#i do have adhd though so hopefully this is an emotional enough memory that i won't forget how i scammed her and remember to tell her a year | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mariaiscrafting · 3 years ago

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ahhhh ty ty ty <3

ok, so I think that what makes Dream act this way (iykyk) is how dreamwastaken became so big so quickly. and by quick I mean fucking lightning speed.

he didn't have enough time to learn enough about cc etiquette, especially in these three aspects: influence, boundaries and fanbase/stans/whatever you call it. I'll try to explain it:

• Influence: Does he know the influence he has? Like, when he hears that he is the myct with the largest fanbase, does he really process that? I remember he talked about not being able to control all of his fanbase and there's bad apples everywhere -- which is true, and that only like 1% of his fanbase breaks his boundaries (that include sending hate for him, harassing, doxing, etc. yk, basic twitter culture lol) but, honey, with your big ass fanbase, 1% is still a lot of people. As a content creator you *have* to be aware of that.

let's take the hbomb situation. First off, as a streamer, it's you that set the mood of the stream. Even if he was only messing around with his pals, even if they did say to do not send hate to hbomb, dt dunking on him created a toxic environment, which caused his fans being toxic towards hbomb and you know what happens next. Hell, when this happened, I was watching Tapl and he was watching them and he was crying laughing over them screaming bc they were just. so loud and so aggressive that it was kinda ??? Sirs, this is literally a Minecraft Stream lmaooo

my point is, that was not the road that dreamwastaken, 21M fans, should've taken. he don't condone his fans actions but he knows his fans are diehard and will always be on his side, he should be more careful before stating negative opinions, especially if its towards another person.

• Boundaries and Fanbase: He posted a list of his boundaries a while ago, idk if you know or seen it (btw please george copy your bestie for the love of god <3) but I'm not talking about those boundaries, I'm talking about the basic boundaries between cc and viewer. boundaries that, in my opinion, should exist between cc and viewer. I get that Dream is an open person, an oversharing type of open person if I may add, but I think he should take a step back regardless. When I heard that he was taking a time from twitter, I genuinely got so glad, not because he couldn't start any drama then, but because it would do so so good for his mental health. I'm not even that fond of him, it's just that for me, any cc taking a break or outright leaving twitter is a win for me. I know how RSD is hard to deal and honestly letting shit out it's better but dream you have dt you have bbh so please don't make things worse online 😭 I know how good can be to feel validation from millions of people but. it's not a good idea, especially in the state that his fanbase is on rn (this topic is kinda sensitive to talk abt for me bc people be outright ableist and hide it as criticism like. say that shit's not helping his reputation and whatever without acting like he's fucking. manipulating his fanbase for being affected by his rsd💀 or, on the other hand, don't say that hes just being adhd🤪 when he's just being an asshole like damn that's a Him thing bro lol)

(omg it's so big I'm so sorry and theres a part two I'm so sorry tumblr user messed-up-gal ToT) - morango 1/2

pt. 2:

Dream is the proof that the people who loves you can be your downfall. istg. Have you noticed that every drama that Dream enters, people usually get more mad abt how his fanbase reacts (85% they'll react in a bad way) than Dream himself? it's not always, but its definitely more likely. I'm not saying Dream is saint, he Is petty and his ego does him dirty and made him choke multiple times before,, But! i dont think hes a bad guy. he's literally just a dude. ok, he's a 21yr old white gamer man that has a trumpie past (maybe?? idk. I think hes cured now ig lol) so he's bound to do some shitty things but he still tries to get better and hopefully he'll mature. 21 is old enough but it's still so young, yk? I kind of lost my mind during the end and my eyes are literally begging to be closed so tl;dr: Its gonna be hard for him to become a better cc bc his fans don't let him be criticized (by infantilizing his adhd symptoms or the mob mentality as soon as someone says anything abt him), the honest criticism get lost between lies from antis that don't know shit, he still has a lot of growing up to do and overall he became famous too fast and he needs to learn things even faster bc as soon as there's not a single one dream hater on sight they'll turn their back and attack him instead lmao I hate twitter i definitely have more to say but I'm tired and my memory is shit. just-- hate dream if you want, love dream if you want, nobody is obligated to have an opinion but I wanted to express mine. have a lovely day! -morango 2/2

Aight, there's a lot to unpack here, so Imma try to only go into the points I have something to add to (here's what I talk about in each paragraph, if you want to jump to a specific point):

Speed of Dream's rise to fame

The "bad apples" in the Dream fanbase

Post-MCC HBomb stream

Not condoning versus actually condemning his fans

Manipulation & RSD

Criticism of Dream, his fanbase, and his brand

The “just a dude” argument, flipped

First, I agree that one of the many factors that has resulted in the current image Dream has set up for himself, the way his fanbase functions, the ways people hate on him, and the way the Dream brand functions, is the speed of his rise to fame. It's unique, and there are probably a hundred social/psychological angles that could be used to examine the exact effects of that speed upon all of these facets of the Dream Name; did rapid fame beget the rapid rise of unrighteous hatred, did those waves of hatred then instigate the rise of a surprisingly overdefensive fanbase, did that rapid fame get to his head and/or result in an inability to appropriately handle all the after-effects of rapid fame, etc.? That point you bring up, about how the speed of his rise to fame requires him to learn even more quickly, is so interesting to me. I think that maybe Dream expected to get pretty famous pretty quickly, hence the preparedness in regards to some mechanics of influencer fame- merchandise, business-building, networking, knowing how to manage his fanbase to best benefit him. But I don't think he expected to get this famous this quickly. This is all speculation of course, as are this entire post and your ask, but I think that he just couldn't anticipate having to learn how to handle enmasse controversy, waves of antis, or every Youtuber speculating/knowing about him; and yeah, that results in him having to learn all of these things very quickly, lest he allow his whole brand and fandom to fall apart.

Second, I disagree with the frequent argument that Dream's fanbase is only marginally toxic. Personally, I think that the circumstances of Dream's fame, his personality and management of his fanbase, and his brand of content have resulted in the very specific kind of stan that Dream stans are. I don't think this is simply a case of "all fandoms have a small percentage of assholes who take it too far;" rather, the nature of the community itself breeds the kind of mentality of "an asshole who takes it too far." I only even know this because I was a Dream fan (kinda a stan, I'm ngl). At one time, I watched every single Dreamwastaken & Dream Team video multiple times; I listened to the Manhunts on repeat, as though they were podcasts; I followed mostly smiletwt and dttwt accounts on mcyttwt; I had upwards of 10 tabs for AO3 DNF fics open on my phone at a time; I watched DNF and Dream Team Being A Family-esque compilations on repeat; I watched every George and Sapnap alt stream I possibly could; I went out of my way to defend Dream against Redditors and Twitter antis regarding the cheating scandal. For the latter half of 2020, and a couple months of 2021, I lived and breathed this part of the fandom; so when I say that Dream stans are a whole other breed than any other kind of mcyttwt stan, I say that because I used to be like that, too. I usually use parasocial very loosely or ironically, but Dream stans are genuinely one of the most parasocial fanbases I have ever seen or been a part of. The level of investment Dream stans have in this man's life, the lengths they will go to to defend him, the amount of psychonalysis and digging they do on his life and character, the amount of emotion he can evoke in them- it's taken to another level, man. This isn't just characteristic of a fraction of his fanbase; this is what the fanbase is like as a whole.

Third, I partially disagree with your take on the HBomb thing, but not in the way one might think? I actually empathize with the way they reacted much more than I thought I would, simply because I suspect I have RSD (also suspect I have ADHD, have for several months now) and I can see myself getting insanely frustrated because of something like that. Like yeah, it was "just a MC stream" or "just an MC game," but that's kinda disregarding the fact that something that might seem like "just a [insert inconsequential thing]" to a rational mind might have a major emotional consequence/take a major emotional toll on someone with RSD, or really anyone who gets easily impatient/angry about video games (Sapnap reminds me of many of my friends, in that way). The issues I, personally, had with the way they handled the HBomb situation is that these are simply explanations and reasons for my empathy; they are not excuses. I have no excuse when I get irrationally angry about something inconsequential in my own life, for a couple of reasons. One, because I am an adult and I need to learn how to handle my reactions and manage my own anger. Two, because as someone with many mental problems, it is my responsibility to learn coping mechanisms to ensure my own emotional stability and livelihood; this includes learning whatever I need to handle RSD- whether that be isolating myself from others when I know I will become violently/passionately angry about something, creating and sustaining a support system that can get me through bouts of extreme emotion, finding healthy emotional outlets for my negative emotions that won't harm myself or others, or a combination thereof. I don't think what they said about HBomb post-MCC was an irreversibly horrible thing, or anything. I think there were errors committed by two men who should be fully capable of foreseeing and preventing those errors, but I don't unconditionally hate Dream or Sapnap for the post-MCC stream or comments. I just wish they had made amends quickly, publicly, and sufficiently, because the greatest consequences from the whole thing weren't even from those two criticizing HBomb themselves; they were from the waves of backlash because of their immense influence on the MCYT fandom, which could've been prevented, if they had acted maturedly and responsibly after the stream.

Fourth, you’re right, that he doesn’t seem to condone his fans’ behavior. I detest the frequent anti argument that one of the reasons Dream should be criticized is because he explicitly uses his fanbase to attack others, or something of the sort. Personally, I think he created his fanbase in a very specific way and interacts with them in such a way so as to benefit him as much as possible, yes, but he never actually tells his fanbase to go and yell at or harrass anyone. Still, there is a significant difference between not condoning something and condemning something. It might seem unfair, and it might be annoying of me to say this, but I truly think that someone with this large a fanbase, especially one as overzealous as Dream’s, needs to be condemned every single time it goes on some kind of rampage/harrassment campaign. Either that, or Dream needs to make a definitive, permanent statement against any kind of harrassment of others on his behalf. I know he’ll occassionally make the odd tweet or serious stream addressing something his fanbase did, but one of the many reasons his fanbase keeps doing the same damn thing is because he’s so lukewarm and spotty about this condemnation. A fanbase like his needs to be given explicit guidance and boundaries for the numerous things they do in his defense- harrassing/doxing antis, harrassing people who criticize him who aren’t antis (respectful criticism, other CCs, other MCYT stans, etc.), harrassing the people he critcizes (i.e., HBomb), speculating about his personal life (his relationship with his gf, his mental health/ADHD, his romantic life, his childhood, etc.), and speculating about his relationships with his friends and colleagues. My personal ideology is that, if you have significant influence over someone or a group of people, you are at least somewhat responsible for the things those people do or don’t do, if it at all relates back to you. I’m so fucking tired of the argument that CCs aren’t responsible for what their fans do. Obviously they aren’t responsible for every single one of their fans, and obviously they can’t fully control their fans at the end of the day. But I think there are certain things that reach such a level of extremity that does make those CCs responsible. This can be measured by either scale or intensity; that is to say, if a CC’s fanbase does things on an extremely large scale, or one person from/a fraction of the fanbase does something really extreme, then the CC is made all the more responsible. Another CC I’ve always had trouble discussing with other people on this subject is Pewdiepie, in particular, about the extremists in his fanbase. Because the things a small handful of his fans have done in reference to him and/or in his name were so fucking extreme, I thought Pewdiepie had to take at least some responsibilty. Along a similar vein, because the things Dream’s general fanbase does are so widespread and on such a massive scale, Dream has to take at least some responsibility.

Fifth, okay. Hmmm. I want to tackle this point you made about the ableism he faces in some criticism of him carefully and with empathy, but not coddling. One, I do think a lot of the criticism he receives for the ways he handles criticism (post-cheating Tweets, reactions to John Swan, post-MCC HBomb stream, etc.), disregard his RSD and can be oftentimes ableist. I’ve actually encountered people irl who criticize this aspect of Dream’s character, and have had to explain to them their disregard for how ADHD/RSD affect neurodivergent people’s reactions to criticism. But - and this is a big, and very controversial but - I think mentally ill/disordered people can 100% leverage their mental illness/disorders for the sake of manipulation. This is actually something I’ve learned from a psychiatrist, regarding the ways people I know and I handle our anxiety and depression. This manipulation can be unwitting or intentional, but it is entirely possible, and the possibility shouldn’t be entirely dismissed as ableist. Living with a mental illness or disorder that others know about/that you are very public about puts you in an interesting position to receive frequent sympathy, empathy, and/or pity. I’m not saying that empathy for Dream having ADHD/RSD is entirely unjustified; on the contrary, I have frequently expressed how I can relate to his ADHD symptoms and have defended him for expressing those symptoms, both on mcytblr and in real life. I am saying that Dream fans tend to use his ADHD as a kind of shield for a lot of criticism levied against him, including the supposition that he could be manipulating his fanbase to defend him because of his public expressions of RSD. So yes, my theory is that Dream knows how to levy every aspect of his life for his personal gain and for the growth of his brand, and that includes his ADHD. I think he has courage for his openess about his ADHD, I think his openness has contributed to the rise in awareness of mental health and empathy for neurodivergent people within Gen Z, and I think at least some of his expressions of RSD publicly/online weren’t intentionally made public. All that being said, I also think he has to know just how much his fanbase cares about defending him for his ADHD, and I think he has to know that some of the things he does related to his neurodivergence endear him to his audience, in a coddling, baby-ing, mildly ableist sorta way. Maybe this is all incredibly presumptuous of me. Of course, I can never know the real intentions behind any Dream video, Tweet, or stream. Maybe I’m just projecting, because I can see myself doing just this, if I had the maturity I had circa 2018-2019. Idfk know, man.

Sixth, I actually agree with you here, people probably do get more mad at his fanbase than him. Dream puts out content pretty seldomly, considering the frequency of content output for other Youtubers/streamers in his field/at his brand size. And yet, he has received masses of criticism. Considering that the things Dream himself does/says do not entirely correlate with the amount of criticism he receives, I think it’s a logical assumption that a lot of that criticism actually goes back to the size of his presence online, rather than the man himself. That is to say, because of the massive community he’s amassed, the exponential growth of his fanbase, their presence on every single social media site and in virtually every single Internet space/fandom, and the size of his metaphysical presence in his fields, Dream is much bigger than the man himself, so the criticism he receives will, at least in part, be a direct or indirect result of all these other aspects of the Dream brand. Something I don’t think many Dream fans/stans, or even most MCYT fans in general, understand, is that Dream isn’t just “one guy” in the eyes of the Internet- at least, not anymore. He hasn’t been for nearly a year. Like Pewdiepie, Mr. Beast, and other CCs who have amassed similar levels of fame and wealth via Internet content creation, Dream is a brand now, and most people will treat him as such. He isn’t just some uwu soft boy playing Minecraft anymore. He is on a whole other level from any other MCYT in his friend circle or colleague interaction bubble. His words will never again live in a vaccum or private bubble, his friend circle will never again be under anything less than intense scrutiny, his past actions will never again be simple mistakes or silly errors, his words will never again be casual tweets or streams for laughs among a couple thousand followers. Dream’s name represents something much bigger than just the one man. As such, all aspects of his brand, including his fanbase, will tie back to him and, ultimately, to any general criticism of him.

I’m not saying I like any of this, and I actually think the evolution of influencers from people to a marketable brand with similar mechanisms, responsibilities, and liabilities as a corporation is some kind of late capitalism nightmare fuel; I’m just stating my own observations and theories as to why so much anti-Dream criticism seems to be directed at his fanbase, rather than him.

Seventh, he’s just a guy, you’re right, but I think a lot of the antis on Tumblr understand this more than you know. As I’ve seen it, the sentiment among much of the “DSMP stans DNI” crowd seems to be that of “Dream/other MCYTs are such ‘bad’ people, so why do their fans stick to these mediocre, racist men, when there are so many better people to watch/better content to consume?” We know this argument is flawed for many of the obvious reasons - the conflation of all MCYTs’ actions regardless of individual identity, the equating of a CC’s fanbase’s morality to that of the CC they enjoy watching, the exxageration of any error MCYT CCs have committed as bigotry/racism, the fundamental misunderstanding and misinformation that led antis to believe this exxageration of the facts, etc. But I want to focus on the general, underlying sentiment of, “why not watch someone better, when your creator is problematic?” Sometimes, I ask this of Dream stans. Yes, being mildly ignorant, getting involved in the scandals Dream has, and being a right-leaning/libertarian centrist in the recent past all seem like harmless things, all things considered. One could say Dream isn’t nearly as bad as many antis who are misinformed seem to believe, and that there are much worse CCs Dream stans could be watching and creating fan content for. But I think what Tumblr antis wonder is, aren’t there also much better MCYTs/CCs people could be watching and stanning? Because he’s just some guy, right? Is his content truly so exceptional or is he really so exceptional a person, that people have to stick by him, despite the things that spike up regarding his current or past actions? I think that’s what made me finally decide to stop watching Dream. I realized he was just Some Guy. The Dream Team was a comforting dynamic to indulge in, DNF was a cute ship to read and speculate about, and Manhunts were fun videos to watch; however, once the Reddit posts came out and I read them in-depth, the cost-benefit analysis tipped over to the “not worth it” side for me. I realized Dream’s content, while fun and comforting, was not entirely unique, and wasn’t worth sticking around for, given what I then knew about his past political leanings. If he is just Some Guy, then there are a hundred more like him out there. There a hundred more ships, a hundred more found family dynamics, a hundred more entertaining and skilled Minecraft players. So while I agree with you on the point of people being allowed to love him regardless because he is just a guy, at the end of the day, I think that, if we are to believe that sentiment or use that argument in such a manner, we should also understand the flip side- that, if he is just some guy, why is it worth sticking around? To that I say, maybe because people just enjoy the simple things they enjoy.

Anyways, I wholly agree with your tl;dr. Thanks for that insanely long ask, this was a fun thing to keep me occupied while I’ve been at work, facilitating Zoom sessions this whole morning.

#ive been writing this on and off since 830 am est SHEESH #dreamwastaken #dream critical #eh i think im relatively lenient of him here given my past posts ab him #but still just in case the blacklist tags for yalls convenience:#discourse #/neg #asks #long post #long posts #this a LONG one bois #morango

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thanksjro · 4 years ago

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #16- All the Greatest Love Songs are Secretly About Heroin

Dang, been a minute since we got into the series proper. What all happened again?

Oh. Right. That.

…So anyway, let’s brush up on our Ultra Magnus history!

There was a massive fight on top of a spaceship. Swoop was there, Impactor was there, Overlord was there, Heretech was there, Killmaster was there- shit was lit. Ultra Magnus was doing his thing, though it looks like this was before he got LASIK done, because he’s got a visor on.

Then Ultra Magnus got shot in the gut and fell off the spaceship. It was so scary his hand started spasming.

Later on, we return to a place we’ve seen before, albeit from the Decepticon side.

Magnus, your badge isn’t up to code, my guy! Better get that sorted, before your current self comes out of his medically induced coma, invents time travel, and comes to beat you up.

Also, Pious Maximus? What is your friggin’ DEAL, bro? What the actual hell is your deal?

All the K-Cons start falling out of the sky, and Magnus orders everyone to take cover, as a familiar-looking bomb that literally has his name written on it lands bang on target. It’s such an intense experience, his hands start spasming.

Later still, Magnus is in the middle of dealing with the Simanzi Massacre, and it looks like his visor’s seen better days. Hopefully it was a reading pair, and not something he actually needed to see. Rotorstorm is also there, because his character apparently only exists to suffer. Magnus and his team rise from the muck and the mire, coming ashore right on top of a Cybernought, which promptly fries Magnus with its hand lasers. He gets so crispy, his hands start spasming.

For anyone having trouble parsing the scraps of rended metal that used to be Rewind of Lower Petrohex here, allow me a moment to break him down. That cylinder in the lower left corner is his camera, the wire coming off of it is where it plugged into his head, and that squarish chunk with the clean, round hole in it is probably part of his helmet. The other chunky bits I couldn’t tell you what they are, but I think it’s pretty safe to say that Chromedome absolutely put the dog to sleep with that blast last issue.

Inside the Lost Light, Swerve’s trying to be a nice guy by putting on some tunes for Ultra Magnus, who got his spark shot by Overlord last issue, but all it’s really done is make Ratchet get distracted.

Magnus is in a bad way, as was established by First Aid last issue, and it doesn’t seem like Ratchet’s having any more luck than had been predicted. Swerve’s here for emotional support, and also because he’s got medical training. Tailgate’s here for cleanup duty. Drift’s off in the corner making snide remarks about the medical equipment, probably because he’s mad his legs are still off.

Drift looks like he’s been chiseled out of stone here, and I kind of love it. Forget softboi uwu Dwift, I want more of this guy who’ll bite into a teddybear cactus and not even flinch.

Agustin Padilla’s back on the scene for this issue, and he’s decided that everyone’s going to be elongated in as many ways as he can manage in 20 pages. Tailgate and Swerve? Tallest they’ll ever be in the series. They’re as tall as Cyclonus, and he’s a fucking space jet. Someone’s got a chevron? You better believe that thing’s scraping the gotdang ceiling. Drift’s kitty-cat ears almost never fit into the panel, because those suckers are LONG today. It’s like they’ve all been put through a taffy-puller. There are a lot of little quirks with this art, but this is one I can kind of get behind, if only because it’s so distinctive.

Getting back to the story, Drift’s talking about the Death Clock here- no, not the animated band from Adult Swim, but an actual medical device that can calculate the moment a shrinking spark will give out, down to the second. It only measures the lifespans of the terminally ill, so Swerve hasn’t accidentally given himself even more depression by sticking his little hands in the shiny light without a thought as to what the device he’s messing with might do.

Ultra Magnus has about ten days to live. This makes Tailgate incredibly upset, because he, unlike everyone else on the ship, hasn’t experienced the horrors of war and death.

Ratchet’s right, though. There’s certainly a chance that Tailgate, who’s been shown to react to stressful situations by having panic attacks to the point of blacking out, could have a very severe response to what is his first major catastrophe. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder usually isn’t an immediate development, but being proactive about your mental health is never a bad thing if you can swing it. Hell, with how bad the Overlord situation was, I wouldn’t be surprised if Rung was booked solid long enough for Tailgate to actually have time to develop PTSD.

Rodimus is on the intercom to address the situation that just took place, because man oh man, was it a doozy. He intends to hold an inquiry to figure out just what the hell happened and how Overlord got on the Lost Light to begin with. As he tells everyone what’s going to happen, our focus shifts to Chromedome, who’s standing on the outside of the ship, staring off into space.

Man, I hope Chromedome’s on the front half, because this is a fucking grim scene to witness.

Skids comes out, having been looking for Chromedome. Trailcutter of all people pointed him in the right direction- which I suppose makes sense, given that he was on the Ethics Committee on Kimia. He probably would know Chromedome and Rewind decently well by this point.

Chromedome turns around to show off his mourning black Autobot badge, freshly photoshopped onto his chest for our viewing pleasure. It’s especially blatant when contrasting with Padilla’s rougher linework style.

Skids asks our brand-new widower how he’s holding up, and Chromedome says he’s fine, which is funny, because the other day he was all:

Chromedome has a moment of reminiscing, playing connect-the-dots with the stars like he and Rewind used to do all the time.

Skids, they were married for 250,000 years.

Skids might actually have been one of the worse people to have found Chromedome, if this is what he’s going to say, and then immediately leave. He’s so awkward and clearly uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be there. Does he feel weird about Chromedome knowing more about him than he himself does? Does Skids not have access to any of his memories related to mourning? Geez, I hope nobody needs him to help them through a difficult emotional time for a good while, because this was painful to watch.

Back inside the ship, Rung’s come over to Rodimus’ room to see what all the crashing and banging is about. It would seem our dear captain’s upset, and has decided to work through his frustrations by destroying his private quarters, perhaps in an attempt to summon the wrath of Ultra Magnus, thus saving him through the power of his own mess-induced rage. Rung comes to sit with Rodimus, I guess giving up his search for Chromedome, and the two of them discuss Magnus. Specifically, they discuss Magnus’ memos, and how much Rodimus despises receiving them, because they make him feel like he’s not doing his job right. He stopped even opening them, they made him feel so bad.

If you subscribe to the headcanon of Rodimus having ADHD, you could potentially read this as being a manifestation of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. As it is within the story proper, Rung’s decided to ignore this tidbit of information to get at the more pressing issues, like why exactly Rodimus felt the need to wreck his room.

This is about the point where the art for Rodimus becomes roughly 90% spot blacks, and it’s highly suggested that Rung get out while the getting’s good.

Oh, well this is going to be awkward.

Later on, we’re at the funeral. There’s five coffins, though not all of them actually contain a body. Everyone’s here to see their friends off, even Cyclonus, who was invited to the wake by Chromedome himself. Awful nice of him to do that, given their history.

The lineup in the front row is a bunch of chatterboxes, and they prove that very quickly as Swerve, Skids, and Whirl theorize on the contents of Brainstorm’s mysterious briefcase, which is also here at the funeral. Swerve swears himself to the duty of finding out what’s inside, on threat of death should he fail.

A short time skip is had, and Rodimus is revealed to be wearing his ceremonial funeral cape and terrifying vampire arm spikes to this shindig, as he sends Tripodeca, who is surely the most beloved of all Autobots, off with as many kind words as he can muster in the time they have. Everyone says goodbye, and we get to Rewind’s turn. Rodimus has a moment of pause, as Rung gives him the most withering look I believe he will ever produce in the entirety of the run of MTMTE/Lost Light.

Rodimus concedes to giving Rewind the credit for saving everyone from Overlord posthumously, as well as Fortress Maximus and Chromedome, labelling himself as a failure on that front. Chromedome comes up to the podium for a few words on the love of his life.

…well, it’s been a long day for everyone, I suppose.

Chromedome sits back down, right next to Brainstorm because they’re besties, as Brainstorm stares him down like he knows something Chromedome doesn’t.

Probably because he does.

After the funeral, Brainstorm pays Chromedome a visit, finding him in the middle of spring cleaning. He’s taking all of Rewind’s stuff and shoving it in a box to be destroyed.

Does it count as foreshadowing if it’s like a page before the reveal? I guess so.

Chromedome is trying to ease Brainstorm’s mind about the inquiry Rodimus is conducting, saying that the guy ought to talk to Drift before he gets TOO antsy about spilling the beans- perhaps a touch too late there, Domey- but Brainstorm isn’t here for any of that.

So you’re saying Chromedome/Dominus isn’t going to be endgame.

Turns out Chromedome’s been collecting dead spouses, and he wasn’t even aware of it. When faced with this inherent truth about his personal relationship with grief, Chromedome only has this to say:

Time for a pop quiz!

When the burden of life is too much to bear, what is an addict most likely to do? Is it:

A) Quit cold turkey

B) Seek help for their addiction

C) Relapse

If you answered C, you get a gold star, and a harsh reminder that addiction is a fucking monster that will devour your life and meaningful relationships, leaving you with nothing but itself for company.

Chromedome has had a problem with injecting since he got good enough at it to get his own set of finger needles, and he’s been completely dependent on other people to get himself to even close to stopping the habit. His character bio on the crew roster page has, up until this point, outright claimed this.

Now Rewind’s gone, and there’s really nothing stopping him from just taking that pain away. Brainstorm certainly can’t do it, though not for lack of trying.

Chromedome says that he won’t go through with his plan, but Brainstorm knows he’s lying, because they’ve done this song and dance before. At this point, asking Chromedome to not inject is just a courtesy to the deceased.

No wonder Chromedome invited Cyclonus to the funeral- probably figured why the hell not, since he wouldn’t remember it anyway.

Brainstorm gives Chromedome a data slug- the last one Rewind ever made, shot through the door just before it sliced Chromedome’s arm off, and found by Fort Max. Brainstorm leaves, probably to go prepare himself for that awful, hollow feeling he’ll be getting the next time he sees Chromedome.

Over in the shuttle bay, Rodimus is addressing the crew, Chromedome is retconned into being Toxin because he’s not supposed to be in this scene, and Drift is named as the sole conspirator in the Overlord debacle. Rodimus just starts tearing into Drift, and while he does, we cut over to the medibay, where some zombie nonsense is going on.

Golly, seems like there’s some flavor of undead on the Lost Light every other week, doesn’t it?

Rodimus strips Drift of his Autobot badge and tells him to get the fuck out.

Back at Chromedome’s room, he’s decided to take a gander at what Rewind left behind, plugging the data slug into the computer.

Man, this part always makes me a little weepy.

I can’t do Rewind’s final message justice, not in the choppy format I present here- which is perhaps a bit ironic, given the nature of how it’s presented. In the final moments he had, Rewind pieced together a plea for Chromedome to love himself, and to remember that he was- and still is- loved. He shared his own fears of them being apart, and how he knows how hard the coming days will be. He begged Chromedome to be kind to himself, because he- whether he believes it or not- has grown from the person he was in the New Institute.

As this message plays out, we see Drift swarmed by furious Autobots, who get violent as he makes his way off the Lost Light, only to be helped back to his feet by none other than Ratchet, before climbing into a shuttle, surely never to be seen again.

Shane McCarthy slipped Roberts a twenty to set up a slowburn between his OC and Ratchet all the way back in MTMTE #4. This is the start of the pining portion of their relationship.

God, just- there’s a reason Roberts has claimed this issue as one of his best, and it’s this fucking message. Please, if you somehow have gotten to this post without reading the comics- well, first, how, and second- go and READ THEM. I promise it’s worth it, they’re beautiful and funny and full of heart, even when everyone’s being a dick to each other.

Rewind leaves Chromedome with one final piece, which probably didn’t feel like enough, but was all he could manage in the time he had left.

I’m basically legally obligated to post this panel.

Let’s take a moment to consider Rewind as a character. He’s an archivist, and one who’s gotten very good at his job over the millennia. The guy’s OBSESSED with history, and recording as much of it as possible.

Which stands to reason that he knew about Chromedome’s past conjunx endurae. I mean, why wouldn’t he? It would be public record- even if you don’t necessarily get a marriage license on Cybertron, Chromedome would have been on the paperwork with these other guys somewhere, and the fact that he wouldn’t be able to answer the question of “Who’s this guy you lived with for several thousand years?” Would imply some… rather unfortunate things.

Rewind also has a hard time letting go of things- he gets jealous of Chromedome’s past relationship with Prowl any time it’s brought up, and he’s still looking for his ex-husband after what’s probably been at least a million years. That, combined with the way Rewind lives his life- you know, recording every single moment of it- gives me the impression that he really, really wouldn’t enjoy the idea of being forgotten. He wants Chromedome to stop injecting because it’ll kill him, of course he does, but he also wouldn’t want to be erased.

The video cuts off, leaving Chromedome alone. It’s all up to him now, whether Rewind gets to stay in his heart now.

Chromedome/Dominus is still on the table.

With THAT crisis of love dealt with, we move back on to that weird zombie nonsense we saw a little bit ago. Ultra Magnus is missing. Odd, that.

Ratchet, how many times are your patients going to have to disappear from your medibay before it’s less of a “them” problem, and more of a “you” problem?

As Ratchet goes off to search the rest of the ward, Tailgate accidentally bumps into the death clock, which gives him a nasty little surprise: apparently he’s only got three days to live.

Yeah, this is the point where the comic kicks into overdrive, plotwise- there are no brakes on this train anymore.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 16 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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dollsome-does-tumblr · 4 years ago

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Animal Ask Questions about Writing/Reading: Puppy, Jaguar, Goldfish, Turtle, Monkey, Hawk.

Ooh, so many! Why, thank you! :D

Puppy - Do you prefer writing with pen and paper or online? I pretty much never write by hand anymore -- I used to a lot when I was younger, but now I’m so out of practice writing by hand in general that I just can’t even begin to keep up with my thoughts. I do still plot by hand sometimes. I miss writing by hand, since I think my writing habits were a lot healthier and a lot less derailed by distractions back when I did that, but not quite enough to actually try to get it going again! Maybe someday?

Jaguar - How old were you when you started writing? SO TINY, I don’t even know. Five or under? My writing career (”career”) is longer than my memory for sure!

Goldfish - What is, in your opinion, your biggest writing flaw? Not being smart enough! I’m definitely not a natural learner or a naturally booksmart-intelligent person, despite always striving to do well in school -- my brain panics at trying to take in new information, and I’m not great at retaining information either unless I really consistently keep it a regular part of my life so it doesn’t fall out of my head -- so I often feel like I absolutely cannot convincingly write a lot of things, and just don’t have a confident expanse of knowledge to bring to my writing. Just real insecure in this area! It is exhausting! I find emotion really easy to engage with when writing, but factual information iiiiiiiiiiiinfinitely less so!

Turtle - What are you most scared of writing? My next big project, which is why I’m running from it for all I’m worth! I don’t even know what my next big project will be yet, because I’m too busy avoiding starting it, even though technically I know I would benefit from having something new to work on. Hopefully an idea will eventually be enticing enough that I cannot fight it anymore!

Monkey - What is your biggest writing pet peeve? The fact that I cannot get myself to write a complete sentence in one sitting. If you glanced at any of my in-progress documents, you’d definitely see that they’re all, like, a ton of dialogue, and then half-sentences and underscores to indicate, “Hey, when you come back to this another day, you really have to put an ending on this sentence!” It’s like I get too nervous to commit to the end of a sentence even if I’ve begun it, haha. My brain is really coming off as an interesting beast in these responses! Is this ADHD?

Hawk - What’s your favorite phrase/quote from your own writing? The first thing that came to mind was “FUCK, this guy needs to STOP HAVING A FACE” from Know Not Why, which is incidentally the second-most-liked quote from it on Goodreads! What can I say? I am here to serve up eloquence always!

#dollsome's deep thoughts #allegroandoldlace

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hecckyeah · 4 years ago

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Uranus, Neptune, Aldebaran, Centaurus, Libra, Aries, and Comet!

Heyyyy thanks friend ❤❤

Uranus: What’s your hobby?

Ooh, I have too many. And not enough. Somehow both.

Writing, reading, painting, drawing, playing music, making moodboards for my fandoms, horse riding, knitting, sewing, messing with spreadsheets (yes I am a nerd, no judging), and most of all: stressing because I desperately want to do my hobbies but my depression/anxiety/adhd decided to make me stare at a computer screen and watch dumb youtube videos for hours on end.

Neptune: When’s your birthday?

In September 🙃

Aldebaran: What’s something you care desperately about?

Answered here!

Centaurus: Favorite holiday?

I think you guys can see this one coming......

Christmas!!! Definitely. I’m not one of those Christmas lovers who like to listen to Christmas music starting in August and put up their tree before Halloween, but I do love the holiday. Some of my best childhood memories are surrounding Christmas, and I just love every second of it.

Also, just because it’s in the winter (and I love winter) it gets to be on the top of the list, with New Year’s at a close second. Then Thanksgiving after that lol

Libra: Favorite color?

Black, blush pink, bright yellow, dusty teal, coral.... The list is endless. I do love black and white though, and also all the shades of gray lmao

Aries: Favorite movie?

SHSALKGJSDHGK this one is so so so so hard. I love all the movies. There are so many good movies out there. But since I’ve been so vague on so many questions, I’m just going to pick one (but disclaimer: the answer will probably always be different lmao)

Avengers: Endgame

And now I feel like I have to explain. While there are problems with it, like plot holes and rushed writing and bad decisions... The culmination of over 11 years of storytelling and build up was INCREDIBLE. The nuances. The references. The tying together of so many storylines in so short of a time. And it’s just.... It has a special place in my heart. I basically grew up with the MCU (okay, I watched Thor when I was 11, but still). So to see it end just like that felt like it really coincided with my own personal entrance into adulthood and it was very very VERY emotional. (Also I’m a huge Steggy stan, so that ending just..... 👌👌👌👌😭😭😭😭)

Comet: What’s your big dream?

I don’t know.

And it bugs me. Because so many people in my life have this big, important thing they want to do, and I just.... don’t. I want to be a mom, that’s the main one. I want to go back to school eventually, that’s another one. But other than that, I just.... don’t know.

I want to help people. I want to wake up every morning and know I have a purpose on this earth and know that I’m fulfilling that purpose through caring for other people in whatever way I can. That’s where being a chiropractor comes in. And being a mother too, I guess.

I’ve struggled with this literally my entire life, and I guess I’m told that’s normal? That I’ll find my purpose eventually. But I just don’t have big dreams. I live in the present, in reality. I focus on the here and now, and I have a hard time seeing ahead. Hopefully I’ll know it when I get there, though 🙃🙃

send a space thing for questions

#ask game #wow i tend to ramble don't i?#oof #sorry for the small novels on your dashboard #lmao #get to know your blogger

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clownbeep · 5 years ago

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This is gonna be kinda brutal. But I want to put it into writing

Big vent/whats been going on

Hah... I guess this is like my life story or some shit...

Trigger warning ahead.. Depression and a bit of gore/suicide talk so if you are sensitive to that please, for your own sake and mental state you might not want to continue.

For those who dont want to hear a pretty dark vent, I understand.

And those who are just scrolling by feel free to scroll past. I just personally want to get this out.

If you have dealt with emotional neglect/abuse and need to know it isnt in your head this might be the post.

By writing this it feels like hopefully someone else will read this and realise certain things are NOT healthy.

If you are questioning if you are being emotionally neglected/abused (im speaking in a parental sense but even romantically or sexually) im not someone to give you answers, but the fact you are questioning it raises some red flags. In a healthy relationship you dont wonder those things.

Sorry for the long prelude but heres what I wanted to say

Ever since I was young, ive had bad ADHD, manic bipolar/depression, and sensory issues.

I was diagnosed around 13 I believe. My family (I didnt realise it then) always showed pity. Like I was some wild animal that couldnt be tamed and there was nothing they could do. Id do and say stupid attention seeking things just to try and get a shred of empathy.

My family didnt care.

When I was in the hospital for a suicide attempt regaurding pills and my liver had a chance of failing.. None of my family members cried over me. But a family friend. Someone not. Even. Related. Wept over me.

My family didnt care.

I cant say they never cared. They give me food water and luxuries like internet and a phone. For that I am grateful.

But in many other ways they have hurt me faar more than helped.

Once I got out of a short term stay in an inpatient mental facility I desperately needed contact with anyone who would care for me.

I have a younger sister, quite young probably around 7 at the time. She was a close friend of mine for that time. Id hang out with her so often to fill the gap in love it felt my family didnt give. One day I walked into the dining room and overheard my mother and father talking to my little sister. They told her to keep away because I wasnt "stable" because I was "dangerous" and could give her bad Ideas. And with one single action my only friend at the time and way to find happiness was taken away.

My family did not care.

When I stay in bed every day for months on end not knowing which day ill snap and end it all.... I get called lazy.

My family did not care

When I beg for medication to make me a functional human being they brush me off for years on end. Im losing my grip. I can barely remember things that have happened last week because I try so hard to forget everything its my automatic response to everything.

When I cant get to sleep because all of the memories come flooding back and im hit by wave after wave of horrific memories and the feeling if worthlessness... When I cant watch any videos or read posts about families because it brings on unwanted memories and emotions....

Is it me being dramatic then?

When you hear your family openly mocking and laughing about how stupid and dramatic and fake trans people are... How weird and unnatural and mentally insane these people are not knowing they are the very reason grsm and trans suicides are so high...

Am I a liar now? Am I insane?

When I tried to talk to them about my mental health issues. They took my only way of contact and made me feel like it was my own fault.

My family didnt care.

When I was nearly passed out shaking in a bathtub covered in wounds and blood all over... They showed pity, then lectured me for an hour for not telling them or for being impulsive and basically cleaned my wounds and sent me into my room.

My family didnt care.

Yes. I do agree, they cleaned my wounds, the physical side of showing care. However emotionally they were not there.

When my father drinks so heavilly every day he is home from work that he forgets half the things he tells you and can barely function.. They lecture my older sister for having a glass of wine (legal age)

They did not care.

My sister (23) tried for so many years to cling to what little attention she would get by getting good grades and going to college... She realised that it changed nothing about how my family felt toward her.... She snapped.

My family did not care.

She starves herself for a disease she does not have, she uses religion as an exuse to be one of the biggest christian extremists I personally know. Half the days she doesnt eat... Other days she burns book and gets rid of items for being demonic.

My lovely sister used to be kind and quite normal. However she couldnt find comfort in what little live her family gave. Starved for care she turned to religion to un unhealthy degree. Finding any way to keep her mind busy. Now I worry she will end up in the hospital for weighing so little.

My family did not care.

My oldest sister (27) Is married to a continuously cheating husband who she keeps letting back into her life. She was raised with a failing marrige and doesnt seem to see when she should call it quits.

Not to mention her husband has touched someone legally under the age of concent. Did she report him to the authorities? No.

All of these horrific things stemming from bad parenting. Unhealthy relationships and neglect.

Neglect emotionally can cause just as bad things as physical neglect. They are both horrifically dangerous in different ways.

These are the only big things I can remember... Basically age 15 and below are a complete blur to me and I cant remember much of it without thinking for a looong time. Even then I cant remember a lot of it... I feel like ive lost my whole damn childhood. And it hurts more than if they had just hit me or physically harmed me.

Im not underplaying physically harm. But in my personaly opinion I would rather my family have beaten me badly because at least then id have an easier way to prove to people how severe the abuse was. You can see bruises and confirm broken bones... But years of feeling completely useless and being shut off from most of the world other than the internet... It fucks you up in a way I dont think can be healed.

I dont know if I can ever love myself or... Remember things. Its terrifying to think Ill post this and a few weeks later probably not even rememner unless its brought up. Or meeting people and having conversations... And they are just... Gone.

Gone.

I suppose the biggest reason im writing this is well... In the future I dont want to forget in some ways.. I want like to be 100× as awesome knowing itll start as soon as im out of here..

If I dont have anything to compare it too then what is the point?

Ive layed out basically most of what I remember

A large amount of time I look around and nothing registers... Everything is familiar but I cant remember anything for a moment or two.. I feel like my memory is slipping so fast and im terrified.. I cant do anything to stop it and I cant make my mood be stable without the medication my family cant be bothered to get ...

I suppose this is a bit of a vent. I know its kind of everywhere and unorganized..

If im honest.. Tumblr is the only place where people have given me a home I wish I had..

I came out as trans here... Everyone was so damn supportive.. I didnt say anything but I cried hard and the kindness.. It was amazing.. It was such a jarring difference to how I feel when I say anything in real life.

Ive met friends here and ive had some much fun here. If youve stuck around this far thank you so much.. If you didnt I dont blame you.

I just wanted to share what has been flashing in my head these past few days.. It hurts a lot and ive even considered suicide recently..

Im trying hard. As hard as I can.. I have no escape though.

I cannot leave home. I cannot escape. Im not being dramatic.

CANT

LEAVE

And its terrifying because I know without medication or at least being somewhere AWAY from family.... I feel like im going to break soon.

I dont want to do anything stupid.. But some days I cant think straight and do things that harm myself and its not good. Its not okay. Im aware that I need help but I have no idea where to go/turn.. I have no ID or drivers liscence.. I have no transportation to and from a job to get money so I can leave... I live in the middle of nowhere.... I just..

I dont want to lose touch. I dont want to do anything bad.. I want to be functional.. I want to do more than eat and sleep my life away because I have nothing else to do..

Im so damn sick and tired of this all.. And at times I really do feel like there is only one way out.

Its always there and I just feel like one of these days im gonna be pushed over the edge and not be thinking clearly enough to stop it.

Im thinking semi clearly right now which is my im posting this.. Because im afraid and alone.

I have nowhere to go irl I have no friends Irl i just have tumblr and media and thats it. I dont expect anyone to be able to help I just wanted to write this so anyone knows what happens if I leave media..

If I tell my family my issues they will blow me off again for the 11th time or so (not exaggerated)

And if I do something to get sent to the hospital and get the help I need the cycle will continue with them being pissed and me getting sent home in a month or less anly for my family relationships to get worse..

Im spiraling fuether and further and I cant keep up the facade of being fine. I need help. And i have no way to get it. Ive just been suffering for years...

Sitting around and doing nothing but using your phone or drawing or whatever sound fun in theory... But if thats all youve been able to do for years with little to no real life social contact its gonna mess with your head... I dont want to be a shut in... I just

I dont know what to do.

Im sorry for rambling. I will most likely delete this later feeling embarrassed I posted this...

Im just tired..

#trigger warning #triggering #may be triggering #vent #emotional neglect #emotional abuse #suicide #suicide trigger #gore warning #memory problems #ramble #rambles

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toothyblowjob · 6 years ago

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hi! i’m anon from mamoru (asking here cus asks aren’t on on ur sims blog) i’m really interested in your thoughts about incorporating disabilities into the sims, i’m trying to develop my own sims game cus fuck ea lol, and i’d really like to be as incorporating of disability as possible. thanks!

damn, my asks weren’t on? that sucks. i think i fixed it now, but i swear i already had them on...

anyway!!!

i’m looking at this more from a perspective of “how to make the sims 4 better” than like “how to make my own video game” and i don’t know much about coding or game development so idk how helpful some of this will be but hopefully some will?? infodump incoming!!! sorry if it’s not that coherent. i’ve bolded some keywords in case you want to only read sections pertaining to certain disabilities.

starting with canes, bc i use one and i wish my simself did: sims 3 had canes, but for some reason they were coded weird so only elders could use them (iirc modders weren’t even able to fix it?? wtf ea). plus ts4 has custom walkstyles, and your sim can hold things like umbrellas while walking, so it’s almost definitely possible to add canes and crutches.

adding walkers would probably be a very similar process, tho i can imagine there might be some issues w clipping? not that ea has ever given a single fuck about that lmao

i’m a little bit less sure how wheelchairs would work, but the best reference i can think of is the strollers from ts3, or maaaybe some of the smaller vehicles. i have a vague memory of like a bike or a hoverpad or something that you could ride everywhere and not just on the road, but idk. the main issue i can see is that certain animations and interactions would need to be a lot more flexible--eg, sims would need to be able to do things like cook or paint or give hugs while sitting down. i can also see it being a little tricky to animate “transfers” from like, a wheelchair to a desk chair or w/e. honestly i think this would be easier to implement in sims 4 than it would have been in sims 3, because ts4 at least allows you to multitask some things. idk, it would probably be on the harder side, but holy shit it would be so worth it.

and then for some reason when i think about wheelchair users in the sims i start to wonder how feasible it would be to include little people (i hope that’s the right term?). simmers have been wanting height sliders since at least ts3, but any time a modder tries to add one the animations start getting kinda wonky, and i don’t think anyone’s really considered a height slider that goes low enough to make sims with dwarfism. i KNOW there are non-sim games out there that use height sliders, but idk how tf they do it without giving everyone telekinesis.

there was a mod in sims 3 that added sliders for amputated limbs, but it was a purely cosmetic thing, so like, sims would still walk like they had two legs or write with their “missing” hand or w/e. ideally i’d love to see a way to give sims limb differences that actually affected how they went about their lives + gave them the option to use prosthetics. i found a set of running blades in the “shoe” category for sims 4, but like... if you give them to a sim they’ll still magically grow legs in the shower lol.

deafness i think ties into my desire for sims to be able to speak multiple languages. not all deaf people use sign language, of course, but it would be great if sims had the option. i guess languages would function like any other skills, and if two sims don’t have any languages in common, they won’t be able to communicate beyond very basic things. maybe if you wanted a deaf sim to be able to speak, you could hire a speech therapist, or purchase some sort of object for them to practice with. also, dyou remember the earbuds in ts3 that made it so like, you’d only hear the music when you selected the sim using earbuds? i think you could probably make it so that when a deaf sim is active the game volume is either much lower or completely off. then for things like hearing aids, you could equip them and the volume would get a little bit higher.

blindness could use a similar mechanic, but instead of everything being silent, everything would be very dark and low-contrast. maybe objects that were making noise or places your sim had been before would have more detail. blind sims could also use navigation canes that would like... light up the area immediately in front of them.

invisible disabilities, allergies, and neuropsychiatric conditions would probably be a bit easier to add. sims 4 has a “quirk” system for celebrities where certain actions can trigger your famous sims to develop new traits.

i think the best example of how you could use this to make, for example, mental illnesses is the “emotion bomb” quirk. famous sims develop it after experiencing intense anger or sadness, and it basically makes them experience that emotion much more intensely. that’s already a symptom of a mental illness called bpd! so what if something like repeatedly being mean to a child sim had a 0.1% chance of causing them to develop bpd? or if having a powerful sad or tense moodlet had a 0.1% chance of causing them to develop depression?

(side note: i can really easily picture something similar to the “dark form” for ts4 vampires being used for dissociative identity disorder. genetics would be consistent across all personality states, but they could have different traits and voices and clothing,)

certain conditions could also be present at birth, like autism or adhd. i actually have custom traits for these; they’re not perfect, but if you want to google them they might be a good reference. one little thing that i think would be neat is if autistic sims had idle “stimming” animations, like flapping their hands or spinning in a circle. the biggest problem, though, is that autism and adhd are highly variable and i’m not sure how to make it so that not all autistic sims have the same behaviors.

allergies i guess would have to have some sort of severity scale, and be triggered by a sim eating a certain food or petting a certain animal. i’d want the likelihood of a sim developing a particular allergy to be pretty low, but that’s just me lol. maybe sims with allergies could keep meds on hand to deal with the worst of their attacks?

actually, the allergies thing reminds me--diabetic sims! depending on which type, a sim could either be born with it or contract it later in life. i’m not totally familiar with how insulin works, but a sim could have a pump equipped to mitigate their symptoms, or take regular injections.

i have a custom trait in my game for chronically ill sims, which basically makes their energy deplete faster and sometimes gives them moodlets with little blurbs about their illness. this seems like a pretty good system for chronic illnesses, but obv it would vary a lot by which illness your sim has--eg, would you actually animate a sim with ehlers-dahnlos popping a joint out of their socket, or would you just give them an uncomfortable moodlet? in particular, though, i think the mechanic that makes elder sims unable to do most exercise would be great for sims with dysautonomia.

also, i’ve mentioned some assistive devices already, but i think figuring out how treatment works would be a big deal. do sims have single-payer healthcare, or do they have to pay for everything themselves? can sims crowdfund their medicine? what kind of treatments/cures are available? are their side effects? some conditions don’t have cures irl, but maybe a sim can pay like $30k to a witch to make their fibromyalgia go away!

this is almost definitely more info than you wanted and i’m kinda embarrassed i wrote this much, but uh... here you go, a mostly stream-of-consciousness essay on disabilities in the sims! god i hope it’s readable

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scretladyspider · 6 years ago

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Sweet! I've been having a badly worsening memory lately. It's never been very good, and I've always had trouble remembering much of my childhood, but it's been getting a lot worse lately. I seem to have trouble accessing my own brain. I reach in vain for emotions, thoughts, and memories, but they remain just out of my grasp. I've been told this could be a reaction to trauma that I don't remember, and it could also be depression, and that I show other signs of both. I'm very confused. Thoughts?

(Tumblr glitched, so I really hope the first ask went through.) I also seem to relate a lot to your posts about derealization, considering I’m constantly questioning whether reality is actually real. It doesn’t often feel like it. It feels like some mix between a movie and a dream.

The first ask did, you’re good! But yeah this website is broken in so many ways. And don’t even get me started on the app..

You are right that this can be a reaction to trauma or depression - or both, actually. Depression is one of many conditions that can mess with your memory. One of the feature characteristics of being a trauma survivor is that you don’t usually remember an aspect of your trauma, or for some people the entire event can be difficult to recall. There isn’t consensus on whether or not a brain actually represses traumatic memories, though, as people can and have been found to be able to be led to recalling false memories through different experiments.

I think the thing to ask yourself is if these feelings continue even when you’re not depressed. It’s actually really common to experience depersonalization or derealization in times of stress, right next to experiencing depression symptoms and anxiety, so it’s weird that no one really talks about it. When it becomes persist, though, well, then you have a problem with that specifically. Because ADHD inattentive type can cause a sort of daydreamer feeling, my therapist and I decided to see how I did on medication for ADHD before making a determination about the depersonalization disorder. I think my point is here, a lot of things can overlap.

I think the best thing you can do is try to reach out to a therapist or psychiatrist (hopefully both) about your concerns. A lot of conditions can cause disassociation at some level, either from trauma or just from times of stress, so it can be difficult to sort out (it was for me for a very long time). I would go in and say, “I think I’m experiencing this, and I’m worried about it. What can we do?” Write down your symptoms to bring in with you, and be honest about your experiences, both in the past and in the now.

And, if it does turn out you do have depersonalization disorder, know that you are not alone. Again, many people experience symptoms in times of extreme stress or depression, and it’s starting to be more widely talked about (though still isn’t discussed nearly enough). If it’s something else related to trauma, or whatever it is, remember that you aren’t alone in finding a way to escape its effects on you. Talk therapy is very useful for trauma, and there are many ways to pursue wellness.

And - honestly just taking photos and videos of things, and writing stuff down, can be really helpful too.

I hope this helps. Best of luck to you!

#answers #trauma #depersonalization #recovery #depression #memory problems

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maximuswolf · 4 years ago

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My Story: I don't want to be like this :( via /r/ADHD

My Story: I don't want to be like this :(

My life sucks but I am still happy about the person that resulted from all the stuff I went through. I am a very silent person but at the same time extremly turned up. It's like a never ending roller coaster ride with its ups which make me feel like I am god or downs which want to make me kill myself. I wish there was an in between but it just doesn't exist ;( My mood is uncontrollable and it is most of the time more depressiv than happy. The depressiv mood has arised over the last three years and the lockdown aggraveted it extremly. Currently I'm 18 years old and life feels like that it is getting worse and worse the older I get... Procrastination, mood swings, lack of concentration, being emotional, high sensetivity, impulsiveness, bad memory, sleeplessness,messiness, daydreaming and the fact that I just can't change it by myself are murdering me.

I'm in 12th grade right now and at the first two weeks I stoped going to school because of suicidal thoughts. I think it was in 8th grade when I started to research my first issues in the internet to learn more about me so I hopefully fix my problems. Back then I had friends that harmed me a lot and caused a huge amount of anxiety in me. The only common ground we had was playing video games together. At school I felt like an outcast since I started going to secondary school I had big issues to keep up with the learned and almost had 0 friends because I was so different and weird than anybody else. Everybody laughed at me when I started to talk in class because I stuttered a lot, had issues to creat and understand sentences and lost the red threat everytime I was talking. One of my teachers waged my folder all around the classroom because all of my papers weren't staple in so that every sheet of paper was distributed in my classroom and I need to collect them all by myself infront of the whole class while I couldn't hold back my tears... I always thought that it was my fault at school even though I was the most silent kid and never made any problems. My selfconfidence was almost nonexistent and I was soooo happy when the school bell rang and I could go home. I was addicted to play video games all day long because I was only with me when I played and because I was so good at it sometimes. I was very inconstant and I had phases where I played like the worst player ever but also moments where I played like a world champion where nobody could beat me. It was the only thing where I would have said that I am good at it. I also took part of sportsclubs but I almost changed the sport every year cause I got bored so fast. In those days the internet was the only place where I could search up my problems.

I lied everytime to my parents about the situation in school to prevent punishments. Since I was born my Dad consumed a lot of alcohol and that's why my mum was forced to manage my upbringing alone. Both of my parents were pretty much nonexistent to me because I was all the time alone in my room and refused to talk to them. Both of them came from turkey to germany that's why they can't speak the languague well. My turkish is very bad too that's why comunication is almost impossible with them. 11th grade was the time where the school classes were mixed up again and I thought that could be my turn in school. I wanted to change everything so I can focus only on school. But I couldn't manage to change my behavior at all. I still couldn't do my homework, I still postponed to learn for exams until the last second even though I wanted it so bad... When I did my homework I couldn't focus at all. It was a nightmare I couldn't awaken from. I wanted to progress in school so bad but nothing changed. Instead my situation got worse and I started to judge me more and more. Half of the 11th grade was over and covid was taking over the world. Our school was set to homeschooling and my grades got kinda better because nobody was around me so I could focus better and I had more time solving the tasks. It was enough to establish 11th grade.

I still wanted to know how to fix my problems and researched a lot of my problems until I found truth. --ADHD/ADD--. I read everything about it, all symptoms, experiences on reddit and I thought I finally found the thing that is bothering me all my life. The disorder that has formed me to the wise, empathic, genius but at the same time to the depressiv, disorganised, emotional, unmotivated and impulsiv human I am. It would explain everything and I sometimes cry when I read some of the experiences of other users of this wonderful forum because it reflects everything of me so precise. But it was still just the internet where I got the information from and I was really unsecure if it is true even though it matched so hard. I told my older brother all about it but he is really unsecure. Back then I told nobody about my problems and he said that everything comes abruptly. I asked him if he could find me a therapist and I managed to get a meeting with a child psychologist. He didn't really took serious what I said and diagnosed me depression and anxiety. He called me an "internet psychologist" when he asked me where I got this knowledge from about ADHD/ADD. He said that I can't have it because I am not fidgety enough... I went home totaly depressed and questioned everything. I wrote him a SMS that I don't feel great and that my suicidal thoughts are back and he asked me if I wanted to go to the psychatry next city. I said yes and my brother drove me there. He told my brother that the police would had drive me there if nobody was able to do that. Thank you for everything my brother. As I arrived there I told the psychologist my story but didn't really mention that I think I have ADHD/ADD and focused more on the suicidal thoughts. He asked me if the thoughts are extremly or not and I said I only think about it when I want to focus and I am just not able to do it no matter how hard I try and that I'm thinking about it but that I am to strong to end my life. I also told him that the pressure to perform in school is supporting the suicidal thoughts and he offered me that I could go home if I promise him I wouldn't harm myself. He gave me a paper that released me from school for some weeks and I felt so much better for a while. He made a meeting for a outpatient psychologist and at first i visited her every 2 weeks. The time inbetween was a nightmare because I couldn't do anything else than lying in bed because everytime I tried to to something productive I felt sooo god damn bad because I couldn't focus at all that it always threw me back to suicidal thoughts. Session after session I told her everything. I met her 2-3 months and everything I did in this time was just staying at home doing nothing while I had such a pressure to be productive but I just couldn't. She told me that it is possible that I have ADD but that she can't diagnose it to me because she doesn't meet me often enough to observe the symtomps... That's why she told me that I should make a meeting at a day clinic. After that I met her only once a month without doing anything helpful there. In the end my brother prepared the meetings for the day clinic and now I am on a waiting list.

6 months passed when I stopped going to school. Nobody was able to tell me professionally what my defecits are and couldn't diagnose me ADD. I still don't know how long it will take until I get into the day clinic. I am very convinced that I have ADD and I have huge problems living with that and I am not able to get the medication I deserve. It's driving me crazy and I don't know what to do.

This post is very long and I am very sorry about that. That's why I hope somebody will manage to read that :D

Submitted March 03, 2021 at 10:14PM by xserhatx12 via reddit https://ift.tt/309w5L8

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a-writer-and-musician-words · 5 years ago

Text

11/30/18, 2:41 PM

THE HEAVY-HANDED CLINICIAN BY TIMOTHY JOSEPH GEISINGER

In a place far beyond the outer reaches of my memories, I grasped no uncertain realities: the thin-bearded, heavy-handed clinician, over the innumerable years, had done his best to kill me. In the year 1968 when the Vietnam conflict as it was dubbed burned grooves of pain and loss into my synapses. The synapses fired less often during that tragic year. Many young, heroic men sacrificed their lives for a cause that the common army soldier failed to comprehend. The D.C. Hawks composed top secret documents and used a variety of colored chalk lines on forest green chalkboards one after the other to strategize, to deploy troops and to hopefully win an unbeatable guerilla warfare far from the states, far from home. Young wives expected their newlywed husband and often newly minted father to return soon enough, after having given everything for the US patriotic cause; to rush laughingly with a great sense of relief into their waiting arms and to scoop up off the stony earth their never forgotten son, or daughter, their young family practically swooning over their homemade hero back from the overseas war. It didn’t work that way though, not exactly. The twenty somethings who were often the grunts, the privates, the guys who were assigned KP, peeling bag after bag of Idaho russet potatoes while cursing the upper echelon that brought him to a degraded part of a foreign land muttering that “This damn place is the worst, so f-In unfair.

Unjust.” Maybe the young husband and dad to Hillary and Frank, maybe he wasn’t far off. It was an unjust war, wasn’t it? The D.C. Hawks, they held all the cards and close to their vest at that! They were the old, entrenched men who sacrificed little, standing pointing and drawing on blackboards, deploying troops here and there, to take a bloody hill, or else maybe to charge a hidden enemy encampment, or else to retreat, hopefully to safety. Not always.

What was safe about being shot at by sniper fire from Chinese exported AK47s with seemingly endless ammunition control and a little boy or girl who sobbing walks easily into the midst of the longing men, who are safely behind their own lines; yet the little foreign kid has a live grenade tucked neatly in the elastic band of their cotton underwear? Seemed like an innocent kid, just needed some help. Maybe I should have been more loving. Maybe we shouldn’t trust any of the Viet Cong people. After all, we’re the invaders. This is their homeland. What right do we have to be here? Miranda, my wife, older by five years, and a baby on the way, me longing for hearth and home, barely out of Basic. I need her. And I love her. The really important thing, though, is that I know she loves me and we love baby on the way. I wanted to name her Zoe; that is if she’s a girl and Zak if he’s a boy. She wants to name her Molly, kind of because her name also begins with the letter M. But also because of our shared child’s song, a made famous Irish melody: “Cockles and Mussels” (Molly Malone). Both of us, though we didn’t meet until being in the same English essays class at the local community college, loved that song. Yet, we loved the song in a unique way; almost as unique as if we are snowflakes, not accumulated snowfalls. Miranda told me, actually, she sung Molly Malone to me, sonorous alto vocal but upbeat, in my elder parents’ living room in Kent, Washington; though we had moved there only for a short while when I was two because my dad was offered a position as an apprentice mechanical drafter for a start-up called THE LAY-OUT. Miranda has the kind of singing voice that even thousands of miles of separation I can hear as if we again are in my parents’ living room on that fated afternoon.

“Miranda, play the song again. I want to sing it with you,” I said. “You knew the song?” She looked wistfully at my clear blue eyes.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you never knew that. I can’t play guitar like you, but I can keep a melody.” I almost nudged her free shoulder in ply.

“I don’t doubt that. Okay.” Then she strummed the first guitar chord and we sang. Miranda and I and now the baby inside her womb. We are singing a song, a duet. We are singing of our shared love, about being newlyweds, about being the lovebirds others have rightfully called us, of our future together, of the eventual birth of Zoe, Zak or Molly or Mark John, or whomever he would be. We were hopefully going to know…together, hand clasped in hand, lips locked mouth to mouth. Resuscitated. Life gifted to dry dead bones. But, now. Damn.

Miranda I cried. I miss you. I am kissing your waiting mouth, pouty pink, swollen lips. I am tightly holding onto your hand because…I think I may never get back, back to you, back to our unborn child, back to the United States of America, back to the life we are destined to share together. As it is written in the legal marriage decree: “Till death do we part. Never leave nor forsake you. I promise Miranda to love and to hold you…” Oh God, why? I know it was me, maybe it was all me. I was the one who wanted to fight for the safety of the Chinese threat upon These Our United States of America. What if, just as in December 1941, the Japanese kamikaze pilots bombed the unsuspecting aircraft carriers and the defenseless Honolulu medical facilities because they could – sent by the Japanese Emperor Hiro, himself, as a formidable military invasion the likes that no one has experience so horrifically since? That was my overwhelming concern; for the lives of my wife and our unborn child, but also for the security of our vulnerable nation. Really, I don’t like that I am an idealist. I want to be practically minded like a business executive bent on amassing wealth and securities for the company he works for yet secretly desires to one day overtake the whole operation, become the new CEO, own more than fifty percent of the company’s shareholdings and expand, expand far into his stocks-controlled company, newly renamed to fit his agenda, and to make room for his ascendancy. Just like a monarch ruling in the 13th century, replete with a court jester (who could have been me) and nobles, feudal lords, thin, beautiful maidens, plenty of cows, several Bantam roosters, and more animals than even he wanted to number. Horses to ride as freely as he saw fit across the wide expanse which was from the royal stables to the outer lands, all under his watchful eye; the nearby smaller, conquered kingdoms making tribute. I digress.

I am an idealist, but I’m not hopeful. My nearest and dearest friend, the one who helped me through the obstacles course, I couldn’t have even graduated without his constant help and his care toward what then was only another soldier in Basic training, at dusk last night was shot clean through his Adam’s apple. Ironic. I don’t say curse words, not usually, but Shit! Alvin Yeltser is worm food. I know I’m being a bit graphic, but so is war. All wars are graphic in nature, not for little eyes and ears...that is, unless the little eyes and ears are attached to the kids who uncontrollably sob, finding an easy way into the base camp, where we all are relaxed, some of us smoking a Marlboro straight, some of us shooting the shit. And then, before anyone is able to prevent the tragic thing you can hear in the silent overly humidity in view of a green grove of bushes and trees overgrown and waiting like an African tiger to pounce on an unsuspecting weary, old, gray elephant getting a drink of water at the local watering hole. You can hear a pin drop! BAM.

The surviving company, a hodge-podge of army green canvas shirts and pants, that’s all any of us are over here, a bunch of selected numbers – by the D.C. Hawks, we, me included are on pickup duty. It was worse, way worse than scrubbing dirty potatoes and slicing them by hand using our army knife. Way more disgusting! Who in their right mind would volunteer for this kind of essential duty? I have never fully been in my right mind. I used to see a thin- bearded male, the one who I call the heavy-handed clinician. It was he who suggested I complete the many self-assessments, various personality and IQ tests, a whole battery of them. Yet it was also he that strongly suggested I am slightly off my rocker. He threw the clinical psychiatric diagnosis straight in my face. The three connecting words which would define most of the following years to today felt like shell shock. “I believe you have what we in the field call Schizo-affective disorder.” I wondered, what the hell is that? Dr. Cavanaugh went on to explain as if he heard my thoughts. “You have some separation from reality, perhaps because of the effects of trauma or perhaps from your parents’ genes, perhaps a combination of both.” I interrupted his next words. “If that’s the schizo- part, than what does ‘affective’ mean?” He smiled weak and wan and said, “I was getting to that. Affective for you means that you have Bipolar I as opposed-” I was growing uneasy. “As opposed to what, Dr. Cavanaugh?”

“As opposed to Bipolar II,” he finished the sentence. Then he stared at my face searching for a connection with my downcast eyes. The tan rug seemed to swallow me up in my fear.

“Reggie. I will help you overcome this illness if I am able. I will at the very least help you to manage its symptoms.”

“So what are the symptoms?”

“Like I began to say, the schizoid tendencies you seem to have lead you to believe what is false is real and perhaps what is real is false. Your grip on reality is not tight and mostly unshakeable like most people. This may have been caused by the extensive physical, sexual, verbal and other emotional abuse you received as a young child, you told me about, that originated with your family, mostly at the hand of your parents. The Bipolar I also known as manic-depressive illness “mixed states” is a tough one. Sometimes your illness will appear very much like Attention Deficit Disorder or ADHD and sometimes you feel as though you are on the Top of The World – you’ll start many exciting, evocative creative projects but you will get distracted and hardly ever be able to finish anything you have begun; whether a short poem, a story or the lyrics of a love song that Miranda would desperately like to hear, the Siren Song will almost always capture you and unfortunately, destroy the very essence of you; that is, unless you take the prescription for medicine I am writing down for you. Here. Any comments, questions or concerns, Reggie?”

“I don’t know anything about Lithium, or this other one, Navane – what are they exactly?”

“The Lithium is meant to be taken to control your rollercoaster-like mood swings. The Navane will help you to focus on the important things in life; not to be distracted by every enticing offer; to help you have a symptom management tool. Really, that’s all Lithium and Navane the neuroleptic are.”

That was the first time I had heard the word ‘neuroleptic.’ Instead of asking Dr. Cavanaugh its meaning I engendered an educated guess. I thought the “neuro” is defined as the brain like in neurology, the study of the brain. I guessed that –leptic like the word epileptic meant seizure, but I was puzzled as to how a “brain seizure” was going to help me manage or overcome my schizo-affective disorder symptoms.

I was to hear the fateful word Schizoaffective; not only that poisoned idolatrous, highly misunderstood and over used word, but Paranoid Schizophrenic, Narcissicism, BiPolar Classic 1 with psychotic features? Really, what? How can a mental illness, disorder, malady, dysfunction, set of character defects, have to do anything with a good thing like “features?” Who is the crazy one then. Maybe the psychiatric-medicine-prescribing CNP or psychiatrist? Maybe they are the ones who’s has a head that needs to be examined.

No doctor even seemed to pick up on the obvious: I am a survivor of guerilla warfare! I am one paranoid son of a “B”. I crouch at the sudden noises all around me. I hit the spring grown grass lawn or the stony ground so D’m’ed easily I am used to lying down on the job; so used to seeing life from a lower point of view as if I might be a dog. Oh, I am. A war dog, hence the dog tags hanging around my neck. The last ID in the theater, to be picked off so easily just like my war buddy recently killed, stricken to death by a clean shot driven through his young man’s Adam’s apple. !968. A sucky year. The year of my eventual demise. the lost year as I would come to know it as.

1968. The Lost Year in a Lifetime of Years.

My wife thinks I may be crazy, more crazy than the effects of PTSD from motherly neglect and fatherly hitting and punching. Why do you think I went into the army in the first place; it wasn't for my better health. I joined the army to get away from my parents. The only thing is I went deep into a worser situation. I can barely make sense of the war. Why am I here fighting a people I don't understand, who peek in and out of the bushes with a sniper rifle butt. And continually use little girls and boys to blow my buddies to kingdom come. I'm having a hard time acclimating to civililian life. I can't understand beyond the war. So many good guys have died. The whole thing troubles me.The Congs some not so nice guys call em gooks - they're not to blame. We were the invaders, attempting to overtake them in their home territory. They weren't kind. But war is hell: flame throwers, sniper shots to the head, grenade pins dropped unaware. There weren't jet strafing except by the US; but their was warfare on the ground that was nearly matchless. The pain inflicted on the US ground forces was not to be overestimated. The misery of head wounds and exploded limbs unparalleled.

I want Miranda but she is slipping from my grasp. She told me she doesn’t want to deal with my head wounds anymore. I tell her I was never shot in the head. She says, “That’s not what I mean. You are so broken. You can’t even forgive your Mom and Dad. Reggie, they did the best they could. I know you’ve heard that so many times but it’s true. I never meant to cause you harm. They didn’t either. You need to forgive them their inadequacies, for every mistake they ever made raising you, or, I won’t be with you. Your unforgiving attitude of them is a poison I won’t put up with.” I cried, “Miranda, hon’ I will get over the pain. Some day. The war killed me. It killed us.” Miranda faced me then as fully as she could, with enough tears in her eyes, to start a small river. “The war killed us.” The recognition of the fact made my head swim. Tears flowed and I looked over at Zoe who was shaking a plastic rattle while she stood braced up against the side of the foldable crib. “Zoe,” I murmured. I knew Miranda was going to leave me and that she would gain full custody of Zoe was likely too. After all I was a mess. Miranda was the sane one. She had the full time job. She owned the condominium. She paid for our only vehicle, a Ford Aerostar. That she worked as an elementary education instructor meant a lot to me. I earned government disability. It’s true I should be working and taking care of Miranda and Zoe. It is no excuse, well it probably isn’t an excuse, that the Viet Nam War inflicted more than just physical wounds and there were some of those. The psychological wounds were like deafening sounds of machine gun fire.

You aren’t telling me what to think. I have to break out of the bonds I was put in. Maybe I put myself in some of my bonds too. I do feel. Like I blame myself for some of who I am today. I want to lay down and curl myself into a tight ball. I want to sleep throughout the night and into the next day and throughout the night again. I could make a sport of it.

Laughter follows the pain which melts the brain.

Inconsequential doings

Closeted fears as bullets whirr

Don’t touch me there,

It’s my private parts -

Mommy said never let a stranger near.

I don’t know why I am writing this book. I have not published anything of significance yet. This book is mostly nonfiction - memories get garbled, facts get skewed. I cannot start with the beginning though I am tempted to do so. The beginning, my beginning, was so depressing, so oppressive. How can that be? Are not the moments in the womb warm and fuzzy, loving and relaxing? Well, no, not really. My mom and dad were at odds with one another. My mom’s ‘happily ever after’ dream had been smashed by her supposed white knight in shining armor. But that’s the beginning. I want to begin the story somewhere in the middle. The days of personal anguish when a biochemical brain disease was issued forth from the cosmos or God, pulsating throughout an unsuspecting body, with a name, schizoaffective disorder. Ugh.

Climbing stealthily into the gnarled oak tree, branches splayed in several directions I felt like kid superman. My Lois Lane at my side. I may have been six but I knew then that I would love her, the girl next door, for the rest of my life. I wasn’t crazy like Anthony Padua the boy who must have thought he could fly like Superman and jumped from his Dad’s third floor tenement house, a rental he had in South Chicago.

There was almost always something nuts going on in Chicago, even then. The Valentine’s Day Massacre occurred in Chicago. Gangsters littered the streets. A big fire practically burned the whole town down. But Chicago only got worse. The big town became a place I wanted to visit but never live there. Now Shy Town is a place I wouldn’t even want to visit: gunshot soaring through the air, night and day. Kids getting knifed. Bomb threats made good in elementary schools. Just like Gotham City, The Windy City needed a superhero. I am glad that I never moved to Chicago. My parents were as afraid of the big town on the Michigan River just as much as me. Maybe they were afraid for me.

Who will be Chicago’s savior? I decided to start a superhero gym of sorts. I live in Minneapolis, a Minnesotan mid sized town hundreds of miles north of Chicago. I knew Chicago needed superheroes to save its neck or Chicago would be underwater; not only would the city get a bad reputation that it couldn’t live down, no one would want to visit it, its tall skyscrapers, its stock and exchange building, its cool Lake Michigan waters.

“Lois?”

“Clark.”

I reached across a thick branch and touched her arm. “Its about time time to come down, don’t you think?”

“Yeah I suppose.” She smiled toward me and carefully embraced the trunk, sliding part ways down.

The years have gone strongly by. The autumnal leaves dropped from upward tree branches. Icy winters after their own fashion. Springy springs with the first Robin and its delicate light blue eggshell. Summer with the whirring of gluey green grasshoppers and garden toads, green frogs and painted turtles by the reeds and the slimy rocks.

There was the usual. Barbells. Chest strengthener. Chin up stations., even a swimming pool, albeit 10 by 20.

“Miranda, where are you, my love?” “Have I been bad because I lost my temper with you and Zak.”

“Reggie, I don’t know if I can ever forgive you. I love you but from very far away. Don’t follow me. You wouldn’t know where to look anyway. Give up on an Idyllic married life. I can’t let you see the kids. You scare them. You may not mean to but all the same. We’ll love you from a distance. Again don’t chase us down. You won’t easily find us. Good-bye.”

Those are the last words I heard in Miranda’s voice coming from somewhere inside of me; yet, I know those words to be true. I need to get to the gym and workout. I think I hate myself - for what I did to the two kids more than anything else, but also for destroying my already fragile marriage. Vietnam did me no favors.

Even so, Miranda was never to be blamed, not for separating from me after I returned from Vietnam, nor feeling burned out. Mental illness will do that to you.

The devil is Faust’s unwanted friend, drilling holes into his weakening soul.

And Faust lately has been ironically on Miranda’s mind, caught up in the grey edges of her ever titular mind. Maybe because her soon to be ex-husband was lost in the etchings of the Vietnam conflict, that which almost singlehandedly destroyed him. She didn’t know that he is a super hero. He barely knew it himself.

Chicago is not easy for him or for Miranda. His psychiatrist was not easy with Zak either, but that was okay. It had to be okay. Memories of Miranda and more importantly his faith in Christ had to sustain him, empower him to save others. He couldn’t be a super hero not without his faith.

Yet thank God that Miranda left him when she did and left him - left me, where she did. Saint Paul, Minneapolis. The frigid air surrounding me in the late Fall early winter. Before the wintry bitterness sets in for those creatures who desire a longer Fall, less ice and even, less snowfall. To some Minnesota Winters could be equated with the process of dying. I am not extraordinary or am I; yet I long to help, to guide, perhaps even to push people - God’s creatures - into safety, into health.

Miranda left me! Not for another man, but for what she deemed was her sanity. The divorce was messy like a typical divorce, but only because she wanted everything, including sole possession of our kids. I won visitation rights primarily because I had a long history of PTSD coupled with schizoaffective disorder. She plain just did not trust me with our kids, to have close, unsupervised visits. What made me mad was although I wanted to be involved with Daddy daughter events and father son events the court’s decisions fell in her favour.

I wish I could be a great thinker but my brain is mush. Thank God that He still accepts me the way I am, otherwise I don’t know what I would do.

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docboots · 6 years ago

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(PotDA 10) Survival through Muses

I still need to write an update involving what has happened since my teeth were removed, the even still infuriate me enough that my memory on the concept is in a jumble. However, I feel this would be a good update.

This is mostly two comments I made to a friend on facebook. However, I quite enjoy what I wrote. It is something I often try to put in to words. Something that I feel saved me, kept me sane in these trying times. I often talk about writing, but don't really have much to show for it. That is because it is my hobby, it is something I did to understand myself.

I wrote this in response to a post he made involving that mental state where you lock yourself away. Where you avoid human contact due to your personal walls feeling more safe in a world that has caused a matter of harm to you. I related quite strongly to this, and wanted to share what I did to try and fight these darker feelings.

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

I would like to introduce you to someone.

I didn't actually take this picture, I was standing around with this avatar and someone took this amazing one of me. I use it as my wallpaper quite often.

This is Lickypede. He was initially created (using Second Life and avatar pieces I bought then edited) this thing to be where I shove all the inspiration being a Lovecraft fan caused. However, as I wrote him a different energy went into it.

This is the embodiment of those feelings you described, to me. I gave it a face, a voice, and a ugly and horrifying appearance based on how I viewed it. This is my depression, my rage, my bitterness, and most of all, my low self-esteem. This is the rot that is created, the bi-product of trauma.

The many mouths on it represents those inner voices. The ones that don't speak for you, but are given voice by memories. By those who hurt and insulted me, belittled me, and did so to the point that, for a time, those memories took on my tone. Repeated so many times it just merges.

I laughs at me, it insults me, and it does all it can to ruin me. Trying to lure its soul to it by making you make the ultimate bad decision.

Now, you might think I have given it power giving it a face, a name, a body, and centering it as the dark, rotten, ultimate antagonist of my stories.

Fun thing is, it had the opposite effect. Now, when those feelings come up... What once I could only blame on myself now has an entity I can be angry at. It now has a villain who I can write with the hate and vitriol that'll hopefully translate into being on the page. All of this makes me more confident, even as it barks and giggles. Squirms and wiggles in my mind like a rotten millipede. How vividly I see it in my imagination at these moments makes me feel better, as I have imagination. I can talk it down, as it now has a voice that isn't my own. I can argue.

Most of all, I have something to metaphorically put the characters I made to represent myself, to work through my traumas with a fictional source, fight. To mold them into their own characters as the trauma did to me. To make them feel real, so even when I have locked myself away and initiated 'Hermit Mode' due to the mental sickness... I created a way to not feel alone when I was younger. Now it is my way of keeping myself occupied. The hobby of playing these characters like piece.

Why I wanted to write this though, is it is one of the weird things that saved my life. It is difficult to be suicidal when you put a face on the feeling causing it. When you make it the inky, rotten scum of your mind that it is. Since I can have spite towards it. That is one of my stronger emotions lately, and damn if it doesn't work.

I will not succumb to my own creation. I am its god, not the other way around. I gave it a higher definition and I can take that away. I made it more terrifying, so that when it attempts to scare or belittle me.. It feels weak, it feels empty. As I have to feel good about my writing to write horror proper, and that is when it is most terrifying to me. (In that kind of way that is addictingly fun, as I love horror stories.)

Lickypede will not win, and no matter how much agony I am in or how difficult it becomes... I will not let its voice be the thing that takes me. Especially not until I can transfer all of this into a series of stories that, hopefully, can help someone else half-crazy half-fictional like me.

Funny thing is, now I find him kind of cute. His attempts now are like a new pet trying to force dominance. In that kind of way that just makes you find it adorable.

Which is good. You have to accept your traumas and assimilate it. Since otherwise you are cutting off related memories that do not add to your trauma, and instead, suck away a part of your personality and souls. Locking it away until you can work through the trauma locking it up.

It is annoying how many of mine were like that, but that is how the brain is. Instead of a file on a desktop, it is an annoying weave of webs. Yank one point and the rest shifts with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ In response to their comment to this comment. ~~~~~~

It can have a few downsides. Namely in the fact my characters inspirations come and go, making it difficult to do more than plot pieces of them. so I have taken to calling them muses, it seems fitting. Each one being a character. Since they aren't voices or anything (minus Lickypede, and that was still intrusive thoughts and not auditory hallucinations. It is very easy to distinguish them from reality just like my inner monologue and minds eye) just trains of thought that spread like wild fire. Stories that feel less like I am crafting them and more like I am looking into another world. It is quite calming. I call modifying them (at least avatars like the above one) trimming the bonsai tree since I feel it give me that same sense of inner peace that Bonsai Tree maintenance it is shown to have.

It is rather good for understanding your own subconscious as well. As instead of trying to deal with a soup of thoughts and inspirations, you create a form of what I have heard (namely in the Hannibal books) be called a mind palace. Things in a room, house, neighborhood, or world that act similar to mnemonic devices. Once you are used to it, you can make them as quickly as a phrase. However explaining the train of thought connected to each one would be similar to being a museum tour guide, only with your personal history.

Things you enjoy being used when you think of that for a scene. Like paintings, I often remember paintings I like when I am thinking of a setting for these muses that requires them. Especially as, in order to make each character different, I needed to give them hobbies, backgrounds, and drives different (even slightly) from each other. Especially since I was often writing as them in play-by-post roleplay. It got boring if they all were the same. It made me study things that I got bored with in school. Like, thanks to a particular character, I needed him to play a shrink well enough so had to learn some of that. Needed to have his backstory as a Frenchman right, so I learned the history of New Orleans. Somewhat, enough to fit him in there (hurricanes really love that place.)

Someday I want to write up the whole idea, since I think it would be a great way to help people of all ages with the trauma issues I had. Specifically children, as I started doing this (unknowingly, it is all thanks to anime forums introducing roleplay to me) when I was 12. I had a LOT of issues talking to people due to bullying and some other shit, but the online format helped. It translated into real life once I let it. It built up skills that help me feel worthwhile instead of the pit I was in before I did, and when I am back in that pit and even deeper.. The muses or the skills developing them inspired helped me pull myself out every time. Often more driven to fuck, what I now call Lickypede, up. Purely by going the 8-mile route and leaving there nothing for them to insult. Be it through acceptance or change.

Just need to make it more neutral. As my characters are piece of me, so they wouldn't help outside sources in quite the same way. I want to give people the tools to develop their own character. Not necessarily with the hope of writing stories with them (I only got that interest once I started really enjoying the stories I built with and around them) but of understanding yourself inside and out. The hidden pieces of drive, and giving me different versions of my own voice so I can quickly argue my decisions in a constructive way so I can try and knock out the ones that would in the very least cause issue or lack common sense.

As well it helping my memory, when I have a mind built to sabotage itself in that regard (ADHD and PTSD). I have little bundles of my interests, piece of unrelated history, and things I'd like to remember all hidden or bundled up in these characters. So long as I remember the character, I'll have a path to remember everything else in something complex enough it has stability. Somewhat. It is more like drawing pictures in the dirt with gasoline. You figure the fire will make the picture light up ala The Crow(and punish..And batman) every time. However, who knows what'll happen with Gasoline. Maybe a squirrel runs across the path, maybe you didn't put enough, maybe someone realizing you're being an idiot with fire switched your gasoline with a strong smelling alcohol at a low enough proof it wouldn't ignite. So many peculiar things can happen, but at least there is some stability in the picture being drawn the same way.

That and if we ever get to the point all the comics with mutants come about, anyone that tries to get into my mind is going to have some annoyed tenants that already hang around up there. If anything, they'll confuse and force cognitive overload to those not used to the path of their train of thought. Possibly. Fun to think about for fictional purposes though. Especially anyone who has to deal with Lickypede. At this point I think I've weaponize my trauma, depression, and anxiety into a inky millipede monster. One I hope to reignite my favorite genre combination: weird fiction and horror.

Since the other downside is that after using horror to help create Lickypede... Now it all feels the same. Least when you go the route of animated or motion medium. Since plenty of comics and manga are allowing me to keep shoveling new ideas into the forest fire. At this point it seems to be as important to keeping myself energized as food and water is.

I might have accidentally turned myself into a muse. I need inspiration and creative medium to survive and keep my mind reeling. Pls send writers. To Hollywood. (they need them.)

#disability selfhelp writing mentalhealth

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