#hate the exhaustion hate the feeling that every overwhelming thing that i repressed during the year is coming back to bite me

[bigshoeswamp]

i fucking hate december more and more each year

[jaycewrites-192000]

You Deserve To Be Loved

(Not My Art!!!)

It would happen every now and then...the night terrors. But nothing that would happen in normal night terrors. These night terrors, were all too real. And that was because it was...the memories of his childhood would creep up on him during his most venerable moments. Sleep, was the worst of it all. He would at times, avoid sleeping just so he wouldn’t have to experience the overwhelming trauma all over again.

The feeling of his skin burning from the inside out. The feeling of his own father beat him to near unconsciousness. The feeling of weakness and disgust he would feel every time he couldn’t live up to his father’s expectations. And the disgust he would feel whenever he saw the scars on his body grew deeper. So everyday, he would repeat. Burning, beating, blaming, disgust. And no one would save him.

And one day...it all just came crashing down. His mind broke, his body broke, he couldn’t even feel pain anymore....and no one would save him....

He was a disgrace.

He was a disappointment.

He was an outcast.

He was a monster...

And no one...saved him...but it’s not like he deserved it. He doesn’t deserved to be saved. He doesn’t deserved to be cared for. He doesn’t deserved to be loved. Monsters don’t deserve love. Monsters don’t deserve kindness.

Monster were to be feared...and wiped away from this world of unjust heroes.

Even the person who claimed to love and care about him, would eventually see him for what he really was...a monster.

Dabi’s eyes shot open, somehow he had managed to repress the cream that clawed up in his throat. With shaky deep breaths he sat up and raked his hand through his hair. When was the last time he had dyed it that inky black color? Maybe it was time to do it again, he didn’t want to see his true colors. He removed his hand and got out of the bed. Not his bed, he had crashed at your place yet again.

Careful not to wake you up, he quietly left the room and entered the bathroom. He glared intensely at his own reflection. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. His scars that covered nearly all of his body were horrible to look at, the staples that held him together didn’t make it any better. His eyes showed no life, no hope. He was but a shell of his former self.

How could you possibly find him the least bit pleasant to look at? He didn’t deserve you, not at all. He didn’t deserve your care, he didn’t deserve your pity, and he most certainly didn’t deserve your love...

“Dabi?” Came your tried voice. “What are you doing up so late?” Dabi sighed deeply before turning to you, a fake grin on his face. “Eh, nothing much. I could ask the same for you honestly.” You gave him a crossed look before entering the bathroom. “I’m up cause you were next to me. I thought you ran off again.” You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall behind you.

Again. He hated that you worded it like that. Though, it was true. He would sneak off at night sometimes, and not come back or be heard from at times. He knew that you didn’t like it, but what could he do? “You don’t need to worry about that. I always come back don’t I?” He wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

“Yeah. Half dead.” You mutter. “Dabi I hate seeing you like that. Every time I hear you knocking at my door, I have to mentally prepare myself for what I might see. Hell, you might come back with a missing arm or leg! Or not come back at all...” Dabi didn’t get the chance to argue as you continued speaking. “I know you think I worry too much, but what if I were in your place? Going off for who knows how long and then coming back injured nearly beyond repair! You would feel the same way!”

“I know, I know alright!?” Dabi snaps. “Like you would ever be in my place to begin with.” His grip got tighter on your waist. “I carry this burden for myself, and I keep you safe with every new injury I get. I’ll give my own life if it meant keeping you safe and unaware of what hell I go through every single fucking day.”

“I do this, cause I care about you Y/n. I’m so fucking undeserving of it all, of you, of your love. I don’t deserve any of your care or kindness or anything else you have to offer me. But I’ll be damned, if I let all of it go to waste. That’s why I have to keep going, for the both of us.” Just saying that seemed to tire him out. He’s been tired for so so long. And yet he keeps going. All for you. If it weren’t for you, he would have given up long ago.

“Dabi...” You place your hand on his cheek. “Do you even hear yourself? Keeping me unaware? That’s not fair. Whatever burden you carry, I will help you. I know how sick you are of it, how exhausting it can be, just by looking at you. Your suffering is clear, and you shouldn’t have to bare it alone.” There you go again. Making him feel things he thought he could never feel. Dabi felt tears pricking at his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall.

“But I think what confuses me the most about what you said, is that you think you’re undeserving of love. Touya...” You never used his real name, not as often as you would like to really. He wasn’t sure how to feel with you knowing it. Let along saying it. But now was a better time than any.

You made sure he was looking at you. You made sure that he could see the honesty in your eyes. “You deserve to be loved.” You say softly.

“Not just by me, you deserve love in general. You are more than capable of receiving and giving love, you’ve proved it enough times for me. Don’t ever say that you don’t deserve love, because it simply isn’t true. You do deserve love Touya. You do.”

Warm tears fell down Dabi’s face, he shut his eyes tightly and just let himself be in this moment. With you. He let your warmth calm him. He let your touch soothe him. He let you love him, like he so deserves.

He was deserving. He is deserving.

And you made sure of it. And you would continue to make sure until he know it again and again, that Dabi deserves to be loved.

[dl-oblivion]

What type of dads would the s boys (minus Subaru) + kino be? I really liked the last one!

I don’t write for Kino, I’m sorry. I’m glad you liked the last one, anybody that hasn’t read it, can find it here. (If you want me to go into better detail with any of them, just send in a ask specifying so.)

Shu:

- Shu would be a super lazy, and chill dad. Parenting is foreign to him, but somehow it comes a little easier to the vampire than the rest of his brothers. He doesn’t find it tedious to spend time with his kids. The only things he hates dealing with are the tantrums, diaper changes, and exhaustion that comes with being a full time parent. Bro ngl, if his kid was extremely energetic, he’d get a leash.

- He only wants to indulge in the positive things that come with being a parent, which means he often plays good cop. You will never find him yelling at his kid unless he has to, especially if they’re a girl. Shu just wants to play with his child, take naps with them, and give them sweets. Just because he’s nice, doesn’t mean he’d be pushover though.

- Parenting may come a little easier to him, but that doesn’t mean he’s perfect. He’d still make a lot of mistakes, but as time goes on, become wiser. His biggest flaw is being an absent father. His child might find them being shooed away, or ignored. He tries to seem like he’s present, but sometimes he just can’t be bothered. Old habits die hard. (His kid can take advantage of this, and ask for things he wouldn’t normally say yes to when he’s paying attention. (“Can I go to this party?” “Sure whatever”)

Reiji:

- A strict, and domineering father is what I would describe Reiji as. Similar to Ruki, but more cold. It’s not that he doesn’t love them, but he almost projects his childhood experiences onto them. The vampire would only want one child, but if he ended up having multiple, he’d be just as strict with all of them. Not favoring the eldest, but perhaps expecting the most from them.

- Reiji makes them prioritize education, and from a very young age, teaches manners. He expects his offspring to be obedient, but smart enough to make wise decisions. As they got older, there would be this overwhelming pressure to be perfect from him. Ironically the vampire would be similar to his mother, and might end up making another Shu. With a good partner, hopefully this wouldn’t be the case.

- He’s overbearingly uptight, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t die for his kid(s). He has his soft moments. Examples being: teaching his kids how to read, cook, and do experiments. I can totally see the guy bringing his child to witness reactions to certain chemicals. Maybe even setting up one of those crazy foam experiments when he feels like it.

Ayato:

- Ayato would be a an overwhelming, but fun dad. During the beginning of parenthood, he’d be beaming with happiness. Literally playing with them every chance he gets, sometimes dangerously so. Ayato would totally do things like throw them 10 feet up in the air, or into a pool when they’re an infant. (Up until 6 months, infants have this survival mechanism that allows them to float when submerged in water)

- This is kind of apparent but he’d want his child to be the best, therefore putting immense pressure onto them. Unlike Reiji, he’d pressure them to be the best physically, not caring the most about intelligence. He’d definitely be one of those dads that would raise a jock, and get angry if they did bad in any said sport. If his child turns out to be the more intelligent, or creative type, there would be quite a bit of conflict.

- The vampire would be super possessive of his family. When he starts out as a dad, he almost always has his kid strapped to his chest. As they grow up, he tells them to hold his hand when they go out in public. If they tell him it’s embarrassing he’d be like ??? Why wouldn’t you want to hold his hand as a 13 year old, you’re still his little girl/boy.

Laito:

- Laito is difficult to read on what kind of father he’d be. I believe he’d be demeaning, but also pretty playful, and chill. Example of him being demeaning: His kid comes up to him with a problem, instead of comforting/guiding them, he belittles the issue. He’s just gone through so much shit, that repressing/running away from problems has become his norm, and projects this unintentionally onto his child.

- He’d be playful/chill in a sense that he wouldn’t stress out about parenthood, and sometimes encourage rebellious/bad behavior. If his kid wants to paint the walls using his moms makeup, he’d probably join them. His kid is having sex earlier than they should be? Here’s some condoms. (Unless they’re a girl, cause yknow double standards)

- Laito would hateeee being bad cop; he doesn’t take pride in punishing his kid. As a result, he might be a bit of a pushover, or move the conflict over to his lover. It’s not that he can’t put his foot down, he’d just rather reward his child for something, than spank them.

Kanato:

- Kanato would be the worst father out of all the boys, and I think we can all agree on that. The vampire acts like an infant himself, always requiring his lover’s attention. Reaching the level of maturity required to raise a child, is damn near impossible for him. (I don’t even think he could handle owning a pet with his partner.)

- From the get go, the vampire would have lots of mood swings, and mixed feelings. While he loves his child, it’s mostly for superficial reasons. He loves the way they look, and wants to dress them up 24/7, but hates dealing with their emotions. If his kid has a tantrum, or shows attitude, all hell is gonna break loose.

- Fatherly time is far from wholesome when it comes to Kanato. Let’s just say he enjoys having a little helper assist him with putting together new dolls. Oh, and after they help him, why not have a tea party together! With the dolls present of course.

Bonus: Ayato throwing his infant into a pool

[cinnamoonsworld]

Two Worlds Collide - Chapter 6 [Aizawa x fem!reader]

Hello everyone! Sorry if the chapter came out late this week, but my boyfriend had to study for some important exams and I didn't bother him during the week!  Enjoy the chapter <3 

-----------------------------------------------------------  Previous chapters: ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4 | ch 5 You can also find me on Ao3! Warnings: mention of depression  Word count: 1,453 ------------------------------------------------------------ "Shouta can we know what you did to her?" Asked Present Mic to his friend while gulping down the last drops of beer he had. "Absolutely Nothing." Stated Aizawa feeling Nemuri's eyes on him. "Something must have been happened." She said in a serious tone. "She can not just change his behaviour like this." The three friends/colleagues were out for a quiet Friday night in a club to drink, as sometimes happened to him. Aizawa didn’t have to go on patrol that night, and once in a while he liked having his noisy friends around. Although he hoped you would be there that night, but you had declined the invitation hastily without giving any explanation the afternoon before when Hizashi asked you if you would join a Friday night of drinking with him, Nemuri and Aizawa .All three of them were clear that something had happened to you, but none of them knew anything. For two weeks now, you had become very coy and reserved with the teachers. Usually you would spend your lunch breaks or other moments of freedom during the day chatting happily with Midnight and Present Mic, but by now you had become nowhere to be found. Aizawa also tried to talk to you in some way, but every time you had a chance to be alone, you ran away without saying anything. He didn’t even understand when you were in your room, from which nothing but silence came. No one saw you running from all sides anymore. You acted as usual with the students, supporting them and listening to their doubts and problems." Did I told you about two weeks ago, when I met her out of the dorms with her quirk out of control?" Asked Aizawa while drinking a glass of Whiskey. "Sure." Said Nemuri with her cocktail. "And that she talked about more people, so that day something else must have happened after what you told her in class... you at least talked to her?" "I was not able to. " Replied the raven. "After that day I never had the opportunity to talk to her for real..." "And you should be a supervisor!" Shouted Hizashi while asking to the waiter for another beer. "She is your subordinate, if you want to talk to her, you can -Order her to.-" Actually, Aizawa didn’t want to force you. He still had in mind the angry look you gave him that afternoon, it’s as if it was burned into his mind. He also hated being forced to talk to someone when he didn’t want to, so he preferred to leave you alone and give you all the time you wanted to come and talk to him. Even though he knew you didn’t have a good relationship, he hoped that anyway, as the person you worked with every day, you would open up to him for what was happening to you. Instead, you created a wall you didn’t want to break down, and not just with him. The thing he felt the most about was not apologizing for his behavior. For once, he could let it pass, but his rigid nature had prevailed even before listening to your motivations. Nemuri changed the subject by starting to talk about his favorite thing: the last rumors about their colleagues, and Hizashi was immediately very interested in the thing. Aizawa, on the other hand, pretended to listen when he thought what you were doing at that time.

It was dark in your room, and the only light in the whole room was from the TV next to your bed. You were watching a play, trying to distract yourself. But even that night, like a couple of nights, you’d find yourself curled up in bed with a knot in your stomach. You still felt bad about what happened, even though you felt something more now: terror. Your manager has always been a very vengeful person, and you knew that very well, because you had felt what he was capable of. All you had to do was do something that didn’t suit him, and his revenge turned into extra training hours or interminable signatures, getting you home exhausted both mentally and physically. You didn’t understand why he behaved like that, but only too late did you realize that he wanted you to be a puppet at his command. You were his money-making machine, and you had to do everything he said without having to complain or anything. You felt awfully stupid for letting him treat you like this, but having only him as your manager, you never wondered if these behaviors were normal or not, and so you accepted everything. Every day, from when you got up to when you went to bed, you felt nervous and anxious. You didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and as soon as you could, you’d go somewhere to eat or spend some time alone listening to music to calm down. Sometimes you were so overwhelmed by your thoughts that you would cry whatever you were doing, and music was the only thing that could calm you down. One of the things you were most afraid of during the day was having to interact with Aizawa or be alone with him. You were always trying to do your job quickly so you could end up when the bell rang so you could go away with the kids, and spend as little time as possible in the teachers' room so you could not interact with him or other teachers. With Ereserhead you only spoke when he wanted to know something about one of his boys or to give you some job, but even there you limited the conversation to a minimum. You could talk even less about him. When you finished work, you’d lock yourself in the room and not go out until the next morning. You’d stopped checking your cell phone, and by now it was all about notifications from Rumi and the record company’s top brass. You didn’t have the mental strength to respond or visualize anything. When you were on your computer writing reports about the 1-A kids, you didn’t go on the Internet because you didn’t want to go check your PO box or the latest news about you on the Internet. You were literally out of this world. It also became complicated to do the simplest job, because all the tears you repressed during the day came out in droves when you were in your room. Sometimes it took you hours to finish something, which usually took you about 20 minutes. You hated being like this. And you were also thinking that when you watched that play under layers of blankets in bed on Friday nights. The Saturday morning arrived, with the clear sky and the fresh air that now made the few leaves that remained on the trees fly away. Inside the 1-A dormitory, the students had gathered in small groups in the large living room. There were people who did homework, who read manga or did internet research for all sorts of things. You were helping Mina, Kirishima, and Sero with their math homework, and you promised them after you noticed how hard all three of them were working on that subject and also to distract you a little from your thoughts. The atmosphere was quiet until the alarm sounded. The students all looked at each other worried, couldn’t figure out what was going on. "I'm asking to all students to stay in their dorms, there is nothing to worry about." Echoed the calm voice of Principal Nezu in the area's speakers. "I request to all teachers to come immediately to the main entrance." As soon as he finished the sentence, Aizawa came out of his room with a clearly irritated expression. "(Y/S/N) stay here and keep an eye on them." Said the teacher wearing his scarf. "Do not try to come out for any reason or you'll have chores for three months. Understood?" "Yes, Teacher!" Shouted the kids at unison with a slight blink of panic in their voices. You looked Aizawa in a worry face while he bolted out of the dorm, you were hoping nothing bad will happen to him.As Aizawa made his way to the main entrance, he noticed, first of all, that there was no sound that foreshadowed a fight or an assault. So they probably shouldn’t have fought. As he approached the entrance, he noticed a great rumour and the lights that looked like photographic flashes. It was too late when he realized that all the teachers were called to the entrance to face one of the things he hated most in the world: the journalists.

[flying-elliska]

Ellie I’m so sorry you’re going through this but I actually want to say thank you for posting so openly about your diagnoses and struggles because I am going through something very similar, and it’s actually helped me reach out for help with my mental health. I’m 32 and after my moms death last year I am discovering that not only am I fairly certain that I have ADHD but, I’m starting to realize that I have spent my whole life dealing with Emotional Incest from my mother and that’s something I do not know how to even approach.

I have literally felt like I’ve been going crazy and functioning in the world is becoming harder and harder each day. I feel like I don’t have a handle on anything and I am constantly overwhelmed to a point where I don’t know how to cope but seeing you dealing with this is giving me some hope. I know I’m probably not the only person you’ve helped indirectly so please know that you’re not only helping yourself but you’re encouraging me and probably others to do the same. I really hope you find some peace and happiness today.

Anon 💖💖💖 thanks for reaching out, it means so much. I actually had a good (but exhausting) day - I confronted an acquaintance about him being a clueless asshole to some of my other friends, which I don't think I would have had the guts to do in the past. So maybe not peace and happiness, but definitely some satisfaction.

First of all I am very proud of you for reaching out and I am glad I could help in whatever small way I could. I am also sorry for what you went through and still have to deal with. I know it sucks. I am right there too rn in feeling how much it sucks. I think it's an important step to recognize that. IT FUCKING SUCKS. Because personally for a loooong time I was just pretending everything was fine, making excuses for the people who hurt me, but I was just running myself ragged and feeling so hollow and splintered and just.... And coming to a point where i'm finally looking these things in the face, and all that buried crap resurfaces...it's honestly one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, just putting some of these things to paper, trying to do this all month, it's so ughhhhhhh fuck man. It's ugly work, I hate it, but at the same time, sometimes, it feels empowering too and like I am returning to myself and picking up all these shattered pieces and recognizing that part of me that suffered and deserved better that I tried so hard to deny and deaden. Reclaiming my ability to control my own narrative.

So honestly from what you're describing, I think it's very logical that you are having a hard time and feel overwhelmed. Hell, they say during recovery at the beginning it generally gets worse for a while before it gets better. So...even tho it sucks, in a sense, it might be a good thing ? I know it is for me. Much better than previous numbness and dissociation. The pain of truth is purifying - it's so different from the pain of secrets and shame festering in silence. Am I coping very well right now ? No, but I'm learning, and I'm also having these occasional moments of inner reconciliation and mending that feel miraculous ; like that scared, confused inner little girl I used to be feels increasingly less alone and trampled over.

Anyway the good news is that when it comes to ADHD, treatment has a high chance to have a radical positive impact, it's one of the diagnoses where finding the right combo of therapy/meds/lifestyle changes leads to some of the highest rates of positive change. So I really hope you get there.

The rest is...yeah I don't know how to deal with that either, I'm still figuring it out. My relationship with my mother was for so long such a fucking clusterfuck of layers of manipulation, unaddressed generational trauma, repressed grief, good intentions, petty cruelty, inappropriate behavior, unfortunate circumstances and neglect, over projection and blind devotion and gaslighting, enmeshment and lack of boundaries, abuse done for "your own good" with a smile and a reasonable explanation - it made me feel insane for so long, like I couldn't trust my own feelings or perceptions. And every time I felt like I had addressed one layer I hit on something else, to the point where I started to feel like I would never be free of it. I haven't seen her or properly talked to her in like, seven years and still all this time I was struggling with it - it was necessary to cut contact tho, to assert that boundary. And then to keep building boundaries from there, slowly, frustratingly, to keep digging and asking myself questions. I got stuck and lost so many times, but I feel like I'm finally reaching the end of the tunnel, because knowledge is one of the most powerful things in the world.

Real talk, the emotional incest thing ? I think my mother had a similar dynamic with her own father. And she tried to do better, but because she was unwilling to look at the true ugliness of the situation, instead choosing to wallpaper over it with magical thinking, everything-will-be-fine-if-i-convince-myself-it-is, and an obsession with moral purity, she ended up doing a massive amount of damage of her own. And I am not doing that.

There is a radical power that comes with facing the ugliness head on that I am claiming for myself, and it seems that you are embarking on a similar journey. It's a big thing so we can't do it all at once. I think doing sth like this you have to pace yrself, to chew off little piece by piece, to digest bit by bit, to let some things rot and dissolve, to go through many cycles of doubt and indignity and revelation, to hunt for the truth on pure Instinct and desperate need, to claw off a path from the dark and the impossible, to consider incompatible and paradoxical truths, to let every new bit of knowledge work its way through you and make you stronger and stranger and more yourself. To let yrself be a little bit crazy and seething and deranged, to shake loose the confines of what you thought was reasonable, to find gifts and allies in unlikely places. To expose, to open up, little by little, to find scraps of words that turn into full sentences, to take back power by finding the right name of things. And then, one day, we'll give birth to ourselves this time and we'll find the sun-bleached bones of this horror and make it into jewelry. Or something.

You don't have a handle on things ? Good ! It's probable you have had a handle on things for way too long. Your handle is probably completely broken. So I don't know you, but maybe this is good, in all its harsh inconvenient terrifying way. I know I had to throw away the handle I had first to build a new one. And flying loose for a moment which yeah ! Fucking scary. But also kind of badass, in that private way maybe nobody will ever know but you and so it's extra important you give yourself that credit.

Anyway I'm rambling but I do hope some of this gives you some extra validation. I'm here if you want to talk more, including by message. I know it's helped me so much to read abt other people's experiences, so. It's like a chain of courage, and you can be part of that too.

Also books have helped me so much - some fiction, but especially of late 'Tiny Beautiful Things' by Cheryl Strayed - she's an advice columnist who writes about some super gnarly stuff in such a direct, humane, powerful way, it gave me a lot of strength.

Power and solace to you, anon. 🌸💪🌸💪

[beautifully-tuan]

for my dream - 2

Mark Tuan x Reader arranged marriage!au , angst, eventual fluff word count: 1920

Masterlist ; Part 1

As soon as Mark gave his agreement, you were named CEO of your father’s company. It should have been the happiest day of your life, since you’ve always wanted this position, but you didn’t want it like this. Yet, as much as you hated this situation, you couldn’t say no, because it was the only way to save the company. If only your stupid brother hadn’t let his stupid girlfriend pry into the family business... She wouldn’t have scammed your father and Mark’s family, leaving the empire they’ve built to the critical state it’s in now. And, cherry on top, your father had initially planned to name your brother as the CEO. You opposed to his decision, reminding him that this whole mess was because of your brother himself. Things could only get worse if you let him step over. You couldn’t let the already declining business fall into such incompetent hands. With the energy of despair, you told your father you were qualified enough to take the lead, to which your father couldn’t argue. Everything you’ve ever done revolved around this company. Your brother was less than incompetent, and you were more than qualified.

And then the marriage deal came up. You knew it would lead to something like that, considering how complex the structure of the company is. The official account, which includes all the company’s acts and budget, is registered in Mark’s family’s name. It’s always been that way: your family deals with management and negotiations, while Mark’s family takes care of everything financial and investments related. Your and Mark’s father being CEO and co-CEO since the company was founded, that’s never been a problem. But due to recent events, and with the need of a new CEO, the latter should be able to run both sides of the company. If your brother had gotten this position, it would’ve been easy to convince the bank for a transfer of account. It’s always been highly considered for a man to run a company. However, you are a woman, and that makes it way more difficult. Nobody would take you seriously and your decisions on the use of the company’s funds would be limited, and that would only make everything worse. The only way to avoid such a disaster is to merge both families into one, so you can have legal access to the account no matter what. That’s why there’s no other alternative for you than to marry Mark. Your father made it clear to you that it was the only condition. You wanted to refuse, God knows you wanted to. But again, you couldn’t. Although you could feel your heart break inside your chest, you agreed.

As selfish as that was, you secretly hoped Mark would say no. If waiting for his response felt like agony, you considered yourself dead when he said yes. Without further awaiting, you took over the company and immediately started to clean after your brother’s mess, while preparing the wedding at the same time. Everyone said you weren’t obligated to help with the preparations, but you did it anyway, and it was honestly a living hell. You didn’t know what you were expecting from Mark in the first place, but he didn’t even try to be a little bit supportive. He despised you, it was written all over his face, and you could understand why. Although you could’ve put up a fight with him for acting as if he was the only one suffering from this situation, you felt too bad for him, so you let him be.

Mark acts no different during the wedding ceremony and reception a few weeks later. He makes a little effort to put on a make-believe happiness in public, and you’re thankful for that, but he’s still dripping with resent and sadness. It’s only normal after all, he doesn’t gain much from this arrangement compared to everything he loses. You both try to put on a good show for all the important personalities attending your wedding, then you head back to your house immediately after it’s finished. You and Mark decided to live in a rather big house, with two bedrooms. Of course, you decided to sleep in separate beds. Actually, to make everything easier for both of you, you separated everything, like roommates would. You would have your own life, and he would have his. He could continue with his job, and you would take care of the company, that’s it. The only requirement between the two of you was to, at least, pretend to be happily married when you were in public.

These rules established, you thought your life would go on as normal, the only difference being your new position and responsibilities in the company. What you didn’t expect was for Mark to still take care of you. Not as a husband, of course, but in subtle ways that you can’t ignore. When he makes dinner, he makes sure to leave some for you to eat when you get home after work. When he goes grocery shopping, he buys stuff for both of you. When you’re not around, he does some cleaning. It’s not rare that he texts you to ask at what time you’re getting home so he can make his plans without bothering you. It’s crazy to you how someone can be mad at you and still take care of you like this, even though he has no obligations towards you. You really wish you could repay him, but there’s not much you can do since you’re at work most of the time and only come home super late at night. You offer to take turns washing the dishes, to which he agrees, but he ends up doing most of it anyways because of your tight schedule. Despite not having the highest opinion of you, he still does all those things because that’s just how good of a person he is.

As incredible as it seems – and as much as you hate to admit it – you’ve grown attached to Mark. Although he barely ever talks to you, you appreciate his little actions a bit more than you should. You even finding yourself daydreaming about what you and Mark would be like together in another life... But daydreams are all about it. You can’t let these feelings take over, because he obviously doesn’t feel the same way. Quite frankly, it might even be the opposite. He seems to have gotten over himself, but still despises you and wishes you hadn’t ruined his life, and that is enough for you to keep your feelings a secret. You’ve mastered the art of repressing your emotions, ever since you were a child, to maintain a certain image. Everyone around you says that bottling things inside is not healthy for you, but you don’t care. With all of your responsibilities, you don’t need to deal with your conflicted emotions on top of that. So you live your life like this for the following months, being as strong as you can. That is until, one night, you inevitably break.

For a woman your age, being a CEO is a lot of pressure. You are in a rowboat barely floating in the middle of the sea, and financial partners and stakeholders are sharks trying to capsize it. They’re constantly pressuring you, aiming for your breaking point, trying to make you bend before them so they can steal your power. Your daily life is composed of disguised threats and improper remarks, added to tons and tons of work and the tiredness that comes with them, and the sadness of coming home to an empty house, without anyone to talk to. Today was just the straw that broke the camel. A representant of your company’s number one competitor came in to talk to you. The lady, like everyone else, was sent to pressure you. You handled the situation perfectly, as usual, until she said:

- “Well... Where’s your husband? I believe he also has some latitude in this company, right. How come we never see him around?”

Normally, you wouldn’t care. But, with the way she said it, you started to worry. She was clearly implying that she – and probably many other people – are fully aware that your marriage is fake, and that they’re going to use that to their advantage.

That thought is still on your mind when you step into your house, exhausted. You slip out of your shoes and jacket, throw your bag onto the table and slump down on the sofa, not even bothering to turn on the lights. How long can you keep up like this? How can you stop them from using your marriage, the only thing you have no control on, against you? And who are you even going to tell all of this? It’s not like you have a lot of friends, and you don’t want to seem weak to the eyes of your family, since you’re the one who fought so hard to get here. But is this really what you wanted? Will you ever be able to keep your promise and save this company? Your insecurities hit you so hard that you break into tears. You let go of months of pent up frustration and sadness, so overwhelmed by your emotions and crying so much that you don’t even hear the front door opening and the lights being turned on.

Mark finds you there, crying your heart out and struggling to breathe. He immediately pours some water into a glass and brings it to you, but you don’t even notice it.

- “Hey, hey, Y/N look at me” he says, trying catch your attention.

His voices rings inside your ears and you try to look up, barely processing what’s happening.

- “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Talk to me.”

His genuinely worried tone makes you feel so safe that, without thinking twice, you immediately start talking. You tell him absolutely everything. Mark listens to you, holds your hand, brings you more water when your glass is empty. He’s so kind and understanding that it takes everything in you not to tell him about your growing feelings for him. After you’re finished, he gives you some great advice and demands that you never keep your problems to yourself like that again.

Since that night, every time you come home, Mark starts asking questions. He asks how you’re doing and how your day has been, asks you to talk about your problems and what you’re planning to do about them. That’s how you and Mark, after seven months of being married, became friends. Mark is determined to make you feel less lonely. He even starts getting himself involved in your work, even if it’s just a tiny little bit. He often passes by your workplace and brings you lunch, making sure he arrives at the exact time you’re having meetings with all those annoying people, just to show them that he’s there and that you’re not alone. If you used to appreciate Mark’s efforts, you’ve come to appreciate his very presence. You cherish the moments you spend with him, even the smallest ones, from small talks around the living room to movie nights on weekends. Your new relationship with your husband makes you feel uncertain. You can’t really tell if it makes things easier or harder for you, because the only thing you’re certain of right now is that you’ve fallen in love with him.

Part 3

a/n: hiii and thanks for reading the second chapter to this series. what do you think of this new chapter? it was tough to write tbh, especially trying to explain the reason behind the arranged marriage. I tried to make it as realistic as possible though. I really REALLY hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Happy holidays and love you all. 💖

[thedunesea]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summary:

The only thing I can say for sure is that Anakin talks so much I barely have time to think. Which is something I’m terribly grateful for.

Excerpts from the journal of a newly minted Jedi Knight.

I have smiled so much these past few days my facial muscles hurt. Smile for the Queen, smile for the Chancellor, smile for the cameras. Smile for Yoda and the Council.

Above all, smile for the boy.

I’ve never felt less like smiling.

I am still on Naboo. It has been three days.

I wish I could spar.

*

I am finally back at the Temple; I suppose an entry is in order.

I would never have thought

It began When we It happened

I find I am at loss.

With all my belief in the power of words, I’m beginning to think that some things just cannot be conveyed. Perhaps it’s for the better: let memories, sensations and emotions fade into the Force. Maybe, if never put into words, they will one day hurt less.

Who am I trying to fool?

Stick to the facts, one could say, but it’s an exercise in futility. Naboo Security has provided the Archives with footing of the whole incident; there is no need for me to write down what happened. By the way, I have not seen the footage; I think I never will. At any rate, its testimony is certainly more reliable than mine: my memories are but a red blur.

The only thing I can say for sure is that Anakin talks so much I barely have time to think. Which is something I’m terribly grateful for.

Oh, here he comes.

*

And so it began: today we had our meeting with the Council of First Knowledge to devise a course plan for Anakin. I feel for him: coursework was hard enough for me, his schedule is going to be a nightmare. I suppose Dex will get more than his usual share of Jedi founds over the next few months: the least I can do is give the boy some treats.

Another thing that came out of the meeting was that, apparently, slaying a Sith Lord in mortal combat makes you qualify not only for Knighthood but for lightsaber classes too. Master Drallig’s schedule is full, so he will just teach Anakin the basic drills. The rest falls upon me.

When I brought the outcome of the meeting before the High Council for approval, Master Windu proposed to have Anakin join the Initiates classes, and I found myself forced to take exception. Just imagine, me going against the Master of the Order.

I said I wouldn’t subject the boy to what he will inevitably perceive as humiliating, being taught with children half his age. A Jedi shall know no pride, I know, but Anakin is not a Jedi yet. In time he will learn. I am glad that Master Gallia and Master Koon sided with me; in the end, even Yoda agreed.

It looks like I’m taking up the mantle of maverick, doesn’t it? Wherever you are, Master, I hoper you’re having a good laugh.

Ah. I was almost forgetting. Satine sent condolences. It’s hard to tell from a hologram, but she looked well. I do hope she is happy.

*

I already spoke of the perks of slaying a Sith Lord in mortal combat. Today I discovered the downside.

Sparring triggers memories. In hindsight it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was, and a most unwelcome one.

I would never have thought I would say this, but thank the Force I was sparring with Vos, and not with Garen or Tachi. Apparently, Quin’s line of work has somehow managed to put some tact in him; this is something I can’t say for either Garen or Siri.

Of course Quin’s first thought was the Mind Healers, but he agreed with me that some people on the Council would jump at the excuse to reassess my suitability as a Master, and this is something I can’t allow to happen.

Still, I need to fix this issue before I start one-on-one training with Anakin: he needs a Master in control. So in control I will be.

It is somewhat contrary to the point, but I wish I could just go out and get drunk.

Actually I could - Vos thinks I should, and who else is surprised? - but with all the coursework Anakin has we barely see each other during the day. I am not going to leave him alone in the evenings too. Besides, only the Force knows what kind of mechanical devilry I might find upon my return. No, better stay home and keep an eye on the boy.

*

Garen tells me I look better; Siri Tachi – and I’m quoting here – says I look like shit. Bant just sighs. Reeft, of course, just eats.

It seems my mirror agrees with Tachi: I can’t say I liked what I saw when I shaved this morning. Maybe I should eat more.

I certainly should sleep more. Incidentally, Anakin and I make for a fine pair of insomniacs. When I woke up tonight - I don’t even need to say what I was dreaming of - I found him tampering with a droid on the couch. I can’t fathom how he managed to turn our living room into a dumpster in less than a week. I suppose he’s not used to having this many things around. Anyway, it comes out he has trouble sleeping: he says he has always had, for as long as he remembers. It doesn’t surprise me: his connection to the Force is impressive. Overwhelming, even, and dreams are an obvious outlet for the abilities he repressed for so long. In time, as he learns control, they will pass.

One of my suspicions turned out to be true: indeed, Anakin seems to find his peace of mind in tinkering with mechanical objects. Peculiar, to say the least. He showed me how to reprogram a vocabulator to make it compatible with non-droid units. The result is that our fridge now starts speaking every time we open the fruit compartment. For some reason, it only speaks Shyriiwook. It’s quite entertaining, to be honest. I hope our laughing fits didn’t wake our neighbours in the middle of the night.

Even after all this, though, Anakin didn’t want to tell me what he dreamed of. I believe it was his mother.

I wish I could say I don’t know how it feels to miss a parental figure.

*

Today I lost my Padawan. We lasted together little more than three weeks.

I blame the debacle on astronavigation, my archenemy of old. It was clear from the start that Anakin doesn’t share my belief that flying is for droids, so asking Garen to tutor him seemed the natural choice. What I gained for my troubles was that Garen put the boy in a starfighter, and now they’ve been gone for hours.

Thit is the reason why I write this journal in the first place: I learn from my own history so I’m not doomed to repeat it. I will introduce Anakin to Vos when I’m dead.

On the other hand, I’m looking forward to introducing him to Tachi. Garen says Anakin is cute, and I must admit he is endearing: I’m sure he will manage to thaw even Siri’s icy heart, and I will enjoy every second of it.

The nightmares don’t stop, neither for me nor for Anakin. I’m getting sick of all that red.

*

I really wished Qui-Gon was here.

I’m not sure I’m ready for this Padawan business, and I have no idea how to deal with Anakin’s nightmares. He won’t tell me what they are about, he won’t meditate. We just spend our nights tinkering. It’s not how it should be done. I am afraid I’ll soon start spoiling him rotten. Look at me, Jedi Knight of the Republic, fussing over a child like a mother hen.

I should ask for help, I know I should, but I can’t risk the Council taking Anakin away from me. I promised I would train him, and I will.

I even tried searching the HoloNet for “Force-sensitives nightmares”. Well, the results certainly made for an entertaining read; apparently, there is a Corellian Heavy-Isotop band named Force Nightmare. I had to laugh at my own folly, but self-pity will get me nowhere. Neither will all this caf, and I even hate the stuff, but I barely sleep and what else am I supposed to do?

All in all, today is not a good day.

I can’t even spar, and no amount of meditation seems to change that.

I lost control again in the Halls. Quin said I scared him.

All I see when I ignite my saber is red.

*

Shall I start from the good news or the bad?

Let’s start with the good news, laced with a little optimism. I spoke to Master Drallig: I had to. Anakin can’t be taught by a Master who goes on a murderous spree every time he lays his hand on a weapon. Master Drallig believes it will pass; according to him, it is a common occurrence in such a scenario. I don’t know how “common” applies to the scenario “Master killed by a Sith Lord”, but I will defer to Master Drallig’s wisdom, of course.

The bad news is, he told me he believes that what triggers my memories is my using the same moves Master Qui-Gon and I used during the duel. He believes that switching to another saber form could provide a solution, at least for the moment.

Needless to say, I’m not particularly happy with the idea. Ataru in our lineage goes back to Yoda himself, and almost everything I know on lightsaber combat I owe to Qui-Gon’s training. Switching to another form tastes like betrayal.

Well, a Jedi’s lot is to learn how to let go. For the moment, I will settle on “learn how to pretend to have let go”.

I am summoned to the Halls of Training next week to see what form will suit me best.

*

First day out with my Padawan.

I never thought about what visiting Coruscant for the first time could feel like; Anakin was in awe.

Unfortunately, the awe soon morphed into a crazed frenzy.

Where he stores all that energy - or the ice-cream, the candies and the two cheeseburgers he ate, for that matters - is beyond me.

Dex loved him. I am exhausted.

I think I’m going to sleep twelve hours straight.

Maybe tonight we won’t dream.

*

A Jedi shall know no pride. A Jedi, though, still knows humiliation, and going through katas weaponless because I’m afraid of myself was the epitome of humiliating.

Shii-Cho we didn’t even try. Soresu is not my style: too static and, I must say, a form focused on defence becomes boring soon enough. Juyo, the style of aggression, is out of the question. Shien is off the table too: I’d sooner be dead than use the revers grip all its practitioners seem to favor. It’s ugly. Master Drallig says I am vain; I suppose no one is perfect.

As for Djem-So, I don’t have the brute force it requires.

Unexpectedly, I found Nieman much to my liking: double wielding is perhaps a little flamboyant but, if done right, Form VI is well-balanced, physically challenging and aesthetically pleasing. I think I will give it a try: I could even use Qui-Gon’s crystal for the shoto.

What surprised me most, though, is Master Drallig’s verdict: he believes I would be proficient in Makashi, no less. It’s a pity Master Dooku left the Order; I am not party to the specifics, but I seem to understand Qui-Gon’s death played a role in his decision. Be it as it may, Master Drallig himself offered to tutor me as soon as the Initiate term is over: I was speechless for a good ten seconds. I like Makashi fine, but I must admit I’m not looking forward to specialize in a form meant for saber-to-saber combat. I’ve had my share of duels with Force-wielders for a lifetime. Besides, if the Sith are really never more than two, what odds are there I will have to confront the other too?

We shall see what form the Force has in store for me.

In the meantime, I promised Anakin I would take him to the theater tonight. I must go get ready.

*

Now that I know, I wish I didn’t.

Anakin’s shields are not yet strong enough and our morning meditation betrayed him.

Apparently, the Naboo Security didn’t think a child was out of place in their headquarters, especially not the child who had blown up the mother ship. They didn’t pay him any mind, and he slipped in as they watched the security recordings: he saw it all.

I saw his dreams. It was him behind the ray shield, and me in the generator core.

It was the first time in my life I had to comfort a crying child. By the end of it, I was more distressed than he was. When at last he stopped crying he hugged me and thanked me and sauntered away towards the next droid adventure. Children.

Me, on the contrary, he left behind with words that will haunt me for a long time.

Master, will you leave me alone too?

*

I can’t stop thinking about Anakin’s nightmares. Too focused on my own grief, on my own loss, I never fully grasped the extent of his loneliness. True, I lost Qui-Gon, and before him I lost Tahl. But I still have Quinlan, Luminara, Bant, Reeft, Garen, Siri. I have Master Yoda, Master Windu, Master Drallig. Master Koon and Master Gallia. Ali-Alann.

The whole Order.

And then I have Dex and Guerra Derida and many more friends across the Galaxy.

I have Satine.

Anakin has only me. I can’t imagine how the fear of being left alone in the world must be eating at him.

I will not let him go through what happened to me.

I will not fail him.

His fate will not be the same as mine.

*

In the end the choice wasn’t even a choice. Soresu it is.

My survival has just become of the utmost importance - not that it wasn’t before, of course, I like life well enough, but now is paramount.

A Jedi wields is lightsaber in defence, and in defending me I’m defending my Padawan as well.

Perhaps Soresu is the most Jedi-like form of all.

*

I spent so much time in the Training Halls I didn’t even realize I haven’t been writing for two weeks.

It was worth it.

Today my defeat was my triumph.

Predictably, Vos wiped the floor with me, but I managed to see the duel to its end without lashing out at my opponent. On second thought, I should have: he isn’t taking my commitment to Soresu seriously. He says I’m too flashy for it. I’ll show him flashy in a year, and that’s a promise. Oh, and don’t even get me started on his uncivilized innuendos - or, well, straight out crudities - on the Way of the Mynock.

Of course my form was appalling; I wasn’t defeated before the minute’s mark only because I threw in the mix a great deal of Shii-Cho and, to my utmost delight, some Ataru as well. There is much room for improvement, but I’m getting the feel of it.

I must say that Form III looks versatile. Perhaps I’ll manage turning it into something actually entertaining: I am not going to let my Padawan see lightsaber training as a boring endeavour. Soresu itself will have to adapt to our recreational needs.

I’m looking forward to teach Anakin all I know and all I will learn over the next years. I want him to see how much delight is to be found in the Force - and in sparring, of course.

Master Drallig is right: I sound vain and arrogant, but today I just can’t find it in myself to indulge in self-flagellation: it just feels so good to be able to spar again.

It feels good to be looking forward to something again.

[crazyzaika]

Love on Detours - Chapter 8

And we are in the next chapter. At first I have to say, that in the first part are some creepy things which could trigger you. Torture and child abuse. I mark it, so if you don't want to read it, pls just don't. And to all wo love Lisanna, this isn't a 'Shame-on-Lisanna'-FF. Yes I don't like her, because I think she isn't needed in FT, but in this ff she is broken and a bit insane. But it would explained why. Like everytime, let my know what you think. And still not checked.

Greets Z

Chapter 8

Anger filled her senses, raged inside her and crawled like burning lava through her veins. Her body trembled, was tense and it felt as if she was constantly under electric power. Her heart raced and she gritted her teeth so tightly that they grinded and her jaw had become tense in the meantime. He was together with her. With her. That slut! Lisanna had lowered her eyes to the tatami mats in her room as she felt the burning in her eyes. Her throat tightened and pain burned in her heart. She felt abysmal hatred. Hate for Lucy. How could she do that? How could she dare to be knocked up by Natsu? He was not to blame, which in her opinion only hit Lucy, that disgusting, abnormal woman. Her heartbeat was racing, blood was rushing in her ears and she took a step toward her dresser. She looked up and her vision blurred as she looked at the pictures standing on it. They were family photos.

Her gaze glided over the smiling faces of her siblings, the cool, almost emotionless faces of her parents. And then her gaze fell on an old photograph where she stood next to her cousin Lucy. They both wore a white dress and smiled into the camera. Hot fiery anger surged in her, she passed the bare meter and rammed her fist unchecked into the picture. Glass splintered, pain twitched through her skin as the splinters dug into her skin, but she didn't even feel it all. She took the picture and threw it on the floor, stepping on it again and again with her foot.

Her breathing went wheezing, rattling. Tears came into her eyes, veiled her vision and distorted everything. But she couldn't stop stepping on that picture. She wanted to kill her, put her fingers around Lucy's slender, pale neck and squeeze until she heard the crack of her neck. She wanted to feel her cousin's blood running over her hands, she wanted to feel her dying by her hand. An insane, cruel smile distorted her lips, and as tears ran down her cheeks, a crazy giggle broke from her lips.

"This is not appropriate."

She flinched as if she had been beaten, pulled up the gaze from the picture and swirled around her room with a searching look. But there was only her bed, the desk, the closet and her commode. She blinked and stared searchingly, a tremor seized her senses. She knew this voice. It was her mother's voice. Her nostrils widened and then she swallowed lightly, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. Her heart was still burning, her soul screamed and waved bleeding and squirming on the floor. And it was as if she could hear her mother's voice again.

"You will never be as beautiful as Lucy. Your behaviour is not appropriate for a lady of the house Strauss. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Her breathing accelerated and she moved away from the destroyed picture and her dresser, fleeing into a corner of her room over to her bed. Fear crept up into her, clutching her stomach with ice-cold claws, and she felt nausea surge inside her. She knew she wasn't here. She would never set foot in that temple. And yet she heard her mother's voice.

Lisanna swallowed in panic, crawled further into the corner of the room, pulled her legs close to her body and felt that she could no longer breathe. Hot tears were still dripping from her cheeks. Her body trembled and her heart pounded in panic, hurting with every beat and she felt the pull of memories. The dark, disgusting maelstrom of events she never wanted to experience again, that she had repressed.

"You are unworthy!"

The words were like poison. Poison that devoured her thoughts, her soul and destroyed her. She whimpered and pressed her hands to her ears. A malicious laughter penetrated her ears. Laughter that actually could not be real. Because that woman was not here. She did not want to. Lisanna wanted to fight, but the pull of her own memories was too strong. A whimper fled from her lips before these memories sloshed over her, overwhelming her.

AN: And know comes the ugly side of this ff. Or more one of the reason, why Lisanna is broken in soul and mind. So the torture and abuse stuff I told you on the beginning. I'm marking this, because you don't have to read it, if you would not.

"Lisanna!" Her father's cold and stern voice cut the cool air and she flinched, cautiously raising her gaze. And she met dark, black eyes. She swallowed easily as she smiled cautiously.

"What did I tell you? You shouldn't grin at me so stupidly, disgusting scum!" her father rebuked her, overcame the distance to her and pain twitched through her face when he hit her. Her head flew aside and tears formed in her eyes as her trembling hand raised to her reddening cheek. Her lower lip trembled, but she knew that if she started crying now it would only make things worse. Fear seized her heart and she felt the trembling of her knees. She heard the sharp click of his tongue and raised her gaze again. Timidly. The hate and disgust in his dark eyes made her flinch. His lips warped contemptuously.

"Why can't you be like Lucy? She is a true image of noble descent. But no, you have to be like that," his voice dripped with blatant disgust. Icy cold reached for her senses and carefully she took a step back.

"Where is your answer, ungrateful brat?"

"I ... i i i i'm s-s-s-sorr-sorry...", she brought out stuttering and her voice was thin, trembling.

"What are you sorry for?"

"T-that ... t-that i-i'm n-n-not l-l-like L-Lucy, f-father," she just stuttered the answer and then felt another hit. Pain struck her skull. She whimpered up and wanted to retreat, but a big hand reached for her left upper arm, grabbed her and dragged her relentlessly. She whimpered again and the grip strengthened.

"P-Papa ..." she whimpered and tears ran down her cheeks. She was dragged along so fast that her short legs didn't come along and she stumbled, but he didn't give her time to get up, just dragged her along. Her vision was blurred and bottomless fear made her narrow body tremble. She was afraid because she knew what he would do. A world of pain awaited her. Her throat tightened and she wheezed chopped off panicked and couldn't breathe. And then she was thrown into a dark room. Pain jerked through her body as she hit the cold stone floor. Air was pressed out of her lungs and she whimpered again. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she lifted herself up, looking around trembling. Fear made her heart race, she took a rattling breath. And then she was grabbed by a big, coarse man's hand in her neck. She whimpered and lost the floor under her feet, felt someone grab her arms and the next moment she felt cold metal on her wrists. Pain flashed through her shoulders as she was let go and her body weight hung on her arms. She was too small and couldn't touch the floor, looked around in panic, but it was too dark. She couldn't see anything. And then she felt someone cut her clothes. Hearing the tearing of fabric and fear made her really freeze. Her eyes were wide open in panic and she dared not to breathe. She felt the cold air on her pale, tender child skin, heard the creaking of leather. She heard a hiss and then a burning, hot pain shot over her back. Lisanna screamed.

She felt the burning on her back as if she had been punished today for things she could not influence. Things she just couldn't change. Her fingernails dug into her scalp as she shivered between her pillows and her rumpled duvet. The memory burned like acid in her body. She whimpered as hot tears ran down her cheeks, bouncing back and forth.

At that time she had tried everything, had let her hair grow, had even dyed it blond. She had worn brown contact lenses, dressed like Lucy, talked like her and moved like her. Until Lucy told her she thought it was strange and creepy and didn't want her to copy it from her. Lucy had cried because she didn't want to be replaced had angered her parents and Lucy's and this had led to further punishments from her parents. Punishments that she did not endure physically in the long run.

It had been her grandfather who had taken Lisanna in. He had saved her and taken her in. Her brother and sister had already stayed with him before, because they were older and went to schools nearby. But Lisanna had been too young and everyone had said that she should stay with her parents. That this was a mistake only turned out later. Hours passed during which the high school student sat crying on her bed. At some point the exhaustion won and she finally fell asleep.

Juvia hummed quietly as she baked cookies. She wanted to give it to someone very special and her heart raced with excitement when she thought only of him. A gentle smile lay on her lips and a happy gleam lay in her eyes. He was unique, smart, sexy and strong. Gray Fullbuster. Son of a police officer and a state prosecutor. He went to her university and attended the same courses as her.

The ringing of the clock in the oven ripped her out of her mind and she flinched slightly, then opened the glazed door, pulled out the tin with a glove, on which steaming cookies were lying, and laid it down on the marble worktop so the tin could cool out. Then she pranced through the kitchen, turned off the oven, and picked out the colorful icing she wanted to use to decorate the cookies. A soft, happy smile lay on her lips.

"Jo, Nee-chan", Natsu came yawning into the kitchen. Juvia raised her eyes and smiled at her younger brother. He yawned heartily, scratched the back of his head and rubbed his belly. He wore only boxer shorts and Juvia clicked her tongue. She thought he shouldn't walk around like that. That just wasn't right. He could also get sick. But he just grinned broadly and laughed quietly. She didn't even have to say anything and he knew what she meant. Then he sniffed and a glow stepped into his dark eyes as he approached.

"Ah! Not for you, Natsu," Juvia exclaimed protestingly before he could even say anything and pulled a kitchen knife against him. Natsu raised his hands defensively, but still had to grin.

"Wow ... Nee-chan. Calm down. For Gray, that troll, right?"

"Don't call him that," she growled and pulled her brows together.

"Does he actually notice what he has in you?"

His words made her swallow and she bit her lower lip. She put the knife aside and turned her eyes away.

"So no ... "

"Natsu I ... "

"Nee-chan. Listen. I see how in love you are, okay? And I know him. He was at my school after all, even if I don't understand why, because he's supposed to have sooo good grades. He is not good for you. He ignores you since the first year of high school. Since he knows that you come from a yakuza family, he treats you cool and pejorative," Natsu said and looked down on his older sister, who was one head smaller than him. She bit her lower lip and he saw the treacherous shimmer in her eyes. He felt her tense under his hands, how cramped she was and knew she was suffering. She suffered more than she should. She deserved a happy future, but she only wanted it with Gray, who had rejected her several times. Natsu smiled sadly, wrapped one arm around Juvia and pulled her to him, stroking with his fingers through the soft blue hair.

And that was enough to break her dams. Her shoulders began to tremble and he felt the tears running down his chest as she cried silently, clinging to him. Natsu wasn't particularly good at comforting. Juvia sniffed and her heart hurt, burning, while the tears wouldn't stop flowing. She couldn't stop while tears ran down her cheeks and snot from her nose. She clung to the warm body of her brother, who always felt 6° warmer than everyone else. A thick lump was stuck in her throat and she could barely breathe.

At some point she managed to detacht herself from him, still sniffing. Natsu laughed quietly, then got her a kitchen roll so she could wipe her nose and tears while he freed himself from snot and tears. Juvia smiled weakly at her brother.

"I'm actually the big sister. I should comfort you and the other way round," she said in a scratchy voice. Natsu just grinned, fluffed through her long hair and left the kitchen laughing. She smiled, then turned back to her cookies, decorated them, wrapped them carefully. Then she put them in her bag, washed her face, put on some makeup and then left her parents' house.

She still wouldn't give up. Not because it might have been difficult between Gray and her. She had never fallen in love so much as with him and just wouldn't let him go. Because she knew he wasn't so cold. Before he knew what her family circumstances were like, they had even been on a date. He had been incredibly friendly and courteous towards her. However, she had made the mistake of introducing herself to his parents with her real name. Of course, his father had immediately known who he had in front of him and had complimented Juvia out. The next day at school, Gray had ignored her and when she asked, he had made it clear to her that he wanted nothing more to do with her. With a criminal. She had assured him that she was not a criminal and that her family was not as bad as they seemed. The whole thing was 4 years ago now and she was still circling him. She hadn't really paid much attention to the way, knew it by heart and waited until the bus, which would take her to her university, arrived.

She got on the bus, showed her ticket and sat down on a window seat, looked out dreamily without really seeing anything. Her thoughts were totally fixed on Gray. Her Gray-sama, as she liked to call him. Her heart was beating hectically with excitement. Would he accept the cookies this time? She chewed indecisively on her lower lip. The cheerful murmur of the other passengers only came to her ear as a hiss. The thought of Gray distracted her too much.

Only when the bus stopped in front of her university did she blink slightly, rose and followed the others out. Nervousness clawed into her stomach and fear clasped her racing heart, making her restless. Her gaze glided around, searching as she continued to chew on her lower lip. The university grounds were of normal size. Nothing overly pompous. A building, a sports field, as well as a gymnasium and a normal-sized courtyard, where you could spend your free time. She walked with insecure steps towards the building, which had been built in the modern architectural style, and the gaze of her deep blue soul mirror gliding around, found the wild, black hair shimmering velvety in the daylight. Juvia pulled her shoulders up and walked exactly in this direction, swallowing slightly as her heart began to race. Her stomach contracted painfully. She had got up a good three hours earlier to bake these cookies, as she had let the mixture steep for an hour.

He was in a group of friends, including his brother Lyon and his girlfriend Meredy. Among them were Yukino, Sorano and Ultear. She wasn't very good friends with the others and swallowed slightly as she approached. She knew no one hated her, but you couldn't say they even really liked her. Her eyes lay on Gray. He was wearing a black Jean, Sneackers, a black shirt, a leather jacket and a bag over his shoulder. Her hands clasped the straps of her bag and her knuckles stood out white. She began to tremble slightly, but still put a smile on her lips as she approached the group.

"G ... Good morning, Gray-sama," she said with a soft voice and the quiet conversations in the group itself fell silent. Glances stared at her and she felt her cheeks getting hot. His dark gaze lay on her and she swallowed briefly, then dragged out the narrow box hastily and looked up at him with an unsteady smile.

"Gray-sama ... Juvia has ... "

"I don't need it. Leave me alone," he growled and pain twitched through her heart. Her hands began to tremble and her throat tightened. She felt the treacherous burning in her eyes. He didn't even let her finish. The smile on her lips began to waver, but she swallowed the pain and tears, stepped one step closer and then continued to hold the box to him.

"Please... Juvia baked the cookies, Gray-sama," she said and looked at him with big eyes. He sighed annoyed and twisted his eyes, driving himself irritated through his hair. Lyon grinned. The others seemed a little embarrassed. They knew Juvia and nobody could really handle her. None of the girls understood how Juvia could still run after him. Lyon gave him a slight elbow stab in the rib.

"Go on, accept it," he said quietly and Gray growled reluctantly, then he accepted the box and looked at Juvia with a cold look. A glow stepped into her eyes and the cold in his eyes became stronger. He opened the can and looked down at the homemade cookies, saw the fine patterns she had made with colorful icing. In the colours he liked. He looked at the sweets and then he looked at her face, saw the look of love in her eyes. His lips turned to a scornful smile and he stepped towards her, getting closer and closer and pushing her. Juvia stumbled back, bent slightly and fell on her ass. Shocked, she looked up at Gray, who looked down at her with disgust and contempt. He pulled a bottle of water out of his pocket, dumped the water into the box, closed it to shake it and then dumped the contents of water, sugar and biscuits over her. Juvia stared at him with big eyes wide open. Horrified whispers penetrated her ears and she began to tremble. Gray snorted.

"Now pay attention, yakuza bitch. I don't want anything to do with a criminal creature like you, is that clear? You are nothing, scum of society. I don't have time for someone like you. Besides ... ", his lips turned to a scornful grin, "... I already have a fiancée. So finally leave me alone."

His words gave her one blow after the other and she couldn't breathe, was as if frozen. It was as if her heart had stopped beating, as if time had stopped. All the noises turned into a hiss and everything around her lost its color, became bleak and gray.

Gray turned around and just let her sit on the floor. His heart hurt and he rubbed his chest unconsciously as he returned to his shocked friends.

"Let's go, then," he said cool as ever.

"Gray, what was that all about?"

"What was what," he asked and watched Meredy wait and see. She blinked and pulled her narrow pink eyebrows together, then pointed at Juvia. She was still sitting on the stone floor as if frozen.

"I showed her that I no longer wanted her near me. What's wrong with showing scum what he is," he asked and felt his heart contract painfully. Meredy pressed her lips together and Lyon growled angrily at him.

"Dude, do you hear yourself talking? Just because her parents are yakuza doesn't mean she can't get out," Lyon replied and slung an arm tightly around his girlfriend. The girlfriend looked at Gray angrily. Her body trembled slightly and Gray knew why. Meredy's parents had been subordinates of a local clan in the USA and had paid for their resignation with their lives. Only her big sister and little sister had survived.

"Well ... but she is still with her scum family. No matter how much she supposedly loves me. That doesn't change anything. Besides, our parents were very clear back then, Lyon," Gray said and snorted slightly. Then he turned away and marched towards the building. It hurt to be like that to her, but it was right. He had learned to hate her, had locked his love for Juvia deep away. Because she would never change. She would always remain the daughter of a yakuza.

[bthump]

watching jojo's bizarre adventure anime adaptation and seeing how much the anime team fixed araki (the mangaka)'s bad writing makes me rlly wish that if berserk gets a proper anime adaptation whoever does it will do the same with miura's writing (and some of his art too tbh). like for example for all their faults the berserk movies did improve casca's character. what are your wants for a potential full berserk anime adaptation? (also let's hope that this is the year we finally get one 🤞)

I never finished JJBA or watched the anime so idk, but I’m curious how much they changed. Like were there big changes to the plot, or was it mostly just little minor changes to smooth over some flaws?

ty for asking, and I apologize in advance for how long this got lol.

tbh I think my ideal, if not realistic, Berserk adaptation is one that just goes ‘fuck it’ and throws out most of the story lol. Starts with Black Swordsman, ends with Femto lowering his hand and letting Guts escape - well more specifically, on this panel:

Like that is a perfect final shot imho.

(Also I might mirror it with the opening shot. Like I wouldn’t open on Guts fucking an apostle lmao, I don’t actually dislike that opening but it doesn’t fit this theoretical adaption. So how about we open on a long shot of Black Swordsman Guts surrounded by the ghosts he’s fighting, that mimics this?)

Ooh I might also… I might stick the Lost Children arc in between Snake Man and Count Slug. Ugggh there are some logistical issues to untangle there, but I really, really want Jill/Rosine Guts/Griffith parallels, and I want ghosts taunting Guts about becoming a monster like his friend. Subtlety is for cowards. Oh except we wouldn’t’ve seen Femto yet so that wouldn’t work. Well, “like him” then instead of “like your friend.” There now it’s foreshadowing 2 ways.

the climax of the story is the moment of sacrifice because there’s no Eclipse rape, Casca dies shortly after Judeau, and Guts’ horror at being sacrificed by Griffith is the emotional low point. Potentially no gtsca either if I can figure out a way to incorporate Guts’ stupid dream speech somewhere else. Maybe it can be a flashback during the Wyald fight, which I’d keep incidentally, sans attempted rape, w/ Guts talking to Erica. Actually yeah that would be perfect and immediately tie Guts’ “dream” of fighting stronger and stronger enemies with fighting monsters lol, meaning I could bypass Guts’ post Eclipse war declaration that draws that comparison more explicitly.

Boom, Berserk is now a nice little self-contained tragic story about two dudes each becoming solitary monsters because they abandoned each other for abstract dreams, and threw aside the potential for true emotional healing (relationships) for shallow coping mechanisms (swords/dreams). Uhhh, also Puck is cut. Sorry Puck, ilu but you’re a ray of hope that ruins the vibe here.

And finally since this is my ideal adaptation, the subtext between Guts and Griffith is text. They don’t actually fuck or kiss, because that would avert the Eclipse, but… hm how do you make it clear that they want to fuck but are too repressed to do it and that’s what ruins everything? Okay well Griffith’s torture chamber monologue includes “love” a la the anime dub, and maybe ��desire” or “need” to completely remove that ambiguity desperately maintained in the minds of straight people. And Guts… I don’t know that I can go textual lol. The only point in the story he can possibly recognize his own feelings is chapter 71.

Ooh I got it. Just include “at that time he shone before me as something beautiful, noble, and larger than life” after the Count’s backstory lmao. Do you really need more? Well, maybe “he shone before me as something larger than life - noble, and… beautiful.” Or just cut to the chase completely: “At that time, he shone before me as something beautiful, noble, and larger-than-life. I loved him.”

OKAY all that said I feel like this wasn’t really what you’re asking lol since you mentioned a complete adaption. So okay assuming there are no huge major changes to the content or structure of the story, here’s a (stupidly long, like only read this if you for some reason enjoy seeing me ramble for days about minute details lmao) list of some more minor things I’d want to change:

I’d start with the Black Swordsman arc and continue as the manga goes. Yes, in this one Guts still fucks an apostle. This is right before the credits, and it’s depicted as badass and cool. In fact, I might actually split the scene with the credits - start the opening sequence right after Guts blows her up, and resume on this shot with more of a sombre tone:

Like okay that would be pretty cheesy lol, but this is the Black Swordsman arc. It’s supposed to be a little campy, and really unsubtle, and this seems like a fun way of highlighting this little tonal shift.

Relatedly, I would not acknowledge the fact that most people watching already know where it’s going. I would maintain the integrity of the first arc in starting off with Guts as an apparent cool badass and then tearing that down, as well as keeping Griffith’s identity and Guts’ motivation a mystery in theory, and making the Count’s backstory the climax of this arc in a revelatory sense, rather than in an action sense.

To get more general, no fanservice for straight dudes. no one’s tits are randomly out, and when they are they’re drawn realistically and subject to the laws of gravity. casca’s clothes don’t get torn all the time, rosine’s got full moth fuzz coverage, farnese is wearing a shirt when guts takes her hostage and if we need self-flagellation (and tbh I wouldn’t necessarily cut it) it can be in a flashback, etc. Oh except Slan I guess. Her whole character is fanservice so w/e I’ll allow it.

not every woman is in love with and solely motivated by a dude. skip the queen’s completely unnecessary reveal that she was in love with julius, skip casca’s “I lived my life with the intent of sacrificing myself on my unrequited feelings for griffith” bullshit, skip sonia’s crush on neogriffith, skip tf out of schierke’s crush on guts, skip the random period of incest-y bdsm-y vibes in Farnese and Serpico’s backstory that adds nothing lol, skip the suggestions that Farnese is jealous of Casca’s history with Guts, etc

also most sexual assault scenes are cut. Casca is running for her life during the 100 man fight, not from attempted rapists. Wyald does not assault Casca, Farnese is not almost raped by a fucking horse, we chill out a bit on the sexual torture in every bg scene during the conviction arc jfc, Casca’s multiple assaults during that arc are cut, troll rape is cut, you get the point.

I’ll keep Adon’s shitty threats tho bc i feel like some violent misogyny is necessary if i’m not changing everything, but I’d completely lose the comic relief vibe he gets and make Casca’s fight with him properly epic and satisfying. The movie did this a bit better imo, but I’d really remove Adon’s whole boastful loser schtick. That might disappoint some fans, but idc Casca deserves to kill someone who is actually kind of a badass.

There’s a lot of bullshit around gtsca that I’m torn between wanting to cut, and instead wanting to just depict very negatively. Like would it be better if instead of Casca shyly asking Guts how she looks in a dress she just complained about the dress being uncomfortable, ie we completely cut that burgeoning “soft side” bs?

Or would it be better if she still asked him how she looks, then we call back to that moment when she gets awkward about her scars before sex, we keep Judeau musing on how she’s showing a soft side, we call back to that when he tells Guts to save her from leadership, we tie it all together when Guts asks Casca to leave with him, and bring it home by making it abundantly clear that Casca moving from being Griffith’s sword to Guts’ sword is not a positive change.

Like highlight everything negative about it - Guts being a huge dick, the ominous undertone when he invites her along (like cue the creepy cello music when they kiss right before we shift to monsters and behelits lol), all the parallels between him and Griffith wrt their dreams, Guts telling Casca to fuck off while he fights Wyald, maybe even add a moment where Casca actually reflects on how she’s left out of all the dream/equals bullshit and what that says about their priorities and how they see her. Might be a nice lead up to her telling Guts to leave to pursue his dream and be Griffith’s equal.

also maybe show that judeau is wrong about casca being better off away from the hawks? ugh there’s so much that would have to be reworked with her narrative. like if she still has to attempt suicide, again can we ditch the lead up about how it’s because she has an unrequited crush on griffith and just keep it about the fact that she hasn’t slept in a week and she’s on the run and her hawks keep dying and griffith is being tortured and she just stabbed guts and she’s had a very difficult year?

and like, maybe she leapt to accept Guts’ ‘come with me’ offer because she’s exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed, but are you kidding me? While Guts gets an entire narrative arc about abandoning his found family, Casca doesn’t even think about it for a moment before agreeing to ditch them? Can we maybe have some indication about how she feels about the Hawks as a family, maybe some reflection about why she would choose to leave, maybe some second thoughts about it after the Wyald fight when it becomes abundantly clear what her role would be while Guts pursues his dream, like god she’s such a pawn of the narrative, I hate it. Give her some real reasons for doing stuff!

ANYWAY moving on

like the movie, I’d give charlotte more agency in the sex scene w/ griffith, I liked her asking him to stay and moving his hand to her tit herself. I probably would not actually make griffith so out of it though - i enjoyed that in the movie but I don’t necessarily consider it in-character. The way he went from literally crying in the rain to smiling and making charming jokes as soon as Charlotte opened the window in the manga honestly makes perfect sense to me lol. Just uh, make Charlotte into it from the start because there’s zero reason for her not to be other than bad misogynistic cliches?

Also I feel like there’s a balance to be struck between depicting het sex as dude sticks his dick in, woman somehow has a good time a la the manga vs making guts and griffith competent at foreplay and oral a la the movies lol. Like maybe depict the sex scenes as the bad sex they are but Charlotte still feels closer to Griffith afterwards despite not coming from a dude fucking her while thinking about another dude and like, just keep Casca telling Guts he was obviously a virgin afterwards lol.

I guess we’re stuck with the Eclipse rape, but it happens mostly off screen and in close, telling but non-explicit details, like yk, big clawed hand holding a wrist, Casca’s eyes squeezed shut, Femto’s hand on the small of her back (I’m thinking a reversed call back to the wagon scene w/ that to suggest Femto’s motivation being a show of power tbqh). Some would be from Casca’s pov, with maybe one brief moment from Guts’ pov as he loses an eye or something. Keep the movie’s visual reference to Griffith saving her. No pornographic angles. No apostle rape prelude to it. Casca doesn’t have an orgasm. Femto doesn’t stare at Guts. It’s not about Guts at all for either of them, it’s about Femto taking Griffith’s fucked up relationship to sex and expressing it monstrously, and it’s about Casca being betrayed and symbolically negating the agency she fought for since Griffith threw her a sword. Guts’ reaction is horror and fear, not manly heroic outrage. He might still rip off his arm to attack Femto, but that would be because that’s always his reaction to whatever scares him, not for Casca’s sake. Might have to contextualize that with flashbacks to his childhood, or at the very least strong visual parallels to both his childhood and the Zodd + Wyald fights.

I want to cut the fetus, replace it with like a cronenburg-y fucked up dog-like demon in the Black Swordsman arc - not as a literal version of the Beast of Darkness, but just as a metaphor for how Guts’ inner darkness is twisting him into a pathetic asshole lol. But tbh cutting the fetus is a logistical nightmare because Casca needs magic protection during the Conviction arc. So idk. But NGriff doesn’t need it, and his narrative would be more engaging without that scapegoat. Fuck emotional ambiguity, I just want to drop the news that NGriff has feelings, and then not change anything else about his narrative. The themes of isolation and loneliness threaded throughout would just shine through lol it would be great.

I would emphasize the shit out of the Beast of Darkness/Femto parallels. Yeah Guts would still assault Casca in my adaption too. If the Eclipse rape happens, that has to happen because the point is that Guts’ inner darkness is the same. But like, I’d cut the page where beast of darkness guts bites her head off while raping her. Also I’d keep the visual parallel to the Eclipse rape (the v similarly depicted kisses) and add another from Casca’s point of view, or have her flashback then instead of just staying in Guts’ head.

as for the fallout, I’d give Guts a proper scene where he sees himself as a monster, like damn he got more of a self-reflective and telling reaction that time he accidentally killed a random kid, we should get something when he sexually assaults Casca. but overall I’d focus way more on Casca being afraid of him now rather than his mopey guilt. I would also… I mean god this should be addressed in the fact that Guts fucking wears the Berserk armour all the time lol. Like one second he’s all, “omg Flora can put a magic seal on my brand that’ll depower my magical evil jiminy cricket wolf and hopefully prevent me from raping and murdering Casca, that’s great!” and the next second he’s all, “omg magic armour I can wear that will enable me to kill everything with the side effect of superpowering my inner evil wolf and turning on my companions? sign me the fuck up I’m sure nothing bad could possibly happen with that.”

Like what I’m saying is I’d either make Guts a lot more reluctant to use the armour and take Skull Knight’s warnings seriously and genuinely reflect on the fact that mysterious magical children have to prevent him from murdering his friends over and over again, or I’d draw attention to this idiocy and fully commit to Guts as a dumbass hypocrite blithely walking down the path to more tragedy of his own making. and probably the latter based on where the story is likely to be headed lol.

in the lost children arc, I’d give Rosine’s mother more of a role as a good parent who Rosine has a loving relationship with, who tried and failed to stop her father’s abuse or something, because honestly I love the Peekaf story and I find Rosine’s regret at the end as she tries to fly home v powerful, but I hate the idea that she regrets sacrificing her abusive father so maybe this way I can split the difference.

and Jill’s ending where she goes home to endure abuse would be depicted much more darkly.

like straight up I’d depict Jill flying with Rosine as a truly beautiful moment, I would show that Jill has the potential to fulfill Rosine in a way her neverland kidnapping bullshit can’t and that yes, if Jill stayed with Rosine everything might actually work out and with Jill’s influence the whole land of the elves thing could be reworked into less of a nightmare and more of a haven lol. And Guts would absolutely be depicted as fully monstrous in comparison, ruining both these kids’ lives. Like, no ambiguity, no suggestion that Jill learned an important lesson about living with abuse lmao, no implication that Rosine brought her tragic end on herself by not being a good enough child abuse victim, just Guts sowing tragedy wherever he goes.

I have no idea how to deal with the conviction arc in general lol, specifically the ultra cynical tone the actual narrative seems to take. Like, the Black Swordsman arc was idealistic compared to the Conviction arc, they clash badly imo. Extremely badly. Like it’s a giant mess. It’s like

Black Swordsman Guts: fuck everyone who dies because they weren’t strong enough to deal with my existence. *turns and wipes away a tear* *lets a zombie kid stab him* *evokes pity from puck*Conviction Guts: fuck everyone who dies because they weren’t strong enough to deal with my existence. *poses with his sword in one hand and the rescued love interest in the other* *the crowd cheers* *luca nods sagely*

yk it’s just… awkward. It’s hard to mitigate through like, film choices yk, because a lot of it is due to the circumstances. Guts telling Puck innocent people are just ants under his feet is much different than Guts refusing to let the big bad kill Casca by telling him that tens of thousands of people can and should die because they pray too much lmao, no matter what music plays in the background. Guts’ attitude is the same, the narrative’s attitude is contradictory.

Maybe I could make Guts less of a dick and cut a lot of those cynical moments? Not really call attention to the fact that Guts is effectively sacrificing tens of thousands of refugees for Casca, or more accurately, for his own desire to feel like a hero since he isn’t even the one who saves Casca, he got distracted trying to fight the fake Godhand.

Or lol maybe I’ll just have Isidro point that out in like, a smug way. Maybe I’ll have NeoGriffith personally thank him for his contribution to his resurrection. I mean I really want to call this questionable shit into question, yk? Not to declare Guts wrong for wanting to save Casca, but to declare his cavalier idgaf attitude a big problem that has consequences. Which would actually tie in nicely with emphasizing Guts’ dumbassery in brushing off Skull Knight’s warnings about the armour and insisting it’s nbd. lol I really hope this is what Miura’s going for, just more subtlely.

Actually I wonder if I could get away with cutting Isidro out entirely. Anyone could’ve saved Casca there.

Oh I’d cut the hell out of a lot of Guts’ fight scenes in the MF arc, and if I could possibly get away with it I’d cut out everything on the beach after Skull Knight’s ominous warning. Like this might end up being the Griffith show for a while because Guts’ half is a fucking slog. And of course I’d cut the entire boat trip. They get on a boat, they get off a boat, the end.

Okay I need to stop somewhere. I’m ignoring a lot of later stuff because it’s so dependent on where the story’s going now that Casca is awake etc. Like eg the Moonlight Boy. Can I cut him? Give him a more ominous tone? Emphasize the saccharine tone he evokes for the sake of pulling the rug out from under the audience later? Will I be forced to make huge changes anyway because I can’t stand where the story ended up going? Idk it depends.

If I could tho I’d definitely cut Magnifico, Isidro, Ivalera, mermaid… like Farnese, Serpico, and Schierke are the only characters on Guts’ side who contribute to the story in a meaningful way. And without Isidro Puck could again too.

Oooh yk one thing that might be nice would be framing Farnese as the main protagonist of Guts’ half of the story during the MF arc. Just focus on her, show more stuff from her perspective, cut down a lot of fights but keep her digression back home, maybe give her some additional content that explores her character shift better, show her struggling more with her own inner darkness a bit when she first joins and give her some character beats as she slowly grows more comfortable with Casca, maybe put her backstory chapters in the first episode of a new season (a great season ender would be Guts walking away from the Hill of Swords js), etc.

lmao god I feel like I could keep going forever. sorry this is so meandering but ty for giving me the opportunity to go on and on about this. Is there anything you’d really like to change yourself?

[renrutnnej]

I’ve become the adult I needed as a child.

My adventures in mental health.

Back in college, I was a huge fan of this new show called Grey’s Anatomy. Its lead character Meredith Grey spoke often of being dark and twisty, qualities I identified with but had trouble spotting in the glorified soft-lit medical soap opera. Oh, her parents divorced and she had abandonment issues? How quaint. I rolled my eyes as she pouted and attracted scores of dudes with nicknames like McDreamy and McSteamy.

Darkness

This piece isn’t meant to detail all of the horrible things that happened to me, but suffice it to say I experienced my first trauma as a child younger than my daughter, and it was sexually abusive. I did not have a childhood beyond that point.

I have the memories and my family has the photos, but I don’t think anyone who ever knew me described me as a happy child.

I’ve said it before, and even my mother described me as a “little adult” from birth. So let’s talk about mental health. To survive what happened to me, my childhood mind wrapped those memories up tight and tucked them away, so I could move forward. This was also made easier by the fact that my family moved around the same time, so I left the physicality of those memories behind.

I grew up in a new place, and filled up those spaces in my mind with new thoughts and memories, but there was always a lingering darkness. I was afraid of adult men almost my entire childhood but I couldn’t articulate that fear or name the reason for it. I also struggled with a simultaneous desire to be in the constant presence of adults, for safety.

My family teased me at gatherings for sitting in the corner of a room, reading a book and keeping to myself, rather than playing outside with the kids. I grew overwhelming anxieties for reasons I didn’t understand. Going to school every day gave me a stomachache. Watching the news and reading the paper gave me an ulcer. The world was a very bad, very scary place to me since the age of five and I didn’t know why. I couldn’t remember and I didn’t have the words.

Without the memories, or the words, I discerned that the world was a bad and scary place for me, because I was bad. I knew I was different from everyone else and I knew that it was bad. My siblings played happily, without care and seemed adept at socializing. I think I only turned out somewhat normal because I grew up in a very small community so the people around me from kindergarten to graduation remained stable and mostly the same, so I was able to form relationships around routine.

Suicide

The first time I grappled with suicide (there would be several) I was thirteen years old. The combination of my internal darkness and the awkwardness of puberty turned lethal. By this time I had begun actively repressing things that were hard or scary. I learned that through a combination of repeating phrases in my head with exhausting physical strain I could banish thoughts. I’d fall asleep, after sobbing silently (a skill I taught myself young and has been quite handy as a young mother), repeating the phrase “You don’t feel. You don’t feel. You don’t feel. You don’t feel. You don’t feel…” until I truly couldn’t.

I filled journals with similar repetitious phrases.

Everything inside me was weird and broken and wrong.

The events leading up to my first suicide attempt came about due to another lethal combination: my internal darkness plus my devout religious beliefs plus peer pressure.

I learned that my parents’ union wasn’t a blessed partnership that had come together fatefully, but a hasty legally binding ceremony that only slightly validated my birth. I was the result of a shotgun wedding. This is absolutely not a big deal now. But back then most of my close friends had parents 20 years older than my own, which in retrospect did seem odd. And most of my friends were second, middle, or younger children in their families. My family life at the time was strained. My young mind and heart gathered up all of these factors and came to a singular conclusion.

I was the sole reason for everyone who I loved’s misery. Without me, my parents would have fulfilled their dreams individually and my siblings, well they’d have never been born. But maybe they’d have been born to a happy family, one better off than ours.

I had to go.

My attempt was unsuccessful, with further dampened the dark places in my mind. I was so bad, so wrong, I couldn’t even kill myself right.

Bullying Myself

I was able to hide my shaky mental state throughout high school through some sort of magic concoction of intelligence, cynical wit, and sheer busy-bodied ness. You would never have guessed how much I hated myself. I was involved in clubs, sports, volunteering, student legislation, leadership and I kept regular jobs. I told everyone my goal was to get out of that small town.

I just wanted to get away from myself.

University frightened the ever loving shit out of me to my core. But I’d created a hard persona, who wanted to be independent and was vaguely ambitious? The darkness pervading in my mind kept me from wanting anything truly for myself; I knew deep within myself that I was different and bad and that I didn’t deserve the life reserved for those special sort of people who seemed to have it all.

I knew it the way I believed I wasn’t really worthy of salvation, or to be someone’s wife or my worst nightmare — having to be someone’s mother. I could not stand to think about someone having to look up to someone as truly awful and lonely as me.

Through much of my young adulthood I was my own worst bully. This is a pattern of thinking that I’ve struggled to work through still.

This pattern of thinking looked something like this:

I would decide what (or who) I wanted to be like

I would participate in some action

Mentally I would be terrified and paralyzed with anxiety and fear the entire time

Even though I was terrified I would bully myself mentally throughout the action “A smarter/stronger/prettier/better Jenn would….”

Afterward I would feel relieved that I had survived, or that was it over. Or overwhelming and debilitating shame.

And then I’d criticize myself endless at every perceived failing during the action.

Very rarely in my young adulthood did I bully myself through any sort of “growing experience.”

I kept putting myself through experiences hoping for some sort of release but I ended up more often than not with more memories that needed active (and exhaustive) repression.

A Series of Traumas

I’ve written before about how I had stalkers in college and how was I was raped my freshman year. I’ve also mentioned a physically abusive relationship. What I haven’t addressed was my complete inability to handle male sexual attention. Being traumatized as a child about your sexuality, but not remembering why you are like that makes every sexual experience a dark and twisty one, right up in your face.

I’ve tried to be a proud, sex-positive, modern woman about my sexcapades but truthfully my history is more like magically hoping the next guy cured me of whatever was dark and wrong in my mind. In me.

But it never worked, so afterward I had to deal with overwhelming embarrassment over this naivety about true love conquering all or some bullshit, and then just straight shame that I kept going through guy after guy.

I sexually traumatized myself in college trying to find something outside of me to fix what was broken inside of me.

That’s not to say that people weren’t available to help take advantage of me. There was a boyfriend I can confidently say raped me on several occasions. At the time I felt like the worst girlfriend on earth for not being attracted to him in those moments or for lacking some sort of sexual je ne sais quoi.

I dove head first into drugs and alcohol for the next few years. I participated in a lot of dumb, risky behaviors because why not? Everything was bad, including me and I was probably going to die young I was convinced.

On one spring break in Las Vegas, completely wasted, I stood on the balcony of an Imperial Palace hotel room I shared with friends and stared down at all the drunk people dancing to obnoxious pop music from the Harrah’s circus club thing. I wondered if any of them would even hear the thud of me falling. My friend came into the room and embarrassed, I quickly stepped down from the ledge.

Until I met my last boyfriend in college, there are entire chunks that are a blur of blackouts between class and work. Until I started missing class entirely. The ones that couldn’t keep me occupied at least. Any sort of working or workshop class I’d attend. But those auditorium sized lecture classes became a sort of torture forum for me.

As it turns out, the place I’d been banishing my thoughts to was starting to crack. If I wasn’t fucked up or distracted (like during a lecture) horrible thoughts would start to trickle in with no way for me to avoid them–and absolutely no way for me to process them. I regressed to a five year old and broke out sobbing like a lunatic in lectures a couple of times and that embarrassed me enough to never return.

I failed out of university after my first senior year.

The unraveling

What I didn’t understand about being traumatized a child, is that until the child has had a chance to process their trauma (usually with the help of an adult), they don’t grow. They definitely don’t move one forward in a healthy sense.

Every additional trauma I encountered thrust me into a mental place of the five year old girl. With no vocabulary or tools or knowledge to help herself.

That explains why, when faced with the volume and enormity of my emotional and sexual trauma load, I regressed to five year old Jenn and was paralyzed.

It’s important to understand that at this point in my adulthood I’d told very few people about my inner self and the traumas that had happened.

Well that’s not entirely true. I’d written an op-ed piece about being raped for the college newspaper when I was on staff, in a rage about the then editor-in-chief’s remarks during a meeting about girls lying about being raped to get away with being whores (paraphrased). I completely traumatized myself by doing that.

For long after that I was approached by either women, confessing their own traumatizing assault stories, or by men, apologizing to me about what had happened. One night, a group of dudes recognized me from my story (we printed photos with op-ed’s so my smiling face appeared next to my story…kind of bizarre in retrospect), and exclaimed, “YOU’RE THE RAPE GIRL! Let us buy you a drink!” Which I definitely took them up on that because I think it’s the only somewhat monetary reward I received from the experience.

Other than that I told friends some things but not everything. At the ordering of the university, I had to take summer school courses to get to good standing where I could (possibly) graduate the next year–AND I had to go to both academic and mental health counseling.

I was deeply ashamed of my failures, after all I was an intelligent and vaguely ambitious person who had authored many important pieces in the school newspaper and had very angsty LiveJournal with a decent following.

I used my shame as motivation and was able to buck up in school (graduating a year late) and participate the school’s other mandates. I became obsessed with my academic counselor and I told her everything. She is a goddess and I love her to this day. My mental health counselor was a meek piece of work. I mostly felt like she was getting some sort of sensitivity-porn-type high from me retelling (and reliving) my emotional and sexually traumatic experiences.

She was the “How does that make you feel?” type of counselor I felt like was about as useful as talking to a wall. Hmm, how do feelings make me feel, given that I’ve been using all of my internal strength to hide them from myself for oh, the past 16 or 17 years?

At least I said somethings out loud for the first time. But she made me very bitter on mental professionals as a whole for a very long time.

Oh, also, she encouraged me to join my university’s volunteer sexual assault response team. And me, being newly sort of motivated, and also an idiot, did it. And continued to re-traumatize myself for my last year of school by helping newly traumatized victims and exposing myself to their pain.

Pregnancy

Through a new start and earning my degree I managed to scrape together about a thimble full of self esteem and moved to Las Vegas with my sister to begin our adult lives.

That plan unraveled quickly and in no time at all I found myself alone (my parents and sister moved back to Washington state within a year), working a job I hated (retail) and pregnant by a much younger guy who was supposed to be a fling on my way to success.

Sorry if you thought I was always a badass mom to Mila, but our relationship started off with the darkest period of my life.

I resigned myself to the only fate I could imagine: surely I would die in labor. I couldn’t possibly raise a healthy human. I prayed my child would be a boy, and that he would be like his father and not tortured by darkness.

I prayed for a quick and painless death.

It’s not very popular to mourn your pending death while everyone around you is elated about the tiny life you’re bringing into the world so I tried, really unsuccessfully, to hide my misery. I took long walks, and filled pages of my journals up with doom and gloom and a lot of tear stains. I slept as much as I could. I tried to avoid talking about my baby at all costs, refusing to have any baby showers, for fear that any attention would reveal my nihilistic views.

I didn’t understand how this could happen to me.

Okay, confession time. I did relish the sort of perverse sense of fear I spread through the young mothers in my birthing class. The instructor asked me to stop asking so many questions about death because it was “too distracting” and “scaring the other mothers.”

Mysteriously, I survived. Just like women have been doing since the beginning of time. Although you’d think I’d be a prime candidate for postpartum depression, thankfully I was passed over for that condition.

As I’ve mentioned in the past, I’m the most god awful person without sleep, and my daughter waited nine long months to sleep through the night. But other than that, I was blessed with a healthy, happy, adorable baby girl.

She was impossible not to love. I never figured myself a nurturing or motherly type, but I couldn’t not care for her. Maybe it was genetic, at least at first it probably was. As sleep returned, and sanity, my child awakened something in me that I had never experienced in my life: my own capacity for which I could love another person.

Typical parenting stuff, but it completely changed my world. I vowed that this brown eyed blob deserved the best fighting chance at life, and despite her parentage, I would do whatever it took to propel her forward.

The busy-ness of being a young mother (sheer exhaustion) kept the darkness away for a time.

Single parenting

A few years later when my relationship inevitably fell apart, I took it really hard.

On one hand, I felt a freedom I hadn’t felt in a long time. I could take my child back home to Washington where my friends and family lived, and pursue something different.

On the other hand, I felt I had already failed my child in the worst way possible — one half of her family structure and sense of stability was now missing. This failure to protect her sense of self and emotions tore a gaping hole through the core of me.

A perfect place for the darkness to regrow.

Against my better judgment, and trying to regain some semblance of a life, I began dating again. The first guy I dated post-domestic partnership was a Navy guy, who often sided with the overt sexist reasoning of my boss and the men in the culture I inhabited as a technical writer for a government contractor on a Department of Energy site. Complaining to him about work sucked. He made me feel like a silly blonde, a thing I knew I wasn’t. But he, he was a nuclear submarine pilot, and very impressed with himself. And bald.

When that was over, one of my close friends talked me into dating her ex-brother in law. Big mistake. HUGE. In that relationship my low self esteem tortured me for the first two years. I allowed someone to not be faithful, to treat me way less than I was worth, and to be wholly unavailable. Because I thought replacing the missing “good man” in my child’s life was more important than me wasting my life wishing for the mythic perfect partner.

Until I didn’t anymore.

A turning point

Working at &yet didn’t magically make me a better person. In fact, being hired at &yet turned me into the most insecure, anxious person I’ve ever been. Surrounded by talented and well-known people in an industry I respected but didn’t understand made for a mostly paralyzed Jenn.

My insecurities bled into everything I was doing at that point. The inside of my head was a cacophony of second guessing my every thought, every move. The nastiest voices criticized me mercilessly and wildly speculated as to what people thought of me, every aspect of me.

This team was one I respected and admired so intensely that the stakes felt high and the pressure I put on myself was keeping me from being effective at anything. I still kept a confessional and highly emotional blog, and after one particularly dejected post, my teammate and mentor Adam reached out to me. He offered to introduce to me to a counselor friend of his.

I remember a strange mix of feelings reading his message: embarrassment, relief, my past bitterness toward mental health counselors. I archived his message with eyes full of tears.

Some time passed and the thought that my child is basing what she understands about adults, and thus the world, on her experiences watching and learning from me, gnawed away at me.

I did not have basic tools to teach her.

What are you supposed to do in a fight? (I didn’t know because my parents didn’t fight in front of us.) What do good professional relationships look like? What do people mean by boundaries? What am I teaching her about the relationships I have in my life?

I’d become a responsible, clean, sober adult who cared for her physical needs, but I was clueless as to how I could help her become a good person, a solid adult.

I messaged Adam back.

Counseling and progress

I was skeptical about counselors but I trusted Adam. I say this with one hundred percent certainty — going to a Cognitive Behavioral Therapy trained professional saved my life.

My counselor started with the tough stuff: addressing the darkness, the trauma that had happened to me, the subsequent build up of feelings—without requesting the gritty details. She helped me realize that all along I have been a person with worth, deserving of love and respect.

Being a parent helped me to heal in that I was able to look back at my childhood self with the deep intensity of a mother’s love for a child, and tell myself from an adult place the things I needed to hear as a child.

Imagining my child, my greatest love, having to endure the things I did as a child, and as a young woman, broke me entirely on several occasions. But the heartbreak and the grieving were completely essential for my regrowth.

Addressing my trauma, validating my experiences, and giving me vocabulary and tools to deal with being triggered gave me a firm foundation on which to stand when dealing with feelings for the first time in my life.

I also found the empathy I needed to be able to forgive myself for a lot of things I felt warranted me a miserable existence. Forgiveness is the only way forward.

I had found my footing.

It took a lot of work, but I came to understand that I was not bad, wrong, or weird. Well, bad weird. I own being good weird.

That was half of the work. Situational depression (from which I regularly suffer) reared its ugly head during a dark period in the end of 2014 when I was being stalked. It was at that point I began taking anti-depressants.

It felt like I woke up one morning and someone had turned the volume all the way down on all of the negative, nagging voices. I was finally left to live in my mind and think my own thoughts, which could still contain anger, worry, or sadness — but not at an overwhelming clip.

Medication (which I was a huge asshole to my close friend Eric about for a long time) balanced me out in a way I never imagined possible. I went from pharma-skeptic to life-long believer.

What now?

I went through my first healthy relationship, and consequent breakup. And though I was sad, and felt sadder than I had in a long time, I never felt myself slipping into darkness. It was a legit, clean sad. The newness of such an intense feeling grasped me for quite a while.

I moved across the country, determined to take steps toward having more of an influence on my own fate. But my intention was to take baby steps. I moved the New York, with a steady job, and my team as a second family support network. When I was laid off in October, I lost one and a half of those things. With my team in shock and mourning, I realized I needed to work on a new support network. (Not that the network of friends I’ve made at &yet is gone, it’s very much the opposite).

This is all to say that I was not prepared for that one-two punch of moving and then loss. But I didn’t collapse, I didn’t even cry. My worse nightmare ended up not even being really a nightmare but a nudge forward. And still, the darkness didn’t come.

The closest thing to shame I’ve felt is guilt over not knowing what I should pursue next, aware that opportunities are ripe within my grasp. Ooh, and that one time I had to borrow money between unemployment checks from my dad. Meh, but that’s not even shame really, more of could you book a car to take Mila to the airport so we don’t have to ride the subway at 3am type thing.

I even went a little overboard while my daughter was out of town and ended up lying on the couch all New Year’s Day through a combination of blackout drunkenness and PMS, feeling like I was the worst mother of all time. (When my child was in another state, completely adored and cared for, and I was home safe in my warm apartment streaming HBO Now and eating delivered breakfast foods like a spoiled tear-stained brat). I felt the darkness, the child in me, creep up in some of my thoughts.

Thankfully by the end of the evening, I had regained my senses and realized that I’d just made a mistake in maybe the most responsible way possible? And forgave myself and moved on.

My adventures in mental health have led me to become the adult I needed as a child, and the person my daughter needs now.

I’ve achieved a few items on the list of tools and questions that plagued me in terms of teaching Mila to be an adult, and a good person.

I understand that I’m not the best mother alive, but I’m a fucking boss when it comes to being Mila’s mom.

We do this thing, and we’ve done it ever since I read THIS BOOK and I know she is sick of this game but I really want it to stick.

Jenn: Why do I love you Mila? Is it because you are pretty? Mila: Nope. Jenn: Is it because you are smart? Mila: Nope. Jenn: Is it because you are kind? Mila: Nope. Jenn: Is it because you are a good listener? Mila: Nope! Jenn: Well why do I love you then? Mila: Because I’m me.

That’s all that any of us wants, right? To know that we are loved, not for our work, our occupation, our appearance, our personality, our network, or anything we could possibly do or achieve in this lifetime — but simply because we are human beings, worthy of being loved.

And nothing will ever change that.

Originally published on Medium, March 7, 2016. 

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

Open Letter to the Man That Hurt Me

This is the third time that I have had to be transparent and vulnerable to a room full of strangers. It is incredibly difficult for me, please forgive me for the breaks that I take from reading this letter.

How do I start a letter that is meant to fully encompass the impact years of sexual and mental abuse had on me? How am I to effectively paint the picture of the horrors I’ve endured and continue to daily? To begin I read some the journal entries I’ve written during the times I needed an escape.

Three years ago I described my life as “blurry”. I wrote this:

Blurry is a word that I’ve come to identify the most with. My beginning is blurry, my emotions are blurry, my thoughts are blurry. Blurry is my life.

“lacking definition or focus”

Being confused. Scared. Unsure.

Just blah.

I never know where to start, or maybe I do and I just hate saying the words. I hate dishonesty but I can’t stand the truth about my reality. Thats why I don’t mind being blurry. Staying out of focus, undefined.

My blur is a world full of secrets, hurt, terror, anxiety, confusion, struggle, depression, loneliness, anger, and suffocation.

I can’t. I just can’t escape.

I can’t escape the panic attacks, PTSD episodes, detrimental thoughts, overwhelming pain in my heart. Nothing helps it anymore and I’m losing my mind every other second.

I just want it to please stop.

I’m not suicidal, I’ve already taken that journey and thats not one I’ll ever take again. So I almost think this is worse, because I’m miserable, miserable until this ends, but the misery flows in my veins.

I wanna reach out for help but I hate the state of my mental health. I don’t want to admit how awful its been getting. I can’t sleep at night, I only wanna sleep the day away. I get cold sweats. I wanna be alone but need the comfort of being held.

I’m ashamed of myself. I’d trade lives with anyone else, being uncomfortable with who I am as a person because I just feel damaged. And unwanted. Unlovable. Broken. Never good enough.

I hate myself.

I’m losing myself, but not the parts I want to.

My internal pain isn’t satisfied with the external pain. But consuming nonetheless.

Thats what it does. This monster inside my head. it consumes me.

But how do you get rid of the monster when you are the monster?

I want my mom.

I want her to love me and understand me and hold me while I bawl like a baby because I want her, I need her.

Can I take a mental health sick day? Because I need to escape. And leave. And fix my unfixable self.

I wanna lock myself away. I don’t want to open up to anyone else because I don’t want their pity, shame, embarrassment, judgement, uncomfortableness, confusion. I don’t want to put all my problems on their shoulders but I’m begging for someone to take this load off mine.

Help. Please.

I ask the universe, because I can’t believe in a religion that allows the personal torture I go through every day.

I’m fading, disappearing, becoming part of the blur. This is the easiest thing for everyone else, and the hardest thing for myself; just let me be apart of the blur.

I can’t be selfish. Everything I do is for others. I attempted to take my own life for my family. I wanted to sacrifice everything for them. It didn’t work. But if it had.. They would live happily without knowing the demons that hide in our picture perfect world. I wouldn’t live out my destiny of tearing apart my family. Destroying their world for my selfish reasoning of needing a sane mind. I want to take this to the grave but everyday that passes makes it harder and harder to do so, and I have approximately 21 thousand more days to go.

I need a healthy coping mechanism. I have nothing. I am nothing.

Sigh. I hurt. My head is pounding, I’m suffocating, and my eyes sting.

Medication could help all this but the idea of being codependent on pills makes me feel weak. And all I’ve ever wanted to be is invincible.

I think love is a great medication but I’ll never really have that either.

I think I’m going to give Megan a call. Ditching therapy for over a month was an awful idea. But I keep thinking I can handle this all alone.

Victim. I absolutely hate, despise, that word. But in the back of my mind, that antagonizing, hurtful little voice whispers into my subconscious that thats all I’ll ever be. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed by that, I could never let anyone know I feel that way. But thats what causes the headaches. The heartaches. The all-over aches.

I’m scared to be alone and I’m scared to be with people. In crowds. With family. With strangers. With my father.

I had two chances in life to be loved. Almost three. Why can’t I be loved? Whats wrong with me? What have I done wrong? What am I doing wrong? What am I missing? Why am I like this? And why can’t I love myself?

I didn’t even know I had such strong feelings. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be me. I don’t want to live like this anymore, in this blur.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

I wish I could say that three years later I no longer feel these things. I can’t. Things have certainly improved, but I still feel as though I am the monster. I’ve been in and out of therapy- I go for as long as I can before the wave of depression begins to drown me, and I need a break to sit out and breathe. This battle I have to be “normal” is never ending.

What I most struggle with is trying to answer the question “who am I?”

Two years ago, this is what I wrote:

Liar, liar, burning in this hellfire

To me, the easiest thing in the world is to lie; I’m a liar. I’ve been living a lie my whole life, and it comes more naturally to me than breathing. In fact, a good majority of the time breathing is foreign to me and I suffer a temporary memory loss of how to let oxygen flow through my nostrils into my lungs. But my mouth is always capable of effortlessly opening up to let treacherous lies fumble out. I lie to the world around me every second, without feeling guilty, but I can’t escape the guilt I feel for lying to myself.

I’m fine, I’m happy, I’m okay.

Three little lies that consume me.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Another passage from two years ago:

I’m so exhausted from being angry. It wears on me everyday all the anger and hate I have inside me. I can’t stand that I feel like less of a person from things I had no control over. I hate that there is so much screaming inside my head that I can’t even decipher what it is that truly destroys me and tears me apart. I hate that I can’t control it. I can’t control anything thats going on and I hate that. When I was younger I used to leave my house in the middle of the night just to stand in the middle of the road in the middle of no where. I’d sometimes lay down and wonder if a car ever came if I’d get up and move, or just let it hit me. How awful. I wish I could just get over it as I’m sure everyone wants me to do.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

I’ve experienced so much loss I’m not sure what I need to grieve first. By violating me these are the things you’ve taken:

-my innocence as a child -the ability to be trusting -my confidence -a normal childhood -a healthy mind -my self-respect, self-worth and the ability to love myself and -a father

Minus the biological definitions, some define ‘father’ as “a man who exercises paternal care over other persons; paternal protector or provider”. Ironic, the keyword in the definition is ‘protector’. Protect. Verb. To keep safe from harm or injury.

I grew up believing you were my best friend. The different number of ways you manipulated my mind is the reason behind why I struggle to see you as the predator you are. The first time you decided as a thirty something year old man to touch me and violate me as a four year old child is when I was given a life sentence. You continued to attack my mind and body as I grew. As years continued on, the attacks and violations became less frequent, yet more creatively thought out and conveniently disguised to be portrayed as pure.

Unfortunately, or luckily, I can not remember each and everything thing you did to me. My brain has tried to protect me by repressing memories, however with the PTSD I have, things will occasionally slip through the cracks. The first time I remembered you hurting me in the shower I was at a friends house washing my hair. I fell to the floor of the bathtub and vomited continuously. There have been times when a loved one has kissed, hugged, or touched me but all I felt was your hands or lips committing vile crimes to my body. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am- your crimes effect me daily. I am terrified for the next time I remember something as I continue to heal. I am always fearing the next time I have a panic attack or PTSD episode.

I’d like to talk about my mental health, and how detrimental this all has been. There was a time I attempted to take my own life to protect your secrets. I’ve wanted to die more days than I’ve been happy living. How did you do that to me? How did you take away my light and desire to see each day through? The problem with mental health is it’s not all invisible. I physically am drained each day. I have episodes frequently where I can’t stop shaking, where I vomit the empty contents of my stomach and dry heave until blood vessels pop in my eyes, I go days without sleeping, then days where I can’t do anything but lie helpless in bed. My migraines are so constant I only recognize the sparse times my temples don’t feel like they are about to explode. I have no appetite and won’t eat a solid meal for weeks. I have an anxiety derived disorder where I pick and pull and yank out my own hair to the point where I have a bald spot. I am scared to leave my comfort zones- which are limited to my house and work.

Because of all this it has been an obstacle to accomplish the things I want in life. I was a military police officer for four and a half years and needed to leave the military because I was no longer able to be mentally or physically fit for the requirements needed. I have started and dropped out of school too many times to count, when an education is all I desire so that I might be able to help others like me. I was unable to have a healthy loving relationship for years- I still struggle to maintain a relationship like this, although I am the luckiest girl in the world to have found a man to love me, and show me for the first time what it is like to be respected and cared for. He has shown me how I am supposed to be treated, as opposed to the way I was conditioned to believe.

I don’t believe it is possible to showcase each way I have been effected. I don’t even think I know every way I have been effected. It seems like each day I realize more and more how this has molded me into a person I don’t want to be, I didn’t ask for any of this. I continue to fight this battle until I get what I need… but I’m unsure what victory is truly going to look like. I thought standing here today I would feel as though all my problems and struggles have disappeared. I realize now it is not that simple, or fast acting.

One of the main reasons I decided to air my secret was because I thought of my sister, whom I love and look up to more than anything. I thought of her future children, and how I wouldn’t be able to protect them if she didn’t understand why they couldn’t stay with grandpa.  It hurts me to know that regardless the decision I made- she would be deeply effected as well, and hurt as much as I do. I will never be able to accept that she and my mother had to be a casualty of this war.

I have never been a malevolent person. I did not pursue pressing charges to harm you, hurt you, or punish you. That is not my place. I did it for you to accept responsibility, and the consequences the justice system feels you deserve. You need help, and you should not have an opportunity to force another child to endure what I have.

I’m proud of myself for helping the little girl that couldn’t fight. Now I need to help the woman I am become who she wants to be. My goals are to be an advocate for those who were like me, and terrified to speak the truth. To let go of all the anger and hurt I have. And to find forgiveness for myself.