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foolgobi65 · 6 years ago

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aagata

this is a horrible mishmash of a bunch of ideas and also just want to recognize that theres no real reason for this to be a genderswap except that this had originally started as a genderswap a year ago and i was too lazy to rewrite a few parts to locate them within womens quarters instead of the general city. i hope you can find at least some parts to like! thank you @avani008 for being an amazing mod !!!

When Rukmaratha is sixteen he is sent to Mathura to witness the bow festival of Kamsa, the General of Jarasandha and a man Rukmaratha’s eldest brother attempts to imitate in the relative privacy of his chambers. It is the thickness and curl of the mustache, Rukmaratha muses absently, that Kamsa has been able to perfect over all others during the last 20 years of unchallenged supremacy.

“Have you heard,” someone whispers behind Rukmaratha and despite his years of royal etiquette training he leans back to listen. “She survived.”

“The elephant? I heard it was mad!”

“It was. We all thought the brother would be the one to control it, but I heard she simply stepped from behind him and fought the beast in the street like any other man.”

“You say that as if there is a man alive who has managed to defeat Kuvalayapida.” Rukmaratha flushes, only realizing that he has spoken when the men turn away from each other to face the interloper. Still, the idea that Kamsa’s wild elephant has been tamed is such that Rukmaratha cannot bring himself to apologize.

“You’re right,” one of the men, seemingly an affluent trader, laughs. “And perhaps that is why the girl Krishnaa succeeded. She ran in and out of Kuvalayapida legs until he grew weary, and then she allowed herself to be captured by his trunk.”

Rukmaratha thinks of the many men Kuvalayapida has strangled but the trader only smiles, changing his stance from that of a local gossip to a bard retelling a tale of yore. “Just as the beast would have strangled her, she began to speak, even as she was held at such a height that a drop would have killed her instantly.” Rukmaratha’s eyes widen at the thought. “No one could hear the words,” the trader continues, “but it seemed that Kuvalayapida loosened his grip until Krishnaa could balance on his trunk, and then climb to sit atop the elephant as if he hadn’t been attempting to kill her just moments before!”

“Oh,” Rukmaratha sighs, and wonders at the way his heart races just hearing about a tale of such valor. What it would be to see such a feat in person. “I have never heard her name,” he says after a moment of thought. “Is the lady a princess from afar?”

Both men laugh, the first so hard that tears begin to stream from his eyes. “Hardly,” the second man chokes out when he sees his companion is in no position to speak. “She is the daughter of the local cowherd chieftain Nanda. They came to see the festival.”

***

Years before Rukmaratha is born, when even his eldest brother Rukmi is barely six-months, Jarasandha invades. Bhishmaka is the Bhoja’s eldest cadet, the Crown Prince of the kingdom and he rides valiantly in his nation’s defense but fails. His father the King is forced to step down, and Bhishmaka is elevated in his place, humiliating defeat a constant reminder of the consequences of rebellion.

Rukmi, Bhishmaka’s only child at the time, is demanded as a sign of mutual goodwill. He will be raised well, Jarasandha insists, and trained amongst the best Magadha has to offer. It will be a far better life than one found in Kundinapura and in time, Jarasandha assures the frantic Queen, Rukmi will be returned to his homeland a seasoned warrior and an appropriate executor of Jarasandha’s will.

In return, Bhishmaka will have the lion’s share of the royal obligations -- Jarasandha has no use for the minutias of rule and cares little beyond what Vidharbha can provide in soldiers and taxes. But Bhishmaka, haunted by his loss, has little stomach for the throne; it is his younger sons who, between themselves, manage the daily tasks of royal command.

As a child Rukmaratha is often sickly, so he grows neither strong nor skilled and as the youngest is able to take advantage of the fact that there was always an elder brother more suited to the Emperor’s needs. He is allowed then, despite the Imperial dictate that demands the separation of royal son from homeland, to remain with his parents in Vidharba. Rukmaratha finds this suits him entirely, and manages to cultivate a wide variety of intellectual interests that Jarasandha deems amusing as opposed to a threat.

At just sixteen Rukmaratha is known to be a scholar, a musician, a dancer. He is charming, Imperial spies say, and witty. He is kind to those who know him, shows great compassion to the subjects of his father, and if some say that he exerts an undue influence on the minds of his nation’s common-folk, he is believed far too innocent to take advantage.

Rumaratha is all of these things, but in his heart, he is also a traitor.

***

In the city of Mathura, inside and out of the palaces that Rukmaratha’s fellow royals are kept the people speak of nothing else. “Kamsa is dead,” they say, even while the man takes breath, “Her Child has Come.”

Rukmaratha walks the streets wearing cotton cloth and silver around his neck in an attempt to understand the way the city has come alive almost a generation after its initial subjugation. In every shop and street corner there is a whisper, a story, a hope that Rukmaratha did not know had been fostered. A dying ember that somehow had kept warm the Yadava heart during the years since Kamsa had walked into the Gathering of Chiefs as Ugrasena’s son and walked out their King.

“Well you see,” the Royal flower vendor, a man whose family has sold all his garlands to the Palace for generations had said, voice low, “there was the prophecy--”

This much, even Rukmaratha knows. The marriage that would consolidate the two most powerful clans of the Mathura Yadavas, the voice that proclaimed the Yadava general Kamsa’s death at the hands of his beloved sister’s eighth child. Vasudev’s bargain for the life of his wife in exchange for any children they might have in the future. In Vidharbha, Vasudev is considered quite the fool for risking the hell reserved for those who have no sons to perform their final rites, especially when for all his efforts he wound up with a wife gone mad.

“It is not madness,” the vendor snaps. “It is divinity.”

Rukmaratha raises an eyebrow. What few reports exist of the lady Devaki report that she has spent the years since the loss of her eighth child in relative silence, singing cradle songs to babies long dead.

The vendor sighs. “If it is madness, then sure it is of a type divine, borne of Her sacrifice for us Yadavas struggling under the weight of His rule.” They speak of Kamsa in this way, 30 years after the creation of his throne, afraid of summoning his presence by uttering his name. Devaki, too, is only ever referred to as Our Lady. Vasudev, a man whose plight is so popular outside, almost seems to have been forgotten.

“In the beginning,” the vendor whispers, picking up the thread of his story once more, “She refused. Our Lady was unconscious while the skies spoke, and when she woke she decided that she would never know Vasudev as a husband in order to keep herself from the grief of giving life to children already dead.”

Rukmaratha swallows. “What changed?”

The vendor clenches his jaw. “He became King. Six hundred of our sons were killed when the Emperor tried to take Hastinapura, and the Vrishni villages revolted. Thirty were burned entirely before they agreed to His terms.” His eyes widen, gaining the type of sheen only born of true fervor and devotion. “They say that She could hear the wails of the Yadava women from the palace where He kept them imprisoned, and that their grief at losing one son was such that She decided that She could sacrifice seven of her own.”

It is a compelling tale, but for the one part that Rukmaratha believes must be missing. The prophecy spoke of Kamsa’s death at the hands of Devaki’s eighth, but as far as what Rukmaratha has heard, the eighth child is dead. Her head was bashed against the rock of Devaki and Vasudev’s prison cell, and it is believed that it was this final loss that finally drove Devaki insane.

“Seven?”

The vendor smiles. “The first six, we all watched fall under their uncle’s sword, murdered in the center of the city for all of us to see. The seventh miscarried, but so late that it might have been called a birth had the child lived. But the eighth.” His voice lowers even further, a murmur almost lost amongst the noise of the market. “Usually the children were born in the palace, even in the years after Our Lady and her husband were moved to the dungeon. When Our Lady felt the first of the birth pangs she would be taken to a room, and the news announced throughout the city. Just when the infant left her body it would be taken by a midwife, cleaned of the birth blood and presented to Him, to be executed in the city center in front of us all.”

Rukmaratha winces at the brutality of it all. “Is this not what happened with the eighth?” He would have assumed Kamsa to be even more strict when faced with the actual child of his prophesied death.

“It should have,” the vendor whispers, “but it didn’t! There was a storm around the time the lady Devaki was due to give birth, one of such power and floods that had never been seen in Mathura before. No one could move from their homes a full fortnight afterwards, and when we did, the child was gone.”

“Gone?”

The vendor nods. “There was a child when He walked into their prison cell, and that baby was killed like the others but when it died the skies laughed and said that it was too late. The true Deliverer was alive.”

Suddenly, he throws his head back and laughs, the sound even louder for how quiet he has been so far. “That is the child that has returned. We don’t know where they are, but somewhere in Mathura the Deliverer has arrived.”

***

As a child, Rukmaratha knows more of his grandfather than of his noble father Bhishmaka. Rukmaratha’s mother is too busy with the grief of losing so many of her sons to the Imperial core, and loathe to build a connection to another boy that will only be made a stranger in a few short years. His father is more given to brooding in his throne room than to noticing the general existence of his youngest, most sickly son. By the time that the Queen realizes her child’s delicate disposition will keep him away, that she can be free to shower Rukmaratha with all the love and care she had previously withheld, the damage has been done -- it is to the deposed king that Rukmaratha calls, for advice, for kisses, for a listening ear as Rukmaratha spins stories of what things will be like when Jarasandha is dead.

Rukmaratha’s grandfather, still smarting from his forced abdication, is perhaps not the most diligent agents of Jarasandha’s empire when it comes to quelling dissent. Rukmaratha’s lessons, entirely the purview of his grandfather, are of a type not usually granted to sixth sons -- he is taught how to rule only so that he may one day teach his own son, and preserve the ways of the Bhojas when his elder brothers cannot. It is under his grandfather’s watchful eye that Rukmaratha is taught the ways of the Bhoja kings, how Bhojas wage wars of peace, how Bhojas only collect revenue when their dependents prosper. There are not many things available to those who wish to work against the will of the Empire, but Rukmaratha is allowed to walk the lands that his grandfather cannot and in private he manages to relate stories from faithful subjects, all only too glad to keep up a correspondence through Rukmaratha to comfort their old King now under house arrest.

The Vidharbans are hungry, and grieving the loss of their sons to the same army that has stolen Rukmaratha’s brothers. They are forced to give too much of what they produce to maintain the Imperial forces, not only Jarasandha’s army but the host of Imperial officers that quell rebellion when local royalty is unwilling. People are afraid to have children, lest they force them to grow up under the iron fist of Magadha that will eventually grow so tight that they will die, gasping for air.

“Grandfather,” Rukmaratha asks one day, skin burning from a fever that had swept through the Vidharban capital and left only funeral pyres in its wake. They had all been so careful, but there has never been an illness caught by a citizen of Kundinapura that did not eventually leave its mark on the youngest prince. Rukmaratha’s grandfather is bent with age but still sits beside him, dipping silk cloths into cold water and laying them across Rukmaratha’s burning forehead.

“Grandfather,” Rukmaratha breathes again, “will things always be this way?”

Will I die even as Jarasandha lives? Will we all?

Rukmaratha is so warm that he can barely feel the fingers his grandfather brushes against his cheeks. Later, the doctors will tell him that his survival was an act of the Almighty, that there must have been a reason for him to live when so many others had succumbed.

Later, Rukmaratha will believe that he lived, in order to realize the truth of his grandfather’s next words.

“No,” the King says, shoulders straightening as he moves Rukmaratha’s head until their eyes can meet for Rukmaratha to know the truth of what he says. “One day things will be better. And we will all be alive to see it.”

****

The second story Rukmaratha stumbles across almost by chance, the stray bits of a tall tale carried by the driver of a bullock cart that passes in front of Rukmaratha as he crosses the street in search of news about the Deliverer.

“It’s true,” the cowherd shouts to his friend sitting in the back. “She has Arrived!”

Rukmaratha, hearing the reverence and joy that only comes when the Yadavas speak of their savior, follows the cart as it wends its way out of the Mathura city center and towards the camps of villagers who have come to witness the celebrations and sell their specialized wares.

“Excuse me,” he asks, throwing away a lifetime’s worth of royal courtesy and etiquette. “Who is She?” The cowherds, taken aback only for a moment, look between themselves before inviting Rukmaratha into their camp.

15 years ago, Devaki delivered her eighth child, a baby that outside Mathura was known to be dead. Kamsa, they all agree, executed a child for the eighth time -- but for this, the all important agent of his death, he was not prepared to leave anything to chance. Every Yadava born the year of Devaki’s pregnancy was sentenced to death, soldiers dispatched to every village and city street to check for children and deliver them to a massive funeral pyre set up in the stadium that now hosts the Lord’s Bow.

In Gokul, the villagers whisper, a child was born, the fruit of almost a decade of prayer by parents slowly entering middle age. The birth is long, and Yashodha, wife of the kindly Vrishni village head Nanda is almost lost -- the village women take turns nursing her daughter during the long weeks of Yashodha’s recovering, and by the time Kamsa’s soldiers makes their way to Gokul the baby girl is child of them all.

The villagers give up their own children, all infants under the age of one, but they balk at turning over the child Krishnaa, skin as dark as the rain clouds that covered the sun the entire time her mother labored. The other women might have other children, or already have enough that they can believe that their grief will someday pass. Yashodha, who has just celebrated 40 years, whose braid contains streaks of grey amongst the black, will not. Yashodha, who has only ever lived in hope of a child, who has kissed every one of Gokul’s children and sent them home with far too much butter and curd, will not survive the loss of her girl.

For a month, the gopis pass Krishnaa from house to house, hiding her in their kitchens, in their cupboards, even in their skirts as the soldiers roam in search of babies for Kamsa’s grand pyre. The soldiers leave, and Yashodha is finally strong enough to host a festival in honor of the Great God in thanks for His blessing. There is talk first, as to whether her joy might be considered entirely appropriate amidst everyone else’s grief, but in the end Yashodha sits with every woman of Gokul marvelling at the beauty of their collective baby. Never, they say, has a child ever been loved like Krishnaa.

It is for this reason, that the arrival of Putana takes them by such surprise. Finally the cowherds believed themselves to be safe, and Krishnaa is kept proudly in the swinger set in Nanda’s courtyard, finally able to be admired by all in the light of day. When she is hungry she is picked up by the nearest woman with milk in her breast, passed to another to be bounced, and still another to be rocked back to sleep before being laid in her cradle. It is almost too easy for Putana, poison smeared across her nipples, to take Krishnaa to her breast and hold her there until she dies.

Putana, that is -- Krishnaa suckles all of the milk out of Putana’s breast, and her life as well. It is only when Putana collapses that the villagers realize that something was amiss.

The story passes from Vrishni village to Vrishni village like wildfire, a glimmer of hope in the countryside for people who have never concerned themselves with the story of the Deliverer, never concerned by the goings on of the city unless they were being robbed of their infant children.

Demon after demon finds its way to Gokul, and demon after demon finds itself dead at the feet of the newly christened Gopi of Gokul. Not even the eventual move to Vrindavan, an experiment to see if it was the land or the child that was cursed, is enough to change the name by which Krishnaa is known by in the grazing lands of Braj. Vrindavan, close to Andhaka led Barsana, only encourages the legend to spread beyond the ears of Vrishnis, and where their clan counterparts in the city have formed an alliance through shared grief at the state of their scions, Andhaka and Vrishni cowherds find themselves united in the face of a miracle.

The Gopi of Gokul lives, again and again, where every other Yadava child has died. Kamsa, every villager says, has grown obsessed with this girl he cannot kill, refuses to acknowledge his failure and instead sends demon after demon, destroying Braj in pursuit of this final life that has managed to survive his orders. Krishnaa is taken, beaten, drowned, burned and still they find her smiling, standing proud amongst the corpse of the fool instructed to deliver her corpse. This, Rukmaratha realizes, is the tamer of Kuvalayapida who succeeded where all others have failed.

Poisoned water has become clear, the villagers say, and the Govardhan mountain rose in defiance of the God Indra at her touch. The Yadavas of Mathura dismiss the cowherds as simple, villagers prone to spinning tales for their own amusement. Besides, if there were to be a person capable of such miracles, surely it would be the Deliverer, whose arrival was heralded by the Gods themselves.

The idea of a village cowherdess, defeating demons even soldiers would quail at facing. Absurd!

***

Rukmaratha enters Kamsa’s stadium on the last day of the Bow Sacrifice, his head spinning with everything that has transpired. Mathura, it seems, has become the site of miracles -- Kuvalayapida is tamed one day, a hunchback woman made straight the next. The day before, Kamsa’s sacrificial bow, the weapon of the Great God was broken in two.

With no bow to offer back to the Lord, Kamsa has called for an afternoon of wrestling. The stadium buzzes with barely contained excitement. Those of Mathura clasp hands, waiting with bated breath for the appearance of their Savior after 30 years in the darkness. Rukmaratha can see the cowherds of Braj laughing, talking easily of the last days’ miracles after years of their own.

There is an idea slowly dawning on Rukmaratha, a story so incredible that it is frightening to even contemplate. There was a prophecy, and a storm during which two impossible children are born. Vasudev, erstwhile chief of the Vrishnis, delivers his own child inside prison walls, a baby believed to be the salvation of Mathura.

The people of Mathura believe that their savior escaped. If Vasudev could, somehow, have found his way out of the dungeon, where would he have gone?

In the countryside, safe in a Vrishni village grows a girl who defies the will of Kamsa, performing miracles as easily as breathing for the entertainment and satisfaction of her peers. Her father Nanda is proudly known to have been the particular friend of his clan chief Vasudev, playmates for the summer that Vasudev spent amongst the cowherds that he would one day come to lead.

Is it possible, Rukmaratha wonders, for the two legends to be one and the same? For the Deliverer, child of the two most powerful Yadava bloodlines, to have been raised the daughter of a cowherd, dancing and playing the flute for her flock when she is not eliminating Kamsa’s demons?

The crowd roar, and Rukmaratha puts aside his thoughts to find Chanur, Mathura’s finest wrestler screaming a challenge to the person who has captured the Yadava imagination.

“I know you are here,” he calls out. “If you truly think that you can kill my King, why don’t you come and try me first? Fight me like a man if you dare.”

There is a moment, before the world changes, when Rukmaratha wonders if it is possible for prophecies to come true. If there really is a Deliverer, Devaki’s miraculous eighth child spirited away only to return all these years later and rescue the Yadavas from the yoke of their tyrant. If there really can be a girl who lifts mountains, who has waged a silent war against demon and god alike and won.

He watches the cowherds of Braj, notices the resignation on the man he identifies as Nanda’s face as they all part. What Rukmaratha had struggled to even contemplate instantly becomes clear. The Deliverer walks away from the family that had, for sixteen years provided shelter, and takes her first step into the arena of her destiny.

The crowd, which had grown silent during the wait, erupts. All of them, however they know her, united in this moment by their belief in the miracles she alone can create on their behalf.

Ten thousand infants exactly Krishnaa’s age are dead, ten thousand more lost to the ravages of the Maghadhan lust for empire expansion. Rukmaratha wonders faintly at how a nation’s hope can rest on the slender shoulders of this girl busy unraveling her turban. Now that he can see her outside of the legends passed on the street he realizes that she can’t be more than a year younger or older than he, and when he looks her body is slender in a way that the giant at her side is not. Rukmaratha is sixteen, and later he will tell his wife that there was a time when he removed his crown and thought to run down ten flights of steps in a haphazard plan to save the Savior of Mathura from the grip of the wrestler Chanur.

The fact that Chanur is dead by the time Rukmaratha jostles his way past even one flight of kings is irrelevant -- it is the thought, his wife insists, that counts. But now Rukmaratha cannot see her face, so he contents himself with observing the way that Krishnaa’s hair has come undone from its knot, strands blending into the dark skin of her shoulders, her neck, eventually falling so low as the small of her back as she walks from Chanur’s body towards Kamsa’s throne. The red of Chanur’s final flailing breaths has stained the yellow cloth around her waist, tied above her knees in the manner of male laborers.

The arena has grown silent once more. One soldier charges, but Krishnaa only dodges, reaching out her arm to grab for the collar of his armor and throwing him into the dust before proceeding as if she had never been interrupted. Rukmaratha wonders if she is afraid.

“Uncle,” she calls out calmly mere steps away from the throne, as if Kamsa has not murdered six of her siblings, imprisoned the parents of her birth, and terrorized the countryside in search of the child that would end his life. Rukmaratha swallows. “I am here.”

A duel, Rukmaratha knows, is conducted between two equals. It is a battle of strength and skill, which brings honor to both sides regardless of the eventual victor. Kamsa, the triumphant General of Jarasandha’s forces, cannot possibly challenge an unarmed girl child raised to graze cows, prophecy or not.

Kamsa raises his sword.

“You think you can kill me?” Kamsa shouts as he runs, sword aloft. “You think you can kill me?”

Krishnaa throws back her head and laughs, and for Rukmaratha it is as if all time has stopped -- every moment before and after bleeding until it all comprises of nothing more than sound of Krishnaa’s laugh in the King’s arena. Rukmaratha, who has wondered if he would live crushed under the boot of Jarasandha’s regime his whole life, begins to Believe.

Her body ripples with mirth, shoulders bent back to expose the delicate lines of her neck even as her uncle swings to chop off her head. Krishnaa takes a single step to the left and straightens, all evidence of amusement lost in the rigidity of her limbs.

She shifts just slightly and then turns to face Kamsa whose strength always outweighed his speed. Rukmaratha, and the people of Mathura, can finally see her face.

“Uncle,” Krishnaa says again, her voice somehow filling the arena even though her tone is that of one who is trading gossip with a friend. Her eyes, though -- Rukmaratha knows that he will live 100 lifetimes and never forget the way he saw destiny in her eyes. Krishnaa is no girl when she grabs for the sword hanging uselessly by Kamsa’s side. She kicks Kamsa and when she sets her foot on top of his chest Rukmaratha feels the world shake. Krishnaa crouches, sword in hand and uses Kamsa’s hair to lift his head off the dirt of the arena.

This Krishnaa, the Gopi of Gokul, is no girl -- she is a force of nature.

“You can’t kill me!” Kamsa shouts, again and again, Jarasandha’s General flailing uselessly under Krishnaa’s grip. There is a moment when Krishnaa pauses, her grip loosening on the sword and Rukmaratha wonders if she could be so foolish as to let her uncle go. There are of course men of honor who would see their defeat as an equivalent to their death, but Rukmaratha has not lived his entire life in the Emperor’s shadow to believe that there are such things as honorable men in today’s day and age.

“Uncle,” she says one last time and raises the sword. She gazes at Kamsa in the way an elephant must gaze at an ant, if it even sees something so much smaller and inconsequential than itself. “I already have.”

The sword flashes and Kamsa’s head lands in the dust.

Devaki’s eighth child, the Deliverer heralded by the heavens and raised a cowherd rises from the body of her uncle clutching his conch in her left hand, palm slick with his blood. When she blows, she closes her eyes; the sound of a new era passes through the arena, the city, the nation, until it must reach the very corners of the Earth. Her right foot still rests atop Kamsa’s chest.

“Vaasudeva,” the arena murmurs, and Rukmaratha wonders at how he can feel the wheel of fate turn at this moment, not only for the world but for himself. He wonders for a moment at the idea of Devaki’s Daughter being known as her father’s child after all these years, but then the arena says it again and he realizes. Vaasudeva, not only her father’s daughter, but another name of God -- the ultimate divinity made manifest in the flesh. Rukmaratha looks around him and realizes that he, alone, is not on his knees. “Vaasudeva,” the crowd says louder, in one voice that drips reverence from every syllable, “you have come.”

Rukmaratha is only glad that he lived to see it himself.

#mythology ccw

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lyricanalysis · 7 years ago

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breakups, bees, and symphonies

this song. god damn. you couldn’t see it but there was a screaming match in the car when we were trying to figure this one out. we had such opposing views about all of it and it was ridiculous. like neither of us would budge until linden was like “wait, does this one have the symphony?” and then we both started laughing hysterically. ANYWAY, this song is about a lot of things so lets hop into it.

It's said, "If you don't let it out

You're gonna let it eat you away."

I'd rather be a cannibal, baby

Animals like me don't talk anyway

most of this song is about ryan. this is kinda the only one that i’ve analyzed so far that doesn’t follow the pattern of dallon for first verse and then ryan for second verse. but i mean, come on, this song is about their breakup. this is his feelings towards it all finally coming out.

this first line is a quote. it’s everyone talking to brendon. they tell him that if he keeps bottling up his feelings about ryan then it’ll kill him. (i even said in sarah smiles that brendon’s coping method to the breakup was to pretend to be more prideful than he really is, bottling it up and faking). so they’re warning him. brendon’s response? he said he’d rather let it kill him. by being a cannibal, he’s saying that he’s purposely letting those feelings that are unresolved, eat him away. he’s willingly letting his own sadness kill him. then he says that animals like him, people like him, don’t talk about their feelings.

now, i really wanna break down that last line cause it was really interesting, the way it came across. first off, why animal? if you replace that word with people, it almost keeps the same beat. granted, the beat would have been different in general if they used people but that means it was a conscious decision to use animal. WHY. and, not to mention, it’s in the context of people not talking about their feelings.

first thought, this album was released in 2011. that was only 6 years ago but still, things were different back then, ya know? gay marriage wasn’t legalized in the us until 2015 and while things in the us were more progressive than say.. 1970 obviously, things still weren’t great. even now, in 2017 (thanks trump) theres backlash towards gay people still. it’s sad to think that i have to worry about what people might say when i hold another boys hand in public but i do. i don’t care really, what people think of me, but i don’t really wanna be with someone having a good time and hearing someone call me a faggot just cause i happen to love another man. not a fun day, sorry. i don’t have any proof but i’ve got a real deep gut feeling that gay people are not called nice things. (besides faggot, of course. got aids yet?). i can’t recall a specific place that i saw/read about it but i can imagine that gay people have been compared to animals at some point. which is what brings us back to that line. its internalized homophobia (which ryan had a lot of and it probably passed itself onto brendon).

its a different analysis so i won’t go too far into it but in folkin’ around (a song that brendon wrote) he says ‘and once your father has heard of all the wrong you’ve done, I’m putting out the lantern find your own way back home’. now, i haven’t analyzed that whole song so i could be ass backwards wrong but my first thought (the one i usually go with cause gut instinct is valid) is that ryans father is homophobic. not every time but occasionally, homophobic parents put so much pressure on their children that their children try to deny their feelings, even going as far as to be homophobic themselves which is what i think of when i think of ryan. so homophobic ryan would push those same feelings onto brendon who, at the beginning and even now, has always been very open about his sexuality or lack there of. he’s the type of guy to be like ‘whatever’ about it. he says straight but he also says that if a dudes hot then a dudes hot. but, after being with someone homophobic, before he put on his extreme ego, brendon could have very well felt like he was the one who was wrong or broken. i can’t imagine he felt good about much of anything and feeling being gay was wrong would have made it harder for him to even think of talking about his feelings.

second thought on this line is probably shorter. anyway, try to deny it, i don’t care. argue, fight, whatever. there is, always has been, and still to this day, a stigma around men being emotional. it is getting better with each day, slowly, very very slowly, but it is still looked at as weak, girly, gay, for men to share and express their feelings. here is a link to an AMAZING slam poem about this very topic. you don’t have to watch but i highly suggest you do. it’s 3 minutes of your time and such a fucking powerful message. bolded and italicized to make it real damn obvious

Feel like an ambulance

Chaser of faith

Pray I could replace her

Forget the way her tears taste

Oh, the way her tears taste

now, we’re jumping back into the relationship and brendon’s big gay feelings. so, when people think of an ambulance, they think of it lights and sirens, speeding all the way to the hospital, so that’s how we’re going to take it, too. that means that this relationship had to have been in a crisis. i know that i’ve analyzed the last couple of songs as brendon being oblivious to the impending doom of the relationship but i think he did know. i think he denied it, wanted to believe otherwise but like come on. most people can tell when their relationship is dying. they don’t want to believe it but the signs are all still there. anyway, brendon compares himself to the ambulance. he’s the EMT trying to do what he can to save this relationship. so then he also claims to be a chaser of faith. google definition said that faith is “complete trust or confidence in someone or something”. so that would mean that brendon is putting all that he has left into this ending relationship. he’s chasing faith and faith is gonna end up fucking him over, sorry kids.

so this last chunk is after the breakup. we’ve got our little ex mormon boy talking about praying. her, is ryan. he’s praying that he could forget her. he doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want to hurt. then, he asks to forget the way her tears taste. remember how i said that ryan was homophobic? and how that rubbed off onto brendon? how literally all of ryans problems became brendon’s? yeah, thats a thing. brendon is asking to stop feeling like all of ryans problems are his own. he blames himself for the relationship failing because he thinks that maybe if i was better, maybe if i did more to help then this wouldn’t be a thing, we’d be together and happy. brendon thinks about all of the what ifs. he feels like he wasn’t enough to make ryan happy and that’s why things ended. he blames himself for the tears. and now, after the relationship is over, theres nothing more than just memories, he wants to forget so that he can move on. he even repeats it which adds emphasis and a sense of urgency.

The world may call it a second chance

But when I came back it was more of a relapse

Anticipation's on the other line

And obsession called while you were out

Yeah, it called while you were out

i lied. i had to talk about dallon. anyway, we said this song was after the breakup (duh, the breakup happened end of pretty odd.). so now, sarah smiles was about dallon and brendon first meeting, right? so brendon and dallon start their thing, and the world (fans) are looking at this new stage gay. they’re calling it a second chance. now, i know, officially it’s wrong but i wanna point out that google seems to think the lyrics are ‘don’t want to call it a second chance’ but either way, it has the same meaning. brendon isn’t the one calling it a second chance. whether it’s because he doesn’t want to or the fact that it’s the fans saying that and not him, he isn’t calling dallon a second chance. instead, he says it feels more like a relapse. now, i assume most of you know what a relapse is. correct me if i’m wrong, relapse doesn’t have a good connotation. i’m sure you could relapse into something good but lets be real. when you hear the word relapse you’re gonna think of drugs, alcohol, or self harm. i know i do. anyway, what’s brendon relapsing from? maybe a really bad relationship that left him emotionally vulnerable and troubled? i think so.

then, he says anticipation is on the other line. this is a reference to phones. dallon is anticipation. whether or not you think so, dallon is a very good thing for brendon. and lets be honest, when you start a new relationship, even if you aren’t boyfriends or whatever term you want to use, you get excited. there’s that feeling in your stomach that just makes you think of them constantly. that’s why anticipation is dallon. the next line is talking about the moments when dallon is gone. i can assume that brendon is still anxious about a new relationship. he already compared dallon to a relapse, he doesn’t seem to have high hopes for dallon. so when dallon isn’t there, obsession kicks in. it’s not obvious what he’s obsessing about but whatever it is, probably isn’t good. the tone of this song is almost negative. up until the end, it’s negative.

Asleep in the hive

I guess all the buzzing got to me

Well, I'm still alive

At night your body is a symphony

And I'm conducting

so, i don’t like this analogy. the bee thing. but whatever, i’m rolling with it. the hive, is a metaphor for brallon. brendon is falling asleep next to dallon (doing whatever it is our dear boys do together). the buzzing though, is everyone else. it’s a warning. he’s getting other people, managers or spencer, PEOPLE, telling him not to get involved with another bandmate. they’re saying, look how the last one turned out. it’s rude but they’re trying to save brendon. he can’t get hurt by dallon is they never start their thing, right? brendon’s response though, is ‘well i’m still alive.’ it’s not the best response. i don’t know how else to compare it but to a trauma victim, almost. people warn them not to relapse, say that things will be bad but their response is, well i’m still alive, what’s the problem? we already saw brendon compare dallon to a relapse because everyone expected things to end badly. they look at brendon’s record of past relationships and they expect it to turn out the way ryan did. we know that it didn’t but back when this was written, how were they to know?

then, like, y’all. this is so blatantly sexual. how does anyone skip over this line. NOT ONLY DOES HE TALK ABOUT NIGHT, THE MOST COMMON TIME FOR COITUS, but he also talks about dallon's body. then, he compares it to a symphony. now, i’m assuming they mean full symphony which would be band and orchestra. if you have ever heard those two come together in one piece, it’s magical. they’re excellent on their own but together, wow. now, remember, this is comparing dallon to a symphony. you can imagine. (theres only one other line that trumps this in terms of being overly sexual and i’ll get to it one day, don’t you worry). then, brendon says that he is conducting the symphony. i’m not gonna go too in depth on this because opinions may vary (brendon is dominant) but brendon is dominant. he’s conducting the symphony. just.. theres no other way to take this. (note: i didn’t say brendon tops, just that he’s dominant.)

final thoughts on this. right after he says he’s conducting, you hear a string section playing a quick melody. i’m comparing what they play to sex. if you listen, you hear it progressively get louder until it hits a.. wait for it.. climax. also, conducting is repeated throughout that little bit. just deserved a nice point.

It's said, "If you don't let it out

You're gonna let it eat you away."

now, there’s a significance to this coming back. it’s not an accident. he didn’t look at this and think ‘wow, that would certainly be swell’ and write it in. i want to also point out that this is a line from the beginning, when brendon was troubled over the breakup but this time, the part about keeping things to himself is gone. they’re telling him again that if he doesn’t talk about things, with dallon, or about his fears, that it’s going to eat him away. THIS TIME, he agrees to talk. he knows that he needs to be open now. (either because he’s no longer homophobic or because he’s grown and doesn’t think that there should be a stigma around men being emotionally because men (brendon) are emotional).

Put another ex on the calendar

Summer's on its deathbed

There is simply nothing worse

Than knowing how it ends

And I meant everything I said that night

I will come back to life

But only for you

this chorus is probably gonna be a long one because i FINALLY get to talk about the summer.

so, the first two lines. google isn’t always correct and this also isn’t something talked about widely so who really knows. but anyway, i just want to point out that the only time the sun and the moon (which was a common analogy for ryden in the pretty odd era) can be together in the sky is during the summer. anytime after summer, you won’t see them in the sky together. also, i believe whatever happened in cape town, happened at the end of summer.

anyway, back to the lyrics. brendon is counting down the days to the end of summer (replace summer with cape town). like i said earlier, he probably knew that things were dying but didn’t want to admit it. you obviously hear the chorus throughout the song so you’re constantly being reminded that brendon is counting down the days. then, he says that theres nothing worse than knowing how it ends. which, i agree. that sucks monkey balls. now, because he says and, that means that the fifth line is also apart of this same chunk. but, i will give it its own paragraph.

he is still talking to ryan about all this. he says that he meant everything that he meant that night. what night? what did he say? we won’t know officially but i’ve got a pretty good theory. seeing as how this song is about the breakup and what happened in cape town. ryan conveniently has a song named that from a band that failed, sorry.

I left you in Cape Town

Woke me in the morning

Asked me if I meant it, I didn't

these are the only lyrics that felt relevant to the analysis so here they are. we already know that ryan left brendon in cape town. its really the second two lyrics that i needed. the first is just confirmation. now, this still doesn’t really explain anything but i’m gonna take a wild shot in the dark here. taking what we know from the calendar, cape town by the young veins, and ballad of mona lisa, we kind of get the full conversation. i imagine it went something along the lines of this:

brendon: i really love you, do you love me?

ryan: no

b: do you mean that?

r: yes bye

and there you have it.

so, back to the chorus. brendon is saying that he meant everything he said to ryan. but notice, its past tense. he meanT everything he said. he no longer feels it.

remember how i said that this song doesn’t follow the pattern of dallon first and then ryan when it comes to the verses? this one is reversed. but so is the chorus. ryan comes first and gets a large chunk (2 verses) and dallon gets a small chunk (the bridge). he says that he will only come back to life, but only for dallon.

now, going back a few lines, he says that summer is on its deathbed. summer, when the moon and the sun are in the sky together, is dying. that means that ryden is dying, not just ryan or brendon, its both. now, obviously, summer ended. the relationship is over. which means that brendon is dead, too. i figure he was planning on staying dead, not coming back but *cough* dallon came and.. changed it all. brendon ends the song by saying he will only come back to life if its for dallon.

last thoughts on this song. brendon starts and ends this song by repeating “only for you” which brings extra emphasis for it. just.. a thought.

#Panic at the Disco #patd #p!atd #the calendar #song analysis #lyric analysis #vices and virtues #vices & virtues #v&v #brendon #brendon urie #dallon #dallon weekes #ryan #ryan ross #brallon #ryden

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h-fragmentedfigments · 6 years ago

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Reverse

Prologue

LONDON 1971

It was quarter to nine in the evening and supposedly, there should be music blaring out loud with the chattering of the crowd clouding the place. The atmosphere should smell like sweat and smoke, and the room shouldn’t have this too much light. Yet instead, Eris stood by the telephone at her parents’ house, pulse racing and breath hitching. This was not how she pictured her night starting.

She takes a deep breath, trying to form the words to say to the person on the line. She was petrified, her feet suddenly felt heavy to move, and her fingers are starting to feel cold.

“Ms. Gray, are you still there?” The woman who broke the news exactly two minutes ago spoke again, her voice sounding concerned.

“Yes, I’m still here.” Eris stutters as her eyes begin to brim with tears.

“It would be advisable to get yourself checked up again, just to see see if the baby…” Her next words became a blur as Eris tries to take in everything that’s been said to her for the past four minutes she’s been on the phone.

Before the woman on the line could even finish her statement, Eris beats her to it, feeling her head pound already. For fuck’s sake, what is happening? Eris thought. She was on her way to the pub where she should be spending time with Roger along with Freddie, Brian, and John who she hasn’t seen for over a month now. But before she could even step outside the house, the phone rang, where she received that god-awful news she’s never even thought of hearing any time soon; not when she was just getting into med school, not when Roger is just kicking off with his music career. But it had to happen now, at the very worst moment: She had to be twelve weeks pregnant.

“Th—thanks for the call,” Eris croaked, “I’ll make sure to go to the hospital soon.” She put the phone down before leaning against the wall beside her. God, she was getting dizzy. The woman’s words echoed in her mind and it was all too overwhelming, she couldn’t think straight.

Eris tries to collect her thoughts while pacing back and forth in the living room. She brings her thumb to her mouth, nibbling on it. Half an hour had already passed and she was seconds away from losing her mind. She and Roger had just received their BSC and while they’ve been in a happy, committed relationship for almost three years now, they’ve never talked about settling down, let alone have a child. Sure, marriage was brought up once or twice, but they have other plans long before that; plans the two of them have talked about before they even met in college.

A knock on the door abruptly halts Eris from pacing. She stood frozen in her place, terrified that she has to face Roger this early. Before she could even wrap everything in her mind. Her breath hitches, legs not daring to move while she waits for the person at the door to speak.

“Eris, darling, are you home?” Freddie hollers and relief quickly rushed through Eris’ body from hearing that voice. She bolts to the door, grateful to have this person out of anyone in the world in her house right now. She swings the door open, revealing her good, old friend’s face.

“Ah, thought you should be home. I was on my way to the pub when I saw your light still open, so I figured—”

Freddie was cut off with Eris engulfing him with a tight hug, “God, Freddie. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Anyone would be glad to see me.” Even without his face in view, Eris could picture the bloke’s smirk plastered on his face as he hugs her back. Typical Freddie Mercury, oozing with confidence.

They both enter the house with Freddie following Eris who is anxiously biting down her lower lip. She clasps her hands together, trying to formulate how she’s going to break it to him. Eris turns to face Freddie and parts her mouth only to be disrupted by Freddie’s enthusiastic clapping. He rushes towards her, a wide grin etched across his face.

“You will not believe who just phoned tonight!” Still grinning, Freddie’s warm hands held her cold ones. He paused for a quick second, letting the anticipation hold longer and continued, “EMI Records! They’re interested in managing us.”

It was difficult not to feel the weight in Eris’ chest getting heavier. Again, she should be mirroring Freddie’s smile, hugging him and congratulating him, and maybe even dragging him outside so the both of them can go and tell the rest of the guys. But the sadness and pained expression was evident, and it was only natural for Freddie to look confused.

“Are you alright, darling? Gosh, you look pale.” Freddie touched Eris’ cheek then her forehead to check before pulling her to the couch.

“I’m sorry… I…”

“Do you want me to fetch you water? Or do you want to catch some fresh air? Jesus, you look like you’re going to faint.”

“Fred, I need to tell you something.” Eris’ voice was low and somber and Freddie knew right away this was something serious. He sits beside her and stayed quiet, letting Eris take her time. She looks up to him and Freddie grew more concerned seeing the tears build in her eyes.

It pained Freddie to see her like this. Eris had gone through pain but never had he seen her this vulnerable and lost, and to say he was worried was an understatement.

“Darling, please. What is it?” Freddie’s voice came out as a whisper, full desperation laced in those last three words.

“I’m pregnant, Fred.” Eris couldn’t help but free the tears that have been long coming and shamelessly broke down in front of Freddie. She lowered her head down, struggling to catch her breath as Freddie takes in her words. It was silent for a moment, only Eris’ sobs contained the atmosphere.

“Have you told Roger?” was Freddie’s first question. Without looking up, Eris shakes her head, wiping her tears.

“I just found out a while ago, I… Fuck, Freddie. How could I even tell him?”

Eris leans down to rest her elbows against her knees, hands raising to cover her face in frustration. Eris knew Roger loved her, god, the man was obsessed with her, but she was also aware of Roger’s passion and fixation when it comes to music and the future he had pictured for himself and Queen. And the last thing Eris would want to do is ruin it all for him.

Freddie breathes out and holds out his arm to touch Eris’ hand. He gives it a tight squeeze before rising from his seat. He marches down to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard while the damsel confusingly waits for him. Minutes later, he comes back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He sets them in the coffee table, pouring each glass with his and Eris’ favorite Sauvignon Blanc. He hands Eris her drink before taking his own and clinking their glasses.

“So…” He begins, crossing his legs, “What do you want to do?”

This is why Freddie is who Eris’ needs the most at this moment. Freddie and Eris had a fair share of tragic moments together and in those times, it was always Freddie who Eris confided more because of his means of addressing problems. He neither condoles nor sympathize. He refuses to lengthen the misery you’re in by giving words of comfort by saying ‘It’s okay,’ because hell, it is not okay, and you’re in this unfortunate predicament, so what are you going to do about it?

“Should I break up with him?” Eris asks.

“Are you mad?” Freddie almost spit out his drink, appalled at what the words that came out from Eris’ mouth. “Do you honestly think that loved up arse is going to let you break up with him? Not in this life, dear. Try again.”

Eris sighs. “Fred, if there’s anyone in this world who knows him just like I do, it’s you. And you know very well that his priority right now is his career—Queen’s career, to be exact. Not me, not this baby.”

“I’m very much aware, yes.” Freddie nods casually. He adjusts himself in the couch comfortably and takes a sip. “But I’m also sure of the fact that if Queen is his priority right now, then you’re the most important person in his life, not just right now; since you were kids, since we all met in Kensington Market, yesterday, today, and for the rest of his life, unquestionably. He loves you, Eris. More than anything in this world. He’d do anything for you.”

“That’s the thing, Fred,” Eris exhales, fingers fumbling on the glass. “I know he would. And I don’t want him to. He’s come a long way to be where he is right now. I’m not messing it up.”

Freddie stares at Eris skeptically and much longer than usual, not a sound coming out from his mouth. He raises an eyebrow, finishing his second glass this evening.

“What are you planning to do, Eris Gray?” Voice accusing, Freddie folds his arms under his chest and patiently waited, hoping it’s not what he was thinking.

Seconds turned to minutes. The deafening silence wasn’t helping either. For a moment, Eris held her breath, thinking long and hard of this decision she was making. She was not one for impulsiveness, but this was the only solution she could think of, just so Roger could continue with Queen without any distractions.

“I haven’t told this to anyone yet…” Eris briefly closed her eyes, leaning against the couch before blurting it out. “I’m planning to study in the states while Rog works on his music with you guys. I was supposed to tell him tonight, but… this happened, and I think, maybe, this is better for the both of us, you know? Maybe it’s good that we part ways so he could focus more on his career and Queen.”

Freddie kept still for a while. Obviously, he wasn’t delighted with what he was hearing. “Right, so what are you saying?”

Eris sat quietly, not responding. Freddie furrows his eyebrows together, seeking answers before realizing what Eris is planning to do.

“You’re not leaving without telling him… are you?”

Again, Eris gives him no reply. She clasps her hands together and and held them against her lips, not daring to look at Freddie who was starting to have a headache.

“Eris…”

Eris purses her lips together and interrupts him. “I will tell him eventually, but not now.”

Freddie lets himself fall to the couch, dramatically sighing. He puts his arm against his forehead and shakes his head. “God, you’re going to kill him. He’s going to be crushed.”

Eris blinks her tears away before moving closer to Freddie. She reaches to his hand and grips on it. “Please take care of him.”

Freddie rolls his eyes. “You two are a handful, you know that?”

Eris giggles while tears sprung from her eyes, probably the third time this night. God, how much she’s going to miss Freddie, Brian, and John. But nothing aches more than knowing she won’t see Roger, her best friend, soulmate, the love of her life, in a very long time.

#queen #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #fanfic

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revol-lover · 8 years ago

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need to vent.

This weekend was a shit show and I took a mental health day from work today. I promised my husband I wouldn't dwell on the issues of the weekend and I would try to take it easy but I need to let this out, I need to vent. And then I can move forward. Its so important for me to write these things down because I can only be strong for so long before I become weak willed again and let toxic people start their cycle of abuse all over on me. I need to have written reminders of what I’ve gone through to remind myself that I don't deserve this abuse and I need to limit contact.

So as I previously posted, I haven't visited my parents in a couple weeks. They haven't bothered to check in on how I am doing even though I usually visit on weekends. No one checks in on me. I’ve put a shit ton of effort into my relationship with them since getting married (well since forever but especially since moving out, keeping in touch. Its all been one sided effort coming from me). I was legitimately busy and exhausted with everything we have going on, being in my third trimester of pregnancy. I work all week, I have things to do after work nearly every single day of the week except for occasionally one or if I’m very lucky, two days, and most weekdays I work, come home, rest for an hour, make dinner, husband comes home, we eat, then we do errands and things that we have to get done during the week (groceries, laundry, house tidying, tending to the plants at the cemetery, visiting his grandmother, visiting his father at the hospital).

Being pregnant has been for the most part easy for me, and I don't take that for granted. Regardless, I’m still getting bigger and less comfortable, I have to drink a gallon of water a day which is getting difficult. I’m just tired. Most weekdays we arent home from our responsibilities until 7 pm. Then we unwind and spend time together before going to sleep and starting all over again. Therefore, my weekends have become very precious to me, as they should be. And I haven't been feeling up to visiting my parents. I am never invited over. But I’m apparently just expected to make an effort, one they do not make.

Well this weekend was my godmother’s 50th birthday. Her boyfriend wanted to surprise her with birthday cake and have family over. I wasnt sure I’d be up to going but I got suckered into buying the cake because her son had to work and no longer could and her boyfriend was surprising her with this so he couldn't go get it himself. So now I “had” to go. My parents were going so I figured this is fair enough. They will see me. It kills to birds with one stone. Well as I’m standing on my godmother’s porch waiting for them to open the door my parents walk up to the porch. My dad says hello and how have I been doing, before I have time to even properly answer he follows it up with a very bitter sounding “haven't seen you in a LONG time”. He really is trying to give me a guilt trip when he doesnt even text me. He hasn't sent me a text since April 4th and that was a “lol ok” reply to a text I had sent to him trying to make conversation about the baby. He has not called me. He has not been in touch, but he is mad that I have not gone by to visit. So I told him, straight up. “Well, I’ve been busy. My week days are busy, we have had a lot going on and I have been trying to get things done and still relax on the weekends, Oh and I’m pregnant. Also you could text me to check how I am doing and you haven't so. “He of course got mad that I had the nerve to say whats the fucking truth and was like “ I know your pregnant what is that supposed to mean” and then he stuttered angrily on “what do you mean about texting” (does this even need an explanation? no. he doesnt get in contact with me but expects me to put him first at the busiest time of my life.) but I ignored the rest because my god mom opened the door and I Wasnt about to have an argument on her door step. So I go inside. And he persists the issue. He starts questioning me. “What do you do during the week” “what do you do during the weekend” as if I owe an explanation!!!!!! At this point I was getting flustered because I honestly wanted to fucking tell him off but being a decent person unlike apparently him, I wasnt about to have this conversation at someone’s birthday celebration! If you have problem with me address it at an appropriate time! How hard is that to comprehend. So I quickly listed off that I have been busy working and doing things we need to do to get ready for the baby and also, you know having a midwife appointment once every two weeks, soon every week. I shouldn't have even had to try to defend myself. i don't owe him a breakdown of my schedule and why he doesnt fit in it. Especially when the doesnt try to get in contact with me ever and was so disrespectful in the way he attacked me immediately with a guilt trip. The rest of the dreadful 30 minutes I was there was spent not looking at him or my mom and trying not to talk to them because I just can't do it man. I can't. My mom wasnt as bad as she couldve been but it doesnt matter. He made up for it. The annoying thing she did is, so my little niece was there, she’s 4. I haven't seen her either in a few weeks. So I picked her up. My mom literally SCREAMED “Hey!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! don't do that!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! your stomach!!!!!!!!!!!!” at me as if I am a fucking imbecile or flower petal who can't pick up a SMALL CHILD while I am pregnant. As if I don't know my own limitations. Oh that pissed me off and I told her that its not dangerous for me to pick up my niece and I know what I am able to do. Omfg god though. like seriously does she think I’m not going to pick up and give affection to my first child when my second comes? It was such a stupid thing to have her freak out about. As if she cares. She didnt care when I was a teenager and intentionally hurting myself because of her abuse but she is going to freak out about me holding a child while I’m pregnant..

As we were leaving my mom handed my husband a birthday card but not without “well we didnt see you last weekend so I couldn't give it to you sooner”. They did not contact me to tell me to tell him happy birthday lol. They live two minutes away. they could have easily dropped it off themselves. But its our fault, right? Then she tried hinting that I should try to visit sometime during the week “if I want” to which.. I didnt even respond. I just ignored it. I’m not doing this guilt trip shit. I don't owe them a visit. I’m not coming to them. If they want to see me they need to make an effort because all they do is bring me stress which I don't need right now. It could have been handled so differently. All my dad had to say was “How have you been?” and left out the guilt trip. There was no need for it.

So anyway. I kept my cool on the entire situation as best I could. But then we got home. And I just.. idk. I unravelled. I was so angry. I AM still angry. I twas out of line. I hate that my dad thinks he has the right to treat me that way. That I owe him something when he puts 0 effort into the relationship. When we do visit he's glued to his phone. He doesnt even interact. He had no right to attack me with a guilt trip. I was so upset by this when I go t home. I was pacing and shaking and having chest pain and I know this is all really bad for the baby but I couldn't calm down and this is exactly why I can't do this shit anymore. I shouldn't have to live my life afraid of when I’ll see them next because god forbid I have been making my own health and child and marriage a priority. I shouldn't have to apologize or explain that. I wrote a long message I was going to send him but didnt. I don't feel like theres anything I can say to get through to someone who doesnt understand the basic simple point of me putting myself first right now. Largely pregnant, less then 2months from the birth of my child with still a lot to do and decreasing energy and ability to do it, never mind making mentally exhausting visits to unappreciative people..

I thought about calling instead of texting it. But again. I was already stressed out. I was having chest pain My husband was worried sick about me and our baby. My father isn't worth the stress but I can't just turn a switch when it comes to being treated the way I was. How can I just turn a switch and not care? I do not like cofrontation or being attacked. And I didnt deserve it. I’m being attacked for doing the right thing. For taking care of myself and my child. I’m being attacked for having my priorities straight. Do you realize how fucking much that fucks with my psyche? Its not something I can just let go.

I thought for a second I should send him an article on how stress during pregnancy can affect the baby. Yeah except I saw a scary statistic about how third trimester stress can spike up your chance of having a stillborn and went into a legitmate panic attack and my husband had to just take the phone from me. I eventually calmed down but the situation hasn't left my mind. I am home today trying to mentally recoup. I’m trying to just take care of myself but it keeps creeping into my thoughts. The disrespect. What his attack caused - the chest pains and crying and freaking out. That didnt need to happen.. that hsouldnnt have happened. That could very seriously pose a risk to me and my child like pre term labor or other terrible things. Like it just fucks me up that my own father can be so immature and careless in his actions and not even realize how it affected me. Because I care too much. Because I can't believe that after being such a good daughter despite the abuse I’ve received in my childhood, and despite his complete life long lack of protecting me from my mother, the times I’ve thought about cutting my mom off entirely but didnt because I didnt want to lose him.... the fact that all of that exists and is a part of my life, and he doesnt even care enough to treat me with the most minimal amount of respect. That he caused me so much stress it caused physical pain and put me and my child at risk. It just baffles me. I feel like he needs to know what he has done. He needs to know it wasnt ok and he hurt me. But I dint have the strength to even try to talk to him again. And it sucks because I’m forced to see him sunday at my baby shower. Then the week after is fucking fathers day. Then what am I supposed to do with that? I don't even want to see him again period and I’m forced to. I can't be having these things happen every single weekend when Im supposed to be relaxing and I don't know how to avoid it. I’m so fucking stressed out. I wish I could just move far away and never see or speak to them again. I’m at my wits end and legitimately do not care anymore who I lose in the process but I can't do it with them being so close. I feel so trapped.

#personal

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