raised to be a caregiver. i dropped out of school at 13 to be home fulltime and then a few weeks before my 18th my grandma died and a few weeks after my 18th my grandpa died.

we lived in a tiny rotting house, holes in the walls and ceiling that would let in snakes, bugs and wolf spiders, with no heating or cooling way out in the sticks. like 45 minutes outside of the nearest town which had 1 stoplight. we were living off of a single disability check every month which meant we only got to grocery shop once a month and my grandma had to give up on chemo after her cancer spread all over her body.

my grandfathers family has a history of suicide so ig it wouldnt surprise anyone to know he wanted to die before my grandma and tried to achieve this thru doing no physical therapy, eating like shit, & staunchly refusing to Ever go to the doctors or hospital. he would have huge outbursts when it was just the two of us about how hes dying too and no one cares and no one loves him and he wants to die. my grandma would likewise have outbursts where shed lock herself in the bathroom right across from my bedroom and wail that she was ugly now and no one loved her and she was dying.

as their caregiver i took a LOT of personal responsibility in trying to keep them alive. i would sleep in 30 minute intervals and wake up at the slightest noise in the house. they would stumble or fall and id have to scoop them up despite being smaller than either of them. bc my diet consisted almost completely of food i couldnt digest (that kept me in severe agony and lead to an insane nutritional deficit) i was going through one to two 32 packs of soda a week to fuel myself.

we would attempt to hire nurses but as they both got treatment in richmond almost 3 hours away the nurses would only ever come once or twice before quitting. the last one we ever had taught me how to access my grandmas port, clean it, administer the medication, and then properly close it again.

my grandma died around 4am the day we were planning to go see her. my grandfather was in the hospital at the time so we went to tell him as a family, to his face, but everyone else left the instant he started crying so i had to crawl into his hospital bed and hold him while he wailed into my neck. it was visceral.

when he came home, he really did his best though. he went to all of his doctors appointments, changed his whole diet & started doing physical therapy every day. we decided we would get through this together. we would be unstoppable. we could make it. my grandmother died in november, i turned 18 in december, and so as we hedged on new years we decided we could figure this out in the coming clean slate. we would be okay.

until i went out 4am new years morning and found him sweaty and despondent. i made a series of phonecalls promising all the while he would be okay and holding his hand as he went thru several seizures. finally, despite the emergency squads best attempts, he died right there in our living room. right in front of me, my new future was gone.

now, because i had turned 18, no one in my family was obligated to do anything with me after that. they left me in that house for months, alone, in the dead of winter with no heating or cable or anything to keep me sane.

our house had been set up so that i, the caregiver, could check on my grandparents from my bedroom door. it was muscle memory. i step out to use the bathroom across the hall and i glance left (my grandmas hospital bed) and then i glance right (my grandfathers recliner). and it didnt stop just because they were dead and i was alone.

occasionally someone would drop off pity groceries but that was it. i had no job, no license, no prospects. i was wracked with grief and guilt. this was my fault. i was their caregiver. i should have done better. i should have been better. i should have reacted faster. i should have advocated more. (i should have been an adult).

as you can imagine, those elapsing months were BAD. i think i spent most of it asleep. without cable, i had no one i could listen to speak to fill the silence of our house so i put on the first two hobbit movies- i had them on dvd- with my xbox and i played them. and played them. and played them. the entire time. i know both of them verbatim.

this is where the first nightmare were going to talk about comes in.

i would wander, late at night, out of my dark bedroom to the living room. because our house was so small, the living room was also the dining room, and had both the front and back doors in it. my grandpas tv would be on, shining a blinding blue white light into the living room that would be the only light.

our back door was a wall of glass on old sliding tracks. i would run to it, to the featureless black void beyond it, and lock it. and then i would hear the front door begin to creak open and bolt across the living room to slam the door shut and lock it too.

behind me, the back door would slide ajar.

and then again, the front door.

the locks were futile, they didnt work, and while i never saw what was outside i knew it wanted in and i knew it was bad.

isolated, that nightmare isnt anything really. its not very memorable, and from an outside perspective, its not very scary. it felt like it to me though, alone out there like that, alone in all the world and wracked with guilt and fear. it was immense to me then.

no.. beyond that, what makes that nightmare unique, is that i had it again. and again. and again. and every single time i fell asleep for the next 3 years. it didnt matter if it was one of my 30 minute overnight shift naps (because those didnt just go away when my grandparents died, that was hard wired from doing it my entire life), if it was broad daylight and i was napping in the passengers seat of a car, or if id just briefly dozed off at the keyboard.

every single time i fell asleep, i would have the same nightmare.

it would change marginally, in that sometimes my grandparents (one or both) would be sat in front of the tv. they both wore glasses so their eyes were entirely obscured by the bright white reflection of the flickering tv, and their skin would be slate blue-grey. entirely unreactive to me, or anything i said or did. sometimes id know they were dead, and others id beg them to see me. it never made a difference.

after months of being in that house, my aunt decided because shes a saint, she would take me in. but because i was 18 i was a legal adult and she had no responsibility to make sure i was okay or seen to. in the depths of manic depression, i had no idea which way was up, but she truly could not have cared less.

i lived there for two years, and while my cousins were a salve on my loneliness, their mother was horrific to me. she gaslit me so consistently, so entirely, that i would believe anything she told me. id spend five hours a day doing a list of chores shed given me, then shed come home and reveal a trap shed lain to catch me slacking off and tell me i was a useless lying piece of shit and needed to stop bullshitting that i had done anything and actually do it. so i would agree, and spend another 5 hours cleaning again. every single day i had off.

as you can imagine, i started lying about my work schedule and found excuses to spend hours upon hours at the local target, just milling around waiting until it was late enough to go home and go to bed.

it hit a head when she put her hands on my neck and demanded i thank her for being so gracious, tell her i love her, and then hug her. i called my mom after that (useless woman that she is) and begged for her to come get me.

here, at my moms house, is where the next nightmare comes into play.

as you can imagine, after two years of having the same nightmare every time i shut my eyes, i was getting wary. i didnt WANT to sleep anymore. i didnt want to keep having that dream. so armed with 2 brothers on different sleep schedules, i would waste as much time as i possibly could staying awake.

except, did you know sleep deprivation just makes nightmares worse? and avoiding your problems doesnt actually fix anything?

after months of this, i finally collapsed exhausted into bed, and experienced a new nightmare entirely.

i woke up, from my brothers bed where id fallen asleep, and wandered out into the house. it was still daylight, just like when id laid down, and i heard my mom call and ask me to do the dishes. sure. easy enough.

except, as i stand there at her sink washing the dishes, i begin to experience this creeping unease. this unreality, this shift on its axis that makes me nauseous and scared. and i call for my mom, "somethings wrong! mom! somethings wrong please come here! mom!"

to my horror, the spoon in my hands begins to melt and bend at my every touch and i stumble back from the sink. in horror, my knees give out, and i sink to the kitchen floor screaming for help, please please help me. somethings wrong with me please help me.

in a jolt, i wake up. im on the couch and its dusk out. i slept later than i meant to- way later. i check the time and its the tail end of when i was scheduled to work today. i panic, jumping to my feet and hollering at the family around me watching tv- "i work today! i was supposed to be at work! you guys know that, why didnt you wake me up!" my panic and frustration rose as i was entirely ignored and in a raw screaming instant, i jolted myself awake.

i was sitting in my brothers bed. it was daylight out, just like when i fell asleep. exhausted, but relieved the nightmares were over, i sat there with my feet planted on the floor trying to put them into words. my mom, sensing my unease, knocked on the doorframe and came to sit beside me.

"have you packed?" packed? for what? "youre going to be late." late? "youll miss the bus." what bus?

"to go visit grandma."

wait.. what? no thats- what?

"you need to pack, or youll miss the bus to go visit grandma."

thats not right. shes dead. mom- mom what are you saying? theres no- thats not-

as my unreality and fear bubble up bright in my chest, i heave myself off of the bed, and in an instant i jolt awake. laying in my brothers bed. it was daylight out, just like when i fell asleep.

i lay there, silent, still, panting. am i awake? am i awake now? what the fuck is happening to me?

slowly, i sit up on my elbows, just barely obscured by the headboard i notice something. a leathery spider egg. and as im realizing what it is, it bursts, and ten thousand tiny spiders come spilling out of it. terrified, for some idiotic reason my first response is to grab for my phone and whip out my camera. but as i bring it up, the spiders vanish. and its just me, alone in the room again.

and i realize with a horrible bottoming out that i dont know if im awake or not.

that feeling didnt go away for weeks.

id woken up drunk off of the nightmares and hallucinated the spiders- but i had been awake that time, really. it was difficult to convince myself of that, though, and the unreality just waiting to rip me up and into another false awakening plagued me for ages thereafter.

it was a really good way to make me stop depriving myself of sleep though lol ive never gotten that bad again since.

time moves on, and so do i. my mom kicked me out of my brothers room and made me sleep on a mattress in their filthy kitchen between the litter boxes and under the ants favorite window, which was my cue to leave. i moved cross country with my then-boyfriend and finally, finally, began to heal.

these last two are far more recent. one was from last year, and the other just a few nights ago.

i dreamt i was in my childhood home. my grandma had just died and it was me and my grandfather, lit only by the cool grey of an overcast sky outside. i was in the kitchen, asking what he wanted for dinner, when he began to stagger in the living room. i whipped around the corner to catch him, and before my very eyes his skin began to bruise.

theres a way, when a person dies, that the blood begins to settle wherever their skin meets the ground. dark ugly red-purple bruises, veins visible, mottled skin.

before my eyes, he was beginning to look just like he had that morning when the hospital finally let us see his body. i asked him what was wrong and he said he just needs to use the bathroom. he just needs to get to the toilet. so i walked him down the hall and into the bathroom and once the door was firmly locked between us, he told me,

"i did something i shouldnt have. those poisonous mushrooms- i ate them. im going to die."

and i realized in that moment that his insides were being liquified by the things. that his "need" to use the toilet was about to be a complete and utter disembowelment.

instantly, i reacted, trying to throw the door open with my shoulder, twisting the knob, begging him to open it. please please please. how could you do this. how could you do this to me. this isnt fair. please. we can fix it. please please we can fix it let me in.

please at least let me cook you dinner first. please.

please dont leave me.

i screamed myself hoarse and cried so hard i woke myself up. ive never had a dream make me cry so hard, for so long. it sat on my shoulders for weeks, weighing me down, putting me on a hairpin trigger for tears i hadnt been on in years. it felt like grief, raw and new, all over again.

and finally, this last one. it is in the ranking for the most physically id ever been effected by a dream. good god.

i was perched on the edge of a chair in a hospital room, staring at my grandmothers corpse. she was laid back, slanted somewhat to the side. bald, skinny, purple. i sat. and i stared.

the window over her head was pitch black, slate just like the old nightmares, and i was only ever vaguely aware of it. in a blink- literally- she was up. sat up, smiling, chubby with her wig on and her glasses perched on her head. she had done her makeup and the window behind her was lit up in the cool greys of dawn.

"well dont look at me like that- i just got here!" and with a laugh she gestured me over.

i threw my head back and called for a nurse, but when i turned back, already lifting myself out of my seat to run to her, she was again bald and slumped and darkness prevailed.

the nurse came through and sucked her teeth. "shes still dead, darlin'. i dont know what you want me to do about it." and with a sneer, she was gone again.

my eyes searched my grandmothers face, and after a few seconds of held breath, her eyelids began to roll and her lashes fluttered open. and again, she smiled at me and beckoned me closer.

collapsed onto her, exclaiming i missed you i missed you i love you. and she laughed and said the same. she gave me a kiss, then gestured me in for a hug and of course i complied. i missed her more than life and here she was, she was back, of course of course id hug her.

but as my arms scooped beneath her armpits to lift her into me, the face against my throat went cold, and hard, and the arm i had propped up swung stiff with rigor mortis and bounced off of me.

when i say that nightmare left me in a daze, im not sure how else id even put it. i was shaking head to toe, on the verge of vomiting, vision tunneling and blurring continually as i stumbled through the house. it was early- around 5am when i woke up- so i was alone. i sat down at the kitchen table and lost an hour to it.

around 6 i woke my husband up in much the same state, tear drenched and trembling, curling into myself to stay standing, and by seven he had managed to bring me back down to earth. ive never had a physical reaction like that at all, nevermind so long, and so severe. it was fcking awful.

[bettsfic]

ooh, that sick thing reblog is making me remember it! i'm surprised there isn't a lot in the sick thing tag like there is your other fics... i remember, vaguely, you saying you weren't the proudest of it (which is totally fine, as writers, we've all been there. tho personally i loved sick thing!) do you mind sharing what was going through your head / your process writing that fic?

okay before i get into that i want to share this anecdote about Marilyn that is VERY related to sick thing.

context: i'm reading an 800 page biography of Marilyn Monroe as research for a story i'm working on, not *about* Marilyn, but. well, it's complicated.

anyway, Joe DiMaggio (the baseball player) was Marilyn's second husband, and he was an asshole to her because his star was falling as hers was rising so there was a lot of resentment. they divorced and she went on to marry (and then divorce) Arthur Miller.

shortly after she divorced Arthur Miller, she was involuntarily institutionalized by her psychiatrist. at this point in her life, everyone she knew had a personal stake in her fame and so she was just constantly manipulated and mistreated. her psychotherapist in particular, Ralph Greenson, destroyed all of her healthy personal relationships and was controlling every aspect of her life. this is about 500 pages into the book. it has taken me a while to get to this point, because it is exhausting reading 500 pages of an innocent person being taken advantage of and horribly mistreated.

allow me to set the scene: Marilyn Monroe is institutionalized in a godawful facility and completely helpless. no one will let her use a phone or have any contact with the outside world. to get somebody's attention she breaks a window with a chair, an idea she got from one of her first roles. a patient eventually sneaks her into an area with a phone. Marilyn calls everyone she knows but no one picks up.

she has no choice but to call ex-husband Joe DiMaggio, whom she hasn't spoken with since the divorce 6 years ago.

Joe immediately calls her psychiatrist and says that if Marilyn isn't discharged within a day he'll "take the hospital apart brick by brick."

and so Marilyn was then discharged and conceded to treatment at a different hospital, which she only entered on the condition that Joe could visit her every day. and he did.

even though they'd divorced on bad terms, he was basically destroyed by their breakup and spent their years apart working on himself and getting therapy so he could eventually ask for her back.

for years Marilyn endured emotional (and physical) abuse by Greenson. i can't emphasize enough that she was just his puppet. if he told her to stop seeing someone, she did. he planted a housekeeper to spy on her. but Marilyn's breaking point, the line Greenson finally crossed, was that he told her to stop seeing Joe. she finally had someone in her life with her best interests at heart, who had no personal stake in her fame or money (and who was in fact one of the few people in the world who had *more* fame and money than she did), and they fell in love again.

this is basically a full-blown Mrs. Kennedy & Me moment where i'm reading an actual real story of the tropes i write in fiction and going a little insane about it.

okay back to the ask!

for sick thing, i was working through a lot of personal fears about my own mental health, having finally gotten off a really bad med that turned me into a, i don't know, like a vacuum of a person. just empty. i wrote it in 8 very intense days, with a 5 bullet point outline scrawled on a piece of scrap paper and Hotel California on repeat.

my main criticism of it is that i resorted to very Stranger Things-y writing moves that feel cheap to me. flat antagonists with no nuance, love interests who don't have their own individual conflict or growth, over the top high school shenanigans like in a 90s teen movie, a glaringly obvious authorial self-insert with a personally cringeworthy level of wish fulfillment. i like to think that in most of the things i write, i'm pretty hard to find? or maybe not, but sick thing is just my id on a platter. was, rather. a lot has changed since then.

sick thing i think was the final work of a long held aesthetic, and dirtbag was the beginning of the era i'm in now, writing stuff far less driven by personal crises and explorations of self. i can't quite put my finger on what exactly is different other than the fact that i write much more slowly now and put more thought into my stories (at the cost of heart, potentially), and i also feel far less compelled to be read. it's been so long since anyone's read new work of mine that posting my bikeriders fic has been a real trip.

[fredcasden]

Good afternoon everyone,

Last night's stream of Final Fantasy XIV was totally focused on the new Main Story Quest content, and I loved it... mostly because of how gave a big push on developing Zero's character, with her gradually regaining her forgotten humanity. The scene with her having the dumpling was really cool, and I can safely say I will easily ship Zero with Alisaie as they have perfect character chemistry. And yes I was more than happy to see Alisaie involved with the main story, since of all the scions she is my favorite.

The new dungeon and trial were surprisingly straight forward, which I can greatly appreciate considering how some in the past have featured some really bullshit mechanics and gimmicks to deal with.

Now one of the side quests I came across last week was one that gave lore and context to two of the archifiends that were faced in a previous update, so after I was done the MSQ, I went and did the side quests for the two that were in update, which certainly added a lot more flavor to the motivations... and the whole deal with Golbez (the big bad of this story arc). It's really a tragic story, and I'm really looking forward to seeing how it eventually plays out down the line!

For the raid we dropped in on Kalenal while they were playing Final Fantasy XIV over at twitch.tv/kalenal!

Stream Clip Links

I think she likes Dumplings!

We got him! First Try!

I'm dead! Nope I'm Not Dead!

Happy birthday to long time friend of the channel Felkimchi!

So the update on my mom is as follows, she was deemed strong enough to begin chemotherapy on January 19th, with subsequent sessions every three weeks. Not sure when she'll be able to come home because there are concerns over mobility and she only had two physical therapy sessions.

Featured two Mass Effect short story commissions yesterday, which surprised even me considering it takes me a couple of hours to write a 2000 word short story. Next commission request was for a Dragon Ball story involving Future Trunks.

Today's Fitness Boxing 2 daily workout featured Straight COmbo #2, Difficult Challenge COmbo #2 and Block Combo for 31 minutes

What do you call a boomerang that never comes back? A stick.

Song of the Day: Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd

For tonight's stream, we're resuming the P3 side of the Persona 4 Arena Ultimax story, and we'll be going through that till the very end. Way I figure we'll get in at least two more full streams with the game because of the requirements to get the true ending and doing the Adachi DLC story.

So on that note we'll see you later over on twitch.tv/fredcasden!

[nanamikentostan69420]

Okey so yesterday I went to my parents’ house for thanksgiving. Mind you, I spend the least amount of time possible with my family these days because I’m not out to them (I’m out to my brother but not my parents, so for years I’ve felt like I have to “check my queerness at the door” and it’s really frustrating!!! as well as since I’m not out to my parents I can’t correct my pronouns to my brother there), my brother is only (truly) interested in talking about investment banking, or real estate, or when asked questions about himself, and my mom is hyper religious but does nothing I see as useful with her faith. My dad is also hyper religious, but he actually listens??? Which my mom doesn’t. at All.

This is probably just going to turn into a rant about my mom but I’ll add my dad in there too. LOL edit from the other side: turns out it was about my dad after all!!!

So my dad’s parents grew up in Georgia, in the 1920s. They’ve both passed now, but they became Jesus Freaks (derogatory, I despise the way religion manifests in my family, both immediate and extended. And it twisted my worldview until I got the gall to leave the church at age 17. But I have been in therapy for years YEARS YEARS unpacking the really awful messages I was told, as a part of being in the Christian Church. I can’t overemphasize how impactful it was to me, and I estimate 90-95% of the impact isn’t congruent with the person I want to be. So here I am, in therapy, trying to reverse and internalize changes I believe in. Anyways).

My dad was raised in a Central California city with (haven’t counted but guesstimating here) quite a lot of churches, by two people who latched onto the religious fanaticism and Accepted Jesus Into Their Lives. for context, this town has about 1-2 churches per every few busy streets, so around 50 for the whole city? I may look this up later and add it to another post.

My mom is an interruptive listener at best, and at worst she doesn’t listen at all. Very audibly, too. She’s pretty aware of it sometimes and I’ve definitely brought it up before, but it’s gotten worse in recent years. She’s also really tactless at topic changes, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it’s just exceedingly obvious that she doesn’t sit with discomfort and will try to change the subject.

When I came over to my parents house, my dad brought out some old family pictures that he’d gotten when his mom passed a couple months ago. I LOVED this by the way, I miss physical media, I love seeing pictures of me and my brother as young-ins, and on a gender level I think it’s a little gratifying that all of us had a hard time telling which of the bald-ish tiny humans before age 1-2 was me, and which was my brother (I’m AFAB, brother is AMAB). And I’m like lol if we were raised the exact same it would be so different. Anyways!

I’m having a good time looking through the pictures. My dad is too! I’m helping him sort through them, and my brother is clearly not too interested, my mom is enjoying it for a bit but loses interest. We end up pausing for dinner and then afterwards we sit down and look through some more.

Here’s where it all started- my dad is talking about his parents and grandparents that lived in Georgia. And I’m like, now would be a good time to bring up the question- do you know if anyone in our family owned slaves?

And lo and behold, my dad tells me he had a great-great-grandma who was PROUD of the fact she owned slaves. Yowch!!! I’ve expected it for years and it’s been a distinct possibility, but having the confirmation still settled on me heavily.

I immediately start discussing what that means to me, and why it’s a huge part of the privilege I hold today- and my dad listened, and shared, and did get defensive, and isn’t radicalized by all means but I do think he means well though his impact and delivery is ROUGHHHHH (he definitely quoted a racist cousin he had who picked him up from a bus station because my dad was the only white person on the bus (GOD FORBID???) but that cousin had used a slur and so did my dad when quoting him. I let him know I don’t think slurs should be used, even when quoting, and that I think he could communicate it in other ways in the future).

Okay so we’ve set the table for my dad having racist family, for generations at this point. probably 7-8 generations of my family have been overtly racist, at least at times (dad said my grandpa (his dad) used to “let it slip sometimes”… in the 1950-1970s my dad was raised in… yeah. Racist old fart. Fuck that guy btw. Not a big fan of grandpa bill. anyways).

And the context my dad has is different from me. I expect I’ll always be more radical and further left than my dad on most issues, but it means a lot to me that he actually FUCKING LISTENS!!! My brother got up and left around 10minutes into the initial discussing (not that he joined in, or contributed at all while he was there) of our family’s racist history, and put in headphones and played COD in the other room. My mom left and went upstairs, then came downstairs a couple times and asked my dad very pointedly if he was going to call my uncle and say Happy Thanksgiving, and said “I don’t want to interrupt, but I’m gonna interrupt”. Like Ok Mom thank you very much you are a coward!!! Sit with your discomfort and discuss racism & privilege with us please!!!

Anyways after she interrupted again (about watching the Peanuts Thanksgiving movie), I said “no, I’d rather keep talking to dad about this, if that’s okay” and she might’ve been offended but I don’t really give a shit! I have never gotten that much dialogue about privilege, racism, and especially the roots it has in our family, with my dad before and I was like DONT MAKE ME LOSE THIS MOMENTUM MOM!!!

Dad and I went back and forth for at least 3 hours. Most of his arguments were around these topics “Well I’ve had black people in my life for decades (he’s had quite a few roommates and coworkers that are black people/POC) and they’re all great people!!! EYE am not racist because I never look down on anyone, I don’t think I’m better than anyone!!!) and I’m like ok classic racism-that-doesn’t-look-like-racism-if-you-don’t-know-what-to-look-for! Or more accurately, having lived around black people does not mean you can’t have racist tendencies??? Or that you’re immediately anti-racist because of an association with anyone who isn’t white???

Same with the privilege, he’s like “I don’t see how a great great grandma (THE SLAVE OWNER BTW) has anything to do with my life” and then NOT AN HOUR LATER we’re talking about how owning a house is a fucking impossibility for most young people (even me, with all my privilege!!!), and he’s like “well my parents helped me out and gave me a loan for our house in Wealthy Suburban Town (the reason I was able to attend a well-funded, VERY highly ranked in education and athletics, in middle and high school)”.

So you can’t see how 7 generations of our family having- in comparison to POC families that would have otherwise had similar social standing, were it not for *ahem* BLATANTLY RACIST HOUSING LAWS, HIRING LAWS, ENFORCEMENT OF LAWS, etc. etc. so RACISM… means that our family, compared to non-white families, has, for generations, had:

more access to resources, including “nicer” neighborhoods, “better” schools, quality clothes, food, etc.

AND MORE ABILITY TO HELP THEIR CHILDREN/GRANDCHILDREN WITH THOSE RESOURCES!!!

That paints a vivid picture of privilege in my mind!!! My dad got pretty defensive about “well my parents came to CA with just $20, how about that?” and “they were really hard workers, they had a garden and everything”

-my grandparents also ended up selling a trailer and making like $3000 (1930/1940’s valued USD),

-my grandpa got a fat insurance claim check ($10000 USD in 1940s) from a car accident,

-they built their home themselves which meant not only did they not have to fork over rent money, but they DIDNT HAVE A FUCKING HOUSE PAYMENT

-my grandpa “built” (read, bought houses that were already built from auctions where they were being relocated due to imminent domain & the building of a freeway (IF I GET STARTED ON THIS ILL NEVER FUCKING STOP SO LET ME TABLE THIS FOR LATER DISCUSSION)). Anyways my grandpa “built” houses on the part of property their house was on and was BUH BUH BUHHHHH a Landlord… to this my dad argued that “Not everyone wants to be a homeowner… did I mention your mom and I had to replace a water heater? it was $1700!!! some people really PREFER renting!” (again, not getting started on this, but you catch my drift).

-dad also admitted that a great(times 1 or 3 greats, I don’t remember exactly)-grandpa of his had been a sharecropper & eventually sold much of his land for (mid to late 1800s USD. $1,040,000). So someone in my family, more than a hundred years ago, when money was worth quite a bit more. Was a millionaire. And my father argued that “I don’t see what that’s got to do with my life”. Ok!!! I literally don’t know how to put it more clearly to you but EYE SEE IT!!! HolyShit.

Me when I experience the love of christ

[jklovesfandoms]

More Saint Cassian Dating Choir!!

Specifically how they get together!!! Yippee!!!!!

So, a bit of context

- I personally believe that the entire choir gets brought back, they spend a bit in the hospital, but they are all alive

- Some people in the polycule get together a lot earlier than others

- Ricky uses a wheelchair primarily, but also uses canes and forearm crutches! Also uses an AAC device to communicate! He also goes to physical therapy to strengthen his muscles

AND ONTO THE CONTENT!!

Noel, Ricky, and Mischa get together first, specifically over the summer before the accident. They go on a lot of pool and picnic dates together!! (When Noel isn't working, and Ricky isn't in pt) They try to keep it as much of a secret as possible, since small rural town, going to a Catholic school, yk that whole situation. The choir didn't even know. (Also Mischa is still engaged to Talia, and she adores her fiance's boyfriends, like she ships it hard)

Ricky and Jane/Penny get together pretty much immediately after the accident, like within the week they wake up. Basically September 18-20th.(I personally will use Jane, bc I hc that she feels more disconnected from name Penny after the accident, and likes having a nickname that the choir and only the choir calls her)

Mischa and Jane get together on September 28th, and Jane actually asks Mischa out. Like Mischa drives them out into the country, so he can ask her out underneath the stars, and Jane beats him to it.

Constance joins the polycule on Halloween! They were originally going to invite both Ocean and Constance, but Ocean was "sick" (Ocean has a big fat crush on the rest of the choir {-Noel obvi} and was nervous that she'd confess or show her feelings too much) so they only asked Constance out instead! (Constance also has a big fat crush on her now partners, and Ocean, and had since the accident for most of them, or for Ocean, since she was 7) they spent Halloween making brownies, handing out candy, and making out.... A lot of making out. Ocean spent it in her room, wishing that she had just risked it, and just being curled up, sad in her bed. But also being too stubborn to ruin their night by showing up after rejecting the invitation. (When she was later told that Constance joined the polycule, she may or may not have cried herself to sleep that night, bc she also had a crush on Constance since she was 7, and quickly developed a crush on the rest of the polycule between the accident and Halloween.)

After that, Ocean really stops hanging out with the choir as a group. She stops showing up to the weekly 'post-death therapy sessions' which was really just the choir ranting about things. She obviously still attends choir practice, but instead of staying behind and running through music or doing homework, or even just talking to the choir about the rehearsal like she used to, she almost runs out of the choir room when they finish. The polycule begins to wonder if they messed up. Did they do something? Ocean still hangs out one on one, or sometimes with 2-3 other members of the choir, usually Constance, sometimes Jane, and/or Noel. Occasionally Ricky and Mischa too, but never the whole group. So the polycule devises a plan, bc everyone except for Noel still loves her romantically (Noel loves her in a "I hate you, but like I couldn't live without your personality balancing mine" platonic kinda way), and still wants her to join. So on the first day of winter break, December 17th, Constance texts Ocean, and asks if she wants to hang out.

Ocean joins the polycule on December 17th, bc Constance did a little tricksy. She invited Ocean over, while the polycule was already there (since it was winter break, they had been there since school ended the previous day, hanging out and having a very long sleepover/hangout over the break) and Ocean was obviously not expecting them. (I will be coming out soon with a whole fic about how this+Constance's invitation went, along with more stories, bc it's my brain and it won't shut up) She may or may not have a breakdown, bc she still feels guilty for the person she was before the accident, and feels undeserving. But she does join, and the poly! choir is complete!!

-

More will be coming, bc poly!choir is rattling around in my empty little brain, and I must write and talk about it. At. All. Times. I simply am required to, legally. Bc damn it, if no one else is making the content that my empty little skull is begging for, I will!

[skylights2000]

Moving On (Life Update)

Hey everybody,

I know it’s been a really long time since I’ve posted anything other than responses to people, and I’m here to offer an honest explanation and tell you some things I’ve been avoiding.

I don’t really want to go all the way back, but I think it’s needed for context, so bear with my rambling for a minute.

I’ve never been very good with people. That may seem shocking to some of you, but that’s because you haven’t met me. Online, I can think and put my thoughts into words, but in real life, I’m not good with words. I often say things wrong because I don’t know how to express it, and a lot of people get annoyed with that. I never really had friends because of that. The only friend I had through childhood was my sister, and that…It wasn’t a good relationship. I’m well aware that siblings fight. That’s normal. But, fights with my sister were far from normal, and they only got worse over time.

I was diagnosed with depression for the first time when I was 7 years old, though I didn’t really understand that at the time. I was put on antidepressants that my parents called ‘happy pills’. They didn’t want to tell me what they were actually called because I was a curious kid, and they knew I’d look it up or ask someone about it.

Over time, I learned to manage it, and they eventually took me off the medicine. For a while, everything was fine. Then, the bullying started. There’s never been a time in my life that I wasn’t bullied by someone. Some of them were outright violent while others were emotionally violent. My sister was the worst of them though. She was manipulative and mean. She talked her friends into hating me and quite frankly, made my life hell. I ate alone in the corner of the cafeteria to avoid people. I flinched every time someone walked too close to me. I would push my dresser in front of my bedroom door because it didn’t lock, and I was afraid of my sister. The saddest thing was that I thought it was normal. I thought it was normal for me to be treated that way because I had never experienced any different. My parents both worked hard to make ends meet, so they weren’t around often, so I really didn’t have a loving relationship with anyone. Even when I learned that I wasn’t supposed to be treated that way, I still didn’t fight back. Maybe it was just because she was the only real constant in my life.

Things kept getting worse though. My sister became physically and emotionally abusive. She treated me horribly, but the worst part was that she convinced me that I deserved it, that I had done something disastrous just by being born. She treated me like I was a disease that she couldn’t get rid of. So, I tried to do the job for her.

I started self harming when I was in 8th grade. I failed classes, lost my will to do anything, and slept through most of the day because nightmares kept me up at night. I wrote my first suicide note that year. I never used it, but I never got rid of it either.

Remember how I said I wasn’t good with words? Yeah, I meant that. I was so bad at them that I wrote my mom a note explaining that I needed help because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t even say it to her face. Pathetic, huh?

Either way, I got help and was put back on antidepressants. Things didn’t get better though. The abuse escalated, the bullying got worse, and the self harm became more frequent. It was a vicious cycle that I dealt with until 11th grade. The worst year of my life.

That was the year they found my old suicide note. I was put in inpatient care at a hospital that dealt with trauma and mental disorders. That’s where I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety, Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I got out, and things were better for about two months before things went right back to the way they’d always been. 5 months after that, I tried to overdose on my sleeping pills. Obviously, that didn’t work out since I’m here writing this.

Things actually did start to get better after that. My parents finally realized just how far the damage went, and my sister finally saw just how much pain she’d caused.

Both of us started going to therapy, both, seperate and together. The bullying at school stopped after word got around about what happened. Some of them even apologized to me, and I eventually learned how to forgive them. It didn’t erase what they did, but holding onto all that anger and pain was only hurting me. It was still hard to let it go. I didn’t know what I would be after the pain was gone. I was afraid of finding out. But eventually, the pain of holding on became greater than the fear of letting go, so I’m sure you can imagine which one I chose.

I started writing when I was in 7th grade. I really got into it though shortly after I turned 17. It was my escape, a place where I could dream of anything and live a better life, even if it was only temporary. Writing and Music were my passions. They still are. I have more music than I do anything else, and I have hundreds of documents of things I’ve written on my phone.

I started this blog on a whim as a way of escape for me and anyone else that needed one. This blog grew far beyond anything I thought it would be, and I’ve met so many lovely people because of it. That’s why I’ve been pushing myself so hard to keep posting new content, but one day, I just stopped. I couldn’t think. Ideas were few and far between, and motivation, or lack thereof, became my biggest obstacle.

I felt useless when I wasn’t writing because so many people were using me as their escape. Things got shorter and more rushed because I was trying to cram every ounce of creativity I could into something before my motivation vanished again. It wasn’t good, and after a while, I started to see that my escape had become a chore, something I did just because I felt like I had to, and I hated that.

So, I just stopped posting. For a while, I stopped writing altogether. Then I got in this huge fight with my family, and my sister slapped me for the first time in almost a year. In a way, it was almost like I reverted back to my old self. I pushed the dresser in front of my bedroom door, brought out this old, bulky pair of noise canceling headphones, blared my music, and started writing. I made it through the entirety of my ‘Favorites’ playlist (which is 253 songs) before I took a break, and it felt good because I wasn’t writing for anyone else. I wasn’t writing to impress other people. I was just writing for me.

That’s what I want. I want to write without the worry and pressure. That’s why I’m putting this blog (and all my other writing blogs) on an official hiatus. I’m not saying I’ll be gone forever or that I’ll never write here again. I’ll still be around. You can still message me. I’m not disappearing. I’m just taking more time to let myself recharge so that the times I do come back here, I can come back with the full force of my imagination.

I’m not leaving you guys, so don’t go thinking you’ll never see me again. Whether you send a message, leave a meme, or just like something, I’ll always be there. I’ll always be here.

I love you guys,

Madison (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

[lionheartslowstart]

“Unconditional” Love

A few months ago, I read a book about childhood trauma that was recommended to me by my psychiatrist. It was a fascinating book, and while I didn’t vibe with all of it, there were many things I did relate to, and I got a lot out of it.

There was one line in particular that stuck out to me, not because it was something I related to, or something I could use in my therapy, but simply because it made me feel uneasy.

Unconditional love doesn’t exist for adults.

In context, the idea was that people who were traumatized as children spend their adult lives trying to replace the unconditional love they were supposed to receive from their parents, but didn’t. The problem is that a love between a parent and their child is the only type of unconditional love that can truly exist, and that’s because children need to be unconditionally loved by their parents from a biological, survival standpoint. So if you didn’t get it from your parent, when you were a child, you’re basically fucked. You just have to accept it and heal from there. (This is obviously super summed up, and what I’m writing about in this entry is only a very small part of what’s discussed in the book, which is called Drama of the Gifted Child. I highly recommend it to anyone struggling with childhood trauma, or anyone who works with traumatized children. It covers quite a lot of ground.)

This rattled me. Who says adults aren’t capable of giving each other unconditional love? I consider myself an extremely loving person. I would do anything for my immediate family, and for those in my inner circle. I have gone so far out of my way for so many people I love. There are people in my life I believe I love unconditionally.

But do I?

What is unconditional love? Unconditional, quite literally, means without condition. That means that, to love someone unconditionally, you have to love them LITERALLY no matter what. Is that truly possible? If someone I love, even someone I consider myself to love unconditionally, did any of the following:

stole all my money

slept with my partner

physically assaulted me

seriously injured someone else (with intent to harm)

sexually assaulted me or someone else

broke into my home/destroyed my belongings

Would I still love them?

Granted, these are all pretty extreme examples, but we’re talking about people I supposedly love unconditionally. And if any one of those people did anything on this list (especially more than one or more than once)? I’m honestly not sure I could still love them after.

Let’s even just look at emotional abuse. Off the top of my head, I can think of three people I loved who emotionally abused me to such an extreme extent that I had to end the relationship. Those people are “Claire,” my ex-best friend of twenty years, “Mandy,” an ex-friend of four years who went on to stalk and harass me, and “Kevin,” my ex of five years, and a friend of mine for about six before that. (Note: I did not claim to love all of these people unconditionally.)

Claire: 

She became extremely emotionally abusive around year seventeen of our friendship. There was a brief respite in year eighteen, and then it came right back around in year nineteen. In addition to essentially sitting through that, I also allowed the actual ending of our friendship to drag on for an additional four months. I fought hard to fix our friendship while Claire continued to verbally assault me, start conflicts, or otherwise blow me off. I finally had an “aha” moment after Claire randomly started a fight with me on messenger in August of 2019, and I was able to pull the plug.

I still love Claire. She was my best friend for twenty years, and for most of that time she was an incredible friend. I’m not totally sure what happened, or why it all went wrong. If she ever wanted to sit down and discuss it all with me, I would. Enough time has passed that I think we’d be able to have a civil, productive conversation. I still wish her only the best things, and I would be there for her if she ever asked me to be. I would do almost anything for her. I do have to say almost anything, because the truth is I don’t know if I would do anything. There may very well be things I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing for her, but I won’t know unless I’m in that position. And as much as I love her, I have no interest in being in her life. That trust is broken, and it can’t be fixed, regardless of how much love remains.

Mandy:

She was almost never not emotionally abusive to some degree or another. After the first few months of our friendship, Mandy consistently engaged in toxic behaviors, often in efforts to control or manipulate me. I gave her three chances, and it was during what was supposed to be a probationary period (that she never really respected anyway) that I realized I couldn’t move past all that had happened. Each time I attempted to end the friendship, Mandy would freak out and beg me repeatedly for another chance, often breaking serious boundaries in order to do so. After a few months, she would inevitably rope me back in, and the cycle would repeat. The final time, Mandy began to full-blown cyber-stalk and harass me for three weeks before I was able to secure a TPO. 

I no longer love Mandy. Like Claire, I stuck it out and I really tried to make things work. Unlike Claire, Mandy did not have years of positive memories or treatment of me on her side. As I said, our friendship lasted about four years (including the large chunks of time when we were not on speaking terms), and pretty much three of them were extremely toxic. That’s 21/22 to 3/20 in terms of toxicity (or 420/440 to 66/440, to compare the fractions as having the same denominator). Not a great comparison, especially since we’re also comparing Mandy’s four years to Claire’s twenty. She treated me very poorly for a long period of time, and after those initial months, was never really a good friend again. Eventually, that took its toll. I don’t even feel the need to get into the whole stalking part, as I had already stopped loving her by the time she started stalking me (which was just another small reason I attempted to end the friendship). But I will say that after those events, I will never feel comfortable being in the same space as Mandy again, nor am I desirous of being there for her in any regard. She more than forfeited that.

Kevin:

He put me through A LOT. Aside from our actual relationship, the majority of which consisted of him being a narcissistic, emotionally abusive taker, Kevin handled our breakup like a vindictive child. He basically took a massive, completely unnecessary dump all over me and our history after things ended between us. No, not even after things ended. I’ve come to find out that he started this process before we were even technically over. It was extremely calculated. When we were just friends, he was wonderful. He was kind, attentive, supportive, and warm. He was like that in the beginning of our relationship too, but just the beginning. Things slowly began to sour around the seven month mark. I’ve also come to find out how abusive he was to one of my best friends. I knew their relationship was unhealthy, but I had no idea just how bad it really was until a few months ago.

My feelings towards Kevin are complicated. Yes, I still love him. But I also hate him. I think he’s a bad person. I think he has potential to be a good person, but I don’t think he’ll ever find access to that potential. I have really positive memories with him. There are things he went out of his way to do for me, times he made me feel loved and safe, inside jokes, you know, couple things. I also have horrible, traumatic memories, some of which I’ve started remembering only since I’ve had space from him and they’ve been able to push their way to the surface after being repressed for so long. And then there are the memories I thought were sweet or silly, but am now realizing are actually, at best, uncomfy, and at worst, fucked up. It’s a whole-ass mess. But this all came to a head only six/seven months ago, so perhaps as more time passes I’ll feel differently. I do think I would be there for Kevin if he called upon me, though I can’t say to what capacity. I actually think I would need to literally be in the situation to know for sure. If he called me and asked for help, would I unflinchingly do what he asked of me, or would I laugh in his face and hang up the phone? Something in between? I’m not so sure. It might depend on the type of help he needed, his countenance and/or tone when he asked, even what mood I was in that day. Of course, this is all hypothetical. So, I suppose, somewhere between Claire and Mandy in that regard? 

Three examples of emotionally abusive loved ones from my past, all with very different results. Granted, the situations varied in significant ways, so I’m sure those details played a role in my feelings regarding each person. It’s extremely difficult to measure these types of things.

Regardless, the three of them offered the same or similar “condition,” and it did affect my relationships with them. In Claire’s case, I still have love for her, but only to a certain degree. I can’t deny that my feelings have changed towards her, at least in some capacity. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have walked away from the relationship. In Mandy’s case, I stopped loving her completely. I was exposed to the “condition” too often for too long, and eventually the love broke. In Kevin’s case, the love is still there to some capacity, but it’s mutated somehow, in a way I have yet to define. Unlike with the other two, it took me far longer to fully process how badly Kevin was treating me. But once I did, I pulled away quickly, I think much quicker than I did from the other two, actually. I had also been fighting for that relationship for a long time, knowing subconsciously that it wasn’t “good,” but not fully understanding how bad it actually was. That realization started slowly, then hit me all at once. The fact that it was a romantic relationship also makes it a bit more complicated (because of course). When things started to click into place, I did fall out of love with Kevin, but only out of romantic love. I still loved him as a person and as a friend. It wasn’t until the aftermath, both in terms of how he handled things, and in terms of my having space and time to process everything, that even that love began to fade. (Or rather, mutate, as I said.)

Those are people from my past. What about the current loves in my life? After everything I’ve been through, my tolerance is certainly lower. But there are people who occupy a higher space in my heart, and, as such, have earned a higher tolerance. Not including my immediate family, there are three: my boyfriend, “Thomas,” my best friend of six years, “Juliet,” and my best friend of thirteen years, “Rachel.”

I will just say, right off the bat, that I have never claimed to love Thomas unconditionally. Our relationship is still new, and, despite the fact that it’s moving rather quickly, I’m extremely cautious coming from my previous relationship with Kevin. Thomas and I have had one major conflict already, but it was discussed at length and resolved, and he is aware that should anything of the sort happen again, that will be it. Hell, I almost walked away even just that once, but I felt that circumstances were such that we could move on from it. That said, it has only been six months since we became “official,” and eight months since we became serious, and, while I love him, I am prepared to walk away if that’s what is best for me. I have no interest in thinking about marriage or the rest of my life or anything like that. I am living in the moment and doing what makes me happy. If what makes me happy changes, then I changes. That’s it, plain and simple. Thankfully, I have a partner who not only understands that, but respects it, and has not once tried to change me or change my mind. In fact, I think we’re very much on the same page in that regard.

As for Juliet and Rachel, that’s a different story. These are two women I hold near and dear to my heart. I love them more than almost anyone else on the face of the planet. I would do anything for them. But again, would I?? Sure, it’s easy to say that. But in the moment, things could be different. Just an example, if one of them asked me to go punch their ex in the face, just totally unprompted, would I do it? Risk jail time? Risk being attacked myself? I doubt it. (For the record, neither of them have asked me to do that, and I doubt they ever would, which is why I used it as an example.) If one of them did anything, or multiple things, from the list above, would I still love them then? I could never imagine them doing any of that, but people can surprise you. Let’s go back to emotional abuse. Again, I could never imagine them treating me that way. But if your best friend of twenty years can turn on you like that, seemingly out of the blue, I suppose anything is possible. If either Juliet or Rachel became abusive, especially if they did it for long enough, would my love for them change? Do I really know the answer? Even my family. If one of them did something unbelievably horrible, would I still love them after? And for the record, I don’t go for the whole “but they’re your family” thing. Yes, I happen to be extremely close to my family, despite the trauma, but not everyone is. Some people have no relationship at all to their parents or siblings. Some people have no love for their parents or siblings. Surely that’s proof that it’s at least possible to forego those bonds? Though, again, I honestly cannot imagine my parents or brother ever doing anything that could make me not love any of them. And, as they are my family, and as we are extraordinarily close, it would most likely take a LOT more to change the way I feel about them. Plus, I do feel that unconditional love between myself and my parents, even though I didn’t as a child. (That’s not to say they didn’t love me unconditionally, I just didn’t feel it for reasons I won’t elucidate on.) But since I’m an adult now, and I no longer have a biological need for that bond, maybe it has limitations now? I certainly don’t feel that way, but, like I keep saying, I don’t think you can ever really know until you know.

The only other person I have ever claimed to love unconditionally is my goddaughter, but she is a child. And while I am not her parent, I have acted as a caregiver to her, I helped raise her until the age of three, and I am still very much a big part of her life. Even if one day we didn’t have a relationship, though it would break my heart, the love I have for her now would in no way be diminished or changed. But again, she is a child, and I am a “parental” figure in her life, the only relationship the book describes as one that can be unconditional. Maybe one day her love for me will change, because I’m not her mother, but even if it does, I strongly doubt mine ever will.

I’ve chewed on this over and over. Months later, I still find myself coming back to this one concept. And honestly, as upsetting as it is, it makes sense. Children and adults are wired differently. Children absolutely love unconditionally, and need to be loved unconditionally by their adults. Literally, they need it. But adults are not supposed to need it, and we shouldn’t need it. In fact, I don’t even think we deserve it. Adults are capable of some really horrible things that children aren’t (or shouldn’t be). Adults have more mental faculties and are more aware of our choices and actions. Children can definitely have intent to harm, but it pales in comparison to adults’ intent to harm. The love a child has for their guardian(s), and the love a guardian has for their child, is pure, unadulterated, unbridled. To compare that to the love one adult has for another just seems…kind of silly, to be honest.

I have therefore come to the conclusion that it’s true; Unconditional love between adults is a myth. It’s not real. It’s not even possible. But I think that’s a good thing. Unconditional love, at least the kind that’s applied to two adults, is unhealthy. And people who trick themselves (or are tricked by others) into believing in it often find themselves one one end of a really toxic relationship. “Unconditional love” is essentially the eloquent version of “ride or die.” It’s a toxic ideology unto itself.

As a traumatized person, especially a person who was once a traumatized child, this is…distressing, to say the least. But, as the book suggests, accepting this is the first step to true healing, and it’s something I’ll continue working on in therapy. As depressing as it is to come to this understanding, there is also something kind of liberating about it.

The fact is, as an adult, aside from any children you might have, there is only one person you can and should love unconditionally, and that is yourself. And honestly, what’s more beautiful than that?

[maribatandhttyd]

Needing Advice:

This is a sensitive topic that I don’t really know how to broach with people who know me personally. I am currently a college student and living away from home. My sister is seven years younger than me, in her freshman year of high school. I talk with my family on FaceTime multiple times a week, but recently she has been calling me frequently alone to vent her frustration with our parents. However, a conversation we had today made me concerned. She told me that “anxiety isn’t real, people do it to themselves. It isn’t like depression where people can’t help it.” 

For context: I began seeing a therapist for the first time my second year of college, who sent me to a psychiatrist after our first meeting. The reason I went in? I was unable to eat any food in the cafeteria that I was paying for with my meal plan that wasn’t self serve because I couldn’t see the menus without getting close and there were always people around, so that the idea of coming up to someone and asking for whatever food was there made me feel short of breath and physically sick. After an entire year and a half of nothing but sandwiches, pizza, and muffins, I finally decided I couldn’t take it anymore and had a friend help me schedule an appointment with a therapist through our student health services. I had a lot of other symptoms, but it was my frustration with my inability to get food I wanted that pushed me over the edge. I was diagnosed with severe generalized anxiety disorder and depression. After weekly appointments with a therapist and biweekly appointments with my psychiatrist as well as medication for seven months, my quality of life had improved so much! I also discovered that the essential tremor I had been diagnosed with in high school, which I was also on medication for, had been caused by my anxiety, though tremors did run in my family. 

Now the relevance towards the conversation with my sister: I strongly suspect that our mom has anxiety. She has never been to therapy, but worries over worst case scenarios, often wakes up around 2 or 3 in the morning and is unable to go back to sleep, constantly pounces on any source of health complaint and searches almost obsessively for anything that may match symptoms. She’s always worried about something, but most of the time she manages it pretty well. However, my sister is apparently at her wits end because “she makes such a big deal out of everything, she won’t let anything go, it doesn’t even matter if she can’t control it, she just won’t see the big picture.” Apparently she attempted to tell my mother that she was being ridiculous when she expressed her worries about something over dinner, at which point my mother burst into tears. I explained to her that I thought it was likely mom had anxiety, which led to her comments about anxiety not being real.

Rather shocked, I reminded her that I had anxiety. At which point she said “exactly, you stressed yourself out and focused on bad things so you had anxiety and now you fixed your behavior and got better. It’s a choice, and at least you didn’t make your problems other people’s problems. You probably just learned it from mom.”

Um.

What?

I tried to explain that just because I had gotten better with therapy and medication did not mean that anxiety “wasn’t real” or was just “a choice” someone was making but I don’t think anything really got through to her. When I asked her why she believed depression was real but not anxiety she said that depression had “real effects on people’s lives” and “was because of a chemical imbalance” which...anxiety is too? When I pointed that out she responded rather flippantly that she didn’t really get mental illness and how most of it seemed like people just trying to get attention or making bad habits and refusing to change (trying not to read too hard into what she thinks about me with that).

Does anyone know any resources I could point her to? Beyond the fact that I think this may have a severe impact on her relationship with my mom, I’m worried about her going through life with the perspective of mental illness being the a choice, especially because I believe it runs in our family and genetics are often a factor. 

[joanofarkansass]

Part 33 Meta

Ok watching “Part 33” Law and Order: SVU S20E14 and it’s such a good character study of all the SVU characters. For context the case is when a woman, Annabeth Pearl, kills her abusive husband. The episode is spliced between he team is waiting there to testify for Stone and the case itself and is shot entirely in the courthouse (which is smart move on the writers part it really narrows the scope and sets it apart from a regular episode). The viewers really see the team’s attitudes toward justice, morality, and duty especially how it intersects -- and occasionally interferes -- with their jobs. Spoilers obviously 

Sonny- He’s the most outwardly emotional out of the gang and the audience can see how he really empathizes and cares about justice for Annabeth instead of justice to Annabeth, despite her being the defendant. He argues passionately with Rollins and on the stand adds his own (legal) conjecture to his testimony with Stone, putting doubt on the loving marriage between Annabeth and her husband, directly undermining Stone. Drawing back, Sonny knows that cases don’t end when they leave the squad-room and the victim’s and perpetrator’s futures continue into the courtroom and he takes his moral compass seriously. He’s studying to be a lawyer. In his job as a cop his job is to back up the ADA and land a conviction, but he doesn’t believe she should go to jail (that her killing was justified) so on the stand, sure he tells the truth, but also does whatever he can to get her justice. Though his earnestness is a little self absorbed, it’s genuine and well meant and I think this will serve him so well as a lawyer. It’d be interesting to see in later seasons when he’s a ADA what he will do when he has to persue a case he doesn’t morally agree with.

Liv- her monologue about being in a abusive relationship and the little things that strip away your dignity is heartbreaking (Mariska you deserve an Emmy for this scene btw) (it’s also connected to the abuse she suffered at the hands of Lewis). She cares so much for the victims, it’s her greatest asset, and here it’s confounded by her strong duty to the law. This case is simple. Annabeth, according to the law, deserves to go to jail. She wasn’t in physical danger from her husband (not that anyone can prove at any rate). But Liv also knows that shooting her husband was the right thing to do in order to get out of that situation. Illegal, but right. These parts of her are at war (just like with that donor heart episode and Alex Cabot episodes in S19) and she chooses to tell the truth--to put Annabeth away-- because in the end the rule of law can’t be subverted no matter how immoral it can be

 Rollins. Oh darling, you’ve been through so much shit. Like, lets be real here the entire team has, but you especially. And the unfurling of her backstory, with her father beating her mother and her consequent resentment of her mother for failing to protect her and Rollins is heartbreaking. She was a child and those complicated, complicated emotions distilled in her, to the outside eye’s, in a confusing (illogical) way. She occasionally victim blames and we can see the origins of that tendency here in how her mother, herself a victim, failed to protect her and keep her family together. Is that fair? No. Is what Rollins went through fair? No. And like how what Liv went through with Lewis affected her and her work, what Rollins past affected her work and outlook too. We see it in her advocacy for “innocent until proven guilty” and her belief in the strength of the victims even at the worst point their lives. So yes, she believes in the law. She believes that Annabeth should be in jail. For her, that’s right. *

Stone- it’s easy to see him as the bad guy here, but for me it was a lot more nuanced than that. Part of it is a performance of course, he’s a prosecutor trying to get a conviction (if he wants to win he can’t be playing for the other side), but he does genuinely believe he’s getting justice. Especially as a ADA, he sees the worst of humanity and puts them to justice for it. He takes what the cops give him and make sure it stick that victims get justice. You can’t subvert the law, its the law. In order for anything to get done, there has to be some black and white. Guilty and Innocent. Truth and farce. And no matter how moral it may have been- no matter what Annabeth felt- she still killed her husband in cold blood. And just as her husband should have been accountable for his actions, she has to be accountable for hers. Nuance belongs at sentencing, but she did it. That’s what he’s trying to prove. 

Fin- We love some depth!! Fin can sometimes be treated as a one note character, and I’m glad Ice-T got to stretch his leg this episode. His whole facade “this is just another case to me” is peeled back by Liv and his story about throwing a fighting fish back into the bay was a touching way of showing his true feelings. He doesn’t believe she belongs in prison. But it’s not his place to judge, it’s the law’s. The law may not always be just or kind or even moral, but (on the whole) it’s consistent. It’s fair. And if we subvert it, we face a worse life than if we had one. 

I also really liked the ending. We don’t see the verdict, just Annabeth’s expression of horror as Liv testifies that she didn’t feel remorse about killing her husband, effectively nailing the lid on her coffin. It’s not ambiguous, the audience knows that she’s going to jail, but it stops that the emotional climax- Liv’s testimony. It doesn’t draw out the inevitable, it leaves the audience pondering the same questions that the team did. Is the law always just? What would you do if it wasn’t? Is it even your place to judge?

Thanks for reading! This was just an emotional reaction from me after watching the episode for the first time and I’d love to hear your reactions.

- Joan

Tagging some people bc I’m really proud of this: @hurricanejjareau, @qvid-pro-qvo, @writefasttalkevenfaster, @crazyshannonigans, @ssaic-jareau

PS: Personally, I’m in Fin’s camp. The law is there for a reason and if we broke it for any injustice it would eventually encroach on personal freedoms. Is it disgusting that he abused Annabeth? Without a doubt. Is it legal? Sadly, yeah. And until the law changes, it’s our duty to follow it. Should it be changed? That is the question. (this is just my opnion btw and I totally get and respect if you disagree)

*Do I believe Rollins should be in therapy? Hells yes. Her perspective is valid and needed as a counter part to Liv and Carisi more emotional ones, but it’s coming from a place that isn’t good. 

[yourwakingnightmares]

Scott Summers Character Study

Okay, does anyone else have those characters that they don’t follow full-time, but they always come back to? Kind of like that old sweatshirt you keep: sure, you have new ones, and they’re great, but that old one is just comfortable, and perfect.

Scott Summers has always been that character for me; like, sometimes I might go months, or years without writing, or looking up anything Scott Summers related... Then something happens, and boom. There it goes, I’m on a roll again. And so... Here we are with my rant of the day.

Buckle in folks, this is gonna be a long one.

I think a lot of people have dismissed Scott as a character, saying that he’s ‘flat’, or ‘one-dimensional’. And if you only periodically glance at comics, or peruse through the movies, I can see how you’d come to that conclusion.

Because unlike Logan (who I do enjoy, this isn’t an anti-Logan post), whose story is easy to follow, easy to understand, Scott’s story is nuanced; it’s something developed over time, with small hints and glimpses thrown in.

For example... what we find out is that Scott is the way he is, because Xavier made him that way. Xavier needed a leader, but he was stuck with Scott: a boy who had lost his parents. A boy who’d suffered from a horrific brain injury. A boy who’d been experimented on, and mind-raped by Nathaniel Essex, also known as Mr. Sinister for Scott’s formative years following his brain injury. A boy who escaped a sadistic telepath, only to end up in the hands of an abusive criminal.

So what does Xavier do? Well, he smooths out those edges; he puts subtle compulsions to turn Scott into the leader he needs him to be. He takes the edge off of the worst memories, and turns them into something distant; something that Scott can look at like a movie starring someone else as the traumatized kid.

Now, don’t misunderstand me: Scott was a brilliant leader. He had the tactical ability, the logistical knowledge to be a leader, even without Xavier. Which is what makes what Xavier did that much worse.

Because what that means is that Scott could’ve gotten there on his own; he could’ve been that leader without Xavier screwing with his head.

Xavier took a kid who needed a home, who needed stability, who needed therapy, and said, “Aha! I know a quicker route! Screw that other stuff; that’ll take years to be effectual! I’ll just do a bit of mental landscaping, and wall off the emotions he felt; I’ll just take the edge off those memories! Surely, nothing can go wrong!”

Looking at Scott’s relationship with Jean from this perspective also sheds new light on it: Scott’s mind had been violated by three telepaths, all of whom had only their own goals in mind. Mr. Sinister, Jack Winters, and Charles Xavier all were concerned more with Scott as means to an end, than they were with Scott himself.

Enter Jean Grey. A young girl, who is a freak even by mutant standards. She struggled to keep her telepathy under control, and we’re frequently shown in comics, books, and even the movies, that she picked up stray thoughts from almost everyone, leading to some very embarrassing moments for everyone. She was an outcast among outcasts.

Not to Scott though. When everyone else is worried about keeping their thoughts locked up tight around Jean, when everyone else is avoiding her so she doesn’t accidentally read their minds... Scott embraces her. He falls in love with her.

And I don’t think we truly ever look at why. Because here was a kid who had every justifiable reason to hate Jean -he’d spent roughly half his life being a plaything for telepaths, people who plucked out things they didn’t like, or added things they wanted. Out of everyone at the Mansion, Scott truly had the best reason to fear and/or hate Jean; out of all of them, Scott best knows the dangers of having a telepath rooting around in other people’s minds. But he doesn’t. Instead, he falls in love with her.

Why? Don’t misunderstand me, they had things they loved about each other in their relationship, but how did it even begin? Why was Scott so open and accepting about Jean’s fragile control over her telepathy in their teenage years?

Because he’d never had any say in who played in his head to begin with. To him, Jean’s accidental slip-ups were nothing compared to the other telepaths he’d interacted with. While everyone else saw Jean’s powers for what they were (an invasion of their most sacred thoughts, accidental or not), Scott was so screwed in the head that it wouldn’t have crossed his mind to be angry or upset about it.

This isn’t to malign Jean, or her and Scott’s relationship; after all, Jean hadn’t done anything wrong either. But it casts a rather dark shadow over the beginnings of their relationship.

But why does Scott become so enamored with Jean? To the point where, after her death, he marries a woman who -although he doesn’t know it -is quite literally a clone of her?

Because Jean was the first telepath who didn’t screw with his head; probably the only person who truly knew what was going on in Scott’s head, and didn’t run screaming. Although he would later meet another, for many years, Jean was the only telepath Scott had had in his mind who didn’t remake his mental landscape.

And think about it: how many people would’ve been comfortable having a lover who literally knew what you were thinking, 24/7? That’s not being mean, that’s just pragmatism: we rarely share our innermost thoughts with anyone, and yet we see that Jean was as comfortable in Scott’s head as she was her own.

We see that Jean’s death devastated Scott; for the first time, he went against his programming. For the first time, we start to catch glimpses of Scott beyond what Sinister, Winters, and Xavier created.

Now, what Scott did to Madelyne was wrong; there’s no two ways around it. However, what can we learn from this, when viewed in context with everything else?

Following Jean’s death, Scott acted like a man who’d lost a piece of himself. He starts searching for his past (finding his grandparents in Alaska), where he meets a woman who is practically the physical twin of his soulmate. Within months, Scott proposes, and they get married, eventually having a son (and we won’t even get into the fact that Scott allows Madelyne to name his son after a man who nearly broke him).

As an adult, these actions can only be looked at as selfish, and reprehensible. But what if we look at it through a different lens for a moment.

These actions would be considered ‘normal’ by teenagers, and young adults; hell, most of us went to school with couples whose story emulated Scott and Madelyne’s. Scott’s first and only girlfriend dies tragically, and he decides to try and learn more about his past -for the first time since his parents died. He meets a girl, rebounds hard, and gets married quickly, only to realize what most adults already know: rebounds never work, and never last. Looking at Madelyne was a benefit at the start, but as time went on, it became a knife in his chest: she was the physical twin of Jean, after all, but she wasn’t really Jean -in fact, Madelyne and Jean had very little in common beyond the physical.

Any healthy adult would have understood this; that physically looking like someone doesn’t mean two people are the same. While this doesn’t excuse Scott’s treatment of Madelyne, it at least gives us a reason. He’s acting out, searching for his origins, and falling in love with a girl who looks like the only person who loved him for who he was. Just like a teenage boy would do.

Now, again: this behavior is unacceptable. As a society, we teach boys this, and they learn through experience. It’s a life lesson -however, it’s one that Scott never got to learn. Scott never got to be a teenage boy; he never got the chance to learn, because Xavier had turned him into his perfect little soldier who never questioned him from such a young age (and prior to that, his only consistent interactions were with the men who abused him, mentally and physically).

Later, we see Scott with Emma Frost -a woman most consider to be a villain, a woman who had fought against the X-Men before. Why?

Well, firstly, let’s consider the implications that Scott chooses another relationship with a female telepath. Sure, with Jean, we explained why they ended up together, but by the time Scott meets Emma, he’s older; he’s more experienced. Why does he put himself in a relationship with someone with the same telepathic abilities as the men who nearly destroyed his very sense of self as a child?

We have to remember that, at first, Emma simply offers to telepathically counsel Scott; to try and piece together the shattered void of his mental landscape. Meaning that Emma was the first person at that point to see the emerging Scott Summers -Jean knew the Scott that had been created, manipulated, and ordered around by Xavier, but following Jean’s death, we start to see glimpses of the real Scott. And Emma is the first telepath to get to see inside Scott’s head, as he starts to throw off the remnants of what Xavier had turned him into.

And she starts to fall in love with him. Unlike with Jean, there are no demands or expectations in place; Emma accepts him for who he is. He questions his loyalty to Xavier? Emma’s okay with that. He questions who he actually is? Emma offers to help him find out.

(Please note: this isn’t knocking Jean; she was as much a victim of Xavier as Scott was, in her own way).

But for the first time, we see Scott Summers start to come into his own; we see him making decisions, expressing opinions, expressing wants and desires outside of life as an X-man. We see him show doubt of Xavier, we see him struggling with who he actually is, and who he was made into.

And Emma... Emma just accepts it. She accepts Scott for who he is, with no agenda, no pressure, not expectations.

Moving a head a bit, let’s look at the action that turned Scott into one of the most reviled comic characters: his killing of Charles Xavier, while under the control of the Phoenix Force.

Now, you can look here for my opinions on Xavier, and why I think we should’ve all been celebrating his death. But let’s look at this for a moment.

Most people’s reactions to this were ‘Xavier raised Scott! Scott was like his son! Scott was one of his first students! How could he?!’

I think the better question, when we look at all the events in Scott’s life is... how did he refrain that long? Xavier’s betrayal of him was so much worse than Sinister’s or Winters’ because Xavier did it as a friend. As a parental figure. Sinister just rewrote, erased, or destroyed things in Scott’s head as he pleased, simply for kicks. Winters’ used his -admittedly limited -telepathic abilities to force Scott to help him steal.

But Xavier saved him from that, right? Xavier gave him a safe place to stay. A place with no more experiments, no more mind-control, no more pain. He earned Scott’s trust, gave him a home, a life, and a purpose.

Only... he didn’t. Xavier betrayed Scott, in a way that Sinister and Winters couldn’t have done. Because Scott didn’t trust them. He trusted Xavier, and Xavier fucked with his head just as badly as Sinister had done. Whereas Sinister and Winters had taken a sledgehammer to Scott’s mental landscape... Xavier just chiseled away at it until it became something he wanted. 

I’m going to end this here, because really, there wasn’t much of a point to this post, other than to detail out a lot of thoughts that have been kicking around for a while. If you agree, or disagree, I’d love to hear it. 

[canttelliotte-blog]

Incredibly long, overly detailed post I spent too much time on.

Tl:dr AITA for telling someone they were coming off as an ungrateful, privileged asshole who didn't seem to recognize or truly appreciate what they have? I blew up after a series of encounters, they seemed oblivious to their lifestyle and support and how truly different life could have turned out without it. I called them out after weeks of trying to be empathetic but couldn't take how helpless they were acting when I would kill for the kind the support they were complaining about and taking for granted.  

I should use a throwaway because I know this person will probably see this but I don't have the energy. I'll try to keep this short (actually super long sorry) I feel like I already know I was sort of harsh and out of line. This whole thing has just been sticking with me and I feel really messed up about it.  

Alright, so context, back story. I had a breakdown in February and tried to kill myself. By some miracle, I got a bed at one of the best mental hospitals on this side of the east coast. After a long history of chronic mental illness, being on disability for years with medicare, getting an opportunity like this was amazing. I had been on waiting lists for months before my attempt, but fate, acuity, and availability all lined up. A true miracle. Unless you have a family with money or amazing health insurance, getting a bed is just extremely difficult at this particular facility.  

The reason being, they provide real treatment. Comprehensive, attentive, life-saving treatment. They actually provide real care with empathy, actual therapy, psychiatry, and groups, with educated staff, real food to eat, world-renowned providers, and treatment teams that listen and work with you to come up with effective long-term solutions/aftercare plans that set you up for long term success.  

Out of pocket, this place is unfathomably expensive. The more exclusive programs on-campus are for the ultra-elite/ ultra-wealthy, taking celebrities like Selena Gomez. The institution itself is known for its education and research. It is not funded by the state like almost everywhere else. Most state-run facilities are atrocious. a disgusting holding cell, where you're stripped of your clothes, dignity, and rights, fed prison food, overmedicated, physically and chemically restrained, only to be thrown back on the street in 3-5 days with no aftercare, med refills, or plan. Been there, done that, many times, not the point. The point was, I got some really helpful expensive ass treatment by the luck of the draw.  

While I was there, I met someone lovely. We instantly connected and expressed interest in one another. They seemed really cool, we talked at length about income inequality and how unfair it was that this kind of treatment wasn't the norm or easily accessible and how unfair that was. They seemed passionate and bright and we got along great. They were set to discharge only a few days after I got there, so we exchanged info before they left. We talked a bunch while I was still there (my discharge was a couple of weeks later) and decided to go on a few dates after I got out.  

A few days after I got out, I unintendedly overdosed, confused about my meds, and was incoherent by the time I got to the ER. I was restrained and chemically sedated. I was confused and fought so was deemed severely acute, and got sent to a state-run facility similar to what I described above. It was all very traumatic and I shut down once I got home. I was lucky I made it out semi-okay, that they let me out at all.  

I wasn't replying to anyone's messages but the person I had met kept reaching out wanting to hear from me and make sure I was okay. I was embarrassed but it was really sweet and soon we starting talking a lot again and really connecting.  

As I got to know them, I definitely thought they were very cool, we seemed to have a lot in common, they made me laugh and we got along really well. I was really digging them and saw us potentially becoming a thing.  After talking for some time, we decided to anxiously have our first date. It went okay but something was off.  

I didn't really pick up on it at first but the more we talked, the more privileged they offhandedly revealed they were. I know it's judge-y and lame, but that kind of put me off. I've been poor my whole life and struggled hard for everything, it's a whole different world living in poverty, so it made me a bit uncomfortable.  I still live in poverty, on disability, with food stamps, and can barely hold it together enough to have a part-time job, but I have no choice. It's rough. I've been homeless, lived in institutions, went through foster care, and have no familial support. I have one of the most serious debilitating mental illnesses. It's been very very hard.  

I am biased but I haven't met anyone well off who gets it. Some people don't realize how hard things can be when you've really had nothing, and had to work hard for everything. Even simple things are taken for granted, not understood, or there are miscommunications or assumptions made due to the lack of understanding. That's just my personal experience, it's hard trying to explain things and it's invalidating sometimes, it can be hard to relate or connect due to the lack of understanding.  

Honestly, though, it took me by surprise. We had both talked passionately about the struggles of being on disability, the importance of income inequality, how unfair the system is set up, the barriers against the poor receiving adequate mental health treatment. They explained how they advocated for social justice and regularly went to protests. I felt dumb because I did meet them at higher-end facility, but I assumed they ended up there by dumb luck as I did with how they presented and initially came across.  

They made it seem like we were in the same boat, poor af, chronically mentally ill, and 4 ever struggling. It was just a surprise because that was very much was not the case.  

They moved up here from Florida, (where admittedly their life was much harder and different), but since moving, they were being supported by their aunt and uncle, who were very, very well off. They had a very expensive private practice psychiatrist, multiple treatment providers, and an apartment in a very well-off area, that their aunt owned, so they paid no rent.  Their car/insurance/phone everything was paid for.  

They seemed to have money to burn, dancing around being well taken care of and not really having to worry. They were on disability though receiving payments and food stamps in addition, not reporting the assistance from their family. When I lightly inquired, they said their grandmother mostly controlled their finances and they didn't deal with bills etc. They spent freely, getting take out almost every night, etc. enjoying all the pleasure of life without a second thought.  

I was uncomfortable with this like I said, but they did seem cool and understanding, we did get along and I wanted to give them a chance. I put my biased experience aside and tried to give it a go.  

First example that really blew me away was their dog. They had several animals, including a cat and two dogs. Even for someone working, three animals is a huge expense. I only have one cat and while she's my world, it gets hard sometimes. The vet is expensive, litter, food, treats, it adds up. And she's only one animal!!! I provide for her and take care of her, but a $350 vet bill still packs a punch. Of course, I pay it, she's my baby, but it might mean only eating sandwiches for a few weeks. I love her, so I sacrifice, she is worth it in every way, but animals are expensive and a lot of work/responsibility.  

When this person and I first started seriously talking, they mentioned the dog they were closest to was very sick with a rare condition. I don't know the full details, but I guess it took a while for the vet to figure out what was wrong, he was on a lot of medications, needed loads of tests and scans. There were weeks of extensive treatments/ blood transfusions, all in a long, painful, and strenuous attempt to save him. They tried for a long time in the hopes he would get better.  

He, unfortunately, passed away a few weeks after we started talking. It was devastating to them and I tried my best to be supportive and help them grieve. They were understandably at a huge loss. Their mental health tanked. Their dog meant the world to them, I understand that completely. Pets are family.    

A few weeks after he passed. They were talking a little about the course of treatment and how hard it had been and what a long, painful road it was. They kind of casually remarked that his treatment cost over $20,000.  

I honestly thought I had misheard. I had to ask twice because I thought they meant $2,000. No. $20,000. $20,000.Holy shit.    

I just...$20,000 is what I make in a year. A year. Dogs are family, I totally, totally get that. People will do anything to save their loved ones. A pet is like an uninsured child, even with pet insurance, it can be expensive. I get that. If you have that kind of money, you pay it, without a thought, no problem.  

I just... wow. I still couldn't even wrap my mind around it. My cat is my world but it breaks my heart to say, if anything happened to her like that, it would kill me, but I would be forced to put her down. I just couldn't believe, $20,000. And they said it like, no big deal, of course, like anyone would/could afford that, it was obvious, a no-brainer. I just...wow.  

Next, kicker. I  came over to hang out one night and watch movies. I had never been to their apartment before. They claimed it had been super messy and they made a big deal about how they had cleaned for me. Sweet, but unnecessary, I get mental illness is tough. It was two bedrooms, all to themselves, decent space and light, but definitely scattered and cluttered. They had a huge king-sized bed, a bidet in the bathroom, and a super nice living room set up. Big comfy couch, loads of nice blankets, and honestly the biggest tv I had ever seen. They joking bragged about having all the streaming options. No kidding. Hulu, Disney plus, Netflix, Amazon, HBO, Paramount, and at least half a dozen more I hadn't even heard of. It just seemed crazy and excessive paying for that many streaming services every month.  But to each their own I guess.

We were both huge fans of anime, and they sort of decided to venture to studio ghibli. They asked if I had seen a particular favorite of theirs. I hadn't. They searched and it was only available to rent. $17. I nearly had a heart attack. I was like no way, we could definitely find it streaming for free somewhere if we look, or watch something else, shortage of options. They were like no it's no biggie that's what I want to watch and clicked rent. Like no problem *sweats intensely* Anytime I spend money, I have a heart attack and second guess it, it takes me like 10 minutes to click buy and my heart always drops when I do. I overthink, whether I really need/deserve it/whether there's a cheaper option, or if it's truly necessary. I know that's a poverty thing. It's just like we could have easily found it somewhere for free with a little effort!  

We go to order food, we both have celiac so finding takeout is a chore. They knew the area better so I was trusting them. They were very adamant about ordering expensive sushi. It was $36 for just one of the things they wanted. Not including delivery or tips or fees or anything else, which included appetizers and drinks, the whole nine. I wasn't feeling sushi. They were like fine, we'll order from two separate places then. Double the delivery fee, not something I ever do, it would be cheaper finding a place together, I could get something small and affordable but they wouldn't budge. I didn't really have money to order a big thing on my own, I wanted something small, but I felt pressured. I figured anything I got would be cheaper than having to split a big sushi order I didn't want. I was like okay fine.  

They kind of seemed annoyed that I didn't just give in and get sushi. They were a little short with me, didn't give me many options of other places, and were weirdly controlling, not letting me look at their phone to find something. I kind of gave up and said like just a burger is fine. I figured it would be cheap and filling, probably $20 max. I didn't take into consideration that they live in an extremely expensive area. It ended up being almost $30, plus tip. For a burger. I almost wanted to cry. I would have picked somewhere else cheaper given the option. They didn't even tell me the price until after they ordered it. I was like oh how much like $15 and they were so casual like oh no, $30 with tip. When it arrived, it was cold and disgusting, really inedible. I picked at the fries, which gave me a stomach ache as they were not gluten-free friendly and had been cross-contaminated in the fryer. I assumed they picked a place that they knew was safe.  

When I wasn't eating, they asked if it was bad. I said yeah and they were like oh well just order something else. Like no, I can't afford anything else, it doesn't work like that. I was like no it's fine I'm not really that hungry. I wanted to say, I trusted you, and you kinda fucked me. I guess they picked that place because there was a gluten-free brownie sundae (prepackaged and not cross-contaminated) on the menu that they really wanted. Obviously more important.  

My stomach ached all night. They ate their food happily. No big deal to them, $30 wasted on food I didn't really want, that I couldn't end up eating and got me sick. If it were them, they would have just ordered something else. No big deal to them. It was more important they got their brownie sundae and expensive sushi than making sure I was able to get something edible. Didn't matter that was half my grocery money for the week. Bologna sandwiches it'll have to be then. Awesome.  

We spent the night talking, I didn't let on to how sick I was or that I was upset about not being able to choose food. They picked all the movies. I wanted to go home, but it just got later and later, one more movie I just *needed* to see. I asked them several times as the clock was ticking if it was getting too late to drive me home. No, no they were fine. Let's just watch another one. Then casually, they went to their room and brought out their night meds, threw 'em back, and settled into the couch. I started to panic. I asked again, you're taking me home, right? I guess they decided they weren't. I was miles away from home, no public transit running or close by. They were like oh I'm so tired, it got so late. Just order a car. I pulled up uber, $25. That would definitely overdraft my account.  

Thankfully, after they saw me sweating and looking panicked, they were like, oh, I feel so bad, I'll order the uber for you. (If they hadn’t, I would have had to explain like, getting home on my own wasn't the plan nor was staying the night. If they thought I would be cool with just staying, they should have said something, if they wanted me to stay, it should have been a discussion, not a surprise.)  

I just felt really disrespected. I was simultaneously hungry and sick from dinner, broke and unprepared to stay over with no prior discussion. I didn't have meds, my cat didn't have food out, I was blindsided and essentially stranded/put in an awkward position. They didn't consider that it might be stressful or beyond my limitations to get home. Being able to just roll with punches isn't financially feasible for everyone. It just felt like they were self-centered and inconsiderate. The whole night was what they wanted, what they wanted to eat, where they wanted to order from, what they wanted to watch, changing plans to what was convenient for them without any regard toward how it might impact me. Just inconsiderate and self-centered behavior.  

We did keep talking though, I just sort of chalked it up to miscommunication and sort of beat myself up for not speaking up. It was weird though, kept just casually mentioning shit that was so privileged and complaining about shit that made them sound so ungrateful. I don't think they realized how it came across, just completely oblivious to their access to resources and not appreciating their position or supports.  

They started talking about starting ketamine treatments to combat their ongoing depression. They had received them in the past and went on about how life-changing and helpful it was, and that everyone should try it. Now, being on disability (and even with most insurances) the treatments are not covered. The clinics that administer them are all out of pocket, bougie as fuck, and extremely expensive.  

They talked about having several rounds in the past like it was nothing. It's easily $250-400 a pop and they were going 1-2x a week for a long time. They kept talking about all their options like what a painstaking burden. Should they start with lozenges and work up to IV clinic or ask for patches, and start that way. They wanted to work up to twice a week again but their family was giving pushback. They wanted me to agree with them, saying it was so unfair and lame and unreasonable/closeminded of their family for not immediately agreeing. The same family that would be footing the bill.  No, not unfair or unreasonable at all. You sound privileged as fuck.  

I was super bothered they were endlessly going on about it and complaining about pushback and asking me to agree with them. My treatment-resistant depression hasn't responded to anything, I've been on every waiting list for MDMA-assisted treatment whenever they pop up but never been selected due to demand and availability. Even ECT is too expensive and not covered. I'd kill for an opportunity like that! And it wasn't even like their family was saying no, they were discussing it in family therapy and seriously considering it.  

They talked about it so nonchalantly and kept going on and on about how amazing it was. Like great, tell me all about something else I'll never be able to afford. I'm sure Paris is great, and backpacking across Europe is awesome, like please do tell me more.  

I finally mentioned like okay that sounds great, will never able to afford it, glad it's so helpful They told me that I could just buy it off the street. That's what they used to do occasionally. It's only a couple hundred dollars and you get way more. Like oh okay. Let me just not pay a third of my rent in the hopes that this jam band kids ketamine isn't fentanyl or some shit and maybe have a shot at not wanting to kill myself for a week, you know on the off chance it works. Sounds great, super safe, much more affordable. And like as ridiculous as it was to offer that as an alternative, that still wouldn't be something I could afford! They just came off so clueless and privileged and oblivious.

What really got me was how they eventually talked about their family. They did weekly family therapy with their aunt and uncle and occasionally their dad since moving up here. They stayed with their aunt and uncle (lived down the street) more often than not so they weren't alone. This was encouraged/appreciated/welcomed. They did activities together regularly to help with depression and loneliness/ managing symptoms. They had their grandma and brother, whom they saw often and cherished greatly. They portrayed the relationships as really solid and important. I thought wow, truly wholesome and wonderful.  They seemed so loved, close, connected, cared for, and supported. Across the board, they had support.  

But then tables would turn. They complained often their family was too close, too conservative, and not understanding. They didn't want them so involved in their life, their treatment, decision-making, and recovery process. They resented the support, complained they weren't a kid and were capable/in sound mind to make decisions/have control of their life. I tried to listen and be understanding but I didn't get it. They came off almost like a spoiled, ungrateful teenager.  

You're getting help, love, and support all around, everyone wants to support you and see you do well and will give whatever that takes. Like legitimately whatever ?!?  You don't have to work, pay for anything, and it is made sure you don't have to struggle for anything. Anything you need, you've got.  

I get the concept that having family so close/involved could be crippling or invasive or just downright unproductive. But it was such a slap in the face they would complain to me of all people about having that kind of support.  

Family/support is such a foreign concept to me personally. Like I said, I grew up in foster care. I've never had family involved, healthy relationships, or any sort of support like that. The concept of calling your aunt when you're sad and she offers kind words, support, and tells you to come over to do something fun? Like, can't relate. I could only take so much of them complaining about being taken care of.  

Living with extreme mental illness, not being able to work for periods of time, living solely on disability paychecks and food stamps is damn is impossible to survive, especially where we live. Without the help they were being given, they wouldn't be able to survive. The cost of living is out of control, you can't even rent a room with a single disability payment. I know, I'm doing it. It takes everything for me to keep a part-time job, barely making enough to make ends meet. But if I don't. I'm homeless again. No matter what, no matter how bad symptoms get. And I have one of the hardest, most debilitating mental illnesses. I don't have any other choice.  

Their aunt would pay for them to go to school or learn a trade or anything they wanted. They have a world-renowned private practice doctor that prescribes them literally anything they could want or need to help and they have a great bond/ working relationship. I have a psych who can barely remember my name and sees me for 5-15 minutes maybe once or twice a month. I was asking for medications recently to get through a hard time, nothing serious, but my state-assigned psych does not prescribe benzos. Period. Neither does my PCP. It's state rehab or psych facility for me or bust. Another thing they take for granted. They almost bragged to me about immediately getting two heavy-duty benzos and another maintenance medication,  just by saying their panic attacks were slighting increasing. Meanwhile. I was at risk for DT's after relapsing and begging for basic Librium to maybe not die and was denied.  

The real reality of being on disability is the bare minimum or bad treatment. My psychologist is thankfully amazing but it took 10 years and hitting absolute rock bottom and being homeless to find her. She's a diamond in the rough but only works with the sickest of the sick. I would be in a state institution right now if it weren't for her and I avoided it by the skin of my teeth.  

So here's where I'm probably the asshole. After weeks, I broke. We were texting as usual and they started to sort of mope and complain. They were venting about having a hard time again and how symptoms were bad and there was just nothing they could do and it was so hard. They started going on about how helpless they were and how there was no opportunity to get better and everything was just super hard and impossible for them and how rough they had it. Their family was checking in on them too much and they were annoyed at them for being concerned and that they had no options and no chance and everything was just so hard and impossible.  

I understand, that's depression. I'm pretty empathetic and understanding and have been up to this point but it just felt like the rich person complaining to the homeless guy sleeping on the street, how awful it was they forgot their umbrella that day, and how unfortunate it was to be getting wet. I just wanted to scream. If you're anxious take your benzos, take your other meds! Call your aunt. Text your on call therapist. Call your fancy psych who answers night and day. Utilize any of the resources you have and all the support you are given!    

I was just tired of it. Things in my life have been super difficult, especially lately, and I have to figure it out alone. The voices were getting loud again which lead to a bad relapse that went off the rails, which I had to pull out of completely unassisted. I am in between jobs, my housing isn't stable, my bank accounts are low, my mental health is chronic and very severe, my treatment team was threatening to section me if I didn't reel it in. Things were bad. But I deal with it, alone.    

I know it was wrong of me, but I couldn't take it. They have everything to help themselves!!! They could go to a fancy hospital, they could ask all their supports for help! They would receive the best care. All the medicines, the best treatment. Anything.  

I basically kind of spelled it out for them. You have privilege, you have support, you have money, resources, a great treatment team, family, everything... please for the love of God, USE IT! You wouldn't have to worry about losing your job going into treatment, you wouldn't lose your housing. You wouldn't have to worry about falling behind on bills. You'd be fine.  

How can you not see or appreciate all you have and or see how oblivious and privileged you come across and how hurtful that is? You're complaining to the wrong person.

I went on a bit too long. I was definitely coming from a place of hurt, mental illness, and jealousy. I wasn't trying to make them feel bad, I just wanted them to understand. That kind of support would make all the difference for so many that are struggling. They are sitting with gallons of water around them, complaining to be inconsolably parched and that don't know what to do, all while sort of offhandedly bragging about how much water they have and how they can easily get more. I've been carefully conserving a 16 oz Poland spring bottle, rationing for weeks not knowing if/when I will be able to refill. They aren't alone, expected to make it on just disability. They weren't recognizing their position, how they were coming across, how hurtful that was. I didn't get anyone to catch me, love me, support me. This is the real reality of living with extreme mental illness on disability looks like without that opportunity or support. This is hard fucking work. We are not the same. You got lucky. Now do something with it.

They ended up calling me a dick, saying I didn't understand, that I was being cruel and mean for no reason. We haven't talked since. I do feel bad, I just couldn't take it anymore.  

So if you made it this far, lay it on me, AITA?      

[toooldforfandom-liveblogs]

Steven Universe Future 02 - Guidance

With that title, it could be the continuation of last episode's "plot". The new gem seemed to get her bearings by the end but more guidance wouldn't haven been out of place.

I just googled the word "guidance" and it has the following definition: "advice or information aimed at resolving a problem or difficulty, especially as given by someone in authority." So, maybe it'll be about Steven shouldering even more problems, being the one who everyone looks for to for guidance. Or maybe he'll try to ask the diamonds for advice and fail?

I don't know so let's do this!

This show already needs more Peridot.

Guiding a blindfolded Steven is an extremely literal title drop.

There was a bit of this last episode, with Amethyst loving being a teacher, but she saying she's proud without an ounce of sarcasm is probably the biggest example of how much she's grown.

This is really cool! I'm a tiny bit worried about the gems getting paid (even if they don't necessarily need money) but I figure Amethyst already thought about that.

The second of silence here really sells the joke.

Weren't they already her bodyguards in the movie? Or maybe I'm remembering the opening. They really fit her dignified image though.

oooh, confirmation that she is Biggs

Can't believe Biggs found a job liquefying humans for Funland's new protein smoothies.

Okay, finally, she is Crazy Lace. I wondered if her coloring was result of the corruption but with that name maybe she's always looked like that.

I'm really glad the gems seem to be integrating well. I'm curious about things like ... is any gem in charge of human workers? Are they all doing unskilled labor? Are they getting paid? But, I need to remember this is not the kind of show that would have those answers.

Steven Universe was never too interested in exploring the societal impact of the Crystal Gems being on Earth or how everything worked in Homeworld, so I doubt SUF is going to go too deep and I almost hope it doesn't. The more they explore this aspect, the harder to avoid comparisons to real life refugee and immigration issues.

I have been playing too much Animal Crossing because those three in the back really look like villagers.

I really hope that the plot won't be Steven doubting Amethyst plans because she didn't ask him first. He is looking more and more worried but fingers crossed.

I love her... bun?

Also, poor Andy is wishing he had never come back to Beach City.

yessss, she is little larimar

I mean, Amethyst is right. They chose to do the same, and they have the freedom to do something else in their free time. They can quit! They are happy! It's important to "deprogram" them but that doesn't mean they can't do what they usually did in the past if that's what they really want.

I guess this ties with Steven's "revelation" last episode about how you never end learning about yourself. But I don't know, pushing the gems to do things out of their comfort zone is not a bad idea but I'm not sure it can be done lightly. They are already out of their comfort zone by living and working with humans, on earth, without the Diamonds. How much more do they want to push them?

I was thinking he'd ask them to do some origami, maybe inflate some ballons... but nope, he's throwing them in the deep end.

Steven was usually in the right (with some exceptions) when this type of plot appeared in SU, is SUF doing the opposite? Maybe help him learn to trust everyone can do their own thing?

Yeah, rip Andy.

Love Amethyst just glaring Steven to death without saying anything.

oh no, she's going to optimize for maximum scream performance

uh-hm

I knew I was going to love her when I saw her in the opening, and I wasn't wrong.

and she keeps getting better

The fact that he's being 100% genuine is the only thing that saves him from being horribly condescending.

But he is steamrolling over all her objections. Steven is reminding me of an overbearing parent, unable to let their children do their own thing.

This is the best thing I have seen today.

This episode is really not interested at all in being subtle about what's going on with Steven.

oh my god why

I was expecting something closer to "the truth is in the middle" not this

"I have been waiting for you, Mr. Bond"

It's petty but it's such a great feeling when everything goes wrong and you get to say "I told you so."

"our"?

That was fast, there's still half the episode left. Hopefully they'll dive a bit more into Steven's reasons instead of just leaving it here.

I took an screenshot of Amethyst because her emphasis of "gems" in that sentence was interesting. It made me realize that beyond Steven's own deal, this also works as an example of the white savior complex. Not 100% because well, that requires more context that SUF will ever give us, but it's a valid reading.

I can't believe they lasted this long. Poor Andy, born in SU's most unnecessarily long episode just to die in a cameo.

First: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, SUF's first fusion!

Second: This entire argument could have easily caused a rift in their relationship since it was Steven doubting Amethyst abilities which, well, hits a lot of her weaknesses so I love that they talked, Steven apologized and immediately fused after. Their relationship is really strong after all these years.

Best joke so far. Wow, that made me laugh really hard.

Smoky has been busy these past few years, that's pretty advanced yoyo-ing.

She may have learned new tricks but she's still Smoky, hiding her anxiety under jokes.

Stop lying to yourself, Larimar. Enjoy them. Enjoy the screams.

Whoa, whoa. I didn't expect the pinkness to come back so soon.

Wow, the pinkness it's a lot more interesting than I expected. I thought it was just a simple power-up, maybe Steven's gem giving him more physical strength but no more than that. Here it responded specifically to Smoky's desire to have more time. This opens up a world of possibilities for what it could in the future. What are its limits? What does it mean for Steven? Are all Diamonds that powerful?

And it vanished the second Smoky said "time" again. Interestinger and interestinger.

Incredibly powerful life lesson from Steven Universe Future.

She could have told this to Steven earlier but I kinda doubt he would have listened.

Now Steven needs to figure out what to do now that neither the world or his friends need saving.

The movie really was just a prologue for this season, huh? Steven spent SU learning that he wasn't his mom, he was just Steven. Then the movie taught him that he couldn't stop there. And now SUF seems to be about Steven learning how to deal with that, because everyone is moving on except him.

I was getting a bit teary-eyed after their convo and where Steven's thoughts seemed to be going but wow, Larimar is amazing.

I think I like this episode more than the last, it really sold me on Steven's struggles in figuring out what it means to be Steven when his friends are taking the weight off his shoulders. I don't like armchair diagnosing, especially when cartoon characters never end up confirming it one way or the other, but during this entire episode Steven's behavior screamed co-dependency. That's one more point for "Steven really needs therapy."

Amethyst was so well-adjusted this episode that I don't have a lot to say other than I'm happy for her after everything she went through in the show, and I love how her relationship with Steven has evolved.

I think that's all for now so until next time!

[psychicglitterdetective]

I am so damn angry

(Rant alert, so if you're not interested, just skip this post)

Alright, I'm so pissed about all the shit I've been going through the last few years of my life. (I'm currently 15 almost 16 rn)

It all happened with my dad. To put it in short, he emotionally manipulated me eversince I was a little kid. In context, I've been living with my grandparents for as long as I can remember due to my dad nor mom having stable jobs and my grandparents (mom's side) were generous enough to let us live with them for this many years.

I was extremely close to my grandfather, he would actually act like a dad then how my own father was. My dad was, to put it in short, a deadbeat. He would always lock himself in our room and just watch TV, if he isn't working. He would always tell me that my grandparents (more especially my grandfather) were bad people and to not get close to them. He also manipulated my mom from visiting her own family (sisters, brothers, etc.) So, we were basically closed off from them all.

Growing up, he was extremely overprotective over me. He wouldn't let me have guy friends, so I would just lie that I didn't have them when I did. I was extremely passionate in ice skating, it would of helped me be more in shape and I would do something other than being locked all day In my house. But he didn't let me, due to the outfits being "skimpy" and "would attract too much male attention" EVEN THOUGH I was fucking 7-9 years old when I took interest in it, I didn't even know how babies were made, and I wasn't even interested in "attracting" boys.

In my early adolescents, I started to get a bit into more "girly stuff" aka make up. I wanted to learn to wear make up to make myself feel pretty. And my mom was all for it. But my dad yelled at my mom, "She's not allowed to wear that shit until she's 18." Most of the girl's from middle, already knew how to wear makeup, and I didn't know Jack shit, I felt extremely left out.

And then, one day, it all came crashing down. It was a seemingly a normal day for me. It was after school, (when I was maybe 11 or 12) me and my mom walked into the house when we heard my grandfather talking to my grandmother. I can't remember especially what he said, but he said something about kicking my dad out.

My mom immediately went to her room, grabbed a suitcase. Practically shoved all of our stuff into it, grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of the house.

I should of probably mentioned this before, but my mom was pregnant with my brother at the time and, by command of my father, hid it from my grandparents.

The two must of heard my mom slamming the door and my grandma almost immediately called my mom and asked her what happened. My mom basically dropped an atomic bomb on my grandma and told her that she was pregnant and hung up on her.

After that, we would be homeless for the next couple of months. We would sleep in the car and jump from hotels and motels depending on how much money we would have on us. We would also stay with friends until my brother would be born.

At this point my brother was born. One day, someone offered my dad a job in Florida. He quickly accepted and we would have a road trip to Florida. At first I was enthusiastic, I wanted to think that this would help us have a house and have actual food.

But then, when we got there. The man said that would get us a job wasn't even in Florida, but was in another state where there has been a lot of snowing. So, we basically stayed in a rest spot for maybe a month.

At this point, I haven't been in school for five months. For some people, it would be a blessing. But for me it was a nightmare. It was extremely boring and I had nothing to do. I was, once again, locked in a small space.

My dad was a addicted to smoke. And people with addiction know if if you can't have the thing that you are addicted to, you'd get angry and would do anything thing to get it.

One day in that nightmarish month, my brother was crying because of not eating all day. My mom couldn't lactate and we haven't had money to buy him any milk. So, of course he would be cranky. My dad didn't have any cigarettes that day, and then he yelled at me and my mom the scariest thing that still echoes through my mind to this day.

"Quiet that thing up before I kill it."

For me, an eleven year old to hear those words come out of his mouth, I officially become scared of my father. I didn't cry, because I was scared that my father would kill me.. My mom was scared and immediately picked up my brother, and pulled him as far away as she could from my father. My dad immediately left the car when I broke down.

None of us would talk to each other for a while.

The two then got a job in a hotel. That was the time when I was forced to grow up. My parents had night shifts. So I would stay up all night so that I would take care of my brother. I was basically a second mother to my brother. I would be the one to feed him, dress him, bathe him, play with him. I had to grow up faster than most so that I could take care of him.

My parents were rarely there in those times. I tried to stay positive, and tried not to complain. But how could I tell my parents I didn't want to take care of my brother, even though they couldn't be there so that they could get money. I just couldn't.

It was because of this that it's extremely hard for me to even be clear with my emotions towards people. I would always bottle it all up, and try to not let it show. Yet, I'm naturally a very emotional person so it's extremely hard on me on a daily basis.

I had grown used to changing my brother. To others it would be disgusting, yet for me, it was nothing due to how many times I had changed him that I didn't bat an eye when changing him. My dad, when he would be on break, would force me to change him if he pooped. it disgusted him, I had to do it and I was barely getting into puberty.

I had nothing to do, other than taking care of my brother. I had no friends, I did have a phone, which is where I got my passion on writing. I had finally found something I was truly passionate that no one could take away from me. I would write fanfiction about creepypasta when ever I had the time.

(Which is extremely cringy looking back at it, but it came from a time that I needed something to entertain myself so I kind of look at them in pride.)

To get specific of how we lived. We were cramped in a small generic hotel room. We lived across a Walmart, so we would walk over and get microwaved food so we would have something to eat. We would only eat once a day so that my brother would have more to eat. So, there would be days were I wouldn't eat. I had gone on not eating for maybe 2 almost 3 days. I know what starving feels like.

I can't remember when, but our car got taken away due to not paying for it. The owners were threatening on kicking us out for basically the same thing. So, we were forced to call our grandparents so that we wouldn't be homeless without a car.

During this whole time, my father was putting ideas into my head about how it was their fault that we were homeless for a year.

When they finally came, i didn't talk. I was in a position of being extremely touch starved but didn't want any physical contact with anyone. My grandfather tried to talk to me, but I still couldn't talk. It was like I was forcing myself in not talking.

A few days after, we finally came back to my hometown. They did everything to help me feel back at home. They would take care of my brother so that I wouldn't worry, and even got me back in school.

Everything was looking up. Another thing I should of mentioned is that my parents started to fight a few weeks before going back in my hometown. It would sometimes go from a small disagreement to a full blown yelling contest.

I would always lock myself and my brother in the bathroom and tried to distract my brother by playing with him.

When we got in my hometown, the fights seemed to have gotten worse. I could get a full blown panic attack when ever people would yell at me. I would shut down until was alone in my room when I would start to cry and curl into a ball.

One day, my mom decided that it was enough for her, and decided to leave him. He began to cry, begged on his knees to my mom to let him stay. But she refused. He asked my grandfather if he could atleast sleep in the car in our parking yard but he refused. He came into my room and told me that my mom didn't want him anymore.

In some ways, I knew this was happening. My mom told me, and it gave me trust issues. Mostly towards men and love in general.

I was struggling with sexuality at the time. I was interested in guys romantically, but then I started to get into girl's as well. I come from a strict Christian family, (and I am a proud Christian as well) but most of my family, apart from my cousins, were some what against the lgbtq+. Like, they supported the people who were outside of the family. If it's outside of the family, they would be fine. So I was scared of coming out as bi-curious.

I told me mom one day, in a care ride but she told me that the moment I started to date, that I can't be bi. Even though you don't have to date to know that your sexually interested in the opposite gender.

This is already a long post, I'm sorry. I just wanted to get this out of my chest. I want to get therapy but like I said I'm very closed off with my emotions and my mom wouldn't believe me. I already made a post about my room situation.

Again, I'm sorry for this lengthy post. I just wanted to get this off of my chest, and no one that knows me personally is here so I don't have to worry.

If anything wants to ask for anything, feel free as long as it's not too personal (than it already is lol)

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 2183

i put a calendar on my wall next to my desk in the yonder to keep track of how much time i have left for my physics. and i have it down to two days a chapter, and if i can keep that up, i'll be done in two fridays. so i'm hoping i can stay focused enough to do that.

anyway, i got to sleep in this morning. when i got up, i sorted through a box of stuff that was in my room and looked through pretty much everything. which proved to be really interesting, if not a little cringe-worthy. i found a journal i kept when i was in middle school. i had a truly horrible crush on one guy in my class named dan and i just. couldn't fuckin shut up about him. it's hilarious but also awful. i remember the day i got over that crush: i woke up one morning and realized the guy was a total dickwad and basically said "fuck it." never thought about him again. incredible.

in my sorting i also came across a ton of things from my time in utah that made it nice. i kept a big photo book and stuck my nice notes in it every week. i wrote a quick summary of important things that happened that week to give context to the notes. the thing was two-thirds full. every week there were new notes. and that's something i often forget about.

i also found in a notebook i had deemed my therapy book that i have been introspective for a long time now, and that church has never really been a help to me. it's always been a hindrance for me figuring out what i actually think, and i pinpointed it out more than five years ago. it's interesting to see how far i've come in some ways and how in others i'm still the floundering twenty-two-year-old i once was. except now i'm 27, have a bachelor's degree, and have friends who i know are there for me and who love me regardless of what i do for them.

i wound up going through most of my old journals, taking a lot of old paperwork i didn't need to keep out, and i ended up layering things back in the box in chronological order, from oldest to newest. so my journal from when i was 6 or something is down there with my journal from when i was 12, which is behind my binder filled with optics notes from my senior year when we took third place in the science olympiad. followed by journals and keepsakes and wedding invitations that i've gathered over the years, finally sticking a single bucket on the top with a few precious things from within the last year.

it was an interesting experience, reliving my life in little ways like that.

after that, i cleaned up the rest of the stuff sitting around. i wound up taking a shower and going out with my mom today - we went to get her some new puzzles, and while she wanted to limit herself to only one, i, ever reasonable, said to her that she'd finish one in four days and she might as well get more. she didn't want to spend a lot of money because it was dad's account and he'd flip, so i offered to buy half. but while my mom was distracted, i paid for all five that we picked out. huehuehue. incredulous at the cash i pulled out of my purse, she eloquently said, "did you steal a bank??"

"no mom, i didn't steal a bank. that would be very difficult."

"that sounded a lot better in my head."

"i know."

after purchasing said puzzles, we went around a little bit for a drive. i now know where i get my "sometimes i need to go for a drive" moods - i get them from her. she just needed a break. which i get.

we ended up stopping for ice cream after driving for a little bit, and we brought some home for pop, too. i went to work on my homework after setting up a new puzzle with mom, and i proceeded to work on not very much material, if i'm totally honest. this stuff is hard to wrap your head around, and while i'm getting it, it requires so much focus and brain power that twenty minutes wipes me out. i'm studying relativity. and while it's absolutely fascinating, i wish my brain didn't give out on me after the literal bare minimum. smh.

anyway, i ended up just chillin for the rest of the night, soundly ignoring everything except for the simultaneous pain from cramps and the horrible sensation of smelling food and wishing to expel the contents of my stomach. so i just stayed there in pain for a while. it ended up passing after a while, so i'm grateful for that because i finally got to eat something about half an hour ago.

so now i'm gonna go to bed, wishing i could stop needing to cram my head with school so i could enjoy my time with joel that comes each week. i'm hoping my tuesday night i'll have another chapter finished along with this one so i can just rest for a bit and watch psych with him without feeling guilty.